[a/n: if this chappie looks familiar, read the chapter before this one. Sorry, I got the order mixed up in my head, and then I couldn't put the other in after this one]
Hermione Granger spoke in a perfectly elocuted voice, saying gravely, "It's a good thing you didn't put these into play. Would have wrecked havoc with the prophecy."
Draco Malfoy's head snapped in her general direction, his eyes fixed on hers - breaking all contact with Potter. He fought the urge to bury his head in his hands. "There's a prophecy" Malfoy said, clearly if woodenly. "Of course there's a prophecy," he spat. "Why didn't anyone tell me about this?!"
"Oh, I don't know, Malfoy, did you really expect people to just walk up and tell you, "By the way, there's a prophecy where Potter and Voldemort have a dropdown, no holds barred fight. Do be a dear and try not to kill either before they get the chance?" " Potter said sarcastically, "We can hardly be faulted for thinking that you're a Death Eater, you know. Most Death Eaters aren't malarkey enough to plot how to kill Tom Riddle." Potter kept up the dark humored assault, saying, "Voldemort is hardly going to tell his followers "sorry, I'm not actually invulnerable" " Potter took a breath, his face twisted into a cruel, strangely familiar smile, "As for your father, I think he's just embarrassed. Failing to get the prophecy got him chucked in Azkaban, after all."
"The perils of independent action," Granger said, with a blazing smile - as like to set his clothes ablaze as warm him.
"Nevermind, I don't even want to know." That was a total, and utter lie, of course. Malfoy shook his head.
All Draco heard was the word, "Liar" and he started, looking at Potter, of all people, calling him out on a lie! Oh, the humanity! The humiliation! Okay, even Draco could concede (in his own mind at least) that he was just being melodramatic for its own sake.
"Fine, spill your guts. Or don't." Draco crossed his arms and looked away, knowing that he had let more than a second's worth of ... greed shine through his eyes. Any act of indifference would merely be seen through straightaway. Which wouldn't stop him from acting indifferent, of course. Bloody Gryffindors might feel obligated to share otherwise.
"Maybe later..." Potter smiled, and it was a genuine smile filled with just enough knowing twinkle. He knows that will drive me stir crazy - which is exactly why he's doing it. Not that knowing that helps, of course... "Now what's this I hear about you wanting to switch sides and fight Voldemort?"
"I'm not switching sides, Pothead." Well, that resolve lasted longer than I thought. "I'm improving my side. You can keep your side. You're welcome to it, really. I don't want your side." Dulleyed blank incomprehension from the two dimwits.
"My side: The conservative side. The Purebloods. Your side:" At this Draco nodded more at Granger than at the other two. "The liberals. The 'can't we all get along with the bloodthirsty monsters' - aside from Tom Riddle, of course."
Pothead leaned back in his chair, tilting two legs off the floor. I hope he cracks his head. "I don't really care about any of that, you know. Riddle killed my parents, and he's terrorizing the rest of Brittania. As far as I'm concerned, if you're going to sheathe your wand and get out of my way, you're on my side." Potter... was telling the truth.
"Besides, who knows if I'll even manage to escape Riddle alive? Like as not, we take each other out." And... that was even worse, the idea that Potter was...resigned... to dying. Calmly, Malfoy cast a simple, wordless spell beneath the table. And then he splashed his (now lukewarm) tea directly in Potter's face. Must not smirk, must not smirk.
As mild as milk, Malfoy said coldly, clearly, calmly, "Wake up, Potter. You can't think like that. Not if you want to win. Take it from me, I plan... going into any plan thinking you might die - it's not going to work. There's always another plan. There's always a better plan. You have to build in margin, avoid committing everything you've got. Or you're going to die for no good reason." The tea continued to drip off Potter's face, which had paled - and steam drifted up from the other mugs about the table. Malfoy simply reached over and poured himself another (hot but not steamy) cup of tea. Thanks, mum. Knew that trick would work.
[a/n: Malfoy stole that last trick from his mum, whose icy demeanor works wonders in a social situation. If you do something completely inappropriate, and then avoid referencing it at all... has it really happened?
Now be a dear and write a review!
Up Next: Potter is done being patient - and has had enough time to think through what Malfoy's been saying. Potter is slow and ... a bit methodical, but he does actually think.]