Chapter 1: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
"Goody Two-Shoes"
Drarry
what if harry actually gets cocky and his act breaks?
what if draco is the reason his character breaks, how he saw through it.
Chapter 2: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
Goody Two-Shoes
"What the hell are you doing with the Weasley girl, Potter?" Malfoy sneered, slamming Harry against the cold, stone wall of the corridor.
Harry shoved him back, his wand hand twitching. "What's it to you, Malfoy?"
Draco simply smirked, leaning in close. "Nothing. I don't care, actually. Just think she could have done so much better than a low-life, half-blood like you."
"Well, she’s my girlfriend and we love each other," Harry said, his voice ringing with a newfound, stubborn defiance that echoed off the stone walls.
Draco’s face contorted, turning a shade of white that looked almost skeletal. A blind, sudden rage boiled over in him; he stepped forward, his mouth twisting as he prepared to spit out a venomous retort. But Harry was faster, reaching out and shoving Malfoy back against the cold masonry before the blonde could utter a word.
"Malfoy. Potter."
The sharp, rhythmic click-clack of boots heralded the arrival of Professor McGonagall. She swept into the corridor, her emerald robes fluttering like wings and her expression as stern as a gargoyle’s.
"Get to class, the pair of you," she commanded, her eyes flashing dangerously behind her square spectacles. "You are already quite late, and I suggest you move before I decide that several weeks of detention are in order."
Pov Draco
I stormed through the common room, the heavy stone door barely clicking shut before the pressure in my chest exploded. My skin felt too tight, humming with a frantic, static energy that I couldn't shake off.
"Draco? You alright?" Goyle asked, looking up from a pile of Sugar Quills.
"Shut up, Gregory," I snapped, my voice like a whip. I kicked a velvet armchair, the dull thud echoing against the dungeon walls. "I’m fine. Better than fine. I’m just marveling at the sheer, pathetic lack of standards at this school."
Pansy leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "What happened? Another run-in with the goody two shoes?"
"It’s that girl," I spat, pacing the length of the rug. My mind kept flashing back to the corridor.. not to Potter’s face, but to the way she’d been standing so close to him. The way her hand had been hovering near his arm. It made a sick, hot knot of resentment twist in my stomach. "Weasley. It’s embarrassing, really. The way she follows him around like a stray dog. You’d think she’d have a shred of dignity, but no, she’s practically hanging off him."
"Well, they are dating, Draco," Pansy pointed out dryly.
"Dating?" I laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. "It’s a farce. Potter’s just doing it for the attention, as usual. And her? She’s a blood freak, a bloody mess, a nobody, with nothing better to do than ruin the scenery."
I sat down abruptly, my fingers gripping the cool leather of the sofa so hard my knuckles turned white. I couldn't stop thinking about the way Potter had looked when he talked about her. That stubborn, stupidly brave look in his eyes. It made me want to scream. Why was she the one who got to see that? Why did she get to be the reason he stood his ground?
"He’s a half-blood nobody and she’s a nobody’s daughter," I muttered, more to myself than to them. "They deserve each other. They’re both... exhausting."
"You seem awfully bothered by it," Blaise remarked from the corner, not looking up from the Daily Prophet.
"I'm not bothered!" I shouted, the volume of my own voice startling me. "I’m disgusted! There’s a difference."
I stood up again, unable to sit still. My heart was still doing that strange, fluttering thud against my ribs, the one it always did when Potter was around, but now it felt heavier..poisoned by the image of the Weasley girl. I hated her. I hated her hair, her laugh, and the way she seemed to take up space in a world that should have belonged to people like me.
"I’m going to bed," I snarled, turning my back on them before they could see the way my hands were shaking. "The stench of Gryffindor desperation is giving me a headache."
I retreated to the dorms, but even in the dark, the image wouldn't leave me. It wasn't Potter I was picturing; it was the space between him and Ginny, and the inexplicable, furious ache that I wasn't the one standing in it.
I didn't move when the morning bell rang. I just stared at the underside of the bed hangings, tracing a loose thread as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.
The silence of the dormitory was supposed to be a relief, but instead, it just left more room for her face to pop up in my head. That smug, freckled face. Why did she think she could just exist like that? Standing there in the corridor, looking at Potter like she owned him. Like she was the only one who knew how to handle him.
"She’s so incredibly irritating," I muttered, the words sticking in my throat.
It was the way she stood..shoulders back, chin up, as if being a Weasley was something to be proud of. It was an insult to everyone else. And the way she laughed?
It was too loud. Everything about her was too much. She was constantly hovering, constantly pulling his attention away from... well, from everything.
I rolled onto my stomach and shoved my face into the mattress. My skin felt hot, a restless, prickly sensation that made me want to jump out of my own body. I told myself it was just the stress of the Cabinet and the Dark Lord's task. That had to be it. My nerves were shot.
But then I thought about the way Potter had shoved me back against the wall. He had been so angry for her. He’d never looked at me like that—with that specific, fierce protectiveness. It was always just hatred or annoyance before. Now, because of her, he looked at me like I was just an obstacle in his path to get back to her.
"Stupid," I hissed, my fingers digging into the sheets. "He’s so stupid."
I wasn't jealous. That was a ridiculous thought. Why would I be jealous of a girl who wore hand-me-down robes and lived in a house that looked like it was held together by Cheering Charms? I was a Malfoy. I had everything.
Yet, I couldn't stop thinking about the way she'd looked at him, and more importantly, the way he'd looked at her. It felt like a knot in my chest that I couldn't untie.
She was a distraction. She was taking up space that she hadn't earned. She was a noise that wouldn't stop ringing in my ears, and for some reason, I couldn't stand the thought of them being back in that corridor, or in the Gryffindor common room, or anywhere, really.
"I just hate her," I told the empty room, trying to convince the shadows. "I just hate her because she's a nuisance. That's all it is."
I stayed in bed, the uneasy heat in my veins refusing to cool down, wondering why the thought of her red hair next to his messy black hair felt like someone was dragging a dull knife across my heart.
Chapter 3: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
Goody Two-Shoes
Harry trudged into the Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling mirroring a grey, overcast sky as he slid onto the bench beside Ron and Hermione. Hermione immediately looked up from her copy of Advanced Rune Translation, her eyes narrowing. "So, why were you late?" she asked, her tone sharp with concern.
Harry glanced at her, trying to look nonchalant as he adjusted his glasses. "No reason, really. Just ran into a bit of trouble in the corridors."
Ginny, sitting directly across from him, paused from piling her own plate to look him over. She reached out, nudging a platter of roast beef toward him. "Eat, Harry," she insisted, her voice firm but kind. "You’re far too skinny—you need to eat well."
Harry looked at her, offering a small, tired smile as he pushed the plate back slightly. "I’m full, Ginny. It’s okay."
"So who did you run into? You look right annoyed," Ron said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of kidney pie as he looked at Harry.
"Just Malfoy," Harry muttered, his grip tightening on his fork. "He was—I don’t know—he’s always like that. He wanted to start trouble for no reason. He’s just a prick."
"Yeah, well, forget him," Ron said, waving a chicken leg dismissively. "Not worth the indigestion."
Harry sighed and stood up to clear his plate. Just as he turned, a silver-trimmed shoulder slammed hard into his own. The remains of Harry's lunch tumbled forward, splashing messily across his school robes. Draco Malfoy stood there, a cold smirk playing on his pale face.
"Watch your step, Potter," Draco drawled with a sharp, mocking grin. He didn't wait for a response, turning on his heel to saunter toward the Slytherin table with his head held high.
"Scourgify!" Hermione barked, her wand already out before Harry could even process the stain. The mess on his robes vanished with a faint popping sound, but Harry’s face remained a deep shade of crimson.
"You’re not just going to let him get away with that, are you?" Ron hissed, dropping his fork and reaching for his own wand.
"He’s not worth a detention, Ron," Hermione warned, though she was glaring at Malfoy’s back with equal intensity.
But Harry had already reached his limit. As Draco took a seat among the Slytherins, laughing loudly with Pansy Parkinson, Harry flicked his wand under the table. "Locomotor Mortis!" he whispered.
Across the hall, Draco’s legs snapped together as if glued. He let out a muffled yelp of surprise and toppled sideways off the bench, landing in a heap on the stone floor. The Great Hall erupted into a mixture of gasps and muffled snickers from the Gryffindor table.
"Harry!" Hermione whispered, though a small, traitorous smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Ginny leaned over, looking immensely satisfied. "See? I told you that you needed more energy. Good aim."
"What is the meaning of this?" a cold, silky voice hissed from the shadows of the doorway.
The laughter died instantly as Severus Snape swept toward them, his black robes billowing behind him like a giant bat. He didn't even glance at the fallen Malfoy, who was currently being hoisted up by Crabbe and Goyle; his dark, tunnel-like eyes were fixed solely on Harry.
"Potter," Snape said softly, though the silence in the Hall made his voice carry to every ear. "Displaying your usual disregard for school rules? Hexing a student in the middle of lunch because you lacked the coordination to hold onto your own plate?"
"He bumped into me on purpose!" Harry snapped, his hand still tight around his wand.
"Ten points from Gryffindor for your insolence," Snape drawled, a thin, cruel smile curling his lip. "And another twenty for the illegal use of a Leg-Locker Curse. I expect you in my office at eight o'clock tonight for detention, Potter. We shall see if scrubbing cauldrons helps you find some... restraint."
"It wasn't for no reason! He started it!" Harry shouted, ignoring Hermione’s frantic tug on his sleeve. "He ruined my robes! Are you really going to ignore that just because he’s a Slytherin?"
Snape’s eyes flashed dangerously. "Another ten points from Gryffindor. Perhaps a week of detentions will teach you to keep your temper in check, Potter."
From the Slytherin table, Draco let out a harsh, jagged laugh, leaning back as Crabbe and Goyle snickered behind him. "Shut up, goody-two-shoes," Draco jeered, his eyes glinting with malice.
"You’re always so perfect, aren't you? The Great Harry Potter and his perfect little girlfriend."
He mimicked a kissing motion, sending his friends into fresh fits of laughter. "Saint Potter can't even handle a bit of gravy without running to a teacher—or crying to Mummy Ginny."
Harry’s chair screeched against the stone floor as he surged to his feet, his knuckles white against his wand.
"Sit down, Harry," Ginny said, her voice low and dangerous as she glared at Draco. "He's not worth the points. Let the git have his laugh while he can still breathe through his nose."
"Enough!"
The sharp, authoritative voice of Professor McGonagall rang through the Great Hall as she marched toward the Gryffindor table, her lips pressed into a thin, pale line. She looked between Harry, who was trembling with rage, and Draco, who still wore a triumphant smirk.
"Professor Snape has already dealt with your outburst, Potter," she said, her eyes flashing behind her square spectacles. "However, I will not tolerate this level of hostility in the Hall. Mr. Malfoy, do not think your provocations have gone unnoticed."
Draco’s smirk faltered slightly. "Professor, I was just—"
"You were being needlessly antagonistic, Mr. Malfoy," she snapped, cutting him off. "That will be another ten points from Slytherin, and you will join Mr. Potter in detention tonight. If the two of you cannot coexist in a dining hall, perhaps you can learn to do so while cleaning the trophy room—without magic."
The color drained from Draco’s face at the mention of manual labor. Harry felt a grim sense of satisfaction, though the prospect of spending an evening trapped in a room with Malfoy made his stomach churn.
"Now," McGonagall commanded, looking at the entire hall. "Back to your meals. There has been quite enough excitement for one afternoon."
"Think you're special, don't you?" Draco spat, his hand pressing harder against Harry’s chest as he pinned him to the stones. "The boy who lived, the boy who survived—the boy who can’t even walk through a hallway without getting someone in trouble. You're a pathetic excuse for a wizard, Potter."
Harry’s breath hitched, his eyes burning with anger. "Get off me, Malfoy. You’re the one who tripped over your own feet like a clumsy first-year."
"I was pushed by your idiocy," Draco snarled, his voice dropping to a low, venomous whisper. "But that’s your specialty, isn't it? Ruining things for everyone around you. First it’s the points, then it’s the peace. Honestly, I don't know why that Weasley girl stays. Probably pity. Who wouldn't pity a scruffy, talentless orphan who needs his friends to fight every battle for him?"
Harry’s hand went for his wand, but Draco’s sneer only widened. "Go on, then. Prove me right. Show everyone how 'brave' you are by hexing me in a hallway like the common thug you are. You’re nothing without that scar, and even with it, you're just a stain on this school's reputation."
"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Potter!"
Professor McGonagall’s voice cracked like a whip across the corridor. She marched toward them, her eyes flashing behind her spectacles. "Release him at once, Mr. Malfoy!"
Draco pulled back instantly, his hands raised in mock innocence as he smoothed his silk-lined robes. "Just having a word, Professor," he said, the sneer morphing into a cold, arrogant smile.
"I have had quite enough of your 'words' for one day," McGonagall snapped. "I told you to head to your next destination. If I see another finger laid on a fellow student, I shall see to it that your detentions are extended until the end of the term."
She pointed a stern finger toward the stairs. "Go. To the Trophy Room. Now. Mr. Filch is expecting you both to begin work—without your wands."
"This isn't over, Potter," Draco hissed under his breath, leaning in one last time before turning on his heel. "Enjoy the polish. It’s the only thing in this school that'll actually shine as much as your ego."
Chapter 4: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
"Goody Two-Shoes"
Drarry
The heavy oak doors of the Trophy Room creaked shut, sealing Harry and Draco inside with nothing but the smell of Mrs. Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover and the distant, hacking cough of Argus Filch down the hall.
"Start with the Quidditch awards," Filch had wheezed before confiscating their wands. "I want to see my face reflected in every inch of silver by midnight."
For an hour, the only sound was the rhythmic scritch-scratch of rags against metal. Harry scrubbed a tarnished shield with enough force to dent it, his jaw locked tight. Across the aisle, Draco was barely working, holding a gold goblet with two fingers as if it were a piece of dragon dung.
"You missed a spot, Potter," Draco drawled, his voice echoing off the glass cases. "Though I suppose you’re used to leaving things messy. Your hair, your grades, your bloodline..."
"Give it a rest, Malfoy," Harry snapped, dunking his cloth into the bucket. "You're only here because you couldn't help being a prick for five minutes."
"I'm here because you have the emotional range of a Blast-Ended Skrewt," Draco shot back, finally dropping the goblet and stepping toward Harry. "Always the victim. Does it hurt, being so pathetic? Or does the fame numb the sensation?"
Harry stood up, his wet rag dripping onto his boots. "At least I don't have to hide behind my father's name every time someone looks at me sideways. Without Lucius, you're just a loud-mouthed coward in fancy robes."
Draco’s face went white, then a mottled red. He lunged forward, shoving Harry’s shoulder. "Don't you talk about my father!"
Harry didn't back down; he shoved back, hard. "Why? Afraid I'll say something true?"
They were chest-to-chest now, the air between them thick with years of resentment. Draco grabbed the front of Harry’s robes, his knuckles white. Harry reached up, gripping Draco’s wrists to pry him off, his feet slipping on the slick, soapy floor where the bucket had splashed.
"Get—off—me!" Harry grunted.
He gave a violent tug just as Draco tried to shove him again. Harry’s heel hit a patch of mess remover, and his legs went out from under him. Because he was still gripping Draco’s arms, he pulled the Slytherin down with him.
With a muffled shout, they collapsed. Harry hit the stone floor hard, the air leaving his lungs in a wheeze. A second later, Draco slammed down directly on top of him, his knees pinning Harry’s thighs and his hands landing on either side of Harry’s head to break his fall.
The room went silent, save for the frantic thudding of two hearts.
Harry stared up, his glasses knocked askew. Draco was inches away, his pale hair disheveled and his grey eyes wide with shock. For the first time since they were eleven, the biting insults were gone, replaced by a stunned, breathless proximity that made the Trophy Room feel suddenly very small.
"Potter," Draco breathed, his voice uncharacteristically shaky.
"Get... off," Harry managed, though he didn't push him away. He couldn't seem to find his hands.
Draco didn’t move. Instead, he remained in place, looking down at Harry with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "What's the matter, Potter?" Draco's voice was low and challenging. "Are you gay, Potter??"
He shifted his weight, pressing his knee slightly against Harry's leg, not with force, but as a deliberate act of intimidation. Draco leaned closer, his expression intense.
"Is that why you’re always following me?" Draco whispered, his breath warm near Harry’s ear. "Checking the Marauder's Map just to see where I am? Watching me across the Great Hall?"
Harry’s heart pounded. His hands, which had been starting to push against Draco, froze against the expensive fabric of the Slytherin’s robes. The Trophy Room felt charged with the sudden, sharp tension, the silver awards reflecting the uncertain light.
"Shut up," Harry managed to grit out, though his voice was strained. "I don't—.. I-I don't follow you."
"Your face says differently," Draco mocked, a flicker of something unreadable in his grey eyes. He held his position, the challenge clear. "Tell me to get off, then. Say it like you mean it."
