Roll and fall in green

by Dontthrowsticksatme

Draco Malfoy starts Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with high hopes. Then he discovers he's in the same year as the biggest celebrity in the country: The Boy Who Lived. (This is basically the Harry Potter series from Draco's point of view, with a Drarry-twist. It is also my other fic Crimson and Clover from Draco's point of view.)

3. Chapter 3: Yours

Chapter 3: Yours

Father's laugh echoed scathingly through the Manor.

Rubbing the sleeping dust out of his eyes, Draco made his way down the Grand Staircase. His father was standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall, reading the Daily Prophet.

'Good morning, Dragonchild,' he called, sounding more cheerful than he'd been all summer. 'Your friends are in the paper.' He let out another loud, derisive laugh and handed Draco the newspaper.

'MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw. A delighted Mr Weasley told the Daily Prophet, 'We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank.' The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hog warts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.'

Draco scanned the moving photograph accompanying it, and a smirk spread across his face as he saw all nine of the Weasleys waving furiously, standing in front of a large pyramid. Smack in the middle of the picture was the Monkey-Weasley, tall and gangling, with – Draco swore he wasn't making this up – a live rat on his shoulder. He had his arm around the Girl-Weasley, the lurker, Harry's not-so-secret admirer.

Draco scowled seeing her, painfully remembering how she got saved by a sword-wielding Harry J. Potter at the end of last year. It was too early to be confronted with his worst enemies like this.

'Seven hundred Galleons,' jeered his father, 'and it makes the newspaper! Next time I find a Knut on the street we'll make the front page!'

They walked over to the Dining Room, where Draco's mother was sipping tea and apparently gruesomely burning her lips on it. 'Put –' she quickly stifled the curse word when she spotted Draco. 'My two favourite men in the world.'

'Here, my lady, this will give you a laugh,' said Father, handing the paper to Draco's mother.

Being a quick reader, she put it down within seconds, smirking. 'Absolutely typical,' she drawled. 'Finally land themselves some playing money and throw it down the drain on the first thing they can think of.'

'My thoughts exactly!' Draco's father jeered. 'Decorating the house to match the cat! I almost feel we ought to help the poor sods. '

'Gosh, imagine that… They are positively clueless. Even something as simple as building up a little nest egg is beyond them.'

Father shook his head. 'Look at that photo. Poor man.'

'Poor woman,' snarled Mother.

'Why does that one have vermin on their garment?'

'Look at their postures. Our family Healer would go feral.'

Silently sipping his tea, Draco enjoyed the show. It was the prerogative of being the Malfoy heir to witness his parents' private vilifications.

The blissful moment got ruined when Tinsel, their single left-over House Elf, showed up to bring more tea.

'I cannot believe we lost Dobby,' Mother immediately said. 'I still cannot understand how you could have let that happen, Lucius. Why did you take him out of the house in the first place?'

Draco sat up a little straighter. The whole situation had been hushed up and Draco never got to hear what happened with the old House Elf, as if he wasn't part of this household.

'I already explained myself,' said Father. 'I do not wish to discuss it any further.'

'The Manor demands more than a single House Elf to run it, Lucius. If you think I –'

Father's butterknife clanged on his plate. 'I would loathe to see you make your hands dirty, my heartbeat, you know how much of a turn-off a working woman is to me.' He punctuated his words with his walking stick, 'Dirt! Callus!'

Draco's mother shuddered. 'Oh, enough, enough!'

Draco used their lack of attention to put way too much jam on his croissant. It dripped over his hands on his plate. That's the way he liked it.

'But, moonbeam, imagine the looks when our guest notice the same House Elf twice. What will we do?' Mother rubbed Father's arm and shoulders. 'I need a new House Elf.'

Father gave her a kiss. 'And I will get you one.'

Draco raised his eyebrows. House Elves weren't for sale or anything. He wondered where his father could possibly be getting them a new one.

A playful smile lit up his mother's eyes. 'Oh, you are just pleasing me…'

Draco's father smirked. 'My favourite pastime.'

It yielded him a kiss.

Draco had enough of the sticky stuff this early in the morning. 'Did you know Harry–'

Immediately, Father lashed out. 'No! I will not hear the name of that blood-traitor anymore! Not now, not ever, not at this house, do you hear me? Especially not at the breakfast table!'

Baffled, Draco stammered, 'What? Since when? Why not?'

'I said no, Draconius!'

His mother gasped. 'Oh!'

At once, Father was distracted. 'What is it, my dearest?'

'My cousin!' Mother pushed the paper in his direction and with their heads bend together, they read an article. Curious, Draco walked over and they made room for him to read too.

'SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPED FROM AZKABAN,' the headline read.

'Your cousin... He escaped Azkaban?' his father said. 'That dim-witted prankster escaped the most heavily guarded prison in the world?'

'How did he manage?' muttered his mother. 'Even Bel could not.'

There was a picture accompanying the article. Draco looked into the shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, the only part of the sunken face that seemed alive. Draco had never met a vampire, but he had seen pictures of them, and Black, with his waxy white skin, looked just like one.

'Is that my uncle?'

'First cousin once removed,' muttered his mother. 'Do we worry, Lucius?'

'Never!' With a flourish, Draco's father grabbed his walking stick. 'He should worry about us.'

Draco scanned the article. His eyes widened. 'He killed thirteen people?'

His father scoffed. 'As if.'

Draco almost missed the look his mother shot his father, just before his dad snatched the newspaper away. 'Do not worry, Draco. It is all ancient history.'

Draco let out a sigh. 'The less us Malfoys know the better?' he repeated last year's advice.

Father smiled. 'Smart lad. Go fly your little Nimbus. Now, my heartbeat, I will go and bully someone into getting us a House Elf.'

Mother clapped her hands. 'Oh yay, moonbeam!' She kissed him again and Draco fled the room. He'd seen enough.

First things first, however, and he went to the Library to find out what Sirius Black had done. How did someone kill thirteen people in one blow? He must have been incredibly powerful.

Draco didn't understand how the man fitted into his family. His parents did not seem happy to see him returned, even though they were family and should have been on the same side during the war if he was in Azkaban like aunty Bel.

Wait a minute! Thirteen people, Draco remembered a fact like that. "Only a toe left" was another fact that popped into his head.

Draco ran upstairs to fetch The Boy Who Lived: A Biography of Harry Potter from his bedroom's bookcase. Jumping on his bed with it, he flipped through the index pages.

Black, Sirius – page 30-35.

Reading the chapter again, he gasped: Sirius Black betrayed Potter's parents! He was the one who told the Dark Lord where to find them. He was the reason the Dark Lord killed Harry's mom and dad!

Perhaps that was the reason why Draco's parents didn't like him, he thought – because of Sirius Black the Dark Lord had been killed. It had meant the end of the Golden Days.

And now this man was at large again. Draco wondered if this meant Harry was in danger. He wished he could ask his parents, but Draco's father had been pretty clear about discussing Potter. For whatever reason.

He wondered if Harry wanted revenge. Draco would.

. . .

On the journey back to Hogwarts after summer, Draco wanted to stretch his restless legs. Vincent and Gregory accompanied him. Mid-afternoon, just as it had started to rain, blurring the rolling hills outside the window, Draco happened to notice Harry Potter, sharing a compartment with his useless friends. Before he knew it, he was pulling open the compartment door.

'Well, look who it is,' he said in a lazy drawl. 'Potter and his Weasel.' Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. 'I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley. Did your mother die of shock?'

'Shut up, Draco,' Harry said, while Weasley stood up so quickly he knocked a basket to the floor.

A snoring sound drew Draco's attention to the window seat. Something he had taken for a ball of rags appeared to be a human, sitting fast asleep next to the window. An adult human.

The Hogwarts Express was usually reserved for students and he had never seen an adult there before, except for the witch who pushed the food trolley.

'Who's that?' Draco asked, taking an automatic step backwards.

The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard's robes which had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light-brown hair was flecked with grey.

'New teacher,' said Harry, who had got to his feet, too.

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'C'mon,' he muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, and they walked out.

'A teacher?' he muttered at his friends and they shrugged.

'Oh come on, Dra! He won't bite!'

Looking around, Draco saw Harry leaning out of the compartment with a broad, jeering grin on his filthy face. Draco couldn't stop smiling for a full half hour.

. . .

'I'm hungry,' Vincent complained, as the gale outside pounded their carriage.

The words had hardly left him when the train started to slow down.

'Are we there?' said Vincent hopefully.

'We can't be,' said Draco, looking out of the window. 'Why are we stopping?'

The train was going slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows.

'Come on.' Draco ushered his friends to take a walk through the corridor, to see if anyone knew what was up. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments, when suddenly the train came to a full stop. Distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. The sudden jolt made Vincent bump into Draco, and Draco bump into Gregory.

'Sod off!' snarled Draco, pushing Gregory away.

Then, without warning, all the lights went out and they were plunged into total darkness.

'Ouch! That's my foot!'

'I can't see!'

Further down the carriage somebody cast Lumos, shining a little light on what was happening. Draco peeked over Vincent's shoulder.

Standing in the carriage corridor, illuminated by the faint light of the wand, was a cloaked figure that towered all the way to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, greyish, slimy-looking and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water…

For a moment, Draco froze, stuck between Vincent and Gregory, staring at the monster. Then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it was trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings. An intense cold swept over them. The cold went deeper than Draco's skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart…

'AAUGH!' Draco pushed Vincent aside and bolted headfirst into the nearest compartment. Elbowing his way through the people inside, he hid behind some taller students. He wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes. The coldness made him feel miserable, worse than he had ever done before. It felt like he would never be happy again.

Apart from the gasps of the other students, it was awfully quiet. Nobody talked, nobody shouted or screamed.

Shivering, Draco braced himself, when suddenly the lights went on again. The temperature went back to normal, and along with the carriage-lights, it felt like the light in Draco's heart had switched on again too.

'Hey, little wanker! Get out!'

Someone laughed mockingly. 'Did you piss yourself, little git?'

'Not so cocky now, ay?'

Draco looked up and his heart sank in his stomach. Out of all compartments in the train, he had ran into the one with the worst bullies in school: the Weasley twins and their gang of Gryffindor scum.

'Shut up,' he mumbled, trying to make his way out of the compartment as quick as he could, but one of the twins grabbed his collar.

'What did you say?'

'Here,' said the other one, 'take some candy. Treat your friends.'

They stuffed his pockets and, still roaring with laughter, they pushed him out of the compartment with such force that he tumbled on the floor.

Vincent and Gregory had lifted him back on his feet, and before Draco could stop them, they had spotted the candy and were stuffing several pieces of it into their mouths. At once, Vincent began to itch like a madman, while his tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth, while Gregory started jumping from one foot onto the other like he was standing on hot coals. 'Ouch, ouch, ouch!' he squeaked, with a voice sounding like he inhaled helium.

The Gryffindors roared with laughter.

'Buffoons!' Draco hissed at his friends, pushing them along the corridor to get them to Pansy or Alexander Orlando.

'I was with Harry Potter –'

Draco wheeled around to see who said that and saw Longbottom leaning into one of the compartments. 'The Dementor got inside our compartment. We all felt terrible. It felt like we would never be happy again.'

Yes yes, Draco thought, what about Harry?

'Did any of you pass out though?' Neville asked. 'Harry fainted.'

Harry fainted?! Draco couldn't help but let out a derisive laugh.

Neville's head popped out of the compartment, looking terrified as always.

'Potter fainted?!' Draco jeered. 'Oh my! Wait till Pansy hears this!'

He dragged the hopping and scratching Vincent and Gregory along to Pansy's compartment.

. . .

At last, the carriage swayed to a halt – for real this time – and Draco, Vincent and Gregory got out. Crabbe and Goyle still couldn't talk normally, but at least the combined efforts of Pansy, Draco, Alexander Orlando and Adrian Pucey made them stop itching and jumping around. The two nimrods were the only ones not laughing their heads off. Pansy borrowed Blaise Zabini's camera to capture the moment forever in a dozen photos, angering Crabbe and Goyle even more. By the time they left the train, the two of them were in a foul mood. Hunger and humiliation seemed to be an explosive combination.

The field in front of the castle, where the carriages landed, was crowded. Draco craned and finally spotted Harry Potter getting out two carriages away from them. Delighted, Draco pushed his way through the crowd to reach him and leaned against the carriage.

'You fainted, Potter?' he drawled as Harry stepped down.

Harry tensed up and seemed to want to walk away, so Draco elbowed past Granger to block Potter's way up the stone steps to the castle. 'Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?'

'Shove off, Malfoy,' said Weasley, whose jaw was clenched.

'Did you faint as well, Weasley?' said Draco loudly. 'Did the scary old Dementor frighten you, too, Weasley?'

'Is there a problem?' said a mild voice.

The ball of rags they'd seen in Harry's compartment had just got out of the next carriage.

Draco gave the man an insolent stare, which took in the patches on his robes and the dilapidated suitcase. With a hint of sarcasm in his voice, he said, 'Oh, no – er – Professor,' then he smirked at Vincent and Gregory, and lead them up the steps into the castle.

Blaise Zabini joined them halfway along. 'Potter fainted? For real?'

Draco grinned, looking round at The Boy Who Lived. 'Not so fearless after all, is he?'

They all had a great laugh about it.

. . .

The next morning, Draco waited until every Slytherin was at the breakfast table before he told them the great scoop about The Boy Who Lived.

'The Boy Who Fainted!' he concluded, before doing a dramatic impression of a swooning fit. The entire table roared with laughter.

'There he is, there he is!'

'Hey Potter!' shrieked Pansy. 'Potter! The Dementors are coming, Potter! Woooooooo!'

