AN: Here's the next chapter. Enjoy! Thanks to DancingHorses, my beta, for putting up with all of my misplaced commas and for other insights into the fic!

Chapter 3

The next day dawned too soon for Draco Malfoy's liking. He had been out too late talking to Potter. There were worse reasons to wake up grumpy, he supposed.

He wasn't sure when his feelings for Potter had changed, but lately he was impossible to hate. Draco didn't like the git, that was for sure, but he could relate to him more than he could in previous years. Having met the Dark Lord, Draco knew he wouldn't want to be the one hunted by him.

After breakfast and Charms, Draco walked to the library because he had a free period that morning. He wanted to get the Charms essay that Flitwick had just assigned out of the way.

He found the Charms section, put his bag on a table, and walked to the shelves. The essay was on the application of household charms in non–household locations. As if a Malfoy knew anything about household charms.

He had found the section of the shelf that would be the most useful and had begun looking at titles when he heard hushed voices a few aisles away.

"...Sorry, Hermione. It's just there's so much going on. Umbridge breathing down my neck and all the Voldemort stuff. Dumbledore won't look at me, I'm not supposed to write Snuffles, Snape's out to get me, Malfoy's acting odd and to top it all off there's an article in the paper every day about how unbalanced I am. My life sucks."

Potter does seem to have some issue this year, Draco thought.

Granger said, "Oh, Harry." There was a pause. "It's going to get better."

"You're just saying that. This is the worst year yet, Hermione, and it's only the second week." Potter stalked away.

Draco heard Granger sigh and slowly walk away. Draco almost felt guilty for listening to their conversation, but it gave him a lot of perspective on Potter. Here he'd thought that Potter was a pampered prince, but it sounded like he had a tougher life then Draco guessed.

After a moment, he got to work on his essay.


That night, Draco was waiting for Potter near the defense classroom, as promised. It was a little later then the night before when Potter finally appeared.

"You're later tonight. Are you OK?" Draco asked. He stepped from the shadows and walked beside Potter, who slowed down for him.

"Umbridge was just yammering on about the Ministry and how important it is to maintain order on the British Islands or some garbage. She's pissed someone is healing my hand though, I can tell," he finished with a shy smile.

"Of course she is. She's trying to torture you, and you keep getting it fixed. So it will take you longer to break," Draco said.

"I'm not going to break, Malfoy. I can handle Voldemort, so I think I can handle her," Harry said. Draco shuddered at the use of the Dark Lord's name.

"I didn't think you would. You're too much of a stubborn git for that," Malfoy said with a smirk.

"You know me too well." Potter grinned.

"Sometimes I think I do, but sometimes I don't think I know you at all," Draco said.

There was a moment of awkward silence. "Do you think we've gone far enough for you to heal me?" Potter asked.

"I guess so. Hand?"

Potter stretched out his hand. Draco cast the same two spells again, and the wounds closed up and healed.

"You should teach me those spells, Malfoy, then you wouldn't have to wait for me after detention every night," Potter said.

"First, I don't have to come to heal you every night. I wouldn't if I didn't want to. Second, it's very dangerous to do healing spells on yourself. That's why we have healers. If everyone could heal themselves, why bother with St. Mungos?" Draco said.

"That's a good point; I guess I never thought of that. So that means you wantto come see me after my detentions?" Potter asked, looking partly smug and partly interested.

"Don't read too much into it, Potter."

Now Potter was smiling outright. "I won't hold it against you that you do, I promise," he said.

Draco growled. "Potter—"

Potter laughed. "You've changed, Malfoy. For the better."

Draco didn't know how to respond to that, and just watched as Potter walked away, smiling.


Draco made it back to the Slytherin dorms and collapsed into bed. His sleep was restless and he pondered what Potter had said. Had he really changed that much?

The next day he went through his morning routine still thinking about it, but not really reaching any conclusions.

He walked up the stairs from the fifth year boys dormitory into the common room and saw a group of his Slytherin year–mates sitting and talking.

He nodded to them and kept walking, only to be called back by Zabini. Zabini was a tall boy, with high cheekbones, dark skin, and long, brown slanting eyes.

"Yes, Zabini?" Malfoy asked. Zabini was probably the closest thing he had in Hogwarts to a friend. Slytherins, by and large, did not have very close relationships with their housemates. Sure, he liked several of the other Slytherins, but not nearly enough to trust them.

"We haven't seen you around much, lately. Where have you been?" Zabini asked, rather bluntly, Draco thought.

"I'm a prefect now, Zabini. I have responsibilities. I patrol the halls and punish snogging sixth years in broom closets. What do you think I've been doing? Spending time with Harry bloody Potter?" Draco asked. Suppressing a laugh at how accurate that was.

"We're just concerned about you, Draco, that's all. I'm a prefect too, but you don't see me patrolling all the time," Pansy Parkinson replied.

Draco really, really hated Pansy. She was the kind of girl who couldn't keep her legs shut for a day and liked to pretend that she had an arranged marriage with Draco. As if he would touch her with a ten–foot pole.

"I appreciate your concern, but I take my responsibilities seriously," Draco said, leaving the "unlike some of us" unsaid.

"It's like you just don't seem to care about your position in the house, Draco. That used to mean something to you," she replied, sounding hurt.

"It's a rather juvenile concern, what with the Dark Lord and all," Draco said nonchalantly.

Zabini snorted. "As if the Dark Lord would have anything to do with a fifteen–year–old."

"Shows what you know, Zabini. I went with my father to a meeting with the Dark Lord in July," Draco said, angrily and with his nose in the air. "Now if you don't mind, I would like to get to breakfast."

With that, Draco stormed out of the Slytherin common room, leaving shocked and disbelieving fifth years behind.

When he reached a corner, he stopped and leaned against the wall, then slid down to the floor and took a deep breath. He was really losing influence fast among the Slytherins. Not that it mattered much, but it did make life easier, being the top dog of Slytherin.

But it really didn't matter as much as it had the previous year, and he had more important things to worry about.

He stood and walked on towards breakfast, wondering if Potter had a detention tonight.