Chapter 2. The Little Things

No Gryffindor, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff boy left the dormitory that night. As the boys finally stumbled to bed at two o'clock in the morning, exhausted after the days exertions, Harry realised the Slytherins still hadn't returned. It seemed he wasn't the only one with insomnia.

After a while Harry could hear the others' breathings evening out as they fell asleep one by one, but even within the familiar walls of Hogwarts Harry couldn't seem to close his eyes. Finally he sighed, and was just about to rise from his bed when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Heavy, lazy steps making their way into the room and past the beds to the furthest corner.

Goyle, Harry thought. He waited for the other Slytherins, but when Goyle's low snoring filled the room they still hadn't appeared. Bored and highly irritated, Harry found that he couldn't stand it any longer, and slid out of his bed as silently as he could. Digging through his trunk, he soon found what he was looking for, and clad in the Invisibility Cloak he then descended the stairs into the common had been hoping to find the common room empty and the Slytherins gone, but as he entered into the room he found it lit and occupied. Malfoy and Zabini were sitting in front of the fire place. Malfoy was reading the Daily Prophet, and Zabini was pretty much just staring at the ceiling.

Harry's plan was to walk past them and disappear through the door before the Slytherins had the time to realise that someone invisible had passed them by. But before Harry had the time to take one step, something caught his ear.

"Come on," he heard Zabini whisper, not in the familiar shrill taunt this time. "You know you want it."

The disturbing purr in Zabini's voice made Harry turn and look closer at the two in front of the fire place. And suddenly he was forced to wonder why he hadn't found the scene peculiar at first glance.

They were sitting in different armchairs, but Zabini's chair was pressed so close to Malfoy's as was physically possible. Zabini himself was sitting on his knees in his chair, draped over the arm hold of Malfoy's. His face was only inches from Malfoy's ear, and he was eyeing Malfoy hungrily as he licked his lips.

Malfoy on the other hand seemed less than interested. He was sitting with his back straight, legs stretched out in front of him, reading his newspaper with a look of complete indifference on his face. Upon hearing Zabini's words, he huffed and raised an irritated eyebrow.

"Blaise, haven't I told you already not to bother me?" Malfoy's voice was cold, and he uttered the words nonchalantly without even looking up from the paper.

"Don't be like that, Drake," Zabini murmured, and before Harry had time to register what was happening, Zabini had grabbed Malfoy by his tie and pulled his lips to his. In spite of himself, Harry gasped out loud, clasping his hand over his mouth in hope that the Slytherins hadn't heard him. In silent horror he stared at Malfoy and Zabini, wondering if he had finally lost his marbles. He felt as if he had been watching the scene for an hour, yet Malfoy indulged Zabini for barely half a second before he pushed him away and sat back in his chair.

"Don't be stupid, Blaise," Malfoy said harshly to the boy beside him. "I already told you 'no'."

"Why?" Zabini asked, sitting back on his heels and pouting, an expression which looked rather ridiculous on the usually dignified Slytherin. "You've never been like this before."

Harry couldn't seem to stop staring; he was completely unable to believe what he was hearing. This was something he had certainly never expected to see. His mind ran in all different directions, going through a hundred possibilities for his next action, everything from exposing himself and busting them, to getting a camera and earning big bucks for the pictures. People would need proof, they wouldn't believe him if he simply told them.

Malfoy sighed. "It was a long time ago, Blaise. Let it go."

"No!" Zabini exclaimed, staring at his housemate with a furrowed brow. "It was not a long time ago! Why is it different now?"

Malfoy only stared at him blankly, his mouth in a thin line. After a moment he looked away and rose slowly from his chair, cane in hand to support him. "I'm going to bed."

"No you don't!"

Before Malfoy had time to take a step towards the stairs, Zabini had flown up from his chair. He moved determinedly to stand in front of Malfoy, hands balled into angry fists. "What's going on, Draco? You've never been like this before. I know that the injury in your leg got to you, but— "

"This has nothing to do with my leg," Malfoy hissed, trying to push past Zabini. "Things change. You should learn to adapt, like a true Slytherin would."

"Do you have someone else?" Zabini asked dully, a last attempt to hinder the other boy from leaving. It worked, causing Malfoy to stop in his tracks and turn around slowly. He grabbed Zabini violently by his collar and pulled him towards himself, crashing his lips upon Zabini's. Zabini moaned and his hands flew up to wrap around Malfoy's back and neck, tugging at his shirt. Malfoy kissed Zabini furiously, a sight that made Harry's mouth grow very dry. As he tried to look away, Harry's eyes fixed upon Malfoy's hands. His left hand was clasped around his cane, while his right hand was still holding on to Zabini's collar. But he wasn't holding it in want or desperation of having Zabini pressed against him, it was just sheer need to dominate, to control. Malfoy showed no sign whatsoever of any feeling, even though Zabini was gasping loudly and clinging on to him desperately.

