A/N: It's the "Harry and Draco get together with little or no explanation" chapter! Muahahaha! Fear me.
Any rate, the next part will mark the end of what I refer to as "phase 1." Phase 2 is likely to be longer and a bit angstier. Not everything is duckies and bunnies, yes? But, I do solemnly swear to finish this story. I will not give up like so many have! I will prevail!
This weeks thanks go out to: Celestinne (you reviewed again! You dear, dear girl!), Fyre Eye (you reviewed for the first time! Thank you!), Sheron (you'll keep me from slacking off, right? It's a dirty job but someone seems willing to do it. I can't thank you enough for that and your loyalty) and Bekquai (for the single most wonderful review I have ever received in my entire fanfic writing career! Muah!)
Now, I'll shut up and let you read what you REALLY came for.
- colour scheming -
Oh, times like this it's hard to see
With any kind of clarity.
What's the point of wondering anymore?
So much I just can't figure out
I'd love to know without a doubt for sure,
For sure,
Where do we stand?
Great Big Sea, "Clearest Indication"
Ron couldn't sleep.
He'd tried, but he couldn't. Sleep wouldn't come.
Shakespeare believed, and many after him as well, that insomnia is a symptom of a guilty heart. Your daytime peace replaced by nightly hell. Monsters in your mind. Devils in your blood. Demons in you DNA.
If Ron could have, he would have ripped his heart out and torn it to pieces with his own hands. It would have been quicker and cleaner than the slowly ripping heartbreak he lived with.
He stared into the flickering depth of the fireplace. He was alone, on the floor, in the Commons. Alone was good, for now at least. He didn't know what he'd do if someone were to see the tears on his cheeks.
Doubt was not his friend. Doubt was why he was alone. Doubt and hesitation and fear and stupidity and ignorance and, and God, unworthiness.
I'm not worthy of all that she is. How could I be?
He covered his face with his hands. He didn't deserve the light of the fire.
Lavender had told him about her crush on Seamus three days ago. She'd talked about the way the sunlight filtered through his hair, and the way he spoke, and his sense of humour. She'd told him over and over again how much she loved the Irish boy, but Ron knew: Lavender had no idea what love was.
Ron knew.
He knew with every look, with every syllable, with every heart-wrenching movement of her fingers. Her soul was more a part of him than his own. To part with her when their time at Hogwarts had come to an end would be more than painful; it would be mortal. Fatal.
He loved Hermione with every laugh and with every tear and with every angry word. Life without her was no life at all.
The portrait door creaked open; Ron jumped as Harry entered.
Harry's face was pale and his eyes were fearfully bright. He clutched his invisibility cloak around his shoulders and looked around him wildly, as if the world had just dumped in a pit of acid and Harry was the only one to notice it was slowly melting. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone.
The boys' eyes locked on each other's faces and both immediately looked away. Ron took the moment to brush the tears from his face, and Harry straightened his shirt and hair.
"What are you still doing up?" Harry asked finally.
Ron shrugged with forced carelessness. "Not much. Planning how to squash Slytherin in the next match. I couldn't sleep. What about you?"
"Ah…" Harry blushed and sat down on the couch near Ron. "Couldn't sleep either. Took a walk."
They fell into vaguely comfortable silence, staring into the fire.
"Harry?"
"What's up?"
Ron took a deep breath. "Have you ever been in love?"
If Ron had been looking at Harry, he would've seen the green-eyed boy pale rapidly. "Wh- what?"
Ron kept his eyes fixed on the fire. "I don't mean like the crush you've got on Cho Chang. I mean really in love."
Harry's features relaxed and he leaned forward to place a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Are we talking about, uh, Krystal here?"
If Ron's smile had been any more forced, his mouth would've been bleeding. "Yeah. Krystal."
"Let me give you some free advice, Ron."
Ron snorted. "Free advice is never cheap."
Harry ignored him. "The advice is, when it comes to love don't take my advice."
Ron tilted his head back to lean against the couch and look into the face of his best friend. There was something haggard in Harry's expression, confused maybe and a little frightened. Ron smiled a genuine little smile. "What have you been up to tonight, Harry?"
"Something I would never have dreamed of doing." A look of cruel irony passed across Harry's face.
"Oh?"
"And something I'm not going to talk about." Harry finished.
"Ah," Ron waved his hand at Harry. "You're no fun."
"Not tonight, no."
