Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo.
H. G. Wells


"Young Mr. Malfoy."

Draco turns and smiles. "Professor! You got my owl."

Professor Snape comes to a stop beside Draco, who's leaning against the wall just outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and picking at a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Draco likes the expression on his face. It's somewhere between frustrated, upset, and giddy, with just a dash of Schadenfreude.

"For the record," Professor Snape says, "as much as I approve of the end result, I must thoroughly admonish you for inserting yourself into this matter at all and therefore deduct five points from Ravenclaw."

"You're such a killjoy," Draco says. "But at least you're a killjoy who's on time. They just went into his office. Should be out any minute now. Bertie Bott's?"

Professor Snape plucks a bronze-colored bean and pops it into his mouth. He makes a face.

"Rust?"

"Beef bouillon, at a guess. Your letter was vague – how, exactly, did you manage this?"

"A mind like Sherlock Holmes and a willingness to break into his office. Mostly the second thing. Though really, after that ridiculously transparent stunt with the mountain troll, he only had himself to blame."

"I knew from the start there was something suspicious about him," Professor Snape says sourly.

"I know. You didn't go to great pains to hide your dislike," Draco answers, and right at that moment, the classroom door swings open.

Two aurors robed in scarlet are dragging out a hissing, spitting, thrashing, cursing, but thankfully magically bound Professor Quirrell by either arm.

Draco and Professor Snape wave at him cheerfully as he's pulled away, screaming obscenities about the Dark Lord's vengeance.

"Get him to take off his turban!" Draco shouts after them. "If he says it's religious, he's lying!"

When they pass out of view, Professor Snape straightens and fixes Draco with a harsh stare. "Don't do this again."

"Don't do what? Save the school?"

"Put yourself in danger."

"It's a chaotic universe, Professor," Draco says. "We're all in danger. I'll see you for tea tomorrow?"

"Draco Malfoy, it will be a miracle if you ever make it to adulthood."

"I'll take that as a yes," he says as he heads away, fishing out a pale sea-foam-colored bean and finding that it's mint-flavored. He's scarcely made it down the adjoining hallway when he hears a sharp, squeaky voice from behind him:

"Oy! Malfoy!"

Draco stops and turns. An angry ginger is storming towards him. Not a sight he's used to seeing.

"Look, I'll only say this once, all right? Back off."

Draco frowns. He looks around, just to double check that his father isn't also in the hallway and he's not the Malfoy the ginger's referring to, because he can't imagine how that sentence could have any possible meaning to him.

But no, the hallway is otherwise empty, apart from the pack of Gryffindors from whom the angry ginger had broken off, who are now heading in the opposite direction. He is definitely talking to Draco.

"All right, three part follow-up question," Draco says. "One, who are you? Two, what are you talking about? Three, why are you angry?"

The angry ginger gets even angrier. "You know what I'm talking about."

"I promise I have absolutely no idea."

"Harry," he says. "Back off of Harry. You're a bad influence on him."

"Who in God's name is Harry?"

The response seems to startle the angry ginger, and for a moment he's more surprised than he is angry. But only for a moment.

"Harry Potter," he says, which, if anything, only amplifies Draco's confusion.

"What about him?"

"Back off!"

"I've never even met him!"

"I saw you talking to him yesterday in the Great Hall!"

Draco squints, then recalls: "Wait, you're talking about Robe Shop? Robe Shop is Harry Potter?"

The angry ginger is lost for words, which is a nice change of pace.

Draco hadn't ever stopped calling him Robe Shop. Maybe he'd told Draco his name (probably in the robe shop) and Draco forgot it. For the past few weeks, he'd been following Draco around, catching him in hallways between classes, in the Great Hall, in the library. It's cute, nice even, but a little disorienting. Draco isn't used to having people like him and want to be around him. At least not people his age.

"Probably should have asked his name," Draco ruminates. "It's been like a month." He really is bad at this.

"Look," the angry ginger sputters, "just back off him. Every time he talks to you, he comes back chattering about whatever bollocks you've said and how smart you are and I know about your family."

Draco raises both eyebrows. "Oh, you do, do you."

"I know your father's a Death Eater," the angry ginger says. "I know he fought for the Dark Lord. And I know he bloody well bought his way out of going to Azkaban."

"Yes," Draco answers. He's not sure if that observation is meant to offend or intimidate him. It really doesn't do either. It's not like it's some big secret.

"And I've told him that you're bad news and he's not listening, so I'm telling you instead: back off."

Draco thinks about it for a moment, then says, "No." Then he keeps walking.

There's a pause, then a scuffle – the angry ginger is scrambling to keep up with him. "What do you mean 'no?'"

"I wasn't aware there were multiple meanings."

"Look, I'm telling you—"

"And I'm saying no," Draco interjects. "He seems nice and I'm not going to stop talking to him just because you tell me to, Weasley."

A beat of silence. Draco can almost hear the jaw fall. "How'd—?"

"Red hair, freckles, hand-me-down clothes, the better question is how anyone on the planet doesn't know the moment they look at you. Look, Weasley." He stops in the hallway again, turns to face him, meets him with an even stare. "I don't care what you know about my family. None of it is applicable to me. And if you think you have any sort of right to tell me who I can and can't be friends with, you're out of your mind."

Weasley the angry ginger glares and turns slightly scarlet.

And damn, Draco belatedly realizes, he just referred to Harry as his friend.

He has a friend now.

That's new.

"Harry killed the Dark Lord," Ron hisses. "He won't fall for the tricks of one of his henchmen."

"It is the height of irony to prejudge someone of prejudice," Draco remarks.

He turns on a heel and vanishes before Weasley can come up with a response.