Harry was just a tad grumpy. Just a tad, he swore. He had fallen asleep at the edge of the forest, startled by sudden mass of students and teachers that flooded the halls when he woke and tried to make it to his dorm. He took as many hidden passages as he could, practically diving into the first one to avoid that new DADA professor. By the time he made it to his room, it was empty.
Dragging his feet, Harry changed into his uniform before heading to the great hall.
He was excited for the feast, just not the long ass sorting process.
Slinking through the open doors, he was relieved to see most of the eighth years squishing themselves together at the further end of the table. That left him and the two blondes sitting by the door lots of breathing room.
“Hi,” he said, smiling at Luna as he sat down across from her.
“Oh, you have Scattlewhisks too, Harry.”
“Maybe because we’re rooming?” Malfoy asked politely. Though it was quite obvious that he had no idea what they were meant to be talking about.
Luna had a thoughtful expression. “No, that’s not it.” The tops of her lips quirked up slightly.
“Surely I caught them from this buffoon.”
“You don’t catch Scattlewhisks. Crastes and Plutz though…”
And, gosh, Harry had missed her so much. He felt a little guilty about not getting in contact with her, but he knew she understood. That she didn’t mind. In fact, he heard she had spent a lot of her time off with magical creatures – those known and those not. They both had needed time to themselves. His face was fond as he listened to her, eventually turning to face the boy next to him.
Malfoy stared at him, eyes narrowed, trademark scowl in place as he looked seconds away from doing something questionable.
Harry tilted his head.
“If I find out I’ve caught one more imaginary—”
“They’re real,” Luna politely interrupted.
“—one more creature from you, I will kill you in your sleep.”
Harry tried – and failed – to hide an amused grin. “Sure, Malfoy.”
“I’m serious, scar head. They’ll find your glasses down your throat. Wand too.”
“Uh-huh.”
Before the blonde could retaliate (with physical violence), the first years finally filed into the hall and McGonagall began her speech.
Which, Harry paid no mind to. As soon as the food appeared on the table, his eyes started scanning for those treacle tarts he loved so much. He felt himself pout, realising dessert hadn’t also been put out.
“And now, for our first student…”
Harry glanced to the other end of the hall just in time to see the sorting hat completely ignore the poor, mortified first year. Instead, the ancient thing fluttered its way over to him. Harry mentally cursed himself and the bloody hat as it sat atop his head. Refusing to deal with the wide eyes from the rest of the school, he stared at his empty plate before closing his eyes with a roll.
“Harry Potter,” the hat spoke, its voice loud in the wizard’s head. At least it was a private conversation.
“Hat,” Harry replied, sounding sour.
“No need to be rude, I merely want to check in. A lot has happened.”
“No shit,” Harry grumbled.
The hat seemed amused of all things by the reaction. “If I told you now, that the choice was, once again, between Gryffindor and Slytherin, would you object to the latter?”
“No.”
“Hmmm. Live well, Harry Potter.” And with that the hat fluttered away, resting on the frozen first year like nothing had even happened.
Opening his eyes, Harry very pointedly looked towards the door to avoid everyone’s gazes. This meant the two blondes were the only two in his view. They both have him a quizzical look that he waved off; the hall already having erupted with murmurs.
“Fucking hell. Just one year was all I wanted,” Harry grumbled, resting his head on the table. He dared a glance at Malfoy, glasses lopsided on his face as the bugger smirked down at him. “What?”
“The saviour is sulking. How, unbecoming.”
“Oh, sod off,” Harry said, but it had no real heat behind it. The middle finger he sent the blonde on the other hand…
Harry had really hoped – needed – this eighth-year thing to be different. For people to pay him less attention. To not be in danger. The almost-week he had spent there without the rest of the students had been nice. Yet the school was full, and every second things felt the same, his magic swirled and itched.
Malfoy’s snarky comments, however, were welcomed with open arms and Harry’s own attitude.
