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Draco Malfoy was bored, and what one may know that whenever he’s bored, he does the exact opposite of what his father instructed him to. 

After the loss of Bulgaria against the Irish, Draco’s father told him to bring his mother to their sleeping quarters while he discussed business with Minister Fudge. His mother, who often fell asleep by eight, had already dozed off, and Draco knew that something was going to happen that his father was aware of. Why would he be doing summer homework in a little villa if he could be outside and watch the action? 

Draco stuffed his bed with pillows to avoid being caught and walked out of the house. 

The house they were staying in for the weekend was in the same woodsy area where most families were staying, even Weasleys! The owners of the place were Muggles Father in particular liked to mess with upon arrival. But, Muggles… The horror! Thankfully, it was away from where these people were all sleeping in tents. But, his father had paid a nice sum for it and there was a nice lake nearby where Draco was sure he’d find some pretty fish to draw. He barely had time to further improve on his drawing skills, which were already perfect but he’d been rejected from this year’s Young Wizard Art Academy summer program in Australia, and it had truly bruised his ego. 

One may ask, why not ask your parents to bribe a spot for you? Then Draco would reply with, “What use is there to that? I want to be accepted through my own talent.” Yes, he had bribed his way into the Quidditch team before but that was Quidditch. He was hardly interested in that ever since he realised he’d never beat Harry Potter. Drawing, on the other hand, was something he couldn’t take away from Draco. It was Draco’s alone, and he’d frankly never met someone as talented as him. 

He was taken out of his heavy thoughts when he heard an awfully familiar voice yell out in pain.

"What happened?" said Mudblood Granger anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Potter walked into her. "Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid - lumos!" She illuminated her wand and pointed it at the Weasel, who was lying sprawled on the ground.

“Tripped over a tree root,” he said angrily with a slight hiss and got onto his feet. 

Draco snorted, leaning onto a nearby tree. “Well, with feet your size, hard not to,” he drawled, keeping his posture calm and collected as to appear very much superior to these idiotic Gryffindors. 

“Shut your fucking trap, you poncy prick!” Weasley snarled. 

Oh well, not the first time he’d been called that. But it was wildly amusing to hear it from Weasley. How crass. It was probably his first time using a curse word. "Language, Weasley," Draco scolded. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?" He nodded at the Mudblood, and at the same moment, a huge blast sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around them. It reminded Draco why he wanted to be out in the first place.

This was entertaining. Finally some action. And those three in front of him looked utterly terrified. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Granger defiantly. 

Draco shook his head, baffled by her stupidity. "Granger, they're after Muggles," Draco said in a slow, easily digestible tone. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around. . . they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh." 

“Hermione’s a witch,” Potter snarled. 

Draco grinned. Always so righteous. The idiot didn’t know what was best for them. "Have it your own way, Potter. If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."

But what Draco hadn’t expected to happen after he let that word slip was for Potter to charge at him and tackle him to the ground. 

Draco screamed (primal instinct) and while the Weasel was rooting for him, Granger was shouting at Potter to back down. Draco shoved back, trying to get free but Potter’s fury was scary. He wasn’t fighting like a wizard; he was fighting like someone who’d forgotten magic existed, all fists and fury. Where was the idiot’s wand? Draco would beat him with ease if he hand his wand– 

Draco gasped at the sound of his robes tearing at the shoulder as they rolled over the ground, twigs painfully digging into his sensitive back. “Get off me, Potter!” he shouted, raising an arm to shield his face. And if Potter would take it that low, that idiot wouldn’t recover. 

But then, like a deus ex machina, came a light. It didn’t come from a wand, but from everywhere. A strange silver flare burst through the trees and hit both of them. The world folded in on itself. For a heartbeat, Draco felt as if he were being pulled through his own reflection. His stomach flipped, his skin tingled, his heartbeat skipped and returned out of rhythm. Everything went white, soundless and then snapped back in a rush of pain. 

He hit the ground hard. The forest tilted, blurred, and then settled again. Once he’d scrambled back onto his feet, he realised that something was wrong. He stared down at his hand, but they weren’t his. They were darker, bigger, rougher, and smaller at the wrist. “What–?” Draco’s voice cracked and he placed his fingers at his throat. That wasn’t his voice. It was lower, unfamiliar. He looked down at his clothes, at his feet, at the black hair hanging into his eyes. No. No, no, no— 

He panicked, staring across from him. Standing there was himself. His own beautiful face pushing up off the ground, grey eyes wide with horror. Draco yelled, clutching at his hair, thick and wild and wrong. “My hair! My beautiful hair!” Draco wailed. 

“Harry?” said Weasley weakly, staring at him with a look of concern.

“Not Harry,” Draco’s own voice said. 

“What’s going on?”

“Merlin and Morgana, I’m going to throw up.”

“Do not throw up!” Potter, with his face, body and voice, warned him. 

“Potter, I’m you!” Draco shouted. 

“Harry,” said Granger shakily. “That’s not funny.” 

“Hermione–”

“Ew, don’t say her name with my voice,” Draco said, curling his lip. 

Potter ignored him. “I think Malfoy and I switched bodies.” 

“Do you seriously think we believe you, Malfoy?” Weasley snarled, then approached Draco and gently took his shoulder. 

Draco smacked his hand away. 

Weasley looked taken aback, his eyes wide. “Okay, then,” he said slowly. He paused for a moment before saying, “Whoever’s the real Harry must tell us right now what colour trunks I picked out today.” 

“Gross, Weasley!” said Draco at the same time that Potter (with his voice, for emphasis) replied with, “Green with golden snitches.”

Draco couldn’t even laugh, as Weasley and Granger were hit by the reality that their best friend had indeed swapped bodies with someone infinitely more charismatic, handsome and poised than him. 

Granger’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh Gosh! That silver light must have hit you. The ones those people were casting.” 

“No shit, Granger,” Draco said with a scoff. “But we can’t live like this. We need to find a way to reverse it.” 

“We don’t know how to do that right now,” said Weasley. “And who can we tell?”

“No one!” snapped Draco, thinking of what would happen if this came out. “If anyone finds out, you’ll be in more danger than you actually are. And if they murder me in your body, who knows what will happen to your soul.”

Potter seemed to think for a second before saying, “I hate to say it, but Malfoy may be right. People could use it against us and it’ll bring us both into danger.” 

“Bloody hell,” Weasley said, rubbing his temple. “You know, Malfoy, if you had just shut your mout–” 

“Don’t you dare–!” Draco began to shout only for him to be interrupted by Granger. 

“Shut up!” she said, and Draco was almost intimidated by how domineering she suddenly sounded now that he was in Potter’s body. “No fighting. We need to figure something out for us to do tonight.” She turned to Draco. “Har– Malfoy, you should come with us.”

Draco spluttered. “Pardon me.”

Weasley made a disgusted noise. “You even sound insufferable when you’re in Harry’s body.” 

Draco ignored him. “I cannot go with you. Are you mad?”

“What do you want, then?” Granger asked, throwing her hands up in the air. “For Harry to come and everyone to be confused as to why we’re suddenly friends with Draco Malfoy?” 

“Okay, yeah, that makes sense,” said Draco after some consideration. 

“And where am I supposed to go?” asked Potter, which made everyone turn to Draco. 

“Just walk straight ahead until you see a small little house,” Draco explained. “Three stories, a very outdated architectural structure and a nice lake nearby.” 

“Three stories?” Weasley echoed, then scoffed. 

“What?” Draco scoffed. “Do you want me to sleep in a tent? My family has standards, you know.” 

“Well, Malfoy,” said Weasley with a sudden grin that made Draco instantly suspicious. “You will have to stay at my house for the rest of the Hols.”

“No!” Draco gasped. 

“Where you will share a room with me.”

“Ah! No!”

“And you will eat breakfast my mother makes.”

“Ugh,” Draco moaned. “I’m already getting hives.” 

“And you’ll have to wear my clothes,” Potter added with a grin. 

Draco couldn’t help it. Tears began welling from his eyes and fell to the ground, sobbing. “But you wear baggy clothes and polyester!” he wailed. “I’m allergic to polyester! And your hair is a mess, and you’re blind without glasses.” Draco sniffed himself. “Even your deodorant smells cheap!” He turned to Weasley. “Do you even have a shower?”

“Hey!” 

“Malfoy, calm down,” said Granger in a voice that wasn’t even trying to be gentle. “Gosh, is this what your parents have to deal with every day?” 

Draco stopped crying to say, “Rude!” before he began to sob again.

But Potter seemed to be utterly done with him. “Malfoy, quit it! I’ve never seen a bloke cry that much before.”

Draco rose to his feet, wiped his tears away and glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked sharply. “What are you implying?”

Potter seemed taken aback by his sharp tone, but if he was going to be rude, Draco would be rude right back at him. 

“Nothing bad,” he replied softly. “You just cry a lot.”

“Well, why aren’t you?” Draco countered. “You’re in my body.”

“Honestly, I’ve experienced worse,” Potter replied. 

Granger appeared to no longer be able to take it anymore and ran towards Draco, no, Potter in Draco’s body and hugged him. 

“This is so odd,” Draco mumbled. And that was funnily enough the first thing that he and Weasley could agree with. But the redhead soon followed and the three embraced in a hug that Draco couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of touching. 

His friends never hugged him like that. Then again, Vince and Greg weren’t the affectionate type and Pansy was angry at him at the moment. But these people were hugging him. Potter in his body. They should be glad that Draco was gracious enough to let the Mudblood and Blood Traitor touch his body. 

“Hey, Weasel, Granger,” said Draco. “This is very touching and all but we should go.”

“New rule,” Granger said as she pulled away from Potter. “Since you’re Harry now, you need to refer to us by our names in public. Also no insults, no insulting Ron and his family and don’t call me a Mudblood.” 

Draco rolled his eyes, but complied. “Potter, that means you have to do the exact opposite,” Draco said with a smirk. 

“Absolutely not.” 

Draco moaned. “Do you want my social life to be over?” 

“Look, we can discuss these rules when we’re at school,” Weasley decided. “For now, we should go. Harry, take care, mate and stay safe.” 

“You too, Ron, Hermione,” Potter hesitated before adding, “and you too, Malfoy.”

“Oh,” Draco laughed. “I’m safe.” He pointed to Granger. “That one, on the other hand–”

“Rules have started now, Malfoy,” said Granger and she took the Weasel’s arm. “Let’s go.” 

They were almost hesitant but, with some pestering from Draco, the three separated from Potter. 

Actually being in Potter’s body was absolutely horrible. Not only was his posture horrendous, the fact that he had wider feet made it very difficult for Draco to get used to walking. He stumbled three times into Granger and had to grab Weasley’s arm to make sure he didn’t stumble. 

“Merlin, Malfoy, is it really that difficult?” Weasley grumbled irritably. 

“Yes,” Draco hissed. 

"Oh I can't believe this,” said Granger panickedly. “Where have the others got to?"

The path was packed with plenty of people so Draco wasn’t sure who she was referring to but it must’ve been those other redheads Weasel called family. Everyone around them was looking nervously over their shoulders toward the commotion back at the campsite. 

A huddle of teenagers in pajamas was arguing vociferously a little way along the path. When they saw Draco, Weasley, and Granger, a girl with thick curly hair turned and said quickly, "Où est Madame Maxime? Nous l'avons perdue -"

"Er - what?" said Weasley.

Since those two were absolutely useless, Draco stepped forward and smiled at the girl. “Je suis désolé mais on ne sait pas. Est-ce qu'on peut vous aider à la trouver?” 

“Ah non,” the girl said with a smile, waving her hand, “ce n’est pas nécessaire mais merci.”

“De rien,” said Draco, waving as they said their goodbyes. 

“That was surprisingly good French.”

“I’m fluent,” Draco told them with an eyeroll. “Those were Beauxbatons students. That does make sense.” 

“Why?” asked Weasley. 

“Nothing,” Draco replied flippantly. 

"Fred and George can't have gone that far," said Weasley, pulling out his wand, lighting it like Granger. 

Draco dug in the pockets of Potter’s jacket for his wand, but it wasn't there. The only thing he could find was a pair of Omnioculars. "Ah, no, I don't believe it. . . Where is Potter’s wand?!"

"You're kidding!"

Weasley and Granger raised their wands high enough to spread the narrow beams of light farther on the ground; Draco looked all around for it, but the wand was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe it's back in the tent," said Weasley.

"We were running earlier, maybe it fell out then," Granger suggested anxiously.

“I hope so for him,” Draco said. “A wand is like an extension of yourself.” And without one, Draco was incredibly vulnerable, especially in Potter’s body. 

A rustling noise nearby made all three of them jump. A house-elf was fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. She was moving quite oddly, as though something or someone invisible was trying to hold her back. Draco was aghast at how she was wandering around without her master. How uncouth. Did the Elf’s family not think of how it could reflect on them? 

"There is bad wizards about!" she squeaked distractedly as she leaned forward and tried to run. "People high - high in the air! Winky is getting out of the way!" And she disappeared into the trees on the other side of the path, still fighting the force that was fighting her. 

Now he knew her. Winky. She was the Crouch family elf. The same sad little thing that sat at the top box at the Quidditch game. 

"What's up with her?" said Weasley, looking curiously after Winky. "Why can't she run properly?"

"She didn't ask permission to hide, obviously," said Draco, rolling his eyes. “Mr Crouch must be a lousy master to leave his servants up and about like that.” 

"That is a terrible thing to say,” said Granger hotly, taking Draco aback. “You know, house-elves get a very raw deal! It's slavery, that's what it is! That Mr Crouch made her go up to the top of the stadium, and she was terrified, and he's got her bewitched so she can't even run when they start trampling tents! Why doesn't anyone do something about it?"

Draco glanced at the Weasley, who was as surprised by her sudden outburst. “Is this what you and Potter deal with everyday?”

“Don’t start, Malfoy,” Granger snapped. “Families like yours uphold these cruel oppressive systems that put people in unjust hierarchies.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. No way she was telling him off. That mudblood who hadn’t known that she was a witch until she turned eleven. The audacity of her. That stupid, condescending– 

Another loud bang echoed from the edge of the wood.

"Let's just keep moving, shall we?" said Weasley. They continued to look for what Draco realised must have been the other Weasleys. They followed the dark path deeper into the wood, still keeping an eye out for flaming redheads which, despite being dark out, was very difficult. Draco, or rather Potter’s feet began to hurt, and he hoped the lad had some blister cream because otherwise he would actually jump off a cliff. There was a lot he probably needed to buy. Better deodorant, some cologne from Paris, something to fix his vision, eyebrow tweezers and whatever was needed to fix the mess which was his hair.

If Draco was going to be Potter for a while, he needed to at least feel a bit like himself. That definitely included his clothing. Because what in the ever Goblin farts was he wearing? Pff, Harry Potter truly had no sense of style. Thankfully, Draco was going to fix that. He’d make Harry Potter better. Being him would probably be very easy. 

They passed a group of goblins who were cackling over a sack of gold, all unbothered by the trouble at the campsite. Farther still along the path, they saw three tall and beautiful veela standing in a clearing, surrounded by a group of young wizards, all of whom were talking very loudly. Granger pulled them away from them and they soon encountered ‘I peaked twenty years ago’ Ludo Bagman, who had clearly drunk a bit too much of Firewhisky. 

"Who's that?" he said, blinking down at them, trying to make out their faces. "What are you doing in here, all alone?"

Granger and Weasley looked at one another. 

"Well - there's a sort of riot going on," said Weasley.

Bagman stared at him. "What?"

"At the campsite,” he explained further, “some people have got hold of a family of Muggles. . .”

Bagman swore loudly. "Damn them!" he said, and without another word, he Disapparated with a small pop. 

"Not exactly on top of things, Mr. Bagman, is he?" said Granger, frowning.

"He was a great Beater, though," said Weasley. 

“Yeah, twenty years ago,” Draco countered and for once, no one tried to argue with him. 

They went off the path into a small clearing, and sat down on a patch of dry grass at the foot of a tree. "The Wimbourne Wasps won the league three times in a row while he was with them." Weasley took his small figure of Krum out of his pocket, put it on the ground and watched it walk around. 

“It’s that what you spend your family fortune on?” Draco asked sarcastically.

“Genuinely shut up, Malfoy,” Weasley said, though he wasn’t as angry anymore. He sounded quite tired and honestly, Draco was too.

Even antagonising him wasn’t as exciting. Ugh, they needed to fix this. 

"I hope the others are okay," said Granger after a while. “And Harry.” 

"They'll be fine," said Weasley.

“Potter too,” added Draco, seething. “He’s probably sleeping in my pajamas on my bed.” 

"Those poor Muggles, though," said Granger, picking at her nails. Draco wanted to say it would damage her nailbeds but he frankly did not want them yelling at him. "What if they can't get them down?"

Nothing poor about it. Draco hoped they’d get them good, but, of course, he couldn’t say that right now for he’d probably be tackled by Weasley. 

"They will," said Weasley reassuringly, rubbing her back. "They'll find a way."

"Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Ministry of Magic's out here tonight!" said Granger. "I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they've been drinking, or are they just–"

But she broke off abruptly and looked over her shoulder, the boys followed. It sounded as though someone was staggering toward their clearing. They waited, listening to the sounds of the uneven steps behind the dark trees. But the footsteps came to a sudden halt.

"Hello?" Weasley called. There was a silence as he got to his feet and peered around the tree. It was too dark to see very far, but it seemed as though Weasley could sense someone, for he nervously turned to Draco and Granger before extending his arm. "Who's there?" he said.

And then, without warning, the silence was broken by an unfamiliar voice and it uttered, not a shout, but a spell. "MORSMORDRE!" Something as green and glittering as Potter’s eyes erupted from the patch of darkness and flew up over the treetops and into the sky.

"What the - ?" gasped Weasley and both Draco and Granger stood.

It was a colossal skull of emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As they watched it, the symbol rose higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black night sky.

“Merlin and Morgana, we need to go!” Draco shouted at Weasley and Granger, though he wasn’t as loud as the screams that came from more people noticing the Mark. “The Dark Mark, it’s the Dark Lord’s Mark,” he cried and began running backwards.

Weasley and Granger followed without a word, both aware of the sign’s meaning. Weasley hurriedly scooped up his miniature Krum and the trio started across the clearing, but before they could even leave the open area, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards who suddenly surrounded them. Each of them, Draco realised, had their wands pointed at the three of them. 

Usually, Draco’s self-preservation skills would tell him to run and every man be for themselves, but Harry Potter would unfortunately not do that. So, without thinking, he yelled, "DUCK!" He took their arms and pulled them down onto the ground.

"STUPEFY!" roared twenty voices simultaneously, followed by red flashes so powerful it felt as though there were a storm only hitting them. 

"Stop!" yelled a voice Draco recognised from earlier. "STOP! That's my son!"

Potter’s mess of hair stopped blowing. He raised his head a little higher. The wizard in front of him had lowered his wand. He rolled over and saw Mr Weasley striding toward them, looking terrified. "Ron - Harry" - his voice sounded shaky - "Hermione - are you all right?"

Wow, he hadn’t even instantly caught him? Draco would admit that he was quite surprised. All he had to do now was just to stay really quiet… 

"Out of the way, Arthur," said the cold, curt voice of Mr. Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on them. “Which of you did it?" he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between them. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

Draco’s eyes widened. “Pardon me?” 

Okay… Maybe being Harry Potter wasn’t that fun. Ugh! Where was Draco’s father when he needed him? 

*** 

Waking up as Draco Malfoy every day was not as bad as Harry thought. For someone who complained that much, living Malfoy’s life was a blast. For the last week of the Holidays, Harry woke up in a King Sized bed (in a room that was bigger than the Dursley’s kitchen and living room combined!) to an enormous spread of breakfast with House Elves who made him everything that his heart desired. He was allowed to play Quidditch everyday, explore the ridiculously huge Manor the Malfoy’s lived in despite being a family of three and, most importantly, listen in on what Mr Malfoy is saying. 

Because living in a household of Voldemort supporters, one being a man who tried to kill him, was quite scary. Aside from his usual eavesdropping, he avoided the Malfoy’s like a plague, hoping that a lack of communication would make them not catch onto him not being their son. 

Mrs Malfoy, despite her uppity demeanour at the World Cup, seemed to be the affectionate mother who became quite bothered that Harry had been dodging her hugs. But he couldn’t do it. She wasn’t his mum and despite Malfoy being, well… Malfoy, he didn’t want to take his mother away from him in a sense. Because who knew how long they’d be in this position. 

It was almost like staying at the Dursleys, minus the forced labour from Petunia and the fear of Vernon and Dudley being near him. Because he missed Ron and Hermione. He also missed knowing how Sirius was doing because of the fact that if Malfoy found out about his whereabouts, it could get him caught and imprisoned. 

He hoped that Ron and Hermione were making sure that Sirius would be safe. 

Now, Harry was desperately trying to find ways to escape out of Malfoy’s body. Because unlike Freaky Friday with Jodie Foster, who thankfully had to switch with her mother, switching with your worst enemy was quite gruelling. His eyes still hurt from getting soap in his face because he didn’t even want to glance at Malfoy’s naked body. 

He decided that today, he’d go and explore that massive library he had masterfully passed for the last few days. He opened his door to a library that could surpass even Hogwarts’s. It was a large, high-ceiling room with massive windows and books of all colours and sizes neatly filling the massive shelves that replaced the room’s walls. It was something Hermione would salivate over and Harry, if he were honest, was quite impressed about. 

He unfortunately wasn’t alone. Because despite them only being with three and the Manor having unlimited rooms, Lucius Malfoy sat on a black leather Chesterfield, a book in hand. He glanced up from it, gazing coolly at Harry with the same grey eyes he now had. 

“Hello,” Harry said, then immediately avoided eye contact as he walked over to the nearest shelf. 

“Hello, Father,” Mr Malfoy corrected. “Manners, Draco.” 

Ah yes, manners. That was another difficult part of being Draco Malfoy. Because why were they so strict about everything? The way he wore his clothes, ate his food, even the manner in which he spoke was penalised when done wrong. And don’t even get started on the posture thing. How did Malfoy constantly have a straight back? “Sorry, Father.” 

“Is something bothering you?” Mr Malfoy asked. 

Fuck, Harry thought. “No, Father. I’m fine.”

“Your mother is worried you may be angry at us.” Mr Malfoy closed the book and placed it onto his lap. “I said that she is overthinking it, and I hope I did not need to lie to her.” He gave him a pointed look. 

“No, no. I’m not angry at you. Not at all, I’ve just been bummed about returning to school,” Harry babbled, hoping the lie was convincing enough. “The weather is just too nice here, you know.” 

“Yes, we are quite lucky this year.” Mr Malfoy’s face softened in a way that Harry hadn’t thought possible. “You aren’t actually angry at us, right? Because if it’s about what we spoke of before the Cup, you must know that we do not hate you.” 

What was he on about? What had Malfoy said or done for his parents to even think that they hated him? Maybe he could get an answer out of Malfoy at school if this came up again. But Harry, now ignorant, had to just shake his head. “It’s not that, Father. I just– what were you up to the night of the Cup?” 

“Draco,” Mr Malfoy said gently. “There’s no need for you to pry, alright?” 

“Of course, Father. Sorry.” 

Mr Malfoy smiled curtly before he picked his book up again and began to read again. 

Close call. He even seemed to be concerned for the lad. Whatever Malfoy had discussed with his family before the swap could help him get Mr Malfoy off Harry’s back. 

But given that he now had the advantage of being in direct correspondence with Lucius Malfoy, Harry was sure things would get clearer over time. Who would have thought that Malfoy could’ve given him the opportunity to do some snooping? 

Harry smiled to himself, scrolled through the table of contents and took out every book that had to do with body swapping. 

***

Draco did not know how Potter survived.

