daggerstiletto - I hope you have a lovely day my darling!  Here’s a little fic for you where Harry tries to help Draco get his patronus :-)

3.8K words, and a little bit of smut at the end.  Picture set by me featuring Marlon Teixeira as Harry and Clark Bockelman as Draco.  I don’t own any of the images.


Too Cool For School

   Harry blinked.  “Are you serious?” he asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

  Mackleby Jones sighed and rubbed her eyes.  “Potter…” she began tiredly, but Harry waved her off.  

  “I know, I know,” he told his instructor.  

  She was a stout woman with dark skin and a disproportionate amount of patience.  But then, when dealing with hot-headed, wannabe Aurors, Harry guessed that sort of trait was necessary.  “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate,” she told him as they strolled together down the Llyffant Pwll Academy hall.  “But we’ve talked about everything you did for the students of Hogwarts, no teacher ever coaxed out as many patronuses as you did.”

  Harry snorted.  “Yeah, but you are aware in seven years that school only ever gave us one decent Defence teacher.”  

  Mackleby sighed.  “And if he were still with us, don’t you think I’d be talking to Remus?”

  Harry slipped his hands into his pockets.  It had been a couple of years since the Battle of Hogwarts, but thinking about everyone he lost that day still stung.  Of course he would prefer it if Remus were still alive, and Tonks, and Fred and any one of his departed friends.  But they weren’t.  And Jones was right; when he was running Dumbledore’s Army he’d seen students achieve things he’d never thought possible, because of him.

  He knew he should be flattered, and he was.  He was only a first year himself, and yet here his professor was, asking him to coach a fellow student.  But it was the particular student in question that gave Harry pause.  He couldn’t ignore ten years of history between them.

  “He’s really not managing it at all?”

  Mackleby shrugged and unwrapped a rhubarb and custard hard boiled sweet from her pocket – her answer when the nicotine cravings got too much.  “Not even a wisp,” she confirmed, offering Harry the packet of sweets.  “If Malfoy can’t produce a functioning patronus by the end of the year I’ll have no choice but to fail him.”  She stopped walking and turned to face Harry.  “I know you boys aren’t close, but he’s worked so hard after…everything.”

  Harry knew that, he really did.  He’d actually swallowed his pride and spoken for Draco and his mother at their trails in the summer after the war.  He knew there had been circumstances out of their control, and he’d seen how hard Malfoy had worked to rebuild his life after Voldemort had tried to wreck it. Harry could identify with that. It didn’t mean he liked the pointy git any better.  

  “You really think he’ll listen to me?” he asked.  Surely Draco’s stubbornness wouldn’t allow him to be trained by The Chosen One, he’d rather die than admit to anyone he had a weakness, let alone Harry.

   But Mackleby smirked.  “I didn’t give him a choice.”

  Which is how Harry ended up stood in one of the Academy’s practice rooms, facing a rather grouchy Draco Malfoy, trying to channel his professor’s patience.  

  Llyffant Pwll was much like Hogwarts in many ways – not as big, but still a reasonable sized castle nestled in the Brecon Beacons of Wales.  It was home to those training for their Auror qualifications, as well as the Healers, Unspeakables and numerous other professions.  The second and third years would Floo out for on the job experience, but the first years spent almost all their time ensconced between these walls, learning from some of the best instructors in the world.

  “Give it up Potter,” Draco grumbled.  “You’re wasting your time.”

  Harry was getting annoyed by his pessimistic mood, no wonder he’d not had any success before now.  “You won’t pass if you don’t get this, so let’s just relax and try again.”

  “Reminding me – again-” Draco bit back. “That failing to achieve a patronus will result in my repeating the year does not help Potter.”  

  Harry swallowed.  “Sorry,” he said, and he meant it.  He shouldn’t let his own frustrations get the better of him.  “Look, you’re technique is pretty solid, I guess we should be focusing more on getting a really sharp memory for you to concentrate on.  You’ll never produce anything until you can tap into a source of something that makes you truly happy.”

  Draco scoffed and dropped his head back.  “Some of our lives aren’t all sunshine and daises Potter,” he told him, wandering around the room with his hands in his blond hair.  He had filled out a bit since school Harry had come to realise, training had bulked him up so he was less scrawny.  It suited him.  The same old miserable attitude however, did not.

