Title: Nox
Author: Universal Blue
Disclaimers: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: A fifth year AU. Harry has to deal with a new year at Hogwarts, Voldemort coming back, and Draco Malfoy. (future HP/DM)


Chapter 7 – Enemies and Alcohol

Draco strode into the Library, followed by his cronies – Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Behind them walked Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode. They were there for the purpose of working on the Transfiguration project McGonagall assigned them to. Unfortunately for Draco, he was stuck in the project with said Slytherins. But he would think of how to work this to his best, there is no doubt about that.

While the other four sitted themselves in one of the Library tables, Draco kept walking. He stepped between the aisles in search of the right books for their project. He pulled out a book that looked promising, entitled Transfiguration Without The Tantrums by Morpheus McKnight. His grey eyes traveled from title to title, until another one caught his eye – Transfiguration for Dummies by Anna Coney. He smirked, thinking of Crabbe and Goyle, and took the book with him as well. He gathered a few more books, and just when he was about done, he saw something curious.

At one of the tables in the corner of the Library was Harry Potter. A few scrolls of parchment lied on his table, and a couple of open books were on it too. There was a quill somewhere near his right hand, but he wasn't holding it. In fact, he wasn't doing anything at all. His head lay on his arms, on the table, and Draco was fairly sure he was asleep. A smirk spread on his pale, pointed face, and he moved towards Potter's table cautiously.

Potter was definitely asleep; Draco could hear his steady breathing. He set down across from Potter, and then dropped his pile of books on the table, causing a loud noise. Potter woke up with a start.

"Argh! What's—" he stopped, and straightened his glasses, glaring at Draco. "Malfoy," his tone was full of malice, making the evil grin on Draco's face grow wider.

"Sleeping in the Library, Potter? I see you're living on the edge. Think of what Madam Pinch will do to you if she catches you."

Potter just glared at him, and in a futile attempt to ignore Draco, returned to his essay.

"Do you know who I saw today, Potter?"

There was only the sound of quill scratching parchment from Potter's side of the table.

"Your friend, Weasel," Draco answered the question that wasn't asked.

At this Potter stopped writing, and Draco knew he got his attention.

"Did you see that his robes don't fit anymore? I asked him about it. He got really angry. You should have seen his face, he looked like a freckled tomato – I laughed about it for hours later."

There was still no reaction from Potter. His head was bent down, but Draco noticed that his quill was making a whole in the parchment, so he kept on going.

"You've been to that dump he calls 'home', haven't you? Tell me, do they starve him there? With the amounts of food he eats here, you'd think the boy never sa—"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Potter's tone was of one that was on the verge of throwing sharp pointy things at someone, but had just enough self control to stay calm. "Go away."

But Draco wouldn't go. He wanted to stay until Potter will crack.

"It's really sad, isn't it? You know that the Minister lets Weasley's fh—" Potter's hand reached into his pocket to grab his wand. "Tsk, tsk," Draco said, smiling. "You don't want to do that, Potter. Someone might think you're picking up fights."

Potter let go of his wand and entwined his hands. He didn't speak, just stared at Draco in the eye. After a minute a he said, "You're just jealous."

"Of Weasel?!" Draco spluttered. "You really have gone nutters, haven't you, Potter?"

"Bugger being an only child, isn't it? You wish you had a family that loves you like Ron's does."

"You'd know, wouldn't you? I, at least, have my parents, and no, I don't care to share them with anyone. Or their money," he added as an after thought.

"Merlin!" Potter said, rolling his eyes. "Money isn't everything, Malfoy."

"Sure it isn't," Draco answered, with a tone that clearly indicated that he thought it very much was.

"Friends," Potter said. "You can't buy friends with money."

"True; Money can't buy you friends, but it can get you a better class of enemy."

"Gee, Malfoy." Potter rolled his eyes. "I never knew you considered me of better class."

"No, Potter," Draco smirked. "I never knew you considered me the enemy."

And before Potter said anything farther, Draco grabbed his pile of books, and retreated to his own table.

---------

Draco got back to the four dimwits he left behind. They were sitting at the table, gossiping about the latest hot rumours.

"Are you sure?" Pansy half squealed, as quietly as she could, looking worriedly at Madam Pinch.

"Yes, I'm sure! Willow Twonk saw them herself!" said Bulstrode, smirking.

"I heard that he had his pants off when they found him," said Crabbe, who was sitting across from the girls.

"Well, people, shall we get to work, or do you want to talk about Bones and Nott all day?" said Draco, as he reached them.

"Draco," said Parkinson. "Do you really want to know the answer for that one?"

"You're right," Draco said, "I don't. I want to finish this thing as soon as we can. Now, you three," he said, turning to Crabbe, Goyle, and Bulstrode. "Read these books, and summarize." He slipped said books towards them. "Parkinson, since you have the nicest hand-writing here, you will write the text that we'll present."

After giving out the orders, Draco stretched in his seat, and started checking his fingernails.

