Chapter Text
‘I'll never be your chosen one
I'll be home, safe and tucked away
The pull on my flesh was just too strong
Stifled the choice and the air in my lungs’
Harry lost a lot of things in the war. His childhood, his ability to trust easily, his innocence, his ability to forgive himself for making mistakes, family, and friends. One thing Harry did not lose was his anger. Oh, and he was so angry. Angry at the people who left him, angry at the people he trusted who let him down. Angry at the adults in his life who never let him be a kid. Angry at the ghost of the weight he still felt on his shoulders. Angry at himself, most of all. Harry’s anger was always present, sometimes dormant, but never far from the surface.
Harry had thought he was doing a good job of keeping it under control following those few months after the war. The trials, the funerals. Harry had done his best to remain the appropriate amount of upset, shedding a few tears at each funeral and shaking his head and wagging his finger at each Death Eater he had helped send to Azkaban.
Despite his best efforts though, Luna saw right through his facade. Her exact words were, “I think you’re an angry person Harry. You need a friend you won’t get mad at.” She then proceeded to hand him a small black snake. Two feet long to be exact. And skinny. At first, Harry tried to deny the gift. Harry could barely take care of himself at the time, and Hedwig always took care of herself more than he did. He didn’t know how adding a snake to the mix would help his anger issues.
But then the snake looked him in the eye and spoke to him. “Hair,” it said in a low hissing voice.
“Hair?!” Harry first replied in English, too startled by the ridiculous comment to remember how parseltongue worked. Then, the snake made its way from Luna’s outstretched hand up to Harry’s arm and wrapped around his throat. Harry would be alarmed if it wasn’t for the calm Harry felt as the snake gently weaved its way through Harry’s hair and settled.
Coiled around Harry’s neck, snout resting on the indent of his collar bone, the snake repeated, “Hair.”
Harry was surprised and almost guilty to hear himself let out a chuckle. In a rusty, unpracticed hiss of parseltongue, Harry responded, “If you like my hair, you can stay as long as you’d like.”And that was that. He turned towards Luna who watched the exchange as if she had just watched her two oldest friends get married.
“Thank you,” Harry said.
“You’re quite welcome, Harry. What will you name him?”
Harry thought back to how he named Hedwig. It was from a book was it not? His memory was so hazy at that time. A wizarding book? A muggle book? He didn’t have many books to read, did he? The Dursleys. That was a good thing to add to the list of why he was angry.
He was broken out of his thoughts by a small wet snout nudging the underside of his jaw. He looked back up at Luna who looked right back, with forever patient eyes.
“What’s your favorite book, Luna?”
“The Lord of The Rings,”
“And who’s your favorite character?”
“Samwise, of course!”
Harry ended up naming the little snake Sammy. Ron and Hermione thought it was a bad idea at first, to have a new pet so soon after losing Hedwig, but they soon came around to the idea after seeing how much Sammy helped Harry stay grounded.
Then after a month, right before leaving for Hogwarts to start eighth year, they went right back to thinking it was a bad idea.
“Harry, mate. It’s a cool snake, but I haven’t seen you without it around your neck for the past three weeks!” Ron said as they entered an empty car putting his and Hermione’s trunks overhead and taking a seat against the window.
“He’s got a point, Harry. Having a pet you’re close with is one thing. Forming an unhealthy attachment to a deadly snake that only you can communicate with is another!” Hermione takes the seat next to Ron and Harry settles across from them.
“He’s not deadly! His venom is barely lethal! Besides, Sammy would never bite anyone I didn’t tell him to- Ow!” Hermione kicked his shin quite hard. Ron laughed. “I was only joking!” cried Harry.
“Look,” Hermione started “I’m only saying that–I’m happy you have Sammy. I just don’t want you to rely on him to keep yourself together all the time.”
“I’m very together,” Harry replied petulantly. Ron and Hermione shared a look.
Before Harry could argue his point though, Ron says, “Ok, team! Last year at Hogwarts, officially. How are we going to make this one the best?” Harry wanted to retort with something along the lines of ‘I think not having a near-death experience or losing a loved one will be a pretty realistic goal, seeing as the bar is so incredibly low.’ But Harry was trying to be happy. And fun. And a good friend.
So he said, “By playing as much Quidditch as we can, getting hammered, and having lots and lots of crazy sex.” Harry put his feet up on Ron’s lap who was laughing very hard- probably disproportionately to how funny Harry was actually being. Hermione just rolled her eyes with a fond smile and opened her book.
