Weak Allegiance
The second Drawing happened that very next weekend, the new Champions for Beauxbatons being Fernando Escarra, an exceedingly handsome Spanish boy with a mullet of brown hair and tanned skin, and Tess Whitlock, an exceedingly short brunette with pointed spectacles. The new Champions for Durmstrang were a Scottish-Asian girl named Anya Sallow who was big with muscle and fairly pretty, but Harry thought that was nothing compared to Cho, and a Swedish blonde boy by the name of Hugo who seemed much more the stereotype you would think Krum would act like rather than what the Quidditch star actually acted like.
Soon, papers were being printed before any interviews Dumbledore said would be planned could even happen, printed with pictures of the total line up of Champions, being Fleur (18), Fernando (18), Tess (17), Viktor (18), Anya (18), Hugo (18), Cedric (17), Harry (14), and Draco (14). Three girls, six boys, and too much excitement for the Wizarding World as a whole to hold, it seemed.
And soon, speculation wouldn’t be what was barely tiding society over for long, as Dumbledore announced to the Champions the night of the second drawing that the next morning they’d be brought to the ‘Weighing of the Wands’ ceremony for interviews. The Headmaster had claimed that this would help to nullify the attention on Harry, but he wasn’t feeling very positive about that. If anything, he was certain his upcoming interview would make things worse.
But before that, he got to deal with his first breakfast at the Gryffindor table beside Draco Malfoy, and it was a good distraction. Hermione was appalled, to the point where Harry swore she hadn’t blinked or moved a muscle sense her jaw dropped when Malfoy sat down, Ron was ever absent, and the other Gryffindor’s near them had moved as far from the boys as possible, as if Draco was a disease that could poison them, overpowering their admiration of Harry.
He was thankful for that, and it seemed Draco was too, if only so he wouldn’t have to get within a foot of the ‘Gryffindor Muggle worshippers’ other than Harry and Hermione.
“Where’s Ron?” Malfoy, who had been busy doing his best to pretend he was surrounded by green robes instead of scarlet, looked up from his toast in surprise when Harry spoke, only now realizing that the Weasley who was always seemingly attached at the hip to him was noticeably nowhere to be found. Hermione finally blinked and shut her mouth, staring confusedly at Harry but answering his question anyway, eyes flicking to the blonde bully every few seconds. “Ron… Yes… He was just here… At breakfast…”
“Where’d he run off to?” Draco raised an eyebrow at Hermione’s startled exterior before rolling his eyes, choosing to ignore it and instead taking a bite from his toast, putting on his best ‘I own the place’ posture. “I don’t know…” It definitely succeeded in aggravating Hermione more, as she stood from her seat and grabbed Harry’s arm, nodding over to the corner of the Hall. “Harry, can I talk to you for a moment?”
The boy blinked at her confusedly for a moment before the crunch of his new ‘friend’s chewing helped him connect the dots to her actions and he nodded, quickly standing as well. “Yeah, yeah, sure.” He walked off to the corner with her without bearing a glance at Malfoy or thinking how unsafe it would be to leave him in the middle of all the Gryffindor’s.
Ah well.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Hermione hissed, arms folded firmly and a glare that could rival a dragon’s fire burning into her friend’s face. “Do you even realize--even comprehend--what bringing him to our table feels like?”
“Hermione--”
“No, Harry Potter, don’t you ‘Hermione’ me! How many times has he tried to get you expelled? He’s made your life--our lives a living hell since you first met!” Harry raised an eyebrow at her claims, folding his arms protectively himself and standing the defensive ground for reasons he couldn’t really explain. “Hold on, weren’t you the one trying to defend him just a couple days ago? Saying ‘he’s just a boy’?”
Hermione’s dark face flushed red as she slapped him, surprisingly hard, in the shoulder. “That was different! You thought he was trying to kill you! He may not be a murderer but he is still awful. Honestly I don’t know how you changed so much just seeing some dragons--”
“Ahem, Harry?” The two turned and if the muggle-born had been surprised before, she was absolutely flabbergasted now to see Malfoy himself had referred to her friend by his first name for the first time… ever. “We should be headed off now, right?”