There was something so oppressively secretive in Harry's eyes that Ron dropped the subject without hesitation. He turned his eyes back to fire and sighed dolefully.
"The torches we bear, eh?"
"Yes," Harry agreed in a whisper and in a quieter voice, one not for Ron's ears, "how long before I get burned?"
--
Three floors lower, Draco entered Slytherin House. There were no prying eyes here to spy the pale boy's late night entrance. No one to comment on the maniacal grin on his face, or the telltale flush on his icy skin. Or the muted fear in his eyes.
Draco rushed through the Commons and into the dorm. His body was quivering with suppressed emotion as he reached his bed and jumped in, pulling the curtains around and not even bothering to change out of his clothes.
Draco had always believed the way to victory over Potter was through his friends. Friendship was Potter's one major weakness, and, with friends like Weasley, a weakness that was easily exploited.
Now, Draco had found another. And in the oddest of places…
Well, not a weakness per say. Potter had pushed him away, called him mad and run out of the classroom, and that wasn't the behaviour of someone head over heels in love.
But, but… If he did love me! I could win this, I really could. Beat him mind, body, soul and HEART.
Draco shivered and stared up through the curtain top at the ceiling beyond, woven with intricate shadows. He lay on his back like that for many minutes, not thinking, simply feeling.
Adrenaline poured through his veins, the most seductive of drugs. He could taste victory; it tasted of salt and wintergreen toothpaste.
Funny how Potter thought to brush his teeth first.
His pulse was racing.
His heart was missing beats.
His lips were parted breathlessly as he relived the meeting over and over. It was perfect.
No, not perfect. Perfectly imperfect.
To make Potter love him, not an idea of him, not some false character made for the purpose, but the real Draco Malfoy, that would be true victory. Completion.
He would only have to be careful that he didn't fall in love himself.
Draco dismissed that with a mental shrug. It would never happen. Not with someone like Potter certainly.
Oblivious to the foreshadowing in the air, he rolled over onto his side and went to sleep.
--
Ginny woke the next morning in high spirits, hopping out of bed at the first crack of light through the curtains.
Ginny was a woman with a plan, and there was no time to waste.
"Good morning Ginny," came a polite voice from down the rows.
Ginny glanced suspiciously over her shoulder, then relaxed. "Oh. Good morning Hermione. Did you sleep well?"
Hermione, sitting cross-legged on her bed with a book in her lap, sighed and tossed her curls over a shoulder. "Not really, but thank you for asking." She uncrossed her legs and walked over to Ginny's bed, being careful not to wake anyone else in the room. "You seem happy though. Sleep well?"
"Very well!" Ginny gave her best "adorable younger sister" smile. "I'd love to talk, but I've got to meet with some friends in the Hall."
"Oh?" Hermione smiled calmly. "Colin Creevey? You two seem very close these days."
"Yes…" Ginny's smile grew mysterious. "Colin Creevey…"
"Well, go ahead. I'll join you presently. I'd like to finish my chapter first."
"Alright." Ginny waved. "See you there!"
As Ginny walked out of the dorm, she laughed under her breath. Colin Creevey my ass!
--
Crabbe was worried. Goyle was worried too. Crabbe and Goyle were worried. Crabbe was worried about Draco. Goyle was also worried about Draco. They were very worried. They were worried about Draco. They were very worried about Draco.
Contrary to popular belief, Greg Goyle and Vince Crabbe did not share a brain. If they had shared a brain they might have had the cranial capacity to find their way out of a paper bag. As it was, they did not.
Greg and Vince led happy, if simple, lives. They ate, they slept and they beat the crap out of anyone who dared look at Draco the wrong way. Or cough in his presence. Or say unflattering things about his mother. (Truth be told, they would've done this Draco or no Draco. Both Greg and Vince had crushes on Draco's mother. It wasn't their fault; she was hot.)
Draco was, to put it simply, their reason for being.
Now don't misjudge them! It's not like they were star-struck fans or anything, but they had an arrangement with Draco. They were his muscles and he was their brain. He might have been getting the better part of the deal, but they didn't care. He treated them with respect, and that was better than they got from the rest of the school.
And now something was wrong with Draco.
They had tried, that morning, to convince him to go down to breakfast and he'd refused. He'd mumbled something about "Too much work to be done" and wandered off. It wasn't just frightening, it was downright alarming. And with Draco's low blood sugar too!
