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It all started with a terrible decision from Professor Snape—pairing Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy together for a Potions assignment.
Harry had barely sat down when Malfoy scoffed, “Oh, wonderful. The Chosen One is my partner. What did I do to deserve this punishment?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Funny, I was thinking the exact same thing, except replace ‘Chosen One’ with ‘insufferable ferret.’”
They were supposed to be brewing a Calming Draught, which was ironic considering their mutual loathing. The instructions were clear: add the crushed moonstone gradually . Naturally, after ten minutes of arguing over who had the steadier hand, Malfoy got fed up.
“You know what? Fine. Do it yourself, Scarhead.”
“Gladly, Malfoy ,” Harry snapped.
And in their righteous fury, they both grabbed the bowl of moonstone at the same time, yanked it toward themselves, and accidentally dumped the entire thing into the cauldron.
The potion instantly began to fizz.
Then it bubbled.
Then it emitted a thick, vibrant yellow smoke that spiraled into the air like an ominous, magical fart cloud.
They both took a step back, waiting for something catastrophic to happen—explosions, a transformation, something .
Nothing.
“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Malfoy muttered.
Snape, sensing the disaster, swept over to their table and took one look at their potion before sneering. “Twenty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin.”
Harry groaned. “What? But nothing happened!”
“You were assigned Calming Draught , not a Weasley product reject.”
Malfoy scowled. “That’s not fair! It was his fault!”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you’d like to spend detention together as well?”
That shut them up.
They both stormed back to their respective friends, ranting about how they would never work together again.
……..
That Night
Draco Malfoy prided himself on having a perfectly curated nightly routine. A little reading, a little brooding, and then a peaceful sleep wrapped in the luxurious warmth of his silk sheets.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, as he lay in bed, a voice echoed in his mind.
Ugh, why does Snape make potions so impossible? I swear, he hates me more than ever. And that bloody Ferret—
Draco bolted upright, his eyes wide in the darkness.
“Who’s there?” he hissed, wand at the ready.
—thinks he’s so clever, but all he does is pout and flip his stupid hair—
Draco froze. That was Potter. That was Potter’s voice in my head.
Then, to make matters worse, Harry’s voice muttered, Is it weird that I hear Malfoy in my head?
Draco clutched his sheets like they had personally offended him. WHAT IN MERLIN’S NAME—
Harry yelped (mentally). OH BLOODY HELL, YOU CAN HEAR ME?!
Draco’s stomach dropped. POTTER?!
Harry groaned. No, it’s the Bloody Baron. OF COURSE, IT’S ME! WHAT DID YOU DO?!
ME? Draco screeched back. YOU’RE THE ONE WHO POURED THE MOONSTONE LIKE A DEMENTED TROLL!
YOU POURED IT TOO!
I DID NOT!
DID TOO!
DID NOT!
This continued for a solid two minutes before they both simultaneously screamed (in their heads):
GET OUT OF MY HEAD!
But, unfortunately, it seemed their thoughts were tangled like an overly complicated wizard’s knot, because neither of them could shake the other off.
“Oh, this is awful,” Harry groaned aloud, though only Draco could hear it.
I agree, for once in my life.
Harry let out an exasperated sigh. This is a nightmare. Now I have to live with your snobby, judgmental thoughts invading my brain.
Draco scowled. Oh, please. I don’t want to hear about your ridiculous hero complex and Quidditch obsession.
Well, I don’t want to hear about your dramatics and constant brooding!
I DO NOT BROOD.
Yes, you do! You live for brooding! I bet you stare out of windows and listen to storm sounds for fun!
Draco huffed. I’ll have you know I spend my time engaging in literature. Unlike you, who probably only reads books with pictures.
Harry snorted. What kind of ‘literature’ are we talking about, Malfoy? Let me guess—
And then he saw them.
August Mulvaney. Alex Volkov. Mr. Darcy…
Harry blinked. Who in Merlin’s name is August Mulvaney?
Draco nearly stopped breathing. Oh, no. No, no, no. STOP THINKING. STOP LOOKING.
