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Draco Malfoy had held his chin high while McGonagall explained the situation to him on the last weeks of August, and had accepted it with a gracious nod and an "I'll be honoured to be part of it". Of course, that was a big, fat lie, since the situation was a bunch of Eighth years from different houses sharing a common room.

Saying Draco threw a fit when they got back to the Manor would be an understatement: he almost blew up his own damn home... once he was away from his Father's ear, of course.

His poor Mother had had to suffer through an extensive rant about how the new Hogwarts' headmistress was completely mad already, including the theory that a decorative artefact in the headmaster's office regularly exuded Dark Magic, effectively turning competent teachers into nutcases.

Then, when he had exhausted himself talking, Narcissa had taken the lead and simply reminded him that, while he had behaved himself in front of McGonagall (of course he had, he knew better than to worsen the already bad enough public opinion of his family), he was back to being childish and naive.

And during the next half an hour, Draco had been forced to listen to a speech he could have as well memorized, occasionally inserting his own acknowledgements in the conversation (Yes, Mother. Of course, Mother. You're right, Mother), because there was little that angered his Mother more than knowing somebody wasn't listening to her, and there was even little that was scarier than Narcissa Malfoy when angered.

Finally, for the sake of his family, as always, he had swallowed his pride and revulsion (and honestly, his fear too) and accepted going back to Hogwarts for an Eighth year, which implicitly suggested his agreement to share a room with Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs, and oh, good Merlin, Gryffindors.

But his fate had already been sealed anyway, so the least he could do was be gracious about it.

So Draco Malfoy had put up with a lot of shit during the last month, but he was not going to deal with any more.

"No way," he resolutely put his foot down, arms folded across his chest and a stern expression on his face.

Then he discreetly glanced around the common room to check the reactions of the Eighth years.

Greg was nodding along to his words, and Blaise and the few Slytherins that had come back seemed to support him too, if their grimaces were any indication. Pansy, unfortunately, was as wary with her loyalties as Father had warned him she'd be. She had sent him lots of letters during the summer, growing increasingly worried at the prospect of going back to Hogwarts; trying to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord hadn't won her any sympathies (not as if she'd had many before).

Draco could understand why she felt the need to look like Potter's most faithful fan (in fact, he would have done the same if it wasn’t for his dignity), but it still annoyed him to incredible levels when she looked over to make sure Potter agreed before supporting him.

"Well, this is a surprise," McGonagall said, a glint in her eyes that told him that she wasn't surprised at all. She raised an eyebrow at him and Draco stared back, trying to keep the delicate balance between defiance and plain rudeness.

"Mister Malfoy, since you have been the one with the most adamant response so far, why don't you help me to understand what's in the idea of a pet that you all find so detestable?"

Draco gritted his teeth and subsequently tried to offer her a smile, which probably wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, since it came out more like a grimace.

"Headmistress, none of the other years is allowed to have that kind of pet. In fact, in the letters that get sent every year, it’s specified very clearly that only owls, cats and toads are allowed. This could be viewed as favouritism."

"This is an attempt at interhouse cooperation, Mister Malfoy. I assure you, yours isn't the only year I'm using a special technique on. In the end, everything should lead to a good relationship between houses."

"But we're already leading for interhouse cooperation, professor. I mean, Headmistress," Potter spoke up, to Draco’s surprise. Not at seeing Potter argue with a professor, which seemed to be one of his damn hobbies, or for confusing McGonagall's title (the boy's brain was a lonely empty place, after all), but for actually backing Draco up, even if it wasn’t his intention.

Still, Draco nodded in acknowledgment, trying to keep a scowl off his face, as Potter insisted, "We're all going to share the same room and everything."

The Headmistress' face softened, ever so slightly, but a wicked smile was starting to play on her lips in a way so subtle nobody less sharp than Draco could have ever noticed.

"Let me rephrase it, then, Mister Potter: this is an attempt at interhouse bonding. While taking care of the parrot together, you-"

"Professor McGonagall! Headmistress!" Granger jumped in, wide-eyed. The whole room turned towards her, startled; if Granger was willing to interrupt a professor for the issue, she had to like the idea even less than Draco, and he was admittedly dying to know what would be the reason. "We can't have a parrot here! We aren't qualified for taking care of one, and this is not even its natural habitat!"

Oh. Granger-y reasons then, nothing interesting. It figured she would be concerned about the parrot, of all the things, when she had a common room full of angry students to worry about.

They had managed the first few hours of the first day without killing each other, but Draco was confident it would not last. Sooner or later, someone would say something, it didn't matter what, and it would be misinterpreted (either unintentionally or deliberately); then the sparks would fly... and hexes would, too, until everybody ended up in the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey had a field day.

A frickin' parrot would not fix anything.

"Miss Granger..."

"It's true, profess- Headmistress!" Weasley said, quite frantic himself, although surely for other reasons. "Besides, it would probably eat Neville's toad!"

Longbottom, who would have once cried out in fear and ran away to hide his toad, shook his head with a smile that made Draco cringe: the idiot was obviously the only one there who liked the idea of the parrot.

"Don't worry, Ron, Trevor is a survivor. He might even be friends with the parrot."

"Longbottom, if you think a toad can befriend a parrot, then you are…" Blaise started saying, and Draco was positive he would say something mean, which didn't suit them at the moment (at least not in front of the Headmistress, for Merlin’s sake), so he sent him a warning look. His friend quickly amended himself. "Then you know nothing about biology” he finished lamely.

Draco almost regretted intervening when Longbottom turned towards Blaise with a small smug smile and shot back, "Curiously, I'm not the one who got a D in Professor Sprout's exam in Sixth Year."

"Mister Longbottom, Mister Zabini," the Headmistress called, arms folding over her chest. "Would it be too much of an inconvenience to go back to the topic at discussion? I hope this little scene was enough to remind yourselves why we need interhouse bonding," she spoke to the whole group of Eighth years this time, her eyes trailing over Draco slower than necessary. "Miss Granger, I assure you this parrot is greatly adapted to our climate and won't need any special care, not besides what you'd do for a mail owl."

Potter blanched a little at that, and Granger, quickly forgetting her concerns about the parrot's well-being, clasped a hand around his arm in a kind fashion.

"A parrot is a noisy animal," Draco spoke up, willing his gaze away from Potter's face. "We have to get our NEWTs this year; this is why we're here again, after all. We won't be able to concentrate if the parrot is feeling chatty."

He expected Granger to back him up, since she was one of the few who took their grades as seriously as him, but she was staring at Potter with a brow almost reaching her hairline. It was unlikely she had heard; she was too busy making holes in Potter's cheek (he seemed to insist on turning his face away from her) by the sheer force of her worry.

"Mister Malfoy," McGonagall narrowed her eyes, and yet the corners of her lips were very obviously turning upwards, "I assure you the parrot will not bother you. As I said before, it'll be here for nothing else but to help."

She was irradiating confidence and a kind of tenderness that didn't devoid her of her power, unlike Draco's father had taught him; he'd never been able to unfreeze without appearing to be a completely different man, and because of that he'd always avoided it, but Draco couldn't help wondering.

Softness suited that fearful witch, it suited even Pansy on the rare occasions she showed it, it suited both cold-headed Ravenclaws and brash Gryffindors, it suited Granger and, Merlin forgave him, Potter. Maybe it would suit his father too, maybe it would suit him.

The voice of the Headmistress broke his trail of thought, deep shame filling him at the realization of what he'd been pondering. His gaze fell to the floor and McGonagall's words missed his ears, but for the way everybody grunted and otherwise kept quiet, he could tell she was going to win that battle.

"Well, now that we've cleared up the matter," she said, exasperation lacing her words, "I hope you enjoy your stay at Hogwarts during this extra year. I surely won't have to remind you that you're expected to be on your best behaviour, especially when it comes to interhouse relationships. Any aggression will be severely punished." She pressed her lips together and nodded to herself. "Have a good night’s rest, students."

Unfortunately, McGonagall's good wishes didn't have any magical properties, for it had only been half a minute since she left when Blaise threw himself dramatically on the couch and sighed, in a falsely cheerful tone, "So, what do you guys want to do on the first night, hmm? Are we going to play riddles in a pure Ravenclaw fashion, or maybe follow the Hufflepuff tradition of going 'round the room giving a hug and a kiss to everybody? Oh, no, wait, better, we can honour our dear Gryffindor companions by having a group wank party!"

The room grew silent for a second, and then the reaction wasn't quite as powerful as Draco would have feared.

"Shut up, Zabini," Seamus Finnigan huffed, grimacing at his ever present friend Thomas. "And you said he would be less of a wanker this year. Ha!"

"We're not going to survive the first week, are we?" someone muttered as a few people walked away to their dormitories. Draco couldn't be sure of who it had been (it had sounded a bit like Longbottom, though), but he fully agreed, as much as it pained him.

He felt a hand touching his shoulder and turned, meeting Greg's lost expression. It had been that way since Vicent's death (and he hadn't been especially bright before, either), so it wasn't a surprise, but the confusion was stronger this time and Draco was too drained to deal with it. "Are we having a pet?" Greg asked.

"Apparently," he replied, frowning. Yet another battle he had lost. "We'd better go to sleep, Greg."

He started walking away, safe in the knowledge Greg would follow him (as he always did), and discovered that apart from the Golden Trio, they were the only ones left in the room.

Weasley was gesticulating wildly and his mouth was moving faster than a Snitch, but the room was silent, so he could only guess they'd cast a Muffliato to prevent people from overhearing. Then he let his gaze drift from Weasley to Granger, who was sitting on an armchair and patiently listening to whatever her idiotic boyfriend was complaining about (probably the Slytherins' presence), and finally allowed himself to look at Potter.

He was paying attention to Weasley too, but his brow was furrowed and his hands clasped tightly into fists; the tension emanating from him was giving away both desire to join in and resignation at the certainty it would be fruitless. While Draco watched, he stepped away and observed them from afar, shaking his head.

Then something caught his attention from the corner of his eye and he turned his head towards him, paying no thought to Greg, who was still by his side. Their eyes met and Draco waited, expectantly, for the inevitable.

It didn't come.

Potter didn't show any kind of hatred or contempt, but not pity either (which would have easily been expected of him, the noble Gryffindor he was). In fact, he looked, for once, thoughtful, and after chewing on his lip (his eyes never drifting away), he smiled at him ever so slightly and mouthed something.

If Draco had been a little more naive, he could have believed he'd said Good night, Malfoy. Things being as they were, he wasn't sure of which kind of insult Potter had uttered, so he nodded curtly with a grim face, just in case, and turned away, dragging Greg by the sleeve.

Right before they walked out of the door, he heard the Muffliato being lifted, and Weasley's voice, mocking but with a hint of start, yelled, "Yeah, good night, Malfoy. Keep an eye open, though: today we're following the Slytherins' tradition of hexing people in their sleep!"

Draco didn't, actually, have a good night at all.

Assuming Potter had wished him well out of the pure goodness of his heart, which he believed was unlikely, there was still the issue of why he'd chosen to do that, to inadvertently forgive him that way. As much as it would benefit him to be on Potter's good side, his change of behaviour towards him was something he couldn't understand, and Draco didn't like not understanding things.

Also, having to sleep in a room full of people who distrusted him (that, at best) wasn't helpful. And that his bed was just between Weasley's and Potter's was either a case of incredibly bad luck or a punishment from McGonagall.

