Ahhh! I am SO SORRY this took so long! It was actually ready a month ago, but certain circumstances were in the way of things. It is not Betad, so I hereby apologize for any mistake (as you know, I am not a native English speaker, and there is only so much a girl can learn on her own). Hopefully, chapter 12 will be up soon -- I already have five pages of it, and hope to finish the rest soon.
Eleventh chapter, in which there is detention, blushing and much name calling. Draco is a girl, Harry is all swoon-y (and not in a good way), and Hermione proves, once again, that though she is brilliant and nothing escapes her notice, she has a problem when it comes to handling the things she discovers.
Also, the plot takes a leave of absence. Enjoy!
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Draco fought with Pansy's words all the weekend. His first instinct was to deny it. Him, in love? Not likely. But after having those words in his head for two days, he couldn't help but wonder: What is love, exactly? How can I know, if I'm in love or not?
He loved his parents, he was sure of that, and they loved him. They weren't all that close – his parents were very busy people, after all, what with his mother's social life and his father's endless research and ministry work and business-related travels. But they made sure he had everything he wanted, from broomsticks to toys to books. They encouraged him to invest in his studies and praised him when he got good grades. They gave him all that he ever needed. Surely, that was love.
He loved Pansy, too, in a completely platonic way. He cared about her opinion and cherished her approval and enjoyed her sense of humor. He took pleasure in her company. He liked to make her laugh, liked to have her attention, liked the fact that she fought for his attention, too. Above all, he trusted her, which was something he wasn't sure he could say with complete honesty about his parents.
There was Professor Snape, which he respected more than anyone else, there was Blaise, which he could always play a game of pick-up Quidditch with and who grew on him with the years. There were many kinds of love.
He knew Potter was important to him. He wanted his attention more than anything in the world. He desperately wanted his respect.
He wanted to kiss him. Wanted to touch him, yes, to do more than just touch him. He wanted Potter to kiss him and touch him back. But did he want more?
He thought of Pansy, and the way he would sometimes do utterly silly things just to make her smile. He thought of doing the same with Potter: telling a joke, making a fool of himself, seeing the corners of Potter's mouth twitch, before widening to a grin. He remembered the way he would sometimes bring odd stones he found at the gardens to his mother, when he was younger. Flowers that caught his eye, a special leaf, to please her. He thought of him and Potter, sitting side by side, him holding out a feather and saying: look, see the pattern here? The way the lines cross, it looks like a star – and Potter would shake his head and say: only you, Draco, could see something like this, but he would be smiling nonetheless.
And Draco realized: I want that, too.
He didn't want just something physical; he wanted the friendship as well – the smiles and the private little jokes and the comfort of intimacy and familiarity, wanted to be able to poke Potter's nose or pull at his hair and say: you look like a haystack, Harry. Did you lose your hairbrush? Do you even own one?
He thought about the way Potter brushed even Granger and Weasley off sometimes; the way he would close up, his eyes dark and his face darker, the way he would stalk about the castle, the way he would snap at them for no apparent reason. And he thought: I want that, too. I want to be shouted at and punched, if it means that afterwards I can hug and comfort and calm Potter down. I want the whole package.
When it comes to Harry Potter, I want everything
He closed the book he was pretending to read, and sighed.
I just don't know what to think anymore.
On Monday, at breakfast, a school owl landed beside his plate, bearing a note. The note announced that Draco's detention would take place tonight, at nine o'clock. He was to meet Filch in the entrance hall. Draco looked up and saw Potter holding a similar note, a resigned expression on his face.
He couldn't help but think of the fact that he would be spending at least two hours alone with Potter.
At eight thirty he was in his Dorm, frantic and anxious. "Blaise!" he yelled, "Have you seen my hairbrush?" Blaise looked up from his essay. "Your hairbrush, Draco?" he said incredulously. "You actually own a hairbrush? And why would you even care about how your hair looks? You're going to a detention, for Salazar's sake, not a date – "he broke off very quickly, as a look of realization crossed his face. His eyes narrowed.
Luckily for Draco, Pansy knocked on the door that moment. "Draco?" she said, coming in, and then, when she saw both their faces "oh, for the love of – Blaise, leave us for a few moments, will you?"
