Draco spends the majority of breakfast that Saturday morning poking at his food, rather than actually eating it. Occasionally he'll take a long sip of his pumpkin juice, or have a bite of his toast – soggy from the jam he'd piled on and just a little too burnt – but the rest of his meal sits untouched. It's really only to avoid the conversation happening around him at the table, and suspicion of the others, rather than because of hunger.

The others don't seem to notice, too busy talking about their plans for the day. But, if they do happen to notice his unusual behaviour between all the excitement, the chatter and the bickering, none of them comment on it.

They're all going to Hogsmeade today after breakfast. Draco is coming as well, or rather, he hasn't said he isn't going and no one is assuming otherwise.

"Are you getting anything for Potter?"

The teasing tone is accompanied by an elbow gently poking his side, and he looks up from his plate. Pansy smiles at him, an amused glint in her eyes, and he resents the way she makes him feel. He can feel the corners of his lips attempting to force a smile onto his face, and he looks away in what he hopes is a sheepish fashion.

"I don't know."

Considering the fiasco that happened just across this room yesterday, he highly doubts he wants anything but Draco out of his sight.

Pansy's hand comes to rest on his arm, and he has half a mind to shrug it off. He doesn't, rather letting it stay there and ignoring the support it's supposed to bring him. "You should come with me to Honeydukes," she suggests, and Draco merely hums in response. "I'm getting Hannah these gumdrops that grow little saplings when you plant them that taste just like candy floss."

He had warned – threatened, one may say – Hannah Abbott of what would happen if she ever breaks Pansy's heart, but perhaps it's the opposite he should be more concerned about.

"I'll have a look around," he says, and whether he means it or not, he isn't quite sure of just yet.

He finishes his pumpkin juice before they leave, tucks a lock of hair behind his unusually unruly hair, and takes his time checking his jacket pockets for his coin pouch before he follows the others. A few of the other Slytherin students still here – too young for weekend trips to Hogsmeade – watch them pass by with both envy and admiration.

Normally he would be at the front, leading his friends wherever he was going and at whatever pace he wanted. Groups of students blocking the way in the corridors would wordlessly part and get out of the way at the mere sight of them, behind him his friends would snicker at the fear they'd instill in them, and the bravery in certain ones – Gryffindors – would never last long.

Now, he trails behind. Not so far his friends – for the lack of a better term – are leaving him behind, but enough to fall into step with Crabbe and Goyle who usually end up in the back of the group. Pansy keeps both Blaise and Theo busy enough with her rambling about gumdrops and saplings to not notice his partial absence, and Crabbe and Goyle are far too absorbed in their conversation about their own plans. Draco shoves his hands into the pockets of his jackets, and wordlessly tags along.

They've only just stepped outside the castle, door shutting behind Draco with a loud "thud", when there is the sound of loud voices across the courtyard. It's loud enough to disrupt the conversations happening between them, and Pansy lets out an annoyed noise and makes a comment about "annoying first years".

Except, they're not first years. The group of students on the other side of the courtyard are older than that, third years perhaps, and some of them look oddly familiar he notes as they get closer. However, it isn't the half wearing green jumpers he recognises.

One of them is wearing an arm sling, and hides behind the Hufflepuff girl currently going at the group of Slytherins.

"I'll tell your head of house, and we'll see how much you like getting expelled."

One of the Slytherins scoffs, arms crossed as he looks at her in amusement, clearly not bothered by her threat. "Oh, you'll tell on me, will you?" The other Slytherins gathered behind him laugh. "Well, as it happens, I haven't done anything."

"Rubbish," a Ravenclaw pipes up, stepping up to the Slytherin and standing in front of him. "You hexed her broom before the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match on Thursday. It went all haywire and made her crash into the stands." Ahead of Draco, Pansy snorts, and shares an amused look with Blaise as they pass by. "They're missing their backup Keeper for at least four weeks now."

"So?" The Slytherin gets right up in the girl's face, and stares at her with animosity, like she's nothing. "She's a Gryffindor, not to mention a mudblood. Hex or not, she'd crash into the stands anyway, right where she belongs."

Someone reaches for their wand, and nearly everyone else does as well. Their voices grow louder and blend together in an incomprehensible shouting match.

Pansy, Blaise and the others resume their conversations and continue walking as if nothing happened, clearly not very interested anymore. And, for several moments, Draco follows them, but something makes him stop.

Something creeping up in his chest prompts him to turn back around, walk right through the group of third years shouting their little lungs out, and grab the Slytherin he presumes is the leader by the collar. At once the arguing and shouting ceases, and the kid stares at Draco with wide eyes. He resents the glint of admiration and respect in his eyes, and he resents the fact that the kid looks so much like him.

"Malfoy–"

"Shut it." Draco yanks the kid closer, and his eyes narrow in disdain, in annoyance, and in disappointment. The third year Slytherin cowers in his grip. "I will personally make sure you never make the Slytherin team, because that's right, you're not on it, are you?" The kid looks away. "If there's someone I don't want to rely on to get my team a win, it's a pathetic nobody like you."

With that, he lets go, and the kid's legs nearly buckle.

"I'll be seeing you in the stands next match, right where you belong," is all he says, before he walks away. He passes by his friends on the way, and all they do is stare at him as he heads out of the courtyard. A moment later, however, he hears Pansy snicker and the others chuckle.

"Well, you heard him, children. Off you go," Pansy says over her shoulder with a gleeful giggle, before running ahead to catch up to Draco. "It should be almost bedtime for you by now."

The others eventually follow, albeit at a slower speed, all grinning in amusement at the speechless group of third years they leave behind. When Blaise catches up, he pats him on the back, and smiles. "There you go, just what you needed. You're acting like yourself again."

Draco doesn't say anything the entirety of the way to Hogsmeade.