He spent the whole night focusing on Greg's snoring across the room and Blaise's quiet mumbling, reassuring sounds he'd come to know in the past years, so he wouldn't accidentally achieve the level of familiarity with Potter and the Weasel that came from knowing people's habits while they slept.

He especially didn't want to know if Potter had nightmares from the war, or if any of them involved him and that night in Myrtle's bathroom.

The first day of classes was as terrible as Draco had known it would be.

Pansy, for instance, followed the Golden Trio everywhere while pretending it to be a mere coincidence, which mortified everybody, including herself.

Although, when Draco met her in the way to their morning classes, she whispered gleefully in his ear that the loss of her dignity was almost worth it, since Granger walked faster than ever every time she saw her approaching and Weasley literally tripped over his own feet on his urge to follow her. Potter, sadly, barely paid her any attention and so provided less entertainment, but Draco was quick to remind her that would actually benefit her: if other students viewed his indifference as an acceptance, she would reach her objective faster and would have to humiliate herself much less.

Blaise and Greg, however, stayed with Draco the whole day, snickering whenever somebody mentioned interhouse bonding.

Blaise even discussed the possibility of turning it into a drinking game, but they finally concluded that, if they managed to do so, they'd get wicked drunk in the middle of any class and probably get expelled.

The only good part of that new policy of anti-house-shaming was that even the professors themselves had to follow it, which meant Flitwick couldn't have a field day taking points away from Slytherins just for breathing, as he obviously felt tempted to do. The worst part was you could get detention for shoving someone from another house, so anything apart from typical teasing was off-limits.

Not that Draco had been planning to have anything to do with people from other houses (not this year, not after what the Ministry had said), but he got why Blaise looked surly, deprived of his fun. He himself had clenched a hand around his wand (his, the one Potter had sent him back to the Manor) whenever Weasley did something especially obnoxious, holding back the urge to hex him.

And as if going back to the common room they shared with the same people he wanted to run away from weren't enough, they returned to a sight nobody had been expecting.

There was a perch next to the couches, and resting on it was a green parrot, looking at them with its dumb head tilted. Draco disliked it instantly.

Longbottom, standing next to the perch, kept cooing at the parrot and talking to it under his breath, but he was the only one that seemed pleased by its presence; not even Hufflepuffs were smiling, and they were the kind of people that could smile through a train wreck. Pansy stared at the odd pair from the further side of the couch, a grimace on her usually pretty face (not that Draco would ever tell her that), and a pair of Slytherins were sitting next to her and noticeably ignoring the animal.

There was a remarkable absence of Gryffindors (Longbottom truly didn't count), but Potter was already there, sprawled on the end of the couch that was next to the parrot and yet making no move to befriend it.

He looked up when Draco walked into the room, just as many others, but his gaze was the only one that lingered for a while. A ghost of a smile was toying with his lips, and Draco had the sudden certainty that Potter was messing with him.

He scowled at the idiot, making a point of taking a seat on the other couch.

"So the thing has already blessed us with its presence," he snorted, vaguely pleased with himself when Blaise chuckled and sat next to him, Greg quickly following him.

"The thing?" Longbottom asked, puzzled, turning towards them.

"The parrot, Nev," Potter said with a long suffering sigh. At first Draco thought even Saint Potter had gotten tired of Longbottom airheadedness, but it wasn't long before he understood what the resigned face was about.

"Ah, you mean Robert!"

Blaise laughed so loudly it was actually annoying, and raised a brow in Draco's direction, lips still trembling with laughter. "Robert," he repeated. "Who the hell names a parrot Robert?"

"Longbottom, apparently," Draco rolled his eyes, totally unimpressed.

That might have been the end of it, but lately luck had taken a liking to being awful to Draco. As soon as Weasley and Granger set foot in the common room, eyes automatically searching for Potter, the Weasel let out a strangled cry, gripping his girlfriend's robes.

"I can't fucking believe it. Being here trapped with Slytherins? Fine. Having to take care of a beast that will probably bite our fingers off when we try to feed it? Okay. But McGonagall bringing in a parrot in the bloody Slytherins' colours? No chance, mate, no fucking chance!"

Granger, to give her some credit, scrunched her nose rather disapprovingly and snorted. "Is it there where you draw the line? At the parrot being green?"

"Wait, Hermione, Ron's right on this one," Finnigan piped in from somewhere behind the pair, voice trembling. "It's like McGonagall is doing this to spite us."

At that point, it was physically impossible for Draco to bite his tongue anymore. The situation was too ridiculous and he was too drained already, mind fast enough to be sharp but slacking a bit in that 'keeping the peace' thing.

"Of course McGonagall did this on purpose, Finnigan," he snorted. "I'm sure she's transfigured and hiding somewhere in the room just to watch you all flipping your shite. To have a good laugh, you know? That's what I would do, anyway."

"I wouldn't," Blaise unexpectedly said, with a shite-eating grin. "Setting you on edge is just too fucking easy, it's not even funny anymore."

There it was again, the animosity. Draco could see it in the Weasel's posture, that tense line of his jaw and the odd flaring of his annoyingly red hair.

They had been toeing on a very fragile line and it was about to break thanks to some stupid joke, just like he knew it would happen. There was too much bad blood; people barely needed an excuse to throw themselves at each other's throats.

And not only Weasley was upset: Finnigan was frowning in a way that reeked of tantrum; the kind that, from what he'd seen through the years, only his faithful Dean Thomas was capable of preventing.

Unfortunately, Thomas was not present (bloody Merlin, for once that Draco wanted a Gryffindor sharing his oxygen!), and Weasley and Finnigan were riling the others up, making the atmosphere thick with tension. Even Longbottom was looking away from the parrot now.

"What isn't funny is having you here, Zabini," Finnigan finally spat, pushing Weasley away from the door to walk towards him in what he no doubt thought was a threatening fashion, the Weasel quickly following.

Hadn't the moment been so strained already, Draco would have cracked up.

He knew better, though. If a fight broke out, it would be everyone against the Slytherins, and yet they would be the ones used as scapegoats. McGonagall would rant about the importance of interhouse unity again, and many of them would be expelled. Draco, too, because he sure as hell wasn't going to let anybody mess with his friends without throwing some hexes.

The thing was, most of Slytherins (including himself) were on probation from the Ministry, which meant bowing their heads in submission and not causing trouble, or they'd have a nice cell reserved in Azkaban.

And Draco had no desire to join his Father.

"Why, do my Slytherin colours offend your delicate sensibilities?" Blaise grinned, getting up.

Draco grit his teeth and grabbed Greg's arm to hold him in place, feeling the slight movement he'd made to get up. Maybe if Blaise noticed he had no back up, he'd realize he was digging his own grave (all of their graves, actually).

"Only because Slytherin colours go hand in hand with Slytherin tossers!" Weasley growled, hand blindly reaching for his wand.

Granger shook her head and stopped him, something that made Draco almost want to kiss her (gross) in gratitude, but it was of no use: Blaise had already taken out his own wand and so had half of the room, the other half about to follow suit... Wait, no, not really. He was startled to note that Longbottom, Granger and Potter’s hands were still wand-free, although it was obvious by their strained postures that they were about to jump into action.

Even if they wanted to help, though, it was too late: everybody was standing and ready to take sides, either to get one over an old enemy or to protect their friends.

"Blaise, enough," Draco hissed, slowly rising from his seat and no longer caring if Greg joined him or not; an idiot more or less wouldn't make a difference anymore. Shite, for once he backpedalled on making Gryffindors cross.

His friend turned his head briefly and scowled. Draco knew the answer before it was given to him; he'd spent too much time with him not to.

Blaise pretended he hadn't heard him, ignoring him in favour of glaring at Finnigan and Weasley. "If you like your bloody red so much-"

"Blaise!" a panicked voice interrupted. Pansy was stepping forward, her pale face giving away how Draco's unusual interference had made her understand what was on stake. "Blaise, stop it."

That gave them about a second of calm, which was what the other Houses needed to get over the fact that the two of them were trying to bring peace, when usually it would have been them who had started the fight while Blaise cheerfully dragged them away (it didn't happen often, but it did).

They wouldn't be so surprised if they knew half of what Draco did, though. Blaise had it rough since the war; his temperament wasn't the best at the moment, especially not in regard to comments that made plain he wasn't welcome.

Weasley stomped out of his daze quicker than usual, crossing his arms over his chest while managing to awkwardly hold his wand pointing at Blaise, and that only encouraged Finnigan.

"No, Zabini, we're all dying to hear what you were about to say."

"Seamus!" Granger yelled, seemingly horrified.

It was beyond Draco to know why she was helping them, but if it was out of pity... well, even that suited him at the moment.

"This has gone too far, Hermione!" Weasley screamed back, his skin as dark as his hair by then. "Zabini, are you going to chicken out now, you bloody coward?!"

"Ron!"

There. Draco was suddenly on the verge of hexing Weasley himself.

However, as his eyes wandered around to evaluate the situation and wonder how he could pull it off without anybody getting revenge on him when his back was turned, his gaze met Potter's.

He had been so silent that he'd almost forgotten he was even in the room, but now he was incapable of looking away. Potter was so obviously annoyed by the whole situation, it was almost funny. And Merlin, wasn't that disappointment on his face? It was difficult to say, because his stupidly green eyes were keeping him from seeing the bigger picture.

Draco swallowed and his fingers unclenched inside the pocket in which his wand was. He wasn't sure what Potter understood from that, but his face was set in determination, and it made something in Draco's stomach stir painfully.

"Malfoy," he said out loud, startling him, and making the whole room focus its attention on them.

They were expecting a taunt, of course, because any 'Slytherin versus another House' couldn't be lacking in a Potter-Malfoy fight or the world would crumble to dust. And yet Draco was positive it wouldn't be that, not this time; Potter's gaze right before speaking had been one of concern, even if just for an instant, so he didn't fear a mean insult to show he was in his mates’ side... but he had no idea of what the alternative was.

"Potter," he replied warily.

The idiot then smiled as if Draco had done something great and took a few steps towards him. "Take off your tie."

Surely he couldn't be the only one with his mouth hanging open, Draco reminded himself, desperately holding onto the dignity he had left. It was not the time to check, though; the situation was frail enough as it was, and whatever Potter was planning, it'd better be one of those crazy ideas that always worked in the end.

Tilting his head up in a challenge Potter was bound to recognize, he began to nimbly undo his tie.

Not even while doing so did he allow Potter to get out of his sight, but the bloody Saviour did, ignoring all the awestruck gazes on them with a skill Draco wasn't aware he possessed, in favour of undoing his own tie. Which probably was all for the better, considering that he was clumsy enough on daily basis; he would have gotten stuck on the knot if he hadn't been concentrating that hard on it.

Finally Potter looked up again and grinned at him, at him, before closing the few steps that still separated them. Draco's skin itched with the urge to step away, but he didn't, because there was something wild in Potter's expression that he had seen once or twice before, and the last time had been when he was facing the Dark Lord... and winning. So if he had decided to save his arse this time (again, as his mind helpfully supplied), then he wasn't going to make it more difficult than necessary.

They had never been that close without grabbing the other in a rough grip or throwing a punch, though, and Draco was filled with a sense of anticipation of the unknown that was disturbing, to say the very least.

Everybody was too quiet for them to talk without anybody hearing, so Draco had to substitute a heavily charged question with a raised brow. It worked just as well.

Potter kept smiling confidently and then did the most unexpected thing he'd ever seen him doing: putting his own Gryffindor red tie around Draco's neck, and instead of choking him with it, starting to tie it.

