Chapter Text
“Potter! Malfoy’s getting into trouble again!” a voice called from behind him.
Harry had been asleep at one of the library tables when the stranger called his name. When he woke, it took him a few seconds to remember where he was, and a few more to make sense of the words being fired at him, laden with nervousness.
Draco. Trouble. Again.
“Is he setting someone on fire?” Harry asked, interrupting himself with a yawn.
“Uh… No. I don’t think so.”
“Then let me sleep.”
Harry buried his face in his arms again.
“Please, he’s my friend,” the unfamiliar boy pleaded.
Harry clicked his tongue and lifted his head again. He hated it when people appealed to his human, empathetic side. It was much harder to ignore someone once they brought feelings into it.
He stretched before getting to his feet, picked up the backpack he had left on the floor, and carelessly slung one strap over his shoulder. The boy almost smiled when he realized he had won and hurried ahead, while Harry followed at an entirely unhurried pace.
When they arrived, it wasn’t difficult to figure out where the fight was happening. A crowd of students had gathered around the commotion, some craning their necks to see over other people’s shoulders. Frightened shouts mingled with voices calling for someone to get a professor or telling Draco to stop. The noise grated on Harry’s ears.
At the center of the uneven circle, three boys were trying to drag Draco off another student. Arms wrapped around his shoulders and waist, pulling him back with all their strength, but Draco barely seemed to move. Both his hands remained locked around the throat of the boy on the floor, who was barely putting up a fight anymore.
Harry didn’t know any of the boys involved. There was too much blood to tell whose it was. It stained some of the hands trying to restrain Draco, his right fist, and most of the face of the boy beneath him.
Harry glanced around for familiar faces and caught sight of Blaise Zabini, as well as Theodore Nott, another of Draco’s friends. They watched the scene with a certain degree of horror, but neither made any move to help restrain him.
Smart.
Draco would probably let the boy go eventually. Harry just didn’t trust that eventually would come before it was too late.
Harry put two fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp whistle.
The piercing sound cut through the corridor, rising above the voices around them.
Draco released the boy’s throat immediately. The three boys managed to pull him back without any further effort and, proving they possessed at least some survival instinct, let go of Draco as soon as he regained his balance.
For a few seconds, the blond searched the crowd for the source of the whistle.
He found Harry.
All the aggression vanished from his face with almost absurd ease.
“Hi, Harry!” he greeted, raising one hand. A bright smile spread across his face.
The silence that fell over the students was heavy with curiosity. Harry hated every second he spent under their stares. Keeping his expression neutral, he turned to the boy who had come to get him.
“Can I go back to sleep now?”
“Yeah…” the boy answered quietly. Beads of sweat trickled down his face.
Harry shrugged and walked away, that deafening silence still ringing in his ears. A few boys stood in his path, but moved aside before Harry had to ask, leaving enough room for him to pass without brushing against anyone.
Draco was violent. No one at Hogwarts had any doubts about that.
And yet, at that moment, everyone was looking at Harry.
Because three boys had just used every ounce of strength they had trying to pull Draco off someone and failed.
Harry had whistled.
Draco stopped.
000
Harry didn’t know exactly when it had started to mean something to the rest of the school. To him, it only meant that Draco listened to him.
They had met in their first year, when they were thirteen. During the Sorting Ceremony, Draco introduced himself and received little more than an indifferent glance in return. There was nothing about him that caught Harry’s attention any more than any of the other boys who had tried to talk to him that day.
That didn’t last long.
Draco liked to fight. Harry learned that quickly.
Harry was sorted into Gryffindor, and he hated that Draco kept picking fights with people from his house. So whenever Harry was around, he tended to get in the way and defend his own. For a while, the two of them could easily have considered each other enemies.
Until Draco started acting strange.
The first time Harry realized there was something different about him happened during Potions.
Draco had been irritated for a while, but no one seemed to notice when his irritation stopped being just anger. His breathing grew too fast. His fingers trembled around his wand. When someone bumped into his workbench, several vials exploded at once.
The students threw themselves to the floor as glass scattered across the classroom. Harry shielded his face with one arm, and when he looked again, Draco was already advancing on Neville.
It didn’t look like one of the fights he picked for fun.
