Chapter 4: Embraced
From a cursory inspection of her features, Granger was not a girl one would ever call pretty. Upon first sight her face was dominated by plainness from every aspect. Her mouth, her nose, her chin, the line of her jaw were all unremarkable; her facial features were without tragedies or glories. They simply were.
She was, in a word, plain.
But then one reached her eyes, and here one found pause. Her eyes were extraordinary not by their color or shape – they were not pretty unto themselves, and their shade of brown was entirely unremarkable. No, what made them so distinctive was their sheer size. They were huge, and pleading. They were not eyes one could easily look away from, standing this close.
How had he never noticed? Perhaps because her face had never held more than contempt and determined indifference towards his person.
In any case now Draco found he was unable to tear his eyes away from her warm brown ones.
Here, he thought, was the tragedy, here the glory. And when she looked at one in such a way, and she spoke with such conviction, her face became transformed under the freshness of her candor. She was almost painful to look at, like a lost puppy on a street corner, he concluded.
And now he felt the urge to give her a halfhearted pat on the shoulder before continuing on his way.
"Harry...Please," she said, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, "let us help. Let us help you. You're not alone in this." Her small hand found his, clasped it.
"No one can help me," Draco stated simply, squeezing her hand briefly before letting it drop. "This falls on me. On me alone."
There. Did that sound Potter-ish?
"What did Dumbledore say to you?" Weasley demanded. "You haven't been yourself since you talked to him. Will it happen soon? Will you go?"
"I can't tell you that, Ron," Draco evaded.
"Bloody hell!" the red-haired boy exploded, his face flushed with anger. "We've been through everything together! How can you expect us to hang back now?"
Draco turned his eyes on Potter's best friend, recalling that this was the person he'd chosen to save during the Triwizard Tournament. Here then, was Potter's most prized possession.
A smirk, even a small one at this point would be disastrous, but Draco could feel his lips twitch.
"Ron," he said slowly, "I've always known there was a time when I'd have to go it alone. This is something which I must do. I didn't ask for it, I wish I didn't have to, but I do."
"But not alone!" the redhead protested again.
"I don't want to die," Draco murmured, Granger's reaction every reassurance that his words were reaching their target.
Even Weasley looked like he was ready to break into sobs at any moment.
Draco suppressed a snort.
And yet, he quietly admitted to himself, there was no point in pretending that he wasn't almost...enjoying this. To be so noble, to play the part of the doomed hero who simply cannot, will not, escape his fate. To speak such words, to see the liquid adoration in the eyes of these people... it was beautiful, in a way.
To play the noble martyr...
He could almost believe it. He wondered, briefly, if Potter did.
"I don't want to die," he repeated, more firmly now. "But if I have to, I will. And I won't risk that happening to you." His eyes, which he knew would be bright green as emeralds, went from one to the other.
He had their full attention and he knew it.
"I'm sorry... from now on I'm alone in this."
A heavy silence descended over the room. Draco wondered what would happen next. He'd anticipated another argument with Ginny's brother, maybe tears from Granger...
The last thing he expected was for the brown-haired girl to launch herself into his chest. She buried her face in his neck, wrapping her arms around his body tightly.
Disconcerted, Draco had the presence of mind to raise his arms and wrap them around her in turn.
I can't believe I'm hugging Hermione Granger, he thought, aware of the warm, wet tears that were spilling on his neck.
A moment later she tore herself away from him, and ran from the room.
OOO
Sundays in Slytherin were for sleeping in, Harry quickly discovered. He'd woken early as was his custom, wandering out into the common room and later the Great Hall, but no one from his House seemed to be up.
Grabbing some fruit from the table, he'd gone back to his quarters, deciding to settle back into bed. Malfoy had replaced all of the standard-issue Hogwarts furniture with his own, and the king-sized bed was no exception. It was the most comfortable Harry had ever laid in, the fluffy feather pillows felt like clouds. In a bed like this, it was easy to let yourself drift off to sleep...
