Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Before Harry had faced a dragon, he’d been terrified for his life.

Now, he had an ever-growing list of things that seemed worse than facing a dragon again. Talking to Draco, asking someone to the Yule Ball, and dancing in front of everyone were the top three.

He wasn’t sure why talking to Draco had taken the top spot. It used to be easy enough.

“Does anyone our age even know how to dance?” Ron asked with a grimace, when they passed yet another group of giggling girls.

Harry was so utterly hopeless at dancing that he didn’t think his partner knowing how to dance could possibly make anything better.

“Why’d they have to move in packs?” he asked, glaring weakly. “How are you supposed to ask one if she always has six other girls with her?”

To be fair, he wasn’t trying very hard; in the two days since the Yule Ball announcement, half a dozen girls had asked Harry to the ball, and another dozen hung back or lingered around him hopefully, even if they had nothing to talk about, and they were fine, they were – pretty, even, but he had no interest in going with them.

He kind of wanted to skip the ball altogether. It might've been a blast if he, Ron, Hermione, and Draco could all go together: Draco might even want the four of them to dance, could convince them, and Harry wouldn’t even care about making a fool of himself in front of half the school if he got some time with Draco out of it, but as it was, McGonagall had told him he had to ask someone to the dance, because the champions would be opening the ball.

The thought of doing that – of dancing in front of everyone in the school with only three other couples on the floor – made him want to disappear. The thought of dancing with some girl he barely even knew or liked made him want to die.

“Lasso one,” Ron suggested. “Ask all seven of them to the ball and dance in some weird, circular formation. I have no bloody idea.”

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands.

The first boy to ask Draco was some fifth-year Ravenclaw that brought him a wilted flower. He was so nervous he was sweating.

Harry scowled at him the whole time, and Ron even thought they might have another incident, but they didn’t. Draco said no.

“Circe.” Fleur laid back in her bed, rubbing at her eyes. “What are we at now?”

Draco scribbled furiously on another piece of parchment.

“Three hundred and eighty-seven,” he mumbled around the three quills in his mouth. He had the collector’s edition of the seventeen-tome set of The A to Z of Magical Creatures, Where to Find Them, and How to Befriend Them by some wizard Fleur had never heard of before, and he’d brought them out when they’d determined that whatever was going on with the egg wasn’t human.

They had listened to it backwards, had tried to identify words or recognizable phonemes to identify some sort of language or linguistic pattern, but they’d been unable to. It just sounded like screeching, so they were pretty sure it wasn’t talking.

It meant it was another magical creature: Draco had immediately discarded all dragons, creatures that hibernated through February, any that lived in a different hemisphere – something about their weather patterns and the stress of bringing them to Hogwarts, since most of them wouldn’t adjust to the living conditions in Hogwarts unless their habitats were artificially built – which still left creatures from Europe, Northern Africa, and all of Asia.

He'd then eliminated any that needed salt water to live, the ones that were only in the wild – they can’t go around hunting beasts for the tournament – and a handful of others for reasons Fleur didn’t really understand, but he seemed to be having fun. Then, he’d started eliminating them by sound.

She was going a bit mad as he went on and on, mumbling about how many creatures could scream like that (a surprising number of them).

“Do you have a date to the ball?” she asked, interrupting his train of thought. He didn’t look at her. “Draco.”

“What?” He blinked and finally dragged his eyes away from the parchment to look at her. “What is it?”

“Do you have a date to the ball?” she repeated. Since Madame Maxime had told them about the Yule Ball – and, she assumed, Dumbledore had told the Hogwarts students –three days ago, she’d been asked to the ball at least three dozen times, most by people she didn’t know and didn’t care to get to know. She just wasn’t interested in meeting others, honestly, especially when they stuttered over every other word and looked at her tits when they thought she wasn’t looking. There wasn’t even much to look at!

“No,” he said. Since he’d made up with Potter – something he’d admitted between mumbles and half-sensical ramblings – she'd sort of assumed they’d be going together. That was if Potter managed to pull his head out of his arse by Christmas, which didn’t seem particularly likely. “You?”

Fleur drummed her fingers against the egg; she was holding onto it like it was a baby, trying to think on what to do with it, but her mind had been wondering since they’d crossed out banshees.

“I’m meant to ask someone,” she said. “All the champions are.”

He turned to her, surprised. “Really?”

She set the egg aside and rolled over onto her stomach. “Yeah. Madame Maxime told me.”

“As in – a date?”

“I mean... not necessarily, I suppose?” she replied, pretending to be oblivious. Potter hadn’t asked him, then. She’d ask around, see if he’d asked someone else yet. If he dared go with anyone but Draco, she’d beat some sense into him herself. “Someone to dance with.”

He chewed on the end of his quill thoughtfully, and she raised an eyebrow. “You could ask someone, too. If you’re interested.”

He seemed surprised. For a moment, his cheeks went pink, and then he scowled, pushing the fourth tome towards her. She took it with a groan.

