Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Black Me Out	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 12997 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
A/N: I didn't change much of the canon for this fic: Everything is the same, except Harry never went to the Dursleys' and was raised by Sirius, who isn't dead and didn't go to Azkaban. Also, Harry didn't date Ginny or Cho in this one. Comments and Kudos are appreciated. The reference material I used for this fic was...well, me. My experiences, my feelings about being trans, albeit exaggerated or adjusted accordingly. (Sexual stuff will be referenced in this fic, but no straight-up smut. Describing sexual content in this context makes me dysphoric like crazy, so I'd rather not trigger myself for the sake of fanfiction.)
Black Me Out

Chapter One – True Trans Soul Rebel

Harry was so used to the taste of his own blood it no longer came as a shock to him. He choked on it, and relished in the reactions of disgust from his so-called friends when he spat it at them. Bloody mouthfuls clung onto their school robes, and with a cry of disgust they threw him down into the bite of the snow-covered ground. Calls of, “Freak!” echoed back to him while he struggled to find his equilibrium.

Harry reached up and his fingertips gripped at the redbrick of the building next to him as he pulled himself up onto shaking legs. He needed to get back to the school; Madam Pomfrey would put him right. The only challenge now was getting there without passing out. His vision was hazy, his glasses were shattered and dangling precariously off his face, and his split lower lip was dribbling a steady stream of blood down his chin and onto the front of his jumper. The red blended in perfectly with the Gryffindor colours. Harry hobbled forward, grimacing as he attempted to put weight on his sprained ankle, and he felt dizzy from the intense pain, and his anger threatened to overwhelm him. He'd get Ron and Seamus for this. He wasn't a freak.

He transfigured a stone on the ground into a walking stick, and Harry used it to aid in his trek back up to the castle. His mind so focused on vengeance that it did not immediately register that a particular blond classmate was approaching him.

“Potter?” The usual sneer was missing, and at first Harry almost didn't recognize the voice. He bit back a groan when he realized who it was. Perfect, just what he needed right now was Malfoy to harass him on top of everything else.

“Shove off Malfoy,” Harry grumbled, “I'm afraid Ron and Seamus beat you to it.” Harry turned and tried to pick up his pace, but it was too much for his ankle, and he bit back a gasp of pain. The last thing he wanted was to show weakness in front of the Slytherin git.

“Weasley did this to you? What'd you do, make a pass at his mudblood?” Harry gritted his teeth and shot Malfoy another glare.

“Hermione is more magic than you'll ever be. Fuck off,” Harry growled, too exhausted to defend Hermione's honour properly with a well-placed curse at the moment, but he made a mental note to inversify Malfoy when he had full use of his legs again.

“No, seriously, I want to know. What would prompt Weasley to bloody up his bosom friend?” Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I dunno. I'm curious, I'm bored,” he said in his familiar drawl as he fell in step next to Harry. The lack of bite in his tone made Harry immediately suspicious.

“Not a lot to do when your friends are all in Azkaban, I expect,” Harry snapped, really not wanting to accept help from a Slytherin, and especially not Draco effing Malfoy. At his words, the blond froze.

“That was low, Potter,” he growled as he shot Harry a familiar, cold glare, and stalked off.

Harry sighed with relief, and made the rest of the journey back to the castle in peace.

~*~

“Harry would you please stop being ridiculous and tell me who did this to you?” Madam Pomfrey fussed, flicking her wand here and there as she attended to his multiple injuries, thankfully without the need to remove his clothes. “I'll need to contact your guardian, at any rate. He'll need to know what's happened.”

“No,” Harry said at once, his eyes widening at the prospect. “Please, don't tell Sirius. He'll lose his bloody mind, and I won't let them chase me away.” Harry crossed his arms, and as she flicked her wand at his ankle, he yelped in pain.

“Watch your mouth young man,” she said with a frown, but Harry kept his mouth shut. She huffed at him, and placed her hands on her hips.

“Fine, keep your secrets. But if you exact revenge on them of your own volition, you'll be in just as much trouble, you realize,” she said while Harry glared at the white tiled floor.

“I don't know how they found out,” he muttered, feeling his anguish swell in his chest, and for a moment he felt as though his lungs had closed up. He took several deep breaths, but the panic did not abate. “And they...I thought they'd be okay with it. The wizarding world is so open about—about other things...”