He was on his last legs. The Weasleys and Granger were with too many. He hadn’t even remembered their names at this point and each of them was getting on his nerves some way or another. Their hovel, because you could not call that a house, was a chaotic mess where no one was ever quiet. Even when he tried to sleep! He had to share a room, and not only had Draco never done that at a house so horrendous-looking, Ronald Weasley was one terrible roommate and he was sure this wasn’t only because Draco wasn’t his dearest friend.

He snored as though he was trying to reawaken his ancestors from the grave. His room was also unbearingly orange. Because get this, he’s a Chudley Cannons fan! The worst team to have ever existed! Maybe he felt the appeal due to their obnoxious orange colour palette because it couldn’t be due to the skill they did not possess. 

Draco barely had any privacy for the week. Not only did none of these people know about personal space, they kept asking him if he was okay and trying to strike conversation. The Weasel mother, who did make a very good breakfast for an impoverished woman, was the worst one and if there was anyone who’d catch onto him first, it’d be her. The only time he and her were on the same wavelength was when she gave Weasley a pair of the most outdated dress robes Draco had ever seen. He was sure they were not even en-vogue in the year they were made. 

It was an atrocious ensemble of maroons and pinks and ugh! Ew! Draco didn’t even want to think about it or else he would projectile vomit on the person next to him, which happened to be Weasley himself.

But today he’d be free. They were on their way to go back to school and Draco would be free of that family and especially the Mudblood. She could look up a solution for their problem in the library with Potter as Draco was smart enough to do that himself. Besides, Granger was so insufferable that he was certain the Professors gave her high grades to shut her up.

The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, was already there, clouds of steam billowing from it, which made the air incredibly misty. Pigwidgeon (which was a name Girl-Weasley made up when she was probably on something because Draco could not believe she thought she could get away with that) became noisier than ever in response to simultaneous hooting of many owls. Draco and the Gryffindors set off to find seats, and were soon stowing their luggage in a compartment halfway along the train. This, Draco realised, was quite easy since Potter had muscles that Draco did not. 

If he were honest, though, that was one thing he was glad Potter had. Aside from money, because ten thousand galleons later, he finally looked decent.

Eyebrows plucked, cotton clothes, glasses replaced with lenses that made him see as well, expensive cologne and hair that was not a mess! It was certainly the journey for the last one. He’d written to his usual correspondence in the name of Harry Potter to ask him for the best comb, shampoo, hair gel and conditioner that was available in all the boutiques to tame Potter’s impossible hair. After a day of lab testing on a sample Draco gladly provided, they found a trio that worked so well, it made his hair look decent enough to go outside! All it took was four thousand pounds, but it wasn’t as though Potter would actually notice it. 

Fleamont Potter was swimming in Galleons and only had one son and grandson. The Potters were well off, and everyone was aware of that. 

Draco and Co hopped back down onto the platform to say good-bye to Mrs Weasley, Earring, and Dreamy Charlie.

Because ugh, Charlie… How did the Weasel never tell anyone about his fit as hell dragontaming brother? Low voice, Quidditch player, big and calloused hands. Exactly his type. Draco’s parents may hate him for not wanting to marry a woman, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to enjoy ogling at handsome men. And Charlie was simply dreamy. He almost wanted to cry when the Wizard hugged him goodbye.

“Alright there, Harry?” asked Charlie. Draco was quite confused as to why he called him that but kept hugging him. “Harry?”

Then he remembered the body switch…

“Oh yes, of course,” Draco said, pulling away and instantly seeking his biceps around him again. “I just zoned out, sorry.”

“That’s alright, lad,” said Charlie with a laugh, patting Draco on the shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he could see Weasel glare at him while the twins were sniggering. "But don’t worry, I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," he continued on, grinning, as he hugged the Girl-Weasley good-bye.

And Draco couldn’t wait for the day!

"Why?" said Twin, whichever one of the two spoke more, keenly.

"You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it.. . it's 'classified information until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all."

"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," said Earring, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.

"Why?" said Twin Two impatiently.

"You're going to have an interesting year," said Earring, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it."

"A bit of what?" said Weasel.

But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs Weasley ushered them toward the train doors.

"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs Weasley," said Granger politely as they climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her.

"Yeah, thank you for everything, Mrs Weasley," Draco lied with a fabricated smile. All he could thank her for was not getting him caught.

"Oh it was my pleasure, dears," said Mrs Weasley. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but...well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with. . . one thing and another."

"Mum!" said Weasel irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?"

"You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Mrs Weasley, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting - mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules -"

"What rules?" said the boys minus Draco together.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you. . . . Now, behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?"

The pistons hissed loudly, and the train began to move.

"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Twin bellowed out of the window as Mrs Weasley, Earring, and Charlie sped away from them. "What rules are they changing?"

But Mrs Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, the other Weasleys Disapparated and Draco was already counting down to that mysterious day that he’d see Charlie again. 

Before they all made their way, one twin nudged Draco’s shoulder. “You’re always a brother to us, in-law or not, Harry, but I think Charlie’s a bit too old for you, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Weasel agreed, glaring at him,  “Harry.”

“I don’t know what any of you are talking about,” Draco sniffed, crossing his arms.

The twins both laughed and said their goodbyes. 

Draco and Potter’s friends went back to their compartment. The thick rain made it very difficult to see out of them. Weasel undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, (making Draco snort because he couldn’t help it. Sorry!) and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle that cheap owl’s hooting.

“I’m so happy I don’t have to see that again,” said Weasley with a scowl as he sat next to Granger.

Draco feigned innocence. “What?”

“You, in Harry’s body, fancying my brother,” Weasley replied with a disgusted look on his face. “Literally everyone noticed, aside from maybe dad or Percy.”

Draco examined his nails, noting that Potters were in desperate need of some care. “Charlie can’t help it that he’s fit and I can’t help that I find him fit.”

“You’re so insufferable, Malfoy. Like the most obvious bendy there is.” 

“Bendy?” echoed Granger. “What does that mean?”

“A bloke who likes blokes, a bird who likes birds,” Weasley explained.

“Oh, so like the gay community,” Granger said knowingly.

“Noooo,” said Draco, staring at her as though she were stupid. “The bendy community.”

“Oh, well in the Muggle–” Draco scowled. “In the Muggle World, that’s the name for it,” she finished, not caring about Draco’s feelings. 

“Well, Mudblood, we’re not in the Muggle World.” 

Weasley had turned an unappealing shade of angry red. “If you weren’t in Harry’s body right now, I’d hex you off this train.” 

“Leave it, Ron,” said Granger with a sad sigh. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Speaking of, where is that idiot?” Draco scratched his collarbone, which, unlike his actual one, was not as protruding. “Oh no, Mother and Father must have caught him!” He rose to his feet, pacing around the compartment. “Ugh, that stupid Potty can’t do anything right!” 

“Merlin, calm down. Harry’s not an idiot.”

“Could’ve fooled me!” Draco said, plopping back onto his seat. 

Draco was instantly calm again, not because of Weasley’s words, but as a few thoughts came to him at that moment. If his parents found out, Draco wouldn’t be on the train. They’d be sitting with Top Wizards, figuring out how to solve this issue. But come to think of it, maybe that would’ve been better than this. 

“Now, Malfoy, tell us what my family was talking about earlier,” Weasley said, distracting him from constantly peering out the door. “Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts.” He turned to Granger. “At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. So, tell us."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco lied. 

Granger rolled her eyes. And damn, was this truly how she acted or was her mood just so sour by Draco’s presence? “You know exactly what we’re talking about.”

“Okay! I cave!” Draco said after a very low amount of convincing. “The Tri-Wizard tournament is happening again.”

“Wicked!” Weasley exclaimed while Granger said, “But it’s so unsafe! People have died, that’s why they stopped. What were they thinking?”

Draco waved his hand dismissively. She sounded quite like Draco’s mother upon hearing the news, but thankfully he remembered his father’s words very well. “Oh no, it’s alright. Father said they’re making it super safe now and they also banned everyone under seventeen from competing.”

“Oh really,” Weasley frowned, “what a bummer.”

“No, it’s better that way,” Granger decided. “Imagine a First Year competing? How barbaric.”

“So, Weasel,” Draco said with a malicious smile, “that means that you’ll look absolutely dashing in your hideous robes at the Yule Ball which will be for Fourth Years and up.” 

Weasley appeared absolutely horrified. “Oh Merlin.”

Granger out a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder. “It’s not that bad.”

“Granger, don’t lie to your friends,” Draco said, then decided it was best to try to figure out if his theory was correct. “Or well, unless you’re not friends and you have to go to the Yule Ball with a date who’s wearing that thing.” 

Two pairs of eyes widened at the suggestion of them being a couple. 

“Me? Hermione? A couple?” said Weasley with a nervous laugh. “No…”

“No, no,” Granger said. “You’re mistaken, Malfoy. We’re not like that.”

“I can’t date Hermione,” Weasley went on, his cheeks red. 

Granger looked slightly offended at that. “Why not?” 

“Yeah,” Draco egged on. “Why not? You’re not saying that she’s unattractive, right?” 

“Don’t put words in my mouth!” Weasley shouted. “I– the reason is, I mean, Hermione–”

The Weasley was saved from answering Draco’s question by the door opening. There stood Potter, slightly out of breath for some reason and smiling. He’d taken considerable care of Draco’s body. Hair, nails and clothing all up to standards. He could almost appreciate seeing his beautiful self yet again. 

“I finally found you,” Potter said, relieved. “I had to ditch Crabbe and Goyle to get here. They’re clingy.”

Weasley and Granger immediately forgot what they’d just been talking about and embraced their friend as though a week of no-contact had been a full year. 

“Don’t call them clingy,” said Draco peevishly. “They’re good at what they do.”

“Beat up first years and flunk in every class imaginable,” Potter joked as he took a seat in between his friends. 

Draco crossed his legs and arms, which wasn’t as easy with Potter’s different proportions. “Hate to break it to you, Potter, but they’re quite intelligent young men.”

“Sure thing.”

“Well, since you managed to find your way to your friends. I will be looking for mine,” Draco decided as he got to his feet, stretching out his limbs. 

“Hey!” Weasley said. “You said that we were the only ones allowed to know.”

“I have come to realise how unfair that actually is,” Draco explained. “I may even find Pansy, as Vince and Greg cannot keep a secret. But let’s hope she has forgiven me over the summer.” He was about to leave when Potter took the sleeve of his robe. “What, Potter?” Draco asked, rolling his eyes. 

“What did you do to me?” he asked, appearing horrified. 

Draco frowned. “What do you mean?”

“My hair, it’s not a mess, my clothes are different, I’m not wearing glasses and–” He leaned in closer and squinted his eyes. “Did you pluck my eyebrows?!”

“You’re acting as if it’s a bad thing,” Draco said, then gestured to the improvements he made. “I completely fixed you.” 

“Using his money,” Weasley added. 

“Never mind that,” said Potter dismissively. “I don’t even resemble myself anymore.”

“Exactly,” Draco said with a snap of his fingers. “You look better. Fitter, you know. Girls will actually want to date you now once we switch back.”

Potter didn’t comment on it but his cheeks grew more red. “I don’t like you poking around my body as you please.”

“Well, I want to be comfortable in my temporary body,” Draco argued. 

“Okay, then. You know what-” He turned to Granger, “Can you degelify my hair?”

Draco spluttered. “Pardon?”

Granger took her wand and cast a spell that completely removed the gel out of Potter’s hair. He hadn’t even styled Draco’s hair that well, but at least it was set. Now, it was a hot mess. Potter even made it worse by running his hands through it and Draco clutched his chest, feeling the pain like a stab of ten Killing Curses.

But Potter was not done. He undid his tie, untucked his dress shirt and took off his signet ring to hand it to Draco. Each action was more heartbreaking than the last and by the end, Potter in Draco’s body looked an absolute mess. 

“Now we’re both comfortable in each other’s body,” Potter said with a smile. “And just so you know, I will be buying my cheap cologne and deodorant again.”

Draco’s hand flew to his mouth and he shook his head.

“Using your family money.”

Draco fell to his knees. “Nooooooooooooo!”

“Oh Salazar, Draco!” Pansy Parkinson’s voice said happily. 

Draco let out a sigh of relief. “Thank the heavens,” he mumbled. “Pans–” 

But then Draco saw her hug Potter in his body from the back and he was reminded yet again that she didn’t mean the actual him. “Oh, Draco, love, I am so sorry for abandoning you,” she said while cupping Potter’s cheeks. “I should have never run away from you or slapped you that day and I don’t hate you at all. You’re my best friend forever and I love you forever.” She gave Potter a wet kiss on the cheek before hugging him tightly again. 

Potter, whose eyes were wide with concern, merely patted her on the back as a form of comfort. 

Weasley and Granger looked completely taken aback and at a loss of words. 

Once Pansy pulled away, her eyes finally landed on Draco and, just like she had done last summer, she scowled at him. But this time for a whole different reason. She turned back to Potter. “Ew, Draco, why are you here?”

“Ugh, tell me about it,” Draco replied anyway. “I’m suffering, Pansy.”

Pansy glared at him. “Not funny, Potter.” 

Potter sighed in defeat. “Alright, only her, then.”

“Perfect,” said Draco, smiling. “Close the door, Potter,” he ordered. 

He was quite surprised when Potter actually went ahead and closed the door. 

“What the–”

“Pansy,” Draco interrupted her, “tell me one thing that only the real Draco knows.”

Her eyes moved back and forth from him to Potter. Then, after some time, she asked, “Who was your first celebrity crush?”

Draco gasped. “You harridan! I am not telling them that!”

“If you want to prove to me that you’re the real Draco, then you have to,” Pansy said with a conniving smirk, shrugging. 

Draco mumbled out his response.

“She didn’t hear you,” Weasley said teasingly.

Draco shot him a vicious glare while Pansy cackled like a hyena. 

“Armando Dippet on the chocolate frog card,” Draco replied louder this time, immediately regretting it after the words came out of his mouth. 

The reactions, however, were worse. Weasley let out the most unappealing snort known to man. Granger was biting the inside of her cheek while Potter, obviously, burst into laughter. Soon enough, everyone was cackling at Draco’s embarrassing confession. 

“He has a whole collection, you know,” Pansy said through her giggles. “The last time was three hundred and seventy two, wasn’t it?”

Draco’s eyes widened. “I’m going to decapitate you,” he warned her. 

“Oh, this is gold,” laughed Potter. 

“I’m absolutely going to use this against you.”

“Shove off, Weasley.” Draco took Pansy’s hand and dragged her out of the compartment. Once outside, they ran to the nearest empty compartment and kicked out a pair of firsties who would, without a doubt be sorted into Hufflepuff. 

“Okay, so replay everything that happened. Why in the ever Merlin are you in Harry Potter’s body?” Pansy asked, still staring at him with utter shock. 

“Okay, so it started when I was minding my business at the Quidditch Cup and Potter viciously attacked me…!” Draco began, and went on to explain the sequence of events which led to him being in this state. 

“Wow,” Pansy said when he finished. 

“I know,” Draco sighed dramatically. “The only thing that got me through the week without poking my eyes out was Charlie Weasley’s biceps.” 

Pansy’s expression softened. “I shouldn’t have slapped you because you said you didn’t like girls,” she apologised, taking his arms in hers. “You did have that crush on Lockhart.”

“And me telling you I didn’t like girls when we were eight,” Draco added. 

“And the Dippet collection,” she added with a mischievous smile. 

“How did you even forget that?” Draco asked. 

“I didn’t,” Pansy admitted. “I just thought that there was a possibility that you began liking both as you got older,” she explained. “But people don’t work like that.” 

Draco threw his arms around her. “I forgive you, Pans.” 

“Thank you,” she said, holding him tighter. They stayed in that hug for a while until Pansy pulled away and, with the biggest smile, asked, “How was your stay at the Weasley hovel? Is it really a pigsty?”

“Worse,” Draco laughed. “It’s this crooked thing and they call it The Burrow. It’s hideous, genuinely, and there is one shower for everyone. I don’t know how the women there survive but I was considering jumping.”

Pansy put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. 

“It was a horror. But,” Draco smiled, “thankfully Charlie made it better. I got to ride Potter’s Firebolt while we played Quidditch together and I ‘helped’ while watching him repair something shirtless!” he said excitedly. “And he’s a Dragontamer, Pansy. He tames Dragons,” Draco emphasises. “Wrestles them and everything.” 

“He sounds very fit, Draco,” she agreed. “But, he’s a Weasley.”

“Of course,” Draco said. “I’m not planning to marry him. Are you mad? Besides, he’s twenty one, which is too old even for my father. He’s also a Weasley, I don’t marry Blood Traitors but since I’m in Potter’s body, I don’t feel as guilty,” he explained. “I don’t know how it works but that’s how it is.” 

“Enjoy it while it lasts, I’d say,” said Pansy. 

“I definitely will. But, I don’t know how I’ll deal if handsome Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students arrive this year.” Draco ignored Pansy’s confused expression and went on. “In my body, they’d flock to me but I’ll probably get no one as Potter!” 

“What do you mean, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang?” Pansy asked, frowning. 

“Did your mothers not tell you?” Draco asked. When Pansy shook her head, he went on to explain exactly what he’d told Weasley and Granger. 

Draco and Pansy couldn’t talk for long, as Potter hurriedly ran to their compartment to tell them that his Gryffindor roommates were asking for them and he’d narrowly escaped them catching Draco Malfoy in their compartment. So, Draco had to say goodbye to Pansy as he needed to switch positions with Potter so as to not make anyone suspicious. The rest of the night was not made any better than Peeves the Poltergeist throwing water balloons on them the moment they entered the castle. Funnily enough, Draco’s mood was changed by Granger refusing to eat food because House Elves made it, which was quite hilarious, to be honest. 

They had yet another Defense Professor this year. An Auror, which was a vast improvement from the Werewolf (the horror!) they had the year before. Dumbledore announced the Tri-Wizard tournament that would replace the interhouse Quidditch Cup and those Gryffindors talked Draco’s ear off about their plans for the rest of the night. 

***

Living as each other for the first day of school had its ups and downs. The ups included Snape not being on Harry’s neck and enough time in the bathroom in the morning. Two advantages he’d indulge in for the rest of his time in Malfoy’s body. One down was the first day of school when at breakfast, Harry thought they’d immediately get caught when Malfoy’s Eagle owl flew towards the Gryffindor table and placed a package in front of Malfoy, landing on his shoulder. 

“Why did Athena deliver your parcel to Potter?” asked Crabbe, his mouth full of egg.

“Uhh,” Harry glanced at Parkinson, who looked just as confused. “I don’t know.” 

“Well, get it back then,” said Goyle. “Or should I?”

“No!” said Harry, eyes widening. He didn’t want Goyle beating up his body, even if Malfoy momentarily possessed it. “I’ll get it.” 

Harry got to his feet and walked over to the Gryffindor Table. 

He was met with glares at odd stares from his fellow Gryffindors, who now hated the person he appeared as. Ron and Hermione almost slipped, smiling before glaring just like everyone else just to keep the appearance up.

“Mal– Potter, you have my parcel,” Harry said in his most convincing Malfoy voice, which did sound better when he actually had his voice.

But Malfoy seemingly did not want to let go. It was obviously meant for him, but their appearances did not match it. Harry tried to reach out to grab it from him but the Eagle Owl pecked his hand and Harry flinched, pulling his hand away.

“Seems like your owl doesn’t like you anymore, Malfoy,” said Fred meanly. 

“She’s just confused, Weasley,” Harry replied in the meanest tone he could muster, but he sounded more nervous than anything and Malfoy was visibly cringing.

Harry tried to reach out again but Athena the Owl began flapping her wings on Malfoy’s shoulder. The Gryffindors around him laughed at his expense and so did Malfoy himself. He hummed as he opened the parcel and took out a deliciously appealing Treacle Tart, handing it to him. “Take this, they’re not as good as the others anyway.”

“But Harry,” said Hermione. “Treacle Tart is your favourite.” 

Malfoy pulled a face. “Really?” He looked at Harry. “I do not have any taste then.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Potter. You know what, keep the box.” 

“Wicked,” said Ron, eagerly leaning in to see what was inside but Malfoy delicately shoved his face away with two fingers. 

Harry smiled slightly and walked away, munching on the simply divine Treacle Tart as he returned to the Slytherin table.

Crabbe frowned when he came back with only a half-eaten tart. “I can’t believe you let him keep it. I really wanted the Sticky Toffee pudding.”

Harry looked back at the Gryffindor table, seeing his friends take things from Malfoy’s box. Unlike when Malfoy did that with the Slytherins, watching his friends all eagerly enjoy breakfast without him made him frown as he took the last bites of his tart. 

Classes were another obstacle for the boys. Their schedules barely overlapped aside from Potions and Care of Magical Creatures, which he knew would make the Professors question them as favourite ‘Draco Malfoy’ flunked every assignment Snape gave and favourite Harry Potter was going to complain and not listen to anything Hagrid was saying. More annoyingly, Malfoy took classes Harry hadn’t even bothered looking at when choosing electives in his third year. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, both he thankfully was classmates with Hermione for, which, even with Malfoy’s notes from last year, he knew he would struggle to get through.

At least he didn’t have Divination, though. Even Malfoy thought it stupid. 

But the Slytherins’ first class for the day was Defense Against The Dark Arts with the new Professor Moody. 

"Put the books away," was the first thing he growled when walking in, stumping over to his desk and sitting down. "You won't need them."

They returned the books to their bags. Parkinson glanced nervously at the man. 

Moody took out a register, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving down the list while his magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as they answered. When Harry called present for Malfoy, Moody’s scarred face turned nasty before he continued on reading. "Right then," he said when he finished, "I received a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures. You've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?"

There was a general murmur of agreement.

"But you're behind - very behind - on dealing with curses," Moody explained. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark–"

“Why one year, Sir?” Harry asked, interrupting his explanation without realising it. 

Moody's magical eye spun around to stare at Harry. The same nasty expression returned to his face. "Lucius Malfoy’s son, eh?" Moody said. "You look just like him, then, just with a bigger mouth. But yeah, I'm staying for just one year. Special favour to Dumbledore. . . . One year of teaching, and then back to my quiet retirement." He gave a harsh laugh, and then clapped his hands together. "So, let’s get straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. " He made his way to the blackboard, the sound of his leg against the wooden floor echoing as he walked. "So. . . do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"

Several hands shot into the air, even Crabbe and Goyle’s. Hmm, Harry thought, maybe Malfoy was right. Moody pointed at a handsome student whose name Harry learned was Blaise Zabini.

“The torture curse, Cruciatus,” he replied. 

"The Cruciatus Curse, yes," said Moody. He opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were moving around inside it. Harry knew Ron, whose biggest fear was spiders, would hate this part of class. Moody reached into the jar, took one of the spiders, and held it in his palm for them to see. He pointed his wand at the spider. "Engorgio!"

The spider grew larger than a tarantula. Parkinson, in the spur of the moment, grasped Harry’s shoulder.

“No need to be afraid, Miss Parkinson,” said Moody with a laugh. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, "Crucio!"

At once, the spider's legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to spasm, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but Harry didn’t even want to imagine the screams that’d come out from it had it been a human. Moody did not remove his wand, and the spider started to shudder and jerk more violently.

There were students around him who appeared terrified. Crabbe had stopped looking, Parkinson’s grip on Harry’s arm tightened and a blonde girl named Daphne Greengrass looked on the verge of throwing up. But no one was telling the man to stop him.

So, Harry took it upon himself to do so. “You’re hurting it! Stop!”

Moody raised his wand. The spider's legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch. "Reducio," Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its normal size. He put it back into the jar. "Pain," he said softly. "You don't need devices to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse. . . . That one was very popular once too.” His eyes bore into Harry. “Mr Malfoy, as you were so eager to move onto the next curse. Could you name one?” 

"Er," said Harry, his heartbeat still recovering from earlier. "The Imperius Curse.”