Harry opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come. The arrogance on Draco’s face was infuriating, but the proximity, the tension of the moment, was overwhelming his senses.
Harry’s breath hitched as a sudden, traitorous heat flooded his body. Despite the cold stone floor and the stinging scent of cleaning fluid, he could feel his face turning a deep, unmistakable shade of crimson. Beneath the weight of Draco’s knee, Harry felt himself react—a physical betrayal that was impossible to hide in such close quarters.
Draco’s smirk didn't falter; it sharpened into something predatory and triumphant. He felt the unmistakable tension in Harry's body, the rigid posture a stark contrast to their close proximity.
"Well, well, Potter," Draco whispered, his voice dropping to a dangerous, velvet purr. "It seems the 'Boy Who Lived' has some secrets even the Daily Prophet hasn't managed to sniff out."
He didn't pull away. Instead, Draco leaned down even further, his pale hair brushing against Harry’s forehead. He seemed to relish the power he held in that moment... the absolute, suffocating control over his rival’s composure. He shifted his knee again, a slow, deliberate movement that made Harry’s back arch slightly off the floor.
"Is this why you're always obsessed with what I'm doing?" Draco mocked, his own breathing becoming noticeably shallow as he stared at Harry’s wide eyes. "You don't just want to catch me, do you? You want to be caught. Do you get off?"
Harry’s hands gripped Draco’s shoulders, intended to push him away, but his fingers only dug deeper into the fabric. "Malfoy, shut up," Harry gasped, his voice cracking. "Just... shut up."
"Make me," Draco challenged, his smirk growing even more arrogant as he looked down at Harry's struggle to maintain control.
"Your girlfriend would be ashamed that you were gay"
"Shut..shut up Im not"
"Yeah?"
"..."
The doors slammed open "GET OFF HIM!"
Ron Weasley stood in the doorway, his chest heaving and his face a frantic shade of mottled red. He was clutching a heavy brass telescope like a club, his eyes wide with genuine terror. From his position across the room, all he saw was the silhouette of Draco Malfoy looming over a pinned, trembling Harry.
"What are you doing to him, Malfoy?! Are you trying to kill him?" Ron bellowed, charging toward them. "I knew you hadn't changed! I knew the Ministry trials were a joke!"
Ron was completely oblivious to the reality of the situation. He didn't notice the deep, feverish flush creeping up Harry’s neck or the way Harry’s hands were trembling..not from fear, but from the overwhelming physical reaction he was having to Draco's proximity. In his protective panic, Ron’s eyes stayed fixed on Draco’s hands, looking for a hidden wand or a weapon.
"Harry! Speak to me! Did he hex you?" Ron shouted, standing over them like a shield.
Draco didn’t move immediately. He took a slow, agonizing second to look down at Harry, his smirk sharpening as he felt the undeniable heat radiating from the Gryffindor beneath him. He knew exactly what Ron couldn't see. With a final, deliberate press of his knee, Draco rolled off Harry and stood up, smoothing his Slytherin robes with infuriating grace.
"Calm yourself, Weasley," Draco drawled, his voice low and cold, though his own breathing was slightly jagged. "Your precious savior just lost his footing. I was merely... ensuring he didn't crack his skull.""Bullsh—!" Ron spat, helping a shaky, bright-red Harry to his feet.
"You were pinning him down! Harry, why aren't you saying anything? You look like you're about to have a stroke!"Harry kept his back turned to Ron, trying to compose himself and understand what had just happened. "I'm... I'm fine, Ron," Harry managed to say, his voice a little unsteady. "Just... tripped. I'm okay."Draco watched Harry, a cool, calculating look
in his eyes. He leaned against a display case for Special Services to the School, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.
"He does look a bit flustered, Weasley," Draco commented, his gaze pointedly on Harry. "Perhaps you should take him back to the Gryffindor Common Room. He seems to need a moment to collect himself."
Chapter 5: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Summary:
SMUT
P.S I know Harry would never cheat! I added it because how in this story, draco breaks his savior complex, how Harry was like this hero like person, how good he is? and he folds under Draco's pressure and everyone elses while self discovering himself again so yes! he did cheat and only the start of Draco's manipulation that we will see
Chapter Text
"Goody Two-Shoes"
Drarry
The Hospital Wing was quiet, the only sound the distant ticking of a clock and the rustle of Harry’s starched sheets. Madam Pomfrey had finally ushered Ron and Hermione out, despite Ron’s frantic, misguided concern. He’d seen Harry’s flushed face and shaky hands and assumed it was some rare wizarding flu, never suspecting the truth: Harry wasn't sick.. he was just desperately, frustratingly restless.
Harry groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the sterile white light of the Hospital wing
The click of the double doors made him stiffen. He expected Ron to have doubled back with another Bezoar, but the footsteps were too light, too graceful.
“Still playing the martyr, Potter?”
Harry bolted upright, his heart hammering against his ribs. Draco Malfoy was standing at the foot of the bed, looking entirely too smug in his perfectly pressed robes. He didn't look like someone visiting a sick friend; he looked like a predator who had found exactly what he was looking for.
“Ron thinks you’re dying of a fever,” Draco drawled, taking a slow, predatory step closer. “But I can see it in your eyes. You’re not ill at all, are you? You’re just… wanting.”
“Get out, Malfoy,” Harry snapped, his voice cracking slightly. He tried to scramble back, but before he could reach for his wand, Draco moved with a speed that caught him off guard.
In one swift motion, Draco lunged forward, his hands slamming into the mattress on either side of Harry’s head. The force pushed Harry flat against the pillows, pinning him down. Draco leaned in until they were inches apart, his silver eyes searching Harry’s face with a cruel, knowing glint.
“What’s the matter, Harry?” Draco whispered, his breath hot against Harry’s skin. “Is the famous Golden Boy having thoughts he shouldn't be having? Is that why you’re hiding in here??"
Harry’s breath hitched, his hands catching Draco’s wrists in a futile attempt to push him away, but Draco didn't budge. He just smirked, enjoying the way Harry’s pulse was racing under his touch
Harry’s breath hitched, his fingers wrapping around Draco’s wrists in a desperate, failed attempt to shove him back. But Draco was a solid weight above him, unyielding and mocking. He didn’t move an inch..instead, he hovered there, a cruel smirk playing on his lips as he savored the frantic rhythm of Harry’s pulse thrumming beneath his skin.
The teasing glint in Draco’s eyes darkened as he shifted his weight. His free hand began a slow, deliberate crawl down the length of Harry’s arm a trail of fire against Harry's skin until he reached his hand. With a sudden, possessive force, Draco threaded his fingers through Harry’s, pinning his arm back against the mattress. He ground their palms together, digging his grip into the crumpled sheets with such intensity that it felt as though they were fused together, two halves of a storm that refused to break.
Draco leaned in and grazed the sensitive skin of Harry’s neck with his lips. The contact felt like a jolt of electricity. Harry froze as his breath caught in his throat. He did not pull away. Instead he let his head fall back against the pillow in a silent and frustrated surrender. Harry felt a sudden and desperate ache deep in his chest because he was so needy for the touch he had been denying himself.
Sensing that Harry was finally breaking Draco slid his hand from the sheets to cup the back of Harry’s head. His fingers tangled deep into those messy dark locks. He tilted Harry’s face up to lock their eyes for a split second before he crashed his lips onto Harry's.
The kiss was messy and frantic. It was fueled by years of unspoken tension and the heated atmosphere of the Hospital Wing. Harry made a muffled sound of protest against Draco’s mouth. His hands bunched up the fabric of Draco’s expensive robes to push him off but the resistance only lasted a heartbeat. Harry was far too starved for this. He was practically trembling with how much he wanted Draco to stay right where he was.
Draco moved closer as he felt Harry's compliance. He didn't just hold Harry; he dominated the space between them. He shoved Harry's shoulders back harder into the mattress. His grip on Harry's hair tightened as he forced the kiss deeper, moving with a jagged and demanding energy that left Harry breathless.
Harry’s grip shifted and his fingers dug into Draco’s shoulders as he began to kiss the blonde back with a biting intensity. He pulled Draco closer and tried to bridge every inch of space between them because he couldn't get enough. It was no longer a taunt. It was a collision of two people who were tired of fighting what they felt.
With a sudden jerk, Draco pulls back, his grip on Harry’s shirt tightening as he forces him back until Harry’s heels hit the floorboards. Draco doesn't let go; instead, he looks down his nose with that classic Malfoy smirk. "You’ve always been so desperate to please, haven't you? Prove it. On your knees, Harry. Show me how well you can behave.
Harry groans around his suck, the vibration humming pleasantly against his cock. His tongue swirls, sucking hungry like he's been starved. One hand slides down to cup his balls, massaging them while the other grips his thighs tighter pulling him deeper into his throat
Draco's head falls back with a groan as Harry starts sucking him off. His hands move to the back of his head, not pushing but holding him there. His cock hits the back of his throat repeatedly and he lets out a whimper.. "fuck"
Harry pulls off his cock with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting his lips to his tip. He looks up at draco with hazy eyes, his cheeks flushed "asshole"
Draco chuckles as he grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair "that's the thanks I get for letting you taste me?" His thumb traces to his bottom lip "Get back on it"
Harrys eyes narrow as a shiver went down his spine. His cock twitching against his own pants. He hates how he wants him.
"Make me" he says, spit dripping down his chin as he looked at Draco
Draco smirks, he releases Harry's hair. Before he could react, he grabbed his wrists and pushes you back onto the bed, climbing over him
"I said make me.. not fuc-"
Draco cuts him off slamming his hips down grinding his cock against his thighs
"You said make me, so shut up I'm making you take what you wanted? don't you want this?"
His belt came undone and he removed both of their clothes tossing them aside
"Fuck you.." Harry spat
"Too bad you're the one getting fucked"
He forced Harry's leg apart with his knee. One hand keeps his wrists pinned and the other wraps both of their cocks together, stroking roughly
"You still want to fight me?"
"Go fuck yourself"
Harry whimpers, he hates how good it feels, his face flushed a deeper shade of red.
Draco slams in without warning, Harry screams without warning, into the pillow trying to be quiet. His fingers clawing at the sheets but he doesn't stop.
Draco pauses, grinning down at Harry "Thought you had something to say? What was that?"
Harry chokes as his body shakes. His mouth opens and closes. Tears stream down his face as Draco starts moving.."Ngh" "Ah.."
Draco hands grip his hips tightly as he pounds into hi. He leans over him, his body covering his as he fucks him into the mattress. "So quiet now? wheres that smart mouth of yours? Too bad your girlfriend isn't here to see you."
Harry whimpers. His body jerking with each thrust. His cock is hard, leaking pre-cum onto his stomach despite the humiliating words, he spreads his legs wider taking Draco without realizing it "Shut..up"
He hits the spot inside of him, making Harry gasps and his eyes roll back. He wraps a hand around his throat. He squeezes harder as he starts fucking him harder
"Such a slut.."
Harry's breath comes in short desperate gasps as Draco squeezes his throat. He's at Draco's mercy. His cock twitching and leaking, but no where near close to cumming. Draco is making sure of it.
"I.."
Draco slows his pace to long strokes that drag over his prostate with each movement. Keeping his throat squeezed lightly, He leans down "What was that?... I cant hear you over how pathetic you sound" His thumb circles the slit of his cock, teasing him.
Chapter 6: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
"Goody Two-Shoes"
Drarry
"I.. I hate you. Draco.." Harry moaned, arching his back. He clutches Dracos shoulders, nails biting into his skin.
Draco smirks widen, loving the way Harry is acting.
He speeds up, his thumb pressing harder against the slit of his cock, spreading the precum around..
"Let.. me.. please let me..cum" Harry mutters, his face contorts with need.. His body moving instinctively to meet each thrust.
The pressure on his throat, with the teasing.. pushing him to he edge
Draco releases his throat, making him gasps and inhale.
He doesn't let up on Harry's cock. His hand wrapping around it squeezing it.
"You want to cum?"
Harry nods, "please.. yes.. I need.. please let me cum get it over with"
"Beg" He doesn't slow his thrust, still hitting his prostate with each movement, keeping him on the edge
Hours After
Harry stumbled out of the room, fumbling with his robes to hide the mess underneath. He yanked the fabric tight, but he couldn't shake the lingering heat or the ghostly pressure of Draco’s hand against his throat.
The shame hit him all at once.. sharp and suffocating. He was supposed to be with Ginny, yet here he was, breathless and disheveled from a man he was supposed to hate.
Harry practically tripped over his own feet as he rounded the corner, his gait uneven and frantic. His hair, usually a mess, was now a complete disaster—tufts sticking out at wild angles where fingers had recently gripped them. His robes were a map of deep creases and haphazardly fastened buttons, looking like they’d been thrown on in a blind panic.
"Blimey, Harry!" Ron called out, nearly colliding with him. Ron stared at the chaotic state of his best friend, his eyes widening—but only in mild amusement. "Rough session in the library? Or did you get caught in another magical windstorm? You look like you’ve been wrestled by a Hippogriff."
Harry didn't even stop, his pace never faltering as he shoved past. He couldn't risk Ron seeing the flush on his neck or the way his hands were shaking. He just kept moving, a blur of wrinkled fabric and frantic energy, leaving a confused Ron scratching his head in the middle of the corridor.
"Harry, wait up!" Ron called, hurrying after him as Harry’s frantic, uneven strides took him further down the corridor.
"Blimey, you look like you've been through a LOT. Didn't Madame Pomfrey just heal you up? Maybe we should head back.. get her to cook you up another potion, yeah? You look half-faint."
"No!" Harry cut him off, the word sharp and breathless. He didn't even turn around, his pace doubling as he practically fled.
The thought of going back to that room where the air was still heavy with Draco’s scent and where the memory of Draco’s hand against his throat felt like a brand made his stomach churn with a sickening mix of shame and panic. He couldn't go back there. He couldn't face the mess he’d made or the person he’d become in that room. He just needed to get away before the guilt, or Ron’s innocent concern, swallowed him whole.
"Ay, did Malfoy mess with you?" Ron asked, his voice tightening with suspicion as he fell into step. "I saw that git slipping out just before I got there. He’s up to no good, Harry.. look at the state of you! You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards."
Harry didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He felt messy and frantic, his gait uneven as his wrinkled robes twisted around his legs. His hair was a wild, knotted disaster, and his collar was pulled up awkwardly high to hide the heat still radiating from his skin.
Inside, his mind was a storm. He felt the crushing weight of guilt. the image of Ginny’s face flashed in his mind like a reprimand—but beneath the shame was something darker and far more addictive. For the first time, he wasn't the "Boy Who Lived" or the perfect savior everyone expected him to be.
With Draco’s hand around his throat, he didn't have to be good. He didn't have to live up to anyone's standards.
Draco had made him feel something raw and terrifying that Ginny’s steady, "perfect" love never could. He hated himself for it, and he wasn't ready to admit it yet, but the seed was planted. The perfect goody-two-shoes image was cracking. Right now, he was running away in a panic, but deep down, he was already beginning to crave the chaos only Draco could provide.
Chapter 7: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
"Goody Two-Shoes"
Drarry
The stone walls of the darkened corridor felt like they were closing in as Harry shoved at Draco’s chest, his breath hitching. "We need to stop, Malfoy. It was one time.. a mistake. That’s it."
Draco didn't budge. He simply leaned into Harry’s space, his shadow swallowing him against the cold masonry. He began to trail his lips slowly along the line of Harry’s jaw with a predatory, agonizing deliberateness.
"One time?" Draco hummed, his voice a low, mocking drawl that echoed off the empty portraits.
"Oh shut it, W already crossed the line."
"I’m with Ginny,"
Harry snapped, though it sounded more like a plea in the hollow silence of the hallway.
Draco pulled back just enough to lock eyes, a cruel, jagged smirk playing on his lips.
"Oh, spare me the 'loyal hero' routine. It’s positively nauseating. If you actually felt a shred of devotion for that little Weasley girl, you would’ve hexed me into the infirmary the second I touched you."
He stepped even closer, pinning Harry against the damp stone until there was nowhere left to look but into those cold, grey eyes.
"But you stayed, didn't you? You didn't reach for your wand once," Draco whispered, his tone dripping with poisonous amusement. "So tell me, wannabe savior, is it 'loyalty' keeping you quiet, or are you just too much of a coward to admit you’ve been enjoying yourself?"
The rhythmic click-clack of footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor, bouncing off the stone walls. Harry froze, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"I'm telling you to stop," Harry hissed, his voice cracking as he shoved fruitlessly at Draco’s chest. "Please. I love her."
Draco didn’t flinch. Instead, he let out a low, jagged laugh that felt like a serrated blade.
"Oh, do you? How touching." He leaned in, his lips brushing Harry’s ear, his voice dropping to a venomous, mocking purr.
"You don’t love her, Potter. You never did. If you felt even a spark of that legendary Gryffindor devotion that they so called praise, you wouldn't have spent the last hour letting me ruin you. So quit the saintly act.. it’s embarrassing."
The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the faint glow of a lantern reflecting off the corner. Harry panicked, glancing toward the light, but Draco only stepped closer, pinning him more firmly against the cold masonry.
