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Author's Note:
Thanks for all the comments and kudos! It's completely surprising to me that so many people have taken the time to read my writing, but I appreciate it immensely.
TW: This chapter contains references to past abuse and neglect that are more graphic/detailed than previous chapters. Please take care of yourselves and skip over the legilimency scenes if this is something that severely impacts you.
Thanks for reading!
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Draco tapped his quill expectantly upon the table, feeling his pulse thrumming against his chest with each second as the time-keeping spell he had summoned displayed 7:06 PM.
Nearly three minutes later, he felt the presence of a certain young wizard appear in the doorway of the library, disheveled and nonchalant about the wasted time. Shuffling over to the table that Draco had clearly claimed for their studies with his coursework materials, Harry Potter began to settle in next to him.
"You weren't in the Great Hall for dinner," Potter started, already seeming agitated. "I thought we might walk over together."
"I don't typically take my meals in the Great Hall," Draco mused, slightly taken aback by his project partner's choice of conversation.
"Just a bit uncomfortable given that I've turned in the parents of most of my former friends and aligned myself with people who have an intrinsic disdain for who I am as a person," he added, eyes focused on the project notes he had strewn across the table rather than on the piercing gaze of the wizard across from him.
"You didn't come to Quidditch tryouts either," Potter stated, sounding like he had rehearsed the interaction, but it came out like more of a question.
"No, I didn't," was all that Draco offered by way of an explanation.
"We aren't making any cuts this year," Potter continued. "Since the House system got abolished, we'll just make as many teams as we can and play each other on a rotating schedule."
"It might be fun to help some of the younger students," he pressed when Draco still didn't respond. "Or just get out and relieve some stress."
"Quidditch was never stress relieving for me," Draco snapped, but Potter didn't seem to notice his change in tone.
"Oh? I just assumed 'cause you were so into being the Seeker. Didn't your father literally buy the entire Slytherin team new brooms in our second year?"
Draco paled at the mention of that particular incident. Those hadn't been I'm-so-proud-of-you brooms or even buying-your-way-onto-the-team brooms, despite what he knew a lot of the other students had assumed. Those had been apology brooms—or maybe even nobody-will-ever-believe-you-just-look-at-all-the-nice-things-I-provide-for-you brooms.
"Yeah," Draco continued after a long silence, "he did."
It seemed to finally dawn on Potter why this might be a sensitive subject and he turned back to the beginning of their project notes. "Wow, you've really put a lot of effort into this."
Draco looked at him amused for a moment, lips quirking into a small smile.
"My studies are very important to me, Potter," he spit out, shuffling the notes around as he rearranged his thoughts.
"I was thinking that we could start with both of our thesis statements and the resources that we had utilized to back them up—and can expand from there. Does that work for you?" Draco asked.
Potter merely nodded in response.
"Excellent," Draco continued. "So I know that you wanted to focus more on Occlumency as a practice while I was more interested in the interactions between psychological fragmentation and magical memory manipulation, but I think that McGonagall was actually correct that they could work well in tandem. If we focus on the more dissociative properties of memory and how that relates to the concealing practiced in Occlumency—well, we've got ourselves a pretty decent thesis, I reckon."
Potter looked at him in shock for a moment, jaw dropped open as he absorbed everything that Draco had just said.
"Wow, yeah," was all that Potter had to contribute, surveying the vast landscape of research that Draco had accumulated on the table before him.
Draco sighed heavily, feeling the general reluctance of the wizard across the table from him.
"Look, I know that I'm probably the last person that you want to be saddled with for your senior project," he started, eyes cast downward. "And I know that I was a complete prat to you during school."
"You could say that again," Harry interjected with a grumble.
"I was a complete prat to you during school," Draco repeated smugly, a small part of him feeling some sense of relief that Potter was at least speaking to him.
When Harry didn't respond, he rolled his eyes. "That's called a joke, Potter."
"Ha ha," Potter spit out sarcastically, rolling his eyes as well.