Harry smirked. Wait a minute—are these…dramatic book men ?
SHUT UP, POTTER.
Malfoy, do you have a thing for brooding, emotionally unavailable fictional men?
Draco was going to die. Right here. Right now. IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE, YOU WILL NEVER BRING THIS UP AGAIN.
Harry was howling with laughter inside their linked minds. Oh, this is brilliant. I’m going to call you ‘Dramatic Draco’ from now on.
Draco glared at him mentally. Well, I don’t want to live with your perverse thoughts, either!
Harry paused. Excuse me?
You literally just thought about what would happen if you weren’t the Chosen One, and then immediately pictured me flipping my hair in slow motion.
Harry went red (mentally). I DID NOT.
You DID.
SHUT UP.
YOU shut up!
Both of them tossed and turned in bed, each trying to not think about the other—which, of course, only made it worse.
Draco tried to drown himself in the dramatic pages of his book, but Harry’s thoughts kept intruding.
Quidditch. Snape’s a git. Why does Malfoy always smell expensive?
Draco practically choked on his own thoughts. WHAT—
Oh, Merlin, did you hear that?! Forget it! ERASE IT FROM YOUR MEMORY!
I CAN’T, POTTER. THIS IS LITERAL TORTURE.
They spent the whole night like this—bickering, arguing, occasionally falling into confused silences, then screaming at each other again.
By the time morning came, neither of them had slept a wink.
……..
The Morning After
Harry woke up feeling like death. No, worse than death. At least death meant eternal rest, and he hadn’t had a wink of that all night.
His usual disheveled look had upgraded into something far beyond repair. His hair stuck up in even wilder directions, like he had been struck by lightning twice , his uniform was crumpled in ways that defied logic, and his eyes were so unfocused that when he tried to put on his glasses, he missed his own face the first time.
Draco, meanwhile, looked like he had been attacked by the concept of imperfection. His normally sleek, platinum-blond hair was dull and tousled in a way that screamed internal suffering , his robes had an actual wrinkle ( a wrinkle! ), and his whole demeanor exuded the aura of a man who had stared into the abyss and the abyss had screamed back in Potter’s voice.
As both boys dragged themselves to breakfast, barely functioning, neither spoke to the other. The mental link was already too much.
At the Gryffindor Table
Hermione took one look at Harry and immediately narrowed her eyes. “Harry, what happened to you ?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry muttered, rubbing his temples.
Hermione exchanged a look with Ron, who was currently shoving toast into his mouth like he was training for a competitive eating contest.
“Well, you look like you fought a Dementor and lost,” she pressed. “Did you even sleep?”
Harry let out a dry laugh. “Oh, I tried. Didn’t work out.”
At that moment, a thought slipped through .
Harry wasn’t even thinking about it, but it appeared anyway—like a cursed, intrusive little gremlin in his brain.
It was just a flash. A single, very inappropriate thought. One involving a shower, his shower, and the very important concept of being alone in said shower.
Except, he wasn’t alone.
Because the moment the thought surfaced, Malfoy screamed into his head.
“POTTER! WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?!”
Harry physically winced , knocking over his pumpkin juice. Hermione looked alarmed. “Are you okay?”
“Nope,” Harry said through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to bash his own head against the table.
Malfoy was still yelling.
“KEEP YOUR FILTHY THOUGHTS TO YOURSELF, YOU ABSOLUTE TROGLODYTE!”
Harry groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “I DIDN’T MEAN TO! IT JUST HAPPENED!”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘IT JUST HAPPENED’?! HOW DO YOU ACCIDENTALLY HAVE A PERVERSE THOUGHT FIRST THING IN THE BLOODY MORNING?!”
“I’M A SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD BOY, MALFOY! IT’S A MIRACLE I CAN FUNCTION!”
Malfoy made a strangled noise in his mind. “I SWEAR TO MERLIN, IF I HEAR ONE MORE IMPURE THOUGHT, I WILL—”
“YOU THINK I WANT THIS?!”
Harry felt Malfoy mentally reel in disgust, like he was physically recoiling in his mind. It was both horrifying and hilarious.
