A Different Kind of Harry Draco Story

A/N: This is my first slash story. So be warned, it does have slash, however mild. Much thanks to my lovely beta and Ainora for the original plot bunny. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, setting, ect. These ideas belong to JKR.


"He's back I tell you," said Harry crossly at the breakfast table, spooning his porridge.

"Yes, Harry. We know. You have told us many times," said Hermione over her toast, not bothering to look up. This was a rather routine topic of conversation by now.

"Yes, but no one seems to believe me," Harry countered miserably.

"'Course we do mate," said Ron mouth stuffed with his own concoction of eggs and bacon, earning him a disapproving glare from Hermione, "We believe you."

"I know you guys do, but no one else seems to!" Harry flung up his arms, clearly exasperated. Hermione was quick to respond. It was only breakfast and she had three classes with him today, it would not do well to have him upset.

"Harry, please. We have been over this far too many times with you. Most people will not believe you because of the Prophet. Sorry to say, but they've been reading it all summer long. Dumbledore simply did not have enough time to convince them. I mean to say, the very next day they got on the train to return to their families who just heard about a student dead and not some seemingly far-fetched story about a graveyard –"

"It's not far-fetched!" Harry said quite loudly, swinging around to face her. "I saw him kill him, I saw Vol –"

"Harry, keep your voice down! We are at breakfast. And as I've told you countless times before – we know."

"Fine," said Harry, turning morosely back to his breakfast, but not before catching a glimpse of Malfoy entering the hallway. He looked meticulously dressed and his prefect badge was displayed proudly on his robes, looking so freshly polished that it would have rivalled even Percy Weasley's.

"How did he get to be a prefect?" Harry wondered sullenly. Apparently he had said this out loud as Ron responded – thankfully without any food in his mouth,

"Who are you talking about Harry?"

"Malfoy," said Harry, the word infused with as much hatred as he could muster.

"Ah," said Ron wisely.

"I don't know why Harry, but I'm sure Dumbledore had his reasons." Hermione added.

"Don't you think it's even a little suspicious? I mean, it's Malfoy," he said, turning to look at the Slytherrin table. Draco Malfoy was talking to a crowd of Slytherrins who burst into laughter spontaneously. Harry could not help the feeling that he was the subject of that laughter.

"Harry, why are you always so suspicious of him?" she asked him. However, he was not paying much attention as he was still staring transfixed at the Slytherrin table.

"Let's see Hermione, what reason would Harry have to be suspicious? Maybe because Malfoy is an arrogant, pompous prat that Dumbledore would never in his right mind appoint and his father is a Death Eater? Or because he regularly throws insults around to everyone in the school community?" he said, aiming the last remark directly at her.

"Well, he is smart-" said a blushing Hermione, who was quickly cut off.

"I cannot believe you just said that, Hermione," said Ron indignantly. Quickly the semi-polite was reduced to a typical bickering session between the two of them.

Harry sighed, they would never stop fighting. However, the more he thought about it, the more suspicious it seemed. Why would Dumbledore have appointed Malfoy? With all of the new Umbridge business, it was true that he had less power in the school, but the job of picking prefects still resided in his hands. But, his picks of this year were extremely suspicious. Everyone had thought that he'd pick Harry, his favourite and Golden Boy, not Ron, and although no one had said anything, his choice of Malfoy was definitely more than surprising.

No, Harry suspected that something was indeed wrong with this and vowed to watch Malfoy more closely. Later in the Common Room, he spoke of this resolve to Hermione who was still avoiding Ron from their row of that morning.

"I think he's up to something," he said across the table. Hermione put down her quill and looked up at him, clearly bothered by the interruption.

"Is this about Malfoy again?"

"Yes. He is suspicious, don't you think? And I bet that Voldemort – it's just a name Hermione – would give anything to have an inside source right now."

"Well, maybe," Hermione conceded. "But what makes you so sure it's him? You were wrong about him being the heir in our second year."