“Yes well, even among wizards this is still a learning curve. The people who did this to you deserve to be punished, but that does not mean you have to be the one to dole it out. They can hurt just as much if you were to hand them over to the Aurors.” At her words, Harry blinked in confusion, and looked back up to the matron.

“Aurors?”

“Oh, yes,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone, “this was a hate crime, Mr Potter. There is no reason why you can't seek justice. I'm sure it would be possible for you to have these people tried in secret to save yourself any...unpleasantness.”

“I'll think about it,” he said as he offered her a small smile and slid off the cot, wincing as he put weight on his ankle.

“That ankle of yours was dislocated, not sprained, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said, “It will still be tender for some time. Be careful.” She turned back to a table next to the cot and picked up a vial of viscous, yellow potion, which she handed to him. “Your doses for the month.”

“Thanks, Madam Pomfrey,” he muttered, stowing the vial in his jeans pocket. He could feel her disapproving stare follow him front the Hospital Wing, but he feigned ignorance as he limped into the hall.

Harry moved to head back to Gryffindor Tower slowly, but stopped short when a sudden realization hit him. Ron would likely be there by now, along with Seamus. He knew that they would be unable to spread the gossip of their discovery, thanks to the tongue-tying curse Sirius had set up when he'd first started school, but it didn't stop them from knowing it. His stomach roiled at the idea of facing Ron or Seamus again. Flicking his hands in an attempt to rid himself of the shakes, he walked stiffly out onto the grounds. He needed to think.

“Up and about then, Potter?” Harry groaned. Lovely, he thought, Just what I need.

“What part of piss off are you not getting, Malfoy?” Harry snapped as he jogged to catch up with Harry. He scowled as Malfoy fell in step with him as they crossed the grounds.

“The part where I actually piss off. Someone needs to keep the lollygagging gingers from cursing you when your back is turned.”

“I don't need a fucking bodyguard,” Harry seethed, gritting his teeth as he walked stiffly toward the icy lake, and fell into a sitting position with a hiss by the lakeside.

“Past results suggest you do,” Malfoy said with a smirk while he flicked his wand at the ground next to Harry, warming and drying the grass of snow before he sat next to him. “But seriously—what happened?” Harry bit back a groan. Couldn't the git take a bloody hint?

“I don't want to talk about it. Why do you care?”

“Why would I not?”

“Because we've spent the past eight years at each other's throats, for one.” Harry cocked a brow at him, and Malfoy shrugged, his trademark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Past is past, Potter,” Malfoy said as he stretched out luxuriously next to him, folding his arms under his head and staring up at the sky, as at ease as though it was a warm summer day. Harry gave.

“Let's just say...they found out something about my past...before Hogwarts, I mean. They didn't approve.”

“Strange that a half-blood and a blood traitor would disapprove of their golden boy.”

“You're telling me,” Harry flicked his wand, casting a few warming charms around them. He didn't want to go back to the tower if he could help it. This strangely amicable Draco Malfoy was still better than dealing with Ron and Seamus. At least with Malfoy it seemed that at least, for now, he'd be able to keep all his teeth.

“What was this big secret?” He asked in a tone that was clearly aiming for casual, but the tendril of burning curiosity in his voice was hard to miss. Harry gritted his teeth in frustration and shook his head.

“None of your business,” Harry muttered, stuffing a hand into his pocket, his fingers brushing over the glass vial. Its presence was calming.

“That's mature,” Malfoy said as he continued to smirk, “how am I supposed to be an understanding friend if you don't confide in me?”

“Considering we're not friends, I don't see much reason to confide anything in you, Malfoy,” Harry grumbled as he whipped around and frowned down at him. “Seriously...why do you care?”

Malfoy sat up slowly, his movements slow and almost snakelike. A slow smirk spread over his face again. He was too close to him, Harry realized, when suddenly his lips were on Harry's, and his eyes widened with shock. It was over in a second, so quickly that he hadn't time to react to the sudden gesture.

“Let's just say...I have my reasons,” Malfoy purred the words, then stood and strode off.

Harry slumped back against the snow. His trousers were getting wet.

~*~

Harry wished he had it in him to feel some sense of shock when he reached his dormitory, only to find his belongings utterly destroyed. Sirius's two-way mirror was smashed and ground into a glittering powder on his bedspread, his muggle clothes were shredded, and his textbooks had been burned to a cinder. Harry heaved a heavy sigh, and he felt another tremor course through him. He would not fall apart. He could not fall apart. Harry wouldn't let Ron not Seamus know how much they were getting to him.