"Ah, yes," said Moody. "Your father would know that one. As would some of the others in this class. Must have been quite the job for the Ministry to figure out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will.” His eyes raced from Crabbe, to Goyle and another weedy little boy named Theodore Nott. “All of them claiming they were under it when doing Voldemort’s bidding."

Several people gasped when Moody used that name. Harry, on the other hand, liked him for it.

Moody took out the next spider, pointing his wand at it yet again. “Imperio!” 

The spider leapt from Moody's hand on a thread of silk and began to swing back and forth. It stretched out its legs, then did a back flip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance.

Everyone was laughing, the events of earlier seemingly forgotten. But Moody hadn’t. "Funny, huh?" he growled. "You'd like it if I did it to you, then?"

The laughter died almost instantly.

"I have complete control," said Moody quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats. . .The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barked, and everyone jumped.

Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar. "Right. . .” He sighed. “Does anyone know any others?"

Harry looked around. From the looks on their faces, he guessed they were all wondering what was going to happen to the last spider. 

"Avada Kedavra," a voice whispered. Next to him, Parkinson had turned completely red and shaking. “The killing curse.” 

Several people looked uneasy.

Harry whispered, “Are you alright?”

She nodded but from the looks of it, she was obviously lying.

"Ah, yes," said Moody, another slight smile twisting his mouth. "Saved the worst for last." He put his hand into the glass jar and trapped the final spider who’d tried to escape. Moody raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra!" he roared.

There was a flash of blinding green light that hit the spider. It rolled over onto its back, untouched, but dead. Several of the students stifled cries and Harry felt a sudden chill sweep over him.

"Quick," Moody said calmly, "and with no countercurse. There's no blocking it and only one known person has ever survived it." Moody’s eyes, both normal and magical, bored into Harry’s.

Did he know? He knew. The flashes of familiar green, his father telling his mother he’d hold him off. His mother’s cries. Voldemort shouting those exact same words. Could Moody’s eyes see that he was teaching this to Harry Potter?

Parkinson noticed too, distractedly answering. ‘Harry Potter,” she said, nervously looking at Harry. 

Moody was speaking again, from a great distance, it seemed to Harry. He again  focused on what the man was saying. "Now. . . those three curses - Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus - are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need to prepare. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills. . . copy this down. . ."

They spent the rest of the lesson taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses. No one spoke until the bell rang when the voices got louder as Harry and Parkinson exited the room and the other Slytherins excitedly spoke about the class they’d just had. They all thought it was one big circus show, but Harry hadn’t enjoyed it at all.

And that was exactly what he told Ron and Hermione when he got them alone after Care of Magical Creatures. 

Moody had it out for him.

***

On one particular night, Potter’s scar began to hurt and Draco did not know what to do. He told Potter’s friend about it, hoping they could help, but those two merely stared at one another before exiting the Gryffindor Common Room and refusing to speak about it again.

During one of their library sessions where they would do research, with Potter sitting at a distance as to not make anyone suspicious, Draco inched closer to him. “Potter, your scar is hurting.”

Potter looked up from the book he’d been reading. He glanced at Granger before looking back at Draco. “What?” 

“So, it doesn’t usually do that?” Draco concluded upon noticing the looks on their faces. 

“Umm no, only when…” Potter began but he shook his head. “Never mind.”

Draco frowned. “No, never mind," he said indignantly. “You need to tell me so I can stop it.”

“You can’t stop it,” Potter whispered furiously. “Trust me, if I could’ve stopped it, it wouldn’t have occasionally hurt for four years.”

“Four years?” Draco shrieked, instantly shushed by Madame Pince. “So, it’s started since you began attending Hogwarts?”

Potter nodded. 

“Well, I don’t know what to do,” Draco said, looking around nervously. “Should I tell anyone?”

Potter firmly shook his head. “Just talk about it to Ron and Hermione,” he whispered. “And if you have nightmares, tell me what you see so we can talk about it.”

“Ah,” Draco smirked, “so it’s a secret, then? You know I will eventually find out, right?”

“Yes, unfortunately, you will.”

“You know what, Potter,” Draco said, slamming his head on the desk and making the librarian shush him again. “Get my green leather sketchbook. It’s my drawing book. I’ll draw the nightmares.”

Potter appeared doubtful but nodded nonetheless. “Okay, I’ll get it for you.” He got to his feet, said goodbye to Granger and exited the library. 

He was glad to get his book again. Hopefully Potter hadn’t glanced into it. He didn’t even let his parents or best friends see what he drew. The only time he had shown someone, he was rejected. 

Draco glanced over to Granger, noticing that she’d long abandoned the book she was reading on bodyswappers and was casting spells on a round badge. “What are you doing?” he asked, curious.

​​"Oh, would you like to know?" said Granger with a grin. She took a box from the ground and took off the lid, showing him what was inside. Inside were about fifty badges, all of different colors, but all bearing the same letters: S. P. E .W.

"Spew?" said Draco, picking up a badge. "What's a spew?"

"Not spew," said Granger. "It's S-P-E-W. Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

Draco snorted. "Who came up with that?" 

"Me," Granger snapped.

“And your plan is to do what, exactly?” Draco asked carefully. 

"To Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status, which was my original title, but it was too long. So that'll be in our manifesto."

“Our?????” Draco echoed. “There will be no our in that.” 

“You’re not involved,” she said hotly. “The actual Harry and Ron are.”

“No one is joining that, Granger,” Draco told her. “Seriously, are you protesting for Elf rights?”

“Of course, I am,” she said, eyes widening. "Our short-term aims are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I've been researching it thoroughly. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now."

“Obviously not,” Draco snapped, feeling his anger rise. “It’s tradition, centuries of pureblood tradition, you little Mudblood,” he said, glaring at her. “Of course you want to change that. Just like you want to change everything. You changed Samhain, you changed Yule, Beltane, everything. You changed the way subjects are taught at school. You changed the hierarchy at the Ministry. We wizards need to hide from Muggles to make sure we won’t get killed. You drag us into your conflict, make us abide by your rules. You think I hate you because your blood is impure? No, I don’t, I don’t care about whether or not you had some witch ancestor. I hate you because you come here and try to replace us.” 

With a heavy sigh, he got to his feet and stormed out of the library, leaving Granger there all alone. She was probably crying. Good. Draco didn’t care. He hated that little wench anyway. 

***

The first two months went by in a flash, and, before Harry could register what time it was, Halloween Eve had come and the other school’s delegations would arrive. 

The entire student body was excited, the Professors were nervous but all Harry was glad about was a shorter Potions class with Snape. Despite his changed attitude now that he was in Draco Malfoy’s body, Harry still hated him. But given that Snape now didn’t bother him, he found out that he was actually quite good at potions. Not as good as Hermione or Malfoy, but passable enough that had he been in his own body under a different Professor, he’d likely not be flunking it. Maybe even enjoy it. 

He was glad that Snape hadn’t caught on because not only was he maintaining Malfoy’s grade average, the bloke was improving his. It was a win-win situation. 

When their class was finished, the students were all ordered to go to their Head of House, where they were ordered to stand in rows of four to exit the school in an organised manner. But the students were so excited that it all ended up becoming one big storm.

They all waited outside. Students next to him were theorising how they’d arrive at the castle. Further down, he could hear Hermione babble on about Hogwarts: A History and Harry couldn’t believe he actually missed that.

He had noticed that Malfoy was completely ignoring her and vice versa. After that day when Malfoy told him his scar was hurting, Hermione refused to speak to and about him. He’d overheard from Theo Nott, who was also in the library that day, that, “Potter and Granger had a huge argument which left her crying,” but when either he or Ron asked her about it, she merely shook her head and walked off.

Harry did feel bad though as the prick had made her cry on her birthday after all. He wanted to pin him against the wall and tell him to apologise but, judging from how their last fight went, he didn’t want to jinx himself into this swap becoming permanent or something.

Eventually, the delegations started arriving. A giant, powderblue, winged horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house flew down from the sky. The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage got ever lower, coming in to land with a loud bang against the ground. 

The carriage door opened and a boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage and took out a set of golden steps. He sprang back and a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerged from the inside of the carriage, followed by the largest woman Harry had ever seen in his life. She was as tall as Hagrid, dressed in fine satin clothes and bejewelled with magnificent opal jewellery. 

Dumbledore started to clap, followed by the rest of staff and the students.

“That’s one huge woman,” said Crabbe, eyes wide. “I wonder how she–”

“Don’t wonder,” Parkinson interrupted, scowling.

The tall lady smiled graciously, extending her hand to Dumbledore, who had to bend down to kiss it. "My dear Madame Maxime," he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Dumbly-dorr," said Madame Maxime in a deep voice. "I 'ope I find you well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you," said Dumbledore.

"My pupils," said Madame Maxime, waving a hand carelessly behind her.

About a dozen boys and girls who all appeared to be older than Harry emerged from the other carriages and stood behind their Headmistress. They were all shivering in their fine silk robes, a few even wrapping scarves and shawls around their heads. Their faces all bore apprehensive expressions as they scowled up at Hogwarts castle.

After Dumbledore assured her that Hagrid would take good care of the horses, she gestured to her students to enter the castle with her. Hogwarts crowd parted like the Red Sea to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.

Two girls, one with thick curls in particular stopped when she passed the Gryffindors and Malfoy in particular. She gasped, nudging her friend in the shoulder before mumbling something incomprehensible in French.

The other girl nodded eagerly, saying something to Madame Maxime before she turned to Malfoy who, of course, answered in fluent French.

“My students ‘ere helped by zis young gentleman at ze World Cup,” Madame Maxime explained. “Young man, what iz your name?” 

“It’s D– Harry Potter, Madam,” Malfoy replied, sounding way more pretentious about it than Harry would ever be. 

“Thank you, ‘Arry Potteur for being zo generous,” Madame Maxime said with an appreciative smile.

Further where the Professors stood, Snape snorted derisively. 

The French girls squealed excitedly at this and ran back into the castle as they spoke amongst themselves. 

“Wow, Draco,” Goyle whispered. “His French is better than yours.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said absentmindedly. Because it isn’t his French, Harry wanted to say. What the hell had Malfoy done?

For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by Madame Maxime's horses. But then a loud and oddly eerie noise was drifting toward them from out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking sound came from the river.

"The lake!" yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. "Look at the lake!"

Unlike where his friends stood, Harry’s position did not give him that good of a view on the lake but he could see some disturbance deep in the center of the inky lake. Bubbles formed at the surface, and not the small ones you made when swimming in the pool. Large, tsunami-like bubbles that made waves wash over the muddy banks. Then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, and what seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool. . . 

He turned excitedly to Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle, almost shocking himself when doing so. But he didn’t care. "It's a ship," he told them.

Slowly, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It was almost skeletal, like a Flying Dutchman, a resurrected ghost wreck that haunted the seven seas. The ship fully emerged and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.

People disembarked, silhouettes moved past the lights in the ships portholes. The shadows made each of them look huge but, as they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, he saw that their bulk was due to the fact that they were wearing shaggy, fur cloaks. But the man who led them up to the castle was wearing sleek silver furs that didn’t look as old.

"Dumbledore!" he called heartily as he walked up the slope. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied. 

Karkaroff was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his curly goatee looked quite ridiculous. When he reached Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own. "Dear old Hogwarts," he said, looking up at the castle with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "How good it is to be here, how good.. . . Viktor, come along, into the warmth. . . you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold..."

Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, Harry caught a glimpse of a features he’d recognised from seeing them months earlier. At the Quidditch World Cup. 

Goyle roughly punched his arm, which wouldn’t have hurt as much if Malfoy wasn’t incredibly thin. “It’s Krum!” he shouted excitedly.

He wasn’t the only person who was ecstatic. Further along he saw Ron and Malfoy’s eyes gleam with excitement as they watched him. Many other students tried catching a glimpse of the Quidditch star as they walked back into the castle.

Harry was sure that Ron would offer his right leg just for the chance for him to sit with the Gryffindors but, as luck would have it, the Durmstrang students sat with the Slytherins. 

Harry wasn’t particularly interested in talking with him, but Crabbe and Goyle, who sat near him were whispering to him to talk with him.

“You talk to him then,” he snapped at Goyle when he grew tired of his constant whispers.

Parkinson glared at him.

Goyle looked taken aback and began to talk to Krum in surprisingly fluent Bulgarian.

Krum even seemed quite happy that Goyle was a fellow Bulgarian and spoke back, though it was clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk a lot due to his sickness.

“Your friend, he is Bulgarian?” asked a girl who sat opposite to them with short blond hair dipped in red.

“Half,” Parkinson replied. “He was quite upset to find out there aren’t that many at Durmstrang.”

“Yes, they’re some of those who don’t like speaking Russian,” the girl explained. “Which I understand,” she added.

“What’s your name?” asked Crabbe, who was looking at her with googly eyes.

“Laura, I’m Slovak,” she replied.

When all the students had entered the Hall and settled down at their House tables, the staff entered, filing up to the top table. Last in line were the Headteachers. When their headmistress appeared, the Beauxbatons students leapt to their feet and didn’t sit down until Madame Maxime did.

Dumbledore remained standing, and a silence fell over the Great Hall. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and - most particularly - guests," said Dumbledore, beaming. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."

One of the shivering Beauxbatons girls gave a derisive laugh. 

"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," said Dumbledore. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!" He sat down, and Harry saw Karkaroff lean forward at once and engage him in conversation.

The plates in front of them were filled with food as usual, but this time, there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Harry had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign. Harry’s eyes went to a beet red soup dish, which he took despite Parkinson’s appalled face. This was perhaps his only chance to eat these foreign dishes, so, why not indulge?

He took a spoonful of it and tasted it. As it was quite good, Harry took some pieces of toasted bread that it was accompanied with and dipped it into the soup.

“I’ve never seen a foreigner eat Barszcz so eagerly,” the person in front of him said, laughing slightly.

“Yeah, it’s good soup,” Harry replied, barely glancing up at him. 

“Glad you think so.” 

When Harry finally made eye contact with this stranger, he noticed that he looked younger than the other students, perhaps his age or a year older. He obviously played Quidditch, though, with broad calloused hands and a Player’s build. His hair was light brown and he had dark blue eyes, the same ones who were staring Harry down in a way only Malfoy would enjoy. 

And now he was in Malfoy’s body. 

“I’m Jakub,” he introduced himself, extending his hand.

“Malfoy.” Parkinson stepped on his foot. “Draco Malfoy,” said Harry, shaking his hand. 

Jakub smiled. “Draco, like the dragon.”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed, not finding it as impressive when being Harry.

“Nice.” 

“Thanks.”

Parkinson stepped on his foot again. Harry wanted to roll his eyes but her heels were so sharp he realised he needed to talk to this Jakub. “So, are you putting your name in?”

“No, I can’t. I’m fifteen,” Jakub told him.

“But I thought the minimum was seventeen,” Crabbe chimed in. 

“It is, but my mother wanted both me and my stepbrother here to make sure we were safe and all,” Jakub explained.

“How adorable,” Laura teased, making Jakub laugh as he gave her a playful shove. 

Parkinson leaned in forward. “Who’s your stepbrother?” she practically purred. Calm down, woman, he thought. 

“It rhymes with Smiktor Dumb.” 

Krum, who had still been talking to Goyle, stopped talking momentarily to ruffle his hand through Jakub’s hair. Jakub grinned, taking a bite of his mash. “It’s a recent development, but I won’t change my name or anything.” 

“Are you also Bulgarian?” Harry asked. 

“No, Polish and proud,” Jakub said.

“Ah, nice,” Harry replied awkwardly. “I’ve never been. What’s it like?” 

“Very beautiful,” Jakub said with emphasis. “I live in the mountains, so you can say I’ve always been surrounded by beauty. I’m quite surprised that it’s the same here.” 

“Oh yes, Scotland is truly a treasure.” 

“Mhm,” Jakub hummed, eyeing him.

Harry merely smiled. His eyes momentarily went to the Gryffindor table, where Ron was glaring at Goyle and Malfoy was eagerly watching Harry out of all people. When he noticed him, Malfoy mouthed something to him.

“What?” Harry mouthed back.

“Talk to him,” Malfoy mouthed.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Why?” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’m going to stab you if you–” But Malfoy suddenly grinned and waved shyly. It was only then when Harry noticed that Jakub had turned around to look at who Harry was actually mouthing to. 

“Who’s that?” he asked Harry. “Your boyfriend?”

Harry firmly shook his head. “Absolutely not. It’s just Potter, he’s an idiot,” he replied quickly.

“Ah, so you don’t like Potter?” Jakub asked.

“Despises him but can’t stop talking about him,” Crabbe replied, his own unique way to be helpful.

“Well, thanks,” Harry mumbled. 

Crabbe made a noise afterwards, his eyes on Parkinson who, without a doubt, stepped on his foot as well.

Laura giggled. 

“It’s not like that. I promise.”

“You don’t need to promise me anything,” Jakub said, smiling.

Harry merely smiled. “Alright.”

After Dumbledore went over some things, the Great Hall cleared and students aged seventeen and up headed out to enter their name into the Goblet of Fire. Just as Harry was about to leave to head to the Slytherin Common Room, he saw Jakub approach. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Harry replied back awkwardly. 

“We were going to celebrate tomorrow for whoever will be chosen as our champion,” Jakub said, running a hand through his light brown hair. “If you don’t care who yours is, would you like to come?” 

To do what? Harry thought. He barely knew the bloke and, judging from how he was eyeing him earlier, he surely wasn’t looking for a new foreign friend. But Harry had never considered liking blokes that way. He liked Cho. “Oh, umm–”

“We’d love to come!” said Parkinson, interrupting Harry before he could ruin it. 

Jakub looked at Harry. “Really?”

“Yes, sure.”

Jakub smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll hopefully see you tomorrow, then.”

Seconds after Jakub left, Harry was rudely ambushed. 

“Who was that stunning boy you just spoke to?” Malfoy asked, grasping his shoulders. 

“Stunning b– huh?”

“The one who was eyeing you in my body, duh!” Malfoy said eagerly. “Wake up, Potter!”

“His name is Jakub and he’s Polish,” Parkinson replied.

Malfoy’s grin was simply lecherous on Harry’s face. “Get with him,” he demanded.

Harry spluttered. “Excuse me.”

“Flirt, date, snog and when we switch back, I’ll have a boyfriend,” Malfoy explained as though it was a simple Transfiguration spell.

“But I don’t want to have a boyfriend,” Harry countered.

“Good thing you’re not me.”

“I am right now,” Harry pointed out.

Malfoy waved a dismissive hand. “That doesn’t matter. Just get Jakub to like me.”

“Okay then,” Harry agreed eventually. “If you want him to like you, then I want you to make Cho Chang like me.”

“Chang?” Parkinson snorted. “Really?”

“She’s pretty,” Harry said defensively.

“Whatever.” Malfoy said with a wave of his hand. “Deal.”

“Deal.”

***

The next day, Draco passed the Goblet without a care. He’d found out from Pansy that Jakub was fifteen and wouldn’t be entering anyway. He headed straight to the Great Hall, filling up his plate and watching carefully as Potter and Jakub spoke. He had stuck to his word, judging from how Jakub was laughing. 

Draco groaned. He had to fulfil his end of the bargain. Luckily, he didn’t need to wait long as Cho Chang entered the hall with a friend, chatting with her.

Draco rose to his feet and confidently walked up to her. Chatting with girls is easy even if you’re not attracted to them. He was sure that his lack of attraction to Chang could even be an advantage in this situation.

“Good morning, fancy seeing you here,” Draco greeted her.

“Oh hi, Harry!” Chang said, smiling.

The friend next to her looked unimpressed. 

“I like your hair clip, by the way,” Draco went on. “It really suits your robes.” 

Cho smiled, reaching to adjust it in her hair. “Thank you, Cedric gave it to me.”

“Diggory?” he said. She nodded.

Well well, Potter had some competition then. Very good looking competition. “He has great taste. Are you rooting for him to be the Champion?”

“Anyone is good enough for me,” Cho replied.

“Even a Slytherin?” Draco asked in the most syrupy tone.

“They’ll represent our school,” Cho answered. “I don’t care who it is.”

“Great, you know. I don’t even care if it’s a Slytherin either.”

“Oh really?” Cho said in a surprised tone. “I thought you’d be particularly angry. Gryffindor rivalry and all.”

“The only Slytherin I have an unexplained issue with is Malfoy,” Draco replied, liking how easy this conversation was.

“Oh yes.” Cho frowned. “Truly immature what he did last year with the dementors.”

I found it quite creative, but whatever, Draco thought. “Yup. But hey, it was nice catching up to you, Cho. I can’t believe we don’t do it more often.”

“We can, you know,” she said.

Draco smiled. “Yes, we can.”

There you go, Potter. Draco smiled one last time before walking back to the Gryffindor table. His eyes met Potter’s at the Slytherin table. He smiled appreciatively at Draco, who smiled back.

Soon, Weasley and Granger entered the Great Hall. The latter, who’d been ignoring him since their little spat, put a large stack of books in front of him. “Read this and mayhaps we’ll come to an understanding,” she said before sitting down in front of him.

Draco read the title of the book on top. ‘A brief history of Muggle and Wizard relations’. “Why should I read this?”

“So you may understand that I’m not after you,” she replied.

“Alright, then,” Draco said with a shrug. “Challenge accepted.”

“It’s not a challenge, Malfoy,” she mumbled. “While you’re in my best friend’s body, I want us to at least get along.”

Draco scoffed. “Not a chance.” 

Weasley glared at him. “Stop being an immature little prick.”

Draco let his fingers move along the spines of the books. It was only three and they weren’t that thick. Maybe they’d get off his back if he read them. Ugh, whatever. He’d do it. “Alright, and if you’re proven wrong, we don’t need to get along.” 

And for the first time since the body swap, Granger gave him a genuine smile. 

When they re-entered the candlelit Great Hall in the evening, it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire had been moved, now standing in front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the teachers' table. 

The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual, especially Draco couldn’t help but seethe while watching Potter talk to a man he wasn’t even appreciating while he was stuck listening to Weasel complaining about Greg and Krum again. Everyone else in the Hall was as impatient as him, waiting for old Dumbledore to finish his food and announce the champions. 

At last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state. The murmurs got louder when Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" - he indicated the door behind the staff table - "where they will be receiving their first instructions." He took out his wand and waved it, extinguishing the candles save for the carved pumpkin ones. 

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red with sparks began to fly from it and the whole room gasped when a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it. Dumbledore caught it and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames. "The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

"No surprises there!" yelled Weasley as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table and slouched up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" boomed Karkaroff. "Knew you had it in you!"

The clapping and chatting died down. Seconds later, the Goblet turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it. "The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"

The girl who resembled a veela gracefully got to her feet, flicked her silvery blonde locks and strutted away.

"Oh look, they're all disappointed," Granger said over the noise, nodding toward the remainder of the Beauxbatons party who were actually sobbing as if it was the end of the world. 

The Goblet of Fire turned red for the last time. "The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

"No!" said Weasley loudly, but nobody heard him except Draco, who rolled his eyes. The Hufflepuffs definitely got their little ego boost from this. Even Cho Chang was clapping excitedly. Well, boohoo Potter, I really tried, Draco thought. Cedric headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as the sounds of the cheers died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real–" But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, because the fire in the goblet had just turned red again and another piece of parchment flew out. Dumbledore seized it. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, and then he cleared his throat and read out - "Harry Potter."

Draco nearly flew out of his seat. He instantly wheeled around to Granger and Weasley. Behind him, he could see the Gryffindor table all watching him, openmouthed.

"I didn’t do this,” Draco said to them. 

Both of them stared just as blankly back.

At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall.

"Harry Potter!" he called again. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"

"Go on," Granger whispered, giving Draco a slight push.

“I didn’t do it. Get Potter to do it,” he whispered.

“You’re Potter,” Weasley reminded him. 

