A/N: The Potions scene isn't in canon, but spawned from the following line: "Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Harry and Ron were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful."

As for the conversation Draco and Harry have, I like to think that Harry is the sort of boy at this point that couldn't help but almost be friendly until he remembers just who he's talking to.

Chapter 9: Slytherin Cunning

It was to Draco's extreme displeasure that, at dinner, Potter was seated at the Gryffindor table. Draco dragged Crabbe and Goyle over there, unable to resist investigating the matter.

"Having a last meal, Potter?" he asked. "When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"

"You're a lot braver now you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," Potter replied.

Draco scoffed, cutting it short when a sudden idea occurred to him. "I'd take you on anytime, on my own. Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel."

Potter blinked.

"Wands only. No contact," Draco drawled. "What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel, I suppose?"

"Of course he has," Weasley piped up. "I'm his second. Who's yours?"

Draco pretended to debate between Crabbe and Goyle.

"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight's all right?"

With Potter and Weasley's agreement, Draco led Crabbe and Goyle back to the Slytherin table. Theodore had a mouthful of food when they sat back down. Draco thought this might spare them whatever he cared to say, but Theodore swallowed everything so haphazardly that he winced with discomfort.

"Did he agree to be your boyfriend, then?" he asked.

"No," Draco coolly replied, picking up his fork. "He agreed to a duel."

"What're you going to duel with?" Theodore snickered. "Your willies?"

Crabbe's eyes widened in alarm. "Are we?"

"No!" Draco snapped. "We're not duelling at all, actually."

"We aren't?" Crabbe asked.

Draco shook his head, then smirked. "Wouldn't it be a shame if someone were to mention there'll be students out of bed tonight?"

Goyle snorted. "Potter might've skated through earlier with McGonagall, but nobody gets that lucky twice."

"They sure don't."

Draco suspected that, had Potter been caught not by Professor McGonagall but Professor Snape, he would already be halfway back to London. Snape had not been lying or exaggerating when he warned Draco that Hogwarts was a Gryffindor-leaning school. Draco suspected that McGonagall—and quite possibly Dumbledore, if it went that high—thought Potter managing to catch that stupid ball was impressive. Because it most definitely was not.

Usually Draco would leave the Great Hall ahead of Crabbe and Goyle. Tonight, he hung around to keep an eye on Potter, Weasley, and Filch. He was satisfied to see Potter and Weasley depart with their heads put together, feverishly whispering to each other under their breath. When Filch too wiped his mouth and glowered at all the students one last time, Draco excused himself and followed him out. Draco reached the Entrance Hall in time to see Filch take a left off the corridor opposite.

He'd nearly shrunk out of sight down that passageway when Draco broke into a light jog. "Sir. Sir!"

It took a few more calls for Filch's foot to slow. He looked about him, his furrowed brow obvious even from the distance Draco worked to close. Confusion turned to suspicion.

Draco panted slightly when he caught up. "Evening, sir."

Filch grunted. "Shouldn't you be off with your nasty little friends, making a mess that'll keep me busy all night?"

"No, sir." Draco rushed to catch his breath. "Not me and my friends, sir. I just overheard some other students talking about something they planned to do tonight, and I couldn't think of anyone else that would care as much as you would, sir."

Most of Filch's sunken, sallow face maintained its usual hardness. However, a certain gleam rose in his eyes. Despite his hunched posture, his chest swelled slightly. "And what sort of trouble would that be?"

"I'm not completely certain. All I heard was the trophy room at midnight."

Draco feigned ignorance, but he nearly cracked when Filch's eyes bulged out more than usual. His smile nearly had the corners of his mouth reaching his ears.

"I see," Filch replied in a silky voice. "You're a Malfoy, in't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your father's a good man." Filch lifted his chin. "Was a fifth-year when I started working here. Was the only prefect that seemed to understand the point of the job. Even now, 'e still helps me try and make a case to the Headmaster about how to keep the students in line. Maybe once Dumbledore sees your father speaks from experience, he'll be more moved."

