"I heard he did it because of Chang."
"Don't be stupid, they lost interest in each other almost two years ago."
"Someone told me that Weasley found him the second before he would have died. I reckon he lost a lot of blood. Lucky thing Granger was there, eh? She's the cleverest witch going."
"You're wrong. He tried to off himself because of Sirius Black. He was his father, don't you know?"
"He was not his father, you twit. Sirius Black was his godfather. And besides, that was two years back, why would he suddenly kill himself over something that happened two years ago?"
"Who do you think you're calling a twit?"
"You, you twit."
"Piss off."
"What say you, Malfoy? Why did Potter try to snuff it?"
"I say you two have detention for three weeks. Now keep your traps shut."
* * *
The hallways of Hogwarts for the first few weeks of school were abuzz with talk of Harry Potter. Crabbe and Goyle had successfully spread around school that he'd tried to kill himself, and if you didn't believe them, just ask Malfoy, he saw the scars on Potter's wrist.
Malfoy was enraged when the rumours got back to him, landing Crabbe and Goyle in detention for three weeks was a mere trifle of a consolation for Potter thinking he was responsible for everyone humming about him trying to kill himself. But even if Potter did know, he never approached Malfoy about it. In fact, no one really saw Potter more than necessary. He would go to classes and meals, but sit quietly and talk little to anyone but Ron and Hermione, then retreat to Gryffindor Tower straight after. Draco's sources told him that Potter was indeed still playing Quidditch, but soared high above the rest of the team at practice, obediently caught the Snitch, and he would not come down until everyone was back in the locker room and out of sight.
"Double Potions today, Malfoy," groaned Blaise, sinking down onto the bench beside him at breakfast, burying his face in his hands and sighing. "Seventh year is a nightmare, mate, I'll tell you something." He reached across Draco and grabbed the milk pitcher.
Draco grinned and nudged him. Blaise was the only jilted lover Draco could stand, partially because he took it exceedingly well, and partially because he wasn't opposed to the occasional snog session. Besides, Blaise was a good bloke, and maybe the only Slytherin that Draco didn't want to put through a wall every single day. "Potions is our break, Blaise," Draco pointed out as he sliced his bacon. "It's transfiguration we have to worry about. McGonagall loves her Gryffindors."
Blaise mhm'ed around a mouthful of eggs then swallowed. "Quidditch tryouts next week, eh? We definitely need a better team this year, it's our last chance!"
Nodding, Draco listened as Blaise ranted and raved about Quidditch. But he noticed Potter sauntering into the Great Hall, flanked by Weasley and Granger. They were around him closely, per usual, as if they were protecting him from some unknown danger. Potter stood complacently between them, his gaunt and pale face juxtaposed to his dark, messy hair, nodding every now and then when Granger would finish babbling. Draco found himself staring at Potter with fascination. His legs ambling next to lanky Weasley's and swift Granger's, his bony hands curling and uncurling as he cracked his knuckles, and even the occasional smile he granted his two friends were all so…interesting.
"Malfoy? Are you listening?"
Interrupted, Draco turned back to his food.
"Honestly, Blaise. No."
* * *
"What exactly is this monstrosity, Potter?" sneered Snape, jabbing his index finger down towards Harry's cauldron, which was steaming with purple, bubbling fluid instead of the blue, smooth concoction that it should have been. Snape looked exceedingly happy to have a Potter punching bag for one more year, and he looked well prepared to get his last licks in before Potter wasn't his student anymore. The seventh year class of Slytherins and Gryffindors had Potions for their last class, and as the sun poured lazily through the sparse windows in the dungeon, they were mixing a potion called the Serum of Sorrow, which would make the taker utterly miserable. It's what Hermione said ran through the Dementors' veins instead of blood.
Harry stared into his cauldron and stirred it nonchalantly. "The Serum of Sorrow," he answered quietly. "I must have added too much powdered narcissi. I'm sorry, sir."
"Sorry?" repeated Snape, a bit taken aback that Potter wasn't being his usual defensive self. "Potter, you are an ignoramus."
"I know, sir."
"YOU KNOW?"
Hermione raised her hand. "Please, professor," she pleaded. "Don't—"
"Silence!" Snape snapped at her before turning back to Harry. "You will make the potion again in detention tomorrow! And ten points from Gryffindor for your insolence!"
Harry blinked. "Alright, sir." He continued to absently stir the potion.
Snape looked confused, and snatched the spoon from Harry's hand. "Did you hear me, Potter? I said detention! With me! Tomorrow!"
"I know, sir, I heard you," Harry replied politely. "I'll be here immediately after dinner."
