Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine. In fact, I think the week the final film came out would be the worst time for Rowling to hand over the reins of her phenomenon. So it won't be mine next week either.

Chapter 4

"Draacoo! Draco, are you even listening to me?"

The blonde in question shuddered to hear that voice, a combination of whiny and simpering. Pansy had been yammering in his ear for the past ten minutes, complaining about his appalling treatment of her or something like that. The truth was, Draco wasn't listening – he was in fact trying very hard not to, though nothing could stop that noise from penetrating his brain.

No, Draco had been much more pleasantly occupied, staring down at his plate and contemplating the afternoon ahead: he would be spending the whole time in Potter's (surprisingly delightful) company, as he had every spare moment for a fortnight. For those ten, loud, minutes he'd been frantically shovelling down food (at least as frantic as his Malfoy composure would allow, while also taking into account that he's a teenage boy), as eager to escape his current irritating company as he was to enter that of his former enemy's.

"Draco Malfoy! If you don't listen to me this instant, I'll… I'll…" Pansy's voice shook with outrage, rising to a shriek. The rest of the students were staring at them now, silently waiting to hear the end of a threat directed at Draco Malfoy, last in a long line of the darkest mages the wizarding world had to offer. Glancing at the high table, he saw that several of the teachers had surreptitiously drawn their wands, ready to defend Pansy from whatever curse the horrid Malfoy boy might send her way (after all, it was their job – even if she was irritating as hell).

Inwardly, Draco scowled; well he couldn't ignore her now. On the outside, however, he remained calm, raised his eyes from his plate, and turned to face the source of his disturbance. Over at the Gryffindor table, he sensed, rather than saw, Potter's anxiety; things had changed since they started spending time together, Draco's goals had changed, and both boys now knew exploding like a box of Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-bangs every time they were frustrated would get them nowhere. The question was: could Draco keep his head when confronted by such an annoying twit? Now, staring into Pansy's pug face as he was, he seriously doubted it; but this was important. He needed to show Potter that things could change. Somewhere, deep inside, there was a need to make them both proud.

"You'll what, Parkinson?" Draco spit her name, the only outward sign of annoyance he allowed himself. Other than that, his voice was actually surprisingly pleasant. "You'll storm off in a huff? Slip a snake in my bed? Tear the last page out of my book? Go ahead; nothing - you can do - will bother me."

Draco kept Pansy's attention on him, her surprise at his lack of reaction preserving her silence for the moment, while around them the Hall slowly began to buzz with conversation once more. He allowed himself a glance at the Gryffindor table: Potter was watching them, relief plain on his face, and for a moment Draco was grateful the Gryffindor's pathetic friends didn't pay him more attention. That look would prompt questions, questions he didn't think either of them was ready to answer. He caught Potter's eye and winked, coaxing out that small smile that lifted the corners of his mouth, and never failed to make Draco's heart beat fast.

But Pansy was fast becoming irate beside him, and he reluctantly pulled his attention back to the moment at hand.

His voice, when he spoke again, was dangerous, "And now you listen to me." Draco stared the girl straight in the eye, his gaze hard and stony as flint; she gulped. "I would like to eat my lunch! So why don't you just ask me your question, then leave me alone, hmm?" His tone had suddenly slipped up to cheery, and she jumped; coming from a Malfoy, this was far more terrifying than any threat, as it left you wondering when he would attack.

Pansy stuttered for a moment, eyes wide, before she called on her (rather pathetic) Slytherin composure. She was resolved to make the most of this rare opportunity to glean knowledge on the Malfoy heir; after all, you never knew what could be used to your advantage in the future. Plus, anything remotely resembling blackmail material on Draco had boundless lascivious potential; she had plans for him. Glancing around at the few eyes still on them, Pansy lowered her voice, sensing that Draco wouldn't be happy if this conversation got out.

"You've missed dinner every night for over a month," she hissed, before she was cut off.

"How very observant of you," Draco drawled. "Your point is?" The message was clear: this topic is off limits.

So she was on thin ice was she? Well that was nothing new to Pansy, and she'd learned long ago how to tread carefully. Along with strict composure, and a certain knack for gathering intelligence, adaptability was another trait of any great Slytherin; it was survival of the fittest, and Pansy intended to make it big. (Interestingly, adaptability is also an important quality for a Gryffindor – perhaps it has something to do with the constant state of danger that students from both houses manage to get themselves into.)

