What…What is this? Another chapter? Haha, enjoy!
I do not own Harry Potter, JK does – I am not making a profit from this. I am simply curing my boredom.
Chapter Thirty Six – Four in a day
Draco stepped from the Headmistress' lair feeling, Salazar forbid, a sense of ease. He didn't consider the Manor home, surely as Harry didn't consider the muggle's awful hovel. With no other option available, Hogwarts was the only alternative. When he was younger, he might have scorned this idea. He had definitely ridiculed Harry for the thought; now, however, he was contented.
There were no aurors roaming the halls.
And, even better, no father.
Sure, he had a failure of a Headmistress, but she could be forgotten. After all, a Headmistress that allows her students to successfully blackmail her can't exactly claim authority. She was no better than Umbridge; when that toad stalked the halls, every student dismissed her. If they knew of Harry's treatment, the same would occur now.
Draco didn't particularly want to hide his superior aura that accompanied him through the halls, so he didn't. Whilst he would admit the smirk was on the haughty side, and the bounce to his step could be classified as a strut, there was an upside; he didn't care.
And why should he?
He had escaped with being suspended with a slap on the wrist, when by all accounts he should have been ushered quietly to Azkaban the moment he stepped from the school. He had had a few quiet days at home, without the pressures of controlling the Slytherin dormitory on the back of his mind, or the effort that keeping up appearances summoned. And what was the third…oh, yes.
He had the most infamous wizard to live, past or future, at his every miniscule beck and call.
Harry Potter was his.
Why shouldn't he strut?
So Draco waltzed through the school, with the appearance that nothing could ruin this moment. Every student he passed scurried from his way, in case his high spirits enticed him to a quick jinx through the corridor. The Hufflepuffs paled as they caught sight of him; he could have sworn that fourth year apparated. Even Professor Flitwick gave him a double glance, walking briskly back into his empty classroom.
Today was shaping up to be rather brilliant, actually.
Nothing could make it…
It was a considerable effort to maintain a smirk, and not a grin. Merlin, what was Potter doing to him, to make him want to grin where anyone could see? Especially this particularly marvellous audience. Ignoring the mistakes in his current lifetime, he had done something right in his previous life. He had had to, to deserve such a gift when he was already basking in superiority.
Weaselette stood before him, ginger, ugly, and short. If she wasn't careful, she would soon conform to her mother's stature; peas in a pod, they would be. She raised an eyebrow at him, trying to seem angry, or annoyed, or above it all…
Clearly whatever look she was going for wasn't working. She was trying to convey too many emotions with one glance.
"Malfoy," She sneered, crossing her arms. Alright, arms crossed with the weird eyebrow thing; angry. He had to presume she was angry. "I thought you got expelled."
And why did she think she was on talking terms with him? Had he not snarled at her the last time they past in the corridor? What if she took that moment of absentmindedness as a sign of, God forbid, friendship? This had to be rectified.
But he couldn't speak to her.
She was a Weasley. All words traded between them had to be an insult, as an unsaid rule. Also, he didn't want to.
So he did the next best thing. He stared blankly back at her, as if bored.
And it worked a treat; immediately, her back stiffened, and she flicked her hair behind an ear. Another point towards anger. He was getting better at guessing Weasley emotions.
"I can't believe they let a disgusting Death Eater like him back into the school." She remarked to her faceless friends. "Do everyone a favour, and just leave; we can't stand the sight of you." Queue usual Death Eater remark, and benign insult. "You should have died in the battle." New, and uninteresting. "I mean, seriously, who the hell do you think you are, strutting back in here like a-"
"I'm the one fucking Harry Potter."
That certainly shut her up. She literally choked on her next words, eyebrows rising high.
Her friends made a noise of excitement; not enough to grant his attention.
Weaselette was his target.
She eventually scoffed, rolling her eyes. The slight hesitation betrayed her thoughts; she wasn't sure if it was true, or not. She couldn't dismiss it; therefore, the hesitance was her weakness.
She crossed her arms furiously. "You're nothing but a bully-"
"That's fucking Harry Potter."
What was it about those four little words that had her so silent? She blinked a few times, clearly taken aback, undoubtedly struggling with whatever she was going to say next. This disturbed her. Good.
Draco watched fairly amused as she opened her mouth quietly, trying to spit out another insult he could flick away. If only he had figured out how to shut her up years ago.
Instead, she snapped it shut, and threw him a ridiculous glare. Turning on her heel, she scurried away, ignoring her friends' excited remarks.
Well.
Draco snorted, continuing to his common room, a bounce in his step.
