Draco Malfoy Harry Potter
Multiple Eras
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire
Published: 12/05/2002
Updated: 05/30/2003
Words: 114,031
Chapters: 15
Hits: 378,784

Beneath You


Story Summary:
Draco had no idea that the repercussions of stealing Potter's journal and shoving it down the back of his trousers would be so extreme. Featuring nefarious plots, the mating rituals of Slytherins, double-crossing spells, Ron/Pansy, and Draco/Harry.

Chapter 03

Chapter Summary:
Draco had no idea that the repercussions of stealing Potter's journal and shoving it down

Beneath You
By Cinnamon

Chapter Three

No lovers with close arm-encircled waists
To whisper and break in upon our dreams.
And now we have it, every wish comes true,
We are alone now in a fleecy world;
Even the stars have gone, we two alone.

-A November Night, Sarah Teasdale

October sped by quickly, bringing with it crimson and gold leaves, colder weather, and that brisk sort of chill to the air that warns of the coming winter. Life had fallen into a sort of routine for Harry. He’d wake up, go to the hollow, check the journal, write to Draco, eat breakfast, go to class, check again after classes (leaving Draco enough time to reply over lunch), check again after dinner, and then go to bed. In the journal, they’d plan how exactly they were going to get Ron and Pansy together, commented on classes and the weather, life in general, and occasionally got into spirited and philosophical arguments. They never saw each other, which was strange because the only contact they had anymore was through the journal, and the occasional class they shared. No time to talk or to insult each other or to play Quidditch against one another. October was a busy month for homework, and Harry didn’t want to make Hermione and Ron any more suspicious by sneaking off without them any more than necessary.

It was a week before the Halloween Ball when Harry put what Draco had called ‘Phase One’ into effect. He waited until most of the Gryffindors were in bed, and then joined Ron by the fire.

He knew Ron was hurt that he’d been absent so often lately, running out to the hollow and all, and he felt a small, secret, and oddly satisfying thrill of guilt.

He smiled. “Hey, Ron.”

Ron glanced up and answered his smile. “Hi. Thought you went to bed.”

Harry shook his head. “I wanted to talk to you about the Halloween Ball.”

Wrinkling his nose, Ron scowled. “Hermione’s dead set on going as a bruised garden gnome. I’m glad we’re not going.”

Harry grimaced. “That’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about. I think we should go.”

Ron looked horrified. “Go? But Harry! You’ve been against it from the start!”

“I know, I know, it’s just… I sort of need you to be there. Sort of like a favor to me.”

The shrewd and calculating look that suddenly brightened Ron’s eyes should have warned Harry, but the lighting was dim and he could barely see. “A favor? What’s in it for me?” Ron asked.

Harry blinked and then asked slowly, “What do you want to be in it for you?”

“Well, I’ll go. On the one condition that you do something as a favor to me.”

“What is it?”

“Go with Ginny as your date.”

Harry winced.


Early the next morning, Harry woke up suddenly, and then closed his eyes just as quickly as a wave of dizziness washed over him. It was like that most days, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he felt so weak in the morning. Not wanting to worry anyone, he waited for it to pass, and then got out of bed.

However, it was taking more and more time to pass each day, and now daylight had brought with it a nagging headache.

The sun hadn’t yet quite risen, and Harry left the castle as the first lights tinged the eastern horizon. He’d been getting up that early every morning, before Ron awoke, so as not to arouse suspicion. As it was, Ron, if he had any idea of Harry’s early mornings, probably just thought it was early morning Quidditch practice anyway.

His breath hissed in white clouds that misted up his glasses as he walked, and Harry thought mournfully that it was an unusually cold October, which meant it would most likely be a nasty winter.

Draco had written in the book the night before, and Harry read his words quickly. “Brilliant, Potter, so the plan is complete. Do your part with Weasley tonight, and I’ll work on Pansy. She shouldn’t be that difficult; I just can’t let her know what’s going on. It won’t be as dramatic that way, and as you’ve said before, I can’t do anything unless it has the proper flair of drama behind it. I’ve got to get back to the castle, it’s bloody cold out. I’m quite honestly surprised that it hasn’t snowed again yet.

Writing quickly, Harry replied, “Ron’ll be there, though I had to strike a deal with him to get him to agree just to go to the Ball. Guess what I’ve got to do in return, Malfoy. Go with Ginny. I swear, if we’re trying to prove that fate doesn’t exist by fixing Ron up with Pansy, he’s trying to prove that it does with his insistence that I am Meant To Be with Ginny. The worst part is that everyone in my house seems to agree. No offence to Ginny or anything, but… she doesn’t interest me like that. I don’t want to hurt Ron’s feelings, of course, so I’m stuck going with her. I didn’t want to go to this Ball at all!

“As for your comment on the weather, you’re right, it is colder than usual! So I think we should make sure that Ron and Pansy’s costumes are warm, so they don’t catch a cold or anything. I don’t want Ron to hate me in the morning. Oh bloody hell, I’ve just realized! I’m going to have to wear a costume to the bloody ball, aren’t I? One that matches Ginny’s! Last I heard, she was planning to go as Cleopatra or something. Which is rather odd, given that the only younger students that can go must be asked my seventh years, and I don’t think she’s got a date yet. You know what would be ironic? If Ron’s promised her that he’ll try fixing me up with her at the Ball. Which, of course, seems more likely the more I think about it… I swear, if I end up having to go to this blasted thing dressed as an Egyptian love-slave, Malfoy, you’ll pay. There are some things I will not do, not even as a favor to you.”

He tossed the quill, inkwell, and book back into the tree and walked quickly back inside, shivering.

Hermione was in the common room, putting the last finishing touches on the charm she had created to make her costume for the ball. Harry, grimacing with reluctance, sat down nearby. He watched her work in silence for a while before finally asking, “What are you going as?”

