1
A Lamentable Punishment
Professor McGonagal rounded the corner of the conjoining corridors sharply, pursued urgently by a rather over enthusiastic Filch, the lecherous Hogwarts caretaker. Wearing her characteristically stern expression she came to face the two seventh year students, who were brawling in the third floor hallway.
"Malfoy! Potter! What in Merlin's beard is going on!" cried The Professor, startling the pair.
Draco was on top of Harry, securing the other boy underneath him writhing like a cornered animal. He held a squirming Harry, pressed in a predatory manner, against the solid wall, their faces mere inches apart. Draco shot Harry a warning glance, bearing down on him from the advantaged position. Not a warning for Harry's benefit, but a threat of what consequences may befall him if he 'snitched' on Draco. The sound of the Professor's shrill exclamation had quickly brought him to his feet in alarm.
From his designated spot on the floor Harry answered in a disgruntled fashion " Nothing Professor, just a little healthy House-rivalry…That's all, nothing serious." He was still held under Malfoy's dominant glare, reaching instinctively for his wand and broom. He had been carrying them around as he was returning from a late quidditch practice.
McGonagal fixing curtly upon Malfoy for confirmation enquired through her thick Scottish accent "Is this true Mr Malfoy?" For she suspected as always that Harry was proudly covering up whichever disgrace he had suffered at the hands of the tall blond.
"Yes Professor. I think he needed taking down a peg or two." Stated Malfoy nonchalantly, staring evenly at his inquisitor.
"Which I suppose, young man," started McGonagal icily, "you feel is your prerogative? I still am not clear as to why exactly Mr Potter found himself on the floor in your presence in the first place. I am almost certain it was not of his own choosing?" McGonagal's open question made way for Malfoy's cool defence.
He seamlessly cut in with what he clearly thought a plausible excuse; "I caught Potter with his school shirt un-tucked, and when I deducted house-points from Gryffindor, he violently attacked me Professor! Naturally, in self defence, you understand…" He trailed off to acquire the desired effect but Harry's exasperated expression told McGonagal different,
"Potter, unless you can explain either what really happened or, why you would take it upon yourself to assault a prefect, then I'm afraid I shall have to issue you both with detentions. No doubt, Mr filch could use the extra hands, and you shall have to settle your differences whilst scrubbing Mrs Norris' litter tray."
Filch salivated greedily behind McGonagal at the thought of such a delicious punishment. Harry, aghast at the idea of serving detention with Malfoy, thought to himself that he'd rather serve it alone and lick clean the filthy cat's litter tray…
"It's true Professor" He cautioned, adding quickly for authenticity; "It was all my fault I provoked him with…my messy shirt…" 'Great one Harry…' he thought.' Like old McGonagal was going to fall for that one'. Well, if it had worked at least Malfoy wouldn't be accompanying him during Filch's detention.
Draco grinned smugly, "You see professor, I was just performing my honourable prefect duties…"
McGonagal, well used to the Potter-Malfoy feud with now six years' experience with the matter concluded that they should put a stop to this silly nonsense. "Despite your best cover up efforts, gentlemen, I'm afraid to say, that I remain unconvinced. You shall both be serving detention with Mr Filch On Friday night-tomorrow, 6pm sharp!
Further still, you shall repeat this every week until I am satisfied that you are going to act like respectable young men towards each other, and I shan't find you duelling every time I turn a corner! Your racing brooms shall be confiscated too until you can exercise a little more restraint. Do I make my self clear?"
Not my 'Andromeda Nebula' Professor! Harry cried instantly, aghast that his state-of-the-art new broom was being relieved of him so mercilessly. Draco too, was appalled. Their mouths were open in disbelief.
"Do I make myself clear!" Repeated McGonagal, ignoring the boys' outrage. "Accio brooms." commanded McGonagal, seemingly oblivious to the whelping noises emitting from her students. The broomsticks that Harry and Draco so fondly recognised as their own came to life. Harry's shot up into McGonagal's reptile-like hands immediately, because it was in the near vicinity. Draco's broom, which had been in his chamber in the dungeons, was now snaking up through the domed architecture that accommodated the many stairs and flew purposely into McGonagal's hands with a sharp 'thwack!'.