As luck would have it, he caught sight of messy dark hair within the maze of the dungeon. Harry would never admit it, but he got lost every second trip into the dungeon alone; if they had to meet up in five minutes, he was almost always fifteen minutes late.
He glanced behind him at the sound of a second pair of footsteps, face breaking into relief. And-
God, there was that smile that only Draco could summon.
He hurried over, winding his arms around Harry's shoulders, resting his head where he could gently nip the side of his throat. Was that a wince? No, he felt Harry inhale; he wasn't joking when he said he liked Draco's smell, of all things. It was always a nice little ego boost when Harry tried and failed to inconspicuously breathe everything Draco in.
"Are you strutting? God, I didn't know you were such a twat-"
"Come here." Draco purred, smirking as goosebumps flickered over the brunette's skin. He pulled him closer, forcing him to a standstill. "I want to fuck Harry Potter."
"What a reunion." Harry replied dryly, "Nothing about missing one another. Let's get right to the sex."
"Mm-hmm." Draco agreed, listening to the brunette huff to try to cover the escaping laugh. "A week is a long time to go without."
"You saw me Tuesday."
"You saw more of me than I saw of you." He reminded him, smirking as his throat turned a delightful shade of red. "I'm here to even the field."
"Nothing needs to be evened."
"But I'm offering all the same."
Draco felt Harry swallow against his arms. He was lucky they weren't facing each other, because he was sure his grin was turning predatory. He pulled Harry towards a classroom door, chuckling with the lack of resistance.
He kissed his throat gently, kicking the door shut with a snap that made Harry jump. Merlin, he would never tire of his reactions. Always jumping, blushing, biting back. It was delightful.
He pushed Harry against a desk, sighing as he finally managed to wriggle free and turn around. Damn it, he was going to run now or punch him. Either reaction was expected.
Instead, gentle lips brushed against his. The softest of kisses.
"Welcome home, Honey." Harry grinned, laughing at the very necessary eye roll Draco replied with. Seriously, he was obligated to roll his eyes at that corny display. Otherwise he might say something equally sweet and nauseating back. "Miss me?"
"I think we've established that." Draco smirked, pushing him against the desk again. "Since you've been so blasé about it, I think I'll put sex on the table. This table."
"No welcoming home banter?" Harry asked, a smirk of his own flittering into place. So, he wanted to play Slytherin. Draco would oblige to that.
"How was your day?" He asked instead of ripping Harry's shirt off. He was courteous. A right gentleman.
"A bit boring."
"Any new gossip?"
"Not that I know of." The smirk had been replaced with a full-width smile.
"Want to create some?" He pushed Harry onto the desk himself, enjoying his laugh. He pressed him backwards, leaning with him for another kiss.
Harry gasped; a miniscule thing, barely noticeable if his body hadn't stiffened with it. Draco was more than willing to continue if it was a gasp of pleasure. But he knew the difference, and he knew when his Harry was in pain.
He paused, too, blinking.
The stillness between them was palpable. It lasted an age and a second.
And then Harry was reaching up to hold the small of Draco's back, trying to coax him onto the desk to join him. It was utterly Harry, to disregard any discomfort on his part. It wasn't in Draco to disregard Harry, though.
"What's the matter?" He asked, searching for the eye contact he knew Harry would try to avoid. He couldn't lie when they were facing one another. He could try, but it would be an abysmal failure. "Harry?"
"It's nothing." He leaned up for another kiss, sighing as Draco didn't oblige him. "Really, nothing."
Liar.
Draco just stared at him, knowing he would confess sooner rather than later. Harry almost had as many compliant bones in his body as Draco. Lying across a desk, with Draco hovering over him, would have to be pushing some of his buttons; mainly, his fear of weakness, or submissiveness.
It only took moments for Harry to shift uncomfortably, his green gems of eyes narrowing to drill holes into the ceiling. His hands fell from Draco's back, hovering uselessly in the air. "It's really nothing." He almost growled at that, teeth clenched. Absolutely plausible.
"You say with a grimace." It really grated on Draco's nerves just how much Harry seemed to lie or dismiss him. It made him feel less. Small. And Malfoy's were anything but minute. "If it was really nothing you wouldn't be trying to stress the point."
Those eyes narrowed by a slither, Harry's hands deciding to shove Draco away; they were not expecting to be caught and pushed back into the desk instead.
"Get off."
Who did he think he was, to warn Draco? He was as vulnerable as anything right now; Draco tightened his hold on Harry's wrist slightly, and shifted against the table so he was leaning closer to the restrained boy. As expected, Harry's jaw clenched angrily.