Soon Malfoy pulled away, taking a step back from Zabini. He looked at the other boy with an amused smirk. "I was never yours, Blaise. Therefore, I cannot have anyone 'else', as you put it. Now please be so kind as to go find someone else to fuck, and stop bothering me."

Zabini looked much like he was caught between wanting to hit Malfoy and bursting into tears, but he simply nodded stiffly and hurried up the stairs to the dormitory. Malfoy exhaled loudly, sitting back in his chair and resting his head in his palms. Harry let out the breath he had been holding and leaned back against the wall, still in mild shock.

Malfoy and Blaise...? They've...? Harry just couldn't believe it. God, the Slytherins really were twisted. He looked over at Malfoy and knew that he should leave, but somehow Harry couldn't take his eyes off Malfoy. He was leaned over in his seat, cradling his head in his hands for a long while. A strange blow of something resembling sympathy hit Harry, and he wondered if Malfoy was crying.

But then Malfoy lifted his face from his hands, and there were no tears in his eyes, no signs of sadness in his expression. He looked at his bad leg, anger flashing in his steel grey eyes. "It has nothing to do with my leg," he whispered to himself, taking a deep breath before grabbing his cane and standing up. Harry followed Malfoy with his gaze as he slowly made his way towards the dorm.

Watching Malfoy disappear at the top of the stairs, Harry stayed leaning against the wall for a long time, wondering what the hell he had just witnessed.

He sat at the Feast like any other person. Making small talk with Pansy and the others like nothing had happened. Like his 'talk' with Zabini last night hadn't been anything unusual. Zabini sat beside him, listening to what he was saying with a calm, concentrated look on his face. There seemed to be nothing strange at all about that group.

But Harry now saw what he couldn't see before. He watched as Zabini leaned closer to Malfoy, discreetly sweeping against him as he reached for the custard. Malfoy didn't even look towards Zabini, but moved just the tiniest bit away from him as he moved to sit in another position. A small frown appeared on Zabini's face, and for some reason his expression made Harry feel very smug.

"Oh, Harry, watch! Here come the new students!" Hermione squealed, tugging at Harry's sleeve. He turned towards the door, where the first years had just appeared, looking forlorn and nervous as they always did. McGonagall lead them to the front of the Hall, and Harry watched in amusement as the sorting began. The sorting took much longer than usual; there were so many children that had refrained from starting school during the war and had to catch up.

Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws cheered as new students were sorted into their houses. But when the Hat called out "Slytherin!", and a pale girl approached the serpents' table, very little noise was heard. The students clapped their hands encouragingly, but their faces remained as if set in stone. The little girl took her place at the end of the table and gained a few curt nods, before everyone's attention was turned back to the Sorting Hat. And so it continued. Throughout the evening the Slytherins all sat silent and serious, with straight backs and raised heads, looking straight forward with grim expressions.

Harry watched them, wondering how they all got that way. Yes, the Slytherins had always been freaks, ridiculously bound by their beliefs and traditions, but this was plain scary. Now that Snape was gone, they all looked to Malfoy for a leader, a role model. And all of them had turned into more or less copies him, trying to match his cold exterior and collected nonchalance. All of those children were sitting at that table, looking rather as if they were at a funeral instead of a feast.

Harry found it positively terrifying.

Twenty four sorted into Slytherin. A big year. The kids all sat down at the end of the table, looking up at their elders, waiting for some sort of sign. They were nervous of the silence, though none dared object to it. Draco only nodded at them; welcomes were saved for later.

Finally, the Sorting ceremony was over, and the Feast began. The conversations started building at the Slytherin table, while shouts and cheers were heard from the others'. Barbarians, Draco thought, sneering.

Looking over at the other tables, Draco caught Potter staring at him. Potter looked away swiftly. Draco didn't look away, but kept looking at the Gryffindor table, furrowing his brow. What was Potter up to?

Five seconds later, Potter looked back up. Right at Draco. Shocked to find himself still being watched, Potter lowered his gaze again, face even redder than before. Irritated, Draco kept looking at him for a long time, but Potter didn't look back up from his plate again.

"Why are you staring at Potter?"

Blaise leaned in towards Draco, his voice a purr by his ear. Draco huffed. "He was staring at me. He's up to something." Draco shook his head softly, turning to serve himself some pumpkin juice.