When Blaise stalked out, muttering to himself, she turned to Draco. "Right. What's all this nonsense then?"
Draco stared at her, and then collapsed on his bed. "I feel so stupid," he whispered, his face in his hands. He felt the mattress sag as she sat by him.
"You are, a little," she admitted.
"Thanks," he glared at her, but he didn't have the heart for it so it probably looked quite pathetic.
"Draco, listen to me for a minute, all right? I know how you feel, and I know how much you want him. And I'm the last person" her voice caught in her throat "who wants to see you unhappy. But, well…" she turned to look at him seriously. "As far as you know, he's straight. And even if he wasn't… he doesn't like you. That's the truth" she added hurriedly when she saw him flinch, and put a comforting hand on his. "Not that you didn't give him reason to. I'm not attacking you – I just – I don't want to see you hurt. And you will be, because chances are, you will never have him".
He bit his lip. He knew she was right, but it hurt to hear it, nonetheless. Part of him was grateful that she cared about him that much. Another part hated her for saying what he tried to ignore.
"Don't go chasing after unattainable dreams, Draco. They'll keep you running forever, taunting you with some new sliver of hope every time, but in the end, you will find you have wasted your life chasing nothing".
He got so angry at her right then. It didn't matter that she was doing it out of concern, that she only did what she thought was best. Like every other young person, Draco liked to think he had everything open before him, with a little effort; liked to believe he was invincible. And like every other young person, he didn't like people telling him he wasn't.
"Do you listen to your own advice, Pansy?" he said, his voice cold.
"W-what?" she said, staring at him.
"Just because I don't want you, doesn't mean I don't have a chance with him. Maybe I can make him like me back – maybe he's more forgiving than you or me. Maybe I can make him see me differently – you don't know, and you have no right to tell me it's impossible!" he shouted the last words.
Pansy looked hurt, an expression of pain on her face. "I just want what's best –" she tried.
"You don't know what's best for me! That's for me to decide! And it's my decision to take a chance, too, even if I can get hurt from it, even if I will end up chasing something that was never there!"
"Draco, that isn't what –"
"I don't care. I don't want to listen to you right now. Leave." Pansy tried to say something again, her eyes welling up, but he just pointed at the door and shouted "get out!" Her eyes hardened, and she hissed "fine! Go ruin your life, see if I care!" and stormed out. Right into Blaise.
Blaise's face looked caught between shock, irritation and disbelief. Pansy muttered an apology and disappeared. Blaise and Draco stared at each other for a moment, at a loss for words, and then Blaise seemed to reach a decision. He stepped in, closed the door carefully, and turned to face Draco.
"First of all, what the bloody hell? Second, you are one of the greatest prats I have ever had the misfortune to meet. You had no right to yell at Pansy like that, she only wanted to warn you, you great idiot, and she's your best friend. You ought to treat her better than that. Third," he took a deep breath "I know we established the fact that you an idiot, but I always thought you had at least some meager shred of intelligence. Apparently, I was wrong. What did you think you were doing, shouting about something like that? In the middle of the Slytherin Dungeons, no less. Do you want this to be all over the school? Do you want the whole house of Slytherin to know your fixation with Potter has evolved into an even worse state? Do you want this to get back to your parents?"
Draco opened his mouth to yell at him, too, which seemed like a very good idea just then, but than thought better of it. Blaise did have a point, about the shouting at least. Instead he stepped closer and said quietly "how much did you hear?"
Blaise ran a hand through his hair in agitation "everything".
Draco closed his eyes briefly. "Damn".
"Yes, that pretty much sums it up. Lets pass the boy factor, though, although I never had you pegged down as a shirt-lifter –"
"I'm not!" Draco immediately protested, horrified.
"Well, sorry, but I think wanting to kiss a boy qualifies as a definite step into poofdom".
"I don't want to kiss any boy," Draco admitted, having figured this couldn't get much worse. "Just… just him".
"Oh," Blaise said. Then "so you don't want to kiss me?"
"No!"
"You don't have to sound so appalled" Blaise muttered. "What's wrong with me, exactly? Not green eyed enough for you? Maybe I should invest in a pair of glasses? Paint a scar?"