Still, Greg and Vince knew all too well the price to be paid for angering their boss. They decided it was easier (and much, much safer) to bring something back for him rather than force him to come. Which is why they were rushing their food down their throats as fast as their saliva could slip it.
They were caught entirely off guard when a Gryffindor girl approached their table.
"Crabbe, Goyle," the tiny red-haired girl said briskly, "I would like to talk to you."
Vince and Greg exchanged a glance, forks halfway to their mouths.
Vince decided to represent them. "Whadda ya want?"
The girl cleared her throat, her fierce brown eyes gleaming. Her eyes reminded the boys a little of Draco's. "This matter is not for the ears of your…" She glanced contemptuously around the Slytherin table. Most of the Slytherin were trying to pretend she wasn't there. "Friends," she finished after a long pause.
"Anything you can say t'us, you can say ta them." Greg growled, trying his best to imitate one of Draco's better glares.
"Really?" The girl's eyebrows raised. "Well then, you," she pointed at Greg, "wear pink frilly underwear, and you," her finger gravitated toward Vince, "like to write Vincent Malfoy on the back cover of your textbooks."
The other Slytherin were suddenly much more attentive, some covering their smiles with a hand and other laughing outright.
Vince rose out his seat. "It ain't true!" He cried.
Greg balled up a meaty fist. "I'm gonna pound you, little gurl!"
She held out a hand. "Stop. I have more, would you like to hear?" Greg and Vince gave her twin glares. She smiled. "Or you can come with me as I asked."
They had no choice. Greg and Vince slide off the bench and followed the girl to a corner of the Hall.
"How…" Vince paused. "How'd you know 'bout that?" He asked quietly.
"I have sources." The girl replied and tossed a bright smile over her shoulder to Pansy Parkinson.
"I'll kill her!" Greg roared starting towards Pansy.
Vince shook his head and placed a restraining hand on Greg's shoulder. "Then Draco'd kill us."
"This is fascinating, really." The girl interrupted. "But can we get down to business?"
"Whadda ya want?" Greg and Vince grumbled in tandem.
"First of all, my name is Ginny Weasley. You may call me Miss Weasley." Greg and Vince shared another glance. This girl is crazy, they both thought. "You two are going to help me."
"Do what?" Greg asked warily.
"Destroy Quidditch."
"WHAT? You're fucking nuts!" Vince screeched.
"I am not!" Ginny protested. "And you will do as I say."
Greg folded his arms across his chest. "Why should we?"
Ginny grinned. "Because, if you don't, the Hogwarts Gossip will get the anonymous tip that last week Gregory Goyle was screaming 'Ms. McGonagall, not the whip!' in his sleep and that Vincent Crabbe keeps one of my brother's Quidditch robes under his pillow."
"But those are lies!" Vince protested.
"And I care why?"
Vince and Greg stood speechless: they had been outmanoeuvred. This wasn't hard to do, but it didn't happen often.
"Whadda we do?" Greg asked in resignation.
Ginny's, Miss Weasley's, smile widened. "Excellent. We meet tonight at the bottom of the third floor staircase at 7:00. I will introduce you to your partners in crime then. Good day Gregory, Vincent." She nodded professionally and walked off, leaving Vince dazed and Greg confused.
--
Cho Chang clasped her hands behind her back and surveyed the row of children with military precision.
These were her new recruits, first years of every shape, size and house. They had been carefully observed over the past weeks. These were the ones that had shown the most style, guts and intelligence.
Cho, being a professional, knew that her first duty was to scare them into submission.
"You have been chosen," she told the cowering group, her black eyes flashing critically, "to serve as the newest generation of the Hogwarts Gossip. You have been chosen because you are the best and brightest each house has to offer.
"But understand this, you leave your house colours at the door! I am not your girlfriend, I am not your third grade teacher. Do not expect me to coddle you, and no matter how smart you are, remember you are all scum to me. You will earn respect; you will work for it. You will not eat, sleep or breathe until you have made your deadline. Clear?"
A shuffle and a weak chorus of yessum's passed through the recruits.
Cho raised her voice and straightened her back. "Are we clear?"
"Yes ma'am!" They shouted.
"Good," Cho fell into a parade rest, "dismissed!"
The recruits scattered and Cho adopted a less military stance, running a hand through her black hair. One of the older reporters laughed.
"You wait for this day every year, don't you Cho?"
Cho grinned fiercely. "I don't hear you working."
The reporter held up his hands and smiled. "I'm working, I'm working."
