Disclaimer: Of course I don't own Harry Potter, are you mad?

Chapter 5

Despite having left the Great Hall only moments later, Malfoy didn't catch up with Harry until he was a few staircases away from their final destination; damn that Marauder's map. The blonde had apparently run the whole way, judging by his breathing, and he looked flustered: grey eyes slightly too wide, mussed hair damning evidence of the path his hand had taken – repeatedly, too, by the look of things. The sight was so endearing, and so damn unusual, that Harry couldn't resist having some fun.

"Why Malfoy! So you decided to join me after all. I thought you'd want to spend more time with that lovely housemate of yours."

Rather than the cool response Harry was expecting, Malfoy scowled. "Oh, shut up. She's just so damn annoooying!" Harry blinked, surprised at the whiny tone – but before he could begin to make any comparisons, he got a little distracted…

Slender, elegant fingers had snaked their way into the blonde tresses once more, and Harry felt his own hand twitch in response. Sheer willpower was the only thing keeping it by his side, while his treacherous mind wondered what it would be like to feel the soft strands between his own fingers. He watched as Malfoy heaved a sigh, expelling all inner turmoil, his eyes visibly softening as they stared into Harry's own.

That gaze penetrated the foggy haze that was suddenly enveloping his mind, and Harry sensed something stir deep within him. He felt like his soul was being drawn around Draco like a blanket, calming him, calming them both. Their walking slowed, and stopped; they lingered.

But it was just a moment, nothing more; and like all moments it passed, leaving them with only each other. Oh, and the awkward silence.

Malfoy looked away; Harry cleared his throat. "What did, uh… What did Parkinson want?" he asked, beginning to walk again.

The Slytherin's panic seemed to return, a blush rising to his cheeks, and Harry immediately regretted his words; he didn't know what to do with a blushing Malfoy.

"She wanted to know where I've been disappearing to." A laugh bubbled up out of him, surprising them both. "She thought I'd been hooking up with someone."

Harry laughed this time. Despite the strange little fluttering he'd begun to notice in his chest whenever Malfoy was near, the idea of anything ever happening between them seemed a ridiculous thought.

"What did you tell her?"

Malfoy paused, the wait just long enough to bring them the last few steps. "Ooh look! We've reached the library. Sssh, we'd better not talk in here."

Harry threw a frown at him, suspicious, but did as he was told; he waited quietly til the blonde had disappeared between the shelves before making his own way to their private table. He was just about to step out of the shadows when something in the sight before him caused a tug in his chest, and he was stopped in his tracks.

Because of his head start, Malfoy had already reached the table and was beginning to pull out his books. As he piled them on the polished surface, long elegant fingers subconsciously brushing over the covers, morning light slanted through the window to halo his tall frame. It touched Draco's delicate features, drawing Harry's eye to the sharp angles of his face, and it lit his hair to gold.

Harry was staring, breathless, when Malfoy glanced up. He raised an eyebrow, and when Harry still didn't move, asked, "Are you planning on sitting down sometime today? Come on, the sooner we start the sooner you can teach me Muggle Poker. What did you say the tokens are made out of?"

As he spoke, Malfoy walked towards Harry and grabbed his bag, seeing he wasn't about to move himself. As he stepped out of reach of the sun, the spell was broken; Harry shook the lingering image out of his mind, and let his former enemy carry his stuff to the table. "Uh… The tokens? Some kind of plastic. It's, err… It's not as strong as metal, but it won't degrade like wood."

Malfoy nodded, a frown on his features as he digested this. "Interesting… You'll have to explain more later. Now, I thought we could work on Potions – it's the longest essay, and with your shoddy work you'll need to be fresh. Oh don't look at me like that! Alright, so I think I need more brain power for this one; happy?"

Harry's pout quickly changed to a smirk, and he pulled out his Potions book, finding the assignment easily. Without bothering to discuss who would go where, Harry wandered off to shelves filled with books on healing, while Malfoy disappeared into the poisons section. They each returned with an armful of books, which were quickly spread over the table, and flicked through each other's selections. Some books were frowned at, and put aside, while they exclaimed at others, "I didn't even think of that!" Then Malfoy darted off to the healing books, and Harry grabbed some from the poisons section, and the real work began.

Somehow, Harry mused while taking notes, when he was studying with Malfoy books took up a lot more space than they ever had with Ron and Hermione; which was quite a feat, considering Hermione would usually grab three times as many just by herself. Their table wasn't small exactly, so theoretically there should have been enough room, but the books had a habit of spreading themselves out; each volume took up twice as much space because, once used, it was never closed.

So Draco and Harry were forced to sit close, elbows bumping, books and parchment over-lapping; after a few initial ink spill scares (diverted courtesy of their combined Seeker reflexes), they'd mastered a way of working around each other: Slytherin reaching for the ink just as the Gryffindor was finished dipping his quill; the angle of the parchment just so, to avoid smudges and inked sleeves; taking their time dotting an 'i' to be sure the other wasn't writing when they were nudged to check spelling, or asked for an explanation (eyes lingering on moving lips as they formed each word, brain working frantically to digest those words while so distracted).

Harry shook his head free of those thoughts, and glanced back over his work. What he saw made him freeze. At some point, his messy scrawl of the effects of various potions ingredients had transformed itself into the surprisingly elegant repetition of a single name: Draco Malfoy.

