Both Begrudging AND Doomed.
“Holy shit,” Theo breathed, as soon as they had exited the exam hall.
Draco made a distracted noise of agreement as he scanned the morose crowd of students who surrounded them. Where are you, you incorrigible piece of shit. Potter had been sitting a few rows away from Draco. He’d been dismissed earlier. He better not have gone home.
“—molecular shape—hello?” Theo waved a hand over Draco’s face. “Earth to Draco Malfoy?”
“Yeah, I agree,” Draco said, refusing to admit he’d been distracted, and by Potter, of all people.
“Right,” Theo returned, disbelieving. “So?”
Draco eyed him. “So?”
“So, answer my question.”
Theo was such a spiteful arsehole. Draco adored him. Molecular shape… molecular shape… ah— “I put trigonal bipyramidal.”
“Nice try.” Theo nodded. “But I didn’t ask a question.”
“Wanker,” Draco laughed.
“Says you. Where’s your head at, anyway?”
Potter. Draco didn’t say. Right now, in particular.
Potter. Draco couldn’t say. Because we’re partners now, can you believe it? I’ve signed my own death sentence.
“Brown’s new hair.” Draco supplied, in lieu of anything even resembling the truth.
“Talk about shit-show. She looks like a fucking clown.”
“Mmmhmm,” Draco agreed, scanning the crowd again, and again, and where is he, where are you, oh, bane of my existence— Potter’s hair, a beacon, called to Draco amongst the gaggle of students like a particularly painful spell of diarrhoea. “Listen, Theo, I’ll catch up with you later,”
“Why do I put up with you?”
Draco turned away from Potter, briefly, and shot him a smirk. It was obvious, wasn’t it? “My face?”
“Well, it’s definitely not your personality.”
Draco brushed the back of Theo’s hand with his own. “Later,”
“You’re being gay.” Theo muttered, despite his glaring pleasure.
“Lucky you.” Draco returned, his eyes finding Potter’s gaze.
And then Draco was pushing his way through the crowd in order to take hold of the tosser and make some fucking sense of the absurdity of the last few days.
Thirty minutes later, standing in the fucking courtyard and with his face completely numb from freezing bursts of wind, Draco had had enough. He had had enough of having enough. In fact, he had had so much enough he genuinely believed that from henceforth, he would never fall short of another enough. In other words, copious amounts of enough were had. And Draco had crossed his irritation threshold by miles.
He crossed his arms. “Coffee shop.”
“What?” Potter frowned at him, his nose pinking in the fucking ice-air (which Draco swore had travelled all the way from the very heart of the arctic tundra).
“We’re going to a coffee shop.”
“Malfoy, what the fuck.”
He’s impossible. Draco felt the urge to rub his temples. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m impossible—”
“We can’t talk about this at school, you idiot—”
“Then lead with that, Malfoy,” Potter shot back, frustration lacing his words. “Why are you being purposefully difficult?”
Huh, Draco hadn’t realised that Potter could tell. He repeated, “Coffee shop.”
They compromised (over what, Draco hadn’t a clue—he suspected that it physically hurt Potter to give in to him and he had put up a fight just for the heck of it) and ended up at The Fair Heart. Which Draco honestly preferred, and so took as a win.
At first, Draco ordered tea. He couldn’t deal with Potter without tea.
Then, after five minutes of sitting across Potter in excruciating silence, he ordered a slice of cake. He couldn’t deal with Potter, at all. He may as well have some cake for consolation.
“Potter.” started Draco.
“Malfoy.” Potter returned, levelling him a wary look.
Draco figured they should start with the basics. He lowered his voice, “Golden-boy,”
Potter looked embarrassed at the mention of the nick-name. Good, thought Draco, freshly vindictive from—everything, really.
Potter cleared his throat, “Ta—”
“Yes, we’ve covered this.” Draco cut him off.
Potter ate a chip. (He was always eating. Though you’d never be able to tell from his appearance—all bones and more bones and fucking more bones, even after all that time on the football field.) “Dunno if punching someone in the gut counts as covering it,”
Annoyance threatened to cloud Draco’s vision. It’d been too much to hope that Potter would conveniently forget about that entire—scene/drama/ordeal. Draco felt so irritated that the small, blooming dredges of guilt in his chest were quickly smothered. “What did you expect, you halfwit.”
Potter shrugged. He’d stopped bouncing his leg up and down. He was irritated, as well. Good, thought Draco.
Draco said, “We need to lay some ground-rules.”
Potter ate another chip in silence.
“I don’t want to talk to you more than is absolutely necessary,” Draco continued. He really, truly didn’t. For a plethora of reasons—the main one being that Potter sucked and Draco hated being around him.
Potter stopped eating his chips and looked away. He was bordering on fury. Excellent, thought Draco.
“Cat got your tongue, Golden-boy?” Draco drawled. Potter was so irresistible when he was bordering on fury. Just one little push and he’d tip over. Like a bomb, almost.
Potter’s nostrils flared. Without bringing his eyes back to the table, he said, “We can’t cooperate if you’re going to keep doing this.”
“Doing what.”
“This. Being pissy. Being an arsehole.” Potter looked back at Draco. “This is bigger than either you or me.”
And there he was doing it again. Making Draco feel like a child; an immature brat. Taking Draco’s anger and just painting it as insignificant. Something trivial. ‘Oh no, Malfoy, there are bigger things in the world. Like me! Saint Potter! And even if there weren’t bigger things in the world, you matter less than one of my boogers.’
It was Draco’s turn to look away, irritation turning into anger. He couldn’t do this. Why had he agreed?
“Moldy-wart’s going to keep doing stuff like what he did today.” Potter continued. “Neither of us knows the extent of how far he’ll go. We have to stop him.”
Have to? “I don’t have to do anything.”
“You’re the one who agreed to partner—”
“I chose to partner up with you. I didn’t have to do it.” Draco eyed him contemptuously. “Don’t push your ridiculous notions of obligation onto me.”
Potter pursed his lips and looked away again. A muscle in his jaw ticked. I could push him over the edge. It would be so easy, so satisfying. After all he’s made me feel, it would be so very justified as well. But would it? Would it be justified? Draco met Potter’s angry eyes. I’m putting words in his mouth, aren’t I. I’m externalising my… anger? Insecurities? When had they returned? Potter was clenching his fists so hard the veins on his hand looked like they were being restrained by his skin. I could push him over the edge. But as satisfying as it would be, Potter was guileless.
And they were getting nowhere with their initial intention.
“That aside, we need to pool information.” Draco could be gregarious. He could force gregariousness for the greater good. Or the lesser evil. Potter was the lesser evil compared to Moldy-idiot-fuck. When Potter didn’t reply, Draco raised an eyebrow. The words escaped before his mind had realised they’d been formulated, “Who’s being pissy, now?”
In an extremely dramatic move—like something straight out of the Korean Dramas Ajumma liked to watch—Potter stood from his seat. It was a whole spectacle, he shot out of his chair like some sort of jack-in-the-box. The legs of his chair scraped against the floor, a loud bang resounded (had he bumped his knee on his way up? That was so embarrassing for him, oh my god), and gritting his teeth ferociously all the while, he gathered his belongings—honest-to-god, he was emanating anger, it was rolling off him in waves—and he walked away.
