It began with music. One minute, everything was fine. Harry was outside, sitting by the lake, enjoying the sun, the grass, the sound of the water. He laughed occasionally when there was a joke being made and he joined in the Snape-bashing with Ron. It was one of those days where the pressures of homework and Voldemort could almost be forgotten because he had his two best friends by his side and nothing could go wrong.
The next minute, there was singing.
It was very faint and it took him a moment to figure out that it was singing to begin with. He looked at Hermione, who had her back against a tree and a book propped up on her lap, but she didn't seem to notice it and Ron, who had gotten up to throw rocks into the lake, had ears only for the distant splash of his rocks breaking the surface of the water and sinking to the bottom.
"I'll be back," he said, his ever-unsatisfied curiosity getting the best of him. He patted the bits of grass off his pants and followed the sound which had so enticed him.
As he got closer, the sound became louder and louder until he could make out the melody, then the words. The song was unfamiliar to him, but it was rather catchy. He realized, suddenly that the owner of the voice was lying on the floor not five feet away. His breath caught in his throat.
Malfoy was on the ground, leaves tangled in his hair, right knee bent while his left ankle rested upon it. His eyes were tightly closed and he was yelling out his song as loud as he was able, his hands playing some sort of invisible instrument, the foot on the ground tapping out the rhythm. So Harry did the only thing he could think of:
He laughed.