A/N: Sorry, guys! My plan was to post this yesterday, but then a minor crisis arose. I'm still trying to deal with it, but somehow I managed to find some time to post today. As such, pretty please review? It would cheer me up considerably, and I could seriously do with some cheering up right now. Also, please let me know if you spot any mistakes! This has been edited by me and my beta, but I usually triple-check for anything we might have missed before I post, and I don't have the energy to do so now. Anyway, errors make me sad, so if you notice any, pleeeease tell me. Thanks!
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
CHAPTER THREE
It hadn't taken long for me to find out why Pansy had skived Potions. In fact, I would have been hard pressed not to find out. I had the tale from Blaise, who had had it from Winston Hayes, who had happened to catch the tail end of it before being bustled off to class – and promptly told it to everyone he met for the rest of the day.
Pansy had had another run in with Nott.
As she told us later, she had been on her way to lunch, having believed him to have already eaten. The problem was he was walking in the same direction as she was, having believed the same thing of her. Sadly, neither of them ever made it to the Great Hall. They walked right into each other just outside the door.
Insults flew. Then hexes. Soon it progressed into a full-fledged brawl, with fists, feet and school books. Unbeknownst to them, however, Professor McGonagall had been standing less then six meters away the entire time.
Naturally, the Professor had flipped. Pansy and Nott had spent all of lunch in her office, and had left with three detentions and a total of fifty house points lost. As such, the two of them had been too afraid to show their faces to other Slytherins to risk coming to class. Slytherins are, as a rule, too clever to get caught doing anything that could lose them house points. Whenever someone does manage to lose them (especially a large number of them), that someone would be best off making themselves scarce.
True to form, the Slytherins were livid. No one would speak to either Pansy or Nott, even several days later. Pansy's roommates kicked her out. She took over a smallish couch in the corner of the common room, sleeping there at night and ignoring the angry stares of her house-mates during the day.
From day one, she proclaimed to anyone who would listen that she had claimed her corner "in the name of fairness." Nott had been allowed to stay in his room. Since Blaise and I were the only other ones who occupied the room, we had made the executive decision. While it was sure to piss Pansy off, we agreed that it wasn't worth the fight that was certain to occur if we booted him.
In order to atone for our sin, but mostly because no one else would keep her company, Blaise and I spent all of our free time in Pansy's corner of fairness. The whole thing had left her alternately hot and cold. Sometimes she would be upset, whining that it was so unfair, and no one cared about her feelings at all. Other times she would be irate, complaining that the Slytherins were all thick for refusing to see that the fight had been entirely Nott's fault and not hers.
"It really is his fault," she muttered vexedly from behind Witch Weekly. She was sitting on one side of the couch, her back against the armrest and her body curved so that her legs dangled off the edge.
"Yes, of course it is, Pansy," Blaise appeased. He sat on the floor in front of her, his back against the front of the couch. Her legs rested on his shoulders so that she was using him almost like a foot stool.
She hit him on the head with her magazine. "So why can't you explain it to them, then?" she asked for the hundredth time that day.
Blaise exhaled heavily. "Look, Pans, somehow I don't think they're going to be willing to listen to me."
"Fine," Pansy said, her voice clipped. She picked up her magazine again and forcefully shoved her nose into it. "Fine. Whatever you say."
"Pansy, I'm not–" he began, but I tapped him with the toe of my foot and shook my head. I was sitting next to Pansy on the couch, trying to get a start on my Charms essay. It was nearly impossible; the two of them were incapable of shutting up for more than a ten second interval.
Muttering incoherently, Blaise turned his eyes back to his own essay.
"Pans, you ought to feel lucky," he said after nine seconds. I counted. "I've been sitting here with you all evening, when I could have been over there talking to Marielle Carter, finding out what kind of music she likes, getting her to agree to go to Hogsmeade with me in October–"
"No, you couldn't," Pansy retorted. "You would have sat with me anyway, because I'm your best friend, and if you didn't, you would find all your hair turned blue tomorrow morning."
"Of course!" Blaise groaned. "The old 'change of hair-color' ploy! Why didn't I remember that?"
Pansy shrugged. "I can't help it if I'm smarter than you."
"You are not!"