Blaise looked over at Potter for a minute, before turning back to Draco, shrugging. "Isn't he always?" he asked, obviously bored by the subject of the Golden Boy.

Draco looked past Zabini him pointedly, furrowing his brow deeper as he kept staring at Potter. "Yes." But he wasn't convinced. Draco was most certainly not intimidated by Potter's or Weasley's pathetic attempts to get even with him, but something about Potter's look just now had been disconcerting.

Taking a deep breath, Draco pushed the thought aside and pretended to take interest in Blaise's babbling about the last Quidditch season. There was nothing he could do about Potter now, anyway.

"...And then that fucker Wood was taken in! Luckily he was squashed by the Falmouth beaters, but by that time he'd gotten Puddlemere 200 points!"

Draco thought his head was going to explode. "Blaise! Enough!" he finally roared, after Blaise has been going on about the same game for half an hour. "I don't care if the Falcons lost or not, and I don't care if that prick Wood scored or not."

They climbed the stairs to the fourth floor slowly, Draco's cane hitting the stones rhythmically. Blaise shrugged nonchalantly, but a small, embarrassed blush crept over his nose. "You used to."

In spite of his better judgement, Draco reacted to the words. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Blaise breathed in nervously. "I'm just saying. You used to care. About Quidditch. About Potter and Weasley getting what they deserve." Brown eyes darted to the floor, avoiding Draco's gaze. Blaise swallowed loudly, muttering under his breath. "About fucking."

Draco stopped as if he had hit a wall, spitting at Blaise: "What the fuck are you on about?"

Blaise stilled, lifting his face defiantly. "Don't think I haven't noticed. You try to hide it from everyone, but it's not working." He sighed, taking a step back and leaning against the wall. "You don't need anything, you don't want anything. You're just..." Blaise trailed off, biting his lip irritably. "You're just absent."

Draco did not even bother to pretend to listen to what he is saying. "Is this about last night?" he asked, raising an accusing eyebrow.

"No!" Blaise flushed and huffed, shaking his head violently and lying through his teeth. Quite poorly, at that. "No, it's— "

And so, in an effort to get Blaise off his back, Draco gave him what he wanted. Draco gave him what would keep him quiet. Pushing Blaise up against the wall, Draco proceeded to ravage his lips. Then he quickly broke away, continuing up the stairs. And as expected, Blaise followed, eager for what the kiss has silently promised.

On Monday morning Zabini put his hand on Malfoy's thigh.

Mid-way through his breakfast, Harry looked up to see Zabini across Malfoy reaching for the marmalade. Harry watched the words 'Excuse me' pass innocently over Zabini's lips. Malfoy nodded absentmindedly. Zabini then moved back, seeming to concentrate on his tea, but he ran his hand slowly up Malfoy's leg, leaving it to rest on his thigh. They sat with their backs turned towards Harry, but from what he could see, Malfoy showed no reaction. Malfoy simply brought a piece of toast to his mouth before turning to speak to Pansy, who sat on his left side. No angry flash of his eyes, no intent to move away. Harry bit the inside of his cheek in irritation. Zabini took no noticeable interest in Malfoy, but instead engaged in conversation with a seventh year Slytherin. Still, his hand rested firmly on Malfoy's leg, moving discreetly higher, closer and closer to—

"Harry? Harry! Are you listening to me?"

Harry choked on his scone.

Ron leaned closer to him and Harry sighed, stifling a cough. "What?" he wheezed, feeling a blush spread on his face as he turned to his friend, trying to pretend that he wasn't just caught witnessing—

What he was just witnessing.

Ron wore a smug grin upon his face, while Hermione looked less than pleased. Harry immediately felt a tinge of worry.

"We're gonna have a party on Saturday! You know, to celebrate our last school year." Dean and Seamus nodded encouragingly at Harry as Ron continued:"It's a tradition, though we won't even have to sneak around about it, as we're all of legal age to drink!"

Hermione frowned, evidently very displeased. "Ron, I don't think it's allowed even if we are all legally adults."

Ron just snorted. "Don't be a spoilsport, 'Mione. After all we've been through, this is not the time to stop taking risks!" He kissed Hermione on the lips as if that would conclude the subject. It quite efficiently did, as Hermione hurried to turn back to her schedule with a furious blush on her face. Ron grinned smugly and turned back to Harry.

"So Harry, what do ya think? We've got it all planned out; it'll be only the additional seventh years and a few selected other students. Justin Finch-Fletchley will handle the booze. He has connections," Ron leered, saying the word connections in a manner that indicated that Harry didn't really want to know more details.