Oh yeah, he was indeed. Just for the year when there’s a deadly competition, Draco switches bodies with one of its contestants. Such luck he has! Draco got to his feet and stumbled slightly in a walk that was less gracious than the one he’d perfected after two months in this new body. The walk was long and uncomfortable. He felt hundreds, no, thousands of pairs of eyes glaring at him. The silence grew louder and louder. And, after what seemed like an hour, he was right in front of Dumbledore, feeling the stares of all the teachers on him.

“Well… through the door, Harry.” 

So Draco walked through the door. There was an urge to yell out that he was a bodyswapped Draco Malfoy and that they couldn’t do this to him. But who would believe him? They already believed that he put his name in. 

After a shouting match between outraged teachers and an excited Ludo Bagman, Draco exited the room, utterly exhausted. It was made worse by Weasley, Granger and Potter standing there waiting for him. All three of them were glaring daggers at him.

“Before you start, I didn’t do it.”

“Like we’re supposed to believe you,” Weasley practically growled.

“I didn’t!” Draco squeaked. He looked at Potter. “Think about it, why would I do that?”

“You love to smear my name, Malfoy,” Potter said. “What’s better than putting my name in a Goblet, risking me dying and making everyone hate me?”

“Not doing that!” Draco said hotly.

“Do you need to compete?” asked Granger.

“Yes.” Draco put a hand on Potter’s shoulder. “We need to switch before the First Task.”

“I don’t want to do that!” Potter protested. “I didn’t put my name in.”

“Neither did I,” Draco countered. “They all think I do. Even Professor Snape. He looked so mean.”

“The story of my life,” Potter muttered.

“We can…” Weasley breathed heavily. “Help you.”

“How?” asked Draco as Weasley’s friends looked at him in surprise.

“Practice with whatever will come to you,” he explained. “We don’t want Harry to die, even though it will actually be you dying.” Granger gave him a push. “So, we’ll help you. All you need to do is not act like a total prick.” 

Potter nodded in agreement. He turned to Draco and extended his hand. 

The imagery was quite ironic. Harry Potter extended a hand to him while looking like him. A mirror of that fateful day in their first year, when Potter chose Weasley over him. And honestly, judging from being around him for these months, Draco sort of understood why he truly valued Ron Weasley. But he’d never say that out loud.

“A truce, then,” said Draco, taking Potter’s hand and firmly shaking it.

***

The news of their truce spread around quickly. People were surprised, but it couldn’t overshadow the glares directed at Malfoy. Harry couldn’t even imagine what it’d be like if it happened to him. Or how Ron and Hermione would have reacted. If they would’ve believed that he didn’t put his name in. He knew Sirius would find out about it soon enough. He needed to write to him. Hopefully, whichever owl he’d use wouldn’t react like Malfoy’s owl and accidentally reveal to him that Wanted Wizard Sirius Black was in contact with him. 

He went up to the Owlery with Hermione. She gave Harry a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink, then strolled around the long lines of perches, looking at all the different owls, while Harry sat down against a wall and wrote his letter.

Dear Sirius,

You told me to keep you posted on what's happening at Hogwarts, so here goes. I don't know if you've heard, but the Triwizard Tournament's happening this year and on Saturday night I got picked as a fourth champion. I don't know who put my name in the Goblet of Fire, because I didn't. The other Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory, from Hufflepuff… 

He paused at this point, thinking. The urge to say something about the rising anxiety that someone was targeting him was strong. But how could he write that down on a simple piece of parchment? So, Harry did something he knew Malfoy would kill him for. 

It’s also worsened by the fact that I have switched bodies with Draco Malfoy. I am serious. It’s why I’ve been writing so oddly, as I am still not used to his long fingers. I can even make Ron and Hermione vouch for me, or I’ll take a photograph. We somehow managed to switch bodies at the Quidditch Cup after a scuffle. We don’t know how to solve it but now he’ll be competing for me. And honestly, I think the bloke’s going to die. 

He dipped his quill back into the ink bottle and wrote, “Other than that, I hope you're okay, and Buckbeak - Harry.” 

"Finished," he told Hermione, getting to his feet and brushing straw off his robes. At this, Hedwig fluttered down onto his shoulder and held out her leg.

"I can't use you," Harry told her, looking around for the school owls. "I've got to use one of these."

“I’m still confused about that,” said Hermione. “Animals can see right through it. Or, more specifically, owls. Perhaps it has something to do with their night vision. Marvelous.” 

“Very marvelous, Hermione,” Harry agreed as he tied the letter to the leg of a large barn owl. 

Hedwig hooted loudly and took off so suddenly that her talons cut into his shoulder. When the barn owl had flown off, Harry reached out to stroke Hedwig, but she clicked her beak furiously and soared up into the rafters out of reach.

“Look, I’m sorry!” he shouted after her, but realised the sight of him doing it was ridiculous. He let out a defeated sigh and turned to Hermione. “Let’s go.”

Hermione smiled sympathetically and the two exited the Owlerly. And, if Harry’s day couldn’t get any worse, Jakub was standing there, smiling broadly. 

“Found you,” he said breathily.

“You did indeed,” Harry replied. “We’re just about to leave.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Jakub said cheerfully, waving his hand dismissively. “I like to walk.” 

Harry merely nodded, making his way downstairs. 

Harry liked girls, he was sure that part of him wouldn’t change. He wasn’t gay, or ‘bendy’ as Ron called it. He didn’t even think he liked both. The only person who he was remotely interested in romantically was Cho Chang. So having Jakub, who was a boy (though very attractive) flirting with him was a unique experience. He wasn’t disgusted at all. In fact, he saw it more as gaining a new friend. 

“So,” Jakub began, eyes on Hermione. “Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Hermione Granger,” she introduced herself. “A friend of Harry, but Draco and I ran into each other here.”

“Ah,” said Jakub. “That’s nice. I was hoping to make some more friends. Draco is obviously good enough but the people he hangs out with are all Blood Supremacists.”

“Tell me about it,” said Harry with an eyeroll.

“I don’t get why you want to associate with those people.”

Well, Harry did not know how to reply to that because those weren’t people he willingly hung out with anyway. 

“Draco has been trying to turn his life around,” Hermione replied. “He was so awful last year that I had to slap him.”

Harry snorted, fondly recalling the memory. 

“Glad I met you now, then,” Jakub said to Harry, purposely brushing their arms together as they walked. It was smooth, Harry would give him that.

“Yeah, I’m glad as well.” 

The three walked down the rest of the steps in a pleasant silence. It had only been three days but Jakub was definitely clear about his feelings. Harry understood his assertiveness, they didn’t have much time after all. He even let Jakub slide his fingers into his as they walked and he really hoped that Malfoy thanked him for it. 

Hermione, upon noticing it, was staring at their entwined hands the entire time, not even noticing it when she bumped into a large figure. She fell onto her bum, profusely apologising.

“It’s alright,” said the low voice of Viktor Krum. He extended his hand to her. She stared at him for a moment before she took it and let him help her stand up.

“Hello,” he greeted Harry and Hermione. “Zdrasti, Kuba,” he said to Jakub, before talking to him in Bulgarian. 

Jakub replied back, smiling at Harry, before he told them in English, “Viktor is wondering what place is best to workout at without being bothered.” 

“I’d say the Quidditch pitch,” Harry replied. “It’s not being used this year anyway. No one will bother you there.” 

Krum smiled. “Thank you. I’m Viktor, by the way,” he said. 

“Draco,” said Harry, that name still an oddity to him.

“Oh, I know,” Krum laughed, looking at his stepbrother. 

“I’m Hermione.”

Krum was unfamiliar with this name. “Herminniny?” he said, eyebrows raised.

“Uh no, it’s– Never mind,” she mumbled, nervously playing with the ends of her curls.

Surely, Hermione didn’t…

“Where is this Quidditch pitch?” Krum asked Harry.

“Just walk straight ahead and go left,” Harry explained. “You’ll find it, it’s very big.”

He thanked Harry and said goodbye to the three. 

“My stepbrother is single, you know,” Jakub told Hermione, a small smirk on his lips. 

Hermione’s eyes widened. She began to stammer some incoherent sentences before saying, “Oh, I’m not that big of a Quidditch fan.”

“Even better! He doesn’t like fangirls.”

“Oh wow.” 

“Mhm,” hummed Jakub, wiggling his brows. He then nudged Harry’s shoulder. “Hey, Draco. Do you have time to visit the ships today?”

“Now?”

“If you want.”

He glanced at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly and he wasn’t sure if she was doing it for him or Malfoy. Harry shrugged nonchalantly, trying to channel his inner Draco. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

“I’ll head out to the library,” Hermione piped up. “I found this very interesting book that I need to borrow.” She gave Harry a hug and headed towards the castle. 

The boys headed to the lake hand in hand. Harry asked Jakub about what school was like at Durmstrang, starting a long explanation of what was better, worse and the same. He was glad to let Jakub do the talking. He didn’t know what to say to the bloke anyway. He wasn’t Malfoy. He couldn’t casually strike up conversation with Cho Chang and have her laugh (because yes, he had seen them talk the day he was announced as Champion). He wondered how Malfoy dealt with speaking to a person he wasn’t physically attracted to. Maybe he, like Harry, thought it was maybe slightly easy because Cho, like Jakub, was very good-looking.

The inside of the Durmstrang ship was quite impressive. Harry entered into a narrow corridor lit by lanterns whose flames burned a deep red. The varnished walls were covered by carvings of sea serpents and jagged runes. The smell was of seawater, pine resin, smoke, and steel. He almost felt as though he were in a pirate movie. Moody would probably fit perfectly in one, playing the captain obviously. 

Jakub moved through the halls with effortless ease, greeting everyone they saw past. They eventually reached a room with the names Krum and Dancewicz carved onto it. He opened the door with a key and stepped in. 

The room was a generic dorm with two large beds with red and brown bedding. Viktor’s side had a proud display of Bulgarian memorabilia, Quidditch posters (that didn’t include him) and what appeared to be a rockstar with his face painted in black and white. Jakub’s side, on the other hand, was more calm. He had a simple painting on the wall of a mountain range and his nightstand had a picture of him, his mother, Viktor and a man who looked exactly like him.

“Nice place,” said Harry.

“Glad you think that,” Jakub said softly. He sat down on his bed, patting the space next to him.

Harry sat down next to him. The weight of him sitting down pushed Jakub slightly closer. But, given how slim Malfoy was, he doubted that it had been that extreme.

“Is your hair naturally that white?” Jakub asked, brushing some bit of it out of Harry’s face.

“Yeah,” Harry replied despite having wondered the same thing before. 

“It’s nice. There’s not many boys like you in Poland.”

“Like me?” said Harry softly.

Jakub leaned in closer, his breath fanning Harry’s ear. “Ładny,” he practically purred in his ear.  

Malfoy’s skin was very pale and whatever shade it was now definitely did not suit him.

“What’s it mean?” asked Harry, turning his head to look at him. Jakub’s face was incredibly close.

“Pretty,” Jakub replied, cupping Harry’s cheek and leaning in.

***

Draco would like to apologise in advance for his language, but Rita Skeeter was a total bitch. She had published her piece about the Triwizard Tournament, and it had turned out to be not so much a report on the tournament as a highly coloured life story of Harry Potter. And Draco had honestly not even said much! Only a few assumptions he had about Potter. Assumptions! But that was sooooo bad that the Gryffindors practically pounced on him for explanations. Potter should be happy. He was on the front page. 

But the lies, though, Draco could not accept. Colin Creevey as his close friend? That Mudblood? Even worse, Granger was apparently his lover now. Ugh. He was so glad that this wouldn’t be permanent. Because it wouldn’t. 

From the moment the article had appeared, Draco had to endure his fellow Slytherins quoting it at him and insulting him as he passed. 

"Want a hanky, Potter, in case you start crying in Transfiguration?"

"Since when have you been one of the top students in the school, Potter? Or is this a school you and Longbottom have set up together?"

"Hey - Harry!"

"Alright, I get it! Want to insult me more?” Draco shouted at this person.

"No - it was just - you dropped your quill." It was Cho. 

Oh well… Sorry, Potter.

"Oh - right - sorry," he muttered, taking the quill back. “It’s just the insults have been endless.” 

“I’m sure she just misinterpreted your words,” said Cho reassuringly. 

“She did more than that,” Draco laughed. “Practically made things up too. And now she also barely spotlighted the other champions too. Cedric wasn’t even mentioned.”

“Yeah, it’s cruel,” Cho agreed. “But when you both do well on Tuesday, she cannot avoid talking about him.” 

“Let’s hope I do,” Draco said miserably. 

Cho put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Sure you will.” 

“Thank you.” 

Once Cho was gone, Draco focused back on his Illustrare Manifesto spell. Granger had found it for him in a Charm textbook. It was a spell that turned any drawing into real life. The spell was one complicated thing. If you drew something wrong, it would turn out not working or functioning properly. It was only temporary and, most annoyingly, it was an illusion. So, if Draco drew a pen, he wouldn’t be able to hold it. 

Granger’s second option had been the Summoning Spell, which Potter had wanted to learn aside from him. He, of course, was miles better at it than Draco, which frustrated him to no end but he didn’t want to show it.

He’d read one of the books she’d given him. The brief history one and, honestly, he was still not convinced. But he had learned a few things about Muggleborns that disproved what his father had told him. Apparently, all of the first wizards were Muggleborns. Not a single person in recorded history had come from a natural long line of Wizards until they’d begun marrying amongst themselves. It sort of made sense. But thinking that he was descendent from Muggles messed with his system. 

On the Saturday before the first task, all students in the third year and above and the foreign students were permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade. 

Draco met up with Pansy and Potter’s lot at the Three Broomsticks. Exiting just as they walked in were  Rita Skeeter and her photographer friend. They spoke in low voices and passed right by them without looking at them. 

“Ugh, thankfully,” said Pansy. “That crocodile skin bag is so tacky as well.”

Draco laughed. “Tell me about it.” 

"She's staying in the village. I bet she's coming to watch the first task,” said Potter, glaring at the lady who had written that scathing article about him after all. Draco was merely getting the biggest hits from it. 

"She's gone," said Granger. "Why don't we go inside , it's a bit cold, isn't it?"

“I second that,” said Weasley, shivering.

The Three Broomsticks was packed, mainly with Hogwarts students enjoying their free afternoon, but also with a variety of magical people Draco rarely saw anywhere else. Scum, his father would call these people at times. It was very hard to move through crowds as a group of five. Draco eventually found a spare table for them to sit. Granger went up to get their drinks and while she was gone, they discussed the first task. 

“Have you thought about what it could be, Draco?” Pansy asked him, soothingly rubbing his back.

“No, not really. But I hope the spells we’ve been practicing are working.” 

“Sorry that I couldn’t really help,” Weasley said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Got detention from Snape after getting in a scuffle with Crabbe and Goyle. Can’t have people talking bad about my best mate.” He gave Potter a supportive shoulder rub.

Potter smiled back at him. 

Granger joined him a moment later and gave everyone their order.

Draco took his tea and gave it a tap with his wand. Not too hot and not too cold. Just how he liked it. 

"Lucky I brought something to do," Granger said excitedly. She pulled out a notebook in which she had been keeping a record of S.P.E.W. members. Draco saw Potter and Weasley’s at the top of the very short list.

“What’s that?” asked Pansy curiously, glancing down at the paper.

“S.P.E.W, The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare,” Granger explained proudly. 

“She’s fighting for House Elf rights,” Draco explained while laughing.

But Pansy, to his surprise, wasn’t laughing. She looked excitedly at Granger. “Didn’t think you’d had it in you. I always thought it was wrong that we assumed a whole race enjoys being slaves.”

Granger slammed her fist onto the table. “Exactly! At least someone agrees,” she added with a quelling look at the boys.

Pansy took her quill and wrote her name down. 

“That’s two sickles, please,” Granger said.

Pansy rummaged through her pockets and happily gave it to her.

“Unbelieveable,” muttered Draco. 

"You know, maybe I should try and get some of the villagers involved in S.P.E.W.," Granger said thoughtfully, looking around the pub.

"Yeah, right," said Potter. He took a swig of butterbeer. "Hermione, when are you going to give up on this spew stuff?"

“At least someone agrees with me,” Draco mumbled.

“You boys are absolutely heartless privileged arseholes,” Pansy said angrily.

“Priviledged?” Weasley mumbled.

“She’s doing something incredibly noble here.” 

“Well, Parkinson, you know as well as the rest of us that it’ll lead her nowhere,” said Weasley.

"I'm starting to think it's time for more direct action,” Granger decided. “I wonder how you get into the school kitchens?"

"No idea, ask Fred and George," said Potter.

Granger went silent, scribbling things down in her little notebook. Draco saw Potter looking around, his eyes zeroing in on Cho Chang. Ugh, how could he have forgotten? Jakub.

“How was your stay in Jakub’s bedroom?”

Both Weasley and Potter choked on their butterbeers when he said that.

Potter wiped his mouth, his cheeks tinging pink. “Umm, well, I guess,” he mumbled, nervously tapping his fingers. “We didn’t s-snog or anyt-thing.”

“Aww damn,” Draco said with a frown.

“Did you want me to kiss him?” Potter asked incredulously. 

“No, duh,” Draco added with an eyeroll. “I want him to want to snog you but when we switch back, I can do so,” he explained.

“You’re an odd bloke, you know,” Weasley said, though it didn't sound rude at all.

“I honestly hope it works out and he doesn’t like Potter’s version of you more than you,” said Pansy pensively, sipping on her tea.

“Of course he won’t,” Draco said with a huff. “I’m better.”

Potter ignored his insulting comment to tell Draco to- “Make sure the same doesn’t happen with Cho.”

Draco put a hand to his heart and promised him just that.

"Look, it's Hagrid!" said Granger.

Ugh, why was Potter even friends with the oaf? Draco thought, growing annoyed at the idea of him coming to them. He thankfully made some detours for Draco to brace himself at what he may let slip out if the giant oaf spoke to him. After some time, he came to their table. He appeared surprised to see Potter in Draco’s body and Pansy there, but greeted the trio nonetheless. “All right?” 

"Hello," said Weasley and Granger, smiling back.

“Hello,” said Draco, kind of forgetting that he was Potter now. 

Hagrid now bent down on the pretext of reading the S.P.E.W. notebook as well, and said in a whisper so low that only Draco could hear it, "Harry, meet me tonight at midnight at me cabin. Wear that cloak." Straightening up, Hagrid said loudly, "Nice ter see yeh," winked, and departed. 

Moody followed him.

"What did he say?" asked Potter, leaning in.

“He wants me to meet up with him at midnight.”

"Does he?" said Granger, looking startled. "I wonder what he's up to? I don't know whether you should go. . ." She looked nervously around and whispered something in Potter’s ear.

“What?” snapped Draco.

“None of your business,” Weasley snapped.

“You know,” Draco spat, “we should do this secret-free.”

“Alright, then tell us if your father was torturing the Muggles at the Quidditch Cup,” Potter said angrily. “And that he may have framed me for casting that Dark Mark. Or maybe he was the one who cast that swap spell on us.” 

Draco huffed, getting to his feet. “Let’s go, Pansy. Bunch of lowlifes, this lot are.”

“Tell me when the next S.P.E.W meeting is, Granger,” whispered Pansy before Draco took her by the arm to drag her out. Due to how packed the place was, no one seemed to realise how odd it was that Harry Potter and Pansy Parkinson were on their own. 

At eleven fifty five, Draco headed towards the lights shining in Hagrid's cabin. The inside of the enormous Beauxbatons carriage was also lit up. Draco could hear Madame Maxime talking inside it as he knocked on Hagrid's front door.

"You there, Harry?" Hagrid whispered, opening the door and looking around.

"Yeah," said Draco, slipping inside the cabin and pulling the cloak down off his head. "What's up?"

"Got summat ter show yeh," said Hagrid with a grin that was as wide as when he told the class those Hippogriffs were not dangerous. The scar on Draco’s arm told a different story! Draco let his eyes roam over Hagrid’s outfit. He was wearing a hideous flower in his buttonhole. It looked as though he had abandoned the use of axle grease, but he had certainly attempted to comb his hair, its broken teeth tangled in it. 

"What?" said Draco warily, thinking of the possibilities of the dangerous things he’d throw his way.

"Come with me, keep quiet, an' keep yerself covered with that cloak," said Hagrid. "We won' take Fang, he won' like it. . .”

Fuck, Draco thought.  "Listen, Hagrid, I can't stay long. . . ."

But Hagrid wasn't listening; he was opening the cabin door and striding off into the night. Draco somehow managed to catch up to him, and once he finally stopped walking he realised that Hagrid had led them to the Beauxbatons carriage. 

"Hagrid, what - ?"

"Shhh!" said Hagrid, and he knocked three times on the door bearing the crossed golden wands.

Madame Maxime opened it. She was wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulders. She smiled when she saw Hagrid. "Ah, 'Agrid . . . it is time?"

"Bong-sewer," said Hagrid, beaming at her, and holding out a hand to help her down the golden steps. Oh Salazar, Draco thought. Not only was his French horrendous. Hagrid fancied the woman! He did not want to see these people kiss, just so that oaf knew. He only wanted to see what Hagrid wanted to show him. And that man better not waste his time while he was busy sucking up to Madame Maxime who was simply too fabulous for him. 

But then, when they had walked so far that the castle and the lake were out of sight, Draco heard men shouting up ahead, and then came a deafening roar. Hagrid led Madame Maxime around a clump of trees and came to a halt. Draco hurried up alongside them, he thought there was a fire. Until he saw something that made his mouth fall open and almost pee in his briefs.

Dragons.

Four fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons. Roaring, snorting and spitting out fire. There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, a smooth-scaled green one, a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, and a gigantic black one, more lizard-like than the others, which was nearest to them. Ten guesses which one Draco would need to fight or perhaps kill! At least thirty wizards were trying to control each dragon, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. The black dragon was making a horrible, earth shattering scream.

"Keep back there, Hagrid!" yelled a wizard near the fence, straining on the chain he was holding. "They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know! I've seen this Horntail do forty!"

"Is'n' it beautiful?" said Hagrid softly.

Freaking terrifying, it was. Draco thought. 

They stupefied the dragon, which was done with all thirty men shouting at it. Once it fell down with a great thud, they lowered their wands and walked forward to it. They quickly tightened the chains and fastened them securely to iron pegs, which they forced deep into the ground with their wands.

"Wan' a closer look?" Hagrid asked Madame Maxime excitedly. Absolutely not! Draco thought. The pair of them got closer, as did the wizard who had warned Hagrid earlier, and Draco realised, quite happily, that it was Charlie Weasley, looking stunning in a special suit. 

"All right, Hagrid?" he panted, coming over to talk. "They should be okay now - we put them out with a Sleeping Draft on the way here, thought it might be better for them to wake up in the dark and the quiet - but, like you saw, they weren't happy, not happy at all -"

"What breeds you got here, Charlie?" said Hagrid, gazing at the black one. Its eyes were still just open. 

"This is a Hungarian Horntail," said Charlie. "There's a Common Welsh Green over there, the smaller one -- a Swedish Short-Snout, that blue-gray -- and a Chinese Fireball, that's the red."

Charlie looked around; Madame Maxime was strolling away around the edge of the enclosure, gazing at the stunned dragons.

"I didn't know you were bringing her, Hagrid," Charlie said, frowning. "The champions aren't supposed to know what's coming - she's bound to tell her student, isn't she?"

"Jus' thought she'd like ter see 'em," shrugged Hagrid, enraptured by the dragons.

"Really romantic date, Hagrid," said Charlie, shaking his head.

"Four. . ." said Hagrid, "so it's one fer each o' the champions, is it? What've they gotta do - fight 'em?"

"Just get past them, I think," said Charlie, scratching the back of his head. Wow! Draco thought. (Not about Charlie this time)  That could be easy. "We'll be on hand if it gets nasty, Extinguishing Spells at the ready. They wanted nesting mothers, I don't know why. . . but I tell you this, I don't envy the one who gets the Horntail. Vicious thing. Its back end's as dangerous as its front, look." Charlie pointed toward the Horntail's tail, and Harry saw long, bronze-colored spikes protruding along it every few inches.