"Yes, she is," I cut in. "When you're acting like this, she is."
"Oh, I suppose you're right. As usual." Blaise sighed and glanced in the direction of the window, where Carter and her cronies occupied a small, round table. "I can't help it, though. She's just so..." His eyes glazed over, and I suspected that we wouldn't ever get to hear the rest of that sentence.
Pansy grinned hugely. "Say, Draco," she said. "I wonder if Blaise here would be interested in hearing what Marielle had to say about him last Saturday night. What do you think? Do you reckon he cares?"
Blaise sat up, his eyes wide, and gaped at her.
"He doesn't care in the slightest," I told her firmly. "I wouldn't tell him a thing, if I were you. You'll only bore him."
"Oh good," Pansy cried, clapping her hands together gleefully. "Now that that's all settled–"
"It is not ruddy well settled! Tell me right now or I'll turn your hair blue!"
Winking at me, Pansy settled in to describe the conversation with Marielle in exact detail. I rolled my eyes and put my quill to paper once more.
But I couldn't concentrate. The moment I tried, other images filled my mind unbidden. To my confusion, the most prevalent were of Potter: his smile from the Owlery, or the amused, somewhat proud look on his face at the end of Potions. Suddenly I didn't think I could sit still. But Pansy wouldn't let me leave unless I had a good enough reason...
"Hey, Pans?"
"Hmm?" She looked up. Blaise glared at me for distracting her from her narrative.
"I have to run up to the library. I can't find my copy of that Charms book Flitwick wants us to use. Won't be long."
"Alright, then," she said.
As soon as I was outside of the Slytherin dungeon, I ran for it. Luckily, neither Filch nor Slughorn were around; I made it above ground in record time. Once there, I wasn't sure what to do. I had, of course, lied to Pansy. The book I needed was laying inside my trunk in my dorm. All I had wanted really was an excuse to leave the common room.
And see Potter, a snide voice in the back of my mind added. I ignored it. It was absurd, of course, and completely incorrect. I wandered around the ground floor, and eventually in the direction of the front door. A walk outside to watch the sunset would be nice.
I turned the corner and nearly tripped.
Potter was at the opposite end of the hall.
He must have just come in from Quidditch practice; he still wore the gold and red Gryffindor robes. From the look of him, he'd showered before he'd left the locker room. His hair was damp, and more unruly than usual; his skin was tinged slightly pink.
I suddenly found myself unable to move from where I stood. In fact, I wasn't sure if I could even think. I didn't want to try.
Potter looked up and waved when he saw me. "Malfoy! How are you?"
"Fine," I said automatically. I was still struggling for words. I could feel the blush on my cheeks, for whatever reason, and hoped frantically that he didn't notice it. "A bit late for Quidditch, isn't it?"
"Well, the actual practice ended over half an hour ago," he admitted. "But I hung back to draw out some new plans. It helps me think, being there."
I noted the Captain's badge on his robes, and nodded. We began to walk back into the castle, but I didn't protest. The sunset didn't seem so interesting anymore.
"So what are you doing out?" he asked.
That was something I didn't exactly feel like discussing with him. "Running away," I said instead.
He furrowed his brow quizzically.
"Seriously," I continued. "Right now, if I were in my common room, I'd have the glares of the entire house of Slytherin being sent in my direction. It's exhausting. I'll have you know."
"Why glare at you?"
"Because I'm sitting with Pansy," I informed him.
When he frowned at me, I explained the whole story, from fist fight to fairness couch. He laughed more than I'd ever seen him laugh before.
"I don't blame you for wanting a break," he said. "Reminds me of first year, when you ratted me and Hermione out for helping Hagrid get rid of his dragon."
"How so?"
"Well, the rest the Gryffindors ignored us for weeks. It was miserable."
"They did the same for me," I told him. "The Slytherins. Even Pansy wouldn't speak to me. She said it was my own fault for going out of my way to get you into trouble, and I deserved it. And then she stole all of the chocolate from my stash under the bed."
Potter snorted. "But if you hadn't gone out of your way...?"
"Then Pansy would have supported me entirely."
He shook his head amusedly, splattering a few stray water droplets onto the floor. "Why am I not surprised?"