No Quidditch! Harry thought…hoped that McGonagal had been bluffing. His broom wriggling restlessly in her firm grip told him otherwise.
"Yes, Professor." Replied the young wizards in unison, through gritted teeth, each livid with anger at the outcome, though managing somehow to concentrate it into occasional penetrating stares directed at one-another.
Filch was positively ecstatic, he eyed them hungrily rubbing his greasy weathered hands together in anticipation.
"Now, back to your dormitories immediately, the both of you!" McGonagal shrieked, turning on her heel smartly, sighing a final, decisive sigh of disapproving annoyance. She strode off but Filch lingered a little longer, like a bad smell.
"Oh dear, boys, you'll be sorry… you will be sorry…" Filch's haggard face creased with delight, like a rotten, dried up apple, revealing mangled teeth. He hobbled away whispering sweet nothings to himself. Harry leapt up brushing himself off just in time to see Peeves, the resident poltergeist blow a big fat raspberry in Filch's face and soil the corridor with a mystery substance, which soon deflated the caretakers jovial mood.
Straightening himself up, he chanced a glare at the retreating Malfoy, who looked a lot less triumphant now, in the wake of the Professor's decree, than he had minutes before when he had pinioned Harry against the floor in that domineering fashion. Malfoy looked back at Harry with a Scowl that said 'Get you next time, Potter' and strode down the stairs which, lead back to the dungeons, where he was going to, no doubt, relate the incident back to his fellow Slytherins, liberally employing artistic licence for a more Draco-friendly conclusion.
Harry skulked away, defeated. He knew that these detentions meant no quidditch practice tomorrow or the following weeks, all bloody Malfoy's fault, he was really starting to let the side down. Now recently appointed Gryffindor team captain, he couldn't help wondering if the team would do better with someone more reliable in the position…any more negative encounters with Malfoy and he may have to give up quidditch, his one un-faltering passion. Harry felt aggravated at the situation. It was so annoying. Bad timing. If Malfoy hadn't been strolling around on his prefect duty, just as Harry was walking back from the extra quidditch session that he had planned to whip the team into shape before the quidditch season started…Harry might have got away un-scathed, with no detentions, and his broom still in his hand. Just an unfortunate circumstance he decided.
'Passion', Harry miserably reminisced of his lost love Quidditch, on his way back through to the Gryffindor common room, now that was something he'd found himself seriously lacking in lately (in the relationship department). He hadn't been with a girl since he had broken up with 'Little Miss Emotional Baggage' Cho Chang back in fifth year. He hadn't been short on offers, which was really his only consolation…it was just that he was never really interested in the girls that had shown interest in him. Luna Lovegood for example was a barely tolerable weirdo whose brain capacity could be rivalled by a conscious lump of niffler excrement. Parvati, had lost interest, when she realised his sporting finesse was reserved for quidditch and did not extend to the dance floor. There was always Moaning Myrtle, the infatuated ghost who haunted the U-bend of a toilet. So far regretfully, she seemed the most promising candidate. Perhaps with Lockhart out of the way, Harry could enter in for 'Witch Weekly's' most charming smile award… That might do the trick. Yeah, right…He thought sarcastically It would take a hell of a lot to put a smile that broad on Harry's face.
After all, he mused why the hell should he be expected date emotional time bombs or mental fuck-wits? Soon they will dub him 'mental-girl-magnet'…for his talent of attracting the wrong sort of girls. The only half decent bit of crumpet to come his way was Ginny Weasley (at least she was sane) but he thought more on her as a little sister because the Weasley's were practically his surrogate family. Besides, Ginny's brother, Harry's best friend Ron would skin him alive for any involvement with her.