Harry huffed loudly, throwing his homework harshly onto the coffee table. He sunk into the soft chair, regretting his decision to come back to school. He hadn’t studied properly in over a year because he was, you know, on the run for his life. Besides, professors giving homework on their first day back was a cruel thing to do and Harry wanted none of it. Two lessons and already two parchments due within the next three weeks. He only had five classes in total, and it was looking to be both a blessing and a curse.
He fidgeted, chancing a glance over to Malfoy who was sat at his desk, already starting on his essays.
“So,” Harry started. “When’s our next lesson?”
The scratching of a quill on paper didn’t stop as the blonde replied, “Hmm, I don’t know.”
“Maybe today?” Harry’s tone was full of hope.
Malfoy scoffed. “You threatened a plant and then fell asleep during charms. I’m not sure that your brain has the capacity for the Arts anymore.”
“Hey, that Flytrap had it coming!”
Malfoy turned around in his chair, levelling Harry with an unimpressed stare.
“It’s not my fault the charms professor was trying to bore me to death. Besides, I had a bad sleep,” his words mumbled off towards the end. He didn’t have nightmares often anymore, but when he did, the night was long. His mind had been jittery because of the welcome feast, all those stares and whispers.
Something softened in Malfoy’s features and Harry realised he had forgotten to put up a silencing charm.
“Sorry,” Harry blurted out.
Malfoy waved him off. He turned back to his work, quill scratching away once again. “I rarely sleep at reasonable times.”
It was quiet for a minute before Harry spoke up again.
“So?”
“After lunch. In here.” Although the blonde didn’t turn around, Harry could hear the eye roll at the start.
He grinned.
Harry was sat in the same armchair from earlier. They had rearranged the chairs and coffee table slightly, meaning the boy-who-lived was now, of course, bathed in the afternoon sunlight.
Malfoy delicately sat across from him, placing a piece of blank paper next to an ancient Dark Arts book on the table.
“Before I teach you anything else, I want you to learn how to detect Dark Magic,” Malfoy said.
Harry pouted. “Isn’t that like, super basic?”
“Basic doesn’t mean easy. Once you learn it, a lot of other things become much easier. Dark Magic lingers, swirls, and lives in ways that normal magic just doesn’t.”
Harry didn’t know what he as going to say in response originally, because his second thought threw the first one out the window into a dumpster fire. “You said something like that before. About my magic?”
He watched Malfoy flush pink but put it down to the sun that was beaming in through the window.
“Yes. But, it can be hard to see the Dark in someone’s magical aura. Unless you know what to look for in both Dark and normal, they can hide each other.”
Harry hummed. “Can you teach me both?”
“Fine, but we are not talking about anything else to do with the Arts until you get them both. “
“Deal,” Harry said with a smile.
The thing is, Harry Potter isn’t exactly the best example of a patient person, as Draco was very quickly reminded.
During their second lesson of magic detection, the boy who lived twice whinged and whined when he had made zero progress. It was insufferable. Draco told him that it was normal to not have it yet because it was hard and to, “Stop complaining like a child, honestly.”
It took almost ten days before Potter finally started to pick up on things.
Draco had imbued Dark Magic into a plain piece of parchment and had set it next to a regular one. Something he thought was simple. Yet an argument broke out because Potter insisted that he was being messed with. Draco threatened to stop discussing the Arts with him – and also to strangle him. He almost had. The blonde had risen out of his seat and stood between Potter’s legs, poking a bony finger into his breastbone right below the hollow of the gits neck.
Potter had thrown his hands up in defeat, an almost pout on his lips.
Draco returned to his seat, arms crossed. Silence encompassed the pair as he watched Potter try again.
Eventually, the git pointed to the correct piece of parchment, stating that it felt different, but he still couldn’t actually see the magic.
“Good job,” Draco said. He ignored the goofy smile on Potter’s face. “That’s the first step. Now…”
After that, Potter got the hang of it pretty quickly. It was infuriating to a degree. It had taken Draco six months to learn to detect and see magic, but the overpowered git got it within two weeks.