Draco felt his mouth going dry while Potter fumbled with the damn thing, the gesture too intimate for comfort, and he clutched the tie he'd just taken off (the rest of his body remaining numb and still, because Potter was touching him). He had begun to fathom what he expected him to do, even if he still had no idea of what the nutter intended to achieve with such a plan. And honestly, he wasn't so sure he liked it, either.

He had to fight with himself to raise his arms ever so slightly and wrap the tie around Potter's neck, and his hands were trembling as he tied it.

The worst part was, he was sure Potter could feel it, and yet he let his hands fall and patiently waited until Draco was finished, giving him a nod and managing to almost successfully hide the curious spark that was alight in his eyes.

Potter in his green tie was a sight to behold, that for sure, and it must have been the same for him in Potter's red tie, so the burning gazes that were making him want to hex someone were justified. Possibly.

"Well," Potter spoke, turning towards Weasley and Finnigan, "do I look like a Slytherin tosser to you?" After leaving everybody gaping, he beamed and added, "I hope not, I find I quite like green."

The atmosphere, that had been getting steadily charged with something else apart from anger (something that he didn't want to analyse), suddenly broke, and Draco couldn't breathe enough air. He knew better than to show it, though.

Instead, he cleared his throat and put on a smirk, raising his voice just a little to be heard over the increasingly loud mumbles. "This is the first time I've heard you saying something sensible, Potter. Red isn't too bad either, don't you think so, Blaise?"

His friend, bloody finally getting the importance of what had been on the verge of happening because of him, turned pale and complacent.

"Err... if it suits you, Draco, it can't be too bad, indeed."

The mumbles were now too loud to even attempt to smooth the situation anymore, so Draco decided it would be prudent to let it be and hope for the best. It appeared it was under control, anyway.

He soon heard a shrill cry from Granger ("Come to the library, Ron, we already have lots of work to catch up with!"), and the Golden Trio was out of the room. Potter hesitated on the door, meeting his stare, and mouthed a Bye with an awkward half-smile before turning and walking away.

Draco couldn't quite tear his gaze away from the place where Potter had been, for some unknown reason, and was terribly grateful at Pansy for reappearing at his side and preventing him from making a fool of himself.

"Draco?" she whispered gingerly. "You... you're wearing Potter's tie."

"I was saving your arse," he spat back, but felt his cheeks growing hot anyway. "Everybody's arse, actually."

She shook her head and rested a hand on his back to push him forward, ignoring Blaise's calls. Normally, Draco wouldn't have minded, but he sensed a session of gossip coming and he really, really didn't want to be part of it.

"Blaise is calling, Pansy. Hopefully, to apologize in a very undignified way, which he knows is the only one I'll accept; I'm not going to miss it."

"He won't apologize and you know it," she snorted, waving her free hand around to dismiss the thought. "Leave him to deal with Greg's questions, dear. You have to answer mine, and not here."

He clenched his fists, recognizing a wise comment when he heard one, and let her guide him out of the common room and into the corridors, away from the prying eyes (and ears) of their classmates.

"I was just saving your arse," he insisted anyway, and almost jumped in start when she began untying the red tie. "For the love of Merlin, what are you doing?"

"I know you'd love to keep it, dear, but I'm not about to allow you walking around with a Gryffindor tie," Pansy tsked, giving it back to him when she finished. "Think about this, you have to maintain your dignity for me, since I can't maintain mine."

"I would not love to keep it!" Draco scowled, but his hand clutched Potter's tie anyway, and he made sure to store it safely in his pocket before slapping her arm. "Bloody hell, Pansy, what's your problem?"

She glared at him, taking a strand of her hair and starting to twirl it around her finger, just like she did when she was on edge.

"I'd ask which one of them, but I'm talking about your problem here, Draco. You looked awfully cosy with Potter, and that was a damn weird scene you two pulled. I could feel the sexual tension, and trust me, everybody else could too."

"There was no sexual tension, Pansy!" he screamed, horrified at the mere idea. His chest was suddenly too tight, and it got worse as he thought it over and realized that yes, there had been a tiny weeny of sexual tension, at least from his part. He had known it was too intimate, but he had let it slip, too concerned with preventing the Slytherins from getting expelled or sent to Azkaban. "I'll say it once more: I was saving your sorry arse, and Potter decided to play along."

"Fine, if you say so," Pansy snorted. "But why?"

"Hell if I know!" Draco ran his hands through his hair in exasperation, messing it in a way that would make him very irritated with himself in a while, when he could think reasonably again. "He did something bloody weird, okay, but it worked, because damn everything he does always work, no matter how stupid. I don't know why he helped, just like I don't know why he spoke in our trials. He doesn't make any bloody sense."

"Well, we already knew that. And at least I want to know why he's done it, but it's impossible with Granger and Weasley around him all the time, so it'll be you who has to ask. He does seem to sneak away a lot, and I'm pretty sure you always end up in the same room he is when that happens." She raised a brow, mocking, "Isn't it convenient?"

Draco stared at her for a few moments, and then turned away and mumbled a weak "Fuck off, Pansy."

He didn't know where to go, but he knew he didn't want to be near his friend in that moment; near any of his friends, actually. They would just nag him about Potter, or nag him about the tie, or nag him about something else, and right then he just wanted to breathe. And yet he would take anyone's company over Pansy's, even the parrot's; at least the bloody thing would shut up and leave him alone, judging by how it had behaved during the fight.

In fact, the damn parrot had been the only living being in the room that hadn't uttered a single word, being downright indifferent about the whole scene. Draco could just take a liking to it.

A month into classes, and Draco was ready to walk right into the Whomping Willow and take a hard blow to the face, heir responsibilities be damned.

Nobody had been killed or sent to Azkaban yet, which was a good thing, but something very weird had been happening; slowly, unnoticeable at first and then getting steadily more obvious. Hufflepuffs, especially Hannah Abbott and that snotty-faced Ernie Macmillan, had been inviting some Slytherins to their study sessions for a while, and the times where they got in a row with other companions while it were growing scarce.

Houses were beginning to merge, and even Draco's had been behaving.

That wouldn't have been so bad, and yet... it was disturbing. Lovegood had paid them a visit the week before, and instead of avoiding Slytherins like the plague, she had waved in direction of the Golden Trio and sat up next to Greg. She had always been bonkers, but this was a new level. And who knew Greg could hold a conversation? Not Draco. It was never too late to learn something about your friends, it seemed.

Worse, every time Draco saw a Gryffindor and a Slytherin talking in a friendly way, a shiver ran down his spine. It was especially odd when Pansy, who had managed to make the Golden Trio notice her, walked into a room by Granger's side, chatting about homework or whatever floated their boats; Draco had been too spooked to listen.

Even Weasley joked with Blaise sometimes... after Draco had told his friend to at least hold out an olive branch, a decision he lamented greatly, seeing what it had led to.

And yet he still hadn't talked with Potter.

Not about what had happened, anyway, not about his reasons for helping them. And especially not about his sudden niceness, that had continued as the days went by and only seemed to serve to spoil Draco and drive everyone else up the wall (Pansy was delighted, though, and often remarked about the special treatment he received, for Potter was always nicer towards Draco than with any other Slytherin).

Hadn't he been so adamant on denying it to himself, Draco would have claimed he feared that behaviour would stop if he called Potter out on it. But he couldn't slack any longer, or Pansy would murder him; she had gotten the ridiculous idea that he was smitten with Potter and wouldn't let it be, going as far as threatening him with sending a love letter signed with his name if Draco didn't at least try to befriend him.

Well, he had already tried that once and look how it had paid off! No, cornering Potter to ask him about his motives would be enough.

Pansy would be ecstatic, if he could just remember to keep his hands away from Potter's neck; he doubted she’d believe they were becoming friends if he tried to strangle the idiot.

He had made his decision when he stumbled across Potter on his way to the library, so there was no reason for his chest to get that heavy or for his hands to start trembling, but it happened anyway just like it always did when the git was involved. He had asked Blaise once, and he had roared with laughter and suggested maybe he was allergic to Potter.

Draco was not a naive man and so could not trust the judgment of someone who was still sniggering while answering; clearly, Blaise'd been mocking him (and it wasn't a very sane answer, either way).

"Malfoy," Granger greeted, taking him by surprise. "If you are looking for A Comprehensive Recap of History of Magic, don't bother, I think Neville has the last one. But Professor Binns said there's another book that might be useful if-"

"Granger," he interrupted her, bewildered. "I wasn't going to borrow it."

"Oh," she blinked, and then frowned. "Aren't you going to the library?"

"Yes," Draco sighed deeply and he glanced at Potter for a second, incidentally catching sight of Weasley's alarmed look too. "Actually, no. I need to talk with Potter. Privately."

Apparently, none of them had been expecting that.

Potter tilted his head to the side, fixating him with a gaze that was half surprised and half pleased, if Draco was reading him correctly, and he should be because he was a bloody expert on reading people and Potter was the most open person he knew.

He had the chilling foreboding Potter's gaze was intended to read him; he could feel it, sharp and searching, but not enough to be forceful, as it looked for something in his eyes. Whatever he found, if he found anything (and Draco hoped not), it satisfied him, for he nodded in his friends' direction.

"I'll see you in a while," he offered.

Weasley jumped a bit in his place and shook his head so fast that it unsettled Draco's stomach just by seeing it. "Mate, we have things to study..."

"Ron," Granger said, raising a brow. "Since when do you care about studying? And more importantly, since when does Harry care about studying?"

"Hey! I'm right here, you know?"

Draco found himself smirking at that, but his amusement was gone as soon as it came; it just took him remembering the situation he was in, standing like a fool in front of the Golden Trio and watching them discuss if it was prudent for Potter to have a few minutes' chat alone with him.

It made his blood boil, but in anger or shame, he didn't know.

"Listen, Potter, I- " he began, voice cold, but the Weasel cut him off.

"But... Muggle Studies!" he insisted, looking increasingly more desperate. "Muggle Studies, Hermione!"

"Ron, seriously," Potter sighed. "You're the only one who needs to study for Muggle Studies, 'Mione and I were raised as muggles, remember?"

He directed a tentative smile at Draco, who scowled but nodded at the implicit apology.

"I don't have all day, Potter," he added, for good measure.

He received no comments for the trouble, but Potter turned his back to his friends and stared at him, half smiling.

Everything became background noise, and it took him a while to realize those muffled complains he was hearing were Weasley's; he was mumbling while Granger walked away, dragging him with her, and leaving Draco alone with Potter in the lonely corridor. And he suddenly couldn't utter a single word.

"Malfoy?" Potter shifted his weight from one foot to another, restless. "What is it? I mean, I already gave you your wand..."

"Are you afraid I'm going to hex you with it?" Draco snorted, before he could help himself. "Potter, as much as I hate it, I already owe you a life debt, apart from this personal one. I doubt my wand would let me hurt you; magic doesn't work that way."

Potter blinked rapidly, eyes widening in a way that gave him certain resemblance with an owl. It was kind of pathetic, but also strangely endearing.

"You mean you can't hurt me because you have a life debt with me?" he frowned. "But you already paid it. You saved my life."

Draco swallowed and tried very hard not to remember that occasion in particular, and the fear, the terrible fear... no, better not to go there.

"Potter, if I helped you, it was only indirectly. Not handing you in on a silver plate is not the same as saving your life. Magic knows that; you owe me nothing."

