********
Draco found his mind wandering, as he sat in Arithmancy on Friday morning. They were going over the last few chapters in the textbook and he stifled a bored yawn. He knew it well. He was very good at the subject and had already read the book; furthermore, also knowing what his course work hypothesis was going to be. He looked over the pages pretending to be listening. He could see Granger's back sitting in front of him. He felt like throwing something at her. Make her squeal. She was so annoying, and had become even more righteous in her Prefect duties in the sixth year. She wasn't the only Prefect, he sneered fingering his badge idly.
She knew every answer every time and often gave Draco an infuriated look when he beat her to it. Again, she wasn't the only one who excelled at Arithmancy.
He thought back to Potter from last night. He still couldn't believe he had perved on him. Couldn't get the image of his naked body out of his mind. He wondered if the green-eyed Gryffindor had told anyone about what had happened. For some reason he didn't think he had.
He suddenly felt a swoop of anger ignite in his body. What on earth was he playing at? This was Potter! His sworn enemy. The boy who had blabbed to the papers revealing that his father was a Death Eater. I hate him, I do, and Draco felt wronged by his own mind. I shouldn't even be thinking about him.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Still, ok, it was just a physical attraction clearly. He'd been ogling Potter's assets is all. He didn't like him or anything. He hated him with a vengeance, truly. He was a grotesque, tragic, little, misunderstood hero. Poncy, Muggle-loving git. That was better. He let out a deep breath. He needed to rile himself up and hopefully this sexual bit phase would pass.
He felt a surge of shame pass through him. He had seen Potter naked without him knowing it, and spying on even a Gryffindor in that way - it was a low thing to do, nothing to be proud of. Draco quickly dismissed the disturbing mental pictures. The sooner he forgot about the incident the better.
******
Harry walked down to the library. He was going to try and do some research for his Transfiguration essay. If he could get all his course work finished by the first week of February, then he could concentrate more on reading and learning spells and such for himself. Ron had been horrified at the amount of study Harry had been doing, though Hermione commended it. He also had an Occlumency lesson with Snape in a few hours and wanted to be well prepared for it.
After having a few short words with Dumbledore at the beginning of the first term, the headmaster had urged him to go to Snape and make amends, so that Harry may continue his Occlumency lessons with the Potions master. He had swallowed his pride and anger and approached Professor Snape, hating the satisfied, smug look that had appeared in the dark, cold eyes. Harry asked him to re-consider teaching him again. After a few seconds pause, Snape had given a brief nod and spat out the time and place. And so it had gone on from there.
Harry hadn't forgotten the Pensieve incident and he was sure that neither had Snape. He was both gruff and snappish with Harry in all accounts, but Harry reaffirmed that there was no choice in the matter. These lessons were a necessity for him. He couldn't risk anyone getting hurt, leading his friends to danger again, or some one else getting killed.
He had tried to practise over the holidays too, and had only felt his scar twinge now and again. He hoped that he had learned to close his mind somewhat to Voldemort, as he had had no further visions. He wasn't quite sure what that meant, as there hadn't been any signs of Voldemort's whereabouts since last summer, which was nor a good thing or a bad thing.
Nonetheless, after three lessons in the first term, Snape had informed him that they could drop down to one lesson per week from now on till the end of year. Harry took that as a sign that Snape, or perhaps Dumbledore, was pleased with his progress.
He closed his eyes briefly to the sudden stab of pain in his chest. He had learnt to close his mind way too late for it to make a difference to Sirius. He had let Sirius down in the most awful way and Harry would live with that guilt for the rest of his life.
He let out a deep breath and walked into the library. On a side note, Snape had looked quite disgusted when several of the Gryffindor's had returned this year to be taking his Potions class for their NEWTs. He had hoped, Harry was sure, that he would never have to teach them ever again. Now Snape had Harry not only for Occlumency but also for the next two years. Harry could assure Snape that he too was not thrilled at the prospect of spending even more time in the other's company. But there were just some things that had to be done - whether you like it or not.
He walked past the shelves and saw Madam Pince arranging the books with her wand as he came past. He browsed through the bookcases, finally taking down one that was for reference purposes only. He walked to the far end, up the stairs and around the corner. The library was full, but not many people realised that there was a desk tucked away in a corner behind a huge bookcase. That was where he sat with Ron and Hermione and it was usually empty. Unfortunately it wasn't today. He saw some textbooks laid out on the table, but the library was crowded. He sat down on an empty chair and plonked down the book and pulled out his parchment and quill.
