Sweat dripped in streams down Harry's face and neck, and he felt as though his arms were going to dislocate if he pulled any harder. Neville was nearing the point of giving up and deciding to just let the oversized weed stay put. It obviously wanted to.
"Alright," Neville said, panting to catch his breath, "one more big pull, and if it doesn't come out this time we'll just have to let her be."
Harry nodded and waited as Neville counted to three, then pulled as hard as he could. Both men grunted as they put all the force of their muscles into the removal of this stubborn, giant weed. The veins in Harry's arms looked near to bursting in his effort, and he couldn't feel the weed budging at all. This wasn't going to work.
Simultaneously, both men fell to the ground, letting go of the weed, which sprung back up to its full height of 4 meters high as though nothing had happened, as though it had full permission to be such a proud, annoying plant.
"Neville, I don't think this thing is going to be pulled out," Harry said slowly, trying to catch his breath and gazing up at the huge invasive beast.
"I've tried everything else," Neville panted, irritated at the stubbornness of the weed. "It won't be cut, no spells will damage it, or loosen the soil… I don't know what to do!"
"Maybe you should just leave it? It doesn't seem to be doing much harm."
"That's because it's a baby," Neville scoffed. Harry hadn't paid any attention in herbology, clearly.
"This overgrown nuisance is a baby?" Harry sputtered, unable to believe that such a towering thing could be an infant of any sort.
"Yep. A European towering Jack Bean. And if I just leave it it'll eventually take up the whole garden, hardening the soil as the roots spread out, just like it has in this small spot here."
"Wait, a Jack bean? Like Jack and the Beanstalk?"
"The very same. Only the wizarding version of the tale is a bit darker than the one you might know."
"Oh yeah?" Harry's interest was piqued now.
"Yeah, Jack Spriggins was a real guy. Climbed up one of these to a giant camp in the mountain. He was going to negotiate a deal with them where they could have half of his cattle every year if they left the rest of his farm alone. The poor bloke ended up being gruesomely torn apart by the giants and eaten."
"Blimey, it's like if the story was written by the Grimm brothers." Neville gave him a confused look before turning back to the plant.
"Thing is, regular Jack beans aren't usually this big. Not really magical, either. Muggles use them for animal feed in Brazil. The towering ones can grow up to five-hundred meters high, though, and thirty in diameter. Imagine what that'll be like once the pods start falling." Harry let out a low whistle and Neville continued. "See my problem now?"
"Er, yeah, that could be a giant issue." Harry smirked but Neville groaned.
"Was that really necessary?"
"You love it, don't lie."
"You're worse than Ginny," Neville said, shaking his head fondly. "So, I don't mean to get into your business, but Ginny said that Ron said that you've been writing to Narcissa Malfoy and I… Why, exactly, are you doing that?" He wasn't upset that Harry was writing to a Malfoy, but very confused and somewhat alarmed. No matter how he thought about it, he couldn't make sense of Harry's choice to converse with the Malfoy matriarch. Mummy issues, maybe? He couldn't understand.
"I'm doing it because—" Harry paused, unable to think of a reason. Why was he writing back and forth with Mrs. Malfoy? "I guess now it's because she's become something like a friend. Originally it was to thank her for saving my life, but then she wrote back and now it's been months. She invited me over for dinner this weekend, actually. I'm not sure I should go, since she warned me Malfoy will be there. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't even hesitate."
Neville blinked several times, slowly. "She's your friend," he repeated, just to be sure.
"More of an acquaintance at this point, but I'm not against the idea of forming a friendship with her." Harry paused. "Man, that sounds strange, even to me."
"It really does. Who would have thought? I'm not going to lie, Harry, I'm a little worried. She was involved with Voldemort. You never know, she might be trying to get close to you for shifty reasons." Neville's brow creased in concern, but his tone was kind instead of accusatory, something that Harry greatly appreciated. "I know you've got a good head on your shoulders, though. Just be careful."
"I'll keep that in mind. Nothing has been fishy so far, other than maybe the fact that she's opened up to me so quickly. I really wasn't expecting that. To be honest, I didn't think she would reply to my first letter. I always had this impression that she was a snobby cow, but there's a lot more to her than that. Mind you, she still holds on to some problematic views, but she seems to be trying really hard to let go of all that."
"If you say so." Neville wasn't convinced, but he didn't think it his place to say so. He really did think Harry was usually wise enough to know if he was getting himself into something dangerous. Neville's main fear wasn't necessarily that Harry wouldn't be aware of the danger, though; Harry was typically aware of the danger he was in, he just didn't know when to back out rather than running headlong into it. If Narcissa Malfoy was up to something, Neville didn't think Harry would try and avoid the trouble she was causing, especially if Malfoy was involved. Harry had little-to-no self control when it came to that ferret-faced arse.
"I know you don't believe me," Harry said, smiling softly. "It's fine. I probably wouldn't believe me either. It's all really weird. But that's alright. I needed a change of pace anyway. I'm lucky that she's been the way she has. It could have gone badly in so many ways." Harry looked down at the ground, eyeing the roots of the Jack Bean.
Following Harry's eyes, Neville said, "Well, now I have to figure out what the hell to do with this thing before it takes over the entire greenhouse." He sighed and ran his hands over his face, spreading peat moss and soil all over it and mixing it with his sweat.
"Er, Neville, you've got a bit of something…" Harry pointed to his own chin and Neville rubbed the same spot on his face. Harry laughed and said, "Got it."
oOo
What was he even supposed to wear to dinner at Malfoy Manor? Even Harry's finest robes felt too casual, and his hair was absolutely not working with him that evening. Not that it ever did, but it seemed particularly bad as he tried desperately to comb it down. Giving in, he jogged back to his wardrobe, begging silently for it to produce something fancier than he owned.
"I shouldn't even be nervous," he chided himself, grabbing out his dress robes again. They'd have to do.
When he accepted Mrs. Malfoy's invitation to dinner he hadn't thought twice about what he'd wear, and now it was coming back to bite him. As he donned his outdated, shit brown, pinstriped robes, his mind kept wandering to Malfoy. Harry wondered if he'd be there, and knew that he most likely would. Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban, still, so Harry had that to be thankful for, at least. He didn't think he could handle an evening surrounded by all three Malfoys. Already he was nervous and there would only be two other people there. Surely, if things went badly, he could protect himself, but that didn't make him feel any better about the prospect of forcing conversation with Malfoy. What would they even talk about? Nothing, that's what. Harry decided then and there that he would focus all of his attention on Mrs. Malfoy, regardless of the sort of things Malfoy would say. Harry was sure Malfoy would say something, as he'd never been especially good at keeping his stupid mouth shut.
