It was a quiet night at Hogwarts and Harry was heading out to the Quidditch pitch with his broom for a much needed flying session. Potions that day had been particularly brutal; Professor Snape had put them in pairs to brew a nasty potion, and, of course, Harry had been put with Draco. Harry hated being paired with the Slytherin because at least when he didn't have to deal with Draco, he could pretend that he wasn't such a prat. However, Draco was a prat and always ended up screwing things up. Harry sighed as he circled the pitch. Draco also hated Harry, and where there was hate, there was no love.
Or so Harry thought.