“If it’s some sort of underwater creature, we might need to listen to it underwater,” he said, entirely ignoring her. Fleur looked over at his annotated tome, and found him staring at the entry on some creature called amemasus. They looked distinctly unfriendly. “If we get lucky and it’s sirens or mermaids, it might even be actual words.”

That’d be nice; she’d at least know what was coming, then.

Hermione ran into Draco’s room on a Tuesday evening while he was sitting on his bed reading. Her heart beating in her throat.

He looked up when the door slammed against the wall, startled, and she didn’t even care, didn’t even notice, because-

“Krum asked me to the Yule ball!” she shrieked.

Draco’s face went slack for a moment before a maniacal grin began to spread across his face. “You said yes. Tell me you said yes. Hermione, I swear to Merlin-”

“I said yes!”

He shouted in delight and jumped off the bed to hug her, and both of them jumped and shrieked for far longer than they had ever done before. Immediately after, he slammed the door to his room closed and pointed to the armchair by the window.

“Sit. Tell me everything.”

Hermione began talking before she’d even sat down.

“What happened?” Harry asked when he entered the common room and saw Ron sitting on the sofa. Ginny was sitting beside him, grimacing, along with the other boys from their dorm.

“I asked Fleur to the ball.” Ron looked horrified. “Fleur.”

“Delacour?” Harry asked disbelievingly; his own shame at being rejected – he honestly didn’t know what he’d been thinking, asking Cho – faded due to the surprise and horror he felt on Ron’s behalf. “You asked Fleur Delacour to the ball?”

Neville grimaced and nodded, since Ron seemed too shocked to do so himself.

“I don’t even know why I did it!” he exclaimed. He was shivering. “I just – walked by her in the hall, and she was talking to Diggory, and I just – I blurted it out. I yelled it at her!”

“It’s not your fault, Ron,” Neville said, trying to be comforting. He patted Ron’s shoulder clumsily. “You were nervous, it’s alright.”

“I didn’t even think about it!” he continued, as though deaf to Neville’s comforting words. “Why did I do that? Why would I – oh Merlin.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not your fault.” Seamus tried to comfort him. He and Dean had finally gone back to normal after what had happened, and no one had brought it up. Harry didn’t plan to ever bring it up, just like they never brought up Draco or his presence in Harry’s bed. They were fine. They didn’t need to talk about it. “She’s – she’s an omega, right? It’s her – hormones, or whatever. It’s irresistible.”

Harry sat in front of Ron, ignoring Ginny as she turned to look at Seamus sharply.

“Yeah,” he added, patting his knee awkwardly. “And you were right, she’s part veela. She was probably using some – some sort of allure, or something.”

“Right,” Ron said faintly. He was still worryingly pale. Ginny’s sharp gaze was now on Harry, and he didn’t know what he’d done to piss her off this time. “Right. Irresistible.”

“Fucking hell,” Ginny muttered. She stood up abruptly and stomped off towards her dorm, leaving the others confused as they stared after her.

“What’s wrong with her?” Dean asked, frowning.

Harry said nothing out loud, but he echoed the sentiment deeply.

The second, third, fourth, and fifth boys to ask Draco to the Yule Ball weren’t all from Hogwarts. Displays of affection – or an attempt at making an impression, Ginny thought – grew more and more elaborate.

The second-hand embarrassment was growing to be so strong that half of her didn’t want to watch anymore, while the other half couldn’t stop herself.

“You’re kidding,” Draco said, mouth half open as Theo grinned.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. They were sitting together in one of the many empty classrooms,  the only place inside where they could spend time alone, since none of them could go into each other’s common rooms. “Everyone’s talking. Parkinson even asked her about it at breakfast, and Davis blushed so hard she looked like she was going to explode.”

Daphne made a noise of agreement. She was lying on the professor’s desk, legs handing off the side as she swung them idly. “I heard, too. If I had had a can of sickles, I would’ve shaken it at them.”

Blaise and Theo snickered, but Draco seemed to be dying from secondhand embarrassment.

“Merlin,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “That’s such a nightmare. I’m never trusting silencing charms again.”

Of course, the statement made the three Slytherins perk up their heads, and Theo felt his lips begin to curl in amusement.

“Again?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Draco seemed to realize his mistake, looking up at Theo with wide eyes and red cheeks. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

“Sure.” He grinned. Draco scowled and sat up, abandoning his place with his head on Theo’s lap, and it made him feel a little cold. “Was it Potter?”

“It’s not-”

“Or that Durmstrang beast that was four times your size? How would that even work? Didn’t it hurt?”

Blaise hid a snort with a half-convincing cough, but Draco glared at both of them venomously.

“I’m going to curse you,” he threatened, shoving him aside. “It’s not like that, we kissed once! We didn’t even snog properly!”

“Ooh, a kiss-”

“I’m sorry, who have you kissed?”

Theo threw his head back and laughed, ignoring Draco as he smacked his chest repeatedly, glaring weakly. His cheeks were still pink.