"Anyways," Draco emphasized. "My point is that this clearly isn't an ideal situation, but I don't think that the Headmistress would have put us on this project together if she didn't see us benefiting in some way—particularly you, Mr. Savior of the Wizarding World."
Potter cringed, and Draco wondered if he had said something that he maybe shouldn't have.
"I actually wanted to start with one of the texts that you mentioned in your project proposal, Occlumency as a Practice: Mental Warding for the Intermediate Spellcaster," Draco said. "I read it over the weekend and it seemed to have some good insights on rudimentary occlumency practice without being overly simplistic."
Potter seemed surprised at the mention of this text, but Draco continued, "I know it may not be exemplary of the texts that we hope to cite in our final presentation, but it did seem more geared towards partner work, and I thought that some of the exercises suggested at the end of Chapter 2 may be a good place to begin."
"Malfoy…" the other boy started, and Draco recognized that tone. It was pity. Or rejection. Or both. He braced himself for impact.
"I'm gonna be totally honest, I only did a brief reading of the texts in my project proposal," Potter admitted sheepishly. "I'll have to circle back on the, um, reflection exercises for Chapter 2."
When Draco furrowed an eyebrow in response, he elaborated with "Well, you see, I tried to ask Hermione for advice on textbooks regarding occlumency and other memory warding magics. These were what she recommended—and I trust Hermione implicitly—but I hadn't quite circled back to a thorough reading on them yet."
"That's not a problem," Draco articulated, sensing the stress in the other boy's voice and pretending to dutifully flip through pages of notes.
"Word of advice, by the way," Draco started, looking up to make eye contact with Potter, "If you're struggling with something, you shouldn't seek help from the person who intuitively understood it the first time they looked at it. The person who had to fight through confusion will be much better suited to help you break through yours."
Potter seemed to drink in what Draco had said and then nodded slowly, looking back towards the other boy as if to search for more crumbs of wisdom.
"Let's flip to the exercises at the end of Chapter 2 together, yeah?" Draco suggested. Harry nodded.
"I figured these would work well since they're intended to be partner exercises and seem pretty rudimentary. Do you have any experience with Occlumency already?"
"Erm—nothing super significant," Potter said, but he trailed off and avoided eye contact in a way that suggested he was withholding part of the truth.
"Alright, we'll pretend that answer wasn't weird," Draco huffed quietly. "Wanna expand on the not super significant experience you have?"
Potter opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again before speaking. "Dumbledore had Snape try to work with me on it during fifth year, but I wasn't very good."
Draco lifted an eyebrow in surprise and then nodded. "That makes sense, actually. Severus gave me some pointers on occlumency, too, once upon a time. I had mostly taught myself up until then, but I think he wanted to make sure my head was as secure as possible with the Dark Lord living in my house. That would've started right around fifth year for me, too."
Potter still looked lost in thought about his own not super significant occlumency experiences, so Draco decided to drop it for the time being.
"Will hopefully make things easier, having a former teacher in common," was all that he added before turning down to the textbook. "Alright, chapter 1 suggested creating a visual representation of a place that feels neutral and safe. Did you do that exercise with Severus?"
Harry shook his head, looking equal parts disdainful and confused.
"No problem, we can do that right now," Draco guided. "It's important to have somewhere to mentally retreat to that feels somewhat peaceful and blank. And to know that you can return there at any point if things get overwhelming."
He used his wand to open Harry's textbook to the page with some guidelines on it and watched his classmate's eyes focus with concentration on the words.
Choose a Place. This can be a place that you've been to before, a place that you've dreamed about, or even a fictional place that you've made up entirely. The important part is that you don't have any negative emotions tied to the place and that it makes you feel calm and grounded.
Use your Senses. Notice the sights, sounds, tastes, and smells around you. Make note of the way that any fabric textures might feel on your skin. Use these senses to make you feel as if you're really in this place.
