All through Tuesday, Harry wished he could find a chance to tell Draco about the previous evening's events. He trusted Snape would get word back to the crowd at Seren Du, to Bill and his team investigating the matter. Draco was the only other person in the school who knew about horcruxes — except Salazar, of course. But the founder's portrait had already admitted he didn't know of a way to track existing horcruxes, and he would probably agree with Snape's sensible logic about seven soul pieces.
It just seemed too easy. Too neat, the way Harry had found all the horcruxes — and Dumbledore had found the one he would have struggled to hunt down. Perhaps it was a sign of Voldemort's arrogance, to have such obvious hiding places for his precious treasures. He certainly hadn't shown good sense in giving one to Lucius Malfoy to keep safe.
Could he really be so close to ending it all for good?
He tried to force the subject from his mind, especially when Dumbledore was around. He couldn't risk the headmaster catching even the tiniest fragment of a stray thought from him, not about that. And Dumbledore was getting less and less discreet about his dislike of Harry.
It wasn't just Harry he had problems with, either. Whether he believed Hermione's idea that Harry and the other Wizengamot heirs were planning the next stages of pureblood supremacy within the Ministry, or he just didn't like the idea that soon this group of teenagers would have more political power than he could even dream of, he was starting to get terse with the rest of the heirs to the point where even the other students had begun to notice.
Of course, it was nothing drastic — nothing that could lead to people thinking the esteemed Albus Dumbledore was bullying a bunch of schoolchildren. But he would stare at them through mealtimes, frowning; he would take points from them for ridiculous reasons, and scold them for no real reason at all.
The rumour mill was working furiously with each new incident, and Harry was happy to add fuel to that particular fire.
"You should start spreading it around that he tried to give me a detention just to force me to spend time with him," Harry suggested to Parvati in their heir's meeting that afternoon. The Gryffindor girl raised an eyebrow.
"When did he do that?"
"Oh, he didn't," Harry replied, shrugging. "But it sounds like something he would do, doesn't it?"
Parvati giggled. Beside Harry, Draco rolled his eyes. "Add in too many false rumours and it'll backfire on you," he warned, but Harry wasn't bothered.
"The rest are all real." The current topic of gossip in the school was Dumbledore trying to corner Sully to ask about their parents — and constantly misgendering them in the process. It was a foolish move on Dumbledore's part — those who knew the truth of the Fawleys' allegiances would know Dumbledore was sticking his nose in and clam up, while those who thought the Fawleys were still light would think Dumbledore was getting too paranoid in his old age.
Along with the number of rumours revolving around Dumbledore's withered hand, there was a growing consensus that the headmaster was finally losing it.
Harry couldn't be happier.
"Have you thought up an excuse to get out of Slughorn's Christmas party, yet?" Blaise asked, directing an amused look at Harry, who blinked.
In the drama of the horcrux, he'd entirely forgotten Slughorn announcing his plans for a Christmas party at the supper the night before. "Oh, fuck. I'm gonna have to go, aren't I?"
Daphne cackled. "Don't look so smug, darling," Blaise warned. "I'm dragging you in with me. We're allowed to bring a guest to this one."
"I hate you," the blonde Slytherin announced, but Blaise just winked.
"Slughorn's letting us have a plus one?" Harry asked, surprised. He must have zoned out through that part of the announcement. "Well, that might make it a little more bearable." He turned to Draco, grinning teasingly. "You want to finally see what all the fuss is about?" he joked.
Draco gave a thoughtful frown, then nodded. Harry choked. "Alright, then," Draco agreed, eyes sparkling. "It can't be any worse than some of the parties my father used to throw."
Blaise, Theo and Daphne all nodded in vehement agreement, but Harry was too busy staring incredulously at his boyfriend. "You— really? You'd go with me?" He suddenly looked doubtful. "Like, as a friend, or…?"
Grey eyes softened. "I think we've both had enough of that ruse, don't you?" he mused wryly. "I'm ready if you are."
Harry swallowed thickly. This felt like part of a much bigger conversation — a conversation they really shouldn't be having in front of their entire friend group. But at the same time, it seemed so simple; Draco was right, they were both tired of pretending.
Was Slughorn's Christmas party really the best place to go public, though?
After a beat, Harry snorted. "I suppose people can't hate me much more than they already do." Those who thought he was going Dark wouldn't care if Draco was his friend or his boyfriend, they'd see it as validation all the same. And it would probably piss Dumbledore off, which was a good enough reason to do anything as far as Harry was concerned. "You're really sure you're ready for that?" he checked anxiously. Being Harry's boyfriend — his first ever confirmed romantic partner — would be a huge deal in the eyes of the public. Even though the Prophet was a bunch of Death Eater propaganda these days, there would still probably be gossip in Witch Weekly once the news got out.
"I'll have to face it sooner or later, won't I?" came Draco's easy response. He was much calmer about all this than Harry had expected — how long had he been thinking about this, without Harry even knowing?