Harry bent down and crawled partway under the bed. They hadn't managed to break his secretive charms, and he pulled out his wooden shoebox of treasures: The photo album from Hagrid, its empty pages filled with photographs of himself and Sirius, as well as dozens of photos of his godson. The Marauder's Map and his invisibility cloak were in tact and undamaged as well, and he felt relief wash over him at the sight of it. He threw it over himself, not before casting some fairly nasty curses on Ron and Seamus's areas of the space. Harry laughed softly, but did not stay to see what would happen, and instead he gathered up the box to his chest, swept out of the dormitory, and headed down to the common room.

Harry did not pay attention to anyone, relieved for his invisibility, and he hurried out into the quiet of the castle. He wanted to go and ask Madam Pomfrey for a private bed and a sleeping draught, but first he needed to take care of this like a proper adult. If they were doing this, he knew enough about harassment to know that it would only escalate, not stop.

“Feles,” Harry mumbled at the gargoyle. It jumped aside to admit Harry, and he drew off the cloak as he stepped onto the moving staircase.

Professor McGonagall was still in her day robes when she answered his knock. Her irritation shifted to surprise when she saw his expression. “Mr Potter, to what do I owe the late visit?”

“I, er, needed to speak to you about...something.” He frowned, while her mouth set into a thin line. She stepped aside to admit him. Harry moved to the hardbacked chair that sat before her desk, and he glanced up to the sleeping headmasters, his gaze pausing momentarily on Dumbledore, then Snape. His heart momentarily jumped into his throat, but he shook his head, struggling to stay focused on his current predicament; he couldn't afford to lose himself in the past.

“I assume this is about your altercation in Hogsmeade earlier today. Am I wrong?”

“I—how did you know about that?” He asked as he felt the anxious shakes return. Harry tensed his muscles, trying to stave off the trembling.

“Poppy brought it to my attention,” she said tersely, clearly disapproving with his reluctance to come to her directly, “I have not informed your godfather, but I was hoping we could deal with this before it escalates.”

“A little late for that,” Harry muttered, looking down at his hands. “They destroyed all my things.” Harry cursed inwardly at the tremor in his voice. “My textbooks, my clothes, my—the mirror Sirius gave me...all of it, gone.” Harry glanced back up, and he watched her mouth go thinner than he could ever recall seeing it.

“I take it then we are dealing with assailants from Gryffindor?” She asked, and Harry nodded silently. “I know you were reluctant to tell Poppy who caused this, but I am hoping you will be a little more forthright with me, Potter. What these people are putting you through is unacceptable behaviour for a Hogwarts student to display. Their actions are enough for expulsion, and perhaps criminal proceedings if you wish to alert the Aurors to your...situation.” Harry grimaced at the suggestion; Fat chance.

“It was...Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnegan. I—I don't know how they found out, but they cornered me in Hogsmeade and then I came back and...when I got back to the tower later, all my things were destroyed.” His voice broke, and he took several shaking breaths in an attempt to calm himself, though it did little to help. “They called me a freak. I'm not a freak. I'm not.” Harry clenched his hands into fists, and looked away from McGonagall's gobsmacked expression. Whomever she had expected to be at the root of the problem, clearly she hadn't anticipated eighth year students.

She flicked her wand once, and a roving, but practical platter lowered itself onto her desk. She picked up one of the mugs of a steaming red liquid, and pressed it into his hands. “Drink this Potter, it will help you calm down. Please excuse me for a moment. Do not move. I will return shortly.” Harry looked down dubiously at the drink. He sniffed it experimentally. It smelled sweet. She huffed at him. “It's a herbal tea blend, you silly young man. It will help calm your anxiety. Now, stay. I mean it.” She stood and flicked her wand at him, and he felt something cold wash over him. She had swept from the room before Harry realized that she had cast a particularly powerful Disillusionment charm on him.

Where Harry would have taken the chance to poke around the office back when Dumbledore had occupied the circular Headmaster's office, Harry didn't dare try his luck with McGonagall. Even though he was the affected party, he had a feeling she'd have no qualms about docking points if he tried to push his luck.

He sipped the tea, and was surprised to find how much he liked it. He could taste lavender and chamomile, but he could not identify all of the ingredients. He cast a quick glance to the dozing portrait directly behind McGonagall's desk. Surely Snape would have been able to label all the ingredients in this tea in less than thirty seconds. He shivered, remembering that awful night. He turned away from the portrait, quietly sipping his tea while he waited for her to return.