"Don’t you think it’s about time they start to notice?" Draco drawled, his eyes alight with cruel amusement. "How painfully obsessed you are with me? You’ve been stalking my every move since sixth year, Harry. It was never about 'suspicion,' was it? It was a craving. Craving for validation you know, you'll never have gotten"
He tilted his head, listening to the approaching professor with a smirk that promised total destruction. "Go on then. Shout for help. Tell them the Great Savior was caught in a dark corner with a Death Eater’s son. Pinned against the wall, face flushed Or are you too busy wondering if I'll do it again?"
The lantern light flickered against the far wall, and the heavy, rhythmic thud of Professor McGonagall’s boots grew dangerously close. Harry’s heart leaped into his throat. In a blind, panicked instinct to silence the smirk off Draco’s face, he reached out and coiled his fingers into the silk of Draco’s tie, jerking him forward until their chests collided.
Harry crashed his lips against Draco’s, stifling the blonde’s mocking laughter with a desperate, bruising kiss. "Shut up," Harry hissed against his mouth, his voice a jagged whisper. "Just… shut up before they hear you."
"Mmm, look at you," Draco purred, his voice a silk-wrapped needle. He didn't lower his volume, seemingly delighted by the risk of the approaching footsteps. "The Golden Boy, reduced to a desperate whiny boy Is this how you imagined your final year, Potter? Shaking like a leaf because you're terrified your precious Weasley will find out you’ve got my taste in your mouth?"
"Shut up," Harry hissed, his eyes darting toward the encroaching glow of McGonagall’s lantern. "I’m warning you, Draco--"
"Oh, you're warning me?" Draco cut him off with a sharp, jagged laugh that sounded like breaking glass in the quiet hall. He leaned down, his nose brushing against Harry's, his grey eyes alight with cruel triumph.
"What are you going to do? Tell her you were just 'investigating' me again? Or will you tell her the truth.. that you’ve been obsessed with me since you first saw me, and the nights you spent with me is what you finally got what you wanted?"
The footsteps paused. McGonagall was standing right at the mouth of the corridor now, her silhouette tall and sharp. "Who’s there? Show yourself at once!"
Draco didn’t flinch. Instead, he reached up and slowly, deliberately curled his fingers around Harry's wrist, pulling Harry’s hand—still clutching the tie—closer to his own throat.
"Go on then, Savior," Draco mocked, his breath hot and smelling of mint and malice. "Call her over. End the suspense. Or are you going to keep kissing me to keep me quiet? Because I have to say... I find your desperation much more entertaining than your 'love' for that girl."
"Is someone there?" McGonagall’s voice was sharp, suspicious. Her footsteps slowed as she reached the mouth of their alcove
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body trembling as he pressed himself into Draco, trying to disappear into the black wool of Draco’s robes. He could feel Draco’s chest shaking with silent, cruel laughter against his own. Draco pulled back just a fraction of an inch, his lips hovering over Harry’s, damp and swollen.
"Good boy," Draco whispered, the words dripping with enough mockery to make Harry’s skin crawl. "Look at you... groveling for silence. Does she kiss you like this, Harry? Or does she only get the boring, saintly version of you while I get the real one?"
Draco stepped back, smoothing his robes with a slow, agonizingly deliberate grace. He looked at Harry as if he were something particularly pathetic he'd found on the bottom of his shoe. "She’s gone. You can stop pretending to be 'forced' into this now. But we both know the truth, don't we? You didn't kiss me to keep me quiet. You kissed me because you’re a coward who needs an excuse to do what you’ve wanted to do since the moment you saw me in that bathroom."
He leaned in one last time, his voice a venomous ghost of a taunt. "Go on then. Run back to her. Go play house. But every time she touches you, you’re going to taste me. And we both know who you’ll be thinking of when you close your eyes tonight."
The silence that followed the retreating footsteps of McGonagall was deafening, broken only by Harry’s ragged, humiliated breathing. Draco stood there, smoothing a non-existent wrinkle on his sleeve with a look of bored superiority that made Harry’s vision swim with heat.
"What’s the matter, Potter?" Draco drawled, his voice a jagged edge of sarcasm. "Cat got your tongue? Or are you just struggling to reconcile the 'Golden Boy' image with the fact that you were just begging me for silence with your mouth?"
The dam broke. Harry didn’t think. He didn't weigh the consequences or the House points. He just felt the white-hot surge of magic snapping in his veins.
"Stupefy!" Harry roared, his wand clearing his pocket in a blur of motion.
Draco was fast he’d always been fast but he was too busy admiring his own reflection in the polish of his shoes. The red jet of light caught him square in the chest, slamming him backward into the stone wall with a heavy, satisfying thud. His head snapped back against the masonry, and his silver-blond hair disarrayed for the first time all night.
Draco slid down the wall, his eyes wide with a flicker of genuine shock before they narrowed into something far more dangerous. He didn't look hurt; he looked delighted.
"Oh, bravo," Draco spat, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip where he'd bitten it on impact. He looked at the red smear on his thumb and let out a short, mocking bark of a laugh. "There he is. The legendary temper. Did that make you feel better, Harry? Did hitting me make you feel like you haven't betrayed every single person who actually believes in you?"
He started to climb to his feet, his movements fluid and predatory despite the hex. "Go on. Do it again. Maybe if you curse me enough, you can pretend you didn't enjoy it. But we both know that every time you close your eyes, you’re going to see this hallway. You’re going to feel me. And you’re going to hate yourself for how much you want to come back for more."
He spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor near Harry's shoes. "Now run along to your little girlfriend. Tell her you were 'policing the halls.' Just make sure you wash my scent off your collar first. It’s a bit... distinctive, don't you think?"
Chapter 8: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Notes:
Thank you so much for 102 Likes!
AHH I LOVE YOU ALL
Chapter Text
"Goody Two-Shoes"
Drarry
"Hi, Harry? Are you okay?" Ginny asked, her voice trailing off as she stepped closer. Her confusion was plain as she looked at his bird's-nest hair and the feverish, blotchy flush across his cheeks. "You seem... annoyed. Where were you?"
Harry pulled back, his pulse still hammering from the frantic minutes he’d just spent pressed against a cold stone wall with Draco. His lips felt swollen, and the scent of Draco’s expensive cologne was so thick on his robes he was certain she’d smell it if she took one more step.
"I was just out, Ginny. Leave it," he snapped, his voice harsher than he intended.
Ginny flinched, her eyes narrowing. "You were out? Your shirt is tucked in wrong, Harry, and you look like you’ve been in a fight or something else." She reached out, her fingers catching on a stray silver thread clinging to his collar. Her face went pale as she realized it wasn't his. "Is that... Malfoy's?"
"You barely talk to me, yesterday you haven't texted me. I've asked Ron he was just as clueless."
"He’s been tailing me all evening," Harry snapped, his voice tight as he swatted her hand away from his collar. He felt the heat in his face intensify, but he leaned into the lie, hoping his genuine irritation at being caught would pass for anger. "I caught him lurking near the Charms corridor. We got into it..shoving, mostly. That’s why I’m a mess."
Ginny looked from the silver thread to his swollen lips, her eyes searching his for any sign of a truth she didn't want to find. "A fight? Harry, you look... breathless. Not angry. Just flustered."
"Because he’s a prat, Ginny! He knows exactly how to get under my skin," Harry countered, heart hammering against his ribs. He turned his back to her, pretending to fix his robes while actually hiding the frantic tremor in his hands. "He wouldn't let it go, and neither would I. If I look a mess, it’s because Malfoy doesn't know when to quit."
"Malfoy? he can just jump you in a corridor and get away with it, he’s wrong!" Ginny fumed, her face turning a shade of Weasley-red that rivaled Harry’s own flush. She was pacing now, her hands clenched into shaking fists.
"I am sick of him, Harry! He’s a spineless little ferret who only acts tough when he thinks no one’s looking. To leave you looking like this?" She gestured wildly at his bird's-nest hair and his bitten, swollen lip. "He’s vile, bottom-feeding trash. He’s probably just jealous because he’s a nobody and you’re everything he’ll never be."
She stopped right in front of him, her eyes burning with protective rage.
"Next time I see that pointy-faced loser, I’m going to hit him with a Bat-Bogey Hex he’ll never forget. He needs to learn his place, and it’s definitely not putting his hands on you."
Harry felt a sickening jolt of guilt. Hearing her defend him so fiercely while the literal scent of the "trash" she was insulting still lingered on his skin made his stomach twist
"Look, Ginny, it wasn't even like that," Harry blurted out, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. He couldn't stand hearing her talk about Draco that way not after the way Draco had just held him. "He’s not… he wasn’t being a coward. It was just a heated moment, alright? He’s actually been under a lot of pressure lately."
The room went deathly silent. Ginny stopped pacing, her head snapping around to stare at him. Her eyes, previously wide with protective rage, narrowed into thin, dangerous slits.
"Under pressure?" she repeated, her voice dropping to a low, icy whisper. "You’re defending him? Harry, that 'slimy ferret' just put his hands on you, messed you up, and left you looking like this, and your first instinct is to tell me he’s having a hard time?"
She stepped into his personal space, her gaze raking over his flushed face and the specific way his collar was turned inward. The anger in her expression shifted, replaced by a sudden, sickening suspicion.
"Why are you protecting him?" she asked, her voice trembling with a realization she didn't want to voice. "Since when do you care about Draco Malfoy’s feelings?"
"I’m just being the bigger person, Ginny! Blimey," Harry said, his voice cracking slightly as he forced a weary, righteous sigh. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, trying to look like a saint rather than a cheater. "Look. I’m tired of the constant hexing and the petty hallway brawls. If he’s acting out because his life is a mess, I’m not going to sink to his level by hating him back. It’s called growth."
"Growth? You're talking about growth?!" Ginny’s voice cracked, escalating into a full-blown scream that echoed off the stone walls. "You look like you’ve been rolled in a ditch, Harry! Your hair is a disaster, your face is purple, and you’re standing there defending that slimy, pathetic coward like he’s some kind of martyr!"
"I’m just being the bigger person, Ginny! God, drop it!" Harry yelled back, his own guilt fueling a defensive rage. He stepped toward her, trying to tower over her, but she didn't flinch. "I’m tired of the hating! If Malfoy’s a mess, that’s his business, but I’m not going to spend my life hexing him just to make you happy!"
"Don't you dare make this about me!" Ginny shrieked, shoving his shoulder. "You didn't 'grow,' Harry! You went out and got into it with a bottom-feeding Death Eater, and now you're standing in front of me lying about it! Why are you protecting him? Why does it sound like you care more about his 'pressure' than the fact that he just put his hands on you?"
"Maybe because he's not the monster you think he is!" Harry roared, the truth clawing at his throat, desperate to get out.
Ginny froze, her chest heaving, her eyes wild with a sudden, sickening clarity. "You’re defending that piece of trash? After everything? Harry, did you get cursed! Is that it? Did that pointy-faced loser finally find a way to get to you, or are you just a pathetic liar?"
"You’re being insane, Ginny! It was a fight! We were shoving each other in the corridor, that’s it!" Harry yelled, his voice cracking as he paced the room like a caged animal. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still feel Draco’s lips against his neck, making the lie feel like a physical weight in his chest.
"A shove doesn't leave you looking like you've been thoroughly unraveled! You looked wrecked, Your hairs a mess, your clothes, did he choke you? Like you have his hands print on his neck? How bad was the fight and why are you defending him" Ginny shrieked back, her face a mask of pure, indignant fury. "I know Draco Malfoy! He’s a slimy, weak-willed brat who uses words because he’s too scared to use his fists! Since when does he get close enough to pull your hair out of its tie?!"
"Maybe he’s faster than you think!" Harry roared, desperate to end the interrogation. "He caught me off guard, okay? I’m frustrated, I’m tired, and I don't want to talk about that pathetic git anymore!"
"Oh, so now he's pathetic again?" Ginny stepped into his space, her eyes searching his, but she was looking for a physical blow, not a betrayal of the heart. "You’re defending his 'pressure' one second and calling him a loser the next! You’re acting like a maniac, Harry! Did he hit you with a Confundus Charm? Is that why you’re acting so twitchy and weird?"
She was so close to the truth, yet miles away. She was convinced Malfoy had done something to him—a hex, a curse, a cheap shot—never dreaming that Harry had gone to him willingly.
"I'm not twitchy! I'm angry!" Harry slammed his hand against the table, the loud crack echoing through the room. "Just leave it alone! Go find someone else to obsess over if you hate Malfoy so much!"
Ginny stood her ground, her chest heaving. "Fine! If you’re going to be a liar and protect that piece of trash, then go ahead! But don't expect me to feel sorry for you when that bottom-feeder stabs you in the back again!"
"He doesn't know you like me. I care about you. He doesn't and he will never!"
Chapter 9: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORTTTTT YAYAYAY
I loved it when Draco teased or mock Harry so I tried my best to include it! >O<
ALSO I HAVE A GINNYS POV ON THIS SITUATION! SPOILERS THEY WILL GET CAUGHTT UH
Yes being with Draco wouldnt be all happy and rainbows as he's TOXIC YAYYAYAYAY LOVE TOXIC DRACO YAYAYA
Chapter 10: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
"Goody Two-Shoes"
Drarry
Ginny's Pov
"Girl to girl, Hermione... do you think Harry still loves me?" I asked, my voice trembling as I stared into my tea, the steam blurring my vision.
Hermione paused, her quill hovering over her parchment. She looked at me with immediate concern. "I mean, of course he does, Ginny. Why? What on earth happened?"
"We had a massive row yesterday," I said, the memory of his flushed, frantic face making my stomach twist. "He came back looking like he’d been dragged through a hedge..his hair was a disaster, he was all bruised and beaten up. He said Malfoy jumped him, but then... he defended him."
Hermione’s eyes went wide, her mouth dropping open. "What? Is he mad? Defending Malfoy?"
"That’s what I said! But he just kept shouting over me, saying Draco is 'different' now, and how he’s 'misunderstood' because of the pressure he’s under," I scoffed, the name Draco feeling like poison on my tongue. "He was acting like that slimy little ferret was some kind of victim instead of the bottom-feeding trash he actually is."
"I love that boy, I really do," Hermione said, shaking her head slowly, "but he’s been acting so strange lately. It’s like I don’t even recognize him."
"It’s not just the fight," I whispered, leaning in closer. "I’ve noticed he’s been so secretive. Always 'going for walks,' snapping at me for no reason... I just assumed he was stressed or tired, you know? But now..."
"I trailed off, that shimmering silver thread on his collar flashing in my mind like a warning. I didn't want to believe Harry would lie to me...he’s supposed to be the 'Boy Who Lived,' the honest hero..but the way he’d fought for Malfoy’s honor felt like a physical blow to my chest."
"Maybe..." Hermione began, her brow furrowing as she tapped her chin. "I always thought Harry was the perfect, caring golden boyfriend. The kind who wouldn't have a secretive bone in his body."
She reached across the table, squeezing my hand reassurringly. "Maybe you should just go and talk to him one more time. He usually has a reasonable answer for everything, even if he's being a bit of a prat right now. He loves you, Ginny, there's absolutely no doubt about that."
I wanted to believe her. I really did. But the image of Harry’s flushed face and his desperate defense of that slimy ferret kept playing on a loop in my head.I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to believe Hermione’s words. He’s the golden boy, I whispered to myself. He has a reasonable answer. But as I searched the common room and found only empty chairs, that heavy, oily gut feeling pulled me toward the dungeons. My feet moved on their own, guided by a suspicion I was praying was wrong.
I rounded the corner near the Slytherin entrance and froze. The air in the corridor felt like ice, but the scene before me was burning.
There, pressed against the damp stone wall, was Harry. He wasn't fighting. He wasn't being bullied. He was pinned..against the wall by Draco Malfoy. Draco’s pale, slender hands were buried in Harry’s messy hair, tilting his head back to deepen a kiss so hungry and desperate it made my stomach turn.
Harry’s eyes were drifted shut, his fingers clutching at the front of Draco's expensive robes, pulling that slimy, bottom-feeding ferret even closer. My heart didn't just break; it dropped into the pit of my stomach, leaving a cold, hollow ache in its wake. My "golden boyfriend" wasn't being the bigger person. He was a liar and a traitor.
Suddenly, Draco’s eyes snapped open. He didn't pull away in shock. Instead, a slow, predatory smirk spread across his pale face as he locked eyes with me over Harry’s shoulder. He knew. He had probably known I was there the whole time.
With a final, lingering brush of his lips against Harry’s, Draco leaned in and whispered something into Harry's ear..now enough that it was almost a caress.
"Turn around, Potter," he murmured, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction.
Harry’s entire body went rigid. His face, already flushed from the kiss, drained of all color until he looked like a ghost. Without another word, Draco straightened his robes, gave me one last mocking look, and vanished behind the stone wall of the Slytherin common room.
He left Harry standing there, trembling and terrified, forced to face the wreckage of his own betrayal.