"Blaise!" Draco hissed, mortified. "Why are you even – that's not the issue – do you want me to kiss you?"
"No!" Blaise assured him quickly "I'm all about the ladies. Absolutely. No pillow-biting for me".
"Then why – ugh, that's not even the point!" Draco found himself completely confused with the way this evening unfolded.
"The point? Oh, the point! The point is –" the dark-haired boy lowered his voice "Potter? Of all the blokes in school, you had to choose him? Mister high and mighty, goody-goody, resident hero, not to mention the boy who put your father in Azkaban, shamed and dishonored you, and to top it all, hates your guts?"
"You forgot to say straight," Draco said, getting angry again.
Blaise looked thoughtful "oh, I don't know, him and Weasley always struck me as awfully close – Draco, are you all right? Draco!" he patted Draco on the back until he finished choking.
"Ugh. Blah! Just… don't say that. Ever again."
"Getting possessive, are we? Alright, alright, I'll get back to the point. The point is – what the hell were you thinking? You can't possibly fancy yourself in love with Harry Potter!" to his defense, he did manage to shout quietly.
"Well," Draco was horrified to find himself blushing. Almost as horrified as he was at finding he was actually discussing this with Blaise, of all people.
Blaise stared at him in shock. "You're blushing! You're not having me on! Oh, Draco, you've got to be the daftest person in the world. This is so bad I can't even begin to comprehend it. Oh, you've done it now, how are you going to get yourself out of this mess? Oh, wait," his eyes hardened. "You're not, are you? You're going to be utterly stupid and try to go after him, aren't you?"
Draco glared back at him "why are the both of you so against this? It's my life –"
"Why are we against this? I can't believe you're even asking this. Draco, it may be your life, but you're our friend. It's our job to tell you when you're getting into something way over your head. And this – this isn't getting in over your head, this is something that will cause you to end up six feet under!"
Draco sighed, unable to hold on to his anger anymore. "Haven't you ever wanted anything that was hard to get, Blaise?"
Blaise's expression softened. "Of course I did. We're all human, after all. But I never wanted something impossible".
"You don't know if it's impossible," Draco tried.
"Oh, right, sorry. The day Professor Snape and Longbottom announce their marriage and Hermione Granger will burn the library down, I'll get you and Potter a nice broomstick closet, all right? You'll have little flying pigs instead of cupids".
"This is not funny, Blaise."
"Oh, I know. It's so sad I just want to burst out crying".
"I know you think it's impossible – and it probably is," he added reluctantly at the other boy's pointed look "but I never wanted anything so much in my life."
Blaise frowned "surely, you're exaggerating. What you want more than anything you have ever wanted is a few kisses and gropes in some abandoned classroom with Potter?"
"No. No. I – do you think – see, this is where it gets complicated…"
Blaise stared at him, and then realization hit. "Oh. Oh, I see. You don't want only kisses, do you. You actually want – I can't believe I'm saying this – you actually care about him. You actually feel about him!"
Draco passed a hand over his eyes tiredly. "Ye – yes. And this is why neither you nor Pansy can -- can change my mind".
Blaise sat down on his bed. After a long time he shook his head and gave Draco a half-hearted smile. "If you're really sure about it," he said "you're old enough to make your own choices and dig yourself your own graves. I hope you succeed, then. I hope you'll be happy, you old fruitcake. If there's anyone stubborn enough to make Potter change his mind completely over something so drastic, it's you." Then he suddenly grinned "just spare me you and lover-boy going all googly-eyed over each other, will you?" At Draco's scandalized expression, he added "and if you make it any easier on him in Quidditch, I will personally make sure you can never enjoy Potter to your full potential, are we clear on that?"
Then he sobered. "Just one word of advice, Draco. Whatever happens, no matter how this turns out, don't advertise this".
Draco raised his eyebrows "what do you think I am, a complete idiot? Don't answer that".
Blaise made a face, and then added "and apologize to Pansy".
Draco nodded "I know".
They both smiled at each other, and than Draco said "I'd better go".
"O, Right, detention with the love of your life. When does it start?"
"Piss of, Blaise," Draco smirked. "You're just jealous. Nine".