The rustle of fabric against the stone floor made Harry's eyes flip open. Instantly his hand went to his wand, and he sat up expectantly. He was surprised to find the scantily clad form of Daphne Greengrass, green-blue eyes fixed on his wand. She had draped a strip of white cloth around one of her shoulders, and her soft brown curls tumbled over the other. The rest of her was...bare.
"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded, struggling to keep his eyes on her face.
She smiled for all answer, and padded barefoot up to the foot of the bed.
What changed?
She wasn't scared anymore, he noted, alarmed by the way she crawled up on the bed, like a cat on all fours.
Harry gulped.
YOU changed, you wanker, he thought, as she snaked her way up his legs. Malfoy probably doesn't give her the time of day when they're with everyone else. YOU kept... looking.
And how the hell had she gotten in?
"Your wand works on my door?" he murmured in Malfoy's cool baritone.
"Yes," she said proudly, sitting up. "You wanted it to."
Harry stared. Did that mean that she was the flavor of the month?
Judging by the way she was straddling him, placing his hands on either side of her bare hips, she sure seemed to think so.
OOO
Later that week, Draco met with Ginny Weasley on the pitch.
His first days of class as a Gryffindor passed without incident; Potter's courageous friends had become more subdued after that overtly dramatic conversation, finally giving Draco room to breathe. Following a certain redhead's advice, the Slytherin was being diplomatic about the whole thing, treating them with a certain care and politeness he would never have afforded them under different circumstances.
More important than domestic harmony to his peace of mind, however, was the fact that Potter had no common classes with Slytherin today. He had Double Potions tomorrow, he knew, but he'd worry about crossing that bridge when he got to it. For now, no Potions or Herbology meant he'd only had to see his own face during meals.
Potter had been ignoring him completely, and had so far refused to answer his owls.
Wanker! Draco thought, with a flare of irritation.
He flew lazily around the pitch, waiting for Ginny to arrive. Their morning jogs had turned into routine, but he had to admit he felt a tingle of excitement at the prospect of seeing her again; they'd barely had a chance to speak since this morning. He was surprised at how easy it was to talk to her, how quickly he'd grown comfortable in her presence; as comfortable as he could be, anyway.
He hadn't even realized how it had happened, but somewhere down the line they'd become something like friends. It was a relief to have someone around that he could be himself with; when he was alone with Ginny he could drop the 'Harry' act and just be Draco.
He saw the waves of wild red hair before he really saw her, it hung loose down to her waist, catching the sun as if it were fire. She held her broom over her shoulder, and with her free arm covered her eyes against the glare of the setting sun.
"Weasel Junior," Draco said for all greeting, letting his eyes roam over her appreciatively.
"Hello there, ferret," she shot back, but when his eyes met her brown ones, he was pleased to see the hint of a blush on her cheeks.
It was strange, this game they were playing.
Draco had never been completely indifferent to her; not since he'd first seen her play Quidditch. But aside from the occasional exchange of barbs on the pitch he'd never really spoken to her, and now that he was getting to know her he found himself liking her more and more. It bothered him that he couldn't be certain if her responses were for him or for Potter.
"So they've taken it well, haven't they?" Ginny inquired, as they kicked off the ground.
"As well as can be expected," he replied, hovering up on his broom lazily. "It was so weird. It felt like breaking up or something."
"I suppose in a way it kind of was."
Draco shrugged.
"I'm to meet with Granger in the library tomorrow night to study," he said after a while. "Am I supposed to pretend that I'm some kind of a dumbass? I'm better at Potions than Granger is."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "You know, Malfoy, you might as well start calling them by their names. You might slip up one day, and you don't really know how long this will last. Still no reply from Harry?"
Draco remained silent. Her words echoed in his mind... You don't know how long this will last...
He cursed quietly under his breath.