During the Sorting Ceremony, Harry, Ron, and Hermione surveyed and– for lack of a better word–gossiped about who had come back for eighth year and who hadn’t. In Gryffindor, it was only the three of them and Dean. All of the Ravenclaws had returned. Five out of the six Hufflepuffs. And then the Slytherins. Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and Draco Malfoy.
“I didn’t think any of them would come back. I would be right scared if I were them.” Ron whispered, darting a wary eye towards the Slytherin table.
“I’m not surprised at all,” Hermione said, not sparing a glance away from the front of the hall–giving the illusion of her full attention to the ceremony. “Ambition and all that, they probably all want careers that require a full education. It makes sense. And why shouldn’t they be able to come back?! Malfoy was the only Death Eater of them, and he had his fair trial and served his house arrest just as the court ordered.”
Harry didn’t bother telling her that neither he nor Ron ever said that any of the Slytherins didn’t have a right to finish their education. Frankly, Harry couldn’t find it in him to care. He was so tired. He simply didn’t have the energy to hate anymore. Besides, Hermione was right. Malfoy served his time. He lost his father along the way as well, killed by an Auror while he was being transported to Azkaban, Harry had heard. Wasn’t that punishment enough?
Harry was broken out of his thoughts by a collective aggrieved reaction from the majority of the Great Hall. Harry was not paying attention to whatever words from the headmistress had caused such a reaction. Ron was mumbling next to him, something about “Bloody well not fair. Ridiculous.”
At the front of the hall, McGonagall silences the crowd with a simple hand raise. “Now, I know that many of you were looking forward to getting back to Quidditch. However, in light of complications with adding eighth-year students into the mix, the other professors and I deemed it unfair to proceed with the Quidditch cup this school year.”
The hall breaks out into another bout of huffs and disgruntled comments, but they quickly subside when the headmistress continues.“However, I have been working with a few select students to work out an alternative that I’m confident you will all embrace with an open mind.” She said this last part almost threateningly. She stared down Ron and Harry as if reading their minds, knowing that they both were thinking how nothing could ever come close to quidditch.
“Your Head Boy and Girl will address each house respectively about the opportunity to play for your house teams,” McGonagall finished.
“‘Head Boy and Girl?!’ Quidditch is unfair because of us being here, but having a Head Boy and Girl from eighth year is fine? This seems personal,” Ron declared.
“Oh don’t be so conspiratorial Ron,” Hermione retorts. “McGonagall thought it best that the Head Boy and Girl simply be the most mature and equipped to handle change.”
“Wait. You're a Head Girl?! Well, then who's the Head Boy? It’s not me or Harry!”
“Oy! I’m right here!” said Dean Thomas, who was in fact–right there. Harry felt a little guilty for barely noticing him, sitting next to Hermione and across from Ginny who was on Ron’s other side. Dean and Ginny had gotten back together during summer. Harry felt as though maybe he should be jealous or hurt by how fast she moved on, but frankly he was pretty apathetic towards the whole thing. Perhaps there was something wrong with him.
Ron seemed as if he was about to argue, thought about it, then closed his mouth and kept eating. Harry thought that was a wise decision. They finished their meal, Ginny and Ron trying their hardest to get out of Dean and Hermione what mystery sport it was that they were supposed to play instead of Quidditch.
“You’ll have to wait and see just like the rest of Gryffindor. We’ll announce it later tonight in the common room,” Dean told them. Harry just watched in silence, relishing in the feeling of just having his friends near. Alive. Happy.
“What the bloody hell is a hockey?” Ron asked as soon as the rest of the Gryffindors had gone up to bed following Dean and Hermione’s speech. Dean had gone up as well to introduce the first years to their rooms. Ron and Hermione were cuddled together on the couch with Harry at their feet, Hermione mindlessly playing with his hair which had gotten long enough that the curls grazed Harry’s shoulders. Sammy was asleep in his usual spot around Harry’s neck and stirred slightly every time Hermione brushed her fingers over him to gather more hair.
“We told you, Ron. It’s a muggle sport. Dean had the idea when McGonagall approached us about introducing an alternative to Quidditch. My dad is a big fan. It’s a huge deal in the states. It’s similar to football, almost, but on ice and with sticks,” Hermione says.
“Sounds ridiculous. This whole thing is ridiculous. Where will it even be played, there’s no ice?” Ron asked.
“McGonagall is going to work with Flitwick to build an outdoor rink. In the meantime, she froze over the lake, so you guys can practice there.” This is where Harry was brought out of his relaxed state and felt the need to intervene.
