Hello. Question: should I reply to anonymous reviewers at the end of each chapter? Let me know. And thank you all to those who have reviewed thus far. Hope I can keep bringing good stuff; though, I must warn you, this is an informative filler chapter. But it has some er, little highlights.

Don't own, but would love to. Draco Malfoy in particular.

Harry didn't need to be told twice. 'Get the fuck off him' was among a list of things he'd like to do to Draco Malfoy in this moment. An emotion in lieu of the other's rage lingered in the back of his mind, but there would be time to dwell on that fact later. Unfortunately his wand was on his dresser. He quickly got to his feet, reaching immediately to his right—

"Accio wand!"

—and whirled around to face the white-blond haired Slytherin that stood in front of him.

Draco Malfoy. Harry noted immediately how much the other's appearance had changed since their last encounter. His hair was longer, physique taller and leaner, harder somehow, and his stance completely defensive, albeit the absence of snarky remarks. But these were the least of alterations; for a single moment, something glinted in his eyes. And it was this that seemed to hold the most significance.

Silver-blue orbs that watched him unblinkingly. Eyes full of knowledge and anger and pain, that had witnessed tragedy, met his searchingly, angrily, worn heavy for the epidemic of Lord Voldemort.

Eyes so like his own.

A series of expressions seemed to flicker across Draco's expression, Harry's wand held firmly in his other hand. And though those silvery eyes still held the frigidness and loathing Harry had grown up with, there was also an odd sense of ... vulnerability? Harry couldn't quite place it, but it was very disconcerting.

They stared at each other for a few seconds more, their awkward situation extending before the silence like a barren wasteland. Finally, Harry spoke.

"Give me my wand, Malfoy."

"What are you doing here?"

Despite the other's slightly subdued nature, irritation swelled like a fungus inside his head, and Harry immediately snapped: "I would think that was obvious."

The heated response seemed to trigger something and Draco's eyebrows furrowed. When he spoke, however, his tone was much quieter than before and he purposefully looked away. "Look, Potter, I didn't mean—I wasn't expecting—"

"Weren't expecting me. Yeah, I gathered as much."

Draco shook his head, though he held tight to the other's wand. "You don't get it. This was supposed to be a ge—I was supposed to be alon—weren't you going to Auror training?"

Of course he would think that. It's what everyone had expected of him. Harry glared. "Change of plans. So sorry to upset you but I'm not going anywhere."

Draco lowered his wand and raked a hand through his hair. "Come on, Potter, it's just—It would never work. You and I. And you know it, so—"

"So get out. I was here first."

Somewhere in his head, he could hear Hermione's voice: Harry, what are you doing? Stop acting this way. Where this childish behavior stemmed from, he had no idea, but the urge to ruse up the blond was inescapable. Perhaps it was the fact that Draco was so unfamiliar in his own civility, so like the cowed young man he'd seen tried but a few weeks ago, voice-less and blank. Not the smug, hateful Draco Malfoy he'd grown up with. And perhaps it was this reality, this passive Draco, that Harry, for some inexplicable reason, just could not stand. Perhaps this single abnormality, amidst a plethora of generalizations expected of him, was just too much to bear, or perhaps it was a perfectly normal response from a former nemesis. Either way, one thing was for sure: Harry was thinking too much, and this alone served as a perfectly good reason to provoke the Malfoy in front of him.

Why? What has he done that requires provoking?

Hermione, get out of my head.

A pause ensued, and Draco looked at him through indecipherable eyes, studying Harry behind a curtain of silver.

Harry balled his fists. Right—Ron?—He's a Malfoy, no reason needed. So maybe you should just smack him up his ferretty as—

"Not likely."

Harry started, his friends' imaginary voices wiped out with the stabbing coolness of Draco's now suddenly hardened tone.

Draco's eyes narrowed and he grasped both wands tighter, raising his in the air once more. "This cabin is mine, and it was intended to be solely mine."

