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Harry was back at Hogwarts, and he was happy.

The war was over, or at least Voldemort was dead. The Death Eaters had disbanded, but Aurors all across the world were still tracking them down.

Harry was tired of fighting. He was tired of grudges and secrets and angst. His eighth and final year at Hogwarts was going to be fun.

Not much had changed at Hogwarts. Remnants of the Final Battle had disappeared over the summer, and the castle was back to its old, mischievous self.

Harry had missed the castle. He had always considered it home, and it was where (ironically) he felt the safest.

It was late November, and the term was winding down. Christmas approached. The days were dark and cold, and the rain seemed to only come on match day. Harry and the other eighth years had been allowed to play, and he relished every moment of flying into dreary winds, his fingers frozen, brittle. He had won every match and a few professional teams had already sent him a few owls. But he didn’t want to play professional Quidditch; that was Ginny’s thing.

Draco Malfoy had returned as Slytherin’s Seeker, and Harry looked forward to these matches the most.

Malfoy had changed. He studied a lot. He didn’t avoid people, but he also didn’t go out of his way to socialise. Sometimes Harry looked up in class or the library, and found him staring.

Harry liked when he caught Malfoy staring at him. Harry liked it because he was attracted to Malfoy.

Fancying boys had sneaked up on Harry. He couldn’t explain it. One day he was in love with Ginny, the next he was eyeing Charlie with a desperate, nervous hunger.

He supposed he’d suppressed a lot during the war. There hadn’t been time to think about what he wanted. He’d been obsessed with defeating Voldemort and saving the world. He’d been obsessed with family and normality, and safety. With a family, he would be protected. With a family, he wouldn’t be alone.

But now Ginny was in Brazil playing professional Quidditch and Harry was back at Hogwarts, nursing a crush on Draco Malfoy.

The day Harry saved Malfoy, he was in the bowels of the dungeons, hunting for hidden corridors. It was his new hobby. He was trying to expand the Marauder’s Map, update it. He wanted to cause mischief.

Down here, the dungeons sweated lake water and a chill clung to the stones. He wandered the twists and turns, thinking about Snape. He supposed he forgave the greasy bat. He wished Snape hadn’t died.

“I said no.”

Harry stopped and raised his wand. The voice had come from the corridor on his left.

“Why are you doing this to me?” said another voice.

“I’m not doing anything to you.”

“Come on, Malfoy. Just one more time.”

Frowning, Harry followed the voices. He faltered and nearly dropped his wand. Zacharias Smith had Malfoy pressed against the wall, and they were kissing.

Harry’s mouth dropped open. He stared, not understanding for a moment. Malfoy tried to shove Smith away, but Smith grabbed both his arms.

“Let go of me!” Malfoy said.

“Stop being difficult. You wanted it before.” Smith leaned in again.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Harry said loudly.

Smith swerved around. His eyes grew wide when he saw Harry. “Oh, Potter. Hello.”

Harry looked at Malfoy, and found him blushing hard with his face averted.

“Are you all right, Malfoy?”

“I’m brilliant. Couldn’t be better.” Malfoy wouldn’t look at Harry.

“Is Smith … bothering you?”

“Absolutely not!” Smith said, outraged. “We have an agreement. It’s nothing that concerns you.”

“It looks like Malfoy told you no and you kissed him anyway.”

“Sod off, Potter.” Malfoy flung his bag over his shoulder and stomped in the opposite direction. The back of his neck was flushed a bright red.

“Malfoy,” Smith said, trying to follow, but Harry moved quickly to block him.

“There’s no reason to follow him.”

“Get out of my way! You have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Maybe not, but I can tell that Malfoy doesn’t want to be around you right now.”

Smith cursed loudly, his eyes flashing. He stormed down the corridor, away from Malfoy. Harry lingered to make sure he didn’t come back.

Harry wanted to find Malfoy, make sure he was all right, but he knew that wasn’t the right thing to do. Malfoy was embarrassed, hurt, and he definitely didn’t want to be around Potter.

Shaking his head, Harry continued down another corridor, his attention soon drawn back to the Marauder’s Map. He could tell the Marauders hadn’t spent that much time in the dungeons, because there were some big misses. He opened an unplotted door, and a gust of empty chill greeted him. The room smelled musty, and there was broken furniture. As he turned his head, something pearly white disappeared through the wall.

The Bloody Baron? Harry thought, then shut the door. He had no interest in running into him.

There was another unplotted door. Harry opened it, expecting darkness again, but he found Malfoy hunched over a desk. He wasn’t studying, just grasping the desk and taking loud, deep breaths.

Malfoy turned around when he heard the door. The situation reminded Harry so much of their sixth year fight in the toilets that he almost gasped.

“What do you want?” Malfoy said, wiping at his face. He’d been crying.

“I didn’t mean—I didn’t know—” Harry held up the map.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Were you spying on me again?”

“No!”

“Right,” Malfoy said, sounding unconvinced. He moved past Harry to the door.

“I didn’t know—” Harry made a stupid gesture to the corridor.

“Know what?”

Malfoy was looking at him with so much hatred, and it was hard to focus when he was also dealing with the fact that he found Malfoy attractive. Malfoy was strangely elegant; he was alluring. His mouth was entirely too pink, and his eyes were so cold they made Harry burn up.

Harry gulped. “I didn’t know you snogged boys.”

The blood drained from Malfoy’s face. He looked scared, but his gaze glittered. “Are you going to tell people?” he asked softly.

“Of course not,” Harry said. He wanted to tell Malfoy that he fancied boys too, but he couldn’t find the words. He felt a bit dizzy. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with Malfoy. They had despised each other, and now they shared a secret.

“Good,” Malfoy said, and left. As he brushed past, Harry had the mad urge to grab him.

A week later, Malfoy disappeared.

“He probably ran away,” Ron said, eyeing their mountain of homework. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were in the library, and Pansy Parkinson was crying at a nearby table.

“The Headmistress knows about it, right?” Hermione said, looking concerned.

“Yeah, all the professors know. I even heard a few first years talking about it at lunch,” Harry said.

“He must have gone back to Malfoy Manor,” Hermione said.

“Doubt his mum would let him do that,” Ron said darkly. Molly was now sending him weekly owls about how he needed to improve his marks to be a successful Ministry employee. Ron had no interest in working at the Ministry.

Harry thought for a long moment. He hadn’t told anyone what he’d seen in the dungeons between Malfoy and Smith, but there was a possibility it was linked to his disappearance.

“I saw something strange last week,” Harry said slowly. He felt like he was betraying Malfoy, outing him. Harry himself wasn’t even fully out to his best mates. He had only spoke about it indirectly.

“Go on.” Hermione had taken out a fresh roll of parchment to write down what he said.

“No notes,” Harry said, then took a deep breath. “I was looking for hidden rooms in the dungeons, and I heard an argument. I rushed toward the sound and found Smith snogging Malfoy—”

“WHAT?” Ron said loudly.