'What did it look like, Draco?' asked Vincent. 'How did Potter faint?'

Delighted, Draco pretended to faint in terror again. And again and again. Glancing at the Gryffindor table he saw every Weasley watching him with a dark look on their faces, and even Potter sneaked a peek over his shoulder at him.

So busy being funny, Draco hardly had time to eat. Harry left quickly that morning. As soon as Draco saw him get up, he jumped up too, to send him off with another fainting-impression.

This time, Potter looked – and he smiled, showing Draco his middle finger.

Draco fell back in his chair, feeling satisfied. 'Pass me the bacon,' he interrupted Gregory asking for another impression.

. . .

As they went down the sloping lawns to Hagrid's hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Draco told Crabbe and Goyle about all the hilariously dull Muggle inventions Jason had been talking about during Quidditch practice. However much Draco had objected, Jason the Mudblood had been accepted as their new Chaser, and however Draco hated to admit it, he was a fairly tolerable Chaser too.

When they arrived at their first Care of Magical Creatures class, Draco carefully took out his book, which he had bound shut with a length of rope.

'I can't believe this monstrosity get approved by the board,' he drawled. Vincent and Gregory grunted in agreement.

Glancing around at the group to see how the others had dealt with their books, Draco froze.

'Merde.' he hissed. 'This class is with Gryffindor!'

'What's the matter, Draconius?' jeered Pansy. 'Not happy to see your best friend?'

'Shut up, Pansy, he's not–…' His voice trailed off.

Harry Potter was staring into space with a sullen expression. His friends were standing with their backs towards each other, like they were having a fight. Draco frowned.

'Now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do,' Hagrid started the class, demanding Draco's attention, 'is open yer books –'

'How?' drawled Draco.

'Eh?' said Hagrid.

'How do we open our books?' Draco repeated. He showed his bound-up copy of The Monster Book of Monsters.

'Yeh've got ter stroke 'em,' said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. 'Look…' He took Granger's copy and ripped off the Spellotape that bound it. The book tried to bite, but Hagrid ran a giant fore finger down its spine, and the book shivered, then fell open and lay quiet in his hand.

'Oh, how silly we've all been!' Draco sneered. 'We should have stroked them! Why didn't we guess!'

'I… I thought they were funny,' Hagrid said uncertainly.

'Oh, tremendously funny! Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!'

'Stand down, Dra,' Harry told him.

Draco scowled, but when Hagrid looked the other way, Harry pulled up his sleeve to show Draco a messy wound on his wrist.

Draco clenched his fists. Did the boy just walk around with injuries like that, he thought, as if they were a part of life they just had to bear?

'Righ' then,' said Hagrid, stammering like he had no clue what he was doing. 'So… so yeh've got yer books an'… an'… now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I'll go an' get 'em. Hang on…'

He strode away from them into the Forest and out of sight, leaving the class alone for minutes on end.

'Did he never get the memo about class preparation?' snarled Pansy.

'God, this place is going to the dogs,' said Draco. 'That oaf teaching classes, my father'll have a fit when I tell him –'

'Shut up, Draco,' said Harry.

'Careful, Potter, there's a Dementor behind you.'

Harry shot him an exhausted look and Draco couldn't help but grin.

Still, there was no sign of their "teacher". Glancing in the direction of the Forest Hagrid had disappeared in, Draco grew restless. He spotted Harry scratching his arm. Draco wondered if the wound hurt. Why didn't he fix it up?

Merde, this wouldn't do.

'Where are you going?' asked Vincent.

Draco pretended not to hear. As inconspicuous as he could, he swaggered closer to Potter, and in a careless gesture while passing, he locked the Weasel's legs together with a Leg-Locker curse. In the chaos that ensued he swiftly seized Potter's arm. 'Episkey.'

The wounds on Harry's wrist healed, satisfying Draco immensely.

Hands in his pockets, he stalked back to his friends. Forcing himself to look casual, he turned away from Harry – and looked straight into Pansy's mocking face.

'He's smiling at you,' she jeered.

'Shut up.'

Pansy laughed her loud shrieking laugh, and Draco felt like smacking her around the head.

Thankfully, Hagrid came back right that moment, a bunch of huge animals in tow: half horse, half eagle.

Crabbe leaned over to Draco. 'What'd you do that for?'

'Be specific, Vinciento.'

Gregory nodded at Potter and Draco pushed him with both hands, as if that had any effect. 'Don't look, idiot! What do you mean, "What did I do that for?" He was bleeding!'

'So?' said Vincent, scowling.

'So… I like healing people.'

'You gon' be a Healer?' asked Gregory, wide-eyed.

Draco stared at him. It had never crossed his mind that healing wounds could be monetized – a career…

'Gregorius, you genius! I might be!' he hissed, feeling suddenly excited. He looked around for Pansy to tell her the news. 'Pansy! Pánsy!'

She was whispering with Tracey Davis.

'Pánsy! I might –'

'I'll do it,' said the slow, husky voice of Harry Potter.

Draco whirled around and caught the Boy Who Lived staring straight at him.

There was an intake of breath and for some reason both Lavender and Parvati whispered, 'Oooh, no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!'

Harry ignored them. He climbed over the paddock fence and walked up to the monstrous creatures.

'He'll do what? What's he doing?' hissed Draco at his friends. 'I literally just fixed him up! I blink for a second –'

'Good man, Harry!' roared Hagrid. 'Right then – let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak.'

He untied one of the chains, pulled the grey Hippogriff away from his fellows and slipped off his leather collar.

The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath. Draco narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

'Easy now, Harry,' said Hagrid. 'Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink – Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much…'

'Makes two of us,' mumbled Draco. Behind him, Pansy snorted.

Harry stared at the monster unblinkingly, and Draco shuffled his feet. If Potter'd stared at him the way he was staring at the animal, Draco's knees would not have held him anymore. His eyes could make anyone bow.

'Ten Galleons the bird eats Hagrid,' whispered Blaise Zabini next to them. Shuddering, he looked away. 'I don't like birds.'

Buckbeak had turned his great, sharp head, and was staring at Harry with one fierce orange eye.

'Ten Galleons he'll hurt Potter,' hissed Pansy.

'Ten if Draco runs to heal him,' added Imogen Stratton.

The Slytherins all sniggered. Draco just glared at them, then quickly fixed his eyes back on Potter.

'Tha's it,' said Hagrid. 'Tha's it, Harry… now, bow…'

Draco hated this assignment. He wouldn't have liked Potter bowing for anything, let alone a straight-out monster. Exposing the bare neck of Harry Potter to something thrice his size, with claws and a beak like an eagle, did not sound like a suitable curriculum to Draco. This beast could peck him up like a snack and take off before anyone could blink, and then it would be goodnight Vienna to the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

'Ten if Draco hexes Hagrid,' mumbled Vincent.

Another round of laughs from his friends. Draco was a little too worried to respond. The Hippogriff was still staring haughtily at Potter. It didn't move.

'Ah,' said Hagrid, finally sounding worried too. 'Right – back away, now, Harry, easy does it –'

Draco reached for his wand.

He imagined himself saving The Boy Who Lived. Everyone panicking, but Draco Malfoy kept his cool, strutting over to Episkey the heck out of Harry Potter. It would be all over the news. His parents would collect the newspaper clippings in an album to show all their friends, but whenever anyone mentioned it, Draco would just say 'Oh right, that happened… It was nothing really.'

The Hippogriff bent his scaly front knees, and sank into what was an unmistakeable bow.

Draco put back his wand, feeling relief and disappointment at the same time.

'Well done, Harry!' said Hagrid, ecstatically. 'Right – yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!'

'Sure,' Draco muttered, 'push his luck straight out of the ballpark, why don't you? Gamble with his life, who cares? It's only The Boy Who Lived.'

His friends sniggered. Draco crossed his arms, scowling.

Harry moved slowly towards the Hippogriff and reached out towards him. He patted the beak several times and the Hippogriff closed his eyes lazily, as though enjoying it.

The class broke into applause, all except for the Slytherins, who could already guess what would happen next.

'OK, who else wants a go?' said Hagrid, predictably.

Exchanging last looks, the Slytherins took deep breaths and dragged themselves up to the beasts.

'We'll take that one,' Draco decided when it was his turn to convince the monster not to kill them, nodding at the monster that had bowed for Harry Potter. 'I trust the others even less.'

Draco locked eyes with it and didn't blink. He bowed and the bird bowed. Feeling entirely bored with the subject by then, Draco swaggered over to pat the bird's beak.

'This is very easy,' he drawled, looking around. 'I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it…' He shared a smirk with Vincent and Gregory. 'I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?' Draco chatted. 'Are you, you ugly great brute?'

It happened in a flash of steely talons; Draco let out a high-pitched scream, feeling pain like he had never felt before. Next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Draco, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes.

His arm hurt like nothing had ever hurt in his life… until he stopped feeling anything at all; which was somehow worse. He read about that. 'I'm dying!' he yelled. 'It's killed me!'

Harry Potter knelt down beside him. 'Episkey,' he tried, to no avail. 'Episkey! Stop yelling!' He held Draco's arm tight. 'You're making it worse, you dramatic bastard.'

'I'm dying, look at me!'

Draco panicked seeing his own blood gushing from his arm. He tried not to look at the wound, but couldn't stop himself from wanting to find out how bad it was.

'Yer not dyin'!' said Hagrid. 'Someone help me – gotta get him out ta here –'

Hagrid lifted him like he weighed nothing. While Draco stared at his own blood splattering the grass, Hagrid ran with him, up the slope towards the castle. It made Draco feel nauseous and light in the head. His blood splattered the castle tiles. Two or three people bent their heads around as they passed them through the corridors and up the stairs to the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey hardly flinched when she spotted them. Draco got dropped on a bed, whimpering in shock at the sight of his mutilated arm. He couldn't move it anymore, and that scared the living daylight out of him. His own arm felt like a prop.

Pomfrey started casting healing spells and tiny pinpricks made their way from his shoulder to the tips of his fingers. The pinpricks grew into painful stabs, until a hot shot of pain surged through him like an icy knife. He tried to get away from the pain, screaming and writhing so badly Hagrid had to hold him still, but there was no escaping his own body. Tears streaming down his face, he vainly tried to kick Pomfrey away and yank himself free from Hagrid.

Almost as quickly as it came up, the aching faded. Madame Pomfrey's hands wiped his face dry. 'Brave boy. The worst is over. Here, drink this.'

He felt cold glass on his lips and messily swallowed. A sob escaped him, out of relief and left-over shock, and he felt himself collapsing when someone caught him. Still feeling shocked, he finally became aware of his surroundings and heard someone cry.

'Draco…' Pansy's voice broke. She pulled him close, shaking from crying. 'You stupid sod.'

Too dazed to talk, he put his good arm around the small of her back and allowed himself to lean on her.

Slowly, his body started realising the danger was gone. First his muscles relaxed, one by one. Then his breathing went from sobbing heaves to panting and gradually slowed down to heavy, but steady breathing. His heart was still racing, but it wasn't pounding out of his chest anymore.

His arm – Draco looked at the bloodied skin, his ripped robes and trembling fingers – his arm worked again. It throbbed and ached; it was alive.

Footsteps on the tiles. Voices in the distance. Sunlight playing on white linen. Roosters crowing outside.

'That really hurt,' Draco muttered.

Pansy stroked his head and flashed a watery smile. 'I noticed.'

'Oh Pansy,' he suddenly remembered, 'I'm going to be a Healer.'

She sat down next to him on the bed. Draco lay his head on her shoulder.

'That would make me so proud,' said Pansy, holding his hand. 'I'd be boasting about you all the time. Mention my friend who's a healer every other sentence until nobody wants to talk to me again… There's really infinite ways to annoy people; sometimes it baffles me.'

Draco felt his breathing slowing down. It had never felt so nice to just breath and not feel pain. He sipped his drink until it was all gone.

'Harry positively ran to save you,' whispered Pansy; Draco heard the smile in her voice. 'He worships you.'

'Does not,' whispered Draco, too tired to argue.

'It's really obvious. He laughs at your stupid jokes. He stares at you all the time. I bet he's going to visit you here, for no reason at all; you never visit him. Why aren't you nicer to him?'

'Stop… talking…'

It was a fair question, though. Why was he so mean to Harry Potter? Perhaps it was overcompensation, he supposed. There just wasn't a way to casually talk to Harry J. Potter without showing how much he idolised the boy.

After sitting there quietly for ages, Madame Pomfrey came back with bandages. Silent with awe, Draco followed the motions with which she wrapped them around his wrist, his thumb, his forearm and his elbow.

'I love you,' he told her.

'That's the painkiller,' Madame Pomfrey told Pansy.

Draco didn't understand what she meant, but let it flow away from him like clouds in a storm.

'Do you think I have jug ears?' he asked.

'Yes,' said Pansy. 'They look cute.'

'You look cute.'

A mean smile appeared on Pansy's face. 'Draco?'

'Your nose looks funny.'

'I know, darling. Tell me,' she grabbed his face. 'What's your opinion on Harry Potter?'

Draco smiled. 'Harry's my homeboy.'

It was a word he'd heard Jason the Mudblood use. It meant: 'boy you feel at home with,' Draco assumed.

'Should I ask him out for you?' asked Pansy, smirking.

Draco frowned. 'The lady never asks the gentleman, Pansington. Mind your P's and Q's.'

Grunting, she let go of him. 'Useless Malfoy.'

. . .

On Sunday morning, after a long, long night and an even longer week, Draco was staring out of the far window to the square of solid blue that was his only outlook on life these days. During the past hours, he'd watched it turn from black to ink blue, to indigo, to –

Somebody interrupted his view – to put something on his nightstand.