But that was it.
Where was the yelling? The little remarks?
Draco had just risked Azkaban to keep Harry at Hogwarts, and the little prick wouldn't tell him about unmistakable pain? Why was he still lying to him?
Right. Well, if he wanted a pissed off Malfoy, what could Draco do but comply?
"Is it 'nothing' like the time your relatives didn't give a damn about you being sick, or 'nothing' as in you've used magic and suffered the repercussions. I need to know to decide on an appropriate response."
Harry jerked on the table, not quite able to free himself, or hide the second wince. He growled to himself as Draco didn't budge, nose twitching in anger. "You can be a real arse, you know that?"
"I will always be an arse, if it helps you in the long run. So, which 'nothing' is it today? 'Nothing' as in someone used an unforgivable on you again? Or have your Gryffindor friends rejected you once again?"
Harry was not impressed.
His eyes were practically blazing with anger, but his face had turned relatively smooth. Had he been practicing a mask? Or, more importantly, what had happened to make him practise?
"My ribs hurt." He eventually said, coldly. "A minor 'nothing'. Now get off."
Draco observed him with a face equally as cold. "And what happened to make them hurt?"
"Why does anything hurt with me?" Could be truthful, but rang with avoidance. "Get off."
"What could have possibly happened within a week, for you to have changed so completely?"
Finally, that sham of a mask fell. Harry blinked, frowning to cover the hurt that had flashed across his features. He shifted again, glancing away from Draco and back to the ceiling. He visibly deflated.
"Get off." His voice wasn't nearly as cold, or demanding as it had been a moment ago. It rang with vulnerability, which simply wouldn't do.
"Harry, that mask doesn't belong on your face."
"Get off." He repeated softly, "Please."
Draco sighed, pushing himself away from the desk. He had pushed past the boundary; it was time to take a step back, and soothe.
Harry immediately leapt off the desk, crossing his arms uncomfortably against his chest. Neither commented on the third wince, but both were aware of it. It hung awkwardly between them, a barrier where none should exist.
"And it's off the table again." Harry muttered, attempting a joke. His lips barely twitched.
"You don't need a mask." Draco repeated, because Harry obviously ignored it the first time. "One of the reasons I…you don't need one. I like being able to glance at your face and being able to tell if you're bored, happy, or furious. And you definitely shouldn't hide that you're sore, or injured, or upset. I wouldn't have forced you-."
"If I didn't want to be in this room, I wouldn't be in the room." Harry interrupted with a sigh, running his hand through his hair. He hesitated, unwilling to say more. He would though; if Draco waited enough, he would say whatever was on his mind. And, sure enough, he couldn't keep it in. "I don't think I should have to tell you about every minor injury. It's a tad excessive, isn't it?"
"Excessive?" He had to ask, because even after considering it for a moment, he couldn't grasp any understanding. Surely Harry didn't mean that worrying about him had a limit. Surely he wouldn't try to make guidelines about what feelings Draco should or shouldn't have.
"You don't have to know everything about me. If I stub my toe, do I have to report it? I mean, how far is this going to go?"
…
Draco's heart grew cold with each word. It sounded as if Harry didn't want Draco around anymore; worse than limiting his feelings, he was trying to limit their entire association.
He only blinked in reaction, though; he didn't even raise his eyebrows, which were twitching with the need to be raised. Hell, they wanted to jump off of his face and slap the idiot.
But whatever Harry had meant to say obviously sounded eloquent only in his mind; his entire face dropped as he realised exactly how it sounded. Draco didn't think his eyes could go that wide, or that Potter could look quite that panicked. He had faced off against Voldemort with less emotion.
"No, I didn't mean it like that! Not how it sounded, I swear! Just…Just ignore that-"
"How about you explain what you did mean?" And to think he had been having a fantastic day only a few minutes ago. Where had the joy of antagonising the Weaselette disappeared to?
"It's just…" Harry was watching him with a guarded expression, as if he expected him to storm out the door. "You know everything about me. Can't I keep a few things to myself? I know next to nothing about you, but god forbid I wince and you don't know why. If I simply glance at you, you demand to know what's happened."
"Maybe I have to demand because you would rather keep everything bottled up inside and feel miserable whilst doing do. You bottle, and pretend to be indifferent, or simply ignore it, until it festers away at you and you burst." Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Draco cut him off. After all, he had let this little topic out of the bag; he could hardly expect Draco to sit back and let this drivel continue. "Literally burst. I seem to remember your arm snapping in Transfiguration. I have some vague memory of you choking on your own blood." Vague; it plagued his nightmares almost every night. "God forbid I want to know if anything potentially dangerous has happened to the single person in this entire fucking castle that I care about."