Harry flinched. Hermione saw his flinch and kicked Ron under the table.

“Sorry,” Ron said, rubbing his shin, his face quite red. “It’s just … I never would have thought … it’s a touch weird, isn’t it?”

“Ronald,” Hermione said in warning.

Harry wanted to cover his face and shake his head, but he ignored the urge. Instead he sighed. “Yeah, I suppose it is weird.”

“Not that blokes who like other blokes are weird,” Ron said, glancing at Hermione. “I just—you know—it’s Malfoy.”

“I know.”

“So they were snogging?” Hermione said.

“Yeah but it didn’t look … consensual.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It looked like Smith was forcibly kissing Malfoy. I think he had him, like, pinned to the wall.”

“How do you know that wasn’t what Malfoy wanted?” She blushed.

“Because I heard him say no.”

“Merlin,” Ron said.

“You need to tell the Headmistress.”

Harry’s stomach plunged. He doubted Malfoy would want McGonagall to know he snogged blokes. “I don’t know …”

“She can help only if she knows the right information.”

“I know … I just don’t want to out Malfoy.”

They blinked at him.

“I doubt the Headmistress would care about that sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “She has other things to worry about. Nobody cares who Malfoy decides to snog. It’s his own business.”

I care, Harry thought. Parkinson stood from her table, wiping away her tears. She cut through a few aisles toward the exit. Harry jumped up to follow her.

“Oi!” Ron said. “I don’t plan to be here forever!”

“Parkinson,” Harry said quietly, and she turned around.

“What do you want, Potter?” Her eyes brimmed with more tears.

“Can I speak to you for a moment? In the corridor?” Harry said. Pince was already glaring at them.

“Fine,” Parkinson said, and left the library without him. Harry followed hastily.

“Wait!”

She turned around at the steps leading down to the dungeons. “You’ve got one minute.”

“Why are you crying? Is it because of Malfoy?”

She began to cry again and wiped angrily at her face. “Why do you care?”

Harry faltered. “Um … I just do.”

Narrowing her eyes, she said, “You should just leave Draco alone. He’s not doing anything wrong.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Of course I don’t!” She cried some more. “Why do you think I’m a blubbering mess right now?”

“I didn’t want to assume.”

She laughed, and it wasn’t very nice. “You need to mind your own business.”

“Do you think his disappearance had anything to do with Smith?”

She gaped at him. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t … I saw them …” Harry had no idea how to continue. Did she know about Malfoy and Smith?

“You saw them?”

“Yeah … in the dungeons …”

She looked at him for a long moment. She seemed to be deciding something. “Smith is a right bastard and I hope he falls off a cliff.”

“Why do you say that?”

She laughed again. “I’m not telling you.”

“I saw him with Malfoy. He wasn’t very nice to him.”

“Understatement of the year.”

“Do you think he had anything to do with Malfoy’s disappearance?”

“He swears that he doesn’t, but he could be a good liar.”

“I think we should talk to the Headmistress about it.”

Her eyes grew wide. “No way!”

“Why not? Maybe she could help find him.”

“You can do whatever you want, but I’d rather drop dead than talk to her.”

“Why?” Harry said, voice raised.

Parkinson shrugged. “It’s a Slytherin thing, Potter. You wouldn’t understand.” She disappeared down the stairs.

He stood there stupidly for a few minutes. Maybe he should give it a few days … maybe Malfoy would return and all the tears and worrying would be for nothing. But Parkinson was one of his best mates … surely she would know if Malfoy decided to just go on a quick holiday or something?

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, and headed for the Headmistress’s office.

The gargoyle still guarded the office entrance. “Caithness,” he said quietly, and the gargoyle jumped aside.

Harry knocked on the door.

“Come in,” McGonagall said. She didn’t look surprised to him. “Oh, Potter. Not another serpent in the pipes, I hope?”

“Maybe next week,” he said, smiling.

“Please have a seat.”

The office had changed a lot. There was more sunlight and less clutter. Lovely tartan blankets covered the chairs, and there was a well-kept bagpipe on the wall.

He sat down and grasped his knees. “Um … so.”

“This seems serious.”

“Yes … it’s about Malfoy.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Go on.”

He swallowed nervously. “Have you talked to Zacharias Smith?”

“Yes, Potter, I have.”

“Oh! So you know then?”

“Know what?”

“That they were … intimate?” He died a little inside.

She sighed impatiently. “Yes, I know they were intimate. Smith was one of the first students to talk to me after Malfoy’s disappearance.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes.”

“But … what did he say?”

“I will not discuss that with you.”

“Was he worried about Malfoy’s disappearance? Did he have more information?”

“Of course he was worried. It seems like he cares deeply for Malfoy.”

Harry frowned. “It didn’t seem like he cared deeply when I saw them.”

“What did you see exactly?”

“I—well. I saw Smith forcibly snog Malfoy. He was holding Malfoy against the wall.”

McGonagall’s expression didn’t change. She seemed completely unsurprised by this information. “Did you see anything else?”

“No.”

“Trust that I’m doing everything I can to find out where Malfoy has gone. Also trust that I’m supporting Smith to the best of my abilities.”

“But—that’s it? You’re not going to give me any more information?”

“No, Potter. The war is over, and this doesn’t concern you.”

“Okay,” he said, not sure if he liked that answer. He stood and thanked her.

“Goodbye. Make sure you don’t miss supper.”

“Right!” He rushed off.

The rain wouldn’t stop; it came down desperately, angrily. Harry had to cast another Waterproof Charm on his glasses. It was a few days later, and he was at Quidditch practice.

“The Slytherins had their practice yesterday,” Harry said to his team. “No Malfoy.”

“Do we know who will replace him?” asked Fyrnia Flubb, one of their new Beaters.

He hesitated, not sure if he believed his own sources. “Millicent Bulstrode.”

“WHAT?”

“Yeah, I know.” He scratched the back of his neck wetly.

“I’ve never seen Bulstrode on a broom in my life!” said Turnip Tillweed, their new Keeper.

“Well, that’s all the information I’ve got, so it’s what we will use to prepare.” Harry was starting to think Malfoy merely disappeared just so he could confuse the Gryffindor team and reappear last minute on match day. Gryffindor and Slytherin were damn near tied for House Cup.

“Sounds a bit fishy,” Fyrnia said.

“Yeah!” agreed the team.

“Let’s get on with practice before we all drown!” he said loudly. “Start with twenty laps for warm up!”

As he soared up, the rain pelting him like pebbles, he tried to imagine Bulstrode on a broom and failed. It just had to be Slytherin’s attempt to blindside him. Bulstrode was just so … awkward.

He pushed his team hard in the final five laps. They sprinted on their brooms, whipping around the pitch, faster and faster. The rain felt like needles on his face and hands.

It wouldn’t be an easy practice, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t push them hard. The Gryffindor and Slytherin match was in less than a week.