“Right, yeah, we should go.” Harry said and nodded once to Hermione, mouthing, “Later.” then turned and walked with Malfoy to the Entrance Hall, where Cedric was standing at the steps, waiting for them.
He caught sight of the two and smiled in his usual, kindly greeting manner, then turned for the steps, and the three began to climb, the feeling of resigned resignation to their fate on the next morning’s papers falling over them, as surely not one teen wanted to go have an interview and get even more public attention on them.
They finally came to the right room. It was a small classroom, with the desks pushed to the side to make room for the champions and various reporters filling the space, and it seemed all the people had gathered into clumps. Karkaroff stood farther off from everyone else, with Viktor standing moodily in a corner, as usual, and Anya and Hugo sitting on desks, looking rather comfortable. Madame Maxime was standing more centered, speaking with a photographer, while Fleur, Fernando, and Tess stood behind her, the latter basically hiding behind her massive Headmistress while the beautiful veela stood proudly in view of the cameras, and Fernando looked slightly awkward, like he didn’t quite belong there.
“Ah, there they are!” The boys looked for the source of a sudden voice and saw Bagman bounding towards them, arms open wide. “The Hogwarts Champions! Nothing to worry about, all of ye, it’s just the wand weighing ceremony. The other’s will be here in a moment…” He began to lead them over to some desks in the opposite corner of the Durmstrang Champions, and Draco raised an eyebrow, saying, “The wand weighing ceremony?”
“Oh, just a simple check to see if your wands are fully functional, that’s all. Wouldn’t want any malfunctions during the Task’s now would we?” Draco and Harry both winced, as they knew the truth of the first Task. “No, we wouldn’t…”
“The expert’s upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there’s going to be a little photoshoot. This is Rita Skeeter,” he added, gesturing toward a witch who was coming to stand beside him. She wore vibrant magenta robes and had blonde hair set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls, framing her heavy-jaw awkwardly. She was clutching a crocodile-skin handbag with thick fingers covered in many rings, and over her eyes she wore jeweled spectacles.
“She’s doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet--” “Maybe not that small, Ludo,” said Rita Skeeter, her spectacled eyes on Harry and Draco. “I wonder if I could have a little word with the younger boys before we start?” She directed the question at Bagman, clearly, but still had her eyes fixed onto the two. “The youngest Champions, you know… to add a bit of color?”
“Certainly!” Ludo explained, clapping his hands together. “That is, if they don’t object…?”
“Er--” Harry started while Draco immediately jutted in with, “No.” He grabbed his ‘friend’s wrist, hidden beneath their robes. “We don’t.”
“Lovely,” said Rita Skeeter, and in a second, her hands were on their shoulders as she pushed them towards a door. “We don’t want to be in there with all that noise,” she said. “Let’s see… ah, yes, this is nice and cozy.” She pushed them in easily and the two collapsed onto two cardboard boxes, as she sat herself down on an upturned bucket opposite them, shutting the door.
It was a broom cupboard. Harry stared at the woman, while Draco snorted beside him, pressing a hand over his mouth to contain himself.
“Let’s see now…” She unsnapped her handbag and pulled out a handful of candles, which she lit with a wave of her wand and let float into the air, lighting up the whole room--or, closet--so they could see each other clearly. “You won’t mind, either of you, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally…”
“A what?” said Harry at the same time Draco shouted, “No way! Those things are no good! Everyone knows.”
Skeeter’s smile widened, flashing three gold teeth at the boys. She reached again into the bag and drew out a long acid-green quill and a roll of parchment, which she stretched out between them on a crate. She put the tip of the green quill into her mouth, sucking it for a moment, then pressing it down upright on the parchment, letting go slowly as it stood balanced on its point, quivering only slightly.
“Testing… My name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter.” Draco was glaring at the quill already, but Harry looked down too, because the moment Rita Skeeter had spoken, the green quill had started to scribble, skidding across the parchment.
Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, who’s savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations.
“Lovely,” once again, Skeeter said her seemingly favorite word, ripping the top piece of parchment off, crumpling it up, and stuffing it into her handbag, before looking up at the boys, grin widening every second. Draco was giving her a glare straight from hell while Harry blinked dubiously, still trying to make sense of the green quill.