At the Slytherin Table
Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table, Draco was barely holding himself together.
Pansy and Blaise took one look at him and instantly knew something was wrong.
“You look like a wreck ,” Pansy announced, inspecting him with mild horror. “Did someone hex you in your sleep?”
Draco didn’t even look up. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Blaise raised an eyebrow. “Okay, but you look like you’ve experienced emotional trauma.”
Draco let out a slow, suffering sigh. “I have.”
Pansy frowned. “Did someone hurt you?”
“Yes,” Draco said flatly, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth. “ Potter.”
Blaise blinked. “Potter hurt you?”
Draco’s eye twitched. Not in the way you think.
Unfortunately, Harry chose that exact moment to mentally groan in frustration, loudly , and Draco physically flinched at the intensity of it.
“UGH, THIS IS A NIGHTMARE.”
Draco clenched his fists. “POTTER, LOWER YOUR BLOODY VOLUME.”
“IT’S NOT LIKE I CAN CONTROL IT!”
“TRY HARDER, YOU INCOMPETENT BUFFOON.”
Pansy and Blaise were watching him closely. “You’re acting weird,” Blaise commented.
Draco massaged his temples. “I have a migraine.”
What he actually had was Potter’s entire brain inside his own, which was worse than any migraine in the history of migraines.
Worst of all? Potter was still having thoughts.
“Why is Malfoy’s voice so crisp and posh even when he’s suffering? It’s unfair.”
Draco nearly choked on air.
“STOP THINKING ABOUT MY VOICE, YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE.”
“I WASN’T THINKING ABOUT IT—IT JUST HAPPENED!”
Draco groaned. “I am never drinking a Calming Draught again.”
Pansy frowned. “What?”
“Nothing,” Draco snapped, rubbing his temples furiously. “This is awful. I can’t even have thoughts anymore.”
“YOU?! WHAT ABOUT ME?!” Harry yelled in his mind. “I CAN’T EVEN THINK ABOUT MYSELF! GOOD THOUGHTS, BAD THOUGHTS, NAUGHTY THOUGHTS—”
“DO NOT FINISH THAT SENTENCE, POTTER.”
Harry immediately shut up.
Draco scowled into his porridge. “Merlin’s beard, I miss when I could be alone in my own mind.”
“Right?! I didn’t realize how sacred private thoughts were until now!”
Both of them fell into mutual suffering. A silence stretched between them, thick with despair.
Draco sighed. “Potter, we need to fix this.”
“Agreed. I can’t live like this.”
“I can’t have you in my head while I’m reading.”
“And I can’t have you in my head while I’m—”
They both immediately cut themselves off. A deep, understanding horror settled between them.
…….
The mind link was, without a doubt, the worst thing that had ever happened to either of them.
They fought over everything.
• Who got to think first in the morning? (“You take too long to boot up, Potter.” “Well, you think in a posh accent, which is distracting.”)
• What counted as an acceptable thought? (“You CANNOT think about me shirtless while I’m listening!” “Oh, but you can mentally recite poetry about my emerald eyes ?”)
• Who suffered more? (“I can’t have a single peaceful Quidditch thought without you yelling in my brain!” “Try reading in peace while you’re screaming about Snitches, Potter!”)
And then there were the disruptions.
Harry, naturally, had a talent for making Malfoy’s life miserable. He remembered some knowledge that he gained while dealing with Voldemort living in his head, so he decided to make this situation more bearable.
Draco sat across from Snape, discussing the importance of Wolfsbane Potion, trying to be the academic and composed student he usually was.
Except, of course, Harry Potter existed. And Potter had ideas.
“Hey, Malfoy.”
Draco internally groaned. Not now, Potter.
“What do you think Snape would look like in a tutu?”
Draco’s entire brain short-circuited.
His mouth stalled mid-sentence, and Snape raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Malfoy?”
Draco swallowed hard. “Uh, nothing, sir. I was just—”
“No, seriously. Picture it. Black tutu. Little bat wings. Twirling majestically.”