Harry did not have to wait long before he heard a commotion thundering up the spiral staircase. He felt what colour had returned to his face leave it when he recognized the voices that accompanied the Headmistress.

“Ow, ow, Miss! We didn't do nothing! It started it!”

“Never, in all my years...” The door burst open, and Professor McGonagall stepped back into her office, holding both his assailants by the ear. Harry lurched back instinctively, before he remembered that they lightly couldn't see him, but at the same time he felt a tendril of amusement rush through him. Based on the way the two boys were hopping from foot to foot, his little parasitic friends had found a new home.

“How dare you attack another student unprovoked!” She shrieked, “I am absolutely disgusted! And against not only your peer, but a friend, at that!” Harry's hands tightened around the mug while both boys' expressions darkened. “You could have done Mr Potter serious physical damage, and destroying his property had earned you both an early trip back to London.” Both young men had been so busy glaring at their shoes that her sudden proclamation caused them both to whip their gazes back to her.

“What're you talking about Miss?” Ron asked, his voice panicked.

“Ronald Weasley, Seamus Finnegan, you are hereby expelled. Effective immediately. I expect you back here in twenty minutes with your belongings. I shall alert both of your families by Floo, and you will be sent home tonight,” she said in a firm, infuriated voice. Harry turned away, pretending that he was alone in the office and not witnessing the uncomfortable scene. Both boys turned and stomped out of the office, heads bowed.

“Was it really necessary for me to be here for that, Professor?” Harry mumbled, staring down sullenly at his knees. All he could think was how the two would likely know who had told the Headmistress, and now they had more than enough reason to track Harry down and attack him again. McGonagall did not immediately answer him, instead she circled the desk, removed the charm from his person, and picked up a large quill. She pushed a blank piece of parchment towards him, and a second quill.

“Make a detailed list of your destroyed belongings, Mr Potter. The school will pay for their replacement. For tonight you are to use the Gryffindor Head Boy quarters, and you are excused from your lessons tomorrow while we sort this out.” She observed him from over the top of her spectacles with a look not unlike sympathy. He glanced away, a flush of shame creeping up his neck. He knew that he really should rest, he was sore and exhausted, but he hated that taking a day off his lessons felt very much like he was letting them win.

“I—I think I'll go to bed, then,” Harry said, no longer wanting to think on everything that had happened, “I'll have this list for you, er—soon.” He did not know how he felt about the school replacing his belongings, but if anything, at least they weren't blaming him for any of it.

“Then sleep well, Mr Potter,” she said in a much gentler tone than he was used to hearing from her. Harry offered her a jerky nod, set down the barely-touched teacup on her desk. grabbed his cloak, and hurried out the door.

Harry was halfway to Gryffindor Tower before it occurred to him that it was likely that Ron and Seamus would use the same route to return to McGonagall's office. He pulled the cloak on, and not a moment too soon, as Ron and Seamus whipped around the corner, their trunks in tow. They were in deep conversation, and it seemed that they had not noticed Harry's form disappearing from the passageway.

“We'll get it for this,” Ron sneered, his trunk scraping noisily against the stone, “we were doing our civic duty, keeping something like that as far from Gryffindor as possible...”

Ron's sneering voice faded as Harry rushed past them, feeling sick to his stomach.

~*~

Harry spent the morning hiding in the private quarters, unused as this year's Head Boy had been a Ravenclaw. He sat by the windowsill and watched the grounds, his gaze falling on Hagrid standing next to a manticore with his students a good fifty feet away. The detailed list of his destroyed belongings had been sent ahead to McGonagall, and with no clean robes to change into, he had sequestered himself away.

It seemed that McGonagall had guessed that he might do such a thing, and he had awoken that morning to a platter of toast with butter and marmalade, eggs, bacon, and pumpkin juice waiting for him. He grazed on the food, his stomach still a knot of anxiety.

By midday, all of Harry's things had been replaced. They popped into existence in neat piles next to the bed. He grabbed his black chest binder and pulled it on, wincing as he adjusted his chest under the tight garment, and shrugged into clean robes before he headed out to the Great Hall for lunch.

Before he had even made it halfway to his destination, he caught snatches of conversation from passing couples and groups, all discussing Ron and Seamus's mysterious expulsion.