Though Draco had something more interesting to focus on now. He had noticed Potter sat up straighter, or smiled like an idiot whenever Draco gave him any sort of praise. It had proven advantageous for encouraging Potter to stop complaining and keep on practicing. Being the Slytherin he was, he also knew it would prove beneficial for other reasons. But why had he never noticed before? Surely Draco would have noticed something as simple as that with everything going on, especially considering he had noticed practically everything else. Or was it a recent development? Draco was certain he had heard people praise the git before, though he never saw it elicit a reaction.
Well, he had seen Potter get flustered twice – once with Diggory and that Krum bloke. However, one had been Potter’s mentor/idol, and the other was a, quite frankly, kind of intimidating Bulgarian quidditch player. Those both made sense.
(If only he read between the lines).
“What colour is my magic?” Draco asked. He was sitting cross legged, leaning back onto his hands as his fingers dug into the dirt slightly. Potter was laying on his stomach across from him. They were as close to the Forbidden Forest as they could get without a teacher coming to scold them for breaking the rules – which meant no other student was game enough to approach them.
Potter tilted his head that he was holding up with his hands. “Blue and gray,” he said after a moment of staring.
Draco hummed. “What else?”
“Uh…” Potter squinted. “Green?”
Draco smiled. “Correct. Now—”
“Is your element water?”
Draco blinked owlishly at Potter. Then he scoffed. “You have one more guess.” He supposed water wasn’t a bad guess, per say, but he quite liked his element, so he still thought the mere idea was a bit rude. “Now,” he restarted his interrupted sentence. “Which of those colours is ‘normal’, and which is the representation of my Dark Magic?”
Draco was proud of his magic. It wasn’t full of any bright colours, but there were plentiful shades of green, blue and gray. He thought it looked quite pretty, always swirling about, almost mixing but not quite. If he was being honest, he had the nicest magical aura in his entire family.
Potter stared at him, chewing on his bottom lip in thought.
It was distracting.
Draco shifted.
“The green and darker grays are Dark,” Potter confidently said. He grinned up at the blonde when the latter hummed. “I’m a good student, aren’t I?” His tone was cheeky, knowing that the question alone would be enough to get on the blondes’ nerves.
Predictably, Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, Potter. We can move on to a different topic.”
And Potter just kept on staring at him before saying, “Call me Harry,” with a little please at the end.
The blonde stared back.
The thing was, Malfoy had become the most constant thing in Harry’s life. They had four out of five classes together, and Harry always sat with the blonde. They would still squabble in class, but they also managed to work somewhat well together – mainly in potions, as Harry let the other boy take charge. The pair spent most of their free time together in their dorm room, either in comfortable silence or talking or bickering. They had bonded over the Dark Arts and Harry was grateful for that.
The three weeks that school had been back had been more tiring than he thought was possible. Whenever he wasn’t with Malfoy, someone would try to approach him – to question his apparent friendship with the blonde or to give him thanks for his efforts in the war. (Like he had a choice, really.) He appreciated having Luna and Neville there with him sometimes – thankful they didn’t question his relationship with Malfoy – though a lot of people ignored them while trying to get his attention.
The schoolwork was so boring that Harry had contemplated dropping out multiple times. He, evidently, decided against it.
And then there was that new, overbearing DADA professor that made Harry want to commit several crimes. The man was still trying to get him to swap classes even though the year was well underway.
The point was, Harry enjoyed the time he spent around Malfoy.
He kept grinning up at the blonde.
“Ok, then.”
Harry rolled onto his back, smiling at the retreating sun instead.
“We should go inside,” Malfoy mumbled. He got off the ground and dusted off his pants. After a moment of hesitation, he held out a hand for the dark-skinned boy. “Dinner should be soon.”
One could say that the pair coexisted in silence for two days, only exchanging absolutely necessary words. If the small incident from their first morning together was ignored.