She glanced up. “Why would you care? You’re not going,” she replied, rather coldly. She had tried numerous times over the last few days to convince he and Ron to go to the Ball.

“Well,” Harry said slowly, thoughtfully. “I was trying to think of what I should go as. Since I’ve decided to go and all.”

Her eyes widened. “But Harry, you don’t have a date!”

“Who are you going with?” Harry asked with a scowl. “Besides, I’m going with Ginny.”

“Oh no you’re not, she’s not going,” Hermione said. “Three people have asked her and she turned them all down.”

“She has to go with me,” Harry said desperately, thinking that Ron wouldn’t go if Ginny refused to be Harry’s date.

Hermione’s eyes widened and darkened, and then narrowed with speculation as a sly grin flirted with the corners of her lips. “Oh, Harry,” she gushed. “You’ve finally decided Ron and I are right and you’re meant to be with Ginny, haven’t you?”

Harry panicked. “Actually, I—”

“But the Ball is in a week, Harry, a week, and you haven’t asked her yet, and you don’t have a costume! What are you going to be, Harry? You can’t just go as a wizard or something cheap like that! Oh, I know, I can simply reproduce the charm for my costume and you can go as the same thing as me!”

“And what would that be?” he asked rather nervously.

“I told you already! A bruised garden gnome!”

“I… Hermione, I think I’d better talk to Ginny about our costumes. She might want to… match or something,” he said desperately. “Do you know where she is?”

“At breakfast,” she told him. “I was just about to go. I’ll walk with you.”

She chattered the whole way about costume ideas she could help him with and didn’t seem to mind when Harry didn’t say much in return.

The Great Hall was full already, and Harry scanned it quickly, seeing Malfoy sitting beside Pansy and talking animatedly, and Ginny, sitting beside Ron, reading a book as she ate some oatmeal.

“There she is, go and ask,” Hermione hissed, elbowing him sharply.

“What, now?” Harry yelped.

“Of course, now!” She put her hands on her hips. “You’ve only got a week, Harry, I sincerely hope that this isn’t just another repeat of the Yule Ball thing from fourth year.”

“It’s not,” he said. “We’ll be in costumes and you won’t be there with Viktor. Who are you going with?”

She glanced over at the Hufflepuff table and shrugged. “Justin. Go ask Ginny, now.”

She pushed him over so that he was standing directly behind Ginny, and before Harry could protest again, Hermione climbed up on an empty spot on the bench, eyes shining. She’d grabbed a glass of pumpkin juice, straight from Neville’s hand, and a spoon, and she tapped the spoon against the glass loudly. “Everyone, can I have your attention please?” she called. Harry suddenly felt the nausea returning as everyone in the Hall turned and watched in shock. Even the professors.

“Hermione,” Harry hissed. “Get down from there.” She ignored him and, looking for help, he glanced around the Hall desperately. His eyes met Malfoy’s, and he grimaced, causing Malfoy’s lopsided grin to grow even more.

“Harry has something he would like to ask,” Hermione said extravagantly.

“I’m not proposing marriage,” Harry snapped.

She smiled angelically down at him and mouthed, ‘Someday you’ll thank me’. Which Harry doubted.

“Ask away, Harry,” she said now, and Harry glanced at Ginny, who had set her book aside and glanced up at him, confused.

“Harry, what’s going on?” she asked, nervousness making her voice shake.

“I… bloody hell. Ginny, would you go to the Halloween Ball with me?” he blurted, determined to get this over with so he could kill Hermione already.

There was a shocked silence in the hall that was broken by the one thing Ron and Malfoy had ever shared: hysterical laughter. Ron was laughing at the horrified expression on Harry’s face, and Malfoy was laughing at the entire thing, and before anyone could even identify the strange sound of their laughter mixing in the air, Ginny had launched herself from her chair and into Harry’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and kissing him clumsily.

“Oh, Harry,” she breathed. “I’d love to.”

Harry frantically tried to disentangle her arms and legs from around him while the room erupted into catcalls and applause, even from the professors. After all, it wasn’t everyday that the Boy-Who-Lived finally discovered what they had known all along. That he and Ginny were Meant To Be.

Malfoy was the only one still laughing, even while the Slytherins scowled and rolled their eyes.


“C’mon, Harry,” Hermione begged. “You’ve got to talk to me again! I was doing you a favour!”

“We’ve known all along that you and Gin would eventually get together. I guess Hermione just got a little carried away,” Ron asked with a grin.

Harry didn’t speak, he just glowered into the potion he’d been preparing. Potions was never so torturous as when he was forced to listen to snickering Slytherins whispering and pointing at him, and Hermione begging for forgiveness.

Hermione poked him in the ribs just as he had been trying to pour his mixture of hoarken juice into the draught of Brantly serum. They were making Chapten Potion, the only known cure for the bite of a rabid phoenix. Hermione’s touch made him jerk and spill a bit on the table. “Hermione,” he hissed. “Do-not-touch-me.”

She looked hurt. “You can’t hate me forever. Just think of the stories this will make for your wedding.”

“My wedding?” he snapped, slamming the hoarken juice onto the table. “My wedding? What wedding, Hermione? What fucking wedding?”

She paled horribly and had started shaking. “Harry, I only—”

“Calm down, Harry,” Ron said, glancing at Snape, who, strangely enough, was not hovering over their shoulder waiting to take more house points from them. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad. Mum will think it was terribly romantic, when I tell her about it. And Ginny’s thrilled.”

Harry sucked in a deep, calming breath through his teeth. He was about to snap something in reply, when Crabbe called from the back of the room, “Harry and Weasley’s sister, sitting in a tree.” He snickered, as did Goyle.

Harry whipped around, fury making him relish the idea of a duel. “Excuse me?” he replied, voice tight with anger. “Were you jealous, Crabbe? I mean, who are you taking to the Ball? Didn’t Pansy laugh in your face when you asked her? That’s what I heard.”