After practice, Harry thanked everyone for giving it their all and released them to the changing rooms. He remained outside so he could be alone with his thoughts. He was soaked to the bone, but he wasn’t ready to go inside.

It was obvious they needed to protect their hands and eyes better. Fyrnia had almost dropped her bat because her hands had gone numb, and Turnip missed a few saves because the rain had blinded him.

Gloves and goggles were out of the question. His team refused to wear them. They were being a bit silly about it, if you asked him, but he couldn’t force them to—

There was a cat in the rain. Harry blinked. What was a cat doing out in this weather?

The cat was all white, a spotlight in the gloom. It almost looked like a Patronus.

He moved closer cautiously. It sat on the edge of the pitch, utterly drenched. It stared as Harry approached.

“Hello,” Harry said, dropping down to a knee. “Are you lost?”

The cat stared up at him. It didn’t look skittish or afraid. It looked perfectly calm. He raised his hand slowly, giving it a chance to move away before scratching it behind its ears.

The cat’s grey eyes fluttered. It immediately started purring.

“You like that,” Harry said softly. The cat butted his hand, wanting more. Harry scratched under its chin, and the cat looked like it was in heaven.

“I’m going to pick you up.” He put his hands on the cat’s sides, again giving it a chance to escape his grasp. The cat pressed into his hands, wanting more contact, and Harry picked it up.

He held it carefully in his arms. The cat continued to purr. “Let’s get you back to your human.” Owner didn’t sound polite in the moment.

He headed for the changing rooms, confident the cat could wait as he changed into dry clothes. The changing rooms were deserted. Everyone was swamped with homework and probably dashed back to the castle to start on it.

“I need a shower,” Harry said, carefully dropping the cat on a bench. The cat sat stiff as a statue as he undressed. The clothes were glued to his skin, and it took some work to get everything off.

When he got down to his pants, he turned his back to the cat, feeling strangely on display. The cat probably couldn’t care less about his nudity, but its unwavering stare still unnerved him a little.

He got his pants off, giving the cat a glimpse of his arse, and wrapped a towel around his waist.

“I’ll just be a minute,” he said, unsure why he was talking to the cat like it understood him.

The shower was hot and comforting, and he let himself moan happily. He dropped his head to the tile, letting the water beat down his frozen back. His cock wanted to be hard, but it wasn’t the time for a nice long shower wank.

He washed up quickly and hurried back to the cat. The cat had been dozing as he showered, but its eyes popped open when he emerged from a bellow of steam.

“I feel so much better,” Harry said, digging into his bag for his clothes. He put his back to the cat and let his towel drop to the floor. The changing rooms were cold, so he cast a Warming Charm and hastily pulled on his dry clothes.

When he turned around, the cat was staring again. He grabbed his wand, letting the cat see it. “I’m going to cast a Hot-Air Charm on you, okay?”

The cat hissed and backed away.

“Oh,” Harry said, frowning. “Do you not like wands?”

The cat still bared its teeth. Harry put his wand away and took up a new towel.

“What about this? Can I dry you this way?”

The cat inched closer. Harry dried it with the towel, rubbing and massaging, and the cat purred again.

“Yes, you like that, I can tell,” Harry whispered. “You like that so much. It’s okay now, I’ve got you.”

Harry dropped the towel and the cat was now a white fluff. He laughed. “You look like a cotton wool ball.”

The cat glared at him.

“It’s not a bad thing! Trust me.” He put the towels in the laundry basket and grabbed his bag. “Come on, now. Let’s go back to the castle.”

The cat jumped into his open bag, which he did not intend, but it seemed like it worked for the fluff ball.

In the Gryffindor common room, Harry showed Ron and Hermione the cat.

“Oh!” Hermione said. “He’s so pretty!”

“How do you know its sex?” Harry said.

Hermione picked it up, petting it. She turned its butt to Harry and lifted its tail.

“Oh, right,” Harry said, then laughed. “I missed that part.”

“He doesn’t have a collar,” Hermione said. “Poor thing.” She held him close and gave him a kiss on the face.

The cat looked a little shocked.

“You’re scaring it,” Ron said.

“I don’t care,” Hermione said, squeezing the cat a little. “I already love him!”

The cat meowed and put a paw on her face.

“No, don’t deny my love,” she cooed.

“I think he wants down,” Harry said.

“All right.” Hermione kissed a white paw and dropped it gently on the chair. The cat sprang down and sat next to Harry’s foot.

“He’s already claimed you,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, I think he has,” Harry said. “But he must belong to someone in the castle.”

“Somewhere a first year is sobbing because her cat ran away,” Ron said.

“Yeah,” Harry said, frowning. “I should ask around. See if anyone is missing him.”

The cat rubbed against his leg and purred.

“Is that a cat?” Neville said excitedly. He’d been studying near the fire and now he dropped down to a knee to pet him. The cat flinched from his hand. “Oh, I don’t think he likes me.”

“I found him on the Quidditch pitch. He was properly soaked.”

“Poor kitty!” Hermione said.

“Continue like that and you’ll make Crookshanks jealous,” Ron said.

“Oh, he’ll understand.”

“I think I’m going to have him sleep with me tonight.” Harry scratched the cat’s ears, which made him purr even louder.

“I think he would like that,” Hermione said.

Neville sneaked a few pets and the cat jerked away. Neville looked hurt. “What are you going to name him?”

“Dunno,” Harry said. “It’s a bit too early for that, I reckon.”

“It could be a temporary name,” Neville said.

“What about Snowball?” Hermione said.

The cat hissed.

“What about Merlin?” Harry said.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Everybody names their cat Merlin!”

“I think I’ll call him Armand,” Harry said.

“Oh,” Hermione said, disappointed.

“Like that bloke from France?” Ron said.

“Yeah,” Harry said with a shrug. “I think he was mates with William the Conqueror. I read about him in one of my textbooks. I liked the name.”

“I was thinking he looked more like an Icelus,” Neville said.

Harry picked up Armand, and he was purring so much that he vibrated. “He likes the name.”

“He likes you,” Neville said.

“It seems that way.” Harry scratched his ears again. He said goodbye to his mates and trudged up to his dormitory.

Harry set Armand on his bed and watched as he sniffed around. He waited for Armand to dart to one of the doors, but he seemed content to just crawl around his bed.

Harry changed into his pyjamas and went to the bathroom. Armand followed. He roamed around as Harry had a piss and brushed his teeth.

“I should get you a litter tray,” Harry said.

Armand spotted a moving shadow and pounced. He was playing.

“If you stick around, maybe some cat toys too.”

They went back to his bed and got under the duvet. Armand curled up next to him, a comforting warm bump.

Harry fell asleep petting him. His fur was very soft.

Harry woke up to a cat purring in his face. For a moment, he didn’t understand, but then he remembered and sleepily threaded his fingers in the cat’s fur. He dozed off, and woke up to Armand standing on his head.