Taking a deep breath, Harry looked himself up and down in the full length mirror on the back of the wardrobe door.
"Well done!" the mirror quipped, "The flies will be swarming in no time at all!" Harry regretted purchasing a wizarding mirror instead of just sticking with a muggle one. He had hoped to receive some good fashion advice, as he had never been able to keep up with trends, but apparently he always looked horrible and he would do well to not be reminded of it fifty times a day.
"Yeah, fuck off," he muttered, smoothing his robes and making to Apparate to Wiltshire.
He'd forgotten how large everything was at Malfoy Manor. Standing in front of the golden gates, he felt like a tiny insect. The manor itself loomed far up the drive, imposing and a bit formidable. Remembering Mrs. Malfoy's instructions, Harry placed his hand on the gate and held it there. Apparently, this would alert the residents of his presence and who he was. A few moments passed and finally the gate swung slowly open, admitting him to the property.
Casting an anti-perspiration charm, Harry made his way up the long gravel drive and up to the grand front doors. Before he even reached the top step of the marble porch, the door was opening, revealing a glamorous looking entryway and a shy house elf.
"Mistress is expecting you, Harry Potter, sir," the small elf said, not making eye contact. Harry reminded himself that he would of course be famous among the house elves as well, and was suddenly very self conscious. The elf led him across the foyer and into a long, elegant hallway, turning at the second arched entry into a lavish dining room, where Mrs. Malfoy was already seated. Not knowing proper etiquette for formal dinners, Harry just stood there, taking in his expensive surroundings.
"Ah, Harry, you're here." She stood, smiling angelically, and crossed the room to embrace him, taking him utterly by surprise. Stepping back she said, "Feel free to have a seat anywhere. Draco will be in shortly."
"I, erm… yeah." God, could he get more awkward? Deciding that he didn't want to answer that, he looked for an ideal place to sit. The table was so long and with so many chairs, it made it a more difficult decision than he had expected. He didn't want to sit too far away from Mrs. Malfoy, but he was sure that her son would be likely to sit next to her and he didn't want to be too near him, either.
"Well? We could just eat our meal standing, I suppose." Mrs. Malfoy chuckled, sensing Harry's unease. Harry flushed and took the seat across from her. He was just going to have to deal with Malfoy's proximity. Part of him wondered whether Mrs. Malfoy had told Draco that Harry would be attending dinner and that's why he had yet to appear. "Oh, and I wanted to request that you refer to Draco by his first name while you're here. It makes it much less confusing, as we're both technically 'Malfoy.'"
"Right, yeah. I can do that." He didn't want to, but he would. For her. If he had to.
"I appreciate it, darling." She looked to the door, wondering where on earth her son had gotten to. Dinner was the same time every night, and he wasn't aware that Harry was here, so there was no reason he should be late.
"So, er, how have you been since your last letter?" Harry asked, trying to spark up some sort of conversation.
"Very well, thank you. I received a less-than-pleasant letter from Lucius, but I suppose that's what comes from being in Azkaban. It's a rather less-than-pleasant place. The short time I was there during the trials was enough incentive to keep me away from there for the remainder of my life."
"What was so bad about the letter? Not to be nosey," Harry added hastily.
"Oh, nothing. He's just become bitter in recent times." Her face darkened a little, but she quickly masked the expression with a cheery facade. It wouldn't do for Harry to find out that Lucius had been ranting furiously about her newly budding friendship with the man. "But anyway, how was your visit with Mr. Longbottom?"
Harry was just starting to go into the tedious extractions of the rapidly growing Jack bean when a voice sounded from down the hall and Harry's whole body went tense.
"—so sorry, mother! I got caught up in my reading. Do we have company? I thought I heard—" As Draco approached the doorway, he faltered. His eyes connected with Harry's and he gaped. He took in Harry's uncomfortable expression, and even with the slightly disturbed twist of his lips Draco found he was still just as appealing as he had been the last time Draco had seen him during the trials. Without meaning to he sputtered, "Fuck, he's still h—"
"That's quite alright, darling," Mrs. Malfoy said, standing up and beckoning her son over with a sweeping gesture of her hand. "Although, I would much appreciate it if you would watch your language in front of guests."
"I—" Draco was still gawking, looking back and forth between his mother and Harry with his mouth slightly open. Harry had thankfully had the decency to look down. He sincerely hoped that Harry had not surmised what he was about to finish with, although he had always been rather oblivious.
So Draco had been avoiding him, Harry decided. Harry was quite keen on letting him, as he didn't want to see him either, but it seemed the situation was now unavoidable.
"Well, boys," Mrs. Malfoy said, breaking the tangibly tense silence, "I hardly think it's necessary to introduce the two of you. Draco, I've invited Harry to dinner."
"That's rather evident," Draco spat. He usually didn't snap at his mother, but he would've appreciated a warning. He'd thought she cared about him enough to reduce his risk of heart attack. Apparently not. "'Harry,' mother? You two are on a first name basis, now? How charming."
"I think so, too," she replied pleasantly, disregarding her son's sarcasm entirely. "I find it very gracious of Harry to have joined us. Have a seat, Draco." Draco hesitated, then begrudgingly took a chair beside his mother.
"What on earth is that supposed to be, Potter?" Draco had only just noticed the horrible excuse for clothing that Harry was wearing.
"What's what?" Harry was genuinely baffled.
"That atrocious excuse for an outfit. I think I might be sick if I stare at it for too long."
"Are you just going to let him…" Harry trailed off, realising that he was in the Malfoy's home and Mrs. Malfoy probably wouldn't stop her son from being a right prick.
"Then stop staring, Draco. I know he's handsome, but it's impolite." Draco turned from ghastly white to a violent shade of pink in a matter of seconds. Meanwhile, Mrs. Malfoy grinned in an almost feline way. Harry could feel his neck growing warm and quickly began busying himself with looking at his reflection in one of the dinner spoons. This was a mistake, as he was now forced to look at his own reddening face. At least the spoons couldn't speak, unlike his mirror.
"Merlin, mother!"
"It's, er, getting a bit warm in here," Harry said, pulling at his collar in discomfort.
"Do feel free to take off your robes, if you've worn something beneath them," Mrs. Malfoy said sweetly. "These summer months make formal wear nearly impossible, don't they?"
