I'm back - and very sorry the update took a little longer than usual. What can I say? Life got in the way of the more important and much more enjoyable task that is writing fiction. Anyways ...Thank You to all the people following my story and Thank You for taking time to review, you're great!

Enjoy reading!

Chapter 7

Harry slipped into the classroom just as Flitwick climbed his usual stack of books. He'd always suspected them to be charmed petrified, since he'd never seen them so much as wobble when a spell went wrong. So Harry knew, that the swaying image he now saw was nothing but the result of his poor, throbbing, hung-over head, conspiring with his sleep-deprived eyes. Maybe his mind, which lately always wandered a path close to insanity, was in on it too. Slowly, he made his way over to Ron and sat down carefully, a little smug to not have fallen down or hit his knee this time. Ha!

"You're okay, mate?"

He closed his eyes and opened them again, bringing the face of his best friend into focus. "Brilliant", Harry muttered, resting his cheek on one hand, elbow propped on the desk.

Bloody Firewhiskey, he thought. The rush of adrenaline from his confrontation with Malfoy had subsided and he felt the revenge of his body return. It had by no means forgiven him for downing a few too many shots the night before. It had just waited, momentarily distracted by the bigger threat that was Malfoy. Who, funnily, also was the reason he'd made the mistake of uncorking the darned bottle in the first place.

"What did Malfoy want?", Ron whispered, leaning in.

"Nothing, really", Harry lied and shrugged his shoulders in a manner that he hoped seemed nonchalant. He reached for his book, flipping through the pages, to give him an excuse not to look at Ron.

He'd always known the day would come when he'd have to tell him about the reason he and Ginny had broken up. Ron had tried, and failed, to understand their decision many times already, often hinting, that they should try again, since they seemed to get along so well. The talk about them still being a couple and whatever the papers thought up didn't help his case either.
Harry felt, he owed it to his best friend to not keep this from him. But whenever there had been a chance to fess up, he'd chickened out, his self-preservation, befitting a Slytherin's, winning over his much-praised Gryffindor courage. He grimaced, thinking about how he could very well imagine the Sorting Hat chuckle over that one, its many wrinkles turning up into a taunting grin, while telling him about how it had been right, it was all there in his head.

Not that he'd ever tell the smart-arsed, ragged piece of leather. It was already too full of itself, Harry thought, seeing at it was actually very empty inside.

"Just be careful, Harry", Ron said then, leaning in secretively. "I feel like Malfoy's plotting something. The bugger is back to glaring at us."

Harry wanted to groan, and the Firewhiskey took no part in that. It was just his luck, that now Ron, who was normally very oblivious to anything that wasn't edible or Quidditch-related, had decided to notice. Where had this superior perception been in 6th year, when he and Hermione had accused him of stalking Malfoy without reason?

"You know, he'd almost had me fooled into believing he'd changed after the war. Actually developed a conscience." Ron scrunched up his nose. "Should've known it was all just show, he is a Death Eater, after all."

"Was", corrected Harry, righting his glasses, that hadn't actually needed adjustment.

Ron looked at him, his brow furrowed. "Well, technically, I guess, he isn't any more", he admitted reluctantly. "He's still a slimy git, though."

Harry bobbed his head in agreement and quickly picked up his wand. He might as well try practising the movements Flitwick was demonstrating, since his textbook wasn't doing a very good job at keeping him distracted. One probably had to read it for that to work, he thought. And that wasn't happening, since the letters refused to stay in one place.

His time for telling Ron was running short. The slimy git had made sure of that. He would need to come clean very soon, if he didn't want Malfoy to do it for him.

He glanced to his side again. Ron completed the twirls and flicks in a fluid motion and Harry had to smile at the memory of their first Charms lesson, when he'd still clumsily whirled his wand around, not very unlike the windmills Muggles used to generate electricity. A lot had changed since then. And even if Ron hadn't always been the most understanding person in the past, who could say he wasn't a bit more open-minded now? In his, to be fair, very optimistic, imagination Ron would break into a grin and yell, "Blimey! I knew it, no straight dude takes showers that long!" Then he'd slap him on the back and all was well.

Blinking his thoughts away, Harry looked down on his own hand, gripping his wand. He swished it in a loose circle, copying Ron, while not really having an idea if he was doing this right at all.