"And, pray tell, what will you do, Draco?" asked Millicent.

"I will do the spell, of course," Draco said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Parkinson can help me with the presentation."

Then, they all got to their work. That is, Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode started reading, and summarizing. Parkinson just set there and did nothing. Draco, on his part, opened The GREAT Tortoise Book and started reading. It really was great. About 2400 pages.

Each group was assigned a spell they needed to work on. They had to turn in to McGonagall a full report on the spell, how it works, the theory, possible mistakes, side-affects, and such. Then they had to present the report to the class, and perform the spell.

Draco's group had to transfigure a turtle into a blue woolen cap. This shouldn't be much work; all he had to do was go over the theory. He raised his eyebrow at Parkinson who was looking at him.

---------

He was standing by the window. Outside, the sky was already dark. Things weren't going as planned. He should have gotten it by now; instead the time was being wasted. If it won't happen soon, blood would be shed.

A crow cracked outside, almost unseen against the night sky. The Dark Lord pointed his wand at it and whispered, "Avada Kedavra." The green light hit the bird, and it fell lifeless onto the ground.

---------

Christmas was at Hogwarts. The grounds were white with snow and the lake was frozen over. Despite the cold atmosphere outside, inside Hogwarts the feeling was warm. There were Christmas decorations all around the halls. The Great hall was decorated with the usual twelve Christmas trees. Of the few students that stayed in Hogwarts, young couples were seen kissing in the halls, while the teachers completely looked away.

Ron had left to spend the holyday with his family. Charlie, Bill and Percy were coming home. Harry was left alone in the dormitory, except for Seamus, who, as Harry found out just now, was seeing a forth year girl from Ravenclaw. In fact, that was the reason why Harry was sitting in the Common Room right now, staring out the window. Seamus practically pushed him out of the door.

He leaned his head on the window. It was raining outside. Drops of water were sliding slowly down the cool glass of the window. From his other side, the fire in the grate was keeping Harry warm.

Harry loved Christmas at Hogwarts. It was definitely better than the alternative of spending it at the Dursleys'. But somehow this Christmas was different. Harry felt lonely, but he didn't want anyone's company. He felt cold and empty, as if there was a void inside of him, a black hole sucking all his feelings. He considered going to the Library to find Hermione, but figured she'd make him study, and he really didn't want to right now.

Hermione.... Ever since she talked to him a few weeks ago, her words never left his head. What if he dies? Harry escaped death so many times until now that some tiny part of him played with the thought that he is invincible. Not that he was, of course, it was silly. He will die, probably sooner than later.

---------

Christmas Eve. Draco was wandering the halls, clutching an Odgen's Old Firewhisky bottle in his hand as if it was the most important thing in the world. The bottle was already opened, but it was almost full, as he only took a few sips out of it. It was a Christmas present from Father. Dear old Father knew exactly what sixteen year old boys wanted. The note attached to the present said: Happy Christmas Draco. Don't spend it all on one girl. Draco smirked as he read this. It was a minor consolation – his parents had to leave to France on his father's "business", and Draco couldn't come along, because they left before the holidays started. Never mined, he'll have a fun Christmas. He'll make sure of that.

But not now. Now all he wanted was to be alone, and drink his Firewhisky till obliviation.

He reached his destination. It was a room on the fourth floor, which was never locked. Draco didn't know why, and just appreciated the convenient place to be alone. He opened the door, and to his surprise the room was already occupied.

"Potter," Draco said, annoyed. "What are you doing here?" Why do you have to be everywhere I look?

Potter looked easily at Draco, and then back at the floor.

"Sitting," he said flatly.

Draco rolled his eyes. He set down against the wall Potter was leaning on, though as far away as he could. He wouldn't let Potter win, and if it meant being in the same room as the annoying git, than so be it. He glared at Potter through narrowed eyes.

Silence ruled the room for a while. Potter was apparently deep in thought, while Draco was slowly drinking his Firewhisky.

"What did you mean?" Potter suddenly said, his voice echoing in the room. "That day in the Library."

Draco thought back and smiled. "When I said that you'd be lucky to get a squib to date you? I meant that you are so—"

"That's not what I meant," Potter said, irritably.

"Than you'll have to be more specific, Potter. I cannot guess what you're bloody thinking."

"Never mind," said Potter, sighing.

Draco took a sip off his Firewhiskey. He looked back at Potter, who seemed preoccupied once more. He rolled his eyes and turned to look at the bottle in his hand, which was now starting to get lighter.

After a while Potter talked, "Where did you get that?" Draco almost jumped. The voice was much closer than before. He looked at Potter who was still sitting with his back against the wall, but now he was about a foot away from himself. His eyes were turned to Draco.

"None of your business," Draco snapped.

Thoughtful silence, then, "Can I have some?"

Draco glanced at the bottle again, and then he reached out reluctantly to let Potter take it.

Potter took a sip off the Firewhisky, and his face cringed, a few tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. Draco smirked at this. After he calmed down a bit Potter drank again from the red glass bottle. Annoyed, Draco snatched it from him, and drank some himself.