Cho, editor-in-chief of the Hogwarts Gossip, walked back to her makeshift desk in the makeshift office the Gossip had erected at the end of a deserted hallway and kicked her feet up.
Cho was beautiful, brilliant and athletic. She could do anything, but the Gossip was her first love and she ruled it with an iron fist.
The Hogwarts Gossip, "We print anything, anytime," wasn't an official newspaper. Cho and her execs went to great length to keep their presence from coming to the attention of the staff. Even the majority of the students didn't know who ran or worked for the paper.
The first rule of the Gossip was you don't talk about the Gossip.
"Cho," one of the Hufflepuff gophers startled her out of her reverie, "Pansy wants to see you."
"Send her in!" Cho exclaimed.
It was odd to think that two such different girls could be so close. Gorgeous, friendly Cho was like a ray of sunlight to ugly, crafty Pansy's shadow.
Cho owed her a lot though. After Cedric's death, Cho had been nearly catatonic for a long, long time, unable to function even on the smallest level. Without Pansy to take the lead, the Gossip would have fallen into such disarray that Cho's life's work would have been unsalvageable. Without Pansy's patience Cho was sure she would have never recovered.
Contrary to her nature, Pansy hadn't exploited this debt. Instead, the girls had formed a healthy, professional relationship.
Pansy entered the room.
"Morning Pansy." Cho smiled and motioned for her to sit down.
Pansy shook her head, preferring to stand. "Morning Cho."
"You got something for me today?" Pansy was also Cho's top reporter.
"Actually, the reason I'm here is 'cause I have something to tell you."
There was something serious in Pansy's voice. Cho sighed. "Oh god, don't tell me you found someone else."
"Yeah." Pansy smiled.
"Is she good for you?" Cho asked teasingly.
Pansy raised her eyebrows. "A he actually."
"Oh boy. Who is it?"
"Can't tell."
"He's got you that bad, eh?"
"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."
Cho knew Pansy too well to let her get away with that. "Pay's good?"
"Well, yes. But honestly I'd do it for the humour value alone. Those Gryffindors are really fucked up y'know?"
"I always suspected." Cho tapped a finger on her desk and thought of Harry. "But, look hon, you dropped some information."
Pansy smiled again. "And who says that wasn't on purpose? Consider it a parting gift."
That surprised Cho. It wasn't like Pansy to drop hints unless…"That good a story?"
"My intuition tells me this could be it." Pansy paused. "The Big One."
The Big One. It had been Cho's pursuit her whole life. A story everyone would want to know. Not just everyone in the school, but everyone in the world. Something so juicy and secret it would leave everyone breathless.
"Your intuition is pretty good." Cho said quietly. "Thanks."
"No problem." Pansy said as she headed for the door. "See you around."
When she was gone, Cho wasted no time. "You!" She shouted at a passing Ravenclaw.
"Me?" The Ravenclaw asked in surprise.
"Yes! Find me Padma Patil! Now!"
It was time to recruit a Gryffindor insider.
--
Harry was going to kill Ron.
It was bad enough that Harry had been up 'til god knows what unholy hour editing and re-editing his mental recording of that night's other activities. It had taken hours before Harry's recollection of… "That Thing" played out to his satisfaction. Before Harry actually believed it was all Malfoy's fault.
And then Ron hadn't reminded him they had Divination early that morning. Harry's so-called best friend hadn't woken him up either, and now Harry was late and Professor Trelawney would kill him. Probably by throwing him out the Divination room window. Harry shivered, even for a Seeker used to heights the thought of that fall was terrifying.
To make matters even worse, only in my life could things be worse, Harry was certain he was being followed. Or maybe the repeated attempts on his life were finally making him paranoid.
First paranoia and then I'll completely crack. I can see it now: "Why Professor Flitwick, sir, you're looking a lot like Voldemort today, sir!" God…
Footsteps sounded behind Harry. He refused to turn.
Footsteps, now combined with surreptitious paper shuffling, bounced from floor to ceiling to wall. Harry couldn't stand it; he turned. Before he'd turned all the way around some sixth sense already knew who was behind him.
Malfoy. Malfoy with his hair combed back in its usual impeccable style. Malfoy with his shoulders slouched in their usual carelessly graceful way. Malfoy with his lips (although Harry was trying really hard not to think about Malfoy's lips) set into their usual smirk.
Malfoy looking so unimpeachably usual that for an instant Harry was willing to write off… That Thing as only a dream.