"It's not so hard, really," she went on, unaware of his distress. "The way you stumbled on Hermione's name that first time... little things like that add up. That was one of the things that made me realize you weren't Harry."
Draco turned to look at her with interest. "And what else?"
"Well..." She trailed off, turning away.
"Yes?" he pressed, raising an eyebrow.
"The way you look at me," Ginny said quietly.
Draco hovered closer to her, taking in the pale line of freckles that dusted her cheeks, the way her full lips curved at the edges as she tried not to smile. He looked up into her honey colored eyes and raised his eyebrows. "Which way is that?"
Ginny laughed, and Draco realized she was nervous.
As behooves her, he thought smugly, but truth be told, his own heart was beating a little faster.
Ginny beheld him in silence for a moment, her head tilted to the side. "As if you were really seeing me..." she said at last. "As if you were appraising me. Harry never measures anyone with his eyes like that. At least, not me."
"And?" he said, holding her gaze. "Do you like it?"
She laughed, and Draco smirked.
She was about to speak when suddenly she spotted something in the ground. "Luna's here," she said, peering down.
"So?" Draco demanded.
"Harry. You're expected to say hi – she's your friend, remember?"
Draco rolled his eyes.
A moment later he dive-bombed to the ground, stopping dramatically a few feet away from where Loony Lovegood stood.
Do NOT call her Loony, he instructed himself, as he dismounted his broom and approached her.
She was wearing vegetables in place of earrings, and her dirty blonde hair was done in two long braids which fell down either side of her chest. She wore a necklace made of what appeared to be Butterbeer corks.
Do NOT call her Loony!
"Hello, Luna!" Ginny greeted cheerfully, landing beside Draco. "Didn't see you today."
"Hello, Ginny," she replied. "I've been in the library during meals. I'm helping my father with some research on the Kacky Snorkle."
Loony Lovegood! - Draco pressed his lips into a tight line - Do NOT...
"And hello, Harry." Loony's large, milky-blue eyes focused on the Slytherin.
Draco fidgeted beside Ginny, and attempted to smile brightly. "Hullo," - Do NOT call her - "Loo-na."
The redhead cleared her throat.
Loony – who hadn't once blinked since she'd arrived, Draco noted – fixed her silvery blue eyes on his, staring at him silently for some moments.
For a second his well developed sense of paranoia whispered that Luna could actually see him. He stared back nervously, feeling a trickle of sweat slide down his neck.
"There's a very intense energy coming from you today," the Ravenclaw observed at last. "Nargles wouldn't dare come near you."
"Oh... good."
"I'll stand next to you for a bit, if you don't mind." Loony fingered her unusual necklace and came up to stand next to Draco. She was shorter than Ginny, coming barely up to his chin, and she smelled faintly of rosemary. "They've been through my things again. They hid my shoes," she said, and it was then Draco noticed she was barefoot.
"The Ravenclaws?" he asked.
"No, the Nargles," she said dreamily.
Draco exchanged a glance with Ginny, who had narrowed her eyes. He'd heard that Loony Lovegood's housemates picked on her often, hiding her things and playing jokes on her.
It had seemed funny to him then, and had she been in his own House he probably would have picked on her in a similar way. But now, with the younger girl standing next to him serenely - borrowing energy to fend off the Nargles who'd stolen her shoes - Draco didn't it find it so amusing.
"Luna, you can borrow a pair of my shoes," Ginny said. "I think they'll be a bit big on you, but we can use the Shrinking Charm."
"Or we could try looking for your own shoes," Draco added.
"Thanks, but I think I'll go have some pudding instead," she replied, blinking (finally). "I'm sure they'll turn up soon. The Nargles will get tired of playing with them eventually."
Giving them a dreamy smile the girl ambled off, putting an end to the conversation.
"Bye," Draco called after her. "Luna."
He turned to Ginny, only to find she was already looking at him, her full lips curved into a faint smile.
