A/N: My apologies for taking so long to update this. I struggled with this chapter, and figuring out how I want this story to go. At the same time, I've been struggling with worsening depression, being sick (for weeks!) and an unexpected obsession with Yuri! On Ice. That last one isn't much of an excuse, but... yeah. My brain was hijacked by that show, and I've posted a few short Otayuri oneshots. In case any of you have *also* become recently obsessed. I hope to update more quickly now, but I won't promise (because then something else will crop up to keep me from writing).
"That almost made sense."
Harry flashed Draco a brilliant smile, and Draco's stomach jolted. They'd been meeting up in the Potions classroom after dinner for the better part of two weeks, now. Slughorn had denied Draco's request to use the room, but had been delighted and honored to let Harry use it. Draco had rolled his eyes but prudently bit his tongue - no sense in antagonizing the man after he'd agreed to what they wanted. He'd examined the sour feeling in his gut later, wondering why his reaction was so strong - he'd expected his request to be refused, after all - and was surprised to find that, when it came down to it, he didn't actually like using Harry's fame to get the things he wanted. Huh. He filed the realization away for further thought.
Neither Harry nor Draco could play quidditch this year - McGonagall having deemed it unfair to the lower years should the eighth-years compete - and so had no other demands on their evenings. Draco had been surprised to find that he no longer minded being barred from quidditch - and was reluctant to admit, even to himself, that the reason for that was currently sitting beside him, just a hair too close for Draco's comfort, alternately tapping his quill on the desk and running his fingers through his messier-than-usual hair as he considered the problem before him.
They'd quickly discovered that Harry's problems in Potions lay almost wholly in a tendency to be lax with his measurements - a few evenings of slow, focused precision and a brilliant analogy to cooking and baking, which Harry was clearly quite experienced at, and just as clearly unwilling to talk about - soon cured his laziness, and they'd moved on to subjects both found more interesting.
Harry proved a quick study at Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, and Draco wondered aloud why Harry had never taken them.
He shrugged. "Never saw the need - and it never occurred to me that I might like them. Ron was very vocal about his dislike for them."
Draco frowned. "But, Granger takes them."
Harry shrugged again. "Hermione's bloody brilliant."
"And you're not?" Draco took offense to this, though he wasn't sure quite why.
Harry snorted. "Sure. At dying. And sacrificing myself. And quidditch, for some reason. And cooking and cleaning," he added, under his breath. Draco pretended he hadn't heard.
Granger stared at Harry, shocked speechless, when he fell into step between her and Draco the next day, as they walked to Arithmancy. She frowned when he did the same for Ancient Runes, but didn't comment.
Once he demonstrated his competence she - and the rest of the class - accepted his presence without question. Draco felt a hot flicker of triumph warm him when Harry chose to partner with him instead of Granger for assignments. But, aside from a few speculative glances the first few times, even that became routine.
It was… disturbing, really, how quickly Harry managed to insinuate himself into Draco's routine, until Draco realized, some few weeks later, that they were rarely apart.
But, with all that, Harry didn't make a single advance on Draco. It was unnerving. Every time Harry sat just a little too close in class, every time his breath whispered over Draco's cheek as Harry whispered a snide remark in his ear, every time their hands accidentally-or-maybe-not brushed while preparing ingredients, Draco's pulse would jump in anticipation. But then Harry would lean back, or move his hand, and the moment would be gone. They never acknowledged these moments, and Draco was beginning to wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing - if maybe Harry hadn't actually wanted him at all.
"Oops, sorry."
Draco looked up, annoyed, only to feel his annoyance fizzle away at the sight of Harry at his elbow. He looked back at the spoiled ginger root - useless now that his neat cuts had been marred by the jagged slash left when Harry had bumped him - and sighed.
"Never mind, Harry. Just… fetch some more of these, will you? I need to keep an eye on the potion."
He half expected an indignant protest, but Harry nodded easily. "Yeah, all right. Back in a sec."
