Detention

The courtyard is covered in a blanket of snow. The light from the afternoon sun could blind me, but in the last couple of hours, as the sun rose higher in the sky, my eyes have adjusted to it, and even my seat in the middle of the open courtyard has warmed up and is starting to feel comfortable beneath me. It must be freezing, all this snow, but I am always cold, anyway, and am warmly dressed. Except for my hands, because I am currently serving detention and Professors McGonagall and Snape have had me remove my now sorely missed gloves.

The Gryffindor on my left is talking for the first time since our detention began an hour ago, "Malfoy, are you cold? Your hand is freezing."

I knew that, because I am as cold on the outside as I am on the inside. It's why I don't cuddle, or hug, or even hold hands, if I can help it. But there is the slightest hint of concern in Potter's voice that I didn't expect, from him of all people, and I think it's making me feel, just a little, warmer. I refuse to make this known by turning to look at him, or by replying. Instead, I think about how warm Potter's hand would still be if the professors hadn't put it in mine, for the purposes of this detention.

I hear the tolling of bells now, signalling lunch break between classes. In a moment, the other students are going to come out onto the courtyard, and Potter and I will be in the middle of it, holding hands for all to see. This is the real part of this detention: the humiliation. I raise my free hand to cover my face, although I know it is futile. Potter does the same, but there is nothing we can do about the magic that currently binds our hands.

The other students are here, and they are now laughing and jeering at us. I am used to assuming the unreactive stance – although I keep my free hand on my face – but Potter's response nearly knocked the wind out of me; he has tightened his hold on my hand. I think it is the pain of humiliation. I hence content myself in the thought that the current situation is more of a predicament to him than it is to me.

I am content with this, because I don't terribly mind holding Potter's hand. I don't mind turning it as cold as mine. I feel him shiver slightly, and I am thankful that I am always cold. I would lend him my scarf, as I am not so attached to it, but there are people around, and I want him feeling cold. Just for a while more.

Granger and Weasley are the first to actually approach us. They have brought Potter his lunch. He eats it awkwardly with his left hand.

"Is he giving you any more trouble?" Weasley asks with his eyes squinted at me.

Potter responds by raising our joined hands slightly, and not saying anything. The thick-headed Weasley does not understand that Potter and I simply cannot be in any worse trouble than this.

Blaise brings me my lunch after Granger and Weasley have left.

"Thank you, Blaise. I'm sorry you got dragged out here to see this." Of course I am sorry, when Blaise obviously isn't. "Like I would want to miss this!" A wide grin graces his face as he looks at Potter, and then to our hands, glued together by magic.

"Aren't you cold?" Blaise asks Potter, who replies with furrowed eyebrows. Perhaps he never expects a Slytherin to ask after him

Blaise then motions to our bound hands, "I hear Draco has really cold hands."

"Oh? Yeah, they are. I guess." Potter blushes furiously at his own reply. I want to laugh at him, but his reply embarrasses me, too. The other Slytherin, however, is not embarrassed, so he laughs and holds back nothing. I throw a sandwich wrapper at him and miss. My right hand is not good for much.

The bells toll again moments after Blaise has left, and I am feeling more grateful for it than ever before, for now the worst part of this detention is over.

The day is getting colder. All the warmth has gone from Potter's hand. Now he is shivering constantly. I am not worried for him, because we only have a few more hours to go. Once classes end, we will have finished serving this degrading incarceration.

Still, "If you're cold, why don't you conjure up a fire?" I have to ask.

"I don't have my wand arm," he answers me through chattering teeth. "How are you not cold, when your hand is freezing?"

I guess, for people who aren't already always cold, this punishment is of the extreme. I pull out my wand gracelessly with my right hand, from a pocket inside my coat, and cast a Bluebell flame on the ground beneath our fixed hands.

We continue to sit in silence. I feel the seconds tick by, and the warmth that returns to Potter's hand with them. His hold on me has not weakened since he first complained about how cold it is.

I think of how it came to this, but I can no longer remember. Potter's chuckle then distracts me.

