The next day, Harry was having breakfast in the Great Hall. It was hard, however, to focus on breakfast when Malfoy was glaring at him all the way across the great hall.
Malfoy was drinking his coffee, which Harry by now knew that he always had with two scoops of sugar and more milk than coffee. He only knew that because there were certain things one picked up after long periods of observation, of course.
Harry bit into his toast as he and Malfoy made eye contact. Malfoy gracefully took a long sip, set down his cup, and smirked.
"Oh, stop staring at him, will you?" Ron insisted with a groan. "It does absolutely nothing."
"I'm breaking him," Harry replied determinedly, watching as Malfoy set down his drink and began cutting at his ham. His fingers were so long and graceful, perfect for... For torturing someone, he guessed.
That strange feeling buzzed in his gut again.
"Breaking him for what?" Ron demanded, seeming terribly exasperated.
"You wouldn't understand," Harry replied dryly, "considering that you actually believe he's innocent." He took another bite of toast and spent a long time chewing, getting distracted as Malfoy began whispering with Zabini.
Unease and suspicion settled within him. They were definitely plotting something.
"Oh, I think you're a whole lot more innocent than Malfoy," Ron grumbled. "At least Malfoy knows what he's doing! You're clueless!"
"I know what I'm doing!" Harry protested. "I'm getting down to bottom of Malfoy's business."
Ron scoffed. "You sure are, Harry." He shook his head and went back to eating his bacon.
Harry focused back on Malfoy and Zabini. Now, Zabini was waggling his eyebrows at Harry, and Malfoy had shoved his plate aside and was burying his head in his arms on the table.
"Shit," Harry grumbled. "They know I'm onto them."
"You're fucking clueless!" Ron cried desperately, throwing his fork onto the table. It clattered around and splattered onto Neville's plate, who just sighed.
"I am not." Harry snapped. "I can see evil when it's right in front of me, Ron."
Neville cut in, then. "Harry, why don't you just go talk to him?" He inquired kindly.
Oh, Neville. Sweet, naive Neville.
"I can't do that, Nev," Harry replied, looking away from the Slytherin table. "People don't just reveal their plots if you ask them!" He cried.
"Maybe you've got him all wrong, Harry," Neville replied, looking behind him at the Slytherin table. "I mean, he looks pretty eager..."
Malfoy was licking his lips now as Harry regained eye contact. Zabini was laughing hysterically now, and pounding his fist on the table. Parkinson was just scowling.
"He's taunting me!" Harry cried, incredulous. Malfoy just kept getting bolder and bolder, the git.
"He's not taunting you," Hermione's voice said from behind him.
He spun around to face her. "Come on, 'Mione. You're smart! Why can't you see that Malfoy is clearly plotting?" He demanded.
No one believed him. Not even Hermione!
"He is plotting," Hermione grumbled. "Just probably not what you think." She placed her hands on her hips, and said, "We need to talk, Harry."
He saw out of the corner of his eye that Malfoy had left.
"Not now, Hermione!" He exclaimed. "I have Runes with Malfoy next, and he's always there fifteen minutes early. I have to go!" He moved to get up and chase after him.
"Since when did you even give a fuck about Runes?" Ron demanded.
"Since Malfoy did!" Harry replied hastily, swinging his bag over his shoulder. "It must tie into one of his evil plots!" He proclaimed as he darted out of the Great Hall.
He had to be fast if he wanted to get there on time. He relished-no, he did not relish the time he spent alone with Malfoy, he just, well...
Oh, bugger, he thought. I better walk faster.