In his shock, a small part of Harry's brain noted that he shouldn't be surprised; surely everything connected with Malfoy would be perfect. Then his mind decided he'd sat still long enough, and it was about time he started to panic. Any second, the blonde may glance at his parchment and see his own name written there. Harry cast about frantically for the best method of concealment, but his thoughts kept slipping back to his own stupid mistake. How could he have gotten so distracted? All he was thinking about was their little pattern with the parchment, and the ink, and—

The ink. As Malfoy reached for the jar in the next second, Harry poked him in the ribs, making him jump. Time seemed to pass very slowly, and Merlin, this had better work, because if it didn't, Malfoy would surely look at Harry's parchment to see why he was needed, and he'd see it, and tense up, and ask Harry why he was writing his name over and over and over and over instead of actually writing notes for his potions essay, and Harry would have to explain that he was a little bit obsessed with the beautiful Slytherin sitting beside him, and then Malfoy would look at him in disgust, the way he'd seen him look at the other Gryffindors, even if he hadn't looked at him like that for months, and things would go back to the way they were, but if they did it would break Harry's heart, and all the progress he'd made would go backwards, and he'd be left with no one, alone in the dark again, and maybe Malfoy would retreat back into his own dark place, and please Merlin, let this work… It did. The bottle tipped, and the ink spilled in one glorious ark of glittering black, falling right onto those damning words.

"Oh Gods, I'm so sorry!" Malfoy's seeker reflexes were not enough to correct his mistake, and he was left with the only consolation available to him: trying to save some portion of the parchment, at the expense of his own immaculately clean fingernails. However, he was so preoccupied trying to amend himself with that lost cause that he forgot about his own parchment, filled with the only notes they now had to work off. Luckily, Harry was much more aware of everything related to Malfoy than he was himself, and he made his own lunge for the other boy's parchment, lifting it out of the path of the fast-advancing river of ink.

However, this left the two in a bit of an awkward situation. Harry's arms, holding high the rescued parchment, were threaded between Malfoy's, whose fingers were rapidly staining. The Slytherin was wary of lifting his hands, in case he dripped on some part of Potter, the table or a book that was yet clean; the Gryffindor had nowhere to drop the parchment except in a puddle of ink, and it was too bulky to bring through any small gap in the tangle of arms. Their eyes met.

Draco's mouth was hanging open in a comical 'O', his eyes wide and unblinking. The expression was so different from that of the usual Malfoy composure that Harry had to swallow a laugh.

"So… what did you need help with?"

At that the laugh escaped, and Harry giggled, partly out of relief, and partly at the events that had just unfolded. "Never mind, I don't think my spelling really matters now."

Malfoy gave a sheepish smile, and attempted once more to remedy himself by forcing a reluctant Harry to crumple his parchment, to be certain it would land away from the mess when thrown. His arms now free, Harry quickly pushed at some of the books in the most immediate danger, which of course pushed more books off the table, crowded as it was. Some landed spread-eagled on the floor, and he winced at the guaranteed lecture Hermione would give him if she ever found out, but it couldn't be helped right now. He quickly pulled his wand, muttering a rough Scourgio to clear the table (and Malfoy's hands) of the worst of the ink stains, and Vanishing his own blessedly ruined parchment.

Now that the worst of the danger was gone, Malfoy was free to brandish his own wand, chanting some infinitely more complicated spells, with wandwork quite superior to the careless approach Harry was used to seeing in Hogwarts' students – excepting Hermione of course. Instantly, his hands were clean once more, and the table-top spotless. Harry, who had often wondered at the blonde's constant state of tidiness, spared a moment's thought, 'So that's where the real magic lies,' before he felt a more audible response was necessary to the situation at hand.

"Where did you learn that?" Though perhaps when was a more appropriate question...? He'd never even seen Hermione perform something that complicated.

Draco's mouth opened immediately to reply, yet he paused, and frowned. Then his lips were clamped down, and he avoided Harry's eye and turned away, kneeling to collect the fallen books. He glanced up as Harry joined him, but the silence held for a few moments. It was an odd experience; uncomfortable silence wasn't something Harry was used to in this relationship. Malfoy usually hurried to fill each pause with a torrent of words, and if a topic ever drew near exhaustion, his refined manners allowed him to seamlessly steer the conversation onto another. It was one of the things Harry liked most about Draco, his ability to drown out the voice that tried to cripple him with its whispers.

But now Malfoy was silent, and Harry was left to fight the voice himself.

'Damn it Draco, why won't you talk to me?'

'He's finally come to his senses… You pushed him too far Potter, he's sick of you. Any second now, he'll get up and walk out of your life, and you'll be back to shuffling in the corridors.'

Thankfully, Harry had been prepared well. 'Don't be ridiculous, I haven't even done anything! He's upset or something, I need to talk to him, and you're not helping. So go on and crawl back into your little pit of despair, and leave me to sort things out.'

He knew he only had a few moments before the whispering reared its ugly head again, and Harry was determined to fix this. So as Malfoy stretched for a book out of his reach, Harry picked it up and held it out. But when long fingers grasped the other end, he didn't let go; Draco looked up, and finally met his eye. Harry tried to communicate understanding, and trust; tried to remind him that he'd seen the Gryffindor at his worst, and helped him. 'Let me help you too.'

But the Slytherin let go and turned away, reaching for another book, and Harry was pushed firmly outside, feeling more helpless than ever before.

AN: A short chapter tonight, but I have to say, it's my favourite so far. In fact, I personally think it just gets better from here. (I had SO MUCH FUN writing this one. The look in the hallway, Draco in the sunlight…)

Just so you guys know, I'm thinking of rewriting the entire fic – filling out the early chapters with more dialogue and interaction and everything; it's not a great read right now, even if I am really proud of it. Though goodness knows when that will ever happen… I probably won't start re-uploading until I have most of it rewritten. But yeah, I don't know when that will happen. I have school, which takes up about 90% of my attention, and other fics that I'm working on.
I will finish uploading first! I'll rewrite it after it's all up.

Thanks again to JustR :) you're made of awesome. (In fact, you've inspired some scenes for the beginning of my rewrite, so thank you!)