Not bothering to respond verbally, Harry removed his 'atrocious excuse for an outfit,' and immediately felt more at ease in just a band t-shirt and denims. Draco, on the other hand, became more uncomfortable. His mouth dried as he took in Harry's biceps, which had grown significantly since their time at Hogwarts. To his amazement, he couldn't even formulate a proper insult that might force Harry to re-clothe himself. Not that he really wanted Harry to do that; those robes truly were disgusting and should be burned post haste.
"Draco, you're staring again," Mrs. Malfoy pointed out. "Goodness! I haven't even brought the food out, how rude of me." She snapped her fingers and an elf appeared at her side. "Lenke, please bring out the first course."
The elf nodded and disappeared. A moment later, all three plates were filled with a gorgeous looking meal of beef and broccoli. The room went temporarily quiet as they ate, something Harry greatly appreciated. It was a nice reprieve from the discomfort of Draco's insults and Mrs. Malfoy's mortifying quips. Of course, that couldn't last long.
"So, Draco, what were you reading that was so interesting it kept you from dinner?" Mrs. Malfoy asked pleasantly.
Two more courses went by in a similar fashion to the beginning of the meal. Harry tried to make conversation, but found himself feeling too out of place to do so successfully. Awkward silences seemed to invade at every chance they could get, which only made him feel more uncomfortable. Somehow Harry kept his cool as Draco threw a snappy insult into the conversation whenever the opportunity arose, and Mrs. Malfoy did her best to keep the peace, while simultaneously teasing her son in the strangest ways. Well, Harry thought her teasing strange, as it always had to do with him and how attractive he was. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she was attracted to him. Harry hardly thought that was the case and made a mental note to tell Hermione about this; maybe she'd understand better than he did.
Soon enough the meal was over, and it was about damn time, in both Harry and Draco's opinions. The plates magically cleared themselves after pudding and the three dinner companions leaned back in their chairs, on the verge of too full.
"That was incredible," Harry said to Mrs. Malfoy, avoiding Draco's eye entirely. "Thank you so much for inviting me. I don't think I've ever had food that good. Er, don't tell Mrs. Weasley I said that, please."
"They can afford to serve food at the Weasleys'?" Draco muttered just loudly enough for everyone to hear, and waited for Harry's response. He was a bit surprised that Harry wasn't slinging barbs right back at him; it had always been that way in school, hadn't it? Draco would egg Harry on, they'd fight, and Draco would get his daily dose of Harry's attention. That was how things were supposed to work, at least. Now, it seemed, Harry was intent on ignoring Draco, and it irritated him to no end. All evening he'd been trying to get Harry riled up, to no avail. Maybe his mother was right, and she and Harry really were becoming friends. She'd mentioned wanting to 'mother' him, of all things. She seemed to think Harry had lacked mothering in his lifetime, though Draco couldn't imagine why. Harry had grown up with an aunt who probably spoiled the ever-living-shit out of him, and the Weasleys' mother. Everyone knew Mrs. Weasley considered Harry to be one of her own. As if Harry needed yet another motherly figure to mollycoddle him. It was clear to Draco that she was officially Janus Thickey Ward-ready. Regardless, Draco couldn't think of another reason for Harry to be acting so well-mannered. It had to be an effort to impress Narcissa.
"Really, Draco," his mother chided. "I thought we were past comparing financial statuses with other wizarding families. However rich in gold we may be, our reputation is one of the poorest. You'd do well to remember that, lest you make an even bigger outcast of yourself." Her eyes almost unnoticeably flickered to Harry, just to solidify her point. Draco flinched back in his chair at his mother's words. That one stung, it did. He decided he'd just keep his mouth shut until Harry had gone.
"It-it's fine," Harry stuttered, wishing his mouth worked properly at times like these. "This is how things have always been between us. I didn't expect anything to suddenly change after years of mutual hatred." Harry's eyes met Draco's and he put all of the silent loathing he could into his gaze, hoping Draco could feel just how badly he wanted to shut him up permanently. He'd kept his mouth shut all through dinner, had bitten his tongue until he'd tasted blood at Draco's comment about the Weasleys. What he couldn't say, he put into his stare.
Draco smiled a little, satisfied smile in response to Harry's glare. There it was, that unbridled passion, right there in Harry's green eyes. He did still have that fierceness in him, and Draco was right that he'd only been behaving himself for Mrs. Malfoy's benefit. Maybe, if Draco kept pushing, Harry would snap and release a bit of it. Maybe it was fucked up, how Draco craved that negative attention from Harry, but it wasn't his fault that Harry was at his sexiest when he was angry enough to kill.
"I think I'd better go," Harry said, standing abruptly. His hands were beginning to shake and he didn't think he could hold back against Draco much longer. That pleased smile Draco used as his retort to Harry's glare was enough to make his blood boil.
"Yes, it is getting late, isn't it?" Mrs. Malfoy asked. She stood as well and hooked her arm through Harry's, leading him to the archway. "Thank you for joining us, Harry darling. I do hope you'll do so again in the future."
"Ah, sure," he agreed, without really meaning to. He didn't seem to be able to tell Mrs. Malfoy no, just like he struggled to tell Mrs. Weasley no.
"If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to stop by. You don't even have to ask first. You are welcome here, Harry, though I must apologise for my son's behaviour; he must have made you feel rather unwelcome. I'll have to discuss that with him once you've gone," she said, shooting a glance over her shoulder.
"It's fine, really," Harry said. "I-I'll write soon."
Mrs. Malfoy smiled and released his arm, allowing him to leave the room. He didn't make it far when he heard Draco start complaining.
"Why on earth would you invite him here, of all places? Couldn't you go out for dinner? You know how I feel about him…"
Harry tuned out whatever it was Draco was going to say next and picked up his speed. If he didn't leave now, there was no telling what he might do.
oOo
Hermione watched silently as Harry described his dinner with the Malfoys. He was passionately retelling all of Malfoy's insults and the way Narcissa had responded, her teasing revolving around Harry's appearance. Harry left out Malfoy's responses to these jibes, but Hermione could easily guess.
"He's attracted to you. Mrs. Malfoy isn't," Hermione said, as though it were the most obvious thing, which she happened to think it was. By the confusion moulding Harry's face, she could tell he didn't agree.
"What? No, he hates me! He made that clear all bloody evening," Harry complained.
"Harry, you're looking at this from your very biased perspective. Think about it: Mrs. Malfoy is happily married, as far as we know, and everytime Draco insults you she turned it around on him in a way that makes it seem as though he is attracted to you. How else am I meant to interpret that?"
