Chronological Displacement

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/27651511.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: F/M, M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius
Black/Remus Lupin
Character: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Albus Dumbledore, James Potter, Lily
Evans Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa
Black Malfoy, Minerva McGonagall, Regulus Black, Andromeda Black
Tonks, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Severus Snape
Additional Tags: Time Travel, Pining, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Fix-It,
Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Pining Draco Malfoy,
Amortentia, Quidditch, Animagus, Christmas at Hogwarts, Mutual
Pining, POV Harry Potter, Mostly Canon Compliant but Also Not,
Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Banter, Sarcastic
Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Mirror of Erised
(Harry Potter), Horcrux Hunting, Horcruxes, Fluff, Phoenix Harry Potter
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of chronological displacement universe
Collections: Creative Chaos Discord Recs, Completed stories I've read, Absolute
Favorites, all finished fics that i read, Faves of drarry, my harry potter
favs, Best Harry Potter Universes, Untiltheveryand, My life reasons,
Time Travel Fics, goldentrio, Ashes' Library, best fics to ever exist,
books I enjoy/enjoyed, can't go back to life before these stories, My
friend found out I read drarry fanfics and is now using it as blackmail
Stats: Published: 2020-11-21 Completed: 2022-02-25 Words: 89,163
Chapters: 21/21

Chronological Displacement
by bookinit

Summary

“Malfoy, we have to slow it down!” Harry yells over the growing racket of the time turner.
Harry’s not sure how, exactly, they’re going to do that, but they have to try. Malfoy looks at
him wildly, and hesitates for only a second before grabbing his arm.

Harry looks uncomprehendingly at Malfoy’s hand on his arm. “We’ll be stronger together!”
Malfoy shouts. Oh. Right. The spell. Harry points his wand at the time turner, along with
Malfoy. “Finite Incantatum!”

The time turner only seems to grow stronger. A bright light begins to glow out from the
center of the device, reaching its edges over to Harry and Malfoy.

The last thing Harry sees is Malfoy’s worried face, and then darkness.
 ———

In which Harry and Draco have a time-turner accident, and many things go wrong, but a lot
of things also go right. Featuring: reptilian bonding night, canon-inaccurate animagus
lessons, and a fuck-ton of pining.

aka the fic where Harry finds his family, and fights to keep them.

Notes

This has been sitting in my drafts for about a month now, and I’ve just recently had the
motivation to post it. Hopefully I have the motivation to finish (pray for me). I’ve always
wanted to post a Harry Potter fic, and tik tok may or may not have inspired me to write one.
After searching for a fic like this and finding barely anything, I decided to try and write it
myself. I hope you like it!

*Edit 1/7/22: I want to throw in a quick disclaimer that this fic contains a fair amount of
canon inaccuracies regarding the Marauders. This is mostly in regards to the timeline:
although they’re in their last year, the war hasn’t started yet and Voldemort is still relatively
unknown. I didn’t have a whole lot of knowledge about Harry Potter before starting this,
and that’s why that happened. Also ages of supporting characters such as Narcissa, Lucius,
etc. are a bit fudged. I think the story is pretty good regardless, but just wanted to throw in a
quick warning in case it bothers anyone too much.

With that said, happy reading!

-H
 Chapter 1
Chapter Notes

go follow the marauder’s saga!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

There's a palpable sense of unease on Harry’s first day back at Hogwarts. He feels the absence of
Ron and Hermione at his side like a phantom limb. As if that wasn't bad enough, Harry also feels
the absence of all the students who didn't return. The ones who couldn't return.

There are only six first years, shuffling in nervously, occasionally sneaking glances over at Harry
and then quickly looking away, frightened and awed. Harry pays them no mind, instead watching
the sorting ceremony with dull disinterest. The general mood is far more somber than it had been in
the years before. With little fanfare, three first-years get sorted into Gryffindor, two to Ravenclaw,
and the last to Slytherin: a pale, scared young girl whose head is almost entirely dwarfed by the
Sorting Hat. The hall is pin-silent as she makes the journey to the Slytherin table, joining only four
other students— Parkinson, Zabini, Nott, and Malfoy. Harry tries not to look, but is inevitably
swayed by the uncomfortable atmosphere. It’s like a car crash— horrifying, yet he can’t look
away.

The new first year sits quietly at the Slytherin table, rounding out the number of students to five.
None of the other students welcome her, and most barely spare her a glance. Harry is honestly
surprised that there are any Slytherins at all— most are either in hiding, or, in the more extreme
cases, living out their sentences in Azkaban. All students were extended an invitation to come back
to Hogwarts and finish their educations, of course, but no one had really expected any Slytherins to
accept the offer. It was more of a perfunctory gesture on the part of the Ministry, but not meant
with any real sincerity. Except, there they were, sitting in the Great Hall eating Pumpkin Pasties
like nothing had changed. And, worst of all, Malfoy sat among them, head down, picking at his
food like it had personally offended him.

Once Harry’s eyes catch on Malfoy, he’s rooted to the spot. Look away, dumbass, he pleads
internally. However, his eyes are not persuaded, and they continue to bore into the back of
Malfoy’s robes until he hesitantly looks over his shoulder to meet Harry’s gaze. The second he
does, they both hastily look away, and Harry feels his cheeks warm. Idiot.

And, okay, it’s not that Harry hates Malfoy, or anything. Really, he doesn’t. Sure, he may be an
arrogant, pureblood tosser, but without him, there’s a good chance that Harry wouldn’t be alive.
And, if anything, Malfoy probably went through almost as much as he did during the war. In a
different way, for sure, but Harry's sure that he still has boatloads of unresolved trauma to deal
with. Join the fucking club.

So honestly, Harry doesn’t hate Malfoy. Dislikes him, maybe, if anything. Possibly not even that,
but the jury's still out on that count.

Mostly, he’s just... uncomfortable. It feels strange, that after everything, Harry’s back at Hogwarts
with Malfoy, who was one of the only other unofficial “eighth years” to return. That after Harry
stared death in the eye, he can return to school and stare at the back of Malfoy’s head again, like
he’s back in first year. And really, strange as it is, Malfoy’s one of the only familiar faces Harry
has as company.

Ron started Auror training only a few months ago, and Hermione travelled to America to attend the
upper division at Ilvermorny. Ginny’s back at Hogwarts, but Harry honestly hasn’t spoken to her
much since their breakup. It’s not that they’re on bad terms, per say, but Harry just wouldn’t count
her as a close friend at the moment. Neville’s back at Hogwarts, too, but only for a teaching
internship with Professor Sprout. Harry hasn’t seen him at all since he’s arrived, since he's
reportedly spending his days in the greenhouse. Even Luna’s out of the picture, gone to travel
abroad with her father.

So, really, it just boils down to Harry and Malfoy. It’s a little awkward, considering the last time
Harry saw Malfoy was at his family’s trial. Harry had spoken up for him, but hadn't talked to him
directly. Of course, at the time, they had been separated by the vast expanse of the Wizengamot
courtroom. Now, they’re separated by a mere three tables.

Honestly, even before the trial, Harry had thought about trying to clear the air between them. More
out of necessity than anything else, but also because Malfoy doesn’t seem to be quite as much of a
prick anymore. He mostly just seems as though he’s had the wind taken out of his sails, which
Harry can certainly relate to. The only problem is that Harry’s not entirely sure how Malfoy would
react to an offer of peace. Well, he can guess— a scoffing remark and a quick dismissal— but
Harry wants to try and approach him in the least offensive way possible, to avoid that outcome.
He’s not quite sure yet how to do that, but he’s willing to try.

His musings are interrupted by McGonagall clearing her throat. All the students in the Great Hall,
Slytherins included, turn to face the sound.

McGonagall slowly sweeps her eyes over the crowd, a terse set to her mouth, before beginning the
traditional start-of-term welcome speech.

Her words, however, are anything but traditional. “Students, I know that this year is like no other.
We have all faced significant challenges, and have overcome them." There's a quiet murmur among
the hall, and McGonagall patiently waits for it to die down.

"However, I am so glad to see all of you here today, in one piece. You, dear students, are the
future.” She pauses to look at Harry, an unreadable look in her eye. Harry swallows thickly,
meeting her gaze unsteadily. Her mouth twists, before she quickly continues her speech, as if
nothing had happened.

“We, as the Wizarding World, have been through much turmoil over the past few years. However,
I believe that together we can heal, and we can rebuild.” She looks out to the crowd, raising her
glass. “To the new semester, and all that comes with it.” The students, including Harry, echo the
sentiment and begin eating, some with more enthusiasm than others.

Harry reluctantly takes a bite of his turkey leg, simultaneously scanning the Gryffindor table for
someone to talk to. Ginny’s sitting on the other end, so even if he wanted to risk approaching her,
he couldn’t. Somehow, though, he’s sat right next to the three first years, all of whom are looking
at him with varying degrees of awe. The boy next to him reaches up to tug on the sleeve of Harry’s
robe. Harry wearily looks down at him, then back to his turkey leg. He tensely bites off a piece,
resigned that his only hope for conversation is a twelve-year old boy.

“Um, Mr. Harry Potter, sir?” The boy squeaks. Harry tries valiantly to repress a snort. Sir. Like he's
a professor, or something.

“Just Harry is fine. What’s your name?” He replies, smiling to try and put the kid at ease. It must
not work, because he still looks like he may pass out any second. The other two first years, both
girls, watch on with thinly-veiled interest.

“Justin, sir.” Poor Justin looks like he’s about to vibrate right out of his seat. Harry nods at him and
reluctantly holds his hand out to shake. Justin stares at his hand for a beat too long before returning
the handshake weakly. “Um, I just wanted to ask. Um. What was it like, fighting You-Know-
Who?”

Harry blinks at Justin, surprised by his candor. He really didn't beat around the bush, did he? “Er
—”

He’s thankfully interrupted by the voice of McGonagall, who he hadn't noticed approach the table.
“If you’ll excuse me, boys, I would like to have a word with Mr. Potter in my office.” Justin nods
so vigorously Harry’s a bit worried his head might fall off.

“Right. Well, it was nice meeting you, Justin,” Harry offers, standing up gratefully to follow
McGonagall. Justin gives an enthusiastic wave in response as he leaves. Harry winces, then turns
back to the hallway. He’s not quite sure what McGonagall wants to talk about, given their strange
moment during her speech. Maybe she wants to make him Head Boy? It would make sense,
although Harry’s not quite sure he wants the added responsibility. He mostly just wants to keep his
head down this year and graduate without any added attention on him.

When they reach McGonagall’s office, though, Malfoy, of all people, is waiting for them, fidgeting
wearily in McGonagall's pale blue Queen-Anne printed loveseat. Harry hadn't even noticed him
leave the Great Hall, which is a bit surprising. Not that he was watching him, or anything. Malfoy
seems just as taken off guard as Harry is, which brings Harry a good deal of comfort. At least he
wasn't the only one completely in the dark regarding McGonagall's joint meeting.

“What’s this about, Professor?” Harry asks. McGonagall gestures for Harry to sit next to Malfoy,
which he reluctantly does. He keeps a great deal of space in between them— a difficult task, given
the small size of the loveseat, but he manages. Malfoy doesn’t quite look up to meet anyone’s eye,
instead keeping his gaze trained on his hands, which are folded politely in his lap. Harry regards
him for a moment, almost wishing that he would look up and give one of his characteristic sneers.
Or at least taunt him, something. It seems unnatural for Malfoy to be so still.

McGonagall sits in her desk opposite to the loveseat, fixing them both with a serious stare. “Mr.
Potter. Mr. Malfoy. I’ve called you both here because I have an important task for you two.” At
this, Malfoy looks up.

Harry leans forward, intrigued. “What is it?”

“I would like you boys to deliver a message to Professor Dumbledore.” Harry and Malfoy, startled,
send each other confused glances before quickly looking away again. Merlin, McGonagall’s gone
barmy.

“Er, Professor—” Harry starts hesitantly. McGonagall clears her throat, waving away his concern.

“I am well aware that Albus is not with us anymore, Mr. Potter.”

Malfoy, brow furrowed, speaks up. “How do you expect us to deliver the message, then?” He
pauses. “Headmistress,” he tacks on as an afterthought, almost respectfully.

Harry blinks at him for a second, shocked silent by the uncharacteristic display. Merlin, Malfoy
really must be out of it, if he's not even going to say anything rude to McGonagall.
Then again, after his family's trial, Harry supposes Malfoy really can't say anything cruel, lest he
wants to be thrown back in Azkaban.

Still strange, though.

“Well, I was rather getting to that, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall replies, not unkindly. She holds out a
familiar-looking timekeeping device and a rolled up piece of parchment. “I would like you boys to
go back in time precisely eighteen months and deliver my letter to Professor Dumbledore. It is
urgent, and of the utmost importance that he receives it.” Harry reaches out to take the items,
feeling a little blindsided.

“Eighteen months, Professor? Isn’t that a little risky, on a time turner?” Harry can’t help but dart a
glance over at Malfoy, who’s sitting like a rock in his corner of the loveseat. “And, er— why us, if
you don’t mind me asking?” At this, Malfoy snorts. Harry feels his mouth twist a bit at the gesture,
and he stubbornly tugs it back down. He wouldn't want Malfoy to think he's smiling at him, or
anything.

“Why me, I think you mean.” Even as he says it, Malfoy’s guarded demeanor drops just a bit,
revealing a hint of confusion. It's such an alien expression on him that Harry stares, stricken, at the
side of his face. Malfoy sneaks a look back at him, then drags his eyes back to McGonagall and
continues, “However, I would like to know as well.”

McGonagall sits up a bit straighter.

“I would have done it myself, but eighteen months of travel is indeed troublesome for a witch of
my age. You two are some of the most powerful young wizards I know. Together, you should have
no difficulties completing this task.” She turns to look at Malfoy. “I am placing my trust in both of
you. I hope that you will not let me down.”

Malfoy swallows and nods. McGonagall then turns to Harry, who hesitantly nods as well. He’s
certainly been through much worse, and it would be nice to see Dumbledore again, even if only for
a short time.

“Excellent.” McGonagall claps her hands together. “This should be a fairly quick and simple task.
Please do not dally.” Harry hums in agreement, and gets up to leave.

“Remember, eighteen turns should do the trick. I’ve already set it to the preferred time frame.”

Harry nods absently, only half-listening. He walks out into the corridor, Malfoy close on his heels.

“You’ve done this before, then?” Malfoy asks him, staring nervously at the time turner.

“Yeah, on the day of Buckbeak’s execution," Harry replies.

Malfoy blinks uncomprehendingly. Harry doubts he even remembers Buckbeak at all, the sod.
Maybe it was too traumatic of a memory for him, Harry thinks wryly.

“Well— alright, then. I suppose you’re the expert.” Harry gets the feeling that the retort was
supposed to sound sarcastic, but Malfoy mostly just sounds resigned. Harry holds up the time
turner, inspecting it. It looks a little different from the one he and Hermoine used, and he can’t
quite figure out why. The basic design is the same, but something about the turning mechanism
looks different. It’ll work just the same, though, Harry supposes.

Malfoy taps his foot impatiently. “Well, we haven’t got all day, Potter. Get on with it.”
Harry rolls his eyes. There Malfoy was. Harry had almost been worried, Merlin forbid.

“I’m going, relax.” It was eighteen turns, right? One turn for each month, Harry guesses. Simple
enough. He sets his fingers on the knob and begins to twist. One, two, three—

Harry’s interrupted by a whirlwind of arms and legs that he doesn’t see coming until it’s too late.
“Harry! I mean, Mr. Harry Potter, sir! I really wanted to talk to you about—” Justin, in his hurry,
knocks Harry right off his feet, the time turner clattering to the ground.

“Justin, move!” Harry shouts.

Justin, eyes wide, scampers off down the hall.

“Sorry, I’ll talk to you later!” He shouts over his shoulder. Harry groans.

“Please don’t,” he mutters under his breath. Malfoy lets out a quiet snicker. Wait— Malfoy. The
time turner! Fuck. Harry wildly searches the ground until he sees it. Only a few feet away, but still
spinning like mad. Harry pales.

“Should it still be spinning like that?” Malfoy asks weakly. Definitely not, Harry thinks. At this
rate, it would send them back to the beginning of bloody time.

“Malfoy, we have to slow it down!” Harry yells over the growing racket of the time turner. Harry’s
not sure how, exactly, they’re going to do that, but they have to try. Malfoy looks at him wildly,
and hesitates for only a second before grabbing his arm.

Harry looks at Malfoy’s hand on his arm for a long, baffling moment. A strange feeling bubbles up
in his stomach.

“We’ll be stronger together!” Malfoy shouts. Oh. Right. The spell. Harry points his wand at the
time turner, along with Malfoy.

“Finite Incantatum!”

The time turner only seems to grow stronger. A bright light begins to glow out from the center of
the device, reaching its edges over to Harry and Malfoy. Fuck.

The last thing Harry sees is Malfoy’s worried face, and then darkness.

***

“Bloody hell, mate. Where did they come from?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Doesn’t that one look a little bit like...”

“Merlin, he really does. The spitting image.”

“A cousin, maybe?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve met all of James’ cousins.”

“A long-lost brother?”

A snort. “Yeah, right.”

James? Why was Harry’s dad there?

“Dad?” Harry murmurs quietly. Is he dead? Again? Blimey, what a way to go. Death by time
turner. Wait— fuck! The time turner! Harry bolts upright.

“Malfoy?” he spins around wildly to see Malfoy lying face down, seemingly unconscious. Bugger.
“Malfoy, wake up.” Harry shakes his shoulder, trying not to grip too hard.

Malfoy wrinkles his forehead, eyes fluttering open. “Shove off, Potter,” he grumbles, shrugging
Harry’s hand off his shoulder.

“Malfoy? Potter?” The voice from earlier asks. A familiar voice, now that Harry thinks about it.
“Sorry, who are you two?”

"They just said, mate. You going deaf, as well?"

"Sod off, Padfoot."

Padfoot? Harry slowly raises his eyes to see—

“Sirius,” Harry chokes out, stunned. He looks much younger than he was when Harry knew him,
sporting a worn, patched leather jacket that Harry knows is against the Hogwarts dress code.

Sirius raises an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed. “That’s me, alright. And you?” Harry blinks at him.

“Um— Harry. Potter.” Malfoy snorts next to him, and Harry shoves at his shoulder lightly.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “...Right. You related to James, then?”

Harry nearly trips in his haste to stand up. “You could say that, yeah.” Unthinkingly, he holds out a
hand for Malfoy to take. Malfoy, to his credit, only stares at it for a second before grasping it
delicately and pulling himself to his feet, immediately dropping his hand afterwards.

Sirius stares at the two of them. “Sure. What about you?” He asks Malfoy.

Malfoy draws himself up to his full height, appearing as dignified as one can be after being found
unconscious in a school corridor. “Draco Lucius Malfoy,” he states primly. Sirius’s eyebrows
shoot up, and Harry suppresses a snicker. Badly, if Malfoy's glare is anything to go by.

“Lucius? Well, I suppose I see the resemblance.” For a moment, the three of them just stand there,
staring at each other in silence.

Someone clears their throat. “Well, I don’t mean to be rude, but where exactly did you two come
from?” Harry turns to the voice. He had almost forgotten that there was another person with them.

“Professor Lupin?” Harry chokes out. Lupin stares back at him suspiciously.

Malfoy shifts uncomfortably, looking over at Harry. “Look, Potter, I know it’s been a while since
you’ve... seen them,” he pauses, and he and Harry both go quiet. Remembering. “But can’t you see
you’re confusing the bloody hell out of them?” Oh. Right.

“Sorry,” Harry starts sheepishly. “We’ve had a bit of an accident with a time turner. Do you know
where Professor Dumbledore is?” He can’t stop looking at Sirius and Lupin, these unweathered,
carefree versions of them that Harry never knew, and has only seen in pictures. They’re around his
age, maybe even younger.

Sirius’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “A time turner? Blimey! Don’t those only go back a few
hours at a time?”

Lupin stares at Harry in thinly veiled shock. “Does that mean you’re James’s, what— son?” Sirius
falls silent, apparently having just realized this as well. Lupin’s brow furrows. “And did you call
me Professor?”

Harry fidgets, suddenly unsure of how much he’s supposed to tell them. He hadn't quite prepared
for this type of situation. “Um, yes. And... yes?” he tries. Malfoy squints at him in disapproval.

“Potter, do you ever think before you speak?”

Harry stares back at him hopelessly. “Honestly? Not really.”

Sirius snorts with laughter. “Well, that’s definitely James’s son.” He and Lupin share a bemused
glance. “Let’s get you two to Dumbledore then, I suppose.”

As they walk down the corridor, Lupin glances over at Harry. He looks like he wants to ask
something, but isn’t quite sure if he should. After a minute or two of furtive side looks, Harry takes
pity on him.

“Is there something you wanted to ask me? Um, Remus?" It feels too strange to call someone his
own age Professor. Besides, he wasn't a professor at all now, was he? Just a normal student, like
Harry.

“Is Lily your mother? You have her eyes, is all.” Harry smiles at the statement. (If he had a galleon
for every time he heard it.)

“Yeah, she is,” he replies. Looking at Remus, the magnitude of the situation sinks in for the first
time. If he and Malfoy are stuck here much longer, he could get to see his parents. Not in a dream,
not as ghosts, but young and alive. Happy.

The smile slowly slips from Harry’s face, replaced by what he’s sure must be an unattractively
conflicted expression.

Malfoy looks over at him, brow furrowed in something that resembles worry. You okay? he
mouths. Harry blinks in shock, then affirms the statement in a movement that probably looks more
like a strange head spasm than a nod. He wonders if Malfoy is somehow…not himself. Some type
of reverse demonic possession, maybe, where he's been replaced by a sort of caring and benevolent
spirit.

Having thankfully understood Harry’s head spasm, Malfoy nods sharply in return, then quickly
looks away, seemingly invested in the pattern of the floor.

More attentively, Harry turns back to Remus. “Why do you ask? Are her and dad not together
yet?”

“No, they are," Remus assures him. "It’s new, though.” He pauses. “They had a bit of a rocky start,
but here we are, I suppose. Here... you are.” With this, he makes a vague, wild gesture in Harry's
direction, as if to say he's walking proof of his parents' relationship status.
“Here I am,” Harry echoes. He's not quite sure how to feel about that statement.

They spot Dumbledore before they reach his office. He’s walking down the stairs with a much
younger McGonagall, both engaged in an amicable conversation. They stop in their tracks when
they see the group of teenagers approaching.

“Oh dear,” says Dumbledore. “You two look like you’ve had a bit of a chronological
displacement.” He waves McGonagall away in a kind but firm dismissal, then looks Harry and
Draco up and down, and his eyes stop in their tracks at Harry’s scar. “You must be a very powerful
wizard, Mr. Potter,” he murmurs, his gaze still trained on Harry's forehead.

Harry meets his eye. “Not me. My mother,” he says firmly. Harry certainly hadn't gotten the scar—
survived— because anything he did.

“Ah, yes." Dumbledore looks at Harry once more, considering. "Lily Evans, I presume. Well, I
won't disagree. She is indeed a talented witch.” Harry nods, throat suddenly tightening. He’s
unable to say anything else, but he can tell that Dumbledore understands. He looks at Harry with
warm sympathy in his eyes.

Dumbledore clears his throat. “Well, now, please come into my office. I’ll see what I can do for
you.” Malfoy, Sirius, and Remus, who had all been watching the conversation with varying
degrees of confusion, snap to attention and follow Dumbledore as he leads the way.

Once inside Dumbledore's office, the trio quickly takes their seats. Dumbledore regards Harry and
Draco, waving his wand over them in a spiraling motion. “Let's see. Harry Potter, son of James
Potter and Lily Evans. Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black.” Sirius startles at
the sound of his cousin’s name, and looks at Malfoy with renewed interest. Malfoy doesn’t meet
his eyes.

“Both eighteen years of age, both currently attending Hogwarts. Am I correct?” Dumbledore peers
over his glasses at them. Harry nods.

“Yes, Professor. We had a bit of an accident with a time turner. We were instructed by
Headmistress McGonagall—” Malfoy elbows him sharply in the side, giving him a pointed look.
Oh, bollocks. “Er, Professor McGonagall — to give you this letter.” Harry digs in his pocket for
the letter and hands it to Dumbledore, who's chuckling at his slip-up.

“It’s all right, Harry. I am quite aware that I will not live forever. Minerva will make a fine
Headmistress in my stead.” Next to them, Sirius makes a startled noise, and he and Remus glance,
wide-eyed, at each other.

Dumbledore opens the letter, adjusting his glasses slightly as he reads. There's a long silence, the
air in the room turning stale and terse. Harry resists the urge to look over at Malfoy, and instead
counts the number of grains in the wood flooring.

“I see,” Dumbledore says eventually, looking troubled. “Thank you for bringing this to my
attention, boys.” Harry and Malfoy nod hesitantly, neither one aware of the actual contents of the
letter.

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy speaks up, albeit quietly. “Headmaster, do you know if we will be able
to return to our proper time?”

Dumbledore hums thoughtfully. “With wizards of your caliber, I believe it is possible. However, I
will have to locate a rare type of time-turner to send you back. It will take a few weeks, at least.
 Professor McGonagall will fill in during my absence.”

Malfoy pales. “Weeks?”

Dumbledore nods, seemingly unconcerned. “Until then, I see no reason for you all to not continue
your education. You can join your respective houses and attend classes with the seventh-years. I'll
arrange for extra school supplies and necessities to be sent up to the dorms." He conjures a quill
and takes down a quick note on a nearby sheet of parchment, then looks back up at them. "Am I
correct in assuming Gryffindor and Slytherin?” Harry and Draco both nod. “Excellent.” He finishes
his note and hands it to a nearby owl to be delivered.

Dumbledore turns to Sirius and Remus. “I would like you boys to look out for them, along with
their parents. I trust that you will be hospitable during their stay?”

Sirius grins. “Yes, sir. Just wait until James and Lily hear about this!”

Harry’s eyes widen. Yes, indeed.

Chapter End Notes

Here’s the first chapter! I can’t promise super frequent updates, unfortunately, but I do
already have part of the next chapter written, so that one should be up fairly quickly. I
hope you guys like it so far!

-H
 Chapter 2
Chapter Summary

Meeting the parents and a totally non-romantic game of Quidditch.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“I’m sorry, what?”

Harry fidgets uncomfortably from his spot in the Gryffindor common room, wishing he could sink
right into the floor. He blinks back at Lily, who's currently watching him with wide eyes that do, in
fact, look exactly like Harry’s. "Er. I'm your son? From the future. I had a bit of an accident with a
time turner, see, and now I'm... here," he trails off awkwardly.

James blinks at him from his position on the couch, seemingly at a loss for words. After a moment,
his open mouth turns into a sideways grin.

“Well, I’m a little young to be a father, but it’s a pleasure to meet you, Harry. Say, how are you at
Quidditch? We're having a game tonight.” James leans back on the couch, slinging an arm around
Lily, which she promptly shoves off.

“How are you being so calm about this, James?” She runs a hand through her hair and exhales
sharply. “Our son. Our son. Merlin. How do we know this isn’t a trick?”

Sirius shrugs. “Dumbledore already vetted him." He winks at Harry, and Harry smiles back
tentatively. It'd been so nice to see Sirius again, even if it was a much younger, much less mature
version of him. Harry and Sirius had talked on the way to the Gryffindor dorms, and Harry had
been pleasantly surprised at how easily the conversation flowed. Sirius had rattled on happily
about the newest Muggle rock bands he was listening to, and had even offered for Harry to come to
a concert with him sometime. Of course, Harry was sure (or he hoped, at least) that he wouldn't be
stuck in the past for long enough to take him up on the offer, but still. It was nice of him.

Sirius moves to stand beside Harry, ruffling his hair. "Besides, he seems pretty cool. Even for
being your son, Lils.” Lily scowls at him.

Harry watches the exchange with interest. His parents are so... young. So normal. In only three
years, they would be dead. Shit.

“Well, what do you say? Quidditch?” James' voice breaks Harry out of his morbid thoughts.

“Erm, I would love to play sometime. It’s been a little while since I’ve been on the field, but if
you’ve got a snitch, I’m good to go.”

Harry still doesn’t know what to say to Lily, who seems to be on the verge of a Hermione-style
breakdown. Harry has the feeling that anything he says will probably only freak her out more.
Maybe he should just wait her out. That always seems to work with Hermione.

In contrast to Lily's growing anxiety, James is practically bouncing with excitement. “You’re a
seeker? Brilliant! Well, I’m a bloody good chaser, if I do say so myself." Lily rolls her eyes at that,
and James turns to wink at her before looking back at Harry. "We can invite your friend over to
join, too, the one that came with you. What position does he play?”

Malfoy had indeed met James and Lily, for about five minutes before he hurriedly rushed off to
the Slytherin dorms. Harry hadn't quite been able to get a read on him, how he felt about this whole
time travel situation. He did feel a bit bad. Admittedly, Malfoy had enough on his plate without this
whole mess to add to it.

In an attempt to get comfortable, Harry settles down on a quilted chair in the corner of the room.
“Er, he’s not exactly my friend. He’s the Slytherin Seeker, though.” Or, was, rather. Harry doubted
that Quidditch would even be happening this year, with the limited attendance at Hogwarts.

With narrowed eyes, James nods. “Ah. He’s Lucius’s son, right? And a Slytherin, too. No surprise
there. Probably a proper brat, then.”

Sirius snorts lightly in agreement.

Harry thinks back to Lucius. Draco may take after him a bit, but Harry thinks that he may be better
than his father in the ways that really counted. A fair degree braver, at least. And, from what Harry
had seen at the trials, he did seem to genuinely want to make up for his actions during the war,
which couldn’t be said about Lucius.

“He’s not quite as bad,” Harry hedges, feeling an odd need to defend Malfoy. “We just don’t run in
the same circles, really.” He wants to laugh. Isn’t that the understatement of the year. Sure, they
ran in different circles, if the circles were defined as opposite sides of the war rather than school
friend groups.

"Fair enough, I suppose," James allows. "We do need to round out the team, so we’ll invite him
then, if he isn’t a prick. And Remus and Sirius too, of course.” Remus and Sirius, for their part,
don’t look too enthused about this development.

Looking up from the book he’s reading, Remus raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You do know it’s
nearly Christmas, James? It’s going to be bloody freezing.”

“Don’t be such a downer, Moony. I just want to play a game of Quidditch with my son.” James
directs a conspiratorial grin at Harry.

Lily, seemingly having processed her ongoing mental breakdown, or at least tabled it for the
moment, plops down next to Harry. “You’re in seventh year, is that right?” she asks. Harry nods
hesitantly, still unsure how to act around her. Anyways, Harry’s technically in eighth year, but he’s
not sure how to explain that without mentioning the war that stole away his seventh year, so he
doesn’t.

“Have you started studying for NEWTS, then? I’m trying to go for a double charms and potions
mastery, myself.” Involuntarily, Harry lets out a small, impressed sound. His mother definitely
reminds him of Hermoine.

“Well, the term just started,” Harry starts, breaking off when Lily continues to look at him
expectantly. “But, er, I’m quite good at Defense, and I’m alright at Charms. I’m pants at Potions,
though. Didn’t even qualify to take the NEWTS.” Lily nods, seemingly satisfied.

“That’s alright. Potions is a difficult subject. We can study for Charms together, if you want. None
of these slackers,” at this she glares at the rest of the Marauders, “ever want to study with me.
Except Remus, that is.”

Remus sheepishly looks up from his textbook. "She's right about that," he mumbles, before
returning to his reading.

Honestly, Harry isn’t much for studying, either. He’s always been more of a learn-on-the-go type
of person. He’s had to be, really. But hell if he’s not going to jump at the one opportunity he’s ever
had to bond with his mum.

“I’d love to,” he replies, his answering smile only slightly forced at the prospect of studying. He
catches James’ eye, who’s looking at him knowingly, a smirk on his face. Harry fights down a
laugh. He has a feeling they'll get on just fine.

Sirius clears his throat. “While this is all quite fascinating,” he drawls, “I have much more exciting
news.” Lily raises an eyebrow.

“Really," she says. "More exciting than my son time-travelling from the future? Please, Sirius,
enlighten us.”

Sirius takes this in stride and leans forward intently, elbows on his knees. “Well, I was on my way
to Potions, minding my very own business, and you’ll never believe what I saw.”

Remus glances up from his book. “What did you see, Sirius?” he asks flatly. Sirius is wholly
unfazed by the lack of reaction, keeping with the same level of energy that he had before.

“I saw our very own Peter Pettigrew and the lovely Alice Cooper... snogging!” Sirius takes in the
shocked expressions of the marauders, looking extremely pleased with himself.

Remus blinks, startled. “Peter? Our Peter,” he clarifies. Sirius nods enthusiastically.

Lily narrows her eyes in disbelief. “Peter’s scared of his own shadow, Sirius." The group lets out a
murmur of agreement, and she continues, gaining steam. "And he’s been pining away for Alice
since third year, without ever doing anything about it. Are you having us on?”

Sirius crosses his heart. “I swear it. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.
I reckon she made the move, not him.”

James laughs incredulously. “Bloody hell! Good for him, then.” A chorus of cheers go up around
the room.

Harry, on the other hand, is shocked for an entirely different reason. It’s been a few years since
he’s thought about Peter Pettigrew, but the memories come flooding back. The disheveled,
disgusting man that cowered on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, the man that betrayed his parents
and left them to die. The man that had been best friends with the Marauders, a certified member of
the club.

Glancing over at him, Lily furrows her brow in concern. “You alright there, Harry? You look a bit
peaky.”

Harry shrugs it off, forcing a smile. “Just tired, that’s all.” Lily nods, but doesn't look quite
convinced.

Harry’s honestly not sure how he’ll react when he sees Pettigrew in person. It’s hard to think of
him as a young man, a man that could have been friends with James and Lily. Harry pictures
someone a bit like Malfoy, surprisingly. Someone that had the potential to be a good person, but
was pushed to make the wrong choices.

…The wrong choices.

Harry’s mind races.

With a rush of adrenaline, he wonders if he can somehow change it. Change everything.

Maybe if he could just talk to Peter... But he’s not quite sure about the logistics of time travel, and
what would happen if he tried to change something so monumental?

Of course he wants to stop his parents from dying, but then what would happen to his life in the
future? Would it disappear? Would he even care if it did? But he would miss Hermoine, and Ron,
certainly— and all his other friends. Theoretically, though... could he pull it off? Harry has half a
mind to ask Dumbledore about it, but he has a feeling it would only leave him with more questions
than answers. Besides, Dumbledore was busy locating the time-turner, anyways. Maybe he could
talk to Malfoy about it. After all, they were in the same boat.

James's voice shakes him from his epiphany. “Harry, go grab your friend. Or, acquaintance?
Whatever he is. We’ll be at the Quidditch pitch in ten minutes.” Harry nods back at James, who’s
already grabbing his school bag and slinging it over his shoulder. The remaining marauders follow
along behind him, all with varying degrees of reluctance.

Harry waits only a few seconds before heading off to find Malfoy. He has some things they need to
talk about, anyways.

***

“Potter, are you crazy?”

Malfoy’s staring at him with wide eyes, looking like Harry had just suggested that they go murder
babies for sport, or something.

Harry rolls his eyes, unfazed. He has bigger things to worry about than Malfoy's opinion of him.
"Probably. But what else is new?"

“Potter, we cannot prevent your parents’ death. I’m sorry,” Malfoy continues, and actually looks it,
“but imagine the consequences that would have. You have no idea what would happen!”

Harry sighs. Malfoy has a point, but— “Neither do you,” he says. “Besides, are you even happy
with the way things turned out? Do you really want to go back to how it was, if there’s a chance we
could make it better?”

It may be an underhanded move, but Harry knows for a fact that Malfoy isn’t happy with his life at
the moment. How could he be? His father is rotting away in Azkaban, and his mother is,
presumably, rotting away in Malfoy Manor. Harry hates to think of Narcissa like that— she did,
after all, play a huge part in saving Harry’s life— but Harry had heard the rumors.

Narcissa wasn’t doing well after the war, and there were whispers of her being transferred to the
Janus Thickey Ward. Harry hoped, for her sake, that she overcame her fugue state, but even he
could see how much it had worn on Malfoy. In the few times that Harry had seen Malfoy after the
war, he looked quite like a ghost, pale and worn out. He was exhausted all the time, and didn't
seem to be eating enough. He looked, quite frankly, like Harry had during his seventh year. Not
good, to say the least.

Malfoy looks torn, and Harry continues, hopeful in his recruitment efforts. “Malfoy, I know your
life has been hard. So has mine. But what if we could make it better? What if we could prevent all
the deaths, all the war?” Harry wrinkles his nose. Merlin, he sounds like a walking advertisement.
Maybe Malfoy will go for it, though. Harry looks at him hopefully, but he seems to still be
avoiding his eyes.

After a few moments, Malfoy pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “I’m going to regret this,” he
mutters.

That sounds like a ringing endorsement if Harry's ever heard one. He brightens, letting out a silly
little cheer. "You won't, I swear," he says excitedly.

Malfoy huffs in agitation, but seems to have accepted his decision. “Alright, you loon. I’m in.
What’s the plan?” Harry takes a moment to celebrate internally. He’s never been allies with Malfoy
before, but there’s a time for everything, he supposes. He’s mostly just glad he doesn’t have to try
and fix the future by himself.

“Honestly, I didn’t think I’d get this far,” Harry admits. Malfoy snorts out a laugh, shaking his
head.

“Of course you didn’t. I’m not even surprised.”

“Git,” Harry says, no heat behind it. “I’ll figure something out, alright? Meet me at the top of the
astronomy tower tonight and we can brainstorm.” Neither of them mention what happened the last
time they were in the astronomy tower together. A hint of solemnity enters Malfoy’s expression.

“Alright,” he says softly. They stand in silence for a moment. “Well, if that’s all, Potter, I think I’ll
turn in.” Malfoy goes to shut the door to the dungeons, and Harry abruptly remembers why he
came to see him in the first place.

“Malfoy, wait,” Harry rushes out, grabbing his sleeve, “How would you feel about a late night
game of Quidditch?” Malfoy, for a moment, only stares at Harry’s fingers grabbing his robe. Harry,
suddenly embarrassed, drops his hand. He clears his throat. “Well?”

Malfoy looks at him for a moment, a glint in the pale grey of his eyes. He swallows. “All right,” he
says quietly. “I’ll grab a broom.”

***

Harry hasn’t felt this free in years. The wind tousles through his hair, and he and Malfoy are neck
and neck on the pitch.

“Go, Harry!” James shouts from above them. Harry flushes with the praise. It’s been a while since
he played, what with the war and all, but the thrill of flying feels just the same. Malfoy also looks
happier than Harry’s seen him in quite a while, grinning widely as he tilts his broom forward to
increase his speed. He looks quite attractive, actually, though Harry shakes off that thought as soon
as it comes. Where did that even come from? He must be quite repressed romantically, if he's
finding Malfoy attractive.

Malfoy glances over at him, his white-blonde hair falling in his eyes a bit. “Scared, Potter?” His
tone is teasing, though, none of his former bite to it.

In Harry’s peripheral vision, he can see the snitch just within reach of his fingertips. He can tell by
Malfoy's relaxed posture that he hasn't spotted it yet. Harry smirks in preemptive triumph. “In your
dreams, Malfoy.”

In a sudden rush of mad confidence, Harry playfully winks at Malfoy. They’re... somewhat
friendly now, aren’t they? Sort of? And after all, what’s a bit of healthy competition between
friends (allies? acquaintances?).

Malfoy, however, startles, wavering on his broom before attempting to regain his balance. Harry
takes advantage of the moment and closes the last few inches between him and the snitch, holding
it up victoriously.

“Ha! One hundred and fifty points to Gryffindor!” James and Sirius grin down at him, and Harry
smiles back. Draco blinks at him, seemingly at a loss for words.

Finally, he says, “Potter, you can’t name your team Gryffindor when everyone on this field is in
Gryffindor, excluding me.” He looks up pointedly at his teammates, Remus and Lily, who just
shrug in return, wholly unbothered. Malfoy glances back at Harry, flustered. “You cheated,
anyways. I thought Gryffindors were above that sort of thing.”

Harry furrows his brow. How did he cheat? Malfoy was the one getting distracted in mid-air for no
reason and nearly falling off his broom. “Says who? And besides, I didn’t cheat. We were just
having a conversation.”

Malfoy seems frustrated, although Harry isn’t quite sure why. Just a sore loser, he supposes.
Malfoy did always have a wild competitive streak. “You—” Malfoy cuts himself off, rubbing at his
temple. “Fine. Good job, Potter. Well played.”

Harry revels in the familiar feeling of besting Malfoy. It's quite nice, especially in a non-life-
threatening situation. He decides to follow in Malfoy's footsteps and return the compliment. “You
too. You’re actually quite good, when you’re not focused on cheating and trying to knock me off
my broom.”

It was true, surprisingly. If the war hadn't been on, Malfoy could have had quite a future in
Quidditch. Harry feels a sharp, startling pang of sympathy, and focuses on brushing it off. He can’t
be thinking about that right now, he reminds himself. He’s having a good time. He’s playing
Quidditch, with the marauders... and Malfoy. And, against all odds, he’s having fun.

“That was once," Malfoy argues. "But— thanks, anyways.” There’s a bit of color in his cheeks,
and Harry wonders if he’s catching a cold. It is a bit drafty outside, and Malfoy left his scarf on the
bleachers. Harry wonders if it would be too odd to fly over and grab it for him. Probably. It didn't
seem like a very allies-slash-aquaintances-slash-former-enemies thing to do. He doesn’t really
think they’re at that stage yet, anyways.

“Great job, Harry!” James calls, flying over to meet them. He holds his hand out for a high-five,
which Harry doesn’t hesitate in meeting. “You take after your old man, huh? Good looking and
talented.”

Sirius and Remus fly in right behind him. “James, you’re embarrassing yourself,” Sirius says,
rolling his eyes. “Also, please don’t call yourself his ‘old man’ when you’re both the same age. It’s
just weird,” he finishes, shuddering. Sirius looks over to Harry. “That was fantastic, though. Best
game I’ve played in a long time.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s nothing, really. And I’m a little rusty, anyways.”

Looking over at the conversation, Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “Potter, you really have to stop being
so modest. It makes you look like a Hufflepuff.” He looks back at Sirius and James, a hint of a
smile on his face. Harry stares at it for far longer than he should, caught completely off guard by
the rare sign of happiness on Malfoy’s usually-solemn face.

“Harry made the team his first year. Youngest player in a century! And honestly, he was the main
reason why we never won a game against Gryffindor in four years. He was the best player on that
team by far. They wouldn't have been anything without him.” Malfoy seems to realize he said this
with a bit too much enthusiasm, and awkwardly rubs the back of his neck.

“Er, not that I was paying attention, or anything. I just noticed because I had to come up with
opposing Quidditch strategies, and all that. As part of the Slytherin team, that is.” He stumbles
over his words a bit, looking distinctly caught out.

Harry watches him, amused. Apparently, Malfoy had no qualms about complimenting his ally-
slash-aquaintance-slash-former-enemy. Harry would have to take notes.

“You never struck me as a fan, Malfoy. I had no idea you paid such close attention to my
Quidditch career.” Harry feels the corner of his mouth twitch up. Malfoy's pale skin is flushed
pink. He looks, quite possibly, the most embarrassed Harry’s ever seen him. Excluding, maybe, the
time he was turned into a ferret.

“I don’t,” Malfoy grumbles.

James turns to him. “You’re quite good yourself, mate. Draco, was it?” Malfoy nods. “You’ve got
great speed on the pitch. If you shaped up a bit, you’d be neck-and-neck with Harry.” James
considers him for a bit. “You know what, Draco, you’re not half bad, for a Slytherin.”

Malfoy seems to choke on thin air. “I— um, thanks,” he mumbles, turning even redder, though
Harry hadn't known that was possible. James reaches out to shake his hand, and Malfoy meets it
hesitantly.

“No problem, mate. Any friend of Harry’s is a friend of mine,” James says easily. Malfoy raises an
eyebrow, but doesn’t deny the statement. When James turns around to talk to Sirius, Malfoy meets
Harry’s eye.

“We’re friends now, are we?” He murmurs lowly. He obviously means it as a joke, but Harry stops
to think about it. Friends with Malfoy? There had been a time where that was laughable,
impossible. But now... well, it didn't seem so ludicrous. Him and Malfoy were stuck in the past
together for the foreseeable future. They were working together on a plan to change the past. Did
Harry really want to spend all that time being enemies? He thinks it over, and the decision is, for
once, an easy one.

“Why not?” Harry says.

Malfoy blinks at him. Then blinks again.

“Why not— Potter, I could think of a thousand reasons why not. You really want to be friends with
me? After everything?” Malfoy looks confused, but also— hopeful? Harry opens his mouth to
 reply, but stops when he sees Remus looking back at them curiously. Shit. Do werewolves have
enhanced hearing? Harry can’t remember. He'll have to watch what he says around him.

Harry’s not sure why, exactly, but he doesn’t quite want the Marauders to know about Malfoy’s
past. It feels almost like a second chance, for Malfoy— getting to start over, at least for a little
while, in a place where no one knows him, save for his relation to Lucius. Harry doesn’t want to
take that away from him.

Harry decides to save his big speech on how Malfoy’s been a better person lately and how
everyone deserves a go at redemption for later. For now, he’ll just give him the condensed version
and hope that he can read in between the lines. “Look, Malfoy, we’ve been through a lot, yeah? But
it’s a new year." Harry takes a second to parse that over, and chuckles. "Literally. The past, and all
that. Honestly, I’d like to put our history behind us. Or... in front of us? I guess it hasn't happened
yet." He pauses, furrowing his brow in thought. "That's confusing, innit?"

Malfoy doesn't respond, and mostly just seems a little lost. Like he can't quite believe what's
happening is real.

Harry sighs, looking Malfoy up and down. He seems so much less intimidating than he once had.
Just... small. Scared. Harry's not sure how he feels about it.

"So yes, I’d like to be friends. That is, if you want to as well.”

Malfoy still looks confused, so Harry lowers his voice, keeping a wary eye on Remus until he
drifts out of sight. “We can talk it out in the astronomy tower later, yeah?”

Malfoy swallows roughly, then meets Harry’s eye. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he says finally.
“Friends?” He holds out a hand for Harry to shake, and Harry does his best to politely ignore the
fact that Malfoy’s fingers are trembling. He reaches out and grasps Malfoy’s hand.

“Friends.”

They shake on it.

Chapter End Notes

Draco’s crush on Harry never fails to make me melt inside. Harry’s getting there, just
much more slowly. I hope you liked it! I hope you guys don’t think I made them
become friends too quickly, but I promise that they’ll have a proper talk in the next
chapter. Wolfstar is coming up as well, so look forward to that!

-H
 Chapter 3
Chapter Summary

a midnight conversation, and some amortentia brewing.

Chapter Notes

Sorry this chapter took so long! Finals are coming up and I am stressed, to say the
least. Only two more weeks in the semester, so there should be some updates after that
:) Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry tries to keep his breathing in check as he sneaks out to the astronomy tower. He’s not sure
why, exactly, but he’s nervous to meet Malfoy. It feels like the two of them are standing on the
edge of something precarious, a new shift in the universe. The butterfly effect that results from
Potter and Malfoy, lifelong enemies turned tentative friends. Well, if Malfoy even wants to be
friends, that is. He did say he would be willing, but Harry remembers the sneers and taunts that
followed him all throughout Hogwarts.

He firmly reminds himself that Malfoy’s not like that anymore. He thinks.

Quite possibly, if Harry stops and considers it, Malfoy was never really like that, and it was just a
shoddily-constructed facade. Many things about him were.

Harry hears footsteps farther down the corridor and hurriedly pulls his invisibility cloak tighter
around his shoulders. He had felt slightly guilty taking the cloak from his dad’s trunk, but
technically, it was Harry’s anyways. Just not in this present time. Besides, the idea of getting
caught by a slightly younger, more mobile Filch has Harry a good bit nervous about sneaking
around at night. He’ll return the cloak to James' trunk when he gets back— he’ll never even know
it was gone.

It’s funny, a bit. Harry has fought dementors, death eaters, and bloody Voldemort, multiple times,
yet he’s shaking with nerves as he walks down the corridor. It may have to do with the fact that
this was not just any walk— he was going to meet Malfoy, his former rival, somewhere they had
both witnessed Dumbledore’s death. The astronomy tower held no good memories for Harry, but it
was really the only place he could think to meet Malfoy, other than the room of requirement. And
since that room arguably held even worse memories for Malfoy, Harry didn’t want to propose it as
an option.

When he reaches the tower, Malfoy’s already there. The tip of his wand is lit up in a faint lumos,
and his blue-grey eyes are staring blankly out the window of the tower.

“Hey,” Harry says softly, approaching Malfoy like he would a spooked horse. Malfoy looks up
sharply at his presence, his face settling into something more attentive. Harry wonders faintly if
it’s just a mask, if Malfoy is still off somewhere in his head that Harry can’t follow.
Malfoy rubs at his eyes, then exhales forcefully. “Hi,” he returns, picking at a loose thread on his
robes. “You said we should talk?”

Harry nods, carefully lowering himself to sit next to Malfoy. He clasps his hands in his lap, unsure
where else to put them. Malfoy’s hands are in sporadic motion, betraying how nervous he actually
is. Harry wishes that Malfoy wouldn’t feel so jittery around him, but given their history, he doesn’t
blame him. Which reminds him—

"Hey, is it okay if we drop the last names?"

Malfoy blinks at him in surprise. "I— really?"

Harry looks back at him steadily. "Yes, really. We've travelled in time together, for Merlin's sake.
And if we're to be friends, I'd rather you not call me Potter."

Malfoy— no, Draco— takes a deep, shaky breath. It calms Harry, a bit, to see him like this. At
Hogwarts, Draco had so often seemed cool and collected, a taunting presence above such mundane
things as worry. It’s good to know that he’s human, too.

Draco looks at him, for real this time. "Alright, Harry," he says softly. Harry's brain reboots at the
sound of his name from Draco's tongue, and his breath gives a funny little stutter. He's just not used
to it, he supposes.

There's an odd silence. Harry should really say something. Well, he knows what he wants to say.
He's been rehearsing it all night. He's just not sure he can get it out. Funny, that he's supposed to be
the brave one.

Here goes nothing.

“Draco, I’m sorry. I hope you know that.”

Draco’s hands abruptly still and his head jerks up. “You’re sorry? For what?”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Harry replies, “For hexing you. Sixth year,” he adds on,
although he hardly feels the need to clarify. They both know exactly what he’s talking about. Harry
still has nightmares about it sometimes, Draco bleeding out on the bathroom floor. He'll never
forget it.

Draco hunches his shoulders and turns away from Harry. “I was the one who tried to Crucio you
for having the nerve to walk in on me while I was crying.” Draco squeezes his eyes shut, and
Harry feels a strong, strange urge to comfort him. He’s not sure if Draco would want that, though.
Probably not.

"That's not the reason you wanted to Crucio me," Harry says quietly. They both know it's true, but
Draco says nothing.

Feeling an overwhelming need to keep the conversation going, Harry rushes out, “Still. I didn’t
even know what that spell did. It was idiotic of me to use it. It was written in an old textbook with
the words for enemies, and for some reason I thought that was good enough. I could have killed
you, Draco.” Harry sneaks a glance over at Draco, who’s back to studiously avoiding his eyes.
Harry shifts his gaze and looks out at the stars instead. To shake the uncomfortable atmosphere,
Harry would have to take the first step— god knows Draco wasn't going to.

Harry lets the words he rehearsed flow out of his mouth, trying to not think about it too much.
“You’re not my enemy, Draco. You never really were. That spot was reserved for Voldemort.”
Although he feels Draco's eyes on him, he keeps his gaze straight ahead. Looks at the night sky,
and wonders where the Draco constellation is. Harry’s never been one for astronomy— it all looks
the same to him.

“Listen, you were a prick. You made mistakes. There’s no denying that. But the war’s over, and
people change. You’ve changed. I’ve noticed.” Finally, he chances a glance over at Draco, whose
eyes are suspiciously misty. Harry doesn’t point it out. Instead, he keeps going, gaining a bit of
momentum.

“You saved my life, when you refused to identify me. And, I don’t know if she ever told you, but
your mother did the same, the day of the final battle. You could have let me die, but you didn’t.”

Draco’s jaw clenches. “It wasn't because I cared about you, or anything. I knew you were the only
hope of defeating him.” Despite the harsh words, Harry still notices that something rings a bit false
in the statement. That's fine, though— if Draco needs to feign indifference as a defense mechanism,
Harry won’t stop him. He watches with interest as Draco's fingers fiddle with the buttons of his
cloak.

"You still did it," Harry says, instead of any of the millions of thoughts running through his head.

“Harry. You can’t possibly say that excuses everything I’ve done. I could apologize for lifetimes,
and it still wouldn’t matter.” Draco hesitates, then finally looks up to meet Harry’s eye. “But I am
sorry. For all of it. I know it’s not enough, but I am.”

Harry lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. “Thank you, Draco. But I’ve already
forgiven you.” As he says the words, he feels the truth of them settle. Harry considers this for a
second, and amends his statement. “Of course, you still need to apologize to Hermione. And Ron.”

Draco’s nose wrinkles at the mention of Ron, and Harry fights off a laugh. He has a feeling that
Draco and Ron will never quite get along, even after apologies are made.

Harry hesitates, realizing something.

"If we ever... see them again, that is." Draco softens, looking a bit sorry for him. Squaring his
shoulders, Harry firmly dismisses the thought and powers onwards.

“Draco, you need to forgive yourself. The whole war didn’t rest on your shoulders. If it hadn’t been
you, they would have found someone else. Another Slytherin with Death Eater parents.” Draco
flinches.

Okay, maybe Harry should have workshopped that line a little more. In his defense, he had been a
bit rushed for time. He bites his lip thoughtfully. “I’m not saying it excuses what you did. I’m not
saying that I would have done the same thing. But I am saying that I understand why you did it. I
can understand the fear for your life, for your parents’ lives.”

Draco says nothing. Eventually, he lets out a weary sigh, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re a
far better person than this world deserves, you know that?”

Harry blinks at him, unsure how to respond. “Er, thanks?”

Draco chuckles lightly. “You’re welcome.” He regards Harry for a second, seemingly searching for
something in his face. Harry has no idea what it is, so he holds still and tries not to squirm too
much under Draco’s gaze. After a moment, Draco seems to give up.

“I don’t know if I can ever make up for what I’ve done, Harry,” he says quietly, “but maybe I can
start by helping you. What’s your plan to change the past?”

Harry startles, having nearly forgotten that that was his reason for wanting to talk to Draco in the
first place.

Although Harry had planned to come up with something earlier in the day, the idea had entirely
slipped his mind. His only plan currently is a half-baked idea of talking some sense into Peter
Pettigrew. After that, Harry has no idea what he’ll do. Fight Voldemort a second time? He’s not
particularly looking forward to it, but he’ll do it if it means his parents will live.

Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Er...”

“There’s still no plan, is there,” Draco says.

“There’s... sort of a plan?” Harry fumbles. “One step. Maybe.”

Draco rubs at his temples. “One bloody step,” he groans, exasperated. He looks back up at Harry.
“Please tell me you at least thought this through.”

Harry stares blankly back at him. Honestly, he hadn’t thought much about it at all, other than the
general save my parents part.

“Why am I even asking? Of course you didn’t," Draco says, like this is obvious. "It’s you. Bloody
fucking Gryffindors."

Harry takes slight offense to that, but, well— Draco’s not exactly wrong.

“Harry, we don’t even know what will happen from changing the past. Does it create a second
reality? Does it erase our pasts? Will we... I don’t know, rip a bloody hole in the fabric of time?”
Draco seems to get more agitated as he speaks. He notices Harry looking at him incredulously, and
seems to take a moment to gather his composure again.

“All I’m saying,” he continues, more calm, “is that we’re in uncharted territory. We have to be
careful. We have to have a plan,” he says, looking meaningfully at Harry. Harry rubs the back of
his neck, slightly abashed.

“Well, that’s what I have you for?” he tries. Draco looks at him flatly.

“I am not doing all the work, Harry.”

Harry shrugs. “What about some of it? I can try my best, but I’m rubbish at planning, really. Just
tell me if I need to fight someone or, I don’t know, do a spell or something.” He very pointedly
doesn’t mention the specific someone that he would be fighting in this scenario.

Draco sighs. “This is what I signed up for, I suppose,” he mutters. “You said you had a first step?”
he asks Harry. “Just get me that, and I’ll work on the rest.”

Harry nods. That, he can do. “Thanks, Draco,” he says, and finds that he really means it. He smiles.
“I’m glad we’re friends.”

Draco looks surprised for a split second, but his expression morphs into a tentative smile. “I am
too." He hesitates. "Harry.” For a second, their eyes meet, and Harry’s stomach feels strangely
warm. Maybe he’s coming down with something? He should go to Madam Pomphrey and ask her.
Was she even here? Harry had to admit, he had no idea how old she was, or how long she'd been at
Hogwarts.
After a second, Draco’s eyes cut away, and he clears his throat. “So, about the plan...”

***

All things considered, Draco’s planning skills are much better than Harry’s were. However, Draco
had said that, while “idiotic Hufflepuff bollocks,” Harry’s plan to talk to Peter wasn’t entirely a
bad one. Meanwhile, Draco planned to research everything he could about Voldemort’s rise to
power and find out what he was doing at this specific moment in time. Harry had thought that was
quite... nice of Draco, given how obviously terrified he was of Voldemort, but Draco had just
shrugged it off.

Monday morning finds Draco in the library and Harry off to his first joint Gryffindor-Ravenclaw
potions class. Peter would be joining them for the lesson, and Harry’s hoping he can catch him
after class and talk to him. There’s only a slight problem, in that Harry has no bloody idea what
he’s going to say. He can’t exactly just come out with, ‘hey, Peter, don’t betray my parents,
please,’ so the jury’s still out on that one. He has about an hour to figure it out, though.

James jostles Harry’s shoulder as they walk, and Harry looks up at him. Even after a few days, it’s
still startling to see someone so similar to himself, and even more startling when he remembers that
person is his dad.

“What’s up, Harry? Head in the clouds today?”

Harry shrugs. “Just not looking forward to potions, I guess. It’s not my best subject.”

James nods in enthusiastic agreement. “I feel you on that, mate. Say, is Slughorn still teaching it
when you’re from? He must be ancient.”

Harry hums distractedly, still thinking about his impending conversation with Peter. “He came
back for one year, but it was mostly Snape. And he hated me, really, so it was never my favorite
class.” Harry keeps walking for a few seconds before he realizes everyone else has stopped.

Stumbling to a halt, Harry looks back at the group, all of whom are slack-jawed in astonishment.
Harry racks his brain, trying to remember what he said that had caused such a weird reaction. Wait.
Fuck. For a second, he had actually somehow forgotten about the Marauder’s feud with Snape.

“Severus Snape was your potions teacher?” Sirius asks incredulously. Harry fidgets, suddenly
feeling very uncomfortable.

“Er, yes. Sorry, I almost forgot about your whole... thing with him,” Harry says awkwardly,
waving his hand in a meaningless gesture to try and represent the thing in question.

James and Sirius blink at him uncomprehendingly. After a second, James clears his throat. “He
didn’t treat you well, you said?” He sounds angry, and Harry quickly tries to think of a response
that won’t end in James trying to find Snape and beat him up right there and then.

“Well. Um. Sort of? It’s just that he doesn’t like you, and so he didn’t like me either. But he
wasn’t, like, the worst teacher in the world or anything. I guess.”

Nailed it.
James clenches his jaw, and Lily reaches over to rub his shoulder soothingly. She looks troubled, a
furrow working its way between her brows. “Severus became a potions teacher?” she asks softly,
almost to herself. “But he wanted so much more than—” She looks back at Harry. “Do you know
why?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, sorry.”

James yanks his shoulder out of Lily’s grasp. “Why do you care?” he mutters angrily. “It’s not like
you two are still friends, or anything.”

Lily’s face does something complicated. “I know that,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t
still worry about him.” She looks away for a second. “I don’t think he’s on a good path right now,”
she admits.

Harry struggles to stay quiet. Snape had been decent, in the end, but Harry’s feelings about him are
still mixed enough that he doesn’t feel like he should have a say in the matter.

He’s almost relieved when they reach the door to the Potions classroom. Remus, who Harry had
almost forgotten was there, clears his throat. “Harry, you can partner with me,” he says quickly.
“James and Sirius always work together, and Lily was going to partner with her friend Marlena.”
Harry nods.

“Hey, what about Pete?” says Lily.

“He’s walking over with Alice; they’ll probably partner together, too,” Remus replies.

It’s almost jarring to see Slughorn at the front of the classroom. He’s a bit younger, but
overwhelmingly similar. He smiles at Harry as he walks in. “Ah, Mr. Potter. I was told you’d be
joining us. Are you partnering with Mr. Lupin today?” Harry nods, smiling weakly. Slughorn
beams back at him.