Harry stepped into his path.
“You’re not going to hit him,” he said simply.
For a moment, Draco just stared at him. He was still breathing too fast, his shoulders tense, his wand clenched so tightly that his fingers had gone white.
Then he stopped.
Harry didn’t understand why. At the time, he hadn’t cared much about figuring it out either. Neville was still in one piece. That was enough.
But it happened again.
And then again.
As the years passed, a pattern began to form. Draco didn’t obey Harry in everything—and Harry definitely had no interest in telling him what to do—but when Harry actually decided to interfere, Draco tended to listen to him more readily than he listened to anyone else.
Other people noticed.
First the students. Then the professors. If Draco lost control and Harry was nearby, someone came looking for him. If it happened somewhere else, someone eventually went to fetch him. Even when the trouble started inside the Slytherin common room, they found a way to get Harry there. Eventually, they stopped asking whether he wanted to go.
It was exhausting.
In his fourth year, at sixteen, Harry had a serious conversation with his professors and Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. They had been asking far too many questions about his Sorting into Gryffindor for some time, and, much to Harry’s irritation, no one would explain exactly what they were looking for. They examined his first conversation with the Sorting Hat in detail and discovered that Harry had interfered with its decision, refusing Slytherin before the choice could be completed.
They made him put the Hat on again. This time, they told him not to try to influence it.
Slytherin.
Harry never forgave any of them for that.
The official explanation involved an incomplete Sorting and a mistake that, according to them, needed to be corrected. To Harry, the explanation was much simpler: the professors couldn’t handle Draco and had just discovered an extremely convenient way to keep the one person he tended to listen to close by.
And so Harry lost Gryffindor and gained a bed in the dungeons.
The school gained something else.
A story.
Some said Harry had put Draco under a spell. Others swore there was some kind of pact between them. Every now and then, someone mentioned an imaginary leash that only Harry could pull. Harry hated that version most of all.
He hadn’t put any leash on Draco. He wouldn’t even know how if he wanted to.
The whistle had happened by accident too. Harry couldn’t be bothered to raise his voice or shout over a crowd, so whistling was easier. Draco learned to recognize the sound and knew when it came from him. After that, Harry kept using it.
It was simple.
The only problem was…
“Harry,” Draco called, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist from behind.
Draco was unnecessarily clingy. If Harry was within arm’s reach, apparently there was no reason for Draco to keep his hands to himself. Harry didn’t mind, but he heard enough ridiculous things just from walking into a classroom beside him. He definitely didn’t need to hear his own name any more than necessary.
“I was sleeping, Draco,” Harry complained. His mood soured a little more when he noticed the blond’s hand was still stained with blood. “Go wash your fucking hands.”
Draco reluctantly let him go and headed toward the toilets. With little choice, Harry followed, his expression sour. The blond stopped at a sink, grabbed some soap, and began washing his hands. Harry leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
Footsteps slowed behind him, then stopped.
Harry glanced over his shoulder. A boy stood outside the toilets, looking first at Harry and then at Draco, unsure whether he should come in.
“You can come in,” Harry said, shifting away from the doorframe to let him pass.
The boy walked by with his head down and hurried into one of the stalls. Harry couldn’t be bothered to care about his behavior. Draco finished washing his hands and shook them over the sink to get rid of the excess water.
Then he turned them toward Harry and shook them again. Cold droplets hit Harry’s face.
Draco looked quite pleased with the irritated glare he received in return.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Draco complained. Harry’s expression didn’t change. “He deserved it.”
“They always deserve it, don’t they? What did he do this time?”
“Bumped into me and didn’t apologize.”
“And I bet you punched him before he even had a chance to say anything.”
Draco shrugged, putting on an innocent expression.
“We had the same two seconds.”
Harry shook his head, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He pushed away from the doorframe and left the toilets, heading off on his own without having decided exactly where he was going. It didn’t take long for the blond to catch up and fall into step beside him.
“Where are you going now?”
“I still have my last class in a few minutes. I was going to sleep until then, but they woke me up to come get you.”
“And this afternoon?”
“Practice. You know my schedule…”
Draco huffed and rolled his eyes. They continued through the school corridors, where sunlight streamed through some of the windows, cutting bright patches across the stone floor.
