Chapter 11
Hallowe’en passes. As uneventfully it could possibly be with the incident of the troll entering the school grounds happening the same before. He could swear that he nearly saw a taste of purgatory when he remembered that Luna was still out there with the possibility of being hurt. Luckily, Professor Trelawney, cooped up in the tower as she was, had easily identified Luna in her form and rushed her to Professor McGonogall as soon as she was sure of her identity.
It ended with a slap on the wrist for both him and Luna, if he were to call it that, served with detention for the foreseeable future as long as Snape would determine their punishment to be. The others were quick to try and take the blame for themselves, if not for Draco convincing his godfather that he only had to punish him and Luna. It was easy to convince him, although Draco had an inkling that his godfather simply didn’t want to deal with overseeing more than two children. At times, he really hoped that Snape would be able to release himself from his shackles of teaching—the man clearly was more capable of more than taking care of rowdy school children
Luna had received a stern talking to from Professor McGonogall-who, after a very long tirade with her chest heaving, a lasting sigh had left her before she took the young girl into a tight hug, whispering into her ear to avoid such carelessness in the future. When questioned of her intentions, she was quick to confess that she had done it in a realistic attempt of a Hallowe’en costume, as she had somehow heard from the house elves in the kitchen that mice were getting rarer than they should be, reasoning that she wanted to help invigorate the mice to revolt against their dwindling conditions.
Draco’s head hurt just hearing her talk so straightforwardly of it. She had taken a sideway glance to his side as she spoke, and he could tell that despite the truth in her words, there was more at stake than she was truly letting on. He could only commend it, knowing that her eccentric nature would have them never thinking more of it. A slightly Slytherin trait, though perhaps she was simply becoming more acclimated to their little group more than he had realized.
After yet another week of cleaning out the cauldrons in the Potions classroom, his robe was draped over one of the desks, his bag settled over it as he crouched over the cauldron, sweat piling over his furrowed brows as he dug out the last of the remnant of some slugs from the iron. Luna’s humming accompanied the silence in the room, the tune to something he would often hear from her, though he could never pinpoint the song. Her fingers scraped through the side of a cauldron, using a damp cloth to get in between the crevices, wiping away dried potion mixtures of another cauldron.
She perked up, standing straight like a squirrel finding something interesting. The large doors opened slightly ajar, entering Theodore, his head lowered as he acknowledged the two in the room first before walking inside with Blaise and a jittery Neville following behind him.
Draco didn’t spare a glance, preoccupied with cleaning the cauldron. He couldn’t help but keep his thoughts from racing, a mantra repeating in his head about how dirty it was despite how much time he’s put into cleaning it. There was a particular spot that just wouldn’t wipe off, and Draco couldn’t help but frown, wiping harder. Did someone bleed over the iron? It was a pain to clean it.
Longbottom murmured yet another sorry near him as he picked up a brush, to which Draco quickly brushed off with a wave, having done the same thing countless times already, he didn’t want to keep telling Longbottom it was none of his fault. His focus remained on the spot in the cauldron, his thoughts spurring towards other means it could’ve stained as his head ache returned. He sighed, pressing his palm against his forehead.
“These all finished, yeah?” Blaise pointed over to the cauldrons they had already set aside, picking up a glove to pick through the remaining cauldrons. Luna only nodded, handing Theodore one of her hair ties as she continued to clean through the rim of the cauldron.
This had become a shift from their usual happenings. Although Snape didn’t demand of their detention becoming an everyday requirement, stealing was still a grave offense, thus the undetermined, occasional cleaning was really the least their punishment could be with how Draco could remember the other punishment in his first year had been going into the Forbidden Forest. A slap on the wrist, it was lucky enough. Theodore and Blaise would come along without even asking to help once Snape would leave them to their own devices, and Longbottom had become the extra passenger, always wringing his robes as he determinedly gave his help.
The silence in the room was accompanied with the sound of the brush running across the cauldron walls, the creaking of the cauldrons as they moved it, following Luna’s soft humming. He finished with cleaning the stain off, unable to use magic with Snape forbidding it. It would certainly stand to be an easier time, but a punishment couldn’t be called such if it was easy. He accepted a towel from Blaise, wiping away the cold sweat on his forehead as he took notice of Longbottom’s more than usually shifty behavior. He raised a brow, placing the towel on the desk before clutching at the cauldron, carrying it up to move it to the rest of the finished cauldrons.
“Speak up, Longbottom. You’ll explode like a dreadful fly the more you keep yourself bottled up.” Draco snarked, tired.
“Um…” Longbottom breathed, “The last time… last time…”
“Spit it out.”
“Harry’s been… asking me an awful lot about you…” Longbottom squeaked, “The last time, with what happened… well, he and Ron won’t stop chatting in the dorm; it’s all so hush-hush, they even told off Seamus when he tried to pry.”
“He’s what—? No, it was just a spur of the moment, and the Weasley started it. I don’t care.” Draco dropped the cauldron a tad harder than he’d intended, circling his shoulder back as he sneered.
“I thought you’d want to know… and… well…” Longbottom stammered, “I really can’t handle all the questions anymore, Harry’s a scary one when he gets to be, you know?”
“Your problem. Not mine.” Draco’s lips tugged a little at that, shaking his head as he turned to cleaning off another cauldron.