Everyone stared at Draco’s lone figure—the collateral from Potter’s explosion. He ignored them all. He’d been well-versed in the art of feigning composure. He ate a spoonful of cake for consolation.
That went well.
In hindsight, Draco admitted, it was a mistake to tell Luna about his and Potter's failed attempt at cordiality.
The thing was, Looney was just so very… lovable (in a strange, absurd way) and also trustworthy (or rather, she appeared trustworthy. Though for the life of him, Draco couldn’t explain why. She was more elusive than both Pansy and Blaise combined.)
She had come over the Saturday before normal lessons resumed and they’d watched American cartoons, and he’d braided her hair. Draco had always wanted a sibling—the manor was far too big, and far too oppressive to weather alone as a child—and there she was, Looney, Looney, lovely Looney, Draco’s very own little sister. Who, to be fair, acted more like his crazy grand aunt than a little sister, but Draco would take what he could get.
It may have occurred that, while braiding her hair, Draco’s hellish mouth started to complain about Potter—his complete inability to stay calm so that they could stop the super-fucker from whatever it was he thought he was accomplishing—and it may have occurred that Draco’s complaint turned into a rant, that went on for maybe an hour. Or two. Nobody was counting.
“Draco,” admonished Looney, as far as she could admonish anyone (not very far), “You instigated him.”
“I most absolutely did.” Draco agreed. “It was glorious.”
Looney laughed, so all was good. And then all was abruptly less good because Looney started talking logic, “Surely, you can’t expect him to stay calm if you’re trying to drive him mad.”
Draco sniffed as he finished off her braids.
“You can’t stay angry about the fact that he knew who you were before you knew who he was, forever,” Looney said, gently.
“I’m not angry, I’m just frustrated.”
Luna turned back to gaze at him, with grey eyes clearer than anyone’s he’d ever seen. “Trying to make him feel as frustrated as you felt isn’t going to help anything.”
Draco considered sulking for a second, but upon making eye contact with Luna—who’d never been known to harbour malice towards anyone—he felt suddenly guilty. She had that effect on him. She was always corrupting his horribleness.
“Yeah,” Draco admitted, but just because he’d admitted something didn’t mean that he was willing to dwell on it, “Ice cream?”
“Sure,” Looney agreed, and Draco got up to bring her some ice-cream, and everything was good until he saw her texting someone on her phone, and before he could ask her if it was Pansy (he swore she’d stopped doing that whole—seducing thing), she opened her mouth to say, “Harry’s agreed to meet you again tomorrow,”
Draco’s first thought was, Oh, thank god, it’s not Pansy.
Draco’s second thought was, “Luna, what the fuck!”
“What’s wrong?” she frowned at him.
“You—you—” Draco spluttered, “Oh, stop it, stop looking so precious,” Draco covered his eyes so that he didn’t have to face her wide-eyed stare. “When the fuck did you and Potter exchange numbers?!”
“We’re friends,” came her non-answer. “Is the coffee shop next to my house okay?”
“No, it’s absolutely not okay—why on earth did you text him, you horrible girl?”
“Now you can talk,”
“Now we can talk, my arse— what the fuck did you say to him,”
“That you wanted to talk,”
“I don’t want to talk, Luna! What is wrong with you!”
“That’s the impression I—”
“The impression,” Draco grit at her, his eyes still covered so that he could continue feeling irritated, “was wrong.”
“Really?” she asked, surprised.
“No, not really.” Draco confessed, begrudgingly. “But you don’t admit things like that, Luna!”
“Why not?”
“Because no!” Draco nearly shrieked. “I’m so angry at you!” Sometimes, Luna had difficulty discerning emotion if it wasn’t clearly stated.
“It’s for the better, isn’t it?” she asked.
Draco removed his hands from his eyes and looked down at her innocently eating her ice-cream, completely unaware of the damage she had wreaked. He tried hard to hold onto his exasperation as he felt it slip rapidly from the fore of his mind. Despite his very best efforts, he was utterly drained of his anger.
“What did you say.” he asked her, less hysterically.
“That you were willing to talk to him again,”
Draco groaned. “Show me,”
She gave him her phone. He unlocked it and read her messages to Potter.
Me: Draco would like to talk to you again
Harry: Ok
Me: Is tomorrow alright?
Harry: Yeah
Me: At the coffee shop near my house?
Harry: Ok
“Charming, isn’t he,” Draco said, sarcastically. He handed her back her phone.
Looney giggled and Draco rolled his eyes. This was so unbelievably embarrassing—for Draco to have made the first move, whether genuinely or not. He’d need Luna to be there in order to set things straight (it was the principle of the matter).
“You’re coming with me, by the way,” he told her.
She nodded, “To act as an intermediary?”
Well, that too. He nodded back, “To act as an intermediary.”
Potter had brought his own intermediary, in the form of one Hermione Granger.
Coward, thought Draco. And then he remembered the alternative and was eternally grateful that he hadn’t brought Weasel instead. Or the Weaselette, god forbid.
And so they all sat at a table in the coffee shop closest to Luna’s house in utter silence.
Draco stood up in order to buy some cake—for self-consolation and all. Luna occasionally commented something about Granger’s inner waves. Granger tried very hard to keep her temper. It occurred to Draco that if Granger and him ever became sworn enemies, all he’d need to take her down was Luna, and her incessant, innocent strangeness. Draco sent Luna a fond look.
Granger broke first. She cleared her throat, “I think we should get to the matter at hand.”
“Draco’s Wrackspurts,” nodded Luna. “They’ve multiplied again,”
Draco smiled into his latte.
“No, Luna.” Granger sighed. She lowered her voice and glanced towards Potter, “Harry and Draco’s—super-powers,”
“Is that the matter at hand?” Luna asked Draco.
“It appears so,” Draco returned. At Luna’s answering frown, he said, “I know, boring.”
“Draco.” Granger crossed her arms, sternly. “This is serious.”
“Really?” Draco asked, “What gave it away?” He turned to Luna, “Was it the homicidal madman?”
She giggled and nodded, “I think so,”
“Huh,” Draco took another sip of his latte.
“Can you be serious?” Granger asked him
“Of course I can,” Draco sat back in his chair and smiled, “I’m just choosing not to be,”
Potter made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Draco glanced at him. Their eyes met for a second. Things were less hostile when more people were around. Granger and Looney were buffers.
“Draco.” Granger sighed.
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll behave. Get on with the conversation.”
She pursed her lips. “Harry can control the four elements.”
“You don’t say,”
She sent him a warning look. “He’s powerful.”
Debatable, thought Draco, as he eyed Potter playing with his straw.
“I like your shirt, Harry,” Luna said, “It’s very fetching, all that green,”
“Thanks, Luna,” Potter gave her a smile.
Luna smiled back.
