"Oi, Harry, look!" Ron exclaimed, shoving a package under Harry's nose the day before winter holidays began. The green-eyed boy flinched back, trying to get a glance at what he was so forcibly being shown.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Not sure. It's a present from Fred and George. It's addressed to both of us," Ron replied, holding the box next to his ear and shaking it. "It doesn't sound like much."

"Well, I hope it's not breakable," Hermione commented lightly, reaching across the table to take it from him. She set it down on the table so they could all stare at it.

"Why don't we open it?" Harry suggested.

"We can't! It's not Christmas yet!" Ron exclaimed. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"How about reading the card they sent, then?"

"What card?"

"The one that says 'OPEN NOW' in big red letters," she said dryly, pointing it out to the boys.

"Oh," Ron said sheepishly, while Harry chuckled. Ron quickly picked up the rolled up letter from where the owl had dropped it in the middle of the table, and scanned it briefly. "It's the latest of their holiday products," he reported, still reading. "We're supposed to open it right when we get it… They said they expect us to put it to good use, but to be careful about whom we get caught under it with." Finished, he dropped the letter back onto the table, and picked up the package again. "So what the bloody hell is it?"

"Ron!" Hermione admonished, but the boy ignored her, already digging into his gift.

"Well, what is it?" Harry asked excitedly, peering over Ron's shoulder after he'd stilled, looking curiously into the box.

"It's…it's…some leaves?" He pulled out a small twig of leaves that looked painfully familiar to Harry, and gazed at it in confusion.

"It's mistletoe," Harry said flatly, as Hermione opened her mouth to supply the answer. She looked put-out that he'd already known.

"Mistletoe!" came the surprised answer. The red-headed Gryffindor hastily dropped it back into the box. "Why would they send us THAT?"

"Thought they'd send some holiday cheer?" Harry suggested. He picked up one of the sprigs, noting that there were two in the box. "I guess we each get one. They said it's a product of theirs, though. Wonder what it does." Not thinking of any possible consequences, he started to hold it above his own head, but Ron quickly grabbed his arm.

"Don't do that!" he hissed, looking around warily. "You have no idea what they've done to it! It could…could…it-"

"Yes?" Harry looked amused.

"Well it could put whoever's under it in a…love…trance…or something," Ron finished weakly. Harry blinked. "Oh, I don't know! Fine, screw yourself over." He crossed his arms grumpily, and looked expectantly at his fellow Gryffindor. Though, admittedly, Harry was now a bit worried as to what would happen. He glanced around, eyes landing on the Irish boy sitting next to him, and reached up to hold the mistletoe above the boy's head.

"Cheers, Seamus!" he said cheerfully, and the boy looked up, before grinning.

"Aww, mistletoe!" he exclaimed, turning to smile at Dean, who Harry hadn't realized was sitting on Seamus' other side. "Happy Christmas, Dean!" Seamus grinned again, and leaned forward to smack a kiss on the black boy's cheek.

"Augh!" Dean cried, nearly upsetting his oatmeal. "What was that for?" He reached up and rubbed absently at his cheek.

"Mistletoe," Seamus explained, pointing upwards. Dean followed the path his finger was showing, and when his eyes met Harry's, he quirked an eyebrow. Harry chuckled sheepishly.

"Eh, sorry, just experimenting," he said, and then plopped back down in his seat and turned to Ron. "Well, they don't seem to be acting any different." Ron rolled his eyes.

"That's because it's Seamus, and he would kiss Millicent Bulstrode if you stuck them under mistletoe together." He sighed, staring at the mistletoe again. "Oh well, I guess we'll find out eventually."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, "but not now. We have class." Ron nodded and said goodbye to his two friends, shoving Fred and George's present into his bag before heading out of the Great Hall. Harry and Hermione gathered up their stuff and began the trek down into the dungeons for Potions.

Harry, through some extreme miracle, had gotten a high enough O.W.L. on his Potions exam to get into Snape's N.E.W.T. level class. The amount of students taking said class was low enough that they were all piled into the same class, no matter what house they were from. With the absence of Ron, Harry had done his best to be paired up with Hermione, but because this was Snape's class and he liked making life difficult for Harry, such was not the case. The Potions Master hadn't been very pleased to find Harry in his class, so in the first lesson he'd assigned partners, predictably pairing Harry with his favorite rival.

