I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.
Thank you to all of my reviewers! Each time I get a positive review, I'm practically bouncing around and grinning for the entire day, so thank you all!
Okay, a little warning for this chapter. Firstly, let me apologise for the slight gore...it's not bad, and it's not permenant! I swear! Some won't like it, some won't get why I had to do it this way, and some will point out the fairly obvious other ways it could have been done...But I needed to put it in there to really get my story going! So sorry, but it's staying :P With that out of the way, please enjoy! I tried to make it a little long for a treat! :)
Chapter 14 – Being Gryffindor
Harry got up for the third time in that hour, collecting his bag and securing it on his shoulder, determined, this time, to leave the library. Malfoy probably didn't even remember to meet him here. Probably forgot. He had waited for an hour, and he hadn't showed. The prat thought it was fun, did he? Wasting Harry's valuable time.
Harry slowed again, hand on the library door. Malfoy did turn up, wanted or not, every Tuesday night. Every. Single. One. What was to say he wasn't simply held up? Or embarrassed like Harry was?
Neither had apologized for their fight. Harry was ignoring it, just like he did everything else. The only inclination Malfoy had to show he was in any way apologetic, even though those words would never cross the bastards lips, was the fact Harry had found his list folded neatly in his pocket the other day. It could only have been Malfoy, and the action spoke a hell of a lot more than Malfoy ever could…well, without having to murder Harry afterwards, anyway.
Neither had mentioned the impossibly tense moment in the hall either.
And neither was going to.
Harry bit his lip hesitantly, hand tightening on the door. No. No! He wasn't going to talk himself into going back to the table again. He had already decided that he wasn't going to wait any longer. He had waited, like he told Malfoy he would…it was hardly Harry's fault that he neglected to tell him when.
…Would he regret leaving?
Swearing to himself at his impeccably irritating thought process, Harry stalked back to the table, tossing his bag down savagely. He would wait another ten minutes, and if he didn't turn up, then forget it.
God, why was he even meeting with Malfoy? He either laughed at him, or made him think he was stupid. Every bloody time they spoke. The stupid Universe was having a field day.
Giggling erupted to his left. Several girls, not at all accustomed to the usual silence that occupied a library, were laughing in hysterics to the left of him, joy radiating across their young faces. Harry quickly glanced away, turning instead to several boys who were chuckling quite loudly. They were desperately trying to hide whatever they were reading from the stern librarian, their faces red and almost pleading with her. Further across the room a few Ravenclaws were studying intensely, one murmuring to the other to make her smile brightly every few moments.
That tight feeling was constricting his chest again, making him become absorbed in trying to collect his things from his bag. Why was he jealous of people he didn't even know?
Harry blinked, staring at the map in his bag. Well, at least he would be able to tell where Malfoy was, or if he had an inclination to actually come today. He pulled it out, muttering under his breath and started to study the map. He had better have a good reason for being so late. If he was cursed, or in the Hospital Wing, fine. If he had slept in, he could go to hell.
Harry had been up since five that morning, staring at the ceiling of his room sullently. He couldn't sleep, not without the nightmares. So sleep was becoming redundant. Instead, he had made his way to the library whilst everyone was at breakfast, and remained hidden here throughout the day. Procrastinating, and trying to ignore the upcoming potions quiz. His Rubik's cube had two sides completed; that had to be a good omen.
Where was he?
Harry had read up upon quite a nasty spell over the summer; one that would work against the vain blonde rather well. It changed hair colour…permanently. In addition to this, the hex couldn't be removed, until the caster deemed fit. And Harry thought the blonde would look marvellous with flaming, hot pink hair.
Harry frowned, glancing over the map again. He couldn't find him. He wasn't amongst his friends in the Great Hall, the Hospital Wing was empty, except for McGonnegal and Pomfrey, who were both pacing together. That didn't bode well, Harry thought wirily, turning back to the map. Hufflepuff were on the quidditch pitch with no spectators, unfortunately, and the Slytherin common room only had several random people he didn't know. Where was he?
Harry trailed the known path up to the library, wondering if he was stalking the corridors…and scowled at the faded paper. One dot showed 'Harry Potter', sitting seemly alone in the library. Directly across from him, at the same bloody table, sat 'Draco Malfoy'.
Harry folded the paper, muttering to make it turn blank again, and scrunched up a random bit of paper into a ball. Then, he tossed it angrily at Malfoy's head.