Five keepers staggered up to the Horntail, carrying a clutch of huge grey eggs between them in a blanket. They placed them carefully at the Horntail's side. 

Hagrid let out a moan of longing. 

"I've got them counted, Hagrid," said Charlie sternly. Then he said, "How's Harry?"

Draco was practically swooning, not even caring he thought he was Potter 

"Fine," said Hagrid, still gazing at the eggs.

"Just hope he's still fine after he's faced this lot," said Charlie grimly. "I didn't dare tell Mum what he's got to do for the first task; she's already having kittens about him. . . ." Charlie imitated his mother's anxious voice. "How could they let him enter that tournament, he's much too young! I thought they were all safe, I thought there was going to be an age limit!' She was in floods after that Daily Prophet article about him. 'He still cries about his parents! Oh bless him, I never knew!"

Draco rolled his eyes. He knew that there was nothing more for him to know. He turned silently and began to walk away, back to the castle. Fleur would know, Harry did know and he even bumped into Karkaroff on his way back. This meant that everyone but Cedric was aware of what the first task would be… 

*** 

“Dragons?” said Diggory with widened eyes.

“Four of them,” said Malfoy, nodding. “We have to get past them and whoever has the Horntail is in big big trouble.” 

Cedric stared at him, then at Harry. He wasn’t that confused as to why Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter ambushed him but that would’ve been an odd sight before their truce. Harry had practically forced Malfoy to tell Cedric. Since the idiot had hesitated, Harry was there to make sure he wasn’t going to break his promise.

"Are you sure?" Cedric said in a hushed voice.

"I’ve seen them," said Malfoy.

"But how did you find out? We're not supposed to know. . . ."

"Never mind," said Malfoy with a dismissive wave of his hand.  "But I'm not the only one who knows. Fleur and Krum will know by now- Maxime and Karkaroff both saw the dragons too."

Cedric straightened up, his arms full of inky quills, parchment, and books, his ripped bag dangling off one shoulder (courtesy of Malfoy, of course because the idiot could not approach him normally). He stared at Malfoy, and there was a puzzled, almost suspicious look in his eyes.

"Why are you telling me?" he asked.

Malfoy looked at him in disbelief, then glanced at Harry.  "It's fair game," he said to Cedric, though he wasn’t looking at him. "We’ll be equals."

Cedric was still looking at him in a slightly suspicious way when Harry heard a familiar clunking noise behind him. He turned around and saw Mad-Eye Moody emerging from a nearby classroom.

"Come with me, Potter," he growled. "Diggory, Malfoy, off you go."

Malfoy stared apprehensively at Moody. Had he overheard them?

"Er - Professor, I'm supposed to be in Herbology -"

"Never mind that, Potter. In my office, please…” 

Harry gave Malfoy a lopsided smile before he himself headed to Charms classes.

He unfortunately couldn’t be there when Malfoy was practising his spells one last time and did not know if he’d mastered them or not by the time that the task rolled around. But, judging from how Malfoy’s hands were completely ink stained, he was drawing day and night. 

There were hundreds of seats at the high enclosure they had magicked for this first task. Students wearing all sorts of colours were sitting at the seats. Fred and George were even making bets and Harry decided to buy one for fun. He was rooting for Krum just to keep up with Malfoy’s appearances.

He sat down two rows behind Hermione and Ron, with Parkinson next to him. Harry was about to let Goyle sit next to him when someone in Durmstrang robes took that seat.

Harry was quite terrified of Jakub now. Yes, he had lied to Malfoy that day at Hogsmeade simply because he didn’t want his friends to know what he and Jakub did. Because they snogged, alright. Harry pulled away at first because he hoped for Cho to be his first kiss, but Jakub had scratched the back of his ear, which must’ve been Malfoy’s blind spot because Harry instantly got the urge to kiss him again. 

It was long, passionate and could’ve turned into something quite taboo if Krum hadn’t returned from his workout. After that, Jakub gave him a pill that took away his uncomfortable rise and he ran back to Hogwarts castle. 

After that experience, Harry knew one thing for certain, he was a bisexual. 

Thank you, Draco Malfoy. 

“Hi, you’ve been avoiding me.”

That was by design, Harry thought.

“Oh yeah, sorry,” Harry apologised. “It’s just with Mal– Potter and the first task. I’ve been pre-occupied.”

Jakub raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you were that close.”

“Umm, that’s recent,” said Harry quickly.

Jakub looped his arm around Harry’s waist. He leaned in closer to whisper. “Don’t ignore me like that again, alright?”

Harry nodded.

Jakub smiled, giving him a quick peck.

Parkinson gave him a thumbs up while Crabbe and Goyle appeared confused. They glanced at one another before shrugging and mimicking Parkinson’s gesture. Huh, Harry thought. Maybe Malfoy and his goons were actually close.

After some time, the first task began and each Champion showed a different way to retrieve a golden dragon egg. Cedric Transfigured a rock on the ground into a dog and tried to make the dragon go for the dog instead of him. It sort of worked, though, as he got the egg but it burned him pretty heavily when the dragon changed its mind halfway through and decided it would rather have him than the Labrador. Fleur Delacour tried this sort of charm that made it go all sleepily, but when it snored, a great jet of flame shot out, and her skirt caught fire, which she put out with her wand. And Krum did not use his flying skills for good. Instead, he hit it with some sort of spell right in the eye making it trample around in agony and squash half of her real eggs. Most judges took off marks for it aside from Karkaroff, of course. 

And then came the Horntail, at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her yellow eyes on Malfoy as he entered, thrashing her spiked tail, heaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground. The crowd was making a great deal of noise. But Malfoy didn’t care. He rummaged through his pocket to take out a piece of paper and raised his wand. “Illustrate Manifesto!”

It was silent for a second. Malfoy carefully placed the paper onto the ground and stepped away. Then, suddenly, the lines of the drawing shimmered, then bulged outward as though the paper were three-dimensional. Black scales rippled into existence, each one shedding flakes of ink that dissolved into sparks of silver light. With a sound like parchment tearing, the dragon pushed free. Once fully emerged, the creature shook itself, scattering loose shreds of paper that evaporated mid-air, and fixed its glowing eyes on the female Hungarian Horntail.

Jakub gasped next to him, as did many others.

The female Horntail looked curiously at the paper dragon. Malfoy moved his wand, whispering something which made his creation move. Malfoy’s dragon spread out its wings and began to swish its head side to side. The real Horntail began to act very odd when it did that, moving her head similarly as it approached the fake Horntail.

A lot of people had odd reactions to it. Some appeared uncomfortable, Madame Maxime’s mouth was wide open, Parkinson covered the eyes of the first year sitting next to her and Jakub let out a nervous laugh.

Harry frowned, nudging him. “What’s it doing?”

But it wasn’t Jakub who responded. 

“Merlin and Morgana,” Goyle gasped. “He made the dragon go all randy.” 

Harry’s eyes widened, staring at Malfoy, who’d managed to grab the egg as the female dragon approached the creation. His unorthodox method had worked after all and Harry was glad that meant the randy dragons could disappear now. 

“There you have it!” said Bagman. “Our youngest contestant is the quickest to grab his egg!” 

Malfoy ran out of the enclosure just in time for the Horntail to try and touch the paper dragon, which made it disappear into the air. The dragonkeepers hurried to subdue the dragon before she began burning up everyone because her lover was fake. Harry saw Ron and Hermione getting out of the stands to get to Malfoy. Knowing he had to join them, he quickly mumbled to Jakub, “I have to go.”

Jakub frowned. “Why?”

“I need to use the loo,” Harry lied quickly. 

Jakub clicked his tongue. “Draco,” he said softly, “Don’t lie, alright? I know you’re going to see Potter.” 

“Yeah, I lied,” Harry said, eyes landing on Ron and Hermione who were clearly waiting for him. “Bye.” 

Before Harry could truly leave, though, Jakub took it upon himself to shove his tongue down Harry’s throat for a good ten seconds before he could finally escape. He met up with his friends and the trio headed to the tent.

As they made their way up there, Harry noticed how Ron was eyeing him. 

“So, you’re a bendy?” he asked. 

“Half, I suppose,” Harry replied, scratching the back of his head. “Boys and girls.”

Ron smiled, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “That’s cool. But hey, tell the bloke to have some decorum. Almost like he wanted to dig a golden egg out of you.”

“Ugh, Ron,” said Hermione with a curl of her lip as Ron cackled. 

Harry’s cheeks tinged pink. 

“Do you like him, though?” asked Hermione. 

Did he? Jakub was nice, handsome and a good listener. He wasn’t that bad of a friend, but Harry didn’t know how to react when he did things like that. Besides, he couldn’t truly fall for him as he was one, in Draco Malfoy’s body and two, doing this for the person whose body he was currently possessing. “I mean, there’s still Cho.”

“Ah yes, Malfoy has been striking a lot of conversation with her,” said Ron. 

“Yes,” Harry smiled. “I’ve seen it. But I’ve been thinking about what Parkinson said.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Ron said with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“I’m quite surprised by her, you know,” said Hermione pensively. “She hasn’t called me any mean names, even after that Skeeter article. She even asked me what books I gave Malfoy for her to read. I think we may have underestimated the Slytherins.”

“Sure, Hermione,” said Ron. 

Once they reached the tent, they quickly headed inside. "Harry, you were brilliant!" Hermione said squeakily, and Harry was glad she hadn’t slipped up in her excitement. "You were amazing! You really were! That illusion spell was a fantastic idea."

“Yeah, mate,” said Ron. “You beat everyone out there.”

“And nearly pissed myself while doing so,” Malfoy said grimly, flinching when Pomfrey put some ointment on a wound. 

“What do you think, Malfoy?” Malfoy asked, grinning up at him.

And Harry, in the spur of the moment, surprised even himself when he leaned forward to give him a hug. “I’m so happy you didn’t die.”

“Wait,” mumbled Malfoy, narrowing his eyes, “really?”

Okay, maybe, if he was actually the Champion he would’ve wished him to fight a Horntail but still. “Yeah! Really!” 

“Harry, c'mon,” said Ron, pulling at the actual Harry’s arm distractedly, “they'll be putting up your scores..."

Malfoy picked up the golden egg and his wand and with that, the four of them walked out of the tent. They soon reached the edge of the enclosure. The five judges were sitting right at the other end, in raised seats draped in gold.

"It's marks out of ten from each one," Ron said. 

The first judge - Madame Maxime - raised her wand in the air. What looked like a long silver ribbon shot out of it, which twisted itself into a large figure eight.

"Not bad!" said Ron as the crowd applauded. "I suppose she took marks off your shoulder. . .”

Mr. Crouch came next. He shot a number nine into the air.

"Looking good!" Ron yelled, thumping Malfoy on the back.

Next, Dumbledore. He too put up a nine. The crowd was cheering harder than ever.

Ludo Bagman - ten.

"Ten?" said Malfoy in disbelief. "But–"

“Be happy, Draco,” said Hermione, which surprised even Malfoy that she used his first name.

And now Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused for a moment, and then a number shot out of his wand too - four.

"What?" Harry bellowed furiously. "A four?”

“You lousy, biased scum-bag, you gave Krum ten!" Ron shouted, sounding just as angry.

“You know what,” Malfoy piped up. “I don’t really care, you know.”

Ron looked at him as though he’d grown a second head. “Why?”

“Because I survived to live the tale. The dragon fighting a dragon–”

“You didn’t fight it,” said Harry.

“It’s the biggest honour,” Malfoy continued, ignoring him. “And,” He turned to Hermione. “I couldn’t have done it without you. I’ve been a prejudiced idiot to you. To all of you and, to be honest, I’ve been quite jealous of you. You’re good friends to one another.” He looked at Ron. “Ron Weasley, your loyalty is simply admirable. And Hermione Granger, you are, truly, a great teacher and I have been a fool to undermine you simply for the way you were born.”

When he said that, Hermione looked on the verge of tears. She let out a small sob and threw her arms around him.

“What about me?” asked Harry, realising he’d completely skipped over him.

Malfoy looked up at him. Harry’s emerald eyes meeting Malfoy’s greys. He pondered for a moment until he said, “You’re not as bad as I thought.”

***

Look, Draco was glad that he apologised to Potter and his lot and all but that still didn’t mean he was a S.P.E.W advocate! He knew exactly that it was Hermione's intention when they walked down to the hall of paintings, where they stopped at one of the fruit bowl. Ron (yes, very odd that Draco had started calling him that but whatever) seemed to catch on as well.

"Hermione! You're trying to rope us into that spew stuff again!"

"No, no, I'm not!" she said hastily. "And it's not spew, Ron -"

"Changed the name, have you?" said Ron, frowning at her. "What are we now, then, the House-Elf Liberation Front? I'm not barging into that kitchen and trying to make them stop work, I'm not doing it -"

"I'm not asking you to!" Hermione said impatiently. "I came down here just now, to talk to them all, and I found - oh come on, Draco, I want to show you!"

She seized his arm again, pulled him in front of the picture of the giant fruit bowl, stretched out her forefinger, and tickled the huge green pear. It began to squirm, chuckling, and suddenly turned into a large green door handle. Hermione seized it, pulled the door open, and forced the boys inside.

Draco could only glance at the room for a second when something small hurtled toward him from the middle of the room, squealing, "Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter!"

Draco could hardly brace himself when the wind had been knocked out of him as the squealing elf hit him hard in the midriff, hugging him with an amazing strength for his size. "D-Dobby?" Draco gasped. “What are you doing here? Father said he killed you!” 

Ron, who stood next to him, stepped on his foot.

“Ouch.”

"It is Dobby, sir, it is!" squealed Dobby, not even having heard the latter. He let go of him and excitedly babbled. "Dobby has been hoping and hoping to see Harry Potter, sir, and Harry Potter has come to see him, sir!"

He beamed up at him, his enormous, green, tennis-ball-shaped eyes brimming with tears of happiness. Salazar, it was almost sad that he’d never been that happy seeing Draco. And he still wasn’t, because the thing thought he was seeing Harry Potter. Of course the creature was one of his many admirers! 

When Dobby had worked for his family, he had always worn the same filthy old pillowcase. Now, however, he was wearing a tea cozy for a hat, on which he had pinned bright badges; a tie patterned with horseshoes over a bare chest, a pair of what looked like children's football shorts, and odd socks. One, old and black, and the other pink with orange stripes.

"Dobby, what're you doing here?" asked Draco. 

"Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir!" Dobby squealed excitedly. "Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby and Winky jobs, sir!

"Winky?" said Ron. "She's here too?"

"Yes, sirs, yes!" said Dobby, and he seized Draco’s hand and pulled him off into the kitchen between the four long wooden tables. At least a hundred little elves were standing around the kitchen, beaming, bowing, and curtsying as Dobby led him past. They were all wearing the same uniform: a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest, and tied like a toga.

Dobby stopped in front of the brick fireplace and pointed. "Winky, sir!" he said.

Winky was sitting on a stool by the fire. Unlike Dobby, she was merely wearing a neat little skirt and blouse with a matching blue hat, which had holes in it for her ears. Draco noticed that she looked quite unkempt, and very sad. 

"Hello," said Draco.

Winky's lip quivered. Then she burst into tears, which spilled out of her brown eyes and splashed down her front.

"Oh dear," said Hermione. She and Ron had followed them to the end of the kitchen. "Winky, don't cry, please don't..."

But Winky cried harder than ever. Dobby, on the other hand, beamed up at Draco.

"Would Harry Potter like a cup of tea?" he squeaked loudly, over Winky's sobs.

"No, thanks," said Draco. He knew that Dobby made great tea, but he wasn’t thirsty. 

But when Ron mumbled about craving a cookie, about six elves sped up to give him one.  "Good service!" Ron said, in an impressed voice. 

Hermione frowned at him, but the elves all looked delighted; they bowed very low and retreated.

"How long have you been here, Dobby?" Draco asked.

"Only a week. Harry Potter, sir!" said Dobby happily. "Dobby came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir. You see, sir, it is very difficult for a house-elf who has been dismissed to get a new position, sir, very difficult indeed -"

At this, Winky howled even harder. At some point, Draco was going to tell her to shut up. 

"Dobby has traveled the country for two whole years, sir, trying to find work!" Dobby squeaked. "But Dobby hasn't found work, sir, because Dobby wants paying now!"

The house-elves around him looked away at these words. Because Dobby had said something that was scandalous to them. Draco knew that. 

Hermione, however, said, "Good for you, Dobby!"

"Thank you, miss!" said Dobby, grinning at her. "But most wizards doesn't want a house-elf who wants paying, miss. 'That's not the point of a house- elf,' they says, and they slammed the door in Dobby's face! Dobby likes work, but he wants to wear clothes and he wants to be paid. Harry Potter.... Dobby likes being free!"

The Hogwarts house-elves had now started edging away from Dobby ‘the rebel’ as though he’d contracted the bubonic plague. Winky kept on crying. 

"And then, Harry Potter, Dobby goes to visit Winky, and finds out Winky had been freed too, sir!" said Dobby delightedly.

At this, Draco nearly jumped when Winky flung herself forward off her stool and laid face-down on the stone floor, beating her tiny fists upon it and screaming so loudly he hoped this room was sound proof. Hermione dropped down to her knees beside her and tried to comfort her, but nothing she said made the slightest difference. 

Dobby continued with his story, shouting shrilly over Winky's screeches. "And then Dobby had the idea. Harry Potter, sir! 'Why doesn't Dobby and Winky find work together?' Dobby says. 'Where is there enough work for two house-elves?' says Winky. And Dobby thinks, and it comes to him, sir! Hogwarts! So Dobby and Winky came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir, and Professor Dumbledore took us on! And Professor Dumbledore says he will pay Dobby, sir, if Dobby wants paying! And so Dobby is a free elf, sir, and Dobby gets a Galleon a week and one day off a month!"

"That's not very much!" Hermione shouted.

"Professor Dumbledore offered Dobby ten Galleons a week, and weekends off," said Dobby, suddenly giving a little shiver, "but Dobby beat him down, miss. . . . Dobby likes freedom, miss, but he isn't wanting too much, miss, he likes work better."

"And how much is Professor Dumbledore paying you, Winky?" Hermione asked kindly.

"Winky is a disgraced elf, but Winky is not yet getting paid!" she squeaked angrily.  "Winky is not sunk so low as that! Winky is properly ashamed of being freed!"

"Ashamed?" said Hermione blankly. Ugh,Draco hoped she would finally get it now. "But Winky, come on! It's Mr. Crouch who should be ashamed, not you! You didn't do anything wrong, he was really horrible to you -"

At the words of Hermione insulting her former master, Winky flattened her ears so that she couldn't hear a word, and screeched, "You is not insulting my master, miss! You is not insulting Mr. Crouch! Mr. Crouch is a good wizard, miss! Mr. Crouch is right to sack bad Winky!"

"Winky is having trouble adjusting, Harry Potter," squeaked Dobby confidentially.

“Yeah, we’ve noticed,” said Ron, terrifiedly looking at the elf.

"Winky forgets she is not bound to Mr. Crouch anymore; she is allowed to speak her mind now, but she won't do it."

“So,” Draco said, crossing his arms. “What would you say about the Malfoys now?” Because honestly, Draco would like to know. 

A slightly fearful look came into Dobby's eyes. "Dobby - Dobby could," he said doubtfully. "Dobby could tell Harry Potter that his old masters were - were - bad Dark wizards'." But Dobby was quickly horrified at what he said, rushing over to the nearest table and banging his head on it very hard, squealing, "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

Draco had no idea where it came from, but he shouted at him to- “Stop that!”

The image reminded him of an instant when he was younger when Dobby had accidentally made his mother’s tea too hot and his father made him pour steaming hot water into his eyes. Draco was eight and since then, he’d been terrified of how easily House Elves obeyed their masters. But to him, he just thought it was better that the Elves were abusing themselves and that Draco’s father wasn’t hitting the thing. His mother forbade him from doing it in front of Draco, but he had seen it at times when Father didn’t close the door well enough. 

And there was something so touching about how grateful Dobby looked. A free Elf who was still too afraid to badmouth the masters that had long forgotten him. It was sickening. "Thank you. Harry Potter, thank you.”

"You is ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dobby, talking that way about your masters!" 

"They isn't my masters anymore, Winky!" said Dobby defiantly. "Dobby doesn't care what they think anymore!"

“Good,” Draco spoke up. “That’s very good, Dobby.” 

"No, it is not! Oh you is a bad elf, Dobby!" moaned Winky, tears leaking down her face once more. "My poor Mr. Crouch, what is he doing without Winky? He is needing me, he is needing my help! I is looking after the Crouches all my life, and my mother is doing it before me, and my grandmother is doing it before her ... oh what is they saying if they knew Winky was freed? Oh the shame, the shame!" She buried her face in her skirt again and bawled.

"Winky," said Hermione firmly, "I'm quite sure Mr. Crouch is getting along perfectly well without you. We've seen him, you know -"

"You is seeing my master?" said Winky breathlessly. "You is seeing him here at Hogwarts?"

"Yes," said Hermione, "he and Mr Bagman are judges in the Triwizard Tournament."

"Mr. Bagman comes too?" squeaked Winky, and to everyone’s great surprise, she looked angry again. "Mr. Bagman is a bad wizard! A very bad wizard! My master isn't liking him, oh no, not at all!"

"Bagman the Beater, bad?" said Draco.

"Oh yes," Winky said, nodding her head furiously, "My master is telling Winky some things! But Winky is not saying.. . Winky - Winky keeps her master's secrets..." She began sobbing into her skirt again, "Poor master, poor master, no Winky to help him no more!"

As they couldn't get another sensible word out of her anymore, they left her to her crying while Dobby chatted about his life as a free elf. "Dobby is going to buy a sweater next, Harry Potter!" he said happily, pointing at his bare chest,

"Tell you what, Dobby," said Ron, who seemed to have taken a liking him, "I'll give you the one my mum knits me this Christmas, I always get one from her. You don't mind maroon, do you?" 

Dobby was delighted.

"We might have to shrink it a bit to fit you," Ron told him, "but it'll go well with your tea cozy."

As they prepared to take their leave, the elves began offering snacks to them. While Hermione and Draco refused, Ron gladly loaded his pockets with cream cakes and pies.

"Thank you all!" Draco said to the elves. "And Dobby, you can always come and see me!"

He knew Potter would like it too so didn’t feel as bad for saying it. 

Dobby beamed.

"You know what?" said Ron once they left the kitchens and were climbing the steps into the entrance hall again. "All these years I've been really impressed with Fred and George, nicking food from the kitchens - well, it's not exactly difficult, is it? They can't wait to give it away!"

"I think this is the best thing that could have happened to those elves, you know," said Hermione, leading the way back up the marble staircase. "Dobby coming to work here, I mean. The other elves will see how happy he is, being free, and slowly it'll dawn on them that they want that too!"

Draco doubted that. 

"She’ll cheer up eventually," Hermione went on, though she sounded a bit doubtful. "Once the shock's worn off, and she's got used to Hogwarts, she'll see how much better off she is without that Crouch man."

"She seems to love him," said Ron thickly, munching on a cream cake.

"Doesn't think much of Bagman, though, does she?" said Draco. 

“Yeah true,” Hermione agreed, her eyes on Draco. 

“What?”

“You were practically going to cry seeing Dobby beat himself,” said Ron, finishing up his cake with one big, disgusting gulp. 

Draco threw his hands in defeat. “Okay, it may have gotten me a little emotional.” 

Hermione laughed. “I knew you’re a softie on the inside!”

“Hey,” Draco snapped. “Too far.”

“You care about Elf rights,” Hermione said with a smile. “Admit it.”

“I care about House Elf rights!” Draco shouted as they walked onto the stairs. 

Hermione let out an excited squeal, giving him a tight side hug as she jumped up and down onto the stairs.  