"But, this is different. Think about it Hermione – Voldemort must have an inside source here. It would be foolish if he didn't. And you yourself said that it wasn't Umbridge, let me remind you. Although for one, I still have my doubts." He held up his hand for her to see, the words "I must not tell lies" permanently engraved into his skin.

"All right, Harry. But, he is just a teenager; I'd like to remind you. I don't think that even Voldemort would stoop that low."

"You'd be surprised," said Harry. "I need to see what he's up to, follow him around a bit, and maybe ask him a few questions."

"Fine, you can spy on him Harry. But, I'd like to say it goes against my best judgment and I certainly cannot say that I approve of it. And I will not make the Polyjuice potion for you. I'm a prefect."

"You don't need to – I'm not waiting a month," said Harry, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were almost white.

"So how do you intend to pull this off?" she asked, incredulous that he might have found a solution that did not need her superior potions skills.

"The Cloak. I don't actually need to talk to him, but I'll slip in on him in his dormitory. Lurk a bit and wait for someone to go in, use the map. He'll let something slip, he loves to brag."

"Fine Harry, but don't expect me to rescue you when you get in trouble."

"I won't need any rescuing." They returned to their work – Hermione engrossed in her Ancients Runes textbook and Harry to ponder about the intricacies of this latest scheme.

Ron and Hermione were not back on speaking terms, which was not a good development, as Harry needed to talk to both about his plan. They were in Potions and were attempting to talk while each tried to brew a passable Healing Solution. Only Hermione's was the clear lavender colour described by the book for the midway point – Harry's was a deep violet while Ron faired worse with a blackish-teal colour.

Snape passed by them, inspecting the potions. He walked past Hermione's without comment, finding no fault to remark on. He sneered at Ron's, muttering something that sounded very much like disgraceful, but when he came to Harry's he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Pray tell me Harry, what was the fifth ingredient in the list – after the crushed bat wings?"

"Um, it was," said Harry looking down at the list, blushing slightly when he saw it, "dragon's blood."

"Did you put that in?" asked Snape leering over him, like an animal looking at its prey when it had been trapped.

"No, I forgot."

"What?" said Snape.

"No, I forgot, sir," said Harry through gritted teeth. He couldn't afford another detention.

"And that makes this potion completely useless." With a flick of his wand it was gone. "Now please look on with Miss Granger here, who at least managed to abide by the ingredient list. Five points from Gryffindor."

"That is-" began Harry, before receiving a sharp poke in the ribs from Hermione.

"Did you say something Potter?"

"No," he replied sullenly.

"No what?"

"No, sir." Snape turned away from him; apparently satisfied by the little damage he had been able to do.

In the other corner of the room, the Slytherins that had been watching the spectacle snickered. Draco caught Harry's eye for a second, sending him a glance before returning to his conversation with Blaise and Pansy. For some reason, that glance seemed tinged with an emotion besides disdain or even dislike. Harry could not quiet pinpoint it.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Snape was actually Voldemort's window," said Harry turning to face Hermione. That look Malfoy had given him disturbed him and it wasn't just his suspicions. It was something else. However, he shook the feeling and returned to listen to Hermione.

"Dumbledore trusts him so we should as well. He is in the Order," she had looked around to check for prying ears before hurriedly saying the last part.

"Fine, I'm not going after Snape today after all. Malfoy's more my target."

"So when are you planning to begin?" she asked, adding in dried rose petals to the cauldron. It turned a light pink.

"I've already begun. I followed him around all morning."

"And what did that produce?"

"Nothing," he answered, a little glumly.

"See? I really don't think he's up to anything," she said smugly, an I-told-you-so look planted on her face.

"He is and I plan on sneaking up to the Slytherrin dormitories today after dinner. Neither of us has Quidditch practice and I know he won't be doing rounds tonight. So it's perfect timing. Besides, if he is up to anything it's best to find out sooner rather than later."

"Well, I guess it sounds safe enough, especially if you're using the Cloak. But, do be careful Harry. You know what would happen if you were caught, especially with that Umbridge woman in charge."