"Oh, um, that's too bad. Because it's a quarter past nine now. And just for the record, I have nothing to be jealous of. As you recall, I am not a pansy, unlike someone else in this room, who obviously is".
"Piss off," Draco repeated, and then yelped "What? Quarter past nine? I'm late!" and started looking around frantically, muttering "my hairbrush, my hairbrush…"
Blaise threw a pillow at him "you don't own a hairbrush, you enormous prat. Now go, you're already late for your date with your Weasley-snogging boyfrie- Ow, that bloody hurt, you git!"
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Harry spent most of the weekend cooped up in a room with Professor Shacklebolt, catching up to the things they haven't gotten around to doing during the weekend. It was just as well, since Hermione was still cross at him. Neither Ron or him understood why; when they asked, she just huffed, glared at them, and then left for the library, announcing she had better things to do then explain extremely obvious things to them, and if it's enlightment you're seeking, Harry Potter, go bother someone else.
"Do you think it has something to do with Susan Bones?" Ron had asked. "I always thought Hermione rather liked her. Ooh, do you think it has something to do with Malfoy?"
Harry shrugged. Hermione was probably just angry at him for getting into a fight with Malfoy – high on the list of Very Stupid Things in her book – and losing them all those House points – which was even higher.
Nevertheless, he was here with the Auror, practicing his ducking and blocking skills. Speaking of which –
Harry ducked as a stunner hurtled straight towards him, and countered with a body-lock, which the Auror waved aside as though it was a fly.
"With all due respect, Professor," Harry tried, rolling out of the way of another one "a stunner? On a student?"
"You are a special case, Mr. Potter," Shacklebolt answered dryly, and sent another one on Harry's way. "Trust me; the Death Eaters will fire much worse things at you. And if you would use shielding charms instead of blocking me, I think you will not be this tired. But it's your choice, of course".
I can't, Harry thought, ducking again. My shields are not strong enough –
The Auror cast a blasting curse at him, and Harry realized, in the space of one moment, that he couldn't duck this one. Oh hell, he though, raising his wand and knowing he wasn't going to be quick enough, wasn't going to be able to utter the spell in time, and he readied himself for the blow –
But instead the Auror was flung against the wall, the back-fired spell tearing clear through his shield, and Harry thought: what had just happened?
Then he noticed the way the air around him shimmered slightly, with an almost invisible bluish colour. A shield. But I don't remember casting one…
Meanwhile, Shacklebolt picked himself off the floor. He winced as he straightened, and his hand went to his side. But he was smiling. "That," he said "is what I'm talking about".
"Sir," Harry protested, "I didn't cast any shield". The Auror stopped smiling, and looked almost puzzled "of course you did, and a fine shield at that".
"I didn't say the spell –"
Shacklebolt raised his eyebrows, and then he started to laugh. "Oh, so that is what you did." At Harry's confused expression, he elaborated. "When you were younger, your magic tended to get out of control sometimes, didn't it? When you were angry or scared".
Harry nodded.
"As you get more experienced with using your magic, your control over it increases. No magical leaks, no magical energy getting out of hand. But you, Harry, are a remarkably strong wizard, even now – far stronger than most adult wizards." At Harry's disbelieving snort he shot him an amused look. "There is no doubt about it. That shield you have just erected was a stronger shield than I could ever hope to cast. Not only did it reflect my curse fully – a strong curse from a fully trained Auror, against a sixth-year, may I remind you – but it also pierced my own shield and caused me damage".
"Sorry about that, sir," Harry hurriedly said. "I didn't mean to –"
"Yes, I was just getting to that. As I said before, you are an extremely powerful wizard. It will take you much longer than most to achieve full rein over your magic. And now, you panicked – that is not something to be ashamed of, Harry, there's no need to deny it – and instinctively, you have put up a shield. You knew the spell, and you cast it without actually using your wand. Not unheard of, although it is not common".
"Oh," Harry said, feeling less confused and more worried now, for the older man was obviously hurt. "Sir, shouldn't you go to the Hospital Wing?"
"I'm more than capable of continuing the lesson," the Auror assured him, and then took a step and grimaced. "Then again, perhaps you are right. Over all, I think we can say this lesson was a success. At least we now know what you are capable of. Although next time, do try to use your wand."