"How long?" she whispered, the words vibrating with a cold, jagged edge. She stepped into the flickering torchlight, her eyes tracking the frantic way Harry’s hands flew to his robes, trying to smooth out the places where Draco’s grip had literalized his betrayal.
"How long have you been cheating on me with that vile piece of trash, Harry?"
The silence that followed was deafening. The 'Golden Boy' armor Harry had worn for years didn't just crack...it shattered into dust on the dungeon floor. He looked at her, the girl who was supposed to be his 'perfect' ending, and felt a sickening wave of nausea. But beneath the guilt was a terrifying, electric surge of relief. The lie was dead.
"Ginny, I—"
"Don't!" she barked, her legendary temper exploding as she caught sight of a fresh, dark bruise blooming on his neck—a mark left by the very lips she had just seen pressed against his.
"I saw how you looked at him! I saw the way you melted into his touch like he was the only thing keeping you upright!"
Harry stood there, disheveled, his hair matted and his scent a ruinous mix of his own and Draco’s expensive cologne. "I'm not... I just don't know!" he stammered, his voice cracking.
"I saw you kiss him, Harry!" Ginny shrieked, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "I’ve watched you for months! I thought you were obsessed with the rivalry, stalking him on that Map because you were suspicious."
She stepped into his space, her eyes burning with a scorched-earth clarity. "I saw you kiss a Death Eater. With my own eyes."
"Ginny, please—"
"But cheat? This isn't the Harry Potter the world knows," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper that hurt worse than a scream. "The Harry I know wouldn't crawl into the gutter with Malfoy."
"Ginny, wait! Please!" Harry lunged forward, his dignity abandoned as he grabbed her sleeve, his fingers trembling against her skin. "Don't go! I can fix this! I can be the man you need! I can be the hero again!"
He was spiraling, the sudden fear of losing his curated, perfect life eclipsing the thrill Draco had just given him. He felt the weight of his messy clothes and the marks on his skin like lead weights dragging him under. "Please," he begged, his eyes stinging with desperate, pathetic tears.
"Don't tell Ron. Don't tell anyone. I’ll do anything...I’ll never see him again! Just don't tell them what you saw! I’m still the same Harry!"
Ginny looked down at his hand on her arm as if it were a venomous spider. She wrenched herself away, her face hardening into a mask of pure, unreachable disgust.
"The Harry I knew wouldnt do this to me, maybe he died when you started sleeping around with him.. ITS DRACO.. Draco out of all people." she said, her voice dead and flat. "And I don't think I even like the one who's left."
Without a backward glance, she turned and sprinted toward the stairs, leaving Harry collapsed against the cold stone, the ghost of Draco’s smirk still haunting the air around him.
"Ginny! Ginny, stop!"
Harry’s voice tore through the silence of the dungeons, a jagged, desperate sound. He ignored the burning in his lungs and the way his untidy robes flapped around his ankles, tripping over his own feet as he scrambled up the stone stairs after her.
"Leave me alone, Harry!"
She screamed back, not even turning around. Her footsteps were a frantic, rhythmic pounding against the floor, echoing his own heartbeat.
"Please!" He lunged, his fingers catching the fabric of her cloak just as they reached the landing. He yanked, forcing her to spin around.
"You have to listen to me! I was confused, I—it didn't mean anything! It was just... it was a mistake!"
Ginny’s face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury, her eyes wet with tears she refused to let fall.
"A mistake? You were starved for him, Harry! I saw your face! You weren't 'confused,' you were his!"
She shoved him back with both hands, her strength fueled by a heartbreak that was rapidly turning into hatred.
"Don't you dare stand there in your wrinkled clothes, with his marks on your skin, and tell me it was a mistake!"
"I'll stop! I'll never speak to him again, I swear on my life!"
Harry fell to his knees, his hands clutching at her robes, his dignity completely shattered. The 'Boy Who Lived' was gone, replaced by a terrified boy begging to keep his golden reputation. "Think about Ron, think about your mum! If you tell them... it’ll destroy everything. Please, Ginny. For the sake of the family. I’ll be who you want! I’ll be the Harry everyone expects!"
Ginny looked down at him, her lip curling in a way that mirrored the very boy Harry had just been kissing. The disgust in her eyes was a physical weight.
"You’re a coward, Harry Potter," she whispered, her voice trembling with a deadly quiet. "You’re more of a coward than Malfoy ever was. At least he has the guts to be the villain. You’re just a liar pretending to be a hero."
She wrenched her cloak out of his trembling grip, the fabric snapping like a whip. "Don't follow me. If you come near me again, I won't just tell Ron. I’ll make sure the whole school knows exactly what kind of 'hero' you really are."
She turned and vanished into the darkness of the corridor, leaving Harry slumped on the floor, the cold stone seeping into his bones as he realized that no matter how much he begged, the Golden Boy was dead and buried.
Harry didn’t let her go. He scrambled to his feet, chasing her through the corridors, his voice raw and cracking as he shouted her name. Every time she turned to hex him, he didn’t even flinch; he just stood there, eyes red and pleading, taking her Vitriol like it was his penance.
"Ginny, please! I was possessed, I was confused—it was a moment of madness!" he cried, cornering her near the Fat Lady’s portrait. He was a wreck; his tie was gone, his shirt was rumpled, and he looked nothing like the Savior of the Wizarding World. He looked like a beggar. "I’ll do anything. I’ll take a Vow! I’ll never look at the dungeons again! Just don’t leave me. Don't tell the boys."
For days, he was her shadow. He ignored Ron, he ignored Hermione, and he certainly ignored the dark, expectant glares Draco threw his way from the Slytherin table. Harry stayed glued to Ginny’s side, whispering apologies into her ear during Herbology, leaving desperate, tear-stained notes in her book bag, and lingering outside the girls' dormitory until the early hours of the morning.
"Get away from me, Harry! You’re pathetic!" she hissed one afternoon in the library, throwing a heavy tome at his chest.
"I know! I am pathetic!" Harry choked out, not even picking up the book, his hands trembling as he reached for hers. "I’m a mess without you. I need you to keep me straight, Ginny. I need you to be my anchor. That... that thing with Malfoy? It was a sickness. You’re the cure. Please. Just one more chance to prove I’m the man you think I am."
He broke her down with sheer, relentless desperation. He wept openly in front of her, promising her the world, promising her a life where Draco Malfoy didn't even exist. He played on her loyalty to her family, on her love for the "Golden Boy" image they had built together.
Finally, weeks later, standing in the moonlit Astronomy Tower, Ginny looked at his hollowed-out eyes and his frantic expression. She felt a surge of power—and a lingering, bitter sting of hurt—but she sighed, her shoulders finally dropping.
"Fine," she whispered, her voice cold and hard as flint. "I won't tell. And we’ll stay together. But Harry? If I ever see a silver thread on you again, or if you even breathe in his direction... I will ruin you. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Harry gasped, lunging forward to wrap his arms around her, burying his face in her hair to hide the sudden, involuntary shudder that went through him. "Anything. I'm yours, Ginny. Only yours."
He had his "perfect" life back, but as he held her, his mind drifted back to the cold stone wall and the smirk on Draco’s face. He had won his forgiveness, but he had lost his soul.
Chapter 11: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
"Goody Two-Shoes"
Drarry
"Oh, wow. Lying to your precious girlfriend? Telling her you love her, blah blah blah?" Draco grinned, clearly enjoying himself.
"Sod off, Malfoy," I snapped. "I'm done with you."
"Is that so?" he stepped closer, his voice dropping.
"You certainly weren't saying that when I was sneaking you into my room last night."
"Shut up! You saw her there. You knew she’d find out about us," Harry snapped, his face red with anger and shame.
Draco just laughed, leaning against the wall like he didn't have a care in the world. "Oh, did I? My mistake," he said, his voice full of mock pity.
"But honestly, Harry, watching you try to explain that away was the best part of my day. You looked absolutely pathetic.."
He stepped closer, a mean smirk on his face.
"Don't act all high and mighty now. You’re the one who played 'perfect boyfriend' while sneaking into my room every single night. It’s actually kind of funny how much you lied to her."
Draco reached out and flicked Harry’s forehead. "Does she know you were thinking of me while you were holding her hand? Poor girl. You ditched her and your friends for any chance with me."
Harry shoved Draco’s hand away, looking completely fed up. "Get lost, Malfoy. You’re just a bored jerk looking for trouble. You got what you wanted, so just leave me alone."
Harry tried to turn away, but Draco’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm and pulling him back.
"I’m not done with you, Potter," Draco sneered, his grip tightening.
"You don't just get to walk away after making such a mess. It’s too much fun watching you squirm."
Harry tugged at his arm, his face twisted with annoyance.
"Let go, Malfoy! You already ruined everything. Isn't that enough for you?"
Draco leaned in, his eyes cold and mocking.
"Ruined? I think I improved things. Now you don't have to pretend to be a 'good guy' anymore. We both know what you really are."
Harry shoved Draco back hard, his chest heaving with anger.
"I said let go! You’re a sociopath, Malfoy. You don’t care about her, and you clearly don’t care about me. You just wanted to see if you could make me ruin my life, didn't you?"
Draco stumbled back a step, but he didn't look mad. Instead, he let out a slow, cocky laugh and straightened his robes, looking more arrogant than ever.
"Oh, Harry," Draco purred, his voice dripping with manipulation.
"Of course I wanted to see if I could. And look how easy it was. One little look from me, one quiet invite to my room, and you threw away your 'perfect' life without a second thought."
He stepped back into Harry’s space, completely unfazed by the shove.
"You think you’re better than me? You’re the one who lied to her face for weeks. I didn’t force you to stay in my bed.. you chose to. I just gave you the chance to be the mess you really are. I own you, Potter. I proved that the moment she walked in and saw us."
"Plus if you wanted to be over.. you wouldn't have followed me?"
"Just admit you want me"
Chapter 12: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
GUYS IM BACKKKKKKKKKKKK
I FINISHED HIGH SCHOOL WITH HIGH HONORS!!!!!! IVE BEEN WRITTING ON HERE SINCE MIDDLE SCHOOL WITH OTHER DIFFERENT ACCOUNTS USERNAMES I DONT REMEMBER WHICH BUT OH MY GOD THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT!! WILL BE FINISHING THANK YOU
Chapter 13: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
Goody Two-Shoes
Smut
Harry stepped in, completely crossing the line into Draco’s personal space. He slammed his hand against the stone wall right next to Draco’s head, getting directly up in his face. "You think this is a game?" Harry hissed, his voice cracking with pure rage.
"You think you can just fuck up my entire life because you're bored? You're a miserable, selfish piece of shit, Malfoy. I hate you. I fucking hate you!"
Draco didn't flinch. Even with Harry’s breath hot against his skin and Harry's face inches from his own, the mean, infuriating smirk stayed firmly on his lips. His gray eyes flashed with a dangerous amusement.
"Are you done throwing your tantrum, Potter?" Draco whispered. Before Harry could yell another curse, Draco’s movements became a blur.
He didn't just grab Harry's arm this time. He used Harry’s own forward momentum against him. Draco seized Harry by the shoulder, twisted him around with shocking force, and slammed him facefirst against the cold stone wall.
Harry let out a sharp gasp as his chest hit the stone, the impact knocking the air right out of his lungs. Before he could struggle, kick back, or even draw breath to yell
Draco was entirely crowding him from behind. He slammed his body weight into Harry, flattening him ruthlessly against the wall and pinning him firmly in place.
Draco’s left hand shot down with brutal efficiency. He grabbed both of Harry’s wrists in one sweeping, iron grip, forcing them together tightly against the small of Harry's back.
He wrenched Harry’s hands upward just enough to send a sharp jolt of tension through Harry's shoulders, ensuring he couldn't get enough leverage to wrench free. With his right hand, Draco drew his wand.
He point it directly into the back of Harry's head, pressing it deep into his messy dark hair until it bit against his scalp.
"Move and I'll hex you into next week," Draco murmured, his voice a low, gravelly purr. His breath brushed warm and agonizingly slow against the sensitive skin at the back of Harry's neck, sending an involuntary shiver straight down Harry's spine
Harry went completely rigid, his cheek pressed flat against the rough, cold stone of the empty corridor. The contrast between the freezing wall on his face and the blistering heat of Draco pressed flush against his back was driving him insane. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, his blood roaring in his ears.
"Let go of me, Malfoy," Harry growled, thrashing his upper body hard against the wall. The move was entirely useless; Draco just shifted his weight, locking his hip tightly against Harry’s thigh to anchor him completely. Harry’s face flushed a deep, furious crimson. "I said get the fuck off me! You think you're so clever, don't you? You think you can just handle me like this?"
"I don't think, Potter. I know," Draco teased, a dark, breathless chuckle vibrating directly through his chest and into Harry’s back. He pressed the wand a fraction harder against Harry's head. "Look at you. Searing hot, panting like a dog, and still trying to bark. It’s pathetic. You’re practically begging me to keep you right here."
"I am going to make you regret this," Harry hissed, his fingers twitching wildly inside the unrelenting grip. He was shaking with pure, unadulterated fury, a suffocating tension rising in his chest as he struggled against the confinement. "Let me go, Malfoy, or I swear the next time I see you in the Great Hall, you won't be smiling."
"With what strength, Harry?" Draco whispered mockingly, his tone dropping from arrogant teasing into something far more dangerous, calculated, and sharp. He shifted his weight, ensuring the pressure remained constant, a calculated display of dominance.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of Harry's ear. "You think you're mad at me, but you're not, are you? You're mad at yourself. You're mad because you know I’m the only one who sees you for who you actually are. Your little girlfriend? She loves the Savior. She loves the poster boy. If she knew what you really craved.. what you come down to the dark to get every single night—she'd look at you with absolute disgust."
"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!" Harry yelled, his voice strained and fracturing under the weight of his frustration. He closed his eyes tightly, his forehead thudding against the stone.
"Why? Because it hurts to hear the truth?" Draco murmured, his voice smooth like silk and dripping with mock sympathy. He slowly dragged the tip of his wand down the back of Harry's neck, tracing the line of his spine through his robes, a deliberate gesture meant to break whatever resolve Harry had left.
"You don't want to leave, Harry. If you wanted to leave, you would have used your magic by now. But you didn't. You wanted me to catch you. You wanted me to put you against this wall so you could blame me for what happens next. You're a coward, Potter. You let me play the villain so you can keep pretending you're the victim."
Harry’s mouth opened, but only a sharp, fractured gasp came out. The anger was still boiling in his veins, but Draco’s words were a poison, seeping under his skin because he knew, deep down, that the lie was working. The sheer intensity of the manipulation made the empty hallway feel suffocatingly hot.
"Tell me you're not furious," Draco challenged, his voice a low, heavy demand as he pressed himself entirely against Harry's back. "Tell me you don't want to give up. I dare you."
Harry’s body went entirely slack against the stone wall, the last of his fierce resistance completely dissolving. The relentless psychological weight of Draco’s words had broken through his defenses, leaving him shivering, compliant, and utterly defeated.
"Good boy," Draco murmured, his voice dripping with smooth, dark satisfaction as he recognized the sudden change in Harry's posture.
Draco released the punishing iron grip on Harry's wrists. Harry didn't even try to pull away or reach for his own wand; his arms simply dropped uselessly to his sides, his head hanging low as he stared at the floor. He stood there, frozen and heavy with shame, waiting for whatever Draco chose to do next.
With a cold chuckle, Draco grabbed Harry by the waist and forced his upper body down, bending him roughly over a low stone ledge protruding from the corridor wall. Harry didn't fight it. He gripped the edge of the stone to steady himself, his breath hitching as Draco crowded over him from behind, trapping him entirely against the cold surface.
"Open up," Draco ordered, his tone low, demanding, and completely devoid of options.
Harry obeyed without a word, parting his lips with a quiet gasp. Draco slid the smooth, polished wood of his wand directly between Harry's teeth, shoving it into his mouth. The cold tip rested heavily against the back of Harry's tongue, a vivid, constant reminder of exactly who held absolute power in the dark corridor. Harry choked back a soft whine, his eyes wide and watering behind his glasses as he stared blankly at the wall, completely silenced.
With his wand pinning Harry’s mouth, Draco used his free hand to thoroughly map the lines of Harry's body. His fingers slid firmly over Harry’s ribs, gripping his hips with a punishing, bruising pressure that left no doubt about his possession.
Draco's hand slid upward, tracing the frantic, pounding rhythm of Harry’s heart through his shirt, mocking the terrifying adrenaline rushing through the Gryffindor's veins."Look at you,"
Draco whispered maliciously against the back of Harry's neck, his fingers tightening against Harry's hip, pulling him back flush against him.
"No more shouting. No more lies. Just a perfect, obedient little dog. This is exactly where you belong, isn't it, Potter?"Harry couldn't answer. He could only let out a muffled, trembling breath around the wand, his fingers clutching the stone ledge so tightly his knuckles turned white. The sheer heat of Draco's hands against his skin contrasted sharply with the freezing stone, leaving him completely trapped in his own submission
His hand slid up from Harry's hip, wrapping around his throat possessively. He used his grip to tilt Harry's head to the side, exposing his neck. Draco's other hand moved down to undo his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers. His hard cock sprang free, pressing against the small of Harry's back.
