Harry decided to intervene. "Want to get up there Malfoy?"

"Uh…oh yeah." Groggily, Malfoy stood up, only to land with a thump beside Harry.

"Are you really all right?" inquired Harry.

"Is that concern I hear Potter?"

"Well you are the Joker to my Batman."

"Huh?"

Forgot. Not Muggle. About as Un-Muggle as you can get actually.

"Without you I would have no one to strive against."

"So," and here he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "I complete you?"

"Shut up Malfoy."

"But I'm your Prankster."

"Joker. And don't take that as a compliment. He's evil."

"I do take that as a compliment. I try my best to be as evil as I possibly can. Don't tell me you haven't noticed my efforts over the years we've known each other."

Maybe it was the knock on the head, but Malfoy seemed a lot more talkative and a lot more…pleasant. Maybe it's the Felix Felicis. Why does that damn potion seem determined to throw me and Malfoy together as often as possible! Is it trying to say that we're lucky to be together?

This thought disturbed Harry so much that he decided to stop thinking it.

He has been a bit of a prick.

"You are a prick."

"You aren't the model of decorum yourself, Potter." He almost sneered the last word. "But we can't expect much from you. You are the Chosen One. The Muggles probably catered to your every whim. I'm sure you lived in the lap of luxury."

This mention of the Dursleys sent Harry into a flurry of thought. What do you know about my childhood? Catered to my every whim? I lived in a cupboard under the bed and they fed me, sometimes. And I wouldn't call Dudley's hand-me-downs the 'lap of luxury'!

Only when he looked up and saw Malfoy staring at him, wide eyed, did Harry realise he had said all this out loud. Oops.

"Cupboard under the stairs! What do you mean cupboard under the stairs!" Malfoy didn't seem to realise he was shouting.

Just to shut him up, Harry said, "Fine, Malfoy. Just don't tell Parkinson, okay?"

Malfoy quickly nodded his assent.

In a torrent of words, Harry recounted all that had befallen him at number four Privet Drive.

Every injustice, every look of hatred, every barbed comment and abuse, all poured out of his mouth, and for the first time since he had told Ron and Hermione, he felt slightly empty, as if hoarding his past had been keeping him going.

When Harry had finished, Malfoy intoned quietly, "They shouldn't have done that to you. I shouldn't have hated you just for what you are, what you can't change."

"How is that different from how Purebloods treat Muggleborns? How they were picked out like cattle in the war. Hermione still has scars."

Malfoy was quiet for a moment. "It isn't like that anymore. I'm not like that anymore."

Surprisingly, Harry believed him. He had changed since the war. Harry could see it in his eyes, and the way he laughed. Before the war he had never seen him laugh. Probably because of the whole Daddy is a Death Eater thing.

"Well this has been fun."

This nonchalant comment pulled Harry away from his in-depth thinking.

He didn't think Malfoy expected a serious answer, but he gave him one anyway.

"Yeah…being stuck in a confined space with you hasn't actually been that bad."

If Malfoy was at all shocked by this honest, non-sarcastic answer, he didn't show it.

"You make good company, Potter."

"Would it be different, do you think? If I'd taken your hand in First Year."

A short pause in the conversation was followed by Malfoy's answer. "I think... I think You Know Who would have used me against you. And I was a complete dickhead."

Harry laughed at that. "Yeah, you were. But you were also just a kid."

"A kid who practically called your only friend a peasant."

"True. But we were only eleven years old. That's no age to be making lifelong enemies."

"Isn't that the year you met You Know Who." Malfoy gulped then steeled himself, "The year you met Vol…Voldemort." For a moment, fear flashed across his face, and he glanced apprehensively at his forearm, as if suspecting a sudden flare of pain.

Harry felt an odd surge of pride. Why am I proud? It's Malfoy. Then, it's Malfoy! He said Voldemort's name. He really has changed.

"Does this make us friends now, Potter." He spoke the last word softly, as if it might be too harsh.

"Friends." Harry tasted the word on his tongue. He liked the feel of it. Friends with Malfoy. I'd never have guessed that would happen today.

"No more fights then? Or epic verbal bouts in the Great Hall?"

"What will the students of Hogwarts do for entertainment?"

"I'm sure the sight of the Chosen One and the Slytherin Prince casually chatting will be enough entertainment for them."

"Slytherin prince. I like that. Fittingly pompous."

"Shut up you Gryffindor twat." His cheeky grin negated the harshness of the words.

"Ouch. Someone's touchy. Did Pansy break up with you this morning?"

Malfoy glowered at him. "If you kept up with school gossip, you'd know we haven't been a couple for months."

"Consider me successfully caught up."

Harry looked at Malfoy's face. His pointy face (some referred to it as his chiselled features), stupid eyebrows (they had been called perfectly shaped), his messy blond hair (apparently it was very soft) and his astoundingly pale skin (blemish free, Harry almost wanted to touch…No! No. No. No!).

After a single moment of hesitation, he held out his hand. Malfoy's eyes met Harry's. His stare was unwavering. Without breaking it, he took his hand and shook it firmly.

A few seconds passed.

"Um…You can let go now."

"Oh. Yeah." With a slight blush lighting up his features, Malfoy released Harry's hand.

"That's better."

"What now?"

"Well, for a start, stop calling me Malfoy. You aren't Snape." Malfoy's mention of the late Potions master gave Harry an odd urge to cross himself.

"What should I call you then?"

"Draco, you idiot!"

A few breaths of contemplation later, Harry replied, "Alright Mal-Draco." I've called him a lot of things, but never Draco. How strange it sounds.

"Good for you Potter." He grinned as Harry glared at him. "Fine, fine. Harry it is then."

"Now what?"

"Now, we chill." Harry could swear Draco winked at him. Just my imagination. I have a strange imagination.

"Agreed."

"Agreed."

What a weird day.