"Come on," he told her, jumping back on his broom and kicking off.
OOO
That night in the common room, Draco played Wizard's Chess with Ginny's brother.
"We haven't played in weeks! How did you manage to get better?" the redhead sulked, as Draco's knight obliterated one of his rooks.
"I think my IQ has increased considerably in the past few days," Draco said, grinning.
Ginny snorted from one of the red armchairs, but didn't look up from her book. Draco's eyes lingered on her a moment, before the developments on the chess board reclaimed his full attention.
"Oh no, you don't!" Ron muttered, foreseeing and effectively blocking the Slytherin's move on his remaining bishop.
As they continued to play, Draco admitted to himself that the ketchup-head was an excellent adversary, of the likes he'd had few and far between. Surprisingly, very few people in Slytherin liked to play chess. There always seemed to be something better to do, something more interesting, more depraved.
Draco thought of the co-ed strip poker tournaments that took place in Blaise Zabini's room. Smirking to himself, he wondered briefly how Potter was faring in the snake-pit. Then, as always happened when he began thinking along those lines, he wondered why this had happened – to what end? And how?
"I can't wait for the Quidditch season to begin!" Ron exclaimed, breaking Draco out of his reverie.
This time it was Hermione who snorted. She was sitting at one of the desks, completing an extra three inches on a Potions parchment.
"Yeah, me too," Draco agreed. "Looks like there will be some good line-ups this year."
"Yeah, even Slytherin will have a good team, I think," the Gryffindor Keeper said conversationally.
Ginny's amber eyes flicked from her book to Draco's face. Stay relaxed, they seemed to be saying.
"That great git Malfoy finally did one good thing when he took over the team. Remember all those big stupid trolls that got on just because they were strong? They could barely fly; no wonder Slytherin never won anything," Ron went on. "But the way Malfoy struts around, you'd think they'd already won the World Cup or something."
"Yes," Draco said pleasantly, but his fingers stiffened where they rested on his thigh. "One thing about Malfoy, though, he knows his Quidditch. You have to admit."
Ron shrugged. "I admit he knows how to be a pompous arse, too. Remember what he did to that Hufflepuff kid at the start of the year?"
"Er..."
"He made Toby Smith cry in Hogsmeade," Hermione said absently.
"Yes," Ron said, shaking his head. "What a fucking git."
"Ron!" the brunette chastised gently, looking up from her essay.
"What a fornicating git," he amended, sticking his tongue out at his girlfriend.
"Well I think he's handsome," Ginny said calmly, turning the page of her book. "I love the color of his eyes. They're a certain shade of gray. Like clouds before it rains."
The Slytherin's eyes shot to her, but she didn't look up.
"What?" Ron demanded, turning in his chair so he could glare at his sister. "That ferret?"
"He's not at all bad looking," Hermione agreed. "It's his personality that's horrid."
"Pssh. I don't think he's good looking at all," Ron snapped, still glaring at his sister. "Remember how pointy his chin was in first year?"
Draco was still looking a Ginny, noting the way the tips of her ears had turned bright pink.
Wait a minute - what was wrong with his chin?
"His chin's fine now," Hermione interjected, and Draco looked at her gratefully.
"It's his attitude that's rotten," she continued. "He thinks that just because he's rich and from a powerful family he can go around stomping on everyone. It's disgusting."
"With a father like that – " Ron began " – and with his mum always –"
"Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "You were supposed to meet Luna in the library to help with her research, remember? I'll go with you, I have to look up something too."
She stormed up to him and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him out of the portrait hole before anyone could react.
"Oi! We didn't finish our game," Ron's voice could be heard saying indignantly, as the portrait swung closed behind them.
"I'm so sorry, Draco," Ginny said sincerely, once they were out in the hallway.
Draco looked at her in surprise; it was the first time she'd ever referred to him by his given name. He realized she was still clasping his hand in her warm smaller one.
"They were talking a lot of trash..." she went on. "Don't listen to them."