We stopped talking for a moment as the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, floated past us. He did a fantastic double take, swinging around to get a better look at us and nearly shaking his head off his neck. Potter bit down hard his lower lip; he was holding back laughter.
"Now he'll go repeat what he saw to the rest of the ghosts, and it will somehow find its way back to the professors," he commented as soon as Nick was out of hearing range. "They're talking about us. Had you heard?"
"No." I was startled. "What are they saying?"
"They're making bets," Potter replied with a grin. "Hermione went to Professor Vector for help with Arithmancy, and while she was waiting outside the professors' lounge, she heard them. Professor Flitwick bet two Galleons that I hex you before the end of the week. Professor Slughorn told him that instead of hexing each other, we would be sitting together in every class. He even put five Galleons on it."
I stared at him in amazement. "How would you feel about making sure those professors don't make any money off us?"
"That's exactly what I hoped you'd say," he confessed. "Although that means we can't sit together at meals, of course. Professor Boyens bet seven Sickles that we would."
It took me a moment to realize that he was making a joke. "I would comment on how our professors are way too involved in their students' personal lives, but I don't think I can do it without sounding wrong."
"Then don't even try," Potter said gravely. We both laughed. He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, then made a face and dried it on his robes; he'd forgotten his hair was wet. "I really love this place," he sighed happily. "It feels almost like home."
"Really?" I asked, astonished.
He frowned. "Yeah. Why?"
"Well, it's just that I feel the same way. All summer, coming back here was the only thing I was looking forward too. I mean, once you've had your house occupied by Voldemort and his mindless drones for months on end, it sort of loses that homey feel."
"Oh. Right." He nodded sympathetically, but didn't ask me any more. I appreciated him for it.
"Why is it for you?" I inquired.
He knew what I meant without needing me to clarify. "Well, you probably know that I lived with my aunt and uncle ever since my parents died. They... they weren't exactly the best guardians."
Since he'd brought up the subject, I figured it would be all right for me to ask. "How so?"
Potter looked up at me, and I got the impression that he was gauging me, trying to predict what my reaction to his words would be. Then he said slowly, "Well, for the first ten years of my life, I lived in the cupboard under the stairs."
I choked on thin air. Two years ago, I probably would have laughed at him. Now, I felt like I wanted to hex someone. Preferably with Pansy's purple boils, once I figured out how.
"But luckily I don't ever have to go back," he went on. "I officially left about a year ago, and I've been staying with the Weasleys ever since. The plan is to buy my own place next summer, when school ends."
"Where do you want to live?" I asked, seizing the opportunity for a change of discussion topic. Those Muggles of Potter's were very lucky it was impossible to Apparate within Hogwarts walls.
"In London. Or as close to the wizarding part as I can get, anyway. I lived in Muggle suburbia all my life, so I want to try living like a wizard for a change."
He stopped and took off his glasses wipe them on his robes. Out of curiosity, I leaned forward to watch him. He didn't even seem to notice.
"You really are blind without your glasses, aren't you?"
He flinched at the sound of my voice so close to him. "Yes," he said, replacing them on his bridge of his nose. "Why?"
I ignored him. "So if someone were to take your glasses, you wouldn't be able to see to chase them?"
Potter cocked his head to one side and stared at me in disbelief. I took the chance to snatch his glasses from his face and sprint to the opposite end of the hall.
"Hey! Malfoy? Malfoy, come on, give them back!" he called after me.
"Catch me first! " I shouted back, thoroughly enjoying myself.
Potter fumbled halfway down the corridor, relying only on my voice at the end of it and his hands on the walls, before I finally gave in. I tiptoed so that I was behind him, and reached carefully over his shoulder to hold the glasses directly in front of his chest. He walked right into my hand. Then he grabbed the glasses and jammed them back onto his nose.
"What was that for?" he demanded, whirling around to face me. The hint of a grin on the corners of his lips told me that he wasn't really angry.
"Inner Slytherin," I shrugged. His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair, and he burst into laughter.
We started to talk about Quidditch, and about the plans he was drawing up for the next match (which he only told me because I wasn't playing for Slytherin anymore), and the Charms essay I was supposed to be writing. When we finally stopped, we were standing in front of a portrait of a large woman in a sheer, pink dress.
