This story was originally published from 2007-2010 before I removed it around 2012. Recently, I decided to rework it and republish it.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
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Thank you to all of you who reviewed! I really appreciate getting feedback! - Riyan
"We're going to have to have a fight in front of your friends," Draco said as he re-entered their room.
"What? Why?" Harry had now finished chopping the mushrooms and was measuring them out.
"Because I can't do words. My language skills are woefully inadequate and have failed me."
"What did you say?"
"Erm, it was something along the lines of 'don't think my desire for good grades equates to a desire for Potter'. No, that's not quite right." In reality, the words were burned into Draco's mind and made his insides squirm in embarrassment every time he thought about them. Frowning, he looked over at Harry. The brunet looked like he was trying not to laugh.
"What?" Draco snapped.
"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "Just the thought of you being inarticulate is amusing." Draco sighed heavily and set to work butchering the polar bear liver.
"So what should our fight be about?" Harry asked a few minutes later.
"Oh you know, something mundane like it usually is. I don't know. Tease me because my father is in Azkaban or something."
"That seems harsh."
"Well that's the point, you idiot. Plus it's true." The fact that this would actually upset Draco was an added bonus in his mind. He could get genuinely upset with Harry if Harry said something about his father, making their fight look more real.
"But I wouldn't normally say something like that. I'm not that mean."
"Oh really? I seem to recall you insulting my mother's face in fourth year." Harry frowned. He did not remember this and he felt a pang of compunction in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed hard.
"Well," he said slowly. "I'm sure you deserved it at the time." And then he felt bad for attempting to deflect the blame.
"Yeah, well, then I got turned into a ferret for trying to attack you, so it was a pretty bad day in my books."Harry snorted with laughter at the memory but wisely turned it into a cough. Malfoy glared at him all the same, which Harry reasoned was fair. No wonder he hadn't remembered it. The image of a white, squealing ferret flailing around the entrance hall had stayed in his memory, but the altercation before it had not.
They were silent for a few minutes as both of them contemplated fourth year and continued with their potion preparation. Then Harry spoke.
"I'm sorry," he said. Draco looked up in surprise.
"For what?" he asked. "You haven't done anything." He narrowed his eyes and stared a Harry for a second. "Have you?"
"No," Harry assured him quickly. "But I'm sorry for insulting your mother. No wonder you were angry enough to attack me."
"Potter, that was years ago. I'm over it." Harry wasn't sure he was over the ferret part of that day, but he didn't want to press it and so stayed quiet. "Are you done with those mushrooms? It's about time to add the next ingredients." Harry nodded and carried the two sets of mushrooms over to Draco.
"All set," he said. "Time to hold hands and think happy thoughts?"
"Yes," Draco said, peeling off his gloves. They carried the four bowls of ingredients over to their cauldron and then grasped hands. Harry decided that he liked holding Draco's hand. The Beatles had a point. Holding hands was nice.
…
"Zabini, have you noticed anything strange about Draco recently?" Hermione asked as she walked back into the potion room she shared with Blaise.
"Strange how?" Blaise asked, looking up from the instructions. Hermione frowned.
"Has he mentioned Harry at all?"
"No, why would he? I mean, aside from the fact that they're stuck together for this project. But still, no, not really. Why do you ask?"
Hermione related her encounter with the blond in the storeroom. Blaise shrugged.
"The cold room always makes him nervous. He's always afraid he'll get locked in. He probably just misspoke." Hermione looked at Zabini thoughtfully for a moment.
"You're probably right," she said finally. "It just seemed so out of character for him." Her dark haired companion shrugged again.
"He also hates dealing with polar bear liver. He read somewhere that it can make your skin fall off and now he's terrified that it's going to happen to him." Hermione laughed.
"Have you pointed out to him that it will only happen if you eat it?" she asked.
"You mean that can actually happen?" Zabini looked shocked and eyed the polar bear liver she had just placed on the table nervously. Hermione stifled another laugh.
"Yes," she said. "They're very rich in vitamin A, so if you eat enough of it, your skin begins to peel off and you die a very painful death. So, if you ever get stuck in the arctic, don't eat polar bear or seal liver. The rest of the bear is fine. It's just the liver you have to look out for."
"Wow," Blaise said. He was genuinely impressed. "Who knew Muggles knew so much?"
"I think you'd be surprised if you ever took the time to get to know one," Hermione said coolly. She picked up her knife and began to work on the polar bear liver. "In some ways, they're more advanced than wizards. Probably because they've never had magic to help them with things."
"I never thought of it that way."
"I mean, they can talk to people in other places without having to stick their heads in fireplaces." Talking via the Floo network had always unnerved Hermione. A telephone was so much more sophisticated in her mind.