Memories of Hogwarts flooded his mind, their countless encounters flashing through his head. It was familiar, and Harry caught himself grinning whilst answering a bit smugly. "Clearly not since I'm here."

Draco returned in a contemptible drawl. "Your perception astounds me, Potter, but contrary to what you might believe, your name sake holds no weight here."

"Neither does your money."

"Actually—"

"And if it weren't for me your name sake would definitely hold some weight. And not in a good way."

Draco's gaze darkened substantially, and for a moment Harry witnessed an emotion far more ingrained than any other in the former Death Eater.

"Bringing that up, are you? My family and I have already thanked you, or is it not enough? Bloody saint Potter, indeed." He spat. "And yet, might I remind you that if it weren't for my mother, you wouldn't be here at all."

Resentment … Harry felt a pang of guilt course through his body, but in light of staying in control, he folded his arms and glared at the other. "I'm not leaving."

Draco fixed an even gaze on the other and replied smoothly. "Neither am I. And I have your wand. So."

A bitter laugh escaped the black-haired teen. "So what? You're going to hex me? Unarmed? Just like your spineless fath—"

"Shut up! How dare you even—"

"How dare I? Unbelievable! Even after I saved your sorry arse you still act like a—"

"Sorpens—"

"Expelliarmus!"

Both Harry and Draco's wands flew out of the blond's hand and across the room into the cabin's new occupant. Both teens veered towards the intruder simultaneously opening their mouths to speak only—

"Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy. I think that's quite enough."

Viktor Krum stood with his arms folded over his chest, nose turned somewhat down, and a line stretched thinly across the bottom half of his face. When he spoke, it was slow and careful, as if his counterpart might make haste to explode any second.

"I am not sure, if you want my honest opinion. I think, given enough time—"

"Will you shut up with your stupid theories and assumptions already?" Blasted Oliver Wood. "I'm telling you, Harry has enough on his plate as it is. Why, can you imagine the extra pressure he's going to be getting just by being who he is?"

"Well, what else would he expect? He did defeat You-Know—"

Oliver threw his hands up in the air and dropped into the couch, an immediate indication for his roommate to stop talking. "Not the point, Krum. I mean—"

"I thought we were past calling each other by our last nam—"

"Fine, fine! Viktor. Whatever." Oliver sighed. "But anyway, my point is, assigning them that poncy-looking fruit is only going to make matters worse."

"How so?"

"Don't be daft. It's obvious he has a sort of … influence. And Harry doesn't need that kind of confusion on top of everything else."

"And why is it of such importance to you anyway?"

Oliver scowled, throwing the other a disgusted glare with the implication. "You're sick, you know that? Isn't it obvious? Harry has the potential to be the best Seeker of all time. And Puddlemere could use a man like that. But it'll never happen if he gets scared off by this bloody camp."

The Bulgarian gave a small laugh and nodded in understanding. "It is always about the sport with you, isn't it? Scheming and planning from the very beginning."

"As it should be. If you took a leaf out of my book, maybe even your team might—"

"I don't really care whether we win or lose. They pay me either way."

Oliver snorted in derision, mumbling a stream of nonsensical profanities.

Viktor gave a small gruff of amusement, catching wind of a few choice adjectives Oliver was currently using to describe him. "So," he said, getting back to their original conversation, "you would prefer you be assigned to them then?"

"Of course. That way I can keep Harry focused."

"Perhaps he would not want—"

"You know what? Just stop talking already. Really, with an attitude like yours I don't know why they let you play."

"Because up to the present, I am the best Seeker of—"

"Yeah, yeah. Yadda yadda yadda."

Viktor shook his head. "Well anyway, the Director would never allow it. You have a favorite, after all—"

"So does the Director!"

Viktor paused. "Well," he seemed to consider it, "yes, but it's not the same. And anyway, camp senior counselor Shaun—"

"Oh just shut up already. I'm tired of hearing of that prat. The way you talk about him makes me think even you fancy him."

Viktor said nothing, simply strode over and sat across the other, crossing an ankle over his knee. He watched the other with a serious expression.

