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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run

waspabi @waspabi

Chapters: 8/8 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom Additional Tags: Pining, Humor, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship

Summary:

'You're a wizard, Harry' is easier to hear from a half-giant when you're eleven, rather than from some kids on a tube platform when you're seventeen and late for work.

Excerpt:

“You all right?”

“Brilliant,” Harry spat. His eyes burned and he turned away. He didn’t want Malfoy to see him crying.

“We can get rid of them,” Malfoy said quietly. “We can — not to sound murderous about it. I mean to say, we can just… Apparate away. Leave them here. We don’t have to get caught up in what they’re caught up in.”

“You think Hermione would go for that?”

“Probably not,” Draco admitted. “She likes the idea of a more organised resistance. Better resources. More money for those little pieces of Muggle parchment she likes with the sticky backs. But we can — we can strike out on our own, if we have to.”

“We wouldn’t last a week without her, remember?” Harry’s voice sounded hoarse. He wished his eyes would stop fucking leaking for five minutes. “We barely lasted a day at Jane and Cynthia’s.”

“I don’t know, Potter. We could figure something out. Sod this whole revolution business; it’s rubbish anyway. Crap food and no wages. Let’s leave this shit island to its self-destruction. We could go to Australia and live with Hermione’s parents and pretend to be Muggles. At this point I’d probably get an O on the Muggle Studies N.E.W.T, honestly, it’d be easy.”

Harry shut his eyes and had a brief, delirious fantasy of him and Malfoy on some Australian beach. Draco would be grousing about the heat, a thick line of sunblock on his nose. His bare shoulders would be red and peeling a little. Maybe he’d put on a really naff t-shirt with a stretched out collar to keep from getting more burnt. Harry would have a surfboard, and he’d somehow have got really good at surfing. They’d have boring jobs at a shop and no one would be trying to kill them.

“Funny,” Harry said, and his wet laugh was not very convincing.

“No?” Draco shuffled a bit closer. “Worth a shot, I suppose.”

“Sorry about your dad.” Harry scuffed his shoe on the ground, digging a little trench in the dirt. “Seemed like… I mean, I know he’s a right bastard, but I think he does love you.”

“He does. Fat lot of good that does me, obviously.” Draco edged yet closer. “It’s all right. I mean, it’s not all right, but it’s…” He shrugged expressively. “I think we’re handling your situation first.”

“I don’t have a fucking situation.” Harry looked at his feet. “Piss off.”

“In the immortal words of Harry Potter, ‘nah’.” Draco was very close to him now. He reached out and touched Harry’s hand — Harry flinched and stepped back.

“What are we even doing?” Harry demanded, wiping his eyes.

“Saving the country, and possibly the world?” Draco shrugged. “We may be doing a middling job of it at the minute, but it’s the thought that counts.”

“No, I meant…” Harry turned away. He didn’t want to look at Draco. “I meant, what are we doing.”

“Oh,” Draco said. Harry could practically hear him go rigid and pointy. “Oh, that.”

“Yes, that.” Harry turned back around so he could glower at him. “What — what are you playing at? You buy me a coat, you fix my shitty trainers, you hold my hand…” Harry’s eyes stung. His heart hurt so badly. “What are you fucking me about for?”

“I’m not fucking you about.” Draco looked pained. He brushed his hair out of his eyes. “I’m not playing at anything. Or I don’t mean to be. I… Don’t make me say it.”

“Make you say what?”

“I… you know. You.” Draco looked down at his hands, which he had twisted together so tightly his fingers were white. “I feel… I have felt… For fuck’s sake, Harry! It’s so cringe. Don’t make me say it.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “You mean… You fancy me?”

“Fancy,” Draco echoed, looking up at the patches of sky through the trees. “Yes. Obviously, are you completely dim?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Fancy. Merlin and Morgana both, Potter.”

“Oh.” Harry ground the toe of his repaired trainer into the dirt. “I’ve never had someone fancy me before.”

