AN: I don't know where Harry's monologue came from. Honestly, I don't know where these chapters are going until they're written. I apologize for the continued lack of any plot movement. I have ideas, I promise. They're just… taking a while to implement. Bear with me.

Previously: "Harry laughs. "I always manage to forget that," he says. Even to Draco, his tone is unreadable."

.

There is a brief silence where neither of them seems to know what to say, and then Harry offers, "Tea?"

Draco suppresses a laugh, but he allows an amused smirk to play at the corner of his lips. "All right."

Mostly, he agrees because he can see Harry's discomfort, and he can tell that it would comfort for the man to have something to do with his hands. They're trembling slightly before Draco's response, and that worries him. Tremors could be dangerous. But when Harry turns to the cupboard and pulls out a kettle, his hands are steady. Interesting. Draco notes this and then tucks it in the back of his mind for later examination.

He accepts the cup Harry gives him minutes later without a quiet thanks. Taking the other man's lead, he sits at the table, seating himself deliberately directly across from Harry.

After a brief sip, Draco sets the teacup on the table in front of him and steeples his finger tips, looking thoughtfully at the man who was once his enemy. Childish rivalry or not, Draco finds that difficult to completely let go of.

Mentally, he sighs. By now, Draco is used to doing things he would rather not. How hard is it to simply add spending time – time outside of work – with his ex-enemy.

But then, perhaps the fact that he thinks of Harry as an ex-enemy says something about his changing state of mind.

"Have you ever heard of Occlumency?" Draco asks suddenly.

Harry startles briefly, and then he examines Draco's face carefully. "Please, for the love of Merlin, tell me you aren't serious."

Draco allows the corner of his mouth to twitch – miniscule. "I can assure you, Potter, I'm quite serious."

Harry scowls. "Honestly, I think you do that deliberately."

Arching an eyebrow elegantly, Draco asks as innocently as possible, "Do what, precisely?"

"Call me Potter. I'm not stupid, Draco. Not entirely. I mean, sure, a lot of what people exalt me for was dumb luck, but that doesn't mean I'm not capable of basic observation. You keep yourself tightly controlled. Always. I'd wager that ninety percent of the emotions that cross your face are because you allow them to. And if you keep that iron control over facial expressions, well, I'm sure that doesn't even compare to how measured your words are. If you wanted to – truly wanted to – you'd be able to call me Harry, every time. So what's stopping you?"

And suddenly, Draco finds himself being examined by a pair of emerald eyes that are far more observant than he'd originally guessed.

Harry sighs. "No, Draco. That was not a rhetorical question, nor was it one I'm planning on answering – though I've speculations, of course. I want to hear what you have to say." After a moment's pause, he adds, "Also, you look like a mad super villain when you do that." He gestures to Draco's still steepled hands, where Draco has absentmindedly been tapping his fingers together – a quick succession from pinky finger to index finger, repeatedly.

Deliberately, Draco continues the motion for a few moments longer, simply to show that Harry likening him to a mad super villain is not particularly concerning. As he does so, he focuses on Harry's question. So what's stopping you?

And Draco has told himself that he continues to call the man Potter aloud because it irks Potter, it gets under his skin. That's a perfectly viable, perfectly believable reason, yet, at Harry's question, Draco cannot help but wonder if there's more to it than that. Oh, that's a part of it, certainly. The infantile part of Draco cannot resist the chance to get under this man's skin. As childish as Draco deems the urge, he finds no sense in eradicating it, because it brings him amusement and, so far, has no detrimental effects.

Unwilling to more deeply examine his own psyche in present company – such a process would surely reveal something Draco didn't explicitly intend to – Draco resorts to answering simply with, "Your reactions are… most amusing."

Unsurprisingly, Harry scowls. "Oh, spare me, Draco."

Raising an eyebrow again, Draco asks, "Spare you what, exactly?" It's so highly reminiscent of his earlier question that Draco immediately vows to quit being so consistent. Consistency breeds predictability.

"Spare me the trivial, surface answer, please. That's the easy answer. Now what's the truth?"

Draco purses his lips, wondering how Harry knows. "I've given you my answer," he eventually says, his resolution quite clear in his tone. "Though, I wouldn't mind hearing your theories." He smirks as if to say that he highly doubts Harry's theories will be enough to explain the complexity that is this particular tic of Draco's.

Harry actually chuckles. "All right, then." He smiling enough to unnerve Draco, though of course Draco would never show it. "I think the most likely is that you always maintain some amount of distance, don't you? You don't allow yourself to become attached, oh, no, that would be a weakness. Exploitable. I mean, sure, there's your attachment to your family, but that's necessary, isn't it? Primitive. Unavoidable. Outside of that, well, sure, you've got acquaintances. Contacts. People who owe you things; people who you know you can go to when you need something. But you don't care about them, you keep it completely impersonal. Take Crabbe and Goyle, for example. Perhaps the closest you had to friends when I first met you, and yet, nothing more than hired muscle, if you got down to it. You called them by their last names. You didn't allow them to get close. You didn't allow yourself to get close. Distance is safer. Easier. And that's what you're doing, isn't it? You're holding me at a distance. You don't want to allow yourself to get close to me, because that would make me a weakness." He laughs bitterly. "Merlin, Draco, do you really think you can hold the whole world at arm's length forever?"

Draco tips his chin up reflexively, defensively. He keeps his face wholly impassive, but his insides are warring over whether to be wildly impressed by Harry's proclamation or offended. He doesn't want to acknowledge the accuracy, but he doesn't allow his mind to deceive itself if at all possible, and so he must. Still, simply because he must acknowledge it mentally, doesn't mean he has to say as much to Harry.

"Don't presume to know me."

And there's the infuriating, arrogant smirk again. "You asked."

Draco cannot help the infinitesimal tightening of the skin near his eyebrows, but he resists the urge to scowl. "Your… analysis… sounds impressive, but it's merely conjecture."

"I'll take that to mean I'm correct, then."

Draco suspects this is where an ordinary person might sputter. That would be wholly undignified, however, and so he merely gives Harry a look of utter disdain instead. "If you'd like. Taking it how you see it doesn't make it truth."

"Denying it doesn't make it untrue, either."

To that, Draco finds, he has an astounding lack of appropriate responses. So, as is only suitable, he changes the subject.

"Care to explain your immensely aversive response to the mention of Occlumency?"

Harry makes a face into his tea. "I don't fancy the idea of going down that road again, thanks."

"Again?" Draco finds himself actually curious. Clearly Harry has had an… unpleasant experience with Occlumency before, and Draco cannot help but wonder why. It's a discipline usually reserved for Pureblood children, learned as a way of mastering outward expression. Parents teach their children to be reserved, to think before they act, by disciplining the mind, and the easiest way to discipline the mind is through Occlumency.

Draco knows that it can also be used to deflect any Legillimens, of course, but he can't exactly see it being the most useful course of study for Harry. He was only close enough for the Dark Lord to enter his thoughts for a few moments, after all, only a few short incidences. Surely the boy would have better spent his time on spell-casting?

"Snape tried to teach me. Fifth year. It was a complete disaster – wound up getting kicked out and told never to come back. Clear your mind," he says in an exact mimic of Professor Snape's voice, so much so that it's scary. "As if that's enough instruction for anybody!"

Draco finds himself raising an eyebrow once more. "Clear your mind? That's what he told you?"

Harry nods.

"Trust me, Potter." Draco cannot help but smirk at Harry's scowl. "There's a lot more to Occlumency than simply clearing your mind."