  “Oh come on,” Harry said, laughing disparagingly.  “Does it still have to be ‘Potter’?  We’re all adults now.”

  “Yes, Potter,” he replied pointedly.  “It does. We are not bloody mates, we are just stuck here together for a little while.”  At that he checked his watch.  “Look, why don’t we call it a day.  I’ll tell Jones you worked really hard, but that I’m a lost cause. I’ll…make up extra credit on something else or something.”

  “That won’t work,” Harry said firmly.  “If you want to be an Auror, you need a patronus.”  And for some reason Malfoy did want to be an Auror.  Something about making amends Harry guessed?  “So come on, what makes you happy?”

  But Draco was shoving his stuff back into his bag.  “Just leave it,” he growled.

  “It doesn’t have to be much-” Harry started, but Draco shut him down.

  “I said leave it!” he snapped, storming out of the door.

  But Harry wasn’t very good at leaving well alone.  He had a mission now, and he was damned well going to succeed.

  How though? He needed something that warmed Draco’s soul (if he even had one) but he was such a miserable bastard it was hard to know where to start looking.  When it came to Harry’s friends he had so much experience to fall back on, but with Draco all he had was animosity.  He needed some insight, he needed…

  Harry sighed loudly to himself.  He knew exactly what he needed to do.

  A few days later, he found himself standing outside the address Jones was able to dig up for him, staring dubiously at the front door.  He was back in London, up north in Tottenham Hale in front of a dilapidated terraced house wondering if Mackleby had made a mistake.  But suddenly the intercom under his fingers crackled to life, and he lost his chance to back out.

  “Hello?” a voice demanded.

  “Um Pansy?” Harry asked.  He wasn’t sure he’d even had a civil conversation with the woman…or at all for that matter.  

  “Yes?” she said, her voice not losing it’s hard edge.  “Who’s this?”

  Harry swallowed and rubbed his nose for something to stall with.  “It’s uh, it’s Potter actually.  Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  There was a pause, and Harry was certain he was going to get told to fuck off.  But after another beat the speaker static flared up again.  “Come in,” she said simply, and the door clicked open.  

  Harry stared at it a minute, before hastily making his way through in case she changed her mind.  

  Once inside, it was clear the few flats contained within the house were all magical. Harry hadn’t really expected Pansy Parkinson to live in a genuinely Muggle area, and it was somewhat comforting to see the Sneak-A-Scope and moving mirrors in the hallway.  Taking the steps two at a time, he bounded up to the top floor and knocked on the door with the number five emblazoned on it.

  “It’s open,” Pansy’s voice floated through the wood.

  So Harry made his way inside, and discovered a small but extremely artfully decorated one bed flat, whose owner was perched on the living room window sill, a mug of coffee in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other.  “Hello Potter,” she said civilly.  “It’s been a while.”

  Harry cleared his throat.  “It has,” he said neutrally and closed the door behind him.  Pansy took a drag of the cigarette and blew it out the window into the afternoon spring air.  

  “Is there an reason for this honour,” she said, arching a black, pencilled eyebrow. “Or have you just come to gloat?”

  Harry frowned.  “Gloat?”

  She smirked. “No, you’re right,” she said, sweeping her arms out to encompass her small home.  “What could you possibly want to lord over me?”

  There was this thing with Slytherins, Harry had come to appreciate over the years, where they thought he was rich and privileged. Harry toyed with the idea of setting them straight sometimes, like now – of telling them how he grew up in a bloody broom closet, but the truth was he already had one troublesome Slytherin on his hands and he really couldn’t be bothered with a second.  

  “Your flat is lovely,” he said, side-stepping the issue, but Pansy scoffed.

  “Until I’ve proved I’m not a liability and get access to my trust-fund again,” she informed him matter-of-factly.  “It’s the best I can do.  But you didn’t come here to talk about my living arrangements, did you?”

  “No.” She narrowed her eyes at him, so he went on.  “I’m here for some help actually,” he said.  

  “From me?” Pansy asked sceptically.  “Whatever could I possibly help you with?”  

