Chapter 1
Platinum blonde hair. Harry sees it. If it wasn’t such a bizarre thought, Harry would think Malfoy made his hair this colour on purpose, so everyone could spot him at all times, such a narcissist.
Harry is supposed to be heading to the library, Ron said Hermione wanted to talk with them, but that is soon forgotten as he sees Malfoy heading out.
He strides after him, keeping a safe distance so the bleached ferret doesn’t see him.
When Malfoy reaches school grounds and sits near the lake, Harry sits behind a tree and carefully watches from afar. Merlin, he feels like a crazy stalker, but he’s doing it for the safety of others, right? Someone has to keep guard, so what if he takes it a tad bit too seriously?
Malfoy somehow looks very troubled. His shoulders are slumped, he’s watching the surface of the lake, wind ruffling his hair and the blonde is not trying to smooth them out.
Weird, he doesn’t usually let his hair get ruined.
The thought crosses his mind and Harry stares surprised for a second, wondering how the heavens did he notice that and deemed it worthy remembering?
Harry examines the blonde strands closely. Are they as smooth as they look?
He suddenly feels very out of place, watching Malfoy like this, and wants to leave, but the surroundings seem very quiet and Harry is afraid Malfoy will notice him leaving.
So he leans against the tree and keeps watching. It seems Malfoy went out to get his mind cleared.
The blonde then takes out a brown notebook and a quill and starts writing something.
Harry watches Malfoy’s slim fingers holding the quill and finds himself wondering what it is that Malfoy could be writing about.
Oh Salazar, how I wish I could smack Potter’s face once more. How it troubles me to have everyone following me and obeying every order. Oh what a poor life I am forced to live, having to wake up in satin blankets every morning, eating only the most delicate food on the continent. I wish it would be on the whole world.
Harry laughs quietly at his last thought and then freezes.
Malfoy’s body slowly starts turning around and Harry stops breathing and stills. The grey eyes thrust themselves into the green. Bloody hell. What a bizarre shade of grey. Somehow he doesn’t dare say anything, just stays paralyzed, taking part in the staring contest.
Grey. Grey, grey, like the fur of mongrel dogs.
Malfoy gets up and slowly starts walking towards Harry. He stops about a step from him and frowns. Harry notices that the blonde is biting his cheek, notices the dark shadows under the grey eyes, the clenched jaw, the still pose. Like a criminal, that got caught, but it was hours ago and now he’s weighed down with guilt. But Malfoy doesn’t look guilty, he somehow doesn’t look anyhow. Like a dead person, like emotions are something so long gone he doesn’t possess them.
“Got something better to do than watch me all day, Potter?”
Oh, his voice. So lacking the arrogance, the need to show everyone he’s better than them. Even the content of the sentence was very weak, like he didn’t really mean it, like he didn’t care about anything in the world.
It made Harry angry. Just who does he think he is, pretending he doesn’t care? Harry always knew how to get under his skin, right? So why is his throat so dry right now, no words coming out, his mind empty?
The silence stretches on. Malfoy soon gives up and after giving Harry a miserable look he heads back to the castle.
That night when Harry comes back to the Gryffindor tower, muttering a hollow apology to Ron for not showing up, Harry dreams of platinum blonde hair. He dreams of grey stormy eyes looking at him like a deer in headlights. Like he was supposed to receive a message and didn’t understand the contents. It’s not a pretty dream, Harry thrashes in his sleep as if possessed. Maybe that’s not too far from the truth. Possessed by the grey unyielding eyes.
***
A few days later Harry sits on the same spot Malfoy did. Looking at the lake, watching the sun set, enjoying one of the last warm autumn evenings. He didn’t know he was heading to the spot, until he sat down and realised this is where the blonde sat too.
Maybe there’s something to it.
Harry looks long into the water, watches the trees, the castle.
He notices a figure walking his way, it’s standing rather far, but the platinum hair is like an alarm, really. Malfoy stops in his steps about halfway to Harry and just pierces his gaze through him again.
Harry sighs, gets up and leaves. He heads the other direction, so he doesn’t see Malfoy’s reaction.
