Written for the International Wizarding School Championship Season Two
Round : 5
School : Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry
Year : Exchange student for year 5
Theme : Envy
Main Prompt : Drama
Additional Prompts : Romance, empty classroom
Special Rule : Incorporate the colour green and the meaning behind it in your story
Word Count : 3533
A/N: AU in Harry's fifth year
Green Isn't Just For Envy
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table picking at his eggs and bacon. He prodded at the yolk, mixing it with some of the fat from the bacon. Nice, thought Harry, appetising. Next to him, Ron was going on about the likelihood of the Chudley Cannons ever making the top of the league. Harry really couldn't care less, but fortunately, the subject was one of Ron's favourites, and he rarely needed any input beyond nodding and the odd grunt. Hermione, however, was not so easily ignored. She was sitting on his other side, trying to put the fear of Merlin into him by listing all the ways he would regret it if he didn't at least attempt to study more for his upcoming Potions test.
"Really, Harry, you just need to apply yourself. It's not difficult once you get past the theory, and I'm more than happy to help. You can study with me—"
"Thanks, 'Mione, but it's fine," interrupted Harry, eyes squinting through the sudden flurry of owls for Hedwig.
"Harry, I really don't think—" Hermione broke off suddenly, realising that Harry wasn't paying her any attention. "Harry! Are you listening to me? What on Earth are you staring at?"
"I wrote to Snuffles last night, and I was hoping he would have replied by now. He'll have some decent ideas for sure."
"Ideas about what?" asked Ron, suddenly abandoning his Cannons rant and joining in the conversation.
"Potions," replied Harry offhandedly, still searching for signs of Hedwig.
"Harry!" hissed Hermione, sounding scandalised. "You cannot cheat your way out of this! I'm surprised you would even consider it."
"How else am I going to manage to pass, 'Mione?"
"Study, Harry. It's not a foreign concept, you know!"
"Look", interjected Ron, pointing to where Hedwig was soaring towards them carrying a letter and small parcel.
Once she had landed, Harry quickly relieved her of her cargo and offered her the rind off his bacon as a thank you. After nipping his finger affectionately, she took off gracefully for the owlery. Harry wasted no time in tearing open the letter.
Harry,
I can only imagine how Snape is being in class just now. He's always been a right git! You did the right thing in coming to me. I've included something for you that should help you out. It's an old Black family heirloom and it's infused with a charm that helps bring out recessive qualities and hidden passions. Your mum was amazing at Potions and my guess is you've got at least a little of that somewhere inside you. Here's hoping this brings it out in you. You wear it on your right index finger for it to work properly. Good luck!
Snuffles
PS Remember to keep changing owls…
Harry carefully opened the paper swathed around the package Sirius had sent, curiosity coursing through his entire body. What could it be? Slowly, he peeled back the packaging to reveal a small, slightly dusty, velvet jewellery box. Harry creaked open the ancient lid to reveal a ring. Harry lifted it out of the box and held it delicately between his thumb and forefinger as he examined it closely. The band was black and looked as if it was made from obsidian, or something similar. The stone was a large oval emerald, about the size of a large grape. On the inside of the band was the inscription from within brought forth. The stone seemed to ripple with power, and Harry could feel the charm-work almost vibrating around the ring.
"Harry," began Hermione dubiously, "I really don't think this is a good idea. It doesn't say what charms are on the ring, or how it works exactly. I mean, I doubt you get to choose which quality it brings out in you."
"Meaning?" asked Harry suspiciously.
"Meaning it could bring out any dormant quality you have. You might have a hidden passion for stamp collecting, or breeding flobberworms…" explained Hermione with a maddeningly patient air.
"Breed flobberworms? Why the hell would anyone want to do that? Nah, it'll be fine, 'Mione," assured Ron. "Pity he only has one. God knows how I'm going to pass the bloody test."
"You could study, Ronald," advised Hermione snootily.
Harry scrutinised the ring for another few seconds before deciding to seize the erumpent by the horn. What sort of Gryffindor would he be if he didn't take risks? Without much further ado, and before Hermione could launch into another lecture on the risks, Harry carefully slid the ring onto his finger. It felt light, almost as if his finger was actually bare.
"Well?" inquired Ron, "Feel any different?"
"I don't know." admitted Harry doubtfully, "Maybe it doesn't work until I actually do some Potions stuff?"
"Yeah, because the ring will magically know when you're making a potion or not!" scoffed Hermione.