“‘You guys?’ Who said me and Ron decided to play?” he said, careful not to move his head too much as to wake Sammy up.
“Why wouldn’t you play?” Hermione said, sounding genuinely confused. She finished messing with Harry’s hair and tied up the loose plait with an elastic which was ultimately a moot cause since most of the hair fell right back out, not being quite long enough to hold.
“Because we don’t even know what this sport is! It sounds boring,” he said.
“Well, perhaps, and this is just a crazy idea of mine,” Hermione started, all sarcasm and exacerbation, “you could watch a game or two and decide then. There are some old games on VHS that Dean brought from home, so you could start there.” Hermione stretched and got up, moving from under Ron’s arms and stepping over Harry.
“I’m going to bed,” she announced. “I just ask that you both give it a try. I think you might enjoy it, and you both need something to occupy yourselves with because, Merlin knows, it won’t be school work.” With that, she turned on her heel and walked up the stairs towards the dorms.
Ron and Harry sat in silence for a moment. Then Ron broke it.
“Watching one game won’t hurt I guess,” trying his best to sound nonchalant. “I’m not tired yet.”
“Me neither,” Harry lied.
Harry and Ron set up the VHS and television that had been installed in the common room sometime over summer in one of McGonagall's many attempts to integrate as many muggle appliances into the school as possible as a ‘hands-on learning experience in muggle studies.’ Harry was not complaining at all. Over the summer, when things at the Burrow got too much to handle, Harry would go looking through Mr. Weasley’s muggle things. He found three old VHS tapes and a TV and spent hours on end watching and re-watching Singing In The Rain, On The Town, and Funny Face.
There were a couple of different tapes labeled with different games. Harry and Ron choose–at random–one labeled ‘Boston Bruins versus Carolina Hurricanes 1987.’ They settled on the floor as the scratchy, pixelated screen lit up.
Both Ron and Harry were extremely bored for the first fifteen minutes. Despite Ron’s claims of not being tired, he was almost falling asleep on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry was not far behind him.
But then, things started to get interesting. As the game went on, Harry and Ron began picking up on the rules of the game. At one point, about halfway through the third, and final, period Ron lifted his head up and said, “That was a good play on number 32’s part.” Harry agreed.
The game ended, and, at this point, neither of them were tired.
“We could, you know just because we’re already here, watch another one?” Ron suggested trying to hide his excitement. Harry did not dissent.
The night went on like this. One game after the other, the more they watched the more animated they got in their responses. Yelling at the TV their reactions.
“How was that high sticking?! These refs suck!” Harry yelled halfway into the fourth game they were watching. At this point, the sky was starting to glow with early morning light and, despite desperately needing sleep, both boys kept their eyes glued to the screen, enamored and enchanted.
An hour later, Hermione walked down into the common room and laughed at the scene in front of her. Ron and Harry, fast asleep on each other, a small black snake loyally wrapped around Harry’s neck, a remote loosely held in Ron’s hand, and an abandoned hockey game quietly playing on the TV.
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“It sounds ridiculous,” Pansy drawled, spread out on the couch.
“It’s plenty violent Pans, if that is any help,” Theo replied wryly.
“Excuse you! I am a lady, I will not be participating.”
“Suit yourself. What about you Blaise, interested?” Theo asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose it would be good for the new look I’m going for. Rugged, and damaged but put-together bad boy.” Blaise replies.
Draco huffed a small laugh and leaned more into Theo’s side on the small loveseat they were occupying.
Theo. Theo had been Draco’s first everything. Draco’s first crush, Draco’s first kiss, Draco’s first…well, Draco prided himself on being a gentleman who shan’t speak on such things. However, things changed after sixth year. It was really quite simple in retrospect–Draco pushed Theo away to keep him safe, Theo pushed Draco to get help, and they were mean to each other but never officially broke up. Once Draco was out of his house arrest, he had spent the last few days before leaving for Hogwarts with Theo. He wasn’t even planning on returning to school before Theo convinced him.
“I can’t go to school just to spend time with you, Theo. It’s not a good enough reason,” he had told Theo the night before the Hogwarts Express was due to leave.
“It’s not for me, Draco,” he said. “You need to go back or else you will just be stuck in that house in your own head, and you won’t be able to get out.” Draco hated how well Theo knew him, it frightened him. Theo had kissed him then, for the first time since the beginning of sixth year. It didn’t feel like it had before. It felt sad now, melancholy and distant.
