Author's Note: Thank you for reading/reviewing!

Chapter 3

The food appeared in front of the students after they had all been seated, but suddenly, Harry didn't feel so hungry anymore. Gods, this wasn't going any better than class today. Across from him, Hermione kept giving him nervous looks; her feeble attempts to make friendly conversation with Zabini were quickly failing. Harry poked at his plate with a fork and sighed. There was an awkward, heavy silence hanging over their section of the table. Harry was desperate to break the tension.

"So, uh… Luna, how are you?" he asked.

"Rather well, although I haven't seen any Nargles all day," Luna remarked, a dreamy look in her wide eyes. "I reckon they're following you about, Harry. They sense your nerves."

Harry flushed. "Erm, I haven't noticed anything following me."

Malfoy snickered. "Perhaps you're sitting on them, Potter?" he taunted.

Harry ignored him. Instead, he looked to Hermione for support, but she was still trying to reel Zabini into conversation—Zabini, of course, wasn't having it. Harry turned to get Ron's attention, but the other boy was too busy arguing with Parkinson over silverware. Well, fuck. This was a lost cause. Harry rested his arm against the table and sighed. He might as well just grin and bear it—dinner was only an hour, anyway. If he could just keep his head low and focus his whole attention on the food in front of him for the rest of the meal, he'd be all right...

"Potter, hello, earth to Scarhead!"

Harry glanced up. Malfoy appeared irritated, and he was waving his hand in front of Harry to get his immediate attention. Harry tried not to roll his eyes. Don't get angry, don't get angry... He forced an expression of calm neutrality and looked at Malfoy.

"What?" he asked dully.

"Deaf as well as blind, as if that's a fucking surprise," Malfoy snarled. "I swear, you are absolutely incompetent. I said, pass the potatoes."

Harry pursed his lips. "Calm down, Malfoy. I know that this may come as a shock to you, but I don't happen to fancy listening to you bitch and whinge all of the time."

Malfoy made a fake pouty face, which, of course, looked ridiculous on him. "Well, that explains it," the Slytherin sneered sarcastically. "I clearly hadn't realised that I was so uninteresting that the Great Harry Potter couldn't bear to listen to me for five seconds. I'm heartbroken. I'll go cry in a corner now."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Be my guest," he muttered. "At least I won't have to look at you anymore."

"Where are your manners, Potter?" Malfoy exclaimed. "You are supposed to be the Blessed Saviour of the Wizarding World. I read it in the Prophet!"

"For fuck's sake, shut up." Harry glared at Malfoy, but the other boy's expression of mock concern was infuriatingly unmoved. Gods, it was taking all that Harry had not to get up and slap the smug grin right off Malfoy's face then and there. Harry was trying, he really was. But one more insult from Malfoy's big, fat mouth...

Said big, fat mouth had begun to curl into its familiar smirk, clearly as result from the dangerous look on Harry's face. "I know what I'm going to write in my essay," Malfoy announced all of the sudden, pretending to pull out an invisible parchment and tap an equally invisible quill against his chin as he spoke. "Harry Potter is a whingy and dense bloke who doesn't seem to own a proper hairbrush. He likes stupid redheads and bushy know-it-alls and dislikes passing potatoes to incredibly handsome Slytherins. His hobbies include staring off into space counting all of the daft people who blindly adore him."

Harry could practically feel the heated rage coming off of himself in waves; he clenched his jaw so tightly he could almost taste his own blood. Malfoy only paused for a moment to shoot an evil grin at him. "But despite all of his obvious faults, we'd have a brilliant relationship because..." Malfoy's grin became wider and eviler, "...of all the hot, kinky, hero sex. The end."

Mother of Merlin's bastard child. Harry's face had never burned more in his entire life—he was going to murder Malfoy! The blond Slytherin was still smirking at Harry while Parkinson and Zabini howled with wild laughter at their leader's wit. Then, much to the enjoyment of the Slytherins and the horror of the Gryffindors, Malfoy winked at Harry and blew him an over-the-top saucy kiss.

"This is certainly going to be educational, Potter," he remarked.

Harry growled. "I'm going to fucking tear you apart, Malfoy."

"Whoa." Malfoy grinned lecherously. "Someone's feeling a bit randy, aren't we? Save it for the bedroom, pet."

Oh gods. Harry was going to kill him. No, he really was. His arm even twitched a bit, but before he could actually move, Ron stepped in to save him. "Shut the fuck up, Ferret," Ron said coldly, his blue eyes flashing. Malfoy only laughed.

"Or what?" he taunted. "You'll send your pack of impoverished Weasels after me? I think I'll live."

"Hey!" Ron shouted.

