Chapter 7: Golden Leash
The Berserker state can afflict both male and female foxlet gliders. Though it is not necessarily a negative or detrimental state – the evolutionary advantages of such an adaptation have been demonstrated through the consistent number of fossil records of the species spanning thousands of years – it does impinge upon the livelihood of tamed individuals. Given that most foxlet gliders that mature into Berserkers do so before they have reached physical maturity, their need for proximity to their bond-parents, though slightly lessened, is still pronounced.
This poses significant difficulty for the bond-parents of the Berserkers; while they will not attack those they are bonded to, young Berserkers often demonstrate exceptional aggression towards other both of their own species and others. As such, confinement with frequent attendance of the bond-parents is the most practical approach to a tamed or 'pet' foxlet glider matured into a Berserker state. Welfare organisations such as Caring for the Crazed Creatures and Berserkers United offer classes and support for bond-parents in such situations.
Draco couldn't look away from his eyes. It was eerie, disconcerting, and much and all as he wanted to, he couldn't. He hadn't seen his godfather in months – their first encounter with Severus as a portrait was an unwelcome and disconcerting experience.
Yet stare he did. It was easier that looking at his fellow students who stood alongside him in the headmistress's office, their heads slightly bowed and expressions solemn. It was easier than looking at Pipsqueak or the white foxlet where they clung and whimpered just loud enough to be heard upon Potter and Brown's shoulders respectively. It was easier than looking at McGonagall's face, at the weariness of her expression as though she indeed carried the weight of the world upon her shoulders.
Draco didn't like at all.
They'd hastened to the headmistress's office but moments after the black foxlet – the Berserker foxlet – had been contained. Contained and carried from the room down towards the gamekeeper's hut by a pair of blubbering Weasleys. There had been a pause when they'd left, stagnation in the room in which every person hardly seemed to breathe.
Draco stared at Potter. Potter, who even while hugging Pipsqueak curled tightly to his chest now held his wand loosely but with a readiness that suggested he was more than prepared to use it in a moment's notice. Potter, who had been the one who had bound the foxlet, springing into action and responding appropriately in a way that even McGonagall and Sprout hadn't. It was obvious in hindsight that foxlet gliders would be immune to magical attacks – most magical creatures were unless the spell fired upon them was indirect or specifically tailored – but only Potter had responded accurately enough fast enough. He had either thought with incredible speed or had a ridiculous amount of luck up his sleeve.
Whichever it was, Draco couldn't help but stare. He couldn't help but feel faintly awed, just as he found himself whenever Potter acted with that cold, efficient instinctiveness that he'd used in battle the year before and even in their Defence classes. It was… just a little breathtaking to behold, as much because Draco had never been one to be able to react so accurately as that in his life. He didn't even feel envious of Potter's abilities but was simply… awed. Like every other student at the school was, apparently, from their similar silent attentiveness. Even when he'd been aggressive rivals with Potter, Draco could never help but stare just a little.
His stupefaction lasted until McGonagall spoke. "Potter, Granger, Brown, Malfoy. You will accompany me to my office. Immediately." Just like that. It wasn't a request, nor even the rhetorical question of a teacher towards her students. Draco didn't object. Alongside the rest of the requested eighth years, he'd fallen into the headmistress's wake and quickly departed the Great Hall.
Draco had never been in the headmistress's office before, not even when it had been held by either of her two predecessors. It was a large room, circular and open, with an antique, polished desk taking up a significant proportion of it. The walls were lined with shelving, holding books old enough to be part of the Malfoy's ancient archives alongside metallic, glass and chiming implements that Draco recognised as being magical artefacts and where windows didn't sit above that shelving peered portraits. Old portraits of ancient and middle aged witches and wizards that Draco could only assume from the presence of Severus and Dumbledore amongst them were the previous headmasters and headmistresses of the school.
Severus had pinned him with a stare as soon as Draco had stepped into the room. To anyone else his gaze might have appeared a blank stare, cool and detached, but to Draco… he'd seen that expression far too many times throughout his life. It was the expression that clearly demanded "What have you done now, you fool?" with a mixture of exasperation and resignation though confidence that he could fix whatever mess Draco had landed himself in.
