A/N: Well, I had planned to post this tomorrow, but since you darling readers have been so lovely in your reviewing (and because I've managed to come by some free time), I've decided to post it a day earlier than planned. See? Reviews really do help!

So, same drill as last time: if you spot any mistakes, grammatical or otherwise, please be sure to let me know. But please leave a review anyway, because they make me ridiculously happy. Seriously. I jump up and down, grin like a maniac, hum show tunes and old Beatles songs for no apparent reason - the works. For the sake of the amusement of my friends and family, I highly suggest you press that little purple button.

Disclaimer: As much as I adore the boys I'm writing about, they still aren't mine.

CHAPTER TWO

Pansy spent the next several days trying to keep out of Nott's sight. She was remarkably successful; on occasion, even Blaise and I weren't sure where to find her. Admittedly, neither of us tried very hard. As long as she wasn't trying to pick a fight with Nott, we couldn't have cared less.

Potter and I hadn't had another actual conversation since Wednesday afternoon. The only interaction between us was the occasional "hello" in the hallways, or before or after class. The clumsiness of our last exchange had left me feeling once again embarrassed, which was a feeling I wasn't at all accustomed to. I became almost afraid of him – or at least, of running into him; I didn't really fancy my new habit of saying more than I meant to.

As a result, I refused to leave the confines of the Slytherin dungeons unless I had to go to class. Wednesday night I reread almost all of Common Theories on the Use of Color, and was very pleased to discover that it made even more sense the third time through. Thursday night I made an attempt at painting with some oil paints I borrowed off a boy in the dorm next to mine. Not much came of that except for a very nice, late night fire.

Friday night, in a desperate search for something to do, I even resorted to playing a game of gobstones with a short fourth year boy named something-or-other Smedley, who was supposed to be really good at the game. I thought the game was desperately tedious, and refused to play unless I was about to die from boredom.

Smedley lost. I had a feeling that he did so on purpose, though. Slytherins were so used to being scared of me that it was hard for them to shake the habit. I had been known to be a sore loser in the past – whining, threatening, black-mailing if necessary. It wasn't something that I was particularly proud of. But the fact that I could still incite fear in other Slytherins was an enjoyable ego boost, so I decided not to say anything to him.

But even though I was avoiding Potter, I couldn't seem to help watching him. I was looking for a sign, I told myself. Any sign of his future intentions towards conversing with me. And I was being sneaky about it, so it wasn't like he would notice or anything.

I took up the habit during any time we were in close proximity: at meals, in class, in the hallways. Not that I could discern anything from his facial expressions, though. All I learned was that he laughed a good deal more than I had originally believed. And that he looked vaguely agreeable when he was laughing.

And that Blaise got very annoyed at me when I missed the question he was asking me three times in a row.

"Draco, for the last bloody time!" he groaned at dinner on Saturday. "I don't know why you're so distracted, but I'm trying to talk to you here!"

"Oh. Sorry." I turned my head towards him in an effort to be more attentive.

"Thank you. Now, have you seen Pansy at all lately?"

I glanced up and down the Slytherin table. "Nope. Why?"

The noise level was so high that he had to shout to be heard. "She skived Divination, and she asked me to copy down the notes for her, but now I can't find her anywhere."

"Ah. Sorry. Haven't seen her either."

"Shit."

Blaise left in search of Pansy, and soon after that, Potter and his friends left as well. Seeing no reason for me to sit in the Great Hall alone, since I'd finished eating almost half an hour ago, I got up and departed as well.

The hallways were full of students leaving dinner and making their way back to their common rooms. I lingered among the crowds, walking as slowly as possible, thinking. I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I'd spent so much time in the common room lately that the thought of going back there now was almost nauseating.

After several minutes of deliberation, I decided that I was going to have to chance it. I'd wanted to go to the library all week, to see if they carried any books on magical painting theory. If I could find one, it might just be interesting enough to enable me to stomach another boring night in the dungeon. And anyway, it was highly unlikely that Potter would be there. Who else spent their Saturday night in the library, of all places?

Armed with a newfound determination, I set off in the direction of the library. My trip was cut short, however, when a hand reached out of an empty classroom and yanked me inside.

"Merlin's beard, Pansy!" I cried out angrily. She threw a hand over my mouth to silence me; a group of students was walking by outside. As soon as they had passed, she released me.

"Pansy, what do you want?"

"What?" she said flippantly. "Draco, I haven't spoken with you in days! Aren't I allowed to want to spend time with my best friend in the whole, wide world?"