There was a brief silence, then, and Draco scanned Potter's face in a rather masochistic way, wanting to see the very moment in which the revelation sank in the git's mind and all pretence of amiability was gone. He knew it would hurt, as much as it unnerved him, because finally winning the Saviour's friendship (maybe even respect) would have given him back some of his confidence.

However, the hard blow didn't come in the way he was expecting.

"Well," Potter began, cautious but resolute, "magic might not recognize what you did, but I do. So thank you."

"Potter, did somebody drop you on your head when you were a child?" Draco asked sharply, glaring at him. He feigned he hadn't noticed how his voice trembled, and begged to Merlin that Potter would mistake it for anger if he did notice. "I'm giving you the perfect way out, just fucking take it. You don't have to pretend you give a shite about Slytherins anymore; again, you owe us nothing. Especially not me. You don't have to strain yourself being nice," he spit, with more venom than any insult. "Honestly, Potter, I'd have thought-"

But Potter didn't seem to care about what Draco thought (unsurprisingly), for he took a step closer and caught one of Draco's wrists, effectively cutting off his rant.

"So that was what it was all about!" he breathed, relief showing in his eyes... which were nailed on Draco's.

And he couldn't look away. You've always been so weak, a voice in his head said, and he wished he didn't know who his brain was emulating.

"What?" he mumbled, or would have if he hadn't been a Malfoy, because Malfoys didn't mumble.

"Malfoy," Potter insisted, urgently, with an almost fond look. It made Draco want to throw up. "I wasn't... I wasn't trying to pay off a life debt or whatever. I intervened last month because I didn't want things to escalate, for the same reasons you didn't either. Look, I was in the trials, I know what would have happened. And I don't want anyone to be thrown into Azkaban."

"How so?" he asked in a raspy whisper.

Potter's smile was faint and sad, and he squeezed Draco's trapped wrist before answering, "Dumbledore never failed to remind me how there were human beings with a story behind every terrible act. He wanted all of us to give everyone a second chance."

"Did he say that before or after I tried to kill him?"

He wasn't delusional: he wasn't fooling Potter, as oblivious as he might have been.

His eyes were burning with the effort of holding tears back, and he hadn't felt such an urge to scream in a long time. Potter seemed to know that, too, because he wrapped his free hand around his arm, right over where the fading Dark Mark was under his robes.

"He knew what would happen, you know," he said, intently focusing his gaze on him, as if to calibrate his reaction. "He knew what they would have you to do, and he also knew you wouldn't do it. He planned it with Severus, so he would fulfil your task and you wouldn't be punished."

Draco narrowed his eyes, his sardonic gaze losing a great deal of force because of the unshed tears, and answered in the only way that guaranteed him a lack of pity on Potter's part.

"He was a fool, then." He paused, scowled, and added, "Severus, too. And you."

Potter must have felt there was no bite in his words. He simply smiled at him, this time for real, and shrugged. "Some people just can't stop being heroes."

In any other moment of his life, Draco would have been bloody angry at that and its implications. Right then, it only made him scoff and hold back a smile of his own.

"Ah, I see the huge typical Gryffindor ego is not lost in you."

"I couldn't be a disappointment to my House." Potter released both his wrist and his arm and took a step back, grinning. "But now that we've solved that, I and my huge Gryffindor ego have to go."

Draco didn't feel like correcting his grammar; he was too busy fighting the urge to run his fingers over the places where Potter had touched him, and being very glad that nobody else had been mad enough to use that corridor to the library on a Friday afternoon. He'd have died of shame if anybody had found him like that with Potter.

He already felt like dying in shame; he’d shown Potter things he wasn't meant to see, parts of himself that he wasn’t still sure about.

Potter waited for a few seconds, probably expecting a response, but turned away when it was evident he would get none. "See you later," he offered, as he walked away, and gave him another grin over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Draco not only didn't follow him to say goodbye, but in fact chose the opposite direction to go, not giving a thought to where he was going until later, after a while spent wandering around the castle like one of the ghosts.

His wrist and arm burned all the way to the dorms, and he'd have sworn Pansy could see Potter's fingers tattooed in his skin when she looked up from the book she was reading, or at least she would if only she directed her gaze a bit lower.

"Draco," she greeted, and since his name was laced with faint curiosity, not concern, he forced himself to conclude that he didn't have, truthfully, any visible marks left by Potter's touch.

It still felt like he did.

"Pansy," he answered, tiredly.

It struck him that he had to tell her, he was practically bound to. He had to stand there and look her in the eye and admit she might haven't just been speculating when she said he was head over heels with Potter, because the git had barely had to touch him and say a few words for him to crumble in a pitiful pile of dust, paying no mind to his dignity, his pride, or the only life lesson his Father had taught him that he still took to heart: you could not let anyone see your weaknesses, especially not a Gryffindor.

But there were too many people in the common room, including a large share of Potter's friends (and the stupid parrot), and he definitely wasn't going to expose himself like that in front of them.

He patted Pansy's arm with a sigh. "Pans, I need to talk to you. But not here."

She raised a brow so high it almost touched her hairline. "Can't you cast a Muffliato and be done with it?"

"No," he snorted. "Knowing you, that would still give too much away."

Pansy beamed and got up, abandoning the book on the nearby table without as much as a glance. "Is it juicy gossip?"

"It's not, because you are not allowed to tell anyone. Ever," he insisted, with the most threatening glare he could summon. "I'm serious, Pansy."

"Not even Blaise? We have a couple of bets that might-"

"Fine, call Blaise," Draco snapped. Who cared if he knew; he would have found out eventually either way. Maybe if he told everyone at once, Pansy would stand for him. Maybe. "And Greg, too," he added, as an afterthought. "I'll see you in the boys' dorms. I doubt there's anyone there."

"Well, Finnigan might be wanking," Pansy suggested, grinning mischievously. "But again, he might not. Thomas left a while ago and I'm pretty sure those two go at it together."

Draco scowled at her, brushing away his mind's poor attempts at torturing him with that image, and made his way upstairs. The boys' dorms were empty, and would remain that way even if he had to hex someone to manage it.

He was actually on the verge of doing so (but not just someone, his bloody friends, for taking so much time to move their lazy arses), when the door swung open, and a very proud-looking Pansy walked in, with Blaise and Greg at her tail.

"Merlin's pants, Draco, this will better be good," Blaise groaned, menacing, as he sat on Draco's bed. "There's a bloody gorgeous Ravenclaw girl I've just left hanging for you, you poncy prat."

Despite himself, Draco felt a brief flick of interest at that.

Not at Blaise's flirting, which he had been hearing about (and regrettably, seeing) since First year, but at the obvious lack of Greg's presence in that scenery. Those days, he was either with him, Blaise, or Pansy, and none of them had had time for him that day, apparently.

"Where were you?" he asked Greg, puzzled when he blushed down to his neck.

"I... I was..."

"He was with Luna Lovegood," Pansy helpfully supplied, smirking. "And that would have been delightful to discuss any other day, don't get me wrong, dear, but I bet what you have to say is much more interesting."

Bloody hell. Words were stuck in his throat, and he could make a mental list of at least twenty different embarrassing moments he'd rather be living instead of that one, but he had to say it, he knew he had to, and it wasn't just that Pansy would end up finding out anyway and she would kill him for not telling her before; it was also that he would go bonkers if he didn't let it out.

So he took in a deep breath, locked the door with a quick flick of his wand, and talked himself into honesty.

"I think..." he cleared his throat, feeling a bit like Greg when he talked about Lovegood, and clenched his fists. “I think I'm a little bit-"

"Gay?" Blaise suggested, snorting. "That's old news, Draco."

"Not that," he hissed, glaring at him. "As I was trying to say," he continued, now more sure (if only because of the annoyance), "I think I might like Potter. And not... in a friendly way."

Silence stretched for approximately two seconds, two seconds that made Draco's heart squeeze painfully, and then they all started laughing. Loudly.

Draco's mouth fell open as he watched his friends: in a few moments, there were tears running down Blaise's cheeks, and Pansy was clutching her stomach and doubling over in laughter. Even Greg was mocking him, hiccupping in-between barks of laughter, like he always did when he found something truly, terribly funny.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" he screamed, after regaining the control of his jaw.

"Oh, Draco," Pansy chuckled, still trying to get a hold of herself, and pressed her lips tightly together with a shake of her head. "You're adorable."

He stared at her with mortification, struggling to decide between raw anger and honest fear. "What?" he whispered, finally settling for panic tinted with shame.

"Do you really think we didn't know?" Blaise finally managed to speak, a grin plastered on his stupid face. "Any more obvious, and Potter himself would have noticed."

They both exchanged knowing glances, and a shiver ran down Draco's spine. He directed his gaze to Greg for an instant and discovered that he seemed amused, too, and if Greg understood the situation, then it was too far gone for Draco to fix it.

Noticing the weight of his glare, Greg lowered his eyes and mumbled, almost apologetic, "You kept talking about him. And not like... before."

"More like a First year with a crush," Blaise observed, and won himself a pointy elbow in the ribs for the trouble. "Bloody shite! It's the truth, Draco," he huffed.

"Potter hasn't been such a jerk lately," Pansy crooned in a really bad imitation of Draco's voice.

Blaise howled with laughter once again, and hummed in response, "He let me borrow a quill today."

"He said sorry when he tripped over me, and didn't take the apology back when he saw who I was."

"I didn't...! I never!" Draco cried out, his face no doubt ragingly red by then, and tried to remember a time when he had hated his friends so much as he hated them at that moment (he drew a blank). He ran a hand through his hair and glared at them all. "Fuck you."

With all the dignity he could muster (which was probably not much), he unlocked the door, pointed at them with his wand for a brief second, hesitated, and finally turned his back to them. He stepped so angrily on the steps that he was actually surprised they didn't break under his feet.

His friends followed him, of course, because they were just silly enough to forget their sense of self-preservation. At least they weren't laughing any more.

"Oh, dear, you're so smitten," Pansy mumbled, falling into step beside him.

He didn't bother denying it. He was never one to put his money on hopeless causes.

Potter was a bloody twat, Draco decided a week after, glancing sideways at him as they walked side by side. Even if he did have some good qualities.

For starters, he was ridiculously loyal to his friends, which Draco counted as a let-down: he'd been half hoping not to have to deal with the Weasel, amongst others, but he'd not had such luck. But Potter occasionally laughed at their quirks, and let Draco mock them too as long as it was good-natured (or appeared to be so). And that was hilarious.

Such as the day before, when they had a good laugh over Longbottom transfiguring Robert's perch into a small birdhouse, which ended in the parrot ignoring it completely and Longbottom almost having a breakdown.

Being semi-friends with Potter was so worth it, even if just because of the hilarity, for Merlin. And then sometimes Draco was also allowed by his over-thoughtful brain to forget that he'd rather be doing something else with him (something that involved snogging and groping, preferably), and the joy was complete.

"What are you thinking?" Potter suddenly asked, seemingly amused, and Draco couldn't help but snort.

"I'm thinking that your worshipers do a poor job of protecting you," he smirked, "if you managed to slip away unnoticed again and be held against your will by a big, mean Slytherin."

Potter grinned, "The big, mean Slytherin that is barely an inch taller than me, and whom I could beat in a duel with my eyes closed?"

"Is that a challenge, Potter?" Draco raised a brow and tried not to smile back. "Because I feel obligated to remind you that you can't even give five steps without your glasses. As amusing as it would be to watch you making a fool of yourself, I'll have to warn you that duelling with your eyes closed might not be a good idea."