A fever dream maybe… I almost wish.
Harry sighed. "Why are you following me, Malfoy?"
"Following you?" Malfoy's eyes blazed with innocence. "I'm just heading to class."
"Slytherin has herbology now," Harry pointed out.
"So?" Malfoy quirked his lips infuriatingly.
"So we're on the third floor!"
Malfoy made a show of looking around him. "Why, so we are."
Harry closed his eyes and reminded himself that wringing Malfoy's neck was probably illegal. "Some people might consider this harassment."
"Some people are idiots, what's your point?"
"I need to get to class, did you actually want something from me? Or were you just lonely?" Harry shifted his weight nervously.
"Actually, I did want something." Malfoy said, straightening his posture a little. "I decided to skip the angsty avoiding you bit and go straight to the 'we need to talk' step."
That was more or less exactly what Harry had been afraid of. "There's nothing to talk about."
Malfoy leaned against a wall and smirked harder. "Well, unless I'm wrong – and y'know, I'm not – we have a lot to talk about."
Harry gripped his books to his chest and began to turn. "There's nothing to talk about. Nothing happened."
Malfoy clucked his tongue against his teeth. "Lies again Potter?"
Harry glanced at the boy over his shoulder and frowned. "Not lies. As far as I'm concerned nothing happened."
"But that's not the truth, is it? If the truth doesn't serve us, what does that say about us?"
Malfoy's voice held a reflective, serious quality Harry had never heard before. He turned back around. "What is the truth then?"
Malfoy pushed off the wall and moved towards Harry with a light swagger.
Malfoy could swagger in his sleep, Harry thought as long, pale fingers wrapped around his collar.
"You want the truth?" Malfoy asked, his face serious but his eyes smirking. A weak jerk of his hands and Malfoy had pulled their faces nose-to-nose. With a studied calm, Malfoy leaned forward and brushed his bottom lip against Harry's trembling top one; then he leaned back again and stared Harry in the eye. "You can't handle the truth."
Harry wiped his mouth against the back of his hand, but he didn't move out of the boy's grip. "You've cracked. Either that or this is a trick."
A smile ghosted across Draco's – Malfoy's, dammit – lips, and he shrugged. "Sure. A trick. Every once and a while, declare peace. It confuses the hell out of your enemies."
"Peace?" Harry's brain felt horribly sluggish, churning out a thought every three minutes. His lips were still burning.
Maybe Malfoy was wearing acid lip-gloss or something… It would make a hell of a lot more sense than believing he means…means…
Malfoy heaved his shoulders in a stage sigh. "Listen Potter, if you can't keep up maybe we should do this some other time."
"No!" Harry shouted and then frowned. He was offering to leave and I stopped him, what the hell is going on? "I mean, you're right. We should, ah, get this out of the way now."
Malfoy fingered Harry's collar and nodded. "Alright. Is there a this?"
Harry cleared his throat and tried to ignore Malfoy's knuckles brushing his neck. "No. Think about it. It's insane. With who I am and who you are. Or at least who your father is."
"With who I am." Malfoy snickered and looked at Harry through his eyelashes. "But, you'll never win anything if you're busy counting all the reasons you'll lose."
Harry flushed. "Do you have a book of one-liners or something?"
"I keep it under my bed." Malfoy drawled.
That was almost pleasant conversation. Something is very, very wrong here… Harry jerked out of Malfoy's grip suddenly. "Is this another of your twisted mind games?"
"Honest answer?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"What?" Harry blinked.
"Yes." Draco repeated, his smirk acquiring a razor edge. "This is another mind game. Do you want to play?"
"…We'll…see." Harry said slowly, not at all sure what to make of that answer. "I… have to get to class now."
Malfoy nodded and snapped off a mocking salute as Harry rushed away wearing a blush to rival some of Ron's best.
What the HELL is going on?
--
Second period was Hermione's spare. The rest of the world though it sucked; you still had to wake up early. Hermione liked the peace and quiet of it though. She could actually get work done.
This particular spare was being dedicated to finishing her Muggle Studies myth project.
It had taken a long time for Hermione to settle on a topic for her essay. There were too many fascinating Muggle myths to chose from. In the end, feeling sufficiently self-pitying, she had settled on the myths surrounding Cupid, god of love.
There is one god not listening to my prayers… Stupid Ron…
Hermione shook her bushy hair and began to cross words off the scroll in front of her.