“That is patently impossible, Potter,” Draco informed him. “You’re unbelievably unobservant, that must be the problem. Really, it’s like you’ve got tunnel-vision. You can only pay attention to a vary small radius of information at a time.”

“No one who knew me,” Harry amended. “No one who really knew me.”

“Oh,” Draco said. He took a deep breath like he was bracing himself for something. “Merlin’s sake, Potter. Can you stop doing things to me, for once?”

Harry frowned. “I’m just stood here.”

Draco covered his face with both hands. “This is so horrible. I hate this so much. Could you come here, please?”

Harry took a few steps forward. This was so confusing. Everything was weird, and confusing, and he was a wizard, and those men knew his parents, and they wanted him to be part of some weird underground resistance group that was somehow different to Harry’s weird underground resistance group, and here he was about to, he was pretty sure, have his first boyfriend. He was about seventy-five percent certain. He didn’t want to be cocky. He wasn’t all that certain how these things worked for normal people, let alone for teenaged renegade wizards.

“Come here properly, arsehole.”

“I don’t know what I’m meant to…”

“For fuck’s sake, Potter. Have you never learnt elementary social cues? Here.” Draco dropped his hands from his face and put his arms around Harry. He clutched Harry’s new coat with both hands. Draco’s face pressed against Harry’s neck, long eyelashes brushing his skin.

Harry couldn’t move. Draco’s coat smelled of smoke. His breath was warm and his nose was cold. Harry’s chest went tight and painfully full, like a wardrobe packed so tight that it would shortly avalanche all over the unfortunate person who would next open the door.

“Hug me back, you dickhead,” Draco mumbled into Harry’s neck.

Harry did. He put his arms around Draco’s waist and leaned into the curve of his chest. His eyes went hot and wet again, which was embarrassing. He ducked his head to hide them on the shoulder of Draco’s fancy coat. His nose leaked too, so he wiped it on the wool. It even felt expensive on his nose, which was impressive really.

“I’m getting bogeys on your coat,” Harry told him.

“You’re such an absolute knob,” Draco said, but he didn’t let go. He touched Harry’s head with one hand, spreading his fingers beneath the tangle of hair to slip over his skull. His fingers moved slowly, carefully. “I have no idea why I like you.”

“You like me. You said it out loud.”

“You must be hearing things, Potter.” Draco’s grip tightened around his waist. His other hand slid to the back of Harry’s neck and stayed there, warm at his nape. “I’m concerned about your delusions and flights of fancy.”

“My flights of fancy,” Harry said. “You lot met me on a train platform to tell me I was a wizard.”

“You are a wizard.”

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Can I…” Draco pulled back, eyes flickering to Harry’s mouth.

Harry didn’t let him finish. He leaned forward and kissed him. Draco made a soft sound, or Harry did, or both of them. Harry had kissed two people in his life and neither of them had felt like this, like if Draco took his hands from Harry’s face he would crumple to the ground. Harry wanted to get closer, closer, but it wasn’t possible. Pansy’s robes were infuriatingly unassailable — Harry groaned in frustration and Draco laughed into his mouth, warm and wet. The delirious dizzy nearness of Draco, their mouths together and the heat fogging Harry’s glasses… Harry felt lit up. He felt like a lumos in the dark.

“Fuck,” Draco said, his forehead pressed against Harry’s. “We really ought to get back.”

“Probably,” Harry said, and kissed him again.

“You’re right,” Draco said, his mouth moving against Harry’s. “Fuck it.”

“They can fuck right off.” Harry laughed and kissed Draco’s cold cheek, the corner of his chapped mouth. In a few minutes, they would go back and find the others. Harry would face Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, and they’d figure out what to do about Pius Thicknesse, and they could change out of their ridiculous robes. Just not yet. Not quite yet.

(⁎⁍̴̛͂▿⁍̴̛͂⁎)*✲ﾟ*｡⋆♡ོ

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