Draco clutched the edge of the desk like it was the last stable thing in his life. POTTER, SHUT UP.
Harry cackled in his mind. “Oh, this is fun. Hey, what do you think Snape’s shampoo brand is? I bet it’s something dramatic. Like ‘Dark Essence: For the Brooding and Mysterious.’”
Draco twitched violently.
Snape narrowed his eyes. “Are you unwell, Mr. Malfoy?”
Draco forced a tight smile. “No, sir. Perfectly fine.”
“Oh, oh! What do you think Snape does in his free time? Crochet? Secretly writes poetry? Composes tragic violin solos about the one that got away?”
Draco slammed his eyes shut. I am going to MURDER you, Potter.
“Ooooh, what do you think Snape’s Amortentia smells like?”
That was it. Draco snapped.
He growled, abruptly stood up, and sent his chair screeching backward. His fists clenched, and his entire being radiated pure, unfiltered rage.
Snape blinked, visibly unimpressed. “Mr. Malfoy?”
Draco exhaled sharply and gave him the tightest, fakest smile in existence. “Apologies, Professor. I have something to deal with. ”
Without another word, he stormed out of the dungeon, leaving behind a very confused Snape and an utterly amused Potter.
Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor Common room….
Harry sat in the Great Hall, pretending to read a book on advanced curses. He wasn’t even really paying attention to the text.
Until he suddenly snorted. Then chuckled. Then full-on laughed.
Hermione, sitting across from him, frowned. “What’s so funny?”
Harry waved a hand dismissively, still trying to suppress his laughter. “Oh, just this passage. It’s ridiculous.”
Hermione squinted at him. “You’re reading Crucio.”
Harry paused. Then grinned, looking far too entertained. “Yeah. Hilarious, isn’t it?”
Hermione’s frown deepened. “What’s funny about an Unforgivable Curse, Harry?”
Harry just kept laughing, ignoring her scrutiny. Inside his head, Malfoy was screaming.
“YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE, YOU WRETCHED, INCORRIGIBLE IDIOT—”
Harry hummed happily, flipping a page. The moment Draco stormed into the Gryffindor common room, everything stopped.
Ron, Hermione, Neville, Dean, and Seamus all turned to stare.
Draco Malfoy had entered their sacred Gryffindor space, looking like he was about to commit a homicide.
He spotted Harry immediately, sitting comfortably on the couch like he hadn’t just ruined Draco’s life.
Draco didn’t hesitate. He stormed straight to Potter, grabbed him by the collar, and yanked him up so fast that Harry nearly dropped his book.
And then… they just stood there.
Nose to nose.
Eyes locked.
Completely silent.
The tension in the room was palpable.
Ron’s jaw dropped. “Uh—what—what’s happening ?”
Neville looked like he wanted to leave. “Is this a duel? A fight? Should we—should we call someone ?”
Seamus muttered, “I dunno, mate. It kinda looks like foreplay.”
Dean coughed. “It does, a bit.”
Hermione just rubbed her temples.
Meanwhile, Harry and Draco were having the most aggressive mental argument in Hogwarts history.
“YOU HUMILIATED ME IN FRONT OF SNAPE!”
“You humiliated yourself, I just helped.”
“YOU PUT IMAGES IN MY HEAD THAT I CAN NEVER REMOVE!”
“Oh, come on. You liked some of them.”
“I—THAT—SHUT UP, POTTER!”
Harry smirked, enjoying himself far too much. His green eyes sparkled mischievously, and Draco hated how infuriatingly pleased he looked.
Draco clenched his jaw, his grip tightening slightly on Harry’s collar.
Harry just raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Gonna kiss me, Malfoy?” he teased out loud.
Draco threw him back onto the couch like he’d been scalded.
“I hate you,” Draco growled, face completely red, before he whipped around and stormed out of the Gryffindor common room, robes dramatically billowing behind him.
The moment the door slammed shut, everyone turned to Harry.
Ron looked traumatized. “Mate. What the hell was that?”
Harry just stretched lazily, looking far too pleased with himself. “Oh, nothing.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Harry.”
He grinned.