"Really funny. Seriously, your humour becomes you."
"Well, Potty, unfortunately I cannot say the same for you." With a flourish, Malfoy appeared under the cloak, appearing to pop out of nowhere. The Ravenclaws stared at him with gaping mouths, obviously unaware of the cloak he hid on his lap.
"No one knows about my cloak, and I'd like to keep it that way." Harry hissed, watching furiously as Malfoy shuffled closer, tossing him the cloak after a moment's hesitation.
"Ignore them; they probably thought I had apparated. And anyway, I don't mind them thinking that I've somehow overcome the anti-apparation barriers on the school. Makes me omnipotent, doesn't it?" Malfoy drawled lazily before smirking again. "You certainly change your mind a lot, don't you Potty?"
"Just how long were you there for?" Harry snapped back, not even trying to keep a reign on his temper. All around him people were enjoying themselves, and here he was, waiting for a bastard already there? He had other things to do with his life!
"I skipped breakfast, was already here when you arrived." Malfoy smirked again, raising his eyebrows. "Why, you don't regret asking me here, do you?"
Harry scowled at him again, crossing his arm angrily and making a point of shoving his chair away from Malfoy's. Stupid prick, how dare he try to use the list against Harry?
"Do you have to be an arse every time we talk?"
"Do you have to be a bastard?" Malfoy quipped back, smirking. He wasn't the least bit perturbed at being sworn at. Damn him. Did he have to win every time?
"Coward." Harry muttered, reaching in to pull out his Rubik's cube. He could finish it, if he could just figure out how to move the other side's without ruining the ones he had already completed.
"Dickhead." Harry blinked at the lazy, late reply. Malfoy didn't seem upset at all. In fact, he had that bloody challenge in his eyes…and who was Harry to turn down a challenge?
"…Egotistic."
"Big word."
"I try." Harry couldn't stop the smile that was spreading across his face, just as though he suspected Malfoy couldn't stop his grin.
He shrugged, not able to come up with any but the common ones. "Fuckwit."
"Git."
"Hormonal." Ouch. Harry frowned, thinking quickly. I. I…
"Ingrate."
"Jackass."
"Kiss-arse."
"Loser."
Bloody hell, this was hard. And Malfoy looked as though he was having way too much fun insulting Harry. What could possibly be fun about this? "Moron."
"Neanderthal."
"O…Orangutan!" Harry managed to get out, feeling himself go bright red. It was the stupidest insult he had ever heard, and from Malfoy's laughter, he thought so too.
"Orangutan? Really?" He snorted, trying to get a hold of his laughter. Harry could feel incredulous stares around the room. The Draco Malfoy was…laughing? The apocalypse was beginning. "You Ponce."
"Queen."
"Retard."
S. Oh, there were so many 'S's to choose from. "Slytherin."
"That's a compliment." Malfoy smirked, eyebrows raised as Harry rolled his eyes. Really, it wasn't. If only Malfoy knew how it was one of the ultimate cusses among the other houses. "You twat."
"Useless." It wasn't true, but he may as well through it in. How many 'U's was he likely to get?
"Vanker."
"What?" Again, Harry was almost falling off of his chair. It may have been the accent Malfoy used, it may have been the pink that filled his cheeks. Either way, mirth was overfilling Harry. He felt…happy.
"It's how Russians who have learnt English as their second language say 'wanker'." How could he explain that with a straight face?
"Okay. Fine. You complete and utter wanker."
"Xlimpy…one of my house-elves." Malfoy added as soon as Harry opened his mouth. He was really scraping the bottom of the barrel, wasn't he?
"Yesterday's bad boy."
"Zero."
They stared at each other, each one smirking and trying to contain the mirth that just wanted to break free. Harry could never have done this with Hermione, or Ron; they would have been insulted too easily.
"You're such as prat."
"Prick."
Chuckling, Harry turned back to his Rubik's cube. Had he been angry before?
They managed to work quietly for the next few minutes; Malfoy studying fastidiously whilst Harry procrastinated.
"I'm on there twice."
"On what twice?" Harry glanced up from Rubik's cube, confusion, he was sure, written all over his face.
"Your list. I'm on there twice." Malfoy finally looked up from his book, mask in place. "Why?"
