Chapter 13

"Merlin, would you please stop it, Draco?"

Pansy was annoyed. He could tell by the upside-down, crescent-shaped grimace that was her mouth. He didn't need to hear her snap at him like that. Of course, given the circumstances, he'd already known she was in a bad mood to begin with. And that wasn't just because she'd so far failed in proving McMillan had had anything to do with what had happened to her.

He placed the cup he'd been holding on the table, licking his upper lip. "Stop what?", he asked, savouring the taste. Today's coffee was good. It almost compared to the blends they used to have at the Manor.

Pansy huffed. Which had looked a lot cuter when she'd done it as a giant Puffskein with the fuzzy fur hiding her scowling face.

"You're bloody humming!"

He frowned. "I'm certainly not humming."

Pansy opened her mouth to start what, no doubt, would have been a snappish retort, but doubled over in a coughing fit instead, finally drawing the attention of the last students that hadn't yet been staring her way this morning.

Thankfully, it was over quickly this time and she calmed down after a few seconds, taking a deep, shaky breath.

"It's getting better. The last one was over an hour ago", Draco said, ignoring Pansy's glare.

"Oh, lucky me. I guess I won't be making Muggle Studies interesting, then."

Draco took his time taking another sip. "Not by choking up fur balls. Probably."

Pansy studied the backside of her hand unhappily, then turned it around to look at her palm. The fur was gone, but an unnaturally pink tinge still remained and wouldn't fade for at least another three days, if one believed Madame Pomfrey's prediction.

"Oh, shut up. It's not even that bad. I don't get why they all have to gape like a bunch of quacking toads – What are you laughing at, Blaise?"

"Oh, nothing. Go on with your lover's bickering", he said, grinning broadly and Draco narrowed his eyes at the odd undertone to his voice. It had taken him years, but he now knew there were different levels of smugness with Blaise. Today, he thought, he was positively gloating. Worse than when he scored in Quidditch.

"Get a girlfriend yourself to argue with, won't you?", Draco said, eyebrows raised.

Blaise just chuckled again. But Draco didn't have time to wonder about that, because Potter had just gotten up, making his way to the door. For a split second their eyes met, because he too seemed to be intrigued by Pansy's appearance. The moment passed quickly though and he turned away, whispering something to Granger as they left the Hall for their first lesson.

It was a lesson he was very much looking forward to.

"You're doing it again, Draco."

"Hm?"

He found he rather liked Wednesdays.


Potter was already there when he entered the classroom, absently running one of his hands through his hair. And although Draco had noticed he wasn't as keen on hiding from him any more he still hadn't expected him to be early.

He pushed back the smirk on his lips as he crossed the classroom in a few strides, ignoring Granger's frown, and sunk down next to the Gryffindor, making sure to lightly brush his back with the movement. It was only a faint touch, one that could very well be accidental since there wasn't much space between the seats and the table behind them.

But Potter went rigid at once and this time it was harder not to let the grin surface.

"Potter", he greeted blankly, fetching his textbook from his bag.

"Malfoy."

He'd been reaching for his ink well, but hestitated when the word hit his ears. This wasn't what he'd been anticipating. Potter's voice sounded mostly puzzled today. And sure enough the dark brows were drawn together, studying him with the same expression he'd had when he'd gawked at Pansy before.

He didn't like it.

"Want me to get Crowley to take a picture?", he sneered. "You could frame it, put it above your hideous crimson bed and stare at me all you want."

Potter averted his gaze then, pushing at his glasses, which for once hadn't actually looked crooked.

"No, thanks. Pepper Up Potion works just fine to keep me up."

Slughorn was already striding to the front of the class then, wishing them a good morning and stumbling over his explanation why it was important for this Potion to rest. So Draco had to lean in and keep his answer to a whisper. To not disturb the lesson.

"Why, Potter, whatever did you think to do, staring at me all night?"

Also, and more importantly, to get Potter uncomfortable.

Just as he had done to him while fucking pretending to be insane. Hugging him. And having the nerve to tug on the sensitive hair on the back of his neck. He still remembered the tingles running down and up his back. For that alone he should curse the git into the next century.

Potter had stiffened once more, he could tell by the tension in his usually slouching shoulders and Draco already felt a traitorous smirk tug on the corner of his mouth. But when the Gryffindor half-turned to look at him there was that infuriating frown again.

"Careful, Malfoy", he said softly and even though Potter usually carried all of his emotions on his face, ready for him to read like an open book, he couldn't quite make sense of the look he was giving him now. "People might think you're coming onto me."