Except that he couldn't. Not this time, because Severus was a bloody portrait. Draco had to fight back the upwelling of grief at the thought, of hatred for everything that had changed about the school and his life in general, many of which he was still noticing only for the first time in many instances. It was frustrating that in so noticing he could be knocked so profoundly time and time again. Even more when if caught him off guard and out of place.
Such as when he stood beneath the scolding glare of the headmistress herself. Except that McGonagall wasn't glaring. Not really, anyway. She had appeared to be adopting a similar expression to such at first, but that had faded into a consuming weariness. When she eased herself down into the high-backed chair behind the desk, she even paused for a moment to close her eyes and rub her forehead.
When the headmistress finally spoke it was with a sigh. "I did anticipate something like this would happen."
Draco blinked. Then he frowned, his awkwardness as to their situation, as to Severus' unwavering gaze upon him, fading into indignation. "You knew this would happen and yet you still allowed the foxlets into the castle?"
He could feel the glares of his classmates upon him without glancing in their direction. Or at least, he could feel Granger's glare, and Brown's who, for the first time that term term, appeared to harden herself for long enough to express a semblance of anger. Potter didn't, Draco noticed out of the corner of his eye. Potter didn't glare. If anything he simply looked as wearied as McGonagall. It was almost resigned. He still held his wand in the hand that wasn't propped beneath Pipsqueak's rump, though he hardly looked inclined to using it anymore.
McGonagall uttered another sigh and it held just a touch of exasperation. "I did not know for certain, Mr Malfoy. I suspected that it could happen, from the information that was provided to me by Professor Hagrid. I had hoped that such an eventuality could be avoided."
Before Draco could speak in rebuke once more anything, Potter spoke up. His voice was quiet but succeeded in silencing him entirely. "What do we do, Professor?"
McGonagall drew her gaze from where it had settled upon Draco to rest on Potter instead. Or Potter and Pipsqueak to be more precise, as Draco saw her eyes flicker between the two of them. Another sigh proceeded her words. "By all rights I should order them from the school. I must, for the safety of the students. They have demonstrated dangerous tendencies in their potential aggression and, after what the male exhibited –"
"Tod," Brown interrupted quietly, but just loud enough to draw McGonagall to a halt.
"I beg your pardon?"
"His name's Tod," she repeated. Her eyes were downcast, chin tucked, and she appeared nothing if not discomforted by the attention the headmistress was affording her, but Draco had to at least credit her persistence. Pointless as such an objection was – really, who cared what the Weasley foxlet was called? – he had to acknowledge her attempt.
McGonagall was silent for a moment, staring at Brown, before she seemed to shake off whatever had held her tongue. "My point is that it would be a failing on my part to allow things to continue as they have after such an incident arose. As headmistress, it is my duty to protect the students. Such is always the duty afforded to those beneath my duty of care."
Draco felt his gaze draw unconsciously towards the portraits of the previous heads upon the walls. Or more correctly to one in particular. He bit back a snort. Dumbledore had evidently been driven by a different set of morals to McGonagall, had felt less of a compulsive 'duty of care' to his students. In his first year alone Draco could name half a dozen incidents that were a breach of such conduct. The troll in the dungeons at Halloween? Allowing his students to partake of their detention in the frightfully dangerous Forbidden Forest of all places? And that was to say nothing of what had reportedly been the philosopher's stone stashed away in the depths of the castle guarded by – if gossip was to be believed – a giant three-headed dog. Yes, apparently McGonagall sought to approach her 'duty of care' in an entirely different manner to Dumbledore.
"So you're expelling the – the foxlets from school grounds?" Granger asked in an uncharacteristically small voice.
McGonagall drew her attention towards her instead. A touch of apology settled upon her face. "I believe that such would be the most appropriate course of action, yes."
Silence fell. Thoughtful yet sorrowful silence. Draco had to admit that he felt his own touch of sorrow at the headmistress' words. Sadness? Really? He hadn't thought he cared enough about the foxlets to be sad. Pipsqueak was ridiculously cute, true – far cuter than Granger's or the Weasleys' – but actually saddened?
