The entire room (which was indeed stuffed full of partying Gryffindors) fell silent as Draco crawled through the portrait hole behind me. They stared as I led him across the room to the table in the corner where Hermione and Ron waited. Draco carried himself admirably; he raised his chin just a bit and sailed through the room radiating self-confidence and his right to be there. Thankfully, there were four chairs at the table, and Ron didn't seem to be swallowing his tongue, though he did have a white-knuckled grasp on his fork. My stomach growled at the sight of the food he'd brought up.
We sat down, Draco and I across from 'Mione and Ron. I tossed my robes in a heap in the corner. "'Lo again," I offered lamely.
No one said anything. The commonroom around us began to buzz again with conversation, far more quietly now that everyone was trying to whisper. Draco ignored it all regally.
"Um, did you have any trouble getting dinner?" I was determined to get SOME kind of response out of Ron.
He shook his head, hesitated, then said, "No, same as usual." He coughed. "They even gave me some Butterbeer; I think Filch has a secret stash with them or something." He pulled out two bottles, a third, then—reluctantly—a fourth one from under his chair. We each took one gratefully.
"Gods, how many of these did they give you?" I asked.
"You won't believe this...a whole case. 24 bottles. I had to use a Levitating spell to get all this stuff back." He smirked for a moment before remembering to glare at Draco.
"I'm sorry for being such an arse," Draco said suddenly. "To both of you. All of you." He glanced at me for a moment, then back to Hermione and Ron. "I've been a right git, and I'm sorry."
Ron choked on his Butterbeer, and Hermione was occupied in pounding on his back for a bit before she could answer. Finally she turned back to Draco. "I won't deny that you have been a right git, and you've done some things that I don't know that I can forgive you entirely for, but thank you for the apology."
Draco nodded and went back to examining the grain of the table. :I know I'll have to prove that I mean it before anyone will really believe me,: he said quietly in my head. :I've been an arse for far too long for anyone to turn around and trust me out of nowhere.:
:If they could just see you like this—:
:But they can't. They're not in my head. They can't sense my sincerity like you can. And they're entirely right to be distrusting. I don't blame them at all.:
Under the table, I reached over and squeezed his hand. :Thank you for understanding. And truly, when everyone relaxes, you'll find they're very good people.:
:I believe you.:
Our hands hadn't quite drifted apart, and acting on impulse I twined my fingers with his and drank my Butterbeer with my other hand.
:For reassurance,: I explained. He didn't answer, but neither did he draw away.
Things became slowly less awkward as we finished eating and cleared away the plates. Hermione dug out a thick book on Egyptian wizards of the 18th dynasty, and I challenged Ron to a game of chess, with Draco to play the winner. Naturally I lost, as I'd expected. Ron found that Draco was a very good player though, unlike Hermione or myself, and before long they were both scowling at the board and shouting at each other when one or the other took a piece. It was quite amusing, and I caught Hermione smiling at them over her book. We exchanged winks, and I grinned. Ron and Draco didn't notice, completely immersed in their game and oblivious to the world.
Finally Ron manoeuvred Draco into checkmate. He let out a great "HA!" then leapt up and did a vaguely frightening victory dance, punching the air and cackling. I glanced at Draco, who was calmly setting up the board again.
:You let him win, didn't you.:
:Not exactly. I just stopped trying to win somewhere near the end. He's very good, you know. I quite enjoyed playing him.:
:Thank you.:
:I didn't do it for you.:
:I know. Thank you anyway.:
Draco turned to look at me with a luminance in his eyes I'd never imagined, and opened his mouth to say something—
But Ron sat down again just then and said firmly, "Great game, mate. We'll have to play again some time. This lot—" —he gestured at Hermione and I— "—can never really give me a good match. It's a nice change to play someone who's really good."
The moment was broken. Draco turned back to Ron and grinned. "Same here. No one in my house can really give me a challenge anymore. This was a lot of fun."
"Care for another game then?" Ron looked truly eager. I wasn't too surprised, since he and Draco really were very good at chess, and Hermione and I really were very bad.
"Unless Harry's bored—" They both turned to look at me, and when I shook my head in denial, they both focussed on the chessboard again immediately.
I excused myself eventually to run upstairs and drop my robes down the laundry chute; no one really noticed anyway. I returned with my broomstick in one hand and my servicing kit in the other. I swear, that kit was the best birthday gift anyone's ever given me. I've thanked Hermione a thousand times for it, and I still feel the urge to thank her again whenever I use it, which is several times a week, to be honest.
Ron and Draco were completely immersed in their game; Draco seemed to be winning this time. Hermione looked up from her book and motioned for me to sit beside her.
"It seems to be going well," she murmured as I sat down.
"So it does," I replied. "Better than I'd expected, actually."
"Same here." She smiled at me. "I'd never anticipated him actually apologising. Did he mean it, do you think?"
"He absolutely meant it. I—talked to him a lot that first day; he couldn't go anywhere, so I took the opportunity and told him what an arse he'd been and why. He didn't like it, but he's thought about it and ended up agreeing with me. To the point that he doesn't much like himself anymore. —Although I suspect he didn't much like himself before, actually." I ran my hand along the smooth handle of my Firebolt and hoped I'd not said too much. It was a fine line to walk, between what Hermione needed to know to understand why I was supporting Draco and what would leave Draco too vulnerable.
"Are you sure he's not been misleading you? I hate to ask, Harry, but...this is so out of character for him..." She was truly reluctant to ask; her words were stumbling and hesitant.