Draco couldn't help but smirk. "Yes, sir. Too many get away with too much around here. My father would never allow anything of the sort at home."

"What sorts of punishment does your father favour?" Filch asked, slightly breathless. "I always been curious what he deems acceptable. Whenever I ask, all he's to say is that you're a well-behaved boy."

"Er, yes." Draco shifted in discomfort at the way Filch leered at him. "Mostly he takes my broomstick away. I don't get in a lot of trouble, sir. I respect my mother and father too much for that."

"As it should be," Filch conceded with a short bow of his head. "Now if only some of your wretched little classmates would follow your example. Your father was a natural leader. Perhaps you'll be the same way."

"Thank you, sir."

Draco's good mood floated him off for the dungeons. He figured it safe to add Filch to his mental list of staff that would be willing to look the other way if he ever needed them to. He'd already managed with Professor McGonagall, who should have been the hardest one of all. Actually, Draco was hard-pressed to think of anyone he didn't get on with. Maybe Hagrid, just because they'd never crossed paths other than that one time Draco saw him at Diagon Alley. That hardly counted.

"Oh, here he is."

Theodore's voice broke into Draco's thoughts when he let himself into the common room. With a broad grin and a gleam in his eye that reminded Draco of Filch, Theodore stood up.

"If I could have everyone's attention," Theodore called. It took some effort for every Slytherin to be pried away from homework or friends. Confused, Draco migrated closer to where Theodore stood. The other first-years were all there with him. Draco met Blaise's gaze, asking the silent question, but Blaise just shrugged.

"Thank you," Theodore said when the common room was quiet. Ellie Selwyn pulled the needle up on the gramophone. It was very quiet without music in the background, even with sixty-odd people present. "I just wanted to make a quick announcement. My friend here, Malfoy—come here, Malfoy. Stand up here with me."

Theodore had stepped up onto his sofa so that he would be better visible to the people furthest away. When Draco failed to move, Theodore just waved a hand dismissively at him.

"That's him, anyway. You all know him, I think," Theodore said. "Anyway, Malfoy here's decided that the easiest way to deal with fancying Harry Potter is to get him expelled tonight when he's caught out past curfew. How about we all give him a hand for showing some truly Slytherin qualities when it comes to this sort of thing?"

To Draco's horror, tentative applause ramped up into something legitimate throughout the common room. Someone even whistled—Draco bet that was Flint. He'd heard it on the pitch.

Seeing red at Crabbe and Goyle clapping (however confused they looked to be doing so), Draco marched around the back of the sofa and stood in front of Nott. "That's not on. What's the matter with you?"

"Just calling it as I see it." Theodore shrugged, but he didn't look so sure of himself when Crabbe and Goyles' meaty hands were no longer part of the larger din.

Their familiar presences hovered behind each of Draco's shoulders. Draco made eye contact with Crabbe, whose jaw was tight, and jerked his head toward Nott. "Grab him."

With a grin, Crabbe brushed past Draco. Goyle wasn't half a step behind. Nott's eyes widened, but he wasn't quick enough to make a run before they'd taken decisive grips of his upper arms. Laughing in a far-too-false way for his own ears, Draco turned to the common room.

"Just a spot of fun," he told everyone with a playful roll of the eyes and wide grin. "This is what I get, I suppose, for telling him my secret! Horrible, horrible friend, he is!

"Come on," Draco said to Crabbe and Goyle when he turned back, false merriment melting like candy floss in water. "To the dorm."

He led the way down the corridor, Crabbe and Goyle dragging Nott behind him. Draco feigned deafness to Nott's pleading ("It was just a joke", "Come on, stop taking the piss"). Draco turned on his heel inside, incensed by the laughter and conversations that had swelled back into existence out in the common room.

"I've just been to see Filch," Draco said, coming to a stop in front of where Nott still struggled against Crabbe and Goyle. "He asked me a favour, see. Said he's been getting complaints from the Slytherins that the house-elves aren't doing their jobs cleaning our toilets. He asked if I wouldn't mind checking for him, but the thing is, I do sort of mind."