"You're not." Of this, Harry was sure. He wasn't sure around Malfoy anymore, not after that very tense moment in the great hall. Every time Malfoy spoke it went in one ear and out the other. Every time he moved Harry found himself jumping and nervous. His bloody stomach was out of control, twisting and diving. It was driving him insane.
"Yes, I am."
"No, you're not." It was Harry's list, after all. You would think he would know. "You're number twenty two. Not very far up, are you?" He couldn't resist the jibe, and, naturally, the Malfoy smirk was already in place.
"At least I made it on the list; I see Weasel didn't." Yeah, well…maybe he should add him on? To become friends again before…no. He couldn't. That would defeat the purpose of driving them away. "And I'm still on there twice."
Harry ripped the page from his pocket, scanning the list. He had it memorised, the bloody twat was not on here.
"I assume Wizard or Mudblood will involve me, since it's clearly a Slytherin game."
"That doesn't mean you're on here twice."
"Since it's my game, yes, in fact, I am." Malfoy sneered, but his eyes weren't in it. He had to fight to keep the sneer pure, instead his lips curling with amusement again. "Three times, if you include the one about wizards chess."
"…Are you any good at chess?" Harry needed an easy opponent, someone who he actually had a chance against. Hopefully a muggleborn, who had never played any form of chess before.
"I would obliterate you." Malfoy drawled lazily, making another mark in his notes. "And that's as humble as I get. Try Blaise; he's abysmal. I could teach my owl to play better than him. In fact, I already have." Yeah, because Harry could easily approach Zabini and challenge him to a chess match. Sure.
Malfoy glanced at the cube, contempt finally slipping into his face. "Tell me, are you going to study potions at all, or continue to waste your life away. The latter preferable?"
"Wasting my life away…as in sitting at a table all morning and spying on me?" The withering glare was not a happy gesture.
Harry sighed, making an effort to drag out his book. Yes, he wanted to pass potions this year; it was the only class he could actually still participate in. Did he want to study for the test? It was based on useless potions of the thirteenth century. Would you like to do that test?
He groaned as Malfoy shoved parchment towards him, waiting until Harry picked up his quill before turning back to his own work. Seriously, he could be as controlling as Hermione when it came to homework.
.
.
.
Detention on a weekend. How vindictive could McGonagall be?
Cheerful voices echoed up the walls of the castle, screams and laughter. It was snowing today, so everyone took the chance to have a monster of a snowball fight. Harry could see them sprinting around from his window, tackling each other and pretending they weren't going to catch pneumonia. It seemed fun.
He glanced back at his paper, at the three pages he had already completed. His hand was starting to get sore from the insistent writing. Seriously, how much did she think they could write on the techniques of transforming a mouse into a hairpin? There was only so much you could say on the matter. Harry was already repeating himself. It was just tedious.
He glanced at the front of the room, where McGonagall was marking papers with a frown. She seemed oblivious to what they were doing; hell, Harry had spent the last ten minutes staring vacantly out of the window, and she hadn't said a word.
Malfoy was seated next to him, like always. It seemed she thought shoving them together would irritate them, given their fight. Oh, how wrong she was.
Every time Malfoy shifted, Harry's eyes were on him. Every time Harry glanced at him, their eyes met. Every time Harry paused in writing long enough for McGonagall to glance up, Malfoy would kick him to remind him that they were supposed to be supervised. In all, it was probably the worst mistake McGonagall could make. Harry's stomach was twisting like you wouldn't believe, turning and uncomfortable. He wished it would just stop; he wasn't nervous at all, so why did his gut feel so odd?
Malfoy kicked him again, smirking as Harry almost jumped out of his seat. Bloody hell, some warning would have been nice. McGonagall wasn't even watching at the moment!
He was fully intending to kick him back, preferably harder, when one of Malfoy's parchments slid across the desk. It barely moved, but it was enough to catch Harry's attention.
This is as entertaining as slitting my own throat.
If she caught them, Malfoy would be massacred. Harry had to fight to keep his face straight, glancing at McGonagall before writing on one of his own papers.
You thought detention would be interesting?
Malfoy didn't even seem to glance at the note, but he smirked. He shifted slightly, stretching his hands before returning the parchment. He didn't even glance at their headmistress; in hindsight, he should have. Neither boy noticed that they suddenly had her rapt attention.
With you here, yes.