'Potter,' Draco heard himself ascertain while the boy tiptoed away.

Harry jumped.

'What time is it?' The sun was barely up. Draco had been there to see it happen. 'You have no idea how much I'm suffering, Potter. The night I just had… I've been awake for ages, absolutely ages. This room is too darn light, I'm telling you. I told Miss Useless over there, more than once to be exact, but she flat out refuses to install some blinds. I'd kill for some curtains right now, literally kill, Potter, how did you put up with it? Do they have a special room for celebrities? If that's the case, I deserve to stay there too. I'm Draco bleeding Malfoy, tell her that. And those worthless painkillers only work for, like, the blink of an eye, I keep waking up in pain. It's all agony, Harry, absolute agony. Anyway, why are you here?'

Harry was beaming. 'No reason,' he said after a few seconds of baffled silence. 'Brought you some stuff.'

He looked around for a place to sit and Draco moved over. When Harry Potter sat down on Draco's bed Draco couldn't help but feel victorious.

'How's your arm?' Potter asked.

Draco scowled. 'My arm's fine! You know, there is a person behind the arm.'

The corners of Harry's mouth twitched. 'Oh, right.' He leaned closer to Draco's arm. 'How's Draco?'

'Oh, such a hoot, Potter, spare me.'

Draco stretched his good arm to Harry's gifts on the nightstand. 'Oh Merlin… you brought Vanity thy name is Vampire, that's…' Draco felt himself smiling, although trying very hard to pull it together. 'I love that one – Oh!'

Spotting the speculoos, Draco slammed it on the top of the nightstand to break it in half, and he handed Harry a piece.

Harry shook his head. 'I need to go back.'

'Why?' Draco sneered. 'Oh, so important, you are. What appointments do you have then, Scarhead, at 7 am on Sunday morning?'

Harry looked at him with a marvellously torn face. It was one of the things Draco liked about him: how easy it was to read the boy.

'Spit it out,' he said. 'You're a hopeless bottler-upper, Potter. I can tell.'

'You're a hopeless faker.' Harry nodded angrily at Draco's arm. 'Why are you trying to get Hagrid sacked? Buckbeak didn't harm anyone before you came along. You shouldn't have insulted him. If you didn't talk every minute of every day, you would have heard Hagrid tell us you shouldn't insult them.'

'Yuck Potter, you sound like my mother. She's always saying I'm too loud.' Pouting his lips, Draco put on a high pitched voice and stroked his hair behind his ear. "'It is not becoming to talk so much, Draconius."'

Harry snorted. 'Draconius?'

'Forget it.'

'Oh, never.'

'It's just a nickname. And please tell me: when did I insult it?'

He'd been nice to the animal. He'd been patting it, talking to it, all quite lovingly, as he recalled.

'You called it an ugly great brute,' said Harry.

Draco stared at him, biting his tongue to ask: 'So?' before remembering 'ugly' and 'brute' were considered insults by the commoners, and not in fact 'loving'. Wound up so tightly, some people…

'Yes… Right, well… It's an animal. How could I know it understands English? And by the way, Potter, I'm not trying to get Hagrid sacked, my parents are. You wouldn't know of course, but that's what parents do. They overreact.'

Draco knew damn well it was a faux-pas to mention Potter's parents, so he braced himself.

Harry's eyes almost shot fire. 'Oh sure, and you can do nothing to stop them of course, powerless against mommy and daddy.'

Again, Potter made it blatantly clear had never experienced parents; Father's fury after getting Dumbledore's letter about Draco's wound was still bright in Draco's memory. Both his parents had almost come over at once to be with him or take him away, even if Father had to miss all kinds of important meetings at the Ministry and Mother had to come back all the way from France. It was nice to feel like a top priority, Draco thought.

'Sarcasm is not a good look on you, Potter. I'll have you know that they gave me two options: I let them at it or I get transferred to Beauxbatons.'

'What's–…'

'It's the French Hogwarts.'

All Potter's anger seemed to dissolve into confusion. 'How… But… won't they speak French?'

Draco smirked. 'My word, Potter, now that you mention it, I actually wouldn't even be surprised if they did!'

'I mean…' Harry sighed. 'How could you follow classes there? You wouldn't understand anything.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Oh Harry, for the millionth time: I'm a Malfoy. Obviously, I speak French.'

Harry snorted. 'Yeah, right…'

'I do!'

'Say something then.'

Draco squinted, then smirked again. 'Qu'est-ce que tu veux que je dise?

Harry's chin dropped. Draco marvelled at the sight.

Then the boy shook his head. 'You know one sentence. That doesn't prove anything.'

'Je peux certainement dire plus d'une phrase, hibou.'

Harry stared at him, quite shamelessly. It made Draco's heart jump.

'Je suis si folle de toi,' Draco blurted out, smiling. 'Je ne sais pas pourquoi tu es toujours surpris. Je suis brilliant.'

'Stop it!' Harry shook his head and looked away. 'You're infuriating.'

Draco leaned closer to him, trying to catch Potter's eye again. Life was so much better when Draco saw himself through Harry's eyes. 'Je me noie dans tes yeux.'

'Don't think I don't know that you're insulting me right now!'

Draco laughed. Stupid Potter!

'But I can do this too, remember?' said Harry, lifting his chin and staring intensely at Draco's pyjama shirt. Soft hissing noises started sounding from his tongue, slow, enigmatic, hypnotizing.

Harry glanced at Draco, who couldn't look away, and started hissing again, making Draco feel increasingly awestruck – until he felt like closing the distance between them and doing something really… queer.

Quickly, he tore his gaze away. 'Yeah, alright! Made your point!' Draco leaned back in his pillows.

It made Harry laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw him take some speculoos and throwing him a piece too.

He chewed it as if it was a way to crush his excessive admiration for the Boy Who Lived. He really ought to have gotten used to the only celebrity in his school, Draco thought. It wasn't as if he'd never met any famous people; his parents introduced him to them all the time. He'd known Potter for over two years now, but it seemed to be getting worse instead of easier to talk to him.

'Okay so if you're not trying to get Hagrid sacked, why are you still here?' asked Harry. 'Isn't it time to go back to school? Or didn't you get enough attention yet?'

Draco shot him his worst glare. 'You actually think I'm here for attention? I've never had less attention than I have in here. Everyone abandons me. I'm so bored, Potter. If I could leave I would, but that… fascist nurse is insisting I stay, and my parents…'

'That's ridiculous, why would they keep you? It's just a scratch, right?'

'That's what I keep saying! But it's that wretched red line. They're all going bonkers about the red line.'

Harry looked so dumb. He would probably never understand what Draco was talking about until he showed him. So Draco started to unbutton his pyjama shirt to show Harry the red line on his upper arm.

It had appeared the day after the attack. Draco'd been packed and ready to leave the Hospital Wing when Madame Pomfrey spotted it. Sure, he'd felt feverish and miserable, and sure, the red line had hurt and concerned Draco, but to keep him tied to the bed for days on end was straight out excessive.

Potter leaned closer… and he touched Draco's skin, making him feel a great swoop of nerves in his stomach. Harry's fingers were positively glowing. Before he realized, Draco imagined how nice it would be to feel those warm hands on –

Startled, Draco quickly buttoned up again. 'It's creeping up higher every hour, and they say if it reaches my heart I die,' he drawled. 'Such rubbish. It's probably some useless Muggle myth, but my parents wouldn't risk it, no matter if it was written in crayon by an elephant at the London Zoo.'

The few seconds he'd been shirtless in the cold Hospital Wing were enough to make Draco shiver. If only his own hands were as warm as Potter's… In a split second, Draco decided – it couldn't hurt; Harry Potter was too dumb to think anything of it anyway.

He showed him his hand, casually saying, 'Oh, look at this.'

Harry literally looked at it. Impatiently, Draco wiggled it, so Harry got closer. 'What am I supposed to see?'

'What, you don't see it?'

And Potter grabbed Draco's hand! Success!

It wasn't just the tips of his fingers: both of Potter's entire hands felt like hot packs. The warmth of them glowed straight through to Draco's bones and warmed up his entire body. His skin tingled as Harry ran his fingers over the lines in Draco's palm, the top of his hand, the bandage, and along his fingers to stretch them.

Draco didn't know where to look: Harry's furrowed brow over his bright eyes, his filthy, ink stained hands and the dirt underneath his nails, his fantastic lightning scar from up close or his Magic hair, crackling softly like fire in a stove. Draco repressed a shudder.

Frowning, Potter looked up. 'What am I looking at, Dra?'

Draco sighed deeply. 'Useless Potter…' He glanced at the gifts on his table and kept talking to distract himself from the fact that Harry J. Potter was still holding his hand, 'Anyway, thanks for the snacks and the book. Might entertain me for a few minutes… Merlin, I've never been this bored.'

The days were long when locked away in the Hospital Wing. Suddenly an idea popped into his head. 'Do you think,' he asked Harry, 'I could learn Parseltongue?'

A light appeared in Potter's eyes. 'Oh no, you wouldn't like it,' he said after a second of careful consideration, his voice slow and hoarse as ever. 'We don't want to frighten you by looking at the scary snakes, getting you nightmares, now, do we?' At last, Harry let go of Draco's hand to pat his head. 'So don't go breaking your pretty little head over grown-up stuff, Draconius, having silly dreams of doing things that are much too difficult for you. Best to stay safely in bed, listen to mommy and daddy and let the sweet nurse take care of you.'

Draco didn't know what to feel. 'It's scary how well you know how to rile me, Potter,' he muttered huffily.

Harry grinned. 'Yes, well, lots of things scare you, don't they?'

Draco grabbed his wand and Harry ducked away, howling with laughter.

'Just get me a book on Parseltongue! I hate you, Potter!'

. . .

It was Thursday, Draco calculated. Four days since Harry came to visit. Two since he dropped off the book on Parseltongue in between classes. Draco had opened it at once, pressing his nose almost against the pages to read, when Harry Potter had taken his chin to make him look up into his eyes, grinning broadly, but trying to look stern. 'Don't stay up too late reading it.'

It had taken him all his strength, but Draco hadn't said a word about Potter visiting to his friends. They teased him enough with his weird interest in the boy already.

But today was Thursday, which meant Potions. He'd already missed Potions last week, which was inevitable since he'd been drooling all over everyone to profess them his undying love, but no way was he going to miss it again today.

'What do you think you're doing?' Madame Pomfrey came bustling out of her office.

'I'm taking off,' Draco grumbled while getting dressed, 'and there's nothing you can do about it.'

His arm still hurt, especially as he twisted it into his blouse. Madame Pomfrey caught sight of his hurting face before he could hide it, so Draco grabbed his wand. 'I'm going to Potions, even if it's the last thing I do.'

Pomfrey all but rolled her eyes at him. 'Wait here, foolish boy, I'll get you a sling.'

Before Draco could finish getting dressed, she got back with her supplies.

'Do you like Potions so much then?' She glanced up at him as she bound up his arm in a sling. 'Or is there a special someone?' She was smiling quite wickedly.

'Very special,' Draco drawled, 'called Wat Zit Tooya.' He pulled away from the nosy trollop. 'I can finish this myself, thanks.'

Pomfrey pressed him back on the bed with surprising force. As she fussed over him, Draco scowled and looked away the entire time.

Finally, she allowed Draco to go to class. He was only slightly late, which was actually better, he thought. He'd be able to make a big entrance that way.

The minute Draco swaggered into the dungeon, Pansy jumped up. 'How is it, Draco?' she simpered. 'Does it hurt much?'

The little hypocrite had hardly showed her face at the Hospital Wing.

'Yeah,' said Draco, putting on a brave sort of grimace as he felt everyone's eyes on him. He only cared about one pair of eyes, really. Harry Potter scowled, apparently taking Draco's act far too seriously. Quickly, Draco winked. Potter shook his head, and his scowl vanished at once.

'Settle down, settle down,' said Professor Snape.

Draco had no intention at all to simply settle down. 'Watch this,' he mumbled to Vincent and Gregory, and he set up his cauldron right next to Potter's, so that they were preparing their ingredients on the same table.

'Sir,' Draco called, 'sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm –'

'Weasley, cut up Draco's roots for him,' said Snape, without looking up.

Weasley went brick red. 'There's nothing wrong with your arm,' he hissed at Draco.

Draco smirked across the table. 'Weasley, you heard Professor Snape, cut up these roots.'

Weasley seized his knife, pulled Draco's roots towards him and began to chop them roughly, so that they were all different sizes.

'Professor,' drawled Draco, 'Weasley's mutilating my roots, sir.'

Snape approached their table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then gave Weasley an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair. 'Change roots with Draco, Weasley.'

'But sir –!'

'Now,' said Snape in his most dangerous voice.

Weasley shoved his own beautifully cut roots across the table at Draco, then took up the knife again.

'And, sir, I'll need this Shrivelfig skinned,' said Draco, his voice full of malicious laughter.

'Potter, you can skin Draco's Shrivelfig,' said Snape, giving Harry a look of loathing.

Harry put down his knife to shoot Draco a tired look. 'For real?'

Draco was smirking broadly.

Potter took Draco's Shrivelfig, as Weasley set about trying to repair the damage to the roots he now had to use. 'You could've just asked…'

Potter skinned the Shrivelfig as fast as he could and flung it back across the table at Draco without speaking.

'Seen your pal Hagrid lately?' Draco asked them quietly.

'None of your business,' said Weasley jerkily, without looking up.

'I'm afraid he won't be a teacher much longer,' said Draco, in a tone of mock sorrow. 'Father's not very happy about my injury –'

'Keep talking, Malfoy, and I'll give you a real injury,' snarled Weasley.