Harry's mouth opened again to interrupt.
Draco cut him off.
"You don't have to know everything about me, just as I don't want to know everything about you. The things that bring you discomfort, however, or pain…yes, I would quite like to know of those. The infamous cupboard you cringe at when mentioned. The fact Greg crucioed you. And yes, a minor nothing such as your ribs hurting. I don't think those are excessive, and I will damn well force it out of you."
"But you shouldn't know those things about me!" Harry managed to get in, uncomfortable as ever. "I don't see why anyone would have an interest in any of those things!"
"Christ, what did the mugglesdo to you?"
Harry snapped his mouth shut with a click, eyes growing wider, if possible. Instead of the spluttering Draco thought was coming, he grew silent. Because what was there to possibly say? Draco already knew they were neglectful to a degree; the extent was yet to be discovered. There was no one else to blame for Harry's behaviour; trying to stay alone whilst battling a terrible sickness, not telling anyone, the fact he didn't believe he deserved to have company. All of it could be attributed to the muggles.
Draco didn't speak either; he had had his say, and Harry was going to have his. It was only a matter of time.
Eventually, Harry shifted to cross his arms tighter against his chest. "You're such a hypocrite." He muttered, staring at the desk in favour of the ceiling.
…
What?
"You were furious with me on Tuesday because I wanted to know what your stuffed dragon was called, and you didn't want me to know. You were the one trying to keep things hushed, and now the table has turned it's suddenly one of my faults? We both don't want the other to know private things."
Well, he had him there.
Draco sighed inwardly, watching the withdrawn boy before him. They had both been so contented only minutes before and now were at each other's throats? Being with Harry was as perplexing as anything.
"And…" Oh, he had something to add to the fire, did he? "…I haven't changed. Not at all."
Christ, he shouldn't be able to do that; all the irritation and anger just flooded away. It didn't stand a chance against Harry's insecurities.
He had to respond. And it had to be good; it had to cease the fight, had to show the idiot that he was still here, that he still cared. Had to show that he didn't care about the fight; because Harry was about to walk out that door, and he couldn't with this thing between them.
Oh, what a petty fight. But how to end it? How to pacify him?
"…And I've missed you."
Four words, and their fight was disregarded.
.
.
.
"I want to do number twenty one." Harry was watching Draco from the corner of his eye, sprawled across the desk. He barely showed any reaction, but to hesitate in his writing. It was barely a pause; it could have been due to him deciding on the next phrase of words, or he could have been reading the drying ink. Harry knew better; he was remembering which task had been labelled twenty one, and weighing up the consequences.
"Don't you think that one is a tad risky?" He replied quietly, writing another word or two. Harry held his attention, at least. If he hadn't, Draco's quill would be halfway across the next paragraph by now. He was writing a letter to his mother, one that had already extended over three pages without pause.
"No. I want to do it, and soon." Of course it was risky; it was more dangerous than attacking the Womping Willow, and more terrifying than reconciling with the Dursleys. But he had to do it soon, or he wouldn't have the chance. If his magic was hurting him without casting a spell, when he actually cast one it would rip him apart. He had to do it before he worsened. "And since you've taken it upon yourself to help me complete them, I thought you should know."
"I'll…think about it."
Harry blinked at that, raising his eyebrows. Draco didn't have a choice whether Harry completed any of his list, which was looking rather pathetically empty at the moment. He would do it with or without Draco, preferably with. It would be done either way.
"Since I was unavailable this past Saturday," Draco continued, brushing the request aside. It really shouldn't make Harry as amused as it did; he knew Draco wouldn't like that activity. He had only mentioned it as a little bit of revenge from that stubborn fight they had had earlier that day. But to ignore it altogether? He had helped splinch Harry; he shouldn't be cautious now. "How about we go tomorrow instead?"
"Tomorrow?" Harry was leaning back on his chair, staring at the ceiling. If they pinched some of the potions in the Hospital Wing as a precaution, it should be alright. They could throw a couple spells, and drown Harry in potions. That way they wouldn't have a lecture with Pomfrey, and McGonagall wouldn't have another excuse to exile him.
"To visit Simon Harvey's daughter."
Harry jerked in his chair, wincing as it toppled and sent him to the ground instead. The blonde prick up there couldn't be serious. Harry lay on the library floor, ignoring the glances he got from curious students. The fall had been a magnificent fail.