Draco didn’t think it was even fair for him to be back at Hogwarts. The people he hurt shouldn’t be objected to seeing him while they are trying to find peace. He explained as much to Theo that same night.
“You deserve peace too, Draco,” he had told him, arms wrapped so tightly around Draco’s waist as if he was scared he would leave. Again.
“Draco!?” He was snapped out of his thoughts by his friends looking at him in anticipation.
“Terribly sorry, what was the question?” he asked. Theo looked concerned but repeated himself anyway.
“Hockey. Are you going to join the team?” Theo had looked so animated and happy when he was explaining the rules to the Slytherins. Draco thought about the hurt he had caused Theo for years during the war and came to the conclusion that he at least owed him this.
“Why not. I enjoy skating well enough,” Draco said. And it was worth the face-splitting smile it drew from Theo.
“Brilliant!” Theo exclaimed. “Then it’s settled. The Slytherin Hockey team, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Draco Malfoy.”
“Shouldn’t there be more to a team than three?” Blaise asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Well yes, I’ve already had some seventh years as well as a sixth year ask about the team, so, with a bit more promotion, we'll have a full team in time for when practices start!” He kept that crazed smile on his face and landed a quick kiss on Draco’s head where it lay on his shoulder, and Draco wondered how long this would last.
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A week after the start of classes, Ron, Dean, and Harry decided to go skating. Official practices for the team hadn’t started yet, but they were so anxious to get on the ice. Hermione came with them since it was such a nice day, chilly enough for coats and scarves but not cold.
They had transfigured their snow boots into skates. Well, Hermione did. McGonagall would provide the whole team with skates once they started practicing. But, for now, they all sat on a rock beside the frozen lake and laced up their makeshift skates.
Dean and Ron took off immediately racing around in practiced, expert moves. Harry hung back with Hermione, arm in arm, gliding around slowly but surely. They stuck close to the shore, close enough that the trees cast the shadows of their bare branches onto the edge of the ice. Harry looked down as he skated, watching the way the shadows passed over his skates in a mesmerizing dance.
Harry had been skating a few times before but wasn’t as practiced as Ron who had access to the frozen-over pond during winter at the Burrow growing up. After about fifteen minutes on the ice, however, ever the quick learner, Harry got his bearings and was able to race around with Dean and Ron, only tripping over himself a few times. Once they had tired themselves out, the three Gryffindors re-joined Hermione and glided in lazy laps around the large iced-over area of the lake.
They were talking about everything and nothing. Dean made some suggestions on how to run their first practice, skating backward facing the other three, passionately talking about who should be defencemen or goalie.
“Or I suppose I should say defense-people, seeing as we’ll be a co-ed team. That’s exciting, I’ve never played co-ed hockey before!” he said.
Ron and Harry followed his lead, he did have the most experience with the sport anyways. Harry was so enthralled in the conversation he almost didn’t notice two other people stepping onto the ice. Almost. He slowed his skating and squinted to try and make out who the two figures were. Even with his glasses, they had skated far enough away that he had to strain to comprehend any detail. Hermione noticed that he fell behind and skated over to him, looking over at the mystery people as well.
“That looks like Malfoy,” she commented. She was right. Now that Harry had looked for a minute, he could make out the white-blonde hair, long enough now that it reached his narrow shoulders, a similar length to Harry’s, he thought unhelpfully.
“Who’s he with?” Harry asked.
“Nott, I’m assuming,” Hermione replied.
Malfoy, and–apparently–Theodore Nott, were skating around together hand in hand, occasionally spinning around each other, laughing. Harry was baffled by the scene in front of him for many reasons he couldn’t understand.
“I didn’t know they were close,” Harry said. Eyes still unmoving from where they were glued to the way that Malfoy expertly glided across the ice as if he were born to run from fire and dance on ice.
“Harry, they’re together,” Hermione said as if Harry had been missing some obvious fact of the universe, which, in fairness, he often was.
“What?!” Harry exclaimed, snapping his head to finally look at Hermione who was on his left. In the distance, Ron and Dean were skating their way from where they had gotten so far ahead–as if they had just now noticed Harry and Hermione had fallen behind.
“What do you mean together?! Like, together, together?” he asked
“Yes, Harry. Like, together, together. Honestly don’t be such a prude. Gay people exist.”
“I know gay people exist! It’s just–I don’t know it’s just that–”
“It’s just–what, Harry?” Hermione said, sounding tired.