“Honestly, all of you,” Granger glared. She pulled out a monstrous pile of papers from her bag, “I’ve made notes,”
“Jesus,” Draco muttered, eyeing the pile. “You made that in a day?”
Granger sniffed proudly, “I had some from before, it didn’t take that long.”
Draco flipped through the pile, scanning the section headings (there were section headings. And colour coded notes. Granger could be so fucking brilliant sometimes): Golden-boy; Tacky-pillar; Others?; Newspaper clippings; Unrelated incidents…
“Our favourite know-it-all strikes again,” Draco shook his head, in wonder. How had she managed all this in a day?
Granger beamed in pleasure. Draco was glad they’d sorted out their whole childhood-feud. She had the potential to be terrifying.
“Is it my turn, now?” Luna asked.
“Your turn for what?” Granger frowned.
“To act as an intermediary?”
“What?—”
“Yeah, go ahead, Looney,” Draco told her.
Luna spread her hands on the table and began, “Draco can move things with his mind.” She waited for a beat, “He is very funny.”
“This is where you say I’m powerful, Looney,”
“But being funny is so much better,” she returned.
Draco considered this. Coming from Looney, he guessed it was.
“D’you think I’m funny?” Potter asked her. Draco swallowed a laugh. He must have felt left out.
“Sometimes,” Luna said.
Draco grinned at her. Looney, you loyal brilliance.
Potter looked oddly hurt. He turned to Granger, “Do you think I’m funny?”
“Can we all please focus?” Granger asked. At Potter’s expression she sighed and said, “Yes, Harry, I think you’re funny.”
“But you think I’m funnier,” Draco said.
“No,” Potter refuted—the first direct conversation they’d had all day—“she thinks I am.”
“Don’t be more pathetic than you already are, Potter.”
“‘Mione.” Potter demanded. “Who’s funnier—Me or Malfoy?”
Granger cleared her throat (which didn’t bode well for Potter), “You’re funny in different ways.”
“I agree.” Draco nodded. “I’m funny on purpose.”
Potter scowled at him, his dark brows furrowing. Even with their buffers, it seemed Draco could push him towards the edge. It was good to know. Comforting, almost.
“Anyways,” Granger said. “We need to pool information.”
Ah, business. Draco checked his watch. It was half past three, this was taking forever. “Yeah, okay.”
“Draco, you go first. How did you find out about the power outage?”
“The lights went out in the middle of my history exam. Blaise checked his snapchat once we had left the exam hall and we saw the super-idiot on Daphne’s story. Pansy watched him on the TV and relayed what he was saying over the phone.”
Potter nodded slowly, “I was at home, I saw his message first-hand. I left as soon as I realised he was in the power-plant. I didn’t know he’d asked for me specifically until I arrived and he tried to—recruit me, or something.”
He’d left home before he found out he’d been called. Typical. “You left home to meet a potentially dangerous stranger, for no other reason than because he turned off the power,” Draco said.
“Well, yeah,” he rubbed his neck, sheepishly.
Was he stupid or brave? Both, decided Draco. As well as arrogant. “It didn’t occur to you to leave it to the authorities.”
“How useful would the authorities have been?” Granger defended Potter, “What, with the man’s super-powered advantage. And there were important things on the line.”
Draco nodded, “The mock exams,” at the same time as Potter said, “The hospitals,”
And that is when Draco remembered the hospitals. Well, fuck. He’d completely forgotten about them. It was so typical of Potter to have thought of that first, with his saviour complex.
And, okay, fine, with his objective goodness, as well. (He was just never good to Draco , so this trait of his was so easy to overlook. Or purposefully ignore. Draco didn’t like to think well of Potter.)
Draco sipped his latte and pretended he hadn’t said anything as Granger and Potter turned to stare at him. Yes, I’m a selfish arsehole, you’ve known since we were eleven, let's move on.
“Right,” Granger said, “So why did you come, Draco?”
“The power-cut inconvenienced me personally,” Draco decided to continue to be a selfish arsehole. It was his default setting, anyway. He made eye contact with Potter. Is he going to recount our conversation?
“The exams, I’m assuming,” continued Granger, “And how did you enter?”
He didn’t, thought Draco, still eyeing Potter and his silence. Why? Why didn’t he say anything?
He said, to Granger, “I downloaded blueprints off the internet and entered from the door closest to the employee garbage chute. One of the idiot-followers saw me and assumed I’d come to join their stupid ‘revolution,’ so I took advantage of the misunderstanding and got him to lead me to the control room.”
“In order to scope the situation?” Granger asked.
“Yeah,” Draco continued, “I basically just spent an hour watching him,” Draco gestured towards Potter, “getting physically abused by the idiot-followers.”
Granger nodded, “And you came down to help him because you were worried,”
“No.” lied Draco.
“Lying doesn’t make for a successful partnership, Draco,” Luna said.
Draco deliberately ignored her. She was such a bloody snitch. He turned to Granger, completely avoiding Potter’s gaze. “I didn’t want Golden-boy’s,”— please notice the distinction, the distinction is important— “death on my conscience.”
“Okay,” Granger nodded, “Harry?”
Potter sat up from his slouch. He had whipped cream on his upper lip. “I entered from—er, I don’t know, honestly—somewhere. Uh… and then I pretty much ran straight into Moldy-wart.”
Draco had never felt a physical urge to roll his eyes before. It was quite illuminating.
“And he basically just told me that he wanted to—well, you know, his twisted idea of a revolution—and he asked me to join him.” Potter shrugged. “I refused. He attacked me. I retaliated.”
Draco lost the fight against his willpower and rolled his eyes.
“And then, well, he asked me again and he started—monologuing?” Granger passed Potter a napkin. Potter wiped his face, completely missing the whipped cream in the process. He turned to face Draco, “He went to Hogwarts.”
Oh? Draco frowned. That was unexpected. Hogwarts in this day and age… Hogwarts in that day and age, as well—it had always been diverse. Where had his prejudice come from? His family?
“He’s an orphan,” Potter continued, “He—well, he’s old.”
Not his family, then. “Did he mention anything about his upbringing?” Draco asked. “Abusive foster parents? Neglectful orphanage?”
Potter shook his head.
“Did he mention anything about his powers?” Draco asked.
“All he mentioned was that he can control snakes,”
According to him, Draco thought.
“According to him,” Potter added.
“According to him,” Granger agreed.
“What else did he say about the snakes, Harry?” Luna asked.
“That’s all I managed to get out of him before Ta—Malfoy showed up.”
So that’s why you let him capture you, thought Draco. Not bad for a moron.
“He tried to recruit you too, right?” Granger asked Draco.
Draco nodded. Frowning, he asked, “How did he manage to gather so many followers?”
“I assume they’re all—well,” Granger pursed her lips.
“The world’s not lacking for arseholes with victim complexes.” Draco finished for her.
“The world’s not lacking for spite grown out of misfortune,” Luna said, in a much kinder tone.
“I assumed it was the internet,” Potter said, the fucking-idiot.
But then Draco thought about it, “Like a website?”
“Maybe,” Potter shrugged. “Or a blog, or a twitter or—I don’t know, the internet’s enormous.”