“Ahh! Get off!”

Armand meowed and jumped down. Harry put his glasses on and glared at him.

“Don’t stand on my head.”

Armand’s eyes were wide and excited. It was early morning and Armand had a lot of energy.

Harry rolled out of bed, which prompted Armand to streak across the room and knock into Neville’s trunk. Neville startled awake mid-snore. “HULLO? Who’s there?”

“It’s just the cat,” Harry whispered.

“Don’t let it get my Trevor,” Neville said, and rolled over to go back to sleep.

Harry and Armand went to the bathroom so Harry could start getting ready for the day. Armand didn’t want to be trapped in the room, and he meowed loudly and attacked the ancient door.

“I can’t let you out,” Harry said, having a shower. “You are too mad for me to trust you.”

Armand meowed again and tried to crawl up the wall. He didn’t get far because the wall was polished stone.

When Harry was clean, he dried himself with his wand and brushed his teeth. There was no point in trying to tame his hair, so he just ran a comb hastily through it and gave it a glance in the mirror. His glasses were fogged up.

In the dormitory, the other boys were waking up. Dean stared at Armand for a good minute.

“Harry,” Dean said, voice crusted over from sleep. “Did you always have a cat?”

“No, I found him last night.”

Dean snorted. “You ought to give a bloke a warning first. I thought I was seeing things.”

Harry grinned apologetically. “Sorry, mate.”

“He sure is a handful,” Seamus said, eyeing Armand with doubt.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t get into your stuff,” Harry said. “Promise.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Seamus said, and glared a little at Neville.

“Trevor doesn’t get into your things! He has no reason to!”

Ron produced a string from the end of his wand and danced it in the air for Armand. Armand sprang at the string, and it was so damn cute. “I’m convinced Trevor had a nibble on my chocolate frogs last week,” Ron said.

“Absolutely not!” Neville said, clutching Trevor close. “He isn’t a cannibal.”

Harry wanted to go down to breakfast, but he didn’t know what to do with Armand. He didn’t think it was right to leave him in the room all day, but he probably would never see him again if he let him roam the castle alone.

As he debated his options, Armand made the choice for him: Armand jumped into his bag and refused to get out.

“You plan to just stay in there all day, do you?”

Armand stared up at him with his lovely grey eyes.

“All right,” Harry said with a grin. He grabbed his bag, and he and Ron went down to the Great Hall.

Thankfully, the day was sunny, and the ceiling in the Great Hall beamed with an orange glow. They nabbed the seats next to Hermione, who was halfway through her bowl of porridge and at least twenty minutes into her morning review of course notes.

“How is Armand? He didn’t run away, did he?”

“Nope,” Harry said cheerfully, helping himself to some eggs and sausage. “He’s in my bag.”

“What?” She leaned down and laughed. “Oh, hello. You are a good boy, aren’t you?”

“We shall see,” Harry said. “I doubt old Slughorn fancies cats in his classroom.”

“I really dislike that man,” Hermione said.

“He almost makes me miss greasy Snape,” Ron said, then paused. “Almost.”

“At least Snape tried,” Harry said. “I mean, he didn’t try very hard, but he cared enough not to rely entirely on the textbook.”

“The textbook’s rubbish,” Hermione said, frowning. “I wish Slughorn would just hand out Snape’s old notes and let us teach ourselves.”

“Let’s not go too far,” Ron said.

Harry gave Armand a bit of sausage, and he sniffed it for a while before taking a big bite. He watched Armand eat for a moment, not really caring if he made a mess in his bag.

When Harry looked up, his gaze landed on the Slytherin table. There was still no Malfoy, and the Hall felt strangely empty without him.

“You should ask Smith some questions,” Hermione said, who knew Harry had talked with Parkinson and McGonagall.

“I know.” Harry didn’t know why he was hesitating. The whole thing had mortified Malfoy, and Harry felt like speaking to Smith would only make things worse. He also didn’t want to learn anything from Smith that would make him suspicious, that would make him obsessed. He didn’t want to play Auror this year.

“I could speak to him,” Hermione suggested. Ron shook his head and sighed.

“No, that’s okay. I will do it.” Harry caught sight of Smith, and his mood immediately dipped.

Armand attacked his trouser leg, and Harry grinned and shooed him back into the bag.

A few days passed, and Armand joined Harry for every class. Harry put up parchment with Armand’s image throughout the castle, and Headmistress McGonagall even made an announcement at dinner. No one seemed to be missing a white cat.

Harry was just fine with keeping Armand. He’d grown attached to him, and he liked falling asleep with Armand curled up next to him. The castle was cold, especially since the the first sprinkling of snow, and Armand sometimes slept on Harry’s chest under the duvet for warmth. Harry was terribly smitten.

On Friday evening, right before Harry was due on the pitch for Quidditch practice, he ran into Smith in a quiet corridor and realised it was the perfect time to ask him about Malfoy.

“Smith,” Harry said, jogging carefully to catch up with him. Armand was asleep in his bag, and he didn’t want to jostle him too much.

Turning, Smith’s expression fell when he saw who it was. “Potter. Hello.”

“How have you been?”

“Brilliant,” Smith said stiffly.

“Right,” Harry said, carrying on through the awkwardness. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about Malfoy.”

“There’s nothing to ask about.”

“Except that he’s missing.”

Smith flinched but didn’t say anything. He picked up pace and turned a corner abruptly.

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Harry said, almost jogging again to keep up. “I was wondering if you knew where he was.”

“Of course I don’t know where he is! If I did know, I would have already told the Headmistress!”

“It seemed like you two were dating or something, and—”

“We weren’t dating,” Smith said darkly.

“It seemed like you were close.”

“I wanted him to date me. He was so finicky.” Smith halted. “Merlin, why am I telling you this?”

Harry looked at him for a long moment. “It seemed like you were forcing Malfoy to snog you … like you were pressuring him.”

“I know, okay? I’ve already told the Headmistress about all of it. I’ve had a tough go of it since the war … I wanted Malfoy to fancy me, and he didn’t, obviously. I’m trying to move on now.”

“Did you ever apologise to him?”

“He never gave me the chance!” Smith flushed angrily.

“Do you think it’s possible he left to get away from you?”

“I don’t know!” His voice was raised. “I didn’t think it was that serious … he liked the attention at first, believe me. He snogged me back!”

“Yeah,” Harry said, not wanting to imagine Malfoy and Smith snogging.

Smith deflated, and his eyes shone like he was about to cry. “I never wanted to hurt him. I thought I couldn’t help the way I felt, but I’m working to change, okay? I can’t stand that you and the Headmistress probably think I’m evil or something. I want him to come back!”

“I don’t think you’re evil,” Harry said, terrified that Smith was going to cry. He had no idea what to do when people cried around him. It was like Madam Puddifoot's all over again.

“Lovely,” Smith said, more than a little sarcastic. He stormed away.

There was a meow, and Armand poked his head from the bag.