Cupid, she had discovered a few days ago, was much too broad a topic to cover. Since the Professor had put a limit on the length of the essay, Hermione had to specialise.
Idiotic woman. Can you not just let me work? Hermione, of course, would never risk voicing this opinion, but it was how she felt.
So, she had to choose one detail, and out of novelty's sake, she chose the arrows.
Gold and lead. One for love and one for hate. Get hit with the gold one and bam! You loved the next person your eyes happened upon. But hit with the lead one? That same person could end up your worst enemy. It all depended on the arrow Cupid drew.
Luck of the draw, yes?
It had happened, apparently. People meant to be hit with gold ended up being pricked by lead. Like Apollo and that silly nymph girl.
Causes a lot of trouble if you ask me. He should just carry one.
That had been the most interesting idea to Hermione's mind. Cupid carried love and hate, why? Because love and hate required a lot of one thing: passion. To hate someone you had to care. Someone very wise had once said, "The opposite of love is not hate; it's indifference." Same coin, only different sides.
Lead is silver coloured, is it not? A bored part of Hermione asked. Silver and gold. Hate and love.
Hermione's eyebrows rose at that thought and she lifted her tie for inspection. Red stripes ran against gold ones in an ever-descending spiral.
What's red's complimentary colour? Hermione wondered, picturing a colour wheel in her head. It's green, isn't it?
She laughed quietly and wondered if some Supreme Being had meant to do that.
Green and silver. Red and gold. Can you picture Gryffindor's poster boy and a Slytherin?
She snorted to the silent dormitory.
Oh, but take it one step further. Gryffindor's poster boy and Slytherin's. Malfoy and Harry! God that would be a show I wouldn't miss for the world.
The laughter was too much this time, she buried her head in a pillow.
That would never happen in a million years though. Still, the idea of it…
--
Pavarti Patil was being shunned.
Ron was trying to be subtle, but it was obvious from the way he kept glaring over his sandwich at her that she was not going to be forgiven easily.
Jeez. It's not like I meant anything by it…
It really didn't matter though. Her world wasn't going to come crashing down just because Ron Weasley was mad at her. Ron Weasley was a Weasley for god's sake! Like they mattered.
Now Harry, there was someone with social clout. Maybe he lacked style, and he was a bit of a textbook hero (minus the strong jaw line and Herculean physique, unfortunately), but he was still a star. Definitely someone to know.
Although, maybe all the pressure of stardom was getting to him. He'd been looking pale since Div. He'd been sort of spacy too, hardly noticing when it was announced he would die a horrible, horrible death again that week.
He looked, Pavarti thought, practically in love.
Now that would be news worthy. The Boy Who Lived, Loved. Great headline material.
Suddenly, as though attracted by some magnetic force only he could feel, Harry looked up, his eyes fixing on something farther down the Hall. Pavarti stealthily shifted in her seat to follow his gaze.
Malfoy.
Ah, not love then. Hate. Pity. … Man, can that boy move though.
Malfoy wove himself in between students with the grace of…well…a snake. He was, honestly, the pinnacle of style. Self-confidence embodied. Suavity personified. Malfoy could commit sexual harassment simply by sitting very quietly in a room.
His gaze swept the room empirically; his eyes taking in everyone and thing; the word "insects" written plainly on his smirk.
Now there was a boy born to be a star.
Malfoy's eyes lighted on the Gryffindor table and he began to walk toward them, Goyle and Crabbe trailing behind helplessly.
Ron's Malfoy radar went off and his head snapped up. "What the hell are you doing here? Slumming?"
Malfoy's eyebrows shot up and he smiled one of his perfect smiles. "My god, Weasley. Have you been spending too much time with Trelawney? You just read my mind."
Ron started out of his seat, stopped from rising completely by Hermione's hand on his shoulder.
Weasley vs. Malfoy: Fight of the Century. Pavarti thought, picturing the headline in her head.
"Well," Ron was hissing, "don't let us keep you."
Malfoy's eyes flickered to Harry who was watching him with a look of supreme confusion on his face.
Endearing, yes. Attractive, no.
Malfoy's lips curled up. "Why, Weasley, are you trying to get rid of me?"
"You know bloody well I am!" Ron's face had gone red and his hands clenched to fists.
"Well do it," Malfoy challenged. "Or does your girlfriend have such a hold on you, you can't even do that?"
Every student in Gryffindor house shared a moment of panic: Hermione was a very touchy subject with Ron. Very.
