Chapter 4

Harry found himself very nervous on Saturday morning. Ron had already told him to give it a rest, because his compulsive fretting gave him second-hand anxiety.

When he most certainly did not 'give it a rest', Hermione gave a thoughtful 'hm' that did not bode well, so Harry moved to obsess elsewhere.

"What do you wear when you're going to have tea with somebody?" Harry called loudly, looking helplessly at his robes. Ron and Hermione had come over for breakfast, and they loitered just down the hall.

"Make him stop," he heard Ron groan, followed by a thud that sounded suspiciously like a head clunking down on the dining room table. Harry heard footsteps after an obligatory "Don't be rude, Ronald."

Hermione poked her head in. "You may be overthinking it, Harry. Didn't he already see you in your normal robes when you went to visit Cepheus?"

"I guess, but that didn't go very well," Harry said, knowing he sounded ridiculous. The disagreement had nothing to do with his clothes, although Draco had looked at him rather distastefully. "He's a Malfoy, isn't he? Maybe fancy clothes will make him less of a git."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed. "Are you sure you want to try so hard for someone you think will dislike you based on your clothes?"

Well, when she put it like that.

"It's not like that," he protested, although to be perfectly honest, he had to admit he barely knew Draco at all, or his befriending policy. "I don't think he'll kick me out because of my clothes, but it might help to subconsciously smooth things over. Like, make him hate me slightly less."

Hermione sighed again.

After much deliberation, she got him into a dark, emerald robe he hadn't even realized he had, spelled his hair the tiniest bit less messy (the difference was barely noticeable, if at all), and made him wear black shoes instead of his sneakers (which he protested, but Hermione said that if he wanted her help, he would very well listen to her once she did).

"Are you sure-"

"Yes, yes, the green brings out your eyes, and he won't even notice your shoes because they're black. Really, Harry, you're perfectly handsome," Hermione said with mild exasperation.

"I swear, it's worse than when he took Cho to Hogsmeade," Ron said, making Harry scowl.

"I'm not going on a date," Harry said defensively, because he didn't need Ron making awkward comparisons. He received an indistinguishable grumble in response.

"Just go, Harry," Hermione said, drawing the bickering to a close. "I think he'll care more if you're late than if you're wearing dark green or darker green."

ooo

After Narcissa abandoned him to the portrait entrance, and after climbing enough stairs that he'd probably cry for joy the next time someone said elevator, he once again found himself sitting across from Draco.

The blond regarded him stiffly, an angry set to his jaw. Harry wondered why he cared that Draco hated him.

It was probably because he understood why Draco hated him.

Hermione had also already broached the subject. The saving-people-thing. It was natural to want to help someone, though, wasn't it? There was no reason for Draco to stay hidden away, a rumor that had died years ago and had faded into a distant memory ever since.

Draco barely spoke a word to him, and Harry lost his temper more than once, and felt guilty for his missteps more than that.

But when Narcissa asked if he'd like to come again next Saturday, he promptly agreed, as though afraid she would retract the offer if he didn't answer quickly enough.

ooo

The visits continued in a similar fashion. Harry might or might not have bought a few more better-quality robes, but no matter what Ron or Hermione said, it wasn't for Draco. He didn't want Narcissa to stop inviting him back because she thought him a slob, that was all.

The clothes had done nothing to mitigate her son's dislike; Draco had yet to say more to him than a scathing, underhanded comment here or there.

At least intentionally. Sometimes he would let things slip, a bitter witticism about his solitude or his invisibility in the wizarding world, which kept Harry coming back regardless of the unpleasantness. Hermione said he had the patience of a saint. Ron said he was a bloody idiot.

Tiredly, Harry pushed open Draco's door several Saturdays later, expecting more of the same, but he discovered that the blond had left his usual place by the tea table, playing the seethingly courteous host. He stared out the window, and instead of his robes he donned a simple but clearly expensive white shirt and dark trousers. His tie hung loose and his hair tumbled around his face, casually mussed.

"Draco?" he asked uncertainly.

"Why do you keep coming back?" he asked flatly. Harry couldn't see his face. The blond rarely looked at him, come to think of it, lacking the combative forthrightness he'd had during their first two meetings. Harry scowled in irritation.

"To see you," he said peevishly. "Obviously."

"That's not what I meant," Draco snapped back with equal ire. "And you know it. Is it my mother? You owe her a life debt, don't you? You don't need to keep coming. I'll tell her I sent you away, and after what you did for Cepheus and our family name, she can hardly guilt you into it."

"What?" Harry asked, flabbergasted, his indignation lost to his bewilderment. That line of thought hadn't even occurred to him. "No, I come to see you."

"I'm horrid to you," Draco said bluntly, making Harry blink in surprise. "You'd be a bloody idiot if you could honestly tell me you want to be here."

Harry felt his face heat up. "Well, you're a bloody idiot if you think I'd come here just to fulfil some sort of...of...favor!"

"Well, why not?" Draco snapped back, turning around to glare at him with gleaming eyes. It said something about how much he'd ignored him, that Harry almost preferred the change. "It's either that, or pity. So which is it?"

"You're right," Harry retorted hotly, too furious to care much about offending the sod. "You're such a git, I probably should be getting some sort of compensation for spending time with you. It'd be ridiculous if I actually gave a shit about you."

"I know I'm right. You're the one who's trying to play save-the-squib. Why don't you just donate to the bloody Squib Support Society, if you're so determined to find a charity case."