Crabbe and Nott figured out what Draco was on about at the same time. While Nott blanched, Crabbe tugged Nott toward their dorm bathroom.

"No!" Nott begged as he went dead-weight. "Come on Draco, no! Not that! Call them off!"

"What's that?" Draco called louder than was necessary. "I can't hear you over all the splashing."

That came soon enough. Among it, Nott's unintelligible cries echoing against one of the porcelain bowls. He tried to scramble against the floor, occasionally finding purchase with the ridges of his shoe soles in the flagstone, but lost it too quickly.

Draco leaned against the bathroom door frame with his arms folded, fury burning in his chest. Each dunk and flush of Nott's head helped temper it just a little more.

There was movement at the dorm entrance. It was Blaise. His cheeks slackened and his eyes widened as he took in all the racket. With an ashy face, he ran off. A moment later, Blaise returned with an older boy in tow. It was Devon Bletchley, a seventh-year prefect.

"Malfoy!" he said in a surprised tone before rounding the door frame into the bathroom. "OI! Stop that, you two! Right now!"

Bletchley pulled his wand. Crabbe and Goyle went rigid, falling over stiff onto the floor. Nott remained as limp as a noodle. He held onto the toilet. Draco could hear droplets of water hitting more water—maybe running off his hair. With a harsh inhale, he started to sob and tremble.

Bletchley rounded on Draco, his cheeks flushed. He breathed as though he'd just run a mile. One end of his top lip curled up.

"Go on, then," Draco challenged Bletchley when he said nothing. "Tell me he didn't deserve it."

Bletchley released Crabbe and Goyle from the spell he'd cast. "You two, out. And you." He pointed at Blaise, who peered into the bathroom from a safe distance. "I want to talk to Malfoy and Nott alone."

Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise all left the dorm. Bletchley closed the door behind them.

"Go sit down on your trunk," Bletchley told Draco.

With a sigh, Draco did. He watched Bletchley help Nott stand back up from where he remained crumpled on the bathroom floor. While Nott stood there—arms limp, chin down, and shoulders shaking as he cried in earnest—Bletchley waved his wand around him casting silent spells. Nott dried out, although his clothes remained a mess and his eyes were red. Bletchley guided him out of the bathroom with a hand on his back, telling him too to take a seat.

"Right." Bletchley stood between them with his arms crossed. "Malfoy, I take it you didn't like what Nott did back in the common room?"

"No," Draco shot back, angry again. "He's been teasing me for weeks about fancying stupid Harry Potter, and I don't."

"You've told him to stop?"

"Of course I have, and he doesn't." Draco glared at Nott, who just stared miserably at his feet. "He doesn't know when to quit. Maybe he does now, though."

Bletchley rubbed his forehead with his knuckles, exhaling. "Nott."

Nott made a small noise to show he was listening.

"That wasn't on, what you did out in the common room. Everyone's going to feel like proper arseholes to have encouraged you, once they realize. And Malfoy," Bletchley looked at him, "bit overkill on the reaction. You could've just let one of the prefects sort it out."

"I don't need anyone to stand up for me," Draco retorted in a snippy tone. "I can stand up for myself."

"By siccing your friends on someone?" One of Bletchley's eyebrows rose. "I'd say next time come to a prefect, but there isn't going to be a next time. Do you two understand? This happens again, I won't have much choice but to get Snape involved."

"Oh, don't involve Snape," Draco sarcastically replied with a roll of his eyes. "That would probably mean my father gets involved."

Nott started crying again. Bletchley, on the other hand, wasn't so moved.

"I know your father, Draco," he said evenly. "He won't put up with this nonsense. I've heard from Higgs all about your Seeker training. It would be mighty hard to properly try for the team next autumn if your broomstick gets taken away. Don't much think your father would like you impressing poorly on the family name, acting like a bullish little thug to your housemates."

Draco pressed his lips. He refused to admit that Bletchley might be right.