"No, no, you're getting it wrong." Harry ran a hand through his curls in frustration, probably messing them up even further. "She would say things like, 'Stop staring, I know he's handsome, but it's impolite.' As in, she thought I was handsome. Not Malfoy." Harry felt as though he was explaining ancient runes to a toddler, and oddly enough, Hermione felt the same way as she responded.
"No, you're getting it wrong— listen, did Malfoy blush after she said things like that?"
"I don't know, sort of? Mostly he just stopped talking and looked down at his food. What's that got to do with anything?"
"Christ, how dense can you possibly be?" Hermione sighed and begged whichever gods were listening to make Harry less stubborn. "Why would he react that way if he wasn't attracted to you? He was embarrassed that she was calling him out on staring at you because he thinks you're fit. Not to mention, it's completely possible to hate someone and find them physically appealing."
Pausing, Harry considered Hermione's take on things. It seemed far-fetched, but the way Hermione said it made it seem almost possible.
"Well, maybe…"
"Honestly, don't you think Malfoy's attractive? Take his meanness out of the picture and look back on your dinner with them."
Shaking his head in annoyance, Harry followed Hermione's directions. He put the entire evening on mute in his brain and simply thought on the bits of his memories where Malfoy took the focus. His white-blond hair was rather smooth, and his lips were sort of plush and soft looking. His jawline was sharp, yet soft, depending on how the light hit his face. His eyes were surprisingly playful, especially when paired with his smirk. And when Malfoy had walked into the room, apparently not expecting Harry to still be there, his expression had been open and vulnerable, even a bit worried, a look Harry didn't think he'd seen on Malfoy's face before. His robes were form fitting, while still leaving room for imagination, and the body beneath the robes was clearly fit. Maybe Malfoy wasn't an ugly git after all. Still a git, just not an ugly one.
"Alright, point taken," Harry said, his tone defeated. "I still hate him."
"That's exactly what I'm saying, though," Hermione replied, her self satisfaction evident in her voice and the tilt of her lips. "I think he likes you, but doesn't know how to show it, so he resorts to being cruel. Just like in school."
Something clicked in Harry's mind and he said, "You know, as I was leaving he did say something like, 'why would you invite him here, you know how I feel about him.' At the time I thought he was just talking about how much he hates me, but now…"
"I wouldn't be so sure about that. There's no way to know for sure, but I've speculated over the years that maybe he didn't hate you as much as he tried to make it seem."
"How long have you speculated about this?" Harry felt almost betrayed, as this was the first he was hearing about any 'speculation.'
"Oh, first year. Back then it was just a feeling, but as the years went by his behaviour sort of solidified my feeling."
Harry shook his head and tried to let this sink in. So it was possible that Malfoy had, what, an interest in him? A crush? Merlin, that sounded juvenile as all hell.
"Imagine how he would've been if you'd come out during school," Hermione giggled. "Oh, he would've been all over you, I can see it now."
"Please stop," Harry groaned. "Why is it that, lately, every time I visit you over lunch you find a new way to humiliate me?"
"As your best friend, I believe that's my job. So, when are you going back over to the Manor?" Her brown eyes shone with interest.
"Er, well, I haven't decided that I am going back, yet."
"Come on, Harry, we have a theory to prove, you have to go back. Not to mention, from the sounds of it, Mrs. Malfoy would be heartbroken if you didn't."
"Excuse me? Wasn't it you who said this was a terrible idea?" She sure did change her tune rather quickly when her own motives were involved.
"Yes, but that was before I found out Malfoy's in love with you," she teased. At least, Harry hoped she was teasing.
"You truly are the absolute worst."
"And you love me for it."
oOo
When Harry arrived home from George's shop, it was to find Mrs. Malfoy's signature roll of parchment waiting for him on his kitchen table. He'd been planning on doing some chores when he got home, but they could wait long enough to read her letter and write up a response, couldn't they?
Harry, it was lovely having you over for dinner. You've grown into quite a spectacular, intelligent, disciplined young man, haven't you? It amazed me that you were able to keep yourself in check while my son highlighted his less acceptable behaviour. I do apologise for that, by the way. Sometimes he just doesn't know when to call it quits, and he winds up painting for others a rather nasty picture of who he is. You may not be inclined to believe me, and I can't say that I blame you, but he really is a sweet, caring man. For some reason, when it comes to you, he is incapable of displaying that side of himself. Perhaps, with more exposure to you, he'll become used enough to your presence that he is able to show his true colours.
Maybe this is too soon, but I'd like to invite you over again this coming Thursday for our family game night. It's not the same without Lucius, and many of our games require more than two people to enjoy properly. A third person would make things much more pleasant, and I can't imagine who I'd like to invite more than you. If you'll accept, we'll start at 6 pm sharp, though you're welcome to arrive earlier, if you'd like. We'll provide the snacks and beverages, so don't feed yourself before you come.
I look forward to your confirmation. N.M
Well, she certainly made it difficult to refuse, didn't she? Harry sighed and summoned a roll of parchment, ink, and a quill to write out his acceptance of her invitation. Then, once he'd sent it off, he began washing the dishes and wondering how game night with the Malfoys would go over. Less-than-swimmingly, he assumed, but he'd been proven wrong in the past, and was open to being proven wrong this time. He hoped it wouldn't be terrible, and that Malfoy could stop being a prat long enough for Ron's theory to be more likely. Harry still wasn't sure how he felt about the prospect of Hermione's theory being true, that Malfoy might have feelings for him. Part of him felt flattered; Malfoy was an attractive bloke, even if he did act just like Dudley used to. Being found attractive by another attractive person always felt nice. Why did it have to be Malfoy, though? Why couldn't it be someone who he hadn't hated since he'd first laid eyes on them?
Then a thought crossed Harry's mind: what if he tested out this theory? Wondering was unpleasant, and left room in Harry's head for strange feelings. If he proved Hermione wrong, maybe those weird feelings would disappear and he could stop thinking about Malfoy in general. But how would he test the theory? He was a terrible flirt, every bloke he'd tried to pick up through flirting had told him so. He was nice, though, and whenever he was nice blokes seemed to think he was flirting with them. Maybe that would do the trick. He could be nice to Malfoy, couldn't he?
oOo
Maybe he couldn't be nice to Malfoy after all, Harry decided, promptly reminding himself that, while he was in Malfoy Manor he was supposed to refer to the spoiled baby brat as 'Draco.'
