THE NEWS FROM THE DAILY PROPHET

Whispering spreads throughout the Great Hall. There are several people reading The Daily Prophet as they talk to their tablemates. Harry adopts a defensive stance and both Hermione and Ron automatically move to his side. It doesn't take long for them to realise that he's not with them, because no one seems to point at Harry as he walks across the room from end to end to reach the Gryffindor table. Rather, the whispers and glances are directed at the Slytherin table. At Malfoy, specifically, who is trying to look inconspicuous as his friends look around with the same hostility that Ron and Hermione usually do whenever an article in the paper is hurtful to Harry.

"Something's happened with Malfoy," mutters Harry, trying to catch a glimpse of the blond boy in order to... He's not quite sure why. Not to ask him, though you can definitely see on his face how eager he is to know what's going on. Maybe smile at him, like the other day, to cheer him up, because he knows from experience that being the centre of the news, or someone close to him, is not an easy thing to do.

"Oh, my goodness!" exclaims Hermione, paying for her copy of The Daily Prophet to the owl that brought it to her. Harry and Ron turn to her, surprised by her vocabulary. Hermione spreads the paper out on the table, pointing to the front page, where a haughty Lucius Malfoy looks on with the same disdainful expression his son usually wears, alternating with one of smug satisfaction.

Harry runs his eyes over the headline. Then the scant information the front page offers, half in disbelief and half in shock, before rereading the headline over and over again. It's Hermione who pulls him out of the loop, looking for the page where the news is more developed, but Harry's eyes have already strayed back to the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy and his friends are getting up, not quite finished with breakfast, and hanging up their rucksacks to leave the Great Hall. At the other end of the Slytherin table and, to be honest, from a few, sparse, points away from the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, several of the older students watch Malfoy warily.

"Malfoy!" Harry runs after him and his friends, trying to stop them. He doesn't know if Ron and Hermione, who only glanced at him in surprise when Harry got up from the table and ran off, are following him. "Malfoy, wait!"

"What do you want, Potter?" asks Malfoy when finally realises who's calling him, and he stops in the middle of the corridor. His friends automatically fall into step beside him, flanking him, but unlike when he went to ask him to the Yule Ball, this time none of them pull out their wands, although Harry isn't sure that Zabini and Greengrass, who are looking at him with some displeasure, don't have their wands hidden in their robes' pockets.

"I— er— wanted to—" Harry gasps, looking the right words. Malfoy's eyes widen in fright.

"Are you going to ask me to the ball again, Potter?" Harry snorts, amused by the sarcasm, now that he understands that Malfoy's humour is so much like his own.

"I couldn't take another rejection, and you'd have to bear the stigma of being the one to blame for bringing down The Boy Who Lived," quips Harry. The reaction in Malfoy's group of friends is immediate. Everyone, even Zabini and Greengrass, relaxes. Goyle and Nott smile at the exchange of pleasantries, and Parkinson looks at him in that particular way of hers, as if she wants to unravel some secret of Harry's just by looking at him.

"Go without me," says Malfoy to his friends. They hesitate for a second, but obey. Harry doesn't feel that their misgivings are directed against him, however. On the contrary, they have no problem leaving Malfoy alone if he is with Harry, and that is also reflected in the look on the blond guy's face as he waits silently until his friends have moved away, his eyes never taking off Harry's, but with no hostility in them.

"I've seen the paper," mutters Harry, finally. Now he regrets not having had time to read the details, for he doesn't know what else to add, so he lets his intuition guide him. "Was it what you said in your letter?"

"I wouldn't dare tell my father what he should or shouldn't do, Potter," says Malfoy very slowly, squinting his eyes calculatingly. "But in the hypothetical case that my father had decided to consult with me and my mother about certain— moves, I would have agreed with what he has decided to do."

"Cool." Harry is aware that he's grinning like an idiot, but he can't bring his face back to seriousness. Nor does he know if he wants to, because although Malfoy remains expressionless, his silver eyes have a telltale spark of mirth in them. "Well, I didn't actually read what happened, I just—"

"It's a very bad habit to read only the headlines, Potter."

"I know. But— But it's true, isn't it?" asks Harry, suddenly worried because he knows how lax The Daily Prophet can be. While at Hogwarts the gossip about Harry's non-participation in the tournament was a matter of a few minutes, the time it took Dumbledore to deny it outright, in the newspaper it took up several articles by a journalist with more talent for words than ethics. Fortunately, subsequent events had buried the journalist's apparent interest in Harry and his activities. "About your father having been involved in breaking up the former Death Eaters network, and that he also provided the names of those who tortured Muggles at the Quidditch World Cup."

"My father—," Malfoy continues speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully, "he seems to have chosen his side more wisely this time than last time. Or so I hope, really."

"Side?" Malfoy raises his eyebrow in exasperation, and Harry realises that, once again, he's talking between the lines, so he's thinking fast. He knows from Ron that Lucius Malfoy claimed to have been under the control of the Imperius under Voldemort's command. "I'm glad."

"I think so do I." Malfoy nods.

"You think?"

"Well, it's a question of trust, isn't it?" Harry shrugs, a little disoriented. "For God's sake, Potter, you need words to explain everything, don't you?"

"Normally, it's how explanations work," replies Harry, amused by the way Malfoy rolls his eyes.

"Let's just say that I'm confident that, if the worst predictions of Crouch and his followers, or the who have dedicated themselves to reminiscing about times gone by and longing for Muggle fascism, come true, The Boy Who Lived will live on," says Malfoy, and Harry's heart beats twice in a single second.

"Of course." Harry nods, fascinated not only by the way the other Malfoy's eyes sparkle and he fidgets with a nervousness he's never seen him have before, but also by the fact that he knows what Muggle fascism is and talks about it openly.

"Merlin, I wish I had that kind of confidence," snorts Malfoy in frustration. "Anyway, Potter, it's been nice chatting to you, something that seems to be becoming a dangerous habit, but I need to get to the Charms classroom— The rest of us don't have the same favouritism from teachers as you do.

"Yes, and I—" Harry tries to remember which subject he's taking now, but it's no use. "I have to go and find my friends."

"Great. See you, Potter." Still smirking, glad to have all his doubts about Malfoy settled and eager to tell Hermione and Ron about them, Harry watches him go. Malfoy is already several feet away, when he turns around, squints and cocks his head, looking very badly disinterested. "And, if your invitation still stands, I might consider accepting it."


Final notes: In Spain, we say "have a plug with the teachers" to speak about the favoritism and I think it's beautiful.