It was hardly an incident, and according to Malfoy, he had barely reacted at all. However, when they were getting ready for breakfast, he watched as Potter pushed his hair away from his forehead and then promptly blurted –
“What the fuck happened to your scar?”
And Potter had the audacity to look confused before his brain seemed to kick back in.
“It was linked to the horcrux piece in me, so I guess it broke,” he had said, unsure of how to explain it.
Malfoy mumbled to himself, sluggishly making his way to the door, head shaking.
After that they actually lived in near silence. But that was the longest they would ever go without talking to each other as on their third day at Hogwarts (aka their last day alone before the rest of the school finally showed up), they couldn’t help but interact.
Draco had skipped breakfast, instead searching through all the library’s shelves for the perfect material. He had amassed a large collection of scrolls and books on runes as well as mastery of potions. When he did creep back into their dorm room, he thought the other boy was still asleep as he dumped his haul onto his bed. However, when he glanced around, he noticed the room was empty.
And Potter’s amulet was sitting on the coffee table.
His body moved towards it before he could register what he was doing, but he wasn’t going to stop himself. Delicately, he picked up the amulet, holding it against the morning sunlight beaming in their large window. He rubbed it between his thumb and finger, soothed by the magic that swirled within the stone. He was in his own little bubble.
Which was rudely popped by the sound of the bathroom door clicking open.
Draco’s head snapped to the doorway, finding Potter standing there, staring at him. His curls were damp and were just touching those horrid gold glasses, eyes unwavering in his stare, lips quirked upwards just the slightest. And gosh, Draco couldn’t bring himself to move. He was frozen like a kid who was caught doing something they shouldn’t have done as the same thought replayed in his head – Potter wasn’t mad, he looked unbothered, smug (good).
He only came unstuck when Potter moved across the room and carelessly flopped into one of the armchairs.
“So, you are interested in it.”
Draco huffed. “No, not at all.” He said, tossing the necklace over to the other boy.
“Well, it’s either that, or, you want to steal it, so,” Potter shrugged, his smug smile slowly turning into a grin. Draco’s eye twitched which only served to make the bloody idiot’s entire face to light up.
“I have standards that will never be low enough for me to steal something of yours.”
Potter’s shoulders tensed slightly. “Because it’s mine or because you think it’s cheap?”
“Both.” Draco answered, nose turned up. “I’m sure I can find a better version of everything you own.”
Potter’s eyes glanced around his face before locking eyes again. He didn’t seem offended at all by what Draco was insinuating. In fact, his shoulders dropped, and he was at ease. “I don’t think you could,” he said knowingly, waving the necklace about for emphasis briefly before holding it out for the blonde to grab.
And Draco was suddenly struck with an overwhelming sense of annoyance. He was beyond irritated that Potter knew him; not well, but enough. He had spent an atrocious amount of time learning Potter’s habitats, cataloguing each reaction and expression, finding what really pissed him off, made him tick. The knowledge that Potter had done the same to him was extremely annoying. There was a small chance that he was exaggerating, reaching for an explanation of why the git would know to do something as simple as hand him the amulet. But he knew Potter. You don’t constantly observe someone for six years and not know them. And although it pained him to admit it – their habits were near identical when it came to each other.
The fact that Potter knew that Draco wanted – needed – to hold the amulet was enough to make him want to strangle the git.
Yet there he was, lowering himself into the opposite chair while delicately reaching out for the necklace that was held his way.
“Where did you even find this?”
“Library.”
“Do you go to that many libraries these days that you don’t remember which one it was? Or did it hit you in the head while looking for the picture books?”
“I read –”
“You have never once touched a textbook,” Draco interrupted with a scoff.
“I actually like reading!” Potter protested, slouching further into the chair. “What I don’t like is reading about charms and history and bloody divination.” He stuck out his bottom lip and crossed his arms like a child.
Draco definitely didn’t find it amusing, and he definitely didn’t have to fight a smile. “Right, of course,” he drawled. “So, which library?”