Harry scratched his ears. “Do you think I should write to Malfoy’s mum? Ask her if she’s seen him?”

Armand bit his fingers.

“Ouch!” Harry snatched his hand away. “Bad Armand! Bad!”

Quidditch practice had improved, and it was just in time: the Gryffindor and Slytherin match fast approached. Harry tried to leave Armand in his dormitory before each practice, but Armand meowed loudly, following Harry as close as possible, sometimes making him trip, until Harry relented and allowed him to jump into his Quidditch bag.

The evenings were cold, temperatures near freezing, but Armand positioned himself in the stands to watch their practice. Harry was unnerved the most during these times, and he told himself Armand just liked watching them flying around like insects.

The best nights were when Ron and Hermione joined Armand, and it felt like the team had a little cheering section. (Ron had long got over the heartbreak of not being Gryffindor’s Keeper.)

The night before the big match Harry couldn’t sleep. He lay under his duvet with Armand curled up next to him like always. He stared up at the ceiling. He really wanted to wank to take the edge off his nervousness, but he didn’t want to disturb Armand. He also didn’t want to wank in front of him. He imagined touching himself as the cat watched, and grimaced. Cats could be so weird.

Sighing, Harry got out of bed and dressed himself. Armand emerged from the duvet, his fur a little messy, and he looked unhappy about being disturbed.

“I’m going down to the dungeons,” Harry whispered. “You can come if you want.” He quietly dug out his invisibility cloak and the Marauder’s Map from his trunk and made sure to cast an Invisibility Spell on his legs and feet.

Armand followed him from the dormitory, looking interested, his tail flicking back and forth.

Harry was still on the hunt for unmarked rooms and passages. He shivered as he made his winding way down to the dungeons.

The dungeons were eerily quiet. He passed the entrance to the Slytherin common room, and Armand slowed his steps to sniff around the door. There were a few times when Harry thought Armand had to belong to a Slytherin student since he seemed interested in all things Slytherin.

“Come on,” Harry whispered, and the cat dashed ahead of him in a burst of activity.

He ventured lower on a set of cramped wet stairs. His hands were frozen and his breath made smoke. Not many students came down here, he could tell.

Something caught Armand’s attention at the end of the dark corridor. Harry squinted and saw pearly essence. It was a ghost, but he didn’t know which one.

They slowly walked to the end of the corridor. When they approached, the ghost disappeared through the wall. Harry and Armand hurried into the closest room to keep up with it.

The room was so dark that Harry had to cast a Lumos. The ghost hovered in the corner, the back of its pearly robes floating in air.

“Hello?” Harry dropped the hood of his cloak so his face was visible.

The ghost turned, and it was Severus Snape. He was in the robes he died in, and the snake bites were gruesome on his neck. The front of his robes were splattered with silvery blood.

“Whoa,” Harry said.

Snape cocked an eyebrow, then walked through another wall. Harry tried to follow, racing into the next room, but Snape had vanished.

Armand meowed, distressed. Harry dropped to a knee to pet him. He tried to pick him up but Armand jumped from his arms.

“I know,” Harry said. “That was really weird.”

The next morning arrived with bright sunshine. Harry hung his head and thanked the Gods. He might have cried if his team had to play in a storm. There was no way he could lose to Millicent Bulstrode.

At breakfast, his head was all foggy. He hadn’t slept well last night, especially after encountering Snape’s ghost. He wanted to tell Hermione and Ron about the encounter, but he didn’t have the brain power at the moment. All his energy had to be focused on the match.

Armand seemed nervous too. He fidgeted in Harry’s bag and hissed when Hermione tried to pet him. Harry gave him a bit of sausage and let him be.

The Great Hall was alive with excited chatter. The Gryffindors and Slytherins were decked out in House colours, and loads of students from other Houses were sporting something red in support of Harry. The war was still fresh in everyone’s minds, and Slytherin didn’t have many friends.

Cheers erupted as he left and went down to the changing rooms. Despite the flush on his cheeks, he held his head high. His team had practiced so much lately; they deserved the admiration.

The changing rooms were silent. They changed into their Quidditch robes, and more than a few pairs of hands were shaking. His fogginess had disappeared, but now Harry’s mind was on Bulstrode. The unknown was always the worst. Was it possible that she was terrific? Was it possible that she was better than him?

The team prepared to venture onto the pitch. They all gave Armand last minute pets, and Armand disappeared outside. Harry imagined him climbing the wooden steps to the highest seat and curling up in a cosy ball to watch the match.

When they made it to the pitch, the first person Harry saw was Bulstrode, and she looked intimidating. She was large and ugly and mean-looking. He was old enough to feel bad about thinking somebody was ugly, but it was a damn fact when it came to her.

Madam Hooch was back to refereeing. Harry felt such a swell of nostalgia every time he saw her.

“I want a fair match,” Hooch said. She paused, then blew her whistle.

Harry soared into the air, immediately looking for the Snitch. He was fast, a lot faster than Bulstrode.

Gryffindor nabbed the Quaffle and shot toward the Slytherin Keeper. He was far enough away to not make out which Gryffindor player had possession, but if it was Rodman then they were going to score. Rodman never missed.

Cheers erupted on the Gryffindor side. “Rodman scores within the first minute! Gryffindor up by ten!” said the announcer.

Harry began to cheer too, but then he saw Bulstrode streak toward something small and golden below him. Oh, no! Harry raced after her, but she was intentionally blocking him from seeing the Snitch.

He zipped to the left, then to the right. He was catching up, but she predicted his movements and continued to block him. She darted right suddenly, then straight down. Panicking, Harry followed.

Right before they hit the ground, Bulstrode pulled up, and it took all of Harry’s strength to do the same. There was no Snitch in sight. She had fooled him.

“Good one!” he yelled at her, but she zoomed away. Distantly, he heard Slytherin score twice. Bloody hell.

Bulstrode had proved she had a good eye, so Harry trailed her for a bit, watching her like a hawk. She wouldn’t fool him again.

“Rodman scores again! Slytherin now only up by ten!”

This was his chance to end the match before Slytherin scored again. Harry flew faster, his eyes peeled for the Snitch. When he saw it below him to the left, he nearly gasped. He made right, to confuse her, but Bulstrode was already going left. Cursing, Harry sped up to catch her.

She was blocking him again, manoeuvring her old broom, doing everything she could to knock him off the path of the Snitch. He leaned forward and shot past her. She was panting and urging her broom to keep up, but then Harry heard a crack and Bulstrode’s broom began to lose speed. He had no time to think.

Reaching out, he grasped the Snitch tightly, and spun toward the ground. He heard the wind and the cheers from the crowd. The announcer was calling the match for Gryffindor!

When he made it to the ground, he saw Bulstrode was already standing next to Hooch.

“Terrible luck,” Hooch said. “I’ve never known a school broom to break in the middle of a match.”