“So, Harry, Draco… what made either of you… or both… decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?” Draco screwed his mouth shut, glaring at the parchment while Harry stuttered, eyes flicking to it as well. Even though neither had said a word, it had already begun to dash across the page, green ink inserting itself into the page and forming words never spoken.
An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes--
“Ignore the quill, Harry,” said Skeeter firmly, and Harry reluctantly looked up to her instead. “Now--why did you decide to enter the tournament, Harry?”
“I didn’t,” said Harry. “I don’t know how our names got into the Goblet of Fire. I didn’t put them in there.” The reporter raised an eyebrow but seemed to decide this wasn’t worth the time as she turned to Draco instead. “Right… Now, how did you--”
“Harry’s eyes aren’t glistening with the scars of his past.” Draco cut in immediately, eyes never moving from the parchment. “And mine don’t hide the guilt of the Malfoy family. I’ll have you know any lies printed about me and my friend will be found by my father and he will--”
Skeeter slapped one of her meaty hands over the parchment and the blonde finally looked up to see her leaned towards him, glaring. “I print what I wish, Mr. Malfoy. Now, how did you enter you and your friend’s names into the Goblet?”
Draco fixed her with a rigid glare, revealing nothing in his expression or ‘guilt ridden eyes’, only staring at her with a passive expression. Eventually Skeeter sighed and leaned back, forcing a smile and shaking her head as she looked between the two boys. “Come now… there’s no need to be scared of getting into trouble. We all know you shouldn’t really have entered yourselves at all. But don’t worry about that. Our readers love a rebel.”
“But I didn’t enter.” Harry repeated, looking over at Draco, who was still staring stoically, revealing nothing of what went on inside his head. “I don’t know who--”
“How do you feel about the tasks ahead?” Asked Skeeter. “Excited? Nervous?”
A flash of the dragon’s, shooting fiery flames forty feet ahead of them, rearing their massive heads and roaring like the vicious monsters only out for blood they seemed to be.
“Nervous, I suppose.” said Harry, his insides squirming uncomfortably as he spoke, and Draco hummed his agreement.
“Champions have died in the past, haven’t they?” Skeeter said briskly. “Have you thought about that at all?” Harry frowned, brows creasing together as he lowered his eyes slightly, but remembering the parchment and keeping them just high enough so as not to anger Skeeter. “Well… they say it’s going to be a lot safer this year,” he said.
Draco didn’t mind watching the quill again, as it was currently whizzing across the parchment, back and forward as if skating.
The boys feel confident in their abilities to conquer the trials ahead of them, though there is a hint of naivety and a not-so hidden ego. No doubt due to how Potter has already matched skills with the Dark Lord himself as a baby, as we all know, and Malfoy is the son of two former well known and powerful Death Eaters.
“My mother wasn’t a Death Eater.” Draco cut in, giving Skeeter a cold glare. “Lie about this conversation all you want, but at least get your facts straight, alright?” He said, almost like a threat, and the blonde seemed to be trying her very hardest not to sneer at him. She gave the quill a look, flicking her wand just so, and the words scrambled, rewriting themselves on the paper.
--the son of a well known former Death Eater and nephew of known Azkaban resident, Bellatrix Lestrange.
“Harry,” Skeeter snapped her fingers in front of the boy's face, gathering his attention from the parchment back to her as she smiled briefly before continuing, “You’ve looked death in the face before, haven’t you?” She was watching him closely, and it made him squirm. “How would you say that’s affected you?” This was supposed to be an interview, right? Not a therapy session…
All Harry could respond with was, “Er…”
“Do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think that perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because--”
“I didn’t enter,” said Harry, at the same time Draco said, “We didn’t enter.” The Gryffindor gave the Slytherin a quick look, but decided to pocket that for later, turning back to Skeeter as she refused to stop speaking, of course.
“Can you remember your parents at all?”
Harry bit the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowed to slits of annoyance rather than the hate Draco clearly exemplified. “No.”
“How do you think they’d feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?”