Maybe living in Malfoy’s head wasn’t so bad after all.
………
Draco hated this.
He hadn’t slept properly in days . Madam Pomfrey outright refused to give him more Dreamless Sleep Potion, something about “overuse leading to dependency.” Did she not understand the crisis he was facing?! He wasn’t asking for much—just one night where he didn’t have to deal with Potter’s idiotic thoughts invading his mind.
But no. Instead, he had to endure this nightmare.
And worst of all? Potter was enjoying it.
Oh, the first day had been mutual suffering. Both of them had been horrified by the invasion of privacy, had agreed they needed to fix it.
But somewhere along the way, Potter changed.
Somehow, the Gryffindor menace realized that not only could he read Draco’s thoughts—he could project his own.
And now? He was shamelessly enjoying it.
Every single perverse thought Potter had, he deliberately shoved into Draco’s mind, just to make him squirm.
Draco didn’t understand. When did Potter become so brazen? What happened to the innocent, righteous Chosen One? Why was he suddenly like this?
Draco was curled up in his favorite armchair in the Slytherin common room, desperately trying to escape reality with his book, Psycho by Onley James.
It was one of his favorites. Twisted, dark, and perfectly romantic. And August Mulvaney—his fictional obsession —was just chef’s kiss.
He had just reached a passage where August was described as sexy, and lethal, and—
Oh, Merlin’s balls.
He was described as a Harry Potter look-alike .
Draco froze.
Immediately, Potter—who had been suspiciously silent for a while—came rushing back into his mind.
“Wait. Wait. Hold on a second. Are you reading a book where your crush looks like me?”
Draco slammed the book shut.
“Absolutely NOT. SHUT UP.”
But Potter was having the time of his life.
“No, no. Let’s unpack this. So you’re obsessed with August Mulvaney, huh?”
“I will murder you.”
“And August Mulvaney is described as sexy, dangerous, and—what was that? Oh, right—looks exactly like me?”
“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, POTTER.”
Draco was seething, gripping the book so hard it nearly crumpled.
But Potter wasn’t done.
“Oh, wait. Lucas is blond and has clairvoyant abilities—kind of like you. And you’re obsessed with this book? Hmmm. Interesting.”
Draco’s eye twitched.
And then— then —Potter decided to make things worse.
“Oh, I see. Lucas and August kind of resemble us.”
“NO, THEY DO NOT!”
“Oh, but they do, Draco.”
Draco groaned, burying his face in his hands.
“By the way, which scene do you like more—the knife play or the ‘tie me up, I don’t want to hurt you’ part?”
Draco screamed into his pillow.
This, unfortunately, prompted Blaise and Theo to look up from their chess game.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Blaise asked, raising an eyebrow.
Draco lifted his face from the pillow, wild-eyed and deranged.
“Tell them you’re having an existential crisis about how your book characters are becoming way too real,” Potter suggested, clearly amused.
“I will not!” Draco snapped.
But unfortunately, he accidentally said it out loud.
“I will NOT!” he shouted into the common room.
Blaise and Theo exchanged concerned looks.
“Mate… what ?” Theo asked slowly.
Draco clenched his jaw. He had to get Potter out of his head .
“GET OUT OF MY HEAD, POTTER!” he yelled, making everyone in the room stare.
Blaise blinked. “Uh. Who exactly are you talking to?”
Theo looked genuinely disturbed. “Are you okay? Do we need to call Pomfrey?”
Draco let out a murderous growl, grabbed his book, and stormed out of the common room.
Meanwhile, in Gryffindor Tower…
Harry was lounging on the Gryffindor couch, arms folded behind his head, grinning like an absolute menace.
Ron, Hermione, and Neville were watching him warily.
Ron frowned. “Mate… why are you smiling like that?”
Hermione looked deeply suspicious. “You look like you just committed a crime.”
Neville just sighed. “It’s Malfoy, isn’t it?”
Harry laughed.
Laughed so hard he had to wipe away tears.
“Oh, it is Malfoy,” Ron said in dawning realization.
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “Harry. What did you do?”
Harry just smirked and stretched.