"You're just annoyed because Harry has help," accused Ron.
"He's cheating!" complained Hermione.
Harry tuned out as his two best friends began their usual bickering and picked at his breakfast again. He looked around the table to see if there was any tea left in the pot, when he heard a loud laugh from across the room. Malfoy. Harry could see him relaxing with his friends, laughing at whatever they found funny. Look how they all hung on his every moment, thought Harry, like they think he can do no wrong. Just then, Ron and Hermione stood up from the table and collected their bags.
"Coming, Harry? We've class. Double Potions," reminded Hermione.
"Yeah you can try out your new potion skills," joked Ron.
Harry stood quickly, grabbed his bag, and walked with his friends towards the dungeons.
Potions, unfortunately, was an utter disaster. No matter how hard Harry tried to follow the instructions and get the ingredients right, things still went wrong! It didn't help that the dungeon was an unusually annoying place to be today. The air was on fire with the heat of all the bubbling cauldrons. Hermione was mumbling under her breath as she stirred her perfect potion, while Ron was on his other side hissing dark accusations at his cauldron as his potion shrunk and congealed. Malfoy was at the bench in front of him, effortlessly managing to juggle making his potion and chat animatedly to Pansy. What was it that made Malfoy so bloody fantastic at Potions, anyway? Snape, of course, was his usual horrid self, swooping around the room like an overgrown bat, haranguing the Gryffindors. He'd already had a go at Harry twice in the last few minutes. Harry shook his sweaty hair out of his eyes and tried to focus. Stir clockwise seven times, whence complete add valerian root, finely chopped. He could do this. It was just a potion, sort of like making soup. He'd made plenty of soup in his time, thanks to Aunt Petunia forcing him to help in the kitchen. Harry squared his shoulders and pressed on determinedly — he had this.
He didn't have this.
Snape had called time, and everyone was scooping their potions into their flasks and leaving them on Snape's desk on their way out of the dungeon. Harry approached Snape's desk, hoping against hope that no one would notice which flask was his. As soon as he went to place the flask onto the wood, Snape appeared at his shoulder and very purposefully, and very loudly, began to criticise his potion.
"Well, Mr Potter, what have we here? You were supposed to be making a reversal solution. This, however, is not a reversal solution. This, Potter, is utterly worthless."
With those words, Snape waved his wand and vanished the flask before turning a look of utter contempt on Harry.
"Two feet of parchment, Potter, on what you were supposed to be making and how your potion went wrong. To be handed in tomorrow. No excuses."
Harry shook with fury as he strode towards his friends waiting for him in the doorway. As he walked, he could hear Snape praise Malfoy on having the best potion to be handed in that day. Arse, that's what Malfoy was! Why the hell did everything have to come easy to him? Shaking with temper, Harry stomped towards the Great Hall for lunch. The day could only get better, right?
As it transpired, things did not get better. Harry's foul mood only grew as the day wore on. No matter what, things went wrong for him. What was worse, was Malfoy appearing at every turn! Succeeding where Harry was fumbling. Dinner was the icing on the cake. Harry was late to the table as he had to clean up the mess he made in Care of Magical Creatures when he was supposed to be feeding bowtruckles, and Malfoy distracted him. God how he hated Grubby-Plank! He couldn't wait for Hagrid to come back! He was so late to dinner that Ron and Hermione had already left and headed back to the common room. Worse — there were only potatoes, fish, and some pumpkin pasties left! He'd been looking forward to chicken so badly that he couldn't help but groan in disappointment. Harry scowled as he looked around the room and noticed that the Slytherin table still had some chicken left — chicken that Malfoy was happily helping himself to. That's right, you feret, take a big bite. Choke on it! Giving the whole thing up as a lost cause, Harry grabbed a couple of pasties and pushed himself off the bench, heading towards the common room. He still had Snape's essay to do for tomorrow after all.
Harry sat back in his armchair by the fire and rubbed his bleary eyes. It was almost 11pm and he was still working on Snape's essay. Hermione was sitting in the corner of the common room, knitting little house elf hats and chatting to Lavender Brown. Ron had already headed up to bed after three grueling hours of Quidditch practice headed by a manic looking Angelina. All Harry really wanted to do was just relax. He only had this stupid essay because Malfoy kept laughing with Pansy and putting him off. It was just the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Sabotage! Harry took one last look at the megre lines he had already written and gave up. He knew he wasn't going to get anything else done unless he cleared his head. He decided it would be best to visit Hedwig, as there was much less chance of running into Filch there. Feeling a lot better already, Harry quickly headed to the portrait hole and eagerly made his way towards the owelry.