"I'll be careful," said Harry, a grin already on his face as he looked at Malfoy – his enemy, his foe, his rival. Right?


Harry had finished eating dinner early, which explained why the Gryffindor Common Room was deserted. Quickly, he retrieved his Invisibility Cloak from his dormitory, slipping it on soundlessly. Almost as an afterthought, he took the Marauder's Map as well, stuffing it into his back pocket. Checking that his wand was securely in place, he slipped out of the Portrait Hole.

Harry continued his decent to the Slytherrin Common Room trying to remember the location from his second year.

The dungeon level was quiet and cool, and his footsteps echoed slightly off the stone walls. It was somewhat peaceful and Harry did not feel nervous in the slightest. He had talked to a very sullen Ron earlier, still upset about his row with Hermione, who had agreed with him about Malfoy. That had heartened his resolve somewhat, although he did have a sneaking suspicion that she might have been right.

Malfoy was a complete git, and as eager as Harry was for revenge against him, Harry did doubt that he was evil. Sure, he was spoiled and a bully, but a Death Eater? However, Harry was not one to back out of a plan, especially one he had made so publicly known to his friends. So he waited by the cool stone wall for a Slytherin to come down.

He didn't have to wait long. Draco Malfoy came down the hall, alone. Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be found nor Pansy or even Blaise. Harry's suspicions rose again – this was indeed an interesting development.

He followed Malfoy through the stone wall, surprised to hear the whispered password Pureblood, had not changed since his last visit. Neither had the decorations in the Common Room, which was empty as well. He saw the familiar green lamps and low, stone ceilings. However, Malfoy did not remain there, but quickly made his way up to what Harry presumed was his dormitory.

Harry struggled to hurry after him quickly enough so his steps were not heard, but he would still be able to enter the room without opening the door. He arrived in time, although he had to widen the opening of the door slightly to fit in.

Malfoy turned to look at the door and stared at the exact location where Harry was. For a moment Harry thought Malfoy knew he was there, but shrugged it immediately. It was not possible.

Glancing back, Malfoy went to the trunk placed directly in front of what Harry assumed was his bed. The dormitory was the exact same as Gryffindors expect that there were six beds instead of five and the colour scheme was flamboyantly Slytherrin. The same Quidditch posters hung on their walls and the same quills and books sat on their beds.

Malfoy went to his bed, taking off his robes in the process. Under them he wore a tight shirt that clearly emphasized the muscles in his body. He was lithe, to be sure, but he was definitely fit. For some reason, Harry found himself staring at Malfoy, wondering what it would be like to run his hands along his body. The thought disgusted Harry and he quickly reminded himself of Cho, picturing himself doing the same with her. Somehow, the idea was not as appealing.

Harry returned to his plan, carefully scrutinizing Malfoy. So far, Malfoy had done nothing in the least bit compromising today. He had made fun of a first year, snubbed a Hufflepuff, but that was only to expected from him.

Malfoy was rummaging under his covers for something and Harry became excited – this could be it, he thought. This could be my chance to get Malfoy. He thought of all the times Malfoy had made fun of him and his friends, the times he had said something so utterly disgusting that he could barely stop himself from jinxing him, the times Malfoy had gotten him into trouble. It could be over now.

But, what Malfoy pulled out from under the covers was so utterly shocking that Harry almost fainted. It was a stuffed dragon, looking old and torn. Malfoy pulled it close to himself and hugged it, muttering something about 'mini-Draco.'

Harry was biting his lip to prevent a fit of hysterics. Malfoy had a stuffed animal. This was the person he had feared was a Death Eater. This was the person he had been mocked by his entire life. He would never have suspected. And, Harry suddenly thought, no one else would either.

This was why Malfoy had left dinner so early – to play with this stuffed animal. Harry would bet that no one else knew this information, which made it all the more lucrative. A new plan was forming in Harry's mind as Draco petted the little dragon, one that had nothing to do with dark forces at all.