“Excellent, excellent. Well, I’m sure you’ll be every bit as good as your mother. And your friend,
too, from Slytherin? I had him in class this morning, he was just wonderful. Brewed the best
Amortentia I had ever seen, he did.”

Fuck. Of course he did. Out of everything he had going for him, Draco had always been bloody
incredible at potions.

Harry registers the rest of Slughorn's words, then, and his eyebrows raise slightly. “We’re brewing
Amortentia today, professor?” It’ll certainly be an interesting lesson. Harry thinks back to the last
time he had smelled Amortentia— treacle tart, broomstick wood, and Ginny's perfume. He
wonders what he’ll smell today. He doubts Ginny will still be included— not that he doesn’t love
her like a sister (maybe that’s a strange comparison for someone he’s kissed... a good friend,
maybe?), but. Well. Harry abandons that line of thought before it depresses him too much.

Slughorn nods heartily, his numerous neck rolls jiggling with the movement. “Indeed we are, my
boy. Now, go ahead and take your seat. We’ll be starting soon.”

Harry turns to Remus as they take their seats. “I hope you’re decent at Potions, because I’m
rubbish at them. I only did okay one year because I cheated, and I can’t do that now.”

Remus looks intrigued, turning to Harry as he sets up the materials for their potion. “You cheated?
How?”

Harry rubs the back of his neck. “I had Snape’s old textbook. He wrote tons of extra instructions
and things that weren’t in the book. It was brilliant, really.” Except for the part that had almost
gotten Draco killed, that is. That had been far from brilliant.

Remus hums lightly, seemingly amused. “I've always wondered how he was so good at Potions.
But don’t worry, Harry, I’m okay at them.” He laughs, a bit self-deprecatingly. “Nowhere near
Snape’s level, but good enough to brew a decent Amortentia.”

And, as Harry found out, he really was. Remus stirred the contents of their cauldron with a level of
care and dedication that Harry could only dream of. He’d always thought he was rubbish at potions
mainly because he didn’t have the patience for it. Who wanted to sit there for an hour counting
counterclockwise wand stirs? Not Harry, that’s for sure. He’d much rather be on a broom or in a
classroom practicing spells.

As it went, Harry mostly resigned himself to grabbing the proper ingredients and handing them to
Remus. He was much too distracted for anything else, as he kept glancing over at Peter on the
other side of the room. Peter was much more attractive as a young man than he had been as an
adult. He was sitting with a pretty girl, presumably Alice Cooper (she looked familiar, yet Harry
couldn't possibly place her), and laughing with her while they brewed their potion. He looked
happy, if slightly timid. Harry had no idea how he was supposed to go up to him after class and
yell at him for something he hadn’t even done yet. He would have to take a gentler approach, he
supposed.

Remus stiffens beside him, and Harry glances over. Remus’s nose is lowered to the cauldron, and
he looks somewhat like he may faint. Harry looks on in confusion. Remus had told him, once, that
when he smelled Amortentia, he got the scents of new parchment, quill ink, and chocolate. Harry
has no idea what he could be smelling that caused such a reaction.

“Is the potion done, then?” Harry asks.

Remus nods weakly. “Um. Yeah, I think.”

Harry stares at him. “... And?” he prompts.

Remus rubs at his temple. “New parchment, quill ink, and chocolate. And—” he quickly cuts off.
“Nothing. That was it.” Remus keeps glancing over to the other side of the room, and Harry
follows his gaze over to the table where James and Sirius are sitting. They’re laughing
uproariously, their potion looking for all the world like it's on the brink of an explosion. Harry
looks back at Remus. He’s gazing at them— no, at Sirius— with a wistful look in his eye. He
glances back at Harry and quickly turns his head away, embarrassed to be caught out. Harry thinks
back to the relationship Remus and Sirius had as adults, and it clicks into place. Ohh. It makes
sense, now that he thinks about it. He doesn’t know why he didn’t see it before.

“Sirius?” Harry asks quietly. Remus puts his head in his hands and shakes it miserably.

“Smells like bloody dog hair." He glances back at Harry then, realizing what he had said. The
Marauders hadn't told Harry about their animagus forms (and Remus's werewolf form, of course)
yet. It was quite funny, actually, watching them try to judge just how much Harry knew already,
tip-toeing around their secret with delicacy. As it was, they had seemingly settled on not telling
him unless he brought it up first.

"Um. Because Sirius... has a dog," Remus says slowly.

Harry hides a smile, attempting to look serious. "Right. His dog."

Remus narrows his eyes at him. "Not that I'm in love with his dog. That would be... strange."

Harry nods gravely. "Of course." His mouth twitches in the start of a laugh, and he stubbornly tugs
it back down.

Remus surveys him for a moment before returning to his self-berating, apparently satisfied in the
idea that Harry didn't suspect anything amiss. "I'm in love with him, obviously. I’m fucking
pathetic,” he mumbles. Harry, unsure what to do, rubs at his shoulder uselessly.

“You’re not pathetic,” he says. “You’re the best teacher I’ve ever had. And a good friend.” Harry
pauses. "I mean, I know we don't know each other very well yet, but you're a good friend to Sirius,
and James, and Lily." He swallows, glancing back over to Peter Pettigrew, grinning as he stirred
his amortentia with his girlfriend... bloody hell, was that Alice Longbottom? Well, at least Harry
knew where he recognized her from. "And Peter," he adds reluctantly, feeling quite like he's
swallowed a lemon. "And me. In my proper time," he finishes quietly.

Remus looks up at him, eyes soft. “Thanks, Harry. You know, when you said you were from the
future, I wanted to ask, if maybe one day...” he looks back at Sirius and sighs. “Well, probably not.
He’s straight as they come, you know? Always chasing after girls. Sometimes I feel like he doesn’t
even see me. Romantically, I mean.”

Harry glances over at Sirius. He’s leaning down to take a sniff of his potion, and as he does, his
back stiffens. He looks back at their table quickly, then looks away. Harry raises his eyebrows.
Interesting. “Maybe don’t count him out so quickly,” he says to Remus.

Remus stares at Sirius, confused. “Maybe,” he echoes quietly. After a second, he straightens back
up. “Anyways, you go ahead.”

Harry already knows what he’ll smell. He leans down to smell the potion, and there it is— treacle
tart, wood from his broomstick, and— what was that? Harry tries to lean closer to catch the new
smell, and almost dips his nose in the potion. The scent is sweet, and clean. Harry has no idea what
it is. He leans back up, and Remus looks at him expectantly.

“Well?”

Harry bites his lip. “Treacle tart and broomstick wood, but there’s a new smell in there. I can’t tell
what it is.”

Remus grins. “Someone special in your life, Harry?” he teases.

Absurdly, Harry thinks of Draco. He shakes his head to clear it. Why would he be thinking of
Draco? He must just be preoccupied with their conversation from the other night.

“Not really,” he says, shrugging. He hesitates. "...Not anymore.”

"Oh, I'm sorry," Remus replies, looking guilty. "You want to talk about it?" he ventures hesitantly.

Harry sighs. "Not much to talk about," he says honestly. "Wasn't a healthy relationship for either of
us, really. We were both under a lot of pressure."

Remus nods understandingly, though there's no way he could possibly understand. Harry rolls his
shoulders back, shooting him a tense smile. "We're better as friends, anyways. It's been over for a
long time."

"Ah. That's good, then," Remus murmurs. "Means there's space in your life for someone new."
 Harry raises an eyebrow, and laughs, a bit disbelievingly. "What, while I'm stuck here in the past?
Not sure that's the best idea, mate." Oddly enough, Remus just shrugs in return, a calculating look
in his eye.

Just then, a loud sound fills the room, and Harry nearly jumps out of his skin. James and Sirius’s
potion, unsurprisingly, has exploded.

Slughorn sighs. “Mr. Black, Mr. Potter, please stay after class and help me clean this up. Everyone
else is free to leave, but please bottle a small portion of your Amortentia and leave it on my desk
along with your name. The makers of the best potion will receive five house points each!”

Harry and Remus look at each other, then move to bottle up their potion. They pass James and
Sirius on the way out, each boy covered in pink slime. Harry fights back a laugh, while Remus lets
his loose loudly. Sirius flips him off without looking, which Harry thinks is quite an impressive
feat, given the pink goop covering his eyes.

Harry spots Peter while leaving the classroom, hand in hand with Alice Cooper (Longbottom, how
looney was that), and his mood dampens immediately.

Time for a difficult conversation.

Chapter End Notes

Finally some wolfstar! I hope you guys liked this chapter, be sure to let me know in
the comments. As always, I really appreciate everyone who has shown their love of
this fic so far; it really inspires me to keep going. Love you guys! Good luck on finals
or midterms if you have them. :)

-H
 Chapter 4
Chapter Summary

stupid boys in love.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry catches a glimpse of blonde hair turning the corner and jogs to catch up. “Er, Peter?” he calls
hesitantly. Peter doesn’t turn around. Harry clears his throat, jogs a little closer, and tries again.
“Peter!”

Peter startles and turns around, eyes wide. He waves Alice off, pushing through the crowd of
students to make his way back to Harry. As he approaches, Harry has the sudden realization that
this is the first interaction they’ve had. Peter may not even know who he is, if James didn’t already
tell him. Blimey, what a first impression.

Harry rubs at the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Er, hi. I’m—”

Peter grins at him brightly. “I know who you are, mate. You’re,” he leans in and lowers his voice,
“from the future, right?” He looks impressed. Harry's not sure why he was making an effort to
whisper- him and Draco's presence at Hogwarts was no secret. It hadn't been advertised, perhaps,
but most people had found out through word of mouth alone. Harry supposed it made sense, for
rumors of time-travel to spread through the halls like wildfire.

“James told me all about it,” Peter continues enthusiastically. “Bloody incredible, if you ask me.”
His pleasant demeanor is a bit disarming, and Harry tries to not let his anger flag too much. He
would need it, to get through this conversation.

Harry blinks, and takes a deep breath. “Um. Right. Anyways, I need to talk to you.” He looks
around at the bustling hallway in dissatisfaction. “Alone.”

Peter raises his eyebrows knowingly. “Ohh. Is this about, you know, future stuff?” he whispers
loudly, making an exaggeratedly comical face.

Harry swallows hard and nods, not quite meeting Peter's eye. “Yeah. Future stuff.” He feels a bit
bad, having to dull Peter's excited mood, but this is Peter Pettigrew. He's certainly not as innocent
as he appears.

Peter searches around for a moment, then leads them off to an empty classroom. “This is the old
Arithmancy room,” he explains, “but it’s not being used right now. No one will bother us here.” He
takes a seat at an empty desk and looks up at Harry expectantly. His eyes hold no menace - just a
pure curiosity.

Harry tries to speak around the sudden lump in his throat. “Peter,” he starts haltingly, “I— I wanted
to talk to you. Because. Um.” He looks at Peter’s open, trusting face and blinks hard. He’s just a
boy. No older than Harry - maybe even younger. How is Harry supposed to do this? He can’t
blame this version of Peter for his parent’s death. He hadn't even done anything yet.
He steels himself, taking a deep breath. He can do this. He needs to do this. He’s fought
Voldemort, for Merlin’s sake, he can muster up enough courage to talk to a teenage boy. Even if
said teenage boy did betray his parents and get them killed.

In the space of Harry's hesitation, Peter's grown seemingly more concerned, picking up quickly on
Harry’s changing mood. He looks at Harry questioningly, signaling him to go on. Harry collects
his thoughts, and attempts to force a coherent sentence out of his mouth.

“Peter, I’m going to be honest with you," he says carefully. "You make— a really big mistake. In
the future." That was an understatement. Harry avoids Peter's eyes, instead looking to the ceiling
and counting the cobwebs as he breathes in and out.

"I’m having a hard time even talking to you right now, because I don’t think I’ve ever forgiven you
for it,” Harry admits finally. When he chances a look back to Peter's face, it's pale and drawn, but
Harry forces himself to keep going. He just needs to say his piece, and then he can move on.

He struggles to remember the last piece of his hastily-patched-together speech. “I know, though,
that you haven’t made that mistake yet. You’re just a kid. And you still have a chance to fix it.”
Harry looks at Peter, then, and moves to sit down in the seat next to him. He looks him in the eye,
and sees the remnants of the Peter Pettigrew he had known in the future. Harry sees the fear, and
the cowardice, and the self-hatred. But then again, he also sees hope. He sees a chance. The
possibility of change.

Surprisingly, Peter in that moment reminds him of Draco. Is this what it would have been like, if
Harry had talked Draco out of his mistakes? Of course, Draco hadn’t been indirectly responsible
for his parent’s deaths, but neither is this younger version of Peter Pettigrew. Harry can’t hold him
accountable for something he hasn’t yet done.

Harry clears his throat. “Peter, I know that you made that mistake because you were scared. But
you were sorted into Gryffindor for a reason. I’m going to level with you— something bad is
coming. And it’s coming fast. But please don’t pick the wrong side.” To Harry’s horror, he feels
tears building up in the corners of his eyes, and he rushes to wipe them away. He needs to seem
authoritative enough that Peter will take him seriously.

“Peter, I need you to promise me. No matter how scary things get, or how frightened you are, I
need you to make the right choice. Okay?” Harry’s voice cracks on the last word, and he flushes in
embarrassment. He looks back at Peter. “Peter, please tell me you understand. Please promise me.
This is so important, you have no idea.”

Harry’s begging at this point, but he’s desperate.

As he looks at Peter’s face, he sees something he didn’t expect. Understanding. Peter’s expression
is solemn.

Peter swallows hard. “You’re an orphan,” he croaks out, voice barely a whisper. “Aren’t you.” He
says it with bone-dead certainty, and Harry swears he can feel the temperature of the empty
classroom drop several degrees.

Harry’s not quite sure what to say. He doesn't see much use in denying it - Peter seems to be
convinced, and Harry's not sure he wants to lie, anyways. “How— how did you know?” he asks
quietly.

Peter looks off to the side, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m an orphan, too. And I recognize
it, you know? The signs.” Harry startles. He had never known that about Peter. He also hadn’t
realized that he was so easy to read.

To his horror, Peter starts crying openly, making small sniffling noises and rubbing at his
reddening nose. “Er. Please don’t cry,” Harry says awkwardly.

Peter raises his head, peering blearily up at Harry. “How? James and Lily are dead. Or, they— they
will be dead. Because of—” his eyes widen, realization dawning. “Because of me?” he says in
disbelief. “Because of something I did?”

Harry nods tightly in confirmation. “You didn’t kill them. You betrayed them. And it led to their
death,” he says firmly, not sugar-coating it. Peter hangs his head again, scrubbing angrily at his
face with the sleeve of his robe.

“How can you even stand to look at me?” he murmurs. Harry shrugs helplessly, and takes a
moment to think about it, trying to answer the question for himself as well.

“You haven’t done it yet. And I’m hoping that you won’t." And that's what it comes down to,
doesn't it? Hope. Hope that Peter can change, that there's more good in him than cowardice.

"Honestly, I don’t trust you," Harry says bluntly, and Peter nods in understanding. Harry softens a
bit. "But I have to hope that there’s good in you, Peter. There has to be, if you were friends with my
parents. They saw something in you, and I don't want to believe that it's gone.”

Peter wipes at his eyes. “Can I ask— how old were you? When it happened?” he asks quietly.

Harry swallows hard. “I was just a baby,” he says. “I never really knew them.” He hesitates,
wondering how much Peter should know. Eventually, he tacks on, "And they had me young, as
well, so this isn't too far off."

Peter lets out a choked sob, and Harry silently conjures a tissue for him. Peter takes it gratefully,
dabbing at his face and then crumpling the snotty tissue into the pocket of his robe. Harry's nose
wrinkles a bit in disgust, but doesn't say anything. He figures Peter's going through enough.

“I always knew I was a coward,” Peter says quietly. “But I can’t imagine betraying James and Lily.
They’re my friends, you know? James more so than Lily, but you get it,” he stammers. “Without
them, I would still be a loser. I mean, I still am, but I would be more of one. I used to get bullied
real bad, back in first year. James scared them off for me.” He looks back up at Harry with
renewed determination.

“Harry, I swear to you. I won’t do it. I swear on my life,” Peter says solemnly.

Harry nods, wary but somewhat relieved. “Good. Then we shouldn’t have a problem.” He has no
idea if he can trust Peter's word, but he'll keep an eye on him either way. At the very least, Peter at
least seems genuinely distressed by the news of his future actions.

Peter nods, eyes still wet.

Harry thinks it over for a moment, sizing him up. “Peter?”

"Yeah?"

Harry takes a deep breath. “I think you should give yourself more credit. Somewhere in there,
you’ve got more bravery than you think. Use it. Don’t become the man I knew.” He pauses,
remembering the future Peter Pettigrew. “Trust me, you don’t want to.”
Without looking back, Harry walks out of the classroom.

***

“Okay, so I know I said that I would break it to him gently. But I might have been a little- blunt,"
Harry admits.

Draco looks at him calculatingly, then smiles a bit. “Nice job, Harry. We might make a Slytherin
of you yet.”

Harry grins back. "You know, the hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, originally."

Eyes widening, Draco stares at Harry in horror. "No."

Harry raises an eyebrow in response, saying nothing.

Draco stares at him some more. "You're having me on," he says eventually, squinting at Harry as if
he's a particularly difficult puzzle. "Not very 'Golden Boy' of you, is it?" But his expression is
wary, as if even he doubts the certainty of his statement.

"I never liked that title," Harry gripes, taking a sip of his tea. He winces - much too hot. He's
probably burned his tongue. From the corner of his eye, he sees Draco snort, and he flips him off.
"But no, I'm not having you on," he continues. "I whispered 'Not Slytherin' over and over 'til it
caved and put me in Gryffindor."

"And that worked?" Draco says, surprised. Then his expression sours. "Of course it did. It's you."

Harry looks at him pointedly. "I don't get everything I want, you know."

Draco taps a quill against his notes in a steady rhythm, considering this. "I know," he says
eventually. There's a short silence, but Draco obviously has more to say, and Harry prods at him to
keep going.

"I can't imagine you in Slytherin," Draco says quietly. He squints at him. "Actually- maybe I can."
He shudders. "It's a scary thought, that."

Harry meets Draco's gaze, and takes a moment to consider it himself. Would him and Draco have
been friends, maybe, if they were in the same house? Harry's not sure. He honestly can't picture it.

Draco clears his throat. "Anyways, good work with Pettigrew."

Harry chuckles lightly. “You're impressed,” he says, "Admit it."

“You did an adequate job, I suppose."

"Right," Harry drawls, rolling his eyes. "Adequate."

It's nice to banter like this, Harry will admit - no real heat in it, nothing truly cruel or piercing, but
still carrying the frenzied excitement of their classic back-and-forth barbs. Harry likes it, oddly
enough.

Draco leans forward on his elbows a bit, meeting Harry's eyes. "You made him swear to an
unbreakable vow, right?” he asks, his face growing serious.

Harry pauses. “Um.” Oh, bollocks. That would have been a good idea.

“Harry.” Draco groans, rubbing at his forehead. “Please tell me you at least told him not to say
anything to his friends.”

Harry fidgets uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “It was more of an... unspoken understanding?” he
tries.

As if in physical pain from Harry's incompetency, Draco squeezes his eyes tightly shut. “I should
have known,” he grumbles.

“Hey, I never said I was the smart one,” Harry tries to joke, wilting a little bit.

Draco’s head snaps up, brows furrowed. “You’re plenty smart,” he says indignantly. “You just
don’t always apply yourself.”

Harry raises his brows. It’s not like Draco to give compliments so freely.

“Thanks,” he says sincerely, appreciating the rarity of Draco's unconcealed kindness. Harry's
already mentally re-working the next steps of his plan. “I’ll talk to him the next time I see him and
make him take the vow. But I’m sure he won’t mention anything to anyone. Even he’s not that
dumb.”

Draco looks unimpressed. “Harry, never underestimate the extent of a wizard’s stupidity.” He
sighs. “But I’m sure you’re right. He wouldn’t tell James or Lily about their own deaths.”

Relieved to be off the hook, at least for the moment, Harry hurries to move the conversation along.
“That's sorted, then. Great. So what did you find in the library?”

A glint appears in Draco's eye, and he sits a bit straighter in his seat, turning bodily towards Harry.
“The library was quite useless, actually. Mostly records on Tom Riddle as a student. Quidditch
rosters, and such.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “Then why do you look like you know something?”

Draco leans forward, a small smirk on his face. “Because I do. The Slytherin common room turned
out to be much more helpful than the library.”

Harry wants to smack himself for missing such an obvious source of information. Of course the
Slytherins would know about Voldemort.

Matching Draco's posture, Harry leans forward, giving him his full attention. “Was it your dad?”
he asks cautiously. He’s not sure quite how sore of a subject Lucius is right now. Draco hadn't
mentioned him much since he arrived, but Harry wasn't sure that they were on speaking terms -
before or after their journey into the past.

To his credit, though, Draco appears mostly unbothered, only given away by a slight clench of his
jaw. “No, he’s still pretending I don’t exist.” He says it calmly, but Harry still notices the way his
brow twitches at the statement. Draco takes a steadying breath, moving on quickly.

“Crabbe and Goyle’s parents were much more willing to talk. They were bragging about it, really.”
Draco looks a little sad at the mention of Crabbe, and Harry hesitantly reaches forward to place a
hand on his shoulder. They’re both silent for a moment, remembering the flames. The fall. Crabbe
had never been Harry’s favorite person, but he still understood how important he had been to
Draco.

After a second, Draco clears his throat, and Harry removes his hand, flushing. He probably
shouldn't have done that, but he stands by it regardless. If there's one thing Harry truly knows about
Draco, it's that he's bad at seeking comfort when he desperately needs it.

“Anyways," Draco mutters, a bit flushed himself, "The Death Eaters have already started up. As far
as I know, it’s very new. But they were talking about an older, powerful wizard who had ‘the right
ideas’ about pureblood culture.”

Harry nods slowly, absorbing that. “So it’s already happening, then,” he says quietly. “But it’s
early. We could still stop it.”

Draco looks up in alarm, catching on to the meaning in his words immediately. “You’re going to
fight him?” he asks, eyes wide. “Harry, that’s suicide. He’s in his prime. He’ll be stronger than he
ever was before.”

“I’m not saying that that’s the plan," Harry says quietly. "Maybe we could get McGonagall
involved, or the aurors. Or Dumbledore, if he ever comes back with the time turner.” He takes a
deep breath, steeling himself.

“But if that doesn’t work? Then yeah, I’ll do whatever I have to.” He meets Draco’s eyes. “Even if
it means facing him again.”

Draco looks at him with wide eyes, as if he's seeing him for the first time. Harry looks back, a little
confused. “Harry,” Draco says finally, “the hat was right to place you in Gryffindor."

"Oh," Harry manages, a bit choked. Draco holds up a finger.

"I wasn't done," he says tartly. Then, to Harry's surprise, he blushes, glaring at Harry all the while.
"I'm only going to say this once, okay?"

Harry nods fervently, hands innocently held up.

Draco deflates a bit at the surrender, as if he'd been expecting more of a fight. He opens his mouth,
then closes it with a clack. He swallows, looking away.

"You have more bravery in your little finger than most people have in their entire bodies," he says
quietly, nearly a confession. “Including me."

Harry, without really thinking about it, reaches out to grab Draco’s hand. This is a 'Draco-needs-
comfort' moment if he's ever seen it.

“Draco, you’re plenty brave,” he says seriously. “Just you doing this is brave. I’m so grateful to
you for helping me with this, you have no idea.” And, to Harry's surprise, he was being completely
honest. Had he known braver people than Draco? Sure. Loads. But Draco hadn't had much of a
chance, or a reason, to be brave. And now he was trying. It was a far cry from the boy he had been
before.

Draco says nothing for a moment, staring down at their clasped hands. “It’s not entirely for selfless
reasons, you know. I have my own motives.”

Harry nods, having expected as much. “I know. But it doesn’t mean I’m not grateful. It doesn’t
make you any less brave, or less of a good person.”
Draco looks up, startled. “You think I’m a good person?” he says hoarsely.

Harry nods. “Yeah. I do,” he whispers back. He smiles, lopsided, and squeezes Draco's hand.
"Deep down."

The very air between them feels charged, and Harry feels as if they’re standing on the brink of
something. He’s not sure what it is, but he holds his breath, waiting to find out.

Draco’s gaze flickers down to Harry’s mouth for a second, and Harry feels his heart beat quicker.
What was happening?

Before he can find out though, loud chatter enters their corner of the library. “Oi, what’s the
privacy spell up for?” James bellows. “You two looking at dirty magazines or something?” He
winks at Harry.

Harry and Draco spring apart, as if pulled by magnets. Harry notices Remus looking between them
thoughtfully, and he studiously avoids his gaze. Harry can still feel his heart struggling to beat at a
normal pace.

“We were just studying,” Draco says quickly, face flushed. Harry looks over at him, and Draco
avoids his eyes. James, oblivious as ever, smirks at them.

“Riiight. Studying, is that what they call a little bit of private time nowadays?”

Harry’s face turns red. “We’re in the library,” he protests.

Sirius slides in next to him in the library both and jostles his shoulder. “What, and you’ve never
had a good wank in the library?” he teases. “You’ve got to try it sometime.”

“Stop scandalizing my son, Black,” Lily says, appearing from the library entrance and joining them
at the booth. She sighs exasperatedly, looking at Harry and Draco.

“I’m so sorry about them, boys. Would you like to study for Charms together?” she asks politely.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Bo- ring. I’m out,” he says, sliding back out of the booth. He glances behind
his shoulder. “Moony, you coming?”

Remus bites his lip, looking torn between joining Sirius and studying with Lily and James. After a
second, he sighs, resigned. “Where are we going?” he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets and
walking over to Sirius.

Sirius grins, grabbing at Remus’s arm and tugging him along excitedly. “Why, I thought you’d
never ask.”

Harry just barely catches a glimpse of Remus’s blush as he gets dragged out of the library, and he
fights back a smile. It’s good to see Sirius and Remus so happy. Harry hopes, for both their sakes,
that they start dating soon. If they don’t, he might just knock their heads together and do it for them
— it was almost painful to watch.

Lily rolls her eyes and turns back to her textbooks. “Boys. I’ll never understand them.” She looks
up, as if suddenly aware of her present company. “Er, no offense meant to you two, of course,” she
says apologetically to Harry and Draco. She points a finger at James. “You, I meant full offense
to.”

James clutches a hand to his chest as if he had shot her. “You wound me, love,” he pouts, “but here
 I am anyways, studying boring old charms with you.” He leans in and presses a quick kiss to her
cheek. Lily ducks away, but Harry sees a small smile on her face. He watches the scene wistfully.
It’s nice to see his parents so happy, he thinks. He wishes he could have seen them like this earlier.
He looks back at Draco, and is surprised to see him looking not at Lily and James, but at Harry
himself. Harry raises an eyebrow, and Draco quickly clears his throat and turns back to his books.

Lily glances over to Draco as well, then down at his notes. Her expression quickly turns to one of
intrigue. “Are you writing a paper on the Befuddlement Draught? I’ve never seen some of those
ingredients used before.”

Draco looks up, seemingly happy to be talking about the subject. “You wouldn’t have. It’s a fairly
new technique, but the added Scurvy grass helps clear the mind after the potion wears off. It really
reduces the long-term effects. I can tell you more about it, if you’d like?” Draco’s perked up,
looking for all the world like he’s dying to explain the potion in more depth. Harry feels like he
and Hermoine would get along rather well, oddly. He smiles as he tries to imagine Hermoine’s
response to that statement.

Lily nods excitedly. “That sounds delightful! Please, tell me all about it,” she says, rummaging in
her bag for a quill. Draco grins back at her and wastes no time in explaining, using large, dramatic
hand movements and animated facial expressions. He looks happier than Harry’s seen him in quite
a while, save for when they played Quidditch the other day.

Harry shares a conspiratorial look with James, both silently laughing at the pair beside them. James
and Harry eventually pair off to practice charms together, but Harry can’t stop looking over at
Draco. At his shining hair, his broad grin, even the pointy jut of his chin that was somehow
unfairly attractive.

Merlin, what has Harry got himself into?

Chapter End Notes

Hey guys! This chapter is a little on the shorter side, but I hope thats okay. I’ll try to
have another chapter up around Christmas as a Christmas gift, or just a holiday season
gift depending on what you celebrate :) A huge thank you goes out to every single
person who has shown their appreciation for this fic so far, you guys really keep me
going. I hope everyone has a fun and safe holiday season!

-H
 Chapter 5
Chapter Summary

just some chistmas eve-eve fluff. enjoy.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

It isn’t until Harry’s caught himself in the middle of his third daydream about Draco’s hair (third
since that morning, that is) that he admits defeat. Contrary to popular belief, Harry isn’t actually an
idiot. He knows himself, and he knows how to recognize when he likes someone. He just never
thought that someone would be Draco Malfoy. The problem isn’t that Draco’s a boy — no, Harry
had known he was bisexual since his rude awakening in the form of Cedric Diggory. The problem
wasn’t even that Draco was his former rival — Harry liked to think they were steadily moving past
that fact. No, the problem stemmed from the simple fact that Draco was posh, and brilliant, and
elegantly attractive. Put simply, he was miles out of Harry’s league.

There was also the fact that Draco was almost certainly straight. Harry hadn’t yet asked him about
Pansy Parkinson (either because of jealousy or fear of having his suspicions about Draco’s
sexuality confirmed, he wasn’t sure), but everyone at Hogwarts knew the two had dated for almost
five years straight. Harry didn’t want to judge based on appearances — after all, he himself had
never dated a bloke — but he knew that the chance of Draco liking men was slim at best. Harry
was growing to enjoy their new friendship, and he didn’t want to destroy it right off the bat by
asking Draco out.

“Something on your mind, Harry?”

Harry glances over to where Remus sits on the opposite couch, quill paused in the writing of his
Transfiguration essay. They’re the only two in the Gryffindor common room, the majority of
Gryffindors having left earlier that morning to return home for Christmas break. The Marauders
had stayed, in order to spend more time with Harry before he left in a few weeks. Or rather, that
was what they had told Harry. In reality, Harry knew that Remus had a full moon coming up and
that they had stayed, primarily, for him. For Harry too, sure, but mostly Remus. He didn't mind - it
was touching to see the legendary loyalty of the marauders in action.

Harry glanced over at the boy in question. He considered, and after a moment, he figured that if
anyone would relate to his plight, it would be Remus.

“Yeah, actually. You know how I had a new smell in my Amortentia potion? And you asked if
there was anyone special?”

Remus sets his parchment on a side table and leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Ah, I see,” he
says. “Romantic problems. Well, I can certainly relate.” He looks curiously at Harry. “Who is it?”

Harry sighs. “You know the boy that I came with? The Slytherin?”

Remus grins. “I figured, but I didn’t want to assume. You two have good chemistry.” He breaks
off, looking around the common room for a sign of any intruders. “Don’t tell the others,” he
whispers. “James and Sirius have had a bet going since the first night, when we played
Quidditch.”

Harry’s momentarily taken aback by that, because he and Draco hadn’t even really been friends at
that point, before he realizes—

“Wait, so they don’t care? That he’s, you know, a bloke?”

Harry had never thought his parents to be the homophobic type, but that was the thing about being
an orphan— you never knew for sure. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia certainly hadn’t approved.

Remus looks at him for a second, before chuckling in amusement. “Your mum and dad? And
Sirius? Homophobic? Merlin, could you imagine?” He settles down, looking at Harry more
seriously. “Harry, I promise you, I wouldn’t be friends with them if they were. I’ve been out to
them since second year.” His gaze turns calculating. “What’s this about, then? Have you not come
out to them yet, in your time? Were you worried?”

Harry fumbles for an excuse. “Er, yeah. It’s fairly new, my liking blokes. And it’s not that I was
worried, but you know how hard it can be to come out. Even to people you know would accept
you.”

Remus nods in agreement, and puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Thank you for telling me, Harry.
And honestly, I’d think the Slytherin part is a bigger deal than him being a bloke, but James
already said that Draco’s the most decent Slytherin he’s ever met. That’s basically a stamp of
approval, coming from him.” He pats Harry’s shoulder, then pulls away. “Look, it’s up to you if
you want to tell them or not. But either way, I’ll be here for you. Okay?”

Harry tries his best not to tear up. Times like this are when he desperately misses the adult Lupin,
who always had Harry’s back. Younger Lupin, it seems, is just as kind. Harry can hardly say that
he's surprised. “Thanks, Remus,” he whispers.

Harry shakes off the ache in his bones and tries to return to the conversation at hand. “Anyways,
how are you doing? I know the full moon’s coming up.” It had been amusing, watching the
marauders tiptoe around Remus' condition, but Harry was tired of the secrecy, and desperate to
change the subject.

Remus stares at him for a second, before groaning in disbelief. “I should have- of course you
know. Obviously. We’ve been walking on eggshells around you for no reason,” he laughs. Harry
grins back at him.

More seriously, Remus says, in response to Harry's original question, “Yeah, the moon’s on
Friday. Christmas Eve, of all days. What a jolly time that’ll be.”

"Hey, everyone will be here with you. And I’ve been working on my Animagus form, actually.
Maybe I could get it down by Friday.”

Harry was, in reality, quite far away from getting a solid transformation down, but maybe he could
get Draco to help him practice. He had heard that Draco had registered his Animagus form over
the summer, although no one knew what it was. Harry himself was dying to know. A peacock,
maybe? ...A ferret? He supresses a snort of laughter, and looks back up at Remus.

“That’s sweet, Harry, but Christmas Eve is only three days away. Besides, you should spend it
doing something fun. Maybe you could spend it with Draco,” Remus teases, nudging Harry’s
shoulder.
Harry isn’t deterred. “I’ll ask him to come with me— he’s an Animagus too. I care about you,
Remus. There’s nowhere I would rather be on Christmas Eve than with you and the Marauders.”

Remus raises his eyebrows. “Is everyone in the future an Animagus? I swear, it was much harder
for the boys. It took them ages, and they wouldn’t stop complaining about it. It’s not like I asked
them to do it, either.”

“The process has become a lot easier," Harry says, shrugging. "And McGonagall taught classes
over the summer to some of the more advanced students.” He looks back at Remus. “But you
never answered my question. How are you?” he asks earnestly.

Remus looks away. “Just the usual aches and pains, I suppose. A little bit of a temper, at times. It’s
nothing I’m not used to.” He looks back at Harry. “Honestly, I’ve been more preoccupied with
Sirius.”

Harry nods in understanding. “How’s that going? You two seem closer lately.”

“I don’t know," Remus sighs, frustrated. "On one hand, it makes me happy that he’s paying more
attention to me, but on the other, he hasn’t done anything to indicate that he likes blokes, you
know? Or that he likes me.” He furrows his brow. “But something’s up with him. He seems upset,
lately. Probably something to do with his family.”

Suddenly much more alert, Harry sits up straight. The Black family was notorious for being one of
the first to turn dark. If something was going on in Sirius’s family, it could mean Voldemort’s
power was growing. It could be nothing, but Harry would bring it up to Draco just in case.

“Maybe try and talk to him about it,” Harry suggests. “He might just need someone to listen.”

Harry looks at the clock above the fireplace and almost jumps out of his seat. “Sorry, I’m late to
meet Draco,” he explains to Remus. “But think about what I said!”

Remus waves Harry off. “You too! And have a good time with Draco,” he calls, winking.

Harry rolls his eyes, and takes off towards the astronomy tower.

***

Harry skids to a stop in front of an unimpressed Draco.

“I’m so sorry, Draco, I was—”

Draco doesn’t even bat an eye. “Can it, Potter. I’m used to your appalling tardiness habit by now.
Merlin, are you ever on time?”

Harry thinks this over for a moment. “Not really. But I was talking with Remus, and I have loads to
tell you.” He sits down on the ledge next to Draco, who finally looks over at him, a single blonde
eyebrow raised.

“Well, alright then. Out with it, I haven’t got all night.” Draco waves a hand in impatience. “I’ve
got news of my own, you know.”

Harry hurries to explain, trying to remember all the important parts: the animagus transformation,
the full moon on Christmas Eve, Sirius’s odd behavior.

“Do you think it could have something to do with his family? With Regulus?” Harry asks
worriedly.

Unsettlingly, Draco looks concerned at the news. “I was actually going to bring that up,” he says
cautiously. “I’ve been trying to get in good with Regulus, since the Black family’s allegiance to
Voldemort was one of the first signs of trouble.” He leans forward, and Harry unconsciously
mirrors him.

“At first, Regulus seemed like your average pureblood tosser. He reminds me a lot of myself at
that age, you know?” Draco hunches his shoulders. “All the... posturing, and acting like he’s better
than everyone else. That sort of thing.”

Harry nods in understanding. He certainly remembers.

Draco furrows his brow. “But he’s been different, lately. More secretive. He looks like
something’s weighing on him.” He looks up at Harry. “Harry, he may have already taken the
Mark. He’s acting exactly like I did, when it happened to me.”

With a sharp inhale of breath, Harry searches Draco's face. He seems a bit rattled, and genuinely
worried for Regulus. Harry's heart aches for him. "We'll figure it out," he promises. "Okay? We'll
help him."

"Okay," Draco replies, in a small voice. Eyes flicking back to Harry, he clears his throat,
straightening up a bit. "So- er, what's the plan?"

Harry thinks this over. “Alright. You keep working on Regulus. Get him to trust you. I’ll talk to
Sirius, try to get more information. But be careful, okay?”

Draco gives him a half-hearted smile. “Sure, Harry. Always am.” He rolls his shoulders back.
“Nevermind all that. I’ll help you with your animagus transformation, if you want. You said we’re
going out to help Lupin on Christmas Eve?”

“You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to,” Harry offers, remembering Draco's sneering
disdain for werewolves. He knows that Draco has (hopefully) long moved past that prejudice, but
Harry would be surprised if he didn't still have some lingering fear. “I just would like to be there
for him.”

Draco looks up in surprise. “Harry. Of course I’ll come, don’t be ridiculous. You really think I’d
let you go into a situation like that by yourself?” Harry’s touched, for just a second, before Draco
scoffs. “You’ll get yourself killed, and then where will I be? And then, right, I’d have to return to
our proper time all by myself.” Draco’s mouth quirks, just a little, a sign that Harry’s come to
realize means that he’s only playing around. Harry smiles.

Draco leans into it, gesturing expansively. “Imagine the headlines! Former Death Eater murders
Harry Potter in Time-Travel Plot. Merlin, I’d be crucified.”

Ignoring the obvious self-deprecation, Harry rolls his eyes. He hopes he's doing a half-decent job of
masking his amusement - Draco really can be quite funny when he wants to be. “Of course.”

Mouth still quirked upwards, Draco meets Harry's eye, seemingly pleased. There’s a moment of
comfortable silence, before Harry ventures to speak again. “You’ll really come, then?”

The smile on Draco’s mouth falls, just a bit, and he nods. “It beats spending Christmas Eve in the
dungeons.”

Harry softens, watching Draco visibly pull himself back together. A cool, professional mask slips
back onto his face as he leans back on the heels of his hands. “Anyways, back to your
transformation. What step are you on?”

Wishing for Draco’s mask to loosen, just a little, Harry peers at him, then sighs. “Visualization. I
can get in the mindset of my animal just fine, but I’m having trouble completing the process.” He
looks at Draco hopefully. “Maybe if you showed me your transformation, I would have a better
example?”

Draco hesitates for a moment, then smirks and stands up, taking off his outer robe as he does.
Harry studiously avoids looking at the lean muscles of his forearms. “If you wanted to see my
animagus form, Harry, all you had to do was ask,” Draco chuckles teasingly. Harry flushes. He
hopes Draco's animal is something ridiculous - privately, he's still holding out for a ferret, for
amusement's sake if nothing else.

Draco closes his eyes for a moment, slowing down his breathing to a more deliberate pace. As
Harry watches, Draco’s body slims down, then seems to disappear altogether. Harry peers down at
the discarded pile of Draco’s clothes, and is met with two black eyes peering up at him. Oh. Of
course.

“A snake! Brilliant!” Harry switches over to Parseltongue easily, grateful for the chance to
communicate. It's not a ferret, sure, but Harry's always liked snakes, with the obvious exception of
Nagini.

Draco's snake form raises its head curiously. “I almost forgot you were a Parseltongue,”
his smooth voice hisses. “It’s strange, for you to still understand me when I’m like this.”

Harry grins. “There’s no escaping me, I suppose,” he says cheerfully.

The Draco-snake regards him coolly. After a moment, his voice comes again. “No. I suppose there
isn’t.”

Draco quickly transforms back to himself and clears his throat awkwardly. “Well,” he says, holding
out his arms, “there you have it, I suppose.”

Harry claps politely, and Draco grins, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. “All right, you tosser,
it’s your turn. Show me what you’ve got.”

Harry takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. He tries to regulate his breathing, like Draco had. In.
Out. In. Out. He is one with his animal. Fire on his feathers, wind beneath his wings. He tries to
imagine reaching out, taking flight... and immediately hits a wall. He groans aloud.

“That’s all I’ve got,” he mumbles, embarrassed. “The visualization always goes well, but after a
certain point, it’s like I’m stuck.”

Draco nods, seemingly deep in thought. “It looked like you were doing great,” he admits, “but after
a minute or two, you started to tense up.” He regards Harry for another moment, then seemingly
comes to a decision. “Try it again,” he says encouragingly. “Walk me through it. Tell me what
you’re feeling.”

Harry closes his eyes. Regulates his breathing.

“What do you feel?” Draco prompts.

“Fire. It’s a part of me,” Harry says slowly. “It’s so close I can feel it burning my wings. But it
doesn’t hurt. It feels right.”

There’s a short, curious silence before Draco elects to speak. When he does, his voice is warmer
than Harry had thought possible. “Good. Keep going.”

Bolstered by the praise, Harry reaches deeper inside of himself. “Change. Constant change, and
rebirth. Rising again.”

Harry hears Draco’s shocked intake of breath, and he smiles a bit, pleased at having surprised him.

“A phoenix,” Draco whispers softly, awed. “Of course.” He clears his throat. “Good job, Harry.
What else?”

Harry’s close this time. He can feel it. “Flight. I want to fly. I think I’m ready.” He’s so close he
can almost feel the breeze ruffling his feathers. He’s itching to transform.

“Harry. Let go,” Draco says quietly. “I’ve got you. Just let go.”

And he does.

***

Harry’s in a brilliant mood the next day for the Christmas Hogsmeade trip.

Harry had mastered his transformation in a record-breaking span of two days, and he feels
wonderful. Draco had been incredibly impressed, which makes Harry feel even better— Draco was
notoriously hard to impress. Harry had been a little nervous, wondering what Draco would think
about his phoenix form — it was the rarest animagus, and everyone had expected Harry to be a
stag, like his father. Harry liked the phoenix, but sometimes he felt as if it was just another thing
that made him stand out from the crowd. It may be a good thing to most people, but not Harry.
Most days, all Harry wanted was to blend in.

Luckily, Draco had loved the phoenix. He had said it was perfect for Harry, and it really was.
Harry loved flying more than anything, and now he had more than one way to do it. Harry owed it
all to Draco— without him, Harry would still be stuck. He needed some sort of way to thank him.

What he really needs, Harry thinks as he looks at the endless row of shops in Hogsmeade, is the
perfect Christmas present. He had already bought gifts for everyone else: new patches for Sirius’s
jacket, a racing broom for James, a new bestselling spellbook for Lily, and an infinite bag of
Bertie’s chocolates for Remus — even a small, magical plant for Peter, because it would be too
suspicious to leave him out— but Draco was a puzzle. Harry wanted his gift to be perfect. But what
do you buy someone who already has everything money can offer?

Harry scours Hogsmeade for hours, trying to answer that question. Just when he's almost given up,
he finds the answer.

In the window display of Dervish and Banges sits the most beautiful telescope Harry’s ever seen.
Draco loves constellations, and could name all of them. A pureblood trait, Harry supposed, with all
their star-based names. Frequently, when Harry and Draco went out to the astronomy tower late at
night, Draco would spend hours pointing out the stars to Harry and explaining the stories behind
them. He did this, supposedly, with the aim of ‘educating’ Harry, but Harry truthfully had paid
more attention to Draco than he had to the stars.

Harry needs that telescope.

He rushes inside, trying his best to push through the mob of crowded customers up to the front
desk.

“Sir, how much for that telescope in the front display?” Harry calls to the shopkeeper, an elderly
man who looks to be just on the brink of death.

The old man looks him up and down, sneering. “Much more than you can afford.”

Luckily, Harry had been given a large allotment of money from Dumbledore at the start of term,
and even more from James as an ‘early Christmas present.’ He had never given much thought to
his parents’ wealth, but it was quite obvious now that James, at least, had more money than he
knew what to do with. Harry supposed he was quite lucky that James hadn’t been too much of a
spoiled prick as a result. He had a large ego, sure, but a good heart. Harry was grateful.

Trying to not glare at the shopkeeper, Harry tries again, aiming for a polite tone. “How much,
exactly?” he repeats.

The old man squints at him, then at the telescope. “Seven hundred galleons,” he says, finally, with
an air of preemptive satisfaction.

Harry doesn’t bat an eye. “I’ll take it.”

The old man raises his eyebrows, and turns to face Harry more properly. “Are you sure, lad?
You’re not spending your life savings on this, are you?” He laughs at that, a mean, dried up cackle
that turns into a hacking cough at the end.

Harry looks at him with poorly-veiled disdain, but begins to pull the heavy pouches of coins from
his robe anyways. It’s for Draco, he reminds himself. Draco had done so much for him over the
past few weeks, between plots to change the past, studying, and extra animagus lessons, that it was
only fair that he got something in return.

The shopkeeper seems to transform into a different person once he gets a good look at the money
in Harry’s hand. “Why, of course, sir,” he says primly, standing up straighter. “Would you like that
gift-wrapped?”

Harry fights not to roll his eyes. “Yes, please,” he says, smiling thinly. “And sent to Hogwarts on
Christmas, if you will. I’ll pay extra for your best owl.”

The shopkeeper looks up from where he’s hurriedly stuffing Harry’s money in the cash register.
“Of course, sir. Right away, sir.”

Harry snorts and walks out of the store. It’s only once he leaves that he realizes, as rude as the
shopkeeper had been, it had been kind of nice to not be fawned over just because of his celebrity
status. The shopkeeper had just seen him as a kid from Hogwarts. A rich kid, but still. Just a kid.
Harry smiles.

As soon as he walks out onto the street, he’s nearly bowled over.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you— Draco?”

 Draco looks flushed from the cold, bundled up in a posh winter coat. “Hey, Harry,” he says,
rubbing at the back of his neck. “Did you finish your shopping?”

Harry smiles. “Just bought my last gift. What about you?”

Draco nods. He looks jumpier than usual, almost nervous. It’s not a look Harry usually sees on
him. “Yeah — actually, I was looking for you.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Oh? What for?” he prompts.

Draco rubs his hands together. “Er. I was wondering if, maybe, you wanted to pop over to the
Three Broomsticks? Maybe grab a pint?” His cheeks look red, but it’s probably just a mixture of
the cold and Harry’s wishful thinking.

For a moment, Harry closes his eyes and imagines that this is Draco asking him out on a date. It
would be nice, he thinks, a date with Draco. But he’ll take what he can get, and a pint together as
friends is just as good. Or so he’ll tell himself.

He opens his eyes. Smiles in what he hopes is a normal, friendly way. “Sure, Draco. That sounds
great.”

Draco lets out a breath, grinning wildly. “Really?”

“Of course. What’s Christmas Eve-Eve for if not for spending time with friends?” Harry jokes
half-heartedly.

It might just be his imagination, but it looks like Draco’s face falls a little bit. “Oh. Right, of
course.” They start towards the pub, and Draco looks back at Harry. “Wait. Christmas Eve-Eve?”

Harry grins. “You know. The day before Christmas Eve? A holiday in its own right, for sure,” he
jokes.

Draco nods, still looking slightly confused. “Ah. Is that a muggle thing?” He pauses. “Not that
that’s bad, or anything,” he adds quickly.

Harry laughs. “No, I think your family’s probably just too posh to celebrate it.” He raises an
eyebrow. “Not that that’s a bad thing, necessarily.”

Draco’s hand lingers near Harry’s, and he swears he can feel the heat from his fingers radiating in
the space between them. Harry wonders what would happen if he was brave enough to reach across
the space and link their hands. He’s supposed to be the brave one, for Merlin’s sakes.

Draco looks over at him and smiles softly. Harry feels his heart skip a beat.

“Well. To Christmas Eve-Eve, then,” Draco says.

Harry smiles back. “To Christmas Eve-Eve,” he echoes.

Chapter End Notes

first off, i’m sorry for not including the Christmas Eve and Christmas scenes in this
chapter. I was going to, but I honestly just got so worn out with this chapter I felt like it
was better to cut it here. Best case scenario, the next chapter would be out on
Christmas, but more realistically, it’ll probably be out sometime in the week after
Christmas. Second of all, I just wanted to apologize now to any super detail-oriented
fans that like strictly canon fics. Yes, I am aware that the animagus process is
completely different than what I wrote. Did I want to work Draco and Harry holding
mandrake leaves in their mouths for a month into the plot? Not really. I did get my
inspiration for the animagus process from another fic, but unfortunately I can’t
remember which one it is. If anyone knows, feel free to leave it in the comments!
There are also a lot of other non canon details I’ll be throwing in to work with the plot,
so hopefully that doesn’t throw anyone off too much. With that out of the way, I really
wanted to thank everyone for their continued support of this fic. I got some super
sweet comments and well-thought out feedback on the last chapter, and I appreciate
every single one. I hope you guys have a great Christmas, or holiday season depending
on what you celebrate!

-H❤️
 Chapter 6
Chapter Summary

a good mix of Christmas angst and fluff. Merry Christmas, guys.❤️

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry’s more than a little drunk off of firewhisky when he works up the nerve to ask Draco about
Pansy Parkinson.

Draco looks up at him through his lashes, eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. “Pansy? What
about her?”

Harry shrugs, stirring his straw idly in his drink. “I mean, you must miss her. She’s your girlfriend,
right?” He tries to act like he’s not incredibly interested in Draco’s answer, but he’s not quite sure
he succeeds.

Draco stills for a moment, before bursting into loud laughter. He’s drank almost as much as Harry,
and it shows. His usually posh, tidy demeanor has loosened into something softer, made evident by
the slight flush to his cheeks and the dazed expression in his eyes. He looks beautiful, Harry thinks
wistfully, before trying in vain to pull himself together.

“Pansy? My girlfriend? Merlin, Harry, is that what you thought?” He grins, wide and relaxed.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love Pans, but we wouldn’t last a day as a couple. We’d kill each other.”

Harry lets out a long breath and struggles to keep his expression neutral, even though it feels like
fireworks have gone off in his stomach. “Oh.”

Draco pauses. “Besides, I’m— otherwise inclined, if you catch my meaning.” He looks back at his
drink wearily. “I probably wouldn’t be telling you this if I wasn’t absolutely sloshed right now.”

The fireworks in Harry’s stomach have turned into a full-blown parade. He racks his brain for an
appropriate response. “Hey, we’re friends,” he says, in what he hopes is a comforting tone. “You
can tell me anything.” There. That sounded appropriately friendly. Good job, Harry.

Then, to his horror, his mouth opens without his permission. “Besides, I am too.”

He groans internally. Good job, Harry.

Draco looks at him, surprised. “Really? But you dated female Weasley.” He pauses, sheepish.
“Ginerva. Sorry,” he corrects.

Harry laughs, maybe a bit too loudly. He can’t help it, Draco’s just hilarious. Even when Harry’s
not drunk. “No,” he hiccups, “I like both. I’m bi— what’s it? Bisexual,” he says firmly.

Draco nods intently, as if this makes all the sense in the world. “Ah. It was Diggory, wasn’t it?”

Well, yes, Harry thinks, but also you. Out loud, he says, “Yeah, it was.”
Draco leans into Harry’s side, and Harry can’t help but lean back. “I’m sorry about what happened
to him,” Draco says quietly.

Harry sobers a bit. “It’s not your fault.”

Draco nods. “I know.” He turns to look at Harry. “It’s not yours either,” he whispers.

Which is absolute bullshit. If Draco had been there, he would have known that’s not true. Harry
was the one who had insisted they take the cup together, Harry was the one who had stood there
uselessly while Cedric was killed. It was Harry’s fault, and he thought about it every goddamn
day.

To Draco, he says, “Sure.”

Draco sits up, placing a hand on Harry’s cheek. “Hey. It absolutely was not your fault. There was
nothing you could have done.”

They’re so close that Harry could lean forward and kiss Draco. Not that he would want him to.
Especially now, as they’re talking about Cedric’s death. Time and place, Harry, he scolds himself.
Merlin, he needs to get out of here before he makes a fool of himself.

Harry swallows hard. “Thanks, Draco,” he says softly.

Draco’s eyes flicker down to his lips. Harry hopes he doesn’t have any food on them. That would
be embarrassing.

“Anytime,” Draco returns, just as softly.

They’re interrupted by a loud crash on the other side of the bar, and they both jump away from
each other.

Harry clears his throat, his cheeks flushing red. He racks his brain for something, anything, to
change the subject to.

“So,” he tries. “Any progress with Regulus?” He himself had asked Sirius about his brother, but
hadn't heard anything productive. Apparently, they didn't talk much. Harry could hardly say that he
was surprised.

Draco stares at him for a moment, then shakes his head slightly, as if to clear it. “Er, yeah. I think
I’ve gotten on his good side.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Oh? How did you manage that?”

Draco pulls a sour face. “Just had to act like my smarmy fifth year self, and I fit right in. He’s been
confiding in me quite a bit.”

Harry leans forward intently. “And?”

Draco lowers his voice. “He knows about Voldemort, all right. He hasn’t mentioned him by name,
but he’s bragged about how he’s been hanging around an older, powerful wizard.” He looks
thoughtful. “I might have been wrong. I don’t think he’s taken the oath yet. We can probably still
get to him, Harry. Change his mind.”

Harry looks at the desperation in Draco’s eyes, and wonders if they’re thinking the same thing.
What if Harry had treated Draco the way they were treating Regulus? What if he had offered to
protect him and his family, what if he had offered him a way out? Harry knows, without a shadow
of a doubt, that he would have taken it.

He nods definitively. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Draco sighs, relieved. “I’m glad that’s sorted,” he jokes. “Kind of a difficult subject to think about
while I’m pissed.”

Harry laughs, then remembers their earlier conversation. He clears his throat. “So, hey, if you’re
not dating anyone, is there anyone you have your eye on? You know, here or back home. I’m sure
anyone would be lucky to have you,” he stammers. The back of his mind is very angry with him for
being so forward, but he can’t find it in himself to be upset. He’ll save that for tomorrow.

Draco looks at him consideringly. “Yeah, actually. There is a bloke I’ve got my eye on. A bit of a
tosser, really.” Harry laughs, but his heart is beating fast in his chest. Who is this guy that Draco’s
talking about? What makes him any better than Harry?

“Yeah?”

Draco chuckles. “Yeah. Sweet, though. And brave. Miles out of my league, of course.”

Harry frowns. “I’m sure he’s not. Unless he’s literally a prince or something, I doubt it.” Harry
stops and considers. “Actually, I’m sure you could date a prince, if you put your mind to it.”

Draco’s fighting off a smile. “Thanks, Harry. That’s really sweet. But no, he’s not a prince.
Actually,” he leans forward a bit, lowering his voice, “I asked him out tonight. Or, I tried to,
anyways. But I’m not quite sure he got the message.” Draco sighs. “Maybe he just doesn’t feel the
same way.”

Harry’s on the verge of anger now. Who the fuck is this guy? What sort of idiot would turn down a
date with Draco? Don’t they know how lucky they are?

“That’s ridiculous.” Harry furrows his eyebrows. “Who is this guy? Do you need me to fight him?
I will, just say the word.”

Draco’s outright laughing now. “Harry, no,” he gets out. He puts his head in his hands, then looks
back up at Harry. “Harry, it’s —”

Someone taps Harry on the shoulder, and both he and Draco spin around. Harry’s about ready to
give the intruder a piece of his mind until he sees who it is.

“Remus? What’s wrong?”

Remus is red in the face, obviously holding back tears.

“It’s Sirius. He’s missing.”

***

Now, in Sirius’s case, ‘missing’ actually meant that he had left just about the vaguest excuse note
in history, then took his motorcycle home just before Christmas Eve. Which, ordinarily, wouldn’t
be a big deal. What did make it a big deal, however, was that Remus hadn’t spent a full moon
without Sirius since his third year. What made it more of a big deal was that Sirius’s excuse note
highly insinuated that he was in trouble.

Dear Marauders, it read, (and Harry),

Everything is just fine, so there’s no need to worry. But you all know how my family is. They’re in a
bit of trouble, and I’m needed at home. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Moony, I’m so incredibly
sorry to miss the full moon. You know I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important. I'll make it up to you, I
swear.

Love,

Sirius.

James pales after reading the note that Remus had showed them. “He hasn’t gone home in years,”
he whispers in disbelief. “He even spends the summers with me. He must be in real trouble if he
was willing to go back.”

At this, Remus breaks out into a fresh set of tears, red-faced and upset. He's a bit drunk too, Harry
thinks, after the Marauders' own night out.

Lily hands him a tissue and rubs at his back. “Hey, it’s alright,” she soothes. “Sirius is strong. He’ll
be okay, I promise.”

Harry and Draco (who had both taken Pepper-Up potions since leaving the bar) exchange a
worried glance, but Harry nods in agreement. “Lily’s right,” he says. “Sirius is going to be fine.”

Remus eyes them suspiciously. “You know something,” he says quietly. “I saw that look. You two
know something about this.”

James and Lily turn to them, and Harry glances over at the corner to where Peter is sitting silently.
Harry hasn’t seen much of him since their confrontation, except to make him take an unbreakable
vow to never betray James and Lily. After that, they had stayed out of each other’s way out of a
mutual unspoken agreement.

Harry sighs, coming to a decision. “I’m going to need to talk to Draco for a second,” he says
finally. “And Peter.”

Remus looks at him in outrage. “Peter?” he says incredulously. “You’ll tell Peter but not me?”

James furrows his brow. “Yeah, Harry, what gives?”

Oh, nothing much. Just you and mum’s imminent deaths that I’m desperately trying to prevent.

Harry holds out his hands placatingly. “Hey,” he says slowly. “I’m doing my best. There’s some
things that you guys probably shouldn’t know about, because it involves you. I’m no time-travel
expert, or anything.” He sighs. “I wish Dumbledore were here,” he says more quietly.

Draco places a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need him,” he says quietly. “You’re doing great
on your own.”

Harry smiles weakly. “Thanks, Draco.”

They turn to walk out, and Harry waves a hand at Peter for him to follow.

Once the door closes, and Draco casts a Muffliato for good measure, Peter looks at Harry
nervously.

“Does this have to do with—”

“Probably,” Harry sighs.

Draco glares at Peter. “For the record, I think Harry was much easier on you than you deserved.
Don’t say anything unless it’s helpful, you got it?” Peter nods fervently in his hurry to agree.

Harry gives Draco a pointed look, and he rolls his eyes. “Fine. But I stand by what I said.”

Wanting nothing more than to tuck in and go to sleep, Harry rubs wearily at his temples.
“Anyways,” he says, “do we think this has to do with Voldemort?”

Draco nods. “I’ll bet almost anything,” he says seriously. “They’re probably trying to convince
Sirius to join.”

Harry considers this. “Well, we know he doesn’t. But what about Regulus? Is it too late?”

Evidently alarmed, Draco pales. “I’m not sure.”

Peter raises a hand timidly, and despite the somber atmosphere, Harry has to fight the urge to
laugh. Draco must have really frightened him, he thinks, amused.

“Yes, Peter?” Harry mutters.

“Um, is there anything I can do to help?”

Harry’s about to say no, when he realizes that maybe there actually is.

“Yes.” Harry leans forward, looking directly into Peter’s eyes. “Peter, I need you to go to the Black
mansion after Christmas and observe what’s happening. Use your animagus form. Report back to
us, okay?”

Peter nods fervently. “Will do.”

Draco looks at Harry, impressed. “Clever,” he says approvingly. Harry fights off a blush. Not now.

Addressing Draco, Harry says, apologetically, “As for Regulus, I’m not sure if there’s much we
can do right now. We need to be here for Remus. I’m not sure he could handle it if another person
left.”

Draco nods in agreement. “You’re right. But after Christmas, we have to think of something. I
don’t want him to make the same mistakes I did.”

Harry’s mouth flattens, and he sighs. He feels a sharp pang of sympathy for Draco, and brushes it
away. He really needs to focus. “If Peter reports that Regulus is going to join up, we’ll think of
something. Okay? I promise.”

Draco looks relieved. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Of course.”

Peter looks between them awkwardly. “So, are we done, or...”

Draco turns to him, pointing a finger. “Hey, watch it. You’re on thin ice, rat.”
Harry sighs. “Sure, Peter, that’s it.”

For now.