The Slytherin's hand covered his on the tabletop, their fingers tangling together. "Think of it this way; we can go to the party, scandalise all of Slughorn's little worshippers, then bugger off home for Yule and let the gossip hounds wear themselves out before we come back in January." He smirked. "And then we can scandalise them all over again by snogging in the library where anyone can see us."
Harry laughed. "You're sure, then," he said again, making Draco huff.
"If you ask me one more time, I'll hex you," he declared in annoyance. "I've always known this day was coming. Allow me the opportunity to gloat about snagging the hottest guy in school, alright?"
Harry's cheeks burned, but he couldn't hold back his smile, leaning in for a chaste kiss. "You're on, then," he agreed happily. Maybe having Draco at the party might make it halfway bearable.
A throat cleared pointedly, and Harry snapped his gaze away from Draco, belatedly realising that the entire group was still there — and had been for the duration of that whole conversation.
"Are you quite finished?" Susan asked, eyebrows raised. "Because if you're going to start feeling each other up under the table again, you can leave."
"We never— that wasn't—" Harry spluttered helplessly, and several of his friends laughed, the traitors. They hadn't been feeling each other up, they had just been sitting together, and it wasn't his fault Draco had decided to put a hand on Harry's thigh while he studied. "All of you are the worst friends," he declared, glaring at them. Neville snickered.
"Too bad we're the only ones you've got," he replied, entirely unsympathetic.
Harry scowled, but it didn't last long — not when he looked back at Draco and thought about going to the party with him, properly with him, being able to hold his hand and kiss him in public and finally stop holding himself back.
For once, he was actually looking forward to one of Slughorn's get-togethers.
.-.-.
It was like the run-up to the Yule Ball, but worse.
As soon as word got out that Slughorn was having a party and that the invitees were allowed a plus one, suddenly Harry was fending people off all over the damned castle. The only bright spot was that this time it was mostly guys asking him — though a fair few bold girls gave it a shot, too. Some were guys he knew through the HA, or other Gryffindors, but some were total strangers. Every time, Harry apologetically told them he already had a date.
Unfortunately, because he and Draco wanted to keep things secret until the party just to have some modicum of peace, the entire school was eager to know who his mystery date was, and until someone could produce a name Harry was considered fair game. His friends were no help — they all knew the truth, but were far too amused by the whole situation, and had a habit of throwing random names into consideration just for fun.
Harry wished he could just ignore it all, but with Draco plotting the murder of every boy who even thought about asking Harry to the party, it was hard to avoid the subject even when they were alone. Not that they got many chances to be alone, lately; between classes and quidditch and HA and Harry's detentions with Snape, he and Draco hadn't had time for more than a quick hand-job in an empty classroom in weeks.
Harry was very much looking forward to the holidays.
Still, there was almost two months before that glorious freedom arrived. Almost two months of having to deal with people asking him out, or trying to wheedle the name of his mystery date out of him. Why had Slughorn announced the party so early? Perhaps to guarantee Harry couldn't find an excuse to get out of it — he had seemed awfully delighted when Harry had confirmed his attendance. It did start to die down after the first couple of weeks, at least. People seemed to realise Harry wasn't just saying he already had a date just to let them down gently; only the truly persistent were still trying. And the rumours about Dumbledore soon became even more interesting than Harry, especially after Dumbledore lost his temper quite spectacularly at some seventh year Slytherins and forcibly checked them for Dark Marks.
So classes continued, and Harry did his best to keep on top of everything he had going on. It was a relief to know that the horcrux hunt was being put on the back-burner — Bill and his Gringotts team had agreed with Snape's theory, after they had apparently spent some time studying the results of the ritual Harry had undergone to estimate the power of the soul fragment in his scar, to give them an idea of just how shattered Voldemort's soul was. Six intentional horcruxes and one accidental one seemed to be the sensible answer for everyone involved. Harry just hoped they weren't being optimistic.
With the first quidditch match of the season drawing ever closer — naturally, against Slytherin, because Merlin forbid they have an easy start — Harry spent more and more time with his team out on the pitch, wanting to make sure they were as ready as he could get them. With so many new members this year, he knew he wasn't going to get the same level of beautiful cohesion he was used to out of the Gryffindor team, but he was damned well going to try. He'd missed quidditch so much, when Umbridge had banned him last year. He was determined to make up for everything he'd missed.
And equally determined to win against his boyfriend, both of them eager for another locker room tryst regardless of which team's showers they ended up in.
"Did you hear the latest?" Ginny asked by way of greeting when she arrived for practice that evening, broom slung over her shoulder. Harry raised a curious eyebrow. "Apparently Hermione asked Ron to Slughorn's party. Or, well — whether she asked is unclear, they might have just bickered their way into it, but I think they're going together."
"Really?" Harry asked, mildly impressed. "Blimey. Didn't think they'd ever get their heads out of their arses."
"Right?" Ginny agreed, snorting. "It's weird — they've been mad about each other for ages, anyone can see that, but I can't actually imagine them dating. They just fight so constantly now they don't have you as a buffer."