Pansy, who’d been sitting on the table next to them with Millicent and Blaise, gasped a little. Before Crabbe, whose face was heating up remarkably, could bellow a reply, Snape roared, “Detention, Potter, for provoking a classmate!”

Harry’s mouth fell open in shock, and there was an instant protest from all the Gryffindors. “Any whining,” Snape growled, “And you’ll all be joining him.” Uneasy, bitter silence fell, and Snape nodded. “Back to work then.”


Draco couldn’t help it. For the rest of his morning classes, every time he pictured Potter’s face in the Great Hall, alternating between shades of puce and porcelain, he’d snicker. It was classic, really, especially considering he seemed to be the only one in the entire school who knew how Harry really felt about the insipid Weasley girl. And now, rather than prove that fate didn’t exist, he’d just proved that it did.

Quite amusing really, despite the very strange feelings of what could only be described as pity deep in his stomach. Potter had looked wretched. Pity and something else that Draco had never felt before and couldn’t even begin to name, though sometimes, when he caught himself off guard, he thought it might be jealousy. Over what, he could not even begin to guess.

After Herbology, he made his way to the hollow, still laughing under his breath. He read Potter’s last note and nearly dropped the book in shock, his eyes going wide. Harry Potter showing up dressed as an Egyptian love-slave… now that was an image that was going to keep him up, late into the night.

He cleared his throat delicately, forced the mental pictures away, and replied, wisely not mentioning the love-slave thing.

Are you trying to get yourself killed? First with that deal with Weasley nearly getting himself beaten to death by Crabbe, and now this. Honestly, you rely too heavily on my powers of persuasion to save you, you know. I can’t accomplish miracles if you persist on provoking him this way! I can only hope that detention shall accomplish what I cannot, and instill in you a bit of common sense. In other news… Lovely display in the Hall. Honestly, you and Weasley are made for each other. This only proves it… and I, of course, find it quite amusing.”


Halloween, it had been explained to Harry, was fundamentally different to wizards as opposed to Muggles, though the idea was the same. Instead of dressing up in a costume, wizards enchanted their ordinary clothes into a costume, which, if elaborate enough, could change the wizard into anything imaginable. The Ball was going to turn out to be a random collection of mismatched things rather than just a group of people in costume. The other difference was the charms were made to disappear at midnight, in deference to the legend that had begun the entire thing. In Muggle Culture, the Cinderella legend had become a simple fairy tale. In Wizarding Culture, it inspired the celebrations undertaken to mark Samhain, the night when the dead walked closer to the living. After all, Halloween ended at midnight and the world of the dead slipped back into the shadows, and the disguises, which in ancient times had been used to hide the mortal soul from any evil being seeking to claim them, were no longer necessary. In more contemporary Wizard Culture, however, the Midnight Unveiling was used to add drama to the entire affair.

After Hermione had explained the entire thing to Harry, adding that only the Seventh Years were given permission to go to a Halloween Ball unless they asked a younger student and that it would last until midnight, Harry, feeling rather overwhelmed, had asked, “How do you know all of this?”

She smiled in a rather smug fashion and replied, “Honestly, Harry, don’t you read?”

“Nothing as boring as all of that!” he had cried, and Ron smirked.

The night of the Halloween Ball was crisp, cold, and windy, and, after the traditional feast, the younger students were herded off to bed while the professors turned the Great Hall into a ballroom and the Seventh Years cast their costume charms.

Draco had asked Pansy to be his date, only because it made the Plan easier to put into effect and because, since she had broken up with Crabbe and started moping over a Gryffindor, she had become somewhat of an outcast, and no one else would ask her. The night of the ball, he quickly cast his costume charm and waited in the Slytherin common room for Pansy to come down.

While waiting, he checked his reflection in the mirror in the corner one last time, snickering softly to himself. He smoothed the hair off his forehead so his ‘scar’ would be visible.

Draco Malfoy had opted to go to the Halloween Ball as Harry Potter.

Blaise came downstairs next, dressed as his favourite Quidditch player, and he stopped, startled, when he saw Draco. Then he started to laugh. “Harry Potter?” he cried. “You’re going as Potter?”

Draco shrugged easily. “Why not? He’s famous.”

“Because no one will know who you really are!”

“That’s the point. It’s Halloween.”

Pansy, dressed as the goddess Aphrodite, drifted into the room, and Draco snickered. “Goddess of Love?” he asked, still laughing.

Pansy, whose hair had been transformed to long, silken golden blonde, whose skin was now milky and radiant, and whose eyes were crystalline blue, rested her hands on her hips and scowled, though amusement glittered in her eyes. “And why not?” she asked, running her eyes over him with wry humour. “Harry Potter? Honestly, Draco…”

Smiling gratefully at her, Draco stopped laughing. He hadn’t wanted to try explaining his costume to Blaise and used her presence as an excuse to avoid it. “C’mon, we’re already late, don’t want to be any later,” he said, leading the way out of the common room. They, of course, would never arrive at the Ball, but Pansy didn’t know that.

Ten minutes later, Pansy looked around in confusion. “Draco, this isn’t the way to the Great Hall.”

He smiled at her. “I know, but I wanted to show you something.”

She looked a little nervous. “This isn’t some set up snogging session or anything, is it? Because, Draco, I thought I told you about Ron—”

He grinned. “You did.”

“Then what—”

“Trust me!”


He laughed, tugging her hand around a corner. He had led her deeper into the dungeons, and before she could complain again, he pushed open the squeaky door that led to the back stairs. Hardly anyone knew that there was another way out of the deepest dungeons, and the stairs were filthy. Still, it was the easiest way to get where he needed to go.

“Stairs? Where are we?” she asked, biting her lip.


It took ten more minutes of walking and six more staircases before they’d arrived at the top of the southernmost tower, which was mainly used for storage. Draco told her to close her eyes and led her into the highest room, which was small, drafty, and dusty. Then, without telling her to open them, without another word, he slipped outside the room and locked it behind him, leaving the key in the doorknob.