***

Come Christmas Eve, Harry’s far more stressed than he had anticipated. They had managed to
calm Remus down, but no one was sure of the effect missing Sirius would have on his
transformation. Harry hoped he and Draco’s presence would be enough to bridge the gap, but he
knew that they were no replacement for Sirius in Remus’s eyes.

The walk to the Shrieking Shack is dead silent.

“Hey, are you okay?” Harry asks Remus softly. He’s been twitchy and irritable all day, but now he
just looked depressed.

Remus looks back at him and sighs. “Honestly? No, not really.” He looks around and lowers his
voice. “Harry, do you know anything about werewolf social dynamics?”

Harry shakes his head. All he knew about werewolves were what Remus had told him before he
had died, which was, needless to say, not much.

Remus lingers by the back of the group with Harry, spacing them out a few feet. Draco looks back
at Harry questioningly, and he waves him on. Draco hesitates for a moment, but keeps walking,
allowing them their privacy.

“Okay, so basically, wolves travel in packs,” Remus starts. Harry nods, then shudders, thinking of
Greyback and his followers.

Remus rubs the back of his neck. “The marauders are my pack. The wolf is used to them. They’re
family. And since I’m comfortable around you and Draco, you two are pack, too.” Harry blinks,
oddly touched by this.

“But with Sirius missing, the wolf will know something is wrong. Especially since—” Remus
lowers his voice to a whisper. “Um. The wolf may kind of consider Sirius to be its mate.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Like—”

Remus blushes. “Exactly like that, yeah. Please don’t tell anyone.”

Harry privately thinks that the sentiment is sweet, but he nods his agreement anyways.

“Remus, I know this full moon might be a little bit harder for you. But we’re here for you. And
we’ll help however we can.”

Remus rubs at his (suspiciously wet) eyes. “Thanks, Harry. You didn’t have to come, but I’m glad
you did.”

Harry pulls Remus into a hug. “Anything for you, Remus.”

From the front of the pack, James calls out, “Fifteen minutes to the full moon!”
Harry and Remus break away, and rejoin the group. Remus catches up to James. “You know what,
James? You raised a bloody awesome kid.”

James grins. “I sure did, didn’t I?” They both smile back at Harry, and Harry tries to cover up the
pang of guilt that hits his chest. He didn't raise me at all, he wants to scream. He didn't raise me, he
never got the chance, and it's not fucking fair.

They reach the shack, and stare at it wordlessly. By unspoken agreement, Draco transforms first,
followed by Peter. Draco slithers up to Harry, and he reaches down to pat his head.

“Thanks for coming out, Draco,” Harry says softly. “It means a lot to me.”

Draco rests his head on Harry’s knee. “Thanks for inviting me,” he replies easily.

Harry smiles at Draco for a second before he realizes he’s being stared at.

“Harry,” says Remus. “I didn’t know you were a Parseltongue.”

Harry starts, having completely forgotten he was speaking Parseltongue at all. “Er, yeah. I have
been since I was a kid.” He doesn’t meet James’s eyes, too scared to see his reaction. “Um. Do you
all think it’s strange? A lot of people thought it was, when they first found out.”

Harry supposed it was a bit strange, seeing as how it was a leftover trait from being Voldemort’s
horcrux, but he had grown to accept it as part of himself.

James blinks, then breaks into a grin. “Lucky for you, Harry, we’re not most people. I, for one,
think it’s wicked cool.” He looks over at Remus. “Right, Moony?”

Remus looks over at Harry. “Mate, in about five minutes I’m going to turn into a werewolf. If you
seriously think I’m going to judge you for being able to talk to snakes, you’re out of your mind.”

Harry smiles in relief. “Thanks, guys,” he says sheepishly.

James nudges him on the shoulder. “Anytime, son. Now, show us your animagus form already. I’m
dying from the suspense.”

Harry takes a deep breath. Feels his surroundings. Feels Draco’s snake form, still coiled soundly
around his leg. Lets go.

Distantly, he hears, “A fucking phoenix?”

Harry caws in delight and swoops high in the air. It’s a beautiful night for flying. The wind whips
through the trees, and the moon shines bright and full in the night sky. The moon— there was
something about the moon—

A piercing howl breaks through the night. Remus!

Harry swoops back down, in through an open window, to where a large grey wolf sits sniffling on
the floor of a shack. His head swivels wildly around, as if searching for something. In distress, the
wolf lets out a piercing cry.

Harry approaches cautiously, but the wolf accepts him easily. There’s a bright coral snake wrapped
around his left paw, a small brown rat curled up in his tail, and a large stag nosing at his neck.
Harry perches on the wolf’s back, and tries to send him calming energy.

I’m here, Remus. We’re here.

The wolf lets out a few more cries, then curls in on himself. He accepts the comfort, but Harry can
tell that he’s still sad. Lonely, even when surrounded by pack.

Harry nestles in, and prepares for a long night.

***

It’s Christmas morning, and they’re all fucking exhausted. Harry loves Christmas, but it’s hard to
get in the spirit when he’s been up all night trying to console a desolate wolf. On top of that, he’s
missing Ron and Hermoine fiercely. It’ll be the first Christmas in a long while that he hasn’t spent
with at least one of them by his side.

Lily, who hadn’t been with them the night before, bustles into the Gryffindor common room with a
crack of energy. “Merry Christmas, everyone!”

She stops short when she takes in the sullen atmosphere of the room. “Merlin, you all look
frightful.” She walks over to Remus and hugs him gently, discreetly checking him over for any
scrapes or bruises. Finding none, she takes a seat on the floor by his side, leaning into him
comfortingly.

“Hey, it’s alright. Sirius is fine, I’m sure,” she soothes.

Remus lets out a soft sniffle. “Thanks, Lils. But I’m okay, really.” He looks at Harry, James, and
Peter, giving them a small smile. “This lot did a good job of keeping me company.”

James walks over to Lily, giving her a quick kiss. “It would have been better if you were there,” he
cajoles. “I keep telling you to get an animagus form.”

Lily sniffs haughtily. “Unregistered? I don’t think so. I’ll wait until I graduate and do it legally,
thank you very much.” She glances at Harry. “Please tell me you’re registered.”

“Of course,” Harry says hastily. “Learned from McGonagall herself.”

Lily nods in approval. It’s a good thing she doesn’t know half of the illegal things Harry’s done.
She would probably have a heart attack.

James surveys the room. “Well, we’ve got Lils, Moony, Pete, and Harry. Just waiting on—”

Draco bursts into the room as if on cue, looking flustered.

“Well, well, well,” Harry teases. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you late to something.”

Draco sets down his gifts and scowls. “It’s the bloody Fat Lady,” he grumbles. “She wouldn’t let
me in. A real piece of work, she is. Reminds me of my Great Aunt Walburga.”

Harry shudders. “I’ve met your Great Aunt Walburga,” he reminds him. “In portrait form, at least.
She’s definitely worse.”

Draco nods in agreement.

James clears his throat. “Well, if you two are done flirting, we can get on with opening gifts.”
Harry flushes and avoids Draco’s gaze.
Despite the somber mood from earlier, opening presents goes fairly well. Remus and Lily both get
a myriad of school-related gifts, while James receives pranking supplies (from Remus and Peter), a
scrapbook (from Lily), a golden, limited edition snitch (from Draco), and a new racing broom from
Harry.

When it comes time for Draco to open Harry’s gift, he’s irrationally nervous. What if he doesn’t
like it? What if he already has the same one? Or, worst of all, what if he sees right through the
present to Harry’s affection for him?

What actually happens is this.

Draco’s eyes grow wide. His mouth drops open slightly. “Harry, you didn’t.”

Harry shuffles his feet, suddenly finding the carpet extremely interesting. “Is that... good? Bad?”
he guesses.

When he looks back up, Draco’s eyes are welling up with tears. Harry looks on in alarm. Oh
Merlin, he hates it.

“Harry. This telescope is seven hundred galleons.”

There’s a muffled gasp from Peter, before he’s quickly shushed by the marauders.

Harry rubs his scar, a nervous tic. “You said you liked the constellations,” he says quietly. “Look
if you don’t like it, I can take it back—”

He’s cut off with an arm full of Draco. Harry, still in shock, rests his head on Draco’s shoulder. Is
he— hugging him? “Oh.”

Draco sniffles. “Harry, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

Harry relaxes into the hug, rubbing Draco’s back gently. “Merry Christmas, Draco.”

Draco pulls back and wipes at his eyes hurriedly. “It’s just— now I feel silly about what I got you.”

Harry furrows his brow. “I’m sure it’s great,” he says in confusion.

Draco roots around under the tree, pulling out an oddly lumpy package. “Um. I wrapped it myself,”
he says, embarrassed. Harry smiles. That detail alone is already enough for it to be Harry's favorite
present. He doubts that Draco's attempted to wrap anything by himself in his entire life. The fact
that he went through that much effort, just for Harry, is touching.

He unwraps it to find a soft red scarf. He’s a bit confused, but he pulls it around his neck anyways.
He’s not sure why Draco wanted to get him a scarf, or why he was so embarrassed about it, but he
loves it regardless.

Harry grins at Draco. “Thanks! It’s great,” he says earnestly.

Draco huffs. “Just— let me explain.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. He's not sure what all there is to explain about a scarf.

“It’s just that, er, over the years, I’ve kind of kept an eye on you, you know?" Draco starts. His eyes
widen, panicked. "Not that I was stalking you, or anything. Well. Maybe. But you were, too!”
Draco takes a breath, then continues determinedly, in a sort of manic ramble.
 “I know that every year, Mrs. Weasley knits you a sweater. But we’re not home right now, and you
won’t be getting your sweater. So I was going to make you a sweater, but that would be weird, and
I didn’t want you to think I was trying to replace her, or anything. Um. Because obviously you care
about her, and the Weasleys, and I’m sure you miss them. So I knitted you a scarf instead. It’s got
warming charms, and calming charms, and a little bit of a protection charm thrown in there, too,
because you’re always running into trouble because you’re a stupid Gryffindor— Um. Anyways.
That’s it.” Draco pants slightly, out of breath. He looks at Harry. Harry looks back.

“My mum helped me make it,” Draco says sheepishly.

Harry blinks back tears, and folds Draco into another hug.

“I’m so glad you’ve been talking to your mum,” he says softly. Draco was tight-lipped about his
family, even on the best days. “This is the best present I’ve ever gotten, Draco, I swear.”

From behind them, James snorts. “What about my limited edition trading cards I got you, eh? I see
how it is, Harry. Kids are so ungrateful these days.”

Harry laughs loudly. “I’m just so glad I’m here with all of you guys,” he says to the room at large.
He looks back at Draco, and smiles.

“This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

And so it was.

Chapter End Notes

Is it bad that at the end there I kind of just imagined the marauders sitting there
watching Draco and Harry with some popcorn in hand? Anyone else? No?
Anyways, I’m super glad I got to finish this chapter on time, and even made it longer
than my usual chapters. It practically wrote itself, I swear. I will say, though, I have no
idea where the angst came from. It just appeared.
I look forward to hearing everyone’s feedback and ideas! Merry Christmas if you
celebrate it :) I’ll estimate that the next chapter will be up in a week or two. (P.S: you
may notice there is now a chapter count on this fic. It’s not a hard limit, just a guess :)
)

-H ❤️
 Chapter 7
Chapter Summary

buckle down for some plot, and a bit of pre-war angst.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Sirius’s old bedroom at Grimmauld Place is dark. A fine layer of dust coats every surface, yet the
room as a whole looks as if it were untouched for the last two years. His old Muggle posters still
hang on the walls, a dirty pair of black Converse lay scattered on the floor, and a general sense of
unease permeates the air.

He hates it.

Sirius hasn’t been home (not that it really ever was home) in two years. He’s never once, in those
two years, felt the need to return. In fact, Sirius would have happily stayed away for the rest of his
life, if it wasn’t for Regulus.

Regulus, who Sirius had grown to begrudgingly dislike, because of his attitude and his principles
and the general everything about him, but who he still cared for simply because they were brothers.
Brothers who shared nothing but the blood in their veins, true, but brothers nonetheless.

Even if Regulus was a stuck-up Slytherin twat, he and Sirius had still been friends once. In their
childhood years, they had been quite literally inseparable. They had rode training brooms together,
played tricks on their cousins together, and, most importantly, suffered through their family trauma
together. Sort of creates a lifelong bond, that one.

Sirius hated how the Black family had corrupted his baby brother. Regulus had gone from being
his fun childhood companion to a stuck-up snob in the blink of an eye, and Sirius couldn’t figure
out how it had happened. He thought he had done everything right, been a good role model as an
older brother, but evidently he was wrong. He had lectured Regulus until he was blue in the face
about Muggle equality and how pureblood culture was a load of shit, but it was like talking to a
brick wall. Nothing got through to him.

Still, when Sirius had learned that Regulus was in trouble, he came running.

Dear Sirius, the note had read, painstakingly formal,

I hope this finds you well. There has been a development back home. I hate to interrupt your
holiday, but you are needed with a manner of urgency. Please come quickly, as it may be too late if
you delay.

Sincerely,

Regulus Arcturus Black.

In Regulus-speak, this essentially meant he was fucked and needed help as soon as possible.
Sirius had gone without any hesitation.

Well, maybe one hesitation.

Sirius hated leaving Remus on a full moon. He had never done it before, and he never planned on
doing it again. Sirius was worried sick about how Remus would fare without him (just fine,
because he doesn’t need you, the cruel part of his brain had theorized), but it felt especially
horrible to leave him on Christmas Eve. Sirius cared about Remus more than he ever had anyone
else, for reasons unknown (well, slightly known, but Sirius tried not to think about it), and it pained
him to run off, even if it was for something important. He could only hope that Remus would
forgive him.

Hopefully this thing with Regulus was worth it.

“Reg?” Sirius calls to the empty house. “You here? I got your letter,” he shouts, wandering down
the hall. If after all this, Regulus isn’t even here, Sirius is going to be incredibly pissed off. He
can’t help but feel worried, though. The house is empty, which isn’t entirely unusual on its own,
but there’s also a sinister feel in the air that Sirius can’t place. Like something horrible had
happened here. Granted, plenty of bad things had happened here, over the years, but this felt
different somehow. More important.

“Sirius. Thank Merlin, you came.”

Sirius nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of Regulus’s voice behind him, seemingly coming
out of nowhere. Sirius has the sneaking suspicion that he apparated in, since there had been no trace
of him before. He turns to face Regulus, who looks— well, he looks like shit, to put it bluntly.
Dark rings encircle his eyes, and his frame is more gaunt than usual. His clothes look like they
haven’t been changed in weeks, and they hang off of him loosely.

“Of course I came,” Sirius says slowly, growing increasingly concerned. Warning bells begin to go
off in his head. Something strange was definitely going on. “Reg, what’s wrong? Where is
everyone? And no offense, but you look horrible.”

Regulus glances around the hallway, seemingly panicked. “Sirius, we can’t talk here. It’s not safe.
They're gone, but not for long.” He holds out his arm for a Side-Along, and Sirius warily takes it,
bracing himself for the familiar lurch in his stomach.

The walls of Grimmauld Place fade away, replaced by an outdoor clearing. Sirius sits down on a
nearby log, trying to dispel his sudden nausea. He hates apparating.

“You’re not supposed to do magic outside of Hogwarts,” Sirius jokes weakly, looking up at
Regulus.

Regulus, to his credit, ignores him, sitting down in the grass. Sirius stares uncomprehendingly,
unable to believe that Regulus would willingly get grass stains on his pants. He tries to stitch
together the Regulus in his mind (posh, bratty, always rattling on about pureblood supremacy) with
the Regulus in front of him (worn down, in old clothes, sitting in the bloody dirt). He’s not quite
sure he succeeds.

Regulus takes a deep breath. “Sirius, our family is in trouble. And I didn’t know who else to turn
to.”

Sirius furrows his brow. “Reg, I don’t care about them. I care about you, even though you’re a
pompous Slytherin asshole.” He waits for a retort, but none comes. Discomfited, he continues,
more sincerely. “I came because you were in trouble. What’s wrong?”

Regulus puts his head in his hands, taking a deep breath. “Everything’s been horrible since you
left, Sirius.” To Sirius’s horror, Regulus begins to cry, though he tries to hide it behind his shaking
hands.

“I’ve tried to please our family. I’ve tried to be the perfect son. But it’s gone too far. I can’t do what
they’re asking me to do, Sirius. I can’t.”

Sirius slides off of his log to sit on the grass beside Regulus, grass stains be damned. “What are
they asking you to do, Reg?” he asks quietly, placing a gentle hand on his back.

Regulus takes a deep breath. “There’s a wizard that’s been making himself well-known with the
pureblood families. At first I thought he was just old-fashioned, like our family is. Believes in
pureblood supremacy, and all that.” Sirius nods slowly, taking in this new information. Of course,
‘old-fashioned’ wasn’t quite the way that Sirius would describe the Black family (more like pure
fucking evil), but he holds his tongue.

“He’s been living in our house, Sirius.” Sirius doesn’t quite understand the magnitude of this
statement, but he nods anyways.

“Okay. Why?”

Regulus struggles to find the words. “He’s using it as a sort of... headquarters.”

Sirius doesn’t understand. “Headquarters? For what?”

“He’s been recruiting people. Purebloods, like our family. He makes them take an oath to obey
him, and do his bidding.”

Sirius feels a shiver run down his spine. This is far worse than he’d expected. “And what... is his
bidding, exactly?”

Regulus hesitates. “He wants to kill all the mudbloods,” he says quietly. “And the Muggles. He
says he wants to cleanse society.” He pauses. “Sirius, I may not like Muggles, but I don’t want
them dead.”

“And he wants you to join him?” Sirius asks, already knowing the answer. “Regulus, you can’t.”
He’s growing increasingly panicked, but tries to stay calm, for Regulus’s sake. “Why haven’t you
told anyone?”

Regulus shrugs. “I’m telling you, aren’t I?”

Sirius shakes his head. “I mean, like... the Aurors. McGonagall. Anyone. This bloke sounds
dangerous.” More than dangerous, Sirius thinks privately. Whoever this wizard was, he sounded
fucking insane. “Who is he, anyways?”

Regulus lowers his voice to a whisper, looking around the clearing to ensure that they were alone.
Neither he or Sirius spot the inconspicuous grey rat scuttling below the undergrowth of the forest.

Regulus leans forward, eyes intently fixed on Sirius.

“He calls himself Voldemort.”

 ***

Harry can’t stop pacing. His brain has been working overtime, worried sick about Sirius. He
knows, logically, that he would be fine (for now, anyways), but he couldn’t stop wondering. What
if he and Draco had changed things somehow? What if Sirius was forced to become a Death Eater?
What if he died? What if Harry couldn’t save him and Regulus? Had he fucked everything up?

“Harry.” Harry turns to look at Draco, who’s lying on the couch of the Gryffindor common room
with a book open on his lap. Draco closes his book and sits up, patting the couch beside him. “Stop
pacing. Come on. Relax for a second.”

Harry sits next to Draco, submitting easily to his gentle hand playing with his hair. Draco had been
more tactile since Christmas, seemingly loosened up by Harry’s gift (which he loved to pieces, and
used in the Astronomy tower every night), and Harry was enjoying it quite a bit more than he
should. Harry drops his head to rest on Draco’s shoulder, sighing. “I’m just so worried. What if
we’re messing everything up?”

Draco’s voice rumbles calmly from above him.“Then we’ll fix it. It’ll be okay, Harry. Sirius will
be fine.”

Harry’s voice breaks. “He wasn’t fine the first time.” Harry closes his eyes and sees the lines in
Sirius’s forehead, the dark bags under his eyes. The open scream on his face as he melted into the
veil.

Draco’s hand moves to Harry’s shoulders, massaging lightly. “Harry, I’ve grown quite fond of my
cousin. I don’t want anything to happen to him, either. But he can handle himself.”

Harry nods against Draco’s shoulder, trying to convince himself of this fact.

Draco continues on. “Plus, we already sent Pettigrew after him. Not that I trust him, mind you, but
at least he’ll get us the information we need.”

“And what information is that?”

Harry and Draco both look up at Remus’s voice. He’s standing in the doorway, a hard look in his
eyes.

“Harry. I like you. I do. But if you and Draco know something, I want in. I’m sick of you keeping
this to yourselves.” His voice softens. “I’m just worried about Sirius. Can you at least tell me if
he’ll be okay?”

Harry and Draco share a look. Harry thinks carefully about how to respond.

“He’ll be okay,” he says hesitantly, “as long as Draco and I being here hasn’t changed things too
much.” Hopefully.

Remus sits down on the opposing couch. “Well. That isn’t very comforting.”

Harry sighs. “I know. That’s why we sent Peter to go check on him. We’re not exactly sure what
happens at this point. It could be completely different.”

Draco speaks up quietly. “Remus. I know you care about him. Trust me, we all do. I want nothing
more than to know that Sirius and Regulus are okay. But all we can do at the moment is hope.”
Remus looks up sharply. “Regulus? You think this has something to do with Regulus?”

Draco curses quietly at the slip up, then composes himself. “We do,” he says carefully. “I don’t
believe Sirius would have left if any other member of his family was in trouble. But he still cares
about his brother, as estranged as they may be.”

Remus nods thoughtfully. “You think Regulus is in some sort of trouble, then?”

Draco nods.

Remus hesitates. “This trouble that he’s in,” he says slowly. “I understand if you can’t tell me the
specifics. But— how dangerous is it?”

Harry and Draco exchange a loaded glance.

“I don’t think you want to know, Remus,” Harry says quietly, voice just barely shaking.

Remus looks angry for a moment, but seems to deflate once he looks at Harry’s expression.
“You’re really worried about him,” he says softly.

“Of course I am,” Harry replies, a little indignantly. “He’s my godfather.”

Remus starts at that, eyes widening slightly. “I didn’t know.”

Harry’s mouth presses into a thin line. “We were— pretty close, in the future. Trust me, I’m just as
worried as you are.”

Remus sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says tiredly. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I just haven’t been sleeping
well. For obvious reasons.”

Harry stands up and goes to sit next to Remus, trying to ignore the bereft feeling he gets from the
loss of Draco’s arm around him. He hugs Remus, feeling some of the tension seep from his body.
“As soon as Peter comes back with the news, you’ll be the first to know,” he promises.

“Thanks, it’s just— why does Peter get to know? I get it,” Remus rushes out, “that there’s things
you can’t tell us, about the future. I just don’t understand why you would tell him, of all people.”

Harry carefully measures his words. “Peter’s— he plays an important role,” he says slowly, “in the
future. And it was... necessary, to tell him about it. I don’t really know how to explain it more than
that,” he says apologetically. “But I promise, it’s not because I like him better, or that I trust him
more. Honestly, I don’t like him much at all,” he admits.

Remus looks surprised at that, but nods. “Okay,” he replies finally. “Fair enough, I suppose.” He
stands up, starting towards the door. “I’m going to the library with Lily,” he says, “but— thank
you, Harry. And you, Draco,” he tacks on belatedly. Draco nods at him from his position on the
couch.

“Anytime, Remus,” Harry says quietly. It doesn’t feel like enough. He wishes he could tell him the
truth.

“Anytime,” Draco echoes, shooting Remus a strained smile as he leaves.

As soon as he’s out the door, Harry and Draco both slump in relief.

“It’s getting harder to keep this from them,” Harry worries, sinking back down on the couch next to
Draco’s comforting warmth. Draco’s arm wraps around his shoulders almost immediately.
“Maybe we don’t have to,” Draco says, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously when Harry
turns to look at him in disbelief. “I’m just saying. We’re pretty much making this up as we go
along. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt. Besides, we’re going to need more help at some point.”

Harry blinks at him. “You... have a point,” he admits, “but I don’t particularly want to tell my
parents and their friends about their own murders.”

Draco stiffens, nodding along with Harry’s words. “Of course,” he rushes to say, “but we wouldn’t
tell them that part. Just about the war.” Sensing Harry’s hesitation, he says, more gently, “The
war’s coming soon, Harry. They can’t be kept in the dark for much longer.”

Harry sighs. “I know,” he murmurs. “It’s just been so nice, to see everyone so happy and carefree. I
just— I thought we’d have more time.”

Draco squeezes his shoulder lightly. “I know. But the time we do have is a gift. This happened by
accident, Harry, but look what it’s given us. We have a chance to change things.”

Pleasantly surprised at Draco's optimism, Harry grins, despite his sombering mood. “Look at you,
being all sincere,” he teases. “Someone could even mistake you as a Hufflepuff.”

Draco puffs up in mock indignation, even as his cheeks redden. “You take that back,” he says,
disgruntled.

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it, Malfoy?”

The instant the words are out of his mouth, he realizes how flirtatious they sounded. Both him and
Draco seem to process their intertwined position on the couch at the same time, and Harry
reluctantly unhooks his ankle from Draco’s.

Draco’s face is bright red. “Er—”

A loud bang fills the room, and both boys startle. Peter Pettigrew runs into the room, slightly
panting from exertion.

Harry rushes to stand up. “Peter. Is Sirius okay?”

The nod he receives in return almost makes him collapse from relief. Behind him, Draco lets out a
slow breath.

“...is Regulus okay?” Draco asks, more quietly.

Peter hesitates, and Harry tenses.

“He didn’t have that... tattoo thing, that you mentioned.” Harry hears an audible sigh of relief from
Draco.

Peter furrows his brow. “But, no. I don’t think he’s okay. I think he’s in a fair bit of trouble,
actually.” Harry nods, sitting back down next to Draco (this time, at least a meter away, as he
actually needs to focus at the moment, unfortunately). They had expected this. If Regulus wasn’t a
Death Eater yet, then they still had a chance.

Harry takes a deep breath and fixes his gaze on Peter.

“Tell us everything.”
Chapter End Notes

Happy New Years! First off, I apologize that this chapter is a bit shorter than usual. I
truly couldn’t think of another scene that would work well in this chapter, and I didn’t
want to force one for the sake of the word count. Secondly, you may have noticed (but
probably not) that I’ve begun editing some of the earlier chapters. Nothing that is
changing the plot in any significant way, just me patching up bits that need some
work. I would like, ideally, to edit this entire work up to my standards after I finish, but
we’ll see how much motivation I actually have to do it. Anyways, this is probably not
something that will be super noticeable as I go back and edit, so don’t worry about it.
As always, thank you all for the love on this fic! You all are absolutely lovely and I
take all your comments to heart. There may be a bit of a gap in future updates, as the
spring semester is starting soon and I’ll presumably have less time to write. I’ll still
work on this as much as I can, though! Can’t wait to finish it. :)

-H❤️
 Chapter 8
Chapter Summary

sirius returns, and the truth comes out. part of it, anyways.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

By the time Sirius returns, three days later, Harry has a good idea of what to say. He’s practiced his
speech about the war with Draco, he’s taken some deep breaths, and he’s fully prepared (in theory)
for what Sirius will tell them when he returns.

It still doesn’t mean he’s ready for Sirius to bust open the door to the Gryffindor common room
and immediately round on Harry, in full view of the marauders.

“Harry.”

“Sirius.”

Sirius’s eye twitches. “I need you to be straight with me. No bullshit, alright?”

James and Lily sit up hurriedly from where they were cuddled up on the couch. “Hey, what’s this
about?” James asks indignantly. “You disappear out of the blue, miss the full moon, we thought
you were bloody— dead, or in a ditch somewhere, I don’t know— and then you start going off on
Harry? What’s going on, Padfoot?”

Remus hasn’t yet met Sirius’s eye, but Harry had caught his sigh of relief upon his entrance to the
room. Remus had been worried sick about Sirius for weeks, almost to the point of insanity. Harry
had a sneaking suspicion that he had been skipping meals, and took to bringing him leftovers from
the dining hall. Still, Remus had clearly felt Sirius’s absence dearly.

Sirius brushes James off with a wave of his hand. “I’ll explain in a second, Prongs. But—” he looks
worriedly at Remus, who’s still determinedly avoiding his eye. “I am sorry for missing the full
moon. You know I wouldn’t unless it was something really important. It’ll never happen again, I
promise.”

Remus visibly softens. “I know. It was alright— Harry and Draco volunteered to help out.” Yes,
and you still howled with grief the whole night, Harry thinks. Remus clearly doesn’t want to
mention it, though, so Harry stays quiet. Sirius glances quickly at Harry and nods his thanks.

”I’m just glad you’re okay,” Remus says quietly. Sirius looks at him for a second, searching his
eyes.

”I’m okay," he confirms softly. "For now, at least.” He reluctantly turns back to Harry.

“Harry, would you have told us if something important was going to happen? Something bad?
Because I’m really hoping this... situation back home doesn’t turn out to be a big deal, but I’m not
too sure.” Sirius sighs. “Just tell me, Harry. Please. How worried do I need to be?”
Lily furrows her brow. “What’s he talking about, Harry?”

Remus looks up. “Is this about Regulus? About the trouble he’s in?”

Sirius blinks. “How did you know this had anything to do with Reg?”

“Harry told me,” Remus says slowly, with dawning realization. Harry feels the weight of five pairs
of eyes as they turn to look at him at once. He feels a bit hot under the collar from the sudden
pressure.

Harry hesitates, thinking back to his conversation with Draco, back to the words of his practiced
speech. Harry had to tell the marauders about the war. For their own good. Also because Harry and
Draco could really use some help.

Harry takes a deep breath, and tries to calm his nerves. He wishes Draco was here, but he had gone
off to check on Narcissa after the news of the Black manor takeover. Harry didn’t blame him, but it
did mean he would have to deliver the news alone.

“Okay. So.” Harry fidgets with his wand, a force of habit. “I have been keeping some things from
you all. Some— pretty important things.” Harry gestures for Sirius to sit down, and he does, a
concerned twist to his expression.

“Sirius already knows some of it,” Harry says hesitantly. He turns to Sirius. “Where’s Regulus, on
that note? Is he okay?”

Sirius nods. “I brought him back to Hogwarts with me,” he says quietly. “He needs to spend the
rest of the break here. The house isn’t safe right now.”

Harry sighs. “You’re right, it’s not.” He turns to the group at large. “Grimmauld Place is currently
home to a powerful dark wizard named Voldemort. He’s not very well known yet, but he will be
soon. In my day, he’s most well known for starting the Second Wizarding War.”

The room goes silent. “Did you say war?” Remus repeats, face whitening.

Harry takes a shaky breath. “Yes,” he says softly. “It’s coming, and it’s coming fast. I can’t pretend
it’s not, anymore.” He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to halt the incoming tears. He manages to
make it through his practiced speech, explaining Voldemort’s rise to power to the best of his
ability.

“I know I should have told you,” he says finally, “but I thought I could stop it on my own. I needed
to fix it. And— you were all so happy. I’ve never seen you this happy.”

Lily reaches out, putting a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Harry, you didn’t have to carry
this by yourself," she says solemnly. "Of course we’ll help you.”

Harry shrugs. “I wasn’t by myself. Draco was helping.”

James looks up for the first time, determination settling on his face. “Well, now you have us.”

Sirius nods, expression uncharacteristically grave. “Listen, I may not like my family very much,
but I don’t want them to die at the hands of some maniac. Well— Regulus, at least. And maybe
some of my cousins— Narcissa’s Draco’s mum, isn’t she?” He looks at Harry for confirmation,
and nods decisively. “They’re not half bad. The rest of them, quite honestly, I could give less of a
shit about.”
Harry gives him a small smile, despite the tension in the room. “That’s what Draco and I are trying
to help with,” he admits. “Draco’s gone off to see his mum, but we need your help to keep Regulus
safe. And on the right side.”

Sirius looks pained. “He ends up on the wrong side, then? On— Voldemort’s side?”

Harry hesitates. “For a bit,” he admits. “He saw sense in the end. But I think we can fix it, to where
he never joins up in the first place.”

“You think? How are we supposed to do that, exactly?”

Harry leans forward a bit. “Well, has he mentioned anything about an oath? About becoming a
Death Eater?” Harry had already heard a bit of it from Peter, but he’s still not sure of the whole
story.

Sirius pales. “Yeah, he did,” he admits. “He said that he was being pushed into it by our parents,
that if he took the oath they’d be in good standing with Voldemort.”

Harry nods, having expected as much. “As long as Regulus is at Hogwarts, he’ll be safe. But I’ll
need someone to keep an eye on him, just until Draco gets back. After that, he can handle it—
They’re friends, apparently.”

Sirius nods quickly. “Of course. I’ll do it, no problem.”

James clears his throat. “What can the rest of us do? And how much time do we have?”

Harry looks at him, thinking. “I can run Defense lessons— Not that most of you really need them,
I’m sure,” he assures quickly. “But for others, maybe. And I'm... not sure, how much time we
have. We've probably changed the timeline quite a bit," he says uncertainly. "But if there’s anyone
else willing to help that you can think to recruit, I’ll be grateful for the support. Anything any of
you can do delay his rise to power— maybe by talking to the Slytherins, convincing them out of
the Death Eaters— will be helpful.” Harry hesitates.

“Lily?” She looks up, attentive. “You might want to check up on Snape.” Beside her, James
clenches his jaw, but Lily nods decisively.

“Of course.”

Harry lets out a breath. “Thank you. We’ll just have to hope it’s enough.”

The room falls silent, until Remus hesitantly speaks up. “Harry— not that I don’t trust your plan,
but shouldn’t we get the Aurors involved in this? The Ministry? McGonagall, at least?”

Harry considers this. “A lot of the first Death Eaters were in the Ministry,” he points out. “But
McGonagall isn’t a bad idea. I’m just not sure how to even begin explaining it.” He sighs. “Who
we really need is Dumbledore, but Merlin knows where he’s run off to.”

James looks at him steadily. “Harry, we can do this without him. You’re the lead on this, and we’ll
follow whatever you say. What’s the plan?”

Harry feels a stab of appreciation for his dad. Is this what it would have been like, to have him
around growing up? Harry supposes if their plan works, maybe he’ll get to find out.

Anyways, time for phase two of Harry’s half-baked plan.

“Who knows what a Horcrux is?”

***

Remus had been silent during most of Harry’s little war planning meeting, although he hadn’t
intended to do so. It’s just… ever since the word war came out of Harry’s mouth, Remus hasn’t
been able to stop thinking. And worrying.

He’s not sure he’ll survive this.

Yes, he knows that, in Harry’s future at least, he survives. Remus grows up to be a professor —
however that happens, what with the werewolf reforms, and all — and Sirius grows up to be
Harry’s godfather, and whatever else that entails. Lily and James grow up to be parents, and Peter
grows up to be — something. Presumably. Something important, if Harry’s words are anything to
go by.

But this is a new future that they’ve created, and Remus doubts he’ll get lucky enough to survive a
second time. He’ll follow the marauders anywhere, of course, but he fears that this may be the last
time he’ll have the chance.

He needs to talk to Sirius.

Remus can be a coward sometimes, especially when it comes to love, but he can’t die without
telling Sirius how he feels. He knows it’s unlikely to lead to anything, that it’s unlikely Sirius
returns his feelings. But still, he needs to do this. For his own sense of closure, if nothing else.

Harry finally comes to the end of his speech about Horcruxes (and it’s not that Remus wasn’t
listening, but he’s still not quite sure what they are), and Remus seizes on the opportunity to talk to
Sirius.

The second they’ve finished, Remus grabs Sirius’s arm and drags him into the dormitory, closing
the door behind them. He pulls the curtains open on his bed, and plops down with a heavy sigh.

Sirius sits hesitantly on his own bed, across from Remus, a decidedly guilty expression on his face.
“Remus… I’m so sorry for missing the full moon. I was so worried about you. Are you okay?”

Remus swallows over the lump in his throat. “I’m okay, yeah. But that’s not really what I wanted to
talk to you about.”

Sirius looks up in surprise, and Remus hurries to explain.

“I know that your family was in trouble. Is in trouble. I get it. I just—” Remus feels his breath
quicken with panic, and Sirius quickly reaches over to rub his back comfortingly. The gesture is so
sweet that Remus almost tears up on the spot.

“I just. Just wanted to tell you, in case things go wrong. In case I don’t make it out of this.”

Sirius grabs at his hand, running a finger over his knuckles. “Don’t you say that,” he whispers
fiercely. “You, Remus Lupin, are the strongest person I know. If anyone can make it through this,
it’s you.” He pauses. “But what did you want to tell me?”
Remus hesitates. Does he really want to do this? Sure, things have been a little different between
him and Sirius lately — different in a way that’s almost started to give Remus hope— but does he
really want to risk their friendship on a possibility? Sirius is the best friend that Remus has ever
had.

“I, um.” He takes a deep breath. “I— and I don’t expect anything from you, by the way — you
don’t have to feel the same way, that’s completely fine—”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “How about you just tell me, and I can decide how I feel for myself,” he
chides gently.

“Right.” Remus squares his shoulders. “The thing is. We’ve been friends for a long time, right?”

Sirius nods, a bit confused. “...Right.”

“And we care about each other. As friends do.”

Sirius furrows his brows. “Of course.”

“Except.” Remus feels as though he might faint, but forces himself to keep going. “Except. I care
about you… a bit more. Than friends usually do.”

Sirius throws his hands up, exasperated. “Of course you do! I care about you too, Moony! I suspect
we all care about each other a good bit more than normal friends do. Merlin, is that all you wanted
to tell me?” He snorts. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Remus stares at him incredulously. “Sirius, you can not be this dense. Do you really have no idea
what I’m trying to tell you? None at all?”

Sirius looks at him uncomprehendingly. “That we’re friends? That you care about me? It’s really
sweet, but you really didn’t have to go through all this trouble to tell me that.”

Remus deflates a bit. Maybe this is a sign to stop pushing it; a sign that Sirius really does see them
as nothing more than friends. “Right. Well—”

“Hey, Padfoot! He wants to shag, you idiot!”

They both whirl around to catch a glimpse of James, grinning cheekily from around the door. He
winks at Remus, who abruptly goes bright red. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Put a silencing spell
up, will you?” And with that, he closes the door decisively.

Remus flounders, at a loss for words. “Um. I—”

Sirius is looking at him fondly. “Well. You could have just said so.”

“...Sorry, what?”

Sirius rolls his eyes, standing up and coming over to sit next to Remus. "Budge over." He arranges
himself smoothly, with no space in between them, and Remus is abruptly unsure what to do with
his hands. Or his anything.

“Um.”

“Really," Sirius murmurs. "You didn’t have to go through all this — pomp and whatnot. You could
have just told me,” Sirius says, softening his tone at the end.
 Remus struggles to find his voice. “Well, James put it a bit more crassly than I would like. It’s not
like I want to shag right now.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you don’t?” He looks pointedly at Remus’s crotch, then away.
“Shame.”

Remus smacks him lightly on the arm. “Sirius.”

“I’m just saying, I brought condoms for nothing. Sad, really.”

Remus looks up at the ceiling, trying to dull his blush. “Sirius. Honestly, I just wanted to tell you
that I—” he takes a deep breath. “That I love you.” There. He did it. “And the world might be
ending soon, so there’s that.”

When he chances a look at Sirius, he’s almost brought to his knees by the undisguised affection on
his face.

“I love you too, Moony. Of course I do.”

Remus isn’t sure who moves first, exactly, but one moment he’s looking into Sirius’s bright eyes,
and the next, he’s smiling into a tender kiss, tasting coffee and chocolate. Only a few years
overdue, Remus thinks, but certainly worth the wait.

Chapter End Notes

I apologize for the delay on this chapter— I’ve just gone back to college, and I’ve
been a bit busy. Updates will probably space out to about once a month, realistically,
until summer. I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Probably the most fluff you’re
gonna get for a while, to be honest. I will continue going back and editing this fic, and
this chapter is set to be intensively edited, so at some point the details in this part may
change a bit. As always, I appreciate comments and kudos! Love you guys❤️

-H
 Chapter 9
Chapter Summary

happy valentine’s day! not a lot of fluff in this, i’m afraid

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Draco is stressed out of his mind. Usually, he prides himself on keeping his composure regardless
of the severity of the situation (thanks to his father, of course; at least Lucius was good for
something), but this is a different matter entirely. Draco likes to think that he’s been keeping up
appearances well, as he always does, but he’s on the verge of breaking.

Narcissa can definitely tell. She's always known him better than he knows himself, even in this
strange setting of the past, where they are nearly strangers.

“Draco! What a… lovely surprise,” she says, the heavy iron door to Grimmauld Place creeping
open. Draco doesn’t miss the way her eyes dart behind her, as if looking for someone. Draco
shivers, a full-body terror coming over him instantly. The thought of seeing You-Know-Who again
is enough to do that to him.

“Can we talk outside?” he says nervously, foot tapping on the cobblestone entryway of its own
accord. Narcissa nods immediately, hurrying towards him and closing the door carefully behind
her. The minute the door closes, she drags Draco by the arm around the side of the house.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses quietly. “Draco, the mansion isn’t safe right now. You need
to leave. Go back to Hogwarts.”

Draco nods, glancing towards the door to ensure they aren’t being watched. “I know, I know. I am
leaving. As soon as you come with me. You can’t stay here.”

Narcissa sucks in a sharp breath. “You know. About what’s happening. About… who’s in there.”
She walks them a few more feet away from the house, looking over her shoulder worriedly. “It gets
worse, then?”

“Yeah. Much worse. Which is exactly why we need to leave.” Draco looks hurriedly down at his
watch. He really doesn’t want to be here much longer. Every second spent in Voldemort's general
vicinity is a second too long.

Narcissa worries at her bottom lip with her teeth. “Won’t they notice, if I leave?” She lowers her
voice. “Won’t he notice?”

Draco waves a hand impatiently. “I’ve already put up a Notice-Me-Not charm. We have about
thirty minutes, and by that time we’ll already be long gone. But we need to leave now."

Although they haven't spent very much time together, he hopes his mother still trusts him enough
to follow his lead. He looks at her hopefully, and Narcissa meets his eye. To his relief, she nods
decisively. “Fine. But I’m taking Bella and Andromeda with me.”
Draco parses that statement quickly, then runs it through his brain again. “... Bella? You want to
take Bellatrix?”

Narcissa blinks at him, nonplussed. “Yes, of course. She’s my sister, why wouldn’t I take her?”

Great. Just one more person for Draco to be terrified of. He sighs. Andromeda and Bellatrix had
graduated, but he's sure Hogwarts would still take them in. If they could prove that they weren't
spies, that is. “Alright. I'm sure we can work something out with McGonagall. Let’s get this over
with.” He draws his wand defensively and starts towards the house, but he’s stopped quickly by a
hand on his arm.

Narcissa looks at him like he’s suddenly grown three heads. “Draco, you don’t have to come in,”
she says, bewildered. "I’ll just pop over to get them and be right back out.”

Draco shakes his head firmly. “Well, they’re my aunts. Even Bellatrix.” He shudders. “Besides,
there’s no way I’m letting you go back in there alone.”

Clearly suspicious, Narcissa narrows her eyes. “What do you have against Bella?”

“Listen, I’d love to tell you, but we really don’t have time to stand outside all night.” Draco rubs at
his temple. He can already feel a migraine coming on. “It’s okay. What’s one more hopeless cause
to try and redeem?”

Narcissa frowns, opening her mouth to argue.

“Nope. Argument later, saving your sisters now. There’s no time.” Draco says quickly. “Sorry,” he
adds on belatedly, after meeting Narcissa’s unimpressed stare. With that done, he takes his
mother’s arm and apparates them both into what he hopes is Andromeda’s bedroom.

As the room swirls around them, he cracks an eye open wearily, hoping he hasn’t massively
miscalculated the jump and landed in You-Know-Who’s lair or something of the sort. He’s almost
relieved to see Andromeda and Bellatrix sitting on the floor reading potions books, which is a
sentence Draco never imagined he would think. He's relieved to see that neither of them have the
Dark Mark - not even Bellatrix, though he's sure that she must be days away from receiving it.

Andromeda looks up, brow furrowed. “Cissy? Who’s this?”

Draco rushes forward to grab her and Bellatrix’s arms, linking the four of them in a loose circle.
“No time to explain,” he says apologetically. “We’re getting you out of here.”

Bellatrix wrenches her arm away firmly. “Why would I want to leave? I don’t even know who you
are.” She glares at Narcissa.

“Bella, you know we can’t stay here,” Narcissa chides lightly. “Come on, get your things. We’re
leaving for Hogwarts.” She gestures to Andromeda, who’s already begun to hurriedly pack her
bags.

Bellatrix frowns. “No,” she protests. “You don’t get it. He said he had a special job for me. I’m
important to him. I can be useful here.”

Andromeda whirls around, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Bella, you can’t possibly think that’s a
good thing. I think being here has been bad for you. Cissy’s right, we need to leave.” She pauses.
“I’m scared,” she admits. “Narcissa’s scared. I know, deep down, that you’re scared too. Even if
you try not to show it.”
Bellatrix blinks, and in an instant turns furious. “How dare you accuse me of cowardice,” she
seethes. “Being around muggles has made you weak, you and Narcissa both. I’m staying, and that’s
final.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “As much as I would love to unpack all of that,” he says, glancing at
Narcissa, “we really must leave.” He tilts his head towards Bellatrix, and Narcissa understands
immediately, quickly grabbing her wand and circling a hand tightly around her arm.

“Let go of me, you mudblood-loving—”

Narcissa calmly ignores her. “Andromeda, are you ready?”

Andromeda nods affirmatively, coming over to join the circle with a firm hand on Draco’s arm.

Draco smiles. “Excellent. Let’s go.”

***

While Draco strongly admires Hogwarts’s no-apparition policy, it does become slightly
cumbersome in times like these. But then again, who wouldn’t enjoy a day long walk through the
forbidden forest with their mum and two aunts, one of whom they’re absolutely terrified of? Draco
is, for one, having a splendid time.

“You can’t keep me prisoner here,” Bellatrix complains. “Wait until I signal the Dark Lord, then
you’ll see.”

Andromeda rolls her eyes, dragging an unwilling Bellatrix behind her. “What, without your wand?
Without a mark? Have fun with that, Bella.”

Draco looks over at Narcissa, raising an eyebrow. “Why don’t I like Bella, you asked. Well, I do
wonder why that could possibly be.”

Narcissa shrugs uncomfortably. “She’s usually not this bad, I swear. Unless—” she glances over at
Draco. “She gets worse, then? In the future?”

Draco shudders. “Worse doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He stops walking for a second, a horrible
thought striking him. “Oh, Merlin. Harry’s going to be so mad that I brought her.” Sure, Harry had
seemingly forgiven Peter Pettigrew, but to forgive the girl that killed Sirius Black? Even Harry
didn’t have that much benevolence in him.

Draco takes a deep breath, trying to reason it out. “But, you know, she hasn’t done those things yet.
Maybe won’t ever do them. We’re in uncharted waters now. Even if she does seem…” He glances
back at Bellatrix, who seems to be trying to bite Andromeda’s hand off from where it grips her
shoulder.

Charming.

Narcissa looks pained. “She wasn’t always like this. I don’t know what happened.”

Draco pats her shoulder commiseratingly. “Our family happened. It’s alright. Happens to the best
of us.” Him and Narcissa share a loaded look, a silent understanding passing between them. She
glances to his sleeve, where the edge of the Dark Mark is poking out. Draco clears his throat,
flushed with shame and embarrassment. “All we can do now is move on.”

Narcissa nods. “Quite right.”

“Soo, I couldn’t help but overhear,” says Andromeda glibly, finally free of Bellatrix’s wandering
teeth, “but I’m going to assume that Draco here is a future Black relative?” She sizes him up for a
moment, then gasps delightedly. “Cissy, is this your son? My, my, he does quite look like Lucius
Malfoy, doesn’t he?”

Narcissa rolls her eyes. “I don’t even like Lucius.” She glances back at Draco. “No offense.”

Draco laughs. “None taken, trust me.” He looks back at Andromeda, and realizes he probably
hasn’t made the best first impression on his aunt. He quickly smooths his shirt down and sticks out
a hand. “Draco Malfoy. Pleased to meet you.”

Andromeda takes his hand and immediately pulls him into a hug, causing the air to leave Draco’s
lungs in a little whoosh. “Nice to meet you, Draco. Now, tell me,” she looks into his eyes mock-
seriously. “I’m the cool aunt, right?”

Draco hesitates. He only saw Andromeda a few times in the future, through passing visits to
Narcissa. Her visits got less and less frequent as the war progressed, and Draco could hardly blame
her.

Either way, Draco certainly didn’t know her well. He looks back at her bright, open face, and lies
through his teeth. “Of course you’re the fun aunt. Who else would it be, Bellatrix?” He pulls an
exaggerated face of disgust, only feeling slightly guilty from the growing look of delight on
Andromeda’s face. Some lies, he decides, are necessary.

Andromeda settles into a more serious tone. “Thank you for getting us out of the house, Draco. It
was a very brave thing to do.”

Draco doesn’t feel very brave at all, but at least someone thinks he is.

He smiles weakly. “Thank you. It was the least I could do, for my family.”

Narcissa squeezes his hand tightly in thanks, and they all sit for a moment in blissful silence.

“I think I’m going to throw up in my mouth,” groans Bellatrix. Draco had almost forgotten about
her, somehow. He looks back, amused, at where she seems to be dangling in the air, victim to a
particularly firm Petrificus Totalus.

“Well, the moment’s over, now,” says Andromeda cheerfully. “Better get going if we want to
make Hogwarts by sunset.” She waves her wand at Bellatrix, who grumpily floats forward to
follow them. "Come along, Bella."

Draco sighs, and continues to walk, with only slightly less energy than before. Beside him,
Narcissa bumps him playfully on the shoulder. “Well, we have three hours to go. You know what
that means?”

Draco narrows his eyes. “...What?”

“You get to tell me all about what’s happening with Harry.” Narcissa grins slyly.

Draco groans, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Mum. There’s nothing to tell, I swear.”
Narcissa raises her eyebrows. “Oh? So he didn’t like that scarf we worked on, then?”

Draco frowns. “No, he loved it. Wears it all the time, even.” He smiles softly, remembering
Harry’s reaction to the gift. It had been difficult, figuring out to buy for him. Harry was quite rich,
even if he didn’t always take advantage of it, and Draco didn’t want to try and impress him by
throwing his money around. That was part of why Harry had disliked him in the first place, and
Draco was not going down that road again. But a thoughtful, homemade gift? Just up Harry’s alley.

Narcissa grins. “He'd better. We worked hard on that!” She purses her lips thoughtfully. “But
obviously it didn’t work well enough if you two still aren’t together. Do you think he’d appreciate
some baked goods?”

“Mum, listen.” Draco pauses. “Actually, he probably would, but that’s not the point.” He sighs.

“I’ve been thinking, and maybe I’m just reading the signs wrong. Maybe he treats all of his friends
like this.” That doesn’t feel right, either. Draco tries to collect his thoughts. “I mean, I didn’t ever
see him treat Weasley like he treats me. But maybe I just missed it?”

Narcissa looks unimpressed. “My son, the self-confessed Harry Potter stalker, missing a detail? I
don’t think so.” She looks him steadily in the eye. “Draco, I know I had to have raised you to be
smarter than this. Harry’s supposed to be the dense one, not you.”

Draco smiles slightly at that. “No, you’re right.” He rubs his forehead. “I just— I think I’m stuck. I
don’t know how to move forward without putting my neck on the line. And he used to hate me,
you know? I don’t think I could go back to that. It would kill me.”

Narcissa stops walking, taking Draco firmly by the shoulder. “Draco, have you forgotten? We’re
Slytherins, my dear. And when we see something we want, what do we do?”

Draco grins, the words already imprinted in the back of his head.

“We go after it.”

***

Sirius doesn’t mean to overhear. He really doesn’t. He was only going to Harry’s room in the first
place to pick up his Herbology textbook he had left behind the other day when they had been
studying. It was only when he heard the whispers coming from inside that he paused outside the
door. Was that… Harry and Peter?

“Look, Peter, I appreciate you wanting to help. I just don’t know if I can trust you with such an
important task yet.”

“I get it, Harry, I do. But let me prove myself. Please. I already feel bad enough as it is.”

Sirius furrows his brow. What did Peter have to feel bad about? Whatever this conversation was
about, it gave Sirius a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He inches closer to the door.

“... I understand, Peter. But you understand too, right? You know what you did, in the future. Even
though you haven’t done it yet, and will never do it—” Merlin, Sirius hasn’t ever heard Harry this
stern before. “— you can see why I don’t trust you to do this.”
 “Of course I know what I did. Even if it won’t ever happen, I have to live with the fact that some
version of me somewhere betrayed your parents. That’s not something I take lightly, Harry.”

There’s a long silence. Sirius bites his lip to keep himself from making a sound. Peter betrayed Lily
and James? How? Why?

Finally, Harry speaks, his tone heavy. “I know. Sorry. It’s just difficult, sometimes, to keep
everything straight. But right now, my parents are alive, and we need to keep it that way.” Harry
pauses, completely oblivious to the way all the breath just left Sirius’s body. “You’re right, Peter.
We need all the help we can get.” He sighs. “You can go after the diadem. Just take Draco with
you, please. He should be back later tonight.”

“Thanks, Harry! You won’t regret it, I swear. I want this Voldemort guy gone just as much as you
do.”

Harry chuckles lowly. “No offense, Peter, but I highly doubt that.”

There’s a significant pause, where Peter seems to be weighing his options of what to say. “Harry, I
can’t say I understand the world you came from. It sounds horrible. But even though I’m probably
the last person you want to talk to about this, I get what it means, to be an orphan. If you ever need
to talk to me, I’m here.”

An orphan, Merlin. How did Sirius not notice? Harry seemed to barely know anything about his
parents, and he showed all the textbook signs of childhood abuse that Sirius had desperately
ignored. Harry was always eating hurriedly, like he was used to not knowing where his next meal
was coming from. He flinched at loud noises, and fell silent when someone raised their voice at
him, even jokingly. Sirius had noted all of this, silently, then pushed it away, feeling sick all the
while. He had figured he was wrong, that there had to be some other explanation, because he knew
Lily and James would never mistreat their son. It makes a lot more sense now that he knows they
weren’t there to raise him.

Did Peter have something to do with this? No wonder Harry seemed to dislike him so much. Sirius
clenches his jaw, willing himself to stay silent.

“Thanks for the offer, Peter. You know, you’re a much better guy than you were in the future.”
Harry sighs deeply. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I’m just stressed.”

Peter hums understandingly.

“Anyways, you’re free to go. Go with Draco to the Room of Requirement, you’ll find the diadem
there. Bring it straight to me, alright? We still have to figure out how to destroy it.”

“Alright, Harry. I’ll bring it right back to you as soon as we find it.”

“Thanks, Peter. Have a good night.”

Peter waves goodbye, and Sirius hurriedly ducks behind the door to avoid being seen. He swallows
uneasily, only one thought in his mind.

He has to tell Remus about this.

Chapter End Notes

Surprise!! Harry’s POV should be back in the next chapter, for anyone who’s missed
it. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and had a lovely Valentine’s Day. I love you
all.❤️

-H
 Chapter 10
Chapter Summary

there’s a little something for everyone in this chapter. enjoy❤️

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

For all that Harry’s been anticipating Draco’s return to Hogwarts, he was not expecting the
unwelcome addition of Bellatrix Lestrange. He takes one look at her, dragged along by Andromeda
Tonks, and has to physically turn around to take a deep, calming breath. He clenches and
unclenches his fists, then counts backwards from ten in his head. He’s not sure it’s helping much.

Harry slowly turns back around to meet Draco’s guilty eyes. Draco quickly straightens. “Now, I
know what you’re going to say—”

Harry feels his eye twitch. “Oh? What am I going to say, Draco? Please, tell me.”

Draco huffs. “Listen, I don’t like her either. But—”

Narcissa quickly cuts him off, stepping forward and raising her chin slightly. “It was my idea. I
understand from what my son has told me that you have quite a tarnished history with Bellatrix,
and I understand completely. Be that as it may, she’s my sister, and I’m taking full responsibility
for her.”

Harry takes her in for a moment. This is the first time he’s seen Narcissa in the past, and he’s
stricken by how much she reminds him of Draco. Standing side by side, they could be twins: the
same jaunty tilt to their chins, the same elegant, aristocratic fingers, the same tilted curve to their
smiles. Harry swallows. “Mrs. Malfoy. I didn’t mean—”

Narcissa’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “Please don’t call me that. Narcissa will do just fine.”

Harry nods, and she takes that as an invitation to continue.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter. I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’ve heard great things
about you from Draco. He talks about you quite a bit.”

Harry, startled, glances back at Draco, who suddenly seems very interested in staring at the floor.
He looks back to Narcissa and raises an eyebrow. “Really,” he says skeptically. “That doesn’t
sound like him. Usually he’s the one telling me what a ponce I am.” Draco lets out a small snort,
meeting Harry’s eye briefly in amusement before returning to his staring contest with the
floorboards.

Narcissa looks faintly amused. “Perhaps you haven’t been listening, then.”

Harry blinks in surprise.

Draco clears his throat. “If we could please stop talking about me like I’m not here,” he says
grudgingly, “there are more important matters at hand.”
Harry nods in agreement. “I understand that she’s your sister,” he says begrudgingly to Narcissa.
“And you can do whatever you like, of course. As long as I don’t have to see her.” His gaze
flickers back to Bellatrix, to her bare arm. That's a relief, at least. “Or be around her. Please.”

Bellatrix glances at him with hooded eyes. “Oh, are you scared? Of little old me?”

Tonks tugs at her arm. “Cut it out, Bella. Stop terrorizing the poor boy.”

“But Andromeda, he makes it so easy.”

Harry does, in fact, feel distinctly terrorized. On one hand, he vaguely realizes that it’s ridiculous to
be afraid of this version of Bellatrix, the same age as him and virtually harmless. On the other, he
can’t stop remembering her face as she blasted Sirius beyond the veil. The pure, unhinged joy that
only came from a true lunatic. A murderer.

Draco, seemingly sensing an incoming breakdown, walks quickly over to Harry, wrapping a gentle
hand around his arm. He turns back to the group. “As fun as this little reunion has been, I think I’ll
take Harry back upstairs now.”

Tonks nods in understanding, and Narcissa waves them off, face kind. “It was lovely meeting you,
Mr. Potter. Hopefully next time, it will be under better circumstances.”

Harry nods jerkily. “You— you too,” he says, peeling his eyes away from Bellatrix. Distantly, he
feels Draco tugging on his arm, and lets himself be led back to the dormitory.

Draco’s rubbing at his arm soothingly as he leads him though the door. It’s nice, Harry thinks,
leaning into the touch. “You’re okay, Harry. You’re at Hogwarts, I’m here, your parents are here.”
Harry wonders faintly why Draco is giving him the standard panic attack pep talk, before he
realizes, Oh. I’m having a panic attack.

Draco leads him to the bed, and stops. Opens his mouth, then closes it again. Seems to steel
himself. “Are you — Is it okay If I. If we lay down together?” Harry looks at him blankly, and
Draco rushes to backpedal. “We definitely don’t have to,” he says quickly. “It just helps me.
Whenever I’m in a bit of a state.”

Harry tries to express his thoughts in a way that’s not just a steady stream of tears, because if he
starts crying he might never stop. And that would be fucking embarrassing, especially in front of
Draco. Eventually, he realizes that Draco’s still waiting for an answer. “Yeah,” he says faintly, his
voice hoarse. “Go for it.”

Draco clears his throat. “Great,” he says, a bit awkwardly. “Then we’ll just—” he moves to sit on
the bed, tugging Harry with him. There’s a bit of uncertain fumbling before they settle on a nice
position, Draco sitting against the headboard with Harry tucked in between his legs, back pressed
firmly against Draco’s solid chest. If Harry wasn’t so upset, he would probably be a bit turned on
right now.

Draco hesitantly wraps an arm around Harry, stroking his shoulder gently with his thumb. “You
okay?” he asks softly.

Harry swallows. “Not really. But— this is helping.” He twists his head to look at Draco. “You’re
helping,” he says quietly.

Draco looks back at him, expression soft. “Good,” he whispers back. Harry thinks for a second that
something might happen, but Draco only breaks eye contact and looks up at the ceiling. Oh. Harry
twists back around, resting the back of his head on Draco’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry I brought her,” Draco confesses. “I really tried to leave her behind. I knew how hard it
would be for you.”

“No, you did the right thing,” Harry admits, sighing. “I’m just— selfish. She hasn’t even done
anything yet. I have no reason to hate her.”

Draco looks up, surprised. “Harry, you have every right to hate her. Hell, I hate her. Just because
she’s my family doesn’t mean she’s redeemable. In fact, it probably tips the odds against her.”

Harry hums thoughtfully. “Still. There’s a chance, however small. It’s just— I don’t want to be the
one in charge of it.” He huffs. “Is that horrible of me?”

Staring at him incredulously, Draco says, “Harry, no one expects that from you. We’ll leave her to
my mum, it’ll be fine.”

Harry slumps in relief. “Great,” he says weakly. He looks back at Draco. “It’s good to see you
again, by the way. I’m glad you made it okay.” Harry suddenly feels guilty with the realization that
all he’s done since Draco arrived is yell and cry. “I’m sorry I’ve been weird.”