'– he's complained to the school governors. And to the Ministry of Magic. Father's got a lot of influence, you know. And a lasting injury like this –' he gave a huge, fake sigh, 'who knows if my arm'll ever be the same again?'

'So that is why you're putting it on?' asked Harry, accidentally beheading a dead caterpillar because his hands were shaking in anger. 'To try and get Hagrid sacked?'

'Well,' said Draco, 'partly, Potter. But there are other benefits, too. Weasley, slice my caterpillars for me.'

Draco wasn't sure if he should be ducking away from Potter or if the boy was about to laugh. To make sure it wouldn't be the first, Draco concentrated on remembering what he'd learned. Feeling slightly ridiculous, he started making the hissing noises the book taught him.

It seemed to confuse Potter. 'Er…' he replied. 'I'm fine, you?'

Draco almost cheered. 'Did I say it right? It's very difficult, Parseltongue.'

'Oh!' Harry's face lit up. 'That's great! Can you say more?'

'Not yet…'

Harry's hair had crackled again, and glancing at it, Draco noticed it looked even worse than usual. 'Merlin, Harry, you've got caterpillar in your hair.' Before he could stop himself, Draco leaned across the table to pick it out. Only when he was doing it, he realised he was actually touching Harry Potter's Magical hair. Flicking the caterpillar away, he quickly regrouped: 'You disgust me.'

Some Gryffindor leaned over to borrow Harry's brass scales. 'Hey, Harry,' he said, 'have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning – they reckon Sirius Black's been sighted.'

Draco's ears pricked up.

'Where?' said Potter and Weasley.

'Not too far from here,' said the Gryffindor, who looked excited. 'It was a Muggle who saw him. 'Course, she didn't really understand. The Muggles think he's just an ordinary criminal, don't they? So she phoned the telephone hotline. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone.'

'Not too far from here…' Weasley repeated, looking significantly at Harry. He turned around and saw Draco watching closely. 'What, Malfoy? Need something else skinning?'

But Draco's eyes were shining malevolently, and they were fixed on Harry. He leaned across the table. 'Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?'

'Yeah, that's right,' said Harry offhandedly.

Draco was dying to know what went on inside his head, but this time, he couldn't read anything from Potter's face.

'Of course, if it was me,' Draco said quietly, 'I'd have done something before now. I wouldn't be staying in school like a good boy, I'd be out there looking for him.'

'What are you talking about, Malfoy?' said Weasley roughly.

He had to have some thoughts on the traitor that caused the deaths of his parents, Draco reckoned – unless…

'You don't know, Potter?' breathed Draco.

'Know what?'

Draco let out a low, sneering laugh. 'Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck,' he thought out loud. 'Want to leave it to the Dementors, do you? If it was me, I'd want revenge. I'd hunt him down myself.'

'Please just tell me what you are talking about,' said Harry angrily, but at that moment Snape called to finish up.

Harry Potter didn't know about Sirius Black!

When Draco passed Potter and his friends at the Marble Staircase, he smirked at him. He looked furious. Maybe he'd look Draco up again to ask him what he knew, like he did last year in the library. Draco looked forward to it already.

. . .

The first Hogsmeade trip of the year was planned for the weekend of Halloween. Pansy had a lot to say about it.

'It's just meant to go on dates,' she complained, cradling Nimbostratus. 'There's so much pressure on dating nowadays…'

Draco snorted. 'Ah yes, those olden days of glory, before dating existed… I remember them well.'

'As if you're not eager for the chance,' she grumbled. 'I'm all alone in this. My fate in this life.'

'Eager for the chance to date?' Draco snarled. 'Who in Merlin's name would I be eager to awkwardly sit at a table with?'

She cast him a tired look. 'You can't think of anyone, can you?'

Well… not in a dating kind of way, Draco thought. Suddenly, his insides went cold. He stared at Pansy.

It made her frown. 'Spit it out,' she drawled.

'Don't tell me, Pansy… You want me to date you?'

Slowly, Pansy's entire face lit up and she started laughing louder than he ever heard her laugh before. Nimbostratus took off. 'Darling, please, I beg you, no,' she said as soon as she calmed down enough to breath. 'Oh, you idiot. I was talking about The Boy Who Lived, my dear, whom you have been ardently pining for since you first laid eyes on him.'

Draco felt his cheeks go bright red. 'Merlin, woman, control your silly fantasies. I'm not –'

'How would you call it then?' she asked, grabbing this distraction from her own worries about "the pressure on dating" with both hands. 'Smitten?' she offered. 'Lovelorn? Bewitched? Infatuated? Horn–'

'Shut up, Pansy! I hardly know the guy! Why in Merlin's name would you think – ?'

She raised one eyebrow; she'd truly mastered that art. 'You really want an answer to that?'

'No. Absolutely not, thank you very much. Was it Rotilda again? No matter, I'm going to get some food for the road. Goodbye, Pansington.'

Draco steered well clear of her for the rest of the day. When Vincent, Gregory and Draco left for Hogsmeade, Filch, the caretaker, was standing inside the front doors at the Entrance Hall, checking off names against a long list, peering suspiciously into every face, and making sure that no one was sneaking out who shouldn't be going.

Crabbe and Goyle were going over their plans for the day when Draco spotted Harry Potter stalking back up the stairs. 'Staying here, Potter?' he shouted impulsively. 'Scared of passing the Dementors?'

Faintly smiling, Harry blew him a kiss and showed him his middle finger in one move.

Draco's insides jolted and a hotness spread from his chest all through his body. He did not know where to look. The feeling was hard to shake.

'It's not smitten,' he snapped at Vincent and Gregory, who weren't even paying attention. 'Just… embarrassment.'

There must be a word for the way Harry Potter made him feel, he thought. It probably had to do with the boy's status in the wizarding world.

'Oh Merlin!' His friends jumped from his sudden outburst. 'I'm not –' Draco stared at them in horror. 'Do you think I might be… a fan?' he hissed.

That was worse!

His fear was met with glazy eyes from his friends.

'Why isn't he going to Hogsmeade?' he wondered out loud, squinting in suspicion. 'Is it really the Dementors, you think?' That sounded insane, Potter was fearless. 'Or do you reckon it's because of Sirius Black?'

Crabbe shrugged.

He snorted. 'I bet Weasley and Granger are going together and didn't want Potter around.'

'Right,' mumbled Gregory.

'He could have gone along with me – with us,' he quickly corrected.

It did not slip his attention how Vincent and Gregory exchanged a look. They did not seem keen to share their afternoon with Potter.

The rest of the day, Draco tried to enjoy the trip to Hogsmeade, but the back of his mind kept wandering off to the lack of Potter around. Why did he stay behind?

That evening, Draco was so glad to spot Harry walking into the Great Hall again that he jumped up to shout at him, 'The Dementors send their love, Potter!'

From further down the table Pansy called, 'Next time, do us all a favour and ask him out!'

Draco, face feeling red-hot, fired his most vicious slapping jinx her way, while the entirety of the Slytherin table roared with laughter.

At least Harry hadn't heard. He was telling his friends something, while smiling softly.

. . .

There had been strong winds and heavy rain all day. They were playing Gryffindor that weekend and the entire team was dreading it.

'Your arm still hurt?' Marcus Flint asked Draco at breakfast that week.

The sudden concern for his health startled Draco. Flint never talked to him, let alone nicely.

'You can't play this weekend, right?' Flint was nodding so fervently that Draco followed his lead. He might have agreed to play naked if Marcus told him to.

'Attaboy,' Flint grumbled, slamming Draco's painful arm before storming off.

He shared a baffled look with Vincent and Gregory. They shrugged.

That afternoon the three of them ran into Oliver Wood, flanked by the Weasley twins, in the East Wing. Wood's faces contorted with rage when he spotted Draco, and before he realised what happened, the guy was shouting in his face.

'There's nothing wrong with your arm!' The twins hung at his arms to hold him back. 'Your faking it!

'What's the matter, Wood?' Draco pushed Crabbe and Goyle aside, smirking around at them. 'Scared of a little competition?'

The twins shared a look, then suddenly let go of their friend. In an instant, the great lump had seized Draco's shirt and Crabbe and Goyle had to jump in front of Draco to make Wood stop trying to strangle him.

Meanwhile, the twins crossed their arms. 'Not so cocky now, ay?' smirked one of them.

'We'll see how happy you'll look after we beat you,' said the other.

Crabbe and Goyle had succeeded in pushing Wood away.

'I'll get you for this!' shouted Wood as the twins ushered him away, saying, 'Calm down, Oliver.'

'Yeah, mind your blood pressure.'

Draco rearranged his robes. 'What was that all about?'

It wasn't until they got back at the Common Room that evening, that they found out what it had been all about.

'We're not playing this weekend,' Peregrine Derrick, the team's Beater, told him. 'Apparently, our Seeker's arm is still too injured.' He was laughing.

'Our Seek– Are you saying the match is cancelled because of me?'

Peregrine shrugged, looking at Lucian Bole, the other Beater, who smirked and added, 'Don't wanna ruin our chances, playing with this weather.'

Draco laughed scathingly, as Vincent and Gregory guffawed. 'Genius!'

The day before the match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, the winds reached howling point and the rain fell harder than ever. It was so dark inside the corridors and classrooms that extra torches and lanterns were lit.

'Ah, if only my arm was feeling a bit better!' Draco sighed when he crossed paths with Harry Potter at the stairs.

The gale outside pounded the windows.

Potter grabbed Draco's good arm. 'You let me down, Dra,' he said with exaggerated disappointment.

Draco smirked, not knowing what to say to that.

Harry leaned closer to him. 'Is the red line gone?'

Draco leaned closer still. 'They said rain would bring it back,' he jeered.

. . .

The good news was that Gryffindor lost. The bad news was that Draco had jumped up and screamed when Harry Potter fell off his broomstick as Dementors had flooded the field – en plein public.

'It's a normal reaction!' he roared that night at Vincent, Gregory, Pansy and every Slytherin at hearing distance making fun of him. 'When someone almost dies, people with brains show a response!'

Pansy took his hand and led him out of the Common Room. 'Ignore the bastards –'

'You're one of them!'

'– Let's check up on your homeboy.'

Draco made a quick calculation. Knowing the visiting hours by heart after days in isolation, he knew the Hospital Wing would be deserted by now. It might be safe.

'I thought it looked creepy too,' Pansy admitted to him on the way to the Hospital Wing. Nimbostratus followed at her ankles.

Draco felt miserable. 'Slytherins are not supposed–'

'Don't let the bastards get you down, Draconius. You've got spunk. And, you know, you might feel bad for liking Potter, but everyone else is pretty neutral about it. They all love you. You can make the entire house laugh, so we all just want you to be happy. Don't ever change, my darling.'

Draco wrapped his arm around her neck to kiss her on the head.

They reached the Hospital Wing, and Draco slowed down to peek around the doorway. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen. 'Where is that dumbass?' He edged inside to see the beds on the other side of the room, then gasped and whirled around to leave again.

'What?' Pansy took a look too and Draco watched her eyes go big. She managed to muffle her laughter, dashing out again and almost stumbling over Nimbostratus.

'Ssh!' Draco's forehead bumped into Pansy's, trying to stifle the sounds of her shrieking laughter. 'It's not funny!'

'Your face!' she hissed, barely able to breath.

'He's naked!' Draco hissed back.

Pansy was never going to calm down again. 'No, he's not naked! It's only his back!'

Draco tucked his hands under his armpits. In an effort to regain some dignity, he decided to simply keep quiet.

Pansy pushed him through the doorway again. 'Look,' she hissed. 'It's just his back.'

Draco glanced stealthily. Harry Potter was lying on his stomach on the hospital bed, fast asleep with one arm under his pillow and the other dangling on the side. The white linen bedsheet covered only the lower half of his body, leaving his shirtless back exposed.

Apparently, Boys Who Lived did not need pyjama shirts like Malfoys did. Recalling the temperature of Harry's hands, this should not have come as a surprise to Draco. The boy was a human campfire.

Pansy hooked her chin on Draco's shoulder, holding his hand.

Harry's back though, Draco thought, when did he…

'He's…' Draco uttered, 'toned.'

With a nervous giggle, Pansy broke away from him. 'Oliver Wood must be working them like dogs.'

Footsteps came their way and they hurried off, safely back to the Dungeons.

. . .

To make up for his blunder in front of the Slytherins, Draco increased his efforts to make fun of Harry Potter. There was no denying that it was pretty hilarious that The Boy Who Lived – Saviour of the Wizarding World, a guy who's back looked so toned, who won every match and defeated the Dark Lord time and again – kept fainting because of some cloaked figures. Sure, they looked scary, but not nearly enough to faint.

When Draco was finally allowed to take off his bandages, he celebrated having the full use of both arms again by doing spirited imitations of Harry falling off his broom. He spent much of their next Potions class doing Dementor imitations to make his friends laugh, until Weasley cracked and flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at Draco. It hit him in the face and caused Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor.

Harry Potter laughed louder than anyone.

. . .

'Lou…?' Pansy muttered to her gang of girls. They were struggling with their Runes homework at the table nearest to the fire. 'Who in Merlin's name is Lou now?'

'It's not an L, nincompoop, it's a Y,' Draco lazily remarked from his chair. He'd finished the assignment days ago, but Pansy always left her homework until the last minute.

'It could be either!' Pansy snapped. Nimbostratus meowed in agreement.

'Stupid tart.'

'If you're so –'

Wide-eyed, she fell silent. In fact, the entire common room fell quiet in a way that made Draco reach for his wand. He turned around to follow everyone's gaze.

And there was Harry J. Potter, standing in the middle of their common room. Draco's heart leaped up in his throat. Potter looked bigger than usual, with eyes shooting fire, his legs apart and his arms spread as if he was ready to cast a spell at anyone willing to fight.