All he'd said was, "You look nice, where'd you buy that shirt?" and Draco had narrowed his eyes and snapped, "Don't bother asking, it's not as if you could afford to shop there." Being nice was going to be much harder than it had seemed when he'd decided to take that route.
Draco seethed as his mother went to retrieve the game they were to play, leaving him and Harry alone in the parlour. She'd done it on purpose, he could just tell, and she had also apparently put Harry up to something more. Harry had never once complimented Draco's attire, he would certainly remember if he had. So why would he start now, unless Draco's dear, meddling mother had put him up to it?
"Er, right," Harry said, lost for words. He could, in fact, afford to shop pretty much anywhere. He had been unemployed for two years and had hardly made a dent in his Gringotts vault.
Draco seemed to eye Harry's outfit harshly and said, "I see you've given up on dressing like a pureblood. It was a lost cause, anyhow. And what, may I ask, are Talking Heads? Some sort of muggle contraption?"
Harry snickered. "They're a muggle band. One of my favourites, actually. You should look into them, if you like rock music at all." Draco hummed noncommittally and looked at his perfectly manicured nails. Harry was attempting to think of something else nice to say, but Mrs. Malfoy walked into the room once more, saving him from making the effort.
"I hope this will suffice," she said, setting a blue cardboard box on the stone coffee table. "I couldn't find many that weren't for a younger audience. I suppose I'll have to search out more games, if this is to be a regular occurrence."
"I thought— didn't you already have a regular family game night?" Harry asked, confused. "You made it seem, in your letter…"
"Yes, we did, but that was many years ago, now. I thought it would be a nice change of pace to pick it up again, though it took some persuasion to get Draco, here, to agree."
"Games are for children," Draco deadpanned in his signature drawl, still staring at his nails. "Maybe that's why you struggled so hard to find a suitable game for us, who are all grown adults."
"Just a ball of blinding light, isn't he?" Mrs. Malfoy teased.
"Sometimes, but mostly when the sun hits his hair just right," Harry said, trying out being nice again. Both Mrs. Malfoy and Draco looked at him as though he'd gone mad, but Mrs. Malfoy seemed to realise Harry was simply trying to be more friendly, and she smiled approvingly. "Er, what game are we playing?"
"It's called Your Adventure."
"Merlin, mother, you can't be serious," Draco griped, crossing his arms and looking at his mum with an expression of disgust. This was practically a children's game, too, and could hardly be considered entertaining, in his opinion. "I thought game night was intended to be stimulating, in some form."
"It's the best I could do. I thought Harry would enjoy it; it's got danger, thrill, and, well, adventure, all without actually risking one's life."
Without further ado, Mrs. Malfoy opened up the box and began removing strangely shaped dice, little plastic characters, and the biggest game board Harry had seen, which sprang into 3D once it had been laid out on the table fully. It was a map, complete with dirt paths, tiny towns and villages, mountains, valleys, oceans, ponds, islands, forests, and more. Harry leaned in closer, having never seen anything quite like it in his life. As he inspected one of the towns, he saw a citizen strolling down a street. The minuscule man looked up, saw Harry's giant head, and promptly sprinted into one of the buildings lining the street, apparently scared out of his wits.
"These aren't… they're not real people, are they?" Harry asked, his panic building.
Laughing, a meanness laced into it, Draco answered. "No, they're not real, Potter. They're charmed bits of plastic. Haven't you ever played a wizarding game before?"
Harry frowned. Of course he'd played a wizarding game before, though the only one he'd played with moving pieces that resembled people was chess. He hadn't figured other wizarding games had moving pieces, but he should've.
"Alright, how do we play this, then?"
"You really are clueless, aren't you?" Draco began, but Harry spoke before he could continue what was surely another jibe.
"Sort of, when it comes to things like this. But you're much more educated about these things, so, if you could, please explain it for me?" Harry kept his tone light, friendly, and appealing, and just like that Draco's demeanor changed.
"Of course I can," he said more gently, his eyes displaying the confusion he felt. "These dice here are essentially your tools for making decisions. Say you run into a troll on your path and you'd like to… to fight it, seeing as you're a Gryffindor through and through. You'd choose the method of attack and use these dice to see how well you do. We'll probably start off with a game using only the D-ten, for simplicity's sake, since it's your first time.
"The higher the number you roll, the better your attack is. However, you can also roll to run away, to befriend, to seduce, to calm, or bewitch, to cast a spell, talk to animals, or anything, really. You don't always have to use these, though. The game will tell you when you do, and how many of the dice you're meant to roll. Usually, it's during a time of high stress, when the stakes are higher.
"You see, it's a role-playing game," Draco continued, his silver eyes brightening as he explained. He'd clearly played many times, Harry was certain, as he was very good at explaining the goals and plot of the game. "It's called Your Adventure because you pick the sort of adventure you'd like to have. The map changes based on your decision, too, which is bloody brilliant, if you ask me. So, if you'd prefer, say, a post-apocalyptic setting…" Draco paused and Harry watched as the map transformed into something out of a Mad Max movie.
"What?!" Harry exclaimed, amazed at the transformation.
"I know!" Draco enthused, somehow managing to contract Harry's excitement about the game he, Draco, had come to find dull over years of much use. "And it can pretty much change to any setting. The only one that's not much fun is underwater, because it's much harder to observe from our perspective, so it loses the fun. Sort of like the Triwizard Tournament."
"Oh, right, right," Harry said, nodding, his interest completely held by the way Draco's hands moved as he went on explaining, the way his attitude completely lightened up. It felt, for once, as though he and Harry were something akin to friends. Harry knew this wasn't the case, couldn't possibly be after such a short time knowing each other outside of their school rivalry, but it felt refreshing and… sort of incredible, if he were being completely honest with himself.
Narcissa watched with immense satisfaction as her son explained the game to Harry. His face had transformed from its usually judgmental, pointy position and softened considerably. His eyes were so expressive, when he wasn't acting like his father, and Narcissa loved to see him like this. It was so rare these days, and it surprised and comforted her that Harry was able to bring this out of Draco. After the dinner the previous weekend, she hadn't been sure they could ever get along, but looking at them now you'd never know they had nearly killed each other in school.
"So that's really the gist of it," Draco finished. "Do you know what sort of setting you'd like to play in?"
Harry thought for a moment, finding it difficult to concentrate. His head was filled with how different Draco had been as he'd explained the game. Rather than biting and harsh, Draco had seemed kind and helpful, excited and friendly. It was so, so unusual for Harry that he couldn't stop picturing Draco's explanation over and over again.