No more than he had any clue why he had agreed to Malfoy's demands. Then again, maybe it had to do with the look he'd trained on him that'd made Harry's throat dry up, as if someone had practised the Drought Charm on him. It almost had been seductive, Harry thought, swallowing, as he felt his throat tighten again. Which, really, was a stupid thing to think. It was all in his pitiful, barmy head, he was sure of it. Wishful thinking was making him hallucinate. Like the whispered taunts, surely meant to be intimidating, which his loopy brain decided to mistake for something else entirely, making his knees go weak and almost tripping him up.

Getting back to the more important problem at hand Harry sighed softly, massaging his temples. There was absolutely no bloody chance in hell he'd get Hermione to confess to Polyjuicing into Pansy and ... other stuff. Only Merlins frizzy beard knew why Malfoy thought it had been her.
Not that he was complaining. And all things considered, he should be glad that Malfoy seemed to go barmy too, believing Hermione, of all people,had kissed him, when actually –

An explosion rocked the room, making Harry jump in his seat.

"Mr. Finnigan!" Flitwick's voice chirped through coughing students and black clouds of smoke. "Carefully read the incantation before attempting the Charm. Carefully, Mr. Finnigan!"

"Sorry, Professor", Seamus said, not sounding very apologetic. When Flitwick vanished the smoke, Harry saw his face was smeared with grime. His eyebrows were singed too, but Harry knew, that Seamus had gotten proficient at growing them back. "I'll get it right next time", grinning he lifted his wand.

There was a difference between being brave and being an idiot. For Gryffindors it just wasn't always easy to tell. One might argue, Seamus repeating the Charm that blew up in his face over and over again was stupid, Malfoy definitely would, yet Harry thought it was quite a brave thing to do. Attempting something you'd already failed at right away took courage. Even more so if everyone was watching you do it.

The dumb thing, Harry thought, shaking his head, was sitting next to Seamus without Protection Charms.

About an hour later, when he was standing at the entrance to the Defense Against The Dark Arts classroom Harry ironically wondered whether what he was about to do himself was overstepping the border to stupidity. The wise choice would be getting back to the infirmary, claiming the Pepper Up Potion hadn't worked and he still felt like his stomach was violently trying to get rid of its contents. It wasn't even all lies, since he felt his gut heave a little at his intent. He swallowed nervously.

Ron was looking at him, his face apologetic, pity written all over him. "Sorry, mate", he whispered. Hermione sat next to him, brows drawn together anxiously, while she glanced between him and Ron, obviously contemplating switching seats.

He finally forced his feet to move, shaking his head at Hermione. He could do this. What he couldn't do was explain to Ron why Hermione chose to take the fall for him.

"Hi", he somehow choked out, sinking into the seat next to Malfoy.

Malfoy glanced up for an instant, obviously startled that Harry was speaking to him, before nodding shortly. "Potter", he greeted, turning away again.

Harry blinked. It might be his imagination again, but Malfoy seemed a little different from this morning. There was a little, barely discernable crease on his forehead and his mouth was pressed together somehow tensely. Something had him thinking hard, Harry thought. Noticing he was still looking at Malfoy's face, he quickly fixed his eyes on the blackboard instead.

Their professor had already spelled words on it. The left side listed various Shields and other Spells for Protection. The right consisted of Stunners, Binding Curses, Impediment Hexes and some nasty Jinxes. All of them fairly easy, in Harry's opinion. But then again, he'd been the one teaching them to his friends in his 5th year, so maybe he was prejudiced.

"Alright", the short, former Auror said, clearing his throat. John Dawlish was still struggling with his new position. Even after 2 months he looked a little jittery, as he dragged his gaze over his class. Like always, his eyes stayed on Neville a split second longer. Harry wasn't sure how much of what Neville's grandmother had done to him he actually remembered, but it obviously was enough to turn him into a nervous wreck every time he set his eyes on her grandson.

He heard Malfoy snort, a sound so quiet, he would have missed it, if he wasn't sitting right next to him, and felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. Apparently there were things they agreed on. He felt stupid for letting the thought make him a little happy.

"Levitate the desks over there", Dawlish finally said, mentioning to the walls, "we will practice Attacking and Shielding, using exclusively the Spells on the blackboard. Is everyone familiar with all of them?"

The students murmured their agreement, some nodding their heads.

And much too soon Harry was facing Malfoy, who had taken position a few feet away. Watching the familiar setting, he felt transported back in time. But this wasn't 2nd year and the blond just raised his wand in silence, his face a mask of cool concentration.