I had walked him back to the Gryffindor common room without even noticing it.
"Well, I probably ought to get back now," I announced. The woman in the portrait was inching closer and closer to the edge of her frame, her eyes wide as saucers as she looked at us. I imagined her stepping so far forward that she fell out of the picture entirely.
"Probably," Potter agreed.
I stared at the wall. Potter toyed with his Captain's badge. At length he opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.
"Guess I'll see you, then," I said briskly. Before he could reply, I turned on my heel and strode off towards the dungeons. I hadn't a clue what he had been about to say, but I had a feeling I wasn't ready to hear it.
"Draco, it isn't fair!"
Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair in true Potter fashion. Professor Sprout was lecturing us today, about the qualities of plants that bloomed only at night, but that didn't stop Pansy. She ranted at me in a heated whisper, jotting down whatever notes looked important and otherwise acting as if class didn't exist.
Last night, while I'd been away, she had tried to sneak back into her dorm. Delia Withers had met her at the door and refused to admit her. After much argument, they had reached an agreement and she had passed a pile of Pansy's requested magazines through the small opening between the door and the wall. When Pansy asked for her nail polish bag, Delia slammed the door in her face.
Needless to say, Pansy hadn't stopped complaining about it the entire morning. Anyone who would listen was subjected to rants about the tyranny of roommates and the stupidity of dormitories. I, as her best friend, was expected to listen. But I noticed that as long as I nodded and made sympathetic noises at the right moments, she didn't seem to notice if I was paying attention or not. This left me free to take notes whenever I needed, and focus the rest of my efforts on drawing.
After I had returned from Gryffindor tower, inspiration had stuck. I had sketched for two hours straight – by wand light once Blaise and Nott had gone to bed – only to realize once I finished that I had just sketched a smiling Harry Potter. It wasn't even a very good likeness of him, either. Annoyed, I had folded the parchment and shoved it under my mattress for safekeeping. Now Potter was sitting across the room, facing the professor, and my fingers itched for a piece of charcoal.
"Draco, don't you agree?" Pansy whispered in my ear.
"Of course," I said, even though I had no idea what I was agreeing to. Apparently I'd said the right thing. Pansy began to explain exactly why Delia Withers didn't deserve to be a witch, and I began to stare at Potter again.
Finally I gave in. I flipped over one of my sheets of notes, found a pencil in one of the pockets of my school bag, and sketched. My pencil traced the outline of his face, the angle of his jaw, the way the fingers of his free hand tapped lightly on the desktop. I had just finished carefully detailing the way his hair stuck up when I saw him watching me.
Panicking, I held my breath. He was studying the piece of parchment in front of me with a curious expression. Slowly, he pointed at it and then at himself.
Oh drat. He had caught on, after all.
Because I had to do something, I nodded. Then I glared and gestured for him to turn around again so I could continue. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smirk, but he did as I wanted. Pansy was jotting down something that could have been Herbology notes (but I had a funny feeling were actually battle plans), so she missed the whole exchange – something I was very glad about. Blaise and I had expended too much effort keeping Pansy in the dark for her to find out now.
Knowing that Potter knew what I was doing made it impossibly difficult to keep drawing. But since I had forced him to turn around, I had to look like I was doing something. I went over lines I had already drawn until Professor Sprout set us free for lunch.
Of course, Potter was waiting for me outside the classroom. To my relief, he seemed to know that saying anything in front of Pansy was not a wise move. He leaned against the greenhouse wall, gave me a purposeful look, and kept his mouth shut.
I walked a little bit farther with Blaise and Pansy before making my excuse.
"Aww," I moaned, stopping in my tracks. "I left my quill at the greenhouse!"
"Shall we walk back and get it?" Pansy asked.
"No, you go on ahead," I told her. "I'll meet you in the Great Hall."
Blaise – ever astute – took one glance over his shoulder, saw Potter, and grabbed Pansy securely by the arm. "Right. We'll see you there," he said, and with considerable decorum for someone dragging someone else, he dragged Pansy towards the castle.
I turned around and headed back to meet Potter.
"So was that really a drawing of me?" he asked as I approached.
"Yes," I conceded. "Pansy was complaining, and I was trying to distract myself. She can go on for hours if you don't stop her."