Ron…a re-assuring thought, Harry smiled weakly. Ron would be waiting for him in the common room, and they would enjoy a good old Malfoy-hating rant together as always…Ron could always be counted upon to fiercely defend his friends, especially as far as Draco Malfoy was concerned. Harry recalled with a grimace how Ron had charged to Hermione's rescue in second year by cursing Malfoy with a slug-belching hex. Ron's wand being broken, it malfunctioned and Ron got the full force of the hex himself and was vomiting slugs for the remainder of the day-much to Malfoy's amusement. Just as Harry recalled the unpleasant memory with a wince, he realised that he had just stumbled onto the plinth, which accommodated the portrait of the fat lady.
Today the fat lady had been trying to look delicately forlorn, for which Harry had no time, as he knew she wanted to lament the fact that she hadn't thought to diet, before she was painted. She looked affronted by his complete disregard for her oil-based, pigmented feelings and demanded of him the password. "Dr Atkins" he regurgitated impatiently. She nodded approvingly at his acknowledgement of the extremist muggle dietician and then swung forward to admit him.
As it was mid-evening, the common room was filled out comfortably with Gryffindors, studying, playing, arguing and chatting animatedly about the up-coming quidditch matches. Since Fred and George's now legendary escape to freedom from Umbridge's hellish reign over Hogwarts two years previous, the common room was notably quieter. The Weasley twins were renowned Hogwarts heroes now. Harry's eyes drank the warm scene, smiling with familiarity at the roaring fire, around which were his favourite armchairs, the sort you could sink into, and the artful beauty of the way parchments, leather-bound books and quills randomly dotted each surface. The red and gold majesty of this room announced proudly that this was, truly the home of the Gryffindors.
Harry could hear a high, self-righteous voice pleading order from a group of simpering first years. He recognised it immediately as his friend Hermione's shrill attempts for obedience. She was a prefect and liked to make sure everyone knew it, so when she got wind of a few first year girls fighting over a Gilderoy Lockhart character card from the chocolate frog packets she intervened immediately only to pocket the card herself discreetly and exclaim through a delighted smile that she would have to relieve them of it to prevent more squabbles.
"Harry!" she exclaimed walking towards him "Where have you been? You started back here just before us, didn't you?" she gave him a quizzical look just as Ron came bounding over, his lanky frame trying to restrict itself with his movement. Ron wasn't a likely candidate for quidditch thought Harry. As Ron had no grace to speak of and no elegance in his movement.
Harry indulged his friends in a long-suffering look, to pave the way for a relay of the events that a simple walk upstairs induced. The three companions strode over to the warm glow of the fire and nestled in their favourite chairs there, Harry looked darkly from Ron to Hermione as he explained about the confrontation with Malfoy earlier and how Malfoy had taken advantage of his prefect position. The worst was yet to come…thought Harry miserably, at loss without a happy promise of quidditch and his beloved broom.
"Oh Harry…10 points from Gryffindor!" breathed Hermione with sympathy. Harry detected a slight touch of disappointment in her voice. "I am going to have to tell Professor Dumbledore if Malfoy doesn't stop abusing his prefect status… Besides, what provoked the situation anyway?"
Harry actually had to think about this for some time much to the impatience of his friends. When he back-tracked in his mind, he wasn't actually so sure why or how it had happened, only that Malfoy had given him a funny look, a wistful, almost peaceful expression in place of his usual trademark sneer, which he had never seen on the aggressive, arrogant boy before. Harry, bewildered, had stared, only for Malfoy to come to his senses and recover to 'normal' which, for Malfoy meant 'arsehole'. Harry was thoroughly confused, and it unsettled him to be this way, as he liked to be on top of every situation-not struggling underneath it…. The expression Malfoy had worn invoked a curiosity in Harry, and a longing to quash this mystery.
Malfoy, perhaps embarrassed, to be caught off guard had then resorted to shoving Harry hard on the chest to re-establish his authority, sneering disdainfully "What you looking at Potter?" Losing his balance, Harry ended up on the floor at which point Malfoy made to harass him further, pinning him to the ground and straddling him in an almost intimate violence.