"And…and that doesn't make you angry?!" Snape sputtered. "It doesn't make you want to talk back to me or be impertinent?"
"Come off it, sir!" yelled Ron from Harry's side. "Leave him alone!"
"SILENCE, WEASLEY!" Snape looked so angry that Draco barely recognized him. He'd never realized how much Snape relied on the good feeling he got from making Potter wish he was dead. "Potter, you are just like your father! Ignorant and arrogant and completely worthless!"
A cry of rage swelled up from all the Gryffindors. All except one.
"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said again, as polite as ever.
Snape glared at Harry for about a full minute, his teeth and fists clenched tightly. "Class. Dismissed." He gathered up his robes and sat huffily at his desk, hands folded in front of him, like a child who was denied his favourite toy. "GET OUT!" he added sharply when no one moved. "I'll see you tomorrow at 7, Potter."
Harry nodded and gathered up his things.
"I'm so sorry he did that to you, Harry!" gushed Hermione as she hustled over to Potter from her table.
"It's okay."
"No, mate, it's not." Ron practically snarled as he snatched up his bookbag. "He's such a git. No wonder he didn't have any friends at school."
Across the room, Draco was slowly gathering together his belongings with Crabbe and Goyle. He watched Potter carefully as he conversed with Granger and Weasley about lord knows what, and his eyes casually traveled all over him, ending on his forearm, hidden by his robes.
"Ow!" hollered Crabbe as he filled his vial with his potion. "Careful, Malfoy, this stuff burns something awful when it touches you!" Wincing, Crabbe and Goyle corked their vials and left them on Snape's desk, where their teacher was still glaring at Potter. "We'll see you at Quidditch practice, Malfoy."
Draco said goodbye, and when he turned back, Potter and his friends were gone.
* * *
Draco couldn't find Potter again for the rest of the day. He staked him out outside of Gryffindor Tower, and then slunk around the pitch to catch a glimpse of him at practice. The Gryffindor team ended up not having practice that day, and Draco's shoes were stained with grass colouring because of his thirty something laps around the pitch, casually walking and waiting for the scarlet and gold robes to come whizzing out of the locker room.
Potter skived on dinner as well. Draco impatiently chomped his peas and sliced his lamb messily, peering over Crabbe's huge head to see if Potter was just late. He wasn't, and Granger and Weasley looked so anxiously at the empty spot near them Draco was sure Potter had a row with them earlier about them treating him like he were made of glass, and now they were worried because he had stomped off.
"All right, Malfoy?" Blaise inquired worriedly from his right side. "You've been really sketchy all day, mate. Is something bothering you?"
Draco cleared this throat and wiped his mouth daintily with his napkin. "I'm fine, just a little off kilter about these Quidditch tryouts…"
Inhaling deeply, Blaise was quickly off and running about the team, its players, its lack of morale, and its intense need to take a collapsible baton to the back of Potter's leg to insure a victory. (Draco was sure he had read a similar incident in a Muggle newspaper before, and that girl didn't get away with it and neither would the Slytherin Quidditch Team.)
"…and that's what's wrong with our Beaters…"
"What's wrong with our beaters?" demanded Goyle from across the table, holding a lamb chop in his hand and glaring at Blaise.
"Nothing really…except YOU DON'T BEAT ANYTHING!"
"Come off it, Zabini!"
"It's true!"
"Well, you don't really CHASE ANYTHING EITHER!"
"Good one!"
"Shut up!"
Suddenly, Draco slammed his hand on the table. "Quiet, you lot! There he is!" He sounded thrilled. Everyone looked over to see Harry Potter quietly walk into the Great Hall and sit at the Gryffindor Table between Ron and Hermione, who looked absolutely thrilled at his sudden entrance.
The Slytherins all turned back slowly. "It was just Potter."
"Um, yeah." Draco put on a poor impression of his usual trademark sneer. "Uh, that git. He walks like such a….git."
The table was silent for a few seconds.
"You know, he really does sort of walk strangely," Blaise said thoughtfully. "I was checking out his backside one day and…"
"You were what?!" Draco burst out before he could stop himself. He'd really not thought this plan through very well. He said it himself, it wasn't hard to find a horny boy in Hogwarts, and…some of them actually fancied Potter!
Blaise flushed. "He may be our worst enemy, Malfoy, but I can still look. He's very good looking, you know. And you could bounce sickles off his--"
"He's…he's a git, Zabini!" Draco exploded, shoving his plate away from him. The idea of someone else fancying his conquest made Draco feel a sort of jealousy he wasn't sure he enjoyed. And it wasn't the usual jealousy he felt for his conquered lovers. By accepting the mission from Voldemort (not to mention owing Potter big time for saving him on the train), Draco in a way had claimed Potter as his own. Not for a month or two, but for however long it took to complete the mission. He had to love Draco enough to trust him. And by God, Draco Malfoy would make him do just that.