Draco snorts, tugging Harry closer. “You’re always weird,” he teases. “But no, I completely get it.
It would have been weirder if you hadn’t reacted.”

Relieved, Harry nods. “Still. I’m sorry.” He winces then, remembering his earlier conversation
with Peter.

“And I’m also sorry that I volunteered you to go search for Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem with
Peter.”

Draco’s silent for a moment. “Well, I suppose I deserve that.”

“It’ll be quick, I promise. It’s in the Room of Requirement," Harry says slowly, assessing. He hates
himself for the way Draco stiffens against him, and immediately wants to take the words back.
How had he been so stupid? Had he really thought Draco was ready to go in that bloody room
again, after all the horrible things that had happened in it? "On second thought, you don't have to
go," Harry rushes out. "I'll clear some room in my schedule, or I'll find someone else-"

"Harry," Draco interrupts firmly. "It's just a room. I can't be afraid of it forever."

Shrinking in on himself, and feeling very small, Harry says, "I just— I didn’t trust him to go
alone.”

To Harry's relief, Draco just nods understandingly. “That’s okay. I don’t trust him, either. Of
course I’ll do it.”

Appreciative and incredibly fond, Harry smiles at him. “Thanks, Draco. For everything.”

Draco gives him an inscrutable look, and there’s a long pause. Harry feels warm under his gaze.

“Anything for you, Harry.”

***
Draco is having a rotten time. Anything for you, Harry! Merlin, what was he thinking? That sort of
talk was what got him in this mess in the first place. And it certainly had landed him here, in the
bloody Room of Requirement with Peter Pettigrew at one in the morning. Really, Draco thinks he
would rather be back in the dungeons with his father.

He glances back wearily at his companion, tossing another useless trinket over his shoulder. “You
find anything?”

Peter shrugs. “Not a thing.”

Great. They were going to be here all bloody night. Draco squints, looking desperately for
anything vaguely diadem-shaped. What even was a diadem?

Draco hears nervous shuffling behind him, and he stops his search, sighing. “Spit it out, rat,” he
snaps.

“Listen, Draco, do you think we could pick this up tomorrow? It’s just— It’s getting late, and my
girlfriend Alice is expecting me back at her dorm—”

Draco rolls his eyes, and briefly entertains the thought of telling Peter that his girlfriend Alice
grows up to marry a man named Frank and have their nerdy, herbology-loving son. Better not—
too mean, even for Draco’s standards. He sighs.

“Go ahead, Peter. I’ll stay here.”

Peter glances back nervously. “Are you sure? I’m sure you’re tired, too. We can meet up again
another night.”

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. Pettigrew had volunteered for this job, and yet he was still
backing out of it. “We don’t have time for that. Just go.”

And with that, Peter scurries out of the room, like the rat he is. Great.

Back to the search, Draco supposes. It’s not like he has anything better to do. He glances around
the room for a minute, suppressing a shudder. He doesn’t have many good memories in the Room
of Requirement, he will admit. Near death by fiendfyre will do that to a person.

The room does look different now. Not as dark, not as charred. It’s simply a room, with some nice
chairs and couches, a rug, and piles upon piles of trinkets. Somewhere in the piles is the lost
diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, neatly containing a piece of Voldemort’s soul. So, strictly
speaking, it’s a fairly average room, all things considered.

After another hour of pointless searching, Draco figures it won’t kill him to take a break. He’s just
so tired, you see, and there’s a perfectly nice couch calling his name (that hadn’t been there before,
had it?), and a perfectly nice mirror next to the couch — wait. Was that—? It couldn’t be.

Draco walks up to the mirror cautiously, careful not to look at his reflection. He had heard legends
about the Mirror of Erised, growing up as a young child. He had always thought them to be fiction.
Who could blame him— a mirror that showed the truest desires of one’s heart? It sounded too
much like something out of a Muggle fairy tale. Yet here it was, solid and real in front of him.
Draco’s sure that it doesn’t really show the desires of your heart (how could it?), but maybe it
wouldn't hurt to look…

“Draco? What are you still doing in here?”

Fuck. Harry.

Draco whirls around, stepping in front of the mirror on instinct.

“Nothing. Well— not nothing, of course. I’m looking for the diadem. Peter went and abandoned
me for Alice Longbottom, of all people.”

Harry chuckles. “Yeah, that surprised me too. I never knew those two were together. Peter’s got a
rude awakening coming, for sure. But, Draco— it’s four in the bloody morning. I didn’t expect you
to stay up all night.”

Draco blinks in surprise. “Is it really? Bloody hell.”

Harry squints, trying to see around Draco. “What’s that behind you? It almost looks like—” he
adjusts his glasses, then steps closer. “Merlin, is that the Mirror of Erised? I haven’t seen this thing
in forever.”

“You’ve seen this before?” Draco’s almost jealous. Then he remembers he’s talking to bloody
Harry Potter, the savior of the Wizarding World. “Of course you have. Why am I even surprised?”
he grumbles.

Harry grins at him cheekily. “So, what did you see? Yourself as the Minister of Magic? Winning
the Quidditch Cup, maybe?” He pauses, considering. “That’s what Ron saw, I’m pretty sure.”

Draco shrugs. “I haven’t looked. What about you? What did you see, when you looked?”

Harry looks back at him, cheerful mood disappearing in an instant. “Er. I saw my parents.”

Oh. Of course. Draco feels like an idiot. “Harry, I’m sorry—”

Harry shrugs him off. “No, you’re fine. It was in first year, and I still felt a bit out of place at
Hogwarts.” He sits down on a nearby couch, and Draco follows suit. “I loved it, of course. It was
loads better than it was at the Dursley’s.” There’s a moment of silence. Draco had heard rumors
about the Muggles who had raised Harry (raised being too generous a term, in Draco’s opinion),
but they had never spoken about it directly.

Harry clears his throat. “But I just— I missed them. Even though I never really knew them.” He
blinks. “And now I know them. And they’re—”

“They’re wonderful,” Draco says softly.

Harry nods in agreement. “They really are, aren’t they?” He rubs at his eyes, and Draco graciously
pretends not to notice. “Anyways, you should look. If you want to.”

Draco hesitates. He’s pretty sure he knows exactly what he’ll see when he looks in the mirror. But
Harry’s asking him, and Merlin knows that he’s incapable of saying no to Harry’s requests.

“Sure. I guess it couldn’t hurt.” And with that he braces himself, and steps in front of the mirror.

It takes a second for his eyes to catch up with the image. He looks— happy. Really happy, actually.
So does Harry. Because of course he’s there, in Draco’s greatest desire. He always has been. Draco
takes it in greedily, the bare skin of his forearm, the cheeky grin on Harry’s face, the blond toddler
on Draco’s hip. Fuck. It’s too much. Draco blinks back the sudden tears that spring up, unbidden.

“Draco?” Harry comes up to him, places a gentle arm on his shoulder. “What is it? What do you
see?”

Draco turns away, puts his mask back on. He can do this. He can pretend. He’s a good friend, after
all. He clears his throat.

“I’m winning the Quidditch Cup.”

***

“Sirius, what are you trying to tell me?”

“You heard me, Remus.”

“Maybe you heard them wrong?”

Sirius groans, frustrated. “No. I know what I heard. Harry said his parents were dead. That he was
an orphan.”

Remus pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you— it doesn’t make any sense. I mean, me, I can see
that. But Lily and James? They could survive the bloody apocalypse.”

“Don’t say that about yourself,” Sirius snaps. He hesitates. “But it wasn’t just—”

“It wasn’t just what?”

“They were betrayed,” Sirius says softly. “By one of us.”

Remus catches on immediately. “By—”

“By Peter, yeah. That’s why Harry doesn’t like him.”

Remus blinks, then his expression turns murderous. “Where is he?”

“What?”

“Peter. That cowardly little bastard, I’ll rip him apart—”

“Remus. Hey. We don’t know the whole story yet.”

“We don’t need to know the whole story. We treated him as one of us, Sirius. And he betrayed
them. I don’t care if he hasn’t done it yet, if he did it in a different timeline, whatever. He did it.
And that’s enough for me.”

Sirius huffs out a breath. “Yeah, I agree.” He scoots closer on the bed to Remus, offering him an
arm. Remus cuddles under it immediately, calming slightly.

“I just— I can’t believe—”

“I know. Me too.”

“Poor Harry. Merlin. No wonder he hardly knew anything about his own parents.”

“Who do you think—” Sirius cuts off.

 Remus sits up slightly. “No, what is it?”

“Who do you think raised him?”

Remus’s eyes soften. “Well, you’re his godfather. It would make the most sense.”

“It would, wouldn’t it? But I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

Sirius sighs. “I didn’t want to say anything before.”

“About what?”

“Moony, I know what it’s like to grow up in an abusive household. Harry hides it well, but I know
the signs.”

“Abusive? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

Remus blinks, processing that. “Well, I’ll say it again, then. Poor Harry.” He shakes his head in
disbelief. “We really need to talk to him soon. Get the full story. No lies this time.”

Sirius nods. “I get why he did. I wouldn’t want to tell my parents about their own death either. But
we know now. We can help.”

“Lily and James aren’t dying on my watch, that’s for sure.” Remus thinks it over. “Harry must have
been carrying this on his own for so long.”

Sirius clutches Remus tighter. “Not anymore. He’s got us, now.”

“You’re damn right, he does.”

Chapter End Notes

Hey guys! Thank you so much for your continued support on this fic❤️ I do want to
issue an apology to the person who asked if Alice was Alice Longbottom and i said
no. I swear I wasn’t lying at the time, but I did steal your idea . Anyways, I hope
everyone enjoyed this chapter! The next one will be up in probably about a month.
Also, it’s very likely that the chapter count will increase, because somehow I am
moving at a snail’s pace in regards to the plot. Pray for me. Love you guys!

-H❤️
 Chapter 11
Chapter Summary

… surprise! i’m back

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry’s frustrated to no end. It had been two weeks since they began the search for horcruxes, and
they had made absolutely no progress.

It’s not that they hadn’t been trying. Harry and Draco had searched the Room of Requirement for
hours, with absolutely no luck. (Harry thinks back to the room, to the mirror, and shivers. Best not
to think about that.)

It just didn’t make any sense. Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem had been found in the Room. Ergo, in
the past, it should still be in the same room. The fact that it wasn’t there didn’t sit well with Harry.
Someone must have taken it. But who?

Today would be different, though. Harry was sure of it. Harry, Draco, and the Marauders were
journeying down to the Chamber of Secrets to retrieve Tom Riddle’s diary.

While Harry wasn’t exactly looking forward to the trip, he did feel fairly certain that the diary
would be in its rightful place. No one could have opened the Chamber without being a
Parseltongue, and Harry knew exactly how rare the chances of that were. He was almost positive
that he would be the only one looking to open the Chamber, anyways.

Even on the off chance that someone had reached the Chamber before Harry, at least that narrowed
down the suspect list to only wizards that knew Parseltongue. It was a start, at least.

Voldemort was on that list. But Harry didn’t want to think about that— if Voldemort was onto
them already, they were in much more trouble than Harry had thought.

“Hey. You ready?” Draco opens the dormitory door without bothering to knock, his robes
sweeping behind him as he enters.

Harry grins half-heartedly. “As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

Draco raises his eyebrows. “Well, you’ve certainly been through worse. What’s to be worried
about? It’s just— well. A giant basilisk. Nothing to fear.” The words are said sarcastically, but
Harry can sense the underlying panic in Draco’s tone.

“Draco. Please don’t feel like you have to come. You can even be the look-out, if you want.” Peter
was the current look-out, but Harry had been thinking of adding another anyways. In Harry’s book,
he wasn’t entirely set on Peter as an ally. As such, he had committed to keeping a close eye on him,
and didn’t want to trust him with anything too important. A bit cruel, maybe, but necessary in
Harry’s eyes.

Draco scoffs. “If you think I won’t be coming down there to watch out for you, you’re entirely
wrong.” He pauses. “But if you’re considering adding another look-out at the entrance, I would
suggest Remus. He seemed a little green around the gills when we were going over the plan
earlier.”

Harry nods— he had been thinking the same thing. “Good idea, Draco. I’ll ask him before we
leave.” He watches Draco’s expression carefully, trying to gauge his current level of facade.
“You’re really okay with going down there?”

Draco takes a deep breath. “I will admit, it does worry me a bit.” He looks Harry in the eye. “But
yes. I will follow you wherever you go.”

Harry feels the impact of his words as if he were hit with a stupefy. The simple admission had been
said truthfully, and with almost no thought behind them. As if the words were so true that they had
been pulled straight from Draco’s core.

“I—thank you, Draco,” he says carefully. “I would do the same thing for you, you know.”

Draco looks surprised for a moment, eyes widening slightly, before he laughs.

“How far we’ve come,” Draco teases lightly.

Harry eyes him for a second. He’s not quite buying the act— Draco still has an unsteady air to him,
as if Harry’s admission had caught him off guard. But why? Does he not know how much Harry
cares about him?

Harry resolves to tell Draco more often. It’s the truth, after all.

For now, though, he would accept Draco’s attempt to lighten the conversation. Draco often shied
away from too much emotion, and the last thing Harry wants to do is scare him off.

He slings an arm around Draco’s shoulders. “If only they could see us now. The infamous Potter
and Malfoy,” he laughs, agreeing.

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Quite.” He attempts to look unaffected, but Harry can see the distinctly
ruffled look to his features, and stifles a grin.

And with that, Harry and Draco push out the door to start towards the Chamber of Secrets.

***

“Took you long enough,” James bellows as they approach. “We’ve been here for ages. It’s starting
to look a bit suspicious, honestly.”

Harry stares at him. "Why didn't you use the cloak?" he asks incredulously.

Glancing over, Lily pulls a sour face. "Marlena's borrowing it. Wanted to go sneak around with her
new boyfriend."

Draco laughs. “That’s why Pettigrew was sent on look-out, wasn’t it?” He cranes his neck to look
at Peter. “You doing your job, Wormtail?”

Peter hunches slightly in embarrassment. “No one’s come looking,” he mutters defensively.
Harry nudges Draco slightly. “Quit it,” he mutters, trying not to laugh.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he mutters back. Louder, he says, “Well, that’s good and all, but Harry
and I were thinking of giving you some help. Remus, are you up to it?”

Remus looks up gratefully. “Yeah, that sounds fine,” he says, a bit too eagerly. He moves to join
Peter at the bathroom entrance, but casts a wary glance to Sirius. “You’ll be alright?”

Sirius softens, pulling him in for a quick kiss. “I’ll be fine, love.”

James and Lily hoot loudly at the display of affection, and Remus pinks. “Like you two aren’t just
as bad,” he grumbles. To Sirius, he simply says a quick, “Be careful,” before stepping away.

Harry takes a fortifying breath, then steps up to the sinks. “Alright,” he says loudly, trying to relay
a confidence that he wasn’t entirely sure he felt. “The Basilisk should be dormant at the moment.
Tom’s spirit hasn’t been awakened, so we’re not expecting too much danger.”

Draco and the remaining Marauders nod, looking a bit relieved.

“However,” Harry reminds them, “We’ll need a fang to destroy the book. Hopefully we can
retrieve the fang without much of a struggle. Whatever you do, don't look the basilisk in the eye. I
can try to communicate using Parseltongue, and hopefully they'll be receptive to it. If not--” he
swallows. “If not, we fight. I can use my animagus form if needed.” He casts a final look to the
group. “Good luck.”

And with that, he steps up to the Chamber entrance. “Open,” he hisses, the snake language falling
easily from his lips.

Harry looks back to Draco and the Marauders. If they’re scared, he can’t tell. They hide it well,
nothing but grim determination in their expressions. James moves to cover Lily defensively as they
enter, almost unthinkingly. Harry stares at them for a moment, swallows thickly, and returns to the
task at hand.

The Chamber is empty and silent in a foreboding way. The dampness of the air is palpable, and
Harry feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Their footsteps ring loudly in the quiet, and
Harry wordlessly casts a quick Silencio.

He senses her before he hears her: a shifting body, a warning hiss. “Who are you?”

Harry takes a deep breath. He hadn’t been sure exactly what state the basilisk would be in:
dormant, yes, but asleep? Passive? At least one of his questions has already been answered.

“We come in peace,” he says slowly, stopping in his tracks. He motions the others to do the same.
“We have no ill intentions.”

There’s a pause, then a loud hiss of displeasure. Sirius tenses. “Harry, what’s it saying?”

Harry waves him off, fighting to keep his body language calm, nonthreatening. “Nothing bad, for
now,” he whispers.

The basilisk’s voice comes again, low and throaty. “He said the same, when he came. He lied.”

Harry pauses. He can work with this. “Tom Riddle?” he guesses.

There’s a rush of air, and the basilisk quickly draws to her full height. James tenses and moves to
draw his wand, but Harry stops him.

“Do not say that name,” the basilisk growls. She eyes Draco and the Marauders with clear
displeasure. They avoid her gaze.

“Give me one reason that I should not kill you and your companions where you stand.”

Harry puts his hands out placatingly. “We wish to destroy Tom Riddle’s horcrux. His diary.”

She makes a low sound of interest. “As have many before you. How do you plan to accomplish this,
child?”

Harry winces, not yet wanting to tell her of their plan. He considers his words carefully. “Tom
wasn’t good to you?” he asks nervously, changing the subject.

“The worst,” she hisses. “Compelled me to fight for him, to commit atrocities against my nature.”

“That must have been horrible. What’s your name?” he asks gently.

The basilisk regards him curiously. “Adrasteia. Inescapable.” She draws herself up, strength
radiating from her large form. Harry stands strong, avoiding her eye but otherwise showing no sign
of acquiescence.

“You are different from the others,” Adrasteia purrs. “Unafraid.”

Harry nods. “I wish you no harm. Only to destroy the diary.”

“With what?”

Harry hesitates, and Adrasteia cocks her head. “I see. You need my fang?”

Harry swallows tightly. “Yes.”

There’s a lengthy pause, in which the dripping water from the cavern seems to echo louder than
thunder.

Eventually, Adrasteia sighs. “You intrigue me,” she admits, “So I’ll offer you a trade.”

Harry considers this. “A trade for what?” he asks hesitantly.

Adrasteia turns her eyes to Draco, and Harry moves in front of him protectively.

“Your friend is Slytherin, yes?”

“Yes.”

Adrasteia eyes Draco curiously. “I sense a snake-like presence. Beyond personality.”

Harry’s not quite sure where this is going. “Yes. His animagus form.”

“I am in need of company,” Adrasteia murmurs. “Give me the boy and I will help you.”

Harry’s so startled, he forgets to answer in Parseltongue. “No!” He grabs Draco’s wrist

possessively, moving him further behind Harry’s back.

“Harry, what is it?” Draco whispers, startled. Next to him, Sirius’ hand inches closer to his wand.
“It doesn’t matter, it’s not happening,” Harry mutters tersely. “She wants you, she’ll have to go
through me.”

Draco blinks back at him. “Harry,” he murmurs lowly. His mouth opens, then closes.

“You care for this boy,” Adrasteia observes.

“Yes,” Harry admits, without hesitation. “I would give my life for him. Pick something else.”

“Fine. I wish to speak with him first.”

Harry hesitates. He turns to Draco. “She wants to talk to you. Are you comfortable transforming?”

Draco nods quickly, a determined expression overtaking his face. “Of course. I trust you to have
my back,” he says quietly. “And the others, of course,” he tacks on belatedly.

James rolls his eyes. “It’s okay, Draco, we know that Harry ranks above us.”

Draco pinks. He rolls his shoulders, preparing for his transformation. “What’s her name?” he asks
Harry.

“Adrasteia. I’ll be watching if she tries anything.”

Draco nods, then transforms quickly.

Harry walks a few paces away to give the two snakes privacy, and quickly catches the Marauders
up on the conversation.

“She doesn’t seem too bad,” Lily murmurs.

“I think Voldemort abused her,” Harry admits.

Sirius wrinkles his nose. “Wouldn’t be surprised.”

James glances over to where Draco is. “What does she want with him?”

Harry shrugs. “She’s lonely, I think. Been down here for ages. Makes sense.” He watches Draco
and Adrasteia for a second. The conversation, from what he can hear, is civil. Friendly, even. Still,
Harry narrows his eyes.

“She’s got another thing coming if she thinks she can take him from us. I’ve fought her once, and
I’ll do it again.”

Lily puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Draco is strong. He won’t stand for it, either. I’m
sure you two can work something out with her.”

Harry, despite himself, leans into Lily’s hand. “Thanks, Mum.”

He notices Sirius eyeing him strangely, and raises an eyebrow. Sirius quickly looks away.

What was that about?

Harry shakes it off, and looks back to Draco, who’s now back in human form.

“Well?” he asks nervously.

Draco shrugs. “She was nice. Lonely. Said she’d trade a fang for company.”
Harry stares at him. “Yours?” he presses.

Draco laughs. “Harry, do you honestly think I want to live in a sewer? Of course not. I told her we
would be happy to round up some snakes for her.”

Harry slumps in relief. “Thank you,” he says gratefully to Adrasteia.

She inclines her head. “It is nothing. I wish to see Tom Riddle destroyed, as do you.”

Adrasteia pauses. “Take his book with you. I certainly have no need for it. Come back with my
companions, and I will give you my fang.”

Harry nods. “I will find good company for you,” he promises.

“Please do. And take care of Draco.”

Harry’s breath hitches. “Of course.”

Adrasteia regards Draco for a moment. “He reminds me of my young Salazar,” she says
mournfully. “Before the greed of men changed him. He was light-hearted, and clever.”

Harry blinks in surprise. “Er— that does sound like Draco, I suppose.”

“I wish you well, and will await your return.”

Harry bows respectfully. “We will hurry back,” he promises.

And with that, the group exits the Chamber, breathing a collective sigh of relief.

***

Remus eyes the group, making sure they’re out of sight before he rounds on Peter, fists clenched in
anger.

“I know what you did, you fucking traitor,” he growls.

Peter looks at him, surprised. “What, Harry told you? Did he— Did he tell the others?”

"He didn’t tell me. Sirius overheard your little talk the other night.” Remus laughs dryly, no humor
behind it. “Merlin, you’re lucky that we haven’t told James and Lily themselves. How could you
do that to them?”

Peter stiffens. “I haven’t—”

Remus shakes his head. “No, I know. But if Harry hadn’t been here, you would’ve.” He pauses,
throat tight. “You orphaned him, Peter.”

Voice small, Peter nods. “I know. Merlin, you think I don’t know? You think I haven’t thought
about it every day since he’s told me?” He takes a breath. “I know how hard it is, growing up
alone. I hate that he had to.”

Remus pauses. Peter… does seem genuinely apologetic. He reconsiders his initial approach.
Remus sits heavily on the floor. Peter considers him warily for a moment before seemingly giving
up, slumping down to join him.

“I just—” Remus starts hoarsely, “I can’t believe it. I trust you.” He casts a sidelong glance at
Peter. “Trusted you,” he amends apologetically.

Peter winces. “I deserve that,” he says sadly. “I couldn’t believe it either. But I can see it. The fear.
The cowardice.” He frowns. “Sometimes I’ve got no bloody idea how I was placed in Gryffindor,”
he admits quietly.

Remus sighs. “Me too,” he murmurs. “But the hat sees the best in us, I suppose.”

There’s a long silence, in which Remus and Peter simply sit in a morose kind of quiet. “You’ve
talked to Harry about this quite a bit, I imagine,” Remus hedges.

Peter nods. “Absolutely. I’m trying to make it up to him any way I can. I know he doesn’t trust
me.” His mouth quirks sadly. “He probably never will.”

“Harry’s a good kid,” Remus says. “Despite everything. I’m sure if you earn it, he’ll be willing to
forgive you.”

Peter swallows. “… And you? Sirius?”

Remus closes his eyes. Shakes his head. “I’m not sure. I’ll need time. I’m sure he will too.”

“You… won’t tell James and Lily, will you?”

“No.” Remus looks at him, eyes hard. “I won’t do that to them. But if they find out…”

“Right. Of course. Thank you.” Peter hangs his head.

“Bloody hell, what sort of pity party is this, then?” James’s amused voice carries over from the
bathroom door.

Remus is filled with instant relief. “Thank Merlin,” he rushes out, standing up at once. “You’re all
alright?”

“Present and accounted for,” Sirius grins, coming up behind James. Remus, despite himself, runs to
embrace him. He probably looks a bit silly, but there was a part of him that worried for Sirius,
though he knew he was more than capable.

Sirius presses a fond kiss to the side of his head. He looks behind Remus, then, to where Peter’s
still sitting on the floor, and raises a curious eyebrow.

I’ll tell you later, Remus mouths, and Sirius nods his understanding.

Peter glances up when Harry and Draco emerge from the bathroom. “Is the diary destroyed, then?”
he asks hopefully.

Harry shakes his head. “Not yet. We made a deal with Adrasteia— that’s the basilisk,” he explains
hurriedly. “She’ll give us a fang willingly to destroy the diary if we bring her some snakes to keep
her company.”

Remus blinks. “Well, that was easy.”

Draco looks at him grimly. “It’s only one horcrux. There’s plenty more, and we don’t even know
where they are.”

“Right, of course.”

Harry rolls his eyes at Draco. “We’re allowed to celebrate a little, you know. One horcrux good as
gone, and we didn’t even have to fight for it.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Well, we almost did, thanks to you.”

Harry looks at him incredulously. “I’m sorry, did you want me to let her take you?”

“Of course not, you dolt. But, if we would get a horcrux from it…”

“Absolutely not!” Harry’s staring at Draco as if he’s just suggested they go drown kittens for fun.
“Bloody hell Draco, you are not expendable. Not for any reason.”

Draco attempts to look unruffled by this statement, but Remus can see the twin spots of pink high
on his cheeks.

“Those two need to shag it out, already,” Sirius murmurs in his ear, as Harry and Draco dissolve
into playful bickering.

Remus shoves at him lightly. “That’s your godson you’re talking about. Gross.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Exactly my point. No godson of mine is going to sit around pining like a
lovesick dolt.” He looks at Harry thoughtfully. “I’ll have to give him some pointers.”

“Oh, right. Because you, Sirius Black, are obviously the expert on love.”

Sirius grins down at him, eyes crinkling. “I got you, didn’t I?”

Remus bites at his lip to hide his smile, then presses a quick kiss to Sirius’s mouth. “Hmm.
Doesn’t ring a bell,” he teases.

“What about this?” Sirius murmurs, thumbing gently at Remus’s dimples before kissing him again.

“Keep going. It’s coming back to me,” Remus laughs.

“We can hear you two making out back there!” Lily calls from the front of the hall. “Hurry it up or
you’ll miss the Pumpkin Pasties at dinner.”

Remus and Sirius pull away from each other, watching Lily as she turns back around. Remus turns
his gaze to Harry, who’s laughing along with her.

“We have to talk to him, still,” he says quietly to Sirius, mood dampening.

Sirius watches Harry for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right. We will.”

Remus grabs his hand, entangling their fingers.

“Don’t worry, Sirius. It’ll be alright.”

He glances at the back of Peter’s head, and sighs.

“It has to be.”

Chapter End Notes

ok. first of all, i am SO sorry for how long this has taken me to post. to be honest, i’m
not as invested in the Harry Potter fandom at the moment, and i was feeling more
motivated to write other stories. however, i know a lot of you really love this story,
and i would hate to leave it unfinished. i’m going to try and have this finished by the
end of summer at best, and the end of the year at worst. thank you all for your
continued support of this story!!!

- H❤️❤️
 Chapter 12
Chapter Summary

draco and harry get their shit together— kinda. oh, and there’s treason. what more
could you want?

Chapter Notes

hey everyone!! here’s an extra long chapter for your reading pleasure. we’re getting
near the end!! hope you all enjoy❤️

See the end of the chapter for more notes

If Draco’s being completely honest, he is intimately familiar with Harry-Potter-related daydreams.

When he was younger, before Hogwarts and the subsequent crushing of his dreams, he had
imagined that one day he would meet Harry and he would be immediately impressed by all the
money Draco’s family had, and then they would be best friends and live happily ever after.

Of course, in the years following, Draco’s daydreams alternated between punching Harry in the
face and aggressively pushing him against the nearest wall to make out. Dark times indeed.

However, none of his fantasies had involved waking up at six in the morning to go snake-catching
with Harry, in order to appease the giant basilisk that lived under the girls’ bathroom.

Funny thing, fate.

Draco still isn’t quite used to the change in his vision from his animagus form. It’s startling to be so
low to the ground, while simultaneously feeling extra vulnerable to any predators that may appear.
Draco is at least lucky that he can transfigure back to his human form in an instant; other snakes
are not nearly as fortunate. At least they have venom, he supposes. Draco, ironically, is an
incredibly harmless snake - garden variety, and small.

Feeling desperately in need of a break, Draco performs his transfiguration quickly, reveling in the
feeling of his human limbs returning. “You almost done?” he calls to Harry, peering around the
bushes to try and spot him.

There’s a faint rustling sound before Harry pops through the bushes, grinning widely and carefully
cradling a black garden snake in the crook of his elbow. “Yep!” he says cheerfully. “Persephone
here was just telling me how much she would love to meet our dear friend Adrasteia.”

Draco snorts fondly. Only Harry could make friends with every snake he meets.

Harry frowns slightly at him. “You didn’t have to transform back to talk to me,” he reminds Draco.

Rolling his eyes fondly, Draco teases, “Harry, dear, I needed a break. Not everything is about you.”

Harry quirks his lips. “Fair enough.” He eyes Draco’s small gathering of snakes. “You think we
have enough?”

Draco raises an eyebrow, looking around the clearing that must contain at least thirty snakes. “I
think we have a small army,” he chuckles. “If this doesn’t make her happy, I don’t know what
will.”

Harry grins. “We’re doing a good thing,” he says excitedly, bouncing slightly on the balls of his
feet. “I had no idea all these snakes were so lonely.”

Unwittingly absorbing some of Harry's contagious energy, Draco fights back a smile. “Oh, yes,” he
says mock-seriously, “the biggest problem Hogwarts has ever faced. Reptilian loneliness.”

Harry narrows his eyes, stooping down to lower Persephone the snake. “I know you’re making fun
of me right now,” he informs Draco, “but I don’t really care.”

“Oh, so I can keep doing it?”

Harry snorts. “Please, like you ever stopped.”

Draco considers this, then decides to try a new tactic. “Would you rather I compliment you?”

Stumbling a bit, Harry drops Persephone, letting out a quick flurry of apologies in Parseltongue. To
Draco, he says, “I— what.”

Eloquent.

Taking this as a sign of encouragement, Draco smiles. “I love when you speak Parseltongue.” He
really did, but that was neither here nor there.

“Draco—”

“Oh, and I like when you say my name. Draco is much better than Malfoy.”

“I—”

Undeterred, Draco holds up a hand to silence him. “Harry, have I ever told you how much I like
your voice?”

Draco peeks over to a beet-red Harry, and tries not to laugh.

“Draco, I get it.” Poor Harry looks like he’s about to collapse. “Please go back to tormenting me.”

Unable to stop teasing him, Draco winks. “If you insist.”

Harry makes a small, pained noise that quite sounds like he’s been punched in the stomach. Draco
bites down a satisfied grin, opting instead to breeze past Harry and pat him consolingly on the
shoulder.

“Time to re-locate our new friends, don’t you think?”

“I.”

Silently daring Harry to break, Draco raises a calm eyebrow. “Harry, love, are you quite alright?”
That one would do it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco sees Harry’s hand clench and unclench. He’s counting this as a
win, personally. Draco hasn't flirted in a long while, and even as a joke, he's having the time of his
life. It's always fun, messing with Harry. He suspected it always would be.

“Fine,” Harry chokes out. “Yes, let’s send them over to Adrasteia.”

“Wonderful,” Draco grins. He casts a quick summoning spell, gathering all the snakes in a neat,
wriggling pile. He glances back to Harry. “Be a dear and tell them where they’re going?”

Harry, having mostly recovered from his embarrassment, nods quickly and moves to stand in front
of Draco’s makeshift snake gathering, relaying a short message in Parseltongue. Draco watches
fondly (he really did love when Harry spoke Parseltongue), and waits for him to finish.

After a minute or so, Harry nods decisively and steps back. “They’re ready,” he says to Draco.

“Excellent. We’ll send them over, then, and catch up with Adrasteia after classes. One horcrux
down, five to go.”

Harry hesitates. “Do you think it’ll hurt her? Giving up a fang?”

Draco furrows his brow. “She told me she molts them every six months. Shouldn’t hurt at all.”

Harry looks immediately relieved. “Oh. Good, then. I’ll say, that was the easiest horcrux I’ve ever
dealt with.”

Draco shrugs. “Good luck, I suppose. About time, too.” He casts a quick transportation spell,
waving goodbye to the snakes as they fall through the portal he creates. He feels a bit silly doing it,
but thinks it's worth it for the look of approval he receives from Harry.

“I hope this gives her some peace,” Harry says softly. “She deserves it, after living so long as
nothing but a weapon.”

Draco pauses. “Yes. I suppose I’ve never thought of it like that.”

There’s a moment’s silence, before Draco shakes off the melancholy air. “Well. Best be getting to
Potions, then. I think I’m one excellent potion away from getting invited to one of Slughorn’s
dinners.”

Harry raises a brow. “Lucky you. Invite me as your plus-one, will you?”

Draco bites down a grin, and decides to tease Harry one more time. “Only if you promise to save
me a dance.”

Predictably, Harry pinks up to the tips of his ears, and Draco celebrates internally. Why didn’t he
try flirting with Harry earlier? Merlin, this was fun.

“I. Um. I would love to,” Harry stutters out, and then it’s Draco’s turn to blush. Oh. Was he- was
he reciprocating? Draco had not been prepared for this.

“Oh! Great. It’s a— date?” Draco winces, rubbing at the back of his neck. Wonderful. He was
turning into Harry now.

Harry blinks in surprise, his mouth parting in a soft oh. For a second, Draco brainstorms all the
ways he could take back the words he just said, to turn it into a joke, anything. Perhaps he would
have to transfer schools — he had always admired Beauxbatons.

But then Harry’s mouth twists into a shy, pleased smile, and the moment of consternation is gone.
“It’s a date,” he agrees quietly.

Draco opens his mouth to answer, and nothing but a small, punched out sound escapes his lips. He
sounds rather like a out-of-tune piano. Harry, despite having the complexion of a ripe tomato,
laughs at the sound.

Maybe Draco will have to transfer to Beauxbatons, after all.

Draco racks his brain for a proper response, and finds that he’s entirely forgotten how to speak
English. “Well— I still have to see if he invites me,” Draco stammers out.

Draco’s impression of a village idiot does nothing to dampen Harry’s smile. If anything, he only
smiles wider. Daft, he is. Merlin, Draco adores him.

“He will,” Harry says confidently. For a moment, they simply stand and look at each other, each
privately reeling from the conversation. Harry glances around for a moment, taking in the lack of
students milling about. “Well. You better get to Potions, then. I think the period’s about to begin.”

“Yes, I better,” Draco mumbles, making no effort to move his feet.

Harry pauses, then walks briskly up to Draco. Before Draco can fully process what’s happening, he
feels a swift brush of lips against his cheek. Draco bites sharply on his bottom lip to prevent
another out-of-tune piano noise from escaping.

Harry blinks at him. “See you later, then,” he says quickly, before apparating out of sight.

Draco stares blankly at the spot where Harry had just been. That hadn’t— that hadn’t been a
friendly kiss, had it? Was it possible to agree to a date as friends?

Draco did not have much experience with friends, but he presumed the answer was no.

Finally alone, Draco allows a grin to overtake his face and bounces a bit on his toes. He had a date!
With Harry! He had to tell his mum.

Well, first, actually, he had to get to Potions. If he was going to get invited to Slughorn’s party,
attending class was a good first step. Draco apparates quickly (a perk of being in the Forbidden
Forest and, technically, outside of Hogwarts) to the school’s border, bustling to class with renewed
energy.

A snippet of conversation catches Draco’s attention. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but something
about the voice caught his attention. Who was—

“So it’s all going according to plan, then?”

“Yes. Sirius and the others trust me. They don’t suspect a thing.”

“Good, good. And he’s promised Lily’s immunity?”

“He has. I double checked, at risk to my own life.”

Draco’s eyebrows raise up to his hairline, and he quickly flattens himself against the corridor wall.
He peeks around the doorway with a sinking heart, only to have his worst suspicions confirmed.
Severus Snape and Regulus Black stood in the abandoned corridor, casually discussing treason like
it was nothing but the weather.

Snape chuckles, a dark thing that prickles the hairs at the back of Draco’s neck. “What, did he
threaten you? Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little crucio.”

“Hardly. Still, you know how dangerous it is to talk to him face to face. Some Death Eaters don’t
come back from that sort of thing.”

“Better you than me,” Snape snorts. “Stay low for now, alright? Just keep doing what you’re
doing. The plan is happening soon.”

Regulus nods sharply. “They won’t suspect a thing, I swear.” He hesitates, glancing around the
corridor. “Wasn’t Bella supposed to be here? She’s a part of this, too.”

Snape shrugs. “She probably couldn’t get away from those mudblood-loving sisters of hers. They
practically have her under lock and key.”

Regulus’s mouth twists. “Yeah, I suppose. I’ll talk to her another time, then.”

“Yes, yes. Let’s run to potions, then. We’ll be late.”

“Quite.”

Draco listens to the sound of retreating footsteps, hardly hearing them past the thunder of his own
heart. Bloody hell. This was not good. This was not good at all.

A problem for after Potions, he supposes. After all, he did still have a dinner invitation to snag.

***

Harry’s quite grateful that he has a free period, because he’s not sure he would be able to
concentrate on much of anything right now. Draco had— he had— and then Harry had—! Merlin,
it was all too much.

“Well, that’s good and all, Harry—”

“But what do you think it means?”

Sirius pauses, rolling his eyes. “It means he wants to shag, as anyone within a twenty-meter-radius
of you two is able to see. Now, if you’re quite done, we—”

“Bloody hell, Sirius, he does not want to shag—”

“We know about your parents!”

Both Harry and Sirius turn to the source of the outburst, where Remus sits, panting slightly. He
flushes at the attention. “Sorry. We’re happy for you, really, but this is a bit more important.”

Harry blinks in surprise, then slumps. “I— what do you mean?” he asks weakly.

Sirius narrows his eyes. “You know what we mean, Harry. It seems you left some bits out of your
story. Some rather important bits.”

Harry racks his brain for how Sirius and Remus could possibly know about his parents, and comes
up short. “How. How do you know?” he mutters quietly.
Remus sighs. “It doesn’t matter how we know, Harry. The fact is, we do, and we want to help. But
you need to tell us everything, this time.”

Harry hesitates, already planning what details he needed to tell them. He certainly didn’t want to
tell them about the Dursleys, or about Sirius’s stint in Azkaban, or, worst of all, their own deaths.

Sirius squints at him, as if he can sense that Harry isn’t going to tell them the whole truth.
“Everything, Harry. I’m serious. Don’t leave things out because you don’t think we can handle
them.”

Remus softens for a moment, leaning forward to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Listen. I know
this is hard. I know you’ve been carrying it alone. But for us to help, we need to have all the
information. We’re not going to judge you. We’re not going to be upset. Just— please. Tell us.”

And, looking at them, Harry feels the last bit of his resolve crumble. It would be nice, wouldn’t it?
To finally have someone know, to have someone understand. And not just anyone— Sirius and
Remus, two of the people he trusted most in the entire world.

Most of all, he was tired. Plain and simple. Tired of carrying the weight of the world on his
shoulders, tired of being the golden child, tired of being the famous Harry Potter.

“I hope you two don’t have plans, because this is a long story,” Harry says finally.

Sirius slings an arm around Remus, and they relax into the couch. “We’ve got all day,” Remus says
comfortingly.

Harry nods, taking a deep breath. “Well, it starts in Godric’s Hollow, the night of October thirty-
first.”

***

The rest of Draco’s classes pass in a blur. He thinks that he made a decently passable Draught of
Living Death, but was far too preoccupied sneaking glances at Regulus and Snape for it to be any
good. How had he missed the signs? Snape, he understood. Draco had been close enough with him
to know exactly where his loyalties fell. But Regulus? Draco had been so sure that he was on the
right track. Hadn’t Regulus been on the right side, in the end? Draco had been keeping an eye on
him, even if he'd been a bit busy lately. And he seemed...

Perhaps Draco had simply projected his own personality onto Regulus— assumed they were one in
the same. But he had been so sure-- it was no matter. He had heard what he heard, and there was
no mistaking the conversation. Harry and the others would need to be warned as quickly as
possible.

Draco makes a mental note of his schedule for the day— Harry was running defense lessons in the
Gryffindor common room, and then they were going to see Adrasteia. Plenty of time to warn him
about Regulus.

Draco checks his watch, and quickens his pace. Defense lessons had probably already begun, at the
rate Draco was going. He would need to hurry if he wanted to talk to Harry privately.

He makes it to the Gryffindor common room with only a small amount of difficulty (the Fat Lady
was warming up to him, he was sure of it), and immediately peers around for Harry. The lessons
hadn’t started yet, and a few Gryffindors and mixed-house students stood about the room in
aimless conversation. Draco spots Harry quickly, and his eyes widen in alarm. Harry was talking
softly to Remus and Sirius, engaging in a seemingly serious conversation. His eyes are rimmed red,
and he looks as if he had been crying for the better part of the day. Remus and Sirius, in turn, look
no better off.

Harry, after spotting Draco, jerks his head over to the nearest hallway. Draco’s feet move without
his own accord, following Harry to the empty corridor.

“Hey, what’s wro—”

Draco’s breath cuts off with a soft oof as Harry’s arms wrap tightly around him, face burrowing in
the soft junction between his shoulder and neck. Draco’s hands fly up to Harry’s hair
automatically, stroking softly. Harry’s eyes are wet, his shoulders shaking with sobs.

“What is it, love? Please, what’s wrong?” Draco murmurs, clutching Harry tighter.

Harry sniffles, and for a moment can’t get any words out at all. Draco murmurs placating phrases
and keeps running his fingers through Harry’s hair.

“Remus and Sirius,” Harry says finally. “They know.”

Draco freezes. “They know—?”

“Everything. All of it.”

Draco grips Harry tighter. “Oh, darling. Is that what you were doing all this time? I’m so sorry.
That must have been horrible.” Draco’s plans of warning Harry about Regulus go swiftly out the
window. That conversation could wait— Harry was obviously too upset. Draco would hate to load
too much on his plate.

Draco pauses, suddenly aware of the way Harry has frozen up in his arms. “What is it?” he asks
softly.

“Darling,” Harry repeats, a quiet, punched-out exhale.

Draco reddens to the tips of his ears. “Oh. Do you not— er. Do you not like it? I can stop.”

“No, don’t,” Harry rushes out, suspiciously quickly. They both pause, and there’s an entirely
uncomfortable silence.

Harry squints up at him. “Do you want to shag?” He asks bluntly, a non-sequitur that turns Draco’s
brain into nothing but white noise.

Draco blinks down at Harry, at his red-rimmed eyes, tear-stained face, and then through the door,
where about fifty Hogwarts students are waiting for Harry to begin defense lessons. “What, right
now?” he asks, bewildered.

Harry, as if having just registered his own words, squints his eyes shut in embarrassment. “No, of
course not— it’s just, Sirius said— forget it,” he mutters eventually. “My brain is mush right now,
it was stupid, I’m sorry.”

Draco takes a deep, steadying breath through his nose, and decides to borrow some Gryffindor
courage. He was in the Gryffindor dorms, after all, perhaps bravery could transmit to him through
the walls or something. “No, it’s. You’re not stupid. I would like to.”

Harry chokes on air, and they both stare at each other with wide eyes.

“Not right now!” Draco rushes to amend. “Um. Obviously, right. We should probably— date? If
you want.”

“I want,” Harry says breathlessly. He’s very close, Draco realizes with a rush. Within kissing
distance, one could say.

“Great!” Draco stammers. “We’ll just— I’ll just—” he carefully moves Harry’s arm off of him,
backing away into the dorms. He doesn’t want to be ungentlemanly and kiss Harry before they’ve
even had their first date. What would he think of him? His chances would be ruined. Draco makes
an aborted gesture through the doorway and mutters something unintelligible, shoving himself
away from Harry with the grace of a newborn elephant. Wonderful. He would really have to get a
hold of himself.

What Harry saw in him, he had no bloody clue.

Draco squeezes himself into the crowded common room, making his way over to Sirius and
Remus, who look to be recovered a bit. Sirius raises an eyebrow at him. “I heard you asked Harry
out,” he mutters. “About time, you dolt.”

Draco reddens, and doesn’t respond to the statement. “I heard you two are all caught up now,” he
whispers instead.

Sirius sobers immediately. “Yeah. It’s a lot to wrap my head around. It’s just— it’s a lot,” he
repeats quietly, reaching down to squeeze Remus’s hand. Draco considers them for a moment,
trying to calculate what Harry must have told them.

“Wait, does that mean you know about— about me?” Draco asks, startling.

Sirius smiles and squeezes Draco’s shoulder with his free hand. “My brother made mistakes, too.
You remind me of him. But, whoever you were in the past, you’re a good one, Draco. I trust you.”

Draco’s heart sinks at the reminder of Regulus. “Thanks, Sirius. Um. Can we— can we talk,
later?”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, of course.” He peers at the doorway where Harry still hadn’t
appeared. “Is he alright in there?”

Draco flushes. “Er. Probably not.”

“Oh?” Sirius asks curiously. Draco waves him away.

“I’ll tell you later.”

As if on cue, Harry finally walks back in the common room, looking for all the world as if he had
been walloped over the head with a stunning spell. He catches Draco’s eye for a second, a
complicated mix of emotions in his gaze, before he looks back away.

“Right. As all of you know, I’m Harry Potter.” Despite the emotional onslaught Harry had
experienced in the last few hours, his voice rings out confidently across the room. If Draco hadn’t
known better, he couldn’t have possibly known that Harry was worse for the wear. He stands with
the practiced ease of a leader, and the crowd hushes to listen without a second thought.
Harry plows ahead with their practiced story. “I’m here from the future, as you also know. A lot of
you have been asking me about changes in wizarding culture, spellwork, and potions in the next
twenty years. While there’s not a whole lot I can give away about the future, I’ve decided to hold a
little defense lesson today for those of you that were interested.”

The crowd picks up with interested murmurs. It was true— Hogwarts had been abuzz with rumors
and gossip ever since Harry and Draco had arrived. Perks of time travel, Draco supposes.

Harry makes quick work of expanding the room with a spell and getting the students to spread out.
He starts with a few flashier spells, newer ones that the crowd wouldn’t have seen before. Draco, of
course, has done them countless times, and follows along at an easy pace.

“He’s good at this,” Remus mutters from next to him, working on his wand movements. “He
coached a defense group before, right?”

Draco glances at him. “Yeah, the DA,” he says quietly.

“Dumbledore’s Army,” Remus repeats, tone a little awed. “It’s madness.”

Draco follows his gaze, to where Harry is explaining the finer points of updated dueling rules.
None of the rules will be helpful against Voldemort, of course, but the spellwork itself will be.
“Madness,” Draco agrees.

After about an hour, Harry clears his throat. “Good work, everyone. Now, this next spell might be
familiar to a few of you.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “The Patronus charm is—”

There’s a smattering of excited chatter. Harry ignores it and keeps talking. “The Patronus charm is
not entirely defensive in nature, but it can ward off dementors if used correctly. The Patronus can
also—”

“Can you actually cast a Patronus? That’s some seriously advanced spellwork,” a Ravenclaw near
the front interjects.

Harry hesitates. “Er. In the future, actually, we have— new techniques. To make casting a Patronus
easier. Everyone can do it,” he fudges, casting his eyes over to Draco. “Draco, why don’t you show
them?”

It makes sense— of course, Harry doesn’t want to explain that his mastering of the Patronus charm
had been necessary to survive. He hadn’t wanted to explain that he was, quite possibly, the most
advanced dueler in Wizarding Europe.

Still, Draco didn’t want to cast his Patronus. He knew exactly what form it would take, and that
was much more forward than a simple kiss. He doubted Harry was ready to see it. Honestly, he
wasn’t sure he was ready to see it— he hadn’t cast a Patronus since the war.

“Yours is more impressive,” he calls back. “I doubt they want to see my silly little snake.”

Harry raises an eyebrow in surprise, but shrugs it off. “Alright, then,” he says, changing course
easily. “To cast a Patronus, you simply need to think of your best memory. Something real.” He
locks eyes with Draco, and Draco can feel the weight of his stare in his bones. He shivers.

Harry closes his eyes. “Expecto Patronum!” he says clearly, voice vibrating with power. His stag
bursts forth from his wand, leaping in graceful circles around the room. It comes to a stop in front
of Draco, nuzzling the top of his head. The room bursts into awed murmurs.
 “Right, that’s enough of that,” Harry says hurriedly, recalling his Patronus back into his wand.
Draco realizes why with a start, looking over to James.

James is looking at Harry with badly concealed awe. His eyes are suspiciously misty. As are
Sirius’s and Remus’s, Draco realizes.

“Let’s see you all practice, then,” Harry says, waving a hand out at the crowd.

Draco sits the practice out, claiming over-exertion. While most of the students are unsuccessful or
produce nothing but mist, many of the Marauders are able to perform the spell. Their patronuses,
predictably, take the form of their animagi, with the exception of Remus, who produces a large
black dog to match Sirius’s.

It’s a rather touching display when James finally produces his famous stag, beaming at Harry all
the while. “I was thinking of the day I met you,” he says excitedly. Harry blinks at him for a
moment before wrapping him up in a tight hug.

Draco, despite himself, has to fight back a sudden wave of tears.

It’s nearly thirty minutes later when Harry returns to the front of the room to wrap up the practice.
“Great job, everyone! I hope you all had a good time, and I hope to see you at our next—”

“Guys, you’ll never believe—” Lily bursts into the room excitedly, stopping short when she spots
the crowd. “Oops! Sorry, Harry. Thought practice would be over by now.” She takes a deep breath.
“But you’re going to want to hear this.”

Harry furrows his brow. “What is it, mum?”

Lily surveys the room, before looking back to Harry.

“Dumbledore’s back— and he needs to talk to you.”

Chapter End Notes

finally— the return of dumbledore!! i really hope you guys liked this chapter, it’s one
of my personal favorites so far. what do you guys think of regulus??
i want to give a HUGE thank you for those of you who commented on my last chapter,
it meant the world to me and inspired me majorly to keep going. though we are
nearing the end, the chapter count will most likely be increased. however, i really
doubt this will get over 20 chapters. i want to aim for finishing it by the end of 2021,
and we’ll see how it goes! i will definitely be revising after that to fix up any
plot/writing inconsistencies, so the story might change a little after its done. thank you
all so much for sticking with me up to this point!! i love you all more than words can
describe.

- H❤️❤️
 Chapter 13
Chapter Summary

Dumbledore’s back! For better or worse, no one knows. Also, feelings.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry feels a strange sense of deja-vu as he and Draco rush down the corridor to Dumbledore’s
office. How long ago their arrival in the past feels - and how much has changed since then, Harry
muses. If someone had told Harry, right after the war, that his future consisted of meeting his
parents and dating Draco Malfoy - well, he probably would have laughed them out of the room.
Especially since Harry had never planned to make it out of the war at all.

But here he was. In the past. Precisely where he shouldn’t be, yet exactly where he needed to be.

Harry hesitates at the door to Dumbledore’s office, looking back at the small group of Marauders
that had accumulated. “Er- did he say he wanted to talk to all of us?” It probably wasn’t the best
idea, at the very least, for Lily and James to come. Harry wanted to keep them out of it as much as
it was humanly possible.

Lily shrugs. “Well, he only mentioned you and Draco. But hell if I’m not coming too,” she says
determinedly. James nods in agreement.

Harry shares a quick, wary glance with Draco, before sighing in resigned acceptance. If there was
truly sensitive information that Dumbledore needed to share, hopefully he would share it with
Harry at another time.

Draco reaches for the door and pauses, looking stricken. Harry unthinkingly places his hand over
Draco’s, a comforting gesture that Draco leans into appreciatively. “What is it?”

Draco meets his eyes nervously. “Do you think he’ll try and send us back?” he whispers hoarsely.

Harry’s eyes widen. He had been so preoccupied with gaining Dumbledore’s support in the fight
against Voldemort that he hadn’t even remembered the reason he had left in the first place - to
procure a time-turner. Harry swallows thickly against a sudden onset of fear. “If he does,” Harry
says carefully, “we won’t go. Not until we’re done here.”

There’s an unspoken question in Draco’s eyes, before he looks back to Harry’s parents. Harry
raises a curious eyebrow, but Draco just waves it off. “We’ll talk later,” he says quietly. The not
here, not in front of your parents, is implied. Harry hesitates, but nods.

Dumbledore is much closer than Harry had been expecting, once they do finally open the door.
“Ah, Mister Potter. Mister Malfoy. I’ve been expecting you two.” He glances behind them. “And
the rest of the entourage, of course.”

Lily fidgets nervously. “Anything you can say to Harry, you can say to us. Sir,” she tacks on
belatedly.
Dumbledore laughs, waving her off good-naturedly. “Quite right, Miss Evans. Quite right.”

They take a seat, at Dumbledore’s urging, and there’s a small, tense moment of silence. Harry
clears his throat. “Did you find the time-turner, sir?”

Dumbledore hums thoughtfully, a complicated look crossing his face. “In a matter of speaking.”

Draco’s head snaps up, brow furrowed. “What does that mean? Are you sending us back or not?”
He demands.

Harry reaches for his hand, smoothing his thumb over Draco’s palm when he takes it. “Hey, it’s
alright,” he mutters quietly. He clears his throat, turning to Dumbledore. “So you… did find a time-
turner?”

Dumbledore sighs, before pulling out a small silver coin and placing it on his desk. “Yes.”

Draco and Harry stare at the coin uncomprehendingly. “Is this a bloody joke?” Draco asks
indignantly.

Harry opens his mouth to shush Draco, but stops. “I-- I don’t understand,” he admits. “What is it?”

Dumbledore smiles. “It is not the time-turner as you know it. It works similarly to a Portkey. I
assume you are familiar?”

Harry and Draco nod.

“Traditional time-turners are not able to leap decades in the future,” Dumbledore continues, “So I
had to get a bit creative. I reached out to my elven acquaintances and asked if they could make a
device that will not fast-forward time, but rather deposit matter to a specific moment on the
timeline.”

Draco and Lily look intrigued, but Harry just blinks. “I won’t lie, sir, that went right over my head.”

Draco leans forward insistently. “So this… coin, will transport us back to our correct time?”

“That is correct, Mister Malfoy. There is a small flaw, however.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “What is it?”

Dumbledore eyes them cautiously. “This is quite experimental magic. And rather unstable, at that.
The enchantment is at its strongest as we speak, but it grows weaker with every passing moment.
The later it is used, the less chance there is that it will work.”

Harry’s breath leaves him all at once, as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “So we have to leave
now?” he asks in a horrified whisper.

“That would be the best course of action, yes,” Dumbledore replies calmly.

Draco, to Harry’s surprise, is the one to break the silence. “We won’t go,” he says steadily. “We
have work to do, and it’s not finished. We won’t leave until it is.” He falters after he says it,
looking at Harry for confirmation. Harry nods in relief, gripping Draco’s hand tighter.

“Ah, yes. I assume you are speaking of Voldemort’s rise to power?” Dumbledore says, arching an
eyebrow.

The room goes silent. “You… know about that?” Lily asks, confused.
“If you do recall, Headmistress McGonagall sent me a letter.”

“That’s what that was about?” Sirius mutters.

Dumbledore smiles. “Well, she was hardly inviting me over for tea.”

Draco snorts. “I can imagine. And what have you been doing about it? You’ve been gone for quite
a while, you must have had a reason,” he says archly, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“I did indeed,” Dumbledore replies, not rising to the bait. “I assume you all know what a horcrux
is?”

Harry sits up straighter in his chair. “You’ve been chasing horcruxes? This whole time?”

“That is correct, Harry. Not only the horcruxes, but methods by which to destroy them, as well.”

“And have you… been successful?” Harry asks, hardly breathing.

Dumbledore eyes him steadily. “Yes.”

Harry’s mind races as he finally puts the pieces together. “The diadem. You have it.”

“I had it. It has since been destroyed.”

Harry slumps in his seat. “I— why didn’t you tell us? You could have sent an owl, at least. We’ve
been looking everywhere for these things.”

Dumbledore fixes him with a stern look. “How was I to know you were looking, Harry? Even if I
did, I can hardly send correspondence that isn’t at risk of being intercepted. We are entering dark
times,” he says pointedly, “as I’m sure you are well aware.”

“Yeah, I am,” Harry admits. “That makes sense. So which ones have you destroyed?”

“The diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, and the ring of Marvolo Gaunt. I am still searching for the
others.” He peers at Harry over his spectacles. “Which is why I came to you, Mister Potter.”

Harry nods. “Well, I hate to disappoint, but we’ve only got one.”

“Which?”

Harry fidgets nervously. “Tom Riddle’s diary, sir.”

“May I see it?”

Harry hesitates, before pulling the diary from his robe pocket and handing it over. Remus jolts
from his place in the corner, fixing Harry with a look of concern.

“What?” Harry mutters defensively.

“You just had that in your pocket?” Remus asks incredulously.

Harry shrugs. “We were going to see Adrasteia soon.”

Dumbledore looks up from his inspection of the diary, brow furrowed. “Who?”

“The basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, sir.”

Dumbledore’s mouth parts slightly. “The…” He sighs. “Merlin.”

“It’s okay,” Harry rushes out. “She’s quite alright, once she warms up to you.”

Draco snorts.

Dumbledore watches them wearily. “Small mercies, I suppose. Is this… creature necessary to
destroy the diary?”

“Yes, sir. That’s how I got rid of it the first time.”

“Well, you best be on your way, then. No time like the present.” Dumbledore taps a finger on the
coin. “I’m sure I do not have to remind you that we are on a tight schedule. If we wait too long to
send you two back, there will be no telling what could go wrong.”

Harry starts to stand, but hesitates. “What about the other horcruxes?”

Dumbledore waves a hand at the Marauders. “We’ll start planning while you destroy the journal. I
trust you’ve told them everything they need to know?”

Harry’s mouth opens, then closes. He glances to Sirius and Remus, who watch him with thinly-
veiled pity, and back to his parents.

Maybe not everything. But enough. “Yes, sir.”

At his words, Lily pulls out a thick notebook, flipping it open. “I’ve recorded all the last known
locations of the horcruxes as Harry remembers them, as well as the methods used to destroy them.
If you look with me at this page, you’ll see—”

Her words drift off into a comforting murmur as Draco takes his hand and pulls him out of the
office. They walk in silence for a minute, intertwined hands swinging between them.

“It’ll be alright, Harry.”

“Will it?” Harry glances back at Draco. “What if we get stuck here?”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “What if we go back?” he counters. “We don’t even know what we’ll be
returning to.”

Harry sighs. “I know. You’re right, really. It’s just… it’s nothing, really. There’s no time to worry
about it right now.”

Draco smiles at him. “Act first, worry later?” he teases lightly. “You absolute Gryffindor.”

Harry turns to look at him, then, taking in the happy glint in his eyes and the attractive curve of his
jaw. He tries not to project how obviously he wants Draco to kiss him, but it’s a near thing.

Draco’s eyes flit down to his lips, like he knows exactly what Harry’s thinking. He leans into
Harry’s space, and Harry immediately stops breathing.

Draco’s gaze catches his, and the very air between them seems charged. His lips brush Harry’s
nose, and Harry preens, tilting his jaw up a bit. Just a bit more—

There’s a quick press of lips against Harry’s nose, and then nothing. Harry blinks,
uncomprehendingly, at the space where Draco’s mouth had just been.
A little ways down the corridor, a lightbulb shatters. They both stare after it for a terse moment.

“Was that—”

“Filch should really be keeping up with the maintenance more,” Harry says quickly, resuming his
walk down the hall at a more brisk pace. “If lightbulbs are shattering like that. Weird.”

Harry swears he can feel Draco’s eyes boring into the back of his head, and he quickens his steps a
bit. He doesn’t turn to look back as he hears Draco runs to catch up.

“So it’s not—”

“No—”

Draco catches him by the hand, forcing Harry to stop speed-walking away. There’s a shit-eating
grin on his face, and Harry shrinks away, embarrassed.

“As I was saying,” Draco says pointedly, “sometimes, in times of—” he glances at Harry,
suppressing a laugh, “heightened emotion, shall we say, wandless magic can… make an
appearance.”

Harry bites down a small grin. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Draco affects a mock-surprised tone. “Oh, so that lightbulb just shattered all on its own?” He tsks
sadly . “Pity.”

“Yes,” Harry says, laughing now. “Indeed.”

Draco reaches out for Harry’s hand, and after a moment, he takes it, making a show of rolling his
eyes.

They continue their walk in silence for a minute.

“The nose, Draco, really?”

Draco flushes. “It was supposed to be sweet.” He sniffs haughtily. “My mistake.”