Harry blinked in surprise. That was a compliment. Malfoy never handed out compliments.
Want to go to Hogsmead tomorrow?
Well, that was even more unanticipated. Harry frowned, glancing at Malfoy. He stared steadily back, the challenge in his grey eyes. Why would he want to go to Hogsmead? Sure, meeting up in the castle was fine. Going outside together made their friendship just that much more real.
"Mister Malfoy, please move to the desk over there. You boys are in detention, not a common room." Harry jumped as the voice rung out, cringing as their papers were accio'd to the front of the room. She read them with a slight frown, taking far too long for a few sentences. "Mister Malfoy, I don't want to repeat myself."
Harry swallowed nervously as she still read their miniature conversation. It couldn't be that interesting, surely?
Malfoy sighed dramatically, picking up his belongings as he prepared to move. The noise seemed too loud for the impossibly quiet room. The warmth of someone seated near him was slowly seeping away.
Should he go out? He hadn't been to Hogsmead yet this year. A drink at the pub wouldn't go amiss. Grabbing a hold of his determination before it fled like the coward it was lately, Harry stared at Malfoy's retreating back until he turned around. They always knew when the other was watching; it was like a sixth sense they had. Often creepy, now fairly useful.
Harry nodded, quickly dropping his head as Malfoy grinned. It would start off a chain of smirking and smiling that McGonagall just wouldn't appreciate in her detention.
Hmm. What else could he write about the stupid hairpin? Decorations? Usefulness?
Harry snatched out his hand as a paper plane landed on his desk, quickly coughing to try to distort the thump he had made. Bloody hell, didn't Malfoy have a hint of discretion? Didn't he know not to push the boundaries of an already pissed off teacher?
Both were glaring at him, McGonagall with suspicion, Malfoy was amusement. The git, he was bloody laughing over there, and she didn't even bat an eye!
Slowly, only every few seconds, did Harry begin to unfold the paper plane. It was difficult, when you had a professor analysing your every movement, and when you looked guilty as hell.
It's a date.
…
Shit.
.
.
.
Harry was a ball of nerves. His hands were bloody sweaty, he felt as though his face was a permanent red, and his stomach was twisting nervously. What the hell was wrong with him?
It was just friends going out, right? Just some friends, having some fun outside of school. It wasn't a date date, was it? Malfoy didn't see it that way, right?
Bloody hell…what do you wear to a non-date? Harry had changed his shirt three times…three bloody times! The first was a normal red, but Malfoy was sure to have some comment about that. The next had a hole in it; it was likewise discarded. The last one he wasn't sure of, he had been given it to him for Christmas one year, but he had never worn it. You could easily see the creases where it had been folded.
Neville had been watching the debacle with amusement, and eventually pointed out the obvious; it was snowing. He would be wearing a jacket anyway, right? But then there was a new issue…he only had a few overcoats. One was from Dudley, which was way too big for him and made him look like he was twelve. The other one was red. Which, naturally, meant Malfoy would have something to say about it.
Harry fingered the sweater, a wave of homesickness overwhelming him. It was the last one Mrs Weasley had knitted for him. The last one she would probably knit for him.
He decided to wear it.
He never spent this amount of time trying to figure out what to wear…why was he doing it now? He felt like such a moron. It wasn't even a date!
'It's a date.'
…
Why would the git even write that? Did he have some sordid amusement in toying with Harry's emotions?
"Calm down, Harry, I'm sure he won't mind whatever you decide on wearing."
That input was totally appreciated. "I care what he thinks. What would give you that impression? Seriously, does it look like I care about Malfoy?" Harry ignored the raised eyebrows Neville threw his way, instead opting to run a nervous hand through his hair. "It's not a date."
"Come on, I'm sure you've spent plenty of time together. What's new this time? You've done it all before."
Had they?
They only times they really had conversations was when Harry was strapped into a hospital bed. Or when his magic was making him sick. Or when they approached one another to taunt, tease, or fight. This was going to be completely different!
The walk to the great hall was like a walk of doom. Neville opted to go with him, with the pretence of just going to breakfast. In reality, Harry was sure, he was going to snoop and get a laugh; his face still hadn't returned to its normal shade. What the fuck was wrong with his body? Why did it insist on humiliating him?
"Just give him a peck and transfigure some flowers and you'll be right as range."