  “Draco Malfoy.”

  At that, her interest finally piqued.  She stubbed out her fag and hopped off the sill.  “Really,” she purred, swanning into the kitchen and depositing her mug in the sink.  “I think we may need a drink for this.  Sit.” She pointed at her round dining table and opened one of her cupboards.  Not feeling he really had a choice, Harry obeyed, letting his bag drop to the floor and lacing his fingers together to stop them twitching.  

  He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous, what did it matter to him if Pansy refused and Draco failed?  But somehow it did matter, so he kept his mouth clamped shut for the moment and his hands gripped tight on the table top.  

  She presented him with two little cut-crystal glasses on slim but sturdy stems, and poured a measure of amber liquid into each for them before sitting down, the bottle placed ominously between them.  “Fire away, what do you want to know?”

  “I’m trying to help him get his patronus,” Harry started, but Pansy distracted him but knocking back her drink in one go.  She leant back smugly in her chair, licking her lips and eyeing up Harry like a cat with the cream in its sights.  So he bucked up and followed her lead, swallowing the liquid down in one, and only managing to splutter a little as the fiery alcohol hit his throat.  

  “Go on,” she said, giving them a refill.  There was a pleasant almond taste seeping through after the initial shock, and Harry found he didn’t mind the idea of more.  

  “He needs it to graduate the year, but he can’t do it, he doesn’t even seem to want to try.”

  Pansy nodded and began sipping the second glass.  “Not changed much then since school,” she conceded.  “He always hated that spell, said it was namby-pamby.”

  It was Harry’s turn to raise an eyebrow.  “I’m guessing that’s actually because he had so much difficulty with it?”

  Pansy winked at him.

  “Right,” Harry huffed.  “Well, I’m glad we established that.  But now it’s my responsibility to make sure he doesn’t fail, so he’s going to have to get over himself.”

  Pansy laughed and her brown eyes danced.  She was still as immaculate as she’d ever been at school, with her acute black bob of hair and ruler straight fringe, pristine makeup and clothes arranged in a fashion Harry didn’t really comprehend other than to know they were ‘in’. But sitting across the table from her, he was starting to get a sense of fun he had never seen before, and he had to say he liked it.  

  “Good boy,” she told him.  “Don’t take any of his shit.”

  “This is where you come in,” Harry pressed on, finishing his glass again and starting to feel his mind floating slightly.  “He needs a happy memory to make the spell work, but he won’t talk about anything like that with me.  So I was wondering if you had any ideas?”

  Pansy ran her thumb across her red lower lip.  “Draco doesn’t really do happy darling,” she said and picked up the bottle once more.  Harry was glad he didn’t have any classes to return to, he had a feeling this was going to get messy.  “He’s more the angsty, melancholy kind.”

  He nudged his glass forward as she held out the bottle.  “Well that doesn’t help him or me,” he said.  “Is there something that makes him less of a twat perhaps?  Favourite food, places to go?  I know he liked Potions at school.”

  “Potions make him calm,” Pansy interjected, lighting up another cigarette.  “I doubt that’ll be enough.”

  “Well is he seeing anyone?” Harry asked.  “Is there a girl he fancies that might light him up a bit?”

  Pansy shrieked with mirth, but it was warm and not scathing like Harry would  have expected.  “Have you seen his hair?” she asked, grinning and taking another gulp of the almond fire.  “No, there’s no girl, never has been.”

  Harry wasn’t sure what to make of that – did she mean styling his hair made him happy? That was a bit odd, and probably not enough to make a patronus anyway.   “There’s got to be something,” he insisted.

  Pansy sighed and stretched out her arms contentedly.  She seemed to be enjoying herself.  “Potter, sweetheart,” she said, batting her thick eyelashes.  “The only time he really ever got…excited…about anything was when, well,” she snorted and sipped her drink again.  “When he was tormenting you.”

  Harry blinked.  “Huh?”

  She tittered and flicked her ash into a bowl she had conjured out of nowhere.  “You know,” she carried on with a wicked glint in her eye.  “Like when he made all those ‘Potter Stinks!’ badges back in fourth year.  He just loved that, it gave him such a kick seeing how wound up you got. Or when you lot would play Quidditch, even if he lost he would rant loudly and I could tell he was relishing it.” She grinned.  “You boys were always chasing each other about the castle, seeing who could piss higher than the other.  It was all so-” she shuddered and dragged on her cigarette. “Thrilling.”