Harry told no one about his discovery – it would not have fit into his plan well. However, he continued to watch Malfoy and he did tell Ron and Hermione that Draco was most likely innocent. Hermione seemed rather smug to hear this, while Ron was completely flabbergasted.

What Harry did not choose to tell them about was the dreams he had been having since his spying began – involving him and a very scantily clad Draco in an extremely compromising position. He was still embarrassed about it, but his careful observations of Malfoy had lead to a startling conclusion – he now believed Draco was gay.

It had something to do with the way he moved, swinging his hips ever so slightly, and how he made it seemed as if Pansy was his girlfriend, when it was obvious to the two of them that she wasn't. It was also the way Draco looked at other students. Girls, he did not stare at and was in general ruder to than boys. However, Draco could often be caught eying another male student lustfully. It was subtle, but Harry could tell it was there.

One day, he could have sworn Malfoy had been eyeing him in Potions class. He felt his eyes digging into, but chose not to say anything. However, he decided to put his plan in motion. Then, he began waiting.

Draco approached the Gryffindor table the very next day, an extremely angry expression on his face. The entire hall stared at him as he made his way over to Harry, shock in their eyes. Except for one person, they were all shocked.

"Potter," Draco hissed. "I need to talk to you, now. Follow me out when no one is looking." He exchanged a quick look with Hermione before he strode away from the table and out of the doors. The occupants of the Dinning Room returned to their excitable murmurings.

"What was the bloody hell was that Harry?" asked Ron after Draco had left.

"Oh, nothing," said Harry innocently. "But, I really do need to get started on that Potions essay."

"Harry, you just said that you weren't planning to start that essay until tomorrow," observed Hermione suspiciously. Harry could not help but shake the feeling that she was onto him and perhaps even knew something that he didn't. He, unlike Ron, had noticed that brief look.

With a meaningful glance at her, he said mostly for Ron's benefit, "I changed my mind, all right?" He then got up and proceeded to follow Draco's path out of the Dinning Room. Draco stood waiting for him, and seeing Harry, beckoned him into a lesser used corridor.

"What is the meaning of this, Potter?" he asked Harry when he was satisfied that they would not be overheard. He brandished a note at him, covered in Harry's messy scrawl.

"What note?" asked Harry, innocently.

"You know full well what note."

"No, I don't."

"Maybe if I read it, it will refresh your memory." He cleared his throat before continuing.

" 'Dearest Draco, I have found a piece of information about you that I'm not sure you would be to eager to share. Meet me after breakfast,'" he paused for a moment. "It wasn't signed, but even an imbecile could recognize your handwriting.

"Oh," said Harry, smiling mischievously. "That note."

"Yes, that note," replied Draco. His hands were crossed against his chest and he looked extremely displeased to be there, but Harry could not help notice that he was looking at him with an expression mixed between lust and distain. Perfect. Harry smirked.

"So what information do you know about me?" Draco asked, appearing a little nervous for the first time.

"Nothing much, just something about a stuffed animal named Mini-Draco. Oh, and the fact that you're gay." Draco's mouth hung open, his cheeks turning scarlet.

"How on earth –"

"Well, the second one was obvious," said Harry. "The way you lust over every guy in the school, myself included." Harry watched appreciatively as Draco's blush deepened. "The first I won't tell you."

"What do you want," spat Draco, clearly embarrassed. "Money, power, anything, just please don't tell, my father would…" he gulped. And for the first time Harry felt just a little sympathetic towards Draco.

But, Harry leaned forward and looked at Draco in the eyes.

"I'm sure we could work something out," he said smoothly, reaching out and touching Draco's cheek. Surprisingly, he did not recoil.

"I'm sure we could too," he said, looking Harry in the eye before leaving Harry alone in the corridor.

Draco returned to the Slytherin dormitory, rushing to sit on his bed. He pulled out his stuffed animal, hugging it tightly. He smiled; the plan had worked out perfectly.

I have to remember to thank Granger for this.


A/N: Read? Review! It would be much appreciated.