He laughed. "Can I see it?" he asked.
"It's not done," I said quickly, even though it really was.
Potter thought about that. "Can I see it when it's done?" he amended.
"Maybe," I said. Thankfully, that was enough for Potter – either that, or he knew he wouldn't get me to agree to anything more.
"What was wrong with Pansy?" he wanted to know.
I explained the story as simply as I could.
"Wow," Potter said, shaking his head. "I had no idea that Slytherins were so dramatic."
With a good deal of self-restraint, I ignored the jibe at my house. "Pansy's always been like that. She just causes trouble by nature. Honestly, I think the rest of the house will be ecstatic to get rid of her."
"Oi, Harry?"
We turned. Weasley and Granger were standing nearby. Granger, for whatever reason, was examining us as she might a test subject. Weasley looked decidedly uncomfortable.
"We're, uh, we're going to lunch now," he said. "Are you coming?"
"Yeah, hold on," Potter replied. He faced me, suddenly looking determined. "See you later, Draco," he said.
I was so completely flabbergasted that I couldn't say a word. Weasley was stunned as well; he gaped like a fish out of water. Potter turned around, without waiting for a reply from me, and walked back towards the castle. Granger followed him, but not before giving Weasley a deft kick in the shin.
As the three of them disappeared around the bend, the redhead shot me an indignant look. He clearly wanted to know what I had done to deserve the first name treatment.
I was just as confused as he was. For nearly a full minute, I was unable to move. The only thing my brain could register was that Potter had just said my first name. I was one hundred percent certain that I had never heard him utter my name in the entire seven years that I'd known him.
Then I remembered that I was supposed to meet Pansy and Blaise, and ran after them.
Since lunch had started almost fifteen minutes ago, the Great Hall was full and noisy when I got there. I immediately scanned the crowd. Potter, Granger, and Weasley were already sitting at the Gryffindor table. I watched as Weasley muttered something to Potter, who frowned and whispered something back. Granger put a hand on Weasley's arm, and gave him what looked like a warning glare. I now felt sure that Potter had said my name only to make a point to Weasley. I also felt sure that Weasley was seriously vexed by it.
Feeling oddly depressed, I went to join my own friends at the Slytherin table. Blaise and Pansy were sitting at the very end of it, at least several meters away from everyone else. Blaise looked disgusted. Pansy looked distressed. Everyone else was glaring daggers at them. Nott was nowhere in sight.
At the sight of me, Pansy jumped up, threw her arms around me, and squealed, "Oh, I'm so glad you're here, Draco! At least you won't act like I don't exist!"
"And what am I?" asked Blaise, affronted. "A spare Bubotuber that just happened to follow you in from Herbology?"
"You know that's not what I meant," Pansy said soothingly. "I'm just glad to have another person here to support me, that's all."
I sat down with some effort, considering that Pansy was still attached to my shoulders. "Pansy, I know you love me and all, but might I be permitted to eat my lunch?"
"Oh, fine," Pansy said huffily.
The next day was Saturday. I couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. On the plus side, I didn't have to go to class. On the other hand, I was being forced against my will to spend all my time on the couch of fairness, and I couldn't seem to stop thinking about Potter.
I spent the day alternately comforting Pansy and making additions to my drawing from Herbology whenever she wasn't looking. My terrible first attempt had been burned the day before, so as to keep it from being used against me by unruly roommates. Unless Pansy was distracted, the new version stayed safely folded inside my pocket at all times.
Since listening to Pansy rarely required paying attention, I had a lot of time to myself to think. In that time, an unpleasant idea lodged itself in my mind. I knew that it was laughable, and I hardly believed it myself, but once the thought was there, it refused to be entirely dismissed. Instead it lingered, making itself known only during lulls in the conversation. Once I lay down to go to sleep for the night, it clambered to be heard.
What if Potter was using me?
After all, wouldn't it be a slap in the face of all the prejudiced wizards in the world for Harry Potter to befriend Draco Malfoy, son of an ex-Death Eater?
I tried to avoid thinking about it – my end-all solution to any problem lately. But really, it was just the sort of thing Potter would be likely to try. Ex-Death Eaters, and their relations, were becoming the dregs of society. It was hard for them to leave the house, let alone get jobs to support themselves. The Prophet reported stories almost daily about some person or other who got spit on in the street because they were related to someone who had been on Voldemort's side during the war.