"You're out of line, Malfoy!" Seamus cut in now, leaning across the table. Dean was nodding next to him, a hard expression on his normally cheerful face. "Yeah, don't talk about Ron that way," Neville added scaldingly. "Or Harry."

Malfoy looked bored. "Oh look," he drawled. "It speaks. I see you've got all of your dogs on this one, Potter."

Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville all looked properly ruffled by that, and Harry saw red. "Fuck you, Malfoy!" he snapped.

Malfoy only smirked. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Harry was about to answer with an old-fashioned right hook to the jaw, but Hermione swooped in first, clearly having had enough. "Leave them all alone, Malfoy," she said fiercely, staring at the boy with obvious disgust. "You're absolutely horrible. And to be honest, I'd reckon the scum on the bottom of Harry's trainers is more worthy of him than you'll ever be... stop begging for his attention."

Her comment seemed to bother Malfoy a little, as his face went completely blank for a moment before shifting back into his trademark sneer. "It was a big joke, Granger; I'd never touch the likes of Potty. Good news, he's all yours." He turned and gave Harry an appraising look. "Hey Four Eyes, perhaps you should learn to control your mudblood girlfriend. Fasten a proper leash around those buck teeth of hers."

Ron made a strangled, animalistic sort of noise at that, but Neville held him still—Harry himself had his fists curled up tight in an instant, his blood boiling with hot, livid ferocity, the way it always did whenever he got into heated debates with Malfoy about these things. It was getting bad. "I swear to fucking Merlin, Malfoy," Harry hissed, "if I ever hear you utter another bad word about Hermione or Ron or any of my friends again, I will not hesitate to rip your head off and shove it up your arse."

Malfoy put his hands up in mock defence. "Calm down. I never said anything about violence, all I wanted was a delicious first course side."

"I'm not playing around, Malfoy," Harry warned. "Your head. Your arse."

Malfoy smiled nastily. "Please, Potter. Be a good little wife and pass me the fucking potatoes."

Harry bristled. "Oh, no. I am not the wife, you are!"

"To hell I am!" Malfoy scoffed. "You're so feminine Potter, I have to wonder if you are actually a ponce. I wouldn't be surprised, with the way that you have held your girlfriends over the past few years—or should I say, haven't?"

Harry folded his arms across his chest. "Yeah, you'd be the one to call me feminine," he remarked snidely. "Tell me, Malfoy, are your hands too delicate to eat with?"

Malfoy balked at that. "I am simply not a barbarian like you!"

"Oh really? Are you sure it's not because you don't want to ruin your perfect manicure?"

"Shut up, Potter!"

"You shut up, Malfoy!"

As if on cue, wands were out and they were glaring at each other, the air surrounding them suddenly very heavy and dense. Harry's heartbeat quickened. Finally. He hadn't fought with Malfoy since before the war, but Harry was sure that it would be just as they had never stopped. There was just something about Malfoy that was so constant, no matter if they were arguing or dueling, and that was somewhat of a comfort to Harry. It was so that at least he knew that some things hadn't changed... not that Harry particularly liked fighting with Malfoy. It was just something that was an inevitable part of life.

Malfoy's grey eyes were gleaming now and he lifted his chin in defiance towards Harry. "What are you going to do, hit me with a wittle baby hex? Your famous Expelliarmus spell? Oh, your parents would be so proud!"

"What about your parents, Malfoy?" Harry countered. "Are they proud of the scar on your arm?"

Malfoy bristled. "Certainly not as proud as yours are of the scar on your fucking face," he snarled. "I heard it was to die for."

Harry stood up suddenly, the bench screeching back with a loud, echoing noise. He pointed his wand directly at Malfoy's throat. "I know a lot of curses. Horrible, dark curses. If you think that I'm too good to use them on you, you're wrong."

There was always a certain point in every fight like this... After all had been said and done, when every possible insult and weak spot had been thrown back and forth... And now, nobody was playing anymore. All of the taunting mockery had disappeared from Malfoy's expression as he stood up too, jabbing his wand into Harry's chest with a hardened glare. Harry understood, heart racing even faster now, that they were about to have this fight—not a pathetic, puny fight, but a real one. Like old times. The thought gave him a strange, whirling rush. It was the first time in a long time that he had felt so acutely alive.

"Potter. Malfoy."

However, it was not meant to be. Harry glanced to the side—Snape was already there, halting their duel. His mouth was set in a thin line and his eyes were like pointed lasers as he stared them down. "Dungeons," he spat. "Now."

Harry felt his wand being whisked out of his grasp and saw Malfoy's had gone the same. In one brisk movement, Snape had Harry by the collar and Malfoy by the arm, and soon enough they were both being aggressively dragged out of the Hall and down to Snape's old potions classroom in the dungeons. Once there, Snape threw them inside, the door slamming behind him with a loud crash.