“The House of Black.”
Draco spluttered. “What?”
“The library in the Noble House of Black?”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “That library is one of the most pickiest magical rooms to ever exist. It makes you believe the shelves are bare, or it locks its own bloody door! And you’re telling me that you just somehow found this?” He shook the necklace, hand gripping the leather tightly before adding, “This is too important to simply stumble upon.”
“All the Dark books reference each other. One of them had that inside,” Potter said like it was the simplest thing in the world.
“That library rarely shows its full collection.”
Potter opened his mouth but the only thing that came out was a weird, strangled noise, his words stuck in his throat. It was his turn to narrow his eyes in distrust. “How do you know so much about the library?” He asked.
“My mother was a Black.” Despite his mother being alive and well (albeit with the magical equivalent of an ankle monitor), his tone was mournful. “Why were you even able to read those books?”
“I forget you and Sirius were cousins,” Potter mumbled. “And I don’t know. The door opened and I just kinda walked around ‘till I felt like stopping, started picking up random books.”
“I can’t believe this,” Draco said to himself, running his free hand through his hand, other still clutching onto the amulet.
“Why?”
“I thought you were taking the mickey. Trying to catch me slip up. Send me to a cell.”
Potter smiled at him. “I’m actually interested in this stuff.” He seemed to struggle with himself as he flapped his mouth repeatedly before saying, “It feels right. My magic likes it.”
“Bloody hell, that library led you to this necklace. You had power before, but now—” He waved his free hand at Potter, making a large circle around the other boy.
Against his father’s wishes, Draco’s mother had taught him how to detect Dark magic and how to read magical signatures when he was young. It was one of the reasons he had always been watching Potter. His magic was compelling. Always swirling about; always strong; so much potential just waiting. For a while, Draco believed the power was due to Voldemort being in the other boy’s head, but he was very, very wrong.
“It’s like its tripled. It wasn’t even this large at the trials,” Draco continued. His lips tipped up slightly as he saw the other boy squirm. “You must be a born Dark wizard,” he said honestly. He couldn’t think of another reason, other than studying the Dark Arts, as to why Potter’s potential was released, and his magic grew tenfold.
Potter became excited.
“Would you teach me? About the Arts? I— I’d really appreciate it.” Every word Potter spoke oozed hope and sincerity.
Leaning back into the chair, Draco let out a dramatic sigh. He stared at Potter like his mother used to do with annoying houseguests. “I suppose,” he said, watching the other boy’s face light up only to deflate when he added, “but on two conditions.”
Potter huffed but motioned for him to continue.
“I want free access to the entire Black Family library.”
“Done.”
“Secondly, if I get tried for having corrupted you into practicing the Dark Arts, I need you to do everything in and beyond your power to prove them wrong. Hell, stop them before they send me to trial. I am not taking the blame.” Draco wasn’t an idiot. With his track record, he knew that he needed a safety net. He was not enthusiastic about the possibility of rotting away in Azkaban. (He was better than his father).
Potter hummed, fiddling with the empty space on his wrist. “Only if you promise to be civil with Luna. Nice, even.”
“Loony Lovegod?” Draco asked with distaste in his voice, but the glare he received for it was truly inspiring. Full of a threat that he was sure would be followed through on. “Any of your other little friends?”
“No, just Luna.”
“All right, I will be civil with Lovegood.”
“Great,” Potter said, far too cheerily. “So, when do we start?”
Rising from the chair, Draco gave the necklace back before walking away. “Later.” He grabbed the book sitting on top of the pile that protruded from Potter’s trunk. “There are things in this book that I have been wanting to read.”
Potter let him be.
It wasn’t until the afternoon, when Potter was once again lounging by the lake, that the blonde finally put the book down.
“You better not be sleeping during my lessons, Potter.”