“Yeah, Theo,” Daphne echoed, grinning at him. Her head hung upside down from the edge of the desk. “Who have you kissed?”

He flipped her off with two fingers, and she did it back even as she laughed.

“I’m not judging,” he said, not bothering to hide his wide grin. “It’s just surprising. I never expected you to be the first one of us to kiss someone.”

Draco looked at him, offended. “Why?”

Theo gestured wildly. “You don’t even like people touching you!”

Draco grimaced in response, tilting his head. “Yeah, well… I don’t know. It’s not like I planned it. Besides, who else would’ve kissed someone? Daphne’s disgusted by every single boy she has ever met, Blaise couldn’t be less interested in dating, and you don’t even talk to people! You have three friends!”

Blaise and Daphne both made noises of agreement, but Theo was offended. “I talk to people!”

“Who?” Draco asked, waving a hand vaguely. “You’ve known Blaise since before Hogwarts, and in four years you have made two friends! Me and Daphne, and that’s it!”

“Okay, excuse me,” he drawled, crossing his arms. “You clearly know what you’re talking about, since you make friends by adopting every stray and freak that you come across.”

“Freak?”

“Yeah!” Theo exclaimed. Beside him, Blaise nodded. “The Weaslette, Potter, the dog that turned out to be a mass murderer-”

“He’s not a mass murderer!”

“-the hippogriff that mauled you, Weasley! The only normal friend you have ever had in your life is Granger!”

“Sort of normal,” Blaise murmured.

“Fine, so which one are you?” Draco asked, arms crossed. “A stray or a freak?”

Theo lifted his nose. “An outlier. The only good choice you’ve made in your life.”

“Oi, if you’re an outlier what are Blaise and I?” Daphne demanded.

“Fine,” Theo amended, more because he didn’t want to find himself on the business end of her wand than because he couldn’t categorize them into strays or freaks. “Three outliers. Whatever.”

“He doesn’t mean that,” Blaise told her. “He thinks we’re strays.”

“Well, fuck you,” Daphne said, but she sounded extremely pleased.

“Are you going to ask Draco to the ball?” Hermione asked absent-mindedly, when she and Harry were left alone in their table in the library: Ginny had been looking for some weird book for half an hour now, and Draco and Ron had gone to the History section to complete their History of Magic homework, which meant that, for once, she and Harry were entirely alone.

They’d been content spending it in comfortable silence – Harry loved Hermione, but trying to talk to her while she was doing homework was worse than trying to talk to a wall – but she had suddenly felt the need to speak up.

Harry would’ve really rather she kept quiet.

“What?” he managed, after a few moments of trying to come up with something a little more eloquent.

She didn't even lift her head to look at him. “You have to ask someone. He told me.”

“How does he know?” His voice was very high-pitched, and he tried to clear his throat, ground himself. It didn’t work: he felt like there were a million fire ants crawling on his cheeks. “Did he – does he – did he mention... going with me?”

At that, she looked up. She seemed a bit pitying. “He’s been asked two dozen times.”

“I know.” He’d been present for some of them; it made him angry, because despite the fact that Draco always looked terribly uncomfortable, people didn’t stop asking! Wasn't it clear that he didn’t want to be with them? Shouldn't they have taken the hint?

“Ginny's going with someone,” she continued, looking down at her book once more, as though the conversation didn’t interest her in the slightest. “So am I. You have to, too, and so does Fleur. Ron wants a date, so his options are either to go alone or take someone. Someone he deems acceptable will ask him eventually, and he’ll say yes, or he’ll ask someone he likes, and no one here would ever turn him down, Harry.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he snapped, feeling oddly angry. She wasn’t lying. She wasn’t even saying anything that he didn’t already know, but he hated hearing it out loud.

“Because I thought you might want to stop being an unbelievable idiot and just ask him,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Unless you want to spend the entire night sulking because he’s dancing with someone else.”

He glared at her, but she didn’t look the least bit intimidated. She might even look a little amused.

“And he will want to dance,” she continued, turning back to her book and turning a page. “So do yourself a favor and learn.”

Harry wished he could come up with some sort of rebuttal, but he was too preoccupied realizing she was right. Draco would want to dance, and Harry was absolutely pants at it.

“What do you mean?” Ron demanded, when Harry began to tell him about his conversation with Hermione. “She’s lying! She's not going with someone!”

Harry groaned into his pillow. “That’s what she said. She also said Ginny was going with someone.”

“Ginny?” Ron wrinkled his nose. “Who’d want to take Ginny?”

Harry felt like screaming. “I don’t know! But she was right, Ron! If I want to go with Draco, I have to ask him now!”

There was a sudden silence, and when Harry lifted his head, he found his best friend staring at him with an odd frown on his face.

“Do you want to go with Draco?” he asked. He looked vaguely disgusted at the idea. “Isn’t that, like... incest?”

“Incest?” Harry shot up to a sitting position, everything else momentarily forgotten. “How would that be incest?”

