Chapter Text
Harry couldn’t remember the last time his life wasn’t a complete mess. Did such a time even exist? It seemed that it was physically impossible for the universe to give him a single year where nothing happened. He was only 14 years old and already feeling weary down to the marrow of his bones.
Deep down – or not really, it was very much on the surface – Harry knew he should be panicking. He knew he should be looking for his friends, his wand and maybe even dodging a stray curse or two, but he just couldn’t bring himself to look away.
Above the screams and fire, in the serenity of the night sky, green hues came together to form the most sinisterly breathtaking sight he had ever seen.
The Dark Mark hung above them like an aurora made of nightmares, ready to swallow the world whole and only when the edges of his vision began to darken did Harry realise something was not quite right.
And yet, in that moment, he could only spare a single thought.
Beautiful.
𓆙𓆙𓆙
The weeks after the Quidditch World Cup incident passed by in a blur and before Harry knew it, he was sitting on the train, absentmindedly listening to the chatter around him.
Harry was distracted; that much was obvious. He had been having a hard time focusing on anything that wasn’t the swirling thoughts in his head. They just didn’t make sense, completely contradicting his entire being. Things he loved would suddenly become childish, people he loved would grate on his nerves like never before. It was like something deep inside him had finally snapped and Harry could not pinpoint what that something was. He felt tired, annoyed and somehow incredibly restless – itching to do something but no idea what. And to top it all off, whenever he so much as thought about sharing his troubles, especially with Dumbledore, his entire body would stiffen in silent protest as if that was possibly the stupidest thing he could ever do.
Before he could further delve into that train of thought, however, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Malfoy’s cut through his daze. Harry could vaguely hear Malfoy taunting and boasting about his father, probably about the mysterious event Hogwarts was hosting that year, but he wasn’t interested. It would probably end up as one huge disaster, like always, so honestly, who even cared?
“Excuse me?” Malfoy asked incredulously. “You’ve got some nerve, Potter.”
Harry turned his head, tilting it slightly as he blinked several times in confusion.
Had he said that out loud?
“What's that stupid look for, scarhead?” Malfoy sneered. “Finally realised my good looks?”
“I’ve always been aware of those.” Harry blurted out.
Every head in the compartment turned towards him, all expressions varying degrees of shock, with the exception of Neville, who looked right about ready to yell at Harry. And Harry, in turn, had no idea why he had said that – even though it was quite true. Draco Malfoy had always had an ethereal beauty to him, and even a blind person wouldn’t be able to deny that. Still, there was no reason to actually state that fact. Or maybe...
Harry decided to stick to his blunder and up his game. Batting his eyelashes at Malfoy and smiling innocently seemed to be the right move, as the blond’s face become even redder, reaching all the way to his ears.
“You! You-!” Malfoy stuttered, clearly at a complete loss for words. “Merlin, you’re such a freak, Potter!”
Well, isn’t that a word he’d heard a thousand times.
Harry chuckled at the beet-red, storming-off Malfoy and leaned back into his seat, fully intending to go back to staring mindlessly out the window.
“Mate...” Ron’s voice ruined his plans. “What the hell was that?”
“Harry, did you really just flirt with Malfoy, of all people?” Neville sounded a lot less angry than he looked – in fact, he sounded almost scared to be “confronting” Harry like that. “I-I mean... he hasn’t exactly been nice to you or your friends.”
Harry looked at Hermione, expecting to hear her thoughts on the useless matter before he spoke, but was only met with a hurt yet curious look in her eyes.
“I wasn’t flirting.” He sighed. “I’m tired, genuinely tired, and see no reason to always respond to his bait. It shut him up, so I don’t see what the problem is.”
“It’s Malfoy!” Ron looked positively disgusted. “He even called Hermione a m-mud... the m-word!”
“I never said I disagree, Ron! Malfoy is a right git, yes, but he is also objectively attractive. Two things can be true at the same time, y’know. Besides, why should I give him the satisfaction of my anger when I could make him uncomfortable instead? Seems to work like a charm.”
Ron slumped back into his seat, dissatisfied with the conversation but deciding to let it go, only mumbling a quiet, “S’pose so,” before attempting to return to whatever conversation he’d been having with Neville prior to the interruption. Harry, in turn, went back to his quiet brooding while expertly ignoring the calculating looks Hermione was giving him.
He had actually flirted with Malfoy, hadn’t he? How bizarre. Harry wasn’t sure what had prompted the cold bluntness of his words and actions, but he was damn sure he had to apologise to Hermione later. What he’d done had clearly upset her, and for that Harry did feel bad. She was his best friend, after all, and he loved her.
𓆙𓆙𓆙
The rest of the journey was uneventful, for which Harry was grateful, and before he knew it, he was pulling Hermione aside right before entering the Great Hall.