Longbottom stomped his foot, kicking at the flooring as he tugged at his school robes. “I just, I can’t quite keep up with it anymore. Harry has asked about you since the first day of class and honestly it’s all a little peculiar, innit?”
Blaise laughed, “Honest little Draco won’t admit to anything. He’ll just—”
“I don’t care.” Draco repeated, placing a little finality to his tone that his friend deliberately ignored.
“—say he doesn’t care, see?”
“Seems like you’d care more. Potter seems to be pouting.” Theodore’s tone was uninterested regardless of his (very unneeded!) input, helping Luna tie her hair as she finished gathering all the waste materials to a bag.
Draco snorted, wetting a rag as he started with cleaning the outside wall. “I don’t—it doesn’t matter.”
Theodore hummed, gently tugging Luna’s hair back to tighten the ponytail. “Of course it doesn’t matter, you don’t talk about it at all.” there was a hint of sarcasm there in that level voice, and Draco felt his eye twitch slightly. Blaise laughed at his words, able to understand when the boy was joking.
Draco groaned at his friends, refusing to answer any more of it. He continued to wipe at the cast iron, turning his back to them with a disinterest to whatever else Luna was adding to the conversation with a giggle to her tone. Sure, he started to ramble about how annoying it was to Luna or Theodore in the quieter moments that they would spend in the library, leaned up against the bookshelf with Luna’s hair thrown over his shoulder, her head resting against him as she kicked her feet up over Theodore’s legs, nodding along to his words with her eyes never straying from her book (he had avoided talking with Blaise after the boy had laughed in his face).
But really, it doesn’t matter to him! He didn’t even owl his mother of it, it was on the lowest point of his priorities—frankly, it wasn’t even on the list of his priorities! He had plenty other problems to meddle himself with, he didn’t care for Potter’s newfound unhappiness, didn’t care for the noticeable shift of it—having those searching eyes look for him in a crowd to having to search for Potter’s turned back in the midst of a class. Fine. It was a little off-putting, Draco wasn’t above admitting to it. Though rather than distressing, he felt that it was more… awkward.
Potter would hardly look at him now, and on the increasingly rarer moments that he would look at him, he looked to be almost… pouting. Bloody hell. Maybe Theodore had a point—a shite point, but a point. Broken clocks can still tell the time at times, or whatever the saying was. Potter was pouting. Upset. His brows crinkled softly, tugging at Ron’s robes to drag him closer and as far away from the Slytherins. As far as it could be considering they were in a class. He would often have Ron close to himself, a slight, childish raise to his chin as if he was standing his guard that yes, this is his friend—and he wouldn’t allow anything to happen to him.
Though it kept Potter from meddling with his business, Draco still couldn’t help but feel uncomfortably chided with that look. It was almost like a challenge, that inner lick of a spark inside him just demanding to confront Potter. And in the moment that their eyes would meet, Draco would recall that crying boy looking to him with hope and it had him chiding himself to take responsibility for it—which is preposterous. Potter’s unnecessary unhappiness is none of his business. Even if that gnawing feeling remained, it didn’t matter, it didn’t exist (“you mean guilt?” Luna had answered him off-handedly on one of his annoyed rambles over Potter’s behavior. He sighed deeply in between a groan and a frustrated scream, grumbling out a “never” before rushing off with his book in hand). Draco did not feel guilt. So what if he’d insulted Potter’s only friend? The aggression started with the little git first. It was an immature matter that he didn’t have to concern himself with anymore.
Weasley did truly seem to be Potter’s only friend. It was easy to see that Potter was, to put it mildly, alienated from his fellow Gryffindors. People looked at him with starry stares, yet he shied away from most of them, his head lowered with a short bow in turn to any attempts they could have to starting anything with him. It wasn’t purposeful. More of a knee-jerk reaction with that twitch in his neck that would come each time, his narrow shoulders hunching into himself when he would finish an instruction or recite anything in a class.
Potter was wary of everything. Even within his housemates, other than Weasley, he was wary of any sign of contention, his body always in a state of tightness that exhibited an uncomfortable tension. It would be easy to misunderstand it to be a sign of meekness, but from Draco’s years of knowing him, there was no way for Harry Potter to ever be synonymous with meek. Even through those mannerisms, Potter’s gaze never hesitated to find Draco’s never hesitant of that defiance in his eyes. He wasn’t even afraid of Snape when all the other students were. It would seem contrary, yet it fits exactly with the Potter that Draco had come to know. The reflection of the Potter he knew becoming all the more clear in the boy had him just more hesitant to ever interact with him.
Potter was so much more different from what he could remember of what he knew Potter would be. It was disconcerting, nearly uncomfortable, even. But they never could be more similar. Potter would always be a guarded one, and being without the snark, the sass that he could remember being thrown his way, drenched with the pouting instead—Draco couldn’t handle it. He was stuck in between different versions of Potter in his head and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
They finished with cleaning, and Draco mentally scolded himself when he nearly reached out to ask for Longbottom… of what? About Potter—ridiculous. He would never. So he’d never. He shifted his gaze away as he finished with sweeping the floors, having gotten antsy the moment that Theodore took over the last cauldron.