It wasn't very cold in the corridors, so Potter didn't have any real reason to throw an arm around his shoulders (not that Draco would have found it less weird if he'd been bloody shivering, but still).

He tensed under the unexpected weight and felt Potter freeze in response; as soon as he forced himself to relax, though, Potter pulled him closer and patted his shoulder in a friendly gesture, his arm still wrapped awkwardly around him.

"Seriously, Malfoy," he said, and Draco was sure he was delusional, for he would have sworn Potter's voice was a bit shaky and he'd gotten breathless while pronouncing his name. Bloody wishful thinking. "So, what were you reflecting on so hard? For real."

"Longbottom," Draco blurted out, uncharacteristically honest thanks to his bewilderment. Potter stopped walking and stared at him, mouth hanging open; Draco couldn't blame him. "My secret crush on Longbottom," he added, rolling his eyes, and Potter got lax again.

"Yeah, good luck with that," he snorted, grim. "For how he becomes jelly when Ginny passes by, I'm positive you have some competition there."

With Ginevra Weasley? You have no idea. But not for Longbottom's graces.

"I'd say is him the one with the competition, since She-Weasley is the apple of your eyes."

Potter shook his head and let his arm fall, a loss Draco lamented greatly. Either fortunately or unfortunately, he couldn't decide, Potter remained close enough that their hands brushed as they walked, and he was certain that, if he miraculously gathered the courage to intertwine their fingers together, they'd have to pry his away from Potter's over his cold, dead body.

Which would be convenient, because Potter would surely kill him.

"I'm not dating Ginny anymore, Malfoy," Potter huffed. "I'm surprised you missed it, considering we haven't talked at all in weeks. And you would know, because I've spent most of that time around you." Before Draco could answer (and wait, they'd only started hanging out a week before, how...?), Potter pouted at him, pouted, and whined, "Also, can't you ever answer a bloody question without getting side-tracked? I'd think you do it on purpose, if I weren't sure you love being the centre of attention."

Draco plastered a smile on his face and lied like a bastard, "I can reassure you on that, Potter: it's not on purpose. As if I'd give a damn about your girlfriends." When Potter seemed sufficiently reassured and started glaring at him instead, he sighed and explained, "I was thinking about Longbottom and his obsession about that bloody thing that is occupying space at the dorms."

"Parrot, Malfoy. Come on, I know you can say it."

"I will not," he hissed, scowling at the grin on Potter's stupid face. "Parrots are supposed to talk, aren't they? And that thing is so bloody useless it doesn't even do that, so it doesn't deserve the name."

"You were the one complaining about the possibility of it 'feeling chatty' when McGonagall told us about it!"

"That was at the beginning of the term," Draco observed, blinking. "I didn't know you take my words to heart, Potter," he added, smirking, and didn't try to stop the wave of smugness that overcame him when Potter blushed to his ears. He wasn't intending to allow him to take his words back, so he quickly continued, "I now see I was wrong..."

"Someone call Rita Skeeter, Draco Malfoy is acknowledging a mistake," Potter mumbled, but Draco fully ignored him.

"I mean, if the thing talked, at least it would interrupt Longbottom from time to time. As it is now, we have to listen to his endless chatter. When I say he's obsessed, I mean he is obsessed. He rants to the bloody thing, for Merlin's beard!"

Potter's touch lingered more than usual when their hands brushed again, which made no sense, but by when Draco dared to look down to confirm he wasn't making things up, Potter was already talking and so probably expected him to look at him; he might have been a bit slow, but he ought to know about common courtesy.

Sadly, Draco did, too, so he stared at Potter's face again and did his best to hide he hadn't heard a single word.

"...not worse than Ron. In case you haven't seen him, he can hold two-hours monologues with his Potions' book. You'll know when he's trying to study because he'll be yelling at it and cursing colourfully." Potter smiled with fondness.

"Honestly, if you're trying to tell me Longbottom is not nutters by putting the Weasel as an example..."

"His name is Ron, Malfoy," Potter snapped, frowning at him.

That was one of the let-downs of being in good terms with him, having to be nice at his friends too. Draco didn't mind behaving in Granger's presence, but Weasley... that was an entirely different case.

He gritted his teeth and replied, "And Draco is mine, and I've never heard you using it."

Potter stopped walking once again, and for the love of Merlin, Draco was beginning to feel very cross at his dramatics. He swallowed down his rage, though, when he took a good look at Potter's face.

He was blushing for the second time in one day, and for how he stared at him, one would have thought someone had killed a puppy in front of him.

"I... I'm sorry, I didn't think I was allowed," he mumbled, and with a startled intake of breath, immediately corrected himself. "I mean, I was pretty sure you'd hex me if I tried."

Good, he'd gone from being angry at him to being guilt-tripped. Nobody could say Draco wasn't a master of manipulation (nevermind that he didn't intend to do so).

"Since when are you afraid of me hexing you?" he couldn't help asking, and Potter snorted.

"Since I want to get along with you."

Draco frowned and watched how Potter became more and more fidgety as the silence stretched. When he couldn't take it anymore, words came tumbling out of his mouth without any permission.

"I'll call him Weasley if you call me Draco."

An exceptionally violent beat of heart later (Draco could even feel it resonating in his chest), Potter beamed at him and nodded.

"That would work. Are you keeping the Potter?"

"Only for when you irritate me."

"I'm afraid I'll never be Harry, then."

That made Draco smile, against his better judgement.

"You're learning. I'm so proud." Also, because that reminded him of classes and, as shameful as it was, he knew Potter's whole schedule like the palm of his hand, he added, "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere else? Like in class, for example?"

Potions with Hufflepuffs, actually.

Then he stared with glee as Potter paled, giving Draco a horrified look.

"Crap. No, wait, that's not possible. If we had class, you would already be there."

Draco rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Potter..." He blinked, hesitated, and said, "Harry. Harry, do you remember that day on the beginning on the term, when McGonagall explained that there were a lot of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws back, but barely any Hufflepuffs or Slytherins?"

Potter (Harry, bloody hell), who had looked so pleased with him calling him by his given name that Draco thought his chest would burst, recovered his confused look.

"Err... yes? Well, it's obvious, in the common room-"

"So, if you were listening, how is it that you missed that, despite McGonagall's new politic of interhouse unity, we'd have some classes separated?"

"You mean..."

"I have a free period, Pot- Harry," Draco sighed. "You, on the other hand, don't. So I suggest you to get going, unless you want to spend your weekend scrubbing floors under Filch's gaze."

"Crap," Harry repeated under his breath, turning away from him. "Crap, crap, crap, crap."

"You don't have to run, idiot! It's just Slughorn!" Draco yelled as he started sprinting.

Harry stopped long enough to wave at him and smile faintly in an awkward farewell. It was okay, though, Draco was beaming anyway; it would take much more than a rushed goodbye to ruin his mood. Surely, nobody could really blame him if he walked all the way to the dorms with an extra bounce in his step.

It only made him smile wider when he arrived and discovered he'd have a quiet afternoon.

Pansy was lying on one of the couches, her feet resting in Blaise's lap, and Greg sat under the parrot's perch, staring at them like an oversized bird of prey smelling carnage... or a lackey waiting for orders, which was much more fitting (and quite sad).

The common room resembled Slytherin's, he noted with a tinge of melancholy, for there was nobody from any other house in sight.

"Where's everybody?" he asked, as he took a seat on the other couch.

Blaise ignored him completely, too focused on reading whatever he was reading, but Pansy turned her head towards him and smiled.

"Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors are in class, of course, and Ravenclaws are all studying in the library."

"The common room is ours," Greg said, ceremoniously, and a pair of Slytherins that were talking nearby glanced at him and smiled.

Pansy would have, too, if under different circumstances, but she was too busy staring at Draco and smirking in a way that made him shiver.

"Pans?"

"Draco, dear, you're positively glowing," she finally said, cheerful. "If I didn't know for sure Gryffindors have classes right now, I'd say you've been talking with Potter."

"I wouldn't discard that theory so soon," Blaise suddenly piped up, with a gleam in his eyes that told Draco he was about to be mocked shamelessly. "I wouldn't put it past our dear Draco to teach Potter the manners of the Slytherins. The Saviour might have chosen to skip class for him; isn't the thought endearing?"

Draco glared at him, getting up to rip his book away from his hands. "Weren't you reading? Or looking at the pictures, at least?"

It was a pity that Blaise's skin was thicker than a muggle medieval armour; he was completely immune to insults of any kind.

"I was, but I heard Potter's name and knew you wouldn't allow me to study any more. There's a reason why no Slytherin ever mentions him anymore; we just couldn't stand your rants about him for another year."

"Fuck you," Draco said, absolutely not fuming.

"So, where have you been?" Pansy insisted as she sat up, ignoring Blaise with a skill Draco had not yet mastered.

He clenched his fists and tried not to show how much it annoyed him to agree with them. "I was talking with Pot- Harry."

No, wait, it is Potter for them. But it was too late: Pansy grinned with glee, Blaise mimicking her (and Greg shifting his gaze from one to another as if he were watching an especially enthralling match of Quidditch).

"Ohh, it's Harry now," Pansy cheered, clenching a hand around his wrist to drag him towards her. "I take the courtship is going well?"

"What courtship, you ridiculous woman?" he hissed, wriggling out of her grip in a rather undignified manner.

"Everybody knows already you have the hots for Potter," Blaise snorted, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "I can't understand why you keep denying it."

Because it was bloody pathetic, that was why. Not only lusting after him, but falling for the damn Saviour of the Wizarding World like a First year. Of course his friends found it funny, they weren't the ones living it!

Draco had no intention of offering them that piece of information, though.

"I don't have the hots for Potter," he insisted.

Pansy sighed deeply and Blaise rolled his eyes, but surprisingly, it was Greg the one who spoke, "Draco, you stare at him like you want to eat him."

"Greg would know, he'd stared like that at a lot of pies," Blaise added, smirking.

"Well, he has, but I-"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, I swear, if you insist one more time that you don't want to snog Potter like there's no tomorrow..." There was no need the finish the sentence. Pansy was threatening enough already, and she knew that, for she only gave him a reproachful glare before softening. Then she smiled with complicity, as if sharing a secret. "Because honestly, anyone can see Potter is hotter than Firewhisky."

Draco, too aware he had lost that battle, simply shrugged. "I'll give you that, Potter has a damn fine arse."

The parrot, which most of the time was just there, not giving a shite about them, suddenly made a shrill sound. Draco took it as an agreement.

"Finally," Blaise groaned, covering his face with his hands. “He admitted it. I didn’t think I’d live to see this.”

Pansy tsked and pried his book away from Draco's hands, flickering through the pages. "See what you've done? Now Blaise will have a meltdown."

"I'm just happy for him," he mumbled, still hiding.

"I somehow doubt it, dear."

"Fine, I'm just so incredibly glad he'll have to shut the fuck up now."

She smiled widely, "That's more like it."

Draco, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes at him, but since he wasn't looking at them, it had no effect. In fact, Pansy wasn't paying him any attention either, with her eyes glued to the bloody book; that wasn't a common occurrence.

"Are you studying? Have you turned into a Ravenclaw when I wasn't looking?"

"No, you twat," she huffed, not bothering to glance at him. "I lose a lot of hours a day following the Golden Trio, and even more listening to you two complaining. You know I can't get behind, Draco, and not everybody can be as smart as Granger."

A lot of things happened at once.