I hadn't experienced much of the prejudice myself, because I didn't go out in public unless it was absolutely necessary. Inside the Slytherin common room, I was safe; most of them understood what it was like. And Hogwarts itself was relatively neutral about politics this year. But every now and then, someone would glare at me for no reason, or bump into me in the hallway. After it happened a few times, I'd just accepted that it was going to happen and moved on.
But what if Potter, and his noble 'hero-complex,' didn't want that sort of thing to happen at all?
Befriend someone worse off than yourself to make a point to the wizarding world. Trick them into being accepting of others. Help the poor, mistreated ex-Death Eaters. In any other situation, I would have grudgingly appreciated Potter. The problem was that I didn't quite approve of being the one he used for the task.
Unable to stop thinking, I tossed and turned and fretted and hardly slept at all.
"Malfoy?" A hand shook me. "Oi, Malfoy! Wake up already, would you?"
I blinked sleepily and found myself two centimeters from the bright blue eyes of Winston Hayes.
"Holy shit!" I screamed, jumping up and backward. My back of my head collided with the wall, and I rubbed it gingerly. "What's going on?"
"Sorry," Hayes grinned apologetically. "I wouldn't have bothered you, but I didn't exactly have a choice."
"Spit it out, Hayes," I barked. "What is it?"
He took a deep breath. "Parkinson and Nott are having a row in the common room, and um... we can't see them through all the smoke."
In an instant, I was up and half dressed. "Blaise! Wake up now or I'm burning your Quidditch mags!" I shouted. To Hayes, I said, "Start talking. What happened?"
"Well, we aren't really sure." He stepped out of the way so I could grab a clean shirt from the drawer behind him. "It looks like Nott tried to sneak downstairs to get breakfast before she woke up. She was probably already awake, though, 'cause she must have heard him. Maybe he tripped or something. Anyway, all we know is that a fourth year was the first one to find them, and she went directly to the Prefects, who came to me."
"The Prefects?"
He nodded. "They don't know how to deal with this. We figured you or Zabini might."
"Blaise? You hear that?"
"Yeah," Blaise mumbled. I heard him roll out of bed and hit the floor with a thud. "You know we might not be able to do anything, Hayes," he said, standing up and stretching.
"I know."
Outside my door, it was chaos. I wasn't sure how I'd managed to sleep through it.
The whole Slytherin body had converged at the top of their staircases. Most hadn't even bothered to get dressed. I could see Delia Withers and Marielle Carter, both wrapped in dressing gowns, standing at the top of the girls' stairs and looking on in horror. The Prefects stood as close to each other as they could, what with the seven meter gap between the staircases, trying to figure out what to do; they had to shout to be heard over the distance and the din. Over my shoulder, I could hear Winston Hayes yelling something about four Galleons a piece; he had found his earplug box again, and was advertising to whoever could hear him. Groaning, I wove my way through the crowd of boys to the edge of our staircase.
Hayes had been right; there was cloud of smoke so thick it looked as if something had exploded. I couldn't smell anything burning; that was a good sign. Flashing lights from near the center of the room told me that Pansy and Nott were still there and well – for the most part. Near the outside of the smoke cloud, I could just make out a chair with only two legs.
Blaise, who was standing behind me, whistled. "Would you look at them?" he said quietly. "I do believe they plan to do away with each other this time."
"Well?" Hayes asked. He had come up behind us while we surveyed the scene. "Can you do anything?"
"Are you kidding?" Blaise snorted. "There's no stopping them now. If we had gotten here just after they started, we might have been able to drag Pansy out of it. But now... no. The only thing to do now is let them fight it out."
"I would recommend getting out of the dungeons," I said. "This could last a while."
Hayes stared at me in disbelief. "And how are we supposed to do that?"
"Very carefully," Blaise and I said at the same time.
"You want to round up anybody who wants to leave?" I asked him.
"While you clear us a path?" Blaise nodded. "Sounds like a plan."
I waited until he was well into the throng of people to take a deep breath and descend to the battlefield.