“Draco?” he heard her call, hesitantly.

Smirking, he moved silently down the short hall, climbed into the rafters, and waited.

It didn’t take long.


“Harry… Harry, honestly, shouldn’t you be at the Ball with Ginny?”

Harry shot Ron an irritated look. “I told her I was getting drinks,” he said. “I’ve got to show you something.”

Ron glanced about skeptically. “Up in this old tower? Does this have anything to do with You-Know-Who?”

“Voldemort? No—err… yes…” Harry shrugged. “You’ll see. Just come on. The faster we get there, the faster we can get back.”

“Well, that’s fine, it’s just… these boots have heels on them!”

“Then you shouldn’t have dressed as Robin Hood for Halloween, Ron! And since when does Robin wear heels anyway? We’re nearly there.”

Harry glanced in the dust on the floor carefully. There were two sets of footprints there, leading up to the door, and only one walking away, and he sighed in relief, fighting the urge to look up.

“Shit,” he mumbled. “Ron, I’ve got to get something from the common room.”

“The common room? Harry, it’ll take you twenty minutes at least to get all the way back here, let’s just forget this, alright?”

“No, no,” Harry said quickly. “Stay right here, I’ll be back, promise. Err, Ron, do you have your wand with you?”

Ron’s face flushed. “Erm, no. My, umm, trousers were too tight, and my shirt has no sleeves, so I left it on my bed.”

“Good. I mean, umm, I’ll be back.”

Harry hurried away and Ron watched him go, looking skeptical. He sighed, glancing around at the filthy, dirty hallway. “Bloody hell, Harry,” he mumbled to himself. “This is mad.”

There was a small sound up ahead and he jumped. “Hello? Anyone there?”

A small silence, and then, hopefully, “Hello?”

Ron followed the voice, finding the locked door. He turned the key and pushed it open. “Hello? I—oh…” he lost his breath at the vision that greeted him. Golden blonde hair, silk dress that spilled in soft folds to the floor, and blue eyes shimmering with tears.

Ron stepped into the room, and didn’t even notice when the door clicked shut behind him.

The girl glanced up, swallowing shakily. “What—who are you?”

“Are you alright?”

She stood up, pushing her hair out of her face. “I— I couldn’t get the door open.”

Ron’s eyes widened and he spun around, but the door was locked. Swearing softly to himself, he turned back to her. “It’s locked.”

“You let it lock?”

He scowled. “Yeah, and on purpose too. How long have you been locked up here?”

“About five minutes. I… I was scared,” she admitted with a shrug.

Ron sighed, his irritation at her slipping away. After all, she was so pretty and feminine looking, he couldn’t stay annoyed at her for long. She was a damsel in distress, after all. So was he. Well, not a damsel, he amended quickly. But certainly in distress.

Ron couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was, even if it was probably a costume and he didn’t know who she really was. After all, for all he knew, she could be a ghost. He sat beside her on the dusty windowsill and touched her arm, just to be sure. She felt solid and warm, and he smiled with relief.

“You’re not a Veela, are you?” he asked suddenly.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and laughed tearfully. “No.”

“Oh. Oh. Good then. We shouldn’t be locked here long, should we? My friend’ll come back in a few minutes.”

Her face brightened. “Really? I was afraid I’d be locked up here forever!”

He touched her hand reassuringly. “No. Besides, I can break the door down if I have to. So either way, it’ll be alright.”

She smiled at him and Ron felt a strange tightening in his stomach. After all, she was gorgeous.

He glanced away nervously, scuffing his foot in the dirt on the floor, and wished frantically that Harry would hurry. Almost as frantically as he was wishing that Harry never came back. After all, the girl beside him smelled so sweetly, some strange, exotic mixture of flowers and spice that he’d never smelt before, and he was content just to sit there and breathe it in.

The silence was broken by her soft breathing and the scuffing of his foot on the floor.


Harry had left Ron, ducked around the corner, and waited until Ron had followed the sounds of Pansy crying into the room at the end of the hall. He watched Malfoy drop down from the rafters, dash over to the door, and relock it. Then he stepped back into the hall, smiling widely.

“Brilliant,” he whispered. “It worked.”

“Did you ever doubt it? Besides, it hasn’t worked until they actually manage to fall desperately and madly in love.”

Harry leaned against the wall, sliding until he was sitting on the floor. He was oddly out of breath and a little dizzy and wanted Malfoy to mistake it for excitement. After all, if he wouldn’t tell his best friends that he was sick, he certainly wasn’t going to let Malfoy know.

Malfoy sat across from him, and they smirked at each other when they heard Ron trying frantically to open the door. Harry leaned his head back against the wall and tried to take a deep breath. Why was he feeling so weak? The sickness, which had begun only in the mornings, had now begun to strike at night as well, and he was getting worried.

The room was eerily silent and, just as Harry was about to make a comment, a sudden, irritating voice rang out. “Slytherin and Gryffindor, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…” It was Peeves, and Harry jumped up with a yelp.

Malfoy stood as well. “Shut it, Peeves!” he shouted, and both Pansy and Ron started screaming for help inside the locked room. Peeves kept singing, and Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes in frustration. “C’mon,” he said finally, grabbing Harry’s wrist and tugging. They took off running together, away from the locked room and down the stairs, Peeves tailing them and singing his irritating songs. The ghost finally grew bored with them and disappeared, but not before Harry was feeling twice as exhausted and had gray spots swimming in front of his eyes.

They had stopped running outside the library, and Harry laughed breathlessly as he leaned against the wall. Malfoy grinned. “So if they don’t show up at breakfast tomorrow, we’ll have to go let them out.”

Harry nodded, pushing away from the wall. He swayed dizzily and hoped Malfoy didn’t notice. “Yes. But I’m exhausted, I think I’ll go to bed.”