"You know that is impossible, Oliver."

"Hey, you're the one that talks about him like he's a bloody sex god. And anyway—"

"No. I mean it is impossible because you are the only one man I could ever see that way."

"—nearly the entire female population—what?"

Viktor leaned forward, his eyes staring intensely at the other.

Oliver's jaw was dropped, eyes bulged, and his face visibly paled.

And it was then that Viktor burst out laughing.

Grabbing the nearest pillow, Oliver threw it roughly at the other's head. "There is something very wrong with, you sick bastard, you know that?"

Viktor could barely breathe.

"My apologies for interrupting, gentlemen," the trespasser spoke, "but aggressive behavior towards fellow campers is best utilized on the Quidditch field, and then so only under supervision."

Prompted to do something besides stare stupidly, Draco quickly regained composure and retorted. "Who the f—"

"I am your senior camp counselor, Lance Shaunessy. I was hoping to introduce myself under a more positive atmosphere, but at least I arrived just in time. See, there is no brawling, and or bullying tolerated here at Camp Q—"

"You don't understand, we—"

"I am well aware of who you both are and your history together. However, I must regretfully inform you that this cabin is where your special treatment ends. Here at Camp Q we like to encourage teamwork, amongst all other aspects. And believe me when I say that hatred can be overcome."

With a slight pink hue on his cheeks, and embarrassed for having not said a word as of yet, Harry pointedly looked away from the assistant director and murmured. "I doubt, even with—"

"I don't hate—"

Both boys paused and looked at each other, an inexpressible gaze. "What's that suppose—"

"Stop blushing like a damn girl and shut it, Potter. The grown ups are trying to cooperate."

"Hey, I saw you too, so don't even—"

A soft chuckle followed, and Lance cleared his throat, successfully halting their banter and gaining their attention once more. "See? You sound like a married couple already, and anyway," he continued, ignoring the horrified expressions that surfaced on their faces, "all cabins are full and the camp portal is closed. So whether you like it or not, you will be staying here in cabin eleven for at least another six months."

Harry looked at him incredulously. "Are you joking? We're going to kill each other."

"And what do you mean by the portal is closed? My mother specified that—"

"That you be Floo equipped. And you are, though unlike other Floo's you will only be able to fire- call through here. We are Unplottable for a reason, Mr. Malfoy, and we would like to stay that way. It's all part of our discipline program, you understand. And Mr. Potter, I am in no way trying to be funny."

There was a stagnant pause in which each teen stole a glance at each other and then back at the smiling man in front of them. Draco crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "So I'm basically stuck with the Boy Wonder then."

Harry rolled his eyes and sat down on his bed heavily. "Well this is just … freaking fantastic ..."

"Brilliant then!" The sudden clap caused them to stop glaring at each other and eye the young man warily. "Again, good to have you on board. See you at the pitch in a bit. You'll find extra gear in the closet if you need it. I trust I can return to you your wands?"

Both boys nodded grudgingly, each receiving their wand in return.

As soon as he left, Draco turned back to Harry with a hard look. "Alright. So let's get some things straight, Potter. Don't think, for one second, that just because you pulled me out of that fire that I'm going to kiss your ass like everyone else in the wonderful wizarding world of Harry Potter. I'm not, so might as well get that through your thick head right now—"

"Malfoy?"

Draco stopped, annoyed with the interruption. "What!"

Harry looked uncomfortable as he spoke. "Did you notice anything, well, strange about that Lance bloke?"

Draco seemed to mull it over for a moment, his bottom lip dropping as if he might actually give an answer. And then: "Just stay on your side of the room, don't touch my stuff, and leave me alone."

Harry glanced up in mild surprise and then frowned. "Fine." He snapped, and then added as an afterthought: "Just don't leave your hair and nail products all over the bathroom either."

Draco's eyes narrowed into slits and he strode away, kicking a piece of Harry's luggage along the way. It opened, and half of Harry's wardrobe spilled out onto the floor.