I crossed my arms and stared at her pointedly.

"Okay, okay," she relented. "I just wanted to know if that git Nott had left the Hall yet. Are you happy now?"

"Yes, I am. And yes, he has. About ten minutes ago, in fact."

Pansy threw her arms around me. "Oh, thank God! I'm starving!"

"Then you should go and eat now, while you can," I advised. "You've only five minutes left till they start clearing the food away."

"Oh, bollocks!" Pansy gasped, her eyes widening. "I'll see you later, then!"

"And make sure you go see Blaise! He has Divination notes for you!" I called as an afterthought.

"Thanks!"

She raced from the classroom, and, shaking my head at the folly of Pansy, I resumed my journey.

Nothing happened to give me cause for concern. There was hardly anyone in the halls. Filch was nowhere to be found. The portrait of Alexander the Abominable tried to trick me into thinking that my shoelaces were untied. I won that round; my shoes didn't have laces. By the time I left him, I wasn't worried about anything except finding the book I wanted.

Then I walked straight into Potter.

"Oh, blast, I'm sorry," I began. My eyes had been on my feet, so I didn't realize who I'd bumped into until I glanced up. When I did, I was greeted by a pair of humorous green eyes shielded by a round pair of spectacles. "Oh. Hullo."

"Hi," he replied, his voice wavering; he was holding back laughter. "Do you usually walk around without paying attention to where you're going?"

"Ha ha," I drawled. "Of course, you never walk around with your head in the clouds, do you? I mean, every other day or so isn't that often. Naturally, that makes it perfectly acceptable for you to tease me."

Potter laughed and held up his hands in surrender. "Okay. Wow. You win. I'll change the subject. Where are you going?"

"Library. You?"

"Same." He smiled. "Hermione is obsessed with this new theory on invisibility, and she's making me and Ron help her research. I swear, almost every minute of our spare time, she has us running off to the library. It's exhausting! And she's not even interested in testing out the spells! She says she's only interested in the theory of it."

I raised my eyebrows. From what I knew of Granger, that sounded just like her. "You could refuse to help her, if you wanted. It wouldn't kill you."

"I know. But it's Hermione. I'd feel guilty about it." Potter shrugged. "And I guess I don't mind that much. It is an interesting subject."

"You are so selfless," I stated, my voice slightly awed.

He shrugged again. "Maybe. So why are you going to the library? I get the feeling you aren't helping a friend with research."

"No. I'm looking for more books on art techniques. I'm hoping to find something on the use of magic in artwork."

"Really? You can use magic in art?" Potter sounded much more fascinated than I had imagined he would.

"Well, yes, I suppose. I know there are spells you can use on a paintbrush to make it move in ways a human wrist couldn't. Impossible angles and such. It changes the look of the brush stroke, I guess. I really don't know much about it, actually; that's why I'm going to the library."

"Makes sense. Care to walk with me?" He gestured in the direction of the library.

"Sure."

We walked down the hallway without saying anything. Again. I was really starting to despise silence by this point.

So, to my horror, I broke it.

"You know, you have an unfair advantage over me at present," I said. "You know at least something about my interests. I, on the other hand, know nothing about yours."

Potter gave me an amused, sidelong look. "You mean, like what I do outside of class?"

"Sure," I conceded. "What do you do outside of class?"

That seemed to throw him. His brow furrowed, and he ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it. I was beginning to notice a pattern. "Um, I don't know," he said slowly. "Read. Play Quidditch. Not much, I guess. Nothing really interesting. I'm not a closet artist or anything."

I glared at him. "Asking you a question about yourself is not an invitation for you to mock me. Answer the question."

"Sorry," he said solemnly, inclining his head ever so slightly in my direction. "Like I said, I've been helping Hermione with her research. Ron and I have been playing gobstones a lot. Um... damn it all, I feel pathetic!"

"Well, that's not very helpful," I said scornfully. "What on earth do you plan to do with your life? I mean, if you could do anything, what would you want to do?"

The second the words were out, I wanted to take them back. In what universe did Draco Malfoy ask Harry Potter about his deepest desires? I felt almost like I was watching the scene from afar, but someone else was playing the part of me and all I could do was look on in horror as they did a right awful job of it.

Potter was just as bewildered as I was. He stared at me, blinking rapidly, his head cocked to one side.

"Anything?" he repeated. "I have no idea. Uh, I guess what I want most is to be an Auror. I... this sounds ridiculous, I know, but I'd like to help people."