Malfoy shot him a surprised glance and then shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “I don’t particularly enjoy your company either.” He sounded defensive and, for a moment, Harry was confused. Then he realized that Malfoy thought he was leaving because he didn’t want to be around him. And he also, belatedly, noticed something else.

“Malfoy…. Malfoy, you look like me.”

Malfoy ran his eyes over Harry sneeringly. “And you, Potter, look like a prat. What are you supposed to be, anyway?”

“I’m King Arthur,” Harry replied stiffly.

Malfoy laughed. “Oh, I see. And Weasley’s Guinevere?”

Harry, who was wearing tight black trousers and a lush, white silk shirt with golden braided rim and a large, garish crown set with fake jewels, nodded. “Of course,” he said blandly. He felt as though he was going to collapse, and he hid the weakness behind a yawn.

Malfoy looked slightly concerned, but hid it admirably behind a smirk. “See you later then, Potter,” he drawled, walking away quickly. He glanced once before he turned the corner, his eyes searching Harry’s face in silence and then he was gone.

Harry turned and made his way to Gryffindor Tower.


Shouting from the hall sent both Ron and the blonde girl hurrying to the door, pounding on it and calling for help. When the voices had faded, however, an uneasy silence fell and the girl started to cry.

“Hey,” Ron said helplessly. “It’s not that bad. I’ll try to break through the door.”

He spent nearly twenty minutes battering himself against it before giving up, winded and bruised. He sat beside her on the floor and sighed.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I don’t usually cry so much. I’ve just had a really bad week and now the whole Halloween Ball is ruined.”

“This isn’t so bad,” Ron said with a shrug. “I mean, locked up in a tower with Robin Hood and all.”

She smirked. “That’s who you’re supposed to be? Robin Hood? I thought you were a gay elf or something.”

Ron scowled. “Of course I’m Robin Hood! And what are you supposed to be?”

“Aphrodite,” she replied curtly, though she was smiling.

“Alright then, Aphrodite,” Ron said with a nod, rolling his eyes. “Robin Hood and Aphrodite, locked in a tower. Classic. Want to play Hangwizard?”

She shrugged indifferently and they spent a few hours sketching hanging posts and word puzzles in the dust, still waiting for Harry to return and rescue them. It was nearing eleven when, crouched in the dirt and peering at her latest word puzzle, Ron suddenly realized how close they had gotten. She was on her hands and knees, studying her puzzle with a challenging smirk, dirt on her hands and smudged on her perfect face. Ron was beside her, close enough to feel the heat of her side on his arm every time she breathed. He turned his head towards her and swallowed hard, because she was such a small distance away.

“Do you know it?” she asked, oblivious to his stare.

“What?” he breathed.

She turned her head and their noses nearly bumped. Startled, she backed away quickly, still on her hands and knees. “The puzzle. Do you know what it is?”

He forced himself to glance at the letters in the dirt. “Uhm. Professor Snape?”

She snorted. “It was too easy. I’m running out of good ones. We’ve got to get out of here, before I go mad.”

Ron nodded, because being stuck in a tiny room with her was proving quite maddening itself. It wasn’t just her perfect face, because he knew that wasn’t real (or he’d have noticed it years before). It was the way she smelled like flowers (he wasn’t informed enough to guess which type, but was proud enough at himself that he’d identified that they were flowers), and the way her nose wrinkled when she thought really hard, the smudge of dirt on her cheekbone.

“Let’s leave then,” he said, grabbing her hand and helping her up.

She rolled her eyes. “We can’t just leave or we would have already. The door’s locked.”

“There’s still the window.” He walked over and inspected it in silence. It was cold and windy outside, and he grimaced. It would make for tough climbing, but if they could make it to the roof of the tower, he knew that there was a high wall they could then lower themselves down onto, which would take them to windows leading to the Gryffindor common room.

“The window? You’re crazy, we can’t go out there! We’ll fall!”

He shrugged. “You wanted out, this is the only way. I’ll help you, I’ve climbed out plenty of windows, what with my brothers and their mad adventures. It won’t be hard. Besides, the top of the tower tapers up towards a point, so it won’t be straight up. Then, we’ll circle around to the other side where a wall juts out, and drop onto it. Follow that straight to Gryffindor Tower.”

She grimaced. “Gryffindor Tower?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“And you’re sure we won’t fall?”

He took her hand and squeezed reassuringly. He liked playing the hero, almost felt like Harry must, always saving people’s lives. It was…empowering.

“Trust me,” he said.

She scoffed, even as she let him tug her over to the window. “Anything for you, Robin,” she mumbled sarcastically.


Draco had fully intended to go to the Ball and spend the rest of the night drinking the punch that was surely spiked by now and flirting with various pretty girls. Maybe Janie Channings, the cute Hufflepuff girl. Maybe.

He never made it, however. He hadn’t even made it to the Great Hall when a slightly slurred, soft voice called out, “Harry.”

He didn’t pause, and the voice came again. “Harry. Harry!”

Finally, he glanced over his shoulder, confused. A chunk of black hair brushed his cheek and with a jolt, he remembered his costume

Ginny Weasley was hurrying down the hall towards him. “Harry!” she cried, grabbing his arm for support as she nearly lost her balance. Her eyes were shining with tears. “I waited and waited, Harry, but you never came back!”

For a moment, a very slight moment, Draco considered confessing who he really was. It wasn’t a very long moment, however, because Draco is a Slytherin, and the prospect of taking advantage of this was too good to ignore. “Sorry,” he said smoothly, with what, had he looked like himself, would have been a knee-weakening smile. He wasn’t sure how it looked on Potter’s face, however. “I was just coming back now.”

“Harry, you changed out of your costume!” she said now, stepping back and looking at him in confusion.

“I did,” Draco replied blandly. “The trousers were so tight. Constricting. You know what I mean.”