“Next time, stay asleep. You’re unbearable when you’re tired,” Draco grumbled, apparently offended by Harry’s less-than-receptive answers.
“Next time, you might end up in Azkaban. You should be more grateful that I keep you from killing people.”
“I would’ve stopped before he died.”
When they reached a classroom, Draco stopped. Harry would have kept walking if a flat palm against his chest hadn’t stopped him.
Draco peered inside.
Empty.
He shoved Harry into the room without any particular gentleness. Harry didn’t mind much; he simply tossed his backpack onto the nearest desk. Draco shut the door behind them and, a moment later, grabbed Harry by the front of his jacket and pushed him back against the wood.
So that was what he wanted.
It didn’t take long for Draco’s lips to find Harry’s. Harry opened his mouth without needing to be asked, letting Draco’s tongue seek out his own in a hurried motion.
Harry never knew exactly what drove Draco to start trouble. Sometimes it was boredom. Other times, being particularly irritated was enough. On occasion, he seemed to do it simply because he found it entertaining.
But Harry had already noticed that after Draco became especially agitated, he sought Harry out more often. Sometimes he only wanted to stay close. Other times, he wanted this.
Harry liked the kisses. Draco kissed in a way that made everything else lose its importance for a few minutes. Harry’s attention narrowed to the way their tongues met, to their lips moving in a rhythm they both already knew. It was intoxicating, and there was no denying how good it felt.
He also liked the way Draco pressed himself against Harry’s body, rested his elbows on Harry’s shoulders, and held his head between his hands, fingers tangling in his hair.
Harry kept both hands on Draco’s narrow waist, while the blond seemed far less interested in keeping his own hands still. His fingers wandered over Harry’s body through his uniform, distracted, never lingering in one place for long.
Someone knocked on the door, reminding them both that this was still a classroom and they had probably been in there for too long already.
When they pulled apart, they both had to resist the urge to exchange the three quick pecks that usually ended their kisses. That was dangerous territory. Goodbye kisses were far too intimate. They were something people who were seeing each other did, and they were definitely not seeing each other.
Draco liked kissing him. Harry liked being kissed by Draco. There was no need to turn something so simple into something else.
“Can we talk about your bad behavior now?” Harry asked quietly. His eyes lingered for a few seconds on Draco’s lips, now damp and redder than before. “I like sleeping, you know.”
“You forget about me if I don’t get into fights,” Draco shot back, nearly making Harry roll his eyes.
“If you want a kiss, just ask me. You know I won’t say no.”
Harry’s hands were still resting on Draco’s waist over his school uniform. Unlike Harry, Draco wasn’t wearing his cloak. Maybe the adrenaline from the fight was still doing its job, because he didn’t seem to feel the cold that seeped through the corridors.
Someone pounded on the door again.
“But what about the thrill of crushing someone’s bones with a punch?” Draco asked, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder, near the curve of his neck.
Harry thought of several arguments he could make, but ultimately gave up. Class would be starting soon, and the other students would begin arriving any minute.
“Go find something else to do, Draco. And stay out of trouble for the rest of the day.”
000
Two years had passed since Harry had been transferred to Slytherin. And during that time, Draco hadn’t exactly become any easier to deal with.
The fights became more frequent. The reasons, more absurd. Some days, it seemed all anyone had to do was breathe a little too close to Draco for him to decide he had found a problem. Harry could have tried to stop every single fight, but he had no intention of spending the rest of his life chasing him through the corridors.
Draco knew what Harry wouldn’t allow. Killing anyone was one of the rules. Using magic when he was out of control was another. The rest depended largely on how much Harry was willing to care that day.
Even the professors had given up on some punishments because they accomplished nothing. Sometimes, they seemed to have the opposite effect. Draco would leave one detention only to earn another a few hours later. And to make matters worse, lately he had developed a concerning fondness for setting things on fire.
That day in particular, Harry had found an empty classroom so no one would bother him. He had a certain fondness for being alone and rarely managed to achieve it. Whenever someone spotted him, some student who wasn’t afraid enough of him to keep their distance would inevitably strike up a conversation. Many approached him with a sudden and convenient friendliness, as though being friends with Harry might grant them some kind of immunity from Draco.