"I know he's a git," insisted Blaise. He looked over at the Gryffindor table longingly. "And lord knows he's let his looks go to hell this year. But still, I think I would like to fu—"
"Finish that sentence and you'll wish you'd never been born." Draco stood over Blaise menacingly. Shaking, he pointed a finger at his friend. "You stay the hell away from Pot—that git. Or else you'll be in serious trouble. Unforgivable trouble, if you catch my drift."
The Slytherin table looked horrified at this sudden display of defense for Harry Potter, and Blaise suddenly grew pale. "Alright, Malfoy. Whatever you say."
"That's right."
Draco looked over at the Gryffindor table and saw three empty places where the fabulous get-along gang had been sitting moments before. "Son of a bitch!" Draco yelled, throwing his napkin onto the bench. "I take my eyes off him for ONE SECOND!"
"Malfoy, what the hell is wrong with you?" Pansy demanded, her pug face screwed up with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. "Are you stalking Potter or something?"
Rewarding her with only a glare, Draco stormed out of the Great Hall towards the only place he knew for sure Granger would drag Potter and the Weasel.
* * *
"Lady slippers are most commonly used for love potions," droned Ron, reading his foot of parchment to Hermione, who in between reading her book, would spout out correction ideas or give Ron a reproving you-should-know-better glance. "They are a rare plant in most parts of the world, and are protected under many bylaws…"
"Ron. You need to say why they're protected!" Hermione sang out without looking up from her book.
Harry sighed from across the table and rubbed his eyes. Reading for Potions certainly wasn't keeping him awake, and listening to Ron and Hermione bicker wasn't helping him either. "I think I might just go to bed," he said quietly, reaching over to gather his books. "I'm pretty tired."
"No," said Hermione firmly. She peered her eyes over the top of her book. "You were late for dinner because you were napping, Harry. Too much sleep will make you sick. Just sit here and read your Potions, we'll go back to the tower in about an hour." Then she disappeared between the covers of the book again, turning a page in one fluid motion.
From the other side of the library, hidden in the shadows of the Restricted Section, Draco was hunched over doing his best to spy on Harry without being too obvious. He cracked his knuckles nervously and watched, cursing Granger and Weasley for permanently lodging themselves up Potter's---
"Ron, could you please get me Merlin's Book Of Ancient Healing?" Hermione chirped from behind her book. "I need to look up some things about hemlock. People think if you just don't drink the juice it may actually be a very good aphrodisiac."
"Aphro-what?" Ron moaned, looking up from his parchment. The line he had been working on was reduced to a string of nonsensical words, mostly about Snape being a git and the Cannons being the best team ever. "I don't want to go get your book. What am I, your bloody servant? Besides, it's all the way in the Restricted Section and I'm not about to go prancing about Dark Arts books in the dead of night when You-Know-Who--"
A shrieking scrape interrupted Ron as Harry slowly pushed his chair back. "I'll get your book," he said quietly.
"Thank you, Harry," scoffed Hermione. "At least chivalry exists somewhere in this school. Here's the note from Professor McGonagall if Madam Pince catches you." She handed Harry a neatly folded up note tied with a scarlet ribbon. "It's over on the second row of books."
"I'll have you know I'm plenty chivalrous!" Ron raged as Harry walked away, sighing. "Why, just the other day I held the door for Parvati!"
"Thanks again, Harry." Hermione harrumphed and turned a page.
* * *
Draco fumbled and quickly grabbed the nearest book when he saw Potter approaching. The book opened its mouth to scream, but found itself being gagged with a note from Snape pretty much allowing Draco to be anywhere in the school he fancied to be. "Shut up, shut up," he hissed as the book struggled to spit out the note. "I can be here, Snape said so!"
"Malfoy?"
Draco slammed the book shut and turned to glare. Potter was standing there, eyes slightly narrowed in confusion. "What do you want, Potter?"
"Were you just talking to a book?"
"None of your business if I was," Draco snapped, withdrawing the note from the closed book and shoving the screamer back into its place. "God, I can't escape you anywhere, Golden Boy. I can't even enjoy a book without you coming over and screwing everything up."
Harry shook his head and turned away, running his fingers over the books until he found the one he wanted. "Merlin's," he mumbled, reading the title and using the note in his hand to free it from the chain. He tucked the book under his arm and started to walk away.
