A strange day at Potions class

Draco Malfoy

I walked with Crabbe and Goyle on the way to Potions, as usual, when a hand gripped my shoulder and whirled me around.

Potter. Should I have been surprised? I kept my face expressionless.

"Malfoy, we need to talk." Feinted hostility, I could tell. Apparently he was just as fucked-up as I was.

I raised a finger to stop Crabbe and Goyle from doing whatever their little primate minds were planning. "Go." I didn't give them a second look. Their plodding footsteps faded.

"What is it, Potter?" I tried to keep myself as neutral as possible, tried to keep from looking into those eyes of verdant green.

"I don't want you feeling sorry for me." His eyes flared; he shoved me into the wall. I revealed nothing.

"Don't you worry about that, I'm not." Cold, yet not hateful. I hadn't been able to hate him since..

"I don't want you feeling sorry for me," he repeated, staring into my face. I looked over at the ceiling; my attraction to his eyes was unsettling. "What happened last night--"

"Do you think I'm going to laugh at you?" I interrupted, surprised even by my own words, my voice so loud and yet hushed.

He seemed startled, brushed his disobedient hair from his face. "Well, yes--you've got quite a record when it comes to that.."

I looked at him, looked into those eyes I'd never noticed, saw the scar that had separated us since the moment we met in my peripheral vision. He stared at me, and I stared back.

We were uncomfortably close. I pushed him away gently with a hand to the chest and said, "Things change. People change. Think about it; you've changed too. I can tell." Then I left him there, went to Potions.

Harry Potter

What is anger? I thought as I stared at the back of Malfoy's head in Potions. I was fuming, but it wasn't the same anger I usually felt for him.

Ron's elbow jabbed a sharp exclamation into my side. "What's wrong?" he hissed. "You're blushing and staring off into space... what's going on?"

I blinked, turned quickly towards him. Blushing? "Nothing," I snapped, perhaps too harshly because he recoiled.

"Fine, fine," he shot back hurriedly. "It's just that.. well, you're acting weird today."

I sagged, released muscles I had tensed in the misunderstanding of my own thoughts. "I'm sorry; it's just the Quidditch match." It was, sort of. The Quidditch match where I'd be pitted against Malfoy. I had to figure my thoughts out before then, or I'd never be able to keep on my broom, nonetheless catch the Snitch.

I kept feeling his fingertips lingering on my face...

"Don't worry about it," Ron said. "I was kidding about the Seeker thing. You'll do great.

You always do." The usual note of jealousy that he inserted into statements like that.

There wasn't much I could do. Everything did happen to me, but trust me, it was not a good thing.

"Sure," I said, nodded blankly.

Ron squinted at Malfoy, then leaned over to me again. "Malfoy's quiet. Hasn't made a comment yet today. I wonder why?"

I forced a smile, pushed away the blank, thoughtful expression, pushed away the need to say, "He's probably just as fucked-up as I am right now, that's why," or "Oh, it's just that he found me crying in a bathroom and is pitying me now, the asshole, that's all, Ron."

Instead, I said, "Probably worrying about how badly Slytherin will be beaten today, I reckon."

Why did I feel different about him? What changed at that moment, that he and I could be so different now?

Why couldn't I bring myself to hate him anymore?

It sounded strange even to me, but the fact that Draco Malfoy was an annoying little git was a thing that grounded me. It was a thing that made the world real.

And now, he wasn't. Not seemingly, anyway. He didn't try to curse me, show me up in front of Snape, insult me. He just spouted strange poetic sentiments and made me think too much. Made me think too much about what he said, but more importantly, he made me think too much about..

Him.

Draco Malfoy

Was he stupid? I felt his eyes glaring into the back of my head. If he kept that up Snape would be on him in a second. Apparently he didn't realize how obvious it was.

I did my usual act; pretending to be enthralled but actually bored because I knew how to make all the potions in the books already. In fact, it actually took effort to look interested now, because for once I had something to think about.

What was happening to me? All hatred and rivalry gone between Potter and I, just furious misunderstanding on what happened that night. I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't want to torture him.

I didn't want to make him suffer.

This went against all Malfoy blood, my father's teachings, my family's legacy. Against the House rivalry. This went against it, this strange truce of sorts that he and I had.

"Mr. Malfoy?" I heard Snape's voice nearby. I looked up at him, and he gave me the same simpering smirk as he usually did. Kiss-ass; he wanted to be on good terms with my father. He wouldn't, after what he had done to the Death Eaters. "What is the next ingredient we add after the sliced caterpillars?"

I knew this, I knew this book from cover to cover. Granger wasn't the only smart one. "Pheasant tail-feather, Professor." He nodded, I nodded. When I was certain he wasn't looking, I gave him the most withering look I could manage.

"Now," Snape said, "we will make this potion, the Draught of Strength, able to make one man as strong as ten.

"Here--" His eyes flickered to the Gryffindors-- "if any of you are imbecile enough to think of trying to drink this potion we have created, you must realize.. this book allows three doses to be created with the amount of ingredients you are using. If you attempted to drink this.. the results would be worse than grotesque."

Dead silence. I stood rigidly forward, realizing suddenly that fighting to keep my thoughts on the class was not my only problem--Potter's eyes were burying a hole in my skull. I had

to turn around, had to, but couldn't. Dammit.

Luckily, Snape saved the day again, unknowingly. "Mr. Potter?" Voice now dangerously smooth, he slid past the Slytherins and stopped at Potter and Weasley's table. "What is so fascinating about that section of wall over there, if I may ask?" Was Snape blind? Couldn't he tell that Potter was staring at me? Or was he sucking up to me yet again?

I turned around casually, watched the unfolding situation, and his eyes met mine. He jerked his glance away and looked up at Snape. "Nothing, sir," Potter said in razor tones.

"Five points from Gryffindor for lack of attention and talking back," Snape shot out.

Potter didn't even blink, and I didn't blame him; if he was as messed up as I was, he had good reason to not worry, plus it was becoming routine for at least five points to be taken from Gryffindor. This was the first time I hadn't laughed.

I ventured to catch Potter's eye again, succeeded; it took me all I could to not stare into his eyes, no matter how hidden by glasses. I allowed a half-smirk to cross my face and turned back around.

I couldn't help but think about him. The more disturbing question was if he was the same way. It had to be, or else why would he burn holes into my skull with his glare? How else could he not be able to stop looking at me?

If he was feeling the same way, this upcoming Quidditch match would be interesting.

To say the least.