“Oh, nothing,” he said, enjoying himself far too much.
Because now?
Now, he understood so much more about Draco Malfoy.
Thanks a very revealing dream Draco had the night before—Harry had learned things .
Like the fact that Malfoy had a taste for dark romance novels. And that he had a type. And that his type looked suspiciously like Harry himself.
Oh, this was gold.
Harry could now hide some of his thoughts from Draco, but Draco? Draco was still wide open. Which meant Harry could see everything. Until the link broke, he was going to have fun with this.
And judging by Draco’s meltdowns, he already was.
……..
Draco was dying.
Not physically, unfortunately, but mentally? Spiritually? Existentially? Oh, he was absolutely perishing.
And it was all Potter’s fault.
It started small—just Potter being an insufferable twat , injecting random perverse thoughts into Draco’s head at the worst times.
But now?
Now, Potter was actively quoting August Mulvaney at him.
“I hope your day is as nice as your ass.”
Draco choked on his pumpkin juice.
Across the Great Hall, Harry grinned.
“POTTER, SHUT UP.” Draco fumed, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.
“Oh, but I have another one,” Harry mused. “I lick it, so it’s mine.”
Draco squeaked. SQUEAKED.
Pansy side-eyed him. “What the hell was that noise, Draco?”
Draco cleared his throat, face heating up. “Nothing.”
Across the hall, Potter looked positively smug.
Draco wanted to die .
………..
If there was one constant in Draco’s life right now, it was his and Potter’s unrelenting mental bickering.
No one else could hear it.
But they could.
“You are the single most irritating human being on the planet.”
“And yet, here we are, sharing a brain cell. Unfortunate.”
“Shut up, Potter.”
“Make me.”
Outwardly, the two of them just sat across the room, staring at each other like deranged cats ready to pounce.
Everyone else? Baffled.
Hermione was determined to connect the dots, but for once, she was failing.
Meanwhile, Ron, Dean, Seamus, Blaise, Theo, and Pansy had formed what could only be described as a Scooby-Doo gang of conspiracy theorists.
They held meetings about Harry and Draco’s weird behavior.
“I’m telling you,” Seamus said, furrowing his brow. “They’re hexed. Or possessed.”
Ron rubbed his chin. “Nah, mate. This is something else.”
Pansy crossed her arms. “Draco never acts like this. If he was cursed, I’d know. But this? This is… different.”
Theo leaned forward, conspiratorial. “What if… they’re actually secretly dating?”
Everyone paused.
Then Blaise scoffed. “Impossible. Draco wouldn’t willingly touch a Gryffindor.”
Meanwhile, at that exact moment, Draco was backed against a bookshelf in the library, Harry far too close, practically pinning him.
………………
Draco hated this. He hated how Potter was suddenly so bold.
He hated how he was cornered in the bloody library.
He hated how Potter was standing so close, his body heat practically searing into him.
He hated how he could see every damn fleck of green in Potter’s eyes.
Most of all?
He hated how his heart was pounding.
“Back off, Potter,” Draco hissed, gripping his wand and pressing it to Harry’s throat.
The bastard smirked.
And then?
Draco realized.
Oh, fuck.
This was exactly like that damn book scene.
August had broken into Lucas’s apartment, and Lucas had pointed a knife at him.
And August had pushed closer. Just like Potter was doing right now. Draco’s grip faltered.
Harry noticed.
“You can stop lying to yourself, Draco,” he murmured, voice low and knowing. “I can read your mind like a book.”
Draco’s knees went weak. He wanted to bolt. But Potter blocked his way.
Draco’s brain melted.
And then, as if to make it worse, Potter injected a thought straight into his head.
“How does it feel to just kiss you right now?”
Draco gasped.
“POTTER—”
But before he could retort , berate Harry for being a pervert , Harry just—
Kissed him.
Draco’s entire brain short-circuited.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing functioned. No thoughts. Head empty. The only thing echoing in his mind?
“Oh. His lips are soft. And sweet. Huh.”
Harry finally pulled away, watching him.