'You've got some nerve, Potter!' Draco snarled, jumping out of his chair in case he needed to defend his homeboy against his House mates.

In two steps Harry'd reached him and was pushing him. 'Why didn't you tell me?!'

A dozen wands were pointed at him. Obviously, the boy had no clue of the risk he'd put himself in, but Draco knew. He grabbed Harry's arm and tried to shield him from the most dangerous students. 'I don't know what you're on about, Potter, but you're embarrassing yourself.'

Draco glared at Alexander Orlando – seventh year-Prefects should've known better then to aim wands at third-year celebrities – and pulled Harry out of harm's way into the corridor outside of the Common Room.

'You should change the password,' Potter grumbled.

'We haven't changed it since Suzie Pelt had a vicious stalker in 1978. No one who wants to live is foolish enough to enter the Slytherin common room uninvited. We take care of our own.'

Draco wandered into an empty classroom further down the corridor. Shutting the door, he snarled, 'What's your problem?'

Potter made to attack him again, but Draco – having become used to defending himself last year – swiftly put up a shielding charm.

Harry got as close to him as he could, pushing against the charm in frustration. 'What do you know about Sirius Black?'

Draco lifted his eyebrows. At last Harry had actually come to ask Draco, like he had hoped so long ago.

'You mean how he told The Dark Lord where your blood traitor family was hiding?'

Furious, Harry took out his wand, but Draco put his away and sat down on a table.

'Why didn't you tell me?' Harry repeated, even louder this time.

Draco shrugged. 'I only heard last summer. Took it you knew.'

'You knew perfectly well I didn't know.'

Draco did not have a solid answer to that. He gathered he'd better keep quiet about trying to lure Potter to him. Best to change the subject: 'You want revenge?'

Potter slumped down on the table. Draco lifted the shield charm and Harry's shoulder bumped into Draco's when he moved closer. Harry Potter wasn't just messy in appearance, he was messy in movements too. Harry kicked and thumped his way through life as if wounds and bruises were badges of honour. He bumped into Draco all the time, it was very distracting and unnecessary. During Potions their knees kept touching; as did their hands, elbows, arms and feet.

'Ron and Hermione keep saying I shouldn't,' he answered Draco's question. 'That it would be reckless and that I'm not a killer.'

'Everyone is a killer, given the right circumstances.'

Harry stared at him. Draco used the opportunity to enjoy the view. He felt happy.

'I'm so angry,' Potter said after a while.

'Rightly so.'

'I need to find him.'

'And then what?'

Harry's eyes lit up in a way that looked almost malicious, and Draco was having the most fun in weeks. Harry Potter was mad at Granger and Weasley and went straight to Draco – to plot a man's murder.

'What will you do when you find him?' Draco urged.

The next hour, he and Draco planned Harry's revenge on Sirius Black in the most excruciatingly gruesome, graphically detailed way possible – it was wonderful.

After a while, Harry started smiling and laughing again, and the subject changed to Parseltongue. He tried to teach Draco how to speak it, but it was incredibly difficult. Most of the time Draco was just making random hissing sounds, cracking Harry up. It should have infuriated him, but even though he kept feeling the urge to jinx Harry for laughing at him, Draco could only feel happy.

'Enough,' he finally cut off another effort to ask Potter for directions to the train station. He got up. 'Let's get something to eat.'

Harry got up too, but shook his head. 'I need to get back. They don't know where I am.'

'So?' Draco snarled. 'Will they die without you?'

'I'll see you around, Dra,' said Harry. 'Thank you.'

He smiled at Draco.

. . .

'He's such a jerk!' screamed Pansy.

They were in their dorm with Crabbe and Goyle. Their other dorm mate, Jason the Mudblood, wasn't there, but with the volume of Pansy's screaming, every other Slytherin might as well have been there for how well they could probably hear them.

'He uses you!' she roared. 'You're his plan B, his afterthought, his back-up friend to make his real friends jealous. I wish you saw him as he is! I hate the guy!'

'Wandering in here,' grumbled Crabbe.

'He's not welcome.'

'He can just smile and everything is right in your world, but it isn't!'

Draco slumped back on his bed.

'Why are you so angry? I don't mind.'

'That's exactly why I'm angry! You should mind!'

'You said he liked me and that it was adorable. I don't understand you.'

'I have a right to change my mind! Especially if he treats you bad!'

Draco sighed. If he closed his eyes he could still feel Harry's shoulder against his. He was so nice and warm. Draco was starting to understand that "oozing" Rotilda had mentioned in their first year. Harry Potter oozed warmth; he oozed all sorts of warmth…

'Draco!' bellowed Pansy, her voice echoing against the arched walls. 'Snap out of it, boy!'

Draco leaned on his elbows. 'Pansy, if you're in love with me, just say so. Or are you in love with Potter?' He could get into that.

Pansy facepalmed and let out a deep, deep sigh. 'I'm warning you, Draconius. Harry Potter is not good for you. Let him go.'

'Nonsense,' Draco muttered. 'Famous people are always good connections.'

'Not if they're a one-sided connection, darling.'

'They aren't. He came to me, didn't he?' And before Pansy could bring him down even more, he added: 'Now stop yelling at me. It's wrong use of energy, mother always says. Better bring me something to eat.'

. . .

At Christmas, Harry Potter walked into the Great Hall not only dressed in another marvellous sweater, but with a magnificent, gleaming broomstick too. Draco, together with the entire Slytherin Quidditch team, stood up to stare.

It was a Firebolt.

When Potter reached the Gryffindor table, he let the handle go. It hung in mid-air, unsupported, at exactly the right height for him to mount it.

'I can't believe it!' said Draco to Vincent and Gregory. They shared the same thunderstruck look as everyone else at the table.

Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Captain, put the broom in the middle of the table and carefully turned it so that its name faced upwards.

People from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were soon swarming to watch. Cedric Diggory walked over and a Ravenclaw girl was actually allowed to hold it.

'Let's go,' Draco muttered darkly.

Crabbe and Goyle followed at his heel as he swaggered over to the other side of the Great Hall.

'Sure you can manage that broom, Potter?'

Harry turned around. Draco had never seen him look so smug. 'Yeah, reckon so,' he said.

Draco shoved Weasley aside and sat down next to Potter to get a closer look at the broom. 'Got plenty of special features, hasn't it?'

Without missing a beat, Harry launched into an epic list of every single feature of the Firebolt. It seemed like he knew the entire manual by heart, and the manual of Draco's Nimbus Two Thousand And One as well. Draco tested it, by making some features up, and Harry just laughed.

Draco exhausted every possibility to win their discussion of who's broom was better, but Potter kept refuting Draco's arguments in defence of the Nimbus Two Thousand And One's superiority over the Firebolt's. Draco was in complete aw.

'Shame it doesn't come with a parachute,' he drawled at last, glancing around at Crabbe and Goyle. 'In case you get too near a Dementor.'

Harry smiled. 'Pity you can't attach an extra arm to yours,' he said. 'Then it could catch the Snitch for you.'

The Gryffindor team howled with laughter.

Draco narrowed his eyes. He could think of a dozen replies, but decided to let him this moment.

'We'll see,' he just said, before he stalked away.

Crabbe and Goyle fell into step. 'Think your father can give us one too?' asked Gregory. Vincent looked hopefully at Draco.

'Forget it,' Draco sighed. 'Anyway, all of our brooms are still far better than most of theirs.'

As soon as they got near the Slytherin table, Draco got yanked into a hissed meeting with the other members of the Quidditch team. They wanted to know all about the new broom, and thankfully, Draco remembered every word Potter had said and could name each of the features.

'I'm so jealous,' moaned Peregrine Derrick.

'Good job, Malfoy,' grumbled Flint.

Draco tried to act cool, but felt very imported. Making connections really paid off.

. . .

The next Quidditch match was Gryffindor against Ravenclaw. With Harry Potter owning a Firebolt, it became increasingly vital that Gryffindor lost this match before Slytherin had to play against them. Marcus Flint brought them all together for a brainstorm session to find a way to make sure Gryffindor would lose.

'Last game they lost,' said Miles Bletchley, ever the optimist.

'Because Potter fainted.' Crabbe sniggered.

'Exactly!' said Marcus. 'Maybe we can get the dementors on the field again? Think of something!'

They all looked at him doubtfully.

'I think Dumbledore's made sure they stay away this time.'

'Don't think we can outsmart Dumbledore.'

'Well,' said Draco, when a hilarious plan started to form in his head. 'If he's so scared of them, we might not need the real deal…' He watched them all one by one with a malicious smirk.

'What are you talking about, Malfoy?' snapped Flint.

'Come on, we can just pretend to be Dementors.'

Slowly, the faces of his teammates lit up, and within seconds, they were all laughing their heads off.

'That'll be gold!'

'Imagine his face!'

'Scared little Potter! So frightened he faints!'

'He won't be so smug when he sees it's just Malfoy!'

'Fainting for Malfoy!'

It was decided.

On the day of the match, Vincent, Gregory, Marcus and Draco had put an enlargement charm on their cloaks. Then, Marcus scratched his head. 'How will we look as tall as a Dementor?'

Draco considered casting the enlargement charm on themselves, but was scared it would damage him permanently. He would hate to look like as gangly as Weasley, or worse: like that oaf Hagrid.

'I know!' said Marcus. 'Malfoy, climb on Greg's shoulders! We'll put the cloak around you and it will cover you both!'

Draco glanced at Goyle. 'Alright, Gregorius?'

He nodded, already turning his back to him. As Draco climbed on the bench in their dressing room, he instructed Crabbe. 'Vinciento, Flint can sit on your shoulders!'

It was all easier said than done. Draco had never climbed on someone's shoulders before. Standing on the bench, he tied the massive cloak around himself, then he put his hands on Goyle's shoulder and pushed himself up. Throwing one foot up so high he feared he dislocated something, he managed to fling his leg over Gregory's massive shoulders, and almost lost his balance, toppling over backwards again, but he clung onto Goyle's ugly head and somehow pulled his other leg over Gregory's shoulder too.

'Voilà,' Draco muttered.

Marcus was swearing profusely, but eventually he to managed to climb on Crabbe's shoulders. Draco carefully arranged the cloak so it covered him and Goyle, then shouted, 'March!' – roaring with laughter at the prospect of Potter's face.

'No! Stop!' said Marcus. 'Buffoons, we have to time it right!'

Draco almost lost his balance when Goyle came to a halt and whirled around, grumbling, 'Who you calling buffoons?'

'What you mean, time it right?' growled Vincent.

Swaying in the air, Draco wrapped his arms around Goyle's big head. 'He's right,' he said. 'We have to scare Potter when it makes the most impact.'

'When's that then?' Crabbe grunted. Thinking things through annoyed him, Draco knew, he preferred to act fast.

Draco lowered his hood so he could look Crabbe in the eye. 'The moment he sees the Snitch, so that Chang can catch it while Potter faints.'

They all nodded, then started smirking and laughing in anticipation.

As inconspicuous as they could, they made a huge detour, checking every corner to see if the coast was clear, and eventually managed to reach the stands without being seen. Hidden beneath the stands, Marcus kept peeking out of the cloak to see what happened, while Malfoy strained to make out Lee Jordan's commentary.

'Gryffindor lead by eighty points to zero, and look at that Firebolt go! Potter's really putting it through its paces now. See it turn – Chang's Comet is just no match for it. The Firebolt's precision-balance is really noticeable in these long –'

'JORDAN!' McGonagall cut in. 'ARE YOU BEING PAID TO ADVERTISE FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE COMMENTARY!'

Ravenclaw had now scored three goals, which put Gryffindor only fifty points ahead. If Chang got the Snitch before Potter, Ravenclaw would win!

Suddenly, the crowd went wild and Draco shot up. 'The Snitch!'

'Now!' bellowed Marcus, and Crabbe and Goyle stumbled onto the field.

Having to move his arms to make the cloak seem like it was floating, Draco struggled to keep his balance on Gregory's shoulders. Both of them laughing their heads off didn't help either.

Peeking through the heavy fabric of the cloak, Draco could see the people on their brooms looking down at them.

One face stood out between all of them, but Draco did not spot any fear on it. Plunging a hand down the neck of his robes, Harry Potter whipped out his wand, and before Draco could warn the others, he roared, 'EXPECTO PATRONUM!'

Potter's hair flew out of his face from the sheer power of the spell when something silvery white, something enormous, erupted from the end of his wand.

Draco screamed in terror when the silver beast charged straight at them. The moment he recognized it as a deer, Draco felt the force of its antlers knocking him and Gregory to the ground, rolling and tumbling over each other through the grass. A sharp pain shot through Draco's arm and his head buzzed from colliding hard with the ground.

For a second he lay still, groaning in pain, with the heavy cloak smothering him. The sounds of Flint's angry roars and Madam Hooch's whistle resounded painfully through his head. When the air underneath the cloak became difficult to breath, he tried to remove it, but it seemed he and Goyle were tangled up in it, and their struggles to break free only worsened the knot they'd made.

'Goyle, cut it out!' he shouted.

At last, he managed to get the cloak away from his face – and stared straight into the silver white deer.

'AUGH!'

Instinctively, he had backed away, before noticing it looked stunningly beautiful. As it circled around them, it made Draco feel all kinds of things he wouldn't expect to feel at that moment. Sat in the cold, damp grass, laughed at by the entire school as he struggled to get out from underneath a huge cloak, with his hair looking messy and a red hot face… Draco felt safe, loved and blissfully content.

With a faint pop the deer vanished. At once throbbing pains resurfaced all over Draco's body, and he became aware of shouts and screams.