The doors opened, silent steps coming into view as his godfather’s tall visage raised a brow at the cluster of children. The man gave a look to Draco, turning his gaze to Theodore and Blaise’s apathetic faces and to Neville’s shaking form. He sighed deeply, tired of informing them that this was supposed to be Luna and Draco’s detention. He stepped closer to the cauldrons, giving a short nod before waving them off. His godfather always had a silence to him that was only spurred when meddled with, and he didn’t find it in himself to stoke those flames when he was tired.
He nodded in return, starting his walk out for the others to follow. Lunch was following soon enough, time coming faster than he’d expected it to have been. He looked down to a nudge at his side, finding Luna handing him a book as she stuck close to him, murmuring about some odd magical artifact she’d found. “A mirror.” she said, shrugging. “Theo saw something he wouldn’t tell me about, but it seemed regular.”
“I’m too tired.” Draco huffed, dissuading any ideas of hers to come up as he shifted with his robes.
Luna laughed airily, “You sound older than you do, Draco.” she commented, turning the page to theorize if a different artifact, a golden sword that allows teleportation—now that, Draco would find less believable than a mirror that shows you something. All mirrors show you something. Big deal.
Still, Luna seemed to be hung up on artifacts for the week, continuing on to pointing over at her book, her arm crossed over Draco’s to keep him close as she spoke. Her voice was soft, raising at times to emphasize her point but never in the way that sounded like she was yelling. It was a sing-song tilt, never obvious to her immediate emotion—similar enough to Theodore’s levelled tone, though in comparison, less people were unnerved by her. Perhaps that was because she was a girl? Draco didn’t quite understand the difference.
Eventually, they reached the doors to the Great Hall, the high sun filtering through the castle windows through the mist of the cold. Longbottom pushed through the doors, excusing himself with a quick goodbye to rush over to his house table, scurrying off with a slight jump to his step. He settled himself to Finnigan’s side, pudgy cheeks lowering into his own scarf when he saw Potter on the other side of the table, moving himself closer to Finnigan’s conversation.
Separating, he moved to the table, ignoring that tingling nerve inside him that would search for a messy mop of black hair—a habit he had in his older years, a shameless need to raise his head and search for that familiar, bespectacled face glaring back at him like it was a part of his day.
Now, though, he wanted to keep himself out of trouble with the ongoing punishment given to him, especially coming this close to the month of Yule break. He didn’t want any of his troubles in Hogwarts to follow him back to his home—he was quite sick of it, and Potter just had trouble written all over him. Simply recalling his first year, the amount of trouble that Potter had wound himself caught up in, he had reason to be wary, even at the mere association with him.
Luna bid a quick goodbye as she left to walk back to her own table, handing Theodore her book before she ran off. Although they didn’t mind it when Luna would sit with them, the inter-house setting was still rather distant from the minds of most students. Friendships weren’t uncommon, it was even a little acceptable for Slytherins to interact with the Ravenclaw lot more, but everyone still kept to themselves when it came time for mealtime or classes. The halls and classrooms almost color-coordinated when one would look at the tables from above. Of course, it didn’t help that the Slytherins had taken a drastic loss with Potter’s first Quidditch game in the Gryffindor team. None of them were particularly open to having even a Ravenclaw in their midst for the time being with the wound still fresh.
Draco passed Theodore his plate, pushing the new assortment for the boy to take a gander at. It was close enough to what he would usually have, at least to a point that he wouldn’t spit it out. It was always troubling to have Theodore eat at times, he’d open his mouth to try anything, but he was never privy to taking a napkin to discreetly spit it out. Nuts and berries were off the table for him, he didn’t even open his mouth for those. It was childish, but Draco couldn’t fault him for it, only easing him into different foods that were close enough to his palate that he wouldn’t immediately find it deplorable, all in an attempt to make sure he’d grow up with a better taste for food other than the select few meals he’d eat like clockwork in their older years.
Draco ate in a silence, rolling his shoulders back as his eyelids fell heavy over his sight, muscles still stuck in the tension of cleaning. He raised a brow to Theodore as he poked at his food, rambling as Blaise filled his own plate with food.
“What about a slug could be that interesting?” Blaise asked.
“Because it’s practically lost to the records of it, the researcher that discovered it was barely out of her studies program when she found it. The records weren’t made using archival scroll, so it’s faulty at best; yellowed and brittle.” Theodore supplied, his brow furrowing when Draco pushed his plate closer. He huffed something under his breath, taking a bite.
“Slugs are all the same.”
“Not this one, it has a different pattern and could be located in the Forbidden Forest, actually…”
“You are not going back in there.” Draco groaned, taking his drink.
Theodore shrugged, giving no affirmative or agreement. “Well, it’s just different. And it’s particularly interesting because it’s just lost. Lost information—isn’t that interesting alone? I think the researcher that wrote about it extensively even completely changed her focus of study after.”
“Odd.” Blaise commented drily, already folding his napkin to a different shape. Theodore simply continued on, only requiring the bare minimum response to keep speaking. “So what’d the researcher change her study to?”
“Muggle brains.” Theodore shrugged. “Not that interesting, but interesting enough that her focus on that caused the loss of any information on those slugs.”
“Fun.” Blaise hummed, sounding disinterested despite his continuous questions in beat with Theodore’s rambling.