"Don't apologize," Draco said, not withdrawing his hand from hers. "There's no need. Some of what they said was true..."
"Yes, but they had no right. Except they didn't know you were there... but still. It must have been mortifying for you."
"I'll live," Draco said, feigning nonchalance. "So," he added, looking down at their still joined hands, "a certain shade of gray, like clouds before it rains?"
Ginny's face became bright red, but she held his gaze.
What's going on in there, Draco wondered, feeling himself sink into the twin pools of amber.
A moment later she withdrew her hand from his gently and turned away.
"Come on, Draco...let's go to the library."
He gazed after her retreating form for a moment, then followed after her. "Okay, Ginny."
OOO
Later that night he returned to his quarters, slipping into bed quietly as Ron and Neville examined his toad, which appeared to have taken ill.
"Night, guys," he murmured, drawing the curtains around his bed. When he closed his eyes, he Ginny's face again, as if she were still there with him. And then he dreamt.
OOO
"And so it ends like this, Potter."
There it was. That raspy, sibilant voice coming from beneath the hood of the cloak. A sepulchral whisper, like a cold dry wind blowing over a grave.
He had anticipated this moment, constructed it in his mind with care, down to the finest detail – the words he would hear, the coil in his belly, the stench of death coming from the thing in the robes, the cry of a bird piercing the night, the wind drying the sweat of his forehead - and now that it was really happening he was overcome by disbelief, unable to shake the feeling that he was in a dream.
"And so you lose everything. Everything you would protect with your own life. You are, after all, your father's son."
The raised wand, his own wand lifting to meet it. Already he knew who would lose. Already he knew that the loss of his friends, those who had become his family, was the final blow, the one he'd be unable to overcome. Because, after all, who was he to be allowed to continue living where so many others had died for his sake? It was all over now.
OOO
Harry awoke from an uneasy sleep plagued by nightmares. Every night was the same, since before he'd exchanged bodies with Malfoy. He might have left the body behind, but the demons lingered still.
During the day he could put thoughts of what was to come out of his mind easily enough; he had too much to worry about, too much going on around him that required attention and care. It was a relief to have something consume him so wholly as to make the issue of Voldemort and the stupid prophecy take a backseat to his life. Or rather, Malfoy's life.
Today Malfoy had Charms, Arithmancy and History of Magic before lunch – none of these classes involved Gryffindor interaction, fortunately.
Double Potions sitting in the wrong end of the room, with the wrong set of people, had been torture for Harry. Malfoy had seen fit not to attend, thankfully, but Ron and Hermione had. When the Gryffindors weren't there, he could handle it all well enough. If he was honest with himself he had to admit that playing Malfoy was almost... fun. It was certainly much easier than being himself.
Again, he briefly wondered how Malfoy was faring, but didn't bother to look and see for himself.
He did glance at the headmaster's empty place at the center of the staff table, wondering when – and if – he'd be back. Could he have been right? Harry had never outright doubted Dumbledore before, but this...
He resisted the urge to look towards Malfoy; he knew the Slytherin would be looking at him already.
"Pineapple, love?" Samantha Smith, a pretty Slytherin seventh year, inquired sweetly.
"Cantaloup," Harry said shortly, giving her a brief look of acknowledgment once she'd played her part of sexy wench, or whatever it was she was aiming for.
From the other end of the table, Daphne Greengrass glared at the brunette who'd just served fruit to Harry.
Malfoy had all the women in Slytherin drooling over him and ready to bend over backwards for him. Probably literally, if he were so inclined.
Harry took up his own fork and started feeding himself before the seventh year offered. The cantaloup was ripe and sweet, its scent perfuming the air gently.
"I thought you hated cantaloup," observed Blaise Zabini, of all people.
"So did I," said Harry smoothly. "But then I tried it."
"Ah," Zabini said, reaching for more pumpkin juice.
That was the end of that.