Ron groaned and covered his face with a pillow. “I don’t know! You’re like my brother! And he’s like – well, he’s a prick. And a bastard. And mad. But also a bit like my-”

“Ron! It’s not incest!” Harry exclaimed. His entire face was burning. “We’re not related!” Ron grumbled something unintelligible into the pillow, and Harry ignored him and continued speaking. “Besides, why wouldn’t I want to go with him? If I have to spend the whole night with someone, it should at least be someone I like!”

That might be a bit of an understatement. The fact was, Harry had thought he didn’t want to go to the ball with anyone. The thought of asking some faceless, nameless girl to the ball – and then actually having to spend the entire night with her – had seemed entirely unappealing to him. He would do it, but only because he had to, as a champion. But then – then, when Hermione had mentioned going with Draco, it was like Harry’s entire world had brightened. He didn’t have to ask some nameless, faceless girl to the ball. He didn’t have to ask anyone at all, he could ask Draco!

It had also made him realize that he really, really wanted to go with Draco.

The possibilities seemed endless: no matter what he wore, Draco would look amazing, and Harry would have an excuse to stay close to him all night, to be selfish with his attention. If they danced, it’d mean he’d get to touch him: maybe just a hand on his shoulder or on his elbow, but it was enough. Harry wanted that more than anything.

Which... well. He wasn’t sure how to interpret that. He wasn’t itching to touch Ron or Hermione. He hugged them, sometimes, sure, but it didn’t feel like this. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the freckle in the bow of Draco’s lips since he’d noticed it, and he wasn’t stupid, he knew he didn’t think of those things about the rest of his friends. It might just be biology, like Ron had said, but Remus hadn’t seemed to agree, and if it wasn’t... what if it wasn’t?

Also, wasn’t the dance supposed to be romantic? People were bringing dates. They likely expected a kiss or something similar at the end of the dance, some flowers, something, and the thought of spending the night with his hand on Draco’s, of touching his lips… didn’t bother him.

It did a lot of things, and none of them could be described as bothering him.

He was very, very aware that the thought of kissing Hermione or Ron was extremely unappealing. That felt like incest in his mind.

And he wasn’t sure what that meant. Well, he knew it meant he didn’t think of Draco as he thought of Ron and Hermione – and the more he thought about it the more evident it became – but he wasn’t sure why, or when it had happened. Had his feelings for Draco entirely transformed somewhere during the past year – or, perhaps, even earlier – and he had just failed to notice it?

“Well, then, just tell him that!” Ron said. “He’ll understand!”

“I can’t say that!” He didn’t want Draco to think that he was asking him out as a last resort, or some sort of casual thing. A friend thing. Merlin, did it mean he wanted to ask him out as a romantic thing? He collapsed back into his pillows and buried his face in his hands with a long, heartfelt groan.

Ron said something too lowly to hear, but then sighed and leaned up on his elbows, looking at Harry intently. “What is it? Is it – a thing? Do you – fancy him?”

Harry was so shocked by the question that all he could do was stare. It was something he was trying to avoid even thinking about, because he was afraid of the answer, and of all people who he thought might consider the possibility, Ron was the last one.

Despite not knowing his thoughts, Ron looked annoyed.

“I’m not blind,” he said. His face was red. “You’re not normal about him. And when you weren’t talking, your scent was miserable. Really miserable.”

“I was miserable when we weren’t speaking, too,” he defended weakly.

Ron scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not... great. Draco's mad. And weird. And very ill-tempered. But if that’s what you like, it’s fine. It's not me he’s going to eat alive.”

Harry scoffed. “He wouldn’t eat me alive.”

Ron gave him a look and didn’t even bother replying to that statement. “Just - I meant what I said. I don’t want to hear about it – any of it. And if you start going out and you break up and ‘Mione and I have to choose sides, I'll say I told you so.”

“We’re not even dating!”

“Whatever,” Ron muttered. “Good luck.”

It might not be the way Draco or Hermione would’ve done it, but Harry felt very happy about how the conversation had gone.

“If you do ask him...” Ron hesitated, face turning pinker. “Can you ask him who Hermione’s going with?”

Harry frowned at him.

“Third today?” Ginny asked with a raised eyebrow, when one of the Durmstrang students asked Draco to the ball while they were walking towards dinner. Harry was seeing red; the alpha had brought Draco flowers. Flowers. What the hell for?

“Yeah.” Draco looked uncomfortable, but he melted into her grip as soon as she linked her arm through his. “Can we just have dinner in my room? I don’t feel like – doing all this.”

He was shaking, hands twitching by his sides, and Hermione hated it. He'd looked more and more worn down lately, and she knew it was likely just nightmares or something similar, but she felt completely powerless to stop it.

He didn’t want to talk about them, or about the Cup, and she didn’t want to bring it up and make things worse, but she knew he should be talking to someone. Sometimes, she felt like she couldn’t keep it all inside: the possibilities of what it might mean and what could’ve happened haunted her when she had nothing else to think about, and he’d been through much worse.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “We can just – stay for a bit. As long as it takes to eat.”