Bulstrode held up the broom, and Harry saw that it was nearly broken in half.

“That’s what I get for not having the money to buy my own.” Bulstrode stomped off the pitch.

Harry felt bad for her, but he was also thrilled that his team won. Turnip, Fyrnia, and Rodman ran to him, cheering. They carried him off the field, promising him buckets of Butterbeer.

Later, after all the celebrating in the common room, Harry lay in bed with Armand. Harry pet Armand as he spoke.

“I didn’t think Bulstrode would be so good,” Harry said. “If her broom hadn’t failed her, I’m convinced she would have beat me. Maybe I can help her get her own broom.”

Armand looked at him skeptically. He didn’t think cats were capable of skepticism, but there was no other description for Armand’s expression.

Harry lowered his voice. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Armand stared at him intently.

“I miss Malfoy. I’m sure you don’t know him, but he’s a Slytherin bloke. Blond. Terribly fit. Gorgeous, even.”

Armand’s eyes seemed brighter.

“I wanted to play against him. I missed him taunting me or something. I know it sounds barmy. I hated him for most of my time here. But I have a crush now. It came out of nowhere. It really did. One day I was in love with Ginny, the next I wanted Malfoy. Really strange stuff.”

Armand crawled onto Harry’s stomach. He was purring loudly now. He rubbed his face against Harry’s cheek, marking him.

“Your paws hurt,” Harry gasped.

Purring louder, Armand circled a few times before settling on his chest. He fell asleep, and Harry was too entranced to move. Harry pet him and watched him sleep.

The next day after Muggle Studies Harry discovered Armand reading.

He was taking the class for fun, and he’d had fun, except now his spirits were dashed.

Armand had pulled out Harry’s Potions textbook and was reading it on his bed. He was evening following the words on the page with a paw. Harry’s stomach dropped. It was a heartbreaking sight.

Harry grabbed Armand and marched him downstairs and through the common room. He dropped him in a nearby corridor. Armand blinked up at him, startled.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, fighting a swell of emotion, “but real cats don’t read.”

Armand meowed and rubbed himself against Harry’s legs.

“No, stop,” Harry said, distraught. “I can’t chance it. I have to be smart about this. You are probably an Animagus, and I can’t have you sleeping in my bed or hanging out in my bag anymore.”

Armand meowed louder, and it sounded desperate.

“Shoo,” Harry said, eyes burning. “Go find the kitchens. The elves will take care of you.”

Harry tried to squeeze back through the portrait hole, but Armand was determined to follow. Harry pushed him away again and again, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but no.”

The portrait closed over the entrance, and the last thing Harry saw was Armand’s sad grey eyes.

Hermione and Ron were in the common room, and they saw his expression.

“What happened?” Hermione said.

Harry shrugged, and blinked furiously. “Nothing, really. I just had to put Armand out.”

“Put him out? Like forever?” she said.

“Yeah.” He walked by them to the dormitory. He wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Upstairs, he lay in bed and stared at his scarlet hangings. Armand’s fur still dusted the duvet, and Harry’s chest tightened when he thought about going to sleep tonight without Armand by his side.

But he couldn’t chance it. There were too many unregistered Animagi running about. For all he knew, Armand could be a Death Eater hiding in plain sight, waiting for the right moment to kill Harry.

“Harry?” It was Ron.

He sat up and smiled slightly.

“Hermione sent me up to check on you,” Ron said, sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed.

“I’m fine.”

Ron scrutinised him. “Are you sure? Because you and that cat were quite close, and you’ve been worried about—you know.”

“About what?”

Ron gulped. “Malfoy.”

Sighing, Harry fell back on his pillow. “It’s stupid. I’m stupid.”

“No, you’re not.”

Harry turned his head to eye him. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Ron looked back at him calmly. “Try me.”

Heart thudding, Harry said, “I think about him a lot. Too much.”

“Malfoy or the cat?”

“Malfoy.”

“Right.” Ron’s expression gave nothing away.

“And I know I’ve always thought about him … but this time it’s different.”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

“Really?”

Ron shrugged.

“I don’t know Malfoy, not really. He was a Death Eater, but he did help us during the war. I just … want him to come back.”

“I’ll support whatever you want. Even if you want him. No matter what, I’ll always be on your side.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Every time I walked away from you it was because I was jealous … and also an immature arse.”

“And now you’re a mature arse?”

Ron grinned. “Yeah!”

Harry laughed and felt a little better. Ron left him to go back to Hermione. Harry lay back down and allowed himself to think about Malfoy.

Over the next couple of days, Harry spent most of his free time in the dungeons, trying to spot Snape again. It was a good activity to keep his mind off Armand. He’d seen Armand outside the Gryffindor common room every morning, meowing and trying to follow him to class.

Harry wanted to talk to Snape. He felt like he had to apologise or to thank him or something. It was common for him to see a dash of white out of the corner of his eye, and he knew it was either Armand or a ghost.

Finally one night, Harry fell asleep in an unused classroom and woke up to Snape floating in front of him. He’d wrapped the Invisibility Cloak around himself for warmth, but the hood fell off as he slept.

“What are you doing down here, Potter?” Snape said.

Harry blinked groggily. “I was looking for you.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Snape began to drift away, the silver blood on his robes glittering in the darkness.

“Wait!” Harry jumped to his feet. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

Snape glared at him. “There is no need. I did what had to be done.”

“I know but … you’re dead now.”

“Brilliant observation.”

“You didn’t deserve to die.”

Snape looked unnerved. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

Harry grasped for what to say next. “Malfoy’s disappeared. Did you know?”

“Draco or Lucius?”

“Draco. No one can find him.”

“Ah.” Snape traced his mouth with a finger.

“Would you know anything about it? Maybe where he went?”

“I doubt he left the castle at all.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I taught Draco a few ways to protect himself while living with the Dark Lord. When I died, he was still struggling to master one … technique.”

“Can you give me details? What technique are you talking about?”

“Come now, Potter. That would be too easy.” Snape smirked.

“Then tell me what to do. How can I help Malfoy?”

“Oh, a simple reversal spell will do.”

“A reversal from what?”

Snape was already drifting away. Harry went after him, but Snape disappeared through a wall. Cursing, Harry ran to the next room, but it was empty.

The next morning, Harry woke up to meowing. At first, he thought it was remnants of his dream, but he quickly realised it was real and coming from the dormitory stairwell. He jumped from bed and went to the door.

Armand greeted him with an even louder meow.

“What the hell are you doing?” Harry said. “How did you get up here?”

Armand tugged on his pyjama leg with his teeth. He was trying to drag Harry downstairs.

“Is there something wrong?” Heart thumping, Harry followed him to the common room, which was empty. He immediately felt like an idiot. He didn’t have his wand.

Armand was nudging a scroll at him.

“Wait a sec,” Harry said, and dashed up to his bed for his wand and shoes. He would see what Armand had to show him, but he would do it with the utmost care.