No one to exhibit concern or demand explanations, no one to stare at him in shock or challenge him with old facts. In short, no Hermione. No Ron.
Harry almost felt sad, but weirdly relieved.
His best friends walked by him every day but didn't even see him. The one to notice him was, incredibly, Ginny. It was strange, but he'd find her looking at him at the oddest of times, right from the beginning.
He would spare her a brief glance, sometimes.
Paranoia settled in, and Harry wondered if she possibly knew...but no. That was impossible.
Which meant this was a game she and Malfoy usually played. The thought made him slightly uneasy for reasons he didn't fully understand.
When the owls swooped in that morning, Draco Malfoy received a parcel from home. It was delivered by a large and majestic looking eagle with the darkest shade of feathers Harry had ever seen. So black they were almost blue. The bird glared at Harry before releasing a black box with the Malfoy crest stamped on top into his waiting hands.
Harry felt awkward opening Malfoy's mail – especially with the man himself glaring daggers at him from across the Great Hall – but it had to be done.
Ignoring his own irate face, Harry got to work.
Within the box he found freshly baked fudge. Pinned to the container was an elegant little note from Narcissa Malfoy that read: For my chocolate monster! Love, Mum.
Under the fudge there was a newspaper clipping from an obscure publication he'd never heard of. Harry was surprised to discover it was an article on the meaning of social responsibility and the use of violence as a means to an end. Clearly it had been written by one of the more intellectual Death Eater types, Harry thought, and was again surprised when he reached the end and saw who was credited: L. Malfoy.
Attached to the article was a note written in an exquisite cut of parchment, the penmanship surprisingly similar to that of Malfoy's, from what Harry had seen of his parchments and the rain of owls the Slytherin kept sending him.
This note was from Lucius Malfoy to his son.
The world, he wrote, is much larger than what is contained between the walls of your school. One day you will have to step into it.
Consider your choices, my dear son, for they are limited. For all of us.
Yours,
Lucius.
What – Harry thought dryly – no "Love, Dad''?
And yet, if one overlooked the fact that Lucius Malfoy was not-so-subtly exhorting his sixteen year old son to become a Death Eater, his letter had an almost tender quality to it.
Did Malfoy feel loved by his parents?
Did it matter?
Yes, he decided. It certainly did.
Consider your choices, for they are limited.
Harry met the angry pair of eyes that glared at him from across the hall, sparkling like emeralds.
Wisdom, he thought, was found everywhere.
OOO
"How about a game of Wizard's Chess later?" Daphne purred into Harry's ear, tracing the line of his jaw with the tip of her finger.
He was sitting on one of the few armchairs the Slytherin common room had to offer, with the girl curled like a cat on his right armrest. He had loosened his silver and green striped tie, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to the elbow, and had propped up his feet on an ottoman, crossing his long legs at the ankle.
"Do you play?" he asked, brushing her hand away. He didn't feel comfortable showing affection in public, and he doubted Malfoy did.
Harry had perfected Malfoy's air of boredom by this time, and had to admit he quite enjoyed holding court. In the wolf pack hierarchy of Slytherin, Draco Malfoy was regarded as one of the top dogs. No one usually approached him without clearance from one of his posse: Crabbe and Goyle, who sat nearby playing cards, and Pansy Parkinson, who was giving Zabini a shoulder rub and shooting Daphne murderous glances.
Blaise Zabini himself sat absorbed in a book, completely indifferent to Pansy's ministrations and everything else. Harry had trouble figuring out the nature of his relationship with Malfoy; in the time he'd been here they'd crossed few words, but the boy was always to be found near him, ready to share in a sardonic grin whenever something particularly absurd happened.
There were others Malfoy was on good terms with, such as Theodore Nott and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Then there were the ones who were openly hostile, such as the group of seventh years sitting across the room. Everyone else seemed to be alternately wary or in awe of him.