Harry knew what she meant; every third conversation between the pair seemed to end in some kind of argument. He wasn't one to judge bickering as foreplay — not when he was dating Draco — but even so… "I guess we'll have to see how it goes."
If it crashed and burned, well, at least it was something else for people to talk about that had nothing to do with Harry. There was such scarce relationship drama these days, with half their year either happily paired off or having no intention of sticking with one person any time soon.
The rest of the team began to arrive, and Harry turned his focus to more important things. He could get the Gryffindor gossip from Parvati and Lavender later.
.-.-.-.
At last, the time had come — the Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match was upon them.
For once, the Gryffindor table was a solid block of red and gold when Harry arrived at breakfast, Ginny and Neville at his sides. They cheered at the sight of him, Katie shuffling up so they could sit with the rest of the team.
"How you feeling, Harry?" she asked, bright-eyed, and Harry grinned.
"Brilliant. The weather's looking perfect, too." Not too bright, not too windy, nice and crisp; excellent quidditch conditions.
"That's not the only thing. One of the Slytherin chasers — Vaisey, the fourth year kid — he's got a concussion from a bludger to the head in yesterday's practice, so Pomfrey's said he can't play. And Malfoy's called off sick, too, so they've got Harper as seeker." Katie paused, wide-eyed, suddenly realising that Harry might not see that as good news. "Malfoy's fine," she hastened to add, "as far as I know. Just got a sudden flu or something."
Harry bit his lip — Draco had been fine when they'd met up last night. He glanced over at the Slytherin table, where the team sat in their green and silver uniform jumpers; sure enough, Draco wasn't there, but fifth year Harper was suited up and ready to play, looking a bit queasy himself.
"I'm sure he's okay, Harry," Ginny said, bumping his shoulder with hers. "You can check on him after the match."
Harry hummed, still worried. "He must be feeling really shitty to miss the game, though. Playing Gryffindor is the highlight of his year." The opportunities to fly seeker against Harry in a proper game were few and far between, these days. "There's always next year," Katie said, shrugging. "I wouldn't have thought it would be that big a deal, now you two are friends and all."
Heat rose in Harry's cheeks, and he tried to will it away. "I'd still rather fly against him than Harper," he retorted evasively. "Some kind of challenge would be nice."
"Oh, just shut up and let us take this easy win, Captain," Ginny teased. "Draco will get over it. You never know, he might appreciate the save to his pride — at least this way when they lose to us no one can say it's his fault."
Despite his worry, Harry laughed. Then he noticed a familiar green and silver clad figure heading in his direction — some of the other Gryffindors booed and hissed, but it was light-hearted; Blaise was dating a Weasley, that made him practically a Gryffindor, even on quidditch days.
"He's doing fine, just in the dorms feeling sorry for himself," the Italian boy declared, leaning down to talk to Harry quietly. "But he says if you want to throw the match because of his illness, you're more than welcome to do so." He sounded amused, and Harry's shoulders relaxed — if Draco was up for making jokes, he clearly wasn't too ill.
"He wishes," he retorted, smiling. "What's wrong with him?"
Blaise frowned slightly, shaking his head just a fraction. "Nothing Pomfrey could pinpoint. But nothing she could declare foul play, either. He just woke up with a fever and a headache, potions didn't shift it so Pomfrey wouldn't clear him for the match."
Heart aching in sympathy, Harry ran a hand through his hair. "That sucks."
"Even magic can't cure everything," Neville remarked. "Some colds are just extra potion resistant."
Harry hoped it was just that, and not anything more sinister.
Either way, he didn't have any time to worry about it further — he and the rest of the team had to get down to the changing rooms and get ready for the match. The Gryffindor table cheered again when they left, several people wolf-whistling at the kiss Neville and Ginny shared before they parted ways.
It was a different atmosphere than Harry was used to, before a match against Slytherin. There was hardly a fraction of the animosity against the snake house that there had been when he'd first started at Hogwarts — though there were still enough genuine Death Eater supporters on the team to make the match dangerous. Harry gave his best attempt at an Oliver-Wood-worthy Captain's speech, Katie giving him a discreet thumbs up at the end of it, and then they were headed out for their first game of the season. It was weird, stepping up to shake hands with Urquhart, not seeing Draco's grey eyes narrowed in challenge amongst the opposing team. Harper was taller and broader than Harry, and Harry quietly thought he would have no trouble at all catching the snitch before the fifth year boy.
The match began, Harry's Firebolt responding quickly under his grasp as he soared into the air, circling the pitch and watching his team spring into action. Despite his worry about Draco, he was feeling confident. They had a great team — certainly better than Slytherin, down two of their main players.
He could have done without Zacharias Smith on commentary, but it was easy enough to tune the Hufflepuff boy out. His chest swelled with pride as his team were on fine form, the chasers easily scoring three early goals, the new beaters wrangling the bludgers competently, and Vicky with honestly very little to do because of it.
Harper's strategy seemed to be an attempt to follow Harry around and harass him as much as possible; but he wasn't nearly as annoying as Draco had been in their youth, and with his superior broom Harry was able to shake him easily.