A bizarre sensation in my chest made me think that I was reacting to the sentimentality of his statement. Ignoring it, I smirked and said tauntingly, "Why am I not surprised?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Potter said, rolling his eyes. "Hermione calls it my 'hero-complex.' But I can't really help it. It's just who I am, I guess. I don't even realize when I'm doing it; usually Hermione or Ron has to point it out to me."

I thought about this. When we were younger, I had always believed that Potter was an attention-seeking prat, and that his way of always managing to do good for the wizarding community was really a clever ploy to get media attention. To hear him speak about it as an odd personality quirk that he had no control over was disorienting. Even though I'd subconsciously stopped thinking of him as attention-seeking a long time ago, I'd never thought of it in the way he'd just described.

While I was pondering, we arrived at the library. Potter held the door open for me, seemingly without even thinking about it; I thanked him quietly.

"So," he whispered. "Have I satisfied your curiosity yet, Malfoy?"

He was teasing me, I realized, as I recalled that I had said those exact same words near the end of our first conversation. Unsure of how to respond, I merely shrugged.

"Oi, Harry! Over here!"

We both swung around. Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas were sitting not three meters away. Finnegan was the one who'd spoken; his mouth was still half open, and he was regarding us with a suspicious eye. His companion was unabashedly staring at us as if we were insane. I glanced at Potter in time to see him grimace.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"It's alright – it isn't your fault. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Yeah," I nodded. He took a deep breath and strode over to meet them.

Afraid to linger and have them think I was watching, I quickly went in search of a book. I found the one I was looking for within a few minutes, and decided to take it back to the common room with me rather than stay where I was. As I was leaving, I passed by Thomas and Finnegan's table again. They were hunched over a large volume in the center of it; Potter was nowhere in sight. I assumed that he'd gone off to find Weasley and Granger. Hopefully none of the Gryffindors had given him too much trouble. Maybe I'd ask him about it tomorrow.

Wait. I repeated that thought carefully in my head and groaned inwardly. Since when did I make plans to talk to Harry Potter? And for that matter, since when did I look forward to it?

Considerably dazed, and refusing to think about why, I rushed from the library.

First I searched my school bag. It wasn't there. Then I searched inside my trunk, under my bed, on the floor around my bed, and all over the floor of the rest of the room. It wasn't there either.

"Blaise, have you seen my best quill?" I inquired from the ground, where I was currently searching on my hands and knees. Blaise was lounging on his bed, reading the latest issue of some Quidditch magazine he liked. Somehow he had failed to notice my noisy examination of our room

"Oh, yeah, sorry," he said absentmindedly. "It's on my bedside table."

I froze. "And why, pray tell, is it there?"

"I needed to finish some homework the other night, and I couldn't find mine," he explained.

"Hello, darlings. How are things in here?"

I started at the sound of Pansy's voice, and hit my head on the underside of my own bedside table.

"Pansy, what are you doing here?" Blaise asked.

"Well, that's no greeting for your best friend," she whined. "And here I thought you'd be interested to know that Marielle Carter got into a fight with her best friend and got her shirt hexed off in the common room."

"She did?" Blaise sat bolt upright, eyes wide.

"No. I just need your help with your Divination notes."

Sighing, Blaise sat back, picked up the magazine he had dropped, and lost all interest in the outside world once more. "Oh. If that's all, then."

"I figured I'd better come up here while I could." Pansy waltzed over to my bed and settled herself among my pillows. "I saw Nott leave the Great Hall just before I did, and I followed him to make sure he wasn't coming back here, but he was headed in the direction of the library. Knowing him, I've got at least forty-five minutes. Do you mind?" she asked Blaise as she pulled a small bottle of turquoise nail polish out of her pocket. "I'll still listen. It's just, I've been meaning to paint them all week, and I haven't had the time"

Blaise shrugged.

"Oh good!" she said happily. "Now, to start, I had no idea what you meant in the second paragraph on page three. If you wouldn't mind...?"

Pansy placed the notes in the open hand that was Blaise's response to her unfinished question. He began to review them. After watching for a moment, she uncapped the nail polish bottle.

"So, what are you up to, Drake?" she asked.

"Careful of the duvet," I ordered in response. "I'm writing a letter to Greg."

"Do be sure to tell him I say hello." She finished her big toenail, appraised it thoughtfully, and moved on. "By the way, you wouldn't happen to have seen my copy of Witch Weekly, would you?"