Focus on your Body. Make note of how your corporeal body feels outside of your head. Do your best to maintain a soft and open posture, relaxing the muscles in your body as well as your face. If you feel any twinges or pains, notice them without judgment and allow yourself to relax into them.
Name the Place. Give this place a name so that you can more easily return to it whenever the need should arise.
"Do you have a place in mind?" Draco prompted after a few moments.
"Er—not really," Potter responded, finger still on the page where he had been trailing the words.
"Do you want to see mine? I've done this with Severus before, and we've gotta start somewhere. A calm, neutral space might be best."
Draco could feel his heart rise into his throat a bit at the offer. The whole thing felt surprisingly intimate.
Potter seemed to contemplate for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, actually, that might help."
"Right, then." Draco cleared his throat before turning to face Potter. "Have you ever done any legilimency before?"
Potter shook his head again and then shrugged. "Well, not intentionally."
Draco raised his eyebrows again, but neither of the boys said anything more.
"Okay, we can talk about that later, I suppose," Draco drawled after a moment of silence. "It's fairly straightforward if you aren't rooting around for specific memories or something a person doesn't want to show you. Just raise your wand and cast Legilimens while focusing on wanting to see what the person is thinking about. It might take a couple tries and the visualization might feel pretty hazy and vague, particularly at first."
Harry nodded tersely, and Draco noticed that he was rubbing his palms against his cloak and breathing a bit faster than usual.
Draco suddenly remembered how frightened he had been to do this with his closest uncle for the first time and realized that Harry Potter was here ready to try this with his former sworn enemy. And something had clearly happened between Potter and Severus that was making him even more apprehensive about the whole thing.
Draco leaned in a bit and tried to smile softly in what he had hoped was a comforting way.
"It took me multiple tries to cast it correctly on Severus, even with him actively trying to show me his thoughts. He had to basically throw the visualization on top of me." Draco smiled a bit despite himself, a tinge of grief mixing with humor.
"Alright, give me a minute to pull the visualization up. On my go-ahead, we can give it a try. And if it doesn't work, well then we'll just give it another go—no big deal."
Draco smiled reassuringly and Potter seemed to relax a bit, holding his wand in his lap and taking a deep breath.
Draco leaned back and did his best to relax, pulling up his own visualization. He had needed to change it from the relaxing lakeside scene he had imagined when the Dark Lord had accidentally wound up there. He had somewhat successfully thrown the memories that he was searching for off, but something about a maniacally sadistic and omnipotent dark wizard in your safe space makes it feel not so safe anymore.
But Draco didn't think about that now.
Instead, he focused on the grip of his mother's arms pressing around him, the smell of cherry wood and smoke emanating from the fire, and the feeling of his small fingers pressed against a new page in his book. His shoulders relaxed and he imagined nestling a bit further under their blanket and into the back of the couch.
"Okay," Draco said softly as he felt a small smile creep onto his lips, "Go ahead."
…
Unbeknownst to Malfoy, Harry wasn't feeling so calm and safe himself. Memories of seeing his father taunting and bullying, playing out a vicious role in Snape's mind, tumbled into the foreground.
Harry did his best to shove those thoughts down, to focus on what was happening in front of him now.
Here was Draco Malfoy, the boy who had constantly harassed him and his friends throughout their school years, showing up to study sessions and doing his best to amicably work together. Not only that—he seemed incredibly prepared for their research and totally willing to be the guinea pig for literal mind invasion.
Harry wondered for a minute if he even wanted to know what was going on in Malfoy's head—he certainly hadn't wanted to know what was going on in Snape's or Voldemort's.
But there was another part of him that was just so curious. He could really only visualize Malfoy in his head as panicked and grief-stricken nowadays, on the verge of tears in front of a bathroom mirror or gasping for panicked breaths while he clung to Harry's broom for dear life. And he wanted to see where Malfoy felt safe.
Harry's stomach twisted in knots at the realization. Not out of concern for him, of course, but maybe there was something in there that Harry could use.
Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he focused on that desire to see where Malfoy felt safe and—upon getting the go-ahead from Malfoy—cast Legilimens.
Despite Malfoy's warning that success was likely to take a few tries, Harry found himself tumbling easily into Malfoy's head.
He felt his body experiencing the space from what seemed to be the perspective of a younger Malfoy, curled up under the arm of his mother on a grey loveseat. The two were under a fuzzy emerald blanket and a fire raged in the hearth a few feet from where they sat.
Everything was much more vibrant than Harry had expected—he could hear the crackling of small embers shooting off the logs, could smell cherrywood and smoke and hints of new parchment.
Draco ran his fingers through the soft blanket, mind being set to rest and the warmth of the scene spreading up through his stomach—and Harry felt it, too.
As soon as it had begun, Harry felt himself tumbling out of Malfoy's mind and back into his own body in the library. He leaned backwards with heavy breaths, feeling tired and disoriented.
"That was good," Malfoy nearly whispered, also leaning back in his chair and looking fatigued. "I should've known that you would take naturally to that bit."
Harry didn't know what he meant by that, but didn't say anything.
"Was that helpful to see, at least?" Malfoy asked, straightening up and dusting off the front of his robes with his hands.
"I think so," Harry said, looking back over the guidelines for setting up his own visualized place.
"Good." Malfoy nodded curtly, seeming to snap his usual pompous visage back into place as though he hadn't essentially just let Harry into his head while he reminisced on cuddling up next to his mom.
Harry couldn't help the pang that ripped through his stomach—that was something that he would never have, time to cuddle up in the warmth and safety of his mom. And it had been nice to even feel it through somebody else, but it had also been surprisingly painful to see what he'd lost. Jealousy flared up in his chest, but he pushed it back down.
He wondered if this was a real memory of Malfoy's, if it was something that happened regularly, or if it was something made up—fabricated, like his own Patronus memory.
He felt like he probably shouldn't ask.
The two sat quietly for a few minutes, Harry working on setting up a pleasantly neutral headspace and Draco making some preparatory notes on the Chapter 2 exercises.
"The book said to name the visualization something?" Harry asked after a few minutes.
Malfoy nodded, putting his quill back in a pot of ink. "It's a good idea. Will help you summon it up more quickly in a pinch if it has a name."
"What did you name yours?"
Malfoy's lips broke into a small grin. "Well, I need to keep some things to myself. Otherwise, how will I maintain this sophisticated aura of intrigue and mystique?"
Harry chuckled despite himself, rolling his eyes at the dramatics. "Fair enough."
"Do you feel comfortable enough with yours?" Malfoy pressed. "I don't need to see it if you don't want me to, but we can move on to the chapter 2 activities if you feel ready."
"I'm ready," Harry nodded, trying to sound confident.
"I believe it."
The two flipped together to the next chapter, now leaning in to read the same book—and Harry couldn't help but notice that their knees had started touching underneath the table. He felt a small hitch of anxiety in his throat, but still leaned in so that they were touching with a bit more pressure.
"Alright, so the first exercise involves attempting to occlude one object from a space," Malfoy started, leaning in towards the book. "It should be easier than attempting to occlude the entire space from view. This will also give us a chance to see if we can just feel the presence of the other person in our head and get a sense of what that's like."
Harry nodded, hoping that he was exuding confidence.
"They suggest doing something very familiar to us, like a childhood bedroom. I was thinking that I could attempt the occlumency first since the legilimency came easily in that orientation last time?" Malfoy suggested.
Harry paled at the mention of starting in their childhood bedrooms.
"Or you could try the occlumency first instead?" Malfoy countered, clearly sensing the energy shift in the room.
"No, that's fine—let's give it a shot," said Harry.
"Ok perfect, I think I have an image in mind and an object to occlude," Malfoy said, scratching a quick note onto a piece of parchment before leaning back in his chair and facing Harry as he closed his eyes. "Whenever you're ready."