"Why don't we start with the standard map?" Mrs. Malfoy suggested, and the map changed to what it had looked like after it had been laid out.
"Boring," Draco moaned petulantly, but then shut his mouth. Suddenly he didn't feel much like being rude to Harry anymore, which was a new experience for him entirely. "But I suppose, since he's a beginner," he added, and began passing out the plastic figurines.
"So now I pick my class and what?" Harry couldn't remember all the things Draco had listed.
"Here." Draco flicked his wand and three rolls of parchment, a bottle of ink, and several quills floated into the room. He charmed the parchment flat and passed one sheet each to his mother and Harry. "You'll pick your race first, so your playing piece knows what to look like."
"Oh," Harry said, trying to think. "Er, what are my options?"
"You could be an elf, wizard, dragonborn, dwarf, gnome, half-elf, orc, half-orc, muggle, goblin, lizardfolk, triton, tabaxi—"
"Okay, whoa, that's a lot more than I'll remember."
A biting quip was on the tip of Draco's tongue, but he swallowed it and said instead, "Why don't you start off as an elf? They're beautiful, noble beings, sort of slender and average muggle or wizard height, and they live a long time— I think about seven hundred years?"
"I know what an elf is," Harry laughed. "And yeah, I think I'll start there." As he spoke, the plastic figure he held turned into an elf-like version of him. "Is it— it looks like me!"
"That was always one of my favourite parts of this game," Mrs. Malfoy said. "I'd always wondered what I would look like if I'd been born of another race. I prefer playing as a tiefling called Orianna. See?"
"Wicked," Harry breathed as Mrs. Malfoy's playing piece turned into a gorgeous woman with flowing silver hair. Horns spiraled out from above her temples, giving the character a dangerous, otherworldly look. "She sort of looks like a human, only with horns."
"Astute observation. She is mostly muggle, but with infernal blood mixed in her veins. Her blood is why people tend to mistrust her, as her infernal heritage has left a terrible reputation in regards to her morality, as well as who she is as a person."
"Sounds sort of familiar," Harry said with a small smile.
"I'll bet it does." Mrs. Malfoy smiled back, knowingly. "Draco, will you be taking on your usual character tonight?"
"No, I think I'll play an elf as well," Draco said slowly, considering his options. "Oh, here's the list of names you can choose for each race."
Harry took the list and read it over. "I'll be Laucian."
"Really, Potter?" Draco deadpanned.
"No," Harry laughed. "Theren, I think. These are some strange names."
"I suppose someone who'd never played this game before would think so," Draco muttered. "I'll be Erevan, a druid elf."
"What's a druid?"
"That's a class, Potter, did you even pay attention to my explanation?"
"I paid attention to you," Harry said, smirking, just to see Draco's reaction. Oh, this whole being nice thing really was going to have its perks. Draco's cheeks turned a glowing pink and his mouth popped open a bit. Hastily, Draco cleared his throat and anchored his eyes on the list of classes before him.
"Your options are as follows…"
Painstakingly, they filled out their character sheets, going over attributes, skills, starting spells and items, and rules. When they'd finished, the map began speaking in a deep, baritone voice to describe to each of them their locations. Each of the playing pieces floated to different parts of the map, all separate from each other.
"Why aren't we together?" Harry asked, feeling very clueless.
"Sometimes the map starts players off as a party, but other times it starts us off apart. If you'd like to be in a party, you'll have to try and catch up with us. If we let you," Draco added in a playful tone.
"Of course we'll let him," Mrs. Malfoy said, patting Harry's shoulder comfortingly. "Harry— or Theren, rather— what will you do first?"
"What are my options?"
"Whatever you like," Draco answered, rolling his eyes. "The map has a story line ready for us, but it accommodates and might change things depending on what each character decides to do. So just do something."
"Alright… I, erm, I climb down from my tree and start walking—" Draco's character seemed to be east of where his character was. "—East."
'Theren, alone and lost, follows the rising sun for several miles when, suddenly, a band of orcs drops from the surrounding trees, effectively blocking any path he could take," the map says.
"Shit— I mean dang it," Harry amended, sneaking a look at Mrs. Malfoy. "I only have a dagger for a weapon…" He paused and considered his options, remembering what Draco said about how he could handle enemies. "I wasn't expecting to run into opponents this early on in the game."
"Maybe they aren't opponents," Mrs. Malfoy said offhandedly, a small upward twist at the edges of her lips.
"Oh. Then I guess I'll greet them."
"What is it you say to the orcs?" the map asked.
"Er, how do you do? I'm lost, and would love some traveling companions," Harry said, unsure of whether or not this is the right thing to do. He looked at the map and saw that his character was indeed surrounded by seven mean looking orcs.
To Harry's surprise, he wound up traveling with a party of orcs, who have mass quantities of food, wine, and weapons, all of which they offer to share with him. They made their way toward Draco's character for a while, not running into much trouble, before the turn switched. Mrs. Malfoy's turn was next and she decides how to start her journey. She began traveling toward Draco as well, stopped only briefly to test her morality by having to choose between saving a child from a burning house or saving herself. In the end, she chose the child. Just before her character was about to drift off into a fiery death, the child transformed into a witch, who rescued Narcissa and rewarded her by fully healing her, offering her loads of gold, armor, and an enchanted sword sent to earth by the old gods, whoever they were.
When it came time for Draco's turn, he walked to the nearest pond and crafted a fishing pole, then went fishing. Harry laughed and wondered aloud what sort of adventure that was.
"I've never been fishing, Potty," Draco said defensively. "Besides, this is my adventure, so who are you to judge? Go have an orc orgy and fuck off."
"Language, Draco," Mrs. Malfoy sighed, disappointed that her son's meanness had made a comeback, and disgusted at his manner of speaking.
"He said shit, earlier, and you didn't reprimand him," Draco complained, sounding just like a child.
"Harry is not my son."
"Yeah, but you wish he was." Harry almost didn't hear Draco's whispered comeback. Almost. It seemed Mrs. Malfoy was going to ignore it, if she did hear it, and Harry couldn't tell if she had or hadn't, as her face remained impassive.
"You nearly release your fishing pole as a large tug pulls the line taught," the map said.
"I grab on tightly and pull, trying to lure up whatever's biting my hook," Draco replied quickly, a look of excitement on his face.
"A mermaid surfaces, furious at your capture of her. Your hook has snagged her cheek, and she bleeds into the water. As tears stream down her wet cheeks, she curses you, though you cannot tell which curse is put upon you, as she speaks her native language."