Standing over them, with an expression of the utmost fury on her face, was Professor McGonagall. 'An unworthy trick!' she was shouting. 'A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall be speaking to Professor Dumbledore about this, make no mistake! And as for Potter – Ah, here he comes now!'

Crying with laughter, Harry stumbled towards Draco, holding out both his hands to help him back on his feet. 'Oh Dra!' he called. 'Why do you do this to yourself?'

And then Harry Potter flung his toned and sweaty arms around Draco's neck to pull him into a big, tight bear hug.

Draco froze. Then he lifted his hands and awkwardly touched Potter's shoulders. As nerves shot through his body, Draco couldn't help but lean into his friend and close his eyes, just for the shortest moment, and to silently beg him to never let go.

. . .

The effect of the Patronus kept lingering.

Draco had read every piece of information about it he could find in the library. So far, he'd found out he was supposed to feel the way he did when a Patronus was near, but those feelings were not supposed to last even a second after it vanished. Which was odd, because Draco still felt happier than ever before. He kept laughing loudly at every little thing, feeling giddy, and he could not sit still. He had a constant need to touch people, which was an entirely alien urge for any Malfoy, and he kept sighing every other second, and somehow he found himself beaming all through the day, without any reason whatsoever.

Needless to say, he couldn't sleep. He didn't even feel slightly sleepy. After tossing and turning for the second night in a row, he finally snapped and went to see his good friend Madam Pomfrey.

He wondered if Potter was awake.

'I need something against the aftereffects of a Patronus curse,' he demanded as soon as swaggered through the doors of the Hospital Wing and spotted Pomfrey.

'Hush, dear.' She pattered toward him. 'After effects? Silly boy, a Patronus doesn't leave after effects.'

Draco gestured wildly at himself, furious with frustration. 'Explain this then, woman! Believe me, I am never this happy!'

'Don't call me woman. Sit down.'

Feeling entirely to restless to sit down, he wriggled in the wooden chair as Pomfrey took his wrist and felt his pulse. 'What else do you feel?' she asked.

'I told you! Happy!' he snarled in disgust. 'Restless. Everything seems hilarious to me. I can't focus for even a second, and I keep bloody smiling.'

'Did anything happen that could have made you feel that way?' she asked.

Draco glared at her. 'Let me see,' he said in mock puzzlement, counting on his fingers. 'Potter slammed me to the ground, the entire school laughed at me, I got scolded by McGonagall and got detention from Snape, and –… and I–' His stomach twirled. – And he got a massive bear hug from Harry Potter.

Pomfrey raised her eyebrows. To his fury, Draco noticed he was staring at nothing and grinning – actually grinning! He slapped himself in the face.

'See what I mean?' he bellowed.

'What were you thinking about?' asked Pomfrey. 'What else happened?'

'NO!' He crossed his arms, shaking his head furiously. 'No, it's got nothing to do with the hug.'

Pomfrey raised her eyebrows. 'Someone gave you a hug?'

'It's beside the point.'

'You started smiling when you mentioned the hug.'

'What are you implying, woman?'

'Don't call me woman. You, my dear boy, are in love. That is my official diagnoses.'

A world altering crash completely wiped out the happy feeling. It got replaced by sheer panic.

'In love?! Are you insane? You don't mean I'm – I'm –'

He was in love with Harry Potter. His filthy, useless, stupid Potions partner Potter. In love with his insipid, earnest, hot-tempered friend Harry, with the glasses and the tangles and the poverty hanging over his shoulders?

'How do you mean in love?' Draco's breathing came in heavy heaves. Pomfrey pressed a cup of chamomile tea in his shaking hands. 'I-is there a cure for that?'

Harry was a boy, Draco thought, and a boy was not a suitable match for the only Malfoy heir.

And Harry was a Gryffindor. He was famous. And –

And he didn't care about Draco at all…

'Oh Merlin, everyone was right,' he squealed. He was just like Rotilda – like the Weasley girl! 'How humiliating!'

'Breathe slowly, dear. You're safe,' said Pomfrey, like a liar. 'Think about something else.'

Draco didn't want to think about something else. This problem needed to be dealt with.

'I'm so royally hooped…' he stammered. 'I – I don't want to be in love with Harry Potter.' Tears of panic and helplessness welled up in his eyes. 'My father hates him. And he – he doesn't like me.'

'I'm sure that's not true. He came to visit you.'

'Potter's a boy, 'Draco exclaimed. 'What am I supposed to do with a boy? I wanted to be friends, not –…' Draco took another shaky breath. 'Oh Merlin, this is a disaster. He's so famous. I'm a Malfoy. It's not dignified. To – to be in – in love… with…' He felt nauseous. 'Oh Merlin…' He was going to be sick.

Madame Pomfrey seized the cup of tea from his hands before it dropped to the floor. 'Ssh, Draco, it's not the end of the world.'

Draco bolted upright. 'Poison!' he shouted. 'I've been poisoned! Isn't it obvious? Someone has slipped me a love potion! Everyone's always teasing me with, you know, with my…'

'It's not a love potion, dear, you don't have the full clinical picture. And it's not a side effect of the Patronus either. I'm thinking it must be love.'

'Well then that's just absolutely terrific!' He'd jumped up and started pacing. 'What am I to do now? Ask Snape for an anti-dote?'

'You'll be alright. Spend time with your friends, distract yourself. It will pass when you don't give it any attention. It's a proven remedy.'

'As if!' he scolded. He fell back in his chair. 'You think it's that simple?'

'It's not going to be simple. You share classes with him and like you said, he's famous. But it's not impossible.'

'Alright.' Draco nodded increasingly fervently. 'I'll ignore him then. Starting tomorrow. It'll be fine. I'll be fine.'

'That's it. Drink your tea.'

He did as she said and calmed down a little. He was good at distracting himself, and he had friends.

It would pass, he told himself. He would be fine.

He might have accidentally slipped and fell, but there was no way he was going to remain in love. He was a Malfoy, it simply wasn't appropriate.

'You know,' said Madame Pomfrey, and again that malicious grin appeared on her face, 'another option – just thinking totally out of the box here, but – you could try to woo him.'

Draco almost spat out his tea, not even because of the old-fashioned word, but just the general idea of Draco Malfoy trying to woo Harry J. Potter.

'What, like, flirt?' Draco laughed scathingly. 'How would that work? I'm not desperate, thank you very much. You know, I never try to make an arse of myself. It is always a by-product.'

'Think about it,' Madame Pomfrey pressed on. 'Ask your friends for help.'

Draco snorted. He could imagine his friends' faces as he asked them for tips on seducing male celebrities. They'd probably choke with laughter, and then exchange the stakes.

'Well, this has been lovely, but enough is enough.' Draco slammed down the cup, looking Pomfrey square in the eye. 'I trust I can rely on your discretion on this matter?'

'My lips are sealed.'

Draco stroke his clothes to regain some of his dignity and nodded like he'd seen his father do so many times. 'Goodnight, Madam.'

'Sweet dreams, dear. Come back any time you want to talk.'

Let's not, Draco thought as he strutted out of the Hospital Wing. That woman knew far too much to his taste already.

. . .

'What's wrong with you?' scoffed Vincent after Draco mindlessly shoved his food across his plate and missed yet another thing someone said to him.

He looked up, feeling entirely miserable. 'Nothing.'

Vincent frowned.

'Where do you want to go in Hogsmeade?' Gregory asked him.

Draco shrugged. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a look. Then, as one man, they turned around. 'Pansy!'

Draco sat up at once, trying to drag down Gregory's waving arm. It was no use, he could dangle on their arms with his entire weight and they wouldn't even notice. Draco considered bolting, but he knew it would only make things worse.

Whenever Draco needed her, Pansy'd pretend to be deaf, but as soon as she saw him hiding away she'd be over in a heartbeat.

'Draco's sick,' said Gregory. He probably even meant well too, Draco supposed.

Frowning, Pansy put the back of her hand on Draco's forehead and cheek. 'What's wrong with you then?'

'Nothing!' Draco repeated, slapping her hand away. 'Leave me alone.'

Pansy just followed him when he got up. 'Why do Crabbe and Goyle think you're sick?'

'Ask them!' Draco ran down the steps to the Dungeons. He felt Pansy's hand reaching for his arm, but pulled away. 'Piss off, I'm not sick.'

'Why are you so cranky?'

Draco didn't answer. He knew his silence would only fuel Pansy's curiosity, but he couldn't come up with any excuse. His mind was filled to the brim with Harry; wonderful, stinking Harry. It made him nauseous and sweaty, and he hated being sweaty.

'Babe,' said Pansy, grabbing his hand. 'What is it?'

Draco yanked his arm away from her. 'I don't want you to know! Alright?'

She put her hands in her pockets, but kept walking with him through the Dungeons, back to the Common Room. He fell down on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Nimbostratus jumped on the couch when Pansy sat down next to him. Both of them waited patiently.

With a big, heavy sigh he thought about what Madame Pomfrey had said – "Woo him." "Ask your friends for help."

He could never in a million years woo the likes of Harry Potter. It simply wasn't possible. If Potter were woo-able, wouldn't someone have done that by now? Anyone at all?

He looked away. 'You've got to help me.'

'Sure, babe, with what?'

'Forgetting Harry Potter.'

A soft whimper escaped Pansy. She put her head on his shoulder and this time Draco didn't stop her when she took his hand.

. . .

Draco drowned himself in music.

Last summer Draco's father had gotten him a Wizarding Wireless that was enchanted to be able to play everything Draco wanted to hear. He could think of a Genre or a Song and it would simply blast out of the speakers when he tapped it with his wand. Draco'd put a Shrinking charm on it, so it fit in his pocket, and put a Silencio charm around himself, so no one else could hear him listening to it.

The other thing he distracted himself with, was getting Hagrid fired. The giant oaf was no proper Professor, and students at Hogwarts deserved to get taught by capable wizards, not by some drop-out who couldn't even keep himself safe from accidents, let alone the minors under his care.

And whenever he had to leave the Common Room, Pansy, Vincent and Gregory would surround him like a posse. Vincent, the largest of them all, would walk in the front to block Draco's view, giving Pansy and Gregory time to block Draco's sides or steer him away from 'the threat' if necessary. Draco considered it a little overkill, but was grateful anyway. Surely, he'd forget all about the Boy Who Lived after not seeing him for a couple of days.

. . .

The Dungeon was hot with two dozen kettles boiling on their fires. Draco'd dumped his robes and rolled up his sleeves, but was still sweating. He dozed off while Snape droned on about a Potion Draco could brew in his sleep.

'Same pairs as usual. Thirty minutes.'

Draco woke with a start. In a panic he searched for Pansy, who looked back with the same shock on her face. 'Professor!' she shouted. 'Professor, can I work with Draco, because – because of reasons?'

'No,' said Snape offhandedly.

At the same time, The Threat plopped down on the stool next to him. 'Hullo, Dra.'

Harry Potter beamed at him, as if nothing changed. It hadn't for him, Draco thought, hurting himself in his confusion.

As quick as he could, he tore his gaze away from the lashes and the smile and the scar. 'This Potion is so easy, you might as well leave,' he said. 'I have no need for you at all.'

Harry laughed. 'Nothing new then, right?'

Draco glared at him. Reluctantly, he pushed the ingredients list over to Potter and the boy dutifully got up to fetch them.

At once, Pansy leaned across the table to grab Draco's face between her hands. 'Stay strong, darling. You can do it. Remember: you're a Malfoy, and he's a dweeb; a well-known drag.'

He pulled himself loose. 'He's none of those. But I am a Malfoy. Piss off, Pansy.'

'That's the spirit.' Her eyes darted over his shoulder and she quickly backed away again.

The Threat was back, dropping all their ingredients on the table like they were worthless junk.

Draco bit his tongue. He just wanted to get it all over with and hurried to organize the stuff, but then Harry took his hand – no, Harry shoved his hand aside. 'Let me try it this time, Dra.'

He pushed past Draco to get to the kettle, then leaned over his shoulder to grab the instructions, and again to get the first ingredients after reading what to do. All of that in a matter of seconds.

Draco's heart could not handle this. 'Shove off, Potter!' he snarled, pushing the boy away from him and almost knocking over the kettle in the process.

'Sorry,' Harry mumbled, before spilling yellow pollen on Draco and then holding his arm to try and rub it off. 'Sorry.'

Groaning in frustration, Draco yanked his arm away from Potter to Scorgify himself. He decided to shove back onto Harry's chair, which was further away from the kettle and The Threat.

Immediately, Harry sat down on Draco's chair, bumping into Draco yet again. His nose almost touching the instructions, he tapped against Draco's knee and pointed at something in the instructions. 'I don't understand,' he said, and shoved his stool closer to Draco, so they could both read the parchment at the same time. Harry's leg bounced against Draco's; their heads almost touched.

By this time, Draco almost imploded with everything he was holding in. He seriously started to reconsider his decision to try and get over Potter, feeling a great urge to lean into The Threat instead. Maybe 'wooing' wasn't such a bad idea after all. It certainly felt easier than ignoring right now; after all, how could anyone ignore the marvel that was Harry J. Potter? How in the world could Draco ever deny himself the pleasure of looking at Harry?

So while Potter read the instructions out loud, ever so slowly to try and make sense of them, Draco's eyes started to wander.

Harry was in a t-shirt, leaving most of his arms bare. He was sweating a little, as they all were, but instead of filthy, it made his skin look glistening. The tips of his hair stuck to his forehead.

His hands and arms were covered in little scratches. He had bruises and Draco spotted scars too; nothing like the magnificent lightning scar, but scars nonetheless, and Draco wanted to know everything about them.