***

Malfoy found it utterly scandalous that Harry couldn’t dance and decided to take it upon himself to teach him because ‘Draco Malfoy cannot be seen at the Yule Ball being a terrible dancer.’ They met up in an abandoned classroom. Malfoy, wearing what Harry could only describe as the outfit of a male flamenco dancer, was watching out of the window which faced the Durmstrang ship as Harry entered.

He turned around quickly, getting off the table and approaching him. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” Harry apologised, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, getting it on with my boyfriend,”  Malfoy said through gritted teeth. He gestured to the window. “I saw you walking out of the ship.”

“Jakub isn’t your boyfriend, Malfoy.”

Malfoy spluttered. “Of course he is!”

Harry rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. “You haven’t been hanging out with him.” 

“But I will,” Malfoy argued, “duh!” 

“When?” said Harry. “Because we still haven’t found a solution to our problem.” 

That realisation dawned upon Malfoy and he frowned, looking down at his nails. “Yeah, you’re right.” He suddenly said, very loudly, “I’m so sick of this! I miss Pansy, Vince and Greg. I miss my dorm. I miss my parents. I miss being myself.” 

Harry understood Malfoy completely. He wanted to reach out and hug him again but wasn’t sure how he’d react. 

“I miss it too,” Harry said quietly. Because he, like Malfoy, missed his friends. He missed the Gryffindors and he knew contacting Sirius as himself would’ve been easier than having the face of Sirius’s younger cousin, which he told Harry in the conversation they had a few weeks ago. 

“But, come on,” Harry said, extending his arm to Malfoy. “Let’s dance.” 

Malfoy’s expression instantly changed to that of excitement. He took Harry’s arm and made him stand in the middle of the room. He quickly walked over to the record player, put in a vinyl and let the music play. It was a slow romantic song, something they’d definitely play at the Yule Ball. 

Malfoy placed his left hand on Harry’s waist and held Harry’s left hand with the other. “Put your other hand on my shoulder,” Malfoy instructed. “I’m dancing the lead now since I’m sure that Jakub will be doing so.” 

“So, I’m dancing the female part?” Harry asked. 

“No,” snapped Malfoy. “You’re doing the follower’s part. Dancing has no gender.” 

“Sorry,” Harry apologised. 

“No need,” said Malfoy, smiling. They moved at a slow pace, with Malfoy quietly saying, “One two three,” as their feet moved around. Harry was glad he wasn’t hurrying him as he was sure that, had he done that, he would’ve bruised his feet blue.

“Have you shagged Jakub?” asked Malfoy, taking Harry off guard and making him step onto his feet. 

Malfoy let out a cry, grasping his feet like a cartoon character and jumping up and down on one foot. “What the hell?”

Harry spluttered. “What do you mean, what the hell? Why would you ask me something like that?!” 

“Because you have a massive lovebite on your neck,” Malfoy replied. 

Harry’s eyes went wide, and he instantly covered his neck. “I do?”

Malfoy collected himself, straightening his robes. “You do,” he said softly. “Do you want me to help you cover it? Snape will notice.” 

Harry cringed at the idea of Snape seeing his marked neck. 

Malfoy took his school rucksack and rummaged through it until he took out a small tin container, opened it and dabbed the thick white liquid onto his fingers. Harry stepped closer and Malfoy began to massage it onto his neck. “Pomfrey gave it to me. I’ve been using it on your older bruises too,” Malfoy said, his voice soft. “I don’t know how you got them and we’re certainly not close enough for you to tell me, but they’re fading.” 

Harry smiled appreciatively. He was glad about that. There was not a single bruise on his skin that came from a fond memory. All of them were painful reminders of the house he’d return to that summer. He didn’t even want to think of how Malfoy would be with the Dursleys. A different Harry would’ve wanted to see his school enemy’s big mouth close upon realising that Harry didn’t have it easy. But this Harry wouldn’t even wish the Dursleys upon him. 

“You’re nice, Draco,” Harry said, not even bothering to correct himself after using his first name. 

“Thanks, Harry,” he added, nudging him. He closed the tin and put it back in his bag. “It dries up in a minute or two.” 

They resumed their positions again, moving to the music. Harry picked it up after a bit of back and forth, not even slipping when Draco spun him around and took his waist again. They danced around the open space of the room, laughing mostly at Harry’s occasional slip ups and Draco’s dramatic moves. One which had Harry’s stomach hurt from laughing was when Draco lowered him and pretended to kiss him from the chest all the way to his neck. 

“Très belle, mademoiselle,” he said in French, pretending to put a rose between his teeth. They spun around and while doing so, Draco never broke eye contact. “J’ai menti, Harry. J’aime bien ton apparence d’avant.” 

Harry frowned. “What does that mean?” 

“It means that you’re not that bad of a dancer,” Draco replied quickly. Something about his response made Harry doubt that he was telling the truth.  

“Don’t insult me,” he said, prodding his shoulder. “I already agreed to this.” 

“You’d rather be with Jakub then?” Draco asked, his face all serious. 

“Nah,” said Harry honestly. “At least we talk. He’s just begging for, what you said, a shag.” 

Draco’s eyes widened. “Are you going to?” 

Harry firmly shook his head. “He already took my first kiss. I won’t give him anything else.” 

Draco smiled eagerly. “How was it?” 

“Umm, alright, I suppose,” Harry said casually. 

Draco gripped his hand tightly. “Describe it.”

“Ew, no,” said Harry.

Draco pouted. “Why not?” he whined. 

“Because that's, like, weird.”

“No, it’s not,” Draco reassured him, spinning them around yet again. “I need to know what I’ll be dealing with.” 

“Tongue.”

Draco practically moaned. “Perfect!” 

Harry pulled a face. 

“What?” said Draco. “I think it’s perfectly acceptable to desire someone you’ve never spoken to.”

Harry grinned. “Like Armando Dippet?”

Draco stepped on his foot. “I was thirteen!”

“That was last year, Draco,” Harry pointed out, still grinning.

“Ugh!” Draco groaned, burying his head in Harry’s chest. “At least tell me you’ve seen Jakub shirtless.” 

“No comment.” 

“Ugh!” Draco groaned again, bawling up his fists and repeatedly slamming them into Harry’s chest while he kept demanding details. 

“Alright, alright!” said Harry eventually, when the slamming began to actually hurt. “Sit down and I’ll talk.” 

***

Draco couldn’t believe The Yule Ball was already that night. He’d been stressing about it the entirety of December. What to wear (because no, he wouldn’t wear those robes Mrs Weasley gave him), how to style his hair and, most importantly, who to ask. His first idea, which was to appease Potter and ask out Chang, ended up in a kind rejection. Draco felt bad for Potter and himself. The former, because he obviously liked that girl and for himself, because he’d never been rejected before and it kind of stung.

It wasn’t as though he wasn’t swimming in proposals, which mostly came from girls who admired his bravery in fighting the dragon and those French girls, Agathe and Christine, who he had to kindly reject after they proposed for them both to be his dates. It took him a while before he found someone he one, wasn’t attracted to, two, could easily ditch and three, wouldn’t start dating rumours with. Ginevra Weasley. 

So, a few weeks before the ball, Draco approached her and it went something like this:

Ginevra was sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room doing a bit of her homework when Draco occupied the empty space next to her.

“Oh hi, Harry!” Ginevra had said, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Hey Gin,” Draco had said, remembering how the twins would sometimes call her that. “I have a proposal for you.”

Ginevra had raised an eyebrow. She set her study material aside and turned to Draco. “What is it?”

“Would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me?” 

Ginevra’s light brown eyes widened to an unnatural degree and the way her cheeks reddened certainly did not flatter her freckled skin. She even managed to talk, bless her, though it came out as one stammering mess. “I-I’d love to! But H-Harry, I thought you fancied Charlie.”

Draco had snorted, shaking his head. “Sure your brother is attractive, but he’s way too old for me. Besides, I’m not really looking for anything romantic now. But I’d love to have some fun with someone I consider a sister.”

Ginevra had smiled, but her face was quick to turn into a frown. “I thought you and Cho had something going on.”

“Cho?” Draco laughed. “Oh no, I fear she is taken. You’re nothing of a last resort, Gin, trust me.” She kind of was but she didn’t need to know that.

“Thanks, Harry.” 

And there it was, his masterful plan of getting a Yule Ball date that wouldn’t try and get with him at the end of the night. He even managed to buy her an age appropriate matching dress for her to wear. She had hesitated when it came to that at first, but after some convincing, she eventually agreed to wear it and Draco was glad that she did. She did look adorable in it, like the Sugar Plum Fairy in the nutcracker, Hermione had said when Draco picked out the dress.

She, on the other hand, was still in her dormitory getting ready with the help of Pansy, who had valiantly offered to help braid her hair. Draco had an idea as to who Hermione’s date to the ball would be, judging from how many times his presence at the library irritated her. 

Together with Ron, who Draco helped with fixing his ridiculous robes, they headed out to the entrance hall. He was going with Parvati Patil, who he kept ignoring while asking Draco and Ginevra where Hermione was and who was taking her. 

The entrance hall was packed with students, all waiting for eight o’clock when the doors would be opened. Those people who were meeting partners from different Houses were edging through the crowd trying to find one another. Parvati found her sister, Padma, who was joined by Draco’s roommate Blaise Zabini. 

“Hello everyone,” said Padma, who was looking just as pretty as Parvati.

“Fancy seeing you here, Zabini,” said Draco, completely forgetting he was Potter. Look, he knew it had been four months, but sometimes it was hard, you know! 

“Yeah,” Blaise said, eyebrows raised. “Good seeing you too? I guess?” 

“Hi,” said Ron, not looking at them, but staring around at the crowd. “Oh no …”

He bent his knees slightly to hide behind Draco and Ginny while Fleur Delacour passed together with Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, Roger Davies. When they had disappeared, Ron stood straight again and stared over the heads of the crowd.

“Where is Hermione?” he said again.

“Stop asking,” snapped Ginny.

“Exactly,” Draco agreed. “You’re being very rude.”

Ron grunted. 

A group of Slytherins came up the steps from their dungeon common room. Harry in velvet dress robes, Jakub’s arm looped around his. Pansy, wearing pink frilly robes, was hand in hand with Theo Nott, which must have been a last resort as literally no one spoke to Theo and, most surprisingly, Vince, who wore a tie made of lightning strikes and was ogling his date. A Durmstrang girl with black dipped blonde hair wearing a dress Draco would describe as quite risqué. But, he was glad that his friend found a date. Unfortunately, Greg wasn’t as lucky. 

Pansy quickly let go of Nott’s arm and walked over to their group. She ignored Padma and greeted Blaise. 

“Hello to you, Parkinson,” said Draco.

“Oh, yeah, hi,” she said absentmindedly. “I just wanted to say that Hermione’s finished getting ready and trust me, I did a fantastic job.”

At the mention of Hermione’s name, Ron perked up. “Who is she with?”

Pansy smirked. “You’ll see.” With that, she said goodbye to the group, gave Blaise a little shoulder rub (ignored Padma) and sashayed away.

The front doors opened, and everyone turned to look as the Durmstrang students entered with Professor Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party, accompanied by a pretty girl in blue robes. 

Then Professor McGonagall’s voice called, “Champions over here, please!”

Draco said goodbye to the others and, along with Ginny, headed to where they’d heard McGonagall’s voice. 

Professor McGonagall, in a rather outdated piece of tartan, told them to wait on one side of the doors while everyone else went inside. Fleur and Roger stationed themselves nearest the doors, with the latter shamelessly ogling at his date. Cedric and Cho were close to them too and Draco could see Ginny give him a sympathetic glance. 

Draco’s eyes fell instead on the girl next to Krum. 

“Hermione Granger!” he practically exclaimed. “You look stunning.” This had to have been Pansy’s best work yet. Her hair was done in a braided bun, and she wore a floaty periwinkle blue dress, she had makeup on and from the way she was carrying herself, it certainly made her feel more confident. She was smiling rather nervously, which was probably due to Draco’s yelling, but he didn’t care. Everyone needed to know. 

“Hi, Harry!” she said. “Hi, Ginny!”

Ginny smiled back at her and waved. She looked happy, proud almost. 

She wasn’t the only one either; when the doors to the Great Hall opened, Krum’s fan club threw her scathing looks. Pansy wore the same proud expression as Ginevra, Harry and Jakub looked stunned but Ron, however, walked right past Hermione without looking at her. 

Draco rolled his eyes.

Once everyone else was settled in the Hall, Professor McGonagall told the champions and their partners to get in line in pairs and to follow her. They did so, and everyone in the Great Hall applauded as they entered and started walking up toward a large round table at the top of the Hall, where the judges were sitting. Ginevra seemed to like it but she appeared nervous, waving at a few people she knew before looking down at her feet.

Draco wanted to gloat as well but, knowing Harry, he’d get very angry at him for doing so. 

He did feel very bad for Parvati Patil, who sat sulkily next to Ron while he was too busy glaring at Hermione. Draco remembered how he’d asked them if they were dating that first day of school. And yeah, they weren’t, but there was definitely some jealousy at play that one big snog would fix. 

When the champions and their partners reached the table, Glasses Weasley drew out the empty chair beside him, staring pointedly. Draco did not want to, but he sat down next to him anyway. 

“I’ve been promoted,” said Glasses smugly, as if Draco cared. “I’m now Mr Crouch’s personal assistant, and I’m here representing him.”

“Congratualations,” said Draco.

Ginny snorted, though covered it up by asking, “Why didn’t he come?” 

“I’m afraid to say Mr. Crouch isn’t well, not well at all. Hasn’t been right since the World Cup. Hardly surprising — overwork. He’s not as young as he was — though still quite brilliant, of course, the mind remains as great as it ever was. But the World Cup was a fiasco for the whole Ministry, and then, Mr. Crouch suffered a huge personal shock with the misbehavior of that house-elf of his, Blinky, or whatever she was called. Naturally, he dismissed her immediately afterward, but —”

“Oh well,” Draco cut in swiftly. “That’s unfortunate. I hope he gets well soon.”

Thankfully, Glasses seemed to get the hint and shut his mouth. 

There was no food as yet on the golden plates, but small menus were lying in front of each of them. Draco picked one up and waited for someone to come until Dumbledore said very clearly to his plate, “Pork chops!” And pork chops appeared. 

Getting the idea, the rest of the table placed their orders. Draco observed the people around him. The first one he heard before seeing was Krum, who was enthusiastically speaking to Hermione, who seemed so engrossed in their conversation that she didn’t even care about the food she ate for once. “Vell, ve have a castle also, not as big as this, nor as comfortable, I am thinking,” he was telling Hermione. “Ve have just four floors, and the fires are lit only for magical purposes. But ve have grounds larger even than these — though in vinter, ve have very little daylight, so ve are not enjoying them. But in summer ve are flying every day, over the lakes and the mountains —”

“Now, now, Viktor!” said Karkaroff with a laugh faker than the animal heads in grandfather Abraxas’s hunting room in the Manor, “don’t go giving away anything else, now, or your charming friend will know exactly where to find us!”

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Igor, all this secrecy … one would almost think you didn’t want visitors.”

The Headmasters continued talking and Draco, who had been so into the goulash he was eating, almost choked on it when Bagman called for him.

“Real good drawing skills you showcased there on the first task,” he said.

“Oh thank you, sir!” said Draco enthusiastically.

“You know, there is this summer project I think you’d be great for.”

“I know it,” said Draco quickly. “The one from the Young Wizard Art Academy.”

“I could get in a great recommendation for you if you want,” Bagman told him, shooting him a wink.

Draco wanted to instantly reply yes, but then he remembered that it wouldn’t be for him. It’d be for Harry Potter. Of course. He got everything even when he was in Draco’s body. Hot boy, summer program, not doing Tri-Wizard tasks. Draco took a swig of butterbeer. Of course, of course, of course. But honestly, why was he even excited? They didn’t want Draco there. They had made that very damn clear.

“Actually,” Draco piped up. “I couldn’t have gotten that advanced in drawing had it not been for Draco Malfoy.”

Ginevra nudged him. “What are you on, Harry? Your hands were stained in ink for weeks while you were making that drawing.”

Shut up! Draco wanted to snap.

Bagman laughed. “It’s okay to gloat, Harry,” he said heartily. “I’ll make sure to ask my good friends about it.”

Suddenly, Draco did not want that endorsement at all. He muttered out, “thanks,” and finished his food.

When all the food had disappeared off their plates, they all stood up. Then, with a wave of Dumbledore’s wand, all the tables zoomed back to leave the floor clear, and then he conjured a platform into existence. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon it. The Weird Sisters now walked up onto the stage to great applause. They picked up their instruments, which was definitely Draco’s signal to pick Ginevra’s hands and assume position. Thankfully, unlike Potter, she knew the handplacements.

The Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune. Draco led them onto the brightly lit dance floor. He may have been in a bad mood but that didn’t mean that he’d be dancing badly. The horror! He remained a gentleman, keeping the dancing appropriate unlike what he’d jokingly done to Potter because not only was she young, four of her brothers were likely watching her. Very soon many of those watching too had come onto the dance floor, so that the champions were no longer the center of attention. 

Draco refused to look at Potter and Jakub, who were masterfully dancing near them. He instead let his eyes roam around to everyone but them. Pansy and Theo, Blaise and Padma, Vince and his date, Hermione and Krum. Everyone but Potter. He didn’t want to see Potter at all.

Professor Moody, who Draco thought to be one weird little fellow, was doing an extremely clumsy two-step with Professor Sinistra, who was nervously avoiding his wooden leg. “Nice socks, Potter,” Moody growled as he passed, his magical eye staring through Draco’s robes in a way that felt violating.

Thankfully, Ginevra agreed to that. 

The Weird Sisters eventually stopped playing and applause filled the hall once more. They soon struck up a new, fast paced song, at which Ginevra’s expression grew excited.

“This one is my favourite!” she said, practically jumping up and down.

“Alright then,” said Draco, taking her arm and doing an experimental spin that had her laughing loudly.

Pretending that Potter wasn’t there was a method that worked for three more songs. Draco metaphorically let his hair down and danced around excitedly with Ginevra, who was quite the dancer. She, like her brother, danced so enthusiastically that people moved around to make sure they didn’t bump into her. They giggled and danced around. At one point, Draco even took advantage of his newfound strength and lifted her up. 

They walked over to the table where Ron and Parvati were sitting, the latter definitely regretting her date.

“How’s it going?” Draco asked Ron, slightly out of breath as he sat down and opened a bottle of butterbeer. 

Ron didn’t answer. He was glaring at Hermione and Krum, who were dancing nearby. Parvati was sitting nearby, arms and legs crossed, just desperately waiting for him to get over himself. Her saving grace came in Pansy, who had escaped Nott and asked her to dance. Parvati left without hesitation and the two girls ran onto the dance floor while giggling. 

Hermione came over when the song ended. She was a bit pink in the face from dancing.

“Oh hello there,” said Draco, grinning. Ginevra greeted her in the same manner. Ron was silent.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” said Hermione, fanning herself with her hand. “Viktor’s just gone to get some drinks.”

Ron gave her a withering look. “Viktor?” he said. “Hasn’t he asked you to call him Vicky yet?”

Draco facepalmed himself.

Hermione looked at Ron in surprise. “What’s up with you?” she said, trying to touch his shoulder but Ron swatted her hand away.

“If you don’t know,” said Ron scathingly, “I’m not going to tell you.”

Hermione stared at him. “Ron, what– ?”

“He’s from Durmstrang!” spat Ron. “He’s competing against Dr– Harry! Against Hogwarts! You — you’re —” Ron thought of the words to use to describe it, “fraternising with the enemy, that’s what you’re doing!”

Hermione’s mouth fell open.

“Ron, don’t be an idiot,” said Ginny exasperatedly. “Let her have fun, since that’s something you’re clearly not having.”

Ron glared at his sister. “Stay out of it.”

Hermione eventually regained her voice. “Don’t be so stupid!” she said after a moment. “The enemy! Honestly… Who was the one who was all excited when they saw him arrive? Who was the one who wanted his autograph? Who’s got a model of him up in their dormitory?”

Ron chose to ignore this.

“I s’pose he asked you to come with him while you were both in the library?”

“Yes, he did,” snapped Hermione. “So what?”

“What happened — trying to get him to join spew, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t! If you really want to know, he — he said he’d been coming up to the library every day to try and talk to me, but he hadn’t been able to pluck up the courage!” Hermione said this very quickly, and blushed deeply.

“Yeah, well — that’s his story,” said Ron nastily.

And if Draco couldn’t get more irritated by little boys that night, Potter came along with Jakub, hand in hand and redfaced. 

“Hey, guys, what’s going on?” asked Potter, slightly out of breath and not reading the room.

“Jakub, would you like to dance with my partner?” Draco piped up, shoving Ginevra towards him. “I think she’s really in the mood.”

Jakub seemed quite confused but accepted the offer anyway, and Ginny and him walked back onto the dance floor. 

“Glad you’re here,” grunted Ron. “Now you can tell Hermione how terrible she is for being here with Krum. Because his true intentions are obvious, aren’t they? He’s Karkaroff’s student, isn’t he? He knows who you hang around with. … He’s just trying to get closer to  Draco — get inside information on him — or get near enough to jinx him. Because what if he finds out about you know what? Then what, Hermione?”

Hermione looked as though Ron had slapped her. When she spoke, her voice quivered. “For your information, he hasn’t asked me one single thing about Draco or Harry, not one —”

“Then he’s hoping you’ll help him find out what his egg means!” Ron said quickly? “I suppose you’ve been putting your heads together during those cozy little library sessions —”

“I’d never help him work out that egg!” said Hermione, looking outraged. “Never. How could you say something like that — I want Draco to win the tournament, you both know that, don’t you?”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” sneered Ron before either had a chance to respond.

“This whole tournament’s supposed to be about getting to know foreign wizards and making friends with them!” said Hermione hotly.

“No it isn’t!” shouted Ron. “It’s about winning!”

People were starting to stare at them.

“Ron,” said Potter quietly, “I haven’t got a problem with Hermione coming with Krum —”

But Ron ignored his best friend too.

“Why don’t you go and find Vicky, he’ll be wondering where you are,” said Ron.

“Don’t call him Vicky!” Hermione jumped to her feet and stormed off across the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd. Ron watched her go with a mixture of anger and satisfaction on his face.

“Vare is Herm-own-ninny?” said a voice. Krum had just arrived at their table with two butterbeers.

“No idea,” said Ron, looking up at him. “Lost her, have you?”

“Veil, if you see her, tell her I haff drinks,” he said, and he slouched off.

Draco glared at him.

“What?”

“You foul, immature, simpering, ghastly little ginger piece of shit!” he shouted at him as he rose to his feet. “What’s your problem? Are you that pathetic of a jealous prick because of the fact that she found someone that you decide to make the poor girl cry?”

“I’m sure he–”

“Don’t start, Potter,” said Draco dangerously, turning to glare at him. “I don’t want to hear you especially speak. You ruined my life!” He shoved past him and stalked out of the Great Hall. 

“Hey — Harry!” someone called just as Draco was about to head outside.  It was Cedric Diggory, surprisingly not accompanied by Cho Chang.

“Yeah?” said Draco.

“Listen …” Cedric lowered his voice even though no one was there. “I owe you one for telling me about the dragons. You know that golden egg? Does yours wail when you open it?”

“Yeah,” said Draco, recalling how awful those shrieks were.

“Well … take a bath, okay?”

Draco frowned. “What?”

“Take a bath, and take the egg with you, and ummm… just mull things over in the hot water. It’ll help you think… Trust me,” he said, winking. 

Harry stared at him.

“Tell you what,” Cedric said, “use the prefects’ bathroom. Fourth door to the left of that statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Password’s ‘pine fresh. Well, I gotta go!” He grinned at Draco again and hurried back into the party.

Weird, very weird, but Draco had no time to dwell on that. All he wanted to do was get some sleep. The Yule Ball sucked!