Slytherin tried their best, but it wasn't good enough — when Gryffindor were already up 80-20, Harry caught a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye, and immediately spun to chase after it. Harper tried to follow, but it was no use; by the time he was on Harry's tail, Harry was halfway to the snitch. His hand closed around the fluttering gold ball and the stadium exploded into cheers.
As Harry steadied his broom and raised the snitch in triumph, Harper scowled at him, glaring hard. Harry just grinned all the wider — and then he lost sight of the Slytherin player as he was bundled in a hug from half a dozen red-and-gold clad players.
"You all did brilliantly!" Harry enthused, clapping the shoulder of anyone he could reach.
"You too, Captain!" Vicky returned, beaming at him. They all lowered themselves to the ground, and Harry ruffled Ginny's hair on the way to the changing rooms.
"Your brothers will be so proud of you," he told her, and she beamed at him. It was a shame, really — due to the political climate outside the castle, Dumbledore wasn't letting any spectators come to the student quidditch matches this year. Harry was sure all the Weasley boys would have come, if they could.
Next year.
He shot a somewhat wistful look at the showers as he stripped off his quidditch robe — there would be no post-match romp with Draco, unfortunately. That was another thing that would have to wait a year.
As with any Gryffindor win, there was a party in the common room to follow. Harry had already put Dobby on snack duty, and it was the work of only a few moments to sneak out to Hogsmeade for the usual delivery from the Three Broomsticks; he had promised the twins he'd keep up the tradition, after all.
Rosmerta gave him a scolding look, even as she brought out the crate of butterbeer. "You shouldn't be sneaking around, Potter, with things the way they are. The target on your back is big enough."
"They won't get me in the village," he assured confidently. The woman didn't look convinced, and chided him to hurry back to school.
"Next time just send a bloody owl-order in advance," she told him, rolling her eyes, "it's not like your team ever loses, is it?"
Harry laughed, offering a wave and ducking out of the pub, butterbeer securely in his pocket.
The party was in full swing when he arrived, cheers exploding through the packed common room. He set up the butterbeer and swiped an armful of bottles, then turned to try and find his teammates.
In his search, he was briefly accosted by an enthusiastic pair of Creevey brothers, keen to show him the pictures they'd taken during the match. There were some great ones in the mix, and Harry made them promise to get copies for him — there was one of Ginny scoring an amazing goal that he knew Charlie would love to have.
Eventually, he did make it over to the team gathered by the window. He handed out the butterbeers he'd brought over for them, making sure there was an extra for Neville, who had Ginny quite happily perched in his lap. Katie shuffled over to make room for Harry between her and Vicky on the sofa, with Jimmy and Ritchie sat on the arms of the armchair Demelza had claimed.
"Not a bad start to the season, then!" Katie declared happily, clinking the neck of her bottle against Harry's. "Even if Slytherin weren't playing their best team, they still gave us a run for our money."
"We play like that against Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and the cup is in the bag," Harry assured, beaming at his team. "You were all fantastic, honestly."
There would be time for criticisms and improvements at the next practice; right now, Harry wanted them all to enjoy a match well played. Especially the new members, who had improved so quickly since the start of the year.
Harry stayed and chatted for the time it took him to drink one butterbeer, accepting congratulations from all the Gryffindors who came up to pat him on the back and talk to the rest of the team. At one point, he noticed Ron and Hermione kissing in a corner, and he stared with a wide-eyed sort of fascination.
"Looks like he's eating her face, doesn't it," Ginny remarked. "But I guess everyone has to start somewhere."
"Hasn't he spent most of the last year and a half giving you shit for kissing in public?" Vicky asked, brows raised, and Ginny nodded.
"Yup," she agreed, popping the 'p'. "Maybe this is him trying to get back at me for it. Or he's just a big 'ol hypocrite who's just trying to brag about finally getting someone to kiss him." She watched the pair keep going, looking increasingly disturbed. "Really, though, there's no way watching me snog Nev is more gross than that."
Harry, who wasn't particularly inclined to enjoy watching either snogging session, still had to agree.
"Well, on that note," he declared, patting his thigh and getting to his feet. "I'm out. I'll catch you all later."
There were several disappointed groans. "Oh, come on, Harry! Don't let them put you off your party!" Demelza insisted.
"Oh, he's not," Ginny cut in smugly, "he's just heading off for a private party of his own. Aren't you?" Her brown eyes met his challengingly, and he raised his hands in a 'you got me' gesture.
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," he drawled, winking.
"Don't keep him up too late," Neville called. "Both of you need your rest! You've classes in the morning."
Harry barked out a laugh, merely waving goodbye, squeezing his way through the crowd. He had to go and grab his invisibility cloak from his dorm, first.
"Hi, Harry!"
He resisted the urge to groan as Romilda Vane stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "Hi, Romilda. Excuse me, sorry, I need to go upstairs."
"Want some company?" she asked, giggling flirtatiously. Harry levelled her with a flat look.