All of a sudden, Potter looked up, a hint of desperation on his face that made Draco feel weak. Involuntarily, Draco leaned closer, and slowly, in phases, a smile broke through on Harry's face. First his desperate frown relaxed. The lines in his forehead disappeared. His eyelids lowered. The corners of his mouth moved sideways, then up, showing a glimpse of his teeth.

Watching the miracle that was Harry's smile, Draco felt every inch of his body relax. A sigh got stuck somewhere in his nervous tummy.

From his eyes alone Draco could tell Harry Potter was the easy-going type, even if he hadn't known him the way he did. And Draco knew him, so he knew he was right: Harry was sweet.

Harry's eyes darted over Draco's face. His shoulders lowered and he leaned against the table, a fist under his head. His gaze swept over Draco's blouse, his neck, his ears, his lips, then back to Draco's eyes. His smile turned into a grin. 'What?' he asked. 'Is there something in my hair again?'

Startled, Draco realised he'd been staring for ages.

'Who knows,' Draco drawled, turning away as casually as he could manage. 'Even a Niffler couldn't find a coin in there… I guess I dozed off… could you read any slower?'

Harry returned his attention to the instructions, following the lines with his ink-stained finger. 'I don't know where to start,' he mumbled.

Draco handed him the dried frogs. 'Cut these.'

Harry did as he was told, and Draco lay his head on his arms to shamelessly – but respectfully – continue staring. 'I'll supervise,' he mumbled. It was all perfectly inconspicuous, until Harry caught him touching one of the scars on the boy's upper arm.

Draco bolted upright. 'That's small enough. Now peel –'

His voice trailed off when Harry turned his arm to see the scar. 'My cousin liked to experiment. His curious nature, my uncle said; he had a knack for science. As if Dudley was some kind of brainiac. It was just hot oil, anyone could've told him what was going to happen.'

Draco frowned. 'Are all your scars from your family?'

Shaking his head, Harry searched his arms. 'This one's from the Basilisk, when I tried to escape. And the ones on my hands –' He showed Draco marks on the lowest bones of his fingers and the outer rims of his palms ' – Were from first year, when I burnt Quirell's face off. It didn't hurt though.'

Draco did not like the sight of the marks at all, but he couldn't help but inspect Harry's hands. As his thumb ran over the tiny white spots, he suddenly remembered the mortifying realisation of his heart's desire, and let go as if Harry'd burnt his skin too.

'You should be more careful,' he drawled.

Harry grinned. 'You're right.'

'Ten more minutes,' called Snape and Draco jumped.

'I beg your pardon?' They hadn't even started yet. 'Merlin! Potter, you suck!'

Draco violently took the knife from Harry and started to chop up their ingredients and flinging them into the kettle, wailing, 'This is so easy. I can't fail at something this easy, Potter! My family will be notified! Our entire bloodline's honour is at stake!'

Harry touched Draco's leg. Draco jumped away, panting.

'You caught fire,' Potter said.

Indeed, there were scorch marks on Draco's pants.

'You should be more careful.' Harry grinned broadly.

Furiously, Draco glared at him. 'Y-you are a bad influence, Harry Potter!'

. . .

Meanwhile, their second Hogsmeade trip was coming up. The Threat wasn't allowed to go, so Draco would finally be allowed some personal space, a real horizon to look at and rest – glorious, wonderful rest. Needless to say, he was very much looking forward to it.

There was a shop in Hogsmeade that sold sheet music. Draco wanted to buy as much as possible there, since it had proven difficult to simply guess the notes of some songs.

Before it was even two in the afternoon, Vincent, Gregory and Draco had done everything they'd wanted to do in Hogsmeade, including a visit to the music shop, so they decided to take a walk to the Shrieking Shack, just to enjoy their freedom.

Draco was telling his friends all about Hagrid's trial. Things were going perfectly. Father was a great public speaker and would obliterate the competition at this hearing.

'I should have an owl from Father any time now. He had to go to the hearing to tell them about my arm… about how I couldn't use it for three months. I really wish I could hear that great hairy moron trying to defend himself… "There's no 'arm in 'im , 'on est"… That Hippogriff's as good as dead –'

Suddenly, Draco caught sight of Weasley, standing alone, leaning on a fence to watch the Shrieking Shack. Draco felt his face split in a malevolent grin.

'What are you doing, Weasley?' Draco looked up at the crumbling house. 'Suppose you'd love to live here, wouldn't you? Dreaming about having your own bedroom? I heard your family all sleep in one room – is that true?'

Weasley appeared to have trouble controlling himself, but did nothing.

'We were just discussing your friend Hagrid,' Draco continued. 'Just trying to imagine what he's saying to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. D'you think he'll cry when they cut off his Hippogriff's –'

SPLAT!

Draco's head jerked forwards as a ball of mud hit him; his hair was dripping in muck.

'What the –?'

Weasley had to hold on to the fence to keep himself standing, he was laughing so hard, while Draco, Vincent and Gregory spun on the spot, staring wildly around.

'What was that? Who did that?' said Draco, trying to wipe his hair clean.

'Very haunted up here, isn't it?' said Weasley, with the air of one commenting on the weather.

Crabbe and Goyle looked scared; their bulging muscles were no use against ghosts. Draco was staring madly around at the deserted landscape.

SPLATTER!

This time, Vincent and Gregory caught some foul-smelling, green sludge. Gregory hopped furiously on the spot, trying to rub it out of his eyes.

'It came from over there!' said Draco, wiping his face.

Vincent blundered forwards, his long arms outstretched like a zombie. Suddenly, a stick lobbed at his back and he did a kind of pirouette in mid-air, trying to see who had thrown it. As Weasley was the only person around, it was Weasley he started towards.

Then he stumbled on something and at the same time a face appeared. It hung in midair, unattached to a body. It was the face of Harry Potter.

For a split second, Draco stared at him.

'AAARGH!' he yelled, pointing at Harry's head. Then he turned tail and ran, at breakneck speed, back down the hill, Vincent and Gregory following at his heel.

'Did you see it too?' Draco asked, panting.

Crabbe and Goyle nodded. 'Potter's ugly head.'

Those weren't the words Draco would've used, but at least he wasn't going mental. Still, it couldn't be good that Potter's head was floating around the Shrieking Shack. Did it mean he was dead?

They ran straight to Madam Puddifoot's teashop, headquarter of Pansy and her gang of Slytherin girls. Before they reached her, however, Draco, Vincent and Gregory bumped into Professor Severus Snape.

Gasping for breath, they came to a halt.

'Master Malfoy,' their Professor drawled. His eyes swayed over to Crabbe and Goyle. 'And… friends.'

'Potter,' panted Draco.

'A ghost,' panted Vincent.

'Potter's head,' panted Gregory.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

'We saw Potter's head floating in the air,' said Draco, knowing full well how crazy it sounded. 'Only his head. I swear, that's what we saw.'

'It's true,' said Vincent.

'Well well well…' muttered Snape.

'Is he dead?' Draco was unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

'Not likely,' Snape drawled. 'If Mister Potter's head is here, than I am certain the rest of his miserable body is here too. I will call him into my office immediately… Be assured… Potter is not dead – yet.'

They watched him hurry back towards the castle.

'He's in for it this time,' growled Vincent, rubbing his hands.

Draco scratched his muddied head, wondering how much trouble he got Harry in. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, for once in his life.

But more importantly: how did Potter manage to make his head float?

'Come on,' said Gregory. 'Let's get ice cream.'

Now that was a good idea, Draco thought.

. . .

The trial to get justice for Draco's injury went even better than expected. Father had managed to convince the hearing that Draco's wound had been bad enough to get the hippogriff killed. His parents had completely removed the threat from this world for Draco. He had never felt so proud of his family. They could do anything they set their hearts to.

Their next Care of Magical Creatures class, Hagrid cried. The great moron actually cried over a hazardous animal.

'Completely out of it, that man,' Draco uttered, looking back at their "Professor" as they were walking up to the castle. 'Look at him blubber!'

Draco, Vincent and Gregory watched, standing just inside the castle doors, and they sniggered as Hagrid turned round and ran back towards his cabin, his face buried in his handkerchief.

Weasley, Granger and Potter watched him go from the top of the steps.

'Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?' Draco said. 'And he's supposed to be our teacher!'

Weasley made a furious move towards Draco, but then Granger got there first – SMACK!

Draco staggered. She had slapped him around the face with all the strength she could muster. 'Don't you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul – you evil –'

They all stood flabbergasted as the Mudblood raised her hand again.

'Hermione!' Potter grabbed her hand as she swung it back, and he pulled her away. Looking conflicted, he inched closer and reached to touch Draco's face.

Shocked, Draco slapped him away. 'Get off, Potter!'

Immediately, Weasley had pulled out his wand.

Draco stepped backwards. 'C'mon,' he muttered.

Thankfully, the "golden trio" allowed Draco, Crabbe and Goyle to retreat to the silent safety of the Dungeons.

'Filthy Mudblood,' grumbled Draco, touching his painful face.

'I'm not beating a girl,' said Vincent. 'But if she touches us again…'

'She's dead,' growled Gregory. He looked at Draco's face. 'You want ice?' he muttered, nodding towards the kitchen.

'I didn't do anything,' Draco wailed. 'We've ignored them for weeks.'

Hurting even more than the smack around his face, was the fact that Harry Potter hadn't even noticed Draco ignoring him.

. . .

Hidden in a corner of the Common Room where no one would bother him, Draco was bent over his Runes homework. To keep his mind from wandering, he was doing all the homework for rest of the year in advance.

He hadn't slept well for days. Harry's warm fingers on Draco's face kept cropping up in his dreams, as did Harry's shirtless back or the way he had stood in the middle of the Slytherin Common Room, with dozens of wands pointed at him and that almighty powerful look about him.

It was torture. Draco wanted to see him, touch him, talk to him, make him laugh and get him to look so soft at Draco while his hair crackled like sparklers.

Just as Draco's right hand got cramped so bad he had to switch to his left, Pansy plopped down next to him. 'How's it going, Draconius?'

'Terrific,' he muttered.

'Noticed you weren't at lunch.'

Draco didn't reply.

'Or breakfast,' Pansy continued. 'Noticed your hair is greasy. Never seen that before.'

Who cares, Draco thought. He wasn't planning on leaving the Common Room. Not if he could help it. Not if somewhere out there, Harry J. Potter was talking to everyone but him.

'Realized it's almost Slytherin against Gryffindor,' Pansy said, softer now. 'Connected the dots.'

'You're a gosh-darn genius, Pansington. Ought to give you a medal.'

'Are you so nervous then?'

Draco put down his quill. 'I can't do it right. If he wins, we lose. If I win, he'll lose.'

'So what?' asked Pansy.

Draco shrugged and hung his head. 'I like seeing him win.'

Pansy smirked. 'Merlin… Draco –'

'Yeah, I know.' He rolled up his sleeves and picked up his quill, but couldn't get himself to continue his homework.

Putting the quill down again, he ruffled through his disgusting hair before dropping his face in his hands.

'I'm so in love with him...'

A wave of heartache got stuck in his throat. He swallowed a sob.

'Why doesn't he like me?'

. . .

Meanwhile, the whole of Slytherin house was obsessed with the upcoming Quidditch match. Marcus Flint kept shouting advise and tactics through the corridors that Draco and his teammates should remember for the match. Other Slytherins kept slapping their shoulders in support, as if it would help Draco to be black and blue when searching for the Snitch.

Slytherin wasn't even half as obsessed with the match as Gryffindor was. They hadn't won the Quidditch Cup since Charlie Weasley had been Seeker and were relentless in their efforts to bring the Slytherins down. Even imitating Harry Potter fainting didn't shut them up anymore.

'You suck, Malfoy,' scoffed a seventh-year Gryffindor twice Draco's size, while he and his friends pretended to be retching and vomiting every time they noticed Draco

'Couldn't catch a Snitch when it flew in your face,' smirked others.

And for some reason they all started blowing raspberries while turning their thumbs down, whenever they passed him. It wasn't threatening or insulting, but it didn't make Draco feel any better too. No matter how silly they showed it, the hate was real. Draco sucked.

He felt nauseous the entire week. The last time Potter'd been on a broom, he had hit Draco with that incredible Patronus, which was a curse even adult wizards struggled with. Following that, he had bombarded Draco with yucky mud. And as a cherry on top his best, mudblood friend had slapped Draco in the face.

Still, even after all that – perhaps because all of that – all Draco wanted was another hug. He wondered whether his chances to get it would be better or worse if he caught the Snitch first. Would Harry look up to him if he won? Or would it make him Harry's worst rival? More than he already was?

'You should go to Bedfordshire, Draconius,' said Pansy, when she and her cat went to her dorm the night before the match.

Looking up from a paragraph about Patchouli's magical scent Draco had been rereading for the umpteenth time, he snorted. 'Why? It's not as if I would sleep.'

'Then get a Sleeping Draft.'

Draco shook his head. No way was he ever going back to Madam Pomfrey. Knowledge was power, and Madam Pomfrey knew far too much.

Pansy planted her hands on Draco's table. 'If you don't get it, I will.' She made it sound like a threat.

He gestured vaguely. 'If you insist.'

She glared at him. 'Very well! Just this once! I'm not your House Elf!'

He peeked over his shoulder to watch her storm off. Nimbostratus circled around the door to the dorms, meowing loudly. People got tired or intimidated by Pansy's harsh and loud exterior all the time, but Draco could not imagine a better friend in the world.

Within minutes she'd returned and slammed a bottle on Draco's table. 'Sweet dreams!' she roared and went to bed.

'You're the most important person in my life,' Draco said, just loud enough so she'd hear it.