A soft coo sounded above, a soft weight landing atop Draco’s head as the two continued to talk. Niklaus pecked at his hair, grooming the blond strands softly after placing a basket down on the table. The basket was weaved tightly with bows decorating it, a stack of wrapped boxes wrapped with a small bubble to protect it, lacking the usual amount of sweets that his mother would often send him. He popped it with his finger, his mother’s magic fading softly of its protection. Pulling the basket closer, he rifled through the envelopes placed on the side of the boxes, ignoring Theodore’s attempt of reading over his letters.
He thumbed through opening the envelopes, his shoulders resting as he realized they were all photographs. Some were of the muggle variety, unmoving in a captured moment of time, stilted photographs of people walking by in a street, the lowering of the sun into the shimmering dusk over the sea—sights his mother wanted to share with him. His lips tugged up, finding one letter enclosed.
Hello Dragon,
I hope Hogwarts continues to find you well. You must be wondering where your sweets are, I will enclose them in a later letter. But I know this will reach you with your friend, Zabini’s, birthday, yes? I left a few gifts for him, pass it on for me, darling. Best stay on your best behavior, though I hope you’re enjoying yourself.
Severus tells me you’ve gotten yourself in a spot of trouble? He did not disclose the reason, but you make me worry at times. Reach out when you require anything, we’re only an owl away. Anything at all, no matter is too little.
I’ve left you some photographs, adorable little trinkets, are they not? To be so still, it truly is an encasement of the moment, I’ve grown fond of it. I wanted to share these moments with you, it will be nice to have you home soon. Always take care of your health, your father worries as well.
Dearly,
Mother
He picked up the basket, taking the rest of the envelopes and placing the basket closer to Blaise. “My mother wishes you a good birthday.” he continued to read over the letter, raising a brow at the succinct wording, no long tale over her travels, nothing other than reminders for his health and a quick assessment over his state of being. He frowned imperceptibly, folding it back to tuck it away, watching Blaise open his presents.
“Not everyday you turn twelve, is it?” Draco said with a shrug, “Happy birthday to you, Blaise.”
Blaise gasped, a shine to his voice as he held up the gift. “A remembrall—! Did you tell her I wanted one?”
“I’d like a try.” Theodore reached over, ignoring his food.
Blaise raised the remembrall away, holding up a hand to stop the boy. “Nope. You get the chance to on your birthday.”
“That’s months away.” Theodore deadpanned, “Don’t be stingy.”
“Theodore, eat your food.” Draco chided, putting away his letter as Niklaus fluttered down to over his shoulder. He handed him a treat, the soft coo of the owl close to his ear. Niklaus flew away to return to the owlery, seeing no need for further mail for his master.
Just as he was about to continue with his meal, his gravity changed upon himself as his hair fell away from his face, feeling a tug at his neck. “Hey little snake, where’s the other lot of you—oh! There you are, Zabini.” One of the Weasley twins grinned, holding Draco back in his seat with another hand over the table. The other Weasley twin appeared next to Draco’s side, giving a smiling wave over to Blaise as he placed his hand over the other side of the table over Draco.
“How are the lot of you doing now? Heard you got in a little stint with Professor Snape recently?” Fred whistled, grinning as he took a brownie from the table. He completely ignored the hard glares from the other Slytherins, almost completely oblivious if not for the smugness to his voice.
“None of your business.” Draco murmured, swatting away George’s arm.
“Ooh, not feeling very bright are you there, little snake?” George said, leaning down. “We know exactly what—”
“—could help you all brighten up a bit.” Fred leaned down, continuing his sentence. There was a mischievous edge to his tone, clearly indicating that this would be trouble.
Draco could feel a headache coming for him. As if sensing it, Theodore finished with which of Draco’s selection he considered safe enough and excused himself. “I’ll be going now. My day has been bright enough without snow today.” he stepped over his seat, walking over to the Ravenclaw table with Luna’s book in hand, uninterested.
“Aww.” Fred said, dramatically lowering his shoulders and placing his hands over his cheek as if in shock.
“Your friend’s real perceptive, that one.” George whistled, leaning back down with a smirk on his face directed to Blaise. “So, you two in?”
“It’s simple, really. Just a little fun to get your spirits up a bit.” Fred added.
“And of course, to get you two a little more comfortable with life here in Hogwarts, being fresh meat as you are.” George laughed, raising his hands defensively when Draco swatted him away again just as he attempted to pinch his cheek. They raised their gazes up to Blaise, grinning at the clear curiosity in the boy’s eyes.
Honestly, Draco could tell that the two were more interested in Blaise, it was clear each time they’d strike up conversation with their table, the look in their eyes was one of simmering wonder when Blaise would off-handedly add to their ideas naturally like it was a normal thought. Unfortunately, Draco could also tell that the twins simply liked to mess with him, as they would often target him with their physical bouts just to have him annoyed with them.
Blaise leaned back in his seat, observing the twins with a raised brow as he lamented. He gave a small grin, “Perhaps? I’m not opposed to it, but Draco here isn’t too keen on any brightening up to his day.”
“Oh, you’ll come with us, right, little snake? It’ll be lots of enrichment for you.” George laughed, patting the blond on the back as he took a seat by the table that Theodore had left. He snagged himself a piece of bread, munching as Fred did the same.
“I’m not going.” Draco grumbled, eating his food.