As Harry mulled over this, Ron's eager voice interjected "what happened mate?" and Harry resolved to spin them the same yarn that Malfoy had failed to hoodwink McGonagal with. That at least was safe to repeat. The look on Malfoy's face, although he could picture it with clarity, he still found it impossible to decipher. In fact, it had somewhat resembled a more sculpted version of the Fat Lady's forlorn look, minus two or three chins. Casting aside this fruitless chain of thought, he realised with a pang that he would have to inform Ron of his absence in quidditch practice tomorrow. It seemed an impossible situation. He could be stuck with Filch and Malfoy for weeks. Besides, tomorrow night, he would pay sorely for the glimpse of gentle, un-guarded expression he had witnessed on Malfoy's face.
Hermione made to get up, saying goodnight to her friends which left Harry and Ron to have a good, Hearty discussion about whether Malfoy made a better ferret or human, having warmly remembered the time that their former defence against the dark arts tutor, Mad-Eye Moody has transfigured Malfoy in a corridor for misbehaving. On that note, they went to bed, Harry's high spirits only lasting him half way up the stairs, until he remembered what he'd be doing the next evening.
Ron was disappointed with Harry to say the least, the following morning over breakfast, when he announced the news of his punishment. The team needed all the direction it could get in the up and coming match against the Slytherins. The last thing they wanted was their captain 'doing time' with the enemy. It was at least fortunate that Slytherin were deprived their key player too, and so were unable to press any particular advantage over the game. No one regretted this unfortunate turn of events more than Harry himself but his team-mates nevertheless seemed pretty pissed off about it. Harry entrusted his responsibility to Ron and saw his friend swell with pride. He recalled how in their first year at Hogwarts when he and Ron had discovered the mirror of Erised together, he had seen his dead parents beside him, but the mirror reflected that Ron's deepest desire was to be quidditch captain. Harry felt it was about time that Ron got some Glory, and so found a little comfort in his despair. Ron would have been horrified if it had occurred to him that he was benefiting from Harry's misfortune.
"Harry…" Started Ron, looking nervous, but also hopeful. "If you can't play quidditch…" he coughed nervously " well, I don't mind if you don't want to but…" Ron tried to look casual "well, if it's ok with you…" Ron fumbled a little more and Harry impatiently nodded, gesturing for Ron to spit it out "Can I borrow your broom mate?" Ron finished, eyebrows arched expectantly. Harry looked at Ron and let his upper-half turn floppy, so he could bang his head on the table dramatically.
"Yeah, stupid idea. Sorry…" said Ron quickly.
"No, no… It's not that Ron!" said Harry secretly relieved that his new Andromeda Nebula was locked away in McGonagal's office, after-all (as Harry was very protective of his possessions). "McGonagal's confiscated my broom!" Harry regaled Ron in anguish with the tale about how his broom was taken. Ron, ever the model best friend, gasped sympathetically in the right places, but Harry knew that Ron was inwardly almost as disappointed as he was, for Ron's broom was bought from a muggle shop, selling household goods and the Weasleys' had bewitched it to fly. A broom made of yellow plastic, with a rectangular brush and wiry nylon bristles wasn't exactly credible…He was the laughing stock of the inter-house quidditch tournament. Poor Ron. Even Ron's dad Arthur had risked his job to give Ron that broom. Everyone knew that bewitching muggle artefacts was illegal, most of all for a ministry employee. Arthur always had been bending the rules, working in the misuse of muggle artefact office, it was all to easy (and tempting for muggle-obsessed Mr Weasley) to slip a few things past the rules. Flying Ford Anglias for example.
Harry slogged through the day indifferently; he was taking his NEWT level exams this year but surprised himself with his own lack of motivation where his studies were concerned. Somehow, he ended up taking potions at NEWT level, having only just scraped a pass in his OWLs thanks to Hermione's diligent tutelage. Snape wanted to refuse Harry admission into his advanced NEWT level classes and Harry sure as hell wouldn't have wanted to do it if it weren't for his ambition to become an Auror. Dumbledore nevertheless had insisted it was necessary. Another exemption from Snape's choice elite was Neville Longbottom, for whose own future well being (and secret ambition to follow in his parents footsteps), was forced to resume classes. Harry wasn't looking forward to double potions, which was the last lesson of the day. Now that Harry was taller, due to a growth spurt during the summer, which propelled him to over 6ft, Snape looked a lot less formidable. His tongue however, was still sharp as a knife.