Harry flushed, and then something crossed his mind. "Sir, those curses you were firing at me – they couldn't cause me real damage, could they? I mean, obviously not, or else you wouldn't have used them on me, but if, say, I wouldn't have erected that shield…"
The Professor laughed "they could cause quite a lot of damage; they are not children's hexes. But you are protected by so many protection spells, you would not have suffered permanent damage".
Harry blinked, suddenly suspicious "protection spells?"
Shacklebolt nodded "Of course. Dumbledore's put them on you after the end of your fourth year, and they cannot be removed, so you have nothing to worry about."
Harry's eyes narrowed "the Headmaster didn't tell me about this," he said.
"You are his student, Harry," Shacklebolt turned to look at him "you may be a powerful wizard, and you may be Harry Potter, but you are still not his equal, and you will treat him with the respect he deserves. He does not have to explain or inform you of anything. Is that clear?"
Harry's voice was cold as he answered "with all due respect, Professor, this is something between Professor Dumbledore and me, which you are no part of."
"I suggest you keep your temper under control, Mr. Potter," Shacklebolt said. "You may have been granted special privileges, and I may be fond of you, but I am still your teacher and I will not hesitate to give you another detention, should I feel you deserve it. Am I making myself clear?"
"Perfectly, Sir." Harry's voice couldn't have been colder if he had tried. At this moment, he didn't like the Auror at all.
"Dismissed."
He left for the Hospital Wing, and Harry walked back towards the Gryffindor tower, in a worse mood than he had been in all week.
When he entered the dorm Ron took one look at his dark expression and made a face. "Shacklebolt overworked you, did he?"
"No," Harry answered shortly, and the redhead, more attentive then usual, didn't press further on the subject. Instead he cautiously offered an exploding snap game.
"Yeah, sure, why not," Harry answered, and made to move towards Ron's bed. Then his head started spinning, his vision faded as abruptly as though someone had removed his glasses, and he was enveloped in darkness.
When he came to, he saw Ron's anxious face peering at him. "Harry?" he asked quietly, "how are you feeling?"
"Ugh, like someone had hit me over the head with a broomstick. What happened?"
Ron pressed a hand to his forehead, frowning. "You went very pale and just collapsed. You hit your head on the floor when you fell, so that's probably why it hurts." He ran his fingers over the back off Harry's head "yeah, you've got a bump starting to form there, alright," he leaned closer "you're eyes look sort of unfocused. Come on, let's get you to Madam Pomfrey –"
"Oh, is this a bad time?" Seamus' voice rang from the doorway and Ron hurriedly straightened "I didn't mean to disturb anything – just what I was disturbing, by the way?"
There was a peculiar expression on his face, like uneasy amusment. He was standing half inside, one hand on the doorframe, his eyebrows close together.
Ron, amazingly, didn't turn red or jump away. "Very funny, Seamus" he answered "Harry fainted. Help me get him up, won't you? I want to take him to the Hospital Wing."
Seamus immediately rushed over, his expression turning concerned. He kneeled by them. "Fainted?"
"I'm fine, really," Harry protested. Shacklebolt was in the Infirmary right now, and Harry really didn't want to see him again so soon. Not until he had a little time to cool off. Right now, he would probably just snap at him and earn himself another detention.
"Sure you are, Harry, but I'm taking you to Pomfrey. Here – " Ron and Seamus put their hands under his back and helped him to sit up.
Harry closed his eyes as his head swam again. When it was over, he opened his eyes to find both the boys staring at him, their faces serious. They pulled him upright and he staggered, leaning heavily on Ron. "It's nothing," he insisted. "Just used too much magic and didn't rest afterwards. I'll go lay down. It'll be over soon".
"Are you sure?" Ron said. "Even if that's the case, I think it's better to have Pomfrey look at you. Just to be on the safe side".
"No," Harry said. "I don't need to go to Madam Pomfrey. I just need a little rest".
They both looked doubtful, but they helped him to his bed nonetheless.
Ron went away to search for something in his trunk, and when he returned, he handed Harry a chocolate frog. "Here, eat this" he told him. "It'll help you restore your energy quicker. I still think you should go to the Hospital wing".