"Here's the solution," Bletchley continued. "The two of you are to stay away from each other. Bit hard when you share a dorm, but I'm sure you'll find it in you to manage. Nott, no more teasing Malfoy about who he fancies—"

"I DON'T FANCY HIM!"

"—Who he may or may not fancy." Bletchley rolled his eyes, otherwise unfazed by Draco's outburst. "And Malfoy, I don't want to hear about any other Slytherins getting attacked by you and your friends. I couldn't be bothered about anyone else, but I'm responsible for these students. Don't cross me, or I'll talk to Snape. I'll write your father. And then we'll see who's sorry."

Draco looked down at his feet. It was fine, but he refused to say so.

"Brilliant. I'm glad we could all come to an understanding."

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle stayed away from Nott and Blaise for the rest of the evening. None of them spoke across the invisible line separating their two camps before sleep, and Nott and Blaise were gone in a flash come morning. Draco had completely forgotten through all this that he had stood Potter and Weasley up for a duel. His mood tanked even further to see them in the Great Hall at breakfast.

Potions class gave Draco a closer look at Potter and Weasley. The two of them were all conspiratorial whispers and hushed laughter. Draco felt better when Snape told them to be quiet and focus, lest they join Longbottom in tears.

Draco took his perfectly turquoise sample to hand in at the end of class. While he stood in line, something poked him in the ribs. He turned his head and came face to face over his shoulder with a smarmy-looking Potter.

"Chickened out last night, did you?" Potter whispered.

"Oh, right. That." Draco returned Potter's insincere smile with an emphasizing squint of the eyes. "No, I suppose I just forgot. I had more exciting things to do, like my History of Magic homework."

"Did your class get—? Never mind."

Potter cut himself off before Draco even had a chance to level a withering gaze at him. When Draco turned back around, facing the front, he had to press his lips to avoid smirking.

Nott's new silence on the topic of Potter left space for Draco's own thoughts to take seat. He turned fidgety in line, far too aware that Potter stood right behind him. Draco could hear him sigh as Snape took an excruciatingly long time studying the shade of blue that was Crabbe's Wiggenweld Potion. Draco really wished that his stupid heart would slow down. He had to part his lips to covertly take in more breath.

Snape's dark eyes scanned over Draco's vial for barely a split second before he set it with the rest of the class'. "Excellent work as usual, Mr Malfoy."

"Thank you, sir."

Draco took care to bump Potter's shoulder when he turned around. Potter nearly dropped his vial, and Weasley behind him hissed, "Watch it, Malfoy!" As Draco returned to his desk to gather his things along with Crabbe and Goyle, he heard Snape dangerously drawl, "Violet, Potter?"

"I don't know about you two," Draco cheerfully said to Crabbe and Goyle, "but I'm starving. Shall we get lunch?"

Potions being the final Friday lesson started Draco off right for the weekend. Above that, learning that Bletchley turned out to be right. The word had spread through Slytherin house that Nott's announcement had been a mortifying experience for Draco. A couple students came by where Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle played Exploding Snap to apologize for clapping and to assert that Nott had been a prat. Higgs and his mates popped by shortly after two o'clock with their Defence books under their arms.

Bletchley was behind them. He leaned over the back of the sofa where Draco sat. "All right?"

"Just fine," Draco replied. "I haven't so much as looked at him, if that's what you're really wanting to ask."

Bletchley chuckled and ruffled Draco's hair before standing up. "Cheers, mate."

Draco smoothed his head down. "Why does everyone do that to me?"

Crabbe and Goyle shrugged, and they went on with their game. Later on, the girls in their year ended up seated nearby. They tended to sit with Nott and Blaise, so the fact those two weren't around was intriguing. That the girls were giggly cut in on Draco's concentration. He registered in the back of his mind that it was more prevalent than usual, but he didn't think much about it until Sunday evening.

Draco looked up from his homework when someone stood beside him. He blinked at Sophie the Muggle-born.

"Hi." She smiled at him. "Could I have a word?"

