Chapter 9

Draco wasn't sure how he felt about his first intentional meeting with Harry Potter. Objectively speaking, it had gone well. He had succeeded in making Potter give him a second chance, whatever that meant, and they had then had a somewhat enjoyable conversation. At least it had been interesting. It would still require a lot of work if he was to gain Potter's friendship and access any of the benefits that would come with it, but he thought he had significantly increased the chances of success for his admittedly rather desperate plan. So he ought to have been pleased with himself, and instead he felt very much like he had torn out his last shred of integrity and dignity and dragged it through the mud. Some part of him was screaming for him to abandon the plan, that he couldn't possibly go through with this and should just go back to regaining favour with Slytherin House or give up on his ambitions altogether. It seemed to be screaming with Pansy's voice too, which might have been why he snapped at her during dinner, when she asked him what it was he kept staring at.

"We should have a hand signal for your mood swings," she mumbled. "Then you could just do that and I could keep at a safe distance until you become a normally functioning person again."

"I'm not having mood swings, I just wasn't staring at anything."

"I don't care."

He hadn't been staring, but when he entered the great hall, his eyes had sought Potter out at the Gryffindor table. They had exchanged what felt like a meaningful glance, except he wasn't sure what they had been trying to say. And then when he sat down at the Slytherin table he found he could still see Potter, and he had caught the boy looking at him three times so far, which was unnerving.

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In the next couple of days, it turned out that significant looks was going to be a continuing thing. He supposed it was the uncertainty as to how they were supposed to act towards each other that had caused this tense awareness of the other person. He was even beginning to feel that they ought to say hi to each other in the corridors, that the long eye contact or self-conscious avoidance of eye contact was getting awkward.

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Then one Tuesday after Herbology, the Slytherins and Ravenclaws were walking over the muddy ground back up to the castle from the greenhouses, and the 7th years from the other two houses were headed in the opposite direction, on the way to their own lesson. He spotted Potter with his usual group of friends when they were halfway down the hill. They were all talking excitedly and he thought maybe this time they would pass each other without notice, but then Potter looked up. His eyes found Draco where he was at the back of the flock of Slytherins. Draco gave a slight nod. And Potter nodded back. It was such a small gesture, but it felt monumental. It felt like they had skipped years of continued grudges and hostility into a state of civil recognition that belonged to their adult selves. Potter looked away, but Draco was still watching him when the trip-jinx hit him. He felt his ankles being suddenly yanked away and fell forwards spectacularly, his entire front and face hitting the mud as he only halfway managed to break the fall with his hand. The sound of laughter rose from the group behind him. Slowly, he raised himself to his hands and knees and spat to get the dirt out of his mouth.

"We are witnessing The Fall of the Malfoy-family!" called some witty bastard, misquoting the painful headline from the Prophet a few months earlier.

Draco got to his feet, wiping mud from his face. Seamus Finnigan was laughing hysterically next to Ernie Macmillan, who had his wand out. Several other Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and a few stray Ravenclaws had stopped to watch as well.

"Don't look so angry, Malfoy. Just because we curse you, it doesn't mean we're not on the same side, remember?" said Neville Longbottom.

"Watch your mouth-" he spat, but was cut off by Hannah Abbott.

"Or what, your father will hear about it?"

The entire group broke out laughing again, even the ones who had been pressing their hands over their mouths before, trying to hide their giggles.

"Come on Malfoy, take out your wand," called Macmillan. "Maybe you can demonstrate some of the things your auntie Bella taught you? Get yourself sent back to Azkaban where you belong?"

"Cut it out, Ernie!"

They all turned as one to look at Harry Potter. He was standing on the edge of the group flanked by the two Weasleys, who were still grinning, and Granger, who had her arms folded across her chest and an inscrutable expression on her face. Most of the laughter died out, and Macmillan looked uncertain.

"What?"

"Just leave him alone. He has just as much a right to be here as we do."

Macmillan looked over at Draco as if to make sure he and Potter were talking about the same person.

"I wouldn't exactly say that," he said sceptically.

But he put his wand back in its holster, and just like that, Draco became air. His audience dissolved and walked away as if nothing had happened. He watched them leave, but too many people blocked his view for him to be able to tell what was going on around Potter. He stood up and found his wand. He mumbled a cleaning charm to get the mud out of his hair and face.