"Are you kidding me? All I wanted was to go fishing!" Draco huffed angrily, crossing his arms. "'You blasted minger,' I tell her, and throw my fishing pole at her stupid head. Then I run back to my cabin to avoid further curses. What was a mermaid doing in a fucking pond, anyway?"
"Language, Draco," Mrs. Malfoy chided more sternly.
"We're all adults, mother," Draco nearly shouted.
"Fine, be vulgar!" Mrs. Malfoy snapped, and it was the first time Harry had ever seen her lose her patience. It only lasted a split second, though, before she had composed herself once more. "I thought I'd raised you against such crude behaviour. Apparently not." Draco merely rolled his eyes.
"You must roll to escape. Use two D-tens."
Picking up two of the diamond-shaped dice, Draco shook them in his palm, fierce determination written all over his pointed face. When he released them, they landed with the numbers four and eight facing upward.
"Narrowly, you escape," the map told Draco, "but not before she sets fire to the surrounding wood. Do you abandon your cabin, or risk burning yourself alive?"
"What's with this game burning people alive, this campaign?" Draco asked, irritated at his run of poor luck. "I cast a fire-repellent charm and run to my cabin to grab my most important items."
Of course, Draco had to roll for the fire-repellent charm, and somehow managed to roll a twenty. His character grabbed all of his starter items and left his cabin unscathed, then worked his way across the forest to meet up with Harry and Mrs. Malfoy's characters.
The game lasted several hours before the three of them paused for snacks and refreshments. Harry chugged two glasses of water and realised it probably wasn't wise to do that in a place that he had no idea where the loo was.
"Draco will show you," Mrs. Malfoy said when Harry had asked. "I think I shall retire for the evening, boys. It's past nine, and I'm not accustomed to staying up this late." Standing, she approached Harry and embraced him tightly, adding a squeeze before she released him and smiled, exposing her straight, white teeth. "I can't thank you enough, Harry, for joining us tonight. Although I wish Draco would use appropriate words in times of anger, I don't believe he ruined the evening, in the end. I hope you've enjoyed yourself."
"Oh, I have," Harry said quickly, his need to urinate growing by the second.
"You two can feel free to continue playing for as long as you'd like. My character will be considered 'resting' while I'm away."
"Thank you, I'd like that." Startled by the fact that he really would like continuing the game, even one-on-one with Draco, Harry decided not to think too much on his decision to stay. He watched with impatience as Mrs. Malfoy hugged her son and spoke to him in hushed words, then left the room. He really did have to wee, and if Draco didn't show him to the bathroom soon, he might be doing it here on the oriental rug.
"Alright, Potter, follow me," Draco said, not bothering to wait for Harry before he, too, left the room.
Harry rushed to catch up to Draco and began walking in silence beside the slightly taller man. The corridor seemed to stretch on for too long, and though there were plenty of doors, Draco didn't stop at any of them. Walking, at least, put off Harry's urge to wee slightly, so he knew he wouldn't be wetting himself and causing himself indescribable embarrassment and Draco immense pleasure at seeing something so humiliating happen to him.
Finally Draco stopped, after multiple turns down more too-long corridors. "Here's the potty, Potty."
Harry didn't even bother to respond, and instead rushed to relieve himself.
Once he'd successfully managed not to disgrace himself on the Malfoys' expensive rugs, Harry left the bathroom feeling much more comfortable, but alone. Apparently Draco had thought he could find his own way back to the parlour, but Harry wasn't so confident in himself. He had hardly paid any attention to his surroundings, or the path they'd taken to get to the loo, he'd had to wee so badly.
"Fucking Malfoy," Harry muttered as he began his search of the parlour.
Remembering that the bathroom door had been on his left on the way to it, he took a right. When he came to a crossroads, however, he was unsure whether to continue on straight, or to turn right or left. Each way looked nearly identical to the other, with gold framed portraits and sconces burning oil lining the walls. How was anyone supposed to know how to navigate this place, when it all looked the same? He could yell, but he doubted Malfoy would hear him.
Several of the people in their portraits had woken up in order to sneer at Harry, and, figuring he had nothing to lose, he asked one of the least haughty looking ones for directions.
"S'cuse me," Harry said, coming up close to a painting of a woman dressed in elaborate, deep purple robes. She sat tall in her armchair, beside a roaring fire, and looked down her nose at Harry. "Do you happen to know how I can get to the parlour from here?"
"Which one?" she asked, enunciating each word as though she thought Harry too stupid to comprehend.
"Oh, er…" There was more than one parlour? Of course there was. "The one… the one that the Malfoys have game night in?" he tried. She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Is that the best you can do?" she drawled, her nose wrinkling as she sneered. Perhaps Harry had chosen the wrong portrait.
"It's got blue walls. Dark blue, if that helps, with a sort of burnt yellow trim."
Blinking slowly, the woman said, "Humph! I suppose if you belonged here, you'd already know, wouldn't you?"
Harry's mouth dropped open. If he had expected any sort of response, it hadn't been that, though he supposed he shouldn't be too shocked; this was, in all likelihood, a relative of the Malfoys, with similar mannerisms to them.
"Close your mouth, boy," she huffed, turning her face away from him in disdain, a disgusted slant to her mouth. "I never would've allowed such filth in my home… If only Lucius had married someone suitable."
Leaving the horrible portrait to continue muttering awful things about him, Harry resigned himself to the fact that he'd just have to guess. He went left. The portraits down this hall whispered as he passed, leaving their frames to visit with the other paintings and gossip about the Malfoys' visitor. Harry gritted his teeth, hating the feeling of being watched, and hurried down across the rich burgundy hall rug. After about a minute of walking this corridor, Harry spotted a well-lit archway up on his right and jogged up to it, his nerves relaxing as he found his way back. When he walked into the room, however, he found that he'd never been in it before. It was filled with potions equipment: beakers, phials, funnels, graduated cylinders, and boiling cauldrons of copper, gold, silver, and cast iron. Flasks of different sizes filled with myriad coloured liquids lined one workbench, and on another, cutting boards, various shaped knives, mortar and pestles, evaporating dishes, and crucibles and jars filled with ingredients. It seemed that every available surface was covered in potions things, aside from one clean desk which appeared to be the only organized area in the room.