Honestly, he didn't think it was a good idea. If they got caught, they'd be in big trouble. But on the other hand, Ron was right. People needed something to keep their spirits up after all that had happened. So Harry chose only to smile. "Sure thing, Ron. It's a great idea."

"Wicked!" Ron cheered, and ran off towards the Hufflepuff table. "Justin, it's set!"

Hermione snorted loudly, and Harry turned towards her with a questioning brow. "What's so amusing?"

She didn't even look up from her schedule, but a small smile played on her face. "I was just imagining Ron's face when realises that the Slytherins will be attending the party. They can't really be turned away; it's their dormitory too," Hermione sounded nonchalant, but Harry could sense that she felt very smug.

Harry on the other hand felt whatever enthusiasm he had experienced five seconds ago crash like an airplane flown by Madame Maxime. Shit, he thought. For once, Harry wished that Hermione would've opened her mouth earlier and said more than she had. But Harry had no time to wallow in desperation before Hermione rose from her seat with determination. "We should get Ron and hurry off to class. We'd better not be late for Potions."

Harry stifled the urge to groan out loud. Potions. Great. The day just kept getting better and better.

The new Potions professor Pennyroyal-somethingsomething was a measly young twit who frighteningly enough seemed like she could be related to Trelawney. Draco hated her from the first time he laid eyes on her thin frame and long, uncombed grey hair. Her nagging voice got so high pitched when she hysterically tried to bring order to the class that Draco wondered if even bats could hear her. He moved to the back of the class to prepare his Doxycide, trying desperately to block out that vulgar sound.

Blaise was cutting the beetleroot, winking at Draco as he moved the knife overt the board. Irritated though Draco was, he was determined not to encourage such classless behaviour by reacting to it. Blaise had always had a problem with understanding that discretion was key. It was one of the reasons why Draco hadn't wanted to get involved with him in the first place.

But now he had made his bed, and he had to lie in it. Cursed be teenage lust.

Draco sent Blaise to fetch some more crows' eyes, just to get rid of him for a second. As he watched him go, Draco's eyes subconsciously wandered over Blaise's body.

Well, at least he has a nice ass, Draco thought approvingly. Even if the brain leaves some things to be desired.

Then suddenly Draco felt someone else's eyes on him. He looked around, and if it wasn't Potter, standing on the other side of the classroom, staring at him. Again.

Draco sneered at Potter, expecting him to turn away, flustered with embarrassment. But the git didn't even have the courtesy to pretend that he wasn't watching Draco. He just kept meeting his gaze steadily, stirring his concoction far more than the required 12 times.

Potter's gaze was making Draco very uncomfortable. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn't seem to make his body respond. Potter's marvellously green eyes seemed to have him nailed in place, rendering him completely unable to move. Draco narrowed his eyes at Potter, hoping for him to understand his silent message to fuck off and stop disturbing him.

To stop distracting him.

"Drake! Did you already hear?"

Blaise awoke Draco from his trance, and he turned his attention towards him. "What is it? And don't call me that," Draco sneered, thinking of just how vulgar and peasantlike Drake sounded.

"The eighth years are having a party on Saturday." Blaise reeked of excitement, of the sort that a little boy has on Christmas morning. Draco found it positively disgusting.

"Yes. And?" he asked absentmindedly, his eyes darting towards the Gryffindor table again. Potter had now turned his attention towards the potion, which didn't seem to be quite in order. Draco snort out loud at the failed concoction, and as if he had heard him, Potter looked up. He scowled at Draco, but his expression showed little actual enmity. Then Potter looked to Draco's side, where Blaise was still desperately trying to get him interested in the party, and his eyes seemed to darken. Potter looked away instantly, dark hair falling forward to cover brilliant green eyes.

He didn't lift his gaze again, and for some reason that bothered Draco endlessly. Who the hell did Potter think he was?

But in the end Draco had to accept his defeat, and he turned back to Blaise with an irritated glare. Blaise was still going on about that fucking party, and Draco didn't think that he had ever been this annoyed with him before.

"Yes, yes, Blaise. Do what you want, I'm not your fucking mother. Just go to the bloody party," Draco snapped, starting to stir their potion furiously. "If you go, take the others with you. Pansy and Queenie will be over the moon."

Blaise's face dropped instantly at Draco's words. "Aren't you coming?" he asked forlornly.

"No." Draco shook his head. "I have better things to do than spend my time surrounded by drunken Gryffindorks. Besides, I wouldn't drink anything offered to me by that Finch-Fletchley. Disgusting Mudblood."