Absent-mindedly walking into class, he remembered with irritation, that he would have to face Malfoy in today's lesson. There was a new seating plan in Snape's dank dungeon, Harry noted with suspicious interest. Malfoy turned around on his stool to fix Harry with a calculating smirk. Harry's face replied with an automatic glower reserved only for his blond adversary. All the Slytherins were seated, but the Gryffindors where all stood to one side, along a dank shelved wall, confused. Their confusion became a subject of great amusement to the Slytherins who were all sniggering behind their hands and applying cold glares to the bemused Gryffindors. Harry sidled over to the corner grudgingly and lurked behind a nonplussed Neville. Snape, in no less of the foul mood that was to be expected of him, strode in importantly and the Slytherins silenced themselves immediately. The standing Gryffindors eyed Snape with perplexed curiosity, not knowing quite where to put themselves, while the Slytherins looked on with hungry malice from their scattered seats.
"There will be…" Snape paused for effect, "…a new order in my classroom from now on. I believe it will be much to your advantage, that is-if you wish to pass your final exams." He declared, shooting a meaningful glance at Harry, his lips fashioned into a dog-eared scowl. "Needless to say, I doubt that there will be many more explosions coming from Longbottom's cauldron, with his new potions partner overseeing things…"
Neville, a fellow Gryffindor, gasped as Snape gestured impatiently for him to sit down beside Blaise Zabini, an intimidating, ominous-looking Slytherin. Neville solemnly shuffled over and slumped down in his new position. Harry caught Neville's eye, cringing weakly in sympathy. He barely dared to guess who Snape had in mind for him.
Snape had nearly completed assigning the Gryffindors to each member of his own house, relishing the moment he placed Hermione with pug-face Parkinson. Snape left Harry until last no doubt because he wanted to get optimum satisfaction from placing him in the only available seat – next to Malfoy. Harry gulped in horrified anticipation.
"Potter…hmm…let's see, what to do with you?" Snape sneered, making a face of mock contemplation, as if he hadn't been fantasising about the moment all afternoon. The Slytherins erupted in over-zealous laughter.
"I think Potter, that you would do well to observe Mr Malfoy's work…You have much to learn, your potions are abominable…" Snape could not hide his pleasure as he put firm emphasis on the criticism.
Harry laboriously dragged himself from his spot by the door to Malfoy's desk catching a brief snigger from his golden-haired rival. Snape however had one last taunt up his sleeve…
"It's about time you two got better…acquainted." Said the potions master scornfully, leaning threateningly across Harry's table as only Snape could. Then he addressed his next question to the whole class and appealed; "Don't you think?" Without allowing the Gryffindors a retort, Snape continued. "The new pairings I have assigned will remain in place for the rest of the academic year and I will expect better results from you all theretofore will be trouble…" Snape's distinctive fathomless gaze skimmed the class intently. " No longer will I allow you to become distracted from your studies by idle chatter. Nobody brings down my grade average. Not even a dim-witted…Gryffindor." Snape continued with a dark, threatening expression on his face as he surveyed the Gryffindors dismay with satisfaction.
Harry snatched a glance at Ron who looked thoroughly disgusted to have been partnered with the Slytherin goon Vincent Crabbe, he exchanged an obscene gesture with Ron, regarding his platinum haired potions partner. Ron, indulging in the shared joke with a loud guffaw, successfully lost 5 house points from the ever-observant Snape, who fixed him with a poisonous glare, suffering further from a firmly disapproving Hermione. She threw him the mother of all withering looks from her reluctant station beside Pansy pug-face.
It was with a heavy heart, later that evening that Harry picked at the last of his dinner. It felt like the last supper. Maybe Filch had kept his chains well oiled all these years for a chance like this? Harry thought miserably. He turned to his friends sullenly said "Seeya later guys…" waving lazily at his fellow Gryffindors, a gesture, which was met with sympathetic gazes. "Seeya Harry!" said Ron, trying to sound buoyant, to keep Harry confident. Hermione just gave a small, condemning wave, and bit her bottom lip with a compassionate wince. Harry met Ginny's eyes, down the table just in time to hear her yell "Don't worry Harry, if you're not back alive by the morning, we'll send for Madame Pomfrey!" Harry moped out of the great hall, his chest drowning in even more dread than before. He headed submissively towards Filch's office. Lost in foreboding thoughts of his impending torture at Filch's hands, Harry didn't notice the lean, elegant figure of Draco Malfoy stride smoothly past him, quickly overtaking.
