The first few weeks of term passed surprisingly uneventfully (in comparison to Harry’s previous years at Hogwarts, that is) and Harry could tell that Ron was more surprised at how well Harry and Malfoy were getting along than Harry was. The entire time he’d known Malfoy, Harry had been so convinced that Malfoy hated him, and it wasn’t like Malfoy had led him to believe anything other than that. And now they seemed to have reached a common ground. But, still, he hadn’t expected their roommate situation to end up like this.
It seemed he and Malfoy were…friends?
They were civil towards each other, almost joking around sometimes. They would even walk down to breakfast together but normally they would split ways at the entrance to the Great Hall, Harry going to sit with the bunch of rambunctious Gryffindors and Malfoy going to sit at the Slytherin table, nearly alone. Malfoy had always seemed like the unspoken leader of the Slytherins and Harry was a bit confused as to why that had changed so much, but he figured it might not be a good thing to ask about. He and Malfoy had been doing so well in the not-killing-each-other department, and Harry desperately wanted to keep it that way.
He was thinking about the way things had turned out one particular evening while working on his latest potions essay. Malfoy was in their adjacent bathroom, getting ready for bed as well, Harry presumed. He heard the shower going, as it had been for a while, and Harry decided all that pumpkin juice he drank a little bit ago hadn’t been the best decision. He thought about his choices for a minute, and while he could always pop to Ron’s room to use his bathroom, the last time he’d walked in he’d found Ron and Hermione with more clothes hastily thrown on the floor than what was on their bodies, and he had no desire to repeat that situation.
Sighing, Harry moved his textbook off his lap and got up, using an unlocking spell on the door. “Malfoy it’s just me, I’ve got to take a piss,” he said as he was opening the door, not aware that the shower had stopped a few minutes ago. Instead of being met with a closed shower curtain like he expected, he was met with a completely naked Malfoy, save for a towel slung low across his waist. His hair was darker wet, and looked quite odd in contrast to his usual pale blonde. Harry’s eyes were caught on the other boy’s pale chest and arms, large expanses of skin on full display.
Harry could have sworn he say Malfoy blush under Harry’s wandering gaze, but he didn’t dare say anything about it. Hell, he couldn’t be certain his face wasn’t heating up as well. “Fuck, sorry, I thought you were in the shower,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “I just needed to use the toilet.”
Malfoy looked at him a bit oddly, motioning towards it. “Well, go ahead.”
“Er, right,” Harry said, walking over to do what he set out to do.
Okay, it wasn’t Harry’s fault he’d freaked out and maybe internally drooled a bit. It had been a while ago that he’d fully realized he was quite into blokes beyond thinking that some Quidditch player looked nice on a broomstick, but it’s not like Harry’s had a chance to act on any of his emotions. His bout with Ginny had ended shortly after the war because she felt Harry just wasn’t ready for a relationship. Which actually meant Ginny didn’t feel like Harry could have given her what she wanted. And she wasn’t really wrong. During his time with Ginny, Harry had mostly been convincing himself that he wasn’t into blokes like that, and it turns out it was a waste of time. Especially when people who looked like Malfoy were alive. And living with him.
Harry tried to squander any feelings he had inside of him about Malfoy by reminding himself that it was Malfoy. And even though Harry had forgiven him and they were friendly toward each other, there’s no way Malfoy could feel that way about Harry.
***
A few hours later and a few essays later, Harry lay on his bed, exhausted. “Why’d I even agree to come back and do all this work?” Harry asked himself rhetorically.
“Because you’re a git,” Malfoy replied from his desk, quill squeaking away.
“Why’d you decide to come back?” Harry asked. Malfoy’s quill stopped momentarily, then started again.
“I doubt you’d honestly care, Potter.”
“Yes, I do, Malfoy. I want to know.”
He sighed and turned around in his chair. “I couldn’t stay at home with my mother for an entire year. I love her, yes, but ever since the war ended, she’s been intolerable. She’s either crying or screaming or nagging me about something, so when McGonagall sent the letter saying I’d been invited to return to finish my NEWTs, I jumped at the chance. I knew it would suck being here, the only eighth year Slytherin and having had the Malfoy name disgraced among the rest of the attending house, but it was better than staying at the Manor. It’s too full of nightmares.”
It was all Harry could do to stare into his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Malfoy just shook his head. “Both our lives have sucked, but the war’s over. We have to move past it all.”
Harry offered him a small smile. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“It feels really weird to have you say that,” Malfoy admitted. “The Savior agreeing with Draco Malfoy.”
“Call me that again and I’ll hex you into next Tuesday.” Malfoy laughed. “Hey, at least you’ll miss this fucking potions quiz. But then again, you’re a genius at potions, so I suppose it’s a walk in the park for you.”
Malfoy just shrugged jokingly and went back to scribbling away with his quill.
“How about this,” Malfoy said after a few minutes, turning around in his chair again. “I’ll help you with your potions revision if you tell me one of your secrets.”
Harry was a caught a bit off guard by Malfoy’s suggestion; it seemed less like something Malfoy would say and something more like a third year girl would say. “Alright,” Harry agreed. “But then you have to tell me a secret in return.”
“But I’m helping you with your revision,” Malfoy protested.
“Come on, you know it’s only fair,” Harry chided.
Malfoy sighed in defeat. “Alright, fine. But you’ve got to keep it a secret. I’ll keep yours, too.”
“Alright, deal,” Harry agreed. Malfoy waited, expecting Harry to spill. “Okay, I secretly hate referring to you only by your surname,” he said. “It makes me feel like we’re still enemies, or elderly.”
Malfoy just laughed. “Okay, call me Draco then, and I’ll call you Harry,” he said, smiling.
“Just as long as you don’t call me the Savior, I’ll be good,” Harry said, relieved that Malf- that Draco didn’t hex him at the suggestion of not calling him by his surname. “What secret have you got for me, Draco?”
“Well this is something I probably would have told you anyway, now that we’re living together and everything, but I might as well just tell you now. But you mustn’t tell anyone else, Harry, alright?” Harry nodded, urging Draco to go on. “I like blokes,” he said, as if he was telling Harry what time it was.
That was definitely the last thing he expected to come out of Draco’s mouth. And upon hearing it, it took every ounce of self-restraint in Harry’s body not to jump him right there.
“Fuck, well I guess that makes two of us,” Harry said under his breath.
Draco’s head shot up from his parchment. “What did you say?” he asked breathlessly.
Harry cleared his throat. “I said that makes two of us, then.” Draco’s face was a bit blank at Harry’s words. “I’m quite into blokes as well,” he said, as if to clarify his previous statement.
“Oh, alright then,” Draco said, only a ghost of a smile on his face. “I guess that explains the bathroom earlier,” he said, smirking.
“Oh, Merlin,” Harry said, covering his face with his hands.
Draco just laughed. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”
“So, how about that potions help?” Harry asked, trying to disperse the awkward air, and Draco came over to sit on Harry’s bed, flipping open his textbook.
“First of all, you aren’t even in the right chapter,” Draco chided, “so we’re already off to a great start.” But Harry couldn’t help but think they really were off to a greater start than he could have ever imagined.