He began to make some notes and a few minutes passed when a shadow fell over him.
'Potter,' came Malfoy's slow drawl.
Harry tutted in irritation, ' what are you doing here?'
The Slytherin seated himself behind the table on the opposite end.
'Well this is the library. Not solely owned by Gryffindor's only. It is to be used by ALL students,' he stressed slowly and clearly as if Harry was hard of hearing.
Harry felt himself bristle with anger, 'yeah but why here? This table? Of all the tables you could have picked?'
Malfoy raised a brow, ' because I have psychic abilities and knew it would annoy the hell out of you.'
Harry glowered at him and Malfoy rolled his eyes, ' what? I didn't know this was your much loved, top-secret seating area.'
He paused,' In fact I sit here a lot. I was here first and if anyone should move it should be you,' he cast Harry an amused look.
'I'm not moving anywhere,' Harry replied stubbornly.
'Neither am I,' Malfoy returned smoothly.
'Fine,' Harry said.
'Touché, ' Malfoy's silver eyes sparkled at him.
They bent their heads towards their books and continued in silence. Five minutes passed and Harry could feel Malfoy's stare.
' What?' he spat out.
' Nothing,' Malfoy gave him an innocent look.
Harry's eyes narrowed and he made a hateful face at the Slytherin. Malfoy reciprocated the same look back and Harry took a deep breath and dipped his dark head back down.
Malfoy started to turn the pages of an exceptionally old looking book. The pages were stiff and crackled with a loud, crisp, crunching sound. He kept turning them and it was fraying on Harry's nerves. Harry finally lifted his head.
' You're just doing that to annoy me! I'm not moving!' he hissed in fury.
' You think a lot of yourself Potter, all the attention got to your head again?'
Harry didn't answer back and clenched his jaw, turning back to his text. The silence fell between them again and Harry tried to concentrate. He had to get at least some notes written down. One chapter and then he would go. He glanced up at the same time as Malfoy and gave him an irritated look, before averting his eyes away. He wrote down a paragraph and could still feel the hot gaze of the blond sitting opposite him.
Harry looked up and met the polished, silver orbs straight on.
' That's it,' he shot out. 'What is it?'
' Nothing.'
Harry watched him steadily.' You've done something haven't you?'
Malfoy eyes widened a fraction,' have I?'
' Don't play games!' Harry whispered angrily. 'Last night, you did do something didn't you? Tell me! You know that I've got the game tomorrow.'
Malfoy chuckled softly, ' well if I tell you that Potter, it negates the whole purpose of pulling any kind of prank on you now doesn't it?'
Harry shot him a furious glare,' you're such a creep!'
The Slytherin seemed to be enjoying this strange repartee, 'now I never said I went through with it did I? It's not my fault you have such a distrustful nature?'
Harry seethed in a low voice,' distrustful nature? It's you!'
' Easy Potter,' Malfoy said silkily, ' no need to get insulting. You'll hurt my feelings.'
He gave Harry an injured look.
'Why are you acting like that?' Harry asked infuriated. He wanted to grab Malfoy and give him a good battering.
'Like what?' Malfoy gazed at Harry's eyes unblinking.
'Different, like this. You're being,' Harry searched for words,' weird.'
'Weird?' Malfoy repeated in a scandalized voice.
'Yes!' Harry spat out heatedly. ' You owe me for that stupid sling I cast on you yesterday. Now tell me!' Harry's eyes burned with an indignant fire.
Malfoy leaned back casually, his face composed in a relaxed and calm expression. ' I knew one day you would throw that back at me, didn't think it would be so soon though,' he said in a woeful tone.
Harry watched him with a mixture of disbelief and raging fury. He was having a laugh right? Malfoy leaned forward, his slender fingers steepled together as he rested his elbows on the table.
'Look Potter you'll just have to take my word for it. I didn't do anything.' He looked intently at Harry,' yes my intentions were bad, but I didn't carry it through. I fell, you saw, I left, end of story. Really, you need to learn to relax more, so uptight all the time – you'll give yourself a nosebleed.'
'Are you still talking?' Harry gave him an amazed look.