***

Harry didn’t know why but Draco had stopped speaking to him since the ball. He tried to approach the bloke on boxing day but all he got were huffs, grunts and eye rolls. No one understood it, not even Ron and Hermione, who had decided they were just not going to discuss their argument at the ball.

Harry wouldn’t say it out loud but he had a very good time. Not only was he not stressing about something for once, he could also dance a lot with Jakub, who had invited him onto the Durmstrang ship after Harry and Ron made some discoveries about Madame Maxime, Hagrid, Snape and Karkaroff after taking a stroll outside for Ron to calm down. Though Jakub and him didn’t do anything too scandalous, he’d received an array of teasing ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahs’ when he came back the next day after sleeping over.

Who knew that school could be so much fun when he didn’t need to stress all that much over Voldemort? And get this, Sirius had also written too and they could meet up soon. It was quite annoying that he looked like Draco when seeing him for the first time in months, but he missed him so much that it didn’t even matter if he appeared like the very sick Barty Crouch.

Before he did that, though, he needed to make it up to Draco. That Thursday morning at breakfast, Harry skipped past Jakub with a Sticky Toffee pudding and a flower and walked up to the Gryffindor table where Draco’s eyes were scanning over a letter while tears welled in his eyes. 

“Hey– wait, are you alright?” Harry asked softly.

Draco sniffed, crumbled up the letter and wiped the tears away from under his eyes. “Yeah sure, what is it?” he asked, his voice heavy.

“I don’t know what I did to make you upset but I hope that you’ll forgive me.” Harry handed him the dessert and flower, watching Draco smile momentarily before that smile disappeared off his lips.

“Thanks, Malfoy,” he said curtly.

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, both of them shrugging while giving him sympathetic looks.

Harry reached out to take Draco’s hand. The latter momentarily flinched but soon invited his touch. “Take care, alright,” he said, before letting go and walking back to the Slytherin table.

Once he returned, Jakub protectively wrapped an arm around him. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Harry. “Just a friend who needed some comfort.” 

Jakub looked skeptical but nodded nonetheless, leaning in to give Harry a kiss. But even as he kept talking his ear off during breakfast, Harry’s eyes were on Draco. He worried for him and he was very curious about what was on that letter. 

Later, during their shared class of Ancient Runes, Hermione told him to meet Draco by the Prefect’s bathroom on the Fourth floor, which is what he decided to do. He masterfully avoided Filch and Mrs Norris, which came from years of doing that with his cloak, and headed up straight to the doors of the bathroom where he felt the presence of his cloak nearby.

“Potter!” an invisible voice hissed.

“Take off the cloak, Draco,” said Harry.

Draco, who stood behind him, took off the invisibility cloak. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

“I’m going to take a bath,” Draco said through gritted teeth.

“With the egg?”

“Yeah, Cedric Diggory told me to,” Draco said casually.

“Mhm.”

“If you want to see me naked, you could’ve asked, you know,” Draco said teasingly. 

“Seeing you naked at the moment is seeing myself naked, which is hardly impressive.”

Draco mumbled something among the lines of, "It is," and chirpily said, “Nothing!” when Harry asked him to repeat himself. Afterwards, he muttered out, “Pine fresh,” which made the doors of the Prefect’s bathroom creak open.

Their immediate reactions upon walking in was utter awe and though the chance was slim, Harry would make it his mission to become Prefect just so he could use this bathroom. It was softly lit by a splendid candle-filled chandelier, and everything was made of white marble, including what looked like an empty, rectangular swimming pool sunk into the middle of the floor. 

Draco practically pretended he was not there. He took off his pajamas until he was in nothing more than a pair of briefs Harry was sure he had never owned before. He took one of the fluffy towels, gave the cloak and map to Harry and placed the egg at the side of the swimming pool-sized bath, then knelt down and turned on a few of the taps.

Each of these taps made the water look different, but Draco eventually settled on hot foamy bubbles. Harry set his cloak and map aside and he himself began to undress.

When Draco realised what he was doing, he stared at Harry with wide eyes.

“I want to help,” he said before Draco could ask him what he was doing. “Like we promised, right? Unless you want me gone.”

Draco didn’t respond with words, simply shaking his head. He took Harry’s hand and slid into the water with him. Since Draco Malfoy was taller than him, his feet managed to touch the ground but Draco in Harry’s body almost slipped, his head going under. 

Harry laughed, using his arm to lift him up. “Don’t drown, alright. Otherwise I wouldn’t know how to explain myself.”

Draco grinned. He scooped up some bubbles and placed it atop of Harry’s head. He turned him around and Harry looked into his own reflection through the shine of the taps. The pink bubbles seriously clashed with Draco Malfoy’s naturally pale skin and hair, which made the actual Draco laugh loudly, his voice echoing off the walls.

He sounded different despite being in Harry’s body, almost endearing. Harry stretched out his long arms, lifted the egg in his wet hands, and opened it. The wailing, screeching sound filled the bathroom and in a panic, he threw it into the water. 

“Ugh, Potter,” said Draco, going head first into the water. A few seconds later, he emerged, his eyes glinting. “You’re a genius!” he said, took Harry’s arm and pulled him down. 

The egg, which was still open, had begun singing a melody under the water.

“Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you’re searching ponder this:

W e’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss,

An hour long you’ll have to look,

And to recover what we took,

But past an hour — the prospect’s black,

Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.”

Harry let himself float back upward and broke the bubbly surface, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

“Hear it?” a familiar voice asked.

Harry nearly jumped back when he heard the voice of Moaning Myrtle. 

Draco, who had just emerged, had swallowed a considerable amount of bubbles in shock. His eyes were now also on the ghost girl sitting cross-legged on top of one of the taps. 

“We’re practically naked!” yelled Draco.

The foam was so dense that this hardly mattered, but he had a nasty feeling that Myrtle had been spying on them since they arrived.

“I closed my eyes when you got in,” she said, blinking at him through her thick spectacles. “Besides, how come he gets to see you naked?” she asked, her eyes on Harry. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No,” Draco spluttered as Harry got noticeably redder. “He has his own boyfriend now.” 

“Well, you didn’t hear it from me but you’d make a nice couple,” said Myrtle. “You would’ve earlier, though, however, you haven't come to see me for ages.”

“Yeah … well …” said Draco, thinking of an answer as he pulled them down some more. “I’ve been busy.” 

“You didn’t used to care,” said Myrtle miserably. “You used to be in there all the time.”

“Things change, Myrtle,” said Draco and his tone nearly made Harry laugh. But the fear of getting caught stopped him.

“Oh … I see …” said Myrtle, picking at a spot on her chin. “Well…anyway… I’m glad it worked because you did exactly what Cedric Diggory did.”

“Have you been spying on him too?” said Harry indignantly, feeling slightly uncomfortable for him. “What d’you do, sneak up here in the evenings to watch the prefects take baths?”

“Sometimes,” said Myrtle, rather slyly, “but I’ve never come out to speak to anyone before.”

Draco scowled. “Close your eyes.” 

Harry made sure to check as Draco dragged them out of the bath, wrapping towels around their waists. He made sure to do it extra tightly with Harry. They sat down on the edge of the bath. Draco reached out to move the hair out of Harry’s eyes.

“So, do you remember the song?” he asked.

Harry shook his head.

Draco smiled, shaking his head in slight disbelief. “Of course.  ‘Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above the ground’. So, people whose voices cannot be heard when they’re on land.”

“River creatures!” Harry piped up. “The Black Lake!” 

“Well, that’s what Diggory thought,” she said.

Okay, perhaps they were on a good path. The boys, mainly Draco, were naming the animals they knew lived in the Lake. 

“Myrtle,” Draco called.

“Yes!” she simpered.

“There aren’t merpeople in there, are there?”

“Oooh, very good,” she said, her thick glasses twinkling, “it took Diggory much longer than that! And that was with her awake too, giggling and showing off and flashing her fins.” She scowled at the mermaid on the wall. 

“That’s it, isn’t it?” said Harry excitedly. “The second task’s to go and find the merpeople in the lake and … and… what then?”

“Retrieve something I’ll sorely miss in an hour,” Draco supplied. “But how I’ll stay underwater for an hour is the big question.” 

“I’ll help,” said Harry helpfully, rubbing his shoulder. 

“Like you promised, hm.”

“Yeah,” Harry said softly, looking into his own green eyes, “like I promised.”

*** 

On the day of the second task, Hermione and Harry were gone. Both Draco, Ron (and Jakub, ugh!) were trying to get a glimpse from them in the audience to no avail. It was so odd, though. Because the evening before the task. Twin Weasleys had come to the library and asked them to come with them. Those two were completely hopeless, though, and did not know why this was.

Thankfully, Draco didn’t need to stress all too much about the second task due to Dobby’s help. He’d almost broken his ribs from jumping on him but the Gillyweed would definitely help him swim in the water.

“All right, Harry?” Bagman whispered as he moved Draco a few feet farther away from Krum. “Know what you’re going to do?”

“Yeah, sure,” Draco panted. 

Bagman gave his shoulder a quick squeeze and returned to the judges’ table, casting a Sonorus charm so his voice would be heard. “Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One … two … three!”

The whistle echoed in the air; the stands erupted with cheers and applause. Draco took off his shoes and socks, stuffed the Gillyweed Dobby gave in into his mouth and jumped into the lake. The cold hit him like a hot flame. He chewed onto the Gillyweed, which was just utterly gross, as he swam further. Once he swallowed the slimy plant, he dove in. 

At first, nothing happened and he could hear the sounds of laughter from up on land. People, likely his fellow Slytherins, laughing and jeering. But then, quite suddenly, Draco felt as though an invisible pillow was smothering him. At first, he assumed it had been due to him being in water, until he felt a piercing pain on either side of his neck. Draco’s hands instantly went to his throat, where he felt two large slits just below his ears. He had gills. 

He tried to breathe again and this time, it felt the same as doing so on land. He outstretched his arms (he had fricking webbed hands and toes!) and dove deeper and deeper into the water. Maybe it had been due to the change, but the water had begun to feel pleasantly cool and light. Draco soon swam so far into the lake that he could no longer see the bottom. He flipped over and dived into its depths.

Small fish swam past him like silver darts and sometimes, Draco thought he may have seen the Squid, only for his eyes to have deceived him.

It took some time (and fighting Grindylows) to finally hear something because he, at last, heard a snatch of a haunting mersong.

“An hour long you’ll have to look, And to recover what we took …”

Draco swam and soon saw a large rock emerge out of the muddy water. It had paintings of merpeople on it; they were carrying spears and chasing what looked like the giant squid. Draco followed the song.

“… your time’s half gone, so tarry not Lest what you seek stays here to rot. …”

He eventually saw faces. The faces of merpeople and, unlike the mermaid in the Prefect’s bathroom, these weren’t as appealing. Draco swam past their little village, ignoring the merpeople as they watched him. He sped around a corner and saw something very strange. A whole crowd of them was floating in front of the houses that lined what looked like their village square. A group of them was singing in the middle. Four people were bound tightly to the tail of the stone statue behind them.

Harry was tied between Hermione and Cho Chang. There was also a girl who looked no older than eight, who Draco realised had to be Fleur Delacour’s sister. All four of them appeared to be alive, but in a very deep sleep. 

Draco swam towards them, surprised that no one fought back and tried to undo the rope. When that didn’t work, he dove down to grab a sharp-looking rock and began to cut at the ropes binding Harry. Thankfully, Potter had those muscles on him so it didn’t take long for Harry to be broken free. He floated, unconscious, a few inches above the lake bottom.

Upon realising that no other champion was there, Draco began to try and cut open Hermione’s ropes but he was quickly pulled back by several pairs of strong gray hands. 

“You take your own hostage,” one of them said to him. “Leave the others …”

“But she’s my friend too!” said Draco furiously, but those words did not exit his mouth.

“Your task is to retrieve your own friend … leave the others …”

“What if they die, then?” Draco yelled, gesturing toward the others. He struggled to fight off the mermen, but they laughed harder than ever, holding him back.

He tried to get out of their grasp for a while until, thankfully, Cedric Diggory came. He had a Bubble Charm around his head.

“Got lost!” he mouthed, looking panic-stricken. “Fleur and Krum’re coming now!”

Relieved, Draco watched Cedric pull a knife out of his pocket and cut Cho free. He pulled her upward and was out of sight.

Draco waited until Fleur and Krum came. First was Krum, who had badly transfigured himself into a shark. Despite this, he was quite fast. He tried biting at Hermione but Draco, not wanting the girl to die, handed him his piece of stone, which he used to cut her free. He gave him the stone back, grabbed Hermione around the waist, and began to rise rapidly with her toward the surface.

Fleur was not coming. Draco knew that. The Gillyweed was wearing off and there was not enough time. He finally scared the merpeople off and managed to cut open the ropes binding the little girl. He grabbed her by the waist, took Harry’s collar and kicked off from the bottom.

Swimming up was a drag. Holding the weight of two people significantly slowed him down as he tried to swim up. Flipping his feet furiously, he did not look down, holding the people tightly. The merpeople swam with him, though none of them reached out to help. Draco was getting tired and he almost felt his feet giving out. His shoulders hurt, his head hurt and despite still being able to breath, his breath hurt the same way it did after a long run. 

He kicked hard with his flippers and discovered that when he opened his mouth, water was flooding through it and into his lungs. But the light was so close… Draco kicked his legs so hard he must have ripped a muscle, but he ignored the ache. He kept his sight ahead and he swam harder and harder until–

The clear air was making his wet face sting. He coughed violently as he  pulled Harry and the little girl up with him. 

The crowd around him made noise, which made Draco look at Harry and the little girl. They were thankfully not dead. Harry spat out a great deal of water, while the little girl looked frightened.

Quickly, Ron and a few others (Jakub too) came sprinting towards them and helped them out of the water. He was talking to him, but the only thing Draco was worried about was Harry. 

He wiped his hair out of his face, cupping his cheeks. “Are you alright?”

Harry nodded, unable to speak and another spout of water came out of his mouth. Ron patted him on the back.

“Are you alright, Draco?” asked Jakub, kissing him on the forehead.

But Harry barely acknowledged him. “I’m fine, Potter. Thanks for saving me.”

Jakub glared at Draco, then at Ron and back at Harry. With a single huff, he walked away and headed towards his stepbrother, who was standing at a distance with Hermione. Soon enough, Madam Pomfrey came sprinting to them with three thick blankets that she wrapped around them. 

“It was ze grindylows … “ said Fleur, who had managed to get to her sister, who she was tightly hugging, “zey attacked me … oh Gabrielle, I thought … I thought …”

Madam Pomfrey seized Draco and pulled him over to Hermione and the others, now including a very angry Jakub. Pomfrey forced a very hot potion down his throat, which made steam gush out of his ears.

“Well done!” Hermione cried. “You did it, you found out how to do it all by yourself!”

“Ummm…” said Draco.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” boomed Bagman’s voice, “we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows. … Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points.”

Applause from the stands.

“I deserved zero,” said Fleur throatily, shaking her head.

“Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour. We therefore award him forty-seven points.”

“Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points.”

Karkaroff clapped particularly hard.

“Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect,” Bagman continued. “He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own. Most of the judges feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However … Mr. Potter’s score is forty-five points.”

Harry was the first to cheer, attacking him with a hug. Quickly, the rest of the crowd applauded and cheered.

Fleur was clapping very hard too, but Krum didn’t look happy at all. Neither did Jakub. Well, suck on that! Draco thought. 

“The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June,” continued Bagman. “The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions.”

Draco 

***

Harry was glad to 1, be single now and 2, be in Draco’s good graces. Jakub was… well, actually not that important to him anyway and it seemed not as important to Draco either. He didn’t even yell or scream when Harry said that the two of them were over. All he needed was the confirmation that he didn’t lose his virginity to him which satisfied Draco enough. Besides, Harry wasn’t planning on doing anything with the bloke that Draco didn’t want to. It was still his body.

But honestly, Jakub was quickly forgotten. Harry never thought he’d say this, but he was glad that Draco Malfoy wasn’t angry at him anymore. He’d teased him endlessly about being the thing he’d sorely missed to the point that Malfoy put a pair of cotton balls in his ears and continued their research hour in the library looking like he had white hair growing out of his ears.

The sight of it had Harry, Ron, Hermione and Pansy sniggering for the remainder of the time they spent doing research to reverse the bodyswap. They had gotten something at last. The instructions of one book told them to do something they’d never dared to in their original bodies. Harry and Draco had done plenty of that already. Heck, they’d even hugged! Ron had jokingly suggested an array of ridiculous requests, most of which Harry would gladly erase from his mind. But after the suggestion of them to marry, Draco had angrily stalked out of the library and refused to speak to Ron.

They couldn’t make up, though and Snape had punished the Gryffindors with fifty points after one particular lesson.

Harry thought he escaped this while in Draco’s body but was greatly mistaken when Snape told him to stay back after class. 

“Uh, hello Professor, did I do anything wrong?” he asked, hoping the appearance of Draco Malfoy would soften the glare on his face. 

“You might be laboring under the delusion that this plan of yours is a stroke of genius, but whatever dirt you have on Mr Malfoy which made him agree with you to swap bodies with you cannot be greater than the punishment you will be receiving. Because, to me, Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers rules to be beneath him.”

Holy fucking shit, Harry thought. 

Seeing Harry’s reaction, Snape appeared victorious. “Yes, I have caught onto your little plan, alright. I already knew something was going on when Draco did not come to my office the first day of the year as he usually does.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir,” Harry said innocently.

“I give you fair warning, Potter,” Snape continued in a softer, more dangerous voice, “pint-sized celebrity or not… if I catch you breaking into my office one more time—”

“I haven’t been anywhere near your office!” said Harry angrily, forgetting that he was acting innocent, which wouldn’t work if he yelled that way. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Snape hissed, eyes boring into Harry’s. “Boomslang skin. Gillyweed, the same Gillyweed Mr Malfoy used for the second task. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them.”

Harry stared back at Snape, determined not to blink or to look guilty. He hadn’t stolen either of those things. Yes, he had taken advantage of them, one for Hermione’s Polyjuice in the second year and the other for the second task, but his fingerprints were not at the scene of the crime. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry lied coldly.

“You probably made one of your little friends get it!” Snape hissed. “Maybe even Mr Malfoy himself while he pretends to be you.”

“Right,” said Harry coolly, turning back to his ginger roots. “I’ll be sure to tell Potter about that, what reaction he’ll have at the suggestion that we swapped bodies.” He knew it was a ridiculous thing to say as he was, quite literally, not denying it and answering every time he called him by his true name. But Harry thought it fun. 

Snape’s eyes flashed. He put a hand into the inside of his black robes so aggressively that Harry flinched, thinking that Snape was either going to take his wand out and curse him or hit him. But then he saw that Snape was holding out a small crystal bottle of a completely clear potion. Harry stared at it. “Do you know what this is, Potter?” Snape said, his eyes glittering dangerously again.

“No,” said Harry, with complete honesty this time.

“It is Veritaserum — a Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have you spilling your innermost secrets for this entire class to hear,” said Snape viciously. “Now, the use of this potion is controlled by very strict Ministry guidelines. But unless you watch your step, you might just find that my hand slips” — he shook the crystal bottle slightly — “right over your evening pumpkin juice. And then, Potter … then we’ll find out whether you’re telling the truth or not.”

Harry said nothing. He didn’t like the sound of that Truth Potion at all. Would Snape manage to spike his drink with it, it would get a lot of people in trouble. Hermione and Dobby specifically for taking things out of his office. It’d bring Draco in a lot of danger if the truth came out. And what else? The fact that he was in contact with Sirius? The growing feeling of fondness he had for Draco Malfoy? Oh, Snape was going to have a field day with that one. 

There was a sudden knock on the dungeon door.

“Enter,” said Snape in his usual voice. The class looked around as the door opened. 

Professor Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up toward Snape’s desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated.

“We need to talk,” said Karkaroff abruptly when he reached Snape. 

“I’ll talk to you after this conversation, Karkaroff,” Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him.

“I want to talk now, while you can’t slip off, Severus. You’ve been avoiding me.”

Snape looked coldly at Harry and nodded towards the door. Harry took his belongings and walked out and instead of getting out of the Dungeons, he stood at the classroom door and pressed his ear against it, listening in on the conversation between Snape and Karkaroff. Harry had at first, amusedly, thought that Karkaroff was Snape’s secret fling judging from the fact that Jakub had said something similar when Harry ignored him after their first kiss. But the conversation was much darker than that and Harry immediately went on to tell Hermione and Ron what he heard. 

A while later, Harry stumbled into Draco, who was sitting alone at the courtyard, his eyes racing over a letter Harry had seen him read weeks ago. 

“Hi,” he said, slightly shivering from the cold.

“Hey, Harry,” said Draco, shoving the letter into his pocket. 

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked. “I’ve seen you with that letter before.”

“What letter?” Draco said innocently.

Harry gave him a pointed look.

“It’s none of your business,” Draco snapped.

Harry frowned, taken aback by his sharp tone. He was already getting to his feet, mumbling an, “I’m sorry.”

“No, Harry, wait.” Draco took his hand. “Sit back down.”

Harry listened. Draco leaned his head against his shoulder, taking the letter out of his pocket and handing it to Harry. “Read it.”

Harry uncrumpled it, straightened it with his hand and read the letter written by Lucius Malfoy himself.

Son,

I know you have refused to speak to us in a while and I hope that you had a nice Yule Ball. I’ve heard that you got yourself a boyfriend, Jacob, I think Mrs Parkinson said his name was… But your mother and I are happy for you. We would even be glad to meet him. Draco, I never wanted you to think that I hated you for who you are. My initial reaction to you telling us you’d never marry a woman was way out of line and I am deeply sorry about that. I love you, eternally, and so does your mother. We will accept whichever man you bring over to us when you have decided that you found your match. 

Know that we miss you and we think of you everyday.

Love, 

Lucius A. Malfoy

When Harry finished reading, he noticed how Draco was tightly clutching his arm. “I’m not ashamed of who I am, you know. But I am still afraid that he’s lying.”

Had it been any other person’s father, Harry would ask them why their father would lie about something like that. But Lucius Malfoy was not just some father. He was a blood supremacist maniac. 

“If he is lying, would you care?”

Draco moved his eyes from Harry’s shoulder. “Well, of course. He’s my father.”

“Your father is awful, Draco.”

“To you,” Draco snapped, but he quickly apologised, taking away the letter. “But to me, he was my first hero. He still is, in a way, my hero.”

“There’s this saying that you shouldn’t meet your heroes,” Harry said. “Because they’ll eventually disappoint you.”

Draco snorted. “Sure they do. My father has disappointed me plenty of times. But well, I think I just have this heavy sense of loyalty that perseveres. So, when did you have that moment? The one where you decided to never meet your heroes?” 

Harry entwined his hands with Draco’s. His response to this was quite morbid. He always thought of his own parents as heroes. That they’d come back from the dead and sweep Harry away, and they’d live happily ever after. But he couldn’t have those dreams. Those dreams were make-belief and his parents were dead. Come to realise it, Harry never had a hero before. Even those in his life who did heroic things to help him ended up disappointing him some way or another. “When I realised those didn’t exist. No hero came to save me. I did that myself.” 

Draco’s expression softened. “Save you from the Dark Lord?”

“From Voldemort, from the Dursleys–”

“Who are the Dursleys?” asked Draco.

Harry had realised he needed to tell Draco now. But honestly, he was quite comfortable doing so. “My maternal family, if you can call them that. Those bruises are mostly from my uncle Vernon, some from my cousin Dudley and the little burns come from my aunt Petunia, my mother’s sister. You know,” Harry laughed to himself, “I was so happy that day when my letter arrived and they’d just avoided me from reading it for so long. Not because they wanted me to stay because they loved me, but because the address on it said, "The Cupboard under the stairs,” which was my bedroom for eleven years.”