Harry muttered under his breath as he reached for his clothes. "You and I indeed."

The evening air was brisk, lightly cool against the flesh and whistling with anticipation. Dusk was settling into darkness quickly, a canvas of melding colours, orange into purple into a deep clear blue, and the camp quidditch pitch stood like an ancient arena below the vast expanse, proud and sturdy. Large pillars surrounded the sports ground, faded bands of gold and silver entwined around each structure, and three hoops, one set on each side, levitated on either end. And wrapping around the entire place, a cacophony of green and brown, trees and woodland alike. A single path could be made out, and it was through here that the campers filed through and onto the field, curious gazes taking in every detail.

Draco strode in, purposefully avoiding any form of eye contact with any of the other campers and staff. It wasn't difficult, as most of the campers seemed to give him a wide berth upon recognizing his face, hushed whispers and sneers directed his way. But of course none of that bothered him in the least. He was used to being alone, and anyone who dare mock him could just go fuck themselves.

Harry, he noticed, was already a good ways ahead of him and talking to another camper as they took their seats at the far right of the small podium. Draco sat on the far left.

"Greetings! And welcome to Camp Q, youngsters!"

He turned his attention to the front where a stout man was beaming stupidly and clasping pudgy hands atop what must have been the largest belly in all of Europe. "I expect you all have settled in, hmmm?"

A chorus of grunts and whistles echoed in response, which seemed to broaden the director's grin. Draco resisted pinching the bridge of his nose and rolling his eyes. It seemed he was destined to be surrounded by people he knew he wouldn't like. He may as well be in a crowd of Hufflepuffs.

"Is that Harry Potter over there?" someone whispered behind him.

Oh. Right. Mustn't forget the stupid Gryffindors in attendance as well.

"It is my great privilege to be here this fine evening, hmmm?" The man continued in a cheery voice. "Thirty second year running, and troubled times withstanding, we are proud to still be here today!"

Another applause followed his exclamation. Fortunately it was cut short when the man motioned for silence as he progressed with the welcome speech.

"Decades of healthy competition and discipline, tradition and camaraderie, building upon character and new friendships. Are you getting my drift, hmmm? We don't just play Quidditch here at Camp Q, we strive for excellence in all these skills, hmmm? Ninety percent of Quidditch International's players began here, and you can bet your Nimbus Infinity's that should you get through this camp, you'll be signed up in no time, hmmm? Isn't that right Mr. Krum?"

"Well actua—"

"Very good! Very good. Well, enough of me, hmmm? I'll hand you over to one of our camp senior counselors, Lance Shaunessy. And by the way, I'm Velifer Slughorn, Camp Q director. But you can call me Director V. Have a great evening everyone! And beware the flying fish!"

A murmur rippled through the campers as the tubby man made his way off the podium and to his seat. Draco followed their interested gazes and frowned. It was him again.

"Good evening," said the soft, rich voice, "and thank you Director V, for that enlightening introduction. My deepest apologies, but mine won't be nearly as thrilling, I'm afraid. We're just going to go over some of the rules and procedures."

The majority of the female population—as well as some of the male—seemed to suddenly sit straighter, if not leaning forward to gape in awe at the man that now stood before them. Draco highly suspected the man could rant about the history behind Professor Binn's childhood and still be considered anything but boring.

"—and while we're at it," he continued, "here are the rest of your junior and senior counselors: Marcus Flint, Pamela Parkinson, Terry Robbins, Viktor Krum, Gretchen Bigby, and Oliver Wood. They'll be coming around your cabins later tonight to introduce themselves, your delegated counselors that is. There are two for each cabin, a senior and a junior, and I advise you to be friendly to them, because he or she is your link to pretty much everything on these grounds. In addition, if you have any issues concerning anything at all, you will address them to your cabin counselor. Director V is another alternative but for the sake of order, we do request you at least try your counselor first. Any questions so far?"

A high-pitched squeal came out from somewhere. "Are you single?"