So here he was, standing behind a bathroom door—or, well, to be more precise, floating with his feet just above the gap underneath the door, low giggles by his side as the Ravenclaw Quidditch team entered the room, accompanied by a cacophony of their chatter and the sound of quidditch equipment thrown over the benches. Blaise floated close to him, carving a few last lines into the engravement in the pen he was holding, blowing on it softly before taking a piece of paper from Fred. Blaise was silent in his ministrations in contrast to the twins’ increasing giggles, letting Fred cast a spell to have the engraved pen quickly write out a note in a perfect imitation of Professor Flitwick’s handwriting.
George wow’ed, clapping his hands together without actually making a sound as he gave Blaise a thumbs up. He waved his wand, pushing it out and causing a voice to call out in the room of the Ravenclaw captain’s voice. As soon as the imitated voice called out a loud yell, Fred was already laughing into George’s side, watching in the gap of the door as the team jolted up in place like jumping frogs.
“Hurry up! Practice isn’t over yet!”
The team all looked at each other, all of them covered in sweat and cold grime from the weather outside, befuddled heads looking between one another to try and make sense of what was happening. They all shrugged, taking up their things to go out again until George set off another spell.
“What are you all doing? Hurry up and return to the dorm!”
They remained befuddled as George casted a few more of the echoing spell, changing to different orders as soon as they were about to commit to following one for them. Draco found it ridiculous, especially ridiculous when they started bumbling and bumping into one another, tripping over their own equipment and clothes. It was ridiculous.
“Oh, bloody hell.” Draco laughed, leaning against Blaise as the boy laughed alongside him, even wheezing as he hit Draco in his laughter.
Soon enough, the actual captain entered the room and was barricaded by confused and frankly, slightly miffed questions from his team. Fred took the paper they’d set aside, rolling it up and using a slight bit of momentum to float up higher, throwing it into the Captain’s bag, whistling to himself at the perfect shot. “See, little snakes, can’t be a beater without proper aim, can I?” he ducked down immediately as soon as he was done, giggling and nudging at George.
“What—I was off to talk to Professor McGonogall. I wasn’t here.” The captain explained himself, raising his hands defensively at their barrage. He sighed calmly taking into account all their grievances as he moved to his bag. “Did… any of you leave this here?”
“That’s yours, innit? Isn’t that Professor Flitwick’s?” one of them tried to jump over their captain to take a look, but the captain only shrugged them off.
“Says we have to use the pitch for another hour more.”
“What!!?”
“Ugghh!!”
A chorus of moans sounded through the room, thoroughly tuckered out from the numerous orders and a full practice beforehand. They all took turns reading over the note, more groans coming from the room as they started their march out.
“Say, who’s using the pitch right now?” Fred asked, floating down. He pushed the door open slightly, watching out if they had all left.
“Slytherins, ain’t they?” George shrugged, laughing to himself as he wiped a few tears.
Draco raised a brow, “The Slytherin team’s taking a break to try and refine their strategies over. They had a whole meeting planned for it.”
George took a double-take, looking over his pockets. “Hold on. What day is it?”
“Monday, the 11th.” Blaise answered, giving Draco a questioning look.
“Oh crap.” George cursed, rushing out the door. “It’s the Gryffindor’s pitch. Oliver’s out there.”
“Is that supposed to be a worry?”
“Worry—? Oh, no, no, little snakes. We are not missing this. Like I said, this is enrichment.”
“He means Oliver’s going to blow his top off over this, and that’s always a lot of fun to see.” Fred supplied, gathering the two boys and dragging them both outside.
In the Quidditch pitch, came the afternoon sun overhead, the wind billowing with cold air in the colder months coming to pass, the signature red and gold color dotting the field as blue and bronze entered the scene. The brooms above came to a stop from flying back and forth, Angelina lowered herself after catching the quaffle from Katie as the screams that bellowed below them only grew louder. She passed the quaffle back to the younger girl, motioning over to their youngest player still soaring in the sky to come down.
Below, dressed in the warm colors of the Gryffindor pride, a scarf billowing around his neck as he insisted and very calmly yelled, was Oliver Wood, facing against the Ravenclaw captain with a vigor in his bones that had some of the younger Ravenclaws cowering back in their tire.
“It’s our pitch!“
“Goddamit, Oliver, like I said, it ain’t! I’ve got a note from Professor Flitwick for it!”
“Duncan, ye daftie, get it through your thick head, ye’ve already had yer time. It’s our turn on the pitch.” Wood took the note, throwing it back after reading a few lines of it, “Aye, but I’ve got permission from McGonagall for the pitch. This doesn’t matter here.”
“And like I said, Oliver, could you read—”
“Ye cannae fuckin’ hear!”
“Are we lowering ourselves to insults or are you too daft to understand what I’m saying?!”
“I’ll make ye understand my bits in your mouth.”
“What the bloody fuck—”
The screaming match only continued in a frenzy. Wood stood his ground, resolute in what he had heard and Duncan was the same, resolute in what he had read. Angelina was fully lowered to the pitch, her eye twitching as she watched the exchange, covering Harry’s ears as the two lowered themselves to whatever insults they could throw around the other. The younger boy’s eyes were misty, wiping the front of his glasses with his hand as his eternally messy hair was all over the place with the hoops he’d been doing around the air.