"Thanks," Harry said and took the chocolate, removing the wrapping and breaking off a twitching leg. He ignored the rest of Ron's sentence. I will, he thought. Later. When Shacklebolt isn't there. Then he fell asleep.
When he woke up it was already dark, and by the soft sounds of snores around him, he deducted it was very late. Or very early. I'll just go in the morning, he told himself, and went back to sleep.
When he woke up again it was Monday morning. All the boys shot him concerned looks as he made his way to the showers (he didn't actually think Ron and Seamus would have kept quite about it, but it was nice to hope). When he got downstairs, Hermione threw herself at him. When did she get so short? He thought, and then, more urgently, air.
"I'm sorry, Harry, I had no right to be annoyed at you, it's not your fault you're dense sometimes," she mumbled into his chest. "I got really worried when Ron told me you passed out." Then she drew back and gave him an accusing look "He also said you wouldn't go to Madam Pomfrey".
He shrugged, which was a little hard since her arms were still around him. She let go. "It was just because I used to much magical energy –"
"Yes, Ron said that, too. He wasn't convinced, and I'm not, either. We're going now, Ron will save us seats". When she opened his mouth to protest, she tugged him after her "you'd better not argue with me, Harry James Potter, if you know what's good for you".
Madam Pomfrey agreed with him, though. After subjecting him to a dozen different spells, she smiled and said "well, Mr. Potter, I can find nothing wrong with you. It happens, sometimes, when a wizard or a witch casts a spell too draining. It's the body's way to protect itself, to ensure you won't do yourself any more damage. I suggest you take it easy for a few days, but you needn't be concerned".
"See?" Harry said to Hermione as they hurried to breakfast. "You were just worried for nothing".
"There's no such thing as worrying over nothing when it comes to you, Harry," she grumbled, but reluctantly agreed not to bring up the subject again.
This explains all the other events, too, Harry thought. The dizziness, the headaches. It was with a much lighter heart that he sat down to eat then it was in a long time.
In the middle of breakfast a school owl landed by him, dropped a piece of parchment in his eggs, stole a piece of toast, and took off. Harry retrieved the note. "Detention tonight, nine o'clock".
Hermione looked up from 'The Daily Prophet'. "Because of the fight with Malfoy?" when he nodded, she frowned "who's supervising?"
Harry grimaced, "Filch. Which means he'll just stick us in the dirtiest room he can find and leave us for a couple of hours while he goes to polish his whip and chains somewhere."
Hermione's frown deepened "alone?"
"Yes. What, are you worried? I can handle anything Malfoy throws at me. He won't be able to hex me behind my back or something of the sort. We probably won't even have our wands".
She mumbled something that sounded like "it's not his hexes I'm worried about…"
"What?"
"Never mind. Just, be careful, all right?" she sounded a little nervous.
Harry narrowed his eyes "Hermione, I'm always careful around Malfoy. Is there something you're not telling me?"
She refused to answer, which raised his suspicions, but there was nothing to be done about it.
At a quarter to nine he got ready to leave. Being late for detention usually resulted in points taken off and more work. Hermione abandoned her essay. "Where are your robes?"
"Hmm?" he looked at the overlarge sweater he was wearing. "They're my last clean set; I figured it wouldn't matter if I showed up in Muggle clothes."
"But, But –" Hermione seemed flustered, which was indeed A Very Rare Thing. "Harry, then borrow robes from Ron, or Seamus! You can't go out like that!"
"Why? Hermione, you've been acting rather strange today…"
"Well, what if one of the teachers saw and took off points?"
"I'll just explain."
"But –"
"But what?" Harry was getting annoyed.
"Oh, leave it. Just – Don't be too charming or anything."
Harry shook his head. "Hermione, sometimes I think I will never understand you."
He got to the Entrance Hall at two minutes to nine; Filch was already there, looking as foul-mannered and gleeful as always, with Mrs. Norris sitting near his feet. Malfoy was nowhere to be found.
Filch scowled and led him to the Hospital Wing, where he handed him a bucket and rag, told him to clean the floor and left after he confiscated his wand. Harry glared after the Caretaker before getting to work.