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It was the first time in this school year that anyone had actually targeted him with a jinx rather than just insulting him, but the little incident had made him exponentially more paranoid. All day he kept looking over his shoulder and tensed every time he passed other students, even if they were only second years. That evening he was late for dinner and was rushing down the stairs when a bat swooped down and brushed past him inches from his face. He started and actually managed to pull out his wand and get into a duelling stance before he realized that he wasn't under attack, no one had cast a bat bogey hex and that the hall was empty. The bats hanging from the ceiling and occasionally dropping down to flap around above the marble staircase were some of the early Halloween decorations that had already been put up. Draco put his wand away and took a deep breath to compose himself. He continued down the stairs just as another boy came hurrying from the opposite direction.

"Potter!" he called out as soon as he recognized him.

The other boy stopped. Draco walked faster down the steps to catch up with him, and then they were both standing there at the foot of the stairs with just a little more distance between them than what would be considered relaxed, a little too far apart for a normal conversation. And Draco realized that he had called out before actually thinking about what he wanted to say.

"Did you want something?" asked Potter.

"Yes, I uh..." he fumbled. "I wanted to say thank you. For earlier," he managed with a half shrug.

"Right," said Potter. "You're welcome. That was the agreement, right?"

Draco nodded.

"Yes, it was."

Potter nodded as well. He looked away. Draco had his arms crossed. The silence stretched out between them. Draco searched his mind for something to say, but he couldn't even think of any snide remarks that might have made it feel like a normal interaction between him and Potter.

"So are you excited about the feast tomorrow?"

"What?" said Draco, disoriented.

"The feast," repeated Potter. "Just, there's been a lot of… people are excited about Halloween in Gryffindor, so I just asked if, yeah, nothing."

"Oh, right. I wasn't planning on going, actually."

"Why not?"

"These days I make it a priority to spend as little time as possible with my housemates and most other people in the school, and going to the Halloween feast isn't really compatible with that philosophy."

"Right," said Potter.

"But I imagine you're hosting Dumbledore's Army's preparty now that you have developed such a great love for firewhisky?"
Potter snorted, or maybe it could be counted as a laugh.

"Not really, no. I'm pretty sure Ginny is in charge of smuggling alcohol, she has been getting a lot of letters from George recently. Actually I'm not going either."

"Really?"

Potter shrugged.

"It's still kind of a celebration of Voldemort's death, even though he didn't die that time. I just… Hermione warned me that there might be speeches this year. A lot of them. She said her and Ron would skip the party with me, but I told them they should go. I just don't want to be there."

"Well that doesn't sound like much of an explanation, I can't imagine why you would want to skip a party that is all about praising you for being a hero from the day you were born and until today, saving everyone from the same Dark Lord twice. It sounds like just your sort of thing."

"It's the day my parents died."

"So what do you plan to do instead?" asked Draco, pretending that Potter hadn't just tried to derail their barely functioning conversation with his whiny statement. "Will you just be moping around in Gryffindor tower all evening?"

"I thought I would go flying a bit."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Sounds nice," he said.

"Do you want to come?"

The question was blurted out. It took a seconds hesitation for Draco to take it in.

"What?" he asked.

"If you want to," Potter reeled. "If you were planning on moping around the Slytherin dungeon all evening, I won't stop you."

"Oh. No, I'll come."

Potter nodded.

"Right. Good," he said, like he was trying to convince himself. "Are you still flying that Nimbus 2001?"

"No, I got the limited 2002 a few years ago. They only made a few, since it's pretty much the same broom just with a few adjustments."

"Cool."

"Have you smashed up your Firebolt yet, or is it still flying?"

"Still flying. It made it through the war."

"Impressive."

"It's a good broom."

"I suppose it is."

There was another gap of silence. They stood across from each other, the two of them alone in the entrance hall, the flapping sounds of bat wings above them, and Potter was looking at him. This long, uninhibited stare, as if he was trying to figure something out.

"What?" asked Draco.

Potter blinked and looked away.

"Nothing," he said.

"Well, we should probably get inside before all the food disappears."

"Right. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll meet you down by the quidditch pitch when the feast begins," he said, pushing open the doors to the great hall.

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Harry followed Malfoy inside. They split up and went to sit down at their own house tables. Ron and Hermione had saved him a seat. He began loading up his plate.

"What were you doing with Malfoy?" asked Hermione.

Harry looked from her to the Slytherin table.

"Nothing," he said. "He just passed me in the hall."