Wand in hand, Harry returned to the common room, and Armand had unrolled the scroll, which turned out to have the alphabet on it. Armand saw Harry’s wand and backed away with a hiss.

“I’m not going to hurt you if you don’t hurt me,” Harry said.

Armand sniffed around the room before finding a broken quill. With the quill in his mouth, he slinked back to the scroll. He made the quill point to the D, then to the M.

Frowning, Harry said, “Dementor?”

Armand gave a loud, annoyed meow. He stared at Harry for a long moment. Then with a shake of his white head, he dragged the quill to the D, then the R and the A, until finally he spelled out DRACO.

Harry’s stomach plummeted. “W-what?”

Armand jumped on his lap, hard, then ran around the scroll.

“I don’t understand,” Harry said, rubbing his stomach. “Do you know something about Malfoy?”

A few students came down from their dormitories. Not wanting to answer questions, Harry picked up Armand and the scroll, and left the common room. He knew of an unused classroom nearby that would give them some privacy.

Armand struggled in his grasp, but Harry held him tighter. Harry was shaking. He didn’t know what to think.

Inside the classroom, Armand pushed hard until Harry dropped him. Harry laid out the scroll again and handed Armand the quill.

“Tell me in a sentence. Make it absolutely clear.”

Armand began to painstakingly form a sentence. The quill was awkward in his mouth, and more than once he dropped it. Harry read the letters out loud.

“I-A-M-D-R-A-C-O-M-A-L-F-O-Y.”

“Oh,” Harry said.

Armand sat straight as an arrow, patiently watching him. He seemed to want to cock an eyebrow and say, “Well?”

Harry could hardly think. He didn’t want to believe it. What if it’s a trap? his mind supplied.

“You might be an evil Death Eater, wanting me to trust you again,” Harry said. “I did tell you that I fancied Malfoy.”

Armand meowed, exasperated.

“I have to ask you a question to confirm your identity,” Harry said. “Something only the real Draco Malfoy would know.” He thought for a long moment. “Where did I first meet Draco Malfoy?”

This was the perfect question. An imposter would say on the train or in the Great Hall, but the real Malfoy would know the truth.

Armand spelled out, “M-A-D-A-M-M-A-L-K-I-N-S.”

“Jesus,” Harry whispered.

They stared at one another, and Harry felt mad, because he was beginning to see Malfoy in the silver depths of Armand’s eyes.

Harry crouched down on his knees to get even closer. “Malfoy?”

Armand meowed long and high, then began to purr loudly, insistently. He rubbed himself against Harry’s legs, dusting his trousers with white fur, and Harry couldn’t help but pet him. He ran his hands through his fur, over and over, and tried not to think how weird it was if this cat really was Malfoy.

“I suppose you need some help to change back?” Harry said.

Armand looked up at him as if to say, Duh.

Harry thought about what Snape had said. A simple reversal spell. “Do you know how to reserve it? Maybe a spell?”

Stopping, Armand sat down and stared at Harry. He shook his head no, or what looked like no.

“Are you sure? Snape never mentioned it?”

Armand meowed and stalked away. He scratched at the door. Together, they left the classroom. Harry followed as he was led to the library, then he understood.

The library was quiet and dusty, and Harry tried to act casual as he followed a cat through the stacks. Armand stopped in the section for Animagi research.

As calmly as he could, Harry searched the books for any reversal spells. Armand searched too, discreetly, and it seemed like he made sure to stop flipping through a book any time he heard someone approach.

Hours passed. They stopped for lunch, then picked up their search again. They worked for so long that the library started to dim, the torches on the walls brightening.

“Harry?” It was Hermione. He nearly jumped when she rounded the corner. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Hermione said.

“Oh, why?” he said awkwardly.

“Because you’ve been hiding all day!”

“I haven’t been hiding.” He motioned vaguely. “I’ve been in the library, obviously.”

Her eyebrows lowered. “Is that Armand?”

Armand seemed to be trying to hide behind Harry’s legs. Hermione looked at him, then at Harry.

“What is going on?” she said suspiciously.

He opened and closed his mouth, not sure how much he could tell her. It was a strange feeling, because he nearly told her everything, but she was a big skeptic, and he didn’t think he could handle her disapproval at the moment.

“Do you know the reversal spell for an Animagus transformation that went bad?”

“What?”

“Please—I’ll explain later. Do you know it?”

Hermione blinked a few times. “Of course I know it. The incantation is Finis Animalis, and the wand movement is an upside down V.”

“Oh,” Harry said, feeling utterly stupid. “That’s pretty simple.”

She looked like she wanted to roll her eyes. “We wrote a whole essay on Animagi back in year three.”

“A lot has happened since then!”

She peered around Harry’s legs. “Do you think Armand is an Animagus? Is that what this is all about?”

“Later, Hermione! I promise.” Harry scooped up Armand and headed back to the empty classroom.

“Wait, Harry!” Hermione whispered harshly.

“You have to trust me!”

Harry dashed down the corridor, not sure why he was rushing. Armand was meowing in his arms. When they made it to the classroom, Harry dropped Armand to the floor, and dug his wand from his pocket.

“I’m going to feel like the biggest moron if you aren’t Malfoy,” Harry said. “If you are someone else and intend to harm me, know that I won’t hesitate to curse you.”

Armand stared up at him.

Taking a deep breath, Harry said, “Finis Animalis,” and sliced his wand through the air in an upside down V.

Armand expanded grotesquely, quickly. Harry turned his head, not wanting to watch. When he looked back, Malfoy stood before him, his robes tattered, his hair messy.

“For fuck’s sake, Potter,” Malfoy said. “You really are the stupidest bloke to ever live.” His voice was hoarse.

Harry was gaping. “I—you—”

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow.

“You were a cat! You slept in my bed!”

“You weren’t complaining.”

“What happened? Snape taught you how to be an Animagus?”

“Snape didn’t teach me a damn thing! I had to learn it all myself.”

“Is that why you got stuck? Because you weren’t very good?”

“Of course I wasn’t good! I had the Dark Lord breathing down my neck as I taught myself. Whatever Snape said, he wasn’t any help, not really. It was all me, and I failed at it.” Malfoy tore at his hair and turned away. He muttered, “Just like I’m going to fail at my studies now.”

“You’re not going to fail,” Harry said faintly. “There’s still time.”

Harry stepped closer. He put a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. “I tried to figure out where you had gone. I thought Smith—”

Malfoy pushed Harry’s hand away and spun back to face him. “That pillock? He had nothing to do with this!”

“Really?”

Malfoy faltered. “I just wanted to get away. That’s all. I wanted to forget.”

“You don’t remember when you’re a cat?”

“I remember, but it doesn’t hurt as much.” Malfoy stilled.

“What I saw—when he was kissing you. I thought you couldn’t say no.”

Malfoy raised his pointy chin. “I can always say no.”