Potions earlier that day, Harry recalled gloomily, had been bloody torture. Malfoy had made him do the most humiliating and menial tasks out of sheer spitefulness. Harry remembered Malfoy's taunts, which were in the guise of polite behaviour. Malfoy knew just how to wind him up, pretending to Snape that he was being perfectly congenial towards Harry. "Could you please cut my ingredients for me Potter?" he would enquire sweetly as Snape glided by, which reminded Harry of that old toad Umbridge, who would always talk to people in a similar condescending way. Often, during the lesson, Malfoy would observe Harry half-heartedly chopping the rancid substances and interrupt all Harry's hopes of solitude with his usual snipes. By the end of the lesson, Harry had done all of Malfoy's dirty work, shredding the boomslang skin and grating the unicorn horn. Malfoy even started referring to Harry as his 'bitch', heightening Harry's loathing, which he previously thought was impossible. There was an odd underlying awkwardness consistent in their communication though, because they knew they would have to spend that evening together, away from their peers. This would be strange, as Harry had thought at least a fraction of Malfoy's hatred was purely for show, in front of an audience.
As Harry was recalling the days events, Malfoy's head turned to taunt him, though he was still pressing onward and upward the stairs.
"See you in the torture chamber Potter, bet you'll love Filch's interior design - It'll remind you of home; bit like that cupboard your family used to keep you in?" Malfoy jeered cheerfully.
Malfoy was going to arrive early to detention, no doubt to show him up, Harry deduced miserably. Malfoy disappeared around a corner up ahead not giving Harry time to retort, much to Harry's frustration. Harry made no attempt to quicken his pace. Just as he reached the landing he caught sight of Peeves and wondered what the reckless spirit had planned for Filthy Filch this evening. It was obviously something of impressive proportions as his transparent face still managed to express great mischief. Harry almost expected to hear a heart felt rendition of 'Potter you Rotter' but the malevolent apparition was to engrossed in cunning, hysteria-inducing intentions as Harry passed by discreetly.
Filch was waiting expectantly for Harry to arrive having already admitted a defiant looking Draco five minutes previous. He'd just savoured the delight of ordering the aristocratic Malfoy to scrub his hovel and now turned his attentions to Harry. Harry could hear Malfoy muttering under his breath, something that alarmingly sounded a lot like the unforgivable death-curse Avada kedavra in conjunction with Filch's name. (I'll give you ava da kedavra filch! Then you can spend eternity licking my boots!) Harry, more disgusted with Malfoy now than ever, due to his 'colourful' history connected with the two formidable words, thought Malfoy a fool to speak of the curse so lightly.
Harry looked around the grimy office. He had seen it before, when stealing back confiscated items, but now that he wasn't on a rescue mission, he had more time to scrutinise the area. The room was of average size and had a funny orange glow to it, owing to the fire situated opposite the door. The clammy, weeping walls were dominated by rotting wooden shelves upon which were carefully labelled bottles of cleaning potions. There was one marked 'Sani-Brew' even displaying the mundane advertising gimmick 'Approved by St Mungo's hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries'. There was another door in the room, slightly ajar, which far from mysterious, surrendered its purpose by letting off an obnoxious smell. Yuk, Filch's toilet? Harry hoped he didn't have to clean that. Hiss nose wrinkled in repugnance just as Filch's eyes levelled with him. It was ironic, really, how a room with such an impressive, abundant collection of cleaning potions stored within it could be so foul.
Filch was beside himself with delicious revenge, he was a sucker for punishment (although, he assessed bitterly, the old sort had been much more effective) coupled with a loathing for students… it felt so empowering for an old squib like himself (recoiling in shame, he recalled how Harry had found out his secret) to have two of the most competent young wizards in England at his mercy, scrubbing his toilet and polishing his sour abode.