He knew he took too long to respond while he was struggling to keep his expression straight. Slughorn had finished going over the instructions and he thought Granger was already lighting the fire beneath her cauldron.

"Who knew? You didn't have to pretend after all", he finally said and stood to get their Potion. "That's downright crazy, Potter."

The Gryffindor just gave him a long look before shrugging and starting to scribble something, surely nonsensical, into his textbook and Draco got the feeling that Potter, like usual, didn't agree with him.

And this time that was a very disturbing thought.


Brewing was something that came to Draco like his wand had done back at Ollivander's. He liked to submerge himself in the process, loving the predictability of it and finding a little peace of mind in the steadiness of the stirring. And that was probably why it took him so long to notice.

"What are you looking at, Patil?", he snarled, when he'd gone to get more Dittany and the girl had halted next to him to stare, pausing with the lid in mid-air.

"Nothing", she chirped and closing the jar, left him alone in the storage room. He'd made sure then that his hair was still perfect and double-checked his robes for stains, even though he'd remembered to cast the Charms today.

Shaking his head he returned to the classroom, smirking at Longbottom's usual scowl when he passed his gurgling failure of a Draught and was just in time to catch Potter's hand, who was in the middle of throwing something into the cauldron.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"It says to put in the Dittany when it starts bubbling bright green with, er, serpentine vapours." The way Potter regarded at him now reminded him of his look, whenever Snape used to distract points from Gryffindor House.

"Does it say to put in a dozen at once?" Draco slowly brought down their hands.

"Uhm..."

He didn't yet let go, although their arms were already safely next to the cauldron. And, curiously, even though his grip was quite loose, Potter didn't tug himself free.

"The leaves have to be added consecutively."

He moved his thumb over the back of his hand slowly, dragging it over his skin in a lazy circle. The Gryffindor remained silent and Draco might have missed the clenching of his jaw, if he hadn't paid attention.

"Put them in one at a time", he said and stepped away, ignoring how the dungeon's air suddenly felt a lot colder on his empty palm.

He watched the other boy pinch one leaf after another between his thumb and forefinger. They fluttered into the cauldron and Draco thought Potter might be trying to follow them all the way down to the bottom, so intently was he staring into it.

Then again, in hindsight, maybe it wasn't the brewing that made him not notice.

When he finally did realise, the lesson had already ended.

His seat was in the first row and since the door was located in the back he had to turn around to the whole class to leave. Usually everyone was busy packing up by then, chatting or, in Longbottom's case, vanishing splotches of spilled ingredients.

He halted.

Usually, they didn't care to glance even in his general direction when he rushed by.

"What the fuck are the lot of you looking at?"

He dragged his gaze over them, left to right, then back. They averted their eyes, but as soon as he turned somewhere else he could already feel them watching again.

Gawking. Like he was the one that had turned pink instead of Pansy.

Gripping the strap of his bag, knuckles turning white, he quickly strode past and fled the room, not stopping until he pushed open the door to the lavatory on the 2nd floor. He braced himself on the basin, peering into the mirror.

There was nothing out of the ordinary. No Squid Ink, no other unsightly splotches, his hair was exactly as it had been this morning, his robes spotless, without even a single grain of dust on them.

His pale reflection frowned back at him, the hollows between his eyebrows deepening.

What had they been looking at?

"It's because of the rumour, you know."

He shifted his gaze to the corner of the mirror. The figure stood next to the door, having slipped in quietly behind him.

"Potter. Of course", he said, turning. "Old habits die hard, don't they?"

The Gryffindor had his arms crossed in front of his chest, his head inclined. "Is it true?", he asked.

Draco raised one eyebrow at him. "I don't know. Do you keep following others to the loo too?"

"Not that", he said, scowling. "The rumour, Malfoy. Is it true?"

Draco could tell Potter was trying not to seem keen, keeping his face mostly blank, but his voice still betrayed his interest.

He shrugged, doing his best to seem nonchalant. "Who knows?" He smiled. "You'll have to elaborate."

For a moment he thought Potter wouldn't. But then he walked over, stopping in front of him and having his green eyes fixing him, Draco was suddenly very aware of the basin in his back that cut off his means of retreat.

"They say", Potter began, "Parkinson actually likes girls."

He hadn't come that close to a Dementor before, but Draco imagined this was what it must feel like when it put it's spindly claws around his gut.

"They say, you're not actually a couple. That it's just an arrangement to keep up appearances."

And it was squeezing, pushing the coldness into every fibre, slowly turning his stomach into a block of ice.

"They say..." Potter was still talking. Still looking at him. And Draco couldn't for the life of him say what his face looked like right now. "... that you're into guys."

He bloody hated Wednesdays.