Harry had gotten as far as the charms corridor when he heard music. Beautifully soothing music that was accompanied by a haunting, soulful voice. Who was that playing and singing? Harry followed the sound past Flitwick's office and down to the other end of the corridor, finally finding himself outside a typically unused classroom. The music was definitely coming from in there. Slowly, carefully, Harry pushed the door open, stepped inside, and came face to face with Malfoy.
Harry stood half in shock as he took in the sight before him. Malfoy had frozen in place, his mouth half forming the next word in the song. He was perched on the edge of an old wooden desk, his guitar balanced upon his knee, fingers paused mid strum. Malfoy. Of course it was bloody Malfoy.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" demanded Harry angrily. "You're fucking everywhere! I try to get away and here you are again! Are you trying to drive me mad?!"
"I have no idea what you're on about Potter," replied Malfoy, clearly baffled. "In case you haven't noticed, I was minding my own business until you barged in here and started yelling like a demented banshee!"
"You know exactly what you're doing Malfoy! First you ruin my breakfast, then you sabotage me in Potions!" accused Harry, getting into the swing of his rant. "Then that stunt you pulled in bloody Care of Magical Creatures! And the bloody chicken at dinner! And now, now that I'm trying to get some peace and relax, here you are again! And what's with the fucking guitar? How the hell did you find out about that?" Harry's chest heaved with the effort of breathing. His stomach felt full of acid and he couldn't remember ever hating Malfoy more than he had at that moment.
"Potter," reasoned Malfoy with the air of someone trying to approach a wild animal, "I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about. I've honestly had the day from hell and I just wanted to relax and play my guitar. I barely thought about you all day."
"Fuck you, Malfoy. You know fine well what you're doing to me." Harry could feel tears burning the sides of his eyes. "Why me? Why do you always get to have everything and I have nothing!
"What are you babbling on about Potter? I assure you—"
"Your friends love you, laugh at your jokes, listen to what you have to say. You pass your subjects. You make decent potions. Snape treats you like an actual human being! You ate my chicken! And now you've stolen my bloody guitar!"
Malfoy's brow furrowed as he leaned forwards to peer worriedly at Harry.
"Have you been Confounded, Potter? Should I go get Pomfrey?"
"No, I have not been bloody Confounded! Stop pretending you care!" screamed Harry, completely losing the grasp he previously had of his temper.
"Well, something's wrong," assessed Malfoy, still looking concerned. "You seem to be under the impression I stole your dinner, and that my guitar somehow belongs to you."
"You have to always come out on top don't you Malfoy?" demanded Harry, as tears slowly leaked out from the corners of his burning eyes. "Why do you get everything I want?"
With that, Harry stumbled backwards, his back hitting the wall with a dull thud. He closed his eyes as the tears began to run down his face in earnest; he allowed himself to slide down the wall to the floor, resting his head on his knees and folding his arms around his legs as if physically trying to hold himself together. Finally overcome with the force of his emotions, Harry succumbed to tears.
Once, when he was about nine, Harry had noticed that one of the neighbours had thrown out an old acoustic guitar. It was a bit ratty and two of the strings were missing, but Harry didn't care. He had always wanted a guitar, but Uncle Vernon had never let him. He had carried it back to his room and hid it under the bed until the Dursley's had left for their dinner party. Once alone, Harry had sat on his bed with his guitar and plucked away at the strings, getting a feel for the sounds each one made. After an hour or so, he had managed to strum out an odd, but pleasing tune, and was humming happily along. He was so happy, he had completely forgotten the time. The punishment for being caught with the guitar was something else — locked in his room for two days with no meals. Dudley had stood by and cackled at Harry being forced to watch as Uncle Vernon smashed the guitar into smithereens with a sledgehammer from the garden shed. Each time the guitar splintered, so did something deep inside him. He had never hated the Dursley's more than he did at that moment.
Harry felt Malfoy sit down beside him, causing him to lift his head. Malfoy was sitting cross legged, his guitar on the floor next to him. His grey eyes were wide with anxiety as he took in Harry's slumped posture and red, swollen eyes. He reached into his robes and pulled out a handkerchief, which he offered to Harry silently.