It didn’t.
Harry still had the friends he had made in Gryffindor, particularly Ron and Hermione, along with other students he spoke to regularly. Changing houses hadn’t changed that.
Draco knew perfectly well which of them Harry considered his own. That didn’t mean he liked any of them. He simply knew how far he could go without picking a fight with Harry.
Once, Theodore had asked whether Draco needed Harry’s permission before starting a fight. The punch he received to the chest left a mark for days. After that, he learned that some jokes had fairly predictable consequences.
Harry sat near the window with his feet propped up on a desk as he read a book. After a while, his eyes drifted away from the pages and toward the view outside.
Draco was in the courtyard.
He was dragging a boy by the collar of his shirt while several students followed at what they apparently considered a safe distance. No one tried to restrain him. Harry watched Draco throw the boy to the ground, straddle him, and grab him by the hair.
The boy’s head struck the concrete. Harry returned his attention to his book. That, by itself, didn’t require his interference.
Harry cast a timing charm and began counting the minutes. When five had passed, a slight frown appeared on his face.
It was strange that no one had come looking for him yet.
Draco was still beating the boy, so he had to be genuinely furious. Harry looked out the window again. The blows continued. The boy could barely protect himself, and a dark stain was beginning to spread across the front of his trousers.
Harry frowned.
It wasn’t that Harry wasn’t concerned, but he had watched scenes like this play out so many times that they had become ordinary. He knew how it would end.
Draco would beat the boy until he decided it had been enough. Then he would get up, probably still angry, and walk away.
Or at least, that was how it was supposed to end.
Harry saw the wand appear in his hand.
“Shit.”
Harry dropped the book onto the desk, threw the window open, and stuck his head outside. He brought his fingers to his lips and whistled, loud enough for the sound to carry across the courtyard.
The students who heard it looked up, searching for the source.
Draco stopped.
But he didn’t look for Harry.
That was wrong.
“Draco! Stay right there until I get down there.”
Harry left the classroom without a second thought for the book he had abandoned. He ran through the corridors, taking the stairs two at a time and dodging the few students who crossed his path. By the time he finally reached the ground floor, he was out of breath.
He made his way through the boys scattered around the fight until he reached Draco.
He held out his hand.
“Give me your wand.”
“No,” Draco murmured.
Harry didn’t lower his hand.
Draco’s hand trembled around his wand. His eyes remained fixed on the injured boy in front of him.
“I’m going to kill him.”
Draco was trembling.
“What did he do?”
Some of the murmuring around them died away.
“He insulted you.”
The few people still whispering fell silent.
Harry looked at the boy on the ground. Then he turned his attention back to Draco.
“What did he say about me?” he asked, taking another step forward. His breathing still hadn’t completely returned to normal.
“Said you’re nothing but a cheap little whore and that you’re probably fucking me for a few coins.”
Harry clenched his jaw as he weighed the words.
So that was it.
He didn’t like that one bit either.
Still, one stupid comment wasn’t worth a trip to Azkaban. Especially when Draco would be the one ending up there. Harry moved his fingers, asking for the wand again.
“The wand, Draco.”
Draco didn’t hand it over, but he did slip it back into the pocket of his robes. Harry lowered his hand.
Good enough.
The blond still hadn’t looked at him. It wasn’t an accident. Draco didn’t want to stop, and he seemed to know it would be easier to keep going as long as he didn’t look at Harry.
“What do I do with him?” Draco asked, his voice far too quiet for the threat behind the words.
Harry looked at the boy again.
The question didn’t mean Draco intended to leave him alone. They both knew that. Draco wanted to know how far he could keep going before Harry decided to stop him.
Simply telling him to walk away would be a waste of breath.
Harry sighed and assessed the boy’s condition. His face was battered, he had taken several blows to the stomach, and his skin was scraped from the concrete. Despite how miserable he looked, nothing seemed irreversible.
Yet.
“Break a few bones, then let him go…” Harry found the frightened eyes of the boy on the ground. “Don’t ever say that kind of thing about me again. I don’t like it.”
Then he turned his back.
He hadn’t gotten far when he heard a dry crack behind him, followed by a shrill scream of pain.
It was a pleasant symphony.