Blaise let his hands fall from his face (bloody finally), Draco took a few steps and sank on the couch, and Greg jumped on his seat; the three of them shared the same astonishment, though, because Pansy Parkinson had just complimented Hermione Granger. Harry's bad joke came back to Draco, then (someone call Rita Skeeter), but he had more dignity than him, so he stayed quiet.

The bloody parrot, unfortunately, didn't.

It squealed loudly, shifting the attention from Pansy to itself (which was good, because she was blushing and she would have been in a terrible mood if anyone had seen her).

"Merlin's pants, why does the parrot only ever make a sound when Longbottom is not present?" Blaise mumbled. "Why can't it pester him?"

"It's better this way," Pansy was quick to answer, probably wanting everyone to forget her slip-up. "If it showed Longbotton any sign it was listening to him, he would never shut his mouth."

Draco was certain everybody in the room heard that and shuddered at the same time.

"Don't invoke him," he chided her. "I'll start revising for History of Magic in a minute and I'll need quiet."

She snorted. "Okay, dear, don't mind me. But if you take too long getting that book, I'll assume you're wanking on Potter's bed."

"And that would be an accurate guess, I bet," Blaise approved, grinning.

No, it wouldn't have been. Truly.

But he really ought to tell his friends to stop babbling about Harry; he was getting ideas he wasn't sure he wanted to have (on the other hand, there were worse ways to spend a Wednesday afternoon).

"Why do we have to stay here?" Finnigan whined for (Draco revised his mental notes) the seventh time. "It's just a little bit of drizzle, for Merlin’s sake, it's not like it's raining cats and dogs."

"Raining what?" Pansy asked, alarmed.

She had claimed a seat on an armrest of one of the couches, Granger comfortably sitting by her side, and the only person who was more puzzled by that than Draco was Weasley (which was ironic, because he was sandwiched between Harry and Greg).

"Muggle expression," Granger helpfully supplied, patting Pansy's arm.

Draco tried not to freak out. He hadn't yet gotten used to all that interhouse bonding that was going around lately.

He tilted his head slightly to sneak a glance at Blaise, to make sure he wasn't the only one jumping every time Gryffindors and Slytherins were kind to each other, and met Harry's eyes instead. The twat noticed his confused expression and winked at him.

Well, maybe he shouldn’t be one to talk about weird interhouse relationships.

"Seamus, that's not a little bit of drizzle," Thomas butted in, rolling his eyes, "it's a bloody hurricane."

"Now you're just being melodramatic."

"As much as it pains me," Blaise suddenly said, and everybody tensed, waiting for the punchline, "I agree with Finnigan." That was unexpected. "It's just a drizzle, but a Conjured drizzle, by courtesy of a Second year. I wouldn't step outside for all the galleons in Draco's vault."

Rising to the challenge, he raised a brow at his friend and smirked.

"Then you don't have the right number, Blaise. You would dive headfirst into a tub full of badly Conjured rain if you did."

A deep suffering sigh interrupted their banter, and all the eyes in the room turned to Weasley.

"We're having all the interesting conversations today, aren't we? The weather, Malfoy's galleons... The next we know, we'll be talking about Harry's scar."

The buzz of other conversations around them softened a bit, some people who had been paying them no mind suddenly interested in the outcome.

It was what you got when you spoke about Harry Potter. At least it no longer annoyed Draco... as much as it used to. It was not the idiot's fault, he guessed. He was just naturally worshiped.

"Why did you have to get me into the conversation?" Harry complained, apparently thinking along those lines. "Now I can't sneak away while you're distracted."

"That was my intention. I suffer, you suffer."

Someone laughed quietly, and Draco didn't have to look to know it was Granger.

"Merlin's pants, how are we even friends?"

Weasley paused then, thoughtful. "You know what? I have no idea. You're kind of... my step brother. And I don't like my brothers."

"You like Charlie," Granger pointed out.

"Everybody likes Charlie."

There were various nods all around the room.

Draco blinked, no longer understanding their petty discussion, and mouthed at Harry (Charlie?), who grinned at him and mouthed back (Dragon rider). Draco had the suspicion he'd meant Dragonologist but was trying for the word to sound cooler, probably to earn his approval.

He nodded at him in any case, and supressed a smirk when Harry insisted (Hot dragon rider).

"Anyway, I think this friendship has to end," Harry suddenly proclaimed out loud, startling Draco, and there was a moment of panic before they all noticed the playful tone. He got up, shot a pretend glare at Weasley, and walked away from him ceremoniously. Usually, he didn't like being the centre of attention (or so he had told Draco), but at that very moment he didn't seem to mind. He stood in front of Blaise and gave him a toothy grin. "Scoot over, Zabini."

Surprisingly, Blaise did, and Harry sat right next to Draco (in fact, so close his whole side was pressed against his, and oh bloody Merlin, he wouldn't survive that).

The shock only lasted for a second, before Weasley scowled at them and shook his head. "Malfoy? Really? Continue on that line, and you'll end up saying your favourite Weasley is... Percy."

He grimaced, as if it were the most disgusting thought he'd ever had.

Harry snorted, elbowing Draco on the ribs, and he couldn't even force himself to be annoyed by it.

"You should feel insulted. Percy is..." he hesitated, leant forward, and whispered in his ear. "He's a cross between Hermione, Ernie Macmillan, and Zacharias Smith. With the most unpleasant traits of each one of them."

Draco was aware he'd only gotten to experience Harry's warm breath against his ear because he didn't want Granger to hear him, but that didn't stop his mouth from salivating. Stupid Pansy and her stupid ideas; that had never happened to him before she pushed her beliefs into his mind.

He only noticed the mocking hoots and whistles when Harry pulled away from him, redder than Weasley's hair.

"Guys, really," Longbottom spluttered, in a ridiculous attempt to calm them down.

Draco ignored him and looked around with his most dignified expression, glaring at every person who had dared to laugh at them. They shut up one by one, but he couldn't wipe away Pansy's satisfied smile or Blaise's knowing grin (Greg, for his part, looked confused, but that was his every day face).

When he turned to glance at Harry, though, he found him making a rude gesture at Granger, and instead of getting angrier than a resentful hippogriff, she smiled innocently at him.

The tension was broken when Finnigan spoke, "So really, guys, why do we have to stay inside?"

"Oh, bloody hell, Seamus, shut up!" Thomas cried out, voicing everybody's thoughts.

Finnigan obeyed, to their relief, even if he looked sullen for the whole next hour. All for the better, in Draco's opinion; at least if he was sulking, he wasn't talking.

The silence, thick blessed silence, lasted for a good while... longer than it was comfortable, actually. It was apparent they hadn't gotten the hang of that 'being friends' thing yet.

It came to a point in which Greg started to doze off on Weasley's shoulder (the face he made was hilarious), and Granger grabbed a book from her ever-present bag. The rest of them, unfortunately, didn't have such diversions, but for some reason they all hesitated to move.

Draco was about to get up and convince Harry to go somewhere else (taking the chance to whisper in his ear, of course, so he wouldn't risk getting ridiculed if he preferred to stay with his friends), but his trail of thoughts got interrupted by a loud squeak.

Startled, everybody scanned the room to find the culprit, and they all stared at the parrot at the right time to see its mouth opening and uttering in an odd, high-pitched voice:

"Blaise is kind of funny."

There was a pause. Then Thomas, Granger and Harry started roaring with laughter (Draco's whole body trembled in time with Harry's; honestly, they were way too close).

"What the hell. What the bloody hell!" Weasley shrieked faintly.

Bewildered, half of the room turned at him while the other half remained fixed on the other three mad Gryffindors.

Draco was good enough at multitasking to see both, even if it only served to get him even more confused. While Granger had managed to get a hold of herself, she was wide-eyed and frozen on her seat, like when she had some sudden revelation; Weasley, on the other side, seemed to be on fire, and tried to hide his face with his hands without much success.

"Well, well," Blaise hummed, clearly pleased, "even the parrot knows I'm amazing."

"It was not the parrot," Harry mumbled under his breath, biting his lips to hold back a smile and turning his head to look at Draco.

Before he could say anything, though, Pansy piped up (damn her, damn her, damn her). "That bloody thing..."

"Robert," Longbottom insisted, uncharacteristically stern. "His name is Robert."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Robert hasn't spoken a bloody single word since the beginning of the term."

"But it has, now," Granger said, blinking rapidly. Longbottom, who had looked ready to keep defending the parrot, shut his mouth. "Robert is a parrot, after all. Harry is right, in a certain way. It didn't know what it was saying, it just repeated what Ron said the week before."

She then closed her eyes and rested her index finger on the bridge of her nose, as if it would help her to concentrate somehow.

It was useless, though, because Weasley turned even redder and yelled, "Hermione!"

Harry broke out laughing again. Snorting, Draco patted his back in the friendliest manner he could.

"She's just saying the truth, Ron," Thomas backed her up, wiping tears away from his cheeks.

"What?" Finnigan mumbled, staring accusingly at him.

Blaise's brows almost reached his hairline. "Seriously?" Pansy sent him a dark look from the other side of the room, and he immediately recovered his cheerfulness. "Always a pleasure to entertain, Ronnie."

Weasley groaned and whined some more, Granger had that thoughtful expression for the whole afternoon, and everybody else just laughed at Weasley's expense.

As surprising as it had been, the Eighth years had nearly forgotten the whole accident in a blink.

Draco himself almost did. But then... it happened again. And again. And again.

*****************

"I'm not going to dinner!" Pansy insisted from the other side of the door.

"That's okay, Pans, but could you at least open the bloody door?" Blaise asked, deeply annoyed. "We've been stuck out of our own dorms for half an hour. And I really need to get rid of my bag; a dragon would weigh less."

"Get over it, Blaise!"

He breathed in very slowly and closed his eyes.

"Your turn," he said in low voice, and mumbled to himself. "I knew dispensing with portraits and passwords was a bad idea, but nobody listened, nobody ever listens to me."

Draco scowled at him, not caring that he wasn't going to notice, and banged his fist on the door. Had Greg been there, his friend would have continued doing it for him, but he wasn't that lucky, so Draco gave up and stepped away from the door.

"Pansy, enough is enough," he warned. "You're blowing this out of proportion-"

"Ah, of course, because you never do that!"

Honestly, Pansy had some really good qualities, but when she was cross, she made everyone else cross too.

"The bloody parrot did the same to Lovegood yesterday and she didn't say a word," he reminded her, snorting. "Are you saying Luna Lovegood is more mature than you?"

"Lovegood doesn't give a bloody shite about her public image!"

That was true, unfortunately.

The parrot had made a tradition out of spilling embarrassing secrets, but it wasn't until the day before when they had discovered that it didn't care about which house its victim belonged to (it seemed ridiculously keen on Gryffindors, after all).

During one of Lovegood's weekly visits, the bloody thing had chirped, Have you seen how cute Greg's eyes are? The shock had been stronger than any other time, because really, someone giving Greg a compliment?

But Lovegood had beamed at everybody, turned to Greg, and confessed (Oh, I think I was the one who said that. Well, your eyes are pretty). Greg had blushed, a sight Draco had never seen before (and hoped not to see ever again; it was frightful), and he hadn't gotten over it yet, for he kept following Lovegood around.

The parrot's next statement, in comparison, had been mild (Not everybody can be as smart as Granger), and yet Pansy, who held on to the last bits of her dignity like a madwoman, had gone crazy. Which was, honestly, the last thing she needed.