"It's not a date!" Ew. Even the thought of giving Malfoy some flowers was likely to leave Harry with a well aimed punch to the nose. It just wasn't going to happen.
Harry finally made it to the hall, sighing in relief as Malfoy wasn't there yet. Maybe he had forgotten? He didn't know whether to be happy or upset at the thought, so opted to remain neutral and lean against a wall whilst chatting with Neville. Thank god he had one friend left; he would have looked awkward waiting alone in the massive hall, fiddling with his thumbs and counting the minutes; the epitome of 'desperate for communication'.
"Excuse me." Harry glanced to the right at the thick French accent, his grin fading slightly as the moron from the other day tried to pass him. He wasn't even that much taller than him. He could, in his happy disposition, probably take him on in a fight. Why hadn't he fought back when he was tripped? Disregarding the loneliness, depression and plainly how numb he had felt, Harry couldn't fathom why he wouldn't be a Gryffindor and pull out his wand and curse him into oblivion.
The Slytherin grimaced at Harry, his lip turning up in a snarl. He wasn't that attractive, all in all. Probably a relative of Crabbe or Goyle…it would explain why he hated Harry, in the least.
Harry didn't care about the seventh year kid; he couldn't be bothered right now. Until, at least, the kids eyes travelled past Harry, and widened with fear. He paled faster than Harry thought possible, holding up his hands as if in defence. "I…I didn't! I swear!"
What?
Harry frowned in confusion, sharing an oblivious look with Neville. They hadn't said a thing; why was the Slytherin bloody white with fear? He was bloody sweating as if under interrogation. Cluing in that someone had terrified him, Harry searched the hall, curious as to who could stir such a reaction…
Malfoy was leaning on the opposite wall, eyebrow raised.
Ah. That explained it.
"Stop terrorising him." Harry called, grinning as Malfoy had the nerve to look innocent. More likely the apocalypse would occur. "He hasn't so much as looked at me."
"Better not have." The blonde replied easily, heading towards the doors lazily. "I'd have to kill him." Harry snorted at the response; yeah, sure. He turned back to Neville…where the hell was he?
Harry blinked in confusion; with that one short conversation, both the Slytherin and Neville had disappeared. It was as if they could teleport.
"Come along, Potty. I want to get back before dinner." Before dinner? What exactly did he have planned? There wasn't that much to do in Hogsmead, after all. A few shops, a few pubs…that completed the experience, really. "…Really, Potter? Red? Couldn't you go a day without having to remind me that you're Prince of Gryffindor?"
See? One of the first words from the arrogant pricks mouth.
"Says the Prince of Slytherin?"
"You don't see me parading my colours."
Sure enough, Malfoy only had a large overcoat on; no green in sight. The bastard, he had already made a competition between them. And they hadn't even opened the doors yet.
Harry sighed, following Malfoy into the cold. It was slightly awkward, walking down the large hill toward the little village. Couples were everywhere, almost galloping at the prospect of alone time. Harry could hardly walk in the new snow, sinking up to his knees in places. His trousers were already soaking; the chill was setting in now, to try to freeze his legs off. Great.
"The Gryffindork team is pretty abysmal without you as seeker."
Harry blinked in surprise; his grin was already stretching across his face. "Was that a roundabout way of complimenting my skills?"
Malfoy didn't look impressed; he merely gave a lazy glance, eyebrows raised. He didn't really have to answer after that, but did anyway. Harry supposed he liked to hear himself speak. "Never."At least he had tact. "I'm simply stating that Gryffindor now provides Slytherin countless entertainment at every game and practise session…and whenever we see their faces. Honestly, did you see the Weasellette miss the snitch last game? It was hovering by her ear for a majority of the game, taunting her, but she has the eye sight of bat. Why did she think the Hufflepuff seeker kept glancing at her? Did she honestly think he had some sadistic attraction to weasel?"
Harry laughed at that; it felt good to remember Ginny's horrible first game of the season. The snitch was always a few meters from her, but she never saw it. Instead, he was making eyes at the other seeker, who was just trying to edge a bit closer. It really was pathetic; it had cheered Harry up immensely.
"Honestly, Hufflepuff beat Gryffindor. It was disgusting. Slytherin doesn't even care for quidditch anymore, now that we have no competition. We're considering dropping out of the cup altogether."