It was strange. Unexpected. A little pathetic, really.
When Potter spoke, his quiet tone made it seem louder than it was. "Alright, then, professor. I'm really sorry about all this but I completely understand. We'll leave before the end of the day, I promise."
Draco blinked in much the same way as he noticed McGonagall did before turning his sidelong stare towards Potter. Potter who, holding Pipsqueak snuggled into his shoulder more firmly, wore an expression of resignation but kept his chin up and resolute nonetheless. Draco blinked some more. "What -?"
"What are you talking about, Potter?" McGonagall asked, speaking Draco's thoughts before he could himself.
Finally, Potter stuck his wand back into his pocket, if only to raise his second hand to hold Pipsqueak more firmly. The foxlet's tails curled around his wrist as though grasping it for support. Determination seemed to settle more comfortably upon Potter's face. "I'll have to go with her, is all. Pips is bonded to me and she'll just get distressed if she's by herself. That's how they turn into… into Berserkers, apparently." A touch of something pained flashed briefly across his face before he schooled it into firmness once more. "I really don't want that to happen, professor. Not to Pips. Avoiding them going Berserk – I guess that's what Hagrid was hoping for when he asked us to care for them." Then Potter glanced towards Granger, towards Brown. "I'll take Kitsune as well, if you'd like."
In any other situation, Draco would have found the horror playing across Granger's face amusing. "You can't leave school, Harry," she stage-whispered, her tone just as horrified as her expression.
Potter shrugged, though Draco barely even noticed enough to feel frustrated by the gesture he usually found so annoying. "Someone has to take care of the foxlets. May as well be me."
"But what about school?"
Another shrug. "Pipsqueak feels more important to me at the moment."
A flicker of guilt sprung and grew upon Granger's face. She grimaced slightly, her own gaze turning towards the foxlet in Brown's arms. "But…"
"I'll come too," Brown abruptly interrupted. She shifted the white foxlet in her arms, holding it more tightly, and a similarly determined expression, more unwavering than any Draco had seen her wear all year, settled upon her face. "I can't leave Kitsune without at least one of her bond-parents."
Potter nodded, easily accepting her words. "If you'd like. I don't mind either way." Then he turned expectantly back to McGonagall. The headmistress, lips pursed, regarded them both in turn.
"That was not what I was insinuating," she said, a frown rapidly wrinkling her brow. "I don't want you to leave the school, Potter. Either of you."
"I know you don't, Professor," Potter said with a remarkably wise ring to his tone. Potter? Wise? It was thoroughly disconcerting to contemplate. "But you don't want the foxlets to hurt anyone either."
"Harry," Granger began again.
"It's alright, Hermione, really. I don't even know why I'm at school in the first place, actually."
Granger seemed just as horrified by his words as by the prospect of the foxlets getting expelled. "What do you…?"
But Potter was turned back towards McGonagall. "We could leave within the hour if you'd like. Just so long as I could get my things."
McGonagall stared. She stared and seemed on the verge of protest, though evidently knew not how to approach doing so. Surprisingly, Draco found himself in much of the same boat.
Potter was leaving? With Pipsqueak? They were both leaving, just like that, within the hour? No. No, Draco didn't like hat at all. He felt no fondness for either of them – he didn't, truly, he didn't – but that… that was just…
No. No, it was wrong, in more than one way. Potter should be at Hogwarts, just like Draco. That was simply how it always was. The previous year had been tense with fear and foreboding, with unshakeable terror pervading the school, but even so Draco had noticed Potter's absence. It was strange, really – they had always been enemies, always rivalling and butting heads on the verge of a duel. Draco hadn't realised how much he'd grown to expect, to even rely upon that reality. Even in sixth year when he'd been admittedly distracted by the Vanishing Cabinet and unwillingly assisting the infiltration into the school, Potter had been there and it had been an odd sort of comfort.