"Pansy," Draco said slowly, softly, like one would talk to a wild animal. "Pansy, are you aware everybody already knew that you think Granger is smart?"

"Are you aware everybody already thinks that Granger is smart?" Blaise added, chuckling. "And you know why? Because she is, there's no way around it."

"True," Draco picked up the thread. "We spent most of First year trying to outsmart her, and it was a waste of time. Which means you haven't precisely opened your heart to the whole Eighth year, have you?"

"It's not like is a shameful secret. Really, I couldn't be less impressed if the parrot said Ginny Weasley still has the hots for Potter."

Draco had to control himself not to growl like a beast at that, which would have been quite disgraceful, and was rewarded by Pansy finally deigning herself to open the door.

Blaise threw his hands in the air in an exasperated gesture and walked past her, dropping his bag on a couch; then he walked out again and waited for them to start walking towards the Great Hall.

If only. Pansy didn't move an inch, no matter how threatening their glares were. At least she wasn't whimpering anymore... well, in fact, she was a little too quiet, and that was never a good sign.

"Pans?"

"Oh, Merlin's beard," she whispered, a hand shooting up to cover her mouth. She was pale, horrified, when she stared at Draco. "Oh, dear. You're so screwed."

"Pardon me?" he asked, startled and, frankly, kind of concerned about her mental health. Even more so after her face shifted and she let out a bark of laughter.

"Oh, dear. Oh, Draco," she paused to recover her breath, beamed at Blaise, and turned to Draco again. "Aren't you worried? Not in the slightest? The parrot could give away your secrets, too."

Draco rolled his eyes, patting her arm. "Surely, Pansy. Except that I haven't been daft enough to say anything personal in the middle of the common room, where everyone could hear. Including the bloody parrot."

Blaise chuckled and leant on the wall to hold himself up, his eyes twinkling in a way that would have made him look pretty attractive... if he weren't such a git.

"Yeah, I see it now. You haven't been very careful, Draco."

"What are you babbling about?"

"I'll leave the honour to explain to you, Pans."

She beamed, rubbing her hands together. "A few weeks ago, Draco, remember? The same day I had the terrible idea to compliment Granger in front of the bloody thing?"

"There were only Slytherins in the common room," Blaise couldn't help butting in, smirking. "We thought it was safe."

"What were we talking about before Granger, I wonder?"

A sense of dread was slowly creeping up on Draco. He dug through his memories to find that particular day, but his mind was blank, fear gripping him tightly.

He studied his friends' faces and determined that it couldn't be something too awful, or either they wouldn't be so pleased. On the other hand, they were pleased, so it had to be something awful, just a different kind of awfulness.

"Spill it," he hissed, even if what he really wanted was to run away screaming.

Pansy cleared her throat and grinned, almost apologetically (but not really, because she was bloody awful).

"Well, dear, I believe when I complimented Granger, you'd just praised Potter's arse. Quite enthusiastically."

He breathed in and out, slowly, to prevent himself from fainting. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

"Pansy, I think you should lie now, because if you say no, he might faint," Blaise observed, staring closely at Draco's face. "Remember how we used to say he couldn't possibly be paler? Well... looks like all blood has been drained from his face. I've seen tanner albino people."

"I refuse," she huffed, and her voice seemed to come from very far away... No, Malfoys didn't faint. He was perfectly fine, really. "Draco. Draco!" she clasped a hand around his arm, shaking him slightly. "Draco, listen. It's okay, dear, it's all going accord to plan."

"You have a plan to kill me?" he cried out, appalled. "Gryffindors were right, you can't trust a Slytherin."

"You are a Slytherin!" Blaise exclaimed, scowling.

"True, and I don't trust myself not to strangle you right now," Draco hissed in response. "Point made."

"Draco, sooner or later, I'd have schemed something to hook you up with Potter," Pansy explained in soft voice. "This has made my job much easier. If the parrot repeats what you said about Potter, and he hears it, he might start asking questions. And even if he doesn't, Granger will. Then they'll discover you're totally smitten with Potter, and you two will only ever be seen again snogging in dark corners of the castle. Problem solved."

Draco stared at her, wondering if he had actually fainted and was just imagining the entire scene, but no, it sounded like something a complete nutter would say, therefore it did sound like Pansy.

"You've lost your mind."

She only gripped his arm tighter, sharp nails digging in his skin.

"Okay, let's do this…" she said sweetly, which set off alarm charms all over Draco's mind. "If the parrot doesn't say anything about Potter's arse, I'll take it as a signal from fate and I'll leave you alone. No more interventions. You can bury yourself in a cave and not speak with Potter ever again, throttling your poor heart, and I won't say a word."

"Truly?"

"Sounds too good to be true, doesn't it?" Blaise snorted, but stepped back at her glare.

"I promise."

It'd have to do. Draco would just pray to Merlin that the parrot decided to keep its bloody mouth shut... or not.

Considering what was at stake, some intervention was in order, for sure.

"That fucking haughty little shit!"

"Draco, I think you shouldn't speak so loud," Greg pointed out warily. "We're in the middle of the corridor and people are staring."

He might have moved away from him a little bit, too, but Draco wasn't in any condition to know for sure. Cross as he was, he would take the opportunity to yell at someone who had dared to sneeze at him. And Greg was right, after all; dinner was about to end and people were just getting out of the Grand Hall, it wasn't a good place to have a breakdown.

But he wasn't being reasonable. He had earned the right not to be.

"You don't understand, Greg," he howled. "Do you know why I've been so late to dinner? Do you know?"

"Erh..."

"Because I was in the common room, with the bloody parrot, again, that's why!"

"Please, Draco, people are staring," Greg insisted, looking increasingly concerned.

Draco took a deep breath and lowered his voice, "During the last three days, I've tried fourteen different charms. Fourteen! When I rendered it mute, it burped the charm back at me and I had to ask Blaise to lift it. Two hours of my life lost while I gestured at him and he laughed hysterically without paying me any attention."

"I know that, you told me," he blinked, apparently not getting why Draco was repeating himself.

"When I casted a Muffliato," Draco continued, unperturbed, "the fucking parrot said I love Dean's hair with bloody echo."

Greg frowned, scratching his neck. "Did you just say you love Thomas' hair?"

"It wasn't me! Someone said it in front of the parrot, and it blurted it out to me! That's how it works, Greg, in case you haven't been listening at Granger explaining it for the whole week!"

"Oh."

"My point is, I'm fucking fed up!" He ran a hand through his hair, trembling, and whispered, "Guess what happened today, when I tried to cast an Imperius on the bloody thing."

"It didn't work?" Greg asked tentatively.

Draco rewarded him with a faint smile.

The good thing about Greg was that he rarely got spooked, which meant he could tell him things like I've tried to cast an Unforgivable on a parrot and get a calm response, as if he couldn't see Draco tumbling down the road of complete madness as they spoke. Knowing Greg, he probably couldn't; he wasn't known for his insight, after all.

"I give up, Greg," he said, with a deep sigh. "I've had enough of this shite. If the bloody parrot hasn't talked yet, it won't do so at all."

Greg blinked rapidly and shrugged, opening the door of their common room, and stepped away to let Draco walk through.

"I guess," was all he said, doubtful. "You go in, I'm going to the Ravenclaw dorms."

"Ah, you abandon us for Lovegood again," Draco tsked, half smiling, as he walked into the common room.

Most of the Eighth years were already there, including Pansy and Blaise, who hadn't bothered to wait for him because they were shitty friends. And because they knew exactly why he had been late, and didn't approve of it.

It wasn't as if Draco cared; they had never said he couldn't cheat in the whole 'preventing-the-Parrot-from-talking-about-Harry's-arse' thing, and he was a Slytherin (and a Malfoy, over that), he was supposed to cheat. Honestly, such beginners.

"Draco!" someone called him, and he couldn't quite hold back that surge of warmth that overcame him when he saw Harry.

Bloody shite, I'm turning into a Hufflepuff.

He gave him a controlled smile and walked towards him, making an idle gesture at Greg, who was still waiting at the door, as farewell. He sat on a free chair, a chess set separating him from Harry.

"Fancy a game, Potter?"

Harry kicked him under the table in response. "Better not. I'm pants at chess. Well, at least I think I am; I only ever play with Ron and he kicks everybody's arse, so really, I could have a hidden talent."

"Somehow I doubt it."

"You've never seen me play," he said, raising a brow.

Draco smirked at him. "There's no need."

He received eye-rolling for his troubles, but it wasn't as if he had been expecting anything else. Harry laid back on his chair and shook his head.

"Honestly, Draco, you're almost worse as a friend than as an enemy. Although you're a git either way, I'll give you that."

"Pot calling the kettle black."

Unsurprisingly, Harry kicked him again (Draco kicked him back, just because he could), and then cleared his throat, hiding a smile that Draco could see just fine either way.

"Well, anyway... I was half hoping you'd play with Ron, actually." He grinned openly at Draco's startled expression, "It's not often he's challenged by someone who knows what he's doing. And if he asks me to play one more time, I swear I'll hurt him," he added with a scowl.

"Harry," Draco said, gathering his patience, "what makes you think Weasley would play with me?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

Oh, no, there it was, that little frown between his eyebrows that he always got when he was about to drive Draco nutters.

"For the same reason you don't hang out with my friends."

Harry's frowned deepened. "Honest fear?" he suggested, tentatively, reminding him of Greg for a moment (what a horrible, horrible vision).

"You're afraid of my friends?" Draco couldn't help asking, deeply amused. "The oh-so-brave Saviour, who faced The Dark Lord without as much as a second of fear, trembles at the sight of Blaise?"

"No, not Blais- Zabini. He's alright. But Parkinson is quite..."

"Harmless," he dismissed, grinning. "You haven't seen her angry yet, and she spends half of the time kissing your arse, don't tell me you haven't noticed."

"She stalks us," Harry replied with a shiver. "It's creepy. Even creepier when she starts talking with Hermione about... Hermione-ish things." Before Draco could say anything (or laugh, which was an even better option), he glared at him, "Wait, you're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Getting side-tracked!" he looked so indignant that Draco got the urge to laugh again. "I'm serious, you know? Ron won't be a twat if you're not. And I'm really sick of losing at chess; wouldn't mind if you kicked his arse, either."

Harry stared intently at him, as if casting a wandless Imperius (and Draco wouldn't stick his neck out to deny it). It seemed to be very important for him that he spent some time with Weasley, Merlin knew why.

He really wouldn't have minded Granger, who at least had brains, but Weasley... for some reason, he just couldn't stand him, he damn couldn't...

"Fine," he heard himself saying. "If I get him to have a tantrum without you whining about it, it won't be a lost afternoon."

The smile Harry gave him was so bright it made it worth it. They stared at each other for a moment without uttering a word, Draco beaming back at him despite himself.

Incidentally, there was one of those eerie moments of silence in which everybody magically shut up at the same time. Also, Harry was still smiling at him, so everything was right in the world, indeed.

Unfortunately, like all the things that made Draco happy, it didn't last much.

"Potter has a damn fine arse."

The room held its breath for a second. Then, it came out in the shape of a roaring laughter shared between most of the Eighth year students.

Harry blushed so hard it was a wonder he had any blood left for the rest of his body, and he looked at Draco helplessly, as if he could be of any help.

It was a pity, because as endearing as it'd have been in any other situation (the Saviour wordlessly asking Draco to save him), at the moment he couldn't appreciate it; he was too busy preventing his embarrassment from showing on his face. Thanks to the extensive practice he'd had during his cohabitation with the Dark Lork (and thanks to his Malfoy genes, too), he managed to do so with a mild effort.

