Draco watched Potter stomp off, and could tell the Gryffindor boy was angry. He wasn't sure why he had confessed the Weasley's girl come-on. Nothing would have come of it, so there wasn't really any reason to discuss it. But he supposed he was interested in seeing how Potter would react.
And Potter's reaction was certainly confusing. He detected a bit of jealousy, but he also understood that Potter was the one who had broken it off with the ginger girl, not the other way around. He didn't want her, but it also sounded like he didn't want her to have anyone else. Unless that wasn't it, and it was just Draco who he didn't want to see her with. He could understand that. They'd been enemies for so long, he couldn't imagine Potter would want to see him hooking up with his ex. Not that it would happen, of course. The Weasley girl was no more appealing to him than the Weasel himself. He'd sooner snog a boggart.
Potter's temper was improved the next day in class, although he didn't go out of his way to speak to Draco or even make eye contact. It wasn't really the silent treatment, since they weren't exactly in the habit of chatting much in class anyway. But the little things, the small gestures and quick exchanges and fleeting glances were gone. And that was disappointing.
He told himself that they were never really friends anyway. Saint Potter had helped him out of Gryffindorish obligation to help the needy. He'd swooped in to assist with Draco's injury and solve his Dark Mark quest. And now that it was in the process of being resolved he could move on to the next mystery.
It was better this way, he told himself when he laid in bed at night, touching the gross scabbed tattoo and grimacing at the bubbly texture. They had gotten too close, and the universe simply couldn't sustain a Malfoy-Potter friendship. It would throw everything out of whack and it would wreck his reputation as the baddest boy in school. If that went out the window, before he knew it he'd have people expecting things of him rather than doing things for him.
He walked the halls between classes, telling himself that being a brooding loner had its advantages. The underclassmen were well scared of him, and his teachers saw his no-nonsense approach to his studies as a sign of maturity. Madam Pomfrey had started trusting him with healing the most superficial injuries, although always under supervision. He was learning to hear patients' needs and understand their pain without feeling weak.
It was exhilarating, doing something well without his father telling him to let someone beneath him do the work. Or without his mother undermining his confidence with subtle digs. His chest tightened when thoughts like that flitted through his mind. The guilt of doing well without them mixed with his grief over their deaths. He was orphaned, and while the reality was that he had a brighter future without his parents, he was grief-stricken over the lost fantasy of ever winning them back from the Dark Lord's influence.
He was wandering the corridors one night, pondering the war between pride and guilt when a figure moving in the shadows startled him out of his reverie. He glanced up and peered into the darkness. The moon was full, spilling silvery light through the high windows in regular intervals. He cast a Lumos spell and pointed the light at the dark alcove between two suits of armor. Green eyes squinted back.
"Put that out, Malfoy," Potter grumbled, shielding his eyes.
"What are you doing lurking in the shadows?" Draco obliged, extinguishing the light.
"I could ask you the same," Potter stepped out into the moonlight.
"Just out for a stroll," Draco said casually, stowing his wand. "It's good for thinking."
"And what are you thinking about?" Potter's tone wasn't hostile, but it wasn't friendly either.
Draco looked up at the silver moon, wondering whether to be honest or evasive. He chose honesty. "My parents."
"Oh," Potter's tone softened and his eyes dropped to the floor.
"And you?"
"Also strolling and thinking," Potter said, his eyes still averted.
"About?"
Potter didn't respond at first. Finally he spoke in a voice that was barely a whisper. "You."
Draco almost asked him to repeat himself. Instead he waited, hoping Potter would elaborate.
"I'm sorry I got angry at you," Potter said in a rush. "The other night at the quidditch party. You said Ginny hit on you and I got angry."
"I noticed," Draco had spent a lot of time thinking about that night, too. He could still feel the tug on his scarf.
"I was just jealous," Harry continued. "And then you left and I didn't know how to talk to you. Or say I'm sorry."
"You don't have to say you're sorry," Draco shook his head. "I shouldn't have said anything. There wasn't anything you could do about it. And it wasn't going to happen anyway."
"No?" Potter looked up, his eyes gleaming.
"No, I'm not interested in her," Draco said firmly.
Potter thought about that for a moment, his fingers worrying his lower lip. Finally he looked up and smiled. "Good."
"Good," Draco replied. "So are we..."
"Friends?" Harry supplied. They looked at each other in bewilderment. "I guess we are."
"Will wonders never cease," Draco said with a touch of disbelief in his voice.
"Thanks for talking about it," Harry took an awkward step forward and held out his hand.
Draco grasped his hand in his and shook it firmly. They both laughed self-consciously, then dropped the grip and gestured meaninglessly down the corridor, as though indicating opposite directions of travel. Laughing awkwardly again they bid each other goodnight and went their own ways.
And for the first time in several nights Draco fell asleep once again with a smile on his lips.