Harry's body arched involuntarily as Draco's hardness pressed against him, the sensation both terrifying and intoxicating. He felt the Slytherin heir's breath hot on his neck, the mocking words burning deeper than any curse. The wand in his mouth rendered him utterly helpless, unable to form words, only soft whimpers escaped around the smooth wood.
He dragged his nails harshly down Harry's spine, leaving red welts in their wake. "You're absolutely pathetic," he spat, grinding his erection roughly against Harry's bare ass. "Look at you, trembling like a frightened little bitch. The Boy Who Lived, reduced to a whimpering slut with a wand in his mouth."
With a sudden burst of defiance, Harry tried to bite down on the wand, his eyes flashing with anger and humiliation. He managed to choke out a muffled curse around it, "Fuck off, Malfoy..." His voice was strained and hoarse from the wand gagging him.
Draco's hand shot to Harry's throat, squeezing until his vision swam. "Say that again," he hissed, pressing the wand harder against Harry's tongue, silencing him. "What about your precious little Weasley? Does she know her boyfriend moans so prettily when a Malfoy fucks him up against the castle walls?"
Chapter 14: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Summary:
LONG CHAPTER BECAUSE I HAVENT BEEN ON !! oh my god
Chapter Text
Goody Two-Shoes
Smut
He dragged his nails harshly down Harry's spine, leaving red welts in their wake. "You're absolutely pathetic," he spat, grinding his erection roughly against Harry's bare ass. "Look at you, trembling like a frightened little bitch. The Boy Who Lived, reduced to a whimpering slut with a wand in his mouth."
With a sudden burst of defiance, Harry tried to bite down on the wand, his eyes flashing with anger and humiliation. He managed to choke out a muffled curse around it, "Fuck off, Malfoy..." His voice was strained and hoarse from the wand gagging him.
Draco's hand shot to Harry's throat, squeezing until his vision swam. "Say that again," he hissed, pressing the wand harder against Harry's tongue, silencing him. "What about your precious little Weasley? Does she know her boyfriend moans so prettily when a Malfoy fucks him up against the castle walls?"
Harry's breath hitched sharply through his nose as he felt Draco's hard cock pressing insistently against the small of his back. The cold stone ledge bit into his hips painfully as Draco used his grip on Harry's throat to grind his hips forward, sliding his length along Harry's bare skin.
Chapter 15: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
Goody Two-Shoes
The portrait hole hadn't even swung fully shut before the suffocating weight of the room settled over Harry's shoulders.Instead of stepping further into the warmth of the firelight, he bolted straight for the boys' bathrooms, driven by a sudden, frantic need to purge his skin. Standing before the cracked mirror, he stared at his reflection in the dim candlelight, horrified by the physical evidence of his own undoing.
His hair was a complete disaster, wildly knotted from where Draco’s fingers had brutally anchored him in place during those frantic minutes in the shadows.
His collar was twisted askew, and the faint, sharp scent of Draco's expensive mint and silver-polish clung to the fabric of his jacket like a stain.
With trembling hands, Harry turned the brass tap on full blast, splashing freezing water onto his face until his skin went numb.
He scrubbed ruthlessly at his lips, his neck, and his jawline -- anywhere Draco’s skin had pressed against his. He grabbed a comb and dragged it through his bird-nest hair over and over until his scalp stung, forcing the messy strands back into some semblance of his usual untamed look.
He straightened his robes, tucking in his shirt with furious, desperate movements, trying to piece back together the image of the Boy Who Lived.When he finally stepped back out into the Gryffindor common room, the room was quiet, lit only by the deep, angry embers of the dying hearth.Ginny was sitting right there, curled up in a large armchair with her knees pulled tight against her chest.
Her eyes were red-rimmed, swollen, and staring blankly into the ash. She looked so small, so entirely hollowed out by a betrayal she thought she had already put behind them.
Hearing the floorboards creak, her head snapped up, her expression a fragile mix of agonizing doubt and desperate, pleading hope.
"Harry," she whispered, her voice cracking in the quiet space. "Where were you? I... I watched the clock, and I just kept thinking..."She didn't finish the sentence, but she didn't have to.
She thought he was with him again. She thought the nightmare from weeks ago—when she had caught them whispering in the dark—was happening all over again.
Harry’s stomach twisted into a sick, guilty knot, but he forced a soft, weary smile onto his face as he stepped into the light. He made sure his voice was steady, projecting nothing but exhaustion.
"I was just walking, Gin. Just clearing my head in the corridors. I swear." He crossed the rug and sank onto the edge of her chair, gently taking her small, cold hands into his own.
The lie felt greasy on his tongue, but he pushed it out anyway, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles.
"Hey. Look at me. I promised you, didn't I? I swore to you that it was over.. I swore on my knees that I only love you, that it was just a terrible mistake. I only love you."
Ginny let out a ragged breath, a fresh tear spilling over her cheek and catching the firelight.
"I want to believe you so badly, Harry. But you’ve been so distant lately. It feels like you’re slipping away into your own head, and every time you disappear for hours, I feel like I'm losing my mind."
"You're not losing me," Harry murmured, squeezing her hands tighter to anchor her trust. He leaned in closer, offering a hollow peace offering to keep her pacified.
"I know I've been checked out. I’ve been thinking... we should spend some real time together soon. Just the two of us, away from the castle. Tonight, okay? We can go down to the lake, take a walk, get away from everyone."
The relief on Ginny's face was instantaneous and heartbreaking. The tension left her shoulders, and she nodded rapidly, using the back of her sleeve to wipe her eyes.
"Really? You mean it?""Of course I mean it," Harry said smoothly, masterfully transitioning into the shield he always used to deflect his own guilt. He let his shoulders slump heavily, burying his face in his hands and letting out a long, theatrical sigh of utter exhaustion. "It's just... the pressure, Ginny. The school, the constant expectations, the weight on my shoulders. Every day, people look at me like I'm the one who has to fix this broken world. Like I'm the one whose choice is going to bring balance to everything. The mental pressure of it all is just suffocating me."
Ginny’s defensive walls completely crumbled. Her lingering suspicion dissolved into pure, fiercely protective empathy. "Oh, Harry..." She shifted forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and pulling his head down to her chest. She held him as if she could physically shield him from the entire world's expectations. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for crowding you. I forget how much you're forced to carry alone. You don't have to bear it all, you know. I'm right here. I'll always be right here to support you."
She ran her fingers gently through his freshly combed hair, murmuring sweet, soothing comforts against his ear, completely convinced that she was healing her boyfriend’s fractured soul and saving him from his burdens.
Pulling back just an inch, she looked into his eyes with a hopeful, tentative smile. "Hey... can we walk around later? Around ten? The night skies have been so beautiful lately, just like we used to do when things were simpler. It might help clear your head."
Harry's entire body went completely rigid at the mention of the hour. Ten o'clock. The exact moment Draco expected him in the dungeons. A wave of ice-cold panic flooded his chest, but looking at Ginny's tear-stained, trusting face, he knew he couldn't back out without ruining the lie he had just built.
"Yeah," Harry forced out, molding his mouth into a convincing smile even as his heart hammered violently against his ribs. "Yeah, Gin, we can do that. I'd like that. It'll be nice to look at the stars with you."
Ginny’s face lit up with genuine, radiant happiness, and she squeezed him tight, burying her face into his neck.
But Harry wasn't listening to a single word she whispered after that.
Ginny pulled away with a bright, renewed energy that made Harry’s stomach churn. "I’m going to run up and wash my face and grab my heavy cloak," she said, her voice lighter than it had been in weeks. She offered him one last, lingering smile before heading up the stairs toward the girls' dormitory. "We have about an hour before ten, so take it easy and don't fall asleep on me while I'm gone."
The moment her footsteps faded, Harry collapsed backward against the armchair, pressing his palms against his eyes. He had an hour. Sixty minutes where she would be upstairs getting ready, entirely expecting a romantic, starlit walk to mend their fractured relationship.
Suddenly, a sharp vibration rattled against his thigh.
Harry flinched, pulling his mobile phone from his pocket—a hidden device he kept strictly for one purpose, completely unknown to anyone in Gryffindor. The screen illuminated the dark common room, casting a cold blue glow over his desperate expression.
A single message sat on the screen from an unsaved number.
It’s time. Get down to my dorms now. Don't make me wait, Potter.
Harry’s breath hitched. Looking at the words, he didn't feel threatened; he felt a sick, intoxicating rush of adrenaline. Draco didn't need to threaten him to make him comply. He didn't need to hold anything over his head. The sheer gravity of Draco’s hold on him was enough. The memory of Draco’s rough hands, the cold command in his voice, and the desperate craving to be back in that dark room completely overrode every single shred of morality Harry had left.
He didn't care about the consequences. He didn't care that Ginny thought he would be waiting right here for their walk. The addictive pull toward the dungeons was too strong, making him entirely reckless.
He couldn't wait an hour. He had to go right now.
Harry stood up, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. He didn't leave a note. He didn't try to formulate a clever excuse for when she came back down and found an empty room. The only thing that mattered was the message on his screen.
He pulled the silky fabric of the Invisibility Cloak from his pocket, throwing it over his shoulders as he stepped toward the portrait hole. He slipped out into the corridor, leaving the Gryffindor common room completely silent behind him.
Vanished into the shadows, his legs moved with a frantic, desperate speed. He navigated the moving staircases and plunged deep into the cold, damp dark of the dungeons, his mind entirely consumed by the image of Draco waiting for him. He knew Ginny would eventually come downstairs, dressed for the cold, looking around the empty room with confusion that would slowly turn into absolute heartbreak.
But Harry didn't care. He only cared about reaching the heavy oak door of the Slytherin prefect quarters, utterly desperate to surrender himself back into Draco's hands.
Chapter 16: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
Goody Two-Shoes
Smut
The heavy oak door didn't just swing open; it flew inward with violent speed the exact second Harry's hand hovered over the wood.
Before Harry could even utter a word or pull his breath into his lungs, a pale, strong hand shot out of the darkness of the room. Draco’s fingers tangled brutally into the front of Harry's collar, gathering the fabric in a tight, crushing fist. With a surge of pure, possessive fury, Draco yanked him forward over the threshold, entirely lifting Harry off his feet for a terrifying second.
Harry stumbled blindly into the room, the heavy door slamming shut behind him with a deafening, echoing thud that sealed the rest of the castle away.
"What took you so long?" Draco hissed, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low growl that vibrated with absolute irritation. He didn't let go of Harry's collar. Instead, he dragged him deeper into the shadows of the room, his grip tightening until the fabric cut sharply into the skin of Harry's throat. Draco's grey eyes were completely dark, blown out with a volatile mix of anger and intense, toxic possessiveness. "I told you to get down here. When I command you to move, Potter, you don't stall. You don't make me wait."
"Draco, I—" Harry choked out, his hands automatically flying up to grip Draco’s wrists, not to pull away, but simply to find his balance against the sheer force of the older boy's anger.
"Shut up," Draco snapped, refusing to listen to a single excuse.
With a brutal, sweeping movement, Draco shoved Harry backward. Harry’s knees hit the edge of the massive, four-poster bed, and he went flying down onto the deep green silk sheets. The impact knocked the wind right out of him, leaving him sprawling and completely exposed beneath the heavy silver-and-green hangings.
Before Harry could even try to sit up or clear the messy hair from his eyes, Draco lunged over him. He pressed his weight down, pinning Harry against the mattress, his hands anchoring themselves right beside Harry's head. The scent of green apples, sharp mint, and expensive woodsmoke completely filled Harry's senses, utterly suffocating him.
Draco leaned down, his face inches from Harry's, his breath hot against Harry's cheek. The anger in his eyes turned into something sharp, mocking, and intensely jealous.
"Were you with her?" Draco sneered, his fingers wrapping roughly around Harry's jaw, squeezing until it hurt. "Did you stay behind to play house with your pathetic little Weasel? Did you let her touch you after I just had you in the hallway?"
Harry’s breath hitched, his heart hammering against his ribs. "No, Draco, I swear—"
"Don't lie to me!" Draco barked, his voice dripping with venomous cruelty. "Look at you, Harry. You look absolutely disgusting when you try to act like her perfect boyfriend. You think you can split yourself in half? You think you can belong to her out in the light and crawl to my bed in the dark?"
He leaned closer, his lips brushing against Harry's ear as he whispered cruel, cutting words meant to completely dismantle Harry's dignity. "Let's be honest, Potter. She doesn't know you. She loves a saint who doesn't exist. You're a liar, a cheater, and a hypocrite. You're nothing but a pathetic creature who begs for my hands on him, and then you have the audacity to make me wait because you're playing pretend with a girl who would loathe you if she knew what you really were."
Harry flinched, the words cutting deeper than any physical blow. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, not just from the harsh words, but because he knew Draco was right. He was entirely trapped, and the sickest part was how much he still wanted Draco to touch him.
Draco watched the reaction he had provoked, his expression a cold mask of pride and frustration. He finally released his grip on Harry’s jaw, though he remained positioned over him, his presence still heavy and overwhelming. The silence in the room was thick with the weight of unspoken things and the complicated choices they had both made.
The confrontation hadn’t stopped at the bed. In a blind surge of possessive fury, Draco suddenly yanked Harry back off the green silk sheets by his wrists, his breathing heavy and ragged. He was entirely done with Harry’s stammering, done with the lingering scent of Gryffindor clinging to him, and completely consumed by a toxic, volatile jealousy.
"Get up," Draco growled, his voice trembling with a terrifying mix of rage and desire.
He didn't wait for Harry to comply. Draco practically dragged him across the stone floor of the outer sitting room, his fingers digging into Harry's forearm like iron bands. Harry stumbled, his boots skidding against the rugs, his throat tight with a mix of fear and an intense, addictive adrenaline rush.
"Draco, slow down, you're going to—"
"Shut the fuck up, Potter!" Draco snapped, spinning around and slamming Harry against the cold stone archway leading into his private inner bedchamber. He was cussing under his breath, a string of bitter, venomous words spilling from his lips as he gripped the front of Harry's shirt. "You think you can play with me? You think you can keep me waiting around like some hidden stray while you comfort your pathetic little girlfriend?"
"I didn't comfort her!" Harry gasped out, his chest heaving, his green eyes wide as he looked up into Draco's pale, furious face. "I left her! I left as soon as you messaged me!"
"You shouldn't have been with her in the first place!" Draco yelled, his grey eyes flashing with absolute malice. He dragged Harry the final few steps into the deep shadows of his bedroom, completely blinded by the thought of anyone else holding what he considered his.
With a brutal, desperate shove, Draco threw Harry backward with everything he had.
Harry went flying onto the massive four-poster bed, the impact tossing him deep into the heavy velvet covers. Before he could even try to sit up, scramble away, or catch his breath, Draco was already diving over him like a predator claiming his territory. He pinned Harry’s wrists directly above his head, using his entire weight to crush Harry into the mattress, trapping him completely under his shadow.
"You belong down here, Harry," Draco whispered maliciously, his face inches away, his voice dropping into a dark, suffocating purr. "Don't you ever make me wait for you again."
Harry's back arched sharply into Draco's bite, a broken moan escaping his lips. He should have fought back, should have shoved Draco off and stormed out proud and angry. Instead, his hips pushed back desperately to meet each brutal thrust, his hole fluttering and sucking shamelessly around Draco's cock. "I—" *Harry's voice cracked, ruined.
Draco leaned down, his lips brushing against Harry's ear. "Tell her where my dick is, Potter. Tell her how it's stretching your little hole wide open. Or should I send her the picture?"
He punctuated his threat with a brutal thrust, making Harry whimper loudly. Without hesitation, Draco hit send, the lewd picture of his hand on Harry's waist and his dick stretching Harry's hole flying straight to Ginny's phone. He bit down hard on Harry's shoulder as he continued to fuck him, marking him.
"There. Now she has proof of how thoroughly you're being used."
Messages with Ginny
Draco:
Draco: This is what your boyfriends been doing
Chapter 17: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
Goody Two-Shoes
The dial tone was the loudest sound Ginny had ever heard.
It cut through the heavy, suffocating silence of the girls' dormitory like a blade. Just seconds ago, the phone's speaker had been filled with sounds that made her blood run entirely cold—sounds she knew intimately, but that had absolutely no business belonging to a routine afternoon check-in.
And then, the sharp click. Draco Malfoy’s smug, parting words still hung in the humid air, a physical weight pressing down on her chest.
“Oops. Looks like we have an audience, Harry.”
Ginny’s thumb moved before her brain could fully process the sheer scale of the betrayal. She hit redial. Her hands shook so violently the glass screen nearly slipped from her grip, her knuckles turning white against the casing.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
“The party you are trying to reach is unavailable—”
“No, no, no,” she whispered, her voice cracking in the empty dorm. She mashed the screen again. Redial.
Voicemail. He had turned the phone off. Or Malfoy had done it for him.