Slowly, Harry copied him, waiting.

The first Stunner flew off his Shield harmlessly, giving him plenty of time to counter with one of his own. It rebounded off Malfoys Charm, splintering at the transparent barrier Dawlish had cast over each pair. He'd learned from his mistake of transforming his classroom into a battlefield and calling the wrath of the Headmistress on him. It hadn't been pretty.

Harry ducked beneath a red Spell and shot another Hex at Malfoy, who conjured his Shield once more. This went on for some time, Charms of all colours soaring back and forth before shattering at the barrier in a rain of sparks.

Soon, Harry noticed one major downside to duelling Malfoy. He had to bloody look at him. This wasn't just sneaking a peak in secret. He had to practically study the git. To register the long, slender fingers that curled around his wand, to notice the way his clothes clung to his body, to follow the path of his blond hair, sweeping across his forehead when he moved to evade, to look into his grey eyes which were trained on him, relentlessly.

Suddenly it seemed a lot harder to get a firm grip on his wand, which had somehow turned slippery. His Hex soared past his target, missing Malfoy by more than two feet, who raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm over here, Potter", he taunted. "Enlighten me, what is the use of those atrocious glasses of yours? Clearly, they don't enhance your ability to see."

"I see just fine", Harry said, irritated. He liked his glasses. Defiantly he shot a Stunner right at Malfoy's face. He already knew it would never hit, since neither of them had trouble defending against a limited, pre-selected array of Spells, they both knew very well. All they did was shower themselves with sparks of magic.

Sure enough his Spell hit the Shielding Charm and soared on upwards, finding its end at the barrier.

Glitters of light fell around them like snow, some tangling in their hair and Harry almost wished Malfoy had been right and he wasn't able to see how beautiful he looked to him right now.

His blond hair was sparkling with fragments of magic, some loose strands shuffling from the puff that came with dispelling his Shield. He was standing tall, no longer slumping his shoulders under the pressure of a cruel task bestowed upon him. His chest moved as he was breathing a little harder, his lips slightly parted. And he was looking at Harry too, with eyes that, for once, weren't narrowed with anger, nor deceit. They were round as if, in that moment, he was surprised to find the picture before him beautiful too.

Harry bit his lip hard, cursing his imagination that resulted in nothing but false hope and made it harder for him to get over his unhealthy fascination.

"Stop staring, Potter, Weasley might get jealous", Malfoy said then and Harry crashed down to reality, like his broom had been smashed by a Bludger. Sure enough the blond looked like the git he'd always been again, with cool eyes and taunting smirk and everything. But, curiously, his voice had been devoid of his signature sneer.

"We're duelling, Malfoy,", he said, ignoring the familiar heat which was trying to rise in his cheeks. "Unfortunately I have to look at your face." To prove his point, he half-heartedly threw another Spell at him. It rebounded harmlessly, yet again.

Malfoy shook his head at him. "See, Potter, there is definitely something wrong with your eyes. Looking at my face can't be unfortunate. It is quite handsome."

The way he had his head inclined smugly, grinning at him with a crooked smile, he certainly was, Harry thought. "Or you're just stupidly vain", was what he said, instead, shrugging his shoulders. "I heard, you take longer in the bathroom than all of the girls."

He sidestepped the Curse flung at him.

"Wouldn't you know about girlish behaviour", Malfoy mused and Harry froze for a second, before he remembered the barrier also muffled sounds as a side effect.

"Shut up", he muttered, glancing at Ron out of the corner of his eye, who was busy evading an onslaught of Spells Hermione shot at him.

"Oh, don't worry, Potter," Malfoy twirled his wand. "Weasley over there wouldn't notice if I pinned you to the ground and kissed you."

Harry stared, his heart dropping. "What?"

"Merlin, Potter, are you deaf, too? I said, your friend Weasley wouldn't even notice if I pinned you to the ground and hit you."

"Oh."

'Hit', he'd said he wanted to 'hit' him. Right. He let go of his breath, he hadn't noticed he'd been holding.

As soon as Dawlish dissolved the barrier and announced the end of the lesson Harry fled the classroom. If his eyes made him see things that weren't there and his ears made him hear words, that hadn't been spoken, who's to say, he wouldn't go around blurting out stuff he didn't mean to reveal next? He swept through the hallways, not knowing or caring where he was going. There was only one thing he was certain of.

He bloody had to get away from Malfoy.