Her eyes went huge and slid down his body, nearly reaching his collarbone before snapping back up to his face. Draco snickered; he knew she wouldn’t actually have the guts to glance all the way down at exactly what he had been implying was being constricted. “I’m sure I don’t,” she said breathily, her face turning crimson. Draco nearly gagged. She was so blatantly innocent, it was disgusting.

He brushed his knuckles along her cheekbone and she shivered, eyes glazing over. “Harry,” she breathed. “You were being weird all night. I was worried… that you were bored.”

Draco touched her lips and then her hair, finding perverse pleasure in the fear in her eyes. It was too easy. He nudged her gently, guiding her back until she was pressed against the wall, his fingers trailing down her neck. “Ginny,” he whispered, letting his breath tickle the hairs on the side of her neck. “How could I ever be bored with you around?” A thousand and one ways, he was sure. But still, it was like a game. A far too easy game, but a game all the same.

“Harry, what are you doing?” she asked, as his fingers stroked her shoulders, slipping the straps of her gown off them.

“Nothing,” he said, bending to kiss her shoulder. “Why? Don’t you like it?”

“It feels strange. I…Oh. Did you just— Harry, you just bit me!”

Draco laughed against the skin of her neck, lifted his head, and kissed her hungrily. He didn’t much like kissing girls as inexperienced as she was, but he did enjoy playing with the fragile, innocent mind of someone who was very obviously a virgin, who would attempt to scratch his eyes out if she knew who he really was. She was so shocked that she didn’t kiss him back at first, but soon enough, she was returning the kiss awkwardly, her hands shaking and clinging to his shoulders.

“Harry,” she mumbled suddenly, turning her head to the side.

“Aww, c’mon, love,” Draco whispered coaxingly, kissing her neck. “I thought you loved me.”

“I…can’t. Harry, I don’t know…how. To kiss you. I’ve never…I…” she trailed off, licking her lips.

Draco rolled his eyes and would have snickered, except he knew that the real Harry never would have. So instead, he offered magnanimously, “Let me teach you.”

She swallowed nervously. “Alright.”

“Just do exactly what I do,” Draco said, tilting her face with one hand. “Close your eyes.”

She closed her eyes and Draco kissed her. He pulled her lower lip into his mouth, licking it and nibbling on it alternately, and then pulled back the tiniest bit. “Now you.”

She imitated him, and then Draco kissed her again, differently. Again, she did the same to him, slipping her tongue into his mouth, moving it in an exact imitation of his. He kissed her again and again and with each kiss, she got better and more confident, and, only minutes later, it had stopped being a lesson and started being something else entirely. It was strangely erotic, kissing someone you should not be kissing who would have killed you had she known who you were. Even more erotic, the way she’d do anything to him that he did to her.

Draco was breathing heavily, his hands running over her back, kissing her deeply, when suddenly her hands fisted against his chest and she shoved him away, hard.

Disoriented for a minute, Draco ran a hand through his hair, scowling. “What?”

Her eyes were wide, panicky. “Harry, I… I think I’m going to…” she swayed unsteadily.

Draco growled, suddenly realizing that her pale face and flushed cheeks, glazed over eyes, and slight inability to stand on her own most likely had nothing to do with him. “You’re drunk.”

She stiffened. “I am not! I don’t drink! Just punch.”

“Punch. Lovely.” He rolled his eyes and she lurched suddenly, falling to her knees and vomiting on the floor.

“I’m dying,” she moaned.

Draco grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. “You’re not. The punch was spiked, Weasley.”

She moaned wordlessly.

“Go to bed,” he ordered, shoving her in the direction of her dorms.

She stumbled and caught herself on the wall, sliding until she was sitting on the floor. “I can’t,” she said helplessly. “I can’t walk.”

“Bloody hell.” It was one thing to take advantage of a perfectly sober Ginny, quite another when she was drunk. Potter would never forgive him if he let anything happen to her. Without another word, he hauled her roughly to her feet, slid one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her up, carrying her easily down the hall. After all, she had the body of a little girl and hardly weighed anything more than a child. She directed him to the Fat Lady’s portrait.

The Fat Lady beamed when she saw them. “Lovely! I always knew you two would look marvelous together!” she said approvingly.

“Just open the door,” Draco growled. Being Harry Potter was certainly getting old fast.

The portrait swung open slowly and, as Draco stepped through it, he smiled. After all, Potter sure owed him a lot. He’d just done the git two favors. Took care of Weasley, kept her out of trouble while she was drunk… and taught his future wife how to kiss.


By the time Harry had made it back to his dorm, the weakness had become a raging headache. There was a chest of potions kept near the door, filled with potions to relieve pain, flu, cold, nausea, and insomnia. Harry dug through it, searching for a headache potion, but the last bottle only had a few drops left. Desperate, he dug even deeper, finally coming up with a flask that wasn’t labeled. He pulled off the stopper and sniffed delicately. It was blackberry brandy, which Seamus had taken to brewing in their dorm room in fifth year, and, if Harry assumed correctly, this bottle was one of the many Fred and George had stolen and stashed for themselves.

“Well,” he mumbled out loud, doubtfully. “It could work.”

He took a hesitant swallow and it wasn’t too bad. It took the edge off the throbbing in his head and, content, Harry curled up in an armchair in front of the fire, flask held tightly in his grasp. The fire in the hearth had died down to smoldering embers, and Harry watched them in silence, drinking more and more brandy, until the weak alcohol had given him a very slight buzz. His head still ached, but it was a slight improvement.

The sound of the portrait swinging open made him jump out of his chair, hiding the brandy guiltily behind his back. He nearly dropped it when he saw himself stepping into the common room, Ginny limp in his arms.

“What did you do to her?” he cried. “Malfoy, if you hurt her—”

“Calm down,” Draco replied, rolling his eyes. It was disconcerting to see Draco’s sneer and how easily it twisted Harry’s own features, which Draco still wore. “She’s just drunk.”