Harry took a deep breath and turned to face Malfoy as well, trying to focus on the desire to see what was being visualized in Malfoy's head like he had done the first time.
"Legilimens," he whispered, pointing out his wand.
There was a similar lurching in his stomach as he went tumbling into what he assumed to be Malfoy's childhood bedroom. His senses seemed to be slightly less in tune than they were in the first activity, although he felt as though he could see his surroundings clearly.
In front of him was a four-poster bed with what appeared to be a steel black frame. The sheets were similarly black and as Harry reached down to touch them, he found that he could feel the satin.
The bed had two black nightstands on either side and a large black trunk at the foot of the bed. As he turned around, there was also a walk-in closet to his left and a large mahogany desk with an office chair in front of it.
To his right, there was a small stone hearth that didn't seem to be lit at that moment and a small black loveseat directly in front of it.
The room was more or less as Harry had expected, with hardwood floors and high ceilings and dark colors. It was very dimly lit, the only light coming from whatever sun had managed to seep through the heavy black curtains covering each window.
He noted that there was a marked lack of decoration and that the space hardly seemed lived-in, save from a few books and stray pieces of parchment on the desk.
Everything seemed to suddenly fade away as Harry and Malfoy were both pulled back into the Bell Towers library.
"Alright, what did you notice?" Malfoy spoke first.
"Er, let's see—big, four-poster bed with black satin sheets. Fireplace with a black couch, hardwood floors, desk and office chair with a few textbooks and spare bits of parchment on it," Harry listed.
"Anything on the walls?" Malfoy pressed, leaning back in towards Harry.
Harry thought back for a moment. "No, I actually noticed that, too. No decorations of any kind. Just big windows and black curtains."
Malfoy smirked at that, looking particularly smug. He reached down towards the bit of parchment laid face-down on the table and showed Harry his neat penmanship: Slytherin banner.
"Good to know I've still got it," Malfoy said softly, looking down and fumbling with the bit of parchment in his hands. It sounded as though it was meant to be a self-congratulatory comment, but the expression on his face was withdrawn.
"Are you ready to try?" Malfoy asked, seeming to snap back into his body.
Harry nodded, but he could tell that he looked about the same as how he felt at the moment—concerned and a bit worried that he might be sick.
"Don't worry," Malfoy started, speaking softly and leaning in slightly. "These exercises are typically done in first-year training for researchers, aurors, and mind healers. We're the same age as a lot of them ought to be anyways—I'm sure they wouldn't be doing that if it wasn't relatively safe."
Malfoy's cheeks colored slightly, fingers moving back to fiddle with the parchment scrap.
"Plus, your natural legilimency skills are admittedly very strong," he added. "I had to intentionally block a couple other things that came up as well as the Slytherin banner—could feel you trying to pull me to different memories and feelings. And you have a very strong presence in my head. I'm sure that the occlumency will come quite naturally to you as well when you aren't so pressed for time and being taught by a professor who despises you."
Harry's breath hitched in his throat slightly as he realized that this was likely the kindest that Malfoy had ever spoken to him. He nodded slowly, feeling surprisingly reassured at his former enemy's words.
"Plus, I've been living in the room next to yours all term, so if you're worried that I'll see the slovenly state of your room and realize that you're a disgusting pig person—rest assured, I already know."
The regular Malfoy seemed to be back, and he looked incredibly pleased with himself for that last jab, but Harry didn't find any traces of malice in his eyes when he looked up.
Rolling his eyes and letting out a huff, Harry started contemplating what would be best to occlude. He would visualize Dudley's second bedroom, of course—it wouldn't exactly feel great for his former rival to see the dingy cupboard that he spent his early childhood years living in.
As Harry thought about his bedroom on Privet Drive—the small, brown desk that typically had Hedwig's cage sitting atop it, his bedside table with a broken eggshell lamp, the blue walls and stained gray carpet, his twin bed with no comforter that was frequently covered in miscellaneous objects—he found himself being flooded with memories and emotions.