"Malfoy," Harry said in some sort of greeting as he dropped his books onto the table next to the blonde's. The other boy merely glanced up and gave him a slight nod, frown deepening and his face looking resigned, before turning to look back at the front of the classroom.

Harry sighed and sat down heavily, resting his cheek on his hand. The Slytherin had been a bit of an enigma this year. His father hadn't remained in Azkaban for long, escaping a week before Harry's birthday, which had consequently left everyone in a right state trying to figure out if the Death Eaters were planning an attack or not. Everyone had been surprised when Draco had turned up on the Hogwarts Express, because most people had assumed he would join his father. The boy had refused to talk about it, insisting he had no idea where his father was nor any idea about the Dark Lord's plans.

Towards Harry, however, nothing had changed. If anything, Malfoy was acting worse than he had the previous year when he had Umbridge to use an excuse. The blonde was furious about his father's imprisonment and even madder that now he had no idea where he was, and he blamed it all on Harry. It was different though; there were no jibes about Mudbloods, or even about Harry's parents. He hadn't even made fun of Ron's family yet. The insults were geared towards Harry's schoolwork, his clumsiness, his clothes… Small things that usually left the Gryffindor annoyed more than anything else. Malfoy would tease and insult and taunt until Harry would finally snap, and more often than not the two boys ended their arguments with random scuffles in the hall. As far as Harry could tell, though, that's what the blonde was aiming for.

And surprisingly enough, the fights didn't bother Harry so much. He'd been in the hospital wing so often by Halloween that the professors had decided that, since detentions weren't working, Harry and Draco would have to heal on their own from now on. Harry'd spent much of November with either one or two black eyes. Currently, he was nursing a rather sore stomach, which showed through the several purple bruises splotched beneath his shirt. Not that he didn't give as well as he got. He knew the blonde was wearing a turtleneck today only so people wouldn't see the angry bruises left from Harry's fingers when they'd been curled around his neck two days previous.

In a way, Harry found their fist fights relieving. It was an outlet for all his stress and anger and frustrations. He was still sore over losing Sirius, and hitting Malfoy was the closest he could get to killing the boy's Aunt, at the moment. Harry suspected that was half the reason neither boy had been chucked out of school yet.

"POTTER!" Harry blinked and jerked, eyes focusing on Malfoy's fingers, which were snapping in front of his face. "I've been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes, you dense prat! Get the ingredients, would you?" the blonde demanded, pointing to the storage room. He leaned on the table behind them, tipping his stool onto two legs, and Harry rolled his eyes and glared at him.

"Whatever," he muttered. He gathered up everything they needed, with Hermione's help, and dropped it all onto their table.

"Good," Malfoy said, still leaning back on his stool. Harry supposed he was going for the 'I-own-the-world' look. "Now set up the cauldron and I'll tell you what to do, since you screwed it up last time. I can't have my Potions grade suffering because of your incompetence, Potter." Harry breathed in deeply.

"You know, it might possibly go better if you bothered to help out," he said lightly, as if suggesting a good book to read.

"I seem to have trouble standing too long, recently," the blonde said, with a careless wave of his hand. "I think it has something to do with my getting dizzy due to shortness of breath. See, this great barbarian oaf crushed my larynx the other day."

"Was this oaf that much stronger than you, then?" Harry asked, smothering an amused grin as he began mixing potions ingredients. He could practically feel the Slytherin bristle beside him.

"No, he just happened to get in a cheap punch," Malfoy growled. Harry grinned, before quickly hooking his foot around one of the remaining legs of Malfoy's stool and yanking, causing the stool to fly out from under the other boy. Draco fell back against the table he'd been leaning on, eyes wide and startled, before collapsing to the ground on his back.

"Cheap like that?" Harry asked innocently, peering down at his partner. Draco's eyes narrowed as he winced and pushed himself up onto his elbows and opened his mouth to retort, but Snape was descending on them in a flurry of black robes before he could speak.

"Mr. Potter! Just whatis going on here?" he asked darkly, sneering at him before turning his gaze onto Draco. The blonde winced again.