He rolled her out of his arms and onto a chair, grimacing. “Ginny’s drunk?” Harry sighed. “How did that happen— oh shit. I just left her by the punch table and never went back!”

Draco snickered. “Well, judging by how drunk she is, she stood there waiting for a very long time.”

“I better put her in her own bed before Ron finds her like this.” Harry put the brandy flask down and picked Ginny up. She moaned but did not wake, and Harry was half way up the stairs before Draco spoke.

“What on earth were you drinking?”


Harry watched Draco take a cautious sip of the blackberry brandy and grimace. “It’s nasty.”

“Seamus made it,” he replied stiffly. “It’s alright.”

“You go put Weasley to bed, Potter,” Draco called, smirking. “I’ll get you something real to drink.”

A little nervous, Harry did as he’d been told, carrying Ginny to her room. He was a bit hesitant to just leave Draco alone in his common room as well, and hurried back. Draco was holding a bottle of Firewhiskey when he returned.

“This is way classier,” he said, holding up the bottle. “Very expensive too, and aged to perfection.”

Harry picked up the brandy. “This was aged to perfection,” he argued. “It’s been at the bottom of the Medical Potions chest for two years!”

Draco grimaced. “Lovely. Here.” He handed Harry the bottle and turned to go.

“Wait!” Harry cried. “You’re leaving?”

“Well, I figured, should any of your housemates find me here, despite the fact that I look like you, they wouldn’t be impressed. It wouldn’t be too hard to find out who I really was.”

“And since when do the Gryffindors intimidate you?” Harry challenged.

“I wasn’t intimidated,” Draco said stiffly. “It wouldn’t be me they’d hate for it, it would be you.”

“But you can’t just leave me your super expensive whiskey and go away! I want you to stay.” Harry was already a little drunk, and he thought for a moment before grinning. “Hold this, I’ll be right back.” He tossed the whiskey to Draco and dashed back up the stairs.

Draco caught the bottle easily, and he was very glad that he did. After all, it was his last bottle, and it cost nearly as much as his broomstick did.

Harry ran back into the common room, clutching his invisibility cloak. “When someone comes in, I’ll just toss this over you,” he said brightly. “They won’t see you.”

Draco shook his head slowly, incredulously, but allowed Harry to grab his arm and tugged him back to the armchairs around the fire. “I had a headache,” Harry was saying. “The brandy made it hurt less.”

Harry sat in an armchair and Draco sat in the one beside him, trying not to think about how strange it was to be sitting in the Gryffindor common room, drinking Firewhiskey with Harry Potter. He opened the bottle, took out a tumbler and a shot class, and poured himself a drink. He swallowed it quickly and it burned all the way down in a very satisfying way. He passed another tumbler to Harry, who choked and gagged at his first taste of it.

“It hurts!”

“Take some into your mouth and hold it on your tongue,” Draco suggested. “Let it slide down your throat, it doesn’t hurt that much.”

Harry did as he was told and the burn was slightly less painful. When it hit his stomach, it burned for a moment and then the ache faded into a soft sort of glowing warmth. He smiled. “Nice.”

“Have you ever had whiskey before?”


“Lovely. How much of that brandy did you have?”

“Half a bottle.”

Draco laughed and took another long swallow. It was even stranger, sitting beside an intoxicated Harry Potter in his common room.

A few hours later, most of the bottle gone, both he and Harry were very, very drunk. Draco, when he became drunk, became chatty and bright, almost nice, and Harry, as he soon discovered, became…well…giggly.

They were both in such good moods, a direct effect of the whiskey, that it occurred to Harry that a lovely way to spend the evening would be building a tent against the wall of the common room with his invisibility cloak, and Draco had brightly agreed. With much giggling and chatting, they had soon used someone’s Cleansweep to prop the cloak up, having decided that Harry’s Firebolt would be sacrilegious, and Harry had brought down his pillows and blankets, tossing them onto the floor under the cloak.

Crawling under the tent, and effectively turning invisible, they curled up in the blankets, Draco still chatting on and on about something Harry wasn’t listening to, and Harry giggling uncontrollably.

“Now no one will ever find us,” he whispered.

Draco grinned. “We could live under here forever.”

Harry returned his grin, and took another drink of whiskey. “I’ve got chocolate frogs,” he remembered suddenly, pulling them out. He opened a box and the frog leapt out, escaping out of the tent, and Harry watched it hop across the common room, laughing helplessly. “It escaped,” he giggled.

There wasn’t much room under the cloak, but it didn’t really matter all that much because the whiskey had taken away most of their defenses and they didn’t mind being close enough to feel each other breathe. All it meant was that they didn’t have to pass the whiskey bottle all that far.


“This is insane.”

Ron grinned at her, clinging to the shingles on the roof of the tower. “It’s not so bad,” he shouted over the roaring wind, even though the cold breeze was going up his green tunic. His trousers (or ‘tights’, as he was reluctant to call them) were hardly any protection from the wind.

He’d climbed high enough for his arm to circle around the tip of the tower, and he reached down. She grabbed his hand and he pulled her up the rest of the way. “Now we’ll circle around and slide down. You go first so I can lower you and you won’t slip.”

She nodded and, pushing blonde hair out of her face, crawled over him, her hands twisting in his tunic so as not to slip. Ron yelped a little as she wiggled over him. He’d expected her to go the other way, not over top of him.

She got to the other side and started crawling carefully around the tower, and Ron followed, watching her closely to make sure she didn’t slip. Finally, she was above the wall that jutted out, and Ron shouted, “Take my hand and then start sliding down. I’ll hold you so you don’t slip off, and when you get down to the edge, I’ll follow you down and then give me your other hand and I’ll lower you onto the wall. Don’t worry, I’ve done this millions of times!” He’d never done it before, but felt telling her that would be counterproductive.

It was nearly midnight.

She nodded and grabbed his hand in a death grip. “Now’s not a good time to tell you I’m scared of heights, is it?” she asked nervously.