"Maybe I will!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Harry threw his hands up, turning on his heel, the stairs only a few paces away since he'd never gotten past the threshold. He stormed down them, stomping so that his footsteps gave a satisfying echo up the spiral, hoping that Draco could hear him all of the way.

When he stepped out of the portrait, he rested against the wall, out of breath. The exertion of running down them so fast had burned out some of his anger. He felt an odd sinking in his chest, that had nothing to do with his pounding heart.

"Leaving already?" Raiponce asked him, looking at him with vague concern.

"I-" Harry started, his voice cracking.

He realized that he hadn't waited long enough for Narcissa to come up and invite him back. She'd always visit after an hour or two, take a cup of tea with them, and insist that he come by again. He realized Draco had started the fight right away on purpose; he'd meant to send Harry away. He'd never intended to serve him tea; the cups hadn't been out, and he'd not even been dressed.

Harry felt a spark of anger return at being manipulated like that, and secretly a little hurt that Draco had planned to get rid of him ahead of time.

Harry snatched up his wand, stuffing it in his robe and determined to leave and never come back.

"Draco's friends used to come visit him," Raiponce said idly, causing Harry to draw up short.

"What?"

"A couple of boys. Goyle and Crabbe. A girl would come too, little Pansy Parkinson, and she'd always insist that there'd been some sort of mistake, that Draco just hadn't yet matured into his magic. They'd been engaged, you know, so she thought she it was a test of their 'love' and her 'faith.' She used to come carrying stacks of books for Hogwarts, so that when he 'got back his magic', he wouldn't be too far behind."

Harry felt cold. "What happened?"

"Oh, you know how kids are. They'll promise to be together forever, but the boys stopped coming around as often, and the girl eventually realized that Draco would never 'get back' his magic. Her mother had never approved of her association with Draco. She used to sneak away from the parties in the Manor in order to see him."

"They stopped coming?" Harry asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

"Even Cepheus stopped coming by around a year ago," Raiponce flicked at her hair, wearing a disdainful expression. "Nowadays he's started visiting again, but from his mood when he comes out, I'd say that Draco won't speak to him more than necessary."

"No one else...?"

"His mother," Raiponce said. "Has always visited every day. Never missed one, even during the war. And Severus Snape used to come by often, but I heard he died. Shame."

Harry stood there silently. "You want me to go back up to see him, don't you?" he asked.

"Oh no," she said indifferently. Twist-twist, went her hair. "It's completely up to you. I wouldn't dream of trying to change your mind."

"Well in that case, I'm still leaving," he said, edging slowly down the hall.

"Fine," she agreed serenely.

"Fine," he retorted.

He halted just a few steps later, letting out a defeated groan.

"If the git asks, you made me do this," he said to her, earning a smug look. He sent her a grimace.

He bloody well would make up with Draco after this, because he had climbed these stairs twice in a single day to see him, and the second trip took twice as long as usual because of his burning muscles.

He shuffled to the door quietly, hoping to spot the blond and come up with a plan of action before storming in, but drew up short when he saw Draco remained perched on the sill of the window.

Draco had huddled in on himself, hugging his knees to chest and hiding his face behind them. His shoulders were shaking, and Harry heard a quiet sob. He felt his heart stutter uncertainly, and his mind drew a blank.

He placed his next foot down too heavily, and Draco's head shot up at the sound, his eyes rimmed an ugly red. They stared at each other, both caught out by the other.

"Get out," Draco responded first, his voice high and strained. At the loud command, Harry stumbled back a few steps automatically. "Get out!"

"No, wait-"

"Crucio," Draco shouted, throwing a glass ornament that shattered behind him.

Harry flinched back reflexively, although he felt rather foolish when he remembered that Draco didn't have magic, and he clearly hadn't been trying to really hit him. The object had flown far too wide, nowhere near on target. He felt so confused; Draco had been crying, and now he was shouting Unforgivables that they both knew he couldn't cast.

"What are you-"

"You think I wouldn't, Potter?" Draco hissed, rising to his feet furiously. "You think if I had magic, you'd like me at all? I know more dark magic than you ever will, so you can stop imagining me as your poor, innocent, helpless charity case."

"I wasn't-"

"You're lying," Draco cut him off again, his hands shaking with rage. "Just leave."

He briskly strode past Harry, heading for the other set of stairs, the ones that led up. Harry caught his arm, clinging when Draco tried to shake him off. He wasn't lying, yet he knew he'd never believe him. He didn't know the right thing to say, nothing spontaneously inspired him, and somehow even mentioning the Dursleys made him feel like he was turning their problems into a competition.

He didn't know if Draco had been upset because they'd fought, or if they'd fought because he'd been upset.

"I'll come back next Saturday," Harry blurted out, fingers tightening. "I'll keep coming back. I promise."

Draco stared at him flatly, his gaze all the more acerbic when rimmed with red.

"Why do you hate me so much?" Harry asked helplessly, when Draco finally twisted himself out of his grip.

He proceeded up the second set of stairs without another word. A door slammed shut.

"I'll come back," Harry called after him eventually, receiving no acknowledgement.

Defeated, he left.

ooo

I wrote this as a teenager… it's a little embarrassing now, reading it over; I don't think it's very good. I had so much written for it, though, it almost feels a waste not to post it… Idk. I was feeling nostalgic and reading old files. If you don't like it, I don't blame you, but if you want to be nice to my teen!self, feel free to say hello.