"Thanks," mumbled Harry wearily as he wiped his face dry. He no longer had the energy to fight.
"What's been going on Potter? You're acting insane, even for you." Malfoy's tone was teasing, but Harry could see the concern beneath it.
Sighing, Harry tried to explain. "I really don't know, Malfoy. Lately things have just seemed...so much. Everything is...just so hard and you...things just happen for you. I don't get it. Why does it always do right for you?" The pleading in Harry's tone wasn't lost on Malfoy, and for once, the thought of mocking the other boy didn't cross his mind.
"What makes you think my life is easy?" asked Malfoy, confusion swamping his words. "I'm going to tell you something, and if you tell anyone else I'll literally kill you." Once Harry had nodded his consent, Malfoy continued, "I hate my life sometimes. My father's expectations are everywhere, to befriend the right people, achieve high grades. I always have to look, speak, dress, act a certain way. If I don't, it always gets back to him. The punishment for not meeting his standards is...often brutal. Once I was whipped for being 15 minutes late for my tutor during the summer, one lash for each minute I was late. Mother never intervenes, either. I can never tell if she's too scared, or if she doesn't care. My dad once found magazines, you know, gay magazines, under my bed; I was bedridden for a week after he'd finished with me." Malfoy turned towards Harry and smiled bitterly. "I have no idea why you think my life is so charmed. You're the famous one without an insane father. Count yourself lucky."
Harry leaned his head back against the wall and tried to process what Malfoy had just told him. Logically, he knew that Malfoy's life was as bad as his. However, the knowledge did nothing to ease the churning jealousy bubbling away within his veins. Why is this happening to me? thought Harry desperately. Even he could see how neurotic he was acting. Absently, Harry lifted his hand to push his glasses more snugly onto his face.
"Hey Potter?" asked Malfoy curiously, "how come you're suddenly wearing that ring?"
Harry glanced at the ring before replying cautiously. "It's a family heirloom. I just got it this morning. Why?"
"Well," began Malfoy diplomatically, "I've never noticed you wearing jewelry before. You always seem to wear old clothes that are way too big for you, so the ring looks completely out of place. It's just a bit strange?"
Harry could see Malfoy was trying his best to be as nice as he could, and valiantly tried to wade his way through the jealousy that was practically oozing from his pores.
"I needed help with Potions, and my Godfather sent me the ring to help. He said it would bring a dormant trait or passion out or something."
At those words, Malfoy's eyes lit up with understanding and he leaned towards Harry in his excitement.
"The ring! It's got to be the ring. It's making you all jealous and weird. Take it off!"
Harry looked dubious at this hypothesis, but nonetheless decided to give it a go. What's the harm, he thought, as he carefully slid the ring from his finger.
As soon as the ring was off of his finger Harry slumped forward in relief. He felt as if he had been on fire and it was only now being doused. He had no idea just how tightly wound with jealousy he had been.
"Thanks Malfoy," smiled Harry, genuinely grateful. "I should have noticed, green stone. Envy. Go figure."
"No problem, Potter. Green isn't just for envy you know. It's also for rebirth. Like a new start?"
Harry locked eyes with Malfoy and felt a sizzle of...something shoot through him.
"Question though. I get the ring was making you jealous, but why did it make you focus on me?" queried Malfoy.
Harry could feel his face go red as he struggled to find the words to answer Malfoy's perfectly reasonable question. He'd always known he'd been a bit Malfoy-obsessed, but admitting it was another thing entirely.
"Well, I've noticed you around. True, I tend to think you're up to something suspicious, but yeah."
"Noticed me?" prompted Malfoy with a knowing smile.
"Yeah, you know, like how in class you always set out your parchment directly in front of you with your quill at an angle across the top. How you like to be five minutes early for meals to make sure you get your preferred seat. How you favour your right hand, but are actually ambidextrous…" Harry trailed off at the amused look on Malfoy's face. "What?"
Malfoy leaned towards Harry, slowly bringing their faces closer and closer, like a cat stalking its prey, until finally, their lips were pressed together. For a second neither boy moved, then Malfoy gently moved his mouth against Harry's. Harry rallied himself and slid his arm around Malfoy's neck, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss.
They broke apart several minutes later, lips kiss-swollen, each with giant grins on their faces. Harry entwined Malfoy's fingers with his, and they both settled back against the wall. Maybe, thought Harry, the day wasn't a total loss after all.