This was getting all too annoying for the both of them now. For Harry, Skeeter was seeming to delight in pestering him with questions she didn’t even let him answer and he didn’t know how to answer otherwise, and making him think about things he really didn’t want to think about, especially while stuck in this ridiculous broom cupboard. How on earth was he to know how his parents would feel if they were alive? And for Draco… Well that stupid quill and what he could see it was writing would be enough to drive anyone crazy, even if they despised the person seated next to them, of which it was mostly aimed at.
Tears fill those startlingly green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember.
“Okay that’s enough!” Draco yelled, reaching for the parchment in an attempt to tear it as Skeeter went to grab his arm at the same time. She had just gripped his robes sleeve when the door was pulled open, and, bringing with him a fresh rush of bright light, Albus Dumbledore stood, looking at the three of them, squashed into the cupboard. Rita Skeeter holding onto an enraged looking Malfoy, and Harry sitting, feeling rather dumb, squished against the wall, biting his cheek hard enough to draw blood.
“Dumbledore!” cried Rita Skeeter, with every appearance of delight as she pushed Draco away from her and the quill and the parchment suddenly vanished.
“How are you?” She said, standing up and holding out one of her large, meaty hands to Dumbledore. “I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards’ Conference?” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with his usual playfulness as he said, “Enchantingly nasty. I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat.” The witch didn’t look remotely abashed.
“I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that many wizards in the street--” “I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita,” said Dumbledore, bowing and smiling, chancing a glance at the two boys squished together in front of him. “But I’m afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if two of our champions are hidden in a broom cupboard.”
Skeeter turned and blinked at the boys, before flashing a grin back at Dumbledore. “Of course.” She said, then pranced away, handbag in hand. Draco and Harry both hastily stood once she was gone and climbed out of the cramped space as soon as possible.
“Ah boys, did you enjoy your interview?” While Harry was looking at Dumbledore with very clear relief, Draco was not, and he simply straightened his robes and walked back into the room, all but ignoring his Head Master. Harry gave the old man a look of helplessness before following him in.
The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and they sat down quickly next to Cedric, looking up at where a long desk had been set on the opposite side of the room, covered in a velvet cloth. Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman had all set themselves down there, and Dumbledore was quickly moving to join them, completing the line of five judges. Rita Skeeter settled herself down in a corner, already pulling out her Quick-Quotes Quill and parchment.
“May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?” said Dumbledore, addressing the champions. “He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament?” Harry looked around, and with a jolt of surprise saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window. Harry had met Mr. Ollivander before--he was the wand-maker from whom Harry bought his own wand over three years ago in Diagon Alley.
“Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?” said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room. Fleur stepped forward and joined him, producing her wand. He took it from her slowly and twirled it between his long fingers like a baton, emitting a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully.
“Yes,” He said quietly, “Nine and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood… and containing…dear me…” “A hair from the head of a Veela.” Said Fleur. “One of my grandmother’s.” Beside him, Harry heard Draco make a ‘huh’ sound, as he made a mental note that Fleur was part Veela indeed.
“Yes,” said Mr. Ollivander, “Yes, I’ve never used Veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands… however, to each his own, and if this suits you…” He finished by running his fingers along the wood of the wand, apparently looking for scratches or bumps, before muttering, “Orchideous!” and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip.
“Very well, very well, it’s in fine working order,” He said, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. “Mr. Escarra, you next.” Fleur glided back to her seat, patting Fernando on the shoulder as he timidly passed her.
He handed his wand off and Ollivander’s eyes lit up while turning it, as he said, “A rather peculiar specimen, this is. Strange materials. Ten and a half inches… Beech… containing… is that…?” Ollivander looked up and smiled cautiously at the Spanish boy, who smiled cautiously back. “A thestral tail hair, hm? Quite unique indeed.” With a wave of the wand, a ring of flames rose from the air, and the old man seemed content, handing it off to Fernando. “Treat it well.” He said, then gestured a hand to the final Beuxbaton student.
“Miss?” Tess rose and tucked a curl of hair behind her ear shyly, walking towards Mr. Ollivander with a glide similar to Fleur’s but much slower and more cautious, as she drew out a short, silver wand and handed it to him.
“Seven inches… Vine… Dragon heartstring… How lovely, Miss Whitlock.” Ollivander moved the wand smoothly through the air, and Tess giggled to herself as he drew in sparkling gold the words, “Good luck.” before making them vanish and handing it off to her once more.