"Oy, Potter!" Draco exclaimed, lunging forward. He knew he couldn't let him keep walking away—the bare facts said Draco had to seduce Potter, and he couldn't bloody well do that when Potter was waltzing in the other direction because of some snide remark. Politeness. "I hope you don't think because of that little fiasco on the train that I…owe you or something!" So much for politeness. Draco leaned smugly on the bookcase in front of Harry.
Harry stared at Draco with an expressionless, almost unreadable face. "You're still on about that train thing, aren't you?" he said, trying to walk by Draco without touching him, a feat that Draco was making harder by blockading Harry into the aisle. After a few seconds of this awkward dancing with Draco, Harry finally and with much frustration stepped back.
"Malfoy, please just let me go by."
"Not on your life," Draco sneered back, crossing his arms triumphantly. "Not until you tell me that I owe you nothing for your seedy secondhand act of heroism." He reached over and shoved Harry on the shoulder roughly. "Say it, Potter. Say I don't owe you anything."
Suddenly, and before Draco could prod him anymore, Harry had Draco's collar in his hands and was pinning him up against the bookcases. "Potter!" gurgled Draco, more in shock than anything else. He grasped at Potter's almost skeletal hands as they gripped him tightly.
"No, Malfoy. You don't owe me anything." Potter's voice was such an airy whisper that it almost whistled as it came out of his barely open mouth. "If anything, I owe you. Thanks to your quick rumour spreading, everyone thinks I'm a mentally ill suicidal maniac, which isn't entirely true, but since when have you cared about accuracy when it comes to telling people stories about me? But still, no one wants to talk to or be near me. So thank you, Malfoy, for costing me nearly all my friends and classmates and essentially ruining my last year at the only place I can call home. I don't know how I can ever repay you."
With that, Harry released Draco and scooped up the book. He hurried out of the aisle, leaving a disturbed young Malfoy in his wake. Draco blinked a few times, took a few deep breaths, straightened out his robes and stalked out after him. "Now you see here, Potter, I didn't spread any---"
He thumped right into Harry, who was standing just outside the aisle, looking dumbstruck towards his table. "Merlin, Potter, can't you walk?" Draco sputtered, walking around him to see what made him stop.
Hermione sat complacently still reading her book. One hand clutched the left cover, and the other was holding…
Ron's hand.
Every now and then Ron would smile at her, and Hermione would smile back before going back to her reading. It was as if she knew when Ron would look up at her, because neither of them said anything. Harry stood there, pale and almost shaking.
"I'm losing them," he said softly. "I'm losing everyone."
Harry slowly began to back up towards the exit of the library, then whipped around and broke into a run down the hallway towards the Astronomy Tower.
Watching him go, Draco gleefully turned back towards Ron and Hermione, who were inching closer to one another. This would have been Draco's perfect window of opportunity to snag alone time with a very upset and vulnerable Harry Potter, but his Slytherin nature and learned detestation of muggle-borns and blood traitors, not to mention his distaste all things Weasley (including the procreation of a Weasley-Granger), took over. "Hey, Weasel! Mudblood! Keep the PDA's to a minimum; this is after all a public place! You're making me sick! And Potter's all jealous!"
Both of them snapped their heads up and yanked their hands back towards each other, blushing furiously. "Sod off, Malfoy!" Ron yelled, standing up so fast his chair clattered back to the ground.
"Don't mind if I do," Draco answered coyly, running out of the library down the same corridor Potter had disappeared down.
"Hey! HEY!"
A hint of black robe disappearing behind a corner let Draco know he was right on Potter's track. Finally, he would get Potter by himself and not surrounded by his two appendages. The slamming of footfalls behind him meant the Mudblood and Weasel knew Harry was down this hallway.
"Stay away from him, Malfoy!" Hermione screamed as she and Ron caught up.
Huffing and puffing, Draco finally saw Potter tearing up the stairs to the Tower. At the same moment he felt Weasley reach up and nearly grab his robes. "Hands off the merchandise, Weasel! Save your groping for the Mudblood!" he hollered over his shoulder, fumbling to reach his wand. When he felt it between his fingertips, he recklessly pointed it over his shoulder and yelled out the spell for the Trip Jinx he'd gotten Potter with two years before.
"OW!" Ron bellowed as he slammed against the ground, Hermione tumbling over him.
Draco grinned and stood in the doorway leading up to the Tower. Ron spat out some blood from his fresh lip wound and glared. "Malfoy…you stay away from Harry. When this jinx wears off…"
"Talk is cheap," Draco yawned, slipping his wand back into his robes. "I've got business with Potter." Before Ron or Hermione could say another word, Draco gave a customary, aloof, I've-beaten-you-once-again eyebrow raise, and with the mutter of a spell, the huge wrought-iron door that was closed only when classes were in session swung shut with a loud bang.