“No, I’m fine.” Draco shook his head. “I just want to have dinner in my room.”

He hadn’t had breakfast or lunch, either. She couldn’t mention that, either.

“Alright.” Ginny and Draco only stayed in the Great Hall for as long as it took to sneak some food; after that, they were waving goodbye and leaving, and Hermione couldn’t stop staring at the spot where they’d disappeared.

* * *

“I can’t do this anymore, Gin.” It was the first thing Draco said after a few long moments of silence.

Ginny looked up at him; he was sitting on the closed toilet lid while she knelt in front of him, carefully undoing the buttons of his shirt; before, she had never undressed another person. Now, she was much more skilled at it; buttons, zippers, cuffs, anything he couldn’t handle when his muscles seized.

“I know,” she murmured, going back to the buttons. There were only three left, and she undid them quickly. “I’m sorry.”

It felt hollow, but she didn’t know what else to say. She felt the acidic, sour shame that curdled in his stomach every time they had to do this, every time he couldn’t dress or feed himself, when he couldn’t point his wand or perform any spell with any sort of finesse or precision. There were always excuses: he was tired, he wasn’t hungry, he didn’t care, he didn’t want to, anything to keep others from looking at it too closely, but he couldn’t hide anything from her. He didn’t want to, she knew.

“It’s going to be alright,” she told him. She unbuttoned his trousers and pulled the zipper down, and then passed him his pajamas; they didn’t have any complicated buttons or fastenings, so most of the time, he could handle them himself, and it made him feel a little better to do those things by himself. “We’ll figure it out. We can go to Madam Pomfrey, or to St. Mungo’s.”

He didn’t reply, but it didn’t matter. She knew he didn’t want to, anyway, and they had had this argument enough times for her to know that it wouldn’t do her any good to have it again.

“What do you want for dinner?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood; they’d started to hoard quite a bit of food – half of it was just gifts he received from Andromeda or Tonks, or things Ginny begged her mum to send – and it was all under a stasis in his room, so they had quite a bit to choose from, even if they hadn’t stolen anything from the Hall. “I loved those pastries Andromeda sent.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he said, changing into his pajamas. Ginny began to strip off her own clothes, grabbing one of his jumpers and some of her own trousers to change into.  

“No,” Fleur said. “You can’t use that shade. You're too pale.”

“I just want to know how to do it,” Draco said with a scowl. “I don’t care about the colors.”

Fleur rolled her eyes. “Trust me, darling, you care. Just – come on, look at these. Choose one you like.”

Her makeup collection wasn’t very big – she had a few products she used that she knew looked good on her, so she stuck to the same five or six – but she’d borrowed from the rest of the girls in the carriage, so spread across her bed were dozens and dozens of palettes, lipsticks, balms, blushes, and the like, all in different shades and textures, but most of her classmates weren’t as pale as she or Draco.

“This?” He looked uncomfortable, but he was insistent that he wanted to learn, so she’d said nothing. She had never had any sort of problem with being an omega – she was a girl, and part veela, and she had never imagined anything different for herself – but she knew it was different for him. “It’s pretty.”

It was a sparkly, light blue. “That’s perfect. Okay, now look. These are brushes. Each one’s for a different thing, so you’ll want to use this one...”

They spent the rest of the afternoon doing their makeup, washing it off, and doing it again. By the end of it, he definitely still needed more practice, but he was much better than when they’d started. Fleur felt more than a little bit proud.

“Shit - sorry.” Neville paused in the doorway, practically open-mouthed. His face was very quickly reddening. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt-”

“You didn’t interrupt anything, Nev.” Hermione looked a bit exasperated, but she smiled at him, and so did Draco. “He’s teaching me how to dance. For the ball?”

“The Yule Ball?” Neville’s eyes widened. He'd asked Ginny – she'd always been very kind to him, and she was very pretty – but he hadn’t even thought about dancing. Other than the lessons Gram had forced him to take as a child – so he’d at least look like a proper pureblood, she’d said – he'd never done it, and he remembered spending a lot of time tripping over his own feet. “Oh, Merlin. I'm awful at it, I don’t want to disappoint Ginny-”

“Do you want to come in?” Draco asked. Of course he’d know how to dance. He knew everything, just like Hermione. “I can teach you. Hermione’s excellent at it now.”

She blushed and shook her head. “I wouldn’t say that. But I'm loads better now. He’s a really good teacher, Neville.”

“You don’t have to worry.” He scratched at his own skin nervously. “I tried when I was a kid, but I could never get it. I have two left feet.”

Draco clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Everyone can dance. Come on. We'll try, just once.”

A bit terrified, Neville went into the classroom and let the door close behind him.

“Oi, Angelina!” Fred called. “Want to go to the dance with me?”

Angelina looked pleased. “Sure.”

And that was that.