  Harry was aware he was staring at her, so he decided to take another hit of alcohol, because he had a feeling that might help.  “You’re telling me,” he said.  “That the closest Draco ever got to being happy was messing with me?”

  “Yes,” said Pansy simply.

  “That’s fucked up.”

  Pansy giggled until tears sprung at the corner of her eyes.  “Oh don’t I know it poppet,” she said.  

  But something had sparked in Harry’s slightly addled mind, and he raised his thimble of a glass to his drinking companion.  “I think I might be able to work with that,” he told her.

  She chinked her own glass with him and nodded solemnly.  “Oh that, my dear Potter,” she toasted.  “I have no doubt.”


   A few days (and one serious hangover) later, Harry plopped himself down at one of Llyffant Pwll’s library tables, feeling quite proud of himself.  Draco looked slowly up from his textbook, displeasure clear on his features.  “What?”

  “Nothing,” said Harry, pulling out his own books.  “Partner.”

  Draco stilled, quill mid-scratch, eyes focused on a knot in the wood above his parchment.  “What?” he said, a little breathlessly.  

  Harry shrugged.  “We’re partners now.”

  “In what?” Draco demanded.


  That finally made Draco’s head snap up.  “Potter what did you do?”

   “I switched all our classes so we’re working together,” Harry said, enjoying himself a little bit too much.  “You can thank you when you have your patronus.”

  Draco though ground his teeth.  “How does me being lumbered with you get me a patronus exactly?”

  “I,” said Harry magnanimously.  “Am going to stick by your side, and work out what makes you happy.”  Other than, he added mentally, annoying me, which you will be able to do more of, because I will always be around. He was very proud of his plan either way.

  Draco’s mouth opened and closed, not sure what he wanted to say.  “And our lecturers all agreed to this?”

  “Oh yes,” said Harry happily, flicking to the same page in the textbook Draco was on. “They thought it was a marvellous idea.”

  “We’ll see,” Draco grumbled, but he seemed to realised his battle was lost.  

  And lost it was.  Harry had the upper hand knowing it was a game, so delighted in provoking Draco in as many ways as he could get away with, whether it was asking obviously stupid questions about their assignments or resorting to a good old fashioned prank. To begin with, Draco suffered with silence and dignity, but when Harry woke one day to find all his underwear spelled green and his quill cursed to only write “Potter likes it up the arse” did he finally feel he was getting somewhere.

  “Would you two keep it down?” Ron had called angrily one day over the courtyard as they bellowed each other hoarse on the correct emergency procedure for escaped ghouls, and then Hermione had had to (literally) smack their heads together when their liquorice wand eating competition had gotten out of hand.  

  “Honestly, it’s like being back in school,” she’d bemoaned, and the two of them had given her black, sticky grins.

   Because Harry began to realise, as much as Draco enjoyed ribbing and tormenting him, he liked it just as much back.

  “Come on,” he whined, back in the practice room as he and Draco danced around each other. “You’re much less grumpy these days, there must be something you can try to spark of you patronus!”

  “Don’t push it Potter,” Draco snapped, but it had lost some of the previous weeks’ rancour.  

  “What?” Harry asked innocently.  “Like this?”  

  And he gave Draco just a little prod on the shoulder with his fingertips.  “What are you…?” he started, shaking his head in exasperation.

  Harry did it again, and Draco’s face dropped into a scowl.  “Come on,” said Harry, waggling her eyebrows.  “It’s just a little push!  That’s all you need, I know you know what makes you happy!”  And he gave him a push again.

  “Potter cut it out!” Draco cried reaching over and shoving him with both hands, and that was all the incentive Harry needed to tackle him to the ground.

  They yelped like puppies and Harry maintained his upper hand by diving in to tickle Draco’s ribs.  “Come on Draco!” he crowed between laughing.  “You can do it!  Show me, show me what makes you happy!”