“Maybe he posted a job ad,” suggested Granger, “On LinkedIn,”
“Maybe he’s a youtuber,” Luna said. “Maybe he does hauls with his snake.”
“That’s—wow.” said Draco. “So we assume he used the internet,” That didn’t explain Aunty Bellatrix. How did Bellatrix know him? There’s no way she was allowed electronic devices. “Potter, did he mention anything about recruiting people? Like he tried with us?”
“No,” Potter furrowed his brows in concentration, whipped cream still on his fucking lip, “Though it’d make sense—some of the really powerful ones—the wolf-man, and, what was her name—the one you kept telling me to watch out for,”
“Bellatrix,” said Draco, faintly. He realised, belatedly, the mistake he’d made by identifying her.
Luna looked up at him. “Aunty Bellatrix?”
Granger gaped, “Aunty Bellatrix?”
“That’s how you knew her,” Potter looked at Draco, “What’s her power? How does she keep vanishing?”
Draco rubbed a hand over his face. “She can teleport.”
“Teleportation,” Granger muttered. “That complicates things,”
“That’s—that makes her almost invincible,” Potter leaned forward on the table. “She could just teleport out of my barricade—she teleported Moldy-wart away, didn’t she?”
“Draco, how did she—when did she escape?” Luna asked him, her face uncharacteristically grim.
“I don’t know,” Draco told her, “I didn’t know until I saw her,”
“Escape from where?” Granger asked.
“St Marlow’s Hospital.” Draco rubbed his temples, “It’s a high-security psychiatric hospital.”
“How did they keep her there in the first place,” Potter frowned, “Why didn’t she just teleport out?”
“I don’t—” know? Except he did, kind of, “I suspect they kept her drugged, like they do with all the particularly dangerous patients.”
“That’s why she joined him,” said Granger, grabbing a pen and notebook out of her bag.
“To an extent, probably,” Draco agreed, “He agreed to keep her un-drugged, I imagine.”
“Aunty Bellatrix,” said Luna, “She’s always been—they all avoid her,”
“Who?” asked Granger, her pen poised.
“All of them—The Nargles, The Wrackspurts, The Dapperblimps—”
“Oh, for god’s sake, Luna,” Granger scowled.
“Hey.” Draco defended, dangerously. He liked not-hating Granger, but he loved Luna. There was no comparison between them.
“You’re saying that she’s always had—antisocial tendencies?” Potter asked Luna, putting a hand on Granger’s arm. “What was she in the hospital for?”
“It was her sentence,” Draco answered.
“Dad won’t tell me what she did,” Luna told Draco.
She had killed her husband. She had cut his corpse up. She had bleached the bones and reassembled them into a skeleton. She had hung it in her classroom. She was a professor, Luna. Nobody knew for months. They only found out because one of her neighbours developed food-poisoning after eating at her house. The doctors suspected a more sinister motive and sent a sample of her vomit to the authorities. They didn’t detect any poison, though further tests revealed human DNA—different from the woman who had vomited it out of her system. The authorities conducted a search and they found the butchered remains of Bellatrix’s missing husband inside her freezer.
But Luna didn’t need to know that.
“Mum never told me either,” Draco said. And she hadn’t. Draco had found an old newspaper clipping in her cupboards.
Luna frowned at him.
Draco turned to face Potter and Granger, “She got off on an insanity defence. She was medically diagnosed as a psychopath. Her family's rich—they managed to put her in a hospital instead of behind bars.”
“This—” Granger jotted down notes.
Potter looked from Draco to Luna in silence.
“Is she our biggest threat?” Potter asked him.
“I don’t know,” Draco replied honestly. “Probably.”
“Can anything contain her?” Granger asked. “Her form of kryptonite?”
“I don’t know,” Draco replied, frustrated with himself for being so fucking useless, “I’ll ask my mum.”
“I’ll ask her with you,” Luna said.
No, Draco wanted to say, Absolutely not. You’re not getting involved in this.
“She’s been really busy with work these past few days,” Draco said, instead, “I don’t think it’ll be possible to catch her together. It’ll be easier for me to ask her alone.”
Luna gazed at him in silence. She said, softly, “I can take care of myself, Draco.”
No, you can’t.
Draco ignored her and turned to Potter, knowing the answer before he’d even asked the question, “You still want to do this?”
“Yeah,” Potter looked back at him. “You?”
This really was bigger than both of them. “Yeah,” Draco said.
“Okay,” Potter said, “Partners?”
“Partners,” Draco agreed, holding out his hand, and feeling an inexplicable fear that Potter would reject him. Again. Like that first time, all those years ago.
“Partners.” Potter repeated, grasping Draco’s hand in his own and shaking it.
Draco glanced at their hands. Softer than I imagined. And then he pulled his hand out of Potter’s and stood up. “That’s enough for today.”
“What?” Granger frowned at him. “There’s so much we haven’t covered—we haven’t even started planning—”
“Granger,” said Draco, “I’m going home.” and taking Looney with me.
“What if he conducts another attack today?” she demanded. “Or tomorrow? What are you both going to do, then?”
“He’s conducted two almost consecutively, and they’ve both failed. If he tries a third one without proper planning, he’s an idiot.” Draco offered a hand to Luna, “And if he’s an idiot, he’s no match for me.”
“So, what, you’re just going to—”
“He won’t conduct another attack for a while.” Draco told her, pulling Luna out of her seat. “It doesn’t make sense. We apprehended a majority of his followers last time.”
Potter nodded, “They’re all in custody.”
Draco met his gaze for a second and turned to Granger, “He’ll need time to reconvene.”
“How can you be certain?” Granger asked.
“You can never be certain,” Draco replied, “You can only ever predict and hope for the best. Right, Looney?”
“Hmmm.” Luna hummed her agreement, without meeting Draco’s eyes.
Draco hid a wince. She was angry with him.
He’d finally done it, he’d finally driven off Luna and her endless patience. This had been bound to happen. But not so soon, not like this. Not right now. Not when Draco was just—worried.
“When can you meet again?” Potter asked him.
“I don’t know, I’ll have to check,” Draco responded, still looking at Luna. She’d never been angry with him before. He didn’t know what to do.
“Wait, Malfoy—here,” Potter grabbed Draco’s wrist and stuffed a napkin in his hand.
Draco raised an eyebrow at him, “Thank you?”
He flushed a bit around his ears, “My number. Text me.”
He’d written his number down on a napkin. Draco looked down at his hand. He glanced up and made direct eye contact with Potter, “A bit eager, don't you think?”
Potter’s flush spread to his cheeks, “No—that’s not—I’m not—”
Draco put the napkin in his pocket. “Yeah, got it.” he pulled gently at Luna’s hand, “Come on,” and then they left.
They walked right out of the coffee shop and all the way to Luna’s house, in silence the whole while. Draco tried to hug her goodbye at her doorstep but she evaded him. Then, she closed the door and Draco was left alone on the street. And it was alone, all by himself—feeling the size of the world and his consequent smallness, all for the first time—that he felt the sting of building tears. She was one of the most precious people in his life, and she was mad at him. He’d just—he didn’t want her to get hurt. She was his family, just like Pansy was his family, just like Blaise was his family.