"Do you reckon, Malfoy... you think I'm going to die?" Potter asked out of the blue. His voice was as casual as he could make it, and he was looking longingly at the Firewhisky.

"Not in the next few hours," Draco answered calmly. "So I wouldn't worry about it."

Silence, again. That's all there was – only silence. Words were uttered, but eventually silence had to come back.

---------

"You seriously didn't know?!"

Potter shook his head. Draco was vaguely aware of the fact that the large bottle of Firewhisky was getting lighter by the moment, but the thought vanished immediately as another one resumed his mind. He started laughing. Potter started laughing as well. His laughter was full and sincere, and it echoed in the room.

Potter didn't know why Draco was laughing, but he was laughing anyway. Maybe he could read Draco's mind. Draco had no idea why, but apples were really funny this time of the year.

"Where were we?" Draco asked, when he finally managed to stop laughing.

Potter thought hard for a minute, then he cracked a smile. "Snape," he said, "And the clothes he sleeps with."

"You mean, the lack of clothes he sleeps with," Draco corrected, and took another swig from the Firewhisky. He automatically held the bottle to Potter so he could drink too.

Potter drank from the now almost empty bottle. He held the cold glass to his lips, leaning on it. He laughed a bit again, then said lightly, "I don't want to die."

Draco thought about that for a while, but couldn't seem to find something to say in reply. "You're... reeeeally obsessed with death," he said finally.

Potter shook his head and took another swig from the drink. He shook the bottle to check it's contents and handed it to Draco, who gratefully took a sip. Potter fell silent.

It was after a while that Draco felt something on him. It was Potter's hand, clutching his arm. He immediately tensed. Draco looked over at Potter – his head was bent down, his eyes shut, and he was biting his lip. Draco had no idea what to do, so he just set there, letting Potter get through what ever it was. Draco could hear his own steady breathing.

Then Potter let go of his hand. "Sorry," he murmured, as he got up to his feet. On retrospection, Draco thought that Potter had been acting much more sober than he should have had. Quickly, he got out of the room. Draco stayed sitting, drinking his Firewhisky.

---------

'Bloody Malfoy,' Harry thought passionately as he strode through the halls. He didn't feel so smashed now, nor did he feel happy anymore. 'Bloody Hermione,' he cursed. 'Bloody Voldemort, bloody Dumbledore! Bloody Malfoy. That... that git, coming here, thinking he is so great, and so evil, and so freaking annoying!'

The halls were deserted, it was about one a.m. Soon Harry found himself in front of the painting of The Fat Lady, who was quietly snoring, leaning against her frame.

"Glumbumble," he said, loud enough to wake her.

The Fat Lady glared at him sleepily for a moment, then moved to let him in.

---------

The light rain that was dropping just half an hour ago was rapidly becoming stronger. Heavy drops of water fell onto the ground with great force, then shattered. The wind was blowing so hard that it's loud whistling scared some of the younger students. Harry was sitting in the Common room with a book in his lap, though he wasn't really reading it. Instead, he was staring intently at the roaring fire in the fireplace.

It was somewhere near the end of the Christmas holydays. Time had just flown by, as Harry spent most of it with Hermione, or in the Common room, doing his homework. Harry figured that things didn't go so well for Seamus and that Ravenclaw, because He saw him just yestarday with another girl. He didn't bother asking. Malfoy he didn't see much after that night with the Firewhisky. When he did see him, Harry always looked away.

He went down a few times to the Quidditch pitch, to practice his flying, even though his next game was in February. Once, when he went down there, the pitch was already occupied. Malfoy. It always was him, after all. Harry stood where he was when he spotted the Slytherin, and looked at him fly for a minute.

There was something elegant in the way Malfoy flew; changing directions with the slightest of adjustments. Flying as if he was born with a broomstick in his hand. His pale face and hair stood out against the black night sky, emphasized by the dark robes he was wearing. Maybe, Harry thought, he was competition. But Harry would never tell him that. He turned around and walked back towards the castle.

Harry blinked. He realized that he was staring into a pair of brown eyes. The eyes, of course, belonged to Hermione. She was looking at him with concern. Always concern it was these days. He smiled at her feebly, and did as if he was reading his book.

---------

Draco was flying. He loved to fly, he found it liberating. The cold wind was striking his face, ruffling his hair. His eyes were closed, and he felt as if he was somewhere else, far away, where there was no Dark Lord, no Hogwarts, no Potter; only him and the infinite sky.

He opened his eyes, and breathed in deeply. Then he saw him. Potter. He was walking towards the pitch. Damn him! Draco thought fiercely. When he finally managed to drop Crabbe (Goyle went home for Christmas) and have a moment of peace, here he was – Potter, came to ruin it for him.

Draco kept on flying, ignoring Potter's presence. After a few minutes, glancing in Potter's direction, he was relieved to see that Potter was gone.

What was he thinking about? He couldn't remember.