Although he probably didn’t have any reaction.
Harry doesn’t understand anything.
***
So it is no surprise that one day when Malfoy walks to the spot again and finds Harry sitting there, Harry doesn’t leave. It seems to catch the blonde off guard, he doesn’t stop walking towards him, but every next step gets slower and slower. He looks hesitant.
Harry, on the other hand, beams with curiosity. He never gives much thought to why, when or where. The answers would be because, now and here anyways, so it wouldn’t have mattered.
He wants to know as much as he can get to know, being subtle would never get him anywhere, besides, he wouldn’t know how to be subtle to save his life. He picked the direct approach. And right now he was revelling in the short but intense flick of emotions in the blonde’s face. Well, something like emotions anyway.
Malfoy finally comes to a halt and looks at Harry. His left eyebrow shoots up and his head tilts a little to the left.
A very subtle way of saying “What the hell is this about, you absolute fucking moron”. Ah, Harry could never send so much and yet so little through such a simple gesture.
“Hi.”
Oh. Heavens. Maybe sometimes it would be wiser to think things through before jumping to action. Harry stares wide eyed for a few seconds, an embarrassed smile tugging on his lips.
Malfoy somehow looks no way at all. If it counts as a reaction, he tilts his head even more and maybe his eyes squint a little. Harry isn’t sure if that isn’t because of the bright setting sun though.
To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy sits next to Harry, keeping a good distance between them and says: “Hi.”
Wow. This has to be the longest civil conversation they ever managed.
Harry is a little afraid to say anything else. He doesn’t want to startle Malfoy right away, he can think of him as he would of a wild animal. Like a lynx, or something. One has to be careful, right? Cats are quick to snap.
He mentally appraises himself for actually thinking something through. And dives deeply into observing Malfoy’s posture. Or anything that would give away what lies underneath the blonde strands of hair. The very soft to touch looking strands of hair.
Oh no, wild cats definitely don’t like when strangers touch their hair, right?
Except. Harry is no stranger. Harry could think of himself as the lynx’s enemy, that could be like a wolf or a coyote, maybe. But if a wild cat faces her enemy, she will either run, or attack, right? Malfoy hasn’t done either of that.
Lynxes are difficult.
The blonde’s posture seems almost trained. As if someone was teaching him how to sit properly, his back perfectly straight. But Harry does notice a flaw, if even a little one. He sees Draco falling automatically to relaxing his shoulders, but his whole body is tense and it seems he can’t really relax the shoulders as he wanted to. Or maybe as he thinks he is supposed to.
Fingers. Harry watches the fingers again, notices the neatly trimmed nails, but also some scratches near them, as if Malfoy was biting them, maybe?
But that seems like a very unmalfoy thing. No way. It has to be some aristocratic illness running deep in the genes and representing their wealth and nobility. Definitely.
“‘S nice,” Harry starts, mentally cursing himself for the way his tone sounds strained, “this spot.”
The blonde watches Harry, then looks around as if making sure he agrees, before saying: “Well, yes. I wouldn’t come here otherwise.”
“Oh.”
Malfoy’s lip corner rises a little and he shakes his head. Harry supposes that means the lynx has found it funny.
“So that’s why you come here? For the nice scenery?” he asks sceptically.
“Potter. Is this an interrogation? You’re already occupying my spot and pestering what little piece of solitude I have. It really is none of your business why I come here.”
Harry slowly nods and looks away. He can do with the silence. He supposes he got the lynx game all wrong. Harry is no enemy to the lynx, Harry is his prey. Like a little mouse. The lynx doesn’t run, because the mouse should run, but the mouse doesn’t run either, so Merlin is turning around in his grave. Or Merlin doesn’t care at all. Either way, the cycle was broken. The mouse and the lynx sit together.
Malfoy gets his notebook out again and opens it, making sure Harry doesn’t see what its contents are. Harry doesn’t try to. The lynx needs to gain the trust of the mouse, so the mouse can run back to its friends and tell them all about the evil plans. Instead, Harry watches the blonde strands again, enthralled by how they blow in the wind.