An encore of giggles and laughter immediately followed, and even Lance Shaunessy, somewhat red in the face, couldn't hold back a small laugh. The sound, if even possible, only seemed to enlighten his already seamless features. "Alrighty. Um, well moving on, we do have a couple of rules that I highly esteem you all to follow for the sake of your own safety. First and foremost, no bullying of any sort and/or brawling will be tolerated. Period."

Draco swore he stared right at him as he spoke, and he felt an irritating flush creep up his neck. He cast a quick glance towards his roommate and was pleased to see the bright red face that sat beneath that mop of black hair.

"Out on the quidditch field accidents are bound to happen. And so, to minimize any serious injuries, this will be a constant mantra you all will follow. Rule number two," he continued, "stay within the camp grounds. We are UnPlottable and so constantly changing location. If you were to find yourself out of bounds, you might very well find yourself lost in UnPlottable territory and it would be very, very difficult to locate you."

There were a few anxious faces with the last bit of information, though most of the campers seemed to take it in stride. Harry, Draco noticed, had his brow furrowed as if in deep thought.

Probably can't get his microscopic brain around the concept …

"Right, so just one more piece of advice from me. You've already been situated in your designated cabin, and so I also suggest you get to know your roommates. You'll be living with them for at least six months from here on out. Some of you are wondering why I'm saying six months and not the year. Here's the thing: at the six month mark, the camp portal opens for exactly twenty-four hours. During this time, you are all given the option of returning home or staying on. If you do choose to leave, please note that you may not sign-up for Camp Q for at least another two years. More details on that when the time comes. Any other relevant questions?"

A few scattered giggles went through the crowd, and then: "Yeah, can we fly already?"

An imperceptible grin spread across Lance's face, an almost secretive gesture, and he laughed quietly. "Not quite yet. We have one more speak—"

Suddenly a loud thunder-like clap sounded, startling the campers. They swerved towards a red-faced Oliver Wood. "Well don't just sit there!" He yelled. "What are you all still staring for? Grab your broomsticks and get a move on! Anyone who can't keep up will be stuck on mess duty!"

Confused faces stared as the senior counselor disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Lance Shaunessy stood open-mouthed. He quickly regained poise and turned another broad smile towards the campers. "And that would be Oliver Wood." Much to everyone's surprise—and confusion—the handsome counselor slid a leg over his broomstick and rose up into the air.

"Do we follow?"

"He isn't serious. He can't be. That's a Nimbus Infinity. There's no way—"

But Draco wasn't listening. Harry Potter was already in the air, dashing after his previous captain and he'd be damned if that prick was going to beat him on his first day. He took off at breakneck speed.

"Hey, who are those two?"

"I think that was Draco Malfoy."

"Oy! And Harry Potter! I'm sure of it!"

And just like that, the entirety of Camp Q mounted their brooms, kicked off the ground, and raced after the pin prick of a broom tail that was Oliver Wood.

Harry dragged his feet into cabin eleven, his Firebolt held loosely in his left hand and most of his quidditch gear in his other. Oliver had flown them across what had to have been the entire continent, and at breakneck speed. In the end, only a few campers had managed to keep up—the rest had doubled back with Lance, though there were an awful lot of girls. Unfortunately for Harry, that meant he was only barely arriving, wearing nothing but his training trousers and boots for all the sweat he'd accumulated.

"It's bloody fantastic."

Harry frowned. He couldn't see the blond prat but that was obviously him, muttering to himself. Draco had been among those who'd kept up. How had he gotten here so quickly?

The torch in the restroom was on, and Harry shrugged. It didn't matter. Perhaps the git just wanted to beat Harry to the cabin to assuage his own ego. Harry didn't care, right now all he wanted was a nice, hot shower and to go to bed. Hopefully the Malfoy nuisance wasn't still in there.

Sitting down slowly, he took off his boots and trousers, letting the air stream into his boxers with a euphoric sense of relief.

"No, I told you I'm fine. The room's big enough for us to share anyway so it's not a big deal."

Harry stopped suddenly, the sharp tone of another voice—a female voice—coming into focus.