Guilt, maybe? It felt similar—a gnawing ache that crept into his stomach and reminded him how intrinsically worthless he was.
He blinked and gulped, attempting to push the buzzing in his chest and stomach down and out through his feet.
The lamp, he decided on a whim, moving to grab a spare bit of parchment and quill to write that down. That should be easy enough to remove from the scene, he figured, since it had never really functioned as a lamp anyways.
Finishing his scrawling, Harry looked back up and saw Malfoy eyeing him intently. The expression on his face wasn't readable, but looked almost akin to curiosity.
Malfoy cleared his throat and grabbed his wand, turning to fully face Harry again. "You ready? Why don't you take a minute to make sure the image is solid in your head and that it doesn't include the item you're trying to occlude. I'll see if I can access it on your go ahead."
"Uh—sure," Harry nodded, folding his hands on his lap and closing his eyes. He did his best to imagine the physical details of the room—how Hedwig's cage would rattle slightly on the uneven desk surface, the contrast of the white door against the blue walls, the feel of his flannel sheets. Everything except for the broken lamp.
"I'm ready," Harry spoke, hoping that it sounded more like an assertion than a question.
He heard some rustling that he assumed was Malfoy raising his wand and then a soft Legilimens.
Immediately, the experience was nothing like tumbling into Malfoy's head or like how Snape had invaded his mind in fifth year. The scene started out a bit hazy, even for him, but the feeling of his thick flannel sheets below him allowed him to ground himself into the visualization.
He was sitting on his bed in Dudley's second bedroom, surrounded by bits of laundry that he wasn't sure were clean and empty water bottles. The room smelled stale, and he could tell that it was summer just by the dust and the light coming in through the window.
There was a tug at his stomach, much smaller than he had felt when lurching into Draco's head, but he could tell that his body in this memory was being partially co-piloted.
The sensation was odd, like he was present but his consciousness had been pulled to the back of his head rather than sitting just behind his eyeballs. He felt his body stand up and survey the space, landing on running a hand along the now empty nightstand top and the top of the desk.
Hedwig was there in her cage, grooming her beautiful white feathers and cooing contentedly at Harry's approach. He felt a surge of emotion in his chest—love, or maybe protection.
This was followed quickly by an overwhelming wave of grief, and he couldn't tell if Malfoy would be feeling that, too.
It was almost as if Harry had never really had a minute to himself to think about Hedwig and the fact that he would never get to see her again. Here she was right in front of him, looking and feeling and sounding so real and yet, this was really just all in his hand.
Something inside of Harry broke at the realization—and he felt the visualization fragment, too.
Suddenly, he was staring at a slightly younger version of Dobby, the house elf's eyes wide with panic and mischief as he bolted out of Harry's bedroom and into the living room of Number 4 Privet Drive.
Harry sprinted after the house elf in complete alarm, feeling his heart thrumming wildly in his chest, until he saw the cake that Aunt Petunia had spent all afternoon making splattering all over Mrs. Mason's head.
He was suddenly encompassed by an overwhelming sense of dread, and the next memories came flooding into the forefront of his mind in rapid succession.
His Uncle Vernon, face gone nearly purple with rage, screaming out insults as he grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair and slammed his small body repeatedly into the wall by the stairs.
The disdainful look on his Aunt Petunia's face, like he was a tea stain on her favorite blouse, after Vernon had thrown him about with a little too much force and sent him tumbling to the ground on top of a potted plant.
His lungs constricted with a cough as it rained down dust and mildew in his cupboard underneath the stairs—a surefire sign that Dudley was jumping up and down on the middle steps again.
It was as if he were really trapped in that cupboard again, spending hours lying on his thin bedroll that encompassed the entire floor and staring up at the spider that had made a home in the opposite corner, making no noise and pretending that he didn't exist.
He felt so weak and so empty that he didn't even have the energy to worry about starving to death—and this time he could tell that Malfoy was there feeling it, too.