And she’s mad at me. I’ve driven her away.
“What’s wrong with you?” Blaise asked him, halfway through history.
“Nothing,” Draco returned, not even glancing away from his laptop screen.
“Draco?” Blaise frowned. “Is it serious?”
“It’s nothing, Blaise.” he said, “Do your work.”
“Right.” Blaise took hold of Draco’s elbow and pulled him down the corridor as soon as History had ended.
“Let go,” Draco said, trying to pull out of his grip. “I’m not in the mood.”
“That is immediately apparent.”
“Seriously, Blaise. Stop it.”
“Let me remind you, Dracon, that you ripped my school trousers.”
Draco stopped struggling, “Do you want money? Is that it? You want me to buy you food?” He dug his wallet out of his bag, “Here. Take it. Let me go.”
“That’s not what I wanted,” said Blaise, as he pocketed Draco’s wallet. “But thanks,”
“Just let me go, Blaise,” said Draco.
But Blaise just kept pulling and pulling, and Draco stopped resisting after a while and just let himself be pulled and pulled, and it seemed a lifetime and a half but eventually they stopped. At the McDonalds closest to school. Which was a bit of a surprise given that Draco was paying and Blaise had chosen.
“What do you want?” Blaise asked, holding up Draco’s wallet, “Go wild, you’re paying.”
“Nothing, Blaise.” Draco snapped.
“Okay.” Blaise pulled Draco towards a table and sat him down. “I know it’s not Pansy, because when it’s Pansy, she makes it public knowledge that you’ve fucked up. And I also know it’s not Lucius, because he’s on that business trip. It’s not me, because, well, I’d know.” Blaise raised an eyebrow. “Which means it’s Luna.”
“Should I be offended that you think I only have three friends. And one parent.”
“It’s not your mum because your mum doesn’t do stuff like that,” Blaise shrugged. “And you don’t truly care about anyone else to be genuinely affected.”
“Great.” said Draco. “Fantastic. You’ve solved the mystery.”
“And you’re genuinely upset,” Blaise observed. “Like, properly upset. I haven’t seen you this upset since that period in sixth year, when Lucius was all— ‘unbend yourself, scion of The Malfoy House,’”
“Yes, that’s exactly what he said, verbatim.”
“Oh, come off it, Draco,” Blaise said, far too gentle for Draco’s liking. “Don’t keep it all within you when you don’t have to.”
Draco stared at the table.
“It’s Luna, isn’t it?” Blaise asked.
“Yeah,” Draco said, his energy abruptly depleted, his voice hoarse.
“Is she mad?”
Draco nodded.
Blaise exhaled. “What happened?”
And Draco told him what happened, from beginning to end, without missing any details.
And Blaise said, “You’re not her father.”
“I’m her cousin.”
“You’re her friend.”
“She can’t protect herself.”
“Draco, listen to yourself.” Blaise shook his head. “She wouldn’t be put in a position where she’d have to ‘protect herself.’ She won’t be following you and Potter out into the direct line of action.”
“We’re not playing pretend, Blaise.” Draco rubbed his eye. “These people exist. It’s not—I don’t want her involved. It’s not safe.”
“That’s not for you to decide.”
“It bloody well is.” Draco snapped.
“No.” Blaise shook his head. “You’re not her father.”
“I’m just worried.” he said, tiredly.
“Yeah,” Blaise said. “I know. She knows. Every fucking person who comes within a ten meter radius of you both knows. But you can’t make her decisions for her.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“That’s what you may as well be doing.”
Draco rubbed both eyes. “So I just let her prance into something that could get her seriously hurt?”
“So you just trust her, and let her spend time with you.” Blaise pat Draco’s head. “Maybe she’s worried about you. Ever thought of that?”
Draco opened his eyelids in order to look at Blaise. “When did you stop being a wanker?”
“Never,” Blaise grinned, holding up Draco’s wallet again. And in a move that was so utterly, intrinsically Blaise , he said: “Now get up, we’re ordering Nando’s.”
Draco walked into Chemistry with a plan. As soon as Chemistry finished, he would sprint to the Art Department and ambush Luna. And then he’d demand to be forgiven. Or wail apologies. He hadn’t yet decided.
It was while he was thinking about Luna, and not Chemistry, or Snape, or how he was seven minutes late, that Snape stopped him in front of the class and insulted him publicly for being seven minutes late.
“Sorry, Professor Snape,” Draco said.
“I presume you have no legitimate excuse.”
“No.” said Draco. “I’m sorry.”
Snape eyed him, “There will be no next time.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Some more eyeing. “Go sit down.”
Draco turned to the lab only in order to find his usual seat occupied. There’d been a seating change. He scanned the classroom and froze. Fuck me.
“I’ve changed the seating plan.” said Snape, sounding entirely too smug for Draco’s liking.
Next to the only empty seat in the classroom sat Potter, looking back at Draco like a threatened animal. The last time they’d been forced to sit next to each other, it had ended in torn hair (Potter), bruises (Draco), and tears (Longbottom). (Fucking Longbottom, that watery loser.)
“Please continue wasting all our time, Malfoy,” Snape said, snappishly.
“Sorry, Sir,” Draco muttered, turning away to make his way to his new seat. Oh, fuck me a thousand times with the prickliest cactus you can find.
He sat down on the lab stool and took out all the stuff he needed for the lesson out of his bag. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. The general atmosphere of trepidation was catching.
Potter and Draco, without their intermediaries, didn’t make for a very stable reaction. They were each, in their own right, extremely volatile. The reaction between them was a violent one. Exothermic, thought Draco, Negative enthalpy value; positive entropy value. Spontaneous at room temperature, with an oxygen catalyst. (Draco took a moment to feel extremely pleased with himself and his chemistry metaphors.)
They were already going to be spending so much time together, with the whole—partnership ordeal. This… was too much. Draco was tired. Why was this his life. All it would take is Potter breathing in an especially annoying way, or Draco being himself and offending Potter’s delicate sensibilities to set them off. Which was just fantastic. He’d hoped their partnership would last long enough to actually accomplish its goal. Increasing the number of interactions between them would just increase the probability of the inevitable occurring.
“Potter, kindly inform Malfoy what he missed while he was busy staring at his own reflection in the toilet.”
A few giggles arose into the air. Draco’s face remained neutral. Snape was such a wanker. Blaise was the self-obsessed one, not Draco. The least Snape could do was remember their identifying qualities. Draco’s was so obviously perfection.
“The rest of you, get to work,” The rest of the class got out of their seats and put on lab coats and safety glasses. They were doing a practical, it seemed.
“Er,” said Potter.
Draco turned to the human headache. “We’re doing a practical.”
“Yeah.”
Draco looked around at the equipment everyone was assembling. “A titration.”
“Yeah.”
“Hydrochloric acid and Sodium Hydroxide.”
“Er, no.”
“Sulphuric acid and Sodium Hydroxide.”