But he couldn't stay there forever.
He cautiously sat up; frowning at the smirk Draco sent his way. "Have I got your attention?"
"Not tomorrow. I have plans."
"Yes, you do. We're escaping the school and visiting Simon Harvey's daughter."
Bastard.
Harry pulled his chair back up, sinking slowly into it. Draco was writing again, but not nearly as fluently as before. He was obviously waiting for Harry to run, or snap, or punch him in the face. And Harry truly didn't know which reaction to take. All were quite attractive.
"I can't tomorrow. It's a full day."
Grey eyes left the parchment to fix him with a steady glare. "What are your plans?"
"Avoiding the daughter."
"Harry, you can't evade it forever." Yes, he bloody well could. "The trainee healer risked her potential profession by giving you this information. You can't just sit on it."
"You can't just spring this on me and expect me to leap at the opportunity of the entire wizarding world finding out I'm not perfect." That was the only possible outcome of this meeting; the daughter would sell the story to the papers at the first large enough figure to be offered.
"The entire wizarding world doesn't think you're perfect. I recall some rather interesting papers about you being labelled an attention seeker." Draco actually seemed fond of those stories. He had probably volunteered the information. "And I resent that this is springing it on you. After all, you've had the letter for weeks. Unless you had a delayed reaction, this doesn't qualify as 'springing'. I could have just offered to take you on a date, and knocked on her door with you none the wiser."
"That was obviously your plan B." He didn't deny it, the prat. "It was a stupid idea anyway; what can she possibly tell us?"
Harry was flailing, and Draco knew it.
The blonde glanced around the room before subjecting Harry to a level stare; that didn't bode well. If he had scanned the area for possible eavesdroppers the conversation was about to tilt towards the serious spectrum.
"He lasted three years, and the daughter will be able to tell us how."
"I've lasted six months already." Harry could barely believe the words had left his mouth. They were whispered, and almost silent, but they existed. "I haven't gone nuts yet."
"And because you're Harry Potter, you'll continue to beat the odds, which is all anyone really expects of you. With her help." Draco's words dropped to a whisper. "I want three years."
Malfoy's didn't cope with emotion; they were angry, sarcastic, or nothing. And, evidently, there had been too much emotion at play today. Harry watched mildly curious as he jammed half a mask in place and shoved his letter aside. Instead, he scrunched parchment into balls, tossing them to Harry.
"I'll teach you to juggle; get the blasted thing off your list, no matter how juvenile."
It was funny; in one of those ways which isn't that amusing in the slightest, but there's no other word to describe it. Odd? No, it didn't seem to fit. Ironic seemed too depressing.
It was funny how months ago Harry was in denial, and ignored anything that had a glimpse of fatality about it. He ignored his illness, his fights, his friends, parts of his list…and now he was too tired to care. Part of him wanted it out in the open, the other still shook its head in disappointment. Either way, neither part wanted to disregard what was happening.
Draco was the one to prod him into the reality that he couldn't hide it forever. And yet here he was, changing conversations and believing he would get three years instead of six months. He was in denial.
It was funny, because there was no other word to use. Anything less might break his heart.
So he focussed on juggling, and being hopeless at it. Not that tomorrow wasn't going to be anything short of hell.
Simon Harvey's daughter wouldn't be able to tell him anything useful. Because in the end Harvey had only had three years, and Harry wanted a lifetime.
Christ, wasn't life funny?
.
.
.
Ron struggled through the halls with his arms laden with books, sweat dripping down his back. It probably seemed ridiculous; bloody hell, it was. Working up a sweat because he was walking with some heavy books? But until one walked the walk, they could shut their bloody mouths.
He was carrying at least ten different volumes, none small in size. It seemed as though Neville had told him to borrow the largest books ever known to man. Why someone would write this much about plants was beyond him. Maybe that was why he was barely scrapping by with a pass with Herbology; he just didn't get it. He didn't have his mum's natural green thumb, and he didn't have Hermione's book smarts. He didn't understand Neville's plant gibberish either.
He didn't even know if he wanted to become an auror anymore. The fighting and workload was incredibly unappealing at the moment. He had had enough of fighting. His grades certainly weren't going to get him into the auror department. Maybe he should help George out with the joke shop? The world always needed more laughter; maybe it would help him find the positive side to things, too. He hadn't laughed in ages.