“Harry?” she eyed him curiously.
“I, uh, wanted to apologise,” Harry began awkwardly. “I know what happened on the train upset you, and I hate the fact that I hurt you. I’m really sorry, Hermione.”
“Well, it’s not like your reasoning wasn’t sound – it actually made quite a lot of sense. But...” She trailed off uncertainly.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Actually, Harry, I’ve been wanting to ask you that question.” The look in her eyes shifted to one of concern. “Ever since the Quidditch World Cup you’ve been acting odd, distant. Sometimes even emotionally detached and I can’t help but worry. Everyone thinks you just need time after experiencing yet another traumatic event like that but I just...”
“’Mione...” He was unsure what to say.
“I just want to remind you that you can always talk to me, Harry,” Hermione continued. “I’ll always be there for you, and whatever is troubling you, we can work through it together. You don’t have to deal with things alone. Not anymore.”
“I know that. It’s just...” Harry ran a hand through his messy curls in mild frustration, searching for the proper words. “Earlier, on the train, I realised something. I realised how sick I am of everything. Even Malfoy’s taunting feels like- like-”
“Like what?”
“Like a bloody trap! Like everything I do, everything I say, down to my reactions, is predetermined. Like I have no say in the matter! I’m sick of it, Hermione. Sick and tired of feeling so utterly predictable.”
He hadn’t actually thought of it like that until now. Talking with Hermione, admitting his feelings, was akin to having an epiphany that had been slowly building up and was finally bursting free. Harry had no idea what any of it meant for now, but yelling about it definitely lifted a weight he hadn’t known he was carrying. And Hermione was right – he didn’t have to figure it out on his own.
Of course, the moment had to be ruined by the distant chatter and excitement of the first-years and Professor McGonagall’s stern voice.
“If it makes you feel better, you definitely surprised everyone. Even the Slytherins.” She gave him a warm smile and a gentle bump to the shoulder. “Now, let’s go before we get yelled at for being late. We can talk more about it later.”
Harry gave Hermione a nod and followed her into the Great Hall. Having eyes on him at all times was not exactly a foreign feeling, but a prickling sensation told him that maybe he should look around.
By force of habit, his gaze drifted to the Slytherin table first and was met with a pair of stormy grey eyes, though they quickly looked away.
He’s still affected, then. How interesting.
The prickling sensation, however, did not go away, so Harry slowly scanned the entire hall before his eyes stopped on an unfamiliar man sitting at the teachers’ table. He felt an odd sense of familiarity radiating from the quite frankly terrifying-looking man, but Harry was damn sure he would have remembered someone like that.
He wasn’t given the opportunity to dwell on it or ask, though. The Welcome Feast had begun, and with it came Dumbledore’s speech. Alastor Moody, apparently an Auror legend, would be their new DADA professor. The Triwizard Tournament would also be held at Hogwarts that year, and Harry somehow knew his incredible “good luck” would land him right in the middle of that mess. He wasn’t even going to pretend this year would be any different from the others.
Excitement and questions flew all around, and it all reached its peak once the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang waltzed in – or rather, danced in. Harry was certainly intrigued – they were all quite interesting and peculiar in their own way; and he looked forward to getting to know them. Though he definitely did not share some of the more inappropriate enthusiasm most of the other boys were showing towards the girls of Beauxbatons. Wonderful.
The revelry around him continued until his eyes landed on the Durmstrang headmaster. Every sound became muted as his entire world focused on that one singular person.
Disgusting, cowardly traitor.
And Harry had to agree. Nobody liked traitors – cowardly or not. Wait, no, what? Who was he agreeing with? And why was he a traitor?
Something deep in his core chuckled. Chuckled!
Merlin’s beard, this is it, Harry thought, I am losing my mind.
“-arry!”
The world resumed its noisy existence as Ron’s voice brought him back to reality.
“Harry!”
He blinked at his friend in confusion, something he had been doing a lot lately, it would seem.
“Bloody hell, what is wrong with you lately? You looked right about ready to hex the next poor bloke who walked by!”
“I, uh...” Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I did?”
“Yeah, mate, you did.” Ron’s brows furrowed in concern. “Seriously, what’s going on with you? Be honest.”
Harry did not want to be honest.
“I’m sure you’re worried, Ron, as am I, but I think Harry needs some rest today,” Hermione cut in gently, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “How does that sound, Harry? I’m sure people won’t mind you leaving early.”
That sounded like music to Harry’s ears. He wanted to - needed to -figure this out. Find out who the heck was going around chuckling in his head. The voice was distorted and weird, like a combination of his own and another deeper, familiar voice, though he couldn’t quite remember where he might’ve heard it.