After about twenty minutes Filch returned, pushing a very irritated Malfoy before him. He gave Malfoy a rag too, took his wand, gave it to Madam Pomfrey who was in her office, and left after cackling at them a last time.
Harry looked at Malfoy, who was still standing near the entrance. "Well?" he demanded "if you think I'm going to be the only one working you are very much mistaken."
He expected Malfoy to retort with something nasty, or at least sneer at him, but the blonde said nothing; he only dropped to his knees next to Harry and the bucket, wetted his rag, and started scrubbing the floor as well.
They worked in silence for some time; the only words they exchanged were when Harry said "I'll go change the water, they've gotten all filthy". He was surprised by the neutral atmosphere; if this was anyone other than Malfoy, he would have even gone as far as to call it friendly.
It was already very late when something that puzzled Harry happened. He and Malfoy had inserted their hands into the bucket at the same time; Malfoy had jumped back so quickly when their hands touched that he had unsettled the bucket and spilled the slightly dirty water all over the floor, getting their knees soaked. His face was awfully pink, his eyes wide, and Harry couldn't remember ever seeing him this uncomfortable before. Without thinking, he asked "are you all right?"
It was even stranger when Malfoy answered "fine," instead of telling him to mind his own business, coupled with an insult. Harry stared at him. Malfoy stared back. He could feel himself blushing although he could find absolutely no reason why. He cleared his throat, and Malfoy jumped a little. What was going on with him? Was this what Hermione was so anxious about? Malfoy was certainly acting strange. And he was blushing, too, there was no doubt about it.
"We should get back to cleaning," he said.
"Cleaning? Oh, cleaning, right." The Slytherin averted his eyes quickly, grabbed the bucket before Harry could and hurried away, presumably to fill it. There was a strange rigidness to his back; not hostile, but something Harry didn't understand.
They continued cleaning; Harry felt Malfoy watching him; every time he raised his head to look at Malfoy the blonde turned his head quickly away, pretending he wasn't, but his red cheeks gave him away. Harry was getting more and more nervous.
Just when he was about ready to snap and shout at Malfoy to stop staring at him, Madam Pomfrey came out of her office. "Oh, Harry, dear, it's you who got detention? And mister Malfoy, I see" her tone was distinctly colder when she addressed Malfoy. She smiled at Harry "how are you feeling, dear? No more passing out, I hope?"
Harry shook his head, embarrassed; didn't she know not to talk about humiliating things in front of Malfoy, of all people? He saw Malfoy staring at him again, and refused to meet his eyes.
"Well, you two can go; you should have been in your beds long ago. Leave the bucket and rags here, I'll return them to Argus. And no dawdling in the halls! Off you go." She handed them their wands.
Harry thanked her and hurried out. He could hear Malfoy behind him, walking quickly to keep up. At the Entrance, they parted ways, Harry taking the staircase going up, In the direction of the Gryffindor tower; Malfoy taking the one down, to the dungeons.
Hermione was waiting for him in the common room despite the late hour, and he wasn't surprised. He sat next to her. "All right," he said, turning to look at her "what's wrong with Malfoy?"
She looked at him carefully "what do you mean?"
If you want to play games, Hermione… "He was acting very strange."
"Oh?"
"He was… pleasant. Polite. Didn't try to get me into any trouble. And…" he hesitated.
Hermione looked at him sharply "and?"
"He kept blushing, I don't know why."
She sighed. "Harry, this is something you have to figure out for yourself. I can't help you, not in this".
He let out a frustrated noise "I wish you'd stop talking in riddles."
"I don't know if he'll pose any danger to you – he may be more dangerous now. But I don't think he will hurt you intentionally."
"Hermion, this is Malfoy we're talking about. When doesn't he try to hurt me?"
"Just… you've never been particularly careful around him. You have to remember, you are not boys anymore. And you can't take him as lightly as you did until now. Act with caution when it's Malfoy you're dealing with, all right?"
He nodded, as he could tell he wouldn't get anything else out of her. "Yes. I promise."
He touched his shoulder affectionately "good night."
"Good night."
No one was up when he entered the dormitory, and Harry changed to his pajamas and went to sleep as well.
