A CHANGE OF ATTITUDE
Oddly enough, the truce is still in place. Despite the laughs from the Slytherin table on his way out of the Great Hall, neither Malfoy nor his friends make fun of him or comment on him in their shared classes or when they pass each other in the corridors. He does hear some teasing, as the gossip has spread around Hogwarts with characteristic rapidity, coming from older Slytherin students or some of the nastier ones from other houses, such as Zacharias Smith, but Harry can deal with it, it's not the first time it's happened.
Moreover, they have started to greet each other when they cross paths.
The first to do so, in fairness, was Parkinson. Harry had caught her watching him intensively on a couple of occasions, as if his dark hair and scar were a secret to be unravelled. One of the days, perhaps out of politeness or courtesy after having stared at him for quite a while at lunch, he had caught her in the middle of her scrutiny and she had nodded in a curt, polite greeting that Harry had returned out of inertia. Malfoy had seen it and, thinking it was directed at him, had raised his eyebrows in surprise but, unlike the apologetic handshake, had nodded his head in return.
"I don't think I'm ever going to get used to this," mutters Ron, grimacing as they pass the small group of Malfoy's and both Malfoy and Harry silently wave to each other.
"Would you rather I didn't?" Harry asks, realising that it can't be easy for his friend. It's one thing to have a truce about not swearing, hexing or hitting each other, but quite another to greet someone who, until a few months ago, could and did make their lives a constant living hell.
"The truth? I don't know." They sit together in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Hermione, who is at the table in front of them, turns to them, taking advantage of the fact that Snape has not yet arrived.
"I think it is positive."
"Yes? But he's called you a lot— You know—" Ron can't even repeat the word, but he looks at his friend with a less touchy-feely air than Harry would have expected on the subject.
"I know, and his father was responsible for the diary, wasn't he?" Harry grits his teeth. He'd forgotten that part. Or rather, he'd pushed it out of his mind. "But— I don't know. He hasn't been doing it again lately, he doesn't seem to be repeating the same old slogans. He's calmer. I'd rather he and Harry said hello to each other if it would help keep them from insulting me."
"What if he still feels the same way about you?" Harry asks with genuine curiosity. "Even if he doesn't say it out loud, I mean."
"Then at least we can finish school without either of us ending up with an irreversible curse," says she, pragmatically. "Besides, he could say the same about us, couldn't he?"
"What do we think his father was a Death Eater, that he's probably still a Death Eater like that Crouch that almost got snuck into Hogwarts, that maybe he was one of the ones at the Quidditch World Cup under the masks?" asks Ron, suspiciously.
"We have no way of knowing that. And it's his father's doing, not his," says Hermione, rolling her eyes. "I mean, we've insulted him too."
"He deserved it!" exclaims Harry at once.
"It's possible. But he didn't deserve us sneaking into his common room and interrogating him by pretending to be his friends, for example." Hermione whispers this in an almost inaudible tone.
"He doesn't know that," says Ron grumbling. "And in the end, it turned out that his father was involved, even if it couldn't be proved."
"But we do. And I insist that it would not be fair to judge him by what his father is or is not."
"Why are you defending him, Hermione?" asks Harry, curiously.
"I'm not defending it. I'm just trying to— rationalise it? Besides, you like it, so I'm trying to understand why."
"I don't like it!" Harry protests, too loudly, attracting the attention of the others, who look at them with the curiosity of someone who knows exactly what they are talking about.
"Fred and George say—"
"Whatever, Ron!" Fortunately for Harry, Professor Snape's entrance into the classroom interrupts the conversation.
He's been dealing with that for several days now, as well as the strange new habit of greeting Malfoy. As soon as the twins could, they had cornered him in the common room to question him about the effect of the concoction. Harry had tried to explain to them that it hadn't worked properly, and that he still didn't have a list, but neither of them had taken his words into consideration, claiming that the potion had done its job properly, even if they didn't understand why Harry would choose Malfoy over any of the pretty girls at Hogwarts. Or, as George had jokingly added, any of the prettier boys than the continuous sneer on Malfoy's face.