Their group splits apart just past the entrance, near the Three Broomsticks, with an agreement of meeting back here in a couple hours or so. Pansy spots Honeydukes just down the road, and when Draco wordlessly declines her invite, she grabs Theo by the arm before he can utter a word, and pulls him with her. He seems interested enough in joining, though, once he realises what's happening.

"I'm thinking about stopping by Gladrags," Blaise announces, once Crabbe and Goyle have gone off to look around, "see if they've got anything interesting." He looks at Draco. "Want to come?"

"No." He shakes his head – has already decided he wants to wander about alone for the next few hours. Perhaps he'll pop into a shop and see if he can find a gift for his mother, and somehow hide it away until her birthday this summer. Madam Puddifoot's might have something she'll like. "I think I'll have a look around. Alone."

The hint of a grin tugs at Blaise's lips, and for a moment Draco wonders if he's still thinking about those third years from earlier. It can't have been that amusing.

"Right," he says, that stupid grin of his growing even bigger. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat, and turns to leave, but pauses. "Find him something nice. Maybe you'll win him over that way."

Blaise leaves before he can protest. It's not like that, he wants to say – to call after him – because it isn't. It really isn't what he had meant, but then his gaze wanders, and his words get lost somewhere on their way to his lips.

Quality Quidditch Supplies.

The shop is much smaller than the one in Diagon Alley, and Draco is surprised by just how much stuff they've managed to fit in here despite of this. All along the walls are racks of Quidditch uniforms and League teams merchandise, both house and League team banners, and posters of several famous players in action.

He carefully shuffles past the display of the newest and fastest broom – the very same one he owns – to look at the assortment of servicing kits with broomstick polishes, manuals, and clippers. None of what he uses is anywhere to be found, though considering his father got his kit imported from a shop in Stockholm – the same one the British team gets their supplies from supposedly – he isn't too surprised.

Further at the back are the Quaffles, Bludges, and Snitches. As Seeker of the Slytherin team, it's the latter Draco's attention fixates on as he slips past some girls looking through a rack of Chudley Cannons jumpers.

One sits on display behind glass. It has its wings spread, it shines a beautiful gold in the warm light of the shop, and the engravings in the material are intricate and precise. For a moment he doubts it's real, before it suddenly starts moving around in the glass case, oddly calm. He supposes it has been charmed somehow for display purposes.

It's pretty.

"Malfoy."

Draco nearly jumps out of his skin, and turns to look at whoever dared rock up next to him while he wasn't looking, and scare the absolute life out of him in the process. And if this wasn't big enough of a scare, who he sees standing there is an even bigger one.

Harry Potter.

For a moment all he does is stare at him – gawk, even – because what else is he supposed to do when Potter willingly approaches him, especially after a fiasco such as his attempted apology yesterday. Not to mention, he's dressed in casual clothes now, which is a surprisingly rare sight. It isn't often he graces Draco's presence – purposefully – outside of school hours.

He looks away when he finds himself looking a little too long at the way Potter's shirt fits, and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Potter," he says. His voice only wavers a tiny bit, so he dares continue. "Here for a new Snitch, or are you seeking to take revenge for yesterday instead?"

He can feel Potter looking at him, and he makes himself busy looking at the sets of Quidditch balls put on display in front of them. Once again, however, it's the Snitch that draws his attention.

"You apologised to them," Potter says, and his tone is difficult to decipher. He dares not look at him to see whether it's negative or not – isn't quite sure he wants to know. Potter might be looking at him with eyes narrowed in disappointment, and Draco has dealt with enough of that these past few days.

He doesn't want him to be disappointed. He wants Potter to like him, and if the most of that he's going to get is through staying in the equiprobability of not knowing, then so be it.

"I did," Draco says, following the Snitch with his eyes, "and you know what happened next."

"Why?"

Draco's brows furrow, and he keeps his eyes on the Snitch. It's hard to tell where Potter's going with this. To be quite honest, he assumes he's here to chastise him and chew him out for yesterday. "What do you mean 'why'?"

"Why'd you apologise to them?" Potter says, and he sounds suspicious now. Is he reverting back to thinking this is all for a shag again?

A few moments pass by before he answers, because why did he do that? Sure, Potter asked it of him and he felt compelled to comply, and he knew he eventually would have to, but… Mainly he apologised because he felt bad – because of the guilt creeping up his chest and seizing his attention.

"I feel bad," he explains, and stares at the Snitch moving around behind the glass as he tries to find his next words, "I feel bad for being the person I am, and I wanted to apologise… Or at least try to."

Potter doesn't say anything, or rather, he doesn't get the time to.

"It feels weird – apologising. Like, despite having so much wrong to make right, it feels like I have never done anything worth apologising for in my entire life," Draco explains, still not taking his eyes off the Snitch. It's nice to have something to focus on that can't show emotions. "I thought I could do it, because it had gone alright enough with Longbottom, but…

"Then Weasley started accusing me of putting a love potion in your drink to embarrass you and make you like me, and– and Granger started getting all concerned about you, like she believed that." Draco frowns. "It just slipped out."

The two of them stand there for a while, not saying anything else. Potter isn't looking at him anymore, and one quick glance to the side tells him he's looking at the Snitch as well, following it with his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Draco says, "I'm sorry for all of it."

Potter is looking at him now, and this time Draco dares look at him too. The almost curious look in his eyes as he studies him is very reminiscent of Blaise, and he's not quite sure whether or not that's a good thing. Still, he supposes it is better than disappointment.

"I don't accept it," he begins, and Draco can't deny the hurt that spreads through him. He suppresses the frown tugging at his lips, "and I don't have to accept it." Draco nods stiffly, and looks away.

"But I believe what you say, and maybe I'll accept it in the future."