' It would appear so wouldn't it? See my mouth moving? And before you come out with '' I'm not listening'' save yourself the trouble, because that's bullshit. People who say that, actually always are in fact listening.'
Harry looked flabbergasted and let out a small puff of air.
Malfoy smirked knowingly,' you're thinking of something to say aren't you? Well do yourself a favour and don't burn out the few brain cells you have. You'll be needing them one day I'm sure.'
Harry stood up and gathered his things,' you're unbelievable.' He shook his head, 'if anything happens tomorrow I'll know it's you,' and giving the blond Slytherin a hard glare, he picked up his bag and walked away.
******
Saturday morning, Draco awoke earlier than usual. His covers had slid down the bed and he shivered slightly in the cold morning draft, which seeped through the Slytherin dormitories in the winter months. He pulled his blankets up back around him and turned on his side, gazing at the green curtains that hung around his four-poster bed.
The colour of Potter's eyes.
He cursed himself for that unexpected thought. Get over it. He sighed deeply and buried himself further into the warmth of his covers. I hate him. Since when had Draco been a sucker for a beautiful face? What was this new inclination he had towards Potter, which was making him act awry? Potter was the same boy he had known all these damn years. The same boy who had refused Draco's friendship that first year. The same boy who had punched him in the fifth year. The same boy who had humiliated him at the end of last year, and countless other times.
Potter.
You're a Malfoy, he repeated to himself. I'm still a Malfoy. It was his mantra. And Malfoy's don't act like this, especially over boys and even less so with boys called Harry damn sodding Potter. He threw back his covers in disgust and got out of bed. It was barely eight am. Great, he thought irritably.
He walked silently to the door and went towards the toilets.
It was a quarter to nine, when he went into the Great Hall for breakfast. The tables were half empty at this time of morning. It was Saturday, people enjoyed lazing around – like he should be doing. He sat down and his owl swooped over him, throwing him a package. He caught it and opened it up. It was a letter from his mother, informing him that she was fine and all was well, and had come back from a trip to France. So she had been allowed to leave the country it would seem, he acknowledged. He started to eat his breakfast, when from the corner of his eye, he saw Potter come through the doors. He purposely didn't look up and carried on staring fixedly at the letter.
A few of the other, snivelling Gryffindor's joined the messy-haired boy. The table rang with laughter and animated conversation. The game was at one pm. It must be all the excitement, Draco thought scornfully. Stupid Gryffindor's thought they were so great. We're so unbeatable!! Yeah right they were! Just because of bloody Potter. They wouldn't be so confident if the black-haired boy wasn't playing, Draco knew this for certain.
Weasley was grinning from ear to ear about something and Draco shuddered. How Johnson had put that bumbling buffoon onto the team, Draco would never know. She must have been really desperate. It was an insult to all Quidditch players in fact. Draco felt instant nausea when it came to Ron Weasley. He was like a Neanderthal, dragging his knuckles across the ground when he walked. That frizzy –haired- know -it -all girlfriend of his, had dared to imply in the second year, that Draco had got onto the team just because his father had made a generous contribution. But actually Draco was a good player; he was a good flier.
And horrors to end all horrors was when, Weasley had been made Captain!!! Mcgonagall clearly had not recovered from her injuries, which she had suffered in the fifth year. It was so obvious that Potter should have been made Captain, but rumour had it, that he had been offered but declined – much to everyone's astonishment. Therefore, Weasley, being the next most experienced player, after Potter, had taken over the role. And he was Prefect, with a Prefect girlfriend. Life couldn't get better for the pillock could it? He must be loving it, all that responsibility, making him feel oh so self-important? It was a hard contest for Draco to decide who pissed him off more, Potter or Weasley? Though looking at them now, Weasley seemed to come first in that particular race.
And that bitch of a sister of his was also on the team. Her and her fucking Bogey hexes. Draco would get her back one day, and watch her face as he got his sweet revenge, just you wait, you cow, he thought. The Gryffindor team couldn't do without its ginger-nut brigade. It was a pity 'Weasley is our King' was no longer applicable. Much to Draco's deepest disgust, Weasel had improved as Keeper. It was all so hateful and unfair.
Draco felt his appetite diminish rapidly and swallowed his last piece of toast. He got up off his chair swiftly and flounced through the hall.