"Pansy?" I shouted at the top of my lungs. "Pansy, we're leaving now! You are not to let anything hit us, understood?"
I thought I heard a muffled reply from somewhere inside the smoke, so I assumed I'd been heard. And sure enough, the thick cloud somehow shifted half a meter to the right, leaving a small path to the exit in its wake.
"Blaise?" I called. He had just come downstairs, accompanied by four boys and three girls, the latter of whom he must have shouted across the gap between staircases to get. "Is that all of them?"
"Yup. We're ready."
He led the way, walking briskly and as close to the wall as possible. I took up the rear, my wand out making sure we didn't lose anyone or get hit by anything. Pansy must really have heard me, because nothing did. When we reached the exit, we flung ourselves out of it and onto the cold, dungeon floor two at a time. I went last, and the door shut behind me with a decisive snap.
"We're free!" one of the boys, a small third year, cried victoriously.
"Oh, shut up," an older, redheaded girl retorted.
Because we had nothing else to do, and because traumatic events tend to make one hungry, we made our way up to the Great Hall for breakfast. There was a total of five students there besides us: three Ravenclaws, one Hufflepuff, and one Gryffindor. They all gave us disturbed looks when we entered.
After we ate, we went our separate ways. Blaise said he wanted to go to the library; one of the girls and two of the boys went with him. The rest wandered off in other directions. I decided to take a walk.
The sun was relatively low in the sky, having just risen about an hour or so before. I meandered down the path and in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. It would be fun to fly for a bit in the early morning air, and I had a feeling I could filch a broomstick from the Slytherin shed without anyone being the wiser. It was still early enough that no one else would be around, anyway.
I was wrong. Someone else was already there, and well up into the air. Whoever it was saw me arrive, even from their height. They circled around to meet me, waving, black hair windswept and sticking up at odd angles...
Of course it was Potter. I didn't know why I bothered being surprised anymore.
"Malfoy!" he greeted me happily, landing about two meters away. I resisted scowling. We were back to last names again
"Hello, Potter," I said, somewhat more stiffly than I had intended. He didn't notice; he was in a strangely good mood.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he said, still cheerful. "You always struck me as the sort to sleep in, if you could."
"If I could," I echoed wryly. His good humor was rubbing off.
"What happened?"
"The soldiers have returned to the front," I said tragically. "Translated, that means that Pansy and Nott are at each other's throats again. And not like that; get your mind out of the gutter, Potter. I mean wands drawn, fists raised, ready to kill. You know."
"Again?" Potter asked, shocked. "I thought they just lost a bunch of house points."
"They did. I don't think that's going to stop them."
"Wow. I am really glad I'm not a Slytherin." He ruffled his hair with one hand; the other held the handle of his broom. "Hey, did you ever finish that sketch?"
"Oh. Yeah, I suppose I did."
"Have you decided if I can see it or not?" He tried to sound as if it didn't really matter, and failed terribly. I had a sneaking suspicion that he had done so on purpose – that it was all a part of his clever plan to get me to say yes.
After only a few seconds, I reached into my pocket, certain that I was the biggest pushover in the entire world. "I guess so," I mumbled, unfolding the parchment and holding it out for him.
He took it gingerly, and his eyes widened when he saw it. Immediately he pulled it closer to his face and leaned in, examining the page carefully. I watched him without breathing.
"Wow," he whispered at last. "I mean... wow. You're really good."
"Really?" I asked, disbelieving.
When he looked up at me, his eyes were wide with sincerity. "Really," he repeated. "Thanks. For drawing me, I mean."
"You're welcome," I said softly, hoping that my face wasn't bright red. Potter handed me my sketch back, and I pocketed it quickly. He stared at his feet. I stared anywhere except for at him.
Then I remembered that I suspected him of using me.
"Um, I should probably head back to my common room," I said. "To see if things have calmed down yet. Y'know, damage control."
"Somebody has to do it," Potter agreed, laughing. I had a fleeting realization that I liked his laugh, but I pushed it away before I could think about it.
"Yeah, and it's usually me, so I'd better get back there."
"Alright." I wasn't sure if I really heard reluctance in Potter's voice, or if I was just imagining things. "Well, good luck. See you."
"Bye," I replied. I turned tail and all but ran from the pitch.