"She is not my fucking girlfriend!" Ron spat.
Hermione looked horrified and instantly let go of Ron's shoulder. Malfoy laughed.
"Why, I do believe you've hurt her feelings. Not used to rejection Granger?"
"Go away, Malfoy." Hermione said quietly. From where Pavarti sat, it looked like there were tears in her eyes.
"Oh?" Malfoy quirked a gorgeous eyebrow. "I'll go if Potter tells me to."
All eyes shifted to Harry. He flushed and returned Malfoy's steady gaze. A deep breath and Harry's mouth opened. "Don–"
"Forget that!" Ron shouted, grabbing his half eaten sandwich. "Eat this Ferret Boy!"
The sandwich flew through the air, twisting and losing bits of lettuce along the way. Ron's aim wasn't great and the sandwich only clipped Malfoy's cheek before landing on Crabbe's shoe.
Malfoy stood stunned for a very long moment, then, slowly, he reached down and picked up Neville's bagel.
"Catch, Weasel!"
Before the bagel even landed, the whole house was in motion.
--
Blaise Zabini was God's straight man. He was one of those uncanny individuals born without a trace of a sense of humour.
Around him kids may have been hurling food, and teachers may have been handing out detentions left and right, and Potter and Malfoy might have been seen sneaking out of the Hall; it didn't matter. Blaise would not crack a smile.
A carrot flew past Blaise's ear and landed in his slice of pie.
Blaise sighed and banged his head on the table. "I hate this school."
--
Draco dashed around a corner, pulling Potter with him. He dropped the boy's hand and leaned his head against the wall, purposely revealing a large expanse of throat.
"Fuck that was fun," he panted.
Potter, breathing equally hard, half-frowned and bent over his knees. "I guess."
"What's your problem?"
Potter gave him an irritated glare. "I really wish you'd stop insulting my friends."
"Sure you do," Draco shrugged, "but you knew that wasn't going to happen going into this."
"Not really," Potter straightened, "you just, kinda…"
Draco waved a hand back and forth. "Details, details. Now get over here and kiss me."
Potter rolled his eyes but smiled. "Oh Maaalfoy. You're sooooo romantic."
A strange feeling tugged on Draco's heart, but he ignored it and laughed. "Get over here you git."
--
"Leave me alone Finnigan!" Lavender shouted, dodging between the Herbology workstations, trying to lose the Irish boy following her.
"But I don't even know what I did!" Seamus pleaded; his friends were dropping like flies these days. "How can I be sorry if I don't know what I did?"
"If you don't know," Lavender spat, "I'm not going to tell you."
Seamus reared back and crinkled his nose. "How does that make any sense?"
Lavender spun and stamped her foot. "It's not about sense! You… you… led me on!"
"I what?"
"That's right!" Lavender cried, warming to her subject. "You played with my heart! Trifled with my emotions!"
"Oh." Oh… Suddenly things made sense. At least, more sense. "Lavender, I didn't know. I'm sorry. You're a great friend, but…"
"I know! I know!" She threw her hands up and sat down on the nearest bench. "Don't you think I know? You're already in love."
I am? "I am?"
She screwed up her features. "Sorry, don't want your secret out in public do you?"
"What secret? I have no idea what you're talking about."
She jumped back to her feet and turned an accusing finger on him. "Don't play dumb with me! You're in love with Dean!" Without another word, she sniffed and walked away.
"I… am?" Seamus asked to the empty air.
"Miss Patil, Miss Brown," Sprout sang over the crowd, "Miss Padma Patil would like to speak with you."
--
"Come on Potty! Can't you chop those roots more evenly?"
"I'm about ready to stuff these roots up your nose, Malfoy."
"That wouldn't be nice."
"Since when did you become an expert on nice?"
"You have to know what nice is to not be it, Potter."
"I hate you."
"Really? You're just saying that... Ohhh! I hate you too!"
Laughter.
"Shut up, Malfoy."
"Shut me up."
A board of finely chopped roots was tipped over.
"Look what you did!"
"Shut up, Potter."
"Shut me up."
Snape stared. It was all so… flirtatious. And pleasant. And civil. And… not Potter and Malfoy! It was wrong.
"Professor…" A little Slytherin hissed as the Potions Master walked past his desk. "What's wrong with them?"
I don't know… I don't want to know… "Keep your eyes on your own cauldron."