A sickening wave of nausea hit her, forcing her to drop heavily onto the edge of her four-poster bed. On the mattress beside her, the screen lit up with a final, agonizing notification. A multimedia file from an unknown number. Ginny didn't want to look. Every instinct screamed at her to hurl the device out the window and down into the stone courtyard. But her shaking thumb tapped it anyway.
It was a high angle shot taken from above, focusing entirely on Harry's stripped upper body. A thick, vibrant red rope was intricately tied around his chest and torso in an elaborate, restrictive harness. The coarse cords wrapped tightly over his shoulders, intersecting in a heavy, complex knot right in the center of his bare lower back, binding his arms helplessly to his sides. His white shirt had been roughly dragged down, pinning his arms and leaving his pale skin fully exposed to the air. Faint, flushed red marks and thin beads of sweat lined his shoulders from the friction of the tight binds.
He was facedown against a backdrop of deep, creased black sheets. His head was bowed low, his messy dark curls gripped firmly by Draco's pale hand. Resting heavily in his hair was Draco's large, ornate silver ring -- matching an identical silver band on Draco's second hand that anchored Harry down by the waist.
The words “I love you only” and “He was just a mistake” the very promises Harry had choked out while begging for her forgiveness last month -- rotted right in her mind. He hadn’t stopped. He had just gotten better at hiding it. Until Malfoy decided to stop hiding for him.
The worst part wasn't even the photo. It was the memory of the conversation they had shared right here in the common room just hours before he left.
“I want to believe you so badly, Harry,” she had told him, standing by the fire, her voice cracking under the weight of weeks of agonizing suspicion. “But you’ve been so distant lately. It feels like you’re slipping away into your own head, and every time you disappear for hours, I feel like I'm losing my mind.”
She remembered how warm his hands had felt when he stepped close, squeezing her hands tighter to anchor her trust.
“You're not losing me,” he had murmured, leaning in closer, offering a hollow peace offering to keep her pacified. “I know I've been checked out. I’ve been thinking... we should spend some real time together soon. Just the two of us, away from the castle. Tonight, okay? We can go down to the lake, take a walk, get away from everyone.”
She remembered how warm his hands had felt when he stepped close, squeezing her hands tighter to anchor her trust. “You're not losing me,” he had murmured, leaning in closer, offering a hollow peace offering to keep her pacified. “I know I've been checked out. I’ve been thinking... we should spend some real time together soon. Just the two of us, away from the castle. Tonight, okay? We can go down to the lake, take a walk, get away from everyone.”
The relief on Ginny's face in that moment had been instantaneous and heartbreaking. The suffocating tension had left her shoulders, and she had nodded rapidly, using the back of her sleeve to wipe her eyes, completely reassured. She had smiled as he told her he was putting on his boots and getting dressed to head down to the lake early to set up a spot for them.
It was all a weapon. A calculated, sickening lie to buy himself a clean getaway. He hadn't been getting dressed for a romantic, quiet night walk with her. He had been getting dressed to go to Draco Malfoy's bed.
Unable to breathe in the suffocating quiet of the dorm, Ginny scrambled down the winding stone stairs into the Gryffindor common room. Her face was completely blank, her eyes wide and unblinking in total shock.
Ron and Hermione were sitting by the fire, talking quietly over a stack of ancient runes homework. The moment they saw her face, the conversation died.
"Ginny? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," Ron asked, standing up quickly, his brow furrowing.
Hermione was already moving toward her, her hand reaching out cautiously.
"Ginny, you're shaking. What happened? Is everything alright?"
Ginny couldn't speak. The shock had locked her jaw tightly. Without a word, she extended her arm and turned the phone screen toward them, revealing the picture.
Ron and Hermione stared at the screen, their faces turning completely pale, their expressions twisting into instant, profound shock. But because they had been entirely in the dark until this exact second, their brains immediately rejected what they were seeing.
"Wait... what is this?" Ron stammered, stepping back, his head shaking wildly. "Ginny, this has to be some sick joke. A Polyjuice prank, or a dark artifact. Malfoy is messing with your head. Why would he send you a fake photo of Harry? Harry would never—he's down by the lake right now!"
"Ron is right, Ginny, look at it rationally," Hermione whispered, her voice trembling as she stared at the glowing pixels, her mind desperately racing for an analytical excuse to shield them all from the horror. "Harry has been faithful to you. This doesn't make any sense. Why would Harry be with Malfoy? It has to be a setup to tear us apart. It has to be a lie."
"It's not a joke," Ginny whispered, her voice dangerously quiet.
The dam broke. The numbness shattered completely, and she started crying. Heavy, agonizing tears spilled over her cheeks as her shoulders shook with violent, breathless sobs. She collapsed slightly into herself, clutching her arms around her chest. "Look at him! He's not at the lake!"
"Ginny, please, don't cry," Ron begged, completely panicked by her tears, still trapped in deep denial. "Harry loves you. He wouldn't do this. He couldn't. There's no way he's hiding a whole secret relationship with Malfoy. It's impossible."
"It's not a secret relationship! It's because he already did it!" Ginny choked out through her sobs, her voice piercing through the empty common room.
Ron and Hermione froze, staring at her in absolute, breathless silence.
"What do you mean he already did it?" Hermione asked, her voice dropping to a terrified whisper.
"Last month," Ginny cried, her chest heaving as the secret she had kept locked away finally forced its way out. "I didn't tell you because I was so ashamed. I caught them. I walked in on them kissing in an empty corridor. I saw them with my own eyes."
Ron’s jaw dropped, the denial starting to fracture, though he still looked entirely bewildered. "You... you caught them? Last month?"
"Yes!" Ginny sobbed, rubbing her eyes frantically with her sleeve. "And Harry begged me. He dropped to his knees right in front of me, crying, swearing it was a mistake. He told me he was confused, that Malfoy meant nothing to him. He choked out that he loved me only, and he promised he stopped. He swore to God he would never look at him again. I wanted to believe him so badly. I kept his secret because I thought we could fix it."
She held up the shaking phone again, the explicit image of Harry bound in Draco's silver-ringed grip catching the firelight.
"But he lied," Ginny whispered, her voice cracking as the realization fully settled into the room. "He told me just hours ago that he was getting dressed so we could go to the lake. He told me I wasn't losing him. And then he left for Malfoy's bed, and he left the phone on. I heard them over the speaker. I heard his moans, Ron. It wasn't a mistake. He never stopped."
A heavy, suffocating silence dropped over the hearth. The frantic excuses and theories Hermione had been trying to build vanished into nothingness. Ron took a sharp step backward, his face draining of all color until he looked entirely ghostly, the truth finally shattering his denial like glass.
The silence that followed Ginny’s confession didn't last long. It was the heavy, suffocating stillness before a thunderstorm breaks, and when it finally fractured, the explosion was instantaneous.
Ron’s shock didn't melt into grief; it hardened straight into a terrifying, volatile rage. The deep crimson flush returned to his face, creeping up his neck until his ears were bright red. He looked at the phone screen one last time, his breathing turning into ragged, heavy snarls.
"I’m going to kill him," Ron roared, his voice rattling the glass panes of the common room windows. He grabbed a heavy brass inkwell from the table and hurled it directly into the hearth. It shattered against the stone, splashing black ink into the dying embers. "I’m going to find him and I am going to tear him to pieces! Last month? He did this last month and then sat at our table? Looked us in the eye? Looked you in the eye?"
"Ron, stop it! Sit down!" Hermione shrieked, though her voice lacked its usual authority. She was trembling from head to toe, her face entirely devoid of color. She sat frozen on the sofa, her hands clamped over her mouth, her brilliant mind completely locked in a state of absolute, traumatized shock. She couldn't process the math of the betrayal. Harry—the boy who had shared her tent, the boy whose life she had protected for years—was a complete stranger.
"Don't tell me to sit down, Hermione!" Ron screamed, pacing the floor like a caged animal, his hands clawing through his red hair. "He lied to all of us! He used us! He made a fool out of my sister! With Malfoy? Of all the disgusting, slimy, backstabbing things—"
"Ron, please!" Ginny choked out, burying her face in her hands as a fresh wave of sobbing took over her chest. The sound of her brother's rage was terrifying, but it was nothing compared to the phantom echo of Harry’s moans still ringing in her ears.
For the next two hours, the portrait hole remained stubbornly, agonizingly shut.
Harry didn't show up. The quiet night walk by the lake he had promised was a ghost story, a farce to keep Ginny tucked away in the tower while he was tied up in Slytherin silk.
As the minutes dragged into hours, the three of them sat trapped in the suffocating warmth of the room, the initial blast of energy settling into something much more bitter and toxic. They talked in frantic, looping circles. Ron kept kicking the footstool, his fury building with every tick of the clock, while Hermione remained trapped in her frozen state, occasionally whispering, "How could he?" or "It doesn't make sense," her eyes staring blankly at the floor.
But mostly, they blew up his phone.
Ginny sat on the rug by the sofa, her eyes bloodshot and swollen, her thumb frantically hitting the call button over and over. Ron shoved his way next to her, grabbing his own device, mashing the keys with enough force to crack the screen.
Call failed.
Voicemail.
The party you are trying to reach is unavailable.
"Answer the damn phone, Harry!" Ron yelled into his receiver, slamming it down on the cushion before instantly picking it up to redial. "Answer it! You coward! You absolute piece of garbage, answer the phone!"
Ginny sent text after text, her vision blurred by steady tears, her fingers shaking so badly she could barely format the words.
Where are you?
I know, Harry. I heard everything.
Malfoy sent the picture. Answer me.
Pick up the phone. Pick it up right now.
Beside her, Hermione finally broke her silence, her trembling fingers typing out a single, devastating message from her own phone:harry, we are all in the common room with Ginny. We saw the photo Draco sent. You need to come back to the tower right now and explain this.
Every single message delivered, but none of them read. The gray checkmarks remained uncolored, a silent testament to the fact that wherever Harry was in the castle, his phone was likely face-down on a black-sheeted nightstand, completely ignored while he remained firmly under Draco Malfoy’s thumb.
Chapter 18: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Goody Two-Shoes
Harry stepped through.
He froze right inside the stone archway
Harry, his hand remaining glued to the frame as the portrait of the Fat Lady swung shut behind him. He looked entirely wrecked. His dark hair was a wild, tangled mess, completely pushed back and ruined. His Gryffindor tie hung loose and crooked around his unbuttoned collar, exposing his throat. And there, stamped right into his pale skin, were the dark, unmistakable marks Draco had left behind.
The moment his eyes landed on Ron and Hermione sitting there with Ginny, Harry's face went completely bloodless. The exhaustion vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp terror.
He looked at them, his green eyes wide and totally blank with panic, his chest heaving under his rumpled shirt. He didn't say a word. He just stood there, caught, suffocating under the weight of their stares.
Ron didn't move. He just stared back at Harry, his face frozen in pure, unadulterated shock, his eyes locked onto the bruises on Harry's neck.
"Harry," Ginny said. Her voice wasn't loud. It was a flat, dead whisper that made his breath hitch.
Harry’s gaze snapped down to her. He swallowed hard, his hand trembling against the stone wall. "Ginny, I... I can explain. The lake, it was—I just got caught up—"
"Stop lying," she cut him off, her voice cracking as she held up her phone. The screen illuminated the dim room, displaying the high-angle photo of his bare, bound torso against the black sheets. "Malfoy sent it. But that's not even the worst part, Harry."
Harry stared at the screen, the last remaining trace of color leaving his lips. He looked like he might vomit.
"Ginny, please—"
"You left the phone on," she whispered, tears finally overflowing and tracking down her pale cheeks. "I called you because you promised we would spend time together. You told me I wasn't losing you. And then you went straight to his bed. I heard it all, Harry. I heard your moans. I heard everything he said to you."
The confession hung in the freezing air. Harry's knees buckled. The absolute certainty that there was no way out of this lie broke him completely. He dropped heavily to his knees right there on the rug, his hands burying themselves in his messy hair as he let out a choked, desperate sob.
"I'm sorry," Harry gasped out, his chest heaving violently as he wept, staring at the floor, unable to look any of them in the eye. "I'm so sorry, Ginny, please, I didn't mean to.. I didn't want to hurt you"
"You're sorry?" Ron’s voice finally broke through the silence, no longer a roar, but a dangerous, low snarl. He stood up from his chair, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles popped. "You sat at our table. You looked my sister in the eye and swore it was over last month. You're a coward, Harry."
Hermione just sat on the sofa, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking silently as Harry continued to sob on the floor, the golden trio shattered entirely on the common room rug.
"You guys don't understand," Harry choked out, his voice cracking violently as he looked up through blurred, tear-filled eyes. He wiped his face with a trembling hand, staring desperately at his two best friends. "Draco was right. He said this would happen. He said you guys wouldn't support me."
Ron took a sharp step forward, his face twisting into an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust. The utter absurdity of the excuse seemed to fuel the fire raging in his chest.
"Wouldn't support you?" Ron hissed, his voice dropping to a lethal, mocking whisper. "Wouldn't support you being gay, or wouldn't support you cheating on my sister with a Death Eater?"
Harry flinched as if he had been physically struck, his shoulders hunching as he looked down at the floor, unable to meet Ron's burning gaze.
"Have you lost your mind, Harry?" Ron asked, his voice suddenly cracking under the sheer weight of the betrayal.
He gestured wildly toward Ginny, who sat frozen and hollow on the rug.
"You think this is about who you like? You lied to her face. You made a fool out of her twice. You used a promise to clear your head just so you could go fuck around with a death eater??!"
"He's different," Harry choked out, his voice a desperate, broken plea. He gripped his own knees, his knuckles white as he looked from Ron to Hermione, begging them to see what he saw. "Harry says he changed. He said he will change for me."
They looked at him completely dumbfounded. The sheer absurdity of the words coming out of his mouth seemed to freeze the entire room.
"I love him," Harry cried, the confession tearing out of his chest, raw and frantic. "What we have is real!"
"God, he doesn't even love you!" Ron burst out, his face turning an angry, dangerous shade of crimson. He threw his hands up in the air, pacing a tight circle before slamming his foot down on the rug right in front of Harry. "Are you for real? His father wants you dead! The whole lot of them want you dead!"
"But he's different," Harry whispered right back, his chin trembling as fresh tears spilled over his eyelashes. He shook his head wildly, clinging to the defense like a lifeline, completely blind to the physical evidence of the marks on his neck and the photo Draco had used to destroy his life.
Hermione finally uncovered her face, looking down at Harry with an expression of profound, crushing disappointment.
"Harry, look at what you are saying," Hermione whispered, her voice trembling but sharp with a cold, devastating clarity. "He changed for you? Harry, he sent the photo. He left your phone on so Ginny would hear. If he loved you, he wouldn't have destroyed your life just to gloat about it."
The logical truth of Hermione's words seemed to puncture the room, and the final, fragile thread of Ginny's restraint snapped completely.
Ginny collapsed forward on the rug, a fresh wave of violent sobbing tearing through her chest before she scrambled to her feet, screaming at him through her tears.
"How could you do this?" Ginny shrieked, her voice echoing painfully off the stone walls of the tower. "I loved you! I was here for you through everything! All he did was bully us, Harry! He hated us, he called us slurs, he wanted us dead, and you just started sleeping with him?"
She took a ragged, breathless step closer to where he knelt, her hands shaking so violently she could barely hold them out.
"He doesn't love you!" she sobbed, her face completely ruined by grief and rage. "He is using you to hurt me, and he is using you to hurt your friends, and you are letting him!"
"You don't know him!" Harry shrieked back, pulling his hands away from his ears and looking up at Ginny with a frantic, wild expression. "You only see what he used to be! You don't see him when it's just the two of us!"
He scrambled back a few inches on the rug, his breathing ragged, every word out of his mouth showing just how deeply Draco's manipulation had taken root in his mind.
"He had to do it, Ginny!" Harry cried out, his voice cracking as he desperately tried to rationalize the betrayal. "He told me he couldn't keep living a lie! He said the secrecy was killing him, that if we didn't force it out into the open, I would never actually leave you! He did it for us!"
Ron let out a loud, disgusted scoff, stepping directly between Harry and Ginny to shield his sister from the words. "He did it for us? Harry, he didn't just tell us. He recorded you. He sent a picture of you tied up like a dog to the girl you promised to marry! He wanted to humiliate you!"
"No, you're twisting it!" Harry shouted, shaking his head violently as tears flew from his eyes. He was completely blind to the trap he had walked into, completely brainwashed by the sweet, toxic promises Draco had fed him in the dark. "Draco loves me! He protects me! He’s the only one who actually understands how heavy all of this is! He didn't mean to hurt you, Ginny, he just... he needed everyone to know I belong to him!"
Hermione stood up from the sofa, looking at Harry with a cold, terrifying pity. "Harry, listen to yourself. He has you begging for forgiveness on a common room floor while he sits safely in the dungeons. He didn't just break your relationship with Ginny. He just took you away from us."