Harry stared at the blonde, trying to find the bluff. He couldn't be serious…could he? No, Slytherin would never drop out…but there was no lie on his face. Malfoy smirked at Harry's incredulous glare, raising his eyebrows again. "Don't believe me?" He glanced around the hill, smirking as he caught sight of a few of his Slytherin cronies. Oh, don't draw attention to them…
"Blaise!" Harry wanted to dig a hole in the snow and hide as four pairs of judging eyes turned around to glare at Harry. They probably wanted to spend time with Malfoy today, and instead he was with Harry…oh, well…they had years to spend with him. Harry had months. "What's Slytherin doing about Quidditch?"
Zabini blinked, frowning slightly before yelling back a response. "Dropping out!"
No. They couldn't be. It was…sacrilegious! No one dropped out of the cup…no one.
"You've got to be kidding…that's just…" Harry didn't even know what to say. It was as if he had just found out Santa wasn't real…despite the fact Santa had only ever given presents to Dudley. The ideal was nice. If Slytherin dropped out, it just wouldn't work.
"Theodore, you owe me twenty galleons."Malfoy called out, smirking as Nott cursed and kicked a pile of snow. The Slytherins howled with jeers. What?
Malfoy just glanced at Harry, obviously amused. He tsked at him, shaking his head sadly. "Little naive Potty…tut tut. Why would we drop out if it's ensured we're getting the cup? Thanks for helping me win the bet, though."
Harry knew he should have felt annoyed, or angry, and being bet upon…but seriously? He wished he could have fun like that. He couldn't find it in himself to snap back at the decidedly quiet blonde. "…if you give me half, it's even."
"Blaise has already stolen half." Malfoy laughed, trudging a path through the village. It was odd; it was almost as easy to talk to Malfoy than it was to speak to Ron or Hermione. Easier, in fact. He didn't have to mind his language, for one thing, because Malfoy was likely to say something ten times worse. It was just…easy.
Harry followed him into the Three Broomsticks, grateful he chose a spot away from everyone else. He didn't want to have to put up with nosy peers today; it was a day to relax, and have fun. Maybe. If his bloody stomach would settle down enough for him to enjoy it; it was like a bunch of nerves was doing to tango in his gut.
That, and Malfoy didn't approve of butterbeer. Instead, he brought back a fairly large bottle of firewhiskey, and demanded Harry and he drink a shot first up.
Harry coughed as it scorched down his throat; it defiantly wasn't as warm as butterbeer…it was its entirely own genre. Bloody fire seemed soft in comparison.
Harry sipped his drink, wincing at every miniscule drop. How could Malfoy fling it back like that; he barely blinked, let alone winced. He either had absolutely no taste buds, or he was immune. Something Harry found highly improbable.
…
"So…" Harry had to withhold a cringe at the cliché line; bloody hell, he was just trying to stave off the awkward silence! "…Was there anything in particular you wanted to talk about that couldn't have been said in the castle?" There had to be something he wanted to say. He wouldn't have invited him out here for nothing.
"Not particularly." Okay, apparently he would. "Just wondered if I could drag you away from the burrow you've made in the corner of the library. It appears that I can."
There was no burrow. "Apparently." Harry remarked dryly, rolling his eyes as he only received a smirk in reply. Honestly, why was he staring? Didn't he get enough of it during school hours? "So…uh…"
"Use your words, Potty." Malfoy smirked again, his grey eyes shining with amusement. Finally; that was what Harry wanted to see. His eyes were as open a book as Harry's face was claimed to be; if he was amused, he was letting his guard down. The friendly, easy Malfoy was making an appearance.
"You know, it's not really an insult anymore, is it?" Malfoy just blinked at that, a smile toying on his lips. "I mean, you say it all the time, but you don't mean it…I mean…argh, I can't get this out." Harry grabbed his glass and tossed back his drink, spluttering a second later as it scorched his tongue to pieces. Holy shit, people couldn't drink this for fun…it was more like a torture device!
"Elegant, even for you."
"Oh, shut it." Harry rolled his eyes, rubbing his tongue with the napkin. Bloody hell, he was looking like a right tosser at the moment. "What I meant to say, was that it isn't an insult anymore."
"You didn't mean to say it, you did."
"Just...stop trying to confuse me!"
"I don't need to try."
"Okay, okay! I get it; you're Draco Malfoy! Omnipotent, superb, and perfect in every possible way!"