“Seriously?” Ron hissed to Harry, as they both stared open-mouthed. “Seriously?”

“You’re building it up too much in your head,” Fred told them, knocking their heads together. They both scowled at him. “Just ask someone. Anyone you like.”

Harry and Ron felt like dying.

“You, um, have a date to the ball?” Harry’s voice was high-pitched and nervous, and Ron immediately turned to him disbelievingly. Was he going to ask Draco now? While they were doing homework?

“Yes.” Hermione was blushing, and Ron’s relief – about the question having been directed at Hermione instead of Draco – was so short-lived it nearly made him dizzy. “Why?”

“Yes?” he echoed, much too loudly. “Who?!”

Hermione didn’t like anyone! She couldn’t like anyone! She disliked Krum, and he was the best quidditch player in the world! And not half bad looking either, so there were literally no boys who would meet her expectations, whatever they were.

“That doesn't matter,” she said defensively. “Why?”

“Weren’t we – going together?” he asked, and then felt his cheeks burn. “As a group. Harry, Draco, you, and I!”

“You’ve been talking about getting a date for ages!” she exclaimed. “And Harry’s got to get a date! McGonagall said so!”

“So?” he demanded. “You could’ve gone with Draco!”

“Wow,” Draco drawled flatly, raising an eyebrow. “Thanks?”

“Besides, are you just going to – to leave him alone?” He wasn’t sure why he was mentioning Draco. He didn’t really care if he went alone. He had a line of people waiting to plead and beg for him to be their date to the ball. Merlin knew he didn’t need Ron’s help with any of it.

Hermione flushed darkly. “It’s not like he’ll be alone, alone! You don’t have a date, either!”

“I’ll get one!” he said defensively. “I just haven’t asked anyone!”

Well, other than Fleur, but that had been a disaster because of many different reasons. Besides, he didn’t want a date, that wasn’t the point! He just didn’t want to look stupid!

“I don’t mind,” Draco said with a frown. “Hermione can go with whomever she likes! I don’t need her to babysit me!”

“Shut up!” Ron told him. Draco scowled at him. “It’s not about you! It's about – it's about friendship!”

“Oh, we won’t stop being friends if we spend one night apart!” Hermione said. “It’s not like any of us will get ourselves killed!”

“That’s - that’s not even – that's just-”

“Well,” Harry interrupted, looking at him pointedly. “Hermione’s right, Ron. I have to ask someone, and you want to take someone, too.”

Ron gaped at him. Harry was on her side? Just because he wanted to ask Draco? Seriously?

“You really should ask someone, soon,” Hermione said, giving Harry a weird look. “It’s ten days ‘til the ball, Harry. Most people already have dates.”

“Yeah.” Harry swallowed, and Ron dropped his face in his hands. Oh, Merlin, he didn’t want to see this. Draco would kill Harry, disappear to another bloody country, and then it’d be just him, Hermione, and her bloody date. “I was, uh. I was actually – I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. And, uh, I don’t know?”

Ron didn’t lift his head; it had been nice knowing Harry. He'd come up with something good to write on his headstone once Draco had bitten his head off. It was a shame it would have to be a closed-casket funeral.

“If you don’t want to ask someone, just say yes to whomever invites you next,” Draco suggested. His voice was a little too relaxed. “Or ask one of your admirers. There are a dozen girls watching you and hoping you’ll ask them at any given time.”

“That’s not true.”

“I can literally count seven right now.”

“Nine,” Hermione corrected. Ron heard her gesture. “Look at those two.”

“Nine,” Draco repeated drily.

Ron lifted his head and opened an eye; Harry was looking at him nervously, but Draco was still looking down at his homework. Despite the easy tone and the disinterested posture, his knuckles were white around his quill.

Ron wondered if he liked Harry; he’d never really thought of Draco as capable of liking anyone in that way. It was clear that other people liked him – Ginny and Harry being the most prominent examples in his mind – but Draco had always seemed a bit removed from those sort of situations, like he didn’t particularly care about the outcome. Granted, they’d had other priorities these past few years, but after he came back in third year, he’d just seemed a bit detached from… well, from everything, really.

“Anyway, it’s only a few days before the ball,” Hermione said. “It might be a bit insulting to be asked now.”

“What?” Harry asked, shooting an alarmed look at her. “Why?”

“Well,” she said thoughtfully. “Anyone who really wanted to go with you would’ve asked sooner, right? They would’ve wanted to make sure you were available.”

“What if they were nervous?” he replied defensively.

Ron buried his face in his hands again. Oh Merlin, he was going to do it now. From between his fingers, he saw Hermione giving Harry a very knowing look.

“Well, then,” she said briskly. “They might want to get their nerves under control. In the next twenty minutes or so, because no one is going to wait around forever. Ron and I have to go look for a book, anyway.”

“What?” he asked, dropping his hands. He didn’t want to go look for a book. He didn’t need a book.

“You left it in your room,” she said sharply. “Remember?”