An explosion brightened the classroom and Neville Longbottom cried out. "Uh… Professor Snape, sir?"
With a last worried glance at Malfoy and Potter, Snape stalked over to Longbottom's cauldron (or, rather, the remains of it.)
I really hate this class.
--
"Harry, I'm your friend." Ron began as he and Harry walked out of Potions. "You know you can trust me and tell me anything. So, I'd like you to answer this question. Answer truthfully."
Harry shrugged. "Sure, Ron."
"HAVE YOU GONE COMPLETELY INSANE?"
"Uh…" Harry blinked.
"Keep your voice down Ron." Hermione hissed, walking up behind the red-haired boy.
"Do you realise you were being nice to Malfoy?"
"Um…" Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Was I? I hadn't noticed."
Ron made a face. "Oh Malfoy, are these roots thin enough for you?" Ron switched his voice to an impressive imitation of Malfoy's drawl. "Not thin enough, Potter dearest, try again. Gag!"
"You're exaggerating," Hermione pointed out.
"Barely!' Ron squealed. "Since when are we friends with Malfoy?"
"We aren't!" Harry protested. Not friends, certainly… Not anything, really… "I honestly hadn't noticed, but if he's being…tolerable I don't see why I should go out of my way to pick a fight."
Hermione whapped Ron on the shoulder. "You should try that sometime."
"No way! You'll never get me hanging around Ferret Boy!" Ron peered at Harry closely. "So you promise? You and Malfoy aren't… secret friends or anything?"
If the truth doesn't serve us, what does that say about us? About me?
"I promise."
Hermione sighed. "Too bad. It would have been like Romeo and Juliet. Without the romance of course."
Of course. Move along folks, no romance to see here.
"Ugh." Ron stuck out his tongue. "I can't even think about that and Malfoy."
"You rang?" asked a chilly voice from behind them.
The three friends turned around.
Ron's muscles tightened reflexively. "What do you want, Malfoy?"
Malfoy brushed the hair out of his eyes and sneered. "Nothing from you. I need to talk to him." He ticked his chin towards Harry.
"What do you want from him?" Hermione asked.
Malfoy drew himself up haughtily. "None of your business, that's what."
Ron opened his mouth to reply, but Harry stepped forward and held up his hand.
"All right, Malfoy. But you better make it quick." Harry looked at his friends. "You guys go ahead, I'll see you at dinner."
"Harry are you su-"
Hermione grabbed Ron's arm. "Let's go Ron," she whispered. "Harry can fight his own battles." She dragged the protesting Ron off.
When they were safely out of sight, Harry turned back to Malfoy. The other boy was smirking as per norm, but his posture conveyed genuine amusement not smugness.
When did I learn to speak Malfoy-ese?
"I heard you three talking," Malfoy started. "We may have a problem."
"Oh?"
"Snape wanted to talk to me after class. To make sure I wasn't sick or something."
Harry laughed. "We were acting off, I guess. It's odd though; I can't find you completely detestable anymore. And there's something really, really wrong with that."
"Mmm…" Malfoy glanced over his shoulder at a large painting. "Be careful, the walls have eyes."
And ears, oh yes.
"In the future…" Malfoy said.
"What makes you think there is a future?"
"Shut up Potter." He snapped affectionately, if Malfoy snapping could be considered affectionate. "In the future, we should find a more, ah, secretive place to do this."
Harry felt an idea percolate. "They cleaned out the broom closet yesterday." He blushed. "There's, um, lots of floor space now."
That won him a rare not-a-smirk-but-actually-happy smile. The kind that made Harry wonder how he could have thought Malfoy's face was pointed and sneering all these years. He's beautiful when he smiles… And when did I start thinking like an 8th grade girl?
"I love how your mind works sometimes." Malfoy drawled.
"Meet me there tomorrow night at 8?"
"Deal."
--
Ginny ran her fingers through her hair and gave her troops a calculated glare. Vincent, Gregory Colin and Justin Finch-Fletchley returned the glare warily.
They were gathered in the shadows of the third floor staircase, obviously up to no good.
Ginny cracked her knuckles and began: "The new Quidditch balls are being delivered tomorrow. Justin and Colin, you will be on lookout duty. Vincent, Gregory, you will wait near the back window for me to pass you the cases. We will then take them into the Forbidden Forest and have a bonfire."
"When do we do all this?" Justin asked meekly.
"Tomorrow night. At 8. Don't be late."
-end part 5-