Harry grins, poking at him to show he was only teasing. “It was,” he hedges. “Just not exactly what
I wanted. What, do you need me to draw you a diagram? A map, maybe?”

There’s a moment of silence, and Harry pauses. Turning, he sees Draco worrying at his bottom lip,
looking concerned. “I’m only joking, Draco,” he rushes out. “…Mostly.”

“No, I know,” Draco says, rubbing his thumb soothingly over Harry’s palm. “It’s just—”

“What is it? You can talk to me,” Harry says softly.

Draco turns to face him fully, bringing a hand up to lightly stroke over Harry’s jawline. “I want it
to be special,” he says quietly. Earnestly. “I need you to know how— how much I care about you.”

Harry’s breath catches in his throat. “Draco. Hey.” He meets his eye, making a split second
decision to lean forward and rest his forehead against Draco’s. From this close, he can hear
Draco’s shallow, unsteady breaths. “I know.” He kisses Draco on the forehead, watching the way
the skin turns a little pink. “I care about you too, you know?”

Draco smiles, a bit lopsided. “I know. I still can’t believe it, sometimes. After all we’ve been
through.”

And, well, Harry can’t have that. He pulls back just enough to look Draco in the eye, trying to
impress on him the seriousness of his words. “Draco. I mean it, okay? I know you. I know how
you’ve changed. You’re a good person, Draco. I lo—”

For a second, they both stop breathing. Harry clears his throat, sure that his entire face is turning
bright red. “I, um. Just. Really care about you. That’s all.”

Draco looks at him carefully. “I… really care about you too, Harry.” They both know he means
something else.

Harry tries to pretend that he’s unaffected. They still haven’t even kissed, for Merlin’s sake. He
leans up to rectify that, but Draco stops him with a gentle finger to the lips. Despite himself, Harry
pouts a bit, confused.

“Let me take you out first,” Draco promises, smiling fondly at Harry’s expression. “There’s—
traditions. Proper ways to do things. A lot of it is pureblood shit, but I want to do it right, you
know?” He fidgets with his robes in the way that Harry has come to know as a telltale sign of
nerves.

Harry raises an eyebrow and tries to pretend that he isn’t as charmed as he is. “I didn’t know you
cared about all that,” he says instead.

“I usually don’t.” The you’re different is left unsaid, but Harry hears it all the same.

Wait. Is Draco--

“Are you courting me?” Harry asks incredulously. Even before Draco flushes red, Harry knows
he’s hit on something. “You are, aren’t you?” Merlin, that’s cute.

Draco mutters something unintelligible.

“What?”

Draco looks up reluctantly, visibly flustered. “Mum said-- Mum said it would be a good idea,” he
mumbles. “That’s the last time I’m listening to her.” He's quite obviously embarrassed.

Unfortunately for Draco, Harry’s brain is working at warp speed to put the pieces together. “The--
The scarf! And the-- did you try to ask me out? On the day before Christmas Eve? At the pub.”

Draco’s pained smile is an answer in itself. “You mean Christmas Eve-Eve?” he teases lightly,
avoiding the question.

Harry groans. “You did, didn’t you? Merlin, and I just sat there like an idiot and friend-zoned you.”

“It was better than, er, enemy-zoned?” Draco tries, laughing a little.

Harry laughs back, wrapping Draco in a bruising hug without a second thought. “You dolt,” he
mutters fondly.

“No, you.”

“What are you, eight?”

Draco lets out a cough that sounds suspiciously like the word inches.
Harry blinks, and Draco immediately looks pained. “Please pretend I didn’t say that.”

Harry tries very hard to resist looking down. “Don’t worry, your reputation is safe with me. I won’t
tell anyone you have the humor of a grade-schooler.”

Draco snorts. “Like you’re any better.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re a perfect match. We’ve been over this. Come on, we’re late.”

They walk down the hallway in amiable silence for a bit.

“Harry.”

“Yeah?”

“You know we’re going the wrong way, right?”

“Bollocks.”

***

One basilisk fang later, Tom Riddle’s diary has been successfully destroyed. Draco will admit that
it wasn’t nearly as dramatic as he had hoped for. Oh well.

He’s still giddy from his earlier talk with Harry. Draco had been certain that Harry had almost said
he loved him. Loved.

Draco felt the same, of course, but he had hardly imagined things going so well. He would have to
tell his mum-- she’d be thrilled.

First, though, he needed to talk to Sirius. Unfortunately. Draco was still half-hoping that Regulus
was simply on some undercover mission that he hadn’t been informed of. Play nice with the Death
Eaters, and all that.

Well, let’s just say that Draco was hoping for the best. He wasn’t exactly optimistic, though.

Sirius didn’t bother knocking when he came in Draco’s dorm. Draco was simply there one minute,
alone and heavy in thought, and then Sirius was there when he looked up, black leather jacket
slung loosely over Draco’s bedframe.

“It’s a bit drafty down here, isn’t it?”

Draco furrows his brow. “How’d you even get in? I would have met you in the corridor, you
know.”

Sirius winks. “Charmed your father into letting me in.”

Disturbingly, Draco can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

There’s a moment of silence. Draco has no idea how to begin the conversation. How do you tell
someone that their brother is a traitor? Is it like ripping off a band-aid, or however that Muggle
expression goes? Maybe that would be helpful, if Draco knew what a band-aid was.
After a moment of trying to recall the household objects lesson from Muggle Studies, Draco
realizes that Sirius is squinting at him oddly.

“What?”

“Trying to figure out if you and Harry shagged yet.” A moment passes, and Draco’s mouth falls
open in muted protest. Sirius shakes his head sadly. “There’s no way. You’re just as uptight as you
usually are.”

“I resent that,” Draco grumbles.

“Hey, it’s just the truth,” Sirius laughs. “What are you waiting for?”

Draco groans. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he says pointedly, “but I’m courting him. Doing
things properly.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Shit, really? We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Draco hesitates. “No, really. It’s-- Harry deserves to be treated well, you know? With respect.”

Sirius softens in understanding. “You’re a good kid, Draco.”

“We’re the same age, Sirius.”

“You know what I mean.”

Draco hesitates. “Are you going to give me a shovel talk?”

Sirius laughs. “Me? No. Merlin, no. Can you imagine?”

Draco smiles slightly. He can imagine, and it’s horrifying. “James, then?”

Sirius just looks at him.

“...Lily?” Draco whispers, in dawning horror.

“She may or may not have something up her sleeve,” Sirius grins. “Don’t tell her I told you.”

“Lovely. I can’t wait,” Draco manages.

“I’m sure it’ll be proper terrifying,” Sirius agrees. There’s a beat of companionable silence. “What
did you want to talk about, then? Was that it?”

Draco swallows roughly. “No. No, that’s…” He sighs. “When was the last time you talked to
Regulus?”

Sirius’s head snaps up in concern. “Yesterday. Why? Is he in trouble?”

“Maybe,” Draco hedges. Here they go. “Is there some sort of…” He bites his lip, hesitant to even
ask.

“What is it?”

Draco fidgets with the string of his robes. “Look, Sirius, you have to understand. I’m trying to give
him the benefit of the doubt. But—”

Sirius’s eyes narrow. “Just tell me, Draco. I can handle it.”
“Is there any way Regulus could be involved in some sort of— double-crossing, maybe? With the
Death Eaters? Trying to gain their trust, earn information, all that?”

Sirius sits up straight, concerned now. “Not that I know of. Why?”

Shit. “Sirius, the conversation I overheard… it didn’t sound good. It sounded like he was in league
with them. Tricking us.”

Sirius is silent for a long moment. “Are you sure, Draco? Maybe… Maybe you misheard?”

“I’ll pull the memory from my pensieve myself,” Draco promises. “I want to trust him. I do. But I
know what I heard.”

Sirius groans, putting his head in his hands. “Shit.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Have you told Harry? Or any of the others?”

Draco shakes his head. “Just you.”

“Okay. Could you keep it under wraps for now, maybe? Just until I talk to him.”

Draco hesitates. “I— okay,” he accepts. “But do it soon. We don’t have time to waste.”

“I will. Who was he with?”

“Snape,” Draco mutters.

Sirius bites off a curse. “Snivellus. That bastard. I’ll kill him.”

“Hey, let’s not go that far,” Draco says hastily.

“Bloody hell. Aren’t you supposed to be a Slytherin?”

Draco grins. “Want to put itching powder in his robes? Sneak laxatives in his supper?” He
hesitates. “Harry might not like that, though.”

“Who says he has to know? Besides, I thought he didn’t like Snape.”

“You have a point, there.”

There’s a knock on Draco’s door, and Sirius curses.

“Draco! Is Sirius Black in there? You know Gryffindors aren’t allowed down here.”

Draco’s eyes widen. Father? He turns back to Sirius. “I thought you said you charmed him.”

Sirius grins sheepishly. “I did! If by charmed you mean hexed. And then ran past while he was in
pain.”

Draco, despite himself, snorts in amusement. “He’s not here, Lucius,” he calls back.

There’s a pause. “You’re a bloody terrible liar. I know you didn’t get that from me.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry. I must have missed the part where you started
acknowledging my existence.”
 Silence. Draco is half-convinced that Lucius left.

A piece of paper slides under his door. “Slughorn dropped that off for you. Goodnight,” Lucius
says gruffly. The sound of footsteps echo away.

“Huh,” Sirius says amusedly. “Interesting.” He turns to Draco. “I’ve gotta say, I like you a lot more
than him.”

Draco sighs. “Thanks, Sirius.”

Sirius stands. “I’ll go talk to Reg,” he promises. “I swear if he’s causing trouble, I’ll fucking lock
him in his room. I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, hanging around with that dickhead.”

Draco nods, seeing Sirius out the door. As he leaves, Draco bends down to look at the piece of
paper Lucius left. It’s an invitation.

Draco Lucius Malfoy,

You are cordially invited to Horace Slughorn’s “Slug Club” quarterly festivities, by merit of
excellence in Potions Class. Please feel free to bring any guest of your choosing.

Well, at least one thing was going right.

Draco had a date.

Chapter End Notes

I want to thank anyone who waited for another chapter. I also want to thank tiktok for
shoving a random Drarry POV video onto my for you page, and inspiring me to finally
finish this monster of a chapter that has been sitting half-finished in my drafts for two
months now. I hope you all like it. We’re in the home stretch! Only a few more
chapters left. Will probably go over 15, but definitely no more than 20. Love you all❤️

- H xx
 Chapter 14
Chapter Summary

some important conversations.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Sirius seethes with barely-restrained anger as he storms down the hall to Regulus’ room. Merlin, he
had trusted him. Regulus had played him like a fucking fiddle, or however that Muggle saying
went. Bloody hell, Sirius had missed the full moon for him. What a fucking idiot.

Not bothering to knock, Sirius rushes angrily into Regulus’s bedroom. If Regulus was going to go
behind his back and not show him any common fucking courtesy, Sirius would sure as hell return
the favor. The sight he’s met with, however, stops him cold in his tracks. He almost can’t process
it, but once he does, he trips over himself in his haste to stop his brother.

“Regulus! What the hell are you doing?” Sirius tugs uselessly at Regulus’ arm, which is currently
holding their house-elf, Kreacher, aloft and struggling against the wall. When Regulus bats him
away, he pulls out his wand. “Everte Statum!” Sirius blurts, using the first spell that comes to
mind. Mentally, he thanks Harry for reviewing it in his dueling lesson.

Regulus flies backwards with a gasp, and Kreacher clatters to the floor, clutching his throat. Sirius
immediately bends down to help him up, then rounds on Regulus. “You know, when Draco had
told me you were double crossing us, I didn’t want to believe it. But really, Regulus? Hurting
Kreacher? You’re just like our parents.”

Struggling to get up, Regulus glares at him. “Double crossing you? What are you on about,
Sirius?” He then fixes his glare at Kreacher. “This little oaf is standing in my way. I’ve been trying
to help you.”

Sirius furrows his brow, trying to parse that statement. Eventually, he looks at Kreacher.
Admittedly, Sirius hasn’t spent much time at Grimmauld Place in years, and doesn’t know
Kreacher very well, but he trusts him to at least tell the truth. “Well?”

Kreacher straightens, trying to preserve his dignity. “Master Regulus is not double-crossing you, as
you say.”

“But he was hurting you,” Sirius says, faintly bewildered.

Kreacher glares at him, and despite his small stature, it’s fairly intimidating. Sirius shrinks back a
little bit, sufficiently abashed. “Kreacher was not done,” Kreacher mutters disapprovingly.

“Right,” Sirius says apologetically. “Go on, then.”

“Master Regulus is not double-crossing you,” Kreacher continues, “but he is not in his usual state
of mind. Kreacher thinks– Kreacher thinks Master Regulus has been cursed.”

“I’m fine, you little weasel,” Regulus says haughtily, moving forward like he’s going to grab
Kreacher again. Sirius shoots a silent shoe-sticking charm at him, and he freezes in place. He puts
one on Kreacher too, for good measure.

“No one’s going anywhere until I find out what’s going on.” Sirius says loudly, hoping he sounds
somewhat authoritative. He glances at Regulus. “Also, don’t call Kreacher a weasel. It’s quite
rude.” Sirius sizes Kreacher up. “And inaccurate. He looks far more like a troll.”

Kreacher narrows his small, beady eyes at him, but otherwise stays silent.

Sirius stares him down. “Kreacher, what do you mean? Start from the beginning.”

“He’s insane, he doesn’t know what he’s on about–” Regulus begins to protest, but Sirius zaps him
with a silencing charm.

“Let him talk,” Sirius mutters.

Kreacher stares at Regulus for a moment before replying. “Kreacher was worried about Master
Regulus, when the traitor showed up and stoled him away,” he murmurs.

Sirius snorts. “Oh, and by ‘the traitor,’ you mean me, is that right?”

“Obviously,” Kreacher snarls. He sniffs haughtily, continuing his story. “So Kreacher followed
Master Regulus to Hogwarts. And he saw how Master was treated. Kept in the dark, locked away,
not included in the whispers and goings-on.”

Sirius falters. They hadn’t– but they had, Sirius supposes, forgot about Regulus. Sirius did his best
to check on him, but once he had learned about James and Lily’s imminent deaths, there seemed to
be more important things at hand. Regulus was out of the manor, and therefore safe. Sirius hadn’t
felt as much of a pressing need to check in with him. He and Draco, too, hardly talked as much, as
Draco was far more preoccupied with Harry. “Go on,” he says softly.

“Master Regulus stole something from the ancient and noble Black home,” Kreacher continues. “A
strange necklace. Kreacher was going to get it back. Kreacher was going to be a hero.” He looks
dramatically into the middle distance, as if picturing his rewards for his heroics, and Sirius snorts.
He can’t imagine anyone in his family calling Kreacher a hero. If anything, they would probably
assume that he stole the damn thing in the first place. He looks, curiously, over to Regulus. He is
wearing a necklace, strangely enough– a heavy, ancient-looking locket. Sirius can’t remember ever
seeing it before.

“Where did you get that?” Sirius asks, before remembering that Regulus can’t talk. He shakes his
head. “Nevermind, tell me later.” He turns back to Kreacher. “You said he was cursed. Keep
talking.”

Kreacher narrows his eyes at Regulus. “As Master wore the necklace, it began to change him.
Make him meaner. Cruel. Even to Kreacher.” He looks a little sad at the statement, but shakes it
off, looking back to Sirius.

“Master heard you and the other blood traitors talking of strange magic, objects that hold the soul.
Master thought the necklace could be the same.”

Sirius starts in surprise, thinking back to Harry’s impromptu horcrux lesson. Of course! He
inspects the locket more closely, matching up the details in his head. It had to be the same one
Harry had mentioned. What did Regulus want with it? To keep it? Hide it? Give it back to
Voldemort? Sirius shudders at the thought.
But the next words out of Kreacher’s mouth send a pang of guilt straight to Sirius’ heart. “Master
wanted so desperately to destroy the necklace,” Kreacher says quietly. “And nothing worked.”

“He wanted–- he wanted to destroy it?” Sirius checks.

Kreacher nods fervently. “Yes, very much so. He thought if he destroyed the evil necklace, he
could be included in the traitor’s group–- in the whispers, and secret meetings. Master thought the
traitor would be… proud of him.” He shudders in disgust. Sirius, with growing heaviness, meets
Regulus’ eyes. He looks angry. Pained. Sirius knows, with sudden clarity, that Kreacher is telling
the truth. But one thing still doesn’t make sense.

“So what about his conversation with Snape, then?” Sirius asks sullenly. “He’s double-crossing the
death eaters, I suppose? All on his own?”

Kreacher shrugs. “Master Regulus does not tell Kreacher these things,” he says carelessly. “All
Kreacher knows is that the evil necklace has made Master angry, and mean. Kreacher wanted to
get rid of it, but Master would not let him.” He looks crossly at Sirius. “Is Kreacher done now?
Kreacher has been strangled, and forced to talk to a traitor. Kreacher is tired.”

Sirius sighs. “Yes, Kreacher, you’re done,” he says eventually. “You’ve been a big help. Thank
you.”

Kreacher hmmphs and leaves the room with a sharp, audible pop. Resigned, Sirius lifts the
silencing charm on Regulus.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius murmurs. “I should have been to check on you earlier.” He glances to the
locket. “But I’m going to need to take that. Kreacher was right, it’ll affect your mood the longer
you keep it on. Dumbledore will know what to do with it.”

“No!” Regulus bites out. “It’s my responsibility. I’m the one who found it. Besides, if I get rid of it,
maybe you’ll finally let me join your little club,” he says bitterly. Sirius stares at him, with
dawning understanding.

“Regulus,” he says gently. “I didn’t know you wanted to.”

Regulus stares at him in exasperation. “I could help,” he says desperately. “I could help you, and
none of you let me. You just waltz around with your little group – and now Potter and Malfoy
Junior, too – like you own the school. I have connections! I’ve been double-crossing stupid Snape
and Bella, all on my own!”

Sirius inches closer to him, eyes fixed on Regulus’ face. His hand reaches out slowly for the locket.
“You have,” he praises, “and that was very clever. Tell me more about that, will you?”

“Oh. Well, it was simple,” Regulus says proudly, preening, any trace of anger momentarily
forgotten. “All Snape cares about is that stupid Mudblood girl– Evans, whatever,” he corrects at
Sirius’s glare, “and Bella isn’t right in the head. I’ve been getting information on Voldemort
through them, and they don’t suspect a thing.”

Sirius nods attentively. “That’s great, Reg,” he says hoarsely. With that, he wraps his hand firmly
around the locket, and pulls sharply. The clasp breaks, and it comes off in Sirius’s hand. Regulus
slumps like a marionette with its strings cut. He gasps out heavy breaths of air, and Sirius lays a
comforting hand on his shoulder. He blinks back tears.

“Regulus, I’m so sorry that I didn’t see what you were going through earlier,” he says. “I’ve been
caught up in all of this, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”
Regulus flushes. “It’s alright, really,” he mutters. “I don’t want to be part of your stupid club,
anyways. That was just the necklace talking.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because I was about to go see them. I figured we should take
this locket to Dumbledore, let him know what a great job you’ve done.”

“Oh. You are?” Regulus says curiously, then arranges his face to seem impassive. “Well. I suppose
I could tag along, then.”

Sirius grins at him. “Wonderful. Let’s go.”

They stand, and a thought occurs to Sirius, something Draco mentioned about his overheard
conversation. He turns to Regulus.

“Oh, and tell me about this ‘plan’ with Snape and Bellatrix, will you? I want to know everything.”

***

When Sirius pops back into Draco’s room, he’s not at all surprised to see Harry there, cuddled
around Draco like a particularly lanky sloth. He raises an eyebrow, and coughs loudly. Harry
springs away from Draco as if he’s caught on fire. Sirius snorts with badly-restrained laughter.

“I thought you were taking it slow?” he asks Draco, amused.

Draco’s face heats immediately. “We weren’t doing anything,” he mutters petulantly. “Just having
a lie-down.”

Harry laughs, despite his embarrassment. “He’s just teasing, love,” he whispers to Draco, barely
audible. Sirius smiles. He’s glad they’ve worked it out– it was about time. He steps further into the
room, dragging Regulus along behind him.

“Well, it’s nice to see you, lads. I’ve just heard the most interesting news from my brother.”

Draco sits a bit straighter at the sight of Regulus, raising an eyebrow in Sirius’ direction. Sirius
takes a seat at Draco’s desk, pushing Regulus forward a little bit. “Tell them, Reg,” he encourages.

Regulus tells the full story, in fits and stops, as Draco and Harry listen attentively. The story, as
Sirius had gleaned from Regulus, went a bit like this. Regulus, isolated and hurt, and under the
influence of the locket, had started spending more time with Snape and Bellatrix. After learning
that they, too, were working for Voldemort, he began to infiltrate their group, gleaning all the
information he could. Voldemort knew someone at Hogwarts was working against him – suspected
Dumbledore, of course, but not Harry. He didn’t even know Harry existed.

It made sense. They were quite literally destroying pieces of the man’s soul; he was bound to
notice at some point. Voldemort had a plan to infiltrate Hogwarts, assisted by his teenaged death
eaters. Regulus wasn’t sure when, or how, he planned to pull this off. He hadn’t gotten that far.

Harry’s face is serious and drawn by the time Regulus finishes. “We need to tell Dumbledore,” he
says immediately, getting to his feet. Draco, holding his hand, is dragged up alongside him.

“He couldn’t stop it the first time,” Draco mutters quietly. “How will he stop it now?”
Sirius takes in Draco’s guilty expression, and recalls, from Harry’s re-telling of events, that Draco
was the one to let the death eaters into Hogwarts. It doesn’t match up with this version of Draco
that Sirius has gotten to know, but. Perhaps, if Draco had once been like Regulus, lost and isolated
and scared, Sirius can understand how it happened. Not excuse it, certainly, but still. He
understands.

Harry’s jaw clenches. “He has us to help,” he says firmly, “and we have advance notice.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Do we? What if this is supposed to happen– I don’t know, tonight?”

Harry sighs. “All the more reason to tell him, then,” he reasons. “Let’s go grab the others, and go
see him. We’ll figure out what to do– with the locket, and with Voldemort.” He looks very
seriously at Regulus. “Thank you for telling us, Regulus. You’ve done a great job, truly. I’m just
sorry you felt like you had to do it alone.”

Walking up to Regulus, Draco offers a hand to shake. “I’m not going to lie, Reg, you’re a bit of a
ponce,” he says lightly. “But so am I. And I used to be an even bigger one. So I’m here for you,
whatever you need.”

Regulus hesitantly shakes his hand. “Thank you, Malfoy,” he says cautiously.

Draco wrinkles his nose. “Call me Draco. Malfoy is my father.” Regulus nods, and Harry looks at
Draco with evident pride in his eyes. Draco looks back, flushed, then pushes him lightly. “Sod off.
What are you looking at, Potter?”

Harry laughs. “Just looking, Malfoy,” he teases back. He reaches down to thread their fingers
together, squeezing tight. “Just looking.”

***

Dumbledore peers at them over his spectacles. The small office is crowded, and fraught with
silence. “Well,” he says finally, “this is quite a predicament.”

Regulus stands from his chair, sending it flying back in his haste. “A predicament? Voldemort is
coming to attack Hogwarts, and you call it a predicament?”

Dumbledore raises a single eyebrow, still calm. “I assure you, Mister Black, Hogwarts is well-
protected. Voldemort and his followers will be unable to reach us here.”

Draco clears his throat, from the corner of the room. “It’s happened before, sir,” he says, voice
small and ashamed. Dumbledore regards him steadily, considering this statement. He glances
down to Draco’s arm, where the remnants of his dark mark lie. Although it’s covered already by
his robe, Draco uncomfortably tugs his sleeve down a bit more.

“I see. And I assume you would know the most about this… event, Mister Malfoy?”

Outraged, Harry gets to his feet, unconsciously moving in front of Draco. “He’s not that person
anymore,” he says firmly. “He’s got nothing to do with this.” The marauders, save Sirius and
Remus, watch Harry and Draco in varying degrees of confusion.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Lily murmurs. James nods in agreement, moving his hand to
cover hers. He strokes her palm gently, comfortingly. Harry watches, pained. He should have told
them. He should have come clean about everything from the start. The weight, and imbalance of it
all– tallying who knows what, which secrets he’s keeping, and from who– is tearing him apart.

Dumbledore meets Harry’s angry gaze with steady eyes. “I didn’t say Draco had anything to do
with it, Harry. I would just like to talk to him.” He turns his gaze to Draco. “If that’s alright with
you, Mister Malfoy?”

Draco reaches out to Harry gently. “It’s alright, Harry,” he says quietly. “Stand down.”

Abashed, Harry takes his seat. “You sure?” he mutters. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t
want to.”

“I’m sure,” Draco whispers back, squeezing Harry’s hand in reassurance. “Thank you.” Louder, to
Dumbledore, he says, “Of course we can talk, professor. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, if
you think it’ll help.”

Dumbledore nods appreciatively. “Wonderful. Thank you, Mister Malfoy.” He turns his attention
to Harry and the marauders. “Do we have more fangs from Adrasteia? We should destroy the
locket as soon as possible.”

Harry hesitates. “I’m not sure. I only asked for one. I can go back, though, and check.”

“Good. Go together, then. Stay safe.”

“Of course, sir.” Harry moves to stand, then pauses. “Will you send Draco down afterwards?”

Draco looks at him in amusement. “Miss me already, do you?” he teases. Then, with a glance to
Dumbledore, he says, in a more serious tone, “This might…take a while, Harry. But I’ll be down
to see you as soon as I can.”

Harry looks back at Draco, feeling an inane urge to kiss him goodbye before he remembers they
aren’t doing that yet. He bites his lip, looking from Draco, to Dumbledore, to the marauders. Fuck
it. Trying not to think about it too much, he moves forward quickly and drops a kiss to the top of
Draco’s head. Harry’s hand grips Draco’s shoulder lightly, and he hopes fervently that Draco can’t
feel his fingers shaking. Harry would never hear the end of it.

When he pulls back, Draco has turned a brilliant shade of tomato red. Harry can feel his face
quickly heating in return. Great. Now they matched.

“Bye, then,” Harry croaks out. Draco manages a small wave in return before Harry high-tails it out
of the office, the marauders at his heels. As soon as the door closes behind them, Harry is hit with
a barrage of wolf whistles and congratulatory howls. He reddens even more, willing himself to
calm the fuck down.

“Shut up,” he mutters, thoroughly embarrassed. James slaps him on the back.

“It’s about time, innit?” he crows, delighted. “I’m proud of you, son.”

Harry meets James’ eyes – bright, warm, caring – and feels his heart stop in his chest. He feels like
he might cry. I’m proud of you. Harry feels like he’d been waiting a lifetime to hear that – he heard
it plenty, sure, but from his dad? It took on a whole new meaning.

Stumbling, Harry moves to throw his arms around James in a tight hug. “Thanks, Dad,” he chokes
out.
James doesn’t hesitate to return the hug, rubbing a hand up and down Harry’s back soothingly.
“Love you, son,” he murmurs back. Harry wipes frantically at his eyes, before accidentally meeting
Remus’ gaze. He and Sirius are watching Harry with pity. Harry squeezes his eyes shut guiltily.

James pulls back from the hug, and meets Lily’s eye. She moves to hold his hand, and they look at
Harry cautiously. “There’s something we’ve been meaning to talk to you about, Harry,” Lily says
quietly.

Harry stops breathing for a moment. Did they mean– had they found out, somehow? Had Peter told
them? He looks over to him for a moment, and Peter shakes his head minutely. Harry then
remembers that he had made Peter take an unbreakable oath, anyways, so that was out of the
question. Sirius, then? Remus? Harry didn’t think so– they wouldn’t do that without telling him.

“What is it?” he asks slowly, tracking the expressions on their faces.

“We noticed that you– haven’t told us much, about Draco,” James says haltingly, seeming a bit
uncomfortable. Shit. Were they– were they changing their opinion of Draco? Is that what this was
about?

Harry opens his mouth to reply, but he’s cut off by Lily. “We understand, if you feel more
comfortable going to Sirius and Remus with– romantic troubles,” she says quietly. “You all have
something in common that me and James will never truly understand.” Harry nods, confused as to
where they were going with this. Lily puts a hand on his shoulders. “Harry, I don’t know if you
were, um, out? To your parents, in your time. But I want you to know that your father and I love
you very dearly, and we will always support you.”

James looks at Harry earnestly. “I know it might not mean as much, coming from us. I mean, we’re
not properly your parents, not yet. But we still care about you a lot, and we could care less what
gender you want to shag. We just want you to be happy, mate.” Harry blinks at him in surprise,
then looks to Lily, who seems to be gearing up for the last part of their speech.

“We really like Draco, Harry. Even though it seems like he… might have a bit of a history?” She
looks to Harry for confirmation, and he nods a little. “Right. Well, understandable, since he’s a
Slytherin, I guess. His father’s a proper dick. But we didn’t know that Draco. We know this one.
And if you want to date him, you have our full support.” She snorts. “Even if I am planning on
giving him a bit of a shovel talk. I just want him to know that if he hurts you, I’m hexing his
bollocks off.”

“You’re too late on that count,” Harry says softly, thinking back, briefly, on him and Draco’s past.
When he meets Lily’s gaze, she looks horrified, and Harry smiles sadly. “Not recently. Like you
said, he has a bit of a history. But he hurt me, and I hurt him… It’s in the past. We’ve moved on.
And I think what we have now is–-” he takes a deep breath. “Really good. It’s good.” He blinks
back a sudden onset of tears. “Thank you, for this. It means a lot.”

Lily moves to hug him tightly, and Harry returns it gratefully. Merlin, hugs from both his parents,
in one day? He was the luckiest bloke in the world.

“Thank you for being so honest with us,” Lily replies softly, and… oh. Merlin, Harry’s an asshole,
isn’t he? He meets Sirius’s eye, then Remus’s. They nod at him, imperceptibly, and Harry takes a
deep breath.

“There’s one more thing I need to tell you,” he says unsteadily. “Can you… sit down, maybe?”

James and Lily look at him in concern. “Sure, Harry,” James says quietly. “What is it?”
Harry sits down, opens his mouth, and lets the truth spill out.

***

The atmosphere in the hallway is so silent that you could hear a pin drop. Lily has tears streaming
silently down her face, as James rubs her back with a shaking hand.

“Thank you for telling us,” James murmurs, staring off into the distance. “That must have been…
That must have been hard.”

Harry nods mutely, clenching his jaw. He has to explain, has to do something to wipe off the
devastation on his parents’ faces. “I just– you two were so happy,” he says helplessly. He looks
around at the sullen group. “You all were. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

Lily sniffs, then reaches out to grab Harry’s hand. “I’m so sorry,” she says finally, “that you felt
like you had to keep that in. We’re here for you, okay?” Her face crumples, and she lets out a
muffled sob. “Even if– even if we couldn’t be before,” she says, voice breaking on the last word.
Silently, James tightens his arm around her.

“You can’t tell us anything about how it happened, I’m guessing? Time travel rules, and whatnot,”
he says. Harry can see the wheels turning in James’ brain, trying to think of all the ways he could
prevent his and Lily’s deaths. His heart clenches in his chest.

Slowly, Harry glances at Peter. He looks–- resigned. Like he’s certain Harry is going to rat him out.
He’s hanging his head, taking deep, measured breaths. Sirius and Remus, sitting cuddled together,
are watching him despondently.

In that split second, Harry makes a decision. “Yeah. Time travel rules,” he says hoarsely. Peter’s
head swings up, and he looks at Harry with wide eyes. “Besides,” Harry goes on, meeting Peter’s
gaze head-on, “it’s already been changed. If something does happen…” he trails off, taking a deep
breath, “Merlin forbid, if something does happen. It wouldn’t happen the same way.” He smiles at
Peter then, a tiny, sad twist of lips. He hopes Peter appreciates it.

Harry could acknowledge it, though– that Peter was trying. The whole time Harry had been in the
past, Peter had done nothing but apologize, and try to make up for his actions. Harry may never
like him, or be able to forgive him, but he could at least give him this.

Peter’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and he nods at Harry, small. Harry nods in
acknowledgement, then looks back to James and Lily. “I want to tell you guys… you’re great
parents. Really. Even if I never got much of a chance to know you–- I do now. And I love you
both, truly.”

James and Lily stare at him, and Harry blinks back. In between one breath and the next, they’ve
wrapped him in a group hug, the trio falling to their knees on the floor. Harry struggles to catch his
breath.

“We love you so much,” Lily says quietly. “And we always will. No matter what happens.”

James nods in agreement, sniffling a little.

“Nothing will happen,” Harry whispers. “I won’t let it.”

“It’s not your job,” James says. “It’s ours.” He pulls back, looking Harry in the eye. “I know
there’s still things you haven’t told us. Alright?” Harry shrugs, not meeting his eye.

James smiles, thumbing gently over Harry’s cheek. “But I also know that you’ve had to carry too
much on your shoulders. You’re just a kid,” he says brokenly. “And you shouldn’t have to do it
alone. We’re going to help you.”

Harry looks to the ceiling, trying to force himself to stop crying. “I wasn’t–- I wasn’t alone,” he
says finally. “My friends helped. And Ron’s mum and dad.” He looks to the rest of the marauders.
“And Sirius, and Remus.” He doesn’t mention Peter, but James and Lily don’t seem to notice. He
looks back to them. “And I even had you two, sometimes. You always came to me when I needed
you–- whether it was in memories, or dreams, or magic. You’ve always been there for me.”

Lily squeezes him more tightly. “We always will be,” she promises. “We’ll get through this.”

Harry squeezes her back, then sits back on his haunches, taking a deep breath. He looks back to the
rest of the group and laughs a little, voice cracking. “Sorry about that,” he manages. “Didn’t mean
to detour our errand.”

Regulus looks up from his spot near the wall, eyes rimmed red. “I was promised a giant snake,” he
says lightly, rubbing at his eyes. “I intend to see it.”

Harry stands, rolling his shoulders back. He feels a presence at his side, and looks over to see
James, slinging an arm around his shoulder. Lily comes to his other side, wrapping her hand over
Harry’s elbow. Harry waveringly grins at them, then turns to look at the marauders. He holds the
locket aloft triumphantly.

“Let’s go destroy this bastard, then.”

***

Draco peers at Dumbledore nervously. The last time he’d seen him, back in his proper time, the
man had been falling to his death. Draco’s fault, of course. Most things were. He can’t quite look
him in the eye, now.

Dumbledore regards him coolly. “You’re romantically involved with Mister Potter, then,” he says
placidly, more of a statement than a question. Draco blinks in surprise at the non-sequitur, then
reddens a bit, remembering the feeling of Harry’s lips against his hair. And in front of everyone,
too. Merlin.

“We’re–- courting, yes,” he manages. He’s not sure why on Earth Dumbledore would care. Was he
going to forbid him from seeing Harry or something? Probably thought he would tarnish his good
reputation, or some shit like that. Not that he was wrong, exactly. Over the years, Draco had
certainly tarnished Harry in more ways than one.

To his surprise, though, Dumbledore smiles at him. “You two are an interesting pair,” he says,
“but–-” Dumbledore turns to look at his phoenix, in its gilded cage. Draco doesn’t know its name–
Foger? Fawn? Something with an F, he thinks. It looks a bit like Harry’s animagus form. Harry’s
more attractive, though, all brilliant, bright colors. Dumbledore seems to think something over,
before turning back to Draco, resuming his sentence. “You remind me of an old friend,” he says
finally. “Him and I were an interesting pair as well.”
 Draco searches Dumbledore’s face, trying to discern if he means what Draco thinks he means. “I
didn’t know,” he says eventually, voice hoarse. “What happened to him?”

Dumbledore looks sad, abruptly, swallowing hard. “I couldn’t help him, in the end,” he says softly.
“Not when it mattered.”

“I– I’m sorry, sir,” Draco whispers. He has no clue why Dumbledore’s telling him all this, but he
appreciates it nonetheless. It’s certainly the most real conversation he’s ever had with the man.
Makes him feel a good deal worse about trying to kill him.

Dumbledore takes a deep breath, looking at Draco seriously. “You take care of him, Draco,” he
says finally. “And make sure he takes care of you.”

Draco nods, trying to find his words. He falls silent for a moment, before clearing his throat. “You
wanted me to tell you about the invasion of Hogwarts, professor?”

Dumbledore sighs, summoning a piece of parchment and a quill. “Yes, if you will. Any details that
you think I should know.” He waits for a minute, then blinks at Draco when no explanation seems
forthcoming. “Whenever you’re ready, Draco,” he prods gently.

Draco, meanwhile, has been trying to calm himself to the point where he can speak without his
voice cracking. “It was my fault,” he rushes out. Dumbledore doesn’t react, confirming Draco’s
suspicion that he already knew. Draco takes a deep breath. “Most things were, at that time,” he
continues bitterly.

“I doubt that’s true, Draco,” Dumbledore says calmly. “I would much rather think that it was
Voldemort’s fault.”

Draco, despite himself, snorts at that. “Yes, that too,” he mutters. He glances to Dumbledore’s
quill. “You’re going to want to write this down,” he advises, before launching into the story.

“It started in sixth year…”

Draco talks, and talks, until his throat grows numb and his bones ache.

More than anything, he regrets.

Chapter End Notes

Did I cry while writing this?

Yes. Yes I did.

I sincerely apologize for the long-ish wait on this chapter. I genuinely meant to have it
out sooner, and I don’t really have an excuse as to why I didn’t. I churned out like a
solid 5 fics in between the last chapter and this one, but for some reason I just couldn’t
bring myself to touch this fic. Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait! Not a lot of
fluff, I’m afraid, but we’ve gotta keep the plot moving. Next on the agenda: Harry and
Draco’s date. So, fluff! (…right? )

I’ve increased the chapter count just a tad, but this should be wrapped up in a few
chapters at the most. Honestly, since it’s winter break and I have plenty of time and
motivation, I’m planning to churn out the rest of this fairly quickly (take a shot for
every time I’ve said that and then proceeded to… not do that ). Also, in case anyone
cares, I will be going back in to intensively edit the middle chapters. The first few have
already been done, and I’m fairly happy with the recent ones. The middle, though? A
whole mess. Idk what I was thinking.

Also!! I don’t know much about the Dumbledore/Grindlewald history, so hopefully I

didn’t do it too much of an injustice. I just went off of vibes and my own personal idea
of their relationship.

Please let me know your thoughts down below! Over the past year I have been so
blown away by the response to this fic, and I can not thank you guys enough for all the
love and support. You all keep me going, especially those of you that have been here
from day one!! Thank you if you read all the way through this unnecessarily long
note Love you all more than words can describe❤️❤️ We’re almost done!!!

- H xx
 Chapter 15
Chapter Summary

a date, and an unwanted interruption.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry sighs at the sorry sight in the mirror, and the even sorrier sight of his tie, which is currently
mangled in a poor attempt at a Windsor knot. The night hadn’t even started yet, and he was already
fucking it all up. Brilliant.

With a brief, frustrated clench of his fingers, he sets to work re-doing the tie. It couldn’t be that
hard, could it?

“Need some help with that, Harry?”

Harry turns, relieved, at the sound of James’ voice. “Yes, please,” he says gratefully. James smiles
at him, a bit bittersweet, before walking around Harry to fix his tie into a proper Windsor.

After a brief, concentrated moment of silence, James meets his eye in the mirror. His expression is
hunted. “I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone to do this for you, growing up,” he says quietly.

Harry swallows hard. “It’s not your fault,” he eventually replies.

“Sirius has had a bit of a… difficult time, with his parents,” James offers, pulling Harry’s tie tight
and taking a small step back. Harry turns to face him. “I’m sure you know all about it,” he says,
“but I feel so grateful, every day, that my family was able to take him in. I just-– I hope you had
someone like that, too.”

Thinking of Molly and Arthur Weasley, and warm suppers at the Burrow, Harry smiles, just a
little. “I’ve told you about Ron, yeah?” James nods in recognition. Harry’s smile drops as he
remembers he may well never see Ron again, but he gamely continues on. “His parents were
wonderful. You’d have really liked them.”

James sniffles, just a bit, and tugs Harry into a tight hug, clapping him once on the back. “I’m
glad,” he murmurs. He pulls back, giving Harry a once-over. “You look great,” he continues,
attempting a watery grin. “Draco won’t know what hit him.”

Harry turns back around, eyeing himself critically in the mirror. He finds that he looks much the
same as he always does: hair a bit of a windswept mess, even though he hadn’t been outside, a
spacey expression in his eyes that makes him look somewhat daft, and a slight flush to his cheeks.
Irritated, he swipes uselessly at his hair, trying to tame it into something presentable. “I hope so,”
he mutters back. He gives himself another once-over, and sighs messily. Draco, of course, will
look stunning, as usual, and Harry will look… like this. There’s no getting around it, he supposes.
Draco will just have to get over it.

James watches him for a moment, eyes fixing on Harry’s scar. “I can’t believe I never even asked
how you got that,” he says guiltily. “I thought maybe you were sensitive about it. I didn’t want to
pry.” He shakes his head, looking ashamed.

Harry offers him a conciliatory smile. “Not your fault,” he says simply. “People have been asking
about this scar since I first entered the Wizarding World. I actually quite liked not having to talk
about it.”

James hesitates. “Harry, I— can you answer something for me?”

Harry shrugs. “I can try.”

James takes a seat at the edge of Harry’s bed, running an agitated hand through his hair. “There’s
something I don’t quite understand.” Harry nods in what he hopes is an encouraging manner. “You
said Sirius was your godfather, right?” Again, Harry nods. James sighs, leaning forward to rest his
elbows on his knees. He peers at Harry. “So why were you raised with the Dursleys, then? Why
didn’t Sirius, or Remus, or Peter raise you?” His voice is pained, and Harry can tell he’s been
thinking about this for a while.

Harry moves to join him on the bed, thinking. “The war wasn’t–- kind, to any of them,” he hedges,
hating the way James’s face falls. “And, from what I’m told, it wasn’t safe for me to grow up in
Wizarding England. Voldemort or his followers might’ve been looking for me.”

“Looking for you,” James repeats incredulously, shaking his head. “A baby. Merlin.”

Unsure what to say, Harry just nods, letting James process. “The Dursleys weren’t… all that bad,”
he says slowly, in a poor attempt to offer comfort. James fixes him with an unconvinced look, and
Harry withers. He stares down at his dress robes, trying to flatten out a crease, as he speaks. “It
could have been worse, I suppose.” He looks back up at James. “They weren’t you, or mum. They
could never be.”

James swallows thickly, nodding in understanding. “I still have so many questions,” he says
hoarsely.

Harry glances at a nearby clock. “We’ve got time until Draco comes,” he offers. “Ask away.”

***

Draco has never been on the receiving end of a stare-down by Lily Evans before, and he can safely
say that he never wants to again. It’s been either five or fifteen minutes of dead silence, and Draco
has quite honestly lost track of time, lost to the feeling of nervous sweat and intimidation.

Lily leans back in her chair, poised and calculated, and, finally, opens her mouth. “You look nice
tonight, Draco,” she says calmly. “A Malfoy trait, I suppose. Fashionable dress sense, and all.” She
scrutinizes him some more. “Or maybe a Black trait. Narcissa is always quite well-dressed.”

Draco’s mouth is incredibly dry, and for a second he doesn’t process the compliment at all. When
he does, he’s completely caught off guard, and momentarily forgets how to talk. “Thank…you?”
he tries, feeling as though the words are sandpaper in his mouth.

The corner of Lily’s mouth quirks up in an amused smile. “So nervous,” she muses. “I’m not here
to murder you or anything, Draco.”
Draco laughs, a little hysterically, before clearing his throat in embarrassment. “Right. Of course,”
he says seriously. In an extreme effort at good manners, he meets her eye, struggling to hold her
gaze. She peers at him, calculating.

“I’m not friends with many Slytherins,” she says eventually. “Just Severus.” She looks off into the
distance, a little saddened. “I… was friends, with Severus,” she amends.

A bit stricken, Draco doesn’t think to parse his next words before they’re out of his mouth. “I was
quite close with him,” he says quietly.

Lily, sharp as a tack, flicks her serious gaze to him, and holds it. “Was?” she asks, searching his
expression. Draco swallows, and nods, not trusting his voice. She takes a deep breath, not saying
anything for a long moment.

“You’ve thrown me off of my intimidating speech,” she jokes, a little choked up.

Draco smiles weakly at her. “We can start over, if you’d like,” he offers.

Lily laughs a little, and relaxes her posture. “Draco, I’ll cut the bullshit,” she says. “I like you. I do.
I’ve seen you with Harry these past few months, and I believe that you care for him. You’re kind,
and thoughtful, and clever.”

Draco starts in surprise, warmed incredibly by the unexpected praise. “Thank you,” he replies.
“You as well.”

She offers him a small smile, before her eyes darken. “I also know you have a history,” she
continues. “I don’t know the details, but I can imagine.” She looks to the smudged remains of the
Dark Mark on his forearm, and Draco fights the urge to pull his sleeve down.

Unsure of exactly what Lily wants him to say, Draco fishes around in his brain for some sort of
explanation, or apology, for his past behavior. Something that proves that Lily can trust him with
her son.

Can she, though? What if Draco’s bound to break this, just like he’s broken everything else in his
life? He opens his mouth, to say something, anything, in his defense, but he has nothing. His mouth
clacks shut.

Lily’s watching him carefully, her eyes a little sad. “You don’t have to explain.”

Draco’s brow furrows in confusion. “Then why–-” he cuts off, frustrated. Words begin to spill
from his mouth, unbidden, before he can stop them. “You deserve an explanation, Lily,” he says
tersely. “All anyone ever wants from me is an explanation–- Why’d you do it, Draco? Why do you
act like that? Why did you choose the wrong side? And I–- I don’t fucking have one,” he spits,
angry tears welling to his eyes. Lily continues to watch him, saying nothing. For some reason, her
silence only makes him angrier, and he begins to pace.

“There’s no explanation,” he continues, raking a hand through his meticulously-combed hair. “I

was scared, and I made bad choices. A lot of them. And it’s no excuse. Because Harry was scared
too, and he still managed to be–-” he rubs harshly at his eyes. “He still managed to be the best
bloody person I’ve ever seen. Even with no parents, and Voldemort, and a war he didn’t fucking
ask for. And I hurt him,” he finishes, broken. “I hurt him so much.”

Lily stands, suddenly, and Draco braces for–- a hex, or a punch, or something. He’s not sure. He’s
not expecting the hug, when it comes. He stands, shock still, for a breathless moment, before
folding his arms carefully around her in return.
“You remind me so much of Sev,” she says quietly. They stand in silence, and Draco sniffles a bit.
Lily pulls back to look him in the eye. To his surprise, she’s smiling. “And the way Harry put it,
you hurt each other.”

Draco thinks back to the bathroom, and the silvery-white scars that still litter his chest, and shrugs.
“I suppose that’s true,” he replies, “But it’s nothing I didn’t deserve.”

Lily’s eyes narrow. “Draco, you stop with that self-deprecating shit right now,” she says sternly.
“Do I need to get Narcissa in here to talk some sense into you?”

Thinking of how much his mother would fuss over him, Draco flushes. “No, that’s alright,” he
murmurs.

Lily sighs. “I came here to give you the standard hurt-him-and-you-die speech,” she says honestly,
and Draco nods. She peers at him searchingly. “But I don’t think you need it. Because you hurt
him already, and you’ve never forgiven yourself for it, have you?”

Draco stares back at her, and wonders how on earth Lily Evans, of all people, knows him so well.
His life is very strange. “I don’t know if I ever can,” he admits.

“Harry’s forgiven you,” she points out, with quiet certainty.

“No, I know,” he says, hanging his head. “I know he has.”

“Draco, forgiveness takes time,” Lily says seriously. “Including forgiveness for yourself. I think–-
I think what you need to do, is take it day by day, and live in a way that makes you proud. And one
day, you’ll look up, and realize that you forgave yourself a long time ago.”

It sounds like a pipe dream, the sort of optimistic, Hufflepuff nonsense that Harry would spout out
with an expression of complete sincerity. Draco looks into Lily’s face and is hit with a sharp wave
of similarity. He smiles. “I’ll try.”

Lily beams back at him, pulling him into a second hug, like she can’t help herself. “Good,” she
says, approvingly. “Now, you go out there, and you show my son a good time.” She wrinkles her
nose. “That felt very strange to say.”

Draco laughs. “It was very strange to hear,” he replies.

Lily gazes at him, a small smile still on her face. “Your hair’s a mess,” she says, smile growing
wider. “I’ve never seen it look like that.”

Worried, Draco darts to the mirror, and sighs in exasperation. “Good grief,” he mutters, moving to
fix it.

Before he can, though, there’s a hand on his head, and Draco blinks in surprise. Lily smooths his
hair back down with soft, well-practiced movements. Draco closes his eyes briefly, and, for a
moment, deeply misses his mother–- the older one, the one in his proper time. He opens his eyes,
and the moment is gone. “Thank you,” he whispers, and Lily nods in response.

Lily offers her elbow to Draco, gesturing to the corridor door. “Shall we?”

Amused, Draco takes her elbow. “We shall,” he says, grinning hopelessly.
 ***

When Harry sees Draco, it feels as though all the breath has been stolen from his lungs at once. He
looks fantastic, just as Harry knew he would, hair carefully smoothed and shining, black dress
robes pressed and clean, and smile fixed firmly in place. Lily ushers him into Harry’s room, and
for a second the entire world narrows down to just Harry and Draco, staring at each other with
undisguised affection.

“You look… wonderful,” Harry murmurs, eyes flicking all over Draco, trying to take him all in.

Draco, impossibly, grins wider. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen him smile this much. “As do
you,” he whispers back, stepping a little closer. From out of nowhere, he produces a bouquet of
white roses. “These are for you,” he says, a little shyly.

Harry stares at them for a moment, and his brain reboots. He curses Draco’s (admittedly adorable)
determination to follow the courting steps in their correct order, because Harry really wants to kiss
him right now. He reasons that after tonight, they can kiss as much as they’d like. And hopefully–-
other things. Things that Harry needs desperately to stop thinking about while he’s in a small,
enclosed space with Draco and his parents.

As if on cue, James stands, moving to join Lily in the doorway. “Have a good time, lads,” he says,
grinning.

“But not too good?” Harry jokes, then curses internally as Draco’s eyes go a little wide. He blames
Draco, and his flowers, and the entirely impure thoughts he has implanted in Harry’s head. Harry
squints at him suspiciously for a moment. Surely he knows what he’s doing, the bugger. Going
around with his nice hair, and his nice robes, and his nice… body…

Harry pointedly thinks of Snape in a bikini, and then pulls a face. Draco looks at him curiously, but
Harry doesn’t meet his eye.

James raises an eyebrow. “No, not at all. Have as good a time as you’d like,” he says, while Lily
stares at him in fond exasperation.

“James, honestly, you’re meant to be his parent,” she says pointedly.

“And?” he counters.

Lily sighs, in exasperated acceptance. “Use protection, boys.”

James’s responding snicker can be heard down the hall, as well as the crisp smack of a high-five.
Harry, flushed in embarrassment, rolls his eyes weakly.

He reaches to accept the roses from a very pink Draco. “Thank you,” he says. “They’re beautiful.”

Draco cranes his neck to watch James and Lily as they disappear down the corridor. “Yes, you’re
beautiful,” he says dazedly, and Harry lets out a sharp sound of surprise. Draco whips his head
around. “Not that–- I mean, that’s not what I meant to say–- Not that you’re not beautiful, because
you definitely are–-” Draco stares at Harry for a moment, seemingly forgetting where he was going
with that, before he brings both his hands to cover his face. He peers at Harry through a gap in his
fingers. “Can we start this whole night over, maybe?” he asks hopefully.

Harry laughs, delighted, and gently moves Draco’s hands away from his face, kissing him softly on
the forehead. “Whatever for? I’m having a wonderful time,” he teases. “For what it’s worth, you’re
beautiful, too.”

Draco’s mouth twitches in a small smile, as he makes a poor effort to tug it back down. “Well, of
course,” he jokes. More genuinely, he adds, “Thank you,” a small and pleased offering that Harry
grins widely at. He kisses him on the forehead once more, partly because Draco is adorable, and
partly just because he can.

Harry moves to conjure a glass of water, carefully setting his roses inside and making a space for
them on his desk. He turns back to Draco, offering his elbow. “Shall we go?”

Draco’s eyes widen, and he stares at Harry in surprise. Harry blinks back at him, elbow lowering a
bit in uncertainty. Had he said something wrong?

“What is it?” he asks cautiously.

Draco’s mouth tugs up in a small smile, and he moves hurriedly to take Harry’s elbow. “Nothing,”
he says warmly. “You just remind me so much of your mother.”

Harry’s eyebrow raises, and he thinks this over. “I’m glad to hear that,” he says finally. “It’s not a
bad comparison.”

Draco leans down a bit, and Harry feels a soft brush of lips against his cheek. He turns his head,
and Draco is right there, all sharp angles and sparkling grey eyes, and Harry wants. He wants so
bad that it hurts. They breath each other in, just for a moment, and Draco’s raised eyebrow conveys
a promise. Later. Harry shivers, and Draco’s mouth quirks in amusement.

“No, it’s not,” he says. “It’s not at all.”

***

All anticipation aside, Slughorn’s party may not have been the best choice for a first date. It’s a bit
stuffy, and boring, and it reminds Draco of all the pointless functions he had to attend in the Manor
growing up.

“Sorry,” he whispers to Harry, looking in disdain as Slughorn prances about the room making
stifling small talk. Draco thinks he would rather watch paint dry.

Harry, though, is gazing at him warmly, with the sort of fondness that is nearly too much for Draco
to believe. Draco’s breath gives a funny little stutter, and Harry smiles. “What for? I’m having a
great time.”

“Oh,” Draco breathes back, leaning a bit closer into Harry’s space. “In that case, I’m not sorry at
all.”

Harry grins. “Good,” he says simply. He looks around the room, eyes catching on Slughorn.
“Looks like he’s coming this way.”

Draco straightens up into a more formal posture as Slughorn approaches them. “Mister Malfoy!
And Mister Potter,” he says, gripping Draco’s shoulder tightly. Draco blinks at him.
“Professor Slughorn,” he replies, a bit delayed. Harry gives a similar greeting, and Slughorn turns
to look at him.

“I’m sorry for not extending an invitation, Mister Potter. It’s just…”

Harry laughs easily. “It’s alright, Professor, I understand. Potions has never been my best subject.”

Slughorn smiles at him, relieved. “Yes, well, that’s alright. From what I hear, you’re very good in
charms.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Slughorn’s eyes dart between him and Draco, and his eyes go a little wide. “I’m glad you’ve still
managed to attend as… Mister Malfoy’s plus one,” he says diplomatically.

Draco’s mouth twitches in an amused smile, before he stubbornly tugs it back down. Harry
watches him out of the corner of his eye, then beams, pleased, and turns back to Slughorn. “I’m
glad too, sir,” he says, with admirable sincerity. Slughorn nods at him, then turns to Draco.

“You’ve shown incredible promise in my class, Mister Malfoy,” Slughorn says kindly.

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Thank you.”

Slughorn hesitates. “I don’t know what the future holds for you two– hmm. The future,” he snorts,
as if he’s told a particularly funny joke. Harry and Draco just stare at him, mouths quirked in
amusement, and he continues, “But both of you have great talent. Enjoy the party, boys.”

He whisks away, robes swirling behind him. Harry turns to look at Draco, and reaches his hand
down gently to intertwine their fingers. Draco blushes, and curses his pale skin for making him so
obvious. “He’s right. You are talented,” Harry says, looking Draco in the eye.

Draco looks back, and thinks that Harry Potter is something quite special indeed. The world was
right, after all– just not for the reasons they thought they were. “So are you,” he returns honestly,
unable to say anything else. Harry looks at him warmly, and tightens his grip on his hand.

They settle into a comfortable rhythm of people-watching and trying the most odd delicacies from
the catering trays, and Draco thinks that he’s never had such a delightful time on a date in his entire
life. Quite honestly, if he thinks about it, this is the only real date he’s ever had. He’ll take it-– a
date with Harry is worth ten times more than a date with anyone else.

After a bit, Harry’s eye catches on Snape, standing stonily in the corner, and he frowns. Draco
looks over to him, alarmed. Harry meets his eye, musing, “Dumbledore’s added extra protection,
hasn’t he?”

Wearily, Draco follows his gaze, watching Snape as discreetly as he can. “He has, yes. I told him
everything that could be useful in warding the school against any…attack.” Draco flags a bit in
shame, remembering his conversation with Dumbledore, and the actions they had discussed.

Harry’s grip tightens on his hand, and he presses in closer to Draco’s side. “It’s in the past,” he
murmurs, using his uncanny ability to know exactly what Draco is thinking at any given time.
“Alright?”

Draco looks into his unguarded face, and thinks about forgiveness. How Harry appears to possess
it in neverending bounds, he’ll never know. But maybe, just maybe, he could borrow some of it for
himself. Draco breathes it in, and exhales forcefully. “Alright,” he agrees softly.
Harry beams, presses a quick kiss to his cheek, and turns away to grab a sample of toffee pudding
from the dessert tray.

It’s not forgiveness, but it’s something close.

“Lily really should talk to him,” Draco muses, still thinking about Snape.

Harry furrows his brow in consideration, munching on his pudding. Draco watches his mouth in
idle fascination, then shakes himself lightly to clear his head.

“You think?” Harry asks, looking back to Snape’s corner of solitude.

“Yeah,” Draco says thoughtfully. “We were talking, earlier, and I think she still misses him quite a
bit. Maybe she could get through to him.”

“Maybe,” Harry concedes, gazing at Snape with a complicated expression. Then, he looks back at
Draco in realization. “You talked to my mum? She didn’t say anything too embarrassing, did she?”

Draco smiles softly. “Not at all.”

Harry slumps in relief. “Oh, good.”

Draco gazes around at the couples in the center of the room, twirling and stumbling around to the
slow beat of a song that Draco doesn’t know. He turns to Harry, a bit nervously, and sees him
already staring back. Draco sucks in a sharp breath. “Would you like to–”

“Yes.”

Draco eyes Harry’s flushed face in amusement. “You didn’t know what I was going to say,” he
points out. “What if I just wanted you to hold my drink while I used the restroom?”

“Well, I would say yes to that, too,” Harry says reluctantly. “But it’s not nearly as exciting.”

Draco snorts, and holds out a hand. “Dance with me?” he asks quietly.

“I’d love to,” Harry replies, just as quiet, taking his hand. Draco feels like he’s on fire, and he can’t
remember how to put it out. He’s not sure he even wants to.

Without asking, Harry maneuvers them into a traditional waltz position, leading Draco forward
with two large hands wrapped carefully around his hips. Draco burns where Harry touches him. He
blinks at Harry’s expression, part pleased and part amused, and narrows his eyes.

“Since when can you dance?” Draco asks suspiciously. “I saw you at the Yule Ball.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, eyes glittering. “Watching me, were you?”

Draco sputters in useless indignation, before sighing in defeat. Harry leads him in a turn, and Draco
stumbles a bit before quickly righting himself, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “Possibly,” he
admits, small.

“I see,” Harry says coolly, before cracking a bit, grinning at Draco. “It’s possible that I was
watching you as well,” he concedes, a bit of nerves betrayed in the slight crack of his voice.

Draco’s heart leaps into his throat, and he hopes desperately that Harry can’t feel how sweaty his
hands are from where they’re wrapped loosely around his neck. “Oh,” he chokes, and a suspenseful
silence falls, both boys eyeing the other, neither willing to be the first to break.
There’s a sharp pain in Draco’s foot, and he looks down, alarmed, to where Harry has stepped on
his toe. When he looks back up, Harry is bright red. “Sorry,” he says, voice hushed. “Distracted.”

Draco feels a triumphant smile pulling at his mouth, and fights to hide it. “Were you?” he asks
instead, raising an eyebrow.

Harry’s eyes rove over his face, searching, before he suddenly grins, privately amused. “Yes,” he
says simply. “I was.”

They spin in a few more lazy circles before Harry speaks again, more cautiously this time. “I’ve
been learning from my dad and Sirius,” he admits. “How to dance. They went to a lot of fancy balls
growing up.”

Draco laughs, pleased by the idea of Harry taking dance lessons to— what? To impress him?
Draco’s stomach lurches pleasantly at the thought. “As did I,” he smiles, taking advantage of the
song change to switch their positions. Unable to help himself, his fingers slide down possessively
to Harry’s hips, pulling him a bit closer until their chests are nearly touching. He thumbs lightly at
Harry’s hipbone through the weighted fabric of his dress robe, and Harry gasps, barely audible
over the noise of the party.

“Everyone’s looking at us,” Harry points out, hardly breathing. Not taking the bait, Draco’s eyes
stay firmly fixed on Harry’s.

Draco looks at Harry, really looks at him, and slowly smiles. “Let them,” he whispers, bringing a
hand up to gently stroke Harry’s jaw. Harry’s eyes flutter closed, and he instinctively leans a bit
closer. Draco’s sure that the party is still swirling on around them, but he doesn’t care. In this
moment, he’s almost certain that Harry cares for him. That he, impossibly, wants him, just as much
as Draco does.