Ron smiled very gently. “Trust me,” he said again.

“I don’t even know who you are.”

“Robin Hood, remember? I never let girls fall off towers.”

She grinned and rolled her eyes and then started slowly slipping down the tower roof. Ron swallowed nervously, holding her hand tightly and keeping his own balance by digging his shoes into the shingles. It was very awkward and he kept nearly sliding down after her, but finally, she’d made it to the edge and he slipped down after her.

She slipped her other hand into his and he turned around so that he was laying on his belly, his head and shoulders hanging over the edge of the roof. “Lower yourself over the edge,” he commanded, and she shot him an incredulous stare. Rather than argue, however, she did as he’d said.

She was almost over the edge when her feet slipped and, with a shriek, she swung out, the sudden jerk nearly causing her hands to slip from Ron’s. He swore and tightened his grip. “I’ll lower you, calm down, you’re fine,” he shouted, and she closed her eyes and nodded, looking terrified.

Ron carefully lowered her and when her feet touched the wall, she jerked her hands from his and collapsed gratefully.

“Now for me,” Ron whispered to himself, rather nervously.

He turned around, dug his nails into the shingles, and slid off the edge, clinging tightly. He glanced over his shoulders, made sure he was directly above the wall, and then dropped, falling for a few terrifying seconds before crashing into the wall with a yelp.

Things went momentarily black and, when he opened his eyes, she was crouched over him, shaking him. “Oh,” she gasped when he opened his eyes. “You’re alive. I was worried…”

He grimaced. “I think I’m alright. It was just a jolt is all. C’mon, let’s get inside Gryffindor Tower.”

She pulled him to his feet and helped him limp along the wall.

He pushed the window open and slid in first, turning and pulling her through.

“Alright?” he asked her in a hushed voice. It seemed, suddenly, too quiet.

“Yeah. Th-thanks. Are you…?”

He grimaced. “My muscles hurt. Nearly all of them.”

“Sit down,” she said, guiding him to sit on the floor near the fire. “Nice common room…”

He nodded. “You’re not Gryffindor.”

“And you are.”

They didn’t meet each other’s eyes for a moment, now that they were free of the tower, their identities somehow becoming important. After all, in the other tower, it had sort of been another world.

She sat on the floor next to him, glancing at him nervously. “Who—”

Ron grimaced. “It doesn’t matter.”

She glanced at him. “What? Why?”

He shrugged. “Because. I honestly don’t care.”

She drew back, stung. “You don’t care? Fine. I don’t care either.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“What did you mean?” She got to her feet angrily.

He stood up as well. “I meant that it doesn’t matter who you are because—”

“I like someone else anyway, and this isn’t anything but stupid gratitude for getting me out of that blasted tower and—”

“— No matter what house you come from or who you are—”

“— I like someone else. Do you even care? You said you don’t care, but maybe you do. Maybe. It’s—”

“—I want to kiss you anyway.” He kissed her then, suddenly, cutting her off mid-shout.

For a second, after his lips crashed against hers, everything seemed to freeze and neither of them dared to breathe as he waited to see what she would do and she frantically tried to decide between running frantically and as fast as she could, and…kissing him back. With a weak little sound in the back of her throat, she slipped her hands up and around his neck, knocking off the ridiculous Robin Hood feathered hat that had miraculously stayed on his head throughout their climb. She opened her mouth against his and kissed him wildly, and Ron was only too happy to return the kiss with the same degree of hunger.

His hands slipped to her waist and pulled her closer, her silky costume slipping almost wetly against his palms.

She pulled away the tiniest bit, panting. “I can’t,” she said finally, gravely. “You’re not —”

Midnight struck and their charmed costumes melted away. Silk became school robes, hose became regular trousers.

“Ron,” she finished weakly, staring at him in shock.

Pansy?” Ron cried.

She pushed him away violently and burst into tears. Before Ron could get over the shock, she’d slammed out of the common room and disappeared.


The sound of the window sliding open caused both Harry and Draco, who had lain down, growing sleepy, to sit upright. “Someone’s coming in the window,” Draco hissed.

It was Ron, followed quickly by Pansy. “They escaped!” Harry cried, and Draco elbowed him sharply.


They watched together in silence as Ron and Pansy argued and then kissed.

While they were kissing, wide-eyed, Harry turned to glance at Draco, startled to find him so close, close enough that they nearly bumped noses. For an instant, they froze that way, Harry oddly entranced to be so close to someone who looked exactly like him. Almost against his will, he reached up and traced the mirror image of his scar on Draco’s forehead.

His fingers were still touching it when midnight struck and it melted away, as did his own dark hair, his eyes. Instead, Draco’s gray eyes met his, looking startled.

Harry let his hand fall away and opened his mouth to say something, but the slamming of the portrait interrupted him.

Draco grimaced. “That didn’t go well.”

Harry started to crawl out of the tent, but Draco held him back, and Ron, looking shocked, slowly made his way upstairs. “Don’t go,” Draco whispered. “Stay with me.”

Letting himself slowly sink back into the nest of blankets, Harry couldn’t quite meet Draco’s eyes. He wasn’t feeling quite so giddy any longer, and it had something to do with the disconcerting reminder that he wasn’t sitting here beside himself, he was sitting here with Draco.

“Alright,” he replied, and it was silent for a while. The alcohol was now making Harry very tired, and he leaned against the wall, his arm pressed against Draco. “Sleepy,” he yawned.

Draco smiled at him and nodded. He wasn’t at all surprised when Harry’s head dropped down to rest on his shoulder, because whiskey always seemed to make everything seem like a good idea at the time. Instead of jerking away, he patted Harry’s head and shifted him so that his head was on his lap instead, which would be more comfortable. With a tiny, contented sound like a cat, Harry snuggled closer and fell asleep.

Draco, hand resting on Harry’s shoulder, soon fell asleep as well.