He had no idea what she was talking about, but he wasn’t going to argue when she had that determined, scary look on her face: instead, he simply nodded and followed her.

* * *

“Do you think they’re off to snog?” Draco asked with a small snort, and Harry flinched at the sound of his voice. “If they are, that wasn’t subtle at all.”

“What?” he asked. His voice came out way too high. He cleared his throat and lowered it on purpose. “What?”

Draco tilted his head at him, and it made Harry’s belly flutter. God, when had this even happened? When had his feelings for Draco transformed so complete and entirely that he could hardly talk to him, breathe around him? It used to be the easiest thing in the world. It used to be the only way he could breathe.

“Are you alright?” he asked, setting his quill down. “You look a bit pale.”

Harry felt pale. He felt like he was going to die. Oh, god.

“I’m fine,” he said. His voice shook, but he ignored it. “Um. Um. Do you have a date? To the Yule Ball.”

“No,” he replied. Harry felt like he could breathe. At least for a few seconds, until he realized that it was his turn to say something, and what he wanted to say was, do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?

“Oh,” he said. He scratched at the back of his neck, and Draco eyed him with a frown. He didn’t smell like Harry today. Some of his jumpers had reappeared in his trunk, and they smelled so much like Draco that it was heady; Harry had one buried under his pillow, another one under his sheets. When he got into bed, surrounded by the other boy’s scent, he could finally sleep peacefully. It was the next best thing to actually sleeping with him. “Me neither.”

The corner of Draco’s lips tilted upward.

“I know,” he said. “It’s been the main topic of gossip since the ball was announced. Why won’t you ask anyone? Is there really no one you fancy? Other than Chang, I mean.”

“Chang?” For a moment, Harry had to wrack his brain to figure out what they were talking about. “What? Why would you think I like Cho?”

Draco made an odd expression, muttering ‘Cho’ under his breath while rolling his eyes, but then he just shrugged and looked back down at his work.

“She’s pretty,” he said. “And she’s a great seeker. And… I don’t know, I haven’t talked to her, but she’s really well-liked, so she must be kind. And you asked her to the ball.”

“How do you know about that?” Harry’s cheeks crawled with heat. He didn’t think anyone but Ron knew about him asking Cho, and he, himself, hadn’t even thought about it since that night.

Draco shrugged again. “Fleur told me.”

“Delacour?” Harry asked. Of course it was Delacour. There was only one Fleur. “How would she know?”

Draco didn’t bother to reply, and Harry grimaced. Right, alright. It seemed Draco was… displeased about him having asked Cho? Harry could fix that. He didn’t care about Cho, after all.

“I did ask her,” he said, trying to pick his words carefully. Draco’s sharp gaze settled on his face. “And she is pretty, but I don’t… I haven’t… I don’t care about her at all, Draco. I promise.”

“I don’t care if you care about her,” Draco replied, but he looked extremely pleased. It made Harry’s chest warm. “You can care about whomever you like. Besides, if you don’t, why haven’t you asked anyone else?”

Because I’ve been sort of going mad about it, he thought. I’m going mad. I’m not surviving this year with my mind intact.

“I wanted to,” he said, a bit defensively, and then made sure to smooth his tone. “I was nervous. I… am. Nervous.”

Draco shook his head. “Harry, students are practically falling at your feet. Anyone’d say yes. Half the girls have asked you!”

“I don’t want them.”

“What do you want, then?”

“I – I wanted to ask you,” Harry said. Draco went entirely still. Harry’s heart was pounding in his throat so strongly he felt nauseous. Oh, god, if he got sick now, Ron would never let him live it down. “I wanted to ask you. To the Yule Ball.”

“As friends?” Draco’s tone was delicate. He was looking somewhere by Harry’s ear, eyes unmoving, as though he couldn’t quite look him in the eye. His cheeks were turning a pretty, pretty pink.

Harry’s legs were shaking. His stomach was roiling.

“Um,” he said. He could lie. He could lie. But the color in Draco’s cheeks was so pretty, and his eyelashes were creating tiny shadows on his cheeks, and if he said no, and someone else said yes, wanted Draco for themselves, they might get him. Harry couldn’t bear the thought. He tried again. “Um. Maybe… not?”

Draco’s eyes widened, and he met Harry’s gaze fleetingly, before looking back at his ear, down to his collarbone, keeping his gaze there. His cheeks were quickly going from a soft pink to a dark red. Harry felt a bead of sweat run down his back. Merlin, had he just ruined this? Was this going to blow up in his face? He shouldn’t have said anything at all-

“I’d really like that,” Draco said very quietly. Harry hadn’t heard him sound so timid since they were children. His heart pounded harder. His vision was going black at the edges. “I’d… I’d really enjoy that.”

“Okay,” he said, a lot louder than he meant to. It made them both flinch, and he lowered his voice when he spoke again. His heartbeat was getting faster and faster and the shadows were clearing from his vision and Jesus fucking Christ, oh god, he was going to explode, wasn’t he? There was absolutely no way this feeling fit inside him, it needed to go somewhere, he didn’t know how to get it out, he felt like he was going to blow up- “Thank you.”