He looked up to the older girl, his face crunched in confusion. “What’s going on?” he asked, trying to get Angelina’s hands off his ears, the screaming match muffled in his ears.
Angelina shook her head, giving something that was more akin to a grimace than a smile as she looked at the two. Duncan was pushing his finger against Wood’s chest, emphasizing something as he passed his thumb over his neck in a sharp line. Wood wasn’t phased at all, rolling his eyes.
“Our pitch.” Wood kept repeating, uncaring to the fact that Duncan had just threatened his entire bloodline.
“His priorities are really full of nothing but Quidditch.” George whistled next to Draco, crouching down near to the wall to the bleachers, leaning up against the wall with a grin plastered to his face.
Fred only gave a dramatic gasp as Duncan yelled a few more unceremonious words, acting as though he was covering Blaise’s ears. He laughed regardless as soon as Wood responded, “You’ve got to hand it to him, he’s got himself more figured out than most people.”
“It’s enviable actually,” George tsked, shaking his head as he looked onto the scene, “Living his best life meanwhile I still struggle to make decisions.”
“Don’t you just flip a coin for those nowadays?” Fred leaned up against the wall, making a circle with his thumb and forefinger.
“Yeah, but sometimes I don’t follow through with it because suddenly I have a sense of individuality and I regret those decisions.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
George groaned, “I know! And watching Wood threatening to shove his bits down someone’s throat is making me want to reconsider if my perspective on life is suddenly too narrow.”
“Could stop with the whole flipping a coin to make every decision you come across first.” Fred shrugged, their conversation flowing normally without their whole flare and show of twin telepathy as they liked to call it—George had admitted they rehearsed it at times, really, they didn’t actually talk that way.
Draco remained standing stiffly by the twins’ side, Blaise gracing himself to leaning against the wall as he watched with rapt interest between the two fighting sides, giving a short nod to the twins as they evolved to deciding if a coin toss was all as fair as it was made out to be. He raised a brow, nudging at Draco’s side just when Draco was near to dazing off, whispering shortly.
“Isn’t Potter looking at you again?” Blaise laughed, “There you go, you have his attention again. Aren’t you overjoyed, Dray?”
Sure enough, Potter was staring right at him, the background of the quidditch pitch ceasing in an instant at those piercing green eyes staring straight at Draco. The slight boy bit at his lip, looking back and forth between Draco and the twins before a fire ignited in his eyes, taking a moment to watch Wood nearly jumping Duncan before removing Angelina’s hands on his ears, running through the pitch, his broom still in his hand. His face was sheen with sweat, a soft flush to his thin cheeks as his breath came out in a gentle smoke, coming closer and closer with a silent pant as he came face to face with Draco. At least, as face to face as they could be.
Previously, Draco could recall their difference in the first year hardly being as stark as it was now, with Potter having to raise his chin fully to meet Draco’s eyes. He held the broom close to his shoulder, lowering it down to his chest as he reassessed Draco’s proximity to the twins. He seemed to steel himself for a moment, taking a sharp breath as he tugged at his red sweater.
The twins ceased their chattering, taking the moment to greet the small boy. “Oh, Harry, there you are. How’s practice?”
“Been all good we’d s’pose? You’re a real natural.” George continued, already expecting the younger boy to have come up to see them, oblivious to the tension curdling in Draco’s shoulders.
Instead of their expectations, Potter only gave a curt nod in response, swiveling his head to pay attention to Draco’s taller form, his eyes alight with something that Draco could only know of to be a troubling bravery. He took half a step back at the sight, he fidgeted at his fingers, nudging at Blaise’s side to get him to drag him out of the situation only to receive no response. Potter’s eyes remained on him, and he could only bite back a scathing remark as he stared back and observed him, if just for a moment.
He blinked slowly in recognition the more Potter tugged at his sweater. He swallowed, “What do you want—”
“Do you want your sweater back?” Potter asked, as if he was asking of the weather. As if he wasn’t completely turning Draco’s mind over his head.
“What?”
Potter continued on, unphased by the slight bite Draco’s tone. “Your sweater. Would you like to have it back?” he spoke more slowly, as if gently helping Draco along to understanding basic words.
Draco drowned out his thoughts with a gulp of his saliva, his throat clogging with words that he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t deny that he recognized the sweater that Potter was wearing, the very same one that he’d given him that time. He wouldn’t allow it. Potter was insufferable enough when he couldn’t get over the possibility of Draco being whom he knew, if Potter knew it was him, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. “What game are you playing at, Potter?” he asked. That tingling thought of those eyes seeking him like he was something to be adored haunted him, steeling his resolve to keep Potter away from him. He couldn’t handle those eyes.
“I’m asking a question.” Potter said, contesting him. There was a clear contention in his eyes, as if he was daring Draco to refuse him what he wanted—confirmation.
“What’s this, little snake?” George leaned down against Draco’s shoulder, watching Potter’s gaze slightly narrow. He placed his weight onto Draco, annoying the younger boy as he elbowed him in the rib to get off.
“You gave ‘ickle Harry a gift?” Fred ooh’ed, “Didn’t take you to be so sentimental.”
“I didn’t—” Draco tried to say.
“It’s not my size.” Potter looked up to the twins with his eyes batting just slightly, giving the air of an innocent child. Merlin, why didn’t Potter end up in Slytherin? He would be a valuable asset with that leading tone.