Stepping closer to investigate, Harry found that the desk held notes and recipes, all written in a very neat script, one that he recognized from school: Draco's. So this was his lab, Harry realised. Why had Draco gone to uni, only to get a degree in General Magic, if he was so interested in potions? Why not get a mastery in potions instead? What was he doing will all of this equipment, anyway? Hopefully nothing nefarious, Harry thought. Knowing Malfoy, it probably was, though. Should Harry report this to the Ministry? What if this had something to do with why Mrs. Malfoy was cozying up to him so quickly? What if Neville had been right?
Panicked and suddenly a bit afraid, Harry jogged to the exit, only to be stopped by Draco himself.
"Leave it to you to go snooping around, left unattended for less than a minute," Draco sighed, crossing his arms and walking past Harry, joining him in the laboratory. "That was always your schtick at Hogwarts, wasn't it?"
"I-I wasn't snooping, I was lost and trying to get back to the parlour, since you just left me there."
"I was using the bathroom, too, you—" Taking a deep breath, Draco composed himself. "If you had waited a moment, I would've been able to lead you back to the parlour so you didn't have to wander around by yourself. Some of these rooms are sealed off, due to the dark nature of the things they contain, but not all, and the manor has a habit of sometimes moving rooms around to lure people into them."
"Why would anyone want to live in a place like that?"
"You try buying new property with a name like mine, Potter, and ask that question again."
Oh. Harry felt badly for asking the question, not having even considered that maybe the Malfoys were unable to move away.
"Why do you have an entire potions lab here?" Harry asked, unable to keep suspicion from seeping into his words.
"Why do you care? What business is it of yours?"
"I was only asking…"
"Because, Potter," Draco couldn't help but spit Harry's name as he spoke it, "Nobody would dare to hire me to brew for them, and most brewers won't sell to my family, either. Any and all potions we use on a regular basis— wound-cleaning, pepperup, laxative, murtlap essence, burn-healing paste, sleeping draught, hair care, blood-replenishing, you name it— I now have to brew myself."
"Your mum mentioned that nobody would hire you," Harry said, before he'd properly thought it through.
"Of course she did, the woman doesn't know how to keep a secret to save her life. Except, apparently, when it comes to you," Draco said bitterly. "She hasn't said a word about what you've written to her. What else has she told you about me?" It was Draco's turn to sound suspicious. Harry shrugged, but Draco shook his head and took a step nearer to him. "No, don't even, Potter. I deserve to know the things she tells you about me. It isn't fair that you should have the upper hand."
"Upper hand in what?" Harry said, bewildered. "We're not, like, competing, are we? Besides, all she said was that you're as directionless in your career search as I am, so there. She said you can't get hired, even though you've got an MGMK, and that she hopes things will change so you can have a possibility of a better future than your father. She hasn't told me your deep, dark secrets, if you have any."
"And what did you say to her about that?" Draco's tone had lost its anger and was now bordering on curious and apprehensive, even a bit fearful.
"That you should create your own business instead of waiting for people to see that you're only human, just like everyone else. If they won't get past, well, the past, then they can bugger off, can't they? It's obvious after seeing this room that you're well versed in brewing, so why not start a company? Nobody would even have to know you're the one running it, especially if you have someone else as the face of the company, someone else dealing with public relations, if you need to." Harry shrugged. "I don't even think you'd need that, if you handled all of your clients by owl."
For a long time, Draco stood there, quietly. Harry thought he'd said something to offend him, but in reality Draco was taking in everything Harry had said and formulating an idea. Why didn't he start his own company? What was stopping him? He had the money to do it, and he knew what he was doing. He could brew almost anything, given the proper time to research.
"Sorry," Harry said. "I didn't mean to offend you, or try to tell you how to live your life."
"Potter, you're fucking brilliant," Draco said quietly, still looking out at his potions things with wide eyes.
"Never thought I'd hear you say that in all my life."
"You'd probably say that a lot if you knew— just, er… forget I said that." Feeling his cheeks heat up, Draco turned and left he lab, not waiting for Potter. If he wanted to find his way back to the parlour alone, so be it. They'd probably recover his body in some dark, dank corner of the manor years from now.
"If I knew what?" Harry asked, falling into step beside Draco.
"Nothing."
"According to you, ninety-nine percent of the time, I already know nothing."
Unable to help himself, Draco snorted. "Who knew you had a sense of humour?"
"Only you, most everyone else hates my jokes because they're primarily puns." Harry paused and decided to risk asking Draco again. "What were you going to say?" He knew what he thought Draco was going to say, but wanted to hear it for himself, from the mouth of the horse, so to speak.
"Fucking— quit that, will you?"
"Do you compliment me a lot, inside your head?" Harry said, tongue-in-cheek. Draco's cheeks blushed deeply and Harry grinned smugly. "You do, don't you?"
"You wish, Potter." Draco had been attempting to sound cool and casual, but his voice cracked in his nervousness and he failed miserably.
"You like me," Harry accused, grinning widely. He wasn't sure why, but the idea of Draco liking him was truly appealing to him, in a way he couldn't describe. It was as if, after years of hatred and fighting, Draco liking him was the final closed door to the past, for Harry.
"Not even in your wildest dreams, Wonder Boy," Draco snarled, deciding to lead Harry to the front door instead of the parlour.
"Oh, come on, admit it." Harry knew he was pushing his luck, but couldn't help himself. He just wanted to hear Draco say it, just once. He watched Draco's face as he struggled to keep pace with him, watched as Draco's frown lines deepened and his eyes seemed to light up with silver coals. "Why is it so difficult to just—"
Halting before the large front doors, Draco sharply turned his body to face Harry, fury etched into his rigid posture. Harry shut himself up immediately, only just then realising what sort of danger he was in, taking the piss out of Draco like this.
"Is it so impossible for you to believe that, out of this entire fanclub of a country, there could be one fucking person who didn't worship the ground you walk on?" Malfoy hissed, his eyes flashing and spit flicking from his pink lips. "Is it so hard to think that, maybe, after years of constantly being overshadowed by your larger-than-life existence, I might not even be able to look at you for long periods of time, let alone bring myself to 'like you?'"
Harry's chest felt as though it were being punctured with every word Draco spoke. His smile had slipped clean off his face the instant Draco had turned to face him, and now he was left with a vulnerable, shocked expression to counter Draco's livid one.
"No," Harry whispered, unable to find his voice. "No, it's not that hard."
Without waiting for a response from Draco, Harry turned and left. He couldn't know it, but if he'd kept on looking at Draco a moment longer, he would've seen how quickly his face had fallen, the steam going out of him completely as he realised the mistake he'd made.