Draco? Blank. Blue-screened. Error 404: Malfoy Not Found.
Harry chuckled.
And then— the bastard did it again.
Another kiss.
And this time? Draco followed.
………
Harry guided him out of the library, led him back to the Slytherin dorms like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Draco was still dazed. Pansy, Blaise, and Theo watched as they entered, eyes wide.
Harry just gave a casual, cheerful “Hi,” and left.
Draco collapsed onto the couch. His entire world had just been turned upside-down.
And then—because, of course, Potter couldn’t leave well enough alone —he heard a very smug voice in his head.
“See you later, Draco.”
Draco whimpered.
Oh.
Oh, he was so screwed.
………..
Draco had had enough.
Weeks. Weeks of pure, unrelenting torment from Harry bloody Potter.
The perverse thoughts. The August Mulvaney quotes. The shameless teasing. The kissing.
It was too much.
Which was how he ended up dragging Potter into Snape’s office, absolutely seething, prepared to throw himself at the mercy of his Head of House.
Unfortunately, the moment he wrenched open the door—
He froze.
Snape was there. But so were Dumbledore and McGonagall.
Draco internally screamed.
He wanted to turn around and leave. He really, really did. But then he caught sight of Potter’s smug, infuriating face, and no. He was already here. He was going through with this.
He cleared his throat. “Professor,” he said, very stiffly, his voice nearly cracking. “I—I need help. With him.” He jabbed a finger at Harry.
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I want to know, Mr. Malfoy.”
Harry snickered. Draco kicked his shin.
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. “Merlin’s soul, what now, Malfoy?”
Draco took a deep breath and forced himself to continue. “Potter and I—our minds —there was an accident in Potions, and now we’re mentally connected.”
Silence.
Then, very slowly, all three professors exchanged a look.
And then they burst into laughter.
Draco’s face blanched. “Wha— what —”
Snape, Snape, was smirking at him. Dumbledore actually wiped away a tear. McGonagall covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.
Harry?
Oh, Harry was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
Draco gawked at them.
“WHAT IS GOING ON—”
Finally, Snape composed himself enough to answer. “Mr. Malfoy,” he said dryly, “Potter already told us about your unfortunate predicament.”
Draco’s stomach dropped .
“What? ” he choked.
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Severus has been brewing a counter-potion for weeks now. It just needed time to mature.”
McGonagall gave him an amused look. “It will be ready tomorrow, dear.”
Draco stared. Then he turned to Harry, utterly betrayed.
“You KNEW?”
Harry grinned. “Obviously.”
Draco ran.
The Room of Requirement
Draco was curled up in a ball on a velvet chaise, looking like a very sad, very betrayed kitten.
Harry thought it was adorable.
Draco glared at him. “Shut up.”
Harry held up his hands innocently. “Didn’t say a word.”
Draco huffed. “You cheated.”
Harry scoffed. “How? By being able to control my thought and pass through your shield? That’s called being smart, Draco.”
Draco scowled. “You rigged this entire thing from the beginning!”
Harry shook his head, amused. “Not really. I just learned how to block my thoughts in a different way. But mostly? I never actually hid my thoughts from you.”
Draco blinked, processing that. Then he hesitantly listened. And, fuck. Potter wasn’t lying.
That made it worse.
Draco scowled deeper. “You tormented me.”
Harry’s grin softened, just slightly. “Draco,” he said, stepping closer. “You tormented me for years. I think this was fair.”
Draco opened his mouth to argue, but—he hesitated.
…Okay, maybe he did make Potter’s life a little difficult in the past. Maybe.
Harry smirked. “The potion will be ready tomorrow. No more torment.”
Draco sighed, relieved. “Thank Merlin.”
But before he could bask in his impending freedom, Harry suddenly tilted Draco’s chin up.
Draco froze.
And then, very softly, Harry murmured, “But I’m still going to torment your life.”
And then— he kissed him.
Draco made an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat.
He meant to push Potter away. Really. But somehow, his hands ended up gripping Harry’s robes instead, pulling him closer.
And—Merlin help him—he kissed him back.