  “Harry get off!” he responded, using his height to bowl them over and try and pin Harry down.  But Harry was fast and lithe and was enjoying it far too much.  “You prat – STOP!”

   Harry just cackled though, mussing up Draco’s hair and grappling his waist between his thighs.  “Not until you show me your patronus!” he declared.  “Take me to your happy place Draco!”

  Suddenly, Draco became still in Harry’s arms, his face serious as he panted and fixed Harry with a searing look.  “Fine,” he rasped.

  It all happened so fast.  He arched up his hips, bringing their chests together as he grabbed Harry’s hair in one hand and his shirt in the other.  Their lips came crashing down onto each other, and before Harry could even process what was happening a strong, slippery tongue was pushing its way through to meet his own, and…oh…

  Harry moaned.  He found his own hands fighting to pull Draco as close to him as possible, yanking at material and skirting over his beautifully soft hair-

  AH! So that’s what Pansy had been talking about.  He felt the laughter rumble through his throat, and Draco just squeezed him tighter.

  He was kissing Draco Malfoy.  He was kissing Draco Malfoy and it felt amazing. All those fights, all that tension, now it all just seemed so right, like it had been leading up to this moment all along.  

  They sprawled on the floor, their bodies undulating together, and Harry could feel Draco’s hardness rubbing up against his own through their trousers.  “Yes,” Harry whispered as he gasped for breath. “Yes.”  

  “Want you,” Draco mumbled as he attacked Harry’s neck, sucking and licking and biting in his fervour.

  “Got me,” Harry assured, before gasping out loud.  Draco’s hand had worked between them and was now firmly rubbing against Harry’s crotch, adding to the pressure already there.  “Take me.”

  Draco barely broke their kissing as he quickly lifted himself up and attacked the zips keeping them apart.  Harry wanted to get involved though, and soon his shirt was off, as was Draco’s, and then there wasn’t much left keeping them apart at all.

  “This is your happy place?” Harry whispered as Draco conjured something slippery with his wand into his hand that he then massaged liberally against his and Harry’s groins.  The sensation was mind-blowing, and Harry struggled to keep his thoughts coherent as slowly they began to grind together.

  “Yes,” Draco mewled, kissing him again.  He wasn’t going to last much longer, but then he got the impression Draco wasn’t either. “Wanted you…so long.”

  “I’m here,” Harry assured him, his finger digging into the flesh of Draco’s arse as his pace got quicker and quicker.  “Right here Draco.”  He yelled out as his orgasm built, seeing stars in front of his eyes.  “I’m going to-”

  “Me too,” Draco grunted.  “Me too, I’m-”

  Harry seized him as their climaxes collided, wailing and gnashing and panting desperately for breath.

  “Fuck,” Harry exhaled, dropping back onto the wooden floorboards, letting Draco slump bonelessly on top.  “Wow. I think…I think I just found my new happy place too.”

  Draco grinned sleepily and fumbled for his wand.  “Expecto Patronum,” he said casually, and a huge burst of silver erupted from the tip.  There before them, in all their naked glory, settled Draco Malfoy’s first ever patronus.

  Harry groaned.  “Of course it’s a bloody dragon,” he said good humouredly, fishing out his own wand from his discarded jeans and whipping up his stag. The two ethereal creatures regarded each other as the stag cautiously approached, before nuzzling its head into the dragon’s flank.  “My one likes it.”

  “Your one loves it,” Draco teased, pulling Harry back in for another, messy hug as the spells faded away.  

  Harry shrugged, hardly able to suppress his smirk.  “I’m not sure,” he said, running his hands over the smooth skin of Draco’s back. “I think we need to do some more research, test our theories.”

  “Is that so?” asked Draco.  Harry nodded. “How’s your schedule for this afternoon, think we could do some more testing now?”

  Harry rolled his eyes and pretended to think.  “Well, I guess, for you…”  He dove back in for another languorous kiss.  “I’m wide open.”

  Draco gave him a look of pure sass.  “Not yet,” he said, glancing purposefully down at their hot, entwined bodies.  “But you will be.”

  And that was how Harry learned that both he and Draco had many happy memories they could make together, and patronuses were never an issue again.


(BTW -  Llyffant Pwll means “Frog Pond” in Welsh lol)