They stared at one another. Hesitating, Harry touched Malfoy’s cheek with gentle fingers. “I was worried about you.”

“I know,” Malfoy said softly.

Harry was blushing, but he cracked on. “I told Armand so much.”

Malfoy licked his lips. His eyes had grown lidded, and his neck thudded with his racing heartbeat. “Armand Malfoy. The first Malfoy in England.”

“What?” Harry said.

“You named me Armand. It’s an ancestral name. I couldn’t believe it.”

“I must have read about Armand Malfoy at some point and completely forgot.”

Malfoy licked his lips again. “Yeah.”

Harry moved closer. Malfoy backed up into the wall. He was taller than Harry, but not by much.

“Do you remember what I confessed to Armand?” Harry said lowly.

Malfoy started to tremble. He looked scared and hungry. He buried his hands in the front of Harry’s robes.

“You need to remind me,” Malfoy whispered.

Harry moved even closer. His heart was racing, and he was damn near panting. What he said next terrified him but he couldn’t deny it. “I want you, Malfoy.”

Malfoy kissed him hard. Harry stilled. Holy fuck.

Malfoy drew back. “I shouldn’t have—”

Harry kissed him back. Malfoy moaned and parted his lips, and suddenly their tongues were touching. After living as a cat, Harry expected his mouth to taste foul, but it didn’t. He tasted like mint and tea, and Harry couldn’t get enough.

“Please,” Malfoy whispered. “I want you.”

“Anything.”

“I want you inside me.”

“What—here?”

“You’d be shocked where I’ve had sex in this castle.” Malfoy grabbed his wand from his pocket and Conjured a mattress.

Harry stared, not understanding the mechanics of being an Animagus. Had Armand carried Malfoy’s wand the whole time?

“This is a good mattress,” Harry said, trying not to be jealous. “You’ve had a lot of practice Conjuring them.”

“Yeah,” Malfoy said, and pushed Harry onto his back. He kissed Harry desperately, his hands tugging at his robes. “I want to suck you off.”

“God.”

Malfoy got his robes off and his trousers and pants down to his thighs. Harry fisted his hands and squeezed his eyes closed. He wasn’t a virgin, but he’d only had sex with Ginny a few times in the dark. Now he was painfully aroused with another boy in a bloody classroom.

“Harry,” Malfoy whispered. “Look at me.”

He opened his eyes, and found Malfoy staring down at him with desperate emotion.

“We can stop if you want,” Malfoy said.

“No!” Harry would die if they stopped now.

Malfoy kissed him gently, then kissed down his chest until he reached his cock. “You took care of me.” Malfoy swiped his tongue along Harry’s shaft.

“Fuck!”

Malfoy stroked him slowly, his eyes on his face. “You fed and pet me. You let me sleep in your bed.” Malfoy took him into his mouth, sucking, and Harry’s eyes rolled up.

Malfoy bobbed slowly, his mouth so warm and wet and perfect. He massaged Harry’s cockhead with his tongue, giving him even, controlled licks. Harry felt himself stiffen and leak, and Malfoy sucked harder.

When he came up, Malfoy whispered, “You loved me. You loved Armand.”

“I did,” Harry moaned, trembling. His bollocks had grown heavy and tight. Malfoy played with them as he took Harry all the way to his throat. “Fuck, Draco. You’re going to make me come.”

Malfoy let him go with a pop and sat up. His lips looked raw. “I want you to bugger me. I know I’m rushing things, but I promise it will be good.”

Harry pulled him down for a messy kiss, then gently flipped them over. With trembling hands, he got Malfoy undressed, and his cock throbbed as all of Malfoy’s creamy skin came into view.

“Oh,” Harry said when he saw Malfoy’s cock. It was pink and desperate, and its skin was incredibly soft. He stroked Malfoy slowly, too slowly, and he marveled at how he felt in his fist.

Malfoy Conjured some lube and prepared himself with one, then two fingers. Harry watched with an open mouth.

“Like what you see?” Malfoy said, his gaze dark.

Harry pressed down on his own stiffy, trying to contain his orgasm. He could come from just watching Malfoy finger himself.

“I’m ready,” Malfoy said.

“Okay, yeah,” Harry said stupidly.

“Come here.” Malfoy pulled Harry on top of him, and Harry gasped as his cock slid over Malfoy’s arse.

“Fuck.”

Malfoy kissed his cheek sweetly. “Harry,” he whispered.

“Yeah.” Somehow Harry got into position. He couldn’t really see Malfoy’s hole from this angle, and he was glad. Malfoy had to help guide his first thrust.

“Oh, fuck.” Harry’s eyes fluttered closed and his head dropped forward. Malfoy felt like heaven.

Malfoy clawed at his back. He panted harshly. “Fuck me, damn you.”

Trembling, Harry pulled out a little and thrust back in. “I’m going to come.”

“Not yet!” Malfoy’s knuckles worked against Harry’s stomach. “You have to breathe.”

Harry hadn’t realised he was holding his breath. He let out a heavy pant and began to fuck Malfoy slowly.

Malfoy clung to him and opened his mouth to his shoulder. He was making noises, soft uh, uh, uhs. He felt incredibly fragile.

Words spilled from Harry. “Draco. Fuck. Draco.”

“Please.” Malfoy squeezed around him.

“I can’t. God, I can’t.”

“Give it to me.”

“I want you. Fuck—I can’t.”

Malfoy squeezed again; he was rocking his hips, milking Harry. “I feel you. I feel you so deep.”

“Draco,” Harry moaned, and he quickened his thrusts. He was losing rhythm and control; his mind was so hot.

“Harry, please.”

“I’m giving it to you,” Harry whispered, his thighs going numb. He was coming hard, too hard, and he was terrified that he was hurting Malfoy.

“Fuck!” Malfoy spilled over his own working fist, painting their stomachs.

Harry collapsed against him. He pulled out and rolled to his side. His glasses were dangling from his nose and he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He fell asleep.

When he woke up, he found that his head was cradled in Malfoy’s lap. Malfoy stroked his hair and watched him with sleepy eyes.

“Hi,” Harry said, embarrassed.

“Hi yourself.”

“I can’t believe we just did that.”

Malfoy snorted. He was smiling. “I can’t believe you thought an adorable white cat was some evil criminal in disguise.”

“I was trying to protect myself! My best friend’s rat turned out to be Peter Pettigrew!”

“Right.”

They were silent for a moment. “Did you know Bulstrode was brilliant at Quidditch?” Harry said.

“Yes. She will probably start as Seeker from now on.”

“Do you care?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Not really. She earned it. I’ll even let her have my broom.”

Harry sat up and kissed him. “Are you sure you’re okay about the whole Smith thing?”

“Like I said, I’m more worried about my marks.”

“Is that why you jumped in my bag every morning?”

“Yes, I refused to miss classes.”

Harry kissed him again, and again. “I like you. I like you so much.”

“Good,” Malfoy said, “because I like you, too.”