Their thoughts blended together, too overwhelming to separate.
Harry: God, he’s soft.
Draco: I hate how much I like this.
Harry: I could kiss him forever.
Draco: I’m going to kill him.
Harry smirked against his lips. “You like me.”
Draco scowled. “You’re a pervert.”
Harry grinned. “And you’re blushing.”
Draco groaned. “I hate you.”
Harry kissed him again, long and slow, until Draco’s knees buckled.
Draco gasped, gripping Harry’s arms for support. Oh, he was in trouble.
And worst of all? The absolute worst part of all?
Maybe… just maybe …
Having Potter in his head wasn’t so bad after all.
………
For the first time in weeks, Draco was finally free. No more Potter in his head. No more intrusive thoughts.
No more embarrassing slip-ups where Harry heard said thoughts and tormented him for them.
Everything was finally back to normal.
…Except for the fact that now, instead of being in his head, Harry was just in his life.
Which was arguably worse. This became blindingly obvious that morning.
Draco was casually walking to class, deep in conversation with Pansy and Blaise about absolutely nothing related to Potter, when—
Out of nowhere —
Harry bloody Potter appeared —grabbed him by the collar—
And kissed him.
In front of everyone.
Pansy gasped.
Blaise dropped his books.
Hermione and Ron, who had been walking in the opposite direction, almost tripped and fell on their faces.
A group of first-years just stood there in horror, clutching their books like they were witnessing a war crime.
Draco?
Draco’s brain shut down. Like. Completely.
404 ERROR. SYSTEM FAILURE. BRAIN CANNOT BE FOUND.
Potter finally pulled away, smirked at him, ruffled his hair— HIS PERFECT HAIR —and then grabbed his hand and dragged him forward.
Draco blinked. Processing.
“…What the fuck just happened?” he finally choked out.
Harry shot him a cheeky grin. “I’m walking my boyfriend to class.”
Draco’s heart did a very weird, very suspicious flip at the word boyfriend.
He ignored it.
Instead, he scowled. “We are not boyfriends.”
Harry, still smirking, leaned in and murmured —
“Draco, you literally dream about me tying you up and whispering filthy things in your ear. At this point, we should be discussing our marriage plans.”
Draco choked. His entire face turned scarlet. Harry just grinned wider.
Before Draco could murder him, they arrived at his Advanced Charms class.
Harry, still holding his hand, gave him a quick peck on the lips—
And then ran off , leaving Draco to stand there , stunned and betrayed, as the entire class turned to look at him.
A beat of silence.
Then—
“So…” one of his classmates coughed. “Is there… something you’d like to explain?”
Draco sighed.
“Things are exactly what you just saw,” he said, rubbing his temples. “No further explanation needed.”
The Hogwarts Gossip Network: The Most Powerful Force in the Castle
By lunch, the entire school knew. By dinner, the rumors had evolved into something completely unhinged.
Some said Draco had been secretly dating Harry for years and they had just now gone public.
Others claimed they had dueled to the death, and Harry won, and now Draco was his eternal servant.
Somehow, a small group of Hufflepuffs thought Harry had rescued Draco from a dragon and they were now soulmates.
Pansy, Theo, and Blaise formed a support group for people who were emotionally devastated by the news.
Seamus and Dean started a betting pool about who would publicly snap first—Draco or Harry.
Ron was still in denial. “They’re not dating,” he told Hermione over dinner. “This is just Malfoy being dramatic again.”
Hermione, who had already accepted this reality, took a sip of her pumpkin juice. “Ron, he literally held Draco’s hand and kissed him in broad daylight.”
Ron waved a dismissive hand. “He’s just doing it to annoy him.”
At that exact moment, Harry walked into the Great Hall, marched straight over to Draco at the Slytherin table, and kissed him again.
Ron dropped his fork. Hermione smirked.
Harry pulled away with a satisfied grin and patted Draco’s cheek. “See you later, love.”
Draco, his face as red as Ron’s hair, just glared at him. “You are the worst.”
Harry winked. “You love it.”
Draco did not love it.
(…Maybe he kind of did.)
End????