“Mr. Diggeroy?” Cedric handed over his wand. “Yes I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn… must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches… ash… pleasantly springy. It’s in fine condition… Do you treat it regularly?”
“Polished it last night.” Said Cedric, grinning, as Harry looked down at her own wand. He could see finger marks all over it, but when he looked over at Draco’s, he saw it was spotless as well. He gathered a fistful of robe from his knee and tried to rub it clean surreptitiously.
Mr. Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric’s wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, “Mr. Krum, if you please.”
Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck-footed, towards Mr. Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling ,with his hands in the pockets of his robes. “Hm,” said Mr. Ollivander, “This is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I’m much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, the styling is never quite what I… however…” He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes. “Yes… hornbeam and dragon heartstring?” He looked over at Viktor, who nodded. “Rather thicker than one usually sees… quite rigid… ten and a quarter inches… Avis!” The hornbeam wand let off a blast like a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.
“And next… Ah yes, Anya.” Ollivander smiled at the girl as she stepped up to him fondly, and Harry got the since he had made her wand as well as she passed it over and his hands ran over every crack and crevice, wide eyes reminiscent with every movement. “Eleven and three quarter inches… cherry wood… Unicorn hair… How very fine making, I must say.” He winked and Anya nodded, grinning proudly at her wand as he raised it in the air and shot out a stream of rose petals, before handing it back to her.
“Hugo?” Anya squeezed his arm as the blonde passed and brought forth his particularly long wand, grinning wide as Mr. Ollivander took it and began his examination. “Fourteen and a half inches… spruce wood… dragon heartstring… Good wand, good wand.” He handed it back and Hugo jogged away.
“Mr. Potter.” Harry got to his feet and walked past Hugo, who punched him in the shoulder playfully as he passed, and to Mr. Ollivander. He handed over his wand.
“Aaaah, yes,” said Mr. Ollivander, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. “Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember.” Harry did too. He remembers every detail as if it was yesterday. He remembered trying countless wands to no avail, thinking he’d never find one that suited him, before finally being presented with a hollywood, phoenix feather wand that matched him remarkably well, and being told, to a horror his eleven year old self couldn’t really comprehend back then, that the feather it contained had a twin. And that twin belongs to Lord Voldemort himself.
He never wanted to think about that fact, and wished desperately that Mr. Ollivander wouldn’t reveal it now, to everyone in this room, as he spent much longer examining this wand than anyone else’s. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of red wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Harry, announcing that it was still in perfect condition.
“And finally, that leaves…” Mr. Ollivander’s pale eyes fell onto Draco’s and he smiled. “Mr. Malfoy. I remember your wand well too.”
So did he. He got his early, actually. Age ten, as early as a wizard can receive his wand, Draco was taken by his mother at his father’s request. He had been so excited to receive it, he could scarcely keep still. And then it was in his hands, and it was perfect. A ten inch, reasonably pliant, hawthorn wand, with a unicorn hair core, all sleek and black in looks. He couldn’t have ever imagined a better wand in his hand. It had a rare wood, a common but desired core, and an even length. Yes, indeed, it was perfect.
Ollivander commented on these things, and that it was in remarkable condition, before shooting a similar fountain of wine as he did with Harry, but white in color. He handed it off once more then, warning only that, “It is of conflicting allegiance, however. The core is strong but the wood… unknowing. You must be wary.” Something he had said all those years ago to the much younger boy as well, which was why it hardly fazed him now, as he headed back to his seat.
“Thank you all,” Said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges’ table. “You may go back to your lessons now--or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to lunch, as they are about to end--”
Feeling that at last something had gone right today, Harry got up to leave, but the man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat. “Photos, Dumbledore, photos!” cried Bagman excitedly. “All the judges and champions--if they’d fit. What do you think, Rita?”
“Er--yes, let’s do those first,” said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were upon Harry and Draco once more. “And then perhaps some individual shots.
The photographs took a long time.
Wherever she stood, Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow, and the photographer couldn’t stand far enough back to get her into the frame, made worse by the sheer mass of people he was trying to contain. Eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl, and Viktor Krum, whom Harry would have thought would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keen to get Fleur at the front, but Rita Skeeter kept pushing for Draco and Harry to be front and center, before making sure Harry upstaged his blonde rival.
Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions, to which Viktor and Harry bonded over seeming to greatly despise, while Draco, surprisingly, dropped his glaring act and relished, posing like the proud boy he met at Madam Malkin’s and not the sad sulker he had been reduced to since becoming a champion.
At last, however, they were free to go. Harry went down to lunch with Draco, seating himself with Hermione, and immediately rounding on the boy.
“What was up with that?” The blonde, who was busy loading his plate with cucumber sandwiches, looked over at Harry in surprise and confusion. “What are you talking about?” “You know! Defending me with Rita Skeeter! That’s not like you. At all. And then you said I didn’t enter. I thought you thought I did. And then--”
“Merlin’s Beard, Harry,” Malfoy turned to face him with a look of mild amusement but mostly annoyance on his face, shaking his head. “Do you really have no brain in that scarhead of yours? We’re pretending to be friends, remember? I wasn’t being serious, believe me, I know you put our names in.” Harry frowned as he bent over and picked up one of his sandwiches, beginning to eat it happily. Of course he was just as despicable as ever. Of course.
Harry shot Hermione a look that said a million things, the greatest being his explanation that this was what the status between them was, at least for now, and then Hermione leaned forward, eyebrows creased and said, with great sincerity, “Bicker all you want, boys, but you are working together for a reason, and I think we should finally discuss that.”
“Reason being, Granger?” Draco asked after swallowing his food and she gave him a look before saying, in a hushed voice, so any star struck eavesdropping Gryffindor’s wouldn’t hear, “Dragons.”
The two teens glanced at each other then sighed resignedly, thinking very much so that they would have preferred Rita Skeeter to finally confronting the looming threat of the First Task ahead of them.
And just then, as if answering their prayers and bringing them out of this difficult situation, Pansy and her girls strutted up behind them and Pansy bobbed over to Draco, tapping on his shoulder and grinning sickly.
“Hi Draco…” She swooned and he turned and winced at the sight of her, giving Harry a ‘help me’ look before setting his sandwich down and turning towards her, forcing a grin. “Hi Pansy…” He said, though he groaned through his gritted-teeth-grin more than spoke it.
“I have to say, I absolutely adore these badges you made us.” She said, and a blonde behind her, Daphne Greengrass, nodded her head, saying, “We all do!”
“What badges?” Harry turned in his seat to get a look at them and see what they were wearing, moving too fast for Draco’s panicked arm attempting to stop him, and freezing at the sight of the green circles pinned to each of their robes.
Written in bright red ink on each of these badges were the words, ‘Support CEDRIC DIGGORY and DRACO MALFOY, the REAL Hogwarts Champions!’ Before Harry could even question it, Pansy jabbed a finger on her badge and the message vanished, replaced with a second, written in luminous yellow, saying, ‘POTTER STINKS.’
The Slytherin girls howled with laughter, and soon they all were pressing their badges, while Harry turned a bright scarlet matching his house colors, and turned to face Draco, who had slumped in his seat, face a mix of horror and repulsiveness while his cheeks tinged pink, a face that beared a rather uncanny resemblance to what he had looked like after Moody transfigured him into a ferret just weeks before.
“See you later, Draco!” Pansy squealed before dashing off with her giggling girls, and Harry remained glaring at the blonde, feeling his lip curl up in disgust.
“So, mate, mind explaining to me how that plays into the ‘friend act’?” “It was just to distract them.” “And it worked well then didn’t it?” Harry huffed, gesturing to the whole collection of students around them, which was most of the school. “Give it a day, Malfoy, and everyone here will be howling over them!”
“I didn’t mean it.” Draco turned around sharply, eyes dead set on Harry’s. “It was just a distraction, trust me--” “Trust you?” Harry scoffed, pointedly glaring away from him. “Can’t say I can do that, seeing as how you thought it would be a good laugh to put my name in a death Tournament--”
“I DIDN’T PUT OUR NAMES IN!” The Malfoy boy bellowed, jumping from his seat and shouting louder than anyone had ever heard him shout before, his face now scarlet just as Harry’s had been, his whole body seething. A couple forks clanked onto glasses or plates as people were caught off guard by the sheer sound of the scream, all the Professor’s at their table now looking down at the boys, eyes fixed in concern and disappointment at the blonde’s outburst.