"This…"He whispered to his mangy old cat, "Is my finest hour!" He was triumphant, pleased that he could make Harry suffer for his knowledge of the 'squib' secret. "Finally...revenge for all those pranks and tricks I've had to endure over these long years, my lovely! Let's make them suffer!"
There was a tremendous crash in the corridor outside that immediately had a souring effect on Filch's good mood. For a brief moment looked crestfallen, and then anger invaded…
"PEEVES?"
With a venomous glance at the two boys telling them quite clearly 'to stay put' Filch threw the office door open and hurried off to investigate.
Malfoy enjoyed the situation for a moment smirking to himself. Harry noticed that Malfoy seemed curiously unruffled, and suspected him of having some part to play in the sudden turn of events. Just as he was contemplating Malfoy's innocence, the boy got up and turned to face him;
"So Potter, we're in the same boat now, got any bright ideas to get us out of this long term detention? Not that I'm holding out much hope-bright ideas aren't exactly your strength." Malfoy's clear, snide voice was dripping with familiar contempt. Harry eyed Draco suspiciously for a moment and then replied scathingly;
"Well, if we are going to get out of this mess then we are going to have to do as McGonagal says and be civil towards each other- well Malfoy, think you can handle that?" Harry's challenge brought about something of a miracle; a genuine, dimpled, dazzling smile from Malfoy. Frankly Harry was disturbed but it didn't stop him from appreciating the un-expected beauty of it. Harry had to literally shake himself free from the rapture of Draco's pearly whites. He suddenly found the floor very interesting, and started shuffling his feet nervously. He could out-stare Malfoy with cool confidence but Malfoy's new weapon had an instantaneous crippling effect on his opposition.
"Potter, I am more than willing to compromise…" Said Draco still smiling dashingly.
Draco upheld his dignified, superior posture and attitude, starting to brush off his clothes as if he felt like merely being in Filch's service infected him with parasites. He set his cool silver eyes upon Harry letting them settle upon Harry for a long moment, making the other boy feel oddly uncomfortable and flushed for reasons Harry couldn't understand.
"I think you'll find, Potter, that it was you who declined your rights of civility from me when you refused my handshake-you remember, six years ago?" Draco said bluntly.
Harry shifting uneasily under Malfoy's stare tried to think of a way to raise his point against this claim. Hold on…what's this got to do with anything? Harry thought surprised by the sentimental but bitter reference that Malfoy had just made. Distracted, he then wondered why the other boy's penetrating stare was intimidating him so? Had he not duelled with Voldemort on several occasions and come away intact? Yet he, the famous Harry Potter, found it difficult not to writhe under the spell of Malfoy Junior? Ferret boy extraordinaire! Outrageous!
Harry drew his strength and let his emerald eyes search for Draco's. It took all the will power he could muster but he held the stare, which to Harry's satisfaction, somewhat unsettled Draco. Finally, the blond retreated; his usually pale face flushed a tell-tale pink. Harry gazed at him in bewilderment for a moment. Was Malfoy...blushing Stifling a mocking laugh, Harry found his voice again; "Well, you were acting like an arrogant arse! What did you expect?"
Draco, who had regained his composure, stiffened at Harry's reply and exclaimed " I expect to be respected! Rejected in favour of a Weasley indeed! Me and you Potter, we are alike, we are the same class of wizard, we set the standard…you settled beneath yourself."
Harry was a little startled; it had never actually occurred to him that Draco Malfoy had considered him an equal. Then Harry thought 'if my rejection has induced these years of resentment then what would have happened if I had taken Malfoy's hand that day?' but then coming to his senses thought 'Hold on? Why am I in Filch's office discussing emotion with Malfoy?' The very idea of it made Harry laugh out loud. He soon wished he hadn't.
"What?" Demanded Malfoy, anger rising. Yet again he had left himself vulnerable to Harry's rejection.
Harry composed himself and questioned Malfoy. "Why are we discussing this? What do you want Malfoy?"