And Draco adores him, so overwhelmingly, that he feels fit to burst. Tentatively, he leans in closer,
feeling his eyelashes flutter shut against his cheekbones. He tilts his head, and—

And— the party has grown… quite loud, hasn’t it? The shrieks of laughter seem a bit off,
somehow. Too loud, too bright.

Too terrified.

Draco’s eyes snap open in alarm, meeting Harry’s widened ones. He pulls back hurriedly,
apologetically, and glances frantically around the room for the source of trouble. The couples
around them on the dance floor begin tugging each other to safety, and, across the room,
Slughorn’s gaze is fixed on something in the distance, petrified.

Snape is nowhere to be seen.

Draco’s hand snaps to his wand, and he sees Harry do the same. Charmingly, Harry steps in front
of him, shielding him, almost without thinking, eyes still darting around the room. Draco’s heart
pangs in appreciation.

“What’s going on?” he murmurs lowly, scanning the room as they move carefully off the dance
floor.

Harry’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not sure,” he says, concerned.

Then, Draco spots him, and his breath catches sharply in his chest. He blindly reaches an arm out
to Harry, eyes fixed on the source of the screaming, seized by a painful sort of terror he hadn’t felt
 in well over a year.

Harry follows his gaze and grows immediately pale, taking Draco’s hand clumsily and holding it
tight.

Voldemort had returned to Hogwarts.

Chapter End Notes

… merry christmas??

i know, i’m evil. hate me all you want. i promise these two have good things coming
for them, believe it or not. thank you to everyone who’s still reading, and i hope you
all have a wonderful holiday, whatever (or if) you celebrate. love you all, let me know
what you thought of the chapter! see you soon.❤️

- H xx
 Chapter 16
Chapter Summary

one ticket to angst town, population: you.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Voldemort, to his credit, looks a tiny bit better than he had when Draco had seen him last.
Emphasis on the tiny. He’s slightly more human-looking, but still pale, and gaunt, with red-rimmed
eyes and a sunken, deformed nose. Despite all this, he commands himself with an exceedingly
arrogant presence, and turns every eye in the room to him without trying.

Draco is fucking terrified, even with Harry’s hand in his. He feels his breath whistling in his chest,
and his fingers shake where they hold his wand.

“Draco,” Harry murmurs, as if reading his mind, “It’s alright. He’s just a man, and we’ve
weakened him. He’s scared. He’s desperate.”

“How did he get past the barriers?” Draco asks helplessly, eyes still trained on the man across the
room.

It’s only a moment, but Draco doesn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes flicker to the spot where Snape
had been standing, only moments earlier. “We can’t be sure,” he says quietly, but Draco knows
exactly what he’s thinking. Draco’s thinking it too, to be honest.

Voldemort raises his wand, and the remaining wizards– that haven’t run away yet– cower in fear.
Draco and Harry, several feet away, stand stock-still, as if he won’t see them if they don’t move.

Voldemort’s voice, when he speaks, is just as chilling as Draco remembers. “Professors. Students,”
he says quietly, “it would seem that there are blood traitors among you that dare to challenge the
Dark Lord.” He sweeps cold, challenging eyes over the room. “Show me to them, and you all will
be spared.”

Alarmingly, Draco can feel Harry begin to move forward, and he tugs him back, hard. “Are you
insane?” he whispers. Harry’s mouth presses into a thin, annoyed line.

The room hushes, once more, at the sight of Dumbledore, large and looming in the hall’s entryway.
“Tom,” he says, calmly. “What a surprise.”

“I don’t go by that name anymore, you old fool,” Voldemort spits. His eyes narrow. “It’s you, isn’t
it? Draining my power.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Tom,” Dumbledore returns placidly. “Can’t we discuss
this elsewhere? No need to ruin Horace’s party.”

The air sizzles with tension, and Dumbledore glances, quickly and discreetly, to where Harry and
Draco are standing. Meeting Draco’s eye, he mouths, very clearly: Run.
He doesn’t have to tell Draco twice.

Tightening his grip on Harry’s arm, he books it out of the room. As he does, it all goes to hell
around them, as brash noises of curses and screams assault Draco’s ears.

“Draco,” Harry says firmly, as Draco continues to run, “We need to go back.”

Draco ignores him, whisking him steadily down the hall, which has erupted into frenzied, panicked
activity. “Students to their dorms!” Pomphrey titters nervously, flitting about the hall. “Follow your
head of house.”

Instead of the dorms, though, Draco leads Harry right out the front door, only stopping once they’re
outside. Harry glares at him. “What did you do that for?” he asks crossly. “I need to go and fight
him.”

“Like hell you do!” Draco shouts, surprising himself with the ferocity of it. Harry shrinks back,
alarmed, and blinks at him with wide eyes. Draco heaves in a panicked breath, sorely appreciating
the fresh air. “Sorry,” he adds, a bit quieter.

“But Dumbledore–” Harry says, brow furrowed.

“Can handle himself,” Draco finishes, leaving no room for argument. “He told us to go.”
Something comes to his mind, horrible and sudden, and he looks back at Harry, queasy.

“Harry,” he says nervously, “where are your parents?”

Harry chokes on a breath, before he, oddly, looks up at the sky, and slumps in relief. “Full moon,”
he explains, at Draco’s confused look. “They’re out with Remus.”

“Good, then,” Draco says, hard. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to–” Harry runs a hand through his hair, agitated. “Nothing to worry about? Are you
fucking insane, Draco? You did see Voldemort, didn’t you?”

“Yes, thank you,” Draco snaps. “I am quite aware that he’s here.”

Horribly, Harry’s eyes flicker down to Draco’s forearm. “Can he– Can he still control you, with
that?” he asks. He doesn’t say it harshly, but Draco’s hurt all the same. He moves a hand to cover
the mark.

“Of course not,” he says, pained. “The bond dissolved when he died. It hasn’t come back.” He
turns to the forest, stares out at it with glassy eyes. “Why don’t we just get away from all of this?”
he offers, voice hoarse. “There’s still time to join the Marauders, go for a run.”

“Draco, are you listening to yourself?” Harry says incredulously. “We need to get back in there.
We need to fight!”

“Says who?” Draco demands, whirling around. “Dumbledore’s got it! McGonagall’s got it! I’m
sure they have the entirety of the bloody Aurors on their way. Your parents and friends are far
away, they’re safe. Harry…” he slumps, losing steam. “No one said you have to fight. It’s not your
job.”

“Not my job, is it?” Harry says coldly. “Seems to me that you’re just running away. Like you
always do.”
Draco feels tears prick at his eyes, but he doesn’t let them fall. “That’s what you really think, is it?”
he asks instead. “You idiot.”

Harry narrows his eyes, and Draco stares back at him helplessly. “Did it ever occur to you,” Draco
says, quietly, “that I’m trying to protect you? That I… That I can’t bear to lose you?”

At once, Harry’s entire expression crumples. “Draco,” he says softly. “I–”

“Save it,” Draco mutters bitterly. “I know what you really think of me, now.”

“That’s not what I think,” Harry protests. “I was just upset.”

“Sure.”

There’s a moment of relative silence, as they listen to the clamor of the castle. It seems to have died
down a little. “You really want to fight, I’m not stopping you,” Draco says finally. “But you know
you can’t kill him. Not yet. We haven’t got all the Horcruxes. And you’re only going to paint a
target on your back, for when he returns.”

“I’m just worried about Dumbledore,” Harry replies quietly. “You may think he can handle
himself, but do you remember the last time Voldemort wanted him dead?”

Draco’s head whips around to face him, shocked and stung. “Of course I remember. I was fucking
there.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut. “God. I keep fucking up. I’m sorry.”

Draco doesn’t reply for a moment, head reeling. “I think I might… need a bit of space, after this,”
he says, apologetically. Harry’s eyes widen in horror, and Draco sighs. “Not– I’ll come back, of
course. We’re okay.”

“Are we?” Harry asks, unsure. Draco searches his face, and his heart aches. He reaches out, on a
whim, and grabs Harry’s hand. Harry entangles their fingers instantly, and Draco strokes the back
of his hand with his thumb.

“Of course,” he whispers. “Always.” He looks back to the castle, trying to pull himself together. It
didn’t matter, if Harry thought he was a horrible coward. He was, of course. Harry didn’t say
anything that wasn’t true.

“If you fight,” Draco says, making up his mind, “I’m going with you. If you don’t, we can go join
the Marauders, or just hide out for a bit until it’s all over.”

Harry continues to look at him, quietly distraught, and Draco squeezes his hand. “I don’t think
much will happen tonight,” he explains. “I could be wrong, of course, but Voldemort’s weakened,
just like you said. Most of the bystanders have been cleared out of harm’s way. He only wants
Dumbledore, right now, and he’s got plenty of backup. He’ll be okay.”

A look of understanding dawns on Harry’s face. “Merlin, I’m an idiot,” he mutters. “One look at
Voldemort, and I let him get back in my head. I’m so sorry, Draco.”

Draco’s mouth flattens in frustration, and he nods sharply. “I know. If you still want to go help,
I’m right behind you,” he offers, stomach turning at the thought.

“I–” Harry starts, before furrowing his brow. A sudden expression of pain hits him, and Draco
touches his shoulder, alarmed.
“Harry?”

Then he feels it, too– the tell-tale drop in his stomach, the shiver down his spine.

There were dementors in Hogwarts.

“Get behind me,” Harry says shakily, readying his wand. Draco hesitates, but complies, drawing
out his own wand as well. He scans the sky for any sign of the horrible creatures.

It’s only because Harry was protecting him, Draco will realize later, that he got distracted. It was
Draco’s fault. Again. Of course.

Harry’s back is turned away from the castle, as he shields Draco’s body with his own, and he
doesn’t see them.

Draco does– only barely, but just in time. The dementors are descending fast behind Harry,
swooping down with their horrible ghostly faces and dangling black, tattered robes.

There isn’t a worse possible moment for Draco to pull on his happiest memory, but he has to, for
Harry, because there isn’t any time. Draco has to be the brave one. Draco has to protect Harry, if it
fucking kills him.

The memory rises to him, unbidden– Christmas Day, in the Gryffindor common room, surrounded
by surprising new friends (and Peter), and Harry, who Draco had just definitively realized was the
love of his life. Harry, blushing as he presented him with a seven-hundred-galleon telescope, the
same one Draco had admired in the shop window weeks before, just because Draco had told him,
once, that he liked looking at the constellations.

Harry, with Draco’s clumsily-knitted scarf around his neck, grinning and flushed and beautiful.
Harry’s head on his shoulder, his arms around his back, in the first hug Draco had gotten in years.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Harry’s animagus form, brightly lit and fiercely stunning, flying into the night sky, warding off the
darkness. Protecting Harry. Keeping him safe.

Draco glances around, at his patronus, at the dementors, at Harry’s shocked face. They all melt
into a dizzy sort of blur. It feels like the world is spinning. Or on fire. Possibly both.

He’s okay, he thinks, in a warm rush of relief. Harry’s alright.

With that thought, his eyes close, and he drops heavily to the ground.

***

Remus wakes with a sigh. His bones ache, as always, and the floor of the Shrieking Shack is hard
beneath his back, but it’s alright. Sirius’s head lies softly on his shoulder, Peter is curled up in the
corner, and James is quietly eating breakfast with Lily, who wasn’t yet an animagus, but had still
spent the night outside the shack in solidarity. His pack is here. They’ve survived yet another full
moon, and everything is calm.

Closing his eyes again, Remus moves more firmly towards Sirius’s side, dropping his head down
to rest on top of his. Maybe he can eke out a few more minutes of sleep, if he’s lucky.

“We know you’re awake, Moony,” James calls, loud and cheerful. “Snuggle with your boyfriend
on your own time.”

Though his eyes are still closed, Remus hears the familiar thump of Lily hitting James on the
shoulder, and smiles. “It was worth a shot,” he sighs back, feeling Sirius begin to stir beneath him.
He drops a kiss to the top of his head, smiling into it. “G’morning,” he rumbles, soft.

Sirius tilts his face up, and they kiss gently, ignoring the exaggerated groan of disgust from James.
Without looking, Remus flips him off.

“Morning, Moony,” Sirius replies, voice low. “Good night?”

“The best,” Remus says, grinning.

“You two are entirely too sappy at this time in the morning,” James says brightly, finishing off his
toast.

“Oh, and you aren’t?” Remus shoots back, with a pointed glance at James and Lily’s tangled legs
beneath their blanket. Lily flushes, smiling.

Remus hauls himself reluctantly into a sitting position. “How do you reckon Harry’s date went?”
he muses curiously.

“Merlin, I hope they shagged,” James groans. “I can’t take the bloody tension anymore.” Lily hits
him, again, a small frown on her face.

“You are entirely too obsessed with our son’s sex life,” she chides.

Sirius, still laying on the floor, stares up at the ceiling. “Draco’s taking it slow,” he informs them.
“Pureblood courting.”

“And you would know all about slow, wouldn’t you,” Remus snorts, glancing at him meaningfully.
Sirius flushes.

Peter, just now waking up, covers his ears. “Don’t need to hear about that, Moony,” he says
despairingly.

Remus glances hesitantly to him. They still weren’t on the best of terms, but they had to pretend
otherwise. Harry had made the decision to keep Peter’s betrayal from James and Lily, and while
Remus didn’t necessarily agree, he would respect that decision.

“And I didn’t need to hear about the first time you shagged Alice,” he volleys back, keeping his
voice light, “or the second, or the third. But I heard about them anyways.” The Marauders make
various noises of agreement, and Peter wrinkles his nose, blushing. He catches Remus’s eye,
though, and looks grateful. For treating him the same, Remus supposes.

Sirius sits up, then, throwing a heavy arm around Remus’s shoulders. Remus leans into his side
gratefully. “Should we go check on Harry, then?” Sirius suggests. “Get all the gritty details?”

“Maybe they kissed on the lips,” Lily says, grinning. “What a shock that would be.”

“Scandalous,” James agrees, standing up. “Let’s go find out.” He holds out a hand, gentlemanly,
for her to take, and Lily pulls herself to standing.
In the early morning light, the Marauders stumble back to the castle, paired off, save for Peter,
chatting and touching and smiling. The day feels new with possibility, and Remus is happy. They
all are, he suspects.

It doesn’t last long. The air in the castle is heavy, solemn. There’s scorch marks on the floor, and
holes blasted in the walls. Remus stares, dumbfounded, at the line of students out the door with
suitcases in hand, cued up to leave. A dull sort of pain thuds in his chest.

“Voldemort,” he says, hardly more than a whisper. Sirius tugs him closer. The Marauders
exchange alarmed glances.

“Harry,” James rushes out, eyes darting around the Great Hall. “I don’t see him.”

Remus searches the room, increasingly worried. Merlin, they had missed it, hadn’t they?
Voldemort had come, he had attacked, and they weren’t there. Because it was a full moon. Because
everyone was too busy, dealing with Remus’s problems. He squeezes his eyes shut, dreadfully
upset.

And Harry… Harry was…

“Mister Potter is in the Hospital Wing,” a voice comes from behind them, “with Mister Malfoy.”

Whirling around, Remus meets McGonagall’s steady gaze. Her eyes soften at the sight of the
Marauders, panicked and confused. “Neither of them are hurt,” she assures them. “Mister Malfoy
had a bit of a run-in with dementors. He’s alright, but unconscious, for the moment.”

The group slumps in relief. Lily glances around the hall nervously. “What happened, Professor?”

“The dark wizard known as Voldemort broke in last night,” she explains, voice solemn. “He
attempted to harm Albus. He was unsuccessful.”

“He’s…gone?” Remus checks.

“Yes,” McGonagall confirms, “Though I’m certain he will attempt to return.” Her eyes flicker to
the line of students at the door. “Which is why students are advised to return home.”

“What about the rest of term?” Lily exclaims, panicked. James raises an eyebrow at her, and she
rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry that some of us are worried about our futures, James. It’s our last year.”

“Don’t you think we should be more concerned with staying alive?” he asks, incredulously.

McGonagall nods. “Quite. Which is why the term will resume when it is safe.” She looks
apologetically at them. “I am dreadfully sorry. No young wizard should have to be concerned with
war. It’s a nasty business.”

“How can we help, Professor?” Remus asks cautiously. Her gaze snaps to his, surprised, and he
straightens up. “We’ve been destroying Horcruxes,” he informs her. “We only have a few left to
go. If there’s anything else we can do, we’ll do it.” He looks hesitantly to the group behind him,
and is relieved to see them nodding along.

“We have Aurors,” McGonagall says, bewildered, “and a full team of dedicated wizards. You don’t
need to bother yourselves with all this.”

“We want to, Professor,” James interrupts. “We’re of age. And we’re bloody good wizards, if I say
so myself. We can help.”
She stares out at them sympathetically. “I remember when you were all so young,” she says softly,
“and concerned with nothing more than pulling pranks.” Her eyes flicker to Lily, and the corner of
her mouth ticks up. “Most of you,” she amends. Her expression saddens. “You’re all grown up.”

They stare back at her, eyes wide. “I’m so proud of you all,” McGonagall finishes, voice a bit
choked. “I’ll have to speak to Albus.”

With that, she turns, but hesitates, glancing over her shoulder. “I suggest you go see your son, Miss
Evans. Mister Potter. All of you, actually. I’m certain that he would appreciate the company.”

In a sweep of robes, McGonagall bustles away, looking once again regal and unaffected. Remus
stares after her, slightly shocked. “I think that was the nicest she’s ever been to us,” he manages.
James and Sirius nod in agreement.

Lily’s mouth tilts in a small smile. “Maybe if you all hadn’t spent your first years making trouble,”
she suggests, “McGonagall would have been nicer. Just a thought.” She gazes out at the spot where
McGonagall had just been. “She loves us, really,” she says, small.

“Yeah,” Remus has to agree, “I think she does.”

***

It’s Harry’s fault. It’s all his fault, and he feels sick.

Draco loves him. Fuck, he loves him so much, that his patronus was a perfect copy of Harry’s
animagus form, even after they’d fought, even after Harry had accused him, wrongfully, of
cowardice.

Draco loves him, and now he might never wake up. Harry drops his forehead to Draco’s bed,
sighing, then straightens up, glancing around the room. There’s a couple people in with minor
injuries – mostly professors, though, and older students. No one had died, just like Draco had
predicted. It was nothing too serious, after all. Dumbledore had plenty of backup, and he had
chased Voldemort away with little difficulty.

He would be back, of course. He always came back, like the fucking cockroach that he was. Harry
leans back in his chair, wincing at the sudden ache in his back. He’s lost track of how long he’d
been sitting by Draco’s bedside.

The door creaks open, and Harry glances backwards, half-expecting Madam Pomphrey to come in
again and try to shoo him out. When he sees the Marauders, he’s so relieved that he could cry.

And then, embarrassingly enough, he does begin to cry, sniffling and rubbing hastily at his eyes.
He covers his face with his hands as Lily comes to give him a tight hug.

“It’s alright, Harry,” she says, soft. “It’s alright. Let it out.”

Harry feels more hands on his back, in his hair, and sobs. He loves them so much, his family. He
doesn’t know what he’s going to do without them, if he goes back to a future that they’re not in.

“Guessing the date didn’t go well, then?” Peter jokes, eyes trained on Draco’s prone form. Remus
frowns.
“Not the fucking time, Wormtail,” he mutters harshly. Peter shrinks in on himself.

“Sorry.”

Harry takes a deep, steadying breath. “No, Peter,” he replies. “It didn’t quite go well.”

He looks back to Draco, softening. “And it was so wonderful, at first,” he remembers sadly.

Remus moves closer, kneeling beside Harry. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, eyes closed.

Harry whips around to him, bewildered. “What for?”

“It was the full moon last night,” Remus manages. “If everybody hadn’t been out, dealing with
me–”

The room is flooded with protests, Harry among them.

“Moony! Is that what you’ve been thinking, this whole time?” Sirius says, scandalized. “We
fucking love you.” He softens, coming to kneel next to Remus. “I love you,” he repeats, taking his
hand.

Harry watches them, very nearly tearing up again. James, Lily, and even Peter echo Sirius’s
sentiment, laying comforting hands on Remus.

“Of course I don’t blame you,” Harry says, once the chaos has died down. “You can’t help what
day it is. It’s no one’s fault but Voldemort.”

“What happened, exactly?” Lily asks hesitantly, eyes tracking over Draco. “McGonagall said he
had… a run-in with dementors?”

Harry rubs at his temples. “It’s my fault,” he says fiercely. “I didn’t see them coming.”

James stares him down. “Harry,” he says warningly. “What did I tell you, about the self-
deprecation? Not your fault.” Harry hunches his shoulders, and James narrows his eyes. “Fine.
What were you doing, then? If you didn’t see them coming.”

“I was… looking the other way,” Harry admits. “Watching for threats.”

James raises an eyebrow, as if to say, I told you so, and Harry groans. “Fine. Not my fault, I
suppose.”

“That’s better,” James says firmly.

Sirius glances up at him, sitting nearly in Remus’s lap on the floor. “He protected you, then?”

“Yes,” Harry says, stroking a finger over Draco’s cheekbone. “He cast a patronus. It was…” he
trails off, embarrassed. “It was my animagus form.”

Lily gasps. “Oh, Harry! How sweet,” she says. “He must really love you.”

Harry feels himself prickle with shame. “He must,” he agrees. “Though I’m not sure why. We got
in a fight. I was horrible to him. Said some… nasty things.”

Remus nods, understandingly. “You two have a bit of a history, is that right?”

Harry sighs. “We were rivals at school,” he says. “A bit like you all and Snape.”
The Marauders tense up at the mention of Snape. “Surely he wasn’t as bad as Snivellus,” James
laughs, hesitantly. Lily’s brow furrows, and she shoots him a sharp glare.

“I mean…” Harry sighs, eyes unwittingly flicking to the Dark Mark on Draco’s arm. Merlin, Harry
knew he was ashamed of it, and he had still been so unkind. He’s such a tosser. James follows his
gaze, and his mouth presses into a thin line.

“It was pretty bad,” Harry admits. “But he regrets it, so much. He’s more than made up for it, since
then.”

Peter, surprisingly, speaks up. “I’m sure he still feels horrible. For how he treated you. For… what
he did.”

Lily nods. “I spoke with him last night. I have to agree.”

Harry hangs his head in his hands. “Merlin. What a disaster,” he mutters.

Still staring at Draco’s arm, James says, “What’s wrong with him, then? If he cast a patronus.”

Remembering Madam Pomphrey’s words, Harry explains, “He went into shock. And, besides that,
his patronus was about seven times stronger than an average one. It drained a lot of his magic.”

“Must have been a hell of a memory,” Sirius says, surprised. The room falls silent, as they all
watch Draco. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d think he was sleeping. A strand of pale blond
hair flicks over his forehead, and Harry reaches forward to carefully brush it back into place.

“You love him,” James says, finally, as if coming to some grand conclusion. “You love him, and
that’s enough for me.”

“Er– thanks,” Harry says, flushing.

“You don’t know when he’ll wake up, then?” Remus asks quietly.

Harry shakes his head. “Pomphrey said we just have to wait,” he says hoarsely. “Nothing more to
be done.”

“You know they’re forcing us out of Hogwarts?” Sirius says, turning to him.

Harry blinks in surprise. “They didn’t tell me,” he murmurs. “But it makes sense.” He looks around
at them. “Where will you go?”

“My parents’ place, probably,” James replies. “We all usually stay there, over the summer. None of
these lot have great families, really.”

Harry nods in understanding. “Okay,” he says, small. “Be safe.”

James stares at him. “Harry– what do you mean? You’re coming with us. You and Draco, once
he’s better.”

“We’re invited?” Harry asks uncertainly, chest aching. James’s eyes soften.

“Of course, mate. Of course.”

“Thank you,” Harry says. “I’ll see you in a little while, then. Hopefully.” He looks around at the
group.
 “Harry,” Lily says firmly. “If you don’t think we’re staying in this room with you until Draco
wakes up, you’re out of your mind.”

The Marauders murmur in agreement.

“Oh,” Harry manages. Bloody hell, he loves them so much. He loves Draco. He can hardly believe
that they’re all together, all alive. Harry watches the steady rise and fall of Draco’s chest, and wills
him to wake up soon. He wishes he had kissed him, at least once, fancy pureblood rituals be
damned. He wishes that when Draco had asked him, last night, to leave, that he would have said
yes.

I’ll go with you anywhere, he thinks in Draco’s direction, earnestly. He remembers Draco’s words,
serious and devoted, right before they met Adrasteia: I will follow you wherever you go.

Harry agrees. He hopes, desperately, that Draco still feels the same way. That Harry hasn’t mucked
it up too much.

Maybe he would know, if Draco ever fucking woke up.

The small, peaceful silence of the room is broken, once again, by the door swinging open. This
time, Harry thinks, it has to be Pomphrey, back from wherever she’s run off to.

But it’s not. It’s Narcissa, eyes watery and wide, staring at Draco as if he’s the only thing that
matters in the world.

“Oh, my darling,” she says, soft and pained, as she rushes to his side.

“He’s okay, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry says automatically. Her brow furrows, as she looks at him.

“Narcissa, please,” she says firmly.

“So sorry. Narcissa,” Harry returns. She softens.

“My son really loves you,” she muses, looking between the two of them. “I knew it before, of
course, but this– this really proves it.”

“I suppose,” Harry says quietly, gaze flitting over Draco’s face. “I don’t know what I’ve ever done
to deserve it.”

James lets out a small cough, one that sounds suspiciously like the words ‘ self deprecation.’ Harry
flushes.

“You don’t do anything to deserve love, Harry,” Narcissa says kindly. “You just receive it, and
give it in return.”

“Well, I can certainly do that,” Harry admits. She smiles.

“I know you can.”

Harry hopes Draco knows how loved he is. So loved, in fact, that as he rests, unconscious and
depleted of magic, he is guarded by seven teenagers as they hold a silent vigil, waiting.

Waiting for Draco to come back to them. Back to Harry.

Chapter End Notes

Chapter End Notes

at the risk of sounding sadistic, i genuinely loved writing this chapter so much. it
practically wrote itself, and felt like one of those perfect moments where everything
comes together, and you can finally see the finish line. this chapter is inspired, in part,
by all the young dudes, which i have spent the last three days obsessively reading and
completely falling in love with. i feel like i have a much deeper understanding and
appreciation of the marauders now, and i hope that shows in my writing. fingers
crossed. that being said, hopefully this chapter didn’t break you guys’ hearts too much.
i know i’ve been slamming you with a lot of angst lately, and i promise it will resolve
out soon.

in happier news, i’ve spent the past few weeks revising earlier chapters of this fic, and
today i reached a point that i am finally happy with. there may still be minor edits
going forward, but in general, the hope is that if you re-read this fic, it will be much
smoother and a better read than it originally was. i’m aware that there are some glaring
canon discrepancies, although i’ve fixed a few, but i am no longer in a position to
change them, as they’re necessary to the plot at this point. hopefully it doesn’t bother
you too much.

on a final note, i may be making a tumblr soon! one of my readers on a different fic
suggested it, and the more i think about it, the more it sounds like a good idea. i
haven’t been on tumblr since i was in fourth grade and spent my days reblogging larry
stylinson edits, but i love connecting with you guys, so i’ll probably start one up soon.
stay tuned.

as i work out the plot details for the ending of this fic, the chapter count may go up
slightly. i am almost certain that it won’t go over 20, but i suppose you never know.
it’s been a wild ride, for sure, and i never expected to get this far.

at this point, this author note is probably longer than the chapter itself. tl;dr: i love you
guys, and i appreciate every single person who has read, commented, and left kudos
on this fic. i will see you, hopefully, very soon.

- H xx
 Chapter 17
Chapter Summary

some important conversations.

aka harry and draco finally get their shit together

Chapter Notes

editing note: somehow i made a MASSIVE oversight in this chapter, and for the sake
of the plot, we’re just going to pretend the room of requirement is visible on the map.
oopsie!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Lily Evans was many things. A Muggle-born. A Gryffindor. A Marauder, just barely, and just
recently. One of the smartest, hardest-working witches in her year. Harry’s mum, eventually,
though apparently she hadn’t gotten much of a chance to actually be his mum.

She was also fucking furious.

Lily knew exactly whose fault the recent attack was. She really should have talked to him sooner,
but she kept putting it off, and putting it off, and James certainly hadn’t encouraged her.

Now, as a result of her indecision, Draco was unconscious, and Harry practically lived by his
bedside, in a state of constant, silent worry. Hogwarts was no longer safe. Students were being sent
home.

Lily would go to James’ house, she had decided. She loved her parents, but the last time she’d gone
home, she’d had a rather spectacular row with Petunia, and it made her not want to return any time
soon. After Harry had spoken haltingly about his upbringing with the Dursleys, Lily was certain
that she didn’t want to see her sister again. Maybe someday. But not now. Besides, her parents
were Muggles, and she didn’t want to accidentally endanger them by leading Voldemort right to
their doorstep.

She did, however, have to talk to Severus. It was long past time.

Finding him, though, was the issue. She didn’t think he’d gone home yet, but she’d searched every
corridor, every empty classroom, even the dungeons, with no success.

“It’s hopeless,” she murmurs to James, head resting in his lap. “He’s nowhere. I’m giving up.”

“Do you want to borrow the map?” James asks, running his fingers through her hair
absentmindedly.

Lily’s brow furrows. “The what?”

James’s hand stills. “Er.”

Sitting up, Lily fixes him with a stern look. “James. What do you mean, the map?”

He avoids her gaze. “We may have… a magical map?”

Lily blinks at him. “Elaborate, please.”

“Moony thought it up, back in third year,” he explains finally. “It shows where everyone is in the
castle. Even if they’re in a hidden passage, or summat. It’s pretty brilliant.”

“And you never thought to tell me about this before?” Lily asks, incredulous.

He shrugs. “Wasn’t really relevant, was it?”

Lily closes her eyes, counting to ten silently. She takes a deep breath, and opens them again,
looking at James, with his messy hair, and his crooked glasses, and his faintly guilty expression.
Merlin, she loves him. “Can I borrow it, please?” she asks politely, resisting the urge to wallop him
over the head. “And your cloak.”

“Course,” he says, faint relief falling over his face. James gets off the bed, walking around to the
foot of it to rummage in his chest. “You sure you don’t want help?” he calls over. “Not that I think
Snivellus is dangerous, but still. He’s gotten involved in some pretty nasty stuff, recently.”

“You know I hate when you call him that,” she says, but her heart’s not really in it. Her and Sev
weren’t friends, anymore, not really. Maybe he was too far gone for them to ever be friends again.

But she would go alone. He would certainly hate Lily even more if she tried to drag the Marauders
along with her.

James straightens, handing her the cloak and a thick, folded piece of parchment. “No backup, then?
You sure?” He peers at her, a worried crease between his eyebrows. Lily reaches forward to
smooth it out with her thumb, then kisses him on the forehead, closing her eyes with the motion.

“I’m sure.” She accepts the cloak and the parchment, then frowns down at it. “James, this is
blank,” she points out.

He follows her gaze. “Oh. Sorry.”

Clearing his throat, he taps his wand to the paper. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he says,
very seriously. Lily looks at him incredulously, and he flushes.

To her amazement, though, the paper comes to life, blooming with moving ink. “I can find Severus
on this?” she checks, eyes scanning on the paper.

“If he’s in Hogwarts, then yes,” James confirms.

The map is incredible, really– she would have to ask Remus about it, when she got the chance. It
was some seriously advanced spellwork, but Remus had always been wonderful with charms. She
wasn’t surprised he had pulled something like this off.

Little footsteps dot the page: Draco in the Hospital Wing, Harry by his bed. Sirius and Remus
were– oh, in Filch’s storage closet. Lovely. Lily shakes her head, trying to clear that unpleasant
image.

Peter and Alice were in the Gryffindor common room. And Severus was… Lily’s brow furrows.
She doesn’t recognize that part of the map.

“Where is this?” she asks James, leaning over to show him. He squints at the paper.

“I’m not sure,” he admits. “Maybe Harry would know. He seems to have been through every secret
door this place has.”

Lily nods in agreement. “I’ll go ask him, then. Check on Draco while I’m at it.”

Draco was taking far longer to recover from his spell damage than anyone had expected. It had
been a full week since Voldemort’s attack. Lily had taken to bringing food down for Harry, and she
was pretty sure that it was the only thing keeping him from withering away. She hated to see him
like this– uncertain, and scared. He loved Draco very much. That was clear.

The Marauders all did, at this point. Draco hadn’t quite been what Lily was expecting. Then again,
she didn’t know what she was expecting– a rude, Slytherin pureblood, she supposed. Arrogant, like
his father. But who she had met was someone entirely different. He reminded her of Sev, when she
had first known him: posh, yes, but clever, sarcastic, and kind at his core. Draco was chock-full of
guilt, but he was doing his best to make up for it. Lily admired him for that.

Dumbledore and McGonagall had given the Marauders clearance to stay at the castle until Draco
had recovered. A week later, and they were all still there, along with Narcissa, who was in the
Hospital Wing almost as much as Harry, her sisters, and a few stragglers that had yet to return
home.

There was, of course, the other pressing issue of Dumbledore’s time turner. Its magic grew weaker
every day that Harry and Draco didn’t return to their proper time. Lily was incredibly worried, but
she had taken to just hoping for the best. Harry, at least, seemed to be in no state to return home.
Which was just as fine by Lily, as she would quite miss him once he left.

“I’ll be back soon,” Lily murmurs, kissing James goodbye.

“Say hi to the boys for me,” he says, smiling.

“Will do.”

Lily gathers the cloak and the map in her arms, and heads off for the Hospital Wing. The journey
there is unsettling– she’s never seen Hogwarts this empty, even during the holidays. It’s eerie.

Lily’s face falls, just for a moment, when she sees Harry. He’s hunched over Draco’s bed, head in
his hands. He looks completely devastated. She knocks lightly on the door, and he straightens up,
trying to fix his expression.

“Lunchtime already, mum?”

She moves to take a seat next to him, watching the steady rise and fall of Draco’s chest. “Not quite.
I have a question for you.”

Harry seems surprised. “What is it?”

Lily doesn’t answer for a moment, eyes fixed on Draco. “How’s he doing?” she says instead,
quietly.

“It’s hard to tell,” Harry says, gaze snapping back to Draco’s prone form. “Madam Pomphrey says
that physically, he’s fine. Just worn out. His body is regaining energy.”
“Good, then,” she says honestly.

Harry’s brow furrows. “Was that the question?” he asks uncertainly.

“No, no,” Lily rushes out, pulling the map from her robe. “I need your help with this.”

Harry’s expression lights up, and he looks happier than she’s seen him all week. “Oh, the map!
I’ve missed this,” he exclaims, taking the parchment from her to inspect it.

Lily is now sorely regretting the missed opportunity to wallop James across the head. Harry looks
so much like him, in that moment, that she could cry. Instead, she says, “Don’t tell me you
inherited this thing,” already resigned to the fact that mischief-making was apparently genetic.

Harry’s face shutters. “Erm– not exactly,” he says quietly, and Lily immediately wants to shove the
words back in her mouth. Instead of explaining where he got the map, though, he looks back to
Draco. “I actually used this to track Draco,” he says, to Lily’s surprise. “When we were– when he
was– um. You know.”

Lily’s gaze falls to Draco’s forearm. She does know. “Oh.”

“What, um– what did you need help with?”

Lily points to Severus’s tiny set of footprints. “Where is he? I can’t tell.”

Harry blinks at her in shock. “You’re going to talk to Snape?” He looks at Draco, then back to her,
seemingly making a decision. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Lily smiles, reminded forcefully of James. “I’m okay,” she says gently. “Just need to know where
he is.”

Harry looks at the map for all of two seconds. “The Room of Requirement,” he says confidently,
as if that explains it.

“I’ve never been there,” Lily says. She had heard stories, of course, but she had always assumed
they were made up. “You just– you just tell the room what you want, right? And it gives it to you.”

“Pretty much,” Harry agrees. His brow furrows. “You sure you’re good to go alone?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be worrying about you, not the other way around,” she teases
lightly.

“Maybe, but we’re the same age right now,” Harry points out. “I think we can both worry about
each other.”

“Fair point,” she allows. After a moment of indecision, she stands, pressing a kiss to the top of his
head. “But I’m still your mother. I’ll worry about you as much as I like.”

Harry smiles at her, and she smiles back, small and proud. He’s such a wonderful boy. “Say hello
to Draco for me, when he wakes up,” she says. She pauses, remembering James’s words. “Your
dad says hi, too. To both of you.”

“Oh,” Harry says, pleased. “Okay. Good luck, mum.”

Lily slips the invisibility cloak on, reveling in the way Harry’s eyes go a little wide. Somehow,
though, his expression makes her doubt that this is the first time he’s seen it. “Thanks, Harry,” she
says, now fully invisible. “I’ll come check on you later.”
“Bye!” Harry calls in her direction, as she moves out of the room.

When Lily reaches the spot on the seventh floor right across from the faded tapestry of Barnabas
the Barmy, she feels a bit silly. It’s a good thing that she’s invisible, and no one is paying her any
mind. She recalls the instructions from the stories she’s heard, and begins to pace back and forth.
Show me Severus, she pleads. I need to speak with him.

After three paces, a door appears, solid and heavy. Lily blinks at it, then walks inside.

She’s not quite sure what she expected– some nefarious meeting, perhaps, or Severus in the midst
of some evil task. That’s why she’d brought the cloak, after all– just in case. The reality, though, is
quiet, and sad. Severus sits in front of a large mirror, gazing into it hopelessly.

Lily determines that there’s nothing quite threatening about this situation, and she shrugs off her
cloak. “Sev?” she calls hesitantly. He whips around, eyes wide, as if caught doing something
horribly bad, instead of just looking in a mirror. “What are you doing?”

“Lily,” he breathes, eyes flicking between her and the mirror. “What– why are you here? How did
you find me?”

She subtly moves the map farther into her robe pocket. “Nevermind that,” she says, coming
hesitantly to sit next to him on the floor. “I need to speak with you.”

Her gaze flickers, just slightly, to the mirror. Startled, she looks back at it. Instead of her own
reflection, she sees a large group of people– her, James, the Marauders, Harry, and Draco. All
together, all stunningly happy.

“The Mirror of Erised,” she whispers, transfixed. Beside her, Severus nods, small. She frowns at
him.

“What are you doing with this?” she chides. “Haven’t you read ‘Hogwarts: A History?’ Men have
wasted away in front of this thing, you know.”

Severus stares at her, eyes narrowing. His jaw clenches. “Why are you here, Lily?” he repeats. “We
aren’t friends. What do you want with me?”

Lily stares back unflinchingly. “I want to see your arm.”

Severus takes in a short, shocked gasp of breath, and pulls his robe sleeve down farther towards his
wrist, in a gesture that Lily is achingly familiar with. Draco’s done it dozens of times since she met
him. Her heart sinks.

“What for?” he asks suspiciously.

Lily reaches forward, and tugs his sleeve up, exposing the Dark Mark. It’s far more vibrant than
Draco’s, and is so stark on his pale skin that it looks almost painful. She fights the urge to wince at
the sight of it. “Because of this,” she says instead, hard.

Severus jolts away from her, breath coming faster. “What do you know about it? What do you
care?”

“What do I care?” Lily repeats, incensed. “Are you kidding me?”

“Go back to your dull boyfriend, and his horrible, monstrous friends,” Severus snaps. “This
doesn’t concern you.”
Lily seethes with anger. “If you’re referring to Remus,” she says tightly, “I advise that you
apologize. Right now.”

“What for? It’s true,” Severus says carelessly.

Lily breathes through her rage, and examines him. “You’re trying to rile me up,” she realizes. “So
I’ll leave.”

Severus raises an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Yes,” she says, more confidently. “Too bad, then. I’m staying.”

He blinks in surprise. For a long moment, they sit in a terse silence, neither of them moving.

“What do you see?” Lily asks, curious.

“What?”

“In the mirror. What do you see?”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re not going to ask me about…” he waves in the direction of his arm.

She follows his gaze. “You’ve made your choice, I suppose,” she mutters. “Nothing to be done
about it now.”

“I don’t know what kind of trick you’re trying to pull—”

“Severus,” she cuts off, suddenly weary. “There’s no trick. I’ve given up.”

“Oh,” he says, small. “I’m still not telling you what I see in the mirror.”

That’s alright. She already knows.

“I’ll always love you, Sev,” she confesses. “But not the way you want.”

He looks like she’s hit him. “I—”

“No. You don’t need to say anything.”

Lily doesn’t know why she bothered. Obviously Severus isn’t going to change.

“I did it for you,” he says suddenly.

She clenches her jaw. “That’s bullshit.”

“No, I’m serious—”

Lily snaps. “You’re not fucking serious,” she says coldly. “If you were really doing all of this for
me, you wouldn’t join the Death Eaters. You wouldn’t let a homicidal maniac into the school, into
a party that my son and his boyfriend were attending. You wouldn’t taunt James and my friends.
You wouldn’t do any of this.”

He’s silent for a long moment. He doesn’t deny her claims. “What would you have me do, then?”
he asks finally.

She looks at him, part disdainful and part sad. “All I’ve ever wanted is for you to try, Severus. Try
to be a better person. And you can’t even do that.”
And with that, Lily leaves the Room of Requirement.

***

“Go fish.”

Narcissa stares down at the cards. “I don’t understand,” she says again, sounding confused. “These
are playing cards, not fish.”

“It’s just an expression,” Harry says, trying not to laugh.

Narcissa delicately picks up a card. “Muggle games are so strange,” she muses.

Over the past week, Harry has gotten to know Narcissa quite well. Although Draco has had plenty
of other visitors, namely Andromeda and the Marauders, Harry and Narcissa are the most frequent.
Harry’s only gone back to his dorms once, when Madam Pomphrey physically removed him from
the Hospital Wing. Since then, he’s set up a small cot next to Draco’s, insisting that he wouldn’t
leave until Draco did. Pomphrey, apparently, had given up on convincing him otherwise.

Harry and Narcissa, surprisingly, got along like a house on fire. Narcissa was quietly elegant, but
funny and clever, and had hidden depths that Harry hadn’t known existed. Harry had taken to
teaching her things about the Muggle world, which she had a guilty interest in learning, and in
return, Narcissa told him stories about her exploits with Draco. Harry was incredibly pleased to
hear how much Draco talked about him, and how highly he thought of him.

A knock on the door startles Harry out of his thoughts, causing him and Narcissa to both look up.
Harry’s not sure exactly who he’s expecting— Andromeda, maybe, or Remus.

He sure as hell wasn’t expecting Lucius Malfoy.

“Lucius,” Narcissa says, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?”

Lucius’s eyes flicker, very briefly, to Draco. “I heard he was in the hospital,” he says, a bit stiffly.

“Yes, he has been for a week.”

“Oh,” Lucius says. “I’ve been busy. Otherwise I—”

“You don’t care about him,” Narcissa cuts in coldly. “You haven’t spoken to him once in two
months. Don’t try to pretend now.”

Lucius looks at her, a little pleading. Harry feels, at once, like he should be anywhere but here.
“He’s still my son,” Lucius says quietly. “Our son.”

“The way he tells it,” Narcissa snaps, “you’ve had nothing to do with him. As far as I’m
concerned, he is my son.”

To Harry’s surprise, Lucius lets out a soft chuckle. “With that attitude, he won’t ever be your son,”
he points out. “Takes two people to make a child.”

Narcissa’s eyes narrow dangerously. “I don’t know how I ever made the mistake of being with
you,” she spits. “You cold, callous, unfeeling—”
“Mother. Father. Please stop fighting.”

Harry chokes on his own spit, whirling around to face Draco’s bed. His eyes are squinted open,
watching the three of them wearily. His gaze catches on Harry, and he holds out a hand.

Harry takes it immediately, squeezing tight.

“Oh, good,” Lucius says faintly. “My son is a queer.”

“Outside, now,” Narcissa snaps, grabbing him angrily by the hand and dragging him to the door.
She looks over her shoulder. “Draco, dear, I’m so glad that you’re awake,” she calls. “I’ll be back
in a minute, I’ve just got to talk to your father.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Draco grumbles. Harry stares at him as if he’s the only thing in the world. Draco
looks back, tiredly, and flushes pink. His head rolls away, and he squints at Harry’s cot, made up
with soft red and gold blankets. “Have you been sleeping here? How long have I been—”

Harry cuts him off with a kiss.

It’s rushed, and messy, and Draco gasps into it before he reciprocates, but it’s okay. It’s better than
okay, actually, because Draco is alive, and he’s safe, and he’s awake. Three of Harry’s favorite
things for Draco to be.

Draco clutches his shoulders, leaning more firmly into the kiss. After a moment, he breaks away,
panting. “I didn’t know magically-induced comas got you going,” he says finally. “Maybe I’ll have
to partake in them more often.”

“No,” Harry says, holding him closer. “Never again. That was horrible.”

Draco’s eyes soften. “Harry,” he repeats quietly. “How long was I asleep?”

“A week,” Harry chokes out, eyes not leaving his face. “Longest week of my life.”

Draco squeezes his eyes shut, pained. “The time turner,” he says. “It’s been so long, I don’t— will
it even still work?”

Harry hadn’t even thought of that. For the last week, he hadn’t thought of anything except Draco.
“I don’t know.”

“You should have gone home without me,” Draco mutters, and Harry’s eyes widen.

“Draco, of course not, I would never.” He pauses, remembering their fight, and winces. “I’m so
sorry. For what I said to you.”

Draco sighs. “I’m sorry, too.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Harry insists.

He pulls back a little bit. “I— I know you said you needed space, so I would understand if you still
—”

Draco rolls his eyes, tugging him back in for another bruising kiss. “I never need space from you,
you dolt,” he murmurs against Harry’s lips.

There’s a brief silence, before Harry remembers something else. “Draco, your patronus—”
A bright red flush spreads over Draco’s face. “I forgot that you saw that,” he says, embarrassed. “I
hadn’t meant for you to.”

“Draco,” Harry says quietly. “I love you.”

Draco stops breathing, eyes going wide. “What?”

“I do,” Harry repeats. “Very much.”

“I— me too,” Draco whispers, flustered. “Obviously.”

Harry can’t stop grinning. “I’m so happy you’re okay,” he confesses.

Draco looks back at him, eyes shining happily. “Me too.” He leans forward for another kiss, but
they’re interrupted by the familiar snick of the door.

Narcissa looks in between them, and her face lights up. She winks at Harry, giving him a thumbs
up. Harry gives a small one back, and Draco rolls his eyes fondly.

Narcissa straightens her expression back out, tugging Lucius into the room. “Draco,” she says
primly. “Your father has something he would like to say to you.”

“Bloody hell,” Draco mutters, eyes trained on Lucius. “This should be good.”

Lucius’s gaze flickers between Draco, Narcissa, and Harry, and he clears his throat, looking
sufficiently chastised. “Draco,” he starts awkwardly. “I apologize for calling you… a queer.” His
brow furrows. “I was only being factual, it was just a statement—” he cuts off as Narcissa elbows
him sharply in the side. Looks at the floor. “I wasn’t aware the word had— implications. I
apologize,” he says stiffly.

Draco’s staring at him, wide-eyed. “You know, I think that’s the first apology you’ve ever given
me,” he says faintly. He looks at Narcissa. “Nice work, mum.”

She gives them a pleased smile. Lucius looks like he would like to apparate immediately out of the
room. As it is, he nods haltingly at Draco and Harry, then leaves, eyes lingering on Narcissa.

“How strange,” Draco says. The corner of his mouth quirks up. “He fancies you.”

Narcissa startles, looking aghast. “I beg your pardon?”

“I know that look,” Draco continues. “You’ve caught his attention. Good luck trying to get rid of
him now.”

“Well, I—” Narcissa starts, uncertain. “He’s not a very good man, is he?”

“He wasn’t, when I knew him,” Draco agrees readily. “But maybe he’ll be better this time around.”
He raises an eyebrow. “After all, I’ve never seen him apologize to anyone. That was all you.”

Narcissa looks briefly pleased. “Hmm.” She moves forward, then, pressing a dry kiss to Draco’s
forehead. “I’m glad you’re awake, darling. Get some rest.”

“All I’ve been doing is resting,” Draco protests, even as his eyelids begin to droop.

Narcissa glances at Harry.

“I’ve got him, Narcissa,” he promises. Draco glares at him.

“Thank you, Harry,” Narcissa says graciously, starting out of the room. She looks over her
shoulder. “Congratulations, boys. I know you’ll be very happy together.”

Draco smiles, soft and sleepy. “Thanks, mum.”

With that done, Narcissa leaves, and Draco looks at Harry hopefully.

Harry raises an eyebrow. “What’s that look for?”

Draco scooches over, patting the bed meaningfully.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Harry says innocently, eyes just a little wide. Draco’s expression
sours.

“You want me to say it, don’t you,” he grumbles.

Harry grins. “Do I want to hear the word cuddle come out of your mouth? Yes, very much.”

Draco sighs. “Oh, for the love of— just come here,” he says petulantly, tugging at Harry’s sleeve.
Harry smiles, and complies, moving into the bed and tucking Draco against his side.

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not up for anything… else right now,” Draco says suddenly, sounding
nervous.

Harry furrows his brow, kissing Draco gently on the top of his head. “I don’t need anything else,”
he says. “I’m not expecting anything from you.”

“Oh, really? This from the boy who gauged my interest by asking me if I wanted to shag?”

Harry blushes. “I wasn’t thinking straight,” he protests. “It was a weird day.” He taps Draco on the
nose, and he scrunches it, adorably. “Besides, if I remember correctly, you said yes.”

“If I wasn’t so tired,” Draco grumbles, “and we weren’t in the bloody Hospital Wing—” he pauses,
looking back up at Harry. “It’s okay,” he says, softening. “I’ve waited this long. What’s a little
more?”

Harry brightens, realizing his opportunity. “When you say this long—”

Draco groans, covering his face with his hands. Harry pays him no mind, carrying on determinedly.

“See, we’ve only been friends for about two months,” he says innocently. “Which, yes, some
people may consider a long time. But your mum said something that made me think—”

Draco’s head snaps up, horrified. “What is this, national ‘Embarrass Draco Day?’ Did I miss the
memo?”

Harry snorts in amusement, and flicks him lightly on the forehead. “Yeah, actually. Keep up.”

“I’ve been in a coma,” Draco points out. Harry glares at him. “What, too soon?”

“You’re distracting me on purpose,” Harry says. “Because you don’t want me knowing—”

“You don’t know anything, stop it—”

“That you fancied me at Hogwarts!” Harry crows, triumphant. Draco flops back against the bed,
defeated, and Harry frowns at him. “Although, I’ll admit, it didn’t make much sense. I rather
thought you hated me.”

“I didn’t hate you,” Draco mumbles.

“Well, apparently not.” Harry grins. “But then, Narcissa told me that the Black family expresses
affection by pulling each other’s pigtails, so to say. And it made a lot more sense.”

“I’m going to kill her,” Draco whispers, horrified. He stares at Harry. His face is completely red. “I
wasn’t— I wasn’t pulling your pigtails.”

Harry shrugs, lying down so that he and Draco are shoulder-to-shoulder on the bed. “Maybe not
the whole time,” he allows. “But at least in the beginning. Before it all got—” he waves a hand.
“Complicated.”

“Complicated,” Draco repeats, small. He sighs. “I always thought you were— so charming, and
brave, and handsome. For a long time, I thought I was just jealous.” He rolls his head to face Harry.
“I wasn’t,” he says quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmurs.

Draco furrows his brow. “Not your fault.”

“No,” Harry agrees. “But I’m sorry anyways.”

“It’s no matter,” Draco whispers. “You’re here now.”

“I am,” Harry says, and kisses him.

Draco kisses better than anyone Harry’s ever been with. Granted, there’s a limited competition, but
he wins by a mile anyways. His lips are warm, and slick, moving over Harry’s with purpose and
dedication. He holds Harry’s jaw gently, stroking with his thumb, as if Harry is something
precious, instead of just a boy with messy hair and scars. Harry loves him very much. He tells him
so, in between one kiss and the next.

“I love you too,” Draco returns breathlessly. He flops on his back, staring at the ceiling. “We might
need to…slow down,” he manages, face flushed.

“Oh, is that so?” Harry teases, grinning widely.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Draco rolls back over, eyes bright and challenging, and kisses him. Hard. Only for a moment, and
then he shoves Harry on the shoulder, separating them forcefully. “Stop that,” he murmurs, lips
twitching. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Oh, I’m a bad influence?”

“Yes!”

Harry bursts out laughing, delighted. He wraps an arm around Draco’s waist, and breathes in the
clean scent of his hair. The… familiar clean scent.

Harry’s eyes snap open, and he immediately wants to die. “Oh my God,” he mutters quietly, “the
Amortentia.”
 Draco moves his head to face him. “Sorry?”

“Nothing,” Harry rushes out, cheeks pink. Draco squints at him suspiciously.

“I’ll get it out of you at some point,” he informs him, rolling back around. “But right now I’m too
tired.”

“Fine by me,” Harry says agreeably.

There’s a short silence, and Harry wonders if Draco’s fallen asleep. He closes his eyes, blissfully
happy.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

Draco’s voice is faintly bewildered. “Were you playing a Muggle card game with my mother?”

Harry laughs in response, and pulls Draco closer. He’ll never let him go again.

Chapter End Notes

cuties anyways, hope you guys liked this chapter. snape’s character is difficult for me
to write, which is why i’ve avoided mentioning him for so long. however, i’m really
happy with how these scenes turned out, and hopefully you guys feel the same way.
although i keep sneakily increasing the chapter count, i swear we are almost done. if
this isn’t done in the next month or two, i might cry. i am DETERMINED.

see you guys soon! be sure to leave kudos, bookmark, and comment if you enjoyed❤️

- H xx
 Chapter 18
Chapter Summary

a little fluff, and a lot of angst. sorry in advance.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Potter Manor is easily the largest house that Harry’s ever been inside. He’d thought that Malfoy
Manor was it– the height of luxury, at least in pureblood wizarding circles. However, James’
family home is easily twice its size, with large decadent gardens, several sprawling stories,
courtyard fountains, and a full-sized quidditch pitch in the backyard.

Harry’s mouth fell open the moment they arrived, and it hasn’t closed since.

Even Draco looks surprised– he’s trying to hide it, but Harry can tell by the subtle widening of his
grey eyes, by the twitch at the corner of his thin mouth, by all the small signs that Harry is
desperately attuned to, all the things that no one but Harry would notice.

Fleamont and Euphemia Potter are incredibly kind and welcoming. Of course, that may have
something to do with the fact that Harry is their grandson from the future, but Harry has a feeling
that they would still be kind and welcoming to anyone who entered their home. They must be
nearly on the brink of death– Harry is almost certain they hadn’t been alive when he was born– but
they don’t look it. Instead, they look exactly what elderly parents should look like– well-lived,
wizened, and warm. They take Harry’s coat at the door, then take one look at Draco and ask if
“Harry’s young man” would like his coat taken as well.

Harry likes them immediately.

As they walk through the hall, Draco elbows him gently in the side. “Harry, close your jaw,” he
mutters out of the corner of his mouth. “You’ll catch flies.”

Harry’s jaw, on command, snaps shut with an almost-comical chatter of teeth.

Draco suppresses a snort, and continues to track his eyes around the Manor, taking it all in. “This is
wonderful, Mister Potter,” he says politely, posture perfectly straight. “You have a lovely home. I
never had the chance to visit, growing up.”

Fleamont glances back to him, a bit surprised. His eyes rove over Draco, once, assessing. “I can’t
imagine so, my dear boy,” he muses. “We’ve never exactly been on good terms with the Malfoys.”

Draco withers, just a fraction. “I don’t blame you, sir.”

Fleamont softens, watching him. “It’s never too late to change things, I suppose.” He takes a look
around at their odd group – the Marauders, Harry, Draco, and Regulus. Narcissa and her sisters
were, to everyone’s surprise, invited by James, but she had politely declined, saying that Hogwarts
was the safest place for Bellatrix and that Narcissa herself had “business” to attend to. Despite
having spent every day with her for the past week, Harry hadn’t the faintest idea of what that
business was.
“You’ll all be safe here,” Fleamont assures them. “We’ve got more wards than Hogwarts itself.
Protection spells, privacy charms, the works. The house is under a Fidelus. None of that nasty
business will be coming over this way.”

Looking at him, Harry can’t help but ask. “Are you part of the Order, sir?”

Fleamont blinks at him. Then blinks again. “How on Earth do you know about the Order?” His
nose wrinkles. “And don’t call me sir, Harry. Makes me feel old.”

“Er– alright,” Harry says, flushing. “And it’s, well. Future stuff, I suppose.”

“Remarkable,” Fleamont says quietly, shaking his head. “Just remarkable.” He looks around at the
group of students, who are watching with varying degrees of confusion and interest. He sighs.
“Euphemia and I are part of the Order, yes. I reckon we don’t have many fighting days left in us,
though.”

James frowns. “Don’t say that, Dad,” he chides. He nudges Harry. “Care to explain?”

“The Order of the Phoenix,” Harry says promptly. “A group led by Dumbledore, dedicated to
stopping Voldemort.” He glances back to Fleamont. “It must be fairly new, right?”

Fleamont nods. “It is,” he says. “But rest assured, Harry, we’ve got plenty of good wizards on the
team. They’ll put a stop to that horrible man and whatever he’s planning.”

“Well, you have us, as well,” Harry says. “So that’s…” he looks around. “Seven more people for
the cause.”

He probably should have asked before volunteering the group, but he’s certain that none of them
would oppose. Looking around, he sees only grim determination and steely resolve.

Fleamont’s mouth falls open, just a little. “That’s not necessary,” he says haltingly. “You’re all so
young.”

“I have experience, s–” Harry bites his lip to stop from calling Fleamont sir. “I have experience.
Plenty of it.” He gestures to Draco. “So does he. We all do.”

Draco turns to look at him, brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I would call what I did experience–”

“You did what you had to,” Harry says sharply, leaving no room for argument. “You stayed alive.
I’m not going to fault you for that.”

Fleamont’s face has been steadily falling with each word, leaving him with an expression of
dismayed understanding. “How horrible,” he says softly. He swallows. “We’ll see what you kids
can do to help. Nothing dangerous,” he says pointedly, “but I’m sure we can find something.”

“There’s still another horcrux, isn’t there?” Sirius murmurs.

“Two,” Harry says distantly. “Nagini and the Cup.”

“You know far too much, for someone so young,” Fleamont says quietly, shaking his head. “But
yes, you’re correct. I’m sure your knowledge will be useful at the Order meeting.” He sighs. “You
all are welcome to attend. It’s tomorrow evening.”

Harry nods his gratitude. “Thank you. We’ll help however we can.”

Fleamont nods in return, looking suddenly weary and far older than he had when he opened the
front door. “James can show you all to your rooms. Goodnight, everyone.”

There’s a chorus of Goodnight, Mister Potter, and then Fleamont is gone, trudging down the grand
staircase into Euphemia’s waiting arms. Harry feels a sharp twist of longing. Draco watches him,
eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and nudges a little closer to Harry’s side. After a moment of
contemplation, he runs a gentle finger along Harry’s palm, a clear invitation.

Harry smiles sideways at him and tangles their fingers together gratefully. Draco gives a little
satisfied hum, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“You two aren’t subtle,” Lily sighs. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight, everyone.”

“Going to bed?” James asks, shocked. He casts a quick tempus, and squints in confusion. “It’s not
even eight. You don’t want to hang around a little longer?”

Lily coughs pointedly. She raises her eyebrows meaningfully at James, looking for all the world
like she wants to smack him upside the head. “I am going to bed,” she says, with great effort.
Painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on her, she continues, rather valiantly, “However, I may still be
up for a bit. If anyone would like to join me…”

The invitation, however, is very clearly for James only, as Lily continues to stare at him, intent. He
stares back, eyebrows furrowed.

Harry is trying very, very hard not to laugh.

James’ eyes widen, rather comically. “Oh!” He flushes bright red. “Oh. I’ll just– Um. I. Yes?”

“James, this is painful,” Sirius mutters. “Please just go.”

Looking back to Harry, James frowns. “But–”

“I’ll show Harry and Draco to their room,” Sirius says. “Off you pop.”

Harry realizes, with a start and a sudden flutter in his stomach, that Sirius said room and not rooms.
Draco’s hand spasms a little in his, leaving Harry to assume that he noticed the same thing. Harry
blushes, and resists the temptation to look over at Draco.

James and Lily stumble off into a random corridor, followed immediately by a loud, exasperated
groan. “That was horrible,” Lily says, voice still echoing clearly off the corridor walls. The
assembled group in the hallway listen as she’s silenced by a soft, smacking sound, followed by a
loud, muffled thud. Harry really does not want to think very hard about what that thud could be.

The hallway is incredibly silent, for just a moment, before Remus lets out a small snort. The sound
breaks the floodgates, and they’re all laughing, doubled over and helplessly amused. Draco giggles
softly, holding his free hand over his wide smile. “And she said we weren’t subtle,” he says to
Harry, bright and teasing. “All we did was hold hands!”