It made her stop dead in her tracks. With a curious look, she tilted her head to watch him. Then she smirked. 'Not more important than The Boy Who Lived?'

He made a face. 'That's a stretch,' he snarled.

She walked back to him and lifted his chin. 'Stop being so scared, darling, it's not a good look. If you fail, you fail, but not to us, alright? Daddy always says Malfoys are well-known to spring back – like punching bags.'

Despite himself, Draco smiled. He'd felt a lot like a punching bag lately.

'That's my boy.' Pansy smiled and Draco reached up to wrap his arms around her neck and drag her into a bear hug of his own.

She was right, he knew she was; it would all be alright. He could ponder about winning or losing, but in the end there was no way to control the outcome anyway. His teammates were counting on him; the entire house of Slytherin was counting on him. Harry Potter be damned, he should at least give it his best shot.

As he pushed Pansy away, Draco chugged down the Sleeping Draft.

'Goodnight Vienna,' he slurred and collapsed on the floor, because, as it turned out, Sleeping Drafts worked instantly.

. . .

When the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall the next morning it was to enormous applause. Both the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were clapping for them too.

No one had applauded when the Slytherin team entered. Slytherin had always been the underdog – a position they'd become comfortable with. Still, it stung, and the Slytherins hissed loudly as the Gryffindors passed.

Draco just watched his housemates, feeling like an outsider.

'And here come the Slytherin team,' yelled Lee Jordan, who was acting as commentator as usual, when Draco and the rest of the Slytherin team entered the Quidditch field later that morning. 'Led by captain Flint. He's made some changes in the line-up and seems to be going for size rather than skill –'

This comment was followed by boos from the Slytherin crowd. Draco thought Lee had a point, but was the last to complain. His enormous teammates towered over the Gryffindors and made Draco feel safer than he'd felt in weeks.

'Mount your brooms!' said Madam Hooch. 'Three… two… one…'

The sound of her whistle was lost in the roar from the crowd as fourteen brooms rose into the air. Draco felt his hair fly back. His nerves left him in the thrill of the flight. This was and always had been his favourite pastime. He started looking around for the Snitch right away, but only found Harry Potter beaming at him, looking excited. Draco felt himself smiling back before he could prevent it.

Within minutes, Draco noticed Harry speeding off, apparently catching sight of the Snitch somewhere. Draco followed on his heel, but no matter how he searched, he couldn't spot the damn thing. When Harry randomly slowed down and went back to looking around, Draco squinted at him in suspicion. Had he tricked him?

As he and Harry soared around the pitch, high above the rest of the game, Draco could almost feel the hundreds of eyes following them. Suddenly, Harry put on a huge burst of speed again: the Snitch was sparkling twenty feet above them, and Draco had noticed it far too late.

Draco tailed Harry, who stretched out his hand. He couldn't let this happen, there had to be a way –

In an impulse, Draco threw himself forward, grabbed hold of the Firebolt's tail and pulled it back.

Horrified, Harry looked around. 'You –' He burst out laughing, losing his concentration as he tried to hit Draco.

Draco was panting with the effort of holding onto the Firebolt, leaning his entire weight on it. One wrong motion of Potter, and Draco would plunge to his death. It was worth it, he had achieved what he'd wanted: the Snitch had disappeared again, and as a bonus Harry was doubled up on his broom from laughing.

'Penalty! Penalty to Gryffindor! I've never seen such tactics!' Madam Hooch screeched, shooting up to where Draco was sliding back onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and One.

'Jerk!' Harry shouted and he pushed Draco off his broom. Before he could even try to regain his balance, Harry'd already grabbed Draco's shirt to pull him back up.

'Evil Slytherin,' he said, shaking his head. He was still grinning.

From then on, Potter was marking Draco so closely their knees kept hitting each other. Harry wasn't going to let Draco anywhere near the Snitch.

'Get out of it, Potter!' Draco yelled in frustration, as he tried to turn and found Harry blocking him.

Potter seemed to be enjoying himself very much.

Shouts of the Gryffindor team distracted both of them. 'Angelina, COME ON!'

Every single other Slytherin player, even their Keeper, was streaking up the pitch towards Angelina – they were all going to block her penalty.

Harry wheeled the Firebolt about, bent so low he was lying flat along the handle and kicked it forwards. Like a bullet, he shot towards the Slytherins.

Draco let out a breath of relief and flew away from the game, looking over the field –

And there it was! A few feet away from him: a tiny, golden glimmer.

All other thoughts and worries vanishing from his mind, Draco dived. He was so close. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Potter inching nearer, but even with a Firebolt, there was no way he was going to catch up.

Draco stretched out his hand, he could almost feel the Snitch already. They were going to win!

A great blur of red and gold entered his field of vision. Draco only had a split second to register what had happened: Harry Potter was falling through the air; without a Firebolt to support him in sight –

They were miles above the ground – Harry Potter was falling to his death! A shriek got stuck in Draco's throat and the Snitch bumped against his hand when he closed it around Harry's arm –

The full weight of the Boy Who Lived yanked Draco down. Clinging to Harry's wrist for dear life, Draco found himself thrown off his Nimbus when Harry plunged towards the ground – only at the last second, Draco managed to wrap his leg around the broom, his heart pounding in his throat.

They hung in the air with only Draco's leg and his hand to keep them from falling into the depth. In a fearful, high pitched voice Draco hardly recognized, he could hear himself sprinkle the Quidditch field with every foul word he knew.

Harry looked up at him. His warm hand clutched Draco's wrist so tightly it hurt, yet he was beaming. Why was he beaming?

Out of the corner of his eye, the Firebolt appeared. It stopped at Harry's side, at exactly the right height for him to mount it. Draco knew all about that feature; Harry'd told him about it himself.

Potter climbed onto the Firebolt, finally allowing Draco to heave himself up to safety as well.

'Thanks,' said Harry with a broad grin – and he flew away with his fist in the air.

The stadium exploded.

Draco's heart fell.

. . .

Draco felt hot and stupid. Of course Harry had never been in danger; not with Professor Dumbledore watching and with the Firebolt's thousands of features. And of course he had deliberately chosen to put himself in danger, there was no accident involved of any kind.

The other Slytherins were livid. Draco flinched when his teammates swarmed over to him as one man, until he started making out their words:

'Foul move – !'

'Taking advantage – !'

'Partial ref– !'

'This is not to be borne!'

That last one was Pansy, shouting all the way from the ground. She was flanked by Vincent and Gregory, who were looking daggers at the Gryffindors and Madam Hooch.

They weren't angry with him, Draco realised – they were angry with Harry Potter.

Slumping on his Nimbus, Draco wished his teammates would yell at him. He'd never felt more dumb. He pointed his broom to the ground, then left it there. 'I quit.'

As soon as he stalked away, the whole team surrounded him. They didn't seem to agree with his decision. Draco barely understood a thing they said as they all shouted over each other, but he got the gist of it. They claimed it wasn't his fault, that anyone would have done what Draco had, and that he'd set a great example of true Slytherin character.

It thawed his frozen heart. All this time, he'd been quietly convinced he was only in the team because his father bought everyone those Nimbuses; it was only last year that they'd yelled at him for letting himself get distracted by Potter, and now they didn't want him to quit for the same reason.

Jason the Mudblood pushed him out of his thoughts. 'I don't want no scrubs,' he softly sang, looking shy but with a light in his eyes. 'A scrub is a guy that can't get no love from me.'

Draco pressed his lips together, trying not to smile. He loved that song; it sounded so futuristic. He wondered how Jason knew.

'Hangin' out the passenger side,' Jason sang on.

'Of his best friend's ride,' Draco joined in. 'Trying to holla at me.'

'Woo!' yelled Jason the Mudblood, clapping his hands and swinging his hips.

'PARTY?!' shouted Adrian Pucey, looking excitedly at them all one by one.

'PARTY!' hollered Miles Bletchley, and – somewhere at the back of the crowd – Pansy too. 'Teach us the song, Draconius!' she bellowed.

Draco copied Jason's little dance. 'I don't want no scrub. A scrub is a guy that can't get no love from me.'

'Hangin' out the passenger side of his best friend's ride, trying to holla at me!'

It might have been the weirdest moment of Draco's life, marching through the Dungeons with the whole Quidditch team belting out Muggle songs after losing spectacularly; on their way to party all through the night, for no reason, except that they felt rebellious. It was a good thing Snape never checked up on them, as they would probably have overpowered him and thrown him out at his arms and legs, bound up and Stunned, just for the heck of it.

Draco showed of his Magically enhanced Muggle music. At one point he'd gone slightly overboard with it and had the entire Slytherin house bawling their eyes out on a Whitney Houston song, but he'd never seen a happier bunch of people than when "I'm gonna be" started playing.

Blaise Zabini jumped on a table, pretending to be a choir conductor while stomping his feet as if he was soldiering on with the boy scouts. ''And I would walk five hundred miles! And I would walk five hundred more!' He pointed at the left side of the Commons room – 'Da-da da-da da!' the left side shouted – then he pointed at the right side of the Common room – 'Da-da da-da da!' the right side shouted.

It was one of the best nights of Draco's life.

. . .

Pansy had been right: the Malfoys truly were the punching bags of the Wizarding World. Draco barely had time to recover from his humiliation at the Quidditch field, when the next punch was delivered.

In the last week of the year, right after their exams, Buckbeak was executed. Or rather: he was supposed to be. In the Entrance Hall on his way to breakfast, Draco's Eagle Owl flew up to him with a letter.

'The beast was gone,' his father wrote; even his handwriting looked angry. 'One minute we were all looking at it, the next it was gone, entirely gone. From right under our noses. We were standing talking to the Gamekeeper the entire time. There is no explanation.'

'No explanation,' Draco grumbled, almost tearing up the letter in fury. 'That's ridiculous.'

'Talking to yourself is a sign of loneliness,' said a hazy voice behind him. Some second year with long blonde hair and weird glasses was walking past him, a faint smile on her face. She disappeared from sight before he could decide what part of the girl to insult first.

'That moronic oaf outwitted my father!' Draco slammed the letter on the Slytherin table with such force that Gregory dropped a sausage. 'Can you believe it? He must have had help. Outwitted by a Gamekeeper! '

'Draco, my sausage,' whined Gregory.

'This is outrageous!' Draco was too angry even to sit down.

A husky voice behind him jeered, 'What's the matter, Dra?'

'PISS OFF!' Pansy and Gregory bellowed in unison.

Draco didn't even look around. He felt proud.

Malfoys sprung back.

. . .

On the train home, Draco, Vincent, Gregory, Pansy and Nimbostratus shared a compartment. It was nice to have Pansy with them, like old times. Draco wondered if the Slytherin girls wouldn't miss her too much.

When it got time to change into their normal clothes, something fell out of Draco's pocket. With a muffled clunk it dropped to the floor. Curious, Draco picked it up.

'What's that?' asked nosy Pansy, who had been trying to get Nimbostratus back in his cage.

'A jawbreaker?' Gregory offered with high hopes.

It was a small, hard ball wrapped in a piece of paper. Draco sat down to unwrap it – and his mouth fell open. Underneath the paper was a Snitch, heavily wrapped in Spellotape to keep it from flying off.

Draco flattened the paper on his leg and squinted to see what was on it. As soon as he recognized the handwriting, he started grinning like an impressionable fool.

On the note was a drawing, picturing Potter and Draco dangling from the Nimbus Two Thousand And One. Then Draco deciphered the words underneath the drawing – and his heart almost leaped out of his chest.

'I'm yours,' it read.

Draco's face felt hotter than ever, and both the note and the Snitch slipped out of his nervous, sweaty hands. He struggled to pick them up, every inch of his body was shaking.

Nimbostratus jumped on the Snitch and Pansy snatched up the paper. She too squinted to read Harry's handwriting. Then her chin dropped. She started to grin. 'Holy fuck, Draconius!' She started slapping him on the head in excitement and then pressed a kiss on his hair. 'You hooked The Boy Who Lived!'

'Contain yourself, woman,' drawled Draco, but even his voice sounded shaky and weak. 'He meant the Snitch, certainly, he only meant that stupid Snitch.'

Vincent grabbed the note and Gregory looked over his shoulder to see it too. Mean smiles appeared on their faces. It seemed they were already planning how to make fun of Draco about this, or how to use it against Potter somehow.

Meanwhile, Pansy had picked up her cat and slammed open the compartment door. 'I'm telling the girls!'

Draco grabbed her arm, yanked the door close and in the same move he pulled his precious note out of Vincent's grubby hands. 'No, you will not! This is mine, understood?!'

'Yours, indeed,' jeered Pansy, touching his nose. 'Aaw, Draco, my heart is melting!'

He shook his head. 'It's nothing. I'm sure it is nothing.'

'I'm sure it's everything!' screamed Pansy. 'Promise you'll write him this summer!'

'No, I dunno…'

'Swear it!' She looked daggers at him, piercing her nails into his wrist.

'Alright, I swear I will write him,' muttered Draco, his voice high and his face still flushed.

She let him go and he hid his face in his hands, peeking through his fingers to stare at Harry's words.

I'm yours.

---

Author notes:

20/9/2020: I was planning to drop a chapter each month, but then life in general and a chronic illness in specific happened. All promises are out of the window at this point, but I do want to finish the story.

09/12/2020: The project is suddenly very daunting and overwhelming to me. The only way I can finish this is by making it fun, and the only way to make it fun is to release any pressure of finishing this.
I will probably keep updating. It might be finished in fourty years. I do love this project!
Anywho, I have a draft of chapter four and have started on chapter five. Maybe comments help keep me motivated 0:) It really is a lot to rewrite an entire book series, I don't know why I didn't think of that before lmao (hint: adhd?)