"Watch where you put that, Malfoy."
He snapped out of his staring contest with the stupidity of the other students, only to look down to where Harry was referring. His knife was an inch from almost cutting off one of the boy's fingers. Harry, amazingly, didn't seem at all bothered by it. He appeared annoyed more than he did afraid. Draco knew that he'd go crazy if someone had almost cut his perfect finger off.
Why do these knifes need to be so bloody sharp?
Draco's hand was pulled quickly away from where his knife was pointed, and he went back to cutting their potion's important essentials. It was more like shredding now; his hands were shaking uncontrollably. Maybe if Snape had picked an easier potion, then they wouldn't have to spend half of their class periods cutting the ingredients. He'd rather brew a potion for hours; it was much safer. Safer for both him and Harry.
"Are you having a mental breakdown, or what?" Harry was staring at him curiously, his eyes fixed on the pale hands, which were still shaking horribly. Draco tried his best to act casual about it…
"I'm feeling sick."
"Oh, okay." Harry went back to the job in front of him; his expression uncaring. Draco swallowed nervously; almost as if he were fighting back tears. But Malfoy's didn't cry. He was taking Harry's coldness too seriously.
"You don't care if I'm sick, do you?" Draco asked as he kept his eyes focused on the roots beneath his fingers. Concentration was draining into his fight to keep his hands straight.
"I wouldn't care if you dropped dead right in front of me and the rest of the school. I wouldn't care if you were killed by a hippogriff. I wouldn't care if you got your head bitten of by a giant man-eating flycatcher." Harry yawned, bringing one hand up to cover his mouth. "You've got to be out of your mind to ask me that question."
I am out of my mind, your inconsiderate prick, Draco thought bitterly.
"Well, that's good to hear. I wouldn't care if the same happened to you." Draco's tone sounded like it was coming from a stubborn child, and it was odd enough to cause Harry to glance up at him; his hand coming up to absently scratch his head.
"Good," he said blankly, his emerald eyes confused.
"I know, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Of course it is."
"Will you stuff it already?" Harry snapped irritably; his eyes back on the cutting.
"No," Draco responded dryly.
Snape suddenly appeared out of nowhere; passing them by slowly, his gaze penetrating and searching to see if their were any problems he could blame Harry for. Sadly there were none, and he left their view with a dissatisfied scowl, soon heading to the desk beside them, where Goyle and Lavender Brown were working. The tense Slytherin and aggravated Gryffindor both breathed a sigh of relief. It was lucky that they weren't arguing during the moment the professor had appeared.
"This is dull," Harry commented, a hand moving restlessly through his raven locks. Draco looked over at him, watching each and every move. He about memorized them by now. It was only the habit of a true obsessive. He wasn't sure if he should be happy about him being the only one who actually watched Harry that closely, or if he should be deeply uncomfortable about it. Most likely, he needed to be worrying about the second alternative and the feeling it brought. "I wish I could spend my time doing something worth while."
There was a sigh. Draco realized it had been him. "Why isn't this worthwhile?"
"Because I have to work with you."
"Get a life, Potter. Honestly, if I'm really that bad, you might as well have killed me already. If you want to keep complaining, then save it for someone else who will care."
"Look who's talking. You're acting like a hypocrite."
"Excuse me? Malfoys are not hypocrites." Draco sniffed indignantly.
"You say that I'm the one complaining. You were earlier; all over the bloody ingredients."
"That wasn't complaining. It was ordering you to get them for me. I'd think that you'd know that sort of major difference."
Harry snorted. "You're full of yourself."
As a smirk spread across his face, and he realized that his hands had stopped shaking. This was new. He seemed to be getting along quite well with Harry, even though they were still getting on each other's cases. It was 'getting along' in some way or the other. And even if it wasn't considered getting along, Draco liked to think it was.
"I doubt that," Draco replied casually.
"I don't."
Rolling his eyes, Draco decided to stop talking again. He preferred to take this time to watch Harry work. The boy couldn't notice at the moment; his attention was drawn completely away from Draco. His bright eyes (and Draco was pleased to note that they were much brighter now than they were when he first came over here) were narrowed in concentration, one hand holding the knife carefully and steadily between two slender fingers, the other planted flat on the desk. His tongue was poking out the side of his mouth; another result of the sharp concentration, and only the most observant person could notice this. Every once and a while Harry's hand would come up to push back small, dark strands of hair away from his forehead.
"What the hell are you doing?" Draco snapped out of his reverie just as rapidly as a kick to the stomach would've done to startle him. Harry was staring at him strangely.
Wow, 'hell', another word to add the list of words I never thought he'd use in public.
"Nothing," he tore his eyes away from the attractive Gryffindor, "Just trying to think of things better than being here, of course."