"It might be under my bed, if you looked on the left hand side," I replied. I had taken it last week to tear out the coupons for my favorite shampoo.

"Thank you."

"Ah!" Blaise said. "I've got it! I was trying to say that–"

Smiling to myself, I tuned them out and tried to write my letter. I couldn't figure out what to say. Nothing had happened lately that was worth relaying to Greg. He and I had never talked much anyway. Finally I settled on describing what we were doing in some of the classes he used to take.

Pansy finished her nails, and blew lightly on them while Blaise explained what she'd missed in Divination. I was almost done with my letter when I caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall.

"You might want to leave soon, Pansy," I said. "Not to rain on your parade or anything, but it's been almost an hour."

"Shit!" Pansy shrieked. She shoved the nail polish bottle into her pocket again, snatched Blaise's notes out of his hand, and raced from the room.

"You're welcome," Blaise said, getting up to close the door after her. "You think she'd keep track of time, if she didn't want to see the stupid blighter."

"Maybe she actually does," I suggested. I was staring at my letter, trying to think of a good conclusion. "Maybe she's looking for another excuse for a fight."

"I wouldn't put it past her," Blaise agreed. He sat down and began to read again. "Now that Pansy's gone, I've been meaning to ask you: did you ever talk to Granger?"

"I did."

"And? Did she say anything enlightening?"

"Not really," I admitted. "All she said was 'hmm' and 'interesting' and 'no, I don't think I will bother to explain myself, because I'd rather go to class and leave you in misery.'"

"Really?" Blaise bit his lip and scowled at the magazine, deep in thought.

"Yes, and if you happen to have the same revelation she had, would you mind keeping it to yourself?" I asked hotly. "I'm getting a little bit annoyed with you people refusing to share."

"Right," said Blaise.

"Right as in you won't have a revelation, or right as in you have had one and you won't share it?"

"Right."

I stared at him. "I hate you, you know. And I'm trying to finish my letter now, and I'm not paying you the slightest bit of attention whatsoever."

"Right."

After a few more minutes, I came up with a suitable end. Setting down my quill, I stretched to get rid of the kinks in my back. Then I recalled Pansy's request, and added her message as a post-script.

"I'm off to the Owlery," I announced. "Anything that needs sending?"

"Only my love letter to Marielle. Do you think she'd prefer red roses, or pink?"

Rolling my eyes, I folded up my letter and left the room.

The hallways were empty. I made my way up to the Owlery at a leisurely pace, because I didn't exactly have anything better to do. My owl, Orpheus, was asleep. He nipped at me when I woke him up, but after several owl treats – and with the prospect of a journey ahead of him – he lightened up considerably. I was just tying the letter to his leg when the door to the Owlery opened, and a messy, black head of hair walked in.

"Good morning," I said, since he hadn't seemed to notice I was there.

Potter started, but when he looked up at me, he smiled. "Good morning, Malfoy. I didn't expect to see anyone here."

"Nor did I."

He went over to one of the school owls, a large Tawny. She was already awake, and refused to let him attach his parchment to her leg until she had been properly fed.

"So, you sending a letter too?" he asked, and then cringed. I assumed it was at his poor attempt to start a conversation. For some reason, I didn't mind.

"Yeah." I replied. "Greg Goyle. He chose not to repeat this year, so I write to him every now and then. To tell him what's happening, see how he's doing."

"I was wondering about him. Do you know what he's doing now?"

"He mentioned some sort of job in his last letter. I'm not sure what, though; he didn't say."

"Interesting."

Potter sent his owl off and gestured that I should follow him outside. Since I wasn't all keen on standing amongst the owl droppings while we talked, I did.

"So, what about you?" I asked as we walked down the narrow stairs to the rest of the castle.

"I was sending a letter to my godson, Teddy," he explained over his shoulder

"You have a godson?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. I know it sounds kind of off, me being only eighteen and all. But Remus asked me, and I couldn't say no. Teddy is Remus Lupin's son," he added as an afterthought.

"Remus Lupin, our old Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" I asked for clarification. Potter nodded. "Didn't he marry my cousin?"

"Nymphadora Tonks, yeah. Teddy's a Metamorphmagus, just like her. He's living with Tonks's mum, and she's been sending me pictures every few weeks. His hair's a different color in each one."

I frowned, trying to remember what I knew about Metamorphmagi. "Wouldn't he be very young, then?"