Potter looked at him in wonder. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” and Draco got out of his seat and began assembling the apparatus and reagents.
He’d just finished setting up the titration apparatus on his desk when Potter put down a bottle of phenolphthalein next to his conical flask. Draco looked over at him and noticed that he hadn’t assembled anything on his own desk. He looked around the classroom again. Fuck. They were doing the practical in partners.
“I prefer to work alone.” Draco told Potter.
“I prefer that my students follow my instructions.” Snape returned, from behind Draco, not missing a single step of his classroom surveillance.
Draco looked at Potter. He was trying not to laugh. Fuck. Snape was such a git.
“Stop standing there catching flies with your mouth, Potter,” Snape called.
Snape was such a brilliant arsehole.
“I’ll measure out the Sodium Hydroxide.” Potter muttered, grabbing the pipette.
And then they worked in near silence. Awkward, unbearable, near silence. But peaceful, and productive near silence, as well. And Draco thought, it’s okay, it’s fine, he’s not getting angry, I’m not getting angry, he’s not breaking anything, I’m not holding back from killing him, this is fine. The solution in the conical flask that Draco was swirling turned light pink.
“Slow down,” Draco told Potter.
Potter turned the stopcock, causing the slow stream of Sulphuric Acid to become a fucking rapid stream—overshooting the titre.
“You fucking disaster.” Draco snarled as he watched the solution turn from light pink to clear and then more clear until Potter frantically turned the stream off.
Draco scowled accusingly at Potter.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.
Draco wordlessly threw the solution in the sink and rinsed the conical flask. “Measure out some more Sodium Hydroxide.” He re-filled the burette with Sulphuric Acid. “Swirl the conical flask. I’ll control the titration.”
And so they were enveloped by more near silence. And it was equally as awkward and productive as before. And Draco found it perfectly swell, he really wasn’t in the mood to scream at Potter.
But then Potter had to go and ruin everything, like always.
“Did you lose my number?” he asked.
Ah. “I was a bit preoccupied.” Draco returned. “Lower your voice.” If other people found out they were in a partnership, it’d become a school-wide scandal. Firstly, because Potter and Draco were famously antagonistic towards each other. (Draco swore he’d once overheard McGonagall use them as a bad example of maturity for a class of first-years.) Secondly, because now that Draco had thought about it, the word ‘partnership’ sounded oddly kinky. And that was, well, gay, for one (scandal scandal scandal!) and also unbelievably shocking—Draco and Potter? Together? And not in a bad way? Everyone’s fragile sensibilities would be blown to smithereens, and five months of having to deal with all that was too much. If Draco was going to involve himself with a huge scandal it’d be done on the last day of school, with style. They’d all talk about it for years to come. It would become a legacy of sorts. ‘Draco Malfoy, That Stylish Bastard.’
“You—have it, right?” Potter asked, weirdly timid.
“Yes, Potter.” Draco sighed, exasperated. “You’d think you were trying to get in my pants or something.”
Draco liked throwing in little hints of gayness into his insults. It flustered Potter in such a very entertaining way. Potter’s whole lad squad was so casually homophobic—not in a genuine way, Draco didn’t think. More in a ‘toxic lad culture has ingrained this ‘humour’ into my very soul,’ kind of way—Draco liked throwing in hints of gayness and watching Potter fluster his way through a denial. A denial which was suspicious. Insanely suspicious. Draco had always thought Potter looked at Cedric Diggory with way too much hero worship.
Potter flushed furiously. “Sod off.”
There it was. The Suspicious Denial™. “Talk about overreaction.”
“Sod off.”
Potter was getting dangerously close to exploding. Draco glanced at Snape and then the clock. He had to catch Luna—who was mad at him, but wouldn’t be for much longer, because Draco would get on his knees if he had to. He would get on his knees and prostrate himself for her forgiveness—he couldn’t risk Potter exploding.
“I’m free Wednesday after school.” Draco said, by way of distraction.
“I have football training,”
Draco sighed. “Thursday after school?” Fridays were sacred. Fridays were off-limits. He could fit in a meet-up before debate club on Thursday.
“Hermione’s got a MUN meet-up,”
That… was not ideal. They were down by one intermediary already, and Draco couldn’t stand Weasel.
“We’re going to have to meet during school, then,” Draco bit his lip in thought. They’d have to be secretive about it, or everyone would make it a spectacle of some sort.
“Slow down.” Potter said. Draco slowed the flow of Sulphuric Acid from the burette. It dripped down by drops. The solution turned progressively clearer, and clearer, until a single drop changed it to colourless.
Draco turned the stopcock and noted the volume in the burette. “24.7 centimetres cubed.”
Potter uncapped his pen to write on their results sheet. He froze when they both seemed to suddenly recall that Potter’s writing was really, truly, chicken-shit and wordlessly handed the pen to Draco. Draco noted down the titre.
Then, they reassembled everything for trial two.
“Hermione’s busy pretty much every lunch-time.”
Shit, Granger. “What free periods do you have?”
“‘Mione and I’ve only got tomorrow morning together.”
Draco didn’t have a free period tomorrow morning. He sighed. He was so incredibly reluctant to promise away his weekends.
“What about today after school?” Potter asked.
“I can’t today.” Draco glanced at his watch. There was only half an hour left of the lesson.
Potter frowned. “Is Luna free during lunch? We’ll have to meet without Hermione.”
Draco wasn’t sure how to respond. The thing is, Potter, Luna kind of hates me right now, so I’d really rather you not mention her. It makes me want to hit you in the eye.
Potter glanced at Draco. “Malfoy?”
Draco noticed that they were leaning in too close to each other. He moved backwards. “I don’t know.” This was impossible. Fridays and Weekends were sacred. “I can ask either Pansy or Blaise to come instead, if you’re alright with potentially being pushed to tears.”
“Doesn’t Parkinson hate me?”
“No, she’s just thinks you’re incredibly stupid.”
“Right.” Potter said. “No.”
“Blaise?” before Potter could respond Draco said, “Actually, no.” Blaise was the very definition of an anti-intermediary. “He’d rile you up for fun.”
Potter looked at Draco, deadpan. “Sounds familiar.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re implying.” Draco replied, wilfully ignorant. He slowed the flow of Sulphuric Acid. “Why is Granger so bloody busy?”
“She’s going places.” Potter shrugged. “What about Luna?”
“24.6 centimetres cubed.” said Draco, as he noted the titre down. They took a moment to reassemble for trial three. Draco refilled the burette, feeling very much at the end of his rope. It’ll have to be the weekend, won’t it? “Are you free Saturday afternoon?”
Potter looked up at Draco in surprise. “You want to meet on the weekend?”
Draco ignored his own previous reluctance. “It’s not a date, idiot. What does it matter when we meet.”
Potter scowled. “Is Luna free during the weekend.”
Draco pursed his lips. Stay calm, he told himself. “I don’t know.”
“How do you not fucking know—”
“You had whipped cream all over your face on Sunday.” Draco interrupted. “Are you even competent enough to attempt planning against Moldy-wart?”
Potter’s scowl darkened. “Stop.”