Now Potter was leaving again? And more than that, he was taking Pipsqueak with him? Draco didn't like the foxlet – really, he didn't – but the thought of her absence was… it was… it felt as wrong as Potter not being at Hogwarts. Draco didn't really know why, didn't where that emotion came from. He hadn't even touched the creature, let alone held her. Where did such begrudging affection arise from?
But whether it was affection or something else, Draco couldn't deny that the thought of the both of them leaving was painful. It would be just another difference to his life, one of the many differences that he was trying to ignore, that would shake his world once more like a ship upon a tumultuous sea. It wasn't right.
McGonagall was saying something but Draco didn't even register what it was that she said before he interrupted her. He didn't even know what he was going to say before the words tumbled from his mouth. "You don't have to leave."
McGonagall stopped speaking and snapped her attention towards him. Potter, too, and Granger and Brown. Even Pipsqueak, Draco noticed, her wide dark eyes peering up at him like a bashful child from Potter's shoulder. Her eyes were lowered, nearly flat against her skull, as though she were still upset from what had happened with the Weasley foxlet. Draco didn't know how he knew that – he was hardly an animal whisperer – but that was the distinct impression he got.
"Mr Malfoy, we've just discussed –"
"I mean it." Draco lifted his chin and turned back to McGonagall. "It's hardly fair that Potter should have to leave the school because his Familiar might not get along with the rest of the students."
"It's a little more than 'getting along'," Potter muttered, just as McGonagall asked, "Familiar?"
Draco nodded. Setting his shoulders, he thrust aside the rising foreboding, the almost-fear at the prospect of change arising once more that welled within him and faced the headmistress's surprise with determination of his own. "That is not expressly the term afforded to the bond, but bound they are. As much ask Potter to cut one of his own limbs off as to get rid of the foxlet at this stage. It's not an exaggeration, Professor. We've all read about it. It happens."
McGonagall pursed her lips and turned towards Granger out of all of them, as though seeking confirmation. "Is this true?"
Granger shifted slightly, but before she could reply Potter spoke. "It's not exactly a Familiar bond from what I can make out – I mean, I don't know a whole lot about Familiars or bonding, but the books say they're something pretty different – but yeah, we're sort of… bound."
"It would be painful to have Kitsune taken away," Brown murmured, and the glance she turned down at the white foxlet, who in turn tipped her head adoringly up at Brown, was sickeningly heartbroken.
"I didn't realise this," McGonagall muttered, frown deepening once more.
"It's hardly fair," Draco continued. "As much ask a paraplegic to walk. Or an Obliviate victim to 'just remember'."
Draco could feel Potter's startled gaze turn towards him. He glanced at him sidelong, at the raised eyebrows and slow blinks of surprised. "What?"
Potter shrugged – which naturally caused Draco to frown at the stupid gesture – and shook his head. "Nothing. That's just surprisingly sympathetic of you, Malfoy."
"Shut up, Potter," Draco grumbled before turning back to McGonagall. "I would propose that, instead of an expulsion of the foxlets, a physical as well as a mental bond should exist with the parents. To make sure they can be kept under control."
"Parents?" McGonagall asked, an eyebrow arching.
"It's the name given to the one's they're bonded to," Granger explained. She appeared to take comfort in objectively relaying the fact.
McGonagall turned her raised eyebrow upon Potter, then Brown. "It would perhaps be possible, would be a precautionary measure that could… suffice. But that would leave yourselves as endangered by potential degeneration into aggression when such arises.
Potter shrugged again and dammit, Draco just wanted to clamp a hand down on his shoulder to stop the nonchalant gesture. It was so half-hearted that it just vexed him. "Personally I'd just be as endangered with that as I would be if I left the school. I'm not going to leave Pips alone, not until she doesn't need me anymore." Brown nodded in fervent agreement while another flash of guilt crossed Granger's face. "Besides, we're eighth years. We should be able to take care of situations like that, right? So if that would be enough for you, Professor, then that's fine with me."
McGonagall regarded them all for a moment, her gaze settling first upon Pipsqueak then on the foxlet in Brown's arms. Finally, she nodded, and Draco released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Alright. That would be… alright. As long as at least one of you is constantly tied to the foxlets, and you promise to respond promptly and accordingly when they descend into aggressive behaviour."