Draco's wand timer chimed, reminding him that he had to hurry. This was a relatively simple potion, but the timing was crucial. He stirred the potion seventeen times anti-clockwise, counting under his breath and striving to make his pace as even as possible. The potion gave a sullen hiss and slowly changed from pea green sludge to a sort of burnt-carrot goo.
Draco checked his book, then grimaced and leaned over the cauldron. His nose wrinkled and his eyes watered as he took a cautious sniff. Yes, that was how it was supposed to smell. He leaned back quickly, trying not to gag.
Harry appeared at his elbow with the replacement ginger root and chopped it into precise cubes with ruthless efficiency. Draco was impressed despite his lingering annoyance.
"Where did you learn to do that?" he asked, as he stirred, clockwise this time, and Harry dropped in a single cube with every rotation.
Harry swept damp hair off his forehead, looking up at Draco in surprise. "My Aunt," he said.
He added the last piece and smoothly lifted the stirring rod from Draco's fingers, brushing the tips of his fingers delicately over his palm. Then he was stirring, brow furrowed as he concentrated, and Draco sat back to watch, face warm, the skin of his hand tingling. He half expected Harry to follow the touch with more flirting, or a sly innuendo, or even a direct assault, like he had the other night. Instead, Harry completed the potion, checked it against the text for accuracy - it was perfect - and bottled it. Normally, they would keep only a sample and vanish the rest, but this strengthening potion had been brewed perfectly and Madam Pomfrey could always use more. They'd drop it by her office tomorrow on the way to class.
"Excellent work, Harry," Draco said softly, surprising both of them.
Harry gaped at him for a moment, then grinned and took a small bow. "Why, thank you, Malfoy."
Draco flicked Harry's forehead as he slipped past him on his way to return the unused supplies to the store cupboard. Harry just smiled.
"Where are you off to now?" Draco asked, using the pretense of packing his bag to hide his blush.
Harry rolled his eyes. "The common room, I suppose. Though, if Ron and 'Mione are sucking face in there like normal, I'll probably head straight to bed." He grimaced. "I love them, I do, but Merlin, they're disgustingly in love."
Draco snorted. "Thought you three were thick as thieves?"
Harry shrugged. "We were. But, now they're too busy with one another to have much time for me."
"You could hang out with me," Draco offered hesitantly, eyes firmly fixed on his bag. "If you're not ready for bed, that is. And you don't feel like hanging out in the common room. I don't spend much time there either…" He trailed off awkwardly, glancing hopefully through his lashes at Harry and chewing on the inside of his cheek. He hadn't asked Harry to spend time with him outside of their tutoring sessions. And Harry had never asked him. He'd thought he wanted to be friends - or more? - But lately he'd not given any indication of that. Maybe Draco had imagined it all, and the attempted seduction had merely been a cruel joke. He wouldn't have considered Harry capable of such a thing, but he'd come to see that, for a Gryffindor, Harry had a surprising number of Slytherin qualities. And he'd proved an ability to make cruel jokes about their classmates as well - even about Granger and her Weasel.
He thought he saw a flicker of indecision - of want - on Harry's face, and felt a matching flick of hope spring to life inside, but then Harry's expression flattened and he shook his head.
"Thanks, but I'd better sleep. I've got a big day tomorrow."
He turned and slipped out of the classroom, leaving Draco standing awkwardly by their table, feeling confused and a little lost. And a lot turned on, though he tried to ignore that. Especially since he seemed to be the only one to feel that way. He trudged up to bed, trying not to notice Harry laughing with the Weaselette in the common room. Harry didn't have to justify himself to Draco, not even to tell him what he'd be doing. And he could have changed his mind - Granger and her Weasel weren't in evidence. Draco felt his stomach swooping uncomfortably anyway, as he trudged up the stairs, pointedly looking away from harry so as not to accidentally catch his eye. He didn't know what he'd find there if he did, and he didn't want to.
He'd planned to write to his mother this evening, but he was suddenly too tired. He dropped his bag at the end of his bed and slumped across it, too tired even to undress.
His sleep that night was restless, interrupted by uneasy dreams and a vague foreboding that settled heavily into his stomach. It was still there when he awoke, groggy and feeling as if he'd not actually slept at all.