“Pointing out the glaring obvious?”
“Winding me up. Just stop. What do you get out of it?”
“Lots of things,” Draco couldn’t help but say, “Entertainment, for one.”
“You’re a fucking arsehole.”
“You just make it so easy,”
Potter stopped swirling the conical flask and crossed his arms. “You didn’t do it when you didn’t know who I was.”
Draco pursed his lips. What the fuck was wrong with Potter? Why did he have to just go and—and mention things that were so obviously not meant to be mentioned? “Golden-boy was just too Golden-hearted,”
Potter grit his teeth. “Malfoy.”
“24.6 centimetres cubed.” said Draco, clinically. He noted it down and began packing away.
“Malfoy.” Potter repeated.
“Rinse the burette.” Draco told him, holding out the burette for him to take hold of.
“You came because you were worried.” Potter said. “So stop pretending otherwise.”
Stop talking. Stop talking before I do something we’re both going to regret. Draco turned back to him. He repeated, coldly, “Rinse the burette.” and thrust it into Potter’s arms.
Potter avoided taking hold of it. “Stop insulting me every time I say something that makes you uncomfortable,”
“Take the burette.”
“Why can’t you just cooperate?” Potter asked him, hotly. The people around them looked towards them nervously. “Why can’t you just try?”
“I’m trying.” Draco hissed. “I’m trying, you fucking imbecile, lower your voice.”
Potter blinked at him. And that is when the burette—from it’s precarious position in between Draco’s hand and Potter’s arm—fell to the floor and shattered.
“Is there one thing that you’ve ever done right in your entire life?” Draco asked, anger threatening to break his composure. “I’m genuinely curious.”
“It fell because of you!”
“It fell because of you.”
“It fell because of both of you,” came Snape’s voice. “Because you were both apparently too busy engaging in your moronic mating ritual to properly put away your apparatus.”
Draco felt his face flame. He looked at the floor. Snape had a talent for finding the perfect scathing comment in every scenario.
“Neither of you is leaving until my classroom is clean.” Snape said. He checked their results sheet—thank fuck Draco was good at practicals—“Be grateful I’m not giving you detention.”
Draco glanced at his watch. It was almost the end of the lesson. He looked back at the mess of glass and Sulphuric Acid on the floor. If he had to clean up he’d miss Luna. He felt frustration claw up his throat. What the fuck was wrong with Potter? Why did he—why did he just say things? Why did he just attract misfortune? What had he said, again? Oh, right—‘Why can’t you just cooperate?’ What a fucking child. Why can’t I just cooperate? Draco pursed his lips in irritation. What a fucking child. Draco bloody was cooperating. That Potter’s eyes were perfectly intact was proof.
Draco strode over to the side of the class and took hold of the broom and dustpan. He was trying. He was genuinely trying. Though apparently he still didn’t meet Potter’s standards. Did anyone? Did anyone meet Potter’s golden standards for being a human? Or being a sub-human. Being an angel. No-one’s good all the time. No-one. That’s not how humans work. Draco began to make his way back towards the mess. No-one’s always good, Potter—contrary to your beliefs. He began to furiously pick up the bigger shards of glass and put them in the dustpan. I’m hardly ever good, but I’m not evil—contrary to your fucking beliefs. He picked up a large piece of glass. I’m trying, Potter. Even you’re not always good. You’re a knobhead, actually— contrary to your fucking beliefs.
“Malfoy,” Potter said.
“What.”
“Napkins,” he held out a handful of paper towels, like a toddler.
“Would you like me to polish your shoes after I’m done cleaning up your mess.” Draco seethed, calmly.
“I’m just trying to help,” Potter muttered.
“Then help clean up.”
Potter got on his knees and began mopping up the Sulphuric Acid with the paper towels. “It just—didn’t seem like you wanted help,”
“I look like a servant, do I? Or maybe everyone looks like a servant to you.” Draco moved under the table to get another shard, “We’re all just here to clean up King Potter’s messes.”
“That’s not— Jesus, Malfoy—I didn’t mean to piss you off.”
Draco glanced at his watch. It was the end of the lesson. He looked around the classroom. Everyone was done packing up. Some people were leaving, already. What if Luna had left already? Draco felt another surge of anger, “Your very existence pisses me off.” He gave Potter a caustic look. “Now fuck off.”
Potter threw the used napkins in the dustpan. He began mopping up the remainder of the Sulphuric Acid. “Well I can’t fucking do much if my very existence causes you grief, can I?”
“What part of ‘fuck off’ do you not understand?”
“I can’t ‘fuck off,’ Malfoy.” Potter snapped. “We’re partners now. We shook on it.”
“Then just shut up.” Draco spat. “Don’t speak to me.”
“How are we going to get anywhere if you keep— doing this.”
Draco threw another shard of glass into the dustpan. It ricocheted and landed a few centimetres away from Potter. “Blast it. Missed my target.”
Potter glared at him. “You know what I think is funny? You were never like this when you were Tacky.”
He was trying to drive Draco mad. He had a death wish. He had a death wish. “You were much more Golden as Golden-boy.”
“What’s your problem, Malfoy?—”
Draco lost it. “What’s my problem? You’re my problem. You’ve been my problem since we were eleven years old. And then we grew up, and you became even more of a problem. And then you—what, after basically committed identity fraud, you expect me to forget everything—”
“I was the same person.” Potter grit out. “I was the exact same person, and you didn’t—you didn’t attempt to personally eviscerate me at every chance—”
“I didn’t know it was you.” Draco snapped, furious with Potter for making him say it out loud. “I didn’t know it was you—”
“So your problem is me being me—”
“Yes, exactly—”
“That’s bullshit. That’s bullshit. That isn’t a problem, you’re just—”
“Don’t you dare tell me what my problems are, you entitled prick—”
“I’m the entitled prick—”
“Good to see you’re finally admitting it—”
“Malfoy, you—”
“God, just shut up.” Draco raised his voice. “Just shut up.” He looked around them. Most people had left. No-one was paying visible attention. They’d both been so stupid just now, mentioning everything out loud. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. He looked away from Potter. “Clean up and then leave.”
Potter rubbed furiously at nothing. The napkin in his hands began to fall apart. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Draco didn’t reply. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this with Potter without killing him. Or pushing him to the point that he’d gladly murder Draco. He glanced at his watch. Luna was probably gone by now. She was gone, and there went Draco’s plan. She was still mad at him, and chances were increasing that she’d stay mad at him.
Draco felt so fucking miserable. He looked around for stray glass shards, and rounded a few up. When the floor looked clear, he stood up and began to put away the rest of their apparatus. Luna had gone home. She had gone home and she was still mad at Draco. What if she just stayed mad at him? What if she didn’t forgive him? What if this just reminded her of their childhood, when Draco was even more horrible than he was now? It was in her right to hate him. She just never had before, and Draco had started to take that as granted. But it was a privilege, it was the most precious privilege of all. Forgiveness was a privilege and she’d already given it to him once. It would be asking too much of her to give it again.
“Malfoy?” Potter asked him.