"If," Potter corrected, and there was a very pronounced defiance in his tone. "If they go Berserk. It's not necessarily going to happen, professor."
McGonagall's eyebrow twitched for a moment before she appeared to consider that the effort of arguing was hardly worth it. Dipping her head in a nod, she rose from her seat and drew her wand. "That's settled then. One of you joined at all times."
"Yes, professor," Potter, Granger and Brown chorused, with the foxlets giving a subsequent yip-yap s that seemed to agree in turn. Draco didn't bother to reply. It was hardly necessary for him.
McGonagall cast the spell. In a flare of gold light, it shot towards first Potter then Brown, looping in a sparkling bracelet around each of their wrists before extending in a linked chain towards a collar that sprung into glittering existence around both foxlet's necks. Draco heard Pipsqueak give a startled squeal and couldn't withhold a slight flinch at the sound. He schooled himself appropriately a second later. When the spell was complete, a combined collar-bracelet contraption joined each foxlet to their holder.
McGonagall nodded her head in satisfaction of her efforts, dropping her hands to rest with fingertips upon the desk. "It is complete. The bracelets can be exchanged between carers, but the collars remain firmly attached at all times. Ensure that you maintain your word. All of you." Draco didn't miss that she included him in her sweeping gaze. He didn't miss it but chose to ignore it. Draco was the first to lead the way from the headmistress' office to the murmured of, "Thank you, Professor"s behind him.
When he stepped out into the corridor it was to pause only briefly, to cast a glance over his shoulder at Potter and Pipsqueak – for some reason he couldn't help himself – before taking off at a stride towards his Arithmancy class. Only for Potter to call out to him a moment later and stall him in step.
"Malfoy, wait a second!"
Glancing over his shoulder, Draco paused mid-stride. He turned towards Potter, regarding him as he murmured something to Granger, who nodded in reply, sadness touching her expression before following Brown in the opposite direction with a brief "See you there then". He trotted to Draco's side a moment later, sliding Pipsqueak back up onto his shoulder to wrap herself as a thick scarf around his neck once more.
When Potter paused before him, silent and simply staring for a moment, Draco raised an expectant eyebrow. "Well? What?"
Potter looked awkward. Awkward and yet determined, in an odd combination that Draco couldn't deny was strangely fascinating to observe. Then he seemed to pool his mental strength, nodding before speaking. "I just wanted to talk to you about something."
"I believe that is what we're doing."
Potter nearly rolled his eyes before make a visible effort not to do so. "You don't make it easy, do you?"
"Make what easy?"
"For people to be… cordial with you."
Draco snorted. "Why on earth would I want you to be cordial with me?"
Potter seemed about to reply with something a little less than 'cordial' before once more he making the effort to prevent himself from doing so. With a deep breath, raising his gold-braceleted hand to touch Pipsqueak – was that a gesture of reassurance for himself or the foxlet? Draco didn't know – he quirked his lips to the side. "We need to change this."
Draco blinked. "Change what?"
"This," Potter reiterated, gesturing between them. "How we treat one another and all that. It's not going to work if every second word you say to me is either sarcastic or insulting."
"Every second word?" Draco drawled, raising his eyebrow. "Surely I do better than that."
Potter sighed. He adopted with that world-weariness once more that seemed far too mature for him. "See what I mean? That."
"If you have a problem with me then you're more than welcome to just bugger off," Draco grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't particularly want you hanging around like a bad smell. You're like a Sticking Charm without an expiry date."
It wasn't entirely true, of course. Not even remotely true, Draco realised, with the memory of what he'd felt up in the headmistress' office swimming to the forefront of his mind. He needed Potter around, even if he was a stupid prat who shrugged too much and smiled like an idiot at Pipsqueak when he showered her with attention, a smile that Draco did not in any way find himself staring at whenever it arose. Potter was one of only few of his anchors to Hogwarts, to sanity, and he alongside Pipsqueak had somehow become important enough for Draco to speak up in their defence at mention of their self-imposed expulsion.