Meanwhile all Draco could do was stand, seething, and heaving, clearly out of breath and stunned by his own actions. It was at this time Harry took the opportunity to stand from his seat and reach a hand towards him, but that hand was slapped away as Draco jabbed a finger in his face, ready to scream once more.
“You stay away from me! I may have not put our names in the Goblet, but I bet I know just the wonder boy scarheaded prat who did!" He stepped back away from Harry, eyes glaring with pure hatred but a buried, soft emotion deep inside, and for a moment everyone thought he'd say something else, or maybe fire a spell, but then he had turned on his heel and was marching out of the Great Hall, shouting, “Out of my way!” to people who dared try to speak to him.
And Harry, absolutely flabbergasted and horrified, was left standing, alone, with even Hermione giving him an accusatory scowl.
But if he was being honest, he didn’t entirely feel guilty. All of that was just proof that Draco was still a dramatic pompous brat who hated his guts and couldn’t even admit he put his name in the Goblet of Fire because he’s regretting it so much now. That was obvious to him, so why couldn’t everyone else gawking at him in the Great Hall see that?
Harry turned around to see how the Professor’s might seem and, to his greatest disappointment, Dumbledore was eyeing him with a knowing, accusatory furrow of his brows, not quite as aggressive as Hermione’s, but aggressive enough if you're Dumbledore.
So, despite having felt completely fine and content, Harry sighed to himself and turned on his heel, marching out of the Great Hall to follow Draco.
All it took was a brief direction from a passing ghost and he knew which way to go, and after climbing several flights of stairs and hopping some before they could spin out of reach, he finally caught sight of the blonde at the end of a fourth-floor corridor and, after shouting, “Draco!” causing him to slow to a stop beside a portrait of a bunch of trolls trying (and failing) to learn ballet.
“Draco… Malfoy… Malfoy what are you doing?” Harry asked, exhausted from the brief run he’d taken as he panted for air before standing straight and narrowing his eyes onto the back of the boy’s head. “I get you’re upset but… We can work this out, right? We’re supposed to be friends and… that’s what friends do. So let’s just calm down and… talk maybe. Work out our--”
“Calm down?”
Harry gulped. Yep, he’d said the wrong thing. Of course. Why wouldn’t he? This was such a ridiculous scenario--him trying to get Draco to make up with him like they were best friends when his real best friend wasn’t even talking to him. Why was he wasting his time like this? This was Draco Malfoy of all people. He’d never change.
“CALM DOWN?!”
Case in point.
“Potter… No. I will not ‘calm down.’ I can’t.” He spun around, beginning to march the space of the ballerina portrait towards Harry, starting to whip out his wand as he did so, though Harry didn't even move. Because he’s certain he won’t use it.
“I’m done. Done with you and your ‘holier than thou’ beliefs, and your selfish attitude, and your need for the spotlight, and just… YOU! We’re done. I don’t care if we can’t work together for the dragons, I don’t! I just never want to see you and your stupid glasses ever again.” He raised his wand to the other's face, looking ready to fire, flinched, bit his lip, then seemed to decide against it, instead spinning on his heel and marching off.
Just as Harry predicted. Well, that’s that. He tried, didn’t he? He held out his hand, he attempted a friendship, and it got ruined in a matter of a day. Just hours ago Draco had been defending the boy against Rita Skeeter and now he had almost fired a spell at him, but maybe Harry couldn’t expect anything less, right? This was Draco Malfoy after all. He’d shout it from the rooftops; the boy was just useless. There was no point in trying to reason with him.
Harry was about to turn away, content with these thoughts, when his eyes caught onto something that made him freeze, the green orbs widening to the size of saucers.
For the seemingly plain patch of wall that they had previously stood beside, which Draco had walked back and forth along, had been replaced with an equally plain looking brown door with a small golden handle. Simply, but still causing his entire body to shake as he was sure it hadn’t been there a second ago.
"Malfoy?"
"What now?"
"What… What did you do?"