“To be fair,” Remus points out, “Lily herself is incredibly subtle. James, on the other hand…”

Sirius grins. “Subtlety does not penetrate that thick skull,” he agrees. “It’s a Potter trait.”

“Oi!” Harry shouts, narrowing his eyes. “Draco, tell him off.”

Draco stares at him, eyes crinkling by the corners. “Why would I do that?” he muses. “He’s right.”

Sirius lights up, giving Draco a crisp high five. Draco looks stunned, for just a moment, before his
face breaks into a breathtaking smile.

“This one knows what he’s on about,” Sirius tells Harry. “I like him.”

“Get your own,” Harry shoots back.

Remus stares at them, exasperated. “I am right here.”

“Yes you are, love,” Sirius says, eyes roaming over him in a decidedly unsubtle manner. “Yes you
are.”

Remus looks back at him, unimpressed. However, if Harry looks closer, which he does, he can see
the corner of Remus’s mouth flickering, the small shift in his posture.

“I’ll be off too,” Remus murmurs in Harry and Draco’s direction, eyes not leaving Sirius’s. “I’ll
see you in the morning, yeah?”

“Night, Remus,” Harry says. Remus turns on his heel and walks off.

“That was much better,” Draco says consideringly. “I give him a seven out of ten.”

“Oh? What did he lose points on?” Harry asks, amused.

“By that dreadfully obvious eye contact, of course,” Draco murmurs, contradicting his point by
staring directly into Harry’s eyes, simmering with mischief and intent.

With a start, Harry remembers they are, in fact, not alone in the hallway. He clears his throat,
regretfully breaking Draco’s intense gaze. His eyes land on Peter, who has been standing off to the
side with Regulus, dreadfully quiet. Harry’s heart gives a small (very small), sympathetic lurch.

“Must be missing Alice right now,” he tries, raising his voice in Peter’s direction. Draco, Sirius,
and Peter all turn to him in surprise.

Peter’s wide eyes suddenly narrow, and his face falls. “We broke up,” he says stonily. “She left me
for Longbottom.”

Regulus’s face scrunches in disapproval. “Longbottom?” he mutters, giving no further input.

Beside Harry, Draco’s eyes light in amusement, and Harry squeezes his hand in warning. Draco
schools his face.

“Tough luck, mate,” Harry says hesitantly. “You’ll be alright?”

Peter shrugs. “I suppose.”

Harry nods awkwardly, and Peter trudges off to his room. After a quick instruction from Sirius,
Regulus is off too.

“Follow me,” Sirius says brightly, leading Harry and Draco down the corridor. His steps are quick
and sure, probably in a rush to get back to Remus.

They stop in front of a heavy, white door, and push it open to reveal a wide, king sized bed, draped
with a cream-colored cashmere duvet and silky-looking pillows. Harry feels himself stop breathing.
Draco clutches his hand like a lifeline.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Sirius says, still smiling. “I’ll see you boys in the morning.”
“See you,” Harry returns faintly, only distantly aware of Sirius’s footsteps walking off. He
hesitantly turns to Draco, who’s staring at the bed with an unreadable expression on his face.

Harry is suddenly very embarrassed for himself. He is an adult, for Merlin’s sake, and Draco is
very obviously in need of reassurance, or comfort of some kind. Harry can do this. Otherwise, what
use is he as a boyfriend?

“Draco,” Harry says lowly, in more of a croak than he was expecting. He blinks, clears his throat,
and tries again. “Draco, we can move at whatever pace you want,” he says gently. Draco turns to
him in surprise, and Harry smiles at him, small and lopsided. “You know I don’t expect anything
from you. I don’t want you to feel pressured—”

Draco’s expression has slowly turned from surprise, to exasperation, to fondness, to something—
different. His eyes darken to a storm-riddled, thunderous grey. His slender, elegant throat bobs as
he swallows hard, dark eyes tracking over Harry. The change is so unexpected that Harry stops
mid-sentence, abruptly forgetting how to speak. For a second, the world whittles down to only the
two of them, Harry and Draco, Potter and Malfoy, assessing and breathing each other in like
they’ve never known anything else.

Harry feels his feet moving before he really registers what’s happening. Draco’s elegant hands, his
long fingers, are on Harry’s shoulders, guiding him slowly towards the bed. Draco wandlessly
shuts the door behind them, and Harry watches as the lock clicks shut. He didn’t know Draco
could do wandless magic, and it’s unfairly, indecently attractive. Harry’s pants are tight, and he
knows that Draco sees it.

It doesn’t matter, though, because Draco’s pushing him gently back on the bed, Harry’s shoulders
hitting the duvet, then his back, then his thighs. Draco’s crawling on top of him, sitting atop his lap
with effortless grace, taking both Harry’s wrists in one hand and pinning them over Harry’s head.
Harry can’t breathe. He can’t remember how. He can’t remember how to do anything, apparently,
except lie back and be completely in awe of Draco Malfoy.

Finally, Harry remembers how to speak, but is only only able to say one word. “Draco…” he
whispers, a shocked, breathless exhalation.

Draco meets his eyes, wickedly sharp, loving and teasing, satisfied with preemptive triumph.
“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to be quiet.”

Harry’s mouth snaps shut, and Draco leans forward to kiss it, a few, rebellious strands of pale
blonde hair falling forward into his face. Harry wants to reach out and tuck them back into place,
but his wrists are still heavily pinned to the mattress. Not that he’s complaining, mind you.

“Just for a minute, darling,” Draco murmurs in his ear. “I have something to say.”

Harry nods, feeling utterly unable to do anything else.

Draco sits up on Harry’s lap, regarding him from above. “Harry Potter,” he says slowly. “You self-
sacrificing, noble, thick-headed—” Harry raises an eyebrow, and Draco rolls his eyes. He leans
forward to kiss him, then, slow and deep.

“Wonderful, captivating man,” he finishes against his lips. Harry waits in suspense for the end of
Draco’s statement, feeling like he is on fire, like he might explode, like he is at once feeling too
much and not at all enough. Draco smirks down at him, and thumbs gently at the collar of his shirt.

“You are wearing entirely too many clothes.”

***

Harry is incredibly satisfied. He, in fact, has never been so satisfied in his life, despite the fact that
his thighs hurt when he sits down, despite the fact that he took one, slightly wobbly step out of his
and Draco’s room that morning and had come face to face with Lily, who immediately knew. They
hadn’t made eye contact since, though they’d been in the same room most of the day.

“I don’t understand,” Draco murmurs, squinting at the muggle playing cards in Harry’s hand.
“These are cards, not fish.”

Harry snorts in amusement, and leans forward to give him a quick kiss. Across the room, Sirius
hoots wildly. They both ignore him. “That’s exactly what your mother said,” Harry says fondly.

“Well, she’s right,” Draco points out. “She’s a very sensible woman.”

“As are you.”

“A sensible woman?” Draco asks, one eyebrow raised. Harry smacks him lightly.

“Obviously not, you git.”

“Order meeting in ten minutes!” Euphemia calls, poking her head around the living room entryway.
“I expect you all want to attend?” Her eyes linger on Draco and Regulus, and squint, just the tiniest
bit, in suspicion.

“Everyone in this room is dedicated to the cause, mum,” James replies, voice firm and convincing.
She nods, expression softening, and backs out of the room.

“Harry,” James says, “What can we expect, at this meeting? You were a part of the Order, weren’t
you?”

“I was,” Harry says. “Along with Remus, and Sirius.”

Lily’s head whips up from her book. Her eyes narrow. “Where was Peter?”

In the corner of the room, Peter stiffens. Harry coughs. “He was… busy,” he says weakly. It’s the
closest thing to the truth he can think of.

Lily doesn’t seem convinced, but Harry rushes to keep talking, hoping that he can distract her.
“Anyways, I can’t be entirely sure what to expect. Discussion of the Horcruxes, I’m sure.
Hopefully the Aurors have a lead on Voldemort’s location, or the Death Eaters. They’ve definitely
moved from Grimmauld Place by now.”

James nods consideringly. “Alright, then. Should we head off?”

The group makes their way to the Potters’ sitting room, where the Order meeting is being held.
There’s a loose assortment of people already there– Dumbledore, McGonagall, a random selection
of Aurors, and– Harry’s lips part in shock. Molly and Arthur Weasley sat at the Potters’ dining
table, smiling and making polite conversation with Dumbledore. How had Harry forgotten that
they would be there?

“Mrs. Weasley?” Harry says faintly, unable to stop himself. Molly furrows her brow, and looks up.

“Do I know you, love?” She looks him over, then turns sharply to Dumbledore. “Why are there
children here?”

“They’re not much younger than you, Molly,” Dumbledore points out. “In their last year at
Hogwarts.”

Molly sighs, and turns back to Harry. “Sorry, have we met?”

Harry flinches, and Draco moves to rub at his back soothingly. James has noticed the conversation,
and looks over in confusion. “Everything alright?”

Harry ignores him, turning back to Mrs. Weasley. “No,” he says quietly. “We haven’t met. Not
yet.”

“Not yet?” Molly asks in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Harry and Draco are from the future,” Dumbledore explains calmly. “Here by way of a time-
turner accident.”

“Oh, dear!” She looks him up and down. “How curious. How do I know you?”

Harry swallows. “I’m good friends with your son Ron,” he explains, feeling like the statement is
woefully inadequate. How was he supposed to explain everything that Mrs. Weasley meant to him?

“I don’t have a son Ron,” she says faintly.

Harry smiles. “Not yet.”

James stares at Molly, eyes lighting up in recognition. He turns to Harry. “Your friend’s parents are
the Weasleys?” he says quietly. “The ones that…”

Harry nods, throat tight. Draco squeezes his hand.

James sits down next to Molly and Arthur. “Thank you in advance,” he says, shaking both their
hands, “for treating my son so kindly, when he had no one else.”

“You’re…welcome?” Arthur replies, looking very confused. Molly is still staring at Harry,
blinking curiously.

The room has begun to fill in, and the Order members are watching the conversation with interest.
Dumbledore holds up a hand.

“As you can see,” he says loudly, cutting off the noise of the room, “we have some new guests
today. James Potter, Lily Evans, Sirius and Regulus Black, Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin…” he
trails off, clearing his throat, before he finishes. “Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy.”

The room sucks in a sharp breath at Draco’s name, and Harry runs a comforting thumb over the
back of his hand. Dumbledore calmly waits for the whispers to die down. “Harry and Draco, as
some of you may know, are from the future. They both have a great wealth of information that has,
so far, been incredibly useful to the cause. We should all be very grateful to them for assisting.”
An Auror that Harry doesn’t know speaks up, loud and grating. “We’re letting a Malfoy in here?
And two Blacks? What’s next, You-Know-Who himself?”

Dumbledore blinks at the man. “Voldemort will not be joining us, no.”

The man turns quite red in his pudgy face, and sits back down. Dumbledore sighs. “I do, however,
understand your fears. I have a preposition, to assuage them, once everyone is present.”

Harry furrows his brow. He looks around the room. “Who are we missing, sir?”

The fireplace roars with green flames, and Narcissa and Andromeda step out, looking poised and
elegant. The Auror from earlier turns positively purple. “It’s a Black family reunion,” he mutters.
“Might as well hand ourselves in now.”

“Wonderful,” Dumbledore says. “We’re all here.” He waits for everyone to get seated, then stands
to address the room. “As I was saying, I have a proposition. There are many things to address
today. But I feel that in order to have the most clear understanding of our situation, we must learn
from Harry and Draco.” He turns to them. “With your permission, boys, I would like to perform a
group Legilimency.”

Harry sucks in a sharp, shocked breath, as does much of the room. Group Legilimency was nearly
unheard of, and only done in the most dire of situations. Harry certainly had no desire for a room
full of people, including strangers, to go poking around in his and Draco’s head.

“Can’t we just tell you ourselves, sir?” Harry asks desperately.

Dumbledore frowns sympathetically. “It’s not that I don’t trust you and Draco,” he says. “But the
Order may not. They need to know you have nothing to hide.” He pauses. “And it’s the quickest
way of getting the necessary information from your memories.”

Lily stares at Dumbledore, agape and horrified. “That’s incredibly invasive,” she says. “And
personal. They shouldn’t have to do that with a room full of strangers.”

Dumbledore’s eyes harden, just a bit. “We are at war, Miss Evans,” he says. “We can not afford to
lose important information because of hurt feelings. However, I am giving them a choice. They can
consent to the spell, or they can leave the meeting.”

Lily’s eyes narrow furiously. She opens her mouth, no doubt to deliver a scathing retort, but Harry
holds up a hand to stop her. “It’s alright, mum,” he says. “I’ll do it.”

After all, Harry was quite used to his entire life being public knowledge. This was nothing new.

“Harry—”

“I’ll do it, too,” Draco says. Harry starts in surprise, then looks to him in horror.

“Draco, no.”

There was no way to know that the Order would be sympathetic to Draco’s memories. That they
would understand. He would be thrown out immediately.

“If you’re doing it,” Draco says firmly, “I am too. They deserve to know.”

Narcissa’s watching him carefully from across the table, eyes sad and thoughtful.

Harry swallows, and opens his mouth to reply, but Dumbledore cuts him off. “Excellent. Ready?”
They were doing this now?

“I—” Harry starts, choked and horrified. He shoots a glance at his parents, at the Marauders. He
had to warn them, to explain what they were about to see.

There was no time.

“Legilimens!”

The room is sucked into a hectic swirl of memories, that gradually sort themselves out under
Dumbledore’s firm guidance.

Harry is one. He stares up at the ceiling, loved and safe, warm and whole. “We love you, Harry,”
Lily croons, beautiful and affectionate. This is Harry’s last good memory for a very long time.
There’s a flash of green light, the sound of screams and bodies heavily hitting the floor. Harry is
scared. He is alone.

Draco is five— he watches as his father walks through Knockturn Alley, cool and commanding,
vicious and unfeeling. He is powerful, so powerful, and makes Draco feel very small. “One day,”
he says, not turning to look at Draco, “this will be your duty.” Draco watches his father take a
handful of coins from a trembling, cowardly man, and wonders what the word “duty” really
means.

Harry is seven, and he is in his cupboard with a broken leg. Dudley broke it; pushed him down the
stairs after Harry asked if he could borrow Dudley’s old toy helicopter, the one he hadn’t used in
three years. Harry hasn’t eaten in two days, other than a stale piece of bread that Aunt Petunia
pushed through under the door last night. He watches a spider dangle from the ceiling, and tries
not to cry.

Draco is nine. He is desperate to hear the story of Harry Potter again. His father says he’s too old
for bedtime stories, but sometimes his mother will sneak in late at night, and tell him the most
wonderful things about a brave boy his age. Everyone knew about Potter, of course, the boy who
defeated the Dark Lord when he was just a baby, the boy who carried more power than anyone in
the magical world, than maybe Dumbledore himself. Draco wonders, filled to the brim with
excitement, if maybe he’ll meet him one day. He would be impressed, maybe, by Draco. Draco’s
family was very powerful, very important, just like Potter. They would be allies. They would be
friends. Draco didn’t have very many friends.

Harry is eleven, and he has had the strangest birthday of his life– a giant broke into his shack on
the sea and told him he was a wizard, that his parents were magic, that they went to a school
called Hogwarts. He’s at a weird, wonderful street, where everyone seems to know his name. He
meets a boy named Draco Malfoy, and realizes that not much has changed at all. Draco is just like
Dudley, he thinks. Arrogant, and pompous, and rude. He makes Harry feel so stupid, so small.
Harry hopes that he won’t see him again.

Harry is thirteen. He’s learned he’s a Parselmouth. People keep staring at him, keep whispering
about him, keep saying there’s something wrong with him. Harry doesn’t have to wonder– he
knows there’s something wrong with him. There’s so many things wrong with him that he doesn’t
even know where to start. He fights a basilisk, because he has to, because he needs to. He survives.
He’s not sure he wanted to.

Draco is thirteen, and he can’t stop thinking about Harry fucking Potter. Potter, with his stupid
daring adventures, and his stupid Gryffindor friends, and his stupid, attractive hair– Draco fights
it down. Draco has a job to do, has to follow in his father’s footsteps, has to be a proper,
respectable Malfoy. He turns to Harry, with a sneer. “Get out of my way, Potter,” he spits. He
wants to feel angry, but he doesn’t feel much of anything at all.

Harry is fourteen, and he clutches Cedric’s dead body to his chest. Cedric, who just weeks ago had
given him the tip about the egg, while Harry blushed, and tried to understand the fluttering feeling
in his stomach. It was Harry’s fault, and it hurt so much. Harry kept letting people down, kept not
living up to their expectations. Harry was not the Boy Who Lived– he was still just the fucking boy
in the cupboard under the stairs, alone and staring at spiders. He couldn’t save anyone.

Draco is fourteen, and he watches Potter from across the Great Hall. He doesn’t smile as much as
he used to. Draco flicks his wand, tosses a “Potter Stinks” badge at him. Potter turns to Weasley,
thinking it was him. He laughs, and shoves him on the shoulder. Draco smiles, just a little, and
turns back to his food.

Harry is fifteen. Everything has gone so wrong, so fast, but at least he has Sirius. At least he has
Remus. He stares at Umbridge, and writes another line. “I must not tell lies.” He winces at the
sharp pain searing through his hand, but his face is calm. He can’t break. He can’t show
weakness. He can’t let her win.

Draco is sixteen, and he’s so scared, Merlin, he’s so fucking scared, he hates himself. He can’t do
it, can’t do the one thing he was asked to do. He cries, alone in the bathroom, the first time he’s
cried in years. Of course Potter ruins it. Of course he’s following him, trying to stop him, and
Merlin, Draco almost wishes he would. Draco can’t do this anymore. He shoots a Crucio at
Potter, but knows it won’t do anything, knows he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t have enough feeling
in him to mean it. Potter hits him back, an unfamiliar curse, and Draco stares at him, taking in his
wild, infuriating beauty, for just a moment, before dropping heavily to the ground. The pain hits
after, and it’s excruciating. Distantly, he’s relieved. He’s not afraid of death. Not anymore. He just
wants it all to end.

Harry is sixteen, and Malfoy is up to something, Harry knows it, fuck, why doesn’t anyone believe
him? He watches Malfoy’s tiny footsteps on the map, feels obsessed, feels crazy. He’s going mad.
And then he’s in the astronomy tower, watching Snape’s face, watching Draco lower his wand,
watching Dumbledore fall, and he realizes he was right. Malfoy was up to something. There’s no
satisfaction in it.

Draco is seventeen, and he stares at Harry, at the face he’d know anywhere, even disfigured by a
Stinging Hex, and he thinks that this might be the most important moment of his life. He’s a
coward, he’s a horrible person, he deserves death, but he can save Harry’s life. He can do that. He
looks up. “I can’t be sure.”

Harry is seventeen, and he walks to his death. He presses the snitch to his lips, stares at the ghostly
apparitions of his parents, of Sirius. He’s not scared. He’s not afraid of death. He’ll give it all up,
if his friends will live. He imagines Ron and Hermoine, grown and married, with curly, red-haired
children, and smiles. He stares at Voldemort, into his red, horrible eyes. Harry stands perfectly
still and drops his wand. He closes his eyes. He waits.

Draco is eighteen, and he watches Harry from across the Wizengamot courtroom. He doesn’t
understand what’s happening, doesn’t understand why Harry is defending him, doesn’t understand
anything. He wishes he was dead. He listens to Harry’s words, distant and cool, words that Draco
is so completely undeserving of. The world really doesn’t fucking deserve Harry Potter. But Draco
especially doesn’t.

Harry is eighteen, and they’ve won, they tell him, he’s done it, he’s a hero, but how is he a hero
when everyone is fucking dead, Remus and Sirius and Fred and Dobby and– Harry tips his head
back, finishes off a bottle of firewhisky, alone in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. “Happy birthday
to me,” he sings quietly, off-tune. He remembers the shack, a birthday cake drawn in the sand, and
he cries for the first time in six years.

Draco is eighteen, and he’s back in time, and Harry fucking loves him, or at least he says he does,
and Draco doesn’t know how to believe him. Doesn’t know how to do anything except love Harry
back, doesn’t know how to do anything except remember the impossible sight of their family in that
stupid mirror and try not to want too much. Draco’s never been good at doing anything by halves.

Harry is eighteen, and he doesn’t know how to live without Draco anymore, doesn’t know how
he’ll live without his parents, without Sirius, without Remus. God, he loves them all, loves them so
much, and he’s the most alive he’s felt in years. He knows it won’t last, knows he’ll have to give it
up, knows that he’s living, quite literally, on borrowed time. He turns to Draco, warm and safe,
sleeping beside him in bed. “I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.” He hopes Draco
knows.

The room is dead silent. Dumbledore himself looks shocked, eyes wide and breath coming in
heavy pants. Harry’s not sure what did it for him, but Dumbledore looks the most ruffled that
Harry’s ever seen. It’s unsettling. “I apologize,” Dumbledore says finally, stiffly. “I may have lost
control of the spell.” He clears his throat, looking around at the table, at the shocked and grieving
faces. “Let’s– take a short break,” he says shakily. “We’ll reconvene in a bit.”

Harry’s rooted to his chair. No one moves. Harry can’t– He can’t breathe, he can’t–

The room begins to swirl. Harry feels his own heart, pounding heavily in his chest, so he must be
breathing, but why does he feel like he’s dying, like he’s being hit with a Crucio–

“Harry,” Draco’s voice says. “Harry, look at me.”

Harry, unable to deny Draco anything, turns to look, feeling shaky and disoriented. Draco points to
his own chest, to the steady rise and fall. “Harry, copy my breathing.” Harry glances wildly around
the room, at every single person in the Order staring at them, and Draco shakes his head. Presses
his forehead to Harry’s. “Don’t think about them,” he says quietly. “Just focus on me.”

Harry’s always been good at focusing on Draco. He does, and feels his breathing begin to slow,
gradually, painfully. He squeezes his eyes shut. When he’s sure he can breathe again, he looks up
hesitantly. “I’m sorry,” he says to the room. “That happens, sometimes.”

“I can see why,” one of the Aurors mutters.

The response breaks the tension in the room, and every single person is speaking, yelling at
Dumbledore or Draco or Harry, crying and raging and fighting. Harry just wants it all to stop.

“Please,” he says. It stops. He blinks, surprised, and haltingly continues. “That was a lot. Let’s
just– take a break.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore agrees. “And then we can extract more memories. Those ones weren’t terribly
helpful, I’m afraid.”

Lily’s head snaps up. She’s been quietly sobbing into James’ shoulder, and there are fresh tear
tracks on her face. “Not helpful,” she repeats, voice quiet, murderous. “Not helpful?”

She stands, chair knocking to the ground. At once, the lightbulbs in the ceiling burst, affected
inadvertently by a large burst of emotional, accidental magic. She doesn’t pay them any mind. Her
eyes are trained on Dumbledore, narrowed and intense. She looks like a storm, like a vision, like
 she could take on Voldemort and win, singlehandedly. “You force those boys to relive some of
their most painful memories,” she says, voice pained, “to share them, with a room full of strangers,
moments when they were alone and vulnerable, and you say it’s not helpful?”

She looks around the room. “Is there anyone that doesn’t trust Draco and Harry, after that? That
thinks they have some sort of nefarious intentions?”

The look on Lily’s face says that if anyone does think that, they’ll be hexed where they sit. No one
raises a hand. Her mouth presses into a thin line. “Good. If we’re finished humiliating two
teenagers, I think we should move on. Harry and Draco can tell us whatever they want to,
whenever they are ready to. First, though, we need a nice, long break, because that was painful and
traumatic for many of the people in this room.” Her expression shutters, but she straightens it back
out. “Any objections?”

The room is silent.

Lily smiles, sharp and unhappy. “Good.”

She walks over, slowly, to Harry and Draco. “Come with me, boys.” They stand, and follow, both
numb, both overwhelmed, both exceedingly tired and regretful and old beyond their years.
Distantly, they’re followed by the Marauders and Narcissa. No one else dares.

Harry’s not sure where they end up– one of the many rooms of the Potter Manor, he supposes. All
he knows is that the floor is cushioned, soft, and they end up in a loose dog pile, tactile and
comforting. Lily strokes Harry’s hair, over and over, tears running down her face. Draco’s head
lays on Harry’s lap, and he stares numbly at the wall as Narcissa strokes his ankle. James sits,
forehead pressed to his knees, as Sirius runs a hand over his back. Remus is pressed to his side,
head laying on his shoulder. Peter sits alone in the corner of the room, head tilted back against the
wall, blinking angrily up at the ceiling.

And Harry is broken, he is defeated, and he’s not fucking okay, no matter what he tries to tell
himself, but none of that matters right now.

His family is here.

Chapter End Notes

…sorry!

this chapter turned out SO different than i was expecting. i swear, i just start with a
little bullet point list of what needs to happen, and then
a few hours later im staring at a chapter that basically wrote itself. every fucking time.

i want to make it absolutely clear that i do NOT support or condone dumbledore’s

actions in this chapter. he’s a very morally grey character, and i think he puts the
“greater good” over people’s well-being like 99% of the time. yikes.

anyways, since this went so off the rails, and i didn’t even make it through the full
meeting in this, it will probably extend the chapter count by one, MAYBE two
chapters. hope no one minds.
hope yall enjoyed my staple “fade to black railing.” it’s an art, honestly. use your
imagination for the rest.

fun life update: i got covid!! woo hoo. as such, i’m in quarantine, and will probably
write at least one more chapter before monday. at least now i’ll be productive.

in happier news, i got a tumblr! i am still unsure how to hyperlink, but it’s here.
https://bookinit02.tumblr.com/
drop your username in the comments and i’ll follow you guys! and then you can yell
at me all you want.❤️

- H xx
 Chapter 19
Chapter Summary

the beginning of the end.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The living room has gone quiet, broken only by the periodic sounds of sniffles, when Sirius finally
dares to speak up.

“Harry,” he says quietly, a dangerous edge to his voice, “why didn’t you tell us that you died?”

The room goes deathly still, and Harry sucks in a sharp breath.

From where his head is cushioned on Harry’s lap, Draco furrows his brows in agreement. “I never
thought you actually died,” he murmurs. “I thought you were just faking it.”

“I did, for a bit,” Harry whispers. “But I was dead. Really dead.” He sighs, stroking Draco’s hair
absentmindedly. “I came back. What is there to mention?”

“Harry,” Draco says hesitantly, “maybe, when all of this is over… you should go see a Mind
Healer?”

“You too,” Harry insists. “Or did you think I didn’t catch the memory where I almost killed you,
and you were fucking grateful?”

Lily shifts uncomfortably on the floor. “I mean, I thought I knew…” she trails off, staring at
Draco’s arm. “I thought I knew,” she repeats, small. “I knew nothing at all.”

Remus is looking at Harry, quietly concerned. “That spell you used on him. In the bathroom. What
was it? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Harry feels tears well up behind his eyes, rubs furiously at them before they spill over. “I didn’t
know what it was,” he says thickly. “I had no idea what would happen. I was so stupid.”

Draco rubs at his arm, blinking tiredly. “It was a tense moment, Harry. I’ve forgiven you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Harry mutters harshly. Draco sighs, but doesn’t reply.

“Yes, but… what was the spell? Where did you get it?” Remus presses.

Harry swallows over a lump in his throat. “It was Snape’s. He wrote it in an old textbook of his.
Sectumsempra.”

Draco shivers, just barely, and Harry squeezes his eyes shut guiltily, wanting to comfort him but
feeling like he is the absolute last person that should be doing so. As it is, he adjusts his hold on
Draco; tries to soften every point of contact they have. Harry never wants to hurt him again.

“I didn’t know it was Snape’s,” Draco says quietly, pained. “Merlin. The irony.”
“I try not to think about it,” Harry admits.

“Not surprised he’s meddling in dark magic,” James says. Harry’s eyes flicker to Lily, expecting
her to disagree, but instead she just looks quietly resigned. They all do.

“Not that bad,” James continues, out of nowhere. To Harry’s surprise, he laughs, dark and low,
running shaking fingers through his hair.

“Sorry?” Harry says, confused.

“You said… you said the Dursleys weren’t that bad,” James says, sounding pained. “Harry, they
starved you. You slept in a cupboard.”

“I’m never speaking to Petunia again,” Lily murmurs. James tightens his arm around her shoulder
in silent agreement.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Harry says lamely. Of course he’s made it worse, now that they
know. Now he’s an abused little kid and a liar.

“Fucking Dumbledore,” Draco cuts in roughly, sounding as if he’s been ranting to himself and just
now decided to verbalize it. “I can’t believe he made you stay there.”

“Well, the blood wards–” Harry protests.

“Fuck the blood wards,” Draco says, angrier still. “If Remus could come back to teach at
Hogwarts, he could have been there to raise you. He had just lost all his friends. I’m sure he would
have loved to help.” He glares at the ceiling. “But Dumbledore didn’t even consider it. Even if
Remus wasn’t able, I’m sure any wizarding family or muggle family would have been happy to
raise you.” Draco meets Harry’s eyes. “There are so many other ways to protect someone,” he says
quietly. “Dumbledore just didn’t care.”

It hurts to hear such a harsh description of Harry’s beloved mentor, but Draco has a point. Harry
scrubs angrily at his face. “I know. God. I know.”

“What do you mean, Remus had just lost all his friends?” Lily asks, voice low. “I mean, James and
I… but Sirius? Peter?”

Harry meets Sirius’s gaze tentatively. Seeing only stony acceptance, he exhales steadily, and
decides to tell as much of the truth as he can. “Sirius was in Azkaban,” he says bluntly. “For
something he didn’t do.”

“What?” James yelps, alarmed.

Harry tries very hard not to look at Peter. He must be drowning in guilt, and Harry doesn’t want to
make it worse. “I can’t say anything else,” he says apologetically.

“Well have you– have we fixed it?” James says desperately. “That won’t happen again, will it?”

“No,” Harry says. “No, it won’t.”

There’s a small silence again, everyone lost to their own thoughts, and Harry looks down at Draco.
He looks quiet, pensive in a way that Harry hasn’t seen in a while. Harry bends down to kiss his
forehead. “I know you said you were looking, during Hogwarts,” he says quietly, “but I never
really understood. Until now.” Harry pauses, trying to figure out the right thing to say. “I was
looking back,” he says finally. “I mean– you infuriated me, yeah. But I was always looking.”
Draco smiles, just a little. “I always wanted to be your friend, so badly,” he says, and the honesty of
it knocks Harry’s breath right out of his chest. “But I was so upset, especially in the beginning,
because I thought you’d picked Granger and Weasley over me. And I couldn’t figure out what they
had that I didn’t.”

Harry meets his eyes sadly. “Kindness,” he says. “That’s all it was.”

Draco nods against his thigh. “I know that now,” he admits. “But I was so humiliated, after you
didn’t take my hand. When I was small, everything felt so– dramatic,” he huffs, smiling a little.
“The end of the world.”

“You know, I didn’t much like Hermoine at first, either,” Harry says. “But we got around to it. If
you’d just–”

“But I didn’t,” Draco says glumly. “I didn’t know how. Instead, I made it all worse.”

“Draco,” Harry replies, searching his face. “You’ve more than made up for it. You have to know
that.”

Draco meets his eye, not backing down. He flushes. “I’m starting to.”

Harry grins at him. Kisses him again, just because he can.

James clears his throat, very loudly, and Harry groans in protest. “Oh, come off it.”

There’s a knock on the doorframe, and Harry twists around, half-expecting to see Dumbledore,
ready to drag them back in for another interrogation. Instead, Molly and Arthur Weasley stand,
hesitant and unsure, staring sadly at Harry.

“I’d understand if we’re not welcome, love,” Molly says gently. “But I just wanted to check on you
two.”

“Of course you’re welcome, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry says, grateful and a bit stunned. “Thank you.”

Molly nods, and drags Arthur along to sit on the couch beside Harry. She’s quiet for a moment,
seemingly deciding what to say.

“No one should have so many horrible memories,” she says finally. “Especially as young as you
both are.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s war. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be,” she says, horrified.

“That’s not all of it,” Harry protests. “There were good moments, too. Lots of them.” He hesitates,
looking around the room. “Would you… should we watch some? Might lift everyone’s spirits a
bit.”

“Harry, you absolutely do not have to do that again,” Lily says immediately. “None of us are
expecting that.”

“I know,” Harry says. “But I’m offering.” He looks around at the small group, at the Marauders,
Draco, Narcissa, Molly and Arthur. He thinks they all could do with a good bit of cheering up.
“Alright,” Lily says gently. “If you would like to.”

Harry straightens, and points his wand at his forehead. He concentrates very hard on his happiest
memories, just like he’s casting a patronus.

“Legilimens!”

The room lights up around them, transforming into beautiful, breathtaking scenes from Harry’s
life. Rides on hippogriffs, on dragons, on broomsticks. Dinners and breakfasts and brunches at the
Burrow. Christmas with Ron, his Weasley sweater; one of the first Christmas gifts Harry had ever
gotten. The first time he’d flown, the exhilarating satisfaction of chasing after a tiny Draco,
Rememberall in hand. Slow dancing with Hermoine in a wizarding tent, on the run but still there
for each other, still holding each other through it all. Sirius, gentle and calm: you could come live
with me. Remus handing him chocolate, teaching him how to cast a patronus.

Love, and love, and love, so much that he was bursting with it.

Harry breaks the spell’s hold gently, smiling. “See?” he says quietly. “It wasn’t all bad.”

***

When the meeting resumes, the air is incredibly tense. Everyone’s decided to either look at Harry
in pity, or Dumbledore in anger. Those, apparently, are the only two options, aside from Narcissa,
who only has eyes for Draco. And whatever small thing she’s pulling out of her pocket.

“The cup of Helga Hufflepuff,” she says gracefully, pulling out her wand and unshrinking the
object which was, in fact, the cup of Helga Hufflepuff. Harry blinks at it.

“Bellatrix was hiding it,” Narcissa continues, steady and practiced. “Between Lucius, Andromeda,
and myself, it took little effort to retrieve it from her.”

“Lucius Malfoy?” McGonagall repeats, blinking in surprise. “He assisted you?”

“He was quite eager to, actually,” Narcissa replies. “I was surprised myself.”

“Love is a powerful motivator, Miss Black,” Dumbledore says, holding out a hand for the cup. “It
can cause us to act in ways rather contrary to our nature.”

Narcissa doesn’t move. The cup stays solidly clutched in her hand. “I do not know Lucius nearly
well enough for him to love me.”

“Infatuation, then,” Dumbledore allows. “Are you going to hand me the cup, Miss Black?”

She stares at him. “I’m not sure that I trust you, after your little display earlier.”

Dumbledore goes quite rigid. “I apologize,” he says stiffly. “It was not my intention to dredge up
painful memories.” He looks around the table at her. “If I am correct, though, it was your son that
attempted to kill me.”

Harry stands, knocking his chair back in his haste. “You don’t know anything about that,” he says
firmly. “He was never going to kill you. He was scared. He was lowering his wand.”
“Yeah, and then Snape did it instead,” James snorts viciously.

Harry hesitates. “Dumbledore asked him to.”

“What?” The reply, shocked and breathless, comes from both James and Dumbledore.

Harry sighs. “Can we all just– calm down, maybe? Take a breath? I can explain everything that I
know.” Harry’s lost track of how many times he’d had to rehash the entire story, but he knows he
has to do it again.

Narcissa looks at Harry for a split second, then offers him the cup. The display of trust leaves
Harry astonished and breathless, and he stares at her for only a split second before taking it. “If
memory serves, Harry,” Narcissa says calmly, “I trust you with this more than anyone else.”

“Thank you, Narcissa,” Harry says carefully. He feels the cup’s corrupted magic like a shock to the
heart, and fights to keep his grip on it steady. “I’ll keep an eye on it,” he promises.

Dumbledore looks down his glasses at Harry. “Well, on with it, then, Mister Potter. What would
you like to tell us about Voldemort?”

What indeed?

Harry struggles to think of a good place to start. With Tom Riddle, maybe— but Dumbledore knew
all about him, knew far more than Harry himself. Finally, he clears his throat. “There was a
prophecy,” he says, “about Voldemort and I.” He looks around the room. “I’m assuming it hasn’t
been made yet.”

“Alright, Harry,” Dumbledore says, summoning a parchment and quill to take notes. “What did this
prophecy say?”

Harry swallows hard, the words ingrained into his brain. “The one with the power to vanquish the
Dark Lord approaches,” Harry recites. “Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the
seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the
Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the
other survives.”

The space around him is quiet, processing. Dumbledore watches him curiously. “What was this
power, Mister Potter? I’m assuming you were successful?”

“Two things, sir. Love, and the Elder Wand.”

Draco’s hand spasms on the table.

“Love?” one of the Aurors repeats incredulously.

Dumbledore holds up a hand to silence them. “It makes sense,” he says calmly, “that Voldemort, a
purely evil being, would be repelled by Love.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry says. He pulls back his hair to show his scar. “That’s how I survived the AK in
the first place.” He nods at Lily. “My mum’s love.”

Lily lets out a shuddering breath, and leans into James’s shoulder for support.

“Alright,” Dumbledore replies, writing this down. “And the wand?”

“Erm,” Harry starts uncomfortably. “Draco… got it from you. And I got it from him. So I had
control over it.”

Dumbledore seems to be coming to some sort of conclusion. “So, Mister Potter, you had the
wand… you, I’m assuming, had the resurrection stone–” Harry nods in confirmation. “-- and you
had your father’s cloak.” Dumbledore sits back, hands steepled. “Some may say that makes you the
Master of Death.”

Harry shrugs. “Some may say that, yeah.”

Dumbledore smiles, just a little. Then he straightens, all business. “Since this prophecy has not yet
been made,” he says seriously, “there is no reason to believe it still holds weight. Theoretically,
any of us could defeat Voldemort.”

This thought makes Harry a bit uncomfortable, but also… relieved. He hadn’t even considered that
the final battle may not be all up to him.

“Theoretically, I guess,” Harry allows. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll have to wait for Neville and I
to be born. Duel it out.” He smiles, then, to show that he’s joking.

Draco jostles him on the shoulder. “Bad joke, Harry,” he mutters.

Dumbledore furrows his brow. “Neville?”

“Longbottom,” Harry explains. “He was born the same month as me. Only other person the
prophecy could have been about.”

“I see.” Dumbledore takes note of this on his parchment.

One of the Aurors clears his throat. “Albus, why are we wasting time talking about a prophecy that
hasn’t been made yet? Shouldn’t we focus on finding You-Know-Who now?”

“No reason to be afraid of his name, Percival,” Dumbledore says mildly. “Especially seeing as he
made it up.” He clears his throat. “If we can find Voldemort, then that’s good. However, there is a
chance that the war will continue indefinitely, and the prophecy will be made. In that case, we will
need to know about it.”

The Auror sits back, sufficiently abashed.

“On to methods of Horcrux destruction,” Dumbledore says. He looks down at his notes. “From
what I understand, known methods are basilisk venom, Fiendfyre, and the sword of Godric
Gryffindor.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry says. “There could be more. Those were just the ones we used.”

“We have no fangs left, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Even if they were to take a fang by force (which Harry, of course, would never do), it wasn’t
possible. Last time he’d seen her, Adrasteia had been toothless, and wouldn’t grow back her fangs
for months.

“Well, then.” Dumbledore stares at the cup. “Is anyone sufficiently experienced with Fiendfyre?”

Draco’s breath gives a funny little stutter, and Harry reaches for his hand under the table, trying to
soothe him. “What about the sword, sir?”

“I don’t know where it is,” Dumbledore admits. “It’s been missing for quite some time. I used it to
destroy the first Horcruxes, and then it disappeared.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. “Alright. Okay. We’ll just have to… think of
something else. We have time.”

Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. “Do we?”

A loud thud shakes the side of the house, causing everyone at the table to jump in surprise. “What
was that?” Harry asks nervously.

Fleamont’s eyes are widening in horror. “The house wards. Someone’s trying to get in.”

Harry stops breathing. “And the chance of it being someone from our side?” he posits, already
knowing the answer.

Another, more menacing thud answers his question.

“Someone’s given up the location of the mansion,” Narcissa murmurs quietly.

The words hit Harry like a physical blow. Unwittingly, he turns to Peter. Harry’s mind is racing.
Through his panicked haze, there’s only one suspect he can think of. Someone that already
committed this exact crime.

Harry’s wand is drawn on Peter before he can blink.

“How dare you,” Harry seethes. “After all the fucking chances I’ve given you? I should have
known. I never should have stopped watching your every move.” He furiously blinks back tears.
“I’ll kill you,” he says quietly, pressing his wand to Peter’s throat. “I will.” Peter tilts his head
back, swallowing hard. A definite look of terror is on his face.

“Harry! What are you talking about?” James rushes out, holding out a hand. “Why would Peter
have anything to do with this?”

“Because he’s done it before,” Harry says tightly. He meets James’ confused gaze. “He did it to
you.”

James stops in his tracks, as does everyone else in the room. Harry’s hand is shaking where he
holds his wand. The members of the Order watch, stunned silent.

“It wasn’t– It wasn’t me,” Peter chokes out, fearful beyond belief. “Harry, I swear to you.”

“Your promises mean nothing,” Harry whispers, pained. “Not anymore.”

Harry racks his brain for a good spell to use, but is stopped by a gentle hand on his back. He
doesn’t turn to meet Draco’s eye.

“Harry,” Draco says softly. “Think about this for a second.”

“I don’t need to,” Harry grits out.

“Okay,” Draco placates. “Will you look at me, please?”

Harry can’t take his eyes off of Peter. He’s terrified that if he does, Peter will twist out of his reach
and do something horrible. Harry can’t think straight. He feels dizzy.

“I can’t,” he says. “I– I need to–”

Draco, somehow, understands immediately, and walks around Harry’s side so that Harry can see
both him and Peter at the same time. “Harry,” he repeats. “Peter took an unbreakable vow to never
betray your parents. Remember?”

“He could have found a way around it,” Harry says desperately. “He’s had time.”

“Maybe,” Draco allows. “But– Harry, is Peter the secret-keeper? For the mansion?”

Harry falters. “I–”

“He’s not,” Fleamont says quietly, eyes trained on the trio. “Harry, my boy, let him go. Peter’s
done nothing wrong.”

Trembling, Harry slowly lowers his wand. Peter gasps for breath, tears running down his face.

Eyes closed, Harry clutches Helga Hufflepuff’s cup to his chest like a child. He can’t bear to look
around the room, as sudden clarity dawns on him. He’s an idiot. He’s betrayed Peter’s confidence,
for no reason at all, based on nothing but past prejudices.

James and Lily may never trust Peter again.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers shamefully, eyes still closed. He opens them, blinking at Peter’s
stunned face. “I’m sorry, Peter,” he repeats, voice strained. He glances over to James and Lily.
“Peter hasn’t done anything. Not in this timeline,” he stresses, desperate to make up for his
thoughtless accusation. “I wasn’t thinking. Don’t hold this against him.”

His parents stay silent, looking at Peter with wide, distrusting eyes. Harry feels a blade of shame
sink into his heart.

“Harry it’s– it’s okay,” Peter says finally. A forceful thud shakes the walls, sounding like thunder.
“They needed to know anyways. I’m not upset.”

Harry nods tightly, and looks back to Fleamont. “Who is your secret keeper?” he says, well aware
that this is the first thing he should have thought to ask.

“Cornelius Fudge,” Fleamont replies stonily. “Which I now realize was a mistake.”

“The Minister?” Harry asks, shocked. Fudge had never been a good Minister, granted, but Harry
had never realized– actually, no. It makes sense. Fudge was always a coward, and corrupt to boot.

“Merlin, he becomes Minister?” Fleamont asks, mouth falling open. “He just works for the
Department of Law Enforcement right now.”

“As riveting as this conversation is,” Regulus says dryly, “I’m thinking we should probably
prepare for our guests.”

Euphemia glances at the trembling walls. “Children, we’ll need to get you somewhere safe,” she
says fearfully.

“All due respect, Mrs. Potter,” Lily says, a look of determination across her features, “We’d like to
stay.”
“I–”

“They’ve earned their place,” says McGonagall, from the corner of the room. “They’re adults,
Euphemia. They’ve experienced much more than we’ve given them credit for. If they wish to fight,
we can do nothing to stop them. We can only assist, and keep them safe through the battle.”

Euphemia doesn’t look pleased at this, but nods jerkily. “If you say so, Minerva.”

Dumbledore glances at Harry. “We haven’t destroyed the cup,” he points out. “Voldemort will still
have some strength in him.”

Harry tightens his grip on the cup, and rolls his shoulders back. “I’ve fought him when he was
stronger,” he says firmly. “I’m not worried.”

By his side, Draco watches wearily. “Harry, are you sure you want to do this? We could sit this one
out.”

Harry blinks at him, and Draco sighs in resignation. “I know. Stupid question. I just wanted to
check.” He steps forward, then, and fixes Harry’s scarf around his neck. “Idiot Gryffindor,” he
mutters quietly, pressing his face into the wool.

Harry presses a kiss to the top of Draco’s head. “I’ll be careful,” he promises.

“I know,” Draco says, “because I’m going with you.”

A furrow works its way between Harry’s brows. He glances over at the small group of people
preparing to apparate to safety. A fierce need for Draco to be among them hits, and suddenly he
realizes that Draco must feel the same way about him. “Draco–”

“If you think for one second,” Draco says fiercely, “that I’m not staying to keep an eye on your
stupid arse, you are dead wrong.”

Harry glances around the room then, and sees almost everyone pointedly pretending not to watch
them. He rolls his eyes, and reaches up to give Draco a firm kiss. “We’ll be careful together,” he
promises. “Alright? No unnecessary heroics.”

Draco pulls away, squinting at him. “I’m not sure I trust your definition of unnecessary.”

“We’ll stay in the back. Go after Death Eaters. Someone else can handle Voldemort, if he’s there.”

Draco considers this for a moment, then nods. “Fine. I’m holding you to that.”

“The wards won’t last much longer,” Fleamont interrupts. “Anyone that’s leaving needs to do it
now.”

No one that Harry knows moves to join the small group of deserters. The Marauders, the Black
sisters, Regulus, the Weasleys– all stay firmly planted, looks of grim determination on their faces.

Harry eyes the walls, trembling with the weight of the damaged wards. He straightens, breathing
deeply. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Let’s do this.”

Draco slips his hand into Harry’s, and together, they wait.
Chapter End Notes

Here you are! This chapter is a little shorter than usual, but I feel like it still has all the
necessary parts. Depending on how the last chapter goes, we have either two or three
chapters left. I am SO unbelievably excited to be finally done with this fic. It’s my first
novel-length story ever, and I’m very proud of it. I’m grateful for every single one of
you that has been here over the last two years (time flies so fast, what the fuck!!).
Let’s finish strong!!❤️

- H xx
 Chapter 20
Chapter Summary

it all comes to a head.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Draco hears the walls shake, and is forcibly reminded of the last time they did this, he and Harry,
standing on two separate sides of a war. This can’t be like the last time. It can’t be, because last
time, Harry had fucking died.

When the wards give way, at first, nothing happens. There’s a final tremor, and a faint shimmer in
the air, and then… silence. Empty space.

The Death Eaters come first – a handful of purebloods that Draco vaguely recognizes. He doesn’t
see Snape or Bellatrix, much to his relief. They must have had enough sense not to come.

There’s a flurry of movement, and noise, and before Draco knows it, he and Harry are flinging
stunning spells and body-binds on nothing more than basic instinct.

Through it all, Harry’s hand is clasped tightly in his own. Draco runs his thumb over the faded
scars, I must not tell lies, and blinks back tears. He doesn’t have time for them. Draco needs to
focus. He needs to keep Harry alive.

To his right, Sirius and Remus are fighting off a particularly nasty-looking wizard, and holding
their own admirably well. James and Lily are similarly paired, near the dining room. Draco can’t
see Peter, but to be honest, he doesn’t quite care. And his mother is…

Where is his mother?

Draco shoots a Bombardo at an approaching witch, and turns to Harry urgently. “My mother,” he
gets out. “Harry, do you see her anywhere?”

Harry straightens immediately, eyes tracking over the chaos. “Narcissa?” he calls loudly.

There’s no answer. Draco can feel his chest tightening. “Harry, we have to.. we have to find her,”
he chokes, gasping through the panic of his words.

Harry clasps their hands together more tightly, and hefts the cup in his other arm. “We will,” he
promises. “We will, okay? Let’s go look.”

After knocking out a few more Death Eaters, Draco and Harry make their way outside, to the
Potters’ sprawling front lawn. Draco takes in a few heaving breaths as he looks over the crowd.
Dumbledore, McGonagall, Regulus… Andromeda. He runs to her, feeling more desperate than he
ever has. “My mother,” he says. “Andromeda, where is she?”

Andromeda’s eyes widen as she looks around, as if just now realizing that her sister had
disappeared. “She was– she was right here,” she mutters, gesturing to the air next to her.
“Where…”

Draco feels a horrible prickle on the back of his neck, a sure sign that he’s being watched.
Wandlessly, he sends a body-bind spell behind him. He hears a pained yelp, but doesn’t turn
around to look. Harry stares at him, face doing something complicated.

“What?” Draco snips tersely, eyes still roaming the lawn for any sign of his mother.

“Nothing,” Harry says, following his gaze. “That was just really hot.”

Draco feels a pleased rush at the praise, but frowns anyway. “Not the time, darling.” He glances
over to Harry, who’s shrunken in on himself, and allows himself to crack a bit, lifting their
intertwined hands and pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s palm. “But thank you.”

Harry smiles at him fondly, then opens his mouth in a soundless gasp, eyes fixed just above
Draco’s head. “Draco, I see her!”

“What? Where?”

Harry lifts an unsteady finger to point across the lawn. Draco looks, and feels his face grow pale
and bloodless. Voldemort himself stands at the edge of the Potters’ property, separated from the
crowd of brawling wizards only by Draco’s mother.

What is she doing?

“She’s going to get herself killed,” Draco says frantically.

Harry’s ten steps ahead, as always, already moving in a determined line across the grass and
dragging Draco along with him. “Not if we’re here, she’s not,” he responds.

“Right,” Draco nods, trying to keep up. His eyes dart, involuntarily, to Voldemort, who is steadily
coming nearer and nearer in his blurred vision. To his surprise, the Dark Lord… doesn’t seem so
menacing, now. He’s rail-thin, and obviously weakened. His hand trembles uncontrollably where it
holds his wand.

Narcissa stands across from him, chin jutted out proudly, her face the utmost display of grace and
calm. Ever a Malfoy, Draco thinks, though he realizes as soon as he thinks it that he’s wrong. Ever
a Black. Not a Malfoy. Not yet.

Perhaps if Harry and Draco really have managed to change the future, the name Malfoy will mean
something different than it had before. The notion is almost unthinkable.

As they approach, Draco can just barely begin to make out his mother’s steady, fierce words.

“You will not get anywhere near my son,” she says firmly. “Or anyone here. You are not
welcome.”

Voldemort stares at her. “Out of my way, woman,” he says, voice hoarse. “You are a Black. I’ll
give you one chance.”

Narcissa doesn’t move, and Draco stares at her with steadily growing terror. “Mother,” he yells,
voice whipping away on the wind. “Mother, don’t!”

Voldemort’s beady gaze turns, then, to Draco, and narrows in thought, scanning him over. He
looks between Draco and Narcissa. “Time travel,” he muses, after a few tense moments. “How…
interesting.”

Draco gulps, and Voldemort eyes his throat in satisfaction. “You know me. You fear me,” he says
silkily. “Tell me, then, of my future success.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Draco replies, feeling like he’s about to shake right out of his skin. “You
lose.”

Voldemort looks like he’s been slapped. He must be able to sense the truth of it in Draco’s mind.

“You lie,” Voldemort hisses, apparently in denial. He turns his raised wand to Draco. Harry throws
an arm protectively in front of Draco’s body, but Draco’s not concerned with himself.

“Mother, run!” he calls desperately, panicked eyes meeting Narcissa’s.

She doesn’t fucking move. Why isn’t she moving?

Now, Voldemort looks supremely displeased. “You’ve had your chance, Miss Black,” he says
dismissively. Before Draco’s even processed the words, Voldemort’s wand is turned to Narcissa,
an indeterminate spell flying full-speed in her direction.

Someone screams. Draco thinks, distantly, that it may be him.

There’s a flash, and a body hitting the ground.

Two bodies hitting the ground.

Voldemort blinks in surprise at the scene before him: Lucius, having apparently sprinted across the
lawn to tackle Narcissa out of the way. The spell he had shot bounces harmlessly off the stone wall
of the Potters’ mansion.

Lucius doesn’t waste any time. There’s a sharp crack, and a bit of black smoke, and Draco’s
parents are gone, having (hopefully) apparated away to safety.

“How inconvenient,” Voldemort murmurs lowly. He turns to Harry and Draco. “No matter. You
two will be very useful, I’m sure. Two future-seers, at my command.”

“We’ll never be at your command, Tom,” Harry spits.

Voldemort nearly chokes in his surprise. He draws himself to his full height, squinting at Harry as
if he were a particularly annoying fly. “And who are you, boy, to speak to me that way?”

Avoid unnecessary danger, Harry had said. Fat chance.

Harry blinks, then laughs, stunned. As Draco watches in concern, it becomes a full-fledged, ugly
chortle.

“Who am I?” Harry repeats incredulously. “Who am I?”

Privately, Draco’s worried that Harry might be going a bit insane. He doesn’t blame him.

Voldemort just stares, silent, trying to figure Harry out. He’s attempting legilimency, Draco thinks,
but it doesn’t appear to be working. Harry must be focusing quite hard on keeping his occlumency
barriers up.

Harry goes deathly silent, then, and meets Voldemort’s gaze unflinchingly. “I’m your undoing,
Tom,” he says. “I’ve killed you once, you bastard, and I’ll do it again. As many times as I need to,
until it sticks.”

Draco’s never loved him more. He’s also never been more terrified.

“I wouldn’t have been killed by a child,” Voldemort hisses, outraged. He looks Harry up and
down, sizing him up. His gaze catches on the cup cradled in his arm, and his eyes widen, almost
comical in their intensity.

Harry stands his ground. “You’ve already been weakened by one,” he says. “Or did you really
think that Dumbledore destroyed all the horcruxes by himself?”

“Harry, stop,” Draco whispers through clenched teeth, finally regaining his ability to speak. Harry
pretends not to hear him.

Why are all the people he loves bull-headed idiots?

“A minor setback,” Voldemort says flippantly. “True power can never be weakened.”

“You wouldn’t know true power if it hexed you in the face,” Harry spits.

Voldemort, evidently, is growing rather sick of this exchange. Draco watches in distant horror as he
raises his wand at Harry. Harry raises his wand right back. “Go on, then,” he says challengingly.
“What’s the best you can do?”

Nothing good has ever followed those words, Draco thinks.

“Avada Kedavr–”

“No!”

Draco’s moving before he really thinks about it, bodily shoving Harry out of the way just as his
father had done for his mother. They land in a tangled heap a few feet away, and Draco firmly
grabs Harry’s hand and begins to run.

“Draco, I had him–”

And… Harry sounds annoyed. That’s what does it, finally, for Draco. No hint in Harry’s tone that
he had been about to die, just to prove a point. No hint that he was grateful to Draco for saving
him.

“You idiot,” Draco snaps, hitting a clenched fist against Harry’s firm chest. “You utter, daft,
fucking– lunatic,” he gasps out, vision going blurry at the edges.

“Draco?”

Now he sounds concerned, the git.

“We have to keep moving,” Draco says briskly, wiping at his eyes and dragging Harry along. “He’s
going to have it out for you, now.”

“Good. Rather me than anyone else,” Harry says calmly.

Draco feels a large lump gather in his throat, and he swallows over it with some difficulty. “I would
talk to you about how absolutely ridiculous that statement is,” he says tightly, “but I’m sure you
already know. And we really don’t have time.”

Harry sighs. “Draco, I–”

In their momentary distraction, one of the Death Eaters has flung a stinging hex in their direction.
Before Draco can deflect it, it hits Harry straight in the chest. Harry starts in surprise, but the hex
has no effect. The scarf Draco had given Harrry for Christmas shimmers beautifully, and light
spreads over Harry’s body in a warm golden glow. They both stare at it.

“Protection charms,” Harry whispers, sounding choked.

Draco nods, once, in affirmation. He doesn’t know why Harry’s surprised– he had told him, after
all, when he had given it to him, that the scarf was loaded to the brim with spellwork. What was
the point of giving Harry something useless? Courting gifts were supposed to be practical, after all.

“Harry,” Draco says, feeling as if his entire world is crumbling apart, “if you really want to have
some… big confrontation, with Voldemort, I can’t stop you. But please–” his voice cuts off in a
pained whimper, and he clears his throat in embarrassment. “Please think about the people that
love you. Me, your family, your friends. If you won’t be careful for your own sake, be careful for
ours.”

For a long, silent moment, Harry just stares at him, awful watery tears gathering in his eyes.
“Draco,” he says quietly, “of course. Of course, I’m sorry–” he gathers Draco into a hug, and
Draco melts into it without any further thought. “It’s just instinct,” Harry mutters. “I didn’t mean
anything by it.”

“You could have died,” Draco says fiercely, voice muffled from where his lips are pressed into
Harry’s scarf. “You could have died, you utter bastard. You said you would be careful.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry sighs. “Okay. We’re starting now.” He opens his eyes, and looks over
Draco’s shoulder. He flings a wandless hex behind them, and Draco turns to look. Rudolphus
Lestrange has keeled over, unconscious, on the lawn.

And now, Draco kind of gets Harry’s earlier point– wandless magic is quite attractive. Especially
when Harry’s the one doing it, with his insanely powerful magic. Draco leans up to kiss him, and
means for it to be quick, but ends up putting more into it, grabbing Harry’s face with shaking hands
and licking firmly into his mouth. Harry doesn’t hesitate– he gives as good as he gets. They pull
away after a moment, resting their foreheads together as they come down.

“I love you,” Harry whispers. “Don’t ever forget it.”

“I couldn’t,” Draco admits.

Harry opens his eyes to peer at him, then smiles. “Ready to take out some Death Eaters?” he says
gamely, holding out his elbow for Draco to take.

Draco snorts, and daintily takes the offered elbow. “Harry, I would love nothing more.”

***

Peter can’t quite believe this is happening. The past few months have felt like a fever dream–
getting together with Alice, who he’d fancied for ages, then meeting James and Lily’s son from the
future, and immediately being told that he had rather cocked it all up. Peter wasn’t really surprised
about that bit. Peter’s used to ruining everything he touches.

Even now, as he and his friends (ex-friends? He’s not sure any of them care for him, anymore)
fight Death-Eaters on the front lawn of the Potter mansion, where Peter and James had grown up
playing kiddie Quidditch on training brooms, Peter feels as though he’s in a particularly bad dream.
No one will quite look him in the eye. James and Lily had looked nearly ill when Harry had
confronted him in the sitting room; had told them, finally, what Peter had done. Peter didn’t blame
them.

All he can do now is try to make up for it. That’s all he’s been doing, lately.

Peter shoots a Diffindo across the lawn, panting slightly with exertion. There seems to be a never-
ending swarm of Death-Eaters: racist, pureblood pricks who were falling all over themselves to
cater to Voldemort’s every need. In this case, Voldemort was seemingly in need of an army of
human shields, so that he wouldn’t ever have to dirty his own hands.

It makes Peter sick to think that he would have been one of them.

Struck with sudden, acute fear, Peter’s eyes dart around the lawn for Harry and Draco. He’s been
trying to keep an eye out for them– more for Harry than Draco. Draco had plenty of self-
preservation, but Harry seemed to have none at all. They balanced each other out, in that way.

He knows they had gone off a while ago in search of Draco’s mother, Sirius’s cousin. But Peter
had seen her apparate away with that Lucius bloke– surely Harry and Draco would be back by
now?

Peter slumps in relief when he finally spots them near the side of the house. They look a bit worse
for the wear, but are sticking close to James’s parents, and seem to be getting along just fine with
their hoard of Death-Eaters. The shiny cup of Helga Hufflepuff is still clutched firmly in Harry’s
right arm.

Spotting movement in his peripheral vision, Peter flings a Bat-Bogey hex out to his right side. An
older witch clasps her nose, astonished, and changes course from where she had been, right in front
of James. “You alright?” Peter says hesitantly, eyeing him.

James grunts in something akin to acknowledgement, then stomps away to deal with a nearby
dementor.

Remus watches him go, a complicated look on his face. “He’ll come around,” he says to Peter. The
stream of Death-Eaters seems to have let up, at least for the moment. Peter supposes that pureblood
lunatics aren’t an infinite resource, after all. Who would have thought?

“He might never,” Peter responds, sitting heavily on the front step. “And I wouldn’t blame him.”

Remus looks at him, unspoken sentiment clear in his expression, then back over at Sirius, who was
hovering uncertainly nearby. After a moment, they join Peter on the step.