"I'm going to take a piss, so no," he returned evenly, getting a small spark of satisfaction when she blushed. "Oh. I, uh— I got these for you!" She held out a thin rectangular package. "As a congratulations. For winning the match. You're a really great captain, Harry." She giggled again. Harry looked down at the box of chocolate cauldrons she'd forced into his hands.
"Uh, thanks. Bye, then." And, ignoring her stuttering, he neatly side-stepped her and carried on towards the dorm.
Slughorn's party couldn't come soon enough. Maybe then people would finally leave him alone.
Tossing the chocolate cauldrons aside, uncaring of where they ended up — he certainly had no intention of eating them — he dug through his satchel for his invisibility cloak and the map, and paused for a moment. What else could he bring Draco? What did you bring people when they were unwell?
He had vague memories of Aunt Petunia plying a poorly Dudley with endless soup and ice cream. But Draco wasn't a big fan of ice cream, and he'd probably already eaten. Anyway, bringing food wasn't that impressive when Draco had full access to the same house elves Harry did.
What else? He stared at his trunk, as if it might hold all the answers. There was no point in bringing potions, not when he'd likely had all he could take from Pomfrey and Snape. A book, maybe?
Then, Harry's gaze landed on the blanket balled up at the bottom of his bed. It was a new addition; Andromeda had quilted it for his birthday, a patchwork of monochrome fabrics with the Black family crest in the centre.
Perfect. It wouldn't even look out of place if Crabbe or Goyle saw it — they would just assume it was a gift from his mother.
Harry folded up the blanket, shrinking it down to put in his pocket, and hurried from the dorm.
It was a little difficult getting out of the common room — far too crowded to try and sneak out under the cloak, but being visible meant people trying to talk to him — but he managed it with a few brusque remarks, and once he was in the corridor outside he headed to the nearest Parseltongue passage.
Sneaking into the Slytherin common room was easy, with the castle wards negating the need for a password. The snake pit was a much more morose sight; they had nothing to celebrate, after all. But nobody noticed the door open for no one, and Harry was entirely silent as he snuck towards the boys' dorms. He had the Marauder's Map open in one hand beneath the cloak, edging towards the room that only held one single dot; he had been correct to assume Draco's dorm mates would seek refuge elsewhere, just in case he was contagious. He crept through the door, shutting it firmly behind him, murmuring a privacy ward under his breath. He heard a quiet, muffled call. "Blaise, that you?"
"Not Blaise," Harry said softly, shrugging the cloak off.
The lights were dimmed, but he could see Draco lying in his bed, the drapes only half-closed. He was propped up on some pillows, his face paler than usual and his hair ruffled and haphazard. The Slytherin's eyes widened at the sight of his unexpected visitor. "Harry! How'd you get in here?"
"Slytherin's heir, remember?" Harry teased, striding over. He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to stroke Draco's cheek gently. His skin was a little warm. "How are you feeling, love?"
Draco groaned quietly. "Like I've been hit with about eight bludgers," he admitted honestly. "How was the match? I heard you won." His glare was about as powerful as a kitten's, and Harry's heart melted.
"We did. Sorry." He toed off his shoes, and leaned in to kiss Draco's forehead. "Brought you a present, though." Removing the shrunken blanket from his pocket, he returned it to its usual size as he shook it out, draping it over Draco's bed. "Thought you could borrow it 'til you feel better."
Draco's breath hitched as he looked down at the blanket. Harry didn't doubt that by Christmas Draco would have one of his own, but still; it was the thought that counted. "Oh," he murmured. "I— thank you. You didn't have to." He frowned slightly. "Shouldn't you be partying up in your tower, right about now? How late is it?"
Harry chuckled, running a fond hand through his boyfriend's mussed hair. "I partied for a little while. But I was worried about you. I know Blaise said you were fine, but… it's not like you to miss quidditch." It wasn't like Draco to get sick.
"These things happen, sometimes," Draco groused. "Pomfrey says it's just a virus, should work its way through my system in a day or so. I just wish taking potions would help any."
"It's no fun, being sick," Harry sympathised, and the kitten-glare returned.
"You wouldn't know, you've never been sick a day in your life."
That was true — even at the Dursleys, Harry had never got ill, even when everyone in the house had come down with something. He'd had infections due to injuries, and had the usual side effects from starvation and dehydration, but colds and viruses and stomach bugs had always passed him by.
"Still." Harry frowned slightly. "Hey, budge over."
It took a little nudging, getting Draco to shift over enough for Harry to burrow under the blankets beside him, pulling the blond's head gently down to his chest. Draco gave a weak protest. "Don't wanna give you my germs," he insisted, but Harry just kissed his hair and held him closer.
"We just established I don't get sick," he pointed out. "And if I do, I'll deal with it." Missing a day or two of classes wouldn't be the end of the world.
Draco sighed, the argument apparently over, and curled into Harry's side. He was warm — too warm, really — but Harry could feel his faint shivers. He stroked the blond's hair soothingly, wishing there was more he could do. "I'm sorry you missed the match today," he said quietly. Draco hummed.
"I'm more sorry I missed our plans for after the match," he retorted, making Harry grin despite himself.
