Looking for Trouble

Chapter 2: First Encounter

It had all started simply enough. The beginning of Terry Boot's fourth year at Hogwarts had seemed as though it would proceed in pretty much the same way as the last. Except hopefully without all the escaped convicts and dementors roaming the school, of course.

But that idea derailed completely on the first Saturday of term when Draco Malfoy plunked his schoolbag down beside Terry in the library, upsetting his ink pot and crinkling his Charms essay.

"I can't make any sense of these summoning charms," he said petulantly, through with a sort of arrogance too, as though it took real skill not to know what was going on in Charms.

Terry gaped at him. Malfoy had never said a word to him in all their three years together, not even when they'd sat one desk away from each other in Defense Against the Dark Arts last year.

"And what do you expect me to do about it?" he asked.

"You should help me understand them." Malfoy gave him what Terry supposed was a combination between a withering look and a charming smile. "Obviously."

"Well, why me?" Terry asked, still flabbergasted. Come to think of it, he didn't even think Malfoy knew his name. He certainly wouldn't know Malfoy's if the git wasn't always drawing attention to himself, shouting at breakfast or doing impressions for his cronies in the corridors between lessons or flying so fast on the Quidditch pitch that his hair dazzled in the sun and he became a shimmering blur.

"Because you're the smartest in our year," Malfoy answered, and when Terry started to protest, Malfoy amended, "Well, except for that night troll Granger, but I could hardly ask her for help, could I?"

He jerked his head toward Hermione Granger, who sat hunched over a book, hardly visible through her hair.

Terry raised an eyebrow. "Night troll?"

Malfoy looked annoyed, yet also pleased with himself. When the corners of his mouth twitched up like that, he had the tiniest of dimples in his right cheek. "Oh, don't twist your knickers. It was only a joke."

Malfoy settled in beside him, beginning to unload parchment and quills from his bag. "So will you help?"

Terry sighed. Malfoy hadn't really given him much choice in the matter. "I suppose so," he said. Then he remembered what he had been thinking about earlier and saw a way to test his theory. "But only if you can tell me what my name is."

"What, have you forgotten it?" Malfoy said carelessly, dipping his quill in ink and writing his own name loopily across the top of his parchment. "However did you manage that?"

Terry sighed again, this time in frustration. "Just tell me you know it, Malfoy."

Malfoy sniffed. "What do you take me for? An imbecile? Potter? Of course I know your name."

"So what is it?"

Now uncertainty flickered, however briefly, over Malfoy's face. "It's Boot," he said, the "t" crisp in Malfoy's suddenly curt tone.

"And my first name?"

Malfoy's mouth opened, then he paused. For a moment, Terry's heart sank, though he couldn't think why this should disappoint him. Then Malfoy grinned triumphantly. "Terence," he said. "Probably the fourth or some rot, with a godawful name like that."

Terry grinned as well, feeling a pleased flush crawl up his cheeks for no reason he could comprehend. "It's just Terry."

"All right, Boot," Malfoy replied. "Now, impart to me all of your knowledge."

And so he did. Terry knew that he was looking for trouble, hanging out with Draco Malfoy, but the trouble didn't come. At least, not right away.

At first, it was strange to be sitting there, head bent close to Malfoy's. For the first few minutes, Terry shot Draco Malfoy approximately one look every three seconds, but Malfoy acted as though this was nothing out of the ordinary, as though taking out another roll of parchment and licking his quill while sitting next to Terry Boot was something he did every day. And then, after a while, it stopped being quite so strange until it wasn't strange at all anymore, and before Terry quite realized it, it was a month into term and Malfoy was sitting quietly beside him at their usual table in the library, reading his Transfiguration book and every once in a while looking up to make snide remarks about Harry Potter's hair or parentage.