"Well in light of our change of pace I suppose there isn't much we can do. But enough of that. How is everyone else treating you? And goodness Draco you're looking paler already, darling, have you eaten?"

Harry peered cautiously around his four-poster, making sure to stay out of view.

Draco was standing in front of the fire-place with his hand across his eyes. He sighed. "Yes, mother, I told you, we just finished training a while ago. And everyone is fine and keeping their distance, as expected."

Harry knew he shouldn't be eavesdropping. Draco would have a fit, no doubt. But what else did he expect? They shared a room together and the idiot hadn't even bothered with any kind of privacy spell.

Narcissa pursed her lips. "Draco, we talked about this."

Draco threw his arms up exasperatedly. "Don't start, mother. Not again. I've already told you—"

"Fine. Fine. I know. 'No one wants to befriend a Malfoy'. But dear, if you would only just—"

"Drop it."

Harry was shocked. For all the times that he'd seen Draco interact with his parents, he was obedient and completely loyal, like a well-trained poodle, who barked and ran circles around anyone else that weren't his parents or his parent's friends. Only now it seemed he was actually telling his mother to shut up. And even more bizarre, his mother was shutting up. Was this another result of the war?

"Although," Draco was saying, his face contorted thoughtfully, "I suppose there is one newsworthy person. Mother, have you ever heard of the name Shaunessy?"

A perfectly shaped brow rose and Narcissa gave her son a quizzical look. "Why yes, don't you remember? They are members of the Belgium royal Veela fam—"

"I knew it!" He exclaimed, causing Narcisssa to stop midsentence.

She frowned. "What do you mean? And why do you ask—" She gasped. "No! They couldn't possibly—"

Draco gave her an amused look. "Yes, actually. Our senior counselor. But mother, why do you look so shocked? Surely, given our 'new change of pace', this is a remarkable thing."

Not one to be easily flustered, Narcissa flushed. "Of course, you're right. My apologies, I shouldn't have—"

"He's part Veela?"

Draco froze. Narcissa's eyes widened.

Harry cringed. He'd said that out loud, hadn't he? He immediately tried to compose his surprise, inwardly cursing himself for having said anything at all. And then—

"Mr. Potter. So good to see you again."

Harry gave a small nod and what he hoped to be a polite smile. "Mrs. Malfoy." He immediately turned away in embarrassment, though it wasn't quick enough for him not to hear Narcissa's next quiet words.

"Draco, what is he doing in your cabin?"

"Alright mother, I think that's enough for tonight."

"Don't be rude, Draco. Harry Potter is in your room. In his underwear I might add. Now answer my question."

"Mother he's … he's …"

Harry heard the exchange with slowly widening eyes and despite being mortified for being caught by none other than Narcissa Malfoy in nothing but his boxers, he suddenly realized something. He hasn't told her yet … He stole a glance at the other.

Draco, for all his composure and indifference, looked very uncomfortable.

But why doesn't he want to tell her? Surely they don't hate me that much? After everything that happened?

"Is there something going on that we should know about, Draco?"

"What are you—gods, no! What is wrong with you, woman!"

Harry settled into his four-poster once more. He couldn't think of many reasons as to why Draco didn't want his parents knowing who his roommate was; namely, himself. But right now he just wished the blond idiot would just tell her already and end the conversation. He really wanted to take that shower and preferably without having to flash Narcissa Malfoy once more.

"Because if there's anything you need to tell me, Draco, you can tell me. I remember perfectly well your little obsession with those dolls back in—"

"Those weren't dolls, they were action figures. And mother, for fucks sake, I'd appreciate if you stopped bringing that up."

What are they talking about now? Dolls?

"Draco, you know I would support you in anything you do. And that includes who you do as—"

"Mother!"

Harry nearly toppled off the bed. Did she really think that he and Draco were—and that they were—Disgust assaulted his stomach, and in one second he was off the bed and racing towards the restroom.