“...McGonagall just burst into Gryffindor Tower and dragged them out...”

“...I heard they attacked Potter...”

“...Potter's ego is getting too big for his head, if you ask me. Probably made the whole thing up...”

Feeling rather sick, Harry rushed towards the courtyard while he attempted to maintain an air of calm.

Harry felt better as soon as he was out in the open, and the cool breeze felt wonderful against his hot skin. He pressed his forehead against the cool stone of the castle's wall, breathing slowly as he tried to ride out the panic attack.

“Potter,” Harry bit back a groan at the sound of the drawling voice and turned to Malfoy. He was standing next to Harry, looking rather pleased with himself, and holding something wrapped rather badly in a cloth napkin. Remembering their encounter from yesterday, he felt himself go a little red. With everything that had happened following it, he hadn't had time to process it.

“I saw you bolt from the Entrance Hall,” he continued, apparently ignorant to Harry's frustration and embarrassment at his presence, “thought you might want this,” He said as he pressed the napkin-wrapped package into Harry's hands. Harry unwrapped it, both curious and apprehensive, only to find that it was...sandwiches.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked as he set aside the food, grateful, though he was still too anxious to eat.

“I thought by our...encounter yesterday that that was fairly obvious,” He said with a smirk, and moved in as though to embrace Harry, but he lurched back instinctively.

“Don't—don't touch me,” Harry said in a rush, wincing at how frightened he sounded. Ron and Seamus were bad enough, if Malfoy figured it out...Harry felt himself trembling, and gritted his teeth in frustration. He'd seen horrors no one his age could even fathom in their worst nightmares, and now he was afraid of touch?

Before Malfoy had a chance to react, Harry hurried away.

~*~

Returning to his lessons the following day was more nerve-wracking than Harry had expected. Hermione seemed to be struggling with her grief at Ron's unceremonious departure and feelings of betrayal that Harry had been the cause. The fact that no one knew why they had been expelled seemed to nettle her, and she spent an inordinate amount of time pestering him.

“Harry, Ron's my—I mean, he was your best friend! You owe it to me to tell me what happened!” She said as she followed him through the Entrance Hall like a particularly talkative shadow.

“I don't owe anyone explanations, Hermione. I don't want to discuss it, now give it a rest,” He spoke firmly and evenly, and Harry was rather proud that he managed to keep himself from shouting. She stared at him following his statement, and her eyes filled with tears. She stalked off, her shoulders sagging sadly.

“Trouble in paradise, Potter?” Harry spun on his heel and found himself face-to-face with Malfoy. Again.

“Malfoy, lovely. Now just force-feed me rat poison and this will go down as my Best Day Ever,” He grumbled as he glared at the Slytherin. He moved to brush past him and head towards the doors to the grounds, his argument with Hermione effectively robbing him of his appetite. Malfoy caught his wrist in his hand as he passed, and Harry tensed, turning to glare at him.

“Let me go,” Harry said, uncomfortably aware how Malfoy's hand easily enclosed his entire wrist, the edge of his thumb crossing over the tips his middle and ring fingers easily.

“Let me help, Harry,” Malfoy said in a earnest tone of voice. Harry stared. He could not remember Malfoy ever calling him by his first name. Harry yanked his hand out of Malfoy's grip, his heart thundering in his chest.

“I do not want, nor do I need, your help. Leave. Me. Alone.” Harry did not wait for Malfoy to respond, and broke into a run as he headed straight for the doors.

Outside, Harry once again felt that freeing sensation of being out in the open. It was mid-March, and the snow that had adorned the ground for the better part of the week was gone, and had given way to unseasonably warm weather and a cloudless, sunny sky. He slowed to a walk and made his way towards the lake.

Everyone wanted to help. Everyone wanted to know what was wrong, what they could do for him.

What he needed, more than anything, was to be left alone. If he did not associate with people, he didn't need to worry about more people he cared for turning on him as Ron had. He crossed his arms across his chest, grimaced with pain, and allowed his arms to fall to his sides. His chest ached painfully, and he wondered not for the first time if maybe he should have used the muggle method for his chest reconstruction instead of the wizarding one. It took far less time, and there was always essence of dittany to speed up the healing process and get rid of the scars. This was taking far too long.