"Those plans will keep," he assured, cuddling Draco close. "If Harper's going to be your replacement when you graduate, though, he'll need a fair bit of work."
"Harper's an idiot," Draco groaned, fingers curling in the hem of Harry's t-shirt. "It was a last-minute thing."
"I've always wondered why we don't have reserve teams, y'know. Back up players who train with the main team." It seemed unfair to Harry, that the only people who got to play quidditch were those on the main house teams. What about the kids who weren't very good, but enjoyed the game anyway? Or the kids who had never played before and didn't know whether they had any skill or passion for it. At muggle schools, everyone played sports, regardless of whether or not you were on the teams.
"It is a bit stupid," Draco agreed. "Maybe we can make reserve teams next year. McGonagall won't mind, she likes quidditch."
Harry hummed thoughtfully; it was certainly an idea. Though after how the tryouts this year had gone, he dreaded the idea of trying to find an entire reserve team.
"Something to think about." He shuffled further back against the pillows, adjusting his hold on Draco in the narrow bed until the blond was sprawled almost entirely on his chest, and Harry could run a gentle hand up and down his back in the way he knew turned Draco to a puddle of goo. "I've missed this, y'know." They'd taken it for granted, over the summer, how easy it was to get time to just lie in bed and cuddle. Sure, they had the conjured sofa in the Chamber, and sometimes the Room of Requirement, but they rarely had the time to lie down together like this, without giving in to the urge to rip each others' clothes off. It was just a shame Draco's illness was the reason for it.
"Me, too." He could hear the drowsiness in his boyfriend's voice, and kept stroking his back until he felt the blond go fully limp, his breathing only a little laboured.
He couldn't stay the whole night, in the Slytherin dorm. Eventually the other boys would want to get back into their room, and there would be hell to pay if Crabbe or Goyle found Harry in there. But he stayed as long as he dared, and when it got late he reluctantly wriggled his way out of Draco's grasp, trying not to wake the other boy. It didn't work — Draco's grey eyes blinked groggily up at him, a cute frown tugging at his lips. Harry leaned down, kissing him chastely. "I have to go to bed," he whispered. "Go back to sleep."
Draco sighed, settling back down, and Harry tucked the blankets up around him properly. He didn't miss the way Draco's hand fisted in the patchwork quilt, pulling it up to his face and inhaling Harry's scent lingering on the fabric. Harry's heart stuttered, a smile tugging at his lips. He couldn't resist leaning in for one more kiss before he left. "Feel better soon. I love you."
"Mm, love you," Draco replied dazedly, already halfway asleep again.
Reluctantly, Harry tore himself away from the blond's bedside, covering himself with the invisibility cloak and reactivating the map. With one last look at his drowsy beloved, he dismantled his wards on the door, and started the journey back up to Gryffindor Tower and his cold, empty bed.
.-.-.
Thankfully, Draco's illness only seemed to last the one day — he was at breakfast the next morning, still a little pale but insisting he was ready for classes. Harry winked at him from the Gryffindor table, and he rolled his eyes in response.
"What did you do, snog him back to full health?" Ginny teased under her breath, earning a glare.
Harry was saved having to respond by a commotion starting at the other end of the table — they looked over, seeing Ron stood in front of Romilda Vane, looking at her with awe-filled eyes. Harry couldn't hear what he was saying, but it had to be good, judging by the incredulous faces surrounding them. "But Romilda!" Ron continued, more audible now as the whole hall began to hush, watching events unfold. "We're meant to be together, can't you see? You're the most beautiful girl in the whole school!"
Harry sucked in a sharp breath — as Ron had spoken, Hermione had walked through the door. She stopped in her tracks like she'd been slapped, her hand moving to her mouth as her boyfriend continued.
"Why are you acting like this?" Romilda asked, utterly bewildered. Ron reached for her hand, grasping it in his own.
"Because I love you, and I know you love me too!"
"You've never even spoken to me before!" Romilda protested.
"What the hell is going on here?" Hermione screeched, stalking up to Ron and grabbing him by the shoulder. Ron shrugged her off with a glare.
"Leave me alone, Hermione." He turned back to Romilda, unperturbed. "Look, come on, if you just give me a chance I know we could be happy together. You're the love of my life, Romilda Vane!"
All of a sudden, Romilda went pale, and let out a horrified squeak. She stood, and to Harry's utter bewilderment, hurried towards him. "You gave him the chocolates I gave you!" she accused. Harry blinked at her.
"You what?"
"The chocolate cauldrons!" Romilda repeated. "They were specifically for you. You let him have them, didn't you?" She gestured back at Ron, who was hurrying towards them now, looking furious.
"Of course, you're after Harry. It's always Harry bloody Potter," he grumbled, glaring. "You know he's not even into girls, right? He can't love you the way I do, Romilda!"
Hermione caught up with him then, and slapped him hard across the face, the sound echoing through the hall. "How dare you!" she hissed, turning around and hurrying from the hall, shoulders shaking with sobs.
"What is the meaning of all this?" McGonagall thundered, striding over with Dumbledore hot at her heel. "Mr Weasley, Miss Vane, what in Merlin's name is going on here?"