Continuing to delude herself into believing she could win this, Pansy decided Draco merely needed a little persuading… Fishing around for a sufficient threat, she thought of the one thing she'd be afraid of (other than Professor Snape, Voldemort, and a bad hair day with no Sleekeazy's Hair Potion to hand): her parents. While she preferred to think about her father's line of work as little as possible (even less than she thought about everything else), she knew he was in contact with Mr Malfoy, and would be eager for the chance to lord it over him for once if he heard of Draco behaving suspiciously – and not in a Slytherin way.

Pansy's lips twisted in a malicious little grin. "My point is… perhaps your Father could shed some light on this strange development. Shall I have Daddy ask him?"

Draco swallowed his surprise. So Pansy was a real Slytherin after all! He didn't think she had it in her. The girl must have finally realised she'd never get ahead in life by fawning all over him. (He was gay, she was pathetic. End of story.) But all was not lost: though the threat was, unfortunately, an effective one, Draco was well aware that he had more dirt on Pansy than she'd ever even know about. He'd always been the better spy.

So in response to the presumptive argument, he loaded his full intent into his stare, letting her know he was ready and willing to match fire with an inferno. (Impressing Potter was one thing, survival entirely another.) Then Draco dropped his voice, so Parkinson would have to strain to hear him: "You don't want to go down this path with me." He managed to fight the urge to add 'little girl' to the end of his veiled threat; it would do no good to make her angry.

Pansy shivered. Pug-face significantly paler, but still unable to take a hint, she stammered out, "N-no, I… I'm sorry, I… thought you'd been m-meeting someone, I was j-j… I was jea—" It seemed she was unable to force the word out, instead reverting to the usual childish whinging; "I just wanted to know!"

Well shit. If Pansy thought he'd been meeting with someone, who else might think so? Not all Slytherins were stupid enough to show their hand so early in the game, or for such petty reasons. Thankfully, Potter's common attendance at dinner would deflect suspicion away from him (not that there would ever be any), and the Gryffindor's leaving early would still provide no hint, because by now it was the norm. But what if Draco was being followed? He forced himself to calm. Pansy had been unknowingly close to hitting the nail upon the head, but unlike the Parkinson's, Malfoy's were renowned for their formidable icy veneer. So Draco did what he did best, what he'd been doing all his life – he bluffed.

Turning back to his plate, he waved a hand at her dismissively. "Not that it's any of your business, but I've been seeing someone." The key to a good lie was to keep an ounce of truth in it, and in a manner of speaking, Draco was seeing someone – he saw Potter every day

But somehow, as the words slipped over his tongue like oil on water, they didn't leave that familiar, acidic taste in his mouth– the taste of a lie. Resolving to think about this disturbing revelation when he was alone (or maybe never) Draco let his rising sense of panic be distracted by Pansy's reply, rejoicing for once in the penetrating whine of her tone.

"Wha—! Who? Why didn't you tell meee!"

Draco shrugged, the epitome of nonchalance. "It's casual, just one of those 'wait and see' things. Besides, you know what a rumour mill this school can be," 'Heck, you practically run it,' "discretion is always advised."

"Well! Well…" Pansy spluttered, trying to find some fault in his excuse. Momentarily forgetting his earlier unspoken promise, she grasped onto the single hope she felt blackmail afforded her. "Does your father know? I can't imagine he'd be too pleased to hear this from—" She stopped; those steel grey eyes had narrowed dangerously, and she turned a faintly worrying shade of green.

But Draco didn't retaliate, just scoffed, voice dripping with disdain, "Really, Pansy! It's just a teenage fling, hardly anything to write home about." But his eyes told a different story, and she nodded shakily. Message received.

Then Draco's Potter-attuned senses caught movement at the Gryffindor table – he was leaving – and he jumped up, suddenly impatient to get away, to let Harry's lack of reaction calm him. He cut off Pansy's next round of enquiries, "No! No more questions. I need to study." He paused, considered, added, "No, Parkinson. Following me would not be advised." And with that, he rushed out of the Hall.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Harry had indeed left the grating chatter of breakfast behind, and was now walking, unaccompanied, to the library, the place he and the Slytherin spent most of their time.

One afternoon, about a fortnight ago, Malfoy had been escorting him there yet again, having spent the evening stuck in detention– he'd been caught hexing a fellow student, a 'poor, defenseless' second year. (Draco would never admit it, but the kid had been about to prank Potter as he walked past. He'd heard the giggles, saw the wand being raised, and before he knew what was happening, his seeker reflexes had kicked in. It seemed no one would hurt Harry again, so long as he was around.) Anyway, they'd reached the doors, and Harry had paused, waiting for Malfoy's excuse to be somewhere else; ready to pretend, again, that he didn't mind as the small flame of hope was dimmed a little more each day. But Malfoy just walked right past him, pulled open the door, and motion the Gryffindor through ahead of him. Thankfully Pince's back was turned, sorting books, and they slipped through the open area unnoticed, losing themselves in the shelves.