"And don't you forget it."
Harry snorted, fiddling with his empty glass. The prick, he should know what he was trying to say. Harry wasn't an idiot, not by a long shot. Not like Malfoy was trying to make him out to be. He shouldn't need to explain every statement.
Malfoy didn't try to elaborate on the conversation. He just sat across from Harry, occasionally sipping his drink…and stared. Those bloody grey eyes saw every shift; it was unnerving how observant they could be, especially considering how their owner wasn't going light on the drinks.
Harry glanced around the room, sighing inwardly. The Slytherins didn't look too pleased at the moment. Or, Parkinson didn't. She was sitting across the room with her friends…but had blatantly pulled her chair away so she could sit with her arms crossed in the middle of a walkway, glaring at their table. It was impossible to tell who she was oh so disgusted with, but Harry's bets were on him.
"Your friends don't look too happy."
"Ignore her."
"I didn't tell you who it was." Harry smirked as Malfoy rolled his eyes. He hadn't even turned around yet.
"Prove me wrong, Potter. I'll bet you my recently earned twenty galleons." Damn him. He smirked back, shaking his head slightly. "I bet she's tapping her foot. Arms crossed? Looks as if she's about to castrate someone?"
Harry glanced back at her, taking in how her eyes narrowed and her foot started tapping against the wooden floors. Well, that was mightily creepy. "She may be."
"There's no 'may' about it. Wait for someone to tell her to move, and she'll castrate them. My bets are on Thomas."
"You're on. I bet it won't be Dean." He might as well cross something off of his list while he was out here, mightn't he? "You're about to be crossed off of the list, Malfoy."
"Wouldn't count on it." Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear that or not, so opted for ignorance. As usual. Why would Malfoy whisper though? It was a tad odd.
"Are you planning on going home this Christmas?" Harry asked suddenly, chasing off the silence yet again. It must have seemed odd to Malfoy, the utter change in conversation topic, but he didn't comment on it. Yet.
"I'm staying here, actually." He seemed blasé about it, but his eyes suddenly hardened. Damn, that wasn't what Harry was aiming for. "Don't particularly want to go home this year."
"Why?"
Oh, of all the stupid things to ask! Stupid! Stupid!
Harry wanted to shoot himself in the head right then and there. Of course Malfoy wouldn't want to go home. Maybe his magic was addling his brain.
"I mean…sorry, you don't have to-"
"It doesn't feel right." Malfoy overrode Harry, eyes glinting. He was on the defensive; any wrong word and he would become a snake better than an animagus could. "Doesn't feel the same anymore." Of course it wouldn't, having a mad man living there for the worst part of a year. "I suppose I'll have to do my share of charity work and entertain you for Christmas." It should have irritated Harry; instead, guilt swept through his stomach, and, he was sure, across his face.
"Uh…yeah, maybe…"Malfoy's eyes snapped onto it, dragging out an explanation before a word could be uttered. "I mean…I'm visiting my relatives this Christmas. Just trying to sort things out between us…"
"You don't get along?" How did Malfoy not know this? Sure, he knew Harry never went home over Christmas, but how didn't a rumour about the Dursley's reach him? He assumed something would have made its way to the blonde; something about them loathing one another's guts. Apparently not, considering the curious expression slowly redeveloping in Malfoy's eyes.
"I…have no idea, actually. My cousin was okay the last time I saw him…and I think my aunt was regretful…it's better than nothing, right?" Harry was actually counting down the days with dread; he had to tell them about his…illness. And they would care; he had lived with them his entire life, there was no doubt that they would care. It was just going to be hard, having to say it for the first time.
They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping on the disgusting drink. An oppressive atmosphere had settled around them, noticeable for everyone in the room, when considering the glances and points they were receiving from the other occupants. Pansy looked positively glowing.
"I have something that will cheer you up." Malfoy said suddenly, gulping down the last of his drink and shrugging back on his coat. He looked nervous suddenly, but laughed it off. "I was saving it for later, preferably after you had eaten something, but now will do."
"I don't eat much anyway." Harry tried to say, wilting under the blank stare he was given. Malfoy didn't look impressed.
"I know you don't eat. Hence why I was going to shove copious amounts of chicken down your throat." He even looked innocent while saying it. "But, alas…that will have to wait until dinner. If they let me near you."
That boded well. "What do you mean? The detention is almost up; they can't separate us forever."