Harry tossed down his cloak and fell down on top of it, stretching out on his back as he stared up at the forget-me-not blue sky. A swift fluttered by, and Harry watched it until it disappeared from his field of vision into the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Harry had had no idea how difficult life would continue to be for him following Voldemort's downfall, though in retrospect he thought that he should have known better than to be so stupidly optimistic. He felt a low ache in his gut. How did Ron find out?

The nausea he associated with his anxiety set in almost at once, and Harry took several deep breaths in an attempt to banish the sensation. He started slightly when a little black owl fluttered out of the forest and fluttered down to land on his knee. Harry sat up and stared at it in surprise for a moment, then noticed a small scroll tied to its leg. Harry dug in his pockets, but he had nothing to give the owl in return. He untied the scroll, offered his apologies to the creature, who puffed up with anger and took off.

Shaking his head at the hypersensitive owl, he unrolled the letter to find it was from Sirius.

Harry,

Professor McGonagall wrote to me about what happened. I want to see you so that we can discuss it, but my presence at the school may raise more questions than it would answer. Do you want to meet at the Hogwarts gates this Saturday and I'll take you to the Three Broomsticks for lunch so we can talk?

Let me know,
Sirius

Harry groaned, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he burned the note to cinders with his wand. He had always appreciated Sirius being so good to him, but his overprotectiveness following Voldemort's downfall last spring was maddening. He was eighteen, not eight.

He knew Sirius would want to discuss the attack, and how his treatment was progressing, but the bigger problem, at least in Harry's mind, was Draco Malfoy's persistence. Dating was hard enough, but Harry's situation was complicated enough without adding extra fuel to the fire. He was certain the Prophet would love to run a story about how the Saviour of the Wizarding World was dating a former Death Eater's son.

Knowing that Sirius's request, while formed as an invitation was not elective, he stood up reluctantly and headed back to the castle to write him back.

~*~

“Harry,” Sirius pulled him in for a one-armed hug, and patted his back once before releasing him. “All right?”

“Fine,” Harry's mouth twitched onto a weak half-smile.

“Let's go, we can talk when we've got some food in us,” Sirius said as he clapped Harry on the shoulder and steered him away from the school and towards Hogsmeade.

They walked in companionable silence, Sirius keeping it from getting too quiet by occasionally asking questions that led to light conversation, and Harry offered up weak, one-word answers.

Harry saw very little of the pub before he was ushered by both Sirius and Madam Rosmerta into a private room. “Butterbeer and some steak and kidney pie, I think. Does that work for you, Harry?”

“What?” Harry said as he looked up from the tabletop, realizing too late he had been spacing out again. What Sirius had asked clicked in his brain, and he nodded once. “er, yeah. That's fine.”

Madam Rosmerta offered him a small smile, which he returned though he wasn't certain how genuine it looked. She bustled out to the main area of the pub, and Harry heaved a sigh. Sirius dove in to the reason they'd come out to Hogsmeade without preamble.

“So Harry, tell me—what happened?” Sirius said and Harry looked up at his godfather with a small frown. Sirius was regarding him with a mixed look of worry and anger in his grey eyes. He knew the anger wasn't directed at him, but it was still unnerving to see.

“I don't know how, but Ron and Seamus found out about...me,” Harry mumbled, grimacing as he refocused his attention on the tabletop. “They ambushed me outside of Zonko's and beat me bloody.” Harry winced at the memory as he continued. “I spit a mouthful of blood at them and they took off like I—like it was contagious or something. I was in a bad way, and I transfigured myself a walking stick and headed back to the castle, and Madam Pomfrey put me right.” Harry paused, their food materializing before them, and Harry jabbed his fork into the pastry, releasing a torrent of steam from the centre of it. “But something weird happened.”

“Weird in what way?”

“Malfoy,” Harry paused, his godfather's expression darkening at the name, and Harry quickly elaborated before he got the wrong idea. “He was nice to me. Like—he walked with me part of the way back to the castle and keeps trying to talk to me and, er—other um, stuff.” Harry felt himself go a little red under Sirius's critical eye.

“Are you trying to say that Malfoy is interested in you, romantically?” Harry bit the inside of his cheek and nodded mutely. Sirius frowned, but he didn't appear as disgusted by the idea as Harry thought he would be.

“We'll deal with that in a moment, Harry. Professor McGonagall also said Ron and Seamus damaged your property, is that true?” Harry felt his gut clench at the question.