“Yeah, that actually sounds brilliant, ‘Mione.” He gave her a warm smile. “Thanks.”
Ron, once again, seemed dissatisfied but didn’t push it further, and so Harry took that as his cue to slip away.
Fortunately, most people were sufficiently distracted to not notice him leaving the Great Hall. Unfortunately, someone had decided to follow him, if the footsteps behind him were anything to go by. Harry couldn’t understand why leaving him alone was such a difficult task.
“Potter, wait!”
Harry groaned internally and spun around, the sudden motion nearly making Malfoy collide with him.
“Yes?” He raised an eyebrow at his school nemesis.
Malfoy straightened up and took a step back. Harry had no idea what determination had been in his eyes before, but it was definitely fading away now that they were face to face. To say that his patience for the day had been entirely spent would be an understatement, but curiosity was winning out, so he simply waited.
“Did you mean it?” Malfoy finally spoke with uncharacteristic timidness.
“Did I mean what?”
“What you said earlier... on the train.” The last words were said barely above a whisper.
Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he studied Malfoy for a few short beats. The blond’s posture was uncertain, his eyes never lingering on one spot for too long and his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves. He looked more like a nervous schoolgirl than the proud boy who had made Harry’s life at Hogwarts a living hell.
Maybe Harry was a masochist, because he decided to shoot in the dark.
“I did.”
“You did?” Malfoy echoed.
“Why even ask if you’re not going to believe me, Malfoy?” Harry sighed in exasperation. “Yes, I did. I meant what I said. I have eyes, you know.”
“One can never be too sure with those ugly round things on your face.” Malfoy sneered, though there was no bite behind it this time. “You should seriously consider doing something about that.”
“Is that actually an option?” Harry asked genuinely. If it was, then why had nobody mentioned it before?
“Salazar, Potter, are you living under a rock?”
“You’d be surprised,” he grumbled.
Malfoy gave him a curious look, but Harry’s lack of elaboration was clear enough.
“Yes, well, there are potions for things like that,” he continued. “Just ask Snape. Surely the resident Potions Master will have an idea or two.”
“Ah, yes, Snape – my biggest fan.” Harry snorted. “You do realise he hates me, right?”
“I don’t know, Potter, you’d be surprised. You seem... different this year.” For the briefest of moments, Malfoy’s gaze moved to Harry’s lips before flicking back up again, and that did not escape Harry’s notice. “Besides, you’re still his student. All you have to do is ask.”
Harry hummed thoughtfully, already imagining the disaster that would be, but it was worth a try.
“Alright, I’ll ask.” He took a step forward and smirked. “But if this goes horrendously wrong, Malfoy, it’s your arse on the line.”
The sudden proximity made Malfoy’s breath hitch, but it didn’t last long before he burst into genuine laughter, and Harry couldn’t help but smile at the wonderful sound. Malfoy really was lovely, wasn’t he? When he wasn’t being a complete prat.
“Aren’t you just full of surprises today, Potter?” he chuckled. “But alright, do your worst.”
Harry’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“We’re still talking about potions and Snape, right?”
He received no answer. Instead, Harry watched as Malfoy slowly retreated back towards the Great Hall, a sly smirk playing on his lips.
He had just had a normal interaction with Draco Malfoy, hadn’t he? One might even call it playful. Was the world ending? Was that what this was?
“By the way!” Harry heard Malfoy’s voice call from the far end of the corridor. “About the train – the feeling is mutual!”
“This is mental,” Harry mumbled, trying to hide his smile. “Absolutely bloody mental.”
𓆙𓆙𓆙
Later that night, despite returning much earlier than everyone else, Harry lay wide awake. He kept turning the events of the day over and over in his head. Somehow, it all made perfect sense and none at all.
Was there actually someone in his head, or was he losing his grip on reality? The weeks prior would suggest the latter.
Had he actually had a normal interaction with Draco Malfoy? While not unwelcome, it was certainly more than unusual. He still felt some animosity towards the bloke, but nothing extreme like before. The complete and sudden change in his emotions was mildly concerning. In fact, Harry was almost sure he wouldn’t mind being friends with him.
And speaking of friendship with Malfoy... was he flirting with Harry at the end there? Harry wasn’t being delusional, right? He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but repulsed was definitely not on the list.
You have a very active and loud mind for someone who is supposedly tired.
Harry shot upright in an instant, looking around before realising it was that voice again.
Who are you? he thought, hoping it would work. Are you real?
That damn chuckle again.
Rest now, little lamb, the voice urged him. Figure it all out tomorrow – if you can.
He felt his eyelids grow heavier by the second, and even the energy to mildly panic was completely absent.
You’re real, were Harry’s last thoughts before unwelcome sleep overtook him.