Draco was quiet, he wanted Harry to keep talking. But the horrified expression on his face showed that he had indeed changed after all this time.

“They were terrible people, Draco, terrible. You reminded me of one, you know. My cousin Dudley. You were just not related to me but decided to use me as your punching bag. I’m just glad you never threw actual punches.”

“Oh Harry, I’m sorry,” Draco said, his voice cracking through the tears he was shedding. “I’m so sorry. If I could take it back–”

“You already did, Draco,” Harry reassured him, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “You did it by changing. By showing me that I’m not this easily hateable kid.”

“It’s not enough,” said Draco breathily.

Harry wrapped his arms around him, embracing him. “Trust me, it is.” 

***

Draco had been thinking about Harry a lot, which wasn’t new. While he was sulking about his father not accepting him for who he is, Harry had bigger fish to fry. He was the person living the miserable life, the one who had to return to an abusive family. All the times that Draco thought that Potter had to be enjoying living like a prince, he was treated like a House Elf. The times when he thought he finally escaped the abusive, he had to return to Draco bullying him and his friends. He’d made his life miserable and if Draco had a Time Turner that wouldn’t age him, he’d do anything to reverse it. 

Perhaps the Tri Wizard Tournament was the universe’s way of repentance. This switch had shown him that being Harry wasn’t as easy and that there were negatives to being ‘The Boy Who Lived’. No parents to write to when everyone hated him, no place to call home, a constant feeling of loneliness and a search of finding where he truly belonged. Honestly, Harry Potter was one of the strongest people Draco had come to know. 

And he was glad the weirdest Deus Ex Machina had done that for him. 

For the Third Task, the Quidditch Pitch had been transformed into one huge maze, which Draco was quite sad about. He was glad it wasn’t permanent but it wouldn’t be quite the same playing there after either winning or, more likely, losing the Third Task. After Bagman gave a quick explanation, the other champions left until Draco was all alone with a sulky Viktor Krum. 

Yeah, Draco had beat the guy but no offense and all, but it wasn’t his fault he’d taken it upon himself to save more people. He didn’t understand the stress that Draco was going through and the fact that he thought that Fleur’s little sister would actually die if he left her there. The two left the stadium together, but Krum did head for the Durmstrang ship. Instead, he walked toward the forest.

“Why are we going this way?” Draco complained, not particularly liking the Forbidden Forest all that much. 

“Don’t vant to be overheard,” said Krum shortly.

Ummm… What’s going on? Draco thought. Was Krum going to kill him? He felt uneasy the entire time they walked in silence and when they reached a quiet stretch of ground close to the Beauxbatons horses’ paddock, Krum stopped and turned to face Draco. “I vant to know,” he said, glowering, “vot there is between you and Hermy-own-ninny.”

Draco spluttered, then looked up at Krum, who was glowering at him. “Absolutely nothing. Trust me,” Draco added. I’m as bent as a banana, he wanted to add but Harry liked girls and he didn’t want Skeeter to somehow out him for something he wasn’t. 

“Hermy-own-ninny talks about you very often,” said Krum, looking suspiciously at him.

“Duh, I’m awe– because we’re friends,” Draco corrected himself, knowing that was a more Harry-esque answer. Did Krum think the fourteen-year-old Harry Potter was any competition against himself, a famous international Quidditch Player? I mean, Draco would personally choose Harry but that’s besides the point. Anyway, his whole insecure behaviour made Draco’s admiration of the man lessen.

“You haff never … you haff not …”

“No,” said Draco very firmly. Krum looked slightly happier. 

He stared for a few seconds, then said, “What about Draco Malfoy?”

“Huh?” said Draco.

“He vas dating my stepbrother, but Jakub said he likes you.”

Was that true? Did Harry fancy him? Could that be the reason that Jakub and him broke up so abruptly? “Oh damn, I didn’t know,” Draco admitted. 

Suddenly, Draco heard something moving behind Krum in the trees, and he grabbed Krum’s arm and pulled him around.

“Vot is it?”

Draco placed a finger in front of his mouth, taking his wand out. 

Mr Crouch, looking an absolute mess, staggered out from behind a tall oak. Pansy would definitely have a field day with that one, Draco thought. 

“Vosn’t he a judge?” said Krum, staring at Mr. Crouch. “Isn’t he vith your Ministry?”

Draco nodded, hesitated and then walked slowly toward Mr Crouch, who did not look at him, but

continued to talk to a nearby tree.

“… and when you’ve done that, Weatherby, send an owl to Dumbledore confirming the number of Durmstrang students who will be attending the tournament, Karkaroff has just sent word there will be twelve. …”

“Mr. Crouch?” said Draco.

“… and then send another owl to Madame Maxime, because she might want to up the number of students she’s bringing, now Karkaroff’s made it a round dozen … do that, Weatherby, will you? Will you? Will …” Mr Crouch’s eyes were bulging and he looked practically delirious. 

“Mr Crouch?” yelled Draco. “Are you all right?”

“Vot is wrong with him?” asked Krum, who had followed him.

“No idea,” Draco muttered. “Maybe you should get someone —”

“Dumbledore!” gasped Mr. Crouch. He grabbed a handful of Draco’s robes, dragging him closer, though he was more so staring over him. “I need … see … Dumbledore. …I’ve done … stupid … thing …” Mr. Crouch breathed. The man seemed to genuinely struggle with speaking, looking and even breathing. 

“ I’ll take you to Dumbledore!” Draco shouted. 

Crouch stared at Draco with big eyes. “Who … you?” he whispered.

“I’m a student at the school,” said Harry, looking at Krum for some help, but Krum hadn’t come closer anymore.

“You’re not … his?” whispered Crouch.

Draco shook his head, having no idea what he was babbling about.

“Warn … Dumbledore …” Crouch said.

“Okay, just let go of me, alright?” 

“Thank you, Weatherby, and when you have done that, I would like a cup of tea. My wife and son will be arriving shortly, we are attending a concert tonight with Mr. and Mrs. Fudge.”

Draco turned to Krum. “Stay here with him. I’ll get Dumbledore.”

“He is mad,” said Krum doubtfully, staring down at Crouch.

“Just stay with him,” Draco begged and his sudden movement startled Crouch and made him grab Draco and drag him bag onto the ground. 

“Don’t … leave … me!” he whispered, his eyes bulging again. “I … escaped … must warn … must tell … see Dumbledore … my fault … all my fault … Bertha … dead … all my fault … my son … my fault … tell Dumbledore … Harry Potter … the Dark Lord … stronger … Harry Potter…”

“Help me,” Draco said to Krum through gritted teeth.

Looking extremely apprehensive, Krum moved forward and squatted down next to Mr Crouch.

“I will come with Dumbledore.”

“Hurry, von’t you?” Krum called after him as Draco sprinted away. 

The next sequence of events came straight from a very good play (maybe something he’d direct in another universe and obviously do very well as he was quite the multifaceted bloke) and Draco was seriously hating that this was his life now. Karkaroff was screaming bloody murder at the end of it and Draco was quickly ushered away back into the castle. When he encountered Harry, Ron and Hermione, he launched into the entire story of what happened.

In return, they told him some things that sent Draco’s mind reeling. 

***

The day of the Third Task came faster than the speed of light. Harry was practically shaking as he approached Draco to tell him good luck privately. He’d been helping him prepare for the Third Task along with Hermione and Harry had been so dedicated to keep him alive that he himself could’ve gotten into that maze and participated himself. He didn’t want Draco to die and no, it wasn’t because he was in his body. Harry actually wanted him to stay alive so he, well, maybe… Okay, he’d say it once and never again.

He really wanted to kiss Draco Malfoy. There he said it. 

He fancied the bloke and was that made more complicated due to him being in Harry’s body? Absolutely, but who cares?

He took Draco by the arm, dragged him away from the Weasleys and Hermione and gave him a big hug. 

“Wow, there,” Draco chuckled. “You alright?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Harry reassured him. “Just wanted to wish you good luck.” 

Draco smiled. “That’s nice. Good look to you too,” he said, winking. “You’ve been a great help to me. Thank you.” Draco craned his neck a little and gave Harry a kiss on the cheek.

Harry could barely control himself from saying. “Shy, are we?”

Draco blinked. “Pardon?”

“Can I kiss you?” Harry asked, cupping his cheeks.

“Kiss?”

“Yeah, a good luck kiss.”

“Hell yeah,” whispered Draco, leaning forward and pressing his lips against Harry’s. He was taken aback for a second by the feeling of Draco’s soft lips against his. Harry wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. Draco let out a soft sigh, running a hand through Harry’s hair. He momentarily opened his eyes, seeing Draco’s pale white lashes closed. Harry closed his eyes as well, but then he realised—

Harry pulled away. Draco Malfoy. The actual Draco Malfoy stood in front of him. Pale face, pink lips, tall and slim. Blond hair. Draco fucking Malfoy. Harry looked down at his hands, his own hands. “What the… I’m me!”

Draco, who had been staring at him too, shouted, “And I’m me!” He excitedly bounced up and down. He took Harry’s hands and twirled them around. Then, he suddenly stopped jumping. “Wait, so a kiss was all it took?”

“Honestly, if we’d known, I would’ve kissed you months ago,” Harry admitted, scratching the back of his head.

“Wait… really?”

Harry smiled bashfully. “Yeah.”

Draco leaned in, kissing the hollow of his throat and up in his neck. “I want to kiss you again but I don’t know what will happen.” 

Harry quite enjoyed how Draco was kissing him now, which may be very hypocritical given that he was annoyed at Jakub for tonguing him at every opportunity, but Draco wasn’t Jakub and there weren’t that many people near. “Let’s hope it doesn’t make us switch again.”

“You did it!” said a happy voice behind him.

Harry and Draco spun away from each other and wheeled around. Ron and Hermione stood there, along with the Weasleys, all of whom were staring at them in shock. His best friends ran towards him, hugging him tightly. “I’m me again!” 

“Me again?” said Bill, staring at the four in confusion.

“Long story,” Hermione replied, pulling away from Harry. “But we can fill you in.”

Draco reached out to take Harry’s hand. “Are you sure you can do this? I mean, I did the previous tasks and–”

Harry kissed him again, but now just a short peck. “I can do it, don’t worry.” 

Draco did not look so sure. He frowned, gripping Harry’s hand tightly as they walked onto the Quidditch field, which was now completely unrecognizable. Draco had to leave and sat down at the stands. Only he and Pansy sat down with Hermione and the Weasleys. He had turned significantly paler and was biting onto his perfect nail. Harry understood where he was coming from. This was not the plan. They hadn’t trained for this. Honestly, at some point, Harry had even forgotten that he was in Draco Malfoy’s body. But he had to be brave about it. He needed to.

Once the Professors finished wishing them luck, Bagman pointed his wand at his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, with eighty-five points each — Mr. Cedric Diggory and Mr. Harry Potter, both of Hogwarts School! In second place, with eighty points — Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute! And in third place — Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!”

Harry waved up at everyone one last time. 

“So … on my whistle, Harry and Cedric!” said Bagman. “Three — two — one —”

He gave a short blast on his whistle, and they entered the maze.

***

When Harry had appeared, clutching Cedric Diggory’s corpse and crying that The Dark Lord had returned, Draco thought he was going to throw up. He’d already felt apprehensive about letting Harry compete because he hadn’t before. He hadn’t done those first two tasks, he wasn’t prepared. 

“What’s going on?” asked Pansy. “Is he–?”

“Yeah,” said Draco, feeling tears well into his eyes. 

Everyone had abandoned Harry, trying to either cover up Cedric’s body or comforting the crying Diggory parents. Draco got to his feet, ignoring the others telling him to sit down and wait and tried to get to Harry only for him to be ushered away by Professor Moody. 

Why would Professor Moody pull him away instead of going to Pomfrey, who was standing mere feet away? Draco didn’t hesitate to walk over to Professor Dumbledore who was searching for Harry. 

“Moody has him, Sir,” Draco said quickly. 

“Mr Malfoy.”

“He’s suspicious,” Draco said impatiently. “You should get Harry away from him.”

“Could I ask, Mr Malfoy, why you care so much about Mr Potter’s safety?”

“Because I was Mr Potter for an entire year and know he’s up to something!” Draco practically exclaimed, waving his hands like a madman. 

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “You found a solution, then?”

“You knew?” Draco shouted, though no one stared at him, for Mr Diggory’s cries were echoing over the field. 

Dumbledore smiled. “I have known from the beginning, Mr Malfoy. But, Professor Snape came to me a few months ago saying what I had assumed after he got confirmation.”

“That’s great and all but can we now go to Harry?” Draco asked, impatiently looking at Snape. 

“Of course, Mr Malfoy.” 

And together with Snape and McGonagall, Dumbledore and Draco made their way towards Moody’s office. 

“Stupefy!” Dumbledore shouted at the door, breaking it apart. 

It was kind of badass. Draco had never been particularly terrified of Dumbledore before but the look on face as he stared down at the unconscious form of Mad-Eye Moody was more terrible than Draco could have ever imagined. He stepped into the office, placed a foot underneath Moody’s unconscious body, and kicked him over onto his back, so that his face was visible. 

Snape followed him. Professor McGonagall and Draco went straight to Harry.

Draco hugged him tightly, wiping away the dirt from

his cheeks. 

“Come along, Potter,” McGonagall whispered, appearing on the verge of tears. “Come along … hospital wing …”

“No,” said Dumbledore sharply. 

“Dumbledore, he ought to — look at him — he’s been through enough tonight —”

“He will stay, Minerva, because he needs to understand,” said Dumbledore curtly. “Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery. He needs to know who has put him through the ordeal he has suffered tonight, and why.”

“Moody,” Harry said. Draco rubbed his back soothingly.  “How can it have been Moody?”

“This is not Alastor Moody,” said Dumbledore quietly. “You have never known Alastor Moody. The real Moody would not have removed you from my sight after what happened tonight. The moment he took you, I knew — and I followed.”

Dumbledore took out Moody’s hip flask and he turned to Professors McGonagall and Snape. “Severus, please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, and then go down to the kitchens and bring up the house-elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid’s house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here.”

Both turned at once and left the office. 

“It’ll be alright,” Draco whispered over and over, soothingly kissing Harry’s hand. 

Dumbledore walked over to the trunk with seven locks, and fitted each key in the locks. When he placed the seventh key in the lock, he threw open the lid, and Harry let out a cry of amazement. Draco moved along with him and looked down, where lying on the floor some ten feet below, apparently fast asleep, was the real starving Mad-Eye Moody.  

Dumbledore climbed into the trunk and fell lightly onto the floor beside the sleeping Moody. He bent over him. “Stunned — controlled by the Imperius Curse — very weak. Of course, they would have needed to keep him alive. Boys, throw down the imposter’s cloak — he’s freezing. Madam Pomfrey will need to see him, but he seems in no immediate danger.”

Dumbledore covered Moody in the cloak and climbed out of the trunk. He picked up the hip flask that stood on the desk and turned it over. A thick glutinous liquid splattered onto the office floor.

“Polyjuice Potion,” Draco breathed. 

Dumbledore nodded. “You see the simplicity of it, and the brilliance. For Moody never does drink except from his hip flask, he’s well known for it. The imposter needed, of course, to keep the real Moody close by, so that he could continue making the potion. You see his hair …” Dumbledore looked down on Moody in the trunk. “The imposter has been cutting it off all year, see where it is uneven? But I think, in the excitement of tonight, our fake Moody might have forgotten to take it as frequently as he should have done … on the hour … every hour. … We shall see.”

And there they waited, until the man’s appearance twisted and turned into that of a pale, slightly freckled, blonde man in his thirties. Draco knew him. He’d seen him in the Pensieve. Of course, he told Harry about it but he hadn’t seen the man. 

Draco looked at Dumbledore. “Crouch? Crouch Jr?” 

Dumbledore nodded. 

Snape soon returned with Winky at his heels,  McGonagall was right behind them.

“Crouch!” Snape said, stopping dead in the doorway.“Barty Crouch!”

“Good heavens,” said Professor McGonagall, stopping dead in her tracks. 

Winky let out a piercing shriek. “Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?” She flung herself forward onto the young man’s chest. “You is killed him! You is killed him! You is killed Master’s son!”

“He is simply Stunned, Winky,” said Dumbledore calmly.  “Step aside, please. Severus, you have the potion?”

Snape handed Dumbledore a small glass bottle of completely clear liquid. Harry seemed to recognise it and was not worried at all when Dumbledore forced it into the man’s mouth. Then he pointed his wand at the man’s chest and said, “Rennervate.”

Crouch’s son opened his eyes. His face was slack, his gaze unfocused. Dumbledore knelt before him. “Can you hear me?”  he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Crouch muttered.

“I would like you to tell us,” said Dumbledore softly, “how you came to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?”

Crouch took a deep, shuddering breath, then began to tell his story in a flat, expressionless voice.

Draco was quickly sent away by Snape after the whole ordeal, and when Draco refused, the Professor reluctantly let Draco follow him as he went to get the Minister with Professor McGonagall. The whole castle was in a frenzy and Draco had almost forgotten that a student had died. Students were walking around, some crying, others shouting. Durmstrang students were speaking in an array of Slavic languages, the Beauxbatons students were shouting to each other in French and Draco clutched the back of Snape’s robes in hopes of not losing him. 

The Professors eventually found him, and Draco was still talking to Snape.  “Sir, we need to make sure that Crouch gets caught. You know, I can help. Maybe even tell my Father–”

Snape wheeled around, making Draco stand still. “Your father would benefit from people being in the dark about this,” he said quietly. “Let us handle it.”

“Minister Fudge,” said McGonagall. 

Fudge did not seem as though the events of tonight had fully hit him, for he smiled brightly at Draco and the Professors. “Hello Professors, young Mr Malfoy. What a tragic turn of events this night has turned out to be,” he said with the biggest business smile known to man. 

“Thankfully, we have managed to find the Death Eater responsible,” Snape said. 

Fudge’s brows rose. “Death Eater?”

“Yes, Sir. Barty Crouch Jr,” Professor McGonagall informed him, “who was long believed to be dead. He told us everything.”

“Lead me to him.”

Snape led the way.

“Wait,” Fudge piped up, “I must summon a Dementor.”

Draco felt his anger rise. “Are you mad?” he shouted. 

“Mr Malfoy!” said McGonagall with a stern look on her face. 

“Crouch is all loopy now,” Draco said, ignoring her. “Once that Dementor is close, he’ll Kiss him and it’ll all be lost. Get some Aurors like a normal minister!”

“I never expected that crass of a tone from a Malfoy out of all people,” Fudge said, sounding appalled. 

“Minister,” Draco sighed heavily, walking closer. The Minister was quite the tall man so Draco had to look up at him. “I have gone through so much this year that I don’t even care that Malfoys don’t speak back, that my hair is a mess and that my posture is awful now because of the fact that I involuntarily switched bodies with someone for nearly a year! Harry was just traumatised from seeing the man who murdered his parents be resurrected and this is the only person who can confirm this story. You dare to bring a Dementor into this castle and I will personally make sure that you will be sacked!”

The three adults surrounding Draco all stared at him with open mouths.

McGonagall pushed her glasses back. The Minister had turned beet red and Snape was bearing an almost proud expression that Draco had never seen on him before.

“A-All right, Mr Malfoy,” said Fudge, pulling his wand out, slightly stammering. “I’ll call Kingsley.”

“Perfect!” said Draco breathily. “Cal Kingsley!”

***

HE’S BACK! Read the headline of the Daily Prophet the next day along with, THE MOST PECULIAR BODYSWAP on the following page, this time not written by Rita Skeeter, who had seemingly vanished before the Third Task.  Both of these news articles had caused various reactions. Many, of course, thankfully believed Harry due to the Minister’s confirmation. But in a mysterious turn of events, the news of the bodyswap had been so salacious it was all the students could talk about. 

Harry understood it. It was this ridiculous little story that was so unbelievable it could brighten people’s moods after a loss that hit them so significantly. There were some, mainly Slytherins, who said that due to Draco having performed most of the tasks, he should’ve gotten the prize money. But Draco had told Harry to do whatever he wanted with it, so he gave it to Fred and George. Others were in disbelief until the boys had to prove it in various ways. 

Draco had to give Ginny details about their Yule Ball night, Harry had to explain to Crabbe and Goyle that he didn’t actually help them that much for Potions, Draco had to emphasise that he was the one ogling at Charlie (which he wouldn’t be doing anymore) and so much more. 

Most uncomfortably was the letter that Harry had gotten from Jakub who simultaneously asked him out and apologised at the same time. Draco’s eyes raced over it once before he chucked it into the bin. 

But after all that time, Harry was glad he could sleep, which he did, cuddling up with Draco on the train back home. 

Once they arrived back at King’s Cross station, Draco woke up, stretched out his arms and yawned. 

“What?” he said to Harry.

Harry smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Nothing, you’re just really cute.”

“He just yawned, mate,” said Ron. He himself had just woken up too and was looking at Harry with a mix of fondness and slight confusion. 

“You don’t get it, Ron,” Hermione chimed in. “Maybe once you get your own girlfriend one day.”

“I hope so.” Ron rubbed his eyes. “I just need to find a girl who likes me enough.” 

Hermione stroked his arm soothingly. “There’s definitely one I know.”

All of a sudden, Ron was wide awake. “Who?”

Hermione shrugged, feigning innocence. “Can’t say,” she said as she rose to her feet. 

“Hermione!” Ron whined, following her out of the room and demanding to know.

Once he was sure they were gone, Draco grabbed Harry by the collar and kissed him on the lips. Harry reacted quickly, pulling him into his lap and deepening the kiss. Harry could thank Jakub for one thing, he truly made him one hell of a kisser. 

They eventually pulled away from each other, breathing heavily and yearning for more. But Harry knew that uncle Vernon was probably there at the Platform waiting for him to come and get the hell out of there. 

“If the circumstances were different, I’d invite you to my place for the summer,” Draco said softly, running his thumb over Harry’s kiss-swollen lips. “If only we weren’t on different sides–”

“We aren’t,” Harry cut in. “You don’t support Voldemort.”

“No,” Draco replied. “But my father–”

“Screw what your father thinks,” Harry said. “I’ll get you out of there if they try to use you to kill me. You’ll get protection, you’ll be fine. I promise.” 

Draco’s eyes were teary. Harry wiped them away. 

“Alright, we can do that. We can try.” 

He knew that Draco needed more convincing but they didn’t have much time. They exited the train together hand in hand, not caring about the looks they were receiving. After saying goodbye to his friends, Harry found uncle Vernon nearby. He didn’t let go of Draco’s hand, probably because he forgot, but this caused the Malfoys to follow him. 

“Draco, my love,” said Mrs Malfoy, practically smacking Harry’s hand away and embracing her son. “We’re so glad to have you back.” She gave Harry a quelling look before hugging her son tighter. 

Once she pulled away, Draco turned to Lucius Malfoy. He took Harry’s hand, nervously scratching the back of it with his thumb. “Father, this is Harry, my boyfriend. Harry, this is my father.” He gestured between them as if the two did not go way back. 

Mr Malfoy glared at Harry with pale, furrowned brows. “Uh, no, he isn’t.”

Harry grinned, enjoying this quite a lot. 

Draco frowned. “Umm yeah, he is.”

“Boyfriend?” uncle Vernon muttered, giving Harry a nasty look. “I don’t know what you’re playing at but I if you think that I will let a filthy fag–“

But Harry ignored him, gave Draco a big, open-mouthed kiss in front of his uncle and the Malfoy’s and pulled away. “See you next year.”

Draco looked taken aback. His cheeks were practically Weasley-red and he refused to make eye contact with his parents. He bit on his lip, nodding. “Yeah, see you.” 

“Guess you won’t get rid of me that fast, Mr Malfoy,” Harry said nastily to an appalled-looking Lucius Malfoy before wheeling around walking off. 

In fact, with the news of Voldemort’s return, Harry hoped that Mr Malfoy would rot. 

THE END