"Sit down," he commanded.

Harry and Malfoy both sat down quickly, avoiding looking at one another. Harry stared at his desk. Fucking Malfoy.

Snape slapped two pieces of parchment and two quills down in front of them. "You are not little boys anymore," he snapped. "You are young men, and you will act as such from now on—that means no more fighting or I swear, I will have you both in here every day for the rest of your pathetic, meaningless lives! Now, you will start by answering these questions and writing down each other's answers, and you will not leave until the entire questionnaire is filled out. If you try and escape, you will be severely punished. Is that clear?"

They nodded sullenly.

"Good." Snape glared at them once more before sweeping out of the classroom, the door slamming ominously behind him.

There were a few moments of silence before Malfoy groaned and rolled his eyes. "This is all your fault," he complained. "You just had to get up and show everybody how tough and brave Harry Potter is." He picked up his quill and scowled at the parchment.

Harry gaped at him. "My fault? You bloody started it by talking to me!"

"I merely asked you to pass the goddamned potatoes, Potter!"

They were glaring at each other again.

Harry sighed and clenched his jaw. He was fucking pissed, of course, but he wasn't going to let Malfoy get them both into more trouble than they already were in. He picked up his quill too. "This is ridiculous," he grumbled. "Let's just do this and get it over with so that we can leave." He turned away to grab his parchment.

Malfoy blinked, clearly surprised that Harry had backed down first. "Fine," he muttered.

They sat in silence again for a couple of minutes.

"Fine, okay, I'll start." Harry cleared his throat, quill poised over his parchment. "What is your favourite colour?" This was so stupid.

Malfoy sniffed. "Green, obviously," he answered, glancing down at his parchment. "And yours?"

"Erm... same."

Malfoy looked back up in disbelief. "No shit? I'd have thought it would be Gryffindor red or something equally garish."

Harry snorted. "Well, surprise to you then," he said dryly.

"Yeah, whatever. What is your favourite subject?"

"Defence against the Dark Arts."

"No fucking surprise there."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm going to guess yours is Potions, then?"

"Actually, it's Arithmancy."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

The questions continued to be quite similar to those, and Harry was surprised to find that in the next hour and a half of survey, he and Malfoy did not directly insult each other once—well, of course, there had been the usual subtle insults and halfhearted glares, but all in all, they had both tread tentatively enough for each question... It was actually a miracle. Harry had to admit, this was quite amazing for them; he hadn't thought they'd get out of this alive...Thankfully, neither of them had let out any sort of parent jab or anything. After they had finally finished the questions, Malfoy stood up and walked briskly to the door.

"This has been interesting Potter, but I do have other things to attend to tonight," he drawled, as if it were completely of his decision to be here. Harry rolled his eyes. Well, at least he was done with the Slytherin prat for tonight. That thought in itself was comforting enough to give him reason not to throw a snappy retort back. Malfoy pulled on the door handle, but it didn't budge. Seeming confused and slightly annoyed, he turned back to Harry. "It won't open."

As if Summoned, Snape came bursting through the door, almost knocking Malfoy over in the process (Harry wished that he had). "Now that you two are finished, you may go. But first—" Snape stopped Malfoy from barreling out the door. "Dumbledore and I have come to an agreement that you will meet here every week for questioning like this. Yes, only you two, don't look so incredulous, Potter. If you boys don't spend extra time on this, it is believed that you will both fail this course. If you fail, you will have to retake it. Yes, that means an extra year here at Hogwarts, don't make that face, Malfoy. I expect there will be no more arguments from now on."

Harry wilted inwardly. He couldn't graduate if they didn't pass the course. He couldn't graduate if he and Malfoy continued to fight. But that's all we ever do, he thought helplessly. He glared at Snape, knowing that it would do no good but couldn't stop himself from doing it anyway. Why did the worst tragedies always happen to him?

Snape lifted his chin. "Now you may go."

Harry and Malfoy bolted from the room simultaneously, both in shock from what they had just heard. Harry rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. "Well, shit," he remarked after a while, looking over at Malfoy as they walked down the corridor. "This is going to be... interesting."

Malfoy nodded numbly. "Yeah," he agreed. "Snape might as well have just said, 'you will learn the joys of marriage together, damn it, and you will fucking like it!'

It was a rather good imitation of Snape, Harry had to admit. Of course, it was no surprise that Malfoy was an expert—Snape was the boy's Head of House. Despite that, Harry couldn't stop himself from snorting a bit, however the cost. It was the first not-horrible remark he'd ever gotten from the Slytherin.

"Well, I reckon that's what we'll have to try to do then," Harry mused.

Malfoy paused, his face twisting a bit at the prospect.

"I reckon so."