"'Mione, if he lied to me, I'd know it. Honestly. When you're meshed with someone else's thoughts, you know when they mean something; and all the bits they don't actually say come through to you anyway. He 'hears' me all the time when I've not meant him to; I never get anything from him anymore unless he means me to, but all the same, I'd KNOW if he didn't mean what he'd said. And he's said quite a lot. I can't make you believe me, Herm, but I've heard and sensed a lot more from him than I can ever convey; if anyone's ever been truly honest with me, he has, I swear."
She still looked a bit concerned. "Since you vouch for him, Harry...but he's been so nasty for so long, to you as well as the rest of us...I just find it difficult to entirely believe him now."
"I understand, 'Mione. I was hesitant to believe it myself for a bit, but really you CAN'T lie to someone when you're in their head, the harder you try to concentrate on what you want them to hear the more they sense that you're hiding something. He IS better than me at keeping most of his mind private, but if he was trying to deceive me, I'd know. And to support that, I saw him become really, truly upset about what he's done to people; he doesn't even like himself much anymore, 'Mione. He couldn't have faked that. Maybe someone truly cruel and cold-hearted could have, but not him, really, 'Mione, I think I know him now." I took a deep breath and thought Oh damn I think I might have said too much. Fuck me, I can't betray Draco when he's trusted me with so much!
:Don't worry, you've not said too much. Now, if you said 'Oh, he cried like a baby in my arms and smeared bogies all over my shoulder' I'd have to kill you. As it is you're okay.:
:You've been listening, then? What about your chess game?: I'd thought him too immersed in the game to really pay attention to anything else.
:You were thinking rather loudly, you know. And so far nothing can quite drown you out, no matter how fascinating or immersive.: Then, a bit shyly, :And I can't say that I quite mind.:
:You—don't mind this—thing? What we've got?: Again, another demonstration of my utter eloquence. Gods, sometimes I wish I was mute, really.
It didn't seem to matter this time. :No...not anymore. The first day, maybe, I minded. Now—I'm sort of glad to have you around. Sort of like the best friend I never had.: He felt he'd said too much with that last bit, I could feel it; he felt embarrassed and self-conscious, and was waiting for me to step on his newly-exposed feelings.
But I had no inclination to do so.
:I don't mind it either,: I confessed in a rush. :It's really lonely now when you're not around. I mean, you're always THERE somewhere in the back of my head, but when we're shutting each other out, you know, it's...lonely. I guess. I...: And now *I* felt like a fool, red-faced and stammering. Hermione had clearly noticed that I was thinking at him again, and was waiting for me to give her my attention again; she was gazing off towards the fireplace thoughtfully. I felt just a bit rude before Draco spoke again, after moving a chess piece. His bishop took Ron's rook, which cursed and stomped off the board. I noticed that Draco's pieces were actually less violent than Ron's, which surprised me a bit, particularly as they were technically my pieces, and had never showed merciful tendencies before. Maybe it depended on the player? Weird.
:When you're not THERE in my head I feel empty,: he blurted, closing his eyes momentarily, his hands clenching on the edge of the table. :Like something vital is missing and I'm bleeding my life away.:
I didn't say anything for a bit, then turned to Hermione. "Would you be horribly offended if I didn't talk for a while? I think Draco and I need to talk about something important."
She turned from the fire to me with a slight smile. "I'd sort of gathered that, Harry. Go ahead, I'll just go back to my reading. Let me know if you need to talk to me again later." And with that she was lost in her book.
:Draco, where are you in your game?: I asked.
:I could win in 12 moves, or I could lose in 4. Why?: Underneath his curiosity lay a vast pool of apprehension, largely created by my not answering him. I cursed myself for being unkind yet fucking again.
:If you don't mind horribly, would you lose? Or at least wrap it up as quickly as possible? I really would like to talk to you privately.:
Draco's eyebrows rose as he studied the chessboard. :Alright; I think beating me again would do Weasley a load of good when it comes to goodwill towards me. I've no real objection; I know I'm better than he is anyway, but only slightly. He could beat me on his own some nights, I think, particularly without the Butterbeer.:
:Alright. I'll...um...trim my Firebolt's twigs then, 'til you're done.: I've always been one of those people who, once they've come to a conclusion, can't refrain from acting it out right then and there. I may not always get to the answer right away, but when I do, I tear forward and seize it. It was purest torment to have to sit and examine my Firebolt for bent twigs or smudges when I knew what I needed to be doing.
Finally (FINALLY!) the game was over. Ron had won again. He tried to keep from gloating too obviously; good chess manners had been beaten into him along with the general rules at home in the Burrow. Draco took his defeat calmly and politely, congratulating Ron on his victory without rancour.
I chose this moment to stand up and clear my throat. The Gryffindors nearest glanced at me, but by this point we were far from the most interesting thing in the room, and their attention wandered again almost immediately. "Care to come upstairs, Malfoy?" I asked, knowing the answer.
"I suppose..." he drawled, while looking idly around the commonroom. "I'm a bit too tired to play chess anymore, lounging about in a dormitory wouldn't go amiss now."
Ron didn't object, but hurried to the largest cluster of people around the fireplace, eager to tell them of his dual victories over the Slytherin chess champion.
"Later, 'Mione," I murmured as I led Draco up the spiral staircase to the 6th year dormitory. She waved at us, then returned to her book.