What was wrong with him?
"I can't do that, actually," Potter said, and Draco had to rake his mind for what words he'd spoken to elicit such a response.
"What?"
"Bugger off," Potter elaborated. "I can't do that. We can't do that." He gestured towards himself and Pipsqueak indicatively, the foxlet giving a little "yip" of acknowledgement as she glanced up at his words. Her gaze trained with their disconcerting darkness upon Draco once more and it was a struggle to shrug his unease off. "Pipsqueak needs you just as much as she needs me."
"What a load of bollocks," Draco blurted before he could stop himself. Yes, he did just maybe give Potter am underhanded compliment but… he hoped Potter didn't realise.
That hope rapidly disappeared before small smirk that Potter failed to suppress. "Well, maybe not as much as me. I am pretty incredible."
"Shut the fuck up, Potter," Draco sniffed. "If you keep it up your head will swell too large to fit through the classroom door. And then what would you do with yourself? You wouldn't be able to annoy me in every lesson."
"What a shame that would be," Potter murmured, still smirking in an entirely vexing manner. He seemed to be talking more to himself than to Draco, however. A moment later he was shaking himself from his thoughtfulness and the smirk faded from his from his face. "But seriously –"
"I am being entirely serious. You're just an idiot that doesn't realise."
Potter paused, blinked at him, and seemed to have to take a calming breath before he continued. The thought that Draco might have aggravated him just a little was surprisingly satisfying; he hadn't even considered how much he was anticipating such a response until he received it. "What I'm saying, if you'll let me finish, is that we need to work together. None of this ignoring one another except to argue business. It won't work."
Why not? A voice at the back of Draco's mind whined. He had to agree with it, at least silently. Draco was born to argue – his father had often told him he would make a remarkably adept lawyer for sheer persistence and thrill of the debate as much as anything else. But he shunted the thought aside, as much out of curiosity as anything else. Working together with Potter? The thought itself was somehow… tantalising. "Why in Salazar's name would I do that?"
"Because of Pipsqueak," Potter said shortly. Just that and nothing more.
It was enough, though. Abruptly, Draco understood. They had to work together to care for Pipsqueak, to avoid opposing one another or arguing, or else a repeat performance of that morning would appear upon the horizon. Weasley and Weaslette had already proved what would happen if discord rose to verbal blows. The black foxlet was still snapping at an ashen Weasley had carried him from the Great Hall not an hour before, his sister trailing behind him with eyes glued to the snarling creature. If that happened to Pipsqueak…
Draco didn't like animals. He didn't like them at all. He hadn't even touched Pipsqueak, let alone interacted with her in any more affectionate manner. And yet the thought of her becoming a rabid beast was actually horrifying. Draco still called her a rabid squirrel but it was more from habit, he knew, even with the memory of his first assault still clear in his mind. He didn't know why, didn't know where the notion came from, but he could recognise it. Was it because of the bond? The damned bond that had urged Potter to follow Draco around largely silently most of every day? Possibly. Surprisingly, it didn't bother him as much as he knew it should.
Potter was offering him a white flag of ceasefire, as it were. Of truce, if only temporarily in order to raise the foxlet into something other than a Berserker. Draco didn't realise how much he wanted that until he deliberately considered it. He didn't want Pipsqueak to go Berserk. Not at all. She should stay just as she is now, maybe growing a little bit – or a lot – bigger and a little more independent, but still the same. Not like the black foxlet. Not at all.
Potter hadn't spoken after his announcement. He appeared to be awaiting an end to Draco's thought processing, allowing him to come to the realisation of the import of his words for himself. The fact that Potter had anticipated Draco's response irritated him just a little, so he deliberately waited a handful of pointless moments longer. When he finally spoke it wasn't in agreement. "It would never work."
"Why not?" Potter asked. He sounded more curious than objectionable.
"Because, Potter, in case you've forgotten, we fought for the first six years of our schooling lives. You hate me."