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Draco arrived at the Entrance Hall to find both Potter and Filch gone. He swore; he would get into trouble over this, no doubt. He decided to wait – surely Filch wouldn't give up so quickly on a chance to torture a student. As he had expected, Filch showed up a few minutes later, and his face broke into a nasty smile as he saw Draco, revealing two rows of crooked yellow teeth.
Blagh, Draco thought. Doesn't he ever brush his teeth? I think I can spot a bone from the last Christmas Turkey there, stuck between the third and fourth tooth.
The Caretaker, after promising him many more detentions to come for being late, pushed him towards the Hospital Wing.
Get your filthy hands off me, Draco was irritated; I shall never be clean again.
Filch shoved him through the door and stuck a rag in his hand – Draco shuddered to think where it had been before – and left. Draco found himself staring at a very annoyed Harry Potter. Potter was on his knees next to a bucket, scrubbing the floor, and he had obviously been there for some time now.
"Well?" he said angrily "if you think I'm going to be the only one working you are very much mistaken."
He was wearing a red sweater which looked familiar, although Draco couldn't say where he saw it before, instead of his school robes. His Black hair was getting in his eyes, and a few strands were matted to his forehead, as though he pushed them away before with his wet hands.
Draco knelt next to him and started cleaning, too. It was awfully hard for him to concentrate, though; Potter was very close, and Draco could smell him, soap and broom polish and pumpkin juice from dinner. He kept seeing him move out of the corner of his eyes, a flash of red when he moved, black head bent low.
They worked for some time, Draco getting edgier and tenser as each minute passed, and when their hands touched when they both made to dampen their rags again, Draco was so startled he jerked and tipped the bucket over, flooding the floor and their legs in soapy water.
He could feel his face burning, as did his hand, and when Potter asked, out of the blue, if he was alright, his tone only a little bit exasperated and not at all hostile he barley managed to choke out "fine." He stared at Potter, at his green eyes that were now confused, at his face. He thought: he's obviously a boy. I can't even claim I'm attracted to him because he's feminine or pretty or something of the sort.
"We should get back to cleaning," Potter said.
"Cleaning?" Draco asked stupidly, and then felt the urge to hit himself on the head. "Oh, cleaning, right." Smooth, Draco. He was sure he was never as red as he was now in his life. Stop thinking about Potter's eyes, he yelled at himself, and get a grip! Even if Potter's eyes are very, very nice to look at. He looked away and his eyes fell on the empty bucket, and he jumped on the opportunity to get away, even for a minute or two.
When he got back it was even worse, though, because Potter's wet trousers kept clinging to his legs, making wet rustling noises every time Potter moved even a little, and every time they did, Draco just had to turn around and look. By the time Madam Pomfrey came to dismiss them, he was at the end of his rope.
She cooed a little over Potter, who seemed distinctly uncomfortable because of it, and then she asked "how are you feeling, dear? No more passing out, I hope?" and Draco turned to stare at Potter sharply. Passing out? What was she talking about? Was he unwell? Well, there was clearly something wrong, even if it seemed Potter was trying to deny it.
They left after Madam Pomfrey gave them their wands back, and Draco was itching to ask about her comment, but he knew he couldn't. Tonight had been a success, with absolutely no animosity between them, even if there was suspicion and Draco had made a complete idiot of himself. If he asked, Potter would take it as mockery, and everything would be ruined. So he held his tongue.
They parted at the Entrance Hall; Draco watched Potter go until his thin frame disappeared in the darkness, and only then did he continue.
Pansy was awake when he got back, despite the fact that it was after midnight and they had just had a huge row before. He hesitated, and then came to stand before her.
"I'm sorry about what I said," he offered, and they both knew that was all he was going to say, and even that had cost him a great deal. Draco almost never said he was sorry, almost never admitted he was wrong.
Pansy studied him closely, and then smiled a little smile. "I accept your apology." And that was that.
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The characters aren't acting like I want them at all: pout : How do you beat your characters into submission? Do you play nice? Do you threaten? Do you tie them up and no more chocolate frogs for you, Draco, until you learn to behave? I am at a loss. This is just NOT ON.