"What do you mean what did I… Oh…" Draco, after turning around begrudgingly, followed Harry's gaze to see the door and realized, as the Gryffindor had, that it hadn't been there before.
Slowly, the two walked forward and met halfway to stand before it, neither brave enough to reach forward and turn the handle.
"What did you do?" Harry repeated but he saw, through his blurry peripheral vision, that Draco was shaking his head. So, with a sigh, and the knowledge that the Slytherin would never suck it up and turn the handle, he reached forward, and opened the door.
The sight inside was worse, far worse, than just the appearance of a plain brown door.
Inside this room that 100% hadn't been there a second ago as now a wide green field, reminding them a lot of the Quidditch pitch, complete with a wrack of brooms, except, the boys noticed, to their immediate horror, a massive red dragon was flying over the fresh grass, not a tiny little snitch.
"What the hell did you–"
"I don't know!"
What they had done, however, had been incredible, and more of a miracle than them becoming friends ever could have been.
Somehow, some way, and by entirely accident, Draco Malfoy had found the Room of Requirement.
-*-*-*-
"The Room of Requirement."
"The what?" Harry and Draco both turned from where they stood inspecting the wrack of brooms to face Hermione, who was sitting cross legged on the grass, a large book in her lap, and several others set aside beside her.
"The Room of Requirement appears only to one who has a real need for it. After walking past the wall it's hidden behind three times, and wishing for what you want the Room to show you as hard as you can, a person will have the Room revealed to them." The bushy haired witch looked up, and raised an eyebrow at Draco.
"What exactly did you wish for, Malfoy?" The blonde frowned, and would have folded his arms had it not been for the Firebolt in his hands. “I didn’t--” A knowing look from Harry, and he sighed, giving in. “Alright, I might have wished for something. I was mad at Potter so, it could’ve just slipped my mind but… I was thinking about the Tournament. I thought to myself, ‘I just wish I knew how to fight a dragon.’”
A roar came from above them, and the three teens looked up at the dragon still circling above them and grimaced.
“Well, you certainly got your wish.” Harry commented, while Draco gave a ‘no shit Sherlock’ glare and Hermione frowned, looking back down at the book in her hands. “Yes, clearly, but I just don’t get how." She flipped through a couple pages, frown worsening with each reread line. "It specifically states here that the request must be made strongly and clearly. But you were distracted by Harry. How could you have…"
She trailed off, was silent for a moment, then slammed the book shut promptly and stood, dropping it on the grass and marching towards the boys with her hands on her hips.
"However you did it, you did it, now we just have to... Train, I suppose." Another roar came from above then and Harry winced, glancing up at the massive form above them.
"And er, how do we do that?" He asked as the dragon began to fly down towards them at far too great a speed. Hermione shrugged, completely unfazed. "I suppose you just… do it, you know. What's the worst that can happen?"
The dragon landed with a thud that shook the room and of course the teens, and just as they were steadying themselves, it then decided to blow out a jet of fire dangerously close to them. After dodging out of the way, Draco turned to Hermione and glared, eyes narrowed to slits.
"What's the worst that can happen? Granger, I thought you were supposed to be sm–" "DUCK!"
In an instant Harry grabbed Draco around the waist and flung him onto the broom he'd been testing, before hopping on with him and kicking off the grass, narrowly avoiding the tail of the dragon that Hermione managed to jump away from.
She then walked a few feet further down the field as the dragon rose into the air to follow the streak that was Harry and Draco, gazing up at the sky with a small smile on her face. Over the sound of the dragon's roars, she can faintly hear the sounds of their argument, as well as their screams, whenever it decides to release a wave of fire on them.
She did notice that the dragon was aiming horrible, which clearly meant the Room had built him to not show his entire strength and only threaten. The thought made her confident that, if they worked hard, the three just might be able to pull together a plan to get Harry and Draco out of the First Task alive.
And, she had to admit, while her smile widened to a grin and laugh as the two screamed once more, they could have some fun with it too. She'd give it a chance, she had to, and trust Harry knew what he was doing with Draco.
She just had to pray that if they worked hard enough to stay nice to him and not strike a nerve, he wouldn't have an outburst again, and they'd get out of the whole Tournament alive.