Harry chuckled, rolling over onto his stomach so he could look at the blonde without the sun assaulting his eyes. “Of course not, I’m an ideal student.” He watched calmy as Malfoy sat on the grass in front of him. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Are you going to teach me, or keep scowling at the sky?” Harry asked, smiling when the scowl was directed at him.
“Fine. Necklace.” Malfoy ordered, hand held out. With the dark artifact cradled in his palm, he looked down at Harry with that judgmental expression that belonged specifically to rich snobs. “Are you going to sit up?”
“No thanks, I’m quite comfy,” Harry replied, grin widening as the other boy scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“I guess we’ll start with this,” Malfoy said with a sigh, tossing the necklace up once before simply running his fingers over it.
“When you practice the Dark Arts, it’s about using more than just our own magic. We find other available resources. The most preferred is nature because the connection is strong, reliable, and easy for most. Anyone who practices the Arts can connect with all the elements, however, we all have one element that we are more strongly connected to and anything we do with it is better.
There are some that either have a weaker connection, or weaker magic. They cannot access all the options like others. Then you have the stronger ones. It gets to the point where you can’t tell what their affinity is.
This is an amulet. It allows the wearer to stay more in touch with the element and can make access to that power quicker, meaning it can also increase the potential or strength of whatever you are meddling with. A lot of Dark Magic users where the element they have the highest affinity for, but a lot of them also where it for the element they have the weakest connection to. It all comes down to the witch or wizard.
This one is specifically a fire amulet. If I had to guess, I’d say that fire is your main element, though I wouldn’t be surprised if you were an overpowered git.”
As Malfoy explained, Harry laid there completely fascinated. He almost missed his own necklace being handed back to him as Malfoy moved to lean back on his hands, sinking his hands into the dirt.
“How can you tell?” Harry asked, face excited yet confused.
“I know what to look for,” Malfoy answered proudly, chest puffing out just slightly. “Besides, you love being in the sun.”
“How does enjoying being outside mean fire? Wouldn’t that be earth or something?”
“Sun. I said in the sun. The big ball of fire in the sky. Hence, fire affinity.”
“Oh.” Harry glanced down at his hands, winding the leather cord around his wrist. His eyes snapped back up to the blonde, green full of curiosity. “What about you then?”
“Not important,” Malfoy said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Harry threw a handful of grass at the blonde whose face immediately scrunched in annoyance. “You’re not going to tell me ever, are you?” Malfoy smirked. “What if I guess it?”
“Alright,” Malfoy said. “But you only get two guesses.” His regular cocky smile took over his face and instead of making Harry’s hackles rise, it made him excited. (Ron would ask him if he had hit his head. Hard.)
“Deal.”
After that, Malfoy directed the conversation back to amulets, going on about how a lot of them are now family heirlooms. Some are obvious, some aren’t.
When the sun had set and they had their last quiet dinner, the pair sat quietly in their room, reading – Harry the books he brought with him, Malfoy the things from his haul at the library.
And Harry was curious. Always curious.
“Are any of your friends coming back? Like Parkison?” Harry asked.
“Pansy wanted to fuck. But no, Theo is laying low and Blaise...” Malfoy trailed off, finally looking up from his book, using his finger as a bookmark. “Well, I don’t know what he’s doing, but he’s gone slightly mental.” He leant in closer, like the gossip-loving teen he was, and mock whispered, “I suspect he’s snogging Longbottom.”
Harry choked, caught off guard by the bluntness. But he should have known better by now that the blonde didn’t normally mince his words. “Well,” he said once he could breathe without coughing. “If that’s true, I’m sure Zabini will find a way into the greenhouse.”
Malfoy’s brows quirked up. “What about you – will the rest of the golden trio be joining us tomorrow?”
“No, they’re off trying to find Hermione’s parents.”
“Didn’t want to go?”
“Wasn’t invited.”
“Oh?”
“It’s fine,” Harry said, but the look he got in turn made him feel like he needed to explain. “They deserve time as a couple when we’re not, you know, on the run from a madman. And no, I didn’t want to go.”