"Are you serious?" Ginny choked out, her voice dropping into a register of pure, horrified disbelief. She stopped crying, the sheer disgust of what he had just said freezing the tears on her face. "What do you mean you belong to him? Like a toy? Like an object he can just trap and put a label on?"
Harry didn't even blink at the word. He just wiped his nose with the back of his hand, his eyes wide and glossy with a desperate, unnerving devotion. "It’s not like that. You don't get it. He's possessive because he’s terrified of losing me. The ropes, the photos... it’s just how he copes with the pressure. He needs to know I'm fully his, away from the war, away from everyone else's expectations. He was just trying to secure us."
He was completely rewriting the humiliation as a grand gesture of love, entirely blinded by the toxic script Draco had fed him.
That was the absolute breaking point.
"Secure us?" Ron roared, the last molecule of his restraint snapping completely.
Before Hermione could even scream his name, Ron lunged across the rug. He grabbed the front of Harry’s loose, unbuttoned collar, his fist bunching up the rumpled fabric so violently that he dragged Harry right up off his knees.
"He’s using you, you absolute idiot!" Ron screamed right into Harry's face, his chest heaving as he shook him. "He’s got you groveling on the floor defending him while he's laughing in the dungeons! Look at yourself! Look at your neck! He branded you like an animal and you’re sitting here making excuses for him!"
Harry grabbed at Ron’s wrists, his own grip weak and shaking, his face still deathly pale. "Ron, let go, please—you don't understand him—"
"I understand that you're a backstabbing coward who broke my sister's heart!" Ron shouted, his voice cracking with a devastating mix of rage and pure heartbreak. With a massive shove, he threw Harry backward.
Harry hit the floor hard, sliding across the rug until his back slammed against the base of a heavy wooden bookshelf, his messy hair falling over his panicked, tear-stained face.
Ginny’s shriek pierced the heavy air of the tower. She threw herself directly between them, her hands slamming against Ron’s chest to hold him back.
"Ron, stop!" she cried, her voice cracking under the strain. "Stop fighting! Please, just stop!"
Ron stayed frozen, his chest heaving violently, his fists still clenched so tightly they shook. He glared down at Harry with absolute venom, but he didn't push past his sister. He stood his ground, a wall of pure, protective anger.
The room fell into a horrible, breathless silence, broken only by the sound of Harry’s ragged breathing from the floor. He remained curled up against the base of the bookshelf, his loose tie completely askew. He looked up at Ginny with a desperate, pathetic hope in his green eyes, genuinely believing she was stepping in to save him, to give him a chance to make her understand.
Ginny slowly turned around to face him. The frantic rage was entirely gone from her face, replaced by a cold, dead emptiness. She looked down at him, at the wild hair, the unbuttoned collar, and the dark bruises Draco had stamped into his neck.
"Harry," she said, her voice entirely flat, devoid of any tears or warmth. "I can't support you."
Harry flinched as if she had physically struck him. "Ginny, please..."
"No," she cut him off, shaking her head slowly. "You sit there and tell us you belong to him. You defend him for humiliating you, for humiliating me. You're completely gone, Harry. I love the boy you used to be, but I don't even know who you are right now."
"Harry, I can't support you like this," she sobbed, her voice dropping into a desperate, agonizing plea. "Please, I am begging you. Stop seeing him. Just look at what he’s doing to you, look at what he’s doing to us! He is destroying you, Harry!"
Harry blinked through his own tears, his chin quivering as he stared at her, completely paralyzed.
"I love you," Ginny cried, her shoulders shaking violently as she begged for his life, for their future. "I am right here. We can fix this, we can get through this, but you have to walk away from him. Please, Harry. Choose us. Just stop seeing Draco. Please."
Ginny completely broke. All her pride and anger just washed away into pure, desperate panic. She threw herself across the rug and slammed against Harry’s chest, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.
"Harry, please!" she sobbed, her voice breaking into a ragged shriek. She buried her face into his shoulder, her fingers clawing at his rumpled shirt like she could physically anchor him to the room. "Please, just look at me! Don't do this to us! I love you, Harry, I love you so much. Just stay here. Don't go back to him!"
She was shaking violently, her tears soaking right through his collar.
Harry froze. For a second, his hands twitched like he was actually going to lift them and hold her back. But then his eyes went distant again, clouding over with that same stubborn, hollow look.
He reached up, his fingers wrapping around her wrists. Slowly but firmly, he pushed her off him.
"Ginny, stop," Harry whispered. His voice trembled, but he didn't hesitate. He forced her back until her hands dropped from his shoulders, breaking her grip completely. He looked right at her tear-ruined face, his own expression totally pale. "I can't."
Ginny stumbled back onto her knees, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at him.
"I can't stop seeing him," Harry choked out, fresh tears spilling over his glasses. He shook his head, finally letting the truth out. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but I love him. I love Draco."
Notes:
Already have every chapter written, I just need to proofread everything and make a few changes. Thank you for your time.
Chapter 19: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
Goody Two-Shoes
Dracos pov
The green light of the Slytherin common room washed over the dark leather sofa, casting sharp shadows across Draco’s face as he leaned back, swirling an amber glass of Firewhisky. The room was quiet, empty save for his inner circle. He was relaxed. More relaxed than he had been in months.
"Are you going to stop messing with that Potter?" Pansy asked, looking directly at Draco from the adjacent armchair. Her arms were crossed, her dark eyes sharp with skepticism.
"Why? He's fun to mess with," Draco replied, a slow, malicious smirk spreading across his lips.
"He already got caught," Pansy countered, she and Crabbe exchanging a pointed look before staring back at him. "You already had sex with the boy, what else do you want?"
"He thinks I want him," Draco said, his eyes fixed on his phone as he scrolled through the photos he had taken earlier. His voice was casual, completely dismissive, perfectly matching the arrogant persona he always wore.
"He thinks we're in some love story where I save him from someone who he doesn't want," Draco added, a mocking chuckle escaping his throat to satisfy his friends.
But little did Pansy and Crabbe know, Draco actually did want him. He wanted him more than anything. He just wanted him entirely to himself, completely isolated from the rest of the world.
He looked down at the screen, staring at the high angle photo of Harry's bare, bound torso against the black silk sheets. He remembered the exact words he used to break Harry down in the dark, whispered directly into his ear while tightening the ropes.
I only love you, Harry. You don't love her, you love me, don't you? You're my good boy, you'll do anything I say if you want us.
And Harry, desperate for a savior of his own, had swallowed every single word like a lifeline. Even when Draco had tied him down, Harry hadn't fought him. He had just looked up with those wide, glossy green eyes, entirely brainwashed, believing it was a grand gesture of possessive romance.
The crowning achievement had been leaving the phone call connected. Hearing the incoming buzz from Weaslette, seeing Harry's panic, and then smoothly whispering to Harry that it was fine, that they should just let her hear how happy he was. Draco had engineered every moan, every heavy breath, and every cruel word he spoke aloud to ensure it tore directly through the speaker into Ginny Weasley's ears. He had forced Harry to claim him aloud while his girlfriend listened to the betrayal in agonizing, real time detail.
Draco slid the phone back into his pocket, looking back up at Pansy and Crabbe with a cold, triumphant glint in his grey eyes.
"He's pathetic, but he likes it, doesn't he?" Pansy sneered, leaning forward with a cruel laugh.
"Do you even like him or just using him for games?" Crabbe asked, his blunt voice breaking the silence.
"Using him," Draco said easily.
He shrugged his shoulders, keeping his face entirely unreadable to satisfy his friends. But it was not fully true.
Beneath the cold mask of the Malfoy heir, a much deeper, desperate truth was hidden. He didn't just want a victory over Gryffindor. He wanted Harry. He wanted him entirely to himself, completely isolated, locked away where no one else could ever look at him. The thought of anyone else touching Harry, or Harry ever returning to the Light, made something ugly and possessive twist violently in Draco's chest.
Pansy and Crabbe took the hint, exchanging a quiet look before standing up and heading toward the dormitories. The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind them, leaving the common room completely silent except for the crackle of the green flames.
Finally alone, Draco pulled the phone back out of his pocket.
He leaned his head back against the leather sofa, his thumb slowly scrolling through the screen. The light from the display illuminated his sharp features in the dark room. He stopped on the high-angle photo he had taken earlier, his eyes locking onto the image of Harry's bare, bound torso resting against his black silk sheets.
A deep, quiet satisfaction settled in his chest as he stared at the screen. He traced the lines of the ropes, remembering the absolute weight of Harry's compliance and the quiet intensity of the promises they had shared in the dark. Every whispered word had been carefully chosen, designed to dismantle Harry's world piece by piece until the Gryffindors were completely out of the picture.
Draco swiped to the next photo, his gray eyes darkening as he realized the full scope of what he had set in motion. The trap had sprung exactly as planned, and the bridges behind Harry were already burning. He locked the phone, slipping it away as he kept his eyes trained on the common room entrance, waiting for the inevitable sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.
The silence of the common room became too heavy to sit through. Draco stood up from the leather sofa, pocketing his phone, and decided he couldn't just sit and wait anymore. He needed to see the results of his handiwork.
He slipped through the heavy stone archway of the Slytherin entrance, the hidden door clicking shut behind him as he stepped into the damp, torch lit corridor of the dungeons. The air out here was freezing, carrying the faint echo of water dripping somewhere in the distance.
Draco took only a few steps forward before he stopped dead in his tracks.
There, standing under the flickering light of a single wall bracket, was Harry. He hadn't made it all the way to the Slytherin door yet. He was just standing in the middle of the corridor, looking completely drained. His messy hair was even wilder than usual, his loose collar still askew, exposing the dark purple marks Draco had left against his skin. He looked small against the vast, dark stone walls of the dungeons, entirely cut off from the warmth of the tower he had just abandoned.
As Draco’s boots snapped against the stone, Harry’s head jerked upward. Their eyes met across the empty hallway. Harry’s wide green eyes were glossy and searching, contrasting against Draco's cool, calculating gray. The absolute reality of what Harry had just done, leaving everything behind, hung suspended in the freezing air between them.
"Draco, they know," Harry choked out, his voice cracking as he took a tentative step forward. "You know they know. Why did you send them it? Why did you tell meto answer?"
Draco didn't flinch. He just watched Harry approach, his expression perfectly smooth as he slowly closed the distance between them.
"Because you will answer, wouldn't you?" Draco murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, heavy tone that always made Harry freeze.
He reached out, his pale fingers gently gripping the front of Harry's rumpled collar, tilting his chin up just enough to look directly into those desperate green eyes.
"You listen to me like a lost puppy waiting for its owner. I set you free, didn't I?"
Harry's breath hitched, his hands hovering near Draco's chest but never actually pushing him away.
The freezing air of the dungeon corridor felt entirely distant now, completely replaced by the overwhelming weight of Draco's presence. He was trapped, but as he looked at Draco, the urge to believe the lie was still fighting against the crushing reality of what had just happened in the tower.
Draco's thumb brushed lightly over one of the dark marks on Harry's neck, a slow, possessive gesture that felt like both a reward and a reminder. He didn't offer an apology, and he didn't deny what he had done. He just stood there, waiting for Harry to submit to the script they had been writing in the dark for weeks.
"What are we, Draco?" Harry asked, his voice trembling as he pushed for a real answer. "Are we dating now?"
Draco's grip on Harry's hair tightened just enough to assert control, his grey eyes turning ice-cold. "I don't do relationships, Harry. I don't want them."
Harry froze, but before he could even process the words, Draco leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a sharp, possessive whisper. "But you can't mess with anyone. You got that? You're mine. I own you, don't I?"
Harry just looked at him, the desperate hope in his green eyes instantly vanishing, replaced by a deep, crushing disappointment. The reality of what he had just sacrificed hit him all at once.
"You made me cheat on her just for you not to date me?" Harry whispered, his voice cracking with a mix of disbelief and sudden regret.
Draco let out a cold, mocking laugh, completely unfazed by Harry's distress. He let go of Harry's hair and stepped back slightly, folding his arms.
"I didn't make you cheat on her," Draco said easily, a cruel smirk playing on his lips as he threw the blame right back at him. "You wanted to."
sudden wave of furious clarity broke through Harry's exhaustion. His face flushed red, and his hands balled into tight fists against his sides.
"I wanted to?" Harry choked out, his voice rising as pure anger replaced the panic. "You told me you loved me! You told me she was a burden and that this was the only way we could be together! You set me up, Draco! You completely ruined my life, you made me break Ginny's heart, and now you're telling me I'm just some object you own?"
Draco stepped forward, closing the distance Harry had just tried to put between them. His face softened effortlessly into a look of deep vulnerability.
"Harry, hey... look at me," Draco murmured, his voice dropping into that sweet, velvety tone. He reached out, his long, pale fingers gently cupping Harry's face, his thumbs wiping away the fresh tears spilling over Harry's eyelashes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. You know how I get when I'm stressed... I get defensive."
Harry tried to pull away, but Draco’s grip was firm yet deceptively gentle, anchoring Harry right where he stood.
"You know I love you, Harry," Draco whispered, staring straight into those frantic green eyes. "Labels like 'dating' are just words people use to trap each other. We don't need them. What we have is bigger than that. I only said that because I'm terrified of losing you. I need to know you're fully mine, safe down here with me where no one can get between us."
He slid his hands down to Harry's shoulders, pulling him gently against his chest, wrapping his arms around him in a warm embrace. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of Harry's messy hair.
"You're my good boy, remember?" Draco whispered into his ear. "You did the right thing tonight. You're free from them now. Just trust me, Harry. I'm the only one who actually cares about the real you. Stay here tonight. Let me take care of you."
As he spoke, his fingers lazily traced circles on Harry's back.
"Shh, I've got you," Draco whispered softly, his tone dripping with tender warmth. "You're safe with me now, Harry. The worst part is over. You don't ever have to go back to them."
Harry's rigid stance slowly began to melt. The anger drained out of him, leaving him hollow and desperately clinging to the comfort Draco was offering. He leaned heavily into Draco's chest, his fingers clutching at the fabric of Draco's robes. Draco's smirk returned, hidden safely against Harry's dark hair.
Chapter 20: ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Chapter Text
Goody Two-Shoes
The heavy iron door swung shut, sealing them inside the damp, echoing locker room. The scent of leather and wet stone hung thick in the air. Harry stood by the rows of wooden benches, his fingers gripping the edge of his locker.
"Ron, can we talk please?" Harry asked, his voice cracked with a rare, desperate tremor.
"You can't hold what I did above me. You don't understand, okay?" Ron looked at Harry like he didn't even know him.
In the harsh, dim light, he stared at his best friend as if looking at a complete stranger.
"You cheated on my sister with Draco," Ron said, his voice flat but laced with an explosive undertone.
"What's there not to understand?"
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Ron cut him off, stepping closer until they were face-to-face.
"You had sex with him," Ron said, the words cutting through the quiet room.
"She heard. Everything. You've been screwing him during your relationship with my sister, Harry."
Harry flinched, the raw guilt finally bleeding onto his face
."I love my sister a lot," Ron said, his eyes flashing with a fierce, protective grief.
"I love my family, and you hurt her."
"But I'm your friend," Harry pleaded softly, stepping forward
."My friend wouldn't do this," Ron said, shaking his head as he stepped back.
"Harry, you lied to all of us."
"But... I love him," Harry admitted. The confession hung heavily in the tense space between them.
"I can't choose who I love, Ron."
Ron froze, the anger on his face momentarily hardening into a cold, clinical glare.
"Does he love you?" Ron asked. Harry didn't answer.
"Are you dating Draco?" Ron asked, pushing for the truth.
Harry stayed silent. He looked down at the floorboards, completely unable to hold his friend's gaze. The quiet in the locker room was deafening.
"So you're sleeping with a guy who doesn't even claim you other than being in his bed," Ron said with disgust, turning his back on Harry.
The heavy click of the locker room door latch echoed through the room. Ron stopped dead in his tracks. He didn't leave. Instead, he spun around, his eyes locking onto the figure stepping through the doorway. It was Draco.
Ron’s jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his neck strained. He looked from Draco’s polished appearance to Harry’s crumpled, guilty posture. A new, volatile wave of fury crashed over him.
"Really, Harry?" Ron spat, his voice dripping with venom as he gestured wildly between the two of them. "You're gonna screw him here too?"
Draco didn't flinch. Instead, a slow, malicious smirk spread across his face. He leaned casually against the row of metal lockers, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at Ron with pure, mocking amusement.
"We already did, didn't we?" Draco murmured, his tone sharp and dripping with deliberate provocation.
The mocking words had barely left Draco’s lips before Ron snapped.
With a roar of pure, unadulterated fury, Ron lunged across the damp floor. He didn't grab his wand; this was purely primal. He slammed his entire weight into Draco, driving him backward into the row of metal lockers with a deafening CLANG that rattled the entire room.
Draco’s smirk vanished instantly as the back of his head cracked against the metal. Before he could raise his hands to defend himself, Ron grabbed the collar of Draco’s shirt, pinning him hard against the lockers, his knuckles pressing dangerously into Draco's throat.
"You think this is a joke?!" Ron screamed right into his face, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with a mixture of tears and blinding rage. "You ruined my sister! You ruined everything!"
