Disaster by the Lake
It took less than a week for everything to go wrong.
Harry and Draco had been assigned to restore an old, overgrown study area near the lake. What should have been a simple task—clearing vines, reinforcing the stone benches, setting up new protective enchantments—had turned into a constant battle of wills. Malfoy refused to acknowledge Harry’s suggestions, and Harry couldn’t tolerate Malfoy’s arrogant micromanagement. It was a recipe for disaster.
"You have no idea what you’re doing, Potter," Malfoy sneered, flicking his wand at a particularly stubborn root. It refused to budge.
"Oh, right, because I’m the problem here," Harry snapped back. "Maybe if you stopped trying to do everything yourself—"
"Maybe if you actually used your brain for once—"
The bickering escalated. Frustrated, Harry flicked his wand to demonstrate a spell, but at the same time, Malfoy tried another one. The magic collided mid-air with a loud, crackling explosion, sending them both flying backward into the dirt.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, the sound of hurried footsteps.
"What the bloody hell is wrong with you two?" Hermione’s voice cut through the air as she rushed over, her face a mixture of exasperation and worry.
"We were—" Harry started, groaning as he pushed himself up.
"Being absolute idiots, that’s what!" Pansy Parkinson added sharply, arriving at Malfoy’s side. "Honestly, Draco, you’re better than this."
Draco, scowling, rubbed his shoulder. "Tell that to him."
"You both need to grow up," Hermione huffed. "This project isn’t going away, so if you keep fighting like children, you’ll just keep making things worse for yourselves."
Pansy crossed her arms. "And embarrassing Slytherin."
Harry and Draco exchanged glares but said nothing.
The next thing they knew, they were being marched to the infirmary—more for Madam Pomfrey’s peace of mind than their own well-being. As they sat on adjacent beds, sporting minor bruises and singed robes, Harry let out a sigh.
"This is going to be a long term, isn’t it?"
Malfoy huffed. "You have no idea."
Later that night, long after curfew, Harry sat by the dormitory window, deep in thought. The frustration and exhaustion of dealing with Malfoy weighed heavily on him. If this project had any chance of succeeding, he needed advice—from someone who actually knew how to handle difficult people.
Grabbing a piece of parchment, he dipped his quill into ink and began to write:
Dear moony and padfoot,
I need your help. I’ve been paired with Malfoy for a long-term project, and it’s going about as well as you’d expect—disastrous. We can’t agree on anything, and today we literally ended up in the infirmary after a spell mishap. I don’t want to let Professor McGonagall down, but I honestly don’t know how to make this work. How do you handle someone who seems determined to fight you at every turn?*
Any advice would be greatly appreciated.
- Bambi
He rolled up the parchment and tied it securely to Hedwig’s leg. "Take this to Sirius and Remus, okay?" he whispered. The snowy owl hooted softly before taking off into the night.
As he watched her disappear into the sky, Harry could only hope his godfather and Remus had some wisdom to offer—because he was running out of patience, and fast.