Potter looked somewhat sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. "Well, yeah, he is. It's more like I send the letters to Andromeda, and she puts them in a box to save for when he learns to read. I just... I want to be involved in his life, you know? I reckon, even if he can't read the letters now, he'll have them when he's older, and hopefully he'll like them. I would, if I were him. I was always pretty alone as a kid."

That struck me as odd. I had always imagined that Harry Potter would be fawned over wherever he went. But then, I supposed I had heard nasty rumors about those Muggles who had taken him in.

"Has he changed any other features yet?" I asked. "I've heard they can change things like nose or eyebrow shape in the first year."

"They can?" Potter eyes widened. I nodded slowly. "So that's why his nose was different in the last set!"

I stared at him incredulously.

"Well, the change was pretty small," he said defensively. "I almost thought I imagined it, but then I asked Ron, and he reckoned he saw it too. Neither of us knows much about Metamorphmagi."

"Obviously not," I teased.

His eyes sparkled with laughter, but he ignored my jest. "Anything else I should know?"

"I'm not sure. I don't actually know much about them, myself. If I think of anything, I'll be sure to let you know."

"Cool."

We were approaching the staircase where we would have to go our separate ways. I saw my chance to ask the question that had been bothering me all morning, and jumped at it.

"So, um, about last night... Finnegan and Thomas didn't bother you, did they?"

"Not really" said Potter. "I did have to tell them at least twelve times that we were friends, but I think they finally got the message."

I stopped in my tracks. "Are we?" I asked, with a bit more intensity than the question probably warranted. "Friends, I mean?"

"Well, I had thought so," Potter replied. He looked confused and slightly alarmed, as if he thought he'd been wrong.

"Okay." I spoke casually, strictly to make him feel better, and not at all because the idea of a friendship between us made me feel strangely giddy.

Potter froze, blinking at me from behind his glasses, as he tried to translate my meaning. And then he smiled at me, the most genuine smile I'd ever seen. "Good."

"Draco? Hey, are you alive in there?"

I spared Blaise a momentary glance. It was lunchtime, but I'd hardly eaten a thing. I was too busy watching Potter on the opposite side of the Great Hall. He hadn't spoken to me all morning. Truthfully, he hadn't had much opportunity; he'd only seen me in passing. Still, it made me inexplicably anxious. Our exchange the previous day felt like a dream, and I couldn't shake the fear that once we returned to the real world, everything would go back to normal.

Although why that bothered me so much, I wasn't quite sure.

"Yes, of course I'm alive," I said snappishly.

Blaise cringed. "Just checking." He looked around the room. "Pansy's still not here. When do you reckon she'll start coming to meals again?"

"No clue."

I was craning my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Potter. He was whispering something to Granger, who frowned and shook her head before turning to whisper something back. As she spoke, though, his eyes wandered. He spotted me almost instantly. A somewhat cheeky grin spread across his face, and he nodded to acknowledge that he'd seen me.

I almost choked. Suddenly I was convinced that he would think I was staring at him. I wasn't, of course, but what if it had looked like I was? I nodded as well, ever so slightly, because to look away immediately (as I desperately wanted to do) seemed a bit incriminating.

We observed each other for a moment more, and then Granger poked Potter almost viciously in the shoulder and he was forced to attend once more. I looked at the empty plate in front of me, feeling ridiculous. Why on earth was I worried that Potter would think I was staring at him?

Blaise interrupted my panicked thoughts again. "Drake?" he said softly. "It's time for class."

I stood up to follow him, and then froze. "Damn it!" I groaned. "I left my potions book in our room!"

"But there's only five minutes till class starts," Blaise pointed out anxiously.

I shook my head. "I'll run. Meet you in class."

True to my word, I sprinted out of the room and down to the Slytherin common room at breakneck speed. My book was lying open on my bed, right where I had left it; I shoved it into my school bag and took off for the Potions classroom.

I was still late. Four minutes after the start of class, I bust into the room, interrupting Professor Slughorn and drawing every pair of eyes to myself.

"Late, Mr. Malfoy?" said Slughorn irritably. He took every tardy as a personal offense.

"Sorry, sir," I said. Trying to explain myself would just take of more of his time, and leave him more annoyed with me.

"Very well. Five points from Slytherin. Take a seat, please."

I slunk to the only open desk, which was at the back of the room. Since Blaise had gotten there early, he was closer to the front, sitting next to Winston Hayes. He shot me an apologetic look; I glared at him insincerely in return.