Draco gasped for air, his hands instantly flying up to grip Ron’s wrists, trying to pry the heavier boy off him. His aristocratic composure was completely gone, replaced by a sudden, sharp panic as he struggled against Ron’s strength. With a desperate wrench of his arm, Draco managed to slip his hand into his robes, tightly grabbing his wand.
"I'm gonna tell my father if you don't get your filthy hands off of me!" Draco yelled, his voice cracking with rage as he tried to aim his wand directly under Ron's chin.
Harry just stood frozen. The sheer chaos of the moment caught in his throat, anchoring his boots to the stone floor. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, his eyes wide as he watched his past and his present collide in violence.
The threat of Lucius Malfoy seemed to drain the immediate, explosive adrenaline from the room. Ron stared down at Draco, his chest heaving, his knuckles still white against Draco's robes. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over them, broken only by their ragged breathing.
Slowly, the blind rage in Ron's eyes faded into something much worse—utter, profound disappointment. He looked at Draco's raised wand, then looked over at Harry, who was still standing completely paralyzed by the benches.
Without saying another word, Ron let go. He violently shoved himself away from Draco, dusted off his own hands as if he had just touched something vile, and simply walked away. The heavy iron door clicked shut behind him, leaving a crushing quiet in his wake.
The heavy slam of the iron door cutting off the outside world broke Harry's paralysis. His lungs burned as if the oxygen had been completely sucked out of the room, leaving nothing but the suffocating scent of rain and damp stone.
Then, the tremors started.
It began in his hands, spreading quickly up his arms until his entire frame shook violently. The terrifying numbness that had kept him frozen vanished, replaced by a sudden, agonizing wave of reality.
"Harry—" Draco started, his voice unusually strained as he tucked his wand back into his robes. He took a cautious step forward, his chest still heaving from the scuffle.
Harry didn’t hear him. The world was spinning. A choked, breathless gasp escaped his throat. His knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed onto the wooden bench, burying his face completely in his hands.
The dam broke. Heavy, hot tears spilled through his fingers, staining his palms. His shoulders heaved as he sobbed, the sound muffled and pathetic against the cold tile walls. Every word Ron had spat at him echoed in his head on a cruel loop.
"Harry, look at me," Draco murmured. He walked over, the sharp click of his boots loud in the quiet room. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before sinking onto his knees in front of Harry. He reached up, grasping Harry’s wrists, gently pulling his hands away from his face.
Harry looked up, his vision blurred, his green eyes bloodshot and drowning in misery. He looked at Draco’s pale face and felt a sickening twist in his stomach.
"He's right," Harry choked out, his voice cracked and hollowed out by the sobbing. "Ginny heard us, Draco. She heard everything. I ruined them. I ruined the only family that ever cared about me."
Draco’s grip on his wrists tightened, his expression hardening defensively. "Weasley was looking for an excuse to—"
"Don't!" Harry suddenly yelled, a flash of desperate anger breaking through his tears as he yanked his hands out of Draco's grasp. He stared down at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Don't defend it. Ron asked me if you loved me. He asked me if we were dating. And I sat there like a coward because I didn't have an answer."
Harry leaned forward, his voice dropping to a broken, pleading whisper. "Is that all I am to you, Draco? Am I just someone you screw in the dark? Are you ever going to claim me, or am I just... in your bed?"
Draco froze.
The question hung heavily between them, more suffocating than the damp locker room air. Draco didn't look remorseful, and he didn't stay quiet for long. Instead, he slowly let out a sharp, mocking scoff.
The vulnerability Harry was begging for turned into pure malice. Draco stood up, brushing off his wrinkled sleeves, and looked down at Harry with total amusement.
"Claim you?" Draco laughed, the sound cold and cruel against the stone walls. "Oh, Potter. Did you honestly think this was some grand romance? Did you really think Draco Malfoy was going to hold your hand in the Great Hall?"
Harry flinched as if he had been slapped, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks.
"Look at yourself," Draco sneered, gesturing toward Harry's pathetic, shaking form on the bench. "The great Chosen One, weeping on a locker room floor because his little side-piece won't play boyfriend. Weasley was right about one thing. You're just a secret, Harry. You were fun in bed but don't act like you actually meant something to me."
Harry looked up at Draco through blurred vision, the realization hitting him with a sickening clarity. Ron had been exactly right. Draco didn't love him. He was just a game.
Harry didn't shout. He didn't cry louder. The heartbreak turned into a cold, dead numbness.
"Get out," Harry whispered, his voice dangerously quiet. "Just... get out of my sight."
Draco rolled his eyes, a flicker of disgust crossing his pale features. "With pleasure," he spat. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out, leaving Harry completely alone in the cold quiet of the locker room.
Chapter Text
Goody Two-Shoes
Draco kicked the velvet armchair, sending it skidding into the hearth with a loud, wooden crash. He didn't even look to see if it chipped the stone. His chest heaved as he ripped at his tie, jerking the silk until the knot gave way, tearing a button right off his collar in the process. It bounced across the floorboards, a tiny, annoying click in the quiet room.
"Pathetic," he spat, his voice harsh and thick. "Always making everything a tragedy."
He lunged toward his desk, grabbing the half-empty crystal decanter of Firewhisky. He didn't bother with a glass. He shoved the bottleneck between his teeth and took three heavy, burning gulps, his eyes fixed on the empty green velvet hangings of his bed. The liquor scorched his throat, but it did absolutely nothing to dull the frantic, static heat humming under his skin.
He slammed the decanter down so hard the amber liquid sloshed over the wood.
"This is your fault, Potter," Draco snarled at the empty bedroom, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the desk. "You did this. You walked in here with those stupid, wide eyes and you made me like this."
It was infuriating. Before Draco had stepped in, before he had finally laid a hand on him and taken him, Harry had been living in that sickening, pristine little world of his. Draco had spent months watching it from the edges—watching the way the Weasley girl used to hover near Harry in the common room, the way her hand would rest on his arm, and the way Harry would give her those soft, easy, uncomplicated smiles. It had been disgusting. It was a boring, saintly, "perfect" little relationship built on hand-holding and quiet walks by the lake, where everyone patted the hero on the back. It made Draco's stomach turn with a raw, vicious envy every single time he saw them together. He hated her red hair, he hated her laugh, and he hated the fact that she got to take up space next to the only person Draco actually looked at.
He had been so maddeningly jealous watching Harry hold her hand in the corridors. It had felt like literal poison in his veins, a suffocating, ugly rage that made him want to burn the entire school down just to make her let go. He didn't just want to disrupt them; he wanted to tear Harry out of that clean, safe light and drag him down into the dark where he belonged. He wanted to ruin him so thoroughly that the Gryffindors would look at their savior with nothing but absolute disgust, leaving Harry with nowhere left to turn, nowhere left to run, but straight into Draco's hands.
And it had worked. He had engineered the whole thing—the photo, the phone call, the meticulous dismantling of Harry's golden reputation—just to burn those bridges for good. He had loved the absolute weight of Harry's compliance when he tied him down, loved the way Harry's frantic, desperate green eyes looked up at him in the dark, completely brainwashed, believing Draco's toxic promises were some grand romance.
But Harry had to go and ruin it. Harry had to stand there in the locker room, weeping and shaking, asking those desperate, heavy questions. Am I just someone you screw in the dark?
Draco let out a jagged, bitter breath, his hand flying to his left forearm, fingers digging brutally through the fabric of his sleeve until his nails bit into the skin over the Dark Mark. The brand throbbed, a sickening reminder of the broken Cabinet, of his mother's safety, of the Dark Lord's shadow hanging over his neck.
"You make me weak," Draco whispered, his throat tightening as he stared at the dark velvet sheets.
That was the real problem. Harry was a distraction he couldn't afford, a terrifying, addictive warmth that made him forget he was supposed to be a executioner. He yearned for him so intensely it felt like a physical ache in his bones. He yearned for the frantic rhythm of Harry's heart against his chest, the soft, broken whimpers of total submission, the way Harry looked up at him in the dark as if Draco were the only thing keeping him alive. He wanted to crawl back into that bed right now, pull Harry under him, and stay there until the war burned itself out.
And instead, he had spat those cruel, venomous lies. You're just a secret, Harry. You were fun in bed.
"You forced my hand," Draco hissed, his voice cracking as he violently shoved a stack of parchment off his desk, sending the sheets scattering like winter leaves. "If you weren't so damn pathetic, I wouldn't have had to say it. You should have just stayed quiet. You should have just taken what I gave you. You're mine, Potter. You don't get to ask for more when I've already destroyed everything else you had."
He pulled the phone from his pocket, his thumb hovering over the screen, staring at the empty lock screen. He knew exactly where Harry was right now—sitting alone in the back of the classroom, bleeding from the wounds Draco had just inflicted, looking at the world through a dead, hollow numbness.
Draco sank onto the edge of the mattress, his head dropping into his shaking palms. He had isolated his prize, but he had done the job too well. He had forced the only person he actually yearned for to look at him with absolute, unadulterated hatred, and the silence of the room was suddenly so loud it made him want to scream.
raco smashed his palm into the stone wall, the physical sting doing absolutely nothing to cool the raw, boiling entitlement in his veins. He looked around his shattered bedroom with wide, unhinged eyes, his breathing coming in sharp, jagged growls.
"Pathetic, weak-willed little martyr," he spat, booting a heavy silver candlestick across the floor. "Always crying, always needing a hand to hold. If you weren't so damn pathetic, I wouldn't have had to break you like this."
He was entirely consumed by his own god complex. The rest of the world looked at Harry Potter and saw a savior, a legend, the Chosen One, but Draco only saw property he had rightfully bought and paid for with his own time and curation. He grew up in a world where a Malfoy simply pointed a finger and snapped their fingers to get what they wanted. If his father wanted a piece of land, he bought it. If Draco wanted a spot on the Quidditch team, gold handled it. People listened because the Malfoy name carried the weight of absolute authority, and he viewed Harry as no different from any luxury item he was entitled to possess. Harry had no right to sit on that locker room bench and act like he had a choice in the matter.
"You're mine," Draco snarled at the ink-stained walls, ripping a silver-framed portrait off the masonry and cracking it face-down over his desk. "You don't belong to the school. You don't belong to your pathetic little friends. I took you, Potter. You're down in the dirt with me now, and you stay where I put you."
A sudden, vicious image of the Weasley girl flashed in his mind, fueling a wave of pure, toxic jealousy that made his blood boil. He kept picturing the way she used to hold Harry's hand in the corridors, looking up at him with that clean, trusting love as if she actually owned a single part of him. It was infuriating. A broke, hand-me-down Weasley trying to claim the only person Draco had decided belonged to him. He hated her laugh, he hated her red hair, and he hated anyone who had ever dared to think they could take up space next to his prize.
"I will kill them," Draco whispered savagely, his grey eyes widening as he gripped the edge of his overturned wardrobe. "If anyone tries to take you back, if that ginger idiot or his sister even breathe in your direction again, I’ll end them. I’ll clear out the whole damn tower if I have to."
This wasn't a schoolboy threat; it was a terrifying, territorial promise. He had the money, the power, and the bloodline to make people disappear, and his unhinged pride wouldn't tolerate a single person standing between him and absolute ownership. He had completely dismantled Harry's safe, golden reality just to prove he could, and he was not about to let Harry slip away into a dead, hollow numbness.
Draco straightened up, his knuckles dripping blood onto the ruined rug, his chest heaving. He pulled his phone from his pocket, staring at the screen with an icy, absolute resolve. He didn't care about Harry's tears or the heartbreak in the classroom. Harry was his property, his addiction, and his toy, and Draco was about to go remind the Savior exactly whose name was branded onto his skin.
The heavy stone door of the prefect quarters ground open, and Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson froze right on the threshold.
The room was in absolute ruins. The sharp, stinging stench of spilled Firewhisky and wet ink hung heavy in the air. Shards of broken crystal from the shattered decanter littered the dark green rug like glittering teeth. The heavy velvet bed hangings had been violently ripped from their posts, pooling on the mattress in a tangled, shredded mess. Black ink was slowly soaking into the wood from the smashed inkwells.
In the center of the wreckage stood Draco, his chest heaving violently, his face pale and streaked with sweat. His knuckles were torn and bleeding, dripping red droplets onto a ruined textbook at his feet. He didn't even look up when they walked in. He was pacing a tight, frantic circle, his eyes wide and unblinking.
"Pathetic, weak-willed little martyr," Draco muttered under his breath, his voice a jagged snarl as he kicked a broken silver picture frame across the stone. "Always crying. Always needing a hand to hold. A pathetic little bitch, that’s all he is. Sitting on that bench acting like he has a choice. Like he isn't mine."
Pansy’s mouth parted in a small, stunned gasp. She didn't say a word, her gaze dropping from his wild, unhinged expression down to the blood smearing his fingers. She took a step back, her shoulder hitting the doorframe, her arm coming up slightly as if to shield herself from the sheer volatility radiating off him. Beside her, Blaise’s relaxed posture vanished. His eyebrows drew together in a sharp, hard line, his jaw locking tight as he watched Draco pace.
Slowly, Pansy's eyes cut over to Blaise. Blaise didn't break his rigid, crossed-arm stance, but he met her gaze with a tight, grim look. The silent realization passed between them in a single, heavy heartbeat. They weren't looking at a Malfoy pulling off a brilliant, malicious prank anymore. They were looking at a boy completely, ruinously consumed by a madness he could no longer hide.
Draco didn't even notice the look. His chest was still heaving, his fingers twitching wildly against his thighs as he stared blankly at the ink soaking into the floorboards.
"I'm going to the classroom," Draco muttered, his voice dropping from a shriek into a low, terrifyingly focused hiss. "He’s sitting back there right now. Thinking he can just erase me. Thinking he can go back to being a martyr."
"Draco, look at your hands," Pansy blurted out, her voice cracking as she finally dropped her hand from her face. She stepped directly into his path, her eyes frantic. "You're bleeding all over your shirt. You look completely unhinged. If Snape sees you like this in the corridors, he’s going to haul you straight to the headmaster's office!"
"Get out of my way, Pansy," Draco snarled, stepping up until his chest nearly brushed hers. His grey eyes were completely wide, the pupils blown out. "I don't care about Snape. I don't care about Dumbledore. I told you, nobody commands me."
"Are you completely out of your mind?!" Blaise broke his silence, his voice dropping into a harsh, commanding bark as he stepped forward, his hand locking firmly around Draco’s uninjured shoulder. "Listen to yourself! You're talking about murdering Weasleys and burning down towers over Potter? It was supposed to be a game, Draco! You told us it was a game!"
Draco violently wrenched his shoulder out of Blaise’s iron grip, his face twisting into pure, unadulterated venom. "Don't touch me! And don't you dare tell me what it was supposed to be! It stopped being a game the second he let me put my hands on him! He’s mine, Blaise! Do you understand that? Every single breath he takes belongs to me now!"
"He doesn't belong to you, Draco, he's a person!" Pansy cried, her fingers catching the edge of Draco's damp sleeve, desperately trying to anchor him to the spot. "He’s the Chosen One! The entire dark side wants him dead, your father wants him dead, and you're tearing your room apart because he didn't smile at you in a locker room?!"
"I don't care what my father wants!" Draco screamed right into her face, the raw, treasonous words echoing violently off the stone walls. Pansy flinched, her grip slipping from his sleeve in absolute shock. Draco didn't even blink. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a desperate, jagged whisper. "If my father steps between us, I’ll cross him too. If the Dark Lord tries to touch him, I’ll find a way to stop it. Nobody else gets a piece of him. Nobody else gets to look at him. He is my property, and I will ruin anyone who tries to prove otherwise."
Blaise stared at him, his face hardening into an unyielding mask of grim clarity. "You're going to get yourself killed," Blaise said, his voice deadly quiet, devoid of any anger now—just a cold, hard fact. "You're going to blow the mission, you're going to get your mother killed, and for what? A Gryffindor who hates your guts right now?"
"He doesn't hate me!" Draco roared, a frantic, delusional panic breaking through his anger. He dragged his bloody knuckles across his mouth, leaving a red streak across his pale cheek. "He loves me! He knelt right on that rug and said it! He just needs to be reminded! He's just being a pathetic, stubborn little bitch because his feelings are hurt!"
"Draco, please, just sit down and let us clean your hands," Pansy begged, a tear finally escaping her eye as she reached out one last time. "Please. Just breathe for five minutes."
"I said get out of my way!" Draco yelled.
With a brutal, sweeping movement of his arms, Draco shoved right between them. His shoulder slammed hard into Blaise’s chest, and his arm pushed Pansy roughly against the stone doorframe. He didn't look back to see them stumble. He tore the heavy stone door open, the wood scraping loudly against the floor, and stormed straight out into the freezing, torch-lit corridor of the dungeons, his boots clicking a frantic, violent rhythm against the masonry as he headed for the stairs.
Inside the ruined room, Pansy and Blaise stood completely frozen, staring at the empty doorway and the trail of red drops left behind on the stone.