Draco felt a strong urge to throw the bottle of phenolphthalein in his hand at Potter’s face. He didn’t respond.
Potter just hovered at their desk, being useless and looking uncomfortable. But Draco didn’t have time for him. Draco was going to go home and have a nice little cry. Sod all his plans for today. Nice little cries were important.
“Malfoy, er, Luna—”
Draco ignored him. He ignored him. He would ignore him forever. Fuck Potter. Fuck him straight to hell.
“—she’s waiting?”
Draco’s head snapped up. He looked towards the door.
And there she was. Her hair in messy pigtails, radishes in her ears. She gave him a small wave when she saw him. Was he interpreting her behaviour optimistically?
“Is she waiting for you.” he asked Potter.
“I don’t think so,”
And that was all it took. Draco washed his hands at lightning speed and walked out of the classroom.
“Draco,” she said, and fuck if Draco didn’t get a little watery. He was such a fucking sob sometimes.
“Was it the Wrackspurts?” he asked her, terrified of saying something that would make everything worse.
“It was Pansy,” she returned.
Draco loved Pansy so much. Pansy was the one true love of Draco’s life. Draco loved Blaise so much as well, that brilliant snitch. They were both the two true loves of Draco’s life.
“This is for your Wrackspurts.” Luna handed him a water bottle.
Draco took a sip. Lemon infused ginger tea. “Are they that bad?”
“Enough to warrant an intervention,”
Draco looked at her feet. “I’m sorry, Luna. Please don’t be mad at me.”
She took a hold of his hand. “I’m not. It’s okay.”
“You were,”
“I was.” she admitted. “But you were just worried.”
“I was.” Draco agreed. “But I was also out of line.”
“It came from a place of love.”
“Yeah,” said Draco, his voice embarrassingly soft, even to his own ears, “It did. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Draco.” she said. “I’ll still love you, even when I’m mad at you.”
Will you? Draco thought.
“I will,” Luna said. “Me being angry doesn’t mean I’ll stop loving you. I don’t think I could. What is it that Pansy and Blaise always say?”
“Beggars can’t be choosy,” and before Luna could open her mouth Draco continued, “You’re not a beggar. You can be as choosy as you want.”
“Then I choose to always continue loving you, even through my anger.”
Looney always had the ability to hit Draco right in the heart-strings. To get past his hundreds and thousands of defences and just—just gently strum them.
“You don’t ever have to fear me leaving you,” Luna said.
Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“Okay?” she asked.
He nodded. He cleared his throat. “Do you want to—join?” He kept the topic vague, in case of any eavesdroppers in vicinity.
She blinked her large eyes at him. “Can I?”
Draco nodded. “Yeah. I was—I didn’t have any right to keep you.”
Luna frowned. “Of course you did.”
“I didn’t. I’m not your father.”
“You’re my cousin.”
Draco smiled at her. “I’m your friend.”
She beamed back. “And as my friend I’d hope you're always looking out for me.”
“I always am, and I always will.” Draco felt his smile turn sheepish. “Just not in such a controlling way from now on,”
“Then I promise to not make you cry again,” she hugged him.
He hugged her back, definitely not sniffling (he sniffled once. Only once.) “I did not cry.”
“Oh, you absolutely did.” came Pansy’s voice.
Draco’s eyes snapped towards his fucking audience.
“You’re looking especially adorable, little Dracon,” Blaise waved. “Isn’t he looking adorable, Pans?”
“I could just eat him up,” Pansy agreed. “The little snot-ball.”
Draco glared at them.
Pansy put her hands on her hips and glared back. “Is that any way to treat your saviour?”
“We’ve spoiled him too much Pansy,” Blaise lamented, “he’s grown up ungrateful.”
“How long have you been spying on us.” Draco demanded.
“Since the start,” Blaise grinned.
“Oh, all the drama.” Pansy nodded. “It was so delicious.”
Draco spoke to Luna—still in his arms—“This is why they’re beggars, Looney. No one else wants them but me.”
“My heart is warm,” Blaise put his hands over his heart. “He does love us,”
“Of course he does, look at him.” Pansy pinched Draco’s cheeks.
Draco waved her away half-heartedly.
And then Blaise smiled, which meant that bad things were to come. “I’d love to keep you in this mood, Dracon, but I fear if I don’t tell you now you’re going to bite my head off later,”
Draco looked towards Blaise, frowning. Blaise gestured behind him. Draco let go of Luna and turned around with a deep sensation of foreboding.
The remainder of his Chemistry class (plus Snape) (plus Potter, for fuck’s sake) was looking at them awkwardly. Draco and Luna were blocking the entrance. Fuck. Draco moved out of the way, pulling Luna with him.
“Awww, Draco.” said Susan Bones. “That was so sweet.”
Draco looked at her placidly.
“Don’t you try,” she laughed, shaking her head. “We were all there for the sniffle.”
Fuck. Draco refused to stop looking apathetic.
“Move along, all of you, I don’t have all day.” Snape called, rolling his eyes.
Draco looked at the floor, willing his flush away.
Susan patted him on the arm on her way out.
“Next time, kindly save your sentimental resolutions for places which aren’t the door of my classroom,” Snape said, no real heat to his words.
Draco lost the fight against his flush. “Yes, Sir.”
“Bye-bye, Professor Snape,” Luna smiled.
“Good-bye, Lovegood,” Snape waved her away, amused. “See you on Wednesday, Malfoy.” and in a swish of his lab coat, he was gone.
“You couldn’t have warned me?” Draco hissed out of the corner of his mouth.
“Nope,” Pansy held her stomach as she continued to laugh.
Blaise rested a hand on Draco’s shoulder when he lost his balance due to laughter. Draco shrugged him off in a fit of bad-temper. Luna giggled.
He felt Potter glance at him briefly on his way out. He deliberately ignored it.
When he eventually returned to the classroom to get his stuff, his entire desk was clean. Potter had cleaned up the remaining apparatus. Even Draco’s papers were in a clean bundle. Draco glanced at his results sheet—he’d only recorded results on Potter’s sheet and had planned to copy them at the end of the lesson. It was a surprise when he noticed Potter’s scratchy handwriting. He copied down the results.
For me? No, not for Draco specifically. For anyone. Because that’s who Potter was. He’d probably felt guilty. As he should have, honestly. It was his fault the burette had dropped. Well, it was mostly his fault. Like, seventy percent his fault. Well, okay, like fifty-five percent his fault. But, still.
Golden-boy’s golden-heart, thought Draco, putting his papers in his bag, His indiscriminately golden-heart—for everyone. He noticed a piece of torn paper at his desk. He picked it up. It was a number. And then the words, in scratchy, chicken-feet writing, Text me.
“Hurry up.” Pansy called from the door. “Jesus Christ.”
“Was that blasphemy, Prudence?” Draco returned.
“Are you sniffing Potter’s seat?” she returned. “Is that why you’re taking so long?”
“Fuck off, you horrible cow.” Draco finished putting Potter’s number into his contacts.
He slipped the piece of paper in his pocket and made his way out.
Maybe the begrudging partnership wasn’t so doomed after all.