"They may try." Malfoy smirked, running a hand through his hair. He looked excited though; nervous, but bloody thrilled. The elevated mood was contagious.
Harry followed him back outside with a grin, only a slight frown on his face when Malfoy stopped in the centre of the street. What the hell was going on?
"Hmm…could be a little clearer. At least it isn't snowing…it would be impossible to find…"
"Find what?"
Harry blinked as a grinning Malfoy spun back around to him, laughing apprehensively. "I've decided to be a Gryffindor for a change." He looked disgusted at the thought, but pressed on regardless. Harry pretended not to see him cringe. "You will apparate over there." He pointed to a random spot in the middle of the road.
Okay…not following.
"Um…I don't really get what you're-"
"Just trust me, okay?" And with those eyes shining with excitement, how the hell was he supposed to say no?
Harry bit his own tongue as Malfoy grabbed his hand tightly. They were holding hands. In the middle of the street. Surrounded by teachers and peers and wizards who knew exactly who the two of them were.
Not to mention that his stomach was twisting around uncertainly; his hands felt sweaty and clumsy. He could hear his heartbeat thumping around haphazardly in his chest. He needed to see Pomfrey about these symptoms, they were getting ridiculous.
But right now, all he could think about was the hand wrapped too tightly around his.
"…whenever you're ready, Potty." Malfoy remarked dryly; his nervousness was clear in his voice, cracking slightly. Whatever was going to happen, if it made Malfoy himself again, Harry was fine with it.
Harry spun around, focusing on the spot where Malfoy had pointed. The horrible feeling of being squeezed through a tube ten times too small made him nauseous. It was black, and cold; his eyes were being forced backwards into his sockets, his bones felt as though they were being crushed, his hand felt as if…shit.
Pure panic settled within Harry as his hand began to burn. It was itching; burning…but not being crushed like the rest of him. It was remaining exactly where it was, being yanked savagely off of his limb as he was pulled through space…
"ARGH!" Harry landed with a face full of snow, spluttering and trying to remember how to breathe. His arm was burning, nerves spitting at him cruelly as they spliced through his veins. He could hear gasping and angry voices, but didn't give a flying shit. Malfoy had just splinched him!
On purpose!
The arrogant bastard was going to be castrated in a minute, and not by Parkinson!
Harry didn't particularly want to open his eyes and stare at the stump of a hand, but knew he eventually had to. It was just as bad as he had suspected. His right hand was just…gone. There was only a stump left, which was bleeding quite heavily. The snow around him was already tainted red, the blood seeping into the purity of the snow.
He managed to sit up, cradling his arm to his chest. Glancing around wildly, his eyes spotted Malfoy standing exactly where he had left him. With his hand still clutched in his. Fucking Slytherin…he was going to be dead when Harry got to-!
"Potty," His voice was trembling slightly, worried as all fuck in all probability. He held up Harry's hand, face pale and distraught. Then, he turned around and threw it.
Literally.
He pegged it down the street, watching with some morbid satisfaction as if landed halfway down the street.
What the fuck!?
Harry was ready to throttle the bastard; he was already struggling to his knees to kill him! Sure, he didn't know much about splinching, but he knew you needed your entire body if you were going to be put back together!
"Potty," Malfoy tried again, a failed attempt at a smile. People were running and shouting and creating havoc. Harry almost didn't hear him. "Now you're in two places at once."
Harry blinked.
He was kneeling past the Three Broomsticks.
His hand was at least two hundred metres down the road.
The bastard was right.
He couldn't help the painful laugh that escaped.
Malfoy sprinted to get the hand, almost cringing when he had to pick it up and come bolting back over. Someone had pushed Harry onto his back, trying to examine his stump of an arm. They were being yelled at, berated, and promised to be chained in the dungeon for eternity.
But even through this, Malfoy didn't leave Harry until his hand was properly reattached.
And Harry refused to let go of said annoying little git with his left hand.
"There are other ways to make a statement." Harry chuckled, wincing but still very much happy. Happier than he had been in weeks, actually.
Malfoy just looked mildly relieved that he wasn't going to die by Harry's hand later on that evening. Gryffindor indeed! That was one of the most Slytherin acts Harry had ever seen! He hiccupped a laugh again.
As it turned out, this was the best date ever.
.
.
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8. Be in two places at once