"Malfoy fell off his stool, sir," Harry replied, vaguely wondering why he even bothered trying to make up a story. Snape's eyes narrowed further, and he glanced at his Slytherin student.

"Is this true, Mr. Malfoy?" he inquired, not sounding at all happy. Somewhere along the line, even Snape had grown tired of the boys' fighting, and had stopped being so lenient with Draco.

"It bloody well is not! Uh, Professor," Draco added hastily.

There was a slight pause, and then Professor Snape spoke slowly. "Get up off the floor, Mr. Malfoy," he said, "and get back to work!" Draco stood up quickly, brushing off his robes and looking slightly sheepish when he noticed the rest of the class was staring.

"Yes, Professor," he said quietly, and when Snape turned his glare on Harry, he quickly nodded as well. Snape gave an exasperated sigh, and strode away, his cloak billowing behind him.

"'Yes, Professor'" Harry mimicked in a squeaky voice, snickering. Malfoy dug his elbow into the other boy's side, and Harry slapped his arm away. Frowning, the Slytherin grabbed at his Gryffindor counterpart's hand, and attempted to twist his arm behind his back. Harry squirmed, pinching the other boy in the side with his free hand and the blonde released him, pushing him instead. When Harry overbalanced, he grabbed at Malfoy's robes, and the next thing anyone knew, both boys were rolling around on the ground, throwing punches at each other and even the odd kick. They were hauled up by their collars only a few seconds later and then practically dragged into the hall.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, I do not know why you feel the need to have these ridiculous fights nearly every single day, but if you not desist in the very near future, I assure you, status and family and prophecies aside, I will find a way to have you both suspended, if not expelled!" Snape shouted, causing both boys to stare wide-eyed at him. "I won't bother giving you detentions, because from past experiences this year, I know it will accomplish nothing," he continued tiredly. "Twenty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin," he held up a hand to stop Malfoy's protesting, "and neither of you will receive credit for today's potion. Now get out of my sight!" With that, he stormed back into the classroom and slammed the door in their faces.

"This is all your fault, you know," Malfoy mumbled, turning to walk down the hall.

"My fault?" Harry repeated incredulously, quickly following the other boy. "How is this my fault? If you weren't such a bloody prick-"

"I'mthe prick?" Malfoy exclaimed, turning around so quickly that Harry almost rammed into him. "Potter, you have been the bane of my existence since before I met you!" Harry shoved past him, rolling his eyes.

"Well that's a bit more your father's fault than mine, don't you think?" he said flatly.

"Don't you dare talk about my father, Potter!" the blonde exploded, and Harry slowed to a halt to look at him.

"It's funny how you yelling at me in no way makes me want to stop talking about your father," he said lightly, "I mean; it certainly never stopped you from talking about mine." Draco frowned, stepping closer to Harry so that they were only inches apart, because the Gryffindor had held his ground.

"At least, Potter, you knowwhat's happened to your parents," he said, deadly quiet. He turned away to stalk down the hall.

"Malfoy, your mother-"

"Is missing," Draco replied tightly. Harry gasped slightly.

"Oh," he said softly.

"Has been missing," the blonde continued, turning around to glance at Harry out of the corner of his eye, "since late July."

"When your father-"

"Yes, Potter, when my father escaped and decided to also go missing," Draco said angrily, marching back up to Harry and poking him the chest. "So don't talk to me about my parents, and how I used to fault you for yours, because at least you knowwhat happened to yours! I have no idea where mine are or what they're doing. The Dark Lord wouldn't get rid of my father, I'm fairly certain of that, but he has no need for my mother and the only reason she could possibly be with them…would…it makes me sick even thinking about it," he hissed, eyes lowering. Harry stared at him silently.

"Malfoy…I-"

"Kidding."

"Merlin, would you let finish a bloody sen- what?" Harry's eyes widened, jaw dropping open slightly.

"I'm kidding. What can't take a joke, Potter?" Draco said, backing up and crossing his arms to give Harry a smug smile. "Please, my mother's at home lounging about all day; I got a letter from her this morning." Harry continued to stare at him in shock, which was slowly melting away into anger. He could feel his fists clenching at his sides. "Honestly, as if she'd dirty her fingers flouncing off to work for the Dark-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence because Harry's fist was swinging into his jaw, and yet another fight broke out between them.

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