He went back into the common room and did some reading. The time passed slowly and he breathed a sigh of relief when it was lunchtime. Blaise hooked her arm through his possessively as they made their way out. He nonchalantly moved it away and ignored the look of hurt in her eyes. Pansy Parkinson glared at Blaise and Draco walked past both girls. Let them stare it out, he didn't care much for either of them.
As he walked into the Great Hall again, he caught Potter's eye and gave him a mocking sneer. Potter's eyes glinted narrowly, his face etched with mistrust. Let him think that something was up, Draco thought. It was highly amusing to keep Potter guessing. Keep him on his little toes.
After lunch, the crowds of students filtered into the stands. As a Slytherin player, Draco felt it was his responsibility to watch the other teams play. Not because he wanted to steal their tactics, but to see what team member posed a threat and who had weaknesses that he could exploit. He saw the gold and red colours of the Gryffindor flags sway lightly in the wind.
Everyone seemed to be seated and the usual succession began. The two teams flew out of their corners and hovered above the stadium. Madam Hooch on her count blew the whistle, and the Quaffle was released. A Ravenclaw boy had been made new commentator, replacing the vacancy of the ever-biased Lee Jordan. Draco had been exceedingly fed-up of Jordan praising his stupid team every three seconds over the last five years. It had been about time they got a commentator from another house.
He fixed his eyes on Potter as the players started to manoeuvre around the stadium. Draco knew that he was good in the air, swift, and precise. However, Potter was an exceptional flier. Even though Draco was very comfortable in the air, he was still aware that he was sitting on a broom and that he could possibly fall off it, if he wasn't too careful. But the green-eyed Gryffindor seemed to be as one with his broom. He flied with a natural ease and grace as if he had wings. He soared and sliced through the air in a way that was fascinating to watch. He was so fast he appeared as a blur and his instincts were quick as lightning. Draco could see him playing professionally when he got older, that was assuming Potter lived to see his twenties. At the ripe old age of sixteen, how many times had Potter nearly died?
Gryffindor scored the first goal that was followed by an exuberant whoop from the red and gold coloured crowd. Draco settled back and watched the play unfold. If Potter hadn't been playing, the teams would be evenly matched in regards to the other players.
'And Hufflepuff have the Quaffle and…they score! Ten points for Hufflepuff!'
There were groans from the Lions and excited yells from the Badgers.
Potter was soaring high in the air looking around the playing field. He had that fiercely determined expression on his face, which he always had when he played Quidditch.
It was about half an hour into the game and Gryffindor were leading 60 - 50. Suddenly, Potter plunged into a nosedive from a near eighty-foot drop and was speeding down towards the ground. Draco's eyes shifted quickly to where Potter was aiming and saw the Snitch barely inches above the grass. He was going to crash headfirst surely? It was like those Muggle machines he had seen once, the ones that drilled ferociously into the ground. That was what Potter looked like, as he hurtled downwards in a blurred spiral towards the Snitch. The Hufflepuff Seeker didn't stand a chance and Potter reached out and grabbed the gold-winged bird. He wrenched his Firebolt upwards, scarcely seconds from the ground and soared up mid-air.
'Potter catches the Snitch!!! Gryffindor win!!!'
A burst of cheers filled the stadium and Draco kept his eyes on the dark-haired boy. Weasley was jumping up and down in delight accompanied by the other team members. Potter was smiling, but Draco noticed something off in Potter's expression. Winning a Quidditch match was no longer high on Potter's list of priorities it would seem….
Later that evening Draco saw Potter walking alone towards the Great Hall. He hesitated for a second and then caught up with the Gryffindor easily.
'Told you to take my word for it Potter.'
'Excuse me while I remind you that your word doesn't count for much,' Potter gave him a harsh look.
Draco narrowed his eyes, ' what's wrong Potter? Wallowing in self-pity again?'
The Gryffindor met his eyes in a cold gaze,' I think I've wasted enough time acknowledging your existence,' and with that he walked past Draco into the hall.
Draco stood stock still for a moment, feeling a burning sense of humiliation seep over him. How dare Potter speak to him like that? How dare he? Like Draco wasn't deserving of even a comment? Who the hell did he think he was anyway?
Draco gritted his teeth and took in a deep breath before joining the other Slytherin's.