“I—”
“It really dwarfs you, Harry. How have I told you to sew up your clothes a bit more? You know, Katie’s pretty good at it, you could ask her.” Fred pulls at the collar slightly, demonstrating how much the collar fell over Potter’s shoulder. “The sweater’s cute on you though, little snake here has some good taste.”
“It wasn’t—”
“Agreed. You look cute, Harry. The little snake did well.” George continued, stopping Draco from speaking.
Draco’s hands clenched, “I did not—!”
“That’s awfully sweet of you, Draco.” Blaise interrupted, continuing on as Draco seethed.
“I take it, you don’t want it back?” Potter grinned, fully to his eyes as if he’d gotten what he wanted. He held the broom close, taking hold of it beside him as he patted his sweater.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Draco breathed deeply, forcing himself to keep his temperament. He looked away, no longer able to keep that gaze. He mourned to himself just how Potter had grown up to be an insufferable git, how that had happened when the Potter now looked to be so… so innocent was simply unfathomable. It had even him hesitating—it was deplorable.
“He wants you to keep it, aww, look at him. So you’re getting along? The little snake here definitely has a sweet side to him, don’t he?” George cooed laughing as Draco swatted him away with a clear shake to his hand.
“He does.” Potter murmured, smiling at the exchange. He looked back up to the pitch. Angelina was fully exasperated as Katie held her back, Wood and Duncan fully rough housing with their wands thrown to the sides of their fight. He looked back to Draco, his smile infectiously bright. “Not many seem to agree.”
“Because he’s a grump.” Blaise snorted softly, keeping himself dignified as he joined George in teasing Draco. He kept himself straight, away from leaning back against the wall as he pinched Draco’s cheek.
“My mother will be hearing of this.” Draco grit out, moving away. “And Potter, don’t talk nonsense. I don’t play games.”
The young boy only grinned wider, making Draco’s face flush tightly. He turned around, storming off the pitch with Blaise running to catch up to him. The twins tried to wave goodbye to Potter, only to nearly jump out of their skin when their names were shouted half through the pitch, Angelina noticing their presence.
“He’s bloody infuriating.” Draco said through his teeth, holding his mouth as his face remained flush, just the sight of those eyes reminding him of an older Potter. Could Potter smile that way? He could only recall that smug grin every time he dared to sass him, but the thought of comparing it to Potter’s face—it just fit. To have the Boy Who Lived with a smile as bright as that, yes. Draco could recall it appearing on the times he’d catch the snitch, his sweaty face alight with that same brightness.
It was so different, yet Draco could picture it all the same. He could have it ingrained in his head and never leave—but perhaps he’d never see the same one again.
“Merlin.” Draco said, his brows furrowing as his steps slowed. “I can’t believe I...”
“You gave him that sweater?” Blaise interrupted his thoughts, keeping him from delving into the thought. “See, I could have sworn there was something going on.”
“I didn’t. Leave me alone.” Draco snarked.
“Don’t be such a grump.” Blaise laughed, patting Draco’s neck.
Harry was settled into the comfort of the couch, close to the hearth of the Gryffindor common room, huddling up close to Neville’s side as he tried to needle his way into finding out more than he’d already been given. His lips rested to a pout, poking at Neville’s side as the boy continuously blocked him from getting his way with a stray pillow he’d picked up. “Please, please, Neville, just tell me. Did he say anything? Did he?”
“Nothing! Nothing…!!!” Neville squawked as Harry managed to tickle him, pushing the boy over to the couch as he ran over to Hermione’s side. “I swear to you! He didn’t, didn’t tell me nothing about you!”
Hermione sighed loudly from the other couch, holding a bracelet in hand as she looked between her book and her wand, waving it a certain way before shaking her head and huffing, starting over the previous page and waving her wand again. “Stop bothering Neville, Harry. You’re scaring the poor boy.”
“I’m not scaring him—am I, Neville?” Harry turned his head, frowning.
Neville limply ducked into his scarf, backing away into the edge of the couch, holding the pillow in front of him as he peeked out of it. “I mean… just a smidge. I can’t understand why you’re so bothered over Malfoy… he’s, I mean, he’s nice enough, but he’s…”
“A big grump, is what he is.” Ron intercepted, huffing back on the bean bag nearest to the fireplace, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m telling you, Harry. It was probably a trick of the light or proper realistic dream. Ain’t no way that Draco Malfoy, of all people, could be as good as you describe him to be.”
“He’s not like that!” Harry insisted, his voice raising. A momentary silence hushed upon them as Harry repeated himself in a softer voice, turning to curl up into the arm of the couch with a pillow of his own. The soft billow of the flames of the fireplace sung over the air, muffled speech from the other corridor to the dorms the only sound for a moment. Flaps of Hermione’s book hushed over them, the light cascading over Ron’s face making his expression unreadable. But Harry could tell, he huffed to himself, knowing full well that Ron was getting sick of hearing him insist upon it over and over again.
Hermione cleared her throat, “Well, if you’re so sure, then I’ll believe you.” she murmured out the spell again, waving her wand at the bracelet as it remained the same; unchanging, much to Hermione’s dismay.
Harry lit up, positively bouncing over to Hermione’s side with his pillow in hand. “Really?” he said.