But he was trying, for Hermione. She was probably going to make herself sick with all the worrying at the moment; she worried about Harry and his association with the Slytherins, about Luna not really caring about her N.E.W.T's, about Ginny's unsated anger…
At least if he pulled his grades up a little, he would ease her mind. He was only passing potions because of her genius, he figured he owed her one.
Also, he would do anything for her.
So he was heading to the library to study Herbology of all things; worse than potions in his mind. At least potions was entertaining; there was always a cauldron exploding, or porn being thrown around.
He had snorted at that one, despite it being from the Slytherins. Slughorn hadn't known how to react, and it had been brilliant.
He hoped Neville would be alright today. He had been awfully quite for weeks, whispering to Luna, crying when he thought everyone else was asleep. No one mentioned the crying; Ron didn't know if anyone else had heard it. But it wasn't mentioned in Gryffindor; you just didn't bring up a mates weakness. It wasn't sobbing; it was just a sniff now and again. Either way, he looked wretched in the morning. Maybe his Gran was ill; Merlin, couldn't that kid get a break?
Ron rounded the next corner, groaning. The doors were shut; why were they shut? They were usually opened and welcoming, for poor souls like him who had every book every written about bloody herbs. Great.
He shuffled to the door, struggling to swing his elbow around the handle. Almost…if he could just swing it wide enough for his foot…almost…
The door burst open, almost causing for him to drop his books as it smacked him in the arm. He didn't, thank God, because if they fell that was where they were going to stay, and that wouldn't be good for him; Pince would cut his hands off before allowing him to borrow another book. Maybe he could blame his failing his N.E.W.T's on her?
Ron stared at the Hufflepuff that had opened the door, some skinny kid with red hair and a redder face. The boy had tears dribbling down his face; his eyes were wide with terror.
He squeaked when he saw Ron, glancing back into the library as if he had a monster on his heals as he tried to scurry away.
"Oi!" Ron yelled at him, wincing as he jumped and spun back around, petrified. "What happened?"
"They weren't juggling!" Christ, he was shrill. "Not juggling!" And with that, he raced down the corridor.
…
Hufflepuff had always been a little weird.
But, well, he had opened the door.
Ron shrugged, crossing into the library, surprised by how empty it was. The entire eighth grade had a double study period now; surely they weren't all skipping?
He hurried to a table, about to drop the books onto the table with relief…when he saw them.
At first he was going to ignore them, maybe throw a glare at the blonde ferrety git and move to a table beyond the reach of his enormous poncy attitude. But…
Harry was smiling, no matter how small. He was tossing paper balls into the air, catching two out of the five, and shrugging when the other three hit him on the head. Malfoy was…the world was going to end. Malfoy was smiling.
He wasn't smirking; it was a real, honest grin. He was gesturing widely with his arms, pointing to one of the books before him and then back to Harry. Harry responded, smirking. And…Malfoy laughed. He rolled his eyes, but he chuckled.
There was no one else here for them to put up a charade for; they were friendly.
If only Hermione could see this; she would give up her conspiracy theory.
And he couldn't even feel mad. There hadn't been room for Harry at the beginning of the year; he had been wallowing in his own grief and guilt that he couldn't see reason. He didn't think of anyone other than himself; he hadn't saved Harry a seat in class. His best friend, and then he had been mad that he had been forced to sit with the Slytherins? It wasn't anything he could help.
Harry had been different, and sad. And Ron hadn't noticed.
He couldn't be mad at Harry for finding someone who gave him a time of day, even if that person was a git like Malfoy. Even though Ron missed him. Maybe he could fix it up? If he apologized, surely…
It had been months.
If Harry had wanted it fixed, he would have forced Ron to listen months ago.
Harry threw a ball at the blonde ferret, grinning as he tossed it back immediately. There was a pause where they both picked them up off the floor…yes, even Malfoy helped.
Harry threw them into the air again, flinging his hands up wildly and tossing them between each fist. They fell to the floor again, but Harry wasn't perturbed. He shot up into the air, arms wide, grin spectacular. Malfoy actually high-fived him, and…ruffled his hair? His hand was slapped away immediately.
There was something not quite right about that. Ron had never ruffled Harry's hair, hell; did friends even touch one another's hair?
Ron swallowed down the lump in his throat, and spun around. He was going to study in the Great Hall instead.
.
.
.
Learn to juggle
.
.
.
"Do any of the others know you're back?" Harry had to ask as they strolled through the corridors near the kitchen. They were having dinner there, apparently, and not in the great hall. So, from midday onwards, when Draco arrived back in the school and had to suffer what he had claimed to be the most patronizing meeting ever constructed (according to him, McGonagall had notes written out to prompt her condescension to an entire new level), he had spent the time glued to Harry's side.