An expression played around the corners of Draco's mouth to suggest that he was fighting and losing an inward battle. "Look Harry," Began Draco slowly, taken aback by his own use of the boy's first name, who was usually known merely as 'Potter'. "You may not have grown up, but I have. I'm 18 years old now, and you can't be far off it either. We are in seventh year for Merlin's sake!." He continued. "As much as it pains me to be civil to you, I have been thinking lately, and have decided I would at least try to settle the score with you. See? That makes me the better man." He grinned, arching one pale brow nonchalantly. Challenging Harry.
"How do I believe you Malfoy?" Harry said still deliberately using Draco's second name formally, spitting the word 'Malfoy' as if it tasted disgusting on his tongue.
"My convincing testimony, would seriously dent my Malfoy pride, but with Father in Azkaban, I don't have much to lose. I guess I have you to thank for that…" Anger flickered briefly in his coolly metallic eyes.
The boys could hear Peeves causing more commotion on the floor above, buying time.
"Well? You better get on with it if you are going to tell me Malfoy, because this might be the last chance you get - you know I don't have much patience for you." Harry said forcefully.
A strange moment passed between the boys, each held the others gaze defiantly. Malfoy however, seemed a little lost for words. Harry's head tilted towards Malfoy, anticipating his answer. Draco's blushing lips kept parting and coming together again, as if he was prepared to answer and then thought better of it several times. Harry thought that he looked like a fish out of water, his frustration was mounting, as he patiently awaited an explanation.
Finally, after several more moments of excruciating silence, Malfoy lifted his head high and opened his mouth to speak. "Ok Potter…" - and then Malfoy's explanation was violently interrupted by the raucous sound of a suit of armour clamouring its way to the floor, just outside the door, followed swiftly by Sir Cadogan, the portrait, screeching wildly "What is this cacophony you malodorous curs! I shall raise my sword in fury to thee!" At this point, the door flew open powerfully to let in Peeves, who was triumphantly bouncing off the walls in glee, knocking over most of Filch's industrial cleaning products collection, including his prized 'Chaos-Calming Calamity-Cleaner' which, aptly, as it stated on the bottle was "suitable for most magical mishaps including potions puddles and minor explosions''. The picture of the grinning witch adorning the bottle, frowned at being thrust on the floor, and her once Lockhart worthy smile was now twisted into an angry, demoted expression.
Malfoy's expression however was one of brief relief, Harry noted with frustration. Filch burst in furiously, beside himself with rage. "Peeves you ghastly idiot! You are the bane of my life you vile buffoon!" At this, Peeves chuckled heartily, as if he had just received a very pleasant compliment. The malevolent spirit replied enthusiastically in his annoying singsong voice "Oh Filch-y! I knew you loved me!" Peeves bobbed around the room beaming broadly at Filch, whilst trashing the rest of the caretaker's office. Filch was still stood in the doorway, chest heaving laboriously, wheezing in irritation. The veins across his forehead were fit to burst any moment, threatening to explode.
"Go! Just bugger off! The lot of you!" Screamed Filch whilst gesturing roughly towards the boys, then at Peeves. In a rare moment of mutual delight, Harry and Draco looked at each other, astonished and streaked for the door, dodging the tsunami of bottles that Peeves was tearing from the shelves. They were amazed at their luck. They didn't even have to lift a finger, during Filch's detention. They'd escaped! Of course, when out of the door, realisation set in that they would pay for this big-time next week, and would be forced to work their fingers to the bone… "See you next week you snotty little brats!" Filch yelled sorrowfully, now a broken man.
Clambering over the fallen suit of armour that was spread across the narrow passage, the two enemies found themselves alone again, and embarrassed. Neither knew what to say, or indeed if to say anything at all, since a barrier between them was destroyed by their shared situation.
Harry spoke first, and desperately trying to sound indifferent said "So… See you around." at this he turned and run down the passage, ruining the façade of casualness that he'd tried to accomplish. He didn't want to wait for Malfoy to sneer at this informality. Draco watched Harry tear off round the corner, with a bewildered look on his face.