After a few minutes of quiet walking, the two stumbled upon a hidden table near the rear of the library, large enough for them to work comfortably, with a surface unmarred by the marks of bored students. Directly behind it a large arched window caught the sunlight, and revealed an intimidating view of the mountains behind the castle. The air was still, the dust motes undisturbed as they floated through the illuminating light. There was a pregnant feel to the space, like it was full of potential and just waiting for the right occupants to bring it to life. Without so much as a word or a glance passing between them, Harry sat down in this forgotten corner, with Malfoy beside him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And you know it really felt like it was.

So the table was adopted by the two unlikely friends, who pretty soon were spending every evening holed away, forgoing their common rooms altogether in favour of the cosy space. Both boys relished the time away from their respective houses, especially as it was time spent in each other's company. Of course, they couldn't fill all their hours with homework: they talked too, debating any superficial topic. In light of his earlier realisation about Malfoy's experience, Harry did wonder if the blonde avoided the more personal conversations because of a private dislike of them, as much as deference to his comfort.

All this talking still occurred in the library, however, and neither boy suggested they move somewhere more relaxed. After all, what reaction would you expect if the Boy-Who-Lived and the Malfoy heir were seen taking an afternoon stroll by the lake? No, they stayed cloistered in their private world, tucked into the utmost recesses of the shelves where no-one but Miss Pince ventured.

Not even Hermione made her way to their corner – she couldn't. Out of necessity brought about by being a Slytherin – and a damn good one at that – Malfoy knew many charms in aid of privacy. Tethered to the table was Silencio, along with a more complicated charm designed to muddle people's minds and keep them from reaching the alcove. If Hermione's Care of Magical Creatures work suffered because she could never find the books, there was nothing she could do about it but complain to Ron. Of course, Harry could have fetched the books for her, but he was rarely around to hear of her plight; so they stayed on their shelves, and her inability to find them was chalked up to some careless student having lost them. (During this repeated end to her rant, Hermione never once turned an accusing glare on Ron. Yes, he was a 'careless student', but he never would have borrowed them out in the first place. He didn't need them; he had her.)

Harry never questioned their need for the privacy wards, for he knew as well as Malfoy that no one would understand their unique friendship. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin spending time together without either coming to serious harm, even preferring each other's company to that of their own kind – it was simply unheard of. Neither Harry nor Draco was eager to put up with the interference, arguments, warnings and threats that would surely follow a discovery, and so the charms stayed up, and they stayed hidden.

The library became something of a sanctuary for them. In a school filled with enemies, in a world filled with prejudice and expectations, the little corner was the only place Harry, and even Draco, could be themselves, rather than playing the roles written for them. Harry was still plagued by voices, Draco was still shadowed by darkness, but here they had air, accepting company, and a little table reading: 'Malfoy's Corner.' 'What about me?' 'Oh ok, Potter, you can sit here too.' 'Gee thanks…' 'Hush, rapscallion!' 'Rapscallion? Malfoy, did you seriously just—' Well, let's just say the table wasn't unmarred any longer.

With each passing day, each taunt, each smile, the two were drawn inextricably closer. Harry and Draco had, thanks to a chance meeting of eyes in a random corridor, discovered that one rare person in life that you're more comfortable being with than yourself; and for all the trouble that a public friendship would bring, neither could imagine giving the other up.

AN: Well, another update. Some of you have been telling me to keep updating in reviews, and I'm really glad you want this to continue, but I felt I should probably point out that I've almost finished writing (it'll be 8 chapters), and I plan to update every Friday. This fic won't be abandoned, so don't fret.

Also! A lot of people have been asking for more dialogue, or more action. I agree that yes, dialogue, and maybe some action, could do a lot to improve the fic. But I'm primarily writing this to get everything off my chest, not so much to tell a complete story. I'm happy with the general overview I've given, with the little scenes here and there, and that's what I think is important. Maybe one day I'll rewrite it in more detail, or maybe it'll stay as is. The point is, thank you all for the constructive criticism, but in the end I have to write the story how I think is best.

Thank you to those who reviewed :) especially my anonymous reader who likes my Draco! He likes you too. A HUGE thank you to JustR, who is my most enthusiastic reviewer to date. Your comments meant a lot to me, and really kept me going this week. This one's for you.