"No I don't," Potter shrugged, and for once Draco was too distracted to do more than notice. What? What, so Potter didn't hate him? When had that happened. "I don't think I've actually hated you for years, Malfoy. I don't know if I ever did."
Draco stared. He stared until he realised he was likely making a fool of himself, and then he stared some more. He knew Potter had hated him, just as he – Well, no, not just like Draco. Draco had realised that, relatively speaking, he didn't really hate Potter either. Not now and perhaps not ever, when he considered those he truly hated. "I…"
"You don't have to say anything," Potter said, glancing to the side as though abruptly embarrassed by the situation. "I'm just asking if maybe… well, if maybe we could try and not be so, ah…"
"Committed to conflict?" Draco offered.
"Yeah, exactly," Potter nodded. "And maybe, I don't know, if you could try and… get involved a little more?"
Draco narrowed his eyes, tightening the fold of his arms. "Are you reprimanding me for not looking after Pipsqueak?"
"I'm just saying that maybe if you helped out a little more she might be a bit happier."
"She's happy enough."
"She misses you when you're not around, you know."
"Well, she seems to be doing just fine as she is with just you."
Potter frowned. "Maybe, but the likelihood of her being fully alright would probably increase if we worked. Together."
Draco narrowed his eyes further. "You're trying to guilt trip me," he accused.
Potter didn't even bother denying it. "We're both her parents, it shouldn't just be my responsibility."
"Are you trying to tell me you don't want to look after her?"
"That's not what I said."
"That's what it sounded like you said."
"Well, I didn't. I love looking after her and having her around. I'm just saying this needs to be a two person job, whether I like it or not."
"Just because you want to –"
"Just because Pipsqueak wants to."
"You're putting words into her mouth."
"I'm speaking it like it is!"
"This is just you guilt tripping me again!"
"Eeeeee-yip!"
The sound of the foxlet's chirruping interruption abruptly silenced Draco and Potter both. They turned as one towards her where she was pressing her cheek into the side of Potter's head, ears twitching in agitation and eyes flared wide. She clung to her tail as though struggling to tighten her wrap around Potter's neck.
They were silent for a moment until suddenly Potter gave a small chuckle. Draco drew his attention from Pipsqueak towards the grin spreading across his face. "What?"
Potter shook his head. "Nothing. It's just that it kind of sounds like we're two parents arguing over their kid."
Draco flinched at the notion. "Please never say that again."
"I won't if you promise to try and work with me," Potter countered.
Draco opened his mouth to reply but found that for once he was absented of words. Really, what did he have to respond to that? He knew, when he thought about it, that he truly was simply being objectionable. He was going to work with Potter, for Pipsqueak if nothing else.
No, only because of Pipsqueak. There was no other reason.
Huffing a frustrated sigh, Draco lifted his chin and glanced at nothing over his shoulder. Anything to avoid Potter's expectant gaze that so infuriatingly had the power to render him speechless when not darkened with anger. "Fine. Whatever."
Draco could hear the smile in Potter's words when he started to speak and couldn't help but glance sidelong back towards him. "Great! Perfect."
Draco sniffed. "So what do we do, then? I mean, how do we even go about…?"
"Being friendly?" Potter shrugged, raising a hand to scratch at the side of his head as though the thought physically strained his mental capacity. "Well, we could start by… um…"
"What?" Draco felt a touch of foreboding at the struggle on Potter's face.
"Just calling each other by our first names." Potter actually winced at that, as though expecting lightning to strike him down for the suggestion. Or maybe for Draco to smite him more correctly for the glance he peered up at him. He didn't look so much reluctant himself as he was very definitely awkward. "That wouldn't be too hard for you would it… Draco?"
The sound of his name being spoken by Potter of all people was unhinging enough that Draco almost missed the condescension of his question. Almost, but not quite, and work together though he might have agreed to do Draco would be damned if he'd let Potter get one up on him.
Harry. Let Harry get one up on him. Merlin, but that sounded strange even in thought. "Whatever. Harry."
Harry smiled. It was a different kind of smile to the one he was familiar with, but for once Draco didn't find such a difference all that objectionable.