Harry's eyes narrowed. He seemed to have mistaken Draco's lie as something serious, and he was once again offended. There was nothing new here.
"You think I'm happy about being here?"
"How should I know what you're thinking?"
There was silence, and then Harry's calm (or slightly calm) attitude seemed to have shattered. Weren't they getting along fine just a few minutes ago? Well, in Draco's perspective, they had been getting along quite fine.
"Just shut up, for the dark lord's sake."
For the dark lord's sake? You have got to be joking.
"Maybe if you stopped crawling up my arse about how you're not happy about this situation." Draco scowled. The mood was starting to rub off on him. Here he was, trying his best trying to be mean, and he was having a difficult time. However, if this kept up, it'd steadily get easier.
"I think you should shut up, Potter. You and your righteous self are getting on my last nerve." Draco resisted letting an angry growl escape, and he started chopping the roots roughly this time; his hands were beginning to shake again.
"Why should I care!"
"Because you're being a bloody jackass!"
"Oh, now I'm the jackass?"
"Yes, you are!"
There was more severe hacking at their table; their eyes boring holes into the soon-to-be-chipped surfaces. No one had noticed the pair bickering yet, but Snape would soon notice it, if he wasn't too busy pestering the Longbottom boy. Harry and Draco didn't seem to care about the prospect of getting in trouble, however; they were too distressed to care.
"I'm not surprised you think that. Malfoys think everyone beside themselves are jackasses!" Harry's eyes were blazing behind those black rimmed glasses.
"And Potters are too stubborn to admit that they do, in fact, act exactly like one!"
"I should kill you right now, Malfoy!"
"Then do it, why don't you! You've already tried doing the same to my father!"
"He deserved what he got and you know it. Even if he's your dad, he'll always be a lowly Death eater, bastard of a man. Why should I think that you're any differ--" Harry was cut off when a loud cracking noise echoed throughout the room.
The cracking sound, had in fact, been Draco's hand across Harry's face. Harry was staring wide-eyed at Draco, his mouth open and struggling to find words. "Don't you ever fucking mention my father like that again. It was a mistake for me to even bring him up."
Draco hadn't expected to feel the urge of wanting to slap Harry. Really, he had become extremely nervous when he nearly cut Harry's finger off, and he hadn't even touched the boy then. Now he left a fading red mark on the Gryffindor's face, and it was clear that it was hurting him. He almost regretted what he did… he didn't want to hurt Harry… but when the subject of his father came up, it was just going too far.
And so, if there was one thing everyone never imagined would happen, it was Draco Malfoy slapping Harry Potter.
Normally the Slytherin didn't strive to touch any part of any Gryffindor, let alone use physical violence on any single person. So it was a surprise to all who were staring in his direction. His hand had dropped to his side, and he honestly didn't know what to do now. Harry was staring at him in such shock and anger that it almost hurt to look at his face.
Draco hadn't made Harry smile or laugh. He had made him hate him even more.
"I didn-" Draco started, but was cut short by the billowing of black robes advancing from the front of the classroom. It was a very furious looking Snape.
"I don't know what sort of show you two are trying to put on, but this is a classroom, and I expect the behavior of working students to be the only thing taking place in here." He frowned disapprovingly at them both, his expression full of an obvious stunned look at Draco's behavior, as well as that fury. "I expected better behavior from you, Mr. Malfoy."
Every single Gryffindor and Slytherin was now looking at the scene unfolding. Harry had turned his head silently down to lock on the floor, his hand coming up every few seconds to rub his stinging cheek. The result of seeing this left a sharp pang in Draco's chest. Sighing, he looked up at the professor to await what he knew would happen.
"I'm afraid the two of you will be joining me after class to do a bit of extra work, as a consequence of this adolescent performance. Unfortunately for Longbottom and his partner, they didn't get anything done, so you'll be spending the time after class finishing it for them. No matter how long it takes, you both will finish it, and I'll be writing a note to both of your next professors to let them know why you're absent from those classes. Is this clear?" His eyes shot daggers through both of their turned gazes.
"Yes, Professor," they both responded in unison. It sounded like poison sliced through the air (if poison could be heard); as if their voices mixing together made these dire circumstances seem worse.
"Good. Now get to work, and I hope you both know not to do this ever again." With those last words, he whipped around and strode back to the front of the room. Draco and Harry both stood behind their table silently, their cutting reduced to tiny knocks against the wood every few minutes. Draco didn't dare speak; he was afraid of what Harry would say, or what he wouldn't say. Harry was too lost in his own thoughts, his opinion of Draco far worse than it was before.
Draco knew that hoping the Potions class got better was now impossible.