On the one hand, Blaise's ignorance and subsequent prejudice irritated Hermione. On the other hand, he at least seemed somewhat receptive to learning about where he might be wrong. Not for the first time, Hermione realized that some wizards were probably anti-Muggle because they didn't know anything about them and therefore they were afraid of them. Or at the very least mistrustful. Sometimes she even found Arthur Weasley's fascination with Muggles a little condescending. It was like he enjoyed watching them from afar but couldn't fathom actually learning anything about their ways of life or the technology that he professed to have such an interest in.
"What's wrong with the Floo network?" Blaise asked, snapping Hermione out of her reverie. He sounded a bit defensive and she was worried that she had potentially pushed it too far, but she had already started down this line of conversation, so she was damned if she wouldn't finish it.
"Are you saying it's not a little strange to get down on your knees and stick your head in a fire and your bum up in the air just to talk to someone?"
"I suppose it is a little undignified when you put it that way."
"I'll grant you the Floo network has its pros, such as covering vast distances in a short period of time, but it's almost strange that wizards can't have a conversation with someone without having to be physically close, even if it's just your head that's nearby." They lapsed into silence as they both concentrated on their ingredients.
"Tell me more about Muggles," Blaise said after a time. He wasn't sure what had caused him to say this, but once the words were out, he realized he was actually curious. Hermione looked up at him and smiled.
"What do you want to know?" she asked. Perhaps there was hope for Zabini yet.
…
"I would say that I was surprised that you were early, Weasley," Pansy said by way of greeting. "But you're friends with that swot, Granger and I'm sure she was just panting to get down here and get a head start on her potion. And then you just followed her like the good little lap dog that you are." Ron scowled at her.
"You're hardly late, Parkinson," he said. "What's your excuse?"
"Well, I, for one, want to get decent marks."
"Yeah, 'cause I'm just itching to fail," Ron said.
"That doesn't surprise me."
"It's called sarcasm."
"Moving along," Pansy said. She rolled up her sleeves and pulled out her potions book. "What do you need me to do?" Ron gestured towards the mushrooms.
"Those need shredding," he said.
"Right," said Pansy. She pulled the mushrooms towards her and began to chop.
There was a part of Ron felt the need to fill the silence that descended with small talk, but then, he was English and he hated small talk, so the other part of him did not. But then the quiet was so absolute that it was almost distracting. He wished their rooms weren't soundproof, even though he knew that Snape had made them that way so that they couldn't cheat. He would have killed for some background chatter. Some noise. Anything.
"So are you going to the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw Quidditch match this weekend?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. Parkinson shrugged, her eyes still on the mushrooms she was cutting up.
"It depends on the weather," she said. "If it's nice I'll probably go, but if it's raining, then I really don't care about that game, to be honest. I mean, I love Quidditch and all, but when it's two teams that I'm honestly just ambivalent about, then I can't be arsed. How about you?"
As tempting as it was to respond with 'erm, same,' that would not keep the conversation going. And as he'd started it in the first place, he could at least put some effort into not letting it drop.
"Well, I'll probably go to scout out the competition," he said.
"Right, yes, I'd almost forgotten that you played," Pansy said.
"What?" Ron spluttered in outrage. "But you sang that horrid song about me! Weasley is our King? Remember?"
"That was more Draco," Pansy replied. "And it didn't work anyway."
"That's not the point, is it?" Pansy finally looked up at Ron.
"Then what is the point?" she asked a little more harshly than she had intended to. "I'm trying to be nice here." Ron looked as though he was about to interject so she added "or at least civil. You're the one trying to pick a fight."
"Me?" Ron fumed. "I just asked if you were going to watch the Quidditch!"
"And then I asked if you were."
"I don't think we need to rehash every part of our thirty second conversation to realize you were in the wrong," Ron said.
"I was in the wrong? How do you figure that? What, because I had temporarily forgotten that you played on the Gryffindor team, perhaps because I was distracted by the fact that I'm busy chopping up mushrooms and perhaps because really, I don't care, that makes me a mean and horrible person?"
"Precisely."
"Weasley, you are impossible," Pansy said, throwing up her hands. "Let's just try not talking, shall we?" And she looked pointedly back down at her mushrooms. Ron gaped at her for a moment before he turned his attention back to the liver. He glowered at it and it stared wetly back at him.
"Look, I'm sorry," he said after another long and uncomfortable silence had passed. "I know we're supposed to by trying to get along, but I have to admit that it's a little difficult when your lot have been so horrid to me and my friends for so long." Pansy took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"You haven't always been the nicest to us," she said. She glanced up and met Ron's gaze. He was chewing his lip in agitation.
"I guess we can agree we've all been a bit rubbish to each other," he said. Pansy laughed.
"A bit?"
"Yeah," Ron said. "A bit and let's not dwell on exactly how much." Pansy smiled at him and nodded.
"Deal," she said. "You done with that liver yet?"
And this time, when they added their ingredients, their potion turned colors that were a tiny bit closer to what they were supposed to be.