“Malfoy can’t be gay. He’s–He’s,” Harry had no idea how to express what he was trying to say. “He plays Quittidch!” was the best Harry could come up with. Hermione didn’t dignify that comment with a response, just looked at him like he was a complete dunce, which Harry thought he probably deserved.
Later that night, Harry laid on his back staring up at the ceiling of his canopy bed while Sammy laid on his chest, and Harry stroked and absent two fingers down his scales. “I know gay people exist,” he started, in parseltongue. “It’s not like I’ve had the time to think about…gay things. I’ve been in a war! My thoughts have been otherwise occupied,” Harry argued, to no one who was disagreeing. Sammy was tired enough that his responses were short and bored.
“Yes, Harry, you were very brave,” the small snake replied in a low hissing tone.
Harry continued his musings, ignoring his sarcastic companion.
“And I mean! Everyone has gay thoughts. That’s not like, it’s not like I–and even Hermione would agree that I–”
“Can’t form a full sentence?” Sammy replied slowly, head lifting up from where it was resting on his own coiled body to look Harry in the eye. Harry gave him a sarcastic smile and got up to put him into his enclosure that was mounted on the wall next to Harry’s bed. It was a testament to just how done Sammy was with Harry’s incomprehensible babble that he didn’t complain. He just slithered into his enclosure and coiled up contentedly under a log, immediately falling asleep.
Harry sighed and returned to his bed, getting settled under the covers. He didn’t think anymore about the gay thing.
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Draco was in his usual spot in the astronomy tower. He looked down at the letter in his hand and read it over again…
My Darling,
I miss you dreadfully already. The roses are doing just fine, thank you
for asking. I will of course send more chocolates once I have the chance to see Mrs. Ursetto again.
I have told you already, but I will reiterate. I am so proud of you for making the decision to return to school. You have great things to offer the world darling. Be careful not to retreat into yourself, Draco, you made such progress over summer with the mind-healer and I know you can continue to feel better.
All my love,
Mother
Draco took a deep breath and tucked the letter into his back pocket. He looked down at his hands and started to slowly flex and unflex them. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven times.
“What are you doing up here–thinking about killing yourself again, or up to nefarious deeds?” Draco recognized the familiar drawl of Blaise Zabini and turned around to give a wry smile.
“What are you doing here Blaise?” he asked.
“Up to nefarious deeds,” Blaise responded, without missing a beat. This got a laugh out of Draco. Balise walked up to him and leaned his back against the railing.
“What are you brooding about this time?” Blaise said, folding his arms across his chest as if he expected to be there a while.
“Who says I’m brooding?”
“That crease in your forehead.” Draco quickly relaxed his face and Blaise laughed.
“I’m not brooding. I'm just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Theo.”
Draco didn’t know why he felt as if he could confide in Blaise, they had never been closer than simply friends, but, for some reason, he knew Blaise was someone he could trust to be honest and kind with him.
“Ah, I see. The complicated relationship–now that we are no longer in immediate danger of dying,–things are different–and I don’t know how to handle it–brooding. Classic.”
“Something like that. I think–I think I love him too much to be in love with him anymore. Maybe that sounds insane, I don’t know.” Draco took another deep breath and Blasie took a second before replying.
“I think, Draco, that maybe you’re talking to the wrong person about this,” Blaise replied, without the usual natural humor in his voice.
“Yes, I think you’re right,” Draco said.
The next morning found Draco and Theo sitting by the side of the lake, taking off their skates. Flushed and happy from skating aimlessly for an hour, Draco didn’t want to break the peaceful moment, but he owed it to Theo and himself, to be honest.
“I don’t think we should be together anymore,” Draco said, immediately regretting his abrupt approach, but when he looked over at Theo, he was smiling.
“Yeah, I think you’re probably right,” he replied coolly.
“You’re–You’re not–mad?” Draco asked, even though he knew very well that Theo is not the kind of person to get mad at almost anything.
“No–not mad–it doesn’t make me happy, Draco, if that’s what you’re asking.” He took Draco’s hands in his and twisted so that he faced Draco on the rock they were seated at.
“Draco, I would be yours until my dying day if you asked. But I also know that we’re not who we were in fifth year, we changed together and we changed apart, and I think now–I think now we have loved each other enough to not have to be in love anymore.”
This was so similar to what Draco had felt that he was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for the man in front of him. He smiled and leaned in to kiss Theo’s cheek.
“Friends?” Draco asked, even though he didn’t have to.
“Always,” Theo replied.