“You’re doing a good job,” Remus says kindly. “I can’t imagine how I would have reacted, if it
was me.”

“It wouldn’t be you,” Peter says thickly, trying not to tear up. “You never would have betrayed
them. You or Padfoot. What does that say about me?” he whispers, horrified. “I’m a terrible
person.”
“Peter,” Remus exclaims softly, then pulls him into a fierce hug. Peter hasn’t had any affection
from him in so long that he’s forgotten what it feels like. He rubs harshly at his eyes, which are
now betraying him with a steady flow of tears. He feels Sirius pat him gently on the back, and
sniffles a bit.

“Peter, you’ve been trying so hard,” Sirius says. “Anyone can see that. And you’re a good friend,
okay?”

“But– the other Peter–”

“Fuck that guy,” Sirius cuts in roughly. “Okay? He’s not our friend. You are.”

“He’s right,” Remus says, smiling. “And I much prefer you to him.”

“Me too,” Peter laughs, watery and weak. “Thanks, guys.”

Remus squeezes him once more, then draws back. “Anytime. Okay, Wormtail?”

“Alright, Moony.”

Commotion from the edge of the property draws the boys’ attention, and they look up to see
Voldemort himself, sickly and pale, engaged in a duel with Dumbledore.

“Oh dear,” Remus says quietly. Peter eyes the giant snake at Voldemort’s side, and wonders how
difficult it would really be to kill it.

He doesn’t get the chance to think about it much more, though, because the stream of Death-Eaters
resumes. Peter sighs in resignation. “Back into the fray, lads?” he asks, standing from the step.

Sirius nods, and stands as well, pulling Remus to his feet alongside him. “Back into the fray,” he
agrees.

***

Harry is getting increasingly panicked about this bloody fucking cup. He can see, far off,
Dumbledore and Voldemort’s duel. But Harry’s got the cup, and Nagini is planted firmly next to
Voldemort, so it can’t be over, not really.

“We need to get rid of this thing,” he mutters to Draco, gesturing to the cup in his arm.

“I know,” Draco murmurs back, squinting at the cup as if it were a particularly challenging puzzle.
“And soon, by the looks of it.”

They both turn, then, to watch a bit more of the duel. For an older fellow, Dumbledore is holding
his own extraordinarily well. Not that Harry had expected anything less, really.

“Fire!”

Harry turns in surprise, meeting McGonagall’s unsteady gaze. She looks particularly ruffled, and
Harry has the sneaking suspicion that she had just run from across the lawn. Then he feels stupid–
of couse she had. How else would she have gotten there so quickly?
“Where?” Fleamont asks, lowering his wand at once.

“In the west wing,” McGonagall pants. “One of the Carrows lit it up– we’ve tried to douse it, but
it’s Fiendfyre, of course. No use.”

Euphemia comes to stand next to her husband, looking pained. “Was anyone inside?”

McGonagall shakes her head. “No, no. But the house– I fear it may be beyond repair.”

Fleamont stands tall. “It’s just a house, Minerva. We can rebuild.”

“Very well.” She takes a second to breathe, then, looking around the clearing by Harry, Draco, and
the older Potters. “You’ve really flushed them out, haven’t you?”

Harry follows her line of sight, wincing slightly at all the bound and bleeding Death-Eaters on the
lawn.

Fleamont nods. “It was mostly young Harry over here,” he says jovially. “An excellent dueller if
I’ve ever seen one, he is.”

“Well then,” McGonagall says in surprise, eyes fixed on Harry. She clears her throat. “Would you
all come with me to evacuate the west side of the property?”

“Of course,” Draco says graciously.

Harry’s just about to agree, when he runs over McGonagall’s words in his mind. He can’t help it–
he gasps. “Professor,” he says urgently, “did you say it was Fiendfyre? On the west side?”

“Yes,” McGonagall replies, brow furrowed. “Nasty stuff.”

Harry looks at the cup in his arms, then at Draco. He can tell at once that they both know. “It is,”
he agrees, turning back to McGonagall. “It’s also exactly what we need.”

***

The cup is destroyed. It’s all Harry’s been able to think about in the last several minutes. The cup
is destoyed, and Draco’s parents are safe, and his parents are safe, and all they need to do is kill
that fucking snake. There’s a chance that they’ll all come out of this alive. Better than alive, really,
because Voldemort will finally be gone. Harry’s not sure what a world without Voldemort looks
like, but he wants nothing more than to find out.

He joins the small crowd of people watching Voldemort and Dumbledore’s duel. They’re both
extraordinarily winded, since they’ve been going on for ages now. A small team of Aurors is
huddled to the side, trying to strategize how they’ll get to Nagini, and, more to the point, how
they’ll kill her. Personally, Harry thinks someone should have just Leviosa’d her over to the fire
while they had the chance. Now Voldemort has her securely at his side, and she’s been fiercely
snapping at anyone who’ll get close.

Harry looks at Draco, then at Nagini. Draco meets his eyes, and sighs heavily. “You’re going to do
something stupid, aren’t you,” he mutters quietly.

Harry shrugs. “Not that stupid, I think.”

Draco squints over at Nagini. “You know she won’t listen to reason, Harry. She’s attached to him.
And even if she wasn’t, she has to die. There’s no other way.”

Harry blinks in surprise. “Oh, I know that. You thought I was going to reason with her?”

“I– Well, not when you say it like that,” Draco says petulantly, crossing his arms. His brow
furrows in contemplation. “What are you–”

Harry looks at the lake by the Potter’s house. “Did you know,” he says conversationally, “that the
pipes from the Chamber of Secrets run all over Scotland? It’s interesting, that.”

At this, Draco audibly gasps, drawing the attention of several nearby Aurors, who glare at him
disapprovingly. Draco flushes, then leans closer to Harry. “You don’t– you don’t mean to bring her
here, do you?”

“Why, do you have a better plan?”

“Parseltongue doesn’t reach that far, Harry,” Draco whispers furiously. “Are you planning to send
her a bloody owl?”

“Oh,” Harry mutters, disappointed. Then he brightens. “I’ll send a Patronus! It’s perfect!”

They slink off to a relatively abandoned corner of the yard, and Draco watches as Harry gathers all
his happiest memories (starring, notably, his entire family, and Draco himself).

The sprig of mist that comes from Harry’s wand is… much smaller than he expected. He watches
as it coalesces in a sort of blurry, undefined shape, before finally settling as a small, familiar coral
snake.

Harry blushes a brilliant, tomato red. “Oh.”

Draco stares at his animagus form, materialized in a cloudy white, and blinks over at Harry. “Have
I told you today how much I love you?” he says, conversationally.

Harry bites down on a grin. “Don’t think so,” he manages. “Couldn’t hurt to hear it, though.”

“Could do,” Draco says lightly. His eyes are watery, a flush high on his cheeks. “Wouldn’t want
you getting a big head.” He eyes Harry. “Bigger than it already is, that is.”

“Well, I’ll say it,” Harry replies. “I love you. Loads, really.” He gestures to his patronus, which is
still waiting expectantly for orders. “As you can tell.”

“You–” Draco starts, grinning widely. Apparently unable to stop himself, he rushes over to Harry,
takes his face gently in his hands, and snogs him senseless. When he pulls away, they’re both
breathing heavily. “Love you, you daft bugger,” Draco whispers.

“What was that? Couldn’t quite hear it.”

“Piss off,” Draco mutters, trying to hide his smile.

“Don’t think I will,” Harry says sunnily. He turns to his patronus, and switches easily into
Parseltongue. “Tell Adrasteia to meet us at the Potter mansion, and to bring backup.”

His patronus nods, and slithers away. When Harry looks back to Draco, there’s an unmistakable
heat in his eyes. “What?”
“Nothing,” Draco says. “I’m just really wishing I could snog you again.”

Harry blinks. “What’s stopping you?”

“What, other than the pleasant sounds of Voldemort and Dumbledore having it out on your
grandparents’ front lawn? Really sets the mood, don’t you think?” Draco asks nonchalantly.

“Point taken,” Harry concedes. “How about a quick peck, then?” he says hopefully.

Draco rolls his eyes, gives Harry a kiss that’s not quite a quick peck but not quite a snog, and drags
them back towards the battle. “You know they’ll kill us if we’re not even there to watch,” Draco
says, reasonably. Harry supposes this makes sense.

They join James and Lily, who are watching the duel with gravely drawn expressions. “How’s it
going?” Harry whispers.

“Someone needs to get that fucking snake,” James says tersely, more serious than Harry’s ever
heard him. “Dumbledore can’t hold out much longer.”

“Bloody hell, he doesn’t have to do it himself,” Harry says, alarmed. “We’ve got the whole order
here.”

“Voldemort won’t fight anyone except for him,” Lily explains. “Says they’re not ‘worthy’ of a
duel.”

That, for one, is fucking bullshit, and also the exact sort of crap Harry can imagine Voldemort
saying. “What about…” Harry closes his eyes, hating himself for what he’s about to suggest.
“What about me? I can finish him off. I’m sure of it.”

Draco tenses next to him, and Harry rushes to explain. “He’s so weak, Draco. It won’t be anything
dangerous. I’ve got my scarf for protection. And he knows I killed him already, so I’ll probably be
a ‘worthy’ fucking opponent or whatever.”

“Technically, he killed himself,” Draco mutters. “It was his own fucking spell. We all saw it.” He
sighs unhappily. “Well, Merlin knows I can’t stop you, if you’ve put your mind to it. Be careful.”

Harry nods, and begins to stand. James grabs his robe sleeve and pulls him right back down.
“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “Harry, you’re not going out there.”

“Sorry, dad,” Harry says absentmindedly, watching Dumbledore stumble and fall. It doesn’t look
like he’s getting back up. “Looks like I have to.”

He wrenches out of James’ grip, and walks calmly over to Dumbledore. Harry ignores the shouts of
protest from just about every single person in attendance. “You alright, Professor?”

Harry helps Dumbledore to his feet.

“Just… just fine, my boy,” Dumbledore wheezes, very obviously not fine at all.

“Go have a rest, sir,” Harry says kindly. “I’ll take it from here.”

Dumbledore is either more exhausted than he looks, or he really has no objection to letting an
eighteen-year old kill the Dark Lord. Either way, he simply nods and hobbles back to the crowd,
taking McGonagall’s offered arm and sitting on the grass.

“Tom,” Harry says, eyes raking over a severely weakened Voldemort. “I’m here to take
Dumbledore’s place in your duel.”

“What makes you think I’ll accept?” Voldemort says, eyes alight with interest.

“You know why. I’ve killed you once before. I’m sure you’d like a second chance to prove
yourself,” Harry says.

“Very well,” Voldemort replies. He sizes Harry up, then casts without warning.

Harry’s duelled Voldemort enough times to know how this works. He dodges easily, and throws an
Expelliarmus back.

If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it.

Voldemort’s face twists in outrage. “Expelliarmus? That’s the best you can do, is it? You think
you’ll kill me with a first-year spell?”

“Just warming up,” Harry volleys back.

That’s the last thing he really remembers before he loses himself in the battle, in the familiar rush
of magic coursing through his body. Voldemort’s weakened, sure, but he’s very well out for blood.
His spells are weak, but the incantations themselves are horribly dark, all Crucios and Avada
Kedavras. If even one of them hits Harry, he’s toast.

From the corner of his vision, he sees Adrasteia’s scaly head poke up from the lake. He catches
Draco’s eye and nods his head over to her, and Draco goes without another word. Harry can see
him changing into his Animagus form as he walks.

“Give it up, Tom!” Harry pants. “You’re done!”

Voldemort pauses, and a horrible, evil glint comes to his eye. “Not quite.”

He waves a bony hand, and the gaunt figures of Snape and Bellatrix come fumbling up behind
him. Bellatrix’s eyes are lit with a manic fire, while Snape just looks resigned. Harry frowns at
him.

“What?” Harry asks Voldemort. “These two? We’ve met.” He’s not quite sure why Voldemort
seems to think Harry will be intimidated by two people his own age. He is, of course, a bit terrified
of Bellatrix, but that’s besides the point.

Voldemort has no response to this, and Bellatrix wastes no time trying to kill Harry. Harry
supposes that Narcissa was unsuccessful in her change-of-heart plan, which he is a bit genuinely
sad about. He knows how much she cared for her sister.

Snape, though…

“Snape,” Harry calls, dodging a blast of green light from Bellatrix. “You don’t have to do this.”

From his frozen position at Voldemort’s side, Snape makes quick, anguished eye contact with
Harry. It tells him all he needs to know.

“Look,” he says, suddenly exasperated. “My mum will never love you the way you want. Okay?
But that doesn’t mean you can’t be friends with her again. It doesn’t mean you can’t turn yourself
around.”

A strange, strangled sound comes from Snape’s mouth. He still hasn’t moved. Voldemort turns to
him slowly. “Severus? Any time now.” He gestures impatiently at Harry.

Snape stands in silence for a long moment. Even Bellatrix has paused in her efforts, seemingly
invested in Snape’s strange behavior. He darts a look at Lily, who is watching him from across the
lawn. “It’s too late,” he whispers.

Harry shakes his head. “Never.”

A suspended, tense moment hangs in the air, before Snape nods, once, and shoots a full body bind
at Voldemort. Voldemort leaps out of the way, but barely. “So hard to find loyal followers now,”
he spits. “Severus, I didn’t take you for a traitor.”

“I will not betray her,” he responds, and continues his assault.

Harry grins, and joins in. “Can you handle Bellatrix?” he shouts. “I’ve got him.”

Snape still looks a bit bewildered to be interacting with Harry at all, but he goes after Bellatrix
anyways, and the two of them fight their way closer to the lake.

Seeing Adrasteia making her way over to Nagini brings a genuine smile to Harry’s face. They’re
really doing it. They’re winning.

“Fuck you, Tom!” he shouts, feeling a manic giddiness at the prospect of all this finally being over.

Voldemort’s face contorts in rage. “You insolent child,” he seethes, and doubles down on his
spellwork.

In hindsight, antagonizing him had probably not been the best idea. It comes to a head when
Voldemort switches gears and shoots one of his spells at Adrasteia herself, just before she can
reach Nagini. “Even my pet betrays me,” he snaps, hitting her with a sharp Crucio. Adrasteia
contorts in pain, and Harry cries out for her.

Harry’s moment of distraction is all Voldemort needs. There’s a familiar incantation, a familiar
green light, and Harry isn’t even sure what spell is coming from his own wand to counter it. He
only knows that he feels a great surge of instinctual magic in his chest, and the two lights merge
into something blinding and ugly. It looks like a seething, dark mass, like a living, angry being.
Harry stares at it in horror, and his fingers slip on his wand.

Voldemort gives a great heave of his wand, and flings the mutated spell back at Harry.

“No!”

A body collides with his, and Harry hits the ground hard. Rocks cut the skin of his cheek open, and
thick blood runs down into the corner of his mouth. He tastes bitter iron, and spits it out. “Wha…”

Thick black hair covers his face, and a build very similar to his own lays heavily on top of him.
James pants desperately. His breathing is labored. Pained.

“Dad?”

Harry gently rolls James off of him and onto the ground. His eyes are rolled back in his head. His
body is covered in gaping green wounds, looking like a horrible mash-up of Sectumsempra and the
killing curse. Harry gags viscerally, unable to suppress the bile that rises in him at the sight. He
coughs it away, running shaking hands over James’s wounds. “Dad!” he repeats, voice sounding
very far away.
“Harry,” James chokes out. “Harry, you’re okay. It’s alright.”

Harry clutches James’ body to his chest, heaving with sobs. “Dad,” he repeats, over and over again.
He feels unable to say anything else. No other words will come.

And Voldemort is still fucking alive, still standing just feet away, ready to kill Harry and James
both and be done with it.

Harry hardly registers the knees hitting the ground next to his, Lily first and then Draco, followed
by the rest of the Marauders.

“Oh, Merlin. James,” Lily whispers, hovering over them both. She falls into Harry’s side, pressing
her tear-stained face into his shoulder. “James. Harry. My boys.”

Draco kneels behind Harry and wraps his arms around him. He breathes, deep and slow. “Breathe
with me,” he murmurs in Harry’s ear, and Harry automatically complies, having not realized at all
that he had been hyperventilating.

Sirius and Remus are completely stricken silent, watching James bleed out. Remus, after a
moment, begins casting frantic healing spells. Every one of them bounces ineffectively off of
James’ chest. With each passing moment, he glows a more toxic, sickly shade of green.

“How touching.”

Voldemort’s narrowed eyes regard the group. Nagini hisses at his side. He’s trembling with
exertion and frailty, but James’ collapse seems to have bolstered his mood. He turns to the small
crowd: the Aurors, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Regulus. Voldemort grins madly. “See?” He sweeps
a hand over to James. “This is what happens to those who defy me. Will anyone pledge their
loyalty? I am a forgiving Lord. I will not punish those who have seen the error of their ways.”

The crowd is completely still.

“I have something to say.”

Harry turns his face up, squinting into the afternoon light as Peter Pettigrew takes a steady step
towards Voldemort.

“Ah,” Voldemort says, looking him up and down. “Come to repent, have you?”

“No,” Peter says. His voice is steady, but Harry can see his hands shaking. “I’ve come to tell you to
piss off.”

The lawn is dead silent. Voldemort stares at Peter. “What?”

Peter closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Harry sees the glint of metal strapped to his back, and
just barely processes what is about to happen. His mouth falls open in shock.

Pulling the sword of Godric Gryffindor from his back, Peter repeats, “Piss off. You and your
bloody snake.”

With a movement so quick even Harry doesn’t see it coming, Peter is by Nagini’s side, slicing her
into ash. Harry slumps like a puppet with its strings cut, relieved and horrified and mourning all at
once.

Voldemort makes a great sound of pain, withering to his knees on the grass.
Harry doesn’t see who kills him. It could have been anyone in the crowd: Dumbledore,
McGonagall, one of the Aurors. Hell, maybe it was even Peter. But Harry doesn’t know, because
he’s too busy looking at his dad’s face as the light fades from his eyes.

“Dad, don’t go,” he croaks. “Voldemort’s gone. Please hold on. Just a bit longer. We’ll– we’ll get
you to St. Mungo’s,” he says desperately, looking around at the Marauders.

“Harry,” Draco says quietly from behind him. “He won’t make it to St. Mungo’s.”

“But if we apparate–”

“His body can’t go through apparition right now.”

Harry hangs his head, wracked by another round of silent, painful sobs. James reaches out a
fluttering hand, grabs tight to Harry. “Hey,” he says quietly.

“Dad, no. Don’t talk– save your strength–”

“No. I want to… I need to tell you something.” He looks around weakly, eyes fuzzy and unfocused.
“All of you. My… my family. I love you all– so much. So much it kills me.” He laughs a little,
choking on a spurt of his own blood, and frowns. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

Lily laughs through her tears, leaning down to kiss his blood-stained face. “Don’t you dare die on
me, James,” she says fiercely. “Don’t you dare.”

“If I– if I had a choice,” James whispers. “I wouldn’t.”

There’s a long moment of silence, just them and the blood and the frantic aftermath of battle
around them. Peter has joined their huddle, on the edges at first but pulled closer by Lily. He
kneels next to them, head bowed. “I’m so sorry,” he says, to James and Lily both. “I’ll never
forgive myself for what I did to you.”

James coughs nastily into his elbow, blood soaking his shirt. “You didn’t– didn’t do it,” he gasps
out. “Not here. Killed that— fucking snake, you did. Bloody… brilliant.”

“We forgive you,” Lily says, leaning into Peter’s side. “Peter, we forgive you. It’s alright now. It’s
all–” she cuts off with a tiny sob, looking again at James. “It’s all alright.”

They’ve won, Harry thinks, but today, in this moment, he has lost. What was it all for? What does
it even matter, if at the end of the day his dad is still gone? Lily and the rest grieving?

Harry had grieved for his dad before he even knew him. This– knowing him, loving him, then
having him ripped away– this is far worse. Harry would rather walk through that forest again,
would rather face certain death than look his dying father in the eyes and know that it was his fault.

Like he can hear Harry’s thoughts, James’ hand tightens in his. “I love you so much, Harry,” he
mouths, voice gone with the last remains of his strength.

“Love you– I love you too,” Harry chokes.

Remus, who has been fairly silent, sits straight up, like he’s been hit with a Renervate. “Phoenix
tears!”

Multiple heads swivel to stare at him. “What?” Lily says weakly.

Draco, though, has caught on, nudging Harry frantically. “Harry, your animagus form– phoenix
 tears can heal any wound! Quickly, quickly.”

Harry blinks, trying to keep up with the emotional whiplash. “I’m not– I’m not a natural phoenix,
will it even–”

“Now, Harry,” Draco repeats, staring nervously at James.

“Right, yeah,” Harry says hurriedly. He closes his eyes, trying desperately to focus on the pull
inside of him, the constant, low-simmering fire in his veins. In no time at all, the world is
shrinking, and his body is shifting, feeling alive with power and grief and terror. He doesn’t even
need to force the tears– he’s crying as soon as he transforms, nearly feral with how wild he feels.

He leaks a steady stream of tears over his dad’s wounds, thinking, praying to any god that might be
out there, please heal him. Please let him live. Please, please, please. Don’t take him away from
me again.

And whoever is listening must have had mercy on him, because they answer his prayers.

It’s all over.

Chapter End Notes

me, looking at the last scene: is this just tangled? have i just re-written the end of
tangled?

but, seriously: WOW. i hope you guys like this chapter, because it was an absolute
bitch to write. that’s part of the reason it took so long, along with just general life stuff.
action sequences are not my forte, and i knew going in that this would be basically one
insanely long action sequence, and that i would have to pack a lot of shit into it to
finish up the arcs that i had planned. i’m pretty happy with how it turned out!! even
though i think i blacked out for most of it and just woke up and there were suddenly
words there. crazy how that happens.
i felt like cutting it here was a bit abrupt, and i actually wrote a couple hundred words
of the last chapter already, but then i realized that this part alone is almost 7000 words
and i should end it before i pass out. there’s a VERY small chance that the last chapter
could turn into two, but i am fairly confident that i’ll be able to fit the ending all in
one. i know i say this all the time, but i am so, SO excited to finally finish this. it’s
been a long time coming. thank you all for reading, and i’ll see you in the next one!!

- H❤️
 Chapter 21
Chapter Summary

the end. thank you all SO much.❤️

Chapter Notes

go follow the marauder’s saga!

now, without further ado, please enjoy the final chapter of chronological displacement.
we finally made it!!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“So I just looked around, right– and the fucking sword was just lying there. On the Potters’ front
lawn.”

“You’re kidding,” Draco replies, voice rapt with attentive interest.

Peter grins. “Nope. Got an eyewitness, too.” He looks over to McGonagall, who gives a bemused
nod.

“Wow,” Draco says, still pretending to be impressed. “No one’s ever done that before.”

Harry, to his right, suppresses a snort.

The sarcasm flies right over Peter’s head, as usual, and he visibly brightens. “Really?”

Draco smiles. “No.”

Peter slumps in disappointment.

Harry turns from James’ hospital bed, and shoves Draco lightly on the shoulder. “You’re such a
tosser. Stop bullying Peter.”

“Absolutely not,” Draco says, frowning at Harry. He leans around him to address Peter.
“Longbottom’s son did the same thing,” he informs him cheerfully.

Peter slumps even more, looking a bit like a small, miserable puddle. “Longbottom,” he repeats
morosely.

“Indeed,” Draco confirms. “I was surprised too.”

At this, Harry stands, forcibly pulling Draco along with him. “Alright, baby, I’m putting you in
time-out.”

Draco doesn’t move a muscle, digging his heels into the linoleum of the hospital floor. He stares at
Harry with eyes the size of dinner plates. “Baby?” he repeats incredulously. “Since when are we
doing that?”

“Since now,” Harry says brightly, kicking at Draco’s feet to loosen their grip on the ground. “And
if you don’t like it, I’ll just do it more.”

Draco’s cheeks turn pink. “Well. For your information, I hate it. More than I’ve ever hated
anything.” Very unsubtly, he peeks at Harry to gauge his reaction.

Harry bites down on a smile. “Alright then, baby. Come on, I’m taking you out.” He waves at
James, who’s just woken up from his nap, and the rest of the Marauders, and McGonagall, who is
in the corner of the hospital room looking like she wants to be anywhere but there. “Be back in a
bit.”

Lily nods, studying Draco. “Good idea. This one gets grumpy when he’s cooped up.”

“I do not,” Draco protests loudly, and Sirius snorts in amusement. Draco grumbles under his
breath.

McGonagall clears her throat. “Please return soon, boys. Albus will be here soon to discuss your
options regarding the time-turner.”

It’s like all the air is sucked out of the room.

Harry’s head spins with the reminder of their situation: James in the hospital, recovering from
battle wounds. Voldemort dead. Harry and Draco, stuck in a strange time-limbo with no earthly
idea of what’s supposed to happen next.

“Right,” he chokes out with no small amount of difficulty. “We won’t be long, Professor.”

Draco squeezes his hand.

At McGonagall’s nod of approval, they head out the door into the hallway, and into the sprawling
lawns surrounding St. Mungo’s. They’re quite silent for a moment, hand-in-hand while Draco
inspects the various flowers in the hospital gardens.

After what feels like hours but is probably at most two minutes, Harry speaks. “I almost forgot we
have to go back,” he says quietly. “Isn’t that horrible of me?”

“No,” Draco replies. “I don’t think that’s horrible at all. It’s been a long few days.”

“I don’t know…” Harry trails off, at a loss. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Draco looks troubled. He picks up a white lily and rolls the stem between his palms. “Neither do
I,” he says. “I don’t like not knowing.”

“What if–” Harry squeezes his eyes shut. He’s too scared to voice it, but he does anyways. “What
if we go back, and there’s nothing? Or– what if it’s exactly the same? What if it’s worse?”

“Well,” Draco says, after a long moment, “I’m not sure what you mean by nothing. I suppose if we
return to a horrible, empty void, at least we’ll have each other.” He turns and grins at Harry, a bit
strained. “You’ll be around to annoy me, I’m sure, even in the nothingness of space.”

“Oh god,” Harry mumbles. “Now I’m thinking about that way too much.” He pictures it, then:
using the time-turner and getting sent directly to a black hole. Or a wormhole. Or one of those
other space things that Harry doesn’t know anything about. All because he had been selfish and
wanted his parents to be around, and had possibly broken the universe as a result.

Draco’s hand smoothing down his back pulls him out of his thoughts. “You’re spiraling, love,”
Draco says gently. “I was only joking.”

Harry says nothing, and Draco gives a light, thoughtful hum. “If it’s the same as before, I don’t
think it would be all that bad. I mean–” he cuts off guiltily at Harry’s affronted look. “I mean only
that we’ve done it once, and we can do it again. And at least you’ve gotten this time with everyone.
You’ll have the memories forever.” He pauses, then, eyes widening ever-so-slightly. He doesn’t
continue, but Harry’s already caught onto his train of thought.

“Unless I don’t,” he finishes. “Unless we return, and we have no memories of this at all.”

Draco looks close to tears. “Oh, Merlin. You’d still hate me.”

Harry’s head snaps up. “I did not hate you,” he says hotly. “Stop saying that. I didn’t. I was curious
about you, alright? And you’d been through a lot. We all had.” He shakes his head, trying to clear
his tangled thoughts. “I’m sure that wouldn’t happen, anyways.”

“Right,” Draco says uncertainly. He takes a deep breath. “And if it’s worse–”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Harry says quickly, cutting Draco off with a kiss.
“Alright?”

Draco meets his eyes, calming a bit. “Alright.”

Harry glances down at the lily, still clutched in Draco’s left hand. “Aren’t you going to offer that to
me?” he jokes.

Draco’s brow furrows. “Of course not,” he says, sounding affronted. “You hate lilies. They remind
you of funerals.”

Shocked, Harry stares at him. Under his gaze, Draco wavers a little bit. “What?” His posture shifts
defensively.

“I– how do you know that?” Harry asks, still staring. “I’ve definitely never told you.”

Draco fidgets nervously. “As I’ve said before,” he mutters. “I paid attention. At school.”

They move to sit on a nearby bench, and Harry gestures for Draco to elaborate. He sighs and leans
forward, resting his chin in his hand. “You got a lot of flowers, over the years,” he says. “Lots of
lilies, because of your mum’s name, I’m sure. At first it was fine, but after Diggory, and then after
that…” He shrugs. “I noticed. That’s all.” He stares at the lily in his hand, and drops it to the
ground. “Besides, I hate lilies, too.”

They’ve both attended far too many funerals.

Harry slings an arm around Draco’s waist and leans heavily into him. “I love you,” he says
quietly.

Draco returns with an arm around Harry’s shoulders. He kisses the top of Harry’s head, achingly
sweet. “I love you too,” he murmurs into his hair. “And no matter what happens– we’ll get through
it.”
And in that moment, Harry almost believes him.

***

They return to a rather somber gathering. The Marauders are staring at Dumbledore who, for his
part, doesn’t seem very bothered. He’s sitting in the middle of the room sucking on a toffee candy.

When Harry and Draco enter, he perks up. “Boys! Toffee?” He holds out a handful of sweets.

Draco stares at Dumbledore’s hand. He hates toffee.

“No thank you, sir,” Harry says politely. Draco just shakes his head.

“Suit yourselves,” Dumbledore says cheerfully. For a long moment, the only sound in the room is
his excruciatingly slow chewing.

Eventually, Draco lets out a small cough. “Er— sir?”

Dumbledore blinks at him. “Oh. Were you waiting on me?”

Harry clears his throat. “We were told—” he glances over at McGonagall, who nods
encouragingly. “We were told that you could tell us about our options? With the time turner?”

Dumbledore chuckles, swallowing his candy. “Options? You may use it or not use it, my boy.
Those are your options.”

The room goes deathly silent. Harry stares at Dumbledore. “Not use it? You mean we can stay
here?”

Dumbledore lifts one bony shoulder in a shrug. “I suppose so. As long as you and Mr. Malfoy
never meet your future selves, it should be alright.”

Harry meets Draco’s eye, brow furrowed. He looks around at the Marauders, trying to imagine his
life if he stayed. Being the same age— older, really— than his parents. Having to stay away from
baby Harry and Draco, once they’re born. But what’s the alternative?

“And if we use the time turner, sir?”

Dumbledore pulls the coin out from his robe. It’s glowing a faint scarlet. “It’s been quite a while
since I procured this, Harry. The magic has destabilized quite a bit.”

Next to him, Draco lets out an annoyed huff. “And what does that mean? Get on with it.”
Dumbledore sends him an amused look, and Draco flushes. “Sir.”

“I remember the impatience of my youth,” Dumbledore murmurs. “And I suppose it is

understandable, in this situation.” His words trail off as he stares into the distance, eyes unfocused.
Harry waits with bated breath, until he realizes Dumbledore is, very quietly, snoring.

“Er—”

James clicks his tongue impatiently and clambers out of his hospital bed, ignoring the protests
from the Marauders. “I’m fine, really! Barely a scratch.” He walks over to shake Dumbledore’s
shoulder. “Professor, wake up! This is important.”

Dumbledore bolts upright, blinking rapidly. He looks around the room, seemingly confused.
“Apologies. I must have dozed off. And… what were we talking about, again?”

Lily stares at him incredulously. “Sending my son and his boyfriend back to their proper time?”

“Oh! Yes. Well–” he turns to look at Harry and Draco. “I’m afraid I really am unsure what will
happen. A shot in the dark, so to say. But I do know–” he gestures for McGonagall to join him.
Hesitantly, she gets up from her chair and walks to his side.

“Minerva, we must ensure the proper flow of time.”

With that, Dumbledore waves a hand over the coin, producing a perfect copy. He transfigures it
into a shoddy looking time-turner– almost right, but not quite. It looks familiar.

Draco gapes at it. “That’s– that’s the time turner that we used! The one that sent us here!”

A twinkle comes to Dumbledore’s eye. “It is, isn’t it? Funny thing, time.” He summons a piece of
parchment and begins to write. “I will copy down the letter I received exactly as I remember it–
this information was vital in order for me to destroy the first few Horcruxes.”

The occupants of the hospital room watch, transfixed as Dumbledore’s quill scratches over the
parchment. Every once in a while, he mutters: “The ring… ah, yes… and Godric’s sword, of
course… Tom’s rise to power…”

With a great flourish, he finishes the letter, rolls it neatly, and hands it to McGonagall. “Minerva, I
will need you to deliver this and the time-turner to Harry and Draco, at precisely the moment they
first received them.”

McGonagall looks at him like he’s lost his marbles. Which, Harry thinks, is pretty fair. “And how,
pray tell, do you expect me to do that, Albus?”

Dumbledore claps a hand to his forehead. “Ah, yes. Of course. I don’t expect you to time travel,
Minerva. We’ve just established that may not work, yes?”

“...Yes,” McGonagall concedes. “You expect me to memory-walk, then?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

McGonagall sighs, and grumbles something under her breath.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says loudly, “but will anyone tell us what the bloody fuck is going on?”

Harry quite agrees.

“Language, Mister Black.” McGonagall tucks the parchment and time-turner into her robes.
“These materials came from the past. Therefore, I must travel to the future to deliver them. Since
we do not have a reliable method of transportation, I must memory-walk.”

Harry’s heard of a lot of things. But, he must admit, he’s never heard of memory-walking.

Lily, of course, has. She gasps. “But that’s hardly ever done! It’s extremely difficult.”

“Indeed, Miss Evans,” McGonagall says. “And I am one of the only witches in Scotland who can
perform it.”
“Er, sorry– what are we talking about?” Harry interjects.

Draco squeezes his hand. “Memory walking is an experimental form of magic in which the spell-
caster can temporarily transport themselves into someone else’s memory. But instead of passive
observation, the user can temporarily travel through time to that specific moment. It’s a bit like
sending a copy, or a ghost of yourself. It doesn’t work for very long, and it’s very difficult to
maintain.”

Dumbledore smiles. “Five points to Slytherin, Mister Malfoy.”

“First time for everything,” Draco mutters under his breath.

McGonagall approaches Harry and Draco. “Boys, do I have permission to use your combined
memories for the spell?”

“Of course, Professor,” Harry replies, though he’s still not quite sure what he’s agreeing to.

Draco nods, and McGonagall gently points her wand in their direction. Harry closes his eyes, still
not quite sure what he’s expecting– something like Legillimens, maybe. But all he feels is a gentle
static in his head, like someone’s rooting around to find something, and then there’s a sharp pop.
When Harry opens his eyes back up, McGonagall is gone, taking her parchment and the
transfigured time-turner with her. “She’s gone,” he says in surprise.

“She’ll be back,” Dumbledore replies calmly.

Draco’s brow furrows. “Sir, that time-turner–” he points to the coin, “-- is faulty. And you’ve
copied and transfigured it, which makes it faultier. Will it even work?”

“Well, you’re the one standing here, in the past,” Dumbledore replies, “so you tell me.”

Draco blinks. “But–”

“The time-turner is meant to travel longer distances,” Dumbledore points out. “And though we can
not be sure of its ability to traverse alternate realities, or to travel forwards in time, we do know one
thing. It got you here. So it must, at least, work to travel backwards.”

Harry’s head hurts.

Slowly, Draco nods, as if this makes all the sense in the world. Dumbledore glances down at the
coin. “So, boys, what’ll it be?”

Harry takes a deep breath, looking around the room. He’s not sure what to do.

“Harry,” Lily says, “don’t feel you have to stay for us.”

“Yes,” James agrees. “We’ll see you soon, I’m sure. One way or another.” Lily turns pink, shifting
her hand so it imperceptibly lays over her stomach.

“But it could be dangerous,” Remus points out, brows furrowed in concern. “We don’t know what
we’re sending them back to.”

“Yeah,” Sirius says. “Could be bloody horrible.”

“Thanks,” Harry groans. “That really helps.”

“Sorry,” Sirius shrugs. “Just saying.”

They all turn to look at Peter, the only Marauder that hasn’t weighed in. He pauses, midway
through lifting a toffee to his mouth. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“Peter!” James huffs.

“Sorry, sorry.” He puts the toffee back down. “Harry, you and Draco have really helped me out.
And you’ve been very kind to me, even when you had every reason not to be.”

Draco stares at him unbelievingly. “Yes. Kind,” he drawls. “That’s how I would describe myself,
as well.”

“Well– for the most part. Underneath. Whatever,” Peter blusters, waving a hand. “You know what
I mean. But I, for one, wouldn’t mind having you both around.” He looks at them steadily. “It’s up
to you.”

Harry turns to Draco. “What do you think?” he asks quietly. He knows very well that he could be
asking Draco to return to a future where his mother has lost her mind, his father in Azkaban. A
future where he is spit on when he walks down the street, called Death Eater scum. Or maybe–
something else entirely. Something hopeful. Something better.

Draco grabs tight to Harry’s hands. He looks him solemnly in the eye. “Harry,” he says, “this is
what we’ve been working for this whole time. And we’ve achieved it– your parents are alive. The
war is over. The wizarding world is at peace. Shouldn’t we get a chance to see what that peace
looks like?”

Peace. It sounds nice. “What if it’s not? Peaceful?”

Draco presses his forehead to Harry’s. Very quietly, he whispers, “I will be at peace as long as I’m
with you. I’ll follow you wherever you go.”

Harry sniffles, eyes suddenly warm with tears. He blinks them away, and presses a soft kiss to
Draco’s lips. “Me too, baby.”

After a moment, he looks up. Several heads suddenly snap away, pretending they weren’t looking.
The corner of Harry’s mouth quirks up, and he looks at Dumbledore. “We’re going back,” he
announces.

Draco grins.

The goodbyes are no less tearful– Harry makes his rounds, trying to keep the mindset that this may
be the last time he’ll ever see the Marauders. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

“I love you all,” Harry says firmly. “I love you all, and I’m so glad I got to meet you.”

He’s attacked by five simultaneous hugs, James and Lily at the forefront. Lily presses a kiss to the
top of his head. “We love you too, Harry,” she says. “Always remember that, no matter what. You
are so loved.”

James squeezes him tight. “Keep your head up, son. I’m very proud of you.”

Harry nods, wiping furiously at his wet eyes.

Draco gets sent off with similar fanfare, and he says quiet, sincere goodbyes to the Marauders.
Harry realizes something, and panics. “Your mother! Draco, we have to see Narcissa.”
Draco waves him off. “We talked just yesterday. Trust me, goodbyes have been exchanged.”

Harry blinks in surprise, wondering when Draco had found the time to slip away. They’d been
practically attached at the hip for days. “Oh. So— we’re good?”

Draco reaches his hand out for the coin, and Dumbledore presses it into his palm, smiling. “We’re
good,” Draco says softly. “Together?”

He holds his hand with the coin out to Harry, a bit of nerves betrayed in his expression. Harry takes
his hand without hesitation, feeling the cool silver of the coin dig into his skin.

“Together.”

***

It’s warm when Harry wakes up. His sheets are sunlit and comfortable, and a pale arm is strung
lazily around his waist. He squeezes his eyes shut, not daring to hope. “Draco?”

A sleep-rumpled, shirtless Draco bolts upright in their bed. “Harry?” With wide, panicked eyes, he
turns to look at Harry, and a brilliant smile lights up his face. “Harry!” He throws himself forward,
tackling him in a hug.

It’s then that Harry realizes they’re both rather naked. “Hello, love,” he chuckles, returning the hug
gently. He looks around at what looks to be a small, comfortable bedroom. “This doesn’t look like
nothing,” he remarks.

Draco hums in agreement, eyes narrowed as he studies their surroundings. “Doesn’t look the same
either, though.”

“It’s different,” Harry says breathlessly, tentative hope creeping into his chest. “We’re somewhere
new.”

That’s when the memories start to pour in.

Harry Potter, born to Lily and James Potter, grew up knowing he was loved. He played with his
godfather Sirius and uncle Remus on weekends, going to concerts and movies and motorcycle
races. His uncle Peter was around every once in a while, mostly travelling for his Herbology
research. Harry and Ron had grown up together, nearly inseparable. The Burrow was Harry’s home
away from home.

Harry’s first use of accidental magic had been to levitate the Potters’ cat, Sparks. James had been
so delighted that he’d swept Harry up in his arms and twirled him around the living room. He’d
bought Harry his first training broom only days later.

The images come faster and faster: getting sorted into Gryffindor. Meeting Hermione and Draco at
Hogwarts. Making the house team– still the youngest seeker in a century, thanks to a combination
of natural talent and years of practice. Outings to Hogsmeade: Harry and Ron and Hermione and
Draco, a quartet that was practically bonded at the hips. The first time Harry had asked Draco out–
stuttering, flushed bright red. The way Draco had accepted, beaming ear-to-ear. Graduating with
straight O’s and E’s. Training as Remus’s assistant for the DADA position at Hogwarts. Moving in
with Draco.
It’s– it’s too much. Harry’s head bursts with the onslaught of memories, nearly splitting at the
seams. His other memories– the darker ones, the real ones– still remain. He can feel the two
parallel timelines in his head, and it’s impossible to keep straight.

Pained, he clutches at his scarless forehead. Next to him, he can see Draco doing the same.

Though his arm feels incredibly heavy, he reaches towards Draco, grabbing tight to his hand. For
what feels like hours, they wait for the pain to stop.

It’s quiet. Draco runs a thumb over the back of Harry’s hand. His “I must not tell lies” scar has
vanished. All of them have– the scars, the marks, the burns. He has a couple new ones– and
strangely enough, a tattoo. The Draco constellation, twinkling brightly on his left shoulder. He
twists his head around to look at it.

“Do you have a matching one?” he asks quietly, trying to sort through his new memories.

Draco doesn’t answer. He’s staring at his forearm. The mark is gone, but the skin isn’t blank.
Draco’s sporting a beautifully detailed tattoo of Harry’s animagus form, shifting to flap its
powerful wings in flight. He blinks at it for a long moment, then flops backwards in bed, using his
arm to cover his face.

“Merlin,” he groans. “We’re that couple. Insufferable. I can’t stand us.”

Silence follows his statement, then a short, incredulous laugh. Harry’s so taken aback by the
bizarreness of it all– of this new, wonderful, strange world– that he can’t help but laugh as well.
His body is helplessly overtaken with it, and he lays down to join Draco on the bed, resting his
head on Draco’s shirtless chest.

Their laughter reaches a point where Harry’s not quite sure if they’re laughing or crying. Probably
both, he thinks, rubbing at his eyes. He gently examines Draco’s phoenix tattoo, and presses a
gentle kiss to it. The phoenix flutters in response. “It’s beautiful,” he says softly.

Draco sniffs, discreetly wiping his wet face. “I can’t believe you convinced me to get it.”

With some effort, Harry thinks back, grinning gleefully when he remembers. “Actually, it was your
idea. Sixth year?”

“Sixth year,” Draco repeats, awed. “Merlin.”

Harry sobers, laying his forehead on Draco’s chest. Right where his Sectumsempra scars used to
be. “Yeah. I know.”

“It’s not–” Draco huffs in frustration. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“I know,” Harry says again. He knows exactly what Draco means. This new world, it’s wonderful–
but it feels like an illusion. It feels too easy. And that’s not to say that in this universe, they hadn’t
suffered– they had, of course, but it had been more mundane, and less life-or-death. Harry and
Draco had gotten into some rather spectacular rows over the years, about everything and nothing.
Lily had been dreadfully ill for most of Harry’s third year, in and out of St. Mungo’s. The Dursleys
were ever-lurking in the background of Harry’s life, unpleasant and bigoted. Lily tried to cut off
contact with them as much as possible. Harry had fought with Ron quite a few times, and even
Hermione a bit. After he and Draco had gotten together in fourth year, their entire friend group had
almost blown apart.

But those were all normal things. Things that happened to regular people.
A rap at the window knocks Harry out of his thoughts. He shifts out of bed to get the post, gently
petting the barn owl that delivered it.

Harry hands Draco a letter that’s addressed to him, and settles in to read the Daily Prophet. It’s all
so tame– articles about Lockheart and new reforms at the Ministry. Harry greedily takes it all in,
fascinated by the differences.

Draco makes a small noise of surprise. “Mother wants to know if we’re coming for tea today,” he
says faintly. “With her and father.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry replies absently. When there’s no reply, he looks back in concern. Draco’s
head is in his hands, quietly sniffling with tears. “Oh. Oh, Draco. I know,” he rushes out, coming to
sit next to him and pull him into his side. “It’s alright. Hey. It’s alright.”

“It’s– I don’t–” Draco says through sobs. “I can’t believe it. It worked.”

“It did,” Harry confirms. He stares out through the window at the sunny street below. He and
Draco had bought a modest flat, he remembers suddenly. They were both loaded to the gills with
galleons, but they hadn’t wanted anything too excessive. They’d bought a one-bedroom flat in
London to settle down after Hogwarts. Somewhere close to primary schools. Just in case.

“We did it,” Harry murmurs, stroking Draco’s side. “We really did it.”

He wonders why it all feels so hollow.

***

A month passes before they break. Harry and Draco really had tried to keep up the illusion— tried
to slot right back into their new-slash-old lives, like nothing had ever happened. They went to tea
with Narcissa and Lucius at the manor every Sunday, and visited Harry’s parents for Thursday
brunch. Three times a week, Harry flooed to Hogwarts and shadowed Remus’ classes. Draco, on
the other hand, was doing a potions apprenticeship with Snape, who no longer taught at Hogwarts,
but happily owned a renowned potions store on Diagon.

They caught up with Ron and Hermione, and even Leo, Remus and Sirius’ adopted son. He was a
fifth year Hufflepuff at Hogwarts, and apparently one of Harry’s best friends. Harry had wasted no
time getting to know him— from the memories he had of Leo, they had gotten along like a house
on fire.

But something was off.

Harry and Draco were intensely struggling with the weight of two parallel timelines in their heads.
They got horrible headaches nearly every day. Harry flinched at loud noises, and still shivered
every time he stepped foot in Malfoy Manor.

Harry groans, clutching his head as he feels another splitting migraine come on. Sirius looks up
from the motorbike he’s repairing, an instant look of concern on his face. “Harry? Everything
alright?”

Prepared to say yes and brush it off, Harry opens his mouth. But he looks at Sirius’ eyes, wide and
worried, and feels himself crumble a little bit. “No, Sirius. I— everything’s not alright.”

Sirius puts down his tools and comes over to sit next to him. “Tell me about it, mate. What’s goin’
on?”

For a long moment, Harry stares at the wall of Sirius’ garage. In this future, Sirius worked as a
wizarding mechanic. He was bloody good at it, too— made loads of money. His services were well
known all over Wizarding England.

Finally, Harry makes a decision. He can’t keep lying. “I think we need to call everyone here,” he
says. “Draco and I have something to tell you all.”

Without protesting, or questioning him, Sirius nods and walks over to the Floo. He sends out
several calls, and within ten minutes, the garage is flooded with people. Draco stumbles out last,
after Ron and Hermoine. There’s a bright green splotch on his nose from, presumably, a potions
accident. Harry smiles and wipes it away with his thumb. “How was Snape?”

“The same as always,” Draco says steadily. “He and Regulus are renewing their vows next week,
actually.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Really? Good for them, then.”

Out of all the things he’d learned about the future, that one had been a bit of a shock. He’d gotten
over it quickly, though, once he saw the two of them together. Regulus and Snape were the most
shockingly competent couple Harry had ever seen in his life. If either one of them decided to turn
dark again, they could easily take over the Wizarding World.

Good thing they were more focused on potions instead.

Draco looks around the room, comprehension slowly dawning on him. “Are we— are we telling
them?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Harry rushes to assure him. “Personally, I think it’s time. But I’ll
follow your lead. We can always just make something up.”

Draco slowly shakes his head. “No, you’re right,” he says, eyes fixed across the room on Ron and
Hermione. Harry had been a little surprised by how close the four of them were, but he’d
immensely enjoyed the addition of Draco into their friend group. He got along magnificently with
Hermoine, though they bickered all the time over methods of academic research. More
surprisingly, though, Draco and Ron were incredibly close. They had a long-standing chess get-
together once a month, and apparently neither of them had missed it since the tradition started in
second year.

Draco looks a bit pained. “I’ve felt guilty, being such close friends with them. They don’t know
who I am. What I’ve done.”

Harry turns to him in shock. “Draco! That’s not why I wanted to tell them. I was just tired of lying.
They’ll still be friends with you, I promise.”

The corner of Draco’s mouth twists unhappily. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Harry.”

Sensing that he won’t win the argument, Harry just nods in response. Draco will have to be proven
wrong a different way. He’ll see.

“So,” Harry says, once a few moments have passed, and it’s clear that the room is waiting for him
to speak. “Draco and I have something to say.”

Lily lights up. “Oh, you’re getting married!” she exclaims. The room bursts into excited chatter.
“Finally! Harry, darling, congra—”

“Nope!” Harry says hurriedly, cheeks flushing bright red. “Um, that’s not— that’s not it, mum.
We’ve only just graduated.”

“Well, your dad and I—”

James slings an arm around her waist. “Don’t push them, love. Let them go at their own pace.”

Lily grumbles, but nods for Harry to go on. He looks at Draco for help.

Draco clears his throat. “We haven’t been— quite honest, with you all,” he says with some
difficulty, cheeks also stained pink. “We’re not exactly the Harry and Draco that you know. Or—
we are, but— it’s difficult to explain—”

Lily slumps in relief. “Oh, that’s all? We were waiting for you two to say something.”

Harry blinks. “Sorry?”

Lily rushes forward to wrap him in a hug. “Harry, we knew you were coming back. Or— we
hoped, at least. You’re the Harry and Draco we met all those years ago.” She pulls back to search
his eyes. “Right?”

Throat tight, Harry nods jerkily. “I— yes,” he manages. “Yes, you’re right. We travelled back here
about a month ago.”

Lily’s face breaks into a large grin. “Oh, how wonderful!”

The Marauders behind her begin to smile. Peter gives Harry a little wave, and he hesitantly waves
back. He turns back to Lily. “You’re not… mad, then? That I’ve replaced your Harry?”

Lily’s expression softens. “Oh, darling,” she says softly, “you are my Harry.”

Ron stares after them in confusion. “Er— sorry,” he says, brows furrowed, “but am I the only one
who has no bloody clue what’s going on?”

Hermione nods in agreement. “Not the Harry and Draco we know? What do you mean? Who are
you, then?” She looks both concerned and intrigued by the mystery. Harry can practically see the
wheels turning in her head.

Harry looks in Draco’s direction as he separates out of a hug with Narcissa. Draco searches his
gaze for a minute, then nods decisively. “It’ll be easier to show you,” he tells Hermione. “I have a
pensieve at the manor, if that’s alright?”

Hermione eyes him distrustfully, and Draco’s face falls. “Or we can go somewhere else,” he says
hurriedly. “I’m not trying to pull anything, I promise.”

Ron shrugs. “Sure, mate, let’s go. Sleepover at the manor, yeah?”

Hermione glances between Harry and Draco, then swallows hard. “I suppose if you two were…
evil, in some way, then you would have had plenty of opportunities to hurt us already,” she
reasons. “We’ll go.”
Draco slumps in relief. “Excellent. Shall we?”

They prepare to apparate, but Draco hesitates. “Er— before we go, actually,” he says quietly. “I
just want you both to know… how terribly sorry I am. For everything I have done. And if you can
never find it in yourselves to forgive me—”

“Draco,” Harry says sharply. Draco meets his eye unflinchingly, and continues.

“And if you can never find it in yourselves to forgive me… then I understand.”

Ron looks confused, but he and Hermione both nod anyways.

The last thing Harry sees before they apparate to the manor is the horrible, resigned look on
Draco’s face.

***

Draco had never expected Ron and Hermione to forgive him. He knew the minute they apparated
away— knew far before that, actually— that their strange new-slash-old friendship was only
temporary. That it was based on lies.

That didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt when, after hours of pouring over the pensieve memories, they had
said they needed to “think over some things,” before promptly leaving. Draco hasn’t heard a peep
from them since. And he knows that they’re around— Harry’s been to lunch with them quite a few
times in the last few weeks, catching up on old memories from both timelines. He told Draco that
he was trying to convince them to forgive Draco (because of course he was, fucking Gryffindors),
but Draco had waved away his concerns.

The truth was that Draco has far more, in this new timeline, than he had ever expected to have. He
has Harry, of course, who loves him. Really loves him, constantly buying him little presents and
making him breakfast in bed and doing all the other honeymoon-type shit that Draco keeps
expecting to get old. It hasn’t.

He has his mother, whole and healthy and absolutely wonderful. His father, who has mellowed
with age and Narcissa’s love, and still, perhaps, isn’t the warmest man in the world, but isn’t the
coldest, either. He has Aunt Andromeda, who he adores, along with her husband Ted, a strange but
very kind muggle. He has Harry’s parents, and the Marauders, and a kinder, more gentle Severus.
A Severus who watches over him on weekdays, teaching him the finer intricacies of potions. He
even has bloody Adrasteia, who now lives in the Great Lake at Hogwarts. Draco likes to visit her in
his animagus form, catching her up on his and Harry’s new lives. Draco is happy.

To top it all off, he and Harry started going to Mind Healers, prompted by the Potters in order to
both “resolve their lingering trauma,” and to stop the bloody tension headaches that came from
balancing two timelines in their brains.

Draco finishes off his letter to his mother with the large, intricate swirl of his signature. She keeps
prodding, asking if he’ll go with her and Andromeda to visit Bellatrix at the Janus Thickey ward.
She was, apparently, doing far better, and only a year away from being released due to excellent
behavior. But Draco isn’t ready, and he’s not sure he ever will be.

After he sends off the letter with he and Harry’s owl, Barnabus, Draco sets to work again on
Harry’s scarf. Harry had lost Draco’s original scarf in the time-jump, which both of them had been
extremely displeased about. So, naturally, Draco had immediately started another one, this time
with mittens to match. Harry’s birthday is still ages away, but he might give it to him with no
special occasion. Just because.

Draco catches himself smiling down at his knitting needles, and immediately berates himself.
What kind of Slytherin is he? (The kind in love, possibly.)

(Draco is disgusted with himself.)

The sharp crackle of the floo alerts Draco, and he quickly moves to hide his knitting needles. He
casts a quick tempus, and frowns. Harry isn’t supposed to be back for another hour yet.

His mother, then, perhaps? Had she wanted to discuss his reply to her letter in person? He sincerely
hopes that she won’t try to drag him to visit Bellatrix by force.

“Hello?”

“Draco?”

Draco’s heart leaps into his throat. “Hermione,” he says carefully. He pokes his head into the
sitting room to greet her. “And Ron.”

They look nervous, and Draco’s heart sinks right back into his stomach. “If Harry’s made you
come–” he starts.

Ron waves him off. “No, mate, we came on our own. I’m– really sorry we haven’t come sooner.”

Draco cautiously sits on the couch opposite them. “I wasn’t expecting you to come at all, to be
perfectly honest.”

To his horror, Hermione’s expression twists in pity. They stare at each other for a moment, before
she flings herself forward into Draco’s arms, sniffling with tears. Awkwardly, he lifts a hand to pat
her back, making alarmed eye contact with Ron. “Er– there, there, Granger. It’s alright.”

She pulls back, delicately patting her eyes. “Sorry, Draco. I know how much you despise uncouth
displays of affection.”

It’s a direct quote from Draco, back from when Ron and Hermione had first started dating. His
mouth lifts in the beginning of a smile. “Perhaps it’s alright just this once.”

Hermione sits back down, taking Ron’s hand. Ron looks at Draco intently. “Mate, do you know
how much Harry’s been defending you?”

Draco groans. “I told him not to–”

“Well, he did anyways,” Ron says. “That man loves you, Draco. Like, really, really loves you. In
any timeline.”

“I’m very lucky,” Draco responds quietly, watching the phoenix hover on his forearm.

“Draco, I’m sorry that we left,” Hermione says. “It was just a lot to process.”

He looks up. “...And have you? Processed?” He braces himself.

Hermoine meets his eye, and all he can see is unflinching kindness. “Yes. We forgive you, Draco.”
Ron nods. “Same here. And I know it’s not quite the same, ‘cause we’re not quite the same, but I
hope you’ll accept it, still.”

“It’s far more than I deserve,” Draco says honestly.

Hermoine shakes her head. “No. It’s exactly what you deserve, Draco.”

There’s a profound silence in the small living room.

After a while, Draco clears his throat. “Do either of you know how to knit?”

***

Lily Evans once told Draco that it takes time to forgive yourself. He’s thought about it every day
since– thought about it when he was wallowing in self-pity and despair, sure that he would never,
never forgive himself for what he’d done.

“You finished that apple crumble, baby?”

Draco hums affirmatively and pushes the rest of his crumble toward Harry. “It was delicious, love.
Thank you.”

“Only the best for you on your birthdayy,” Harry sing-songs, shoving a bite of crumble into his
mouth. Draco rolls his eyes.

“Nineteen is hardly an important milestone.”

“One whole year of adulthood,” Harry counters.

Draco considers this. “I think we’ve both been adults for far longer than that,” he points out.

Harry blinks. “True,” he allows. “But still. It’s important because it’s you. Nineteen whole years on
this earth.”

Merlin. Draco fights off a blush. He’s had more practice doing that, but it still creeps up on him
every once in a while. Harry is just always so tooth-rottingly sweet.

“I still can’t believe you got me that bloody expensive telescope again,” Draco says.

“Well, you had to leave your first one behind, didn’t you,” Harry replies. “A real tragedy, that.”

Draco thinks back to Harry’s half-finished scarf that’s sitting under the bed, and concedes that
Harry may have a point. “Well, alright. But you really didn’t have to build me a whole observatory
on the roof, Harry. We live in a flat building! What will the neighbors think?”

Harry waves off his concern. “I put a concealment charm on it.”

“Oh, well if you put a concealment charm, goodness, how silly of me–”

Draco lets himself get lost in the familiar feeling of bickering with Harry. There’s a bit of heat to it,
to the way Harry’s looking at him. Draco’s not even sure what words are coming out of his mouth
anymore. He shifts in his chair, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.
Harry stops abruptly, a glint in his eye. “Are our guests still here?”

Draco peeks into the living room. “Just your parents. They’re finishing up their crumbles.” He
looks back at Harry. “Why?”

A faux-innocent expression comes to Harry’s face. “Oh, no reason. Just… If you want to get rid of
them, I will be going to the bedroom. And when they’re gone, maybe you can come unwrap your
present.” Harry turns and heads off, hips swaying as he walks.

Draco has never moved so fast in his entire fucking life.

“James? Lily?” he calls, venturing into the living room. “Um–” Looking at their sweet,
unsuspecting faces, he suddenly regrets everything. Fuck Harry for making him kick his parents
out. (Seriously, fuck him.) Draco hates feeling impolite.

“I’m not saying you should leave–” Draco says slowly, looking back and forth between them.

“Dracoo! Are they gone yet!” Harry’s voice is unmistakably coming from the bedroom.

Draco turns the color of a ripe tomato. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, pained.

James bursts into laughter. “Draco, you dog. Well, it is your birthday, I suppose.”

“I’m not– We’re not–” Draco says helplessly, hiding his face in his hands.

James grins, heartily clapping Draco on the shoulder. “Son, you’re nineteen. You’re in love. Why,
I remember when Lily and I–”

“That’s quite enough, dear,” Lily cuts in quickly. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll be right behind
you.”

James shrugs and apparates away. Draco stares at the empty air where he had just been. “I’m so
sorry, Lily,” he says apologetically. “I don’t mean to kick you and James out–”

“Draco,” she says gently, “I understand. Really.” She looks at him searchingly. “I just wanted to
ask, before I left. How are you?”

“I’m fine–” Draco starts automatically, and she shakes her head.

“No, really. How are you doing, dear?”

He takes a second to think about it.

“Draco!”

“Fucking– wait two seconds, Harry. Your mother’s still here, for Merlin’s sake!”

Silence.

Draco sighs, and turns back to Lily. “I think I’m doing well, actually. I’m… taking it day by day.
Trying to live in a way that makes me proud.” He’s not sure she’ll remember the words, since they
were so long ago for her, but she smiles all the same.

“I’m so glad to hear that, Draco,” she says gently, enveloping him in a hug. “Now, I’m sure you
don’t want to keep Harry waiting.”
 “I–” Draco protests, but she’s already gone. He grins, still flushed bright red.

And, taking the stairs two at a time up to his and Harry’s bedroom, Draco thinks that maybe– just
maybe– this is what forgiveness feels like.

***

fin.

Chapter End Notes

andddd WE’RE DONE!!! AHHHH!!

i really, really hope you guys liked this ending. i know a lot of you had high hopes, so
let me know what you thought!! i didn’t want to give just a straight forward happy
ending bc that would feel like a cop out, so i really hope this made the cut. that being
said, i have never been this excited to finish a story in my LIFE. when i started CD two
years ago, i had no fucking idea that this is where we would end up… but i’m so glad
that we did. thank you to every single one of you who read, left kudos, commented,
and just generally believed in me. im not even kidding, every time i’m having a bad
day i scroll through my inbox and it ALWAYS makes me feel better.❤️ you guys mean
the world to me. go follow me on tumblr and we can talk more. see yall in the next fic!

- H xx

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