"It's all Harry's fault!" Romilda accused. "If he'd just eaten the chocolates I'd given him rather than letting him find them!" She glared at Ron, who looked like he might cry.
"But— but Romilda," he croaked.
"And what, exactly, was in these chocolates, Miss Vane?" McGonagall asked icily.
Romilda froze, suddenly seeming to realise just how much trouble she was in. "Um. Nothing?"
"Indeed. So if I were to ask Madam Pomfrey to test Mr Weasley for the presence of love potions, it would come back negative, would it?" The Gryffindor housemistress' stare had broken stronger people than Romilda Vane — the fourth year girl crumbled after only a few seconds under the piercing gaze.
"Alright! I stole Amortentia from Slughorn's classroom!" she blurted, tears welling in her eyes. "I just — if Harry would just give me a chance!" She turned to him plaintively, and he recoiled back.
"I'm gay, Romilda!" he reminded, horrified. "And even if I wasn't, you don't get to drug people into loving you. That's basically rape!" This wasn't a Weasley twins' love potion, only powerful enough to embolden feelings that already existed. Amortentia was the strongest love potion in the world; continued dosing could turn someone into a mindless slave!
"I think we all need to just calm down a moment," Dumbledore cut in, but McGonagall ignored him.
"Amortentia is illegal, Miss Vane! If you were of age you'd be facing time in Azkaban for such a crime!" she told her student, who gasped and continued crying.
"I— I didn't mean to!" she wailed. "I just wanted him to like me!"
"Now, Minerva," Dumbledore soothed genially. "I'm sure Miss Vane is very sorry for what she's done. And really, if Mr Potter had not been so irresponsible in leaving the chocolates lying around his dormitory, poor Mr Weasley would not be in this predicament."
"You're trying to blame this on me!" Harry yelped, furious. "She's the one who drugged the chocolates in the first place!"
"Feelings can make people do silly things; especially young ladies of Miss Vane's age," Dumbledore replied, shaking his head.
"Albus, you cannot be serious!" McGonagall argued. "Potter had nothing to do with this. He was unaware there was anything wrong with the chocolates. And I certainly expect young ladies of Miss Vane's age to have better sense than to use illegal love potions under my very nose! Not to mention stealing from a professor! You'll be lucky not to be expelled for this. You'll be lucky if no one presses charges!"
Romilda burst into louder tears. "Now, now, that's a little bit drastic," Dumbledore was fumbling, now, and they could all see it. He looked up, realising for the first time that the entire hall was staring at him in disgust, that he would so easily try and dismiss what was essentially attempted rape. "Why don't we all take this up to my office, get everything straightened out?"
"I'm not going anywhere with you, or her," Harry declared, glaring at Romilda. "And I really think someone should take Ron to the Hospital Wing."
"Right you are, Potter. Miss Weasley, take your brother up to Madam Pomfrey, will you?" McGonagall instructed, and Ginny nodded, pale behind her freckles as she grabbed Ron by the arm. He was reluctant to leave, calling Romilda's name — eventually Ginny had to resort to Stunning him, levitating him from the hall.
"Mr Potter, will you be pressing charges?" McGonagall asked plainly. Harry grit his teeth.
"Not this time. But I will if she tries anything again." He would give her the benefit of the doubt, assume she didn't know what Amortentia was truly like, how helpless it would have left Harry. McGonagall gave a curt nod, and gripped Romilda hard by the shoulder, frog-marching her out of the hall. No one else moved.
"The rest of you, off to class!" the Scottish woman barked in the doorway. "My seventh year class, take a free period. Go, you're all running late!"
As soon as she disappeared, there was a scramble of activity, everyone hurrying to shovel down as much of the breakfast they'd abandoned before they had to go. Harry didn't realise he was shaking until Neville eased him down to sit on the bench, and Parvati and Lavender appeared at his side.
"Are you alright, Harry?" Lavender asked, voice trembling. He nodded jerkily.
"Potter." He looked up to see Professor Babbling, frowning down at him in concern. "Don't worry about making it to class. Missing one period won't kill you, and I daresay your mind would be elsewhere regardless." Her frown deepened, and she patted him on the shoulder. "I'll give your homework back to Mr Malfoy to pass on to you."
"I— thanks, Professor," Harry croaked, and she left. Across the hall, Harry could see Draco staring at him with pained eyes, clearly torn between coming to check on him and not being late to class. Harry flicked his gaze towards the door pointedly. He could find Draco later. If the blond tried to talk to him now, Harry might lose it.
If he had eaten a single one of those chocolate cauldrons… how many had Ron had, to be so head over heels so quickly? Harry might not like the bloke, but he still felt bad — he didn't deserve to be love-potioned. Hopefully Hermione would understand once she heard what really happened. But if it had been Harry… if he had been dosed, if he had approached Romilda somewhere a little more private than the Great Hall… how far would she have let it go on?