"Er. . ." Other than the fact Draco had literally half a sentence left to write on Quirrell's assignment before he could consider it finished, he couldn't say why not. "All right."

He followed Sophie over toward the side of the common room, slipping his hands into his pockets while she folded her arms and leaned against the wall.

"So you know Daphne, right?" Sophie asked.

"Yes?" Draco had known her all his life.

"She fancies Greg." Sophie pointed with her chin over toward him.

"Gregory," Draco corrected her with a drawl. "Greg is a common boy's name. Daphne fancies him?"

"Yes, and she's all embarrassed about it." Sophie rolled her eyes. They were quite green in the cozy dungeon light. "Gregory's not picking up on her hints, not that she's giving very good ones. She's too shy and all in a dither, and all that. She needs help, but she won't take it. She doesn't know I'm talking to you about it by the way, so keep your mouth shut, will you?"

"All right." Draco didn't want to put Daphne or Goyle through what he'd experienced on Thursday evening.

"I have a plan, but I need an insider. No offence to Vince—er, Vincent too, then?" Sophie paused, where Draco nodded. "You just seem the type more able to pull this off with me. I've sort of seen what you can do, even if getting Potter expelled hasn't panned out yet."

"No," Draco agreed in a flat, disappointed tone. "What's your plan?"

"I want you to hear it right out before you say yes or no, okay?" Sophie replied. "So me, Daphne, and Tracey can't just start sitting with you three to do homework or play Exploding Snap. Daphne would figure it out in a heartbeat. But if we have a reason to hang out with you, then it's not so suspicious. Do you follow?"

Draco nodded, mirroring Sophie's lean on the wall.

"So instead, my plan involves dragging her along because I want to sit with my boyfriend. Still follow?"

". . .Crabbe?"

"I'd be talking to Crabbe if it was him that would play this better."

Draco blinked, too many tendrils of anxiety rising to take into separate account. "You think I would?"

"I thought it all through, and there's something in it for you, too." Sophie glanced around them again to ensure their privacy. "You know Theo fancies Daphne, right?"

"Yes."

"That was quite a rude thing he did the other night." Sophie jumped her eyebrows indicatively. "I heard he got his head stuck in a toilet for it, but that you also got in trouble. That only made it even, didn't it?"

Draco hadn't thought of it like that.

"Bletchley, I doubt he could pin you for getting back at Theo this way. Why would you fake-date someone to set up your fake-girlfriend's friend—that Theo just so happens to fancy—with one of your friends?" Sophie smirked, looking proud of herself. "But it might teach Theo to stay out of other peoples' business."

Well, Draco at least understood now why Sophie the Muggle-born had been sorted into Slytherin.

"Also. . ." Sophie shifted on her feet a little. "With what Theo was teasing you about, is it that Potter's a boy that bothers you? Or that it's Potter specifically?"

"That it's Potter." Since Sophie didn't ask in a fashion that took Draco's potential fancy as truth, he didn't swell up with as much indignity. "I don't like him at all, in any way."

"I was going to say that if you don't want people thinking you like boys, going with a girl could help put an end to it."

"They can still think I like both." Draco thought about Mr and Mrs Selwyn, who were like that.

"But you wouldn't go with someone else at all if you fancied Potter," Sophie mused. "There's that."

"So. . .what do we do, then?" Draco felt nervous again. "Just sit together and that?"

"I'll tell Daphne we started going together. I don't think she'll question it. She'll want to know who asked who, is the thing. It might be less suspicious if you asked me, then she won't think I'm trying something."

"The boy is supposed to ask the girl anyway, aren't they?"

Sophie shrugged.

"Okay. Erm. . ." Draco pursed his lips and looked back at Crabbe and Goyle. "We're just about done our homework for now, but McGonagall for sure will have more tomorrow. Would you lot want to do your Transfiguration with us?"

"Sure," Sophie agreed. "Should we sit together in class?"

"I'm still going to sit with Crabbe and Goyle to make sure they get the lesson," Draco said. "We could meet up after lunch?"