"I'm just his roommate!" He yelled, slamming the door for effect. He barely made it to the toilet in time.

Inside the cabin Narcissa frowned. "So he's your roommate. I'm going to have to speak with your father about this, Draco. I don't think—"

"Good night, mother." And Draco doused the flames with his wand.

Harry Potter stepped out of the restroom looking completely relaxed, a stupid thoughtful expression on his stupid face. He made no move to even look at the other, and if observed closely, seemed to be avidly avoiding eye contact.

But Draco was having none of that. Not after what that Gryffindor moron had told his mother. "So," he retorted loudly, "how was your shower, Potter?"

Harry gave him a fleeting glance but said nothing.

"I hope you're happy with your big mouth." Draco continued, unperturbed.

Harry was already getting ready for bed, ignoring the Slytherin whilst he placed his glasses alongside his bed.

Draco strode over and angrily threw said glasses onto the floor.

"Hey, what's your problem?" Harry snapped, reaching down to grab them, but Draco blocked him.

"My problem," Draco spit out, "is that you don't know when to mind your own business."

Harry scowled. "I don't see what the big deal is. So I'm your roommate. Big whoop."

"Big whoop? Not a big deal?" Draco folded his arms and laughed bitterly. "Right. I forget how stupid you can be."

"There's nothing stupid about it, Malfoy. And besides, your mother was already assuming that we were—that you and I were—well, you know."

Draco gave a nasty sneer. "What? You can't even say it? It's called sex, Potter. I'm sure even the Weaslette would give it to you if you didn't have such a small—"

"Don't you dare talk about Ginny."

Harry was standing now, his face level with the smirking Slytherin.

"Hit a soft spot, have I?" Draco returned tauntingly. "Let me guess, couldn't find the right hole?"

"If you don't shut up about her, Malfoy, I swear I'll—"

Draco snorted. "I don't give a shit about your love life." His demeanor turned cold once more. "If you hadn't been prancing around in your fucking underwear—"

"This is my cabin too. And I was on my way to the shower."

"And let me guess, eavesdropping is one of the many rights Harry Saint Potter has too?"

"It isn't my fault you don't know how to perform a simple Silencing Spell."

"Well I wasn't counting on having a nosy Gryffindor for an effin roommate!"

Harry was losing his temper. "What is the big fucking deal? I know your family hates me but why is it so wrong that your parents know—"

"Because you're Harry Potter, savior of the world, and I'm Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater. And in case you haven't noticed, we don't exactly get along."

"It's always been like that. I still don't—"

"Look, Potter, shut up for just one second and let my try to explain for in words for your tiny brain to comprehend." Draco was breathing hard, his face flushed an angry pink and his silvery eyes staring daggers at the Gryffindor in front of him, who had suddenly gone quiet. "You and I, we don't belong to the same crowd, much less the same room. It's the perfect potion for trouble, and so when that trouble comes knocking," he barked out a hostile laugh, "three guesses whose going to get the blame for everything. And my parents and I," he paused, taking a breath, "they can't handle any more changes."

Harry, he noticed, appeared to be searching for the right words to say. He frowned, sitting down at the same time. "I still don't get what us sharing a room has to do with this."

Draco looked at the other incredulously. "Did you not see the exchange with my mother? They won't leave me the fuck alone since the war ended, and now with you in the equation—you know what? Forget it. I'm wasting my time. You're too much of a brainless idiot to understand."

He stalked away in a huff, purposefully kicking Harry's glasses under his bed as he went.

Stupid Potter. And stupid your damned self. Idiot, baring your problems for the Boy Wonder to understand. Even if he were capable he wouldn't give a damned fuck. Probably best he didn't understand, otherwise he'd be laughing and pointing.

Draco threw himself into the restroom, eager to take a long and much needed shower. Only-

"Great. There's no more fucking hot water."

He tried a warming spell but it seemed the pipes were so old that it had no effect. Draco cursed the day Harry Potter was born.

There were only a number of things he could do whilst waiting.

Well, he does have one good point.

"Muffliato."

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