Thank you? What was he, at the supermarket? Oh, god, he was going to ruin everything, wasn’t he? What was he even going to talk to Draco about all night?

You’re friends, he thought to himself. You’ve talked a lot more than just a night. You know him.

He knew that logically, but he’d never felt this way before in his life. Was he going to screw it up? Merlin, even if he did, having the chance to screw it up was worth it, wasn’t it?

And – well. The silence might be uncomfortable, and he should be thinking of something to say to fill it, right, except he couldn’t concentrate, because Draco looked happy and unsure and his scent – which was still incredibly subtle – had turned so sweet it made Harry’s mouth water, and he couldn’t think, so he wasn’t really able to say anything more.

* * *

“Oh,” Ron said, mildly surprised. “I can’t believe it.”

“You thought he was going to say no?” Harry demanded, pacing up and down their empty dorm. His scent was sharpening and mellowing erratically, and Ron was a bit surprised that he could smell it.

“I thought he was going to bite your head off!” he said defensively. “I told you that!”

Draco saying yes meant… that he liked Harry? Fancied him?

The thought was revolting. Harry was his brother! And Draco – very, very much against Ron’s wishes – was also like his brother! His very mad brother, who he, at some point, would be forced to provide an alibi for whenever he finally did blow up.

Ron just hoped it didn’t happen more than once. He wanted to stay out of Azkaban, if it was at all possible.

“Well, he didn’t!” Harry ran his hands through his hair again, making it even worse than Ron knew was possible. “He said yes! Ron! I don’t even know how to dance!”

“Oh, you’ll need to learn,” he said. “Draco’ll want to dance.”

Harry flopped, face down, onto his bed. Ron couldn’t even pretend to be sympathetic.

* * *

“Why are you telling me this?” Theo asked. He didn’t mean to be cold. He knew Draco was excited. But he also knew that Draco had asked to talk to him, alone, and now they were locked into a small, dusty classroom, and he’d told him everything like it was a confession.

It was. He knew it was. And he knew why.

“Could you pretend to be happy for me?” Draco asked irritably.

Theo looked at him flatly. “Is that what you want? I’m happy for you.”

“No, you’re not.” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He was very pale. “Theo, please.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he lied. He didn’t want to know, because he didn’t want to tell Draco what he was asking: would it be okay? Was it even worth it? Liking Potter, going with him… would it change anything?

Theo’s reply would be the same thing Draco was likely already thinking: no. No. It made absolutely no difference at all, because the moment they turned fifteen, they’d have marriages arranged, both of them. Daphne, whose parents seemed to be slightly less old-fashioned than the Notts and the Malfoys, had escaped that fate. And Theo had some control, a bit of a choice. If he said he really didn’t want to marry some girl – because he found her unbearable, too crude, too ugly – his parents would find a better match. Because he was the only heir to the House of Nott. Because they’d want him to have a good wife, someone worthy of their name, someone who wouldn’t embarrass them.

But the Malfoys didn’t want someone who wouldn’t embarrass them, because Draco was an embarrassment. His mere existence was a stain on their family name. They’d want someone who could control him, keep him in line. And no person who could fit that description would be a kind one.

And it would never, never be Potter, for many reasons, but the most important among them, because he was the Boy Who Lived. The Malfoys couldn’t possibly hate him more. Salazar, the fact that he’d killed the Dark Lord eclipsed even his blood: he could’ve had the purest blood of them all, and it wouldn’t have mattered, because he wasn’t on their side.

And it was their side. Draco’s childish attempts at rebellion meant nothing, not if he didn’t commit to it. There was no halfway, not with their families, and especially not with what was coming. It was all or nothing, which meant he would either become the perfect Malfoy heir, or he’d cease to be a Malfoy at all.

That was it. Those were the two options. There was nothing more. And he knew it, so Theo didn’t see the point in digging his nails into an already open wound.

“I love you, Draco,” he said, and it was the most honest he’d been since he was a little boy. It hurt. “You know what it’s like. I can’t change it. And I can’t choose for you.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be a choice,” Draco said, a little desperately. His eyes were glassy, a little wild. “Maybe if – if I talk to them, and – I could get them used to the idea-”

“They’ve never cared about listening to you,” Theo said steadily. “Why would they care now?”

He knew he’d hurt Draco. It was clear on his face. He couldn’t care, because Draco didn’t know what would happen. Theo did. His father had told him. He’d heard him and Malfoy talking about it. He knew it. And he wasn’t selfish enough to tell Draco which choice to make, couldn’t tell him to stay with him, with them, have him be miserable and despised and humiliated the rest of his life just for the sake of not losing his friend, but he also couldn’t tell him to leave everything behind, to run.

Whatever happened, if Malfoy managed to bring the Dark Lord back… well. Their lives were fucked, whatever they chose, if there was even any choice at all.