Harry doesn't agree with that, however. It's true that when Malfoy is in public or feels he's being watched by anyone other than his friends, he wears that constant grimace of distaste that, he now knows from watching her at the World Cup, he got from his mother. But when he thinks no one is looking, he smiles with sincerity and joy and there is no coldness in his eyes when he talks to Nott, Greengrass or Parkinson. Not even when he addresses Crabbe or Goyle, whom in public he always treats as servants. Besides, he remembers another time when he didn't have that look of disdain. Not quite the same, at least.
"At the Quidditch World Cup," says Harry as the Defence Against the Dark Arts class ends.
"What?" asks Ron, curious.
"At the Quidditch World Cup, Malfoy warned us, do you remember? And he didn't do it with disdain; even if he tried to hide it, he was too nervous to succeed."
"You mean when he started saying that maybe we shouldn't be there? When we were running away from the masked men?" Harry nods, but Ron doesn't quite get his point.
"He warned us," insists Harry. "I remember, he didn't sneer, he didn't insult us. In fact, he seemed calm, but he didn't have the expression he has when he's calm."
"I'm not going to ask how you know what that expression is," says Ron, mumbling as they walk down the corridors.
"He wasn't teasing either, just— He warned us to go somewhere else and hide. A bit caustically, but— And that his father was among them."
"He said that's something he wouldn't tell us," nuances Hermione. Stubbornly, Harry shakes his head.
"If it had been earlier— before the situation changed, it would have been very different. They were supposed to be— doing horrible things to Muggles, but he seemed concerned to warn us to keep Hermione away."
"I don't know, Harry," sighs Hermione, shaking her head.
"I thought you would agree with me."
"I just think you're taking a lot for granted and seeing what you want to see by needing to justify Malfoy's behaviour because you like him, but—"
"I don't like Malfoy!" Harry protests, frustrated at having to repeat himself over and over again.
"But you want to go to the ball with him, don't you?" Hermione, ruthless, doesn't let him dodge the question.
"The bloody thing wants to go to the ball with him. I hadn't even thought about it," says Harry, feeling guilty about the lie he's just told his friends, but they don't seem convinced.
"Maybe—" Ron pauses in the middle of the corridor and rubs his eyes wearily. "Maybe you should talk to him about it, huh?"
"What?"
"If you can talk to him and confirm that your assumptions are true or false— Well, if it turns out that he's a prat who enjoys watching Muggles being tortured, then maybe you'll stop liking him." Harry opens his mouth to protest, but Ron speaks first. "Or the concoction would just stop detecting that you want to go to the ball with him, because you'd never want to go to a ball with a person who thinks Hermione's a Mudblood, would you?"
"Of course," assures Harry, offended.
"That was very mature, Ron." "The boy blushes, shrugging his shoulders at Hermione's praise. "He's right, Harry. Maybe you're confused by this truce you say you've tacitly established and you just need to clarify your feelings for Malfoy."
"And if it turns out he's not a dick and you still want to go to a ball with him—" Ron sighs dramatically. "Well, we'll just have to live with it."
"I'm not going to the ball with Malfoy!"
"Of course not. It's clear that he doesn't want to go to the ball with you."
"Ron!" says Hermione reprimanding him.
"What? It's true!"
"For a start, Malfoy didn't refuse and, to continue, you need to be more sensitive, Harry might be hurt if you're so blunt in saying he doesn't want to go with him."
"I'm here, remember?" says Harry sarcastically, annoyed.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Harry. It's just—" For once, Hermione doesn't seem to know what to say, so she just takes Harry's hand and gives it an affectionate squeeze.
"Hey, man. It's all right, we can go together, you and me. Not like Dean and Seamus," Ron hastens to clarify, "but like friends who keep each other company because they don't have a partner. We can have a good night out without anyone else."
"Of course," Harry nods, grateful for Ron's offer and the change of subject.
While they chat about how distracted Dean and Seamus seem to be since Seamus asked him to the ball together as a date, and how long it's going to take for the first kiss they both seem to be saving for that night, they pass Malfoy's group coming out of the passageway leading out of the dungeons. With a nod, Harry greets him and the blond boy does the same. When they have left them behind, as Hermione and Ron speculate on whether Dean and Seamus will be the official first couple of their year, Harry turns back, discovering that Malfoy has done the same. They exchange glances for a couple of seconds, until Malfoy purses his lips into a sort of engaged smile and refocuses on whatever it is Nott is talking about.