Hermione jolted, holding the bracelet closer to herself. “I… well, I have no reason not to believe you.” she shuffled slightly at Harry’s bright eyes. God, Harry had really bright eyes, it was almost impossible to refuse him anything when he looked like that, thankfully it was dampened under his thick lenses. “You said he gave you a sweater, didn’t you? I’m not doubting that. It could be entirely plausible.”
“He did!” Harry stumbled off the couch, earning a grimace from Neville as the boy settled into the couch, languidly crossing his legs as he hugged his pillow, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace. Harry ran off, throwing the pillow wherever.
Ron gave a shrug, his brows furrowing as he grimaced the same, shaking his head as if telling Hermione not to encourage him. “It’s Draco Malfoy—of all people!” he murmured, shaking his hand.
Harry returned with a pant to his step, holding something close to his chest. He carefully laid it out, wearing it. He hardly took it out, valuing it too much to wear it so leisurely, even in the colder months. Dudley’s old clothes were warm enough for him, and with a bit of mending it didn’t sag as much as most people would think it to be. Though, honestly, Harry preferred it to be that way, it just felt… more right, more fitting for him—like he deserved it. He shook his head, pulling at the hem.
“See? It’s not similar to any of mine at all. And, and it doesn’t fit me.”
“Everything of yours other than your robes don’t fit, Harry.” Ron shook his head, ever the doubter.
Hermione rolled her eyes, “Have some faith. It’s not like Harry would lie needlessly, especially not after… oh right, punching Malfoy straight in the gut just weeks ago.” she furrowed her brows at the reminder, “You should think before acting next time, Harry.”
Harry’s lips tugged down, sitting by Neville’s side again. “It’s not my fault he called Ron… that kind of word. It wasn’t like him at all.”
“And what of him do you know for him to act different, then?” Ron scoffed, “He’s a Malfoy. He has the world at his feet, of course he acts like a git.”
“Ron.” Neville weakly warned, shaking his head.
Ron hesitated, seeing Harry’s eyes downcast. He groaned, falling back into the bean bag further. “Aye. Fine then. Don't matter. I started it. But he’s not a good person. You must've seen what he did with Neville’s remembrall.”
“He didn’t mean to.” Harry muttered, “He must’ve had a reason. I mean, his friend certainly wasn’t doing any better.”
“See, his friends aren’t any better!” Ron repeated, shaking his head in disapproval. “Zabini most of all.”
“Zabini’s nice.” Hermione said, “I saw him help a Ravenclaw with her books the other day.”
Neville shuddered, shifting his scarf over his neck. “Zabini is scary.”
“Who cares about Zabini—Hermione, you believe me, right?” Harry nearly pleaded, presenting the sweater to her. Hermione narrowed her eyes, placing her book down with the bracelet on the pillow, coming close to inspect the item. She looked to the tag, blinking in wonder.
“This… must’ve been expensive.” She recognized the brand, not even her mother liked to spend needlessly on it. “I believe you, Harry.”
“Really!?” Harry beamed, and Hermione immediately softened at the sight of his bright eyes.
“What?!” Ron wailed, shaking his head at Hermione.
“Come on, Ron. Don’t act like that. Harry wouldn’t lie.” Hermione sighed, giving a disapproving look. “So what do you want, Harry?”
Harry blinked, “What?”
“What do you want with Malfoy? Sure he might’ve been the one you met in the forest, but you’re in Hogwarts now. You found him. Now what?”
“I want…” Harry went silent, curling back in his seat. His legs were bent to curl into himself, holding the pillow close as he thought it over. “I don’t know, I guess I just wanted someone to believe me.”
“I believe you, Harry.” Neville muttered after a few moments, patting Harry’s shoulder.
“So now, what?” Hermione continued, holding the bracelet that Harry had asked of her to preserve. She touched the ginger along the band, feeling a trace of magic wrapped around it. Her spell had worked, at least for a while. She was still figuring out how to preserve it for the long term.
“I guess... I’d want him to admit it.” Harry spoke slowly, “It’s almost like a game. And he doesn’t want to play... but really he is by trying not to.”
“So… you want him to acknowledge you?” Hermione raised a brow, “Just make it so that he can’t ignore you.” She huffed, as if it was the most obvious conclusion. She stood up, looking through the books arranged on the common room bookshelf, shoving certain books aside as she continued by row.
“How do I do that?”
“Same thing you did the last time. Make it so he can’t ignore you even if he wanted to.” Hermione instructed dutifully, smiling at the adoring look in Harry’s eyes at the suggestion. She felt a slight swell of pride seeing his clear admiration, going over what she had read about people in her mother’s friend’s office.
“You’re right, Hermione.” Harry grinned, “You really are smart.”
“Not… not at all.” Hermione immediately refused, a flush to her cheeks. “I’m just telling you what I know from a book, that’s all.”
Ron huffed in his seat, rolling his eyes, but he didn’t make any attempt to dampen the mood. Neville looked doubtful about it, but decided to himself he wouldn’t be telling Draco about it for the time being. It probably wasn’t anything major… Harry wouldn’t do anything drastic.
“Still, thank you, you’re brilliant!” Harry fiddled with the hem of his sweater, smiling.
It’ll be fine... Neville thought to himself, holding his pillow close.