It was fine; Harry missed his company. The others had been welcoming, and pleasant to hang around. But they weren't Draco.
They were likely to kill Draco when they figured out he had returned, and not paid them a visit. Harry knew them well enough to understand that sort of thing was expected. He also knew Draco well enough to understand that he never tolerated the anticipated.
"No. Why should it matter to them?" Sure enough, he didn't care. His smirk betrayed him; he knew it would piss them off.
"Maybe because they're your friends?" Harry tried, shrugging. "They care about you."
Draco snorted.
"Fine, because they want the gossip." Harry conceded. "But they want your company nevertheless."
"That's bullshit and you know it. The first thing they're going to do is enquire how my mother is, and then ask if I brought them a gift. Because, apparently, each and every time I leave the school they consider it a holiday of sorts, and demand compensation for not being invited." He actually spoke fondly, as if any of what he was saying was normal behaviour.
"You were suspended."
"Regardless, they will want a gift." Draco shot him an amused look, tickling the pear just outside the kitchen. "I don't know why you're defending the vultures. You were right; they do value gossip. And they're going to tell me about every little adventure you got up to while I was away. I'm not even going to ask, and they're going to give you up."
"I doubt it." They wouldn't tell Draco anything important; the fight with Goyle? Not likely, if any blame could be palmed off onto them. His fingers snapping? Nott seemed quite happy to forget about that incident. They wouldn't put themselves at risk of Draco's anger; Harry was quite safe.
"Are you willing to place a bet on that? We can attempt to get rid of number twenty two while we're at it." Oh, he sounded so smug. There was no chance they were going to tell him. "I say 'attempt', because it's not going to be crossed off."
"Fine. What are the stakes?" He was going to win this one.
"I win, and you don't get to even think about completing number twenty one without me being there." Harry shot him a glance, not quite knowing how to feel. They were still in the corridor, despite the portrait swinging open. A hundred different aromas danced out to meet them. "I'm serious, Harry. Not even a single thought, let alone doing it. It's…risky."
So was everything else; this list was keeping him going.
"Alright. And if I win-"
"You won't." Draco gestured into the kitchen, smirking again like the prat he was.
"Don't I get a prize?"
"Make it up later; you're not going to win."
Harry rolled his eyes, climbing into the kitchen. Fine, he wouldn't say it aloud. But if he won, the prat could turn up to class starkers. That would teach the condescending arse not to make an even bet. He snorted at his idea. They had double Potions Monday morning; Slughorn would probably run out the door blinded.
Draco wasn't going to win. The Slytherin self-preservation would prevail; and, considering how terrifying an angry Draco could be, Harry didn't blame them. In fact, he was counting on it.
The kitchen was as brilliant as it usually was; the giant fire was roaring along the far end, the tables stretching along the enormous space. House elves ran from stoves and benches, arms filled with various platters to distribute around the tables to be transported to their counterparts in the Great Hall.
Draco led the way through the throng of elves, to, naturally, the Slytherin table. Where, despite the table being quite full, most plates remained stationary. Harry frowned at the sight; large plates were certainly being transported to the table above, but the table was dotted with impossibly small dishes.
The elves stared at him widely, their enormous gazes following him through the kitchen. If he made eye contact with one, they would smile brilliantly and wave hap hazardously. The attention had never made him comfortable, but this level of scrutiny was downright eerie. The house elves were walking with their heads spinning around to continue to stare at him; it was a miracle none spilt their dishes, or ran into one another. It reminded him of a horror story.
As he approached the table with an oddly smug Draco, who was receiving withering glares from the house elves nearest, he understood why. They were waiting for his reaction.
The tiny bowls that littered the Slytherin table, and there had to have been hundreds, were filled with miniature meals.
The tiniest portion of shepherd's pie, a portion that filled a teaspoon, sat next to a platter of miniscule sandwiches. They, in turn, were surrounded by cubes of roasted vegetables, and beyond that, thimbles of drink, from milk to wine.
It was a feast designed for fairies.
"I didn't quite picture it like this." He said, eventually. The scrutiny was almost unbearable; no one was speaking. Not the hundreds of elves, not Draco. Silence other than footsteps, and the occasional clang of a pot.
"It's brilliant, isn't it?" Draco smirked, "I think I've outdone myself."
"Oh, you've been slaving around in the kitchen all day, have you?"