"How did Slughorn not notice there was some missing from the cauldron?" Parvati remarked quietly. Harry grimaced — the Potions professor hadn't been in the hall during the drama, but Harry was certain McGonagall would give him one hell of a dressing down for leaving Amortentia unsupervised in a school full of children.
How many other people could have snuck some out of there?
"Y'know, I think Romilda got lucky, there," Neville said, and Harry goggled at him.
"Her? I was the lucky one!" He'd been too busy worrying about Draco to even remember the chocolates existed.
Neville's hazel eyes were serious as they met his. "Yeah, but imagine what your boyfriend would have done to her if she'd succeeded," he pointed out. "Way worse than anything Hermione could come up with."
Harry sucked in a sharp breath; Neville was right, of course. Hell, there was nothing to say Draco wouldn't destroy her just for trying, and Harry was of half a mind to let him.
Even Lavender, who didn't know who Harry was dating — though he wouldn't put it past her to have figured it out by now, perceptive girl that she was — looked nauseous at the prospect.
"Next HA meeting," Harry murmured softly, "we're learning detection spells. Alright?" He knew a few, thanks to Snape and Sirius, but he'd never anticipated having to use them regularly at school.
He didn't want anyone getting ideas from Romilda's little stunt, though.
"Sounds good, Harry," Lavender agreed, squeezing his shoulder gently. "Why don't we go up to the common room for a bit? We've got Snape second period, I don't think he'll go easy on you after this."
Harry grimaced — he wasn't sure he had the energy to pretend to hate Snape, not now. But he'd have to find it somewhere.
"I don't know why I'm so shaken by this," he muttered, scowling as he got to his feet. "I didn't even take the potion."
"But you might have," Parvati said, voice sympathetic. "It's scary. I… I can't believe Romilda would do that. I can't believe anyone would do that." She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself.
"I hope she gets suspended," Neville muttered darkly.
"Doubt it," Harry replied. "You saw Dumbledore — he was all ready to sweep it under the rug. Fuck, he thought it was my fault for letting Ron eat the chocolates!"
All four of them scowled. "Dumbledore's losing his mind," Lavender declared. "I never thought I'd say this, but he really needs to retire."
Harry glanced up, meeting Neville's gaze. It wasn't the most ideal situation to start shattering peoples' trust in Dumbledore, but Harry would take it.
.-.
It was decided that the current political climate made it too dangerous to suspend Romilda, so she was given a month's worth of detentions with McGonagall and was banned from Hogsmeade for the rest of the year. She was also, so he heard, strongly discouraged from trying to speak to Harry ever again.
Even if McGonagall hadn't ordered as much, Harry felt sure she wouldn't have spoken to him again anyway; when she saw him in the common room after lunch, she turned bright red and fled to her dorm.
Harry, on the other hand, spent most of the evening angrily duelling Snape in the Chamber, having earned a detention of his own in class. His friends were all ready to riot, but Harry was secretly glad for the chance to blow off steam.
"Do I need to go over your detection spells?" the Potions Master asked, when they took a break from duelling. Harry shook his head.
"I know them. And I would have used them, if I'd planned to eat the chocolates at all." He wasn't so stupid to have just blindly eaten the gift from a girl he barely knew.
"I want you using them at every meal. And on anything else you might consume, unless it has come from Ceri or Dobby."
"Yes, Severus." That was a rule Harry would happily follow.
He straightened up, intending to ask for another duel, then cocked his head as the castle nudged at his senses. He was shown a mental image of Draco pacing outside the Room of Requirement. Blinking away the image, he grimaced up at the tall man. "I, uh— Draco's in the Room, I think he wants to see me. Can I…"
Snape's scowl softened, as much as a man like that could soften for anyone that wasn't Remus. "We're done here," he confirmed. "Be careful when you return to your dorm — Weasley has been released from the Hospital Wing, and he may blame you for his predicament."
Harry grimaced — he hadn't even thought about that. "I'll be on my guard," he promised, heading over to hiss to the passage that would let the professor back out in his office. Harry walked him back up to the school proper, opening the passage at the other end for him, then bid him goodnight and hurried to take a passage up to the Room. As the castle had promised, Draco was there waiting for him, and the blond slumped in relief when Harry entered.
"I wasn't sure you'd know I was here."
"Hogwarts told me," Harry assured, happily sinking into Draco's arms. A sofa appeared beside them, and the pair made themselves comfortable, Harry burying his face in Draco's neck.
"I want to kill her," Draco muttered, fingers tangling in Harry's hair.
"Not this time," Harry chided. "If she tries again, she's all yours." Draco snorted, and Harry felt lips press to the crown of his head. For the first time all day, Harry properly relaxed, stopped pretending he was unbothered by what had almost happened. Let himself shudder and cry in Draco's arms.
Later, when he was done crying, he would kiss his boyfriend hard, tug impatiently at his shirt, beg for a reminder that Romilda hadn't succeeded — that his body was his own, and his love was Draco's, and nothing in the world would change that. Draco would give him that reminder, whispering his own words of love, his hands on Harry's skin proof that nothing would tear them apart.
But even after that, sleep would be hard to come by.