"What's so suddenly funny?" I cannot help but ask.

"You're usually so smug, dishing out insults whenever I see you. But now that none of your Slytherin friends are here to back you up, you just sit there, all quiet," and in his answer there is a smugness worthy of a Slytherin.

It's true. I now have nothing to say to Potter, since my friends aren't here to hear all about him not having parents or proper friends, who love him for everything that he is, and other such things that we essentially have in common. It would ruin me if he only knew this truth behind my ...comments.

But Potter will never know, because I will now continue to sit in silence, pretending I don't relish in the warmth of his hand.

The returning silence is made brief by Potter. "Just say something. Anything," he is saying now, swinging our fastened hands back and forth.

Is it so difficult for him to understand that I am in too deep an embarrassment to be dishing out insults? I will not indulge him.

But I cannot stop a sigh from escaping my lips. "What?"

"It's confusing when you're just not saying anything," he says, not eloquently.

Perhaps I can say it for him. "You mean you would prefer my snide comments to my silence? It unsettles you? Perhaps it even makes you think you might be wrong about me? Have you forgotten how I got us into this mess?"

"Yes, exactly! And right there, you just admitted that we're here because it's your fault!" I swear he says this with glee. He is looking at me now; I can feel his green eyes on me.

I will not turn to look at him. "No, it is actually your fault, for being such an idiot." I am not wrong, ask anyone. Harry Potter is an idiot.

"But you just said-"

"Just shut up, Potter." It was so much better when we were pretending that neither of us is really here.

Evidently, Potter doesn't think so. He ploughs on, "and you don't call me like that, either. It's usually 'Potter!'" he almost spat the name, "and not, like, 'Potter'."

I sigh. "So, shut up."

He then lean forward, and I accidentally meet those green eyes. "Shit!" I stand up, caught off-guard. "What's with you?"

"What's with you?" he only asks back.

I want to leave. Now.

"Hey, cast that spell again, the blue fire," Potter says, pulling me back onto my seat. I realise now that the fire had gone when he surprised me just now.

I will now leave him to his own damn thoughts. "Do it yourself. I'm not cold to begin with."

"I don't have my wand arm."

"We're holding each other's wand arm! How come I was able to do it?" I think that came out wrong.

"You're left-handed?" then silence, then, "You cast that fire for me." It was not a question.

I realise my mistake too late. Help me out, brain! "Your chattering teeth was annoying me. Classes will be over soon, anyway."

The snow on the ground starts to sparkle in the late afternoon light. Potter's hand is still a little warm in mine. I want only to immerse myself in this moment, because I can sense the passing time, envious of me in my little pleasure. But I will confess nothing.

"You're just a pretentious git, aren't you?" I could feel him smiling as he says this.

"Well then, rest assured that nothing will change after this." Nothing can change. I feel the rush of a thousand heartbreaks at this thought.

Just then, the magic that has been holding our hands together expires. We both look down at our hands, still holding, and I feel him renewing his grip on my hand again just before I withdraw it, forcefully, and shove it inside a pocket.

I start walking away, but Potter quickly grabs the front of my shirt, and I suddenly remember how we landed ourselves in detention earlier this morning; exactly like this, only I was the one grabbing his shirt and threatening him.

"Doesn't matter which one of us starts the fight, does it? We both get to serve detention." Then his lips curl into a mischieveous smile. "I wonder what other creative ideas they'll come up with," he taunts, and for the first time, I really feel the fear of him. And it's a warm sort of feeling.

Perhaps some things can change.

[Author's Notes]

[edit] I drew them in the snow~ Copy-paste the link from my profile :D

Greetings, all! I regretfully inform you that I am not really back; this is just the one idea that pounced at me out of nowhere and I had to realise it. There cannot be more to come, because I have no more to give. And this was inspired by that one picture on a famous humour site.

Although I'm not writing very much anymore, I still feel the greatest joy when I get readers and reviewers. So thank you for reading, and feel free to leave your review!

Sincerely,

Quiescence