His hunger has eclipsed in on itself until his ears were ringing and his chest hurt and he was so violently nauseated that he wasn't even sure he was relieved when the door flap opened to reveal the ends of several loaves of bread and a block of provolone cheese on a paper towel.
Harry tried desperately to throw himself back to his other bedroom, but it was like the mental pipeline he had opened in remembering Hedwig and Dobby had an incredibly fast and strong one-way current.
Harry was in a state of complete and total panic, memories and feelings and sensations seeming to call for his attention from every angle, collapsing into a whirlwind of colors and a buzzing so aggressive that it practically sounded monotonous.
There was another tug—a very hard tug—and Harry felt himself once again looking into the big, bright eyes of Dobby the house elf.
Harry was smaller this time, even thinner than Harry ever remembered being, and it took him a moment to realize that he was back in the childhood bedroom of Draco Malfoy.
It took another moment for him to notice that he was in pain. His entire back was stinging in the way that a paper cut stung when you get hand sanitizer into it. He looked out at his hands, where his knuckles were swollen and red and had blood leaking from several places.
He was lying on his side on the black satin sheets of the four-poster bed and could feel the dry, crusty remnants of tears still sticking to his face, which felt swollen and congested.
"Dobby thinks that the Master didn't need to do that," came Dobby's apprehensive voice, reaching out to survey his hands. The elf looked torn, like everything in his being was telling him to do something that he knew he wasn't supposed to do.
He snapped his fingers and nearly winced, trembling as he handed a young Malfoy the newly materialized glass of water. "Young Master Draco should take small sips of water and try to breathe."
Malfoy winced in turn as his raw knuckles bent around the glass, but he took a small sip anyways and then placed it on one of the bedside tables. Laying back down on his side with his arms outstretched in front of him, he sniffled a bit more.
"Thank you, Dobby," he whispered, so quietly that Harry would've missed it if he wasn't in the head of the person who spoke the words.
The memory very abruptly snapped in on itself, like a door slamming shut, and Harry was catapulted back into his body in the library with such force that he rocked back in his chair.
"What the hell, Potter?" Malfoy snarled, standing up despite the rattling of his limbs.
"I—sorry, I didn't mean to do that. I—I don't know what happened," Harry stumbled out in confusion.
"What the hell are you playing at, huh?" Malfoy ignored his response, face flushed with rage. "I'm meant to believe that you stumble in here with supposedly no super significant occlumency or legilimency skills and then you proceed to do legilimency wandlessly while my guard is down?"
Malfoy was seething—and still looked rather panicked, his chest heaving up and down with each breath.
"Er—was that what I did? I swear, Malfoy, I didn't even know that was something I could—"
"Oh, come off it," Malfoy bit out before he had a chance to complete the thought. "If this is some asinine attempt to gather more intel on my father for the Wizengamot, you can tell McGonagall that I'll happily change my project topic. It was utterly idiotic to have two supposedly untrained nineteen year olds messing around inside each other's heads anyways and—"
"Malfoy," Harry cut him off harshly, nearly yelling and standing up so that they were on eye level, their faces just inches apart. Malfoy looked surprised for a moment, startling back.
"Do you really think that I would have just shown you all of that voluntarily if I had any clue what I was doing?" Harry asked, nostrils flaring. "Merlin, you're such a prick sometimes. Not everything is about you!"
"Oh, sorry if I'm making it about me," Malfoy started sarcastically, hands raised in mock submission, "that you went poking around in my memories without my consent."
"Malfoy, it wasn't intentional—okay? I panicked. Let's just pretend neither of us saw anything."
"I think I'm quite done for the day," Malfoy said through grit teeth, shoving their work into his bag and knocking Harry on the shoulder with surprising force as he stormed out of the library.
Harry looked around and noticed the only other occupants of the library—a group of incredibly concerned-looking third years—staring at him in bewilderment.
"What an absolute prat," he spat, mostly to himself, and the third years turned abashedly back to their work.