“More like destroyed it. They didn't get to the map, the cloak, or my album, but all my other stuff—my clothes were shredded, they burned my books, and the mirror you gave me...they shattered it.” Harry breathed a heavy sigh, bowing his head forward as he raked his fingers through his hair. He felt the distinctive clenching of his throat and burning in his eyes, but he couldn't cry over this—he wouldn't.

“After that, I went to see the Headmistress, and she expelled both of them right in front of me.” Harry felt a shiver run through him. “They'll know it was me who told on them,” Harry said shakily as he took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down, but it didn't help nearly as much as he'd hoped. “What if they come looking for payback?”

“It's highly unlikely they'll do that, Ron in particular,” Sirius said evenly, but Harry found his reassurance hard to believe.

“What makes you so sure? They weren't bothered about beating me half to death in Hogsmeade,” Harry muttered the latter half of his sentiment, prodding at the food before him, his appetite utterly gone.

“Well, first and foremost because Minerva will have informed Molly and Mrs Finnegan exactly why they have been expelled—certain private details omitted, of course. If Molly doesn't tear Ron to pieces over this, I will be genuinely surprised.”

“Small comfort,” Harry muttered, still keeping his eyes fixed on his uneaten food. “I don't even know what to say to Hermione, she's really upset because no one will tell her anything about why her boyfriend's suddenly been expelled.”

“Have you considered telling her the truth?”

“After how Ron reacted? Are you completely mad?” Harry's gaze whipped up to lock eyes with his godfather, and the older man shrugged.

“It's been said. Hermione's a smart girl, Harry, and she's not Ron. I can't see her reacting badly to this, beyond maybe being annoyed that you didn't tell her sooner,” Sirius said, frowning a little as he crossed his arms while he regarded his godson. “Think on it. You don't have to, but telling her the truth will likely save your friendship from completely dissolving. Now as for Malfoy...Has he done anything erm, untoward?”

“Yes,” Harry deadpanned. Sirius's eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing into the long hair that had fallen into his face.

“Do I need to do something rash, like murder the little ferret on your behalf?” His godfather's voice wavered again between anger and worry, though Harry couldn't tell what was the dominant emotion in that moment.

“Not yet,” Harry replied, looking down at his stone-cold food as he shifted uncomfortably. “I just...I don't get it. Malfoy lost everything after the war. His father's in Azkaban, most of his family fortune was confiscated by the Ministry, his mum buggered off to the colonies...is he just trying to get his hands on...I mean, I don't know if he's interested in me, or my Potter inheritance. I mean, thanks to Rita Skeeter it's not exactly a secret anymore that I'm pretty well off,” Harry said with a mild grimace, remembering the sickly article that followed the war that contained every dirty detail of his life—save one.

“Considering it's a Malfoy, it would be fair to assume the latter.”

“God knows what'll happen if he finds out about me,” Harry mumbled, raking his fingers through his hair.

“That's entirely up to you Harry,” Sirius said gently, “attitudes are changing, and not everyone feels the way Ron does. But...” Sirius smirked a little, and Harry's brown furrowed in confusion at the knowing look in his eyes. “It almost sound as though you like him.”

“I do not like Draco Malfoy!” Harry said hotly, which caused Sirius to bark a laugh. “I don't!” Harry said again, which only made Sirius laugh again, “It's just that...Sirius, stop laughing, it isn't funny!”

Slowly, Sirius sobered up, and still chortling he sipped his butterbeer. Harry still felt uncomfortably warm, and sulking a little he stabbed at a chunk of meat and pastry and crammed it into his mouth.

“It's all right to like Malfoy, Harry,” Sirius said gently, but held up his hand to silence Harry's indignant sputtering so that he could continue. “He's a git, he's from a foul family, and he's been actually horrid to you and your friends ever since your first year.”

“Then how is this anywhere in the realm of okay? He's an arse, he always has been, he probably is just hoping that he'll marry into my money or something.”

“It's not unlikely,” Sirius said with a nod, “but what will you do if his advances are genuine?”

“Run away screaming?” Harry asked, and Sirius snorted.

“That's not very Gryffindor of you,” Sirius remarked with an arched brow.

“I can face down Dark Lords and giant spiders and Dementors,” Harry said, still flushed with embarrassment, “but give me romance stuff, and I'm already tearing cheek in the opposite direction.” Harry smiled sheepishly as Sirius laughed again, and he reached across the table to clap Harry on the shoulder.

“You are definitely a boy.”
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