"I've been practicing," Daphne confessed, bringing Harry out of his musings. Cautiously, she brushed some strands of fine blond hair away from his forehead. "Since I heard that you enjoy playing."
Harry closed his eyes and let her run her fingers through his hair. It felt good to be touched so intimately, though it didn't mean anything. Nothing meant anything here. At first he'd felt guilty for indulging – to be honest a part of him still did. Strangely enough, he'd wondered what Hermione's reaction would be if she knew what he was doing. He'd felt ashamed at this thought, but it hadn't stopped him.
"Keep practicing," he told her quietly. "Perhaps we'll play...some time."
He was certain he would enjoy spending more time with Daphne, and it had been a while since he'd played Wizard's Chess. But he had to be careful with her. Already he could feel his eyes straying to her when she wasn't near him, his mind filled with her at the oddest of times. It was a relief to have his thoughts occupied on something other than Dumbledore's absence, Voldemort's existence, his own part to play in it all.
But this would end soon, just as suddenly as it had begun, and there was no chance of any sort of relationship between them once he was in his own body. It was stupid to develop any sort of attachment beyond the physical.
With this in mind he turned his head, letting her hand drop to the side. He liked that Daphne understood things quickly and with little need for words, so Harry was surprised to feel the girl's mouth on his ear. The name she whispered made him remain still.
Wilkes.
As if on cue, and though his eyes were closed, Harry became aware of someone standing near him. "It's been a long while since Malfoy has graced the arena with his presence," observed Nehemias Wilkes airily, his voice too loud to be truly casual.
He was a seventh year whose father had fallen out of favor within the ranks of Death Eaters thanks to a dispute with Lucius Malfoy – or so Harry had gathered from the occasional whisperings of his new housemates.
He became aware of the sudden and absolute silence in the room. He felt the girl's hand tense on his forearm, and could imagine pairs of eyes darting from the older boy to him.
"How good of you to notice, Wilkes," he said softly, in Malfoy's caustic drawl. He didn't bother to open his eyes. "I hear you've been training arduously waiting for such a time. Three hours every night, is it? You're quite the hard little worker..."
There were muted whispers around the room, then absolute silence as those gathered waited for what Malfoy would say next.
"I would certainly reward such tenacity," Harry continued, opening his eyes. He fixed them on Wilkes and smiled pleasantly. "Perhaps I could assist in teaching you a thing or two."
The older boy's face had reddened considerably, but his insolent sneer remained in place.
"How about a duel Saturday after next, then?" inquired Malcolm Higgs, a seventh year known to Harry. He'd been a Beater for Slytherin before Malfoy had taken over and revamped the team.
"Yes, Draco!" piped up a girl a year above Harry. "I love to watch you duel. It's been too long."
Nehemias Wilkes looked around smugly. "They clamor for you, Malfoy. I hope you won't refuse...unless you're scared."
Harry gave a dry laugh. "Why don't you go off and practice some more, Wilkes? I want you in top shape for Saturday."
Zabini gave him an amused grin while Daphne and Pansy glared daggers at the retreating Wilkes.
The Gryffindor made sure to keep an insolent smirk on his face while the others were watching, but all the while he wondered why his heart was beating so fast, and why he felt so oddly exhilarated.
More importantly, how had he known all the right things to say?
Somewhere in that exchange he'd stopped pretending to be Malfoy – and had started being himself.
That was all me, he realized, with a feeling of unease.
Where within him had this been hidden?
Notes: sorry for the long delay! For those of you who have written asking how come this story won the Fic Exchange in 2010 without being completed, and saying you recall reading it in its entirety before, know that I originally published this anonymously and in hastily completed form under The DG Forum account, in accordance with exchange rules. That was in 2010. I am now cleaning it up a bit and republishing under my own account.
Again, a big thank you for the amazing feedback. I had no idea how much people liked this story until I started getting all these owls demanding updates. You won't have to wait long for the next installment. Enjoy!