"I deliberated with the concept." He spoke as if he had completed all this himself; and knowing the git, he probably considered that he had. "And the house elves graciously assisted with the dynamics." He said this watching a particularly old elf in a tea cosy sneer at him, shuffling backwards in clear disgust. "Darling things that they are. Anything for the great Harry Potter."
Harry threw him a glance, but it was promptly ignored. It sounded like Draco was aggravated. Harry would be too, if a house elf showed such open loathing for him. But the blonde turned around with a calm face, and raised eyebrows; nothing of irritation or anger. Damn him for being able to hide so easily.
"Are you going to sample, or continue to gawk? I didn't go through the trouble of organising this for it to go to waste."
"The trouble of organising?" Harry sat beside him, picking up a toothpick to spike one of the sandwiches. "You mean thinking?"
"I had to send an owl. Waste parchment." God, what a prat. "It took me away from valuable studying."
"You don't study." Harry spiked two more sandwiches, digging into the feast. "I study more than you do, and I don't have a hope of passing a class."
"We'll get you through potions." Draco drawled, "That's the only one that matters." It was the only class Harry could participate in.
Harry grimaced at the mixture of tuna and blackberry jam. The gillywater he tried to wash it down with only made it soggy; a thimbleful didn't compare to a mouthful. It was still the best meal he had ever had.
"So, two in one day?" Harry had to ask, preferably while Draco was distracted. The blonde was staring up at the ceiling, squinting, as if he could tell where the other students were. A bowl was placed near the two of them, filled with rolls. "Are you trying to soften me up?"
"Yes." Draco answered immediately, throwing a smirk at Harry. He grabbed a roll, took a bite from it, and placed in the bowl when the elf had turned around. It vanished, transported to the Slytherin table. "Why, did you believe this was some elaborate plan to woo you?"
"I can't think of anything more horrifying." Harry replied through a spoonful of Caesar salad. He didn't know if it was true anymore. It brought a grin to Draco's face, so it had to be the right thing to say. God, he had missed the blonde prat.
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7. Try absolutely everything served in the Great Hall
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Okay, so he was slightly worried that he was going to lose his bet.
The moment they had ventured into the common room Pansy had flung herself to their side, scowl in place. She had asked politely through the frown about Narcissa Malfoy's wellbeing, and then demanded her present within the same breath.
Draco had just smirked. Omnipotent git. How could he have possibly known that was going to be the first words from Pansy's lips?
At least Pansy hadn't been present for either of his risky activities. Christ, it was as if he was being reprimanded for being a naughty child while his parent was away. Did he really have to remind them that he was the same age? That they were classmates, not guardians?
He shouldn't be feeling guilty for being himself when Draco was suspended. If anyone should be guilty, Draco, ideally, would be the first volunteer.
Harry leaned back on the couch, watching Draco obliterate Blaise at a game of chess. Nott had been right; Draco was plain cruel to what he could do with the pieces. Ron would love to play him.
Nott hadn't joined them; he had nodded at Harry when he had entered the room, and disappeared into the dormitory within seconds. He was the one Harry was concerned about. Who cared if Blaise told about the fight with Goyle? Fights happen.
But Nott knew why Harry had launched at the ape. He saw Harry's broken fingers, and knew he hadn't used magic.
Draco's three years were looking very doubtful.
"Checkmate." Draco sighed for the fifth time that hour, staring at his nails instead of the board. Everyone cringed when Blaise cried for a rematch. He had no hope of winning.
Two items on his list completed in a day. Simple items, but equally important.
Not the one he needed to do soon.
"Checkmate."
Harry had to laugh; they had barely moved their pieces. Draco had moved twice, and it was a checkmate? Even he was better than that.
"Rematch!"
"If you were better than a preschooler, I would consider it. But really Blaise, you're woeful. You're below that. You're inept."
"I'll have a go." It was an opportunity he couldn't pass up; he could prove he was better than 'inept', at least. Maybe then Draco would stop with the comments about his brain cells committing suicide in delightfully inventive ways.
Draco rolled his eyes though, oddly childish considering they were in the middle of the Slytherin cohort. "Boring."
Really? Harry didn't even get a pronoun?
"Well, we could play Wizard or Mud-"
"Dull."
Tch. Right.
"You didn't eat earlier. I'm sure-"
"Not hungry."
"I could teach you some muggle games." He only said that to annoy him, and apparently he succeeded by the withering glare thrown his way.
"Plebeian."
"Fine then, your majesty. What the hell do you want to do?"
"Sneak into Ravenclaw Tower."
"…Fine."
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20. Sneak into a highly secured area
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19. Lose a hundred house points in a single sitting
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