Once I was in my seat, I glanced around the room. Pansy wasn't there, a fact which caused me some concern. Hopefully she hadn't done anything too stupid.

I had just figured out that Potter wasn't there either when he burst into the room in much the same fashion as I had. Had it been anyone else, Slughorn would be been seriously aggravated. As it was Potter, he kept his manner calm; everyone knew that Slughorn would let The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort get away with almost anything.

"Mr. Potter, now?" he said lightly. "Tell me: you and Mr. Malfoy wouldn't be together in tardiness because you were together physically as well, would you?"

Tittering laughter filled the classroom, but Slughorn was oblivious to its cause. Potter's eyes widened and he flushed slightly. "No, sir," he said firmly. I wanted to sink into the ground and stay there.

Slughorn studied him closely, and then sighed. "Five points from Gryffindor as well, I suppose. And you'd better sit down."

Potter looked around the room for an empty space, but he knew (as well as I and the rest of the class) that the only one was in the back. Next to me. The atmosphere in the room was almost tangible as he walked down the aisle and slid into the chair next to mine. Every head turned to watch him, even though Slughorn had already started talking again.

"Hi," Potter whispered.

"Hi," I whispered back. All of a sudden, I found the situation highly comical. The whole room was expecting us to hex each other into little pieces, and there we were exchanging pleasantries! I bit back laughter just in time.

Slughorn explained the potion we were going to try to make today, a potion to cure insomnia – difficult, he claimed, because one mistake by the potion maker could put the drinker into an eternal sleep, or even kill them. As soon as he finished writing our instructions on the board, Potter went to get our ingredients and I set up the cauldron. I was intrigued by the fact that we didn't have to discuss who anything beforehand. Normally Blaise and I would bicker over who got to do what.

When Potter returned, I threw the appropriate items in the cauldron and ordered him to stir while I cut up the coral root. To my surprise, he complied. We worked in silence for a few minutes, until he broke it.

"I talked to Ron last night," he said quietly.

"Well, good for you," I replied dryly.

"No, I mean–" he sighed. "I told him that you and I were friends."

I dropped the knife that I had been using, and it hit the floor with a clatter.

"Oh," I said, leaning down to retrieve it. I hadn't expected him to say anything like that. "He didn't know?"

"No." Potter shook his head. "I, um... I wasn't sure how well he would react."

"Hmm," was all I could say. I looked up towards where Weasley and Granger were sitting, near the front of the room. Neither of them was looking at us. "And how did he react?"

Potter caught on instantly. "Not that badly. I don't have to avoid him or anything. I just figured it would be best to give him some space."

"He really doesn't like me, does he?" I asked.

"Well, not really," Potter hedged. "But you don't really like him either, do you?"

"I don't," I agreed. "But it is remarkably uncomfortable to realize the extent of someone's dislike for you."

Potter didn't respond. I glanced up to find that he was completely absorbed in staring at me, the potion in the cauldron completely forgotten.

"You might want to stir that," I reminded him cautiously.

He blinked, as if I'd suddenly recalled him back to this world. "Oh, shit! The potion! Sorry!" he cried, and he began to stir with fervor.

The humor of our situation hit me again, full blast. This time I couldn't hold back laughter, and I collapsed onto the desk, my head on my arm.

Potter looked up at me as if he had never seen me before in his life. "What is it?" he asked, sounding frightened. "W-why are you laughing? Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry–"

"No, no," I choked out, trying vainly to fight off hysterics. "No. It's just... we're working together without fighting. And you know the whole class expects us to end up in the hospital wing with critical injuries." I covered my mouth with my hands and took several deep breaths until I could sit up again. Potter watched me with a small smile on his face.

"You're right," he said.

I inhaled deeply once again, and stretched. "I know. Don't forget to stir that."

"I won't."

We finished our potion without any mishaps. Even Slughorn looked surprised when I handed it to him at the end of class, Potter at my shoulder.

"Well done, boys," he said, sounding almost reluctant. When I turned to look at Potter, he was rolling his eyes. We said goodbye, and he went to meet his friends. I left the room feeling inexplicably pleased with myself.

Blaise was waiting for me just outside the door, an amused smirk on his lips.

"You and Potter seem pretty friendly," he commented, falling into step with me.

"Sod off," I replied.

"Pansy never came to class."

"No, she didn't."

"You don't know where she was, do you?"

"Haven't a clue."

"Damn, that's annoying." Blaise peered at me, still grinning impishly. "Do you reckon we could ask Potter if he saw her?"

"I said sod off!"