The rest of the Slytherins, for once, didn't show such tact.

When the hilarity calmed down (although Harry was still matching the Weasleys), they started exchanging knowing glances, and not as furtively as Draco would have liked. It was obvious they knew what was going on, and Granger must have thought the same, for she glanced at them before staring at Harry from across the room (her eyes drifted to Draco, after that, and stayed more time than necessary, reminding him of McGonagall on the first day of classes).

"Looks like you have a secret admirer, Harry," Longbottom observed, stroking the parrot's feathers with obvious affection.

"Not fair!" Finnigan complained, and turned to Thomas in search of backup. "Harry already has enough admirers to last a lifetime. Where are mine?"

"You don't have any," was Thomas sensible answer.

Finnigan pouted, "Not even you?"

"Would you shut up, Finnigan?" Blaise snorted, rolling his eyes. "We were trying to discuss who lusts after Potter's arse."

That was accompanied by another fit of laughter, courtesy of the Slytherins. Bloody Blaise.

Draco let his hand wander over the chess pieces, a thin veil of compassion the only thing preventing him from hitting his friend with a knight (but just barely).

"No, Blaise, I don't think so," he said, hoping his eyes showed how much of a bastard he thought he was. Harry sighed in apparent relief, no doubt believing Draco was intervening for his sake. "In fact, I think we should end the bloody parrot; it has only ever caused problems."

"Don't ever think about it!" Longbottom warned, the fire in his eyes rendered harmless by the fact that Draco didn't give a damn.

"Aren't you a bit too interested in getting rid of the parrot?" Pansy added, grinning maliciously, before she winked at Harry. "I'd say you're-”

It was a testament of Pansy's luck that Granger interrupted her; if she hadn't, Draco would have been forced to kill her (and despite everything, it'd have been a pity, especially because of the long stay in Azkaban that would have been arranged).

"Besides, Malfoy is wrong," Granger said, "the parrot has only ever been useful. I've been doing some research-"

"Unsurprisingly," someone mumbled.

Granger folded her arms over her chest and glared at nobody in particular, but the whole room felt it directed at them.

"As I was saying... It seems really suspicious that the parrot has never repeated things like 'hello' or 'night', which are words we say a lot and therefore are the easiest to learn. Normal parrots repeat only what they've been taught to, or what they hear often. That lead me to think that this is a special kind of parrot," she gestured at the thing, sitting on its perch and staring at them with... glee?

Longbottom sighed, "His name is Robert, Hermione."

"Ah, sure, Nev," she nodded. "Well, what I'm saying is that the parrot... Robert has probably been charmed by McGonagall to favour interhouse bonding. It would have been much more convenient for it to catch someone badmouthing; Merlin knows there has been a lot of that here. But if you think about it, it has only repeated nice things someone has said about another person... especially if they were from different houses."

"And Robert does have a flair for the dramatics!" a Hufflepuff exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "He always waits until the room is quiet and there's the biggest number of people in it to say something."

Draco wasn't looking at him (not directly, anyway), so he heard more than saw Harry sighing. He knew it was him, though, because he mumbled under his breath, "Of course it would wait for the whole Eighth year to be here to make an announcement about me."

Without turning his head towards him not to attract the attention of his friends, Draco patted his arm, half smiling. "Tough luck, yours."

He shouldn't have been naive enough to believe the Slytherins had forgotten about his slip up.

Pansy frowned, giving a few steps forward, and said warily, "Wait, Granger-"

"Hermione," she insisted, beaming at her.

"Alright," Pansy accepted, wide eyed. "Hermione, are implying that McGonagall wanted the parrot to let us all know what Draco thinks about Potter's arse?"

He didn't see anything odd in the question, at first, but it might have been because he was distracted by his own pathetic thoughts (Harry, Harry, Harry), since hadn't pulled his hand away from Harry's arm. He did, though, so fast one would have thought his skin burned, when people started to slowly realize the meaning of Pansy's words and the shock showed in their faces.

Draco would have killed her for real, hadn't he been paralyzed by astonishment. Shame came next, after everybody in the room turned to stare at him, mouths hanging open.

Harry was gripping the table edge so hard his knuckles were turning white, probably to prevent himself from punching him (Draco couldn't blame him, not really), and he was the paler he'd seen him.

"That's... that's preposterous!" Draco cried out, but he knew he was stuttering and his face was raging red; nobody would believe a word. He felt like he could cry. "I... I..."

"I'm not surprised," Thomas informed the room, shrugging.

It was as if he'd broken a dam.

Everybody began talking about it, most gathering in small groups to gossip; some comments were loud enough to reach Draco's ears, but he didn't want to linger on them.

"Ron will have a seizure," Granger whispered, suddenly so close that he didn't have to strain himself to hear her. Then she cleared her throat and said, much louder, "No, Pansy, I don't think that was McGonagall's intention. It's more like... a side benefit."

The two witches who had just ruined Draco's life looked at him, tentative smiles on their faces, and it was all too cruel.

He got up so fast that he knocked off the chair, and bolted out of the room.

It wasn't curfew yet, but the corridors around the Eighth year's common room were empty, leaving Draco to boil in his stew of misery.

Of all the things that could have ruined his friendship with Harry (and there were a lot, he'd been counting them), it would be the one he'd always thought he could avoid. He was a master hiding his emotions, after all, it shouldn't have been a problem to prevent Harry from discovering just how much he appreciated him.

Before, he had compared himself with a First year crushing on the Chosen One, but now he understood there was no comparison possible: he was way more piteous. At least First years were excused by their age when, in their naivety, they believed they would be happy forever after. Draco had begun dreaming too soon, imagining years of companionship with Harry and an arranged marriage with a pureblood with green eyes and wild hair, so he wouldn't feel like he was betraying someone when he touched her.

He should have known better. At least his so called friends had taken the hint and leave him alone to sulk... for a while.

Because life was awful to Draco, it conceded him barely five minutes of blessed silence and solitude before sending someone to annoy him further.

Draco didn't bother to turn around, already hearing the weak apologies in his mind.

"Haven't you done enough, Pansy?" he said in a low, resigned voice. "You'd do better rescuing Greg from the Ravenclaws. Lovegood has had him for a while, I'd say her time is up."

"Ehm... I'm not Pansy," someone cleared their throat, and Draco recognized him in an instant.

His heart seemed to stop for a moment. He spun on his heels, but took a step backwards, his eyes never leaving Harry's face; he was adjusting his glasses with one hand in a nervous gesture, while the other was deep in his pocket.

Searching for his wand, probably.

"Definitely not Pansy," Draco scowled, channelling his inner Lucius, "but just as unwelcome."

Harry narrowed his eyes and, oddly, looked vaguely hurt.

"Excuse me," he snorted, "should I go back to the common room so you can stare at my arse as I walk away?"

"...Uh." Draco wasn't sure if his face was still red or had taken a greenish tinge instead, but either way, it surely didn't have a natural colour.

Before he could find any retort that was sufficiently hurtful to compensate his abashment, though, Harry flushed crimson and shook his head violently.

"Shite, I'm sorry," he stammered, "I'm sorry, that was... horrible. You just caught me off guard."

Draco swallowed, looking away.

"You're not the one who has just been publicly shamed, Potter," he said, as mildly as he could, and prayed to Merlin his voice hadn't trembled as much as he thought.

The crack on the wall in front of him was very interesting, definitely more than Harry's stupidly bright eyes, so he had a good excuse to ignore him. A pity he was still hyper aware of every move and sound he made.

In that very moment, he could feel him stepping forward, getting closer, closer... bloody hell, so close their magic fizzled in the space that separated them, as if urging them to close it. It might have been wishful thinking, but Draco couldn't be sure; their magic was pretty compatible, maybe it wanted them to hook up more than him and Pansy together.

"I'm back to Potter, then?" Harry suddenly asked, and Draco just knew he was frowning, he could hear it in his voice.

"It's all for the better, I figured."

There was a pause. Draco waited for him to catch up, accept his statement, and go back to his friends.

"Hermione's been bugging me for weeks, saying it was obvious you were... in love with me," he said, instead, hesitant.

Draco sighed, his index finger tracing the crack on the wall and his eyes following the movement. "Good for her."

Harry's irritation was almost palpable, and Draco couldn't help giving himself a mental pat on the back; he hadn't lost his ability to be a complete git, and rubbing Harry the wrong way was still one of his favourite hobbies.

"You're doing this on purpose," he accused him, voice thick with annoyance.

"Riling you up? Of course I am. That's what we always do, isn't it?"

"Not lately, not since we became friends. Especially not now that you..."

"Now that I what, Potter?" Draco snapped, letting his hand fall from the wall and leaving aside all pretence. He glared at him, oddly pleased with himself when Harry almost backed away. "Now that I like your arse? Because there's nothing else there, trust me," he gestured wildly, his self-control gone. "I know your ego might shrink if you don't fill your share of people who are madly in love with you, but that's a risk you'd-"

"Merlin, Draco, shut up!" Harry yelled, gripping his wrists. "Can't you ever make something easy, for once?"

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" he hissed. Any attempt of wriggling out of Harry's grip was short lived, as he was focused on making him feel like shit (just like himself). "You'd love me following you around like Greg does with Lovegood, begging for the scraps of your attention-"

"You wouldn't need to beg." Draco stopped talking and blinked, startled. Harry was flushed once again, but it didn't look like anger or shame anymore. "You wouldn't need to beg," he repeated in a firmer tone, eyes locked in his, "I'd give it all to you. I've always had, even when I didn't know why. Maybe a part of me did know, but I chose to ignore it. But the war is over, now, I don't have to-"

Draco snorted, shaking his head. "Potter. Harry. I don't understand a word you're saying and my wrists kinda hurt, so if you could be so kind to release me..."

Harry opened his mouth, closed it again, hesitated, and finally mumbled with a small smile, "I will. In a moment."

Then he kissed him.

His first instinct might or might have not been kicking Harry's groin, but that was only the surreality of the situation catching up to him.

There were warm lips against his in a gentle pressure, and Draco couldn't quite believe whose they were; he'd forgotten how it felt when you got what you wanted, and he'd never wanted anything else with such passion.

He was so lost in his astonishment that he almost didn't notice Harry pulling away from him, but he did, and he couldn't allow it, just couldn't, or either they'd never talk about it again (Draco knew himself well enough to be certain) and he'd die slowly and painfully, day by day, because of his own stupidity. His hands looked blindly for something to grip on, and Harry, with a stricken face, released his wrists.

Before he could step away, though, Draco's hands shot forward and tangled on his hair (it wasn't as if it could get any messier, after all).

He had to pull the strands towards him with a bit of strength before Harry's eyes brightened. His expression was one of wonder, and Draco's throat closed up at the sight, so the only way he had to make him see was to pull at his hair harder until Harry got the hint and leant forward.

Their lips were pressed together again, and it was glorious.

Harry's arms wrapped around his middle, nails digging on his skin, and he pressed Draco against him so tightly that it was difficult to breathe, and when he did, their chests were crushed together in an almost painful way; Draco had the feeling their ribs would break, but couldn't find it in himself to care.

There was too much heat, everywhere: their bodies in alignment, a warm feeling pooling in his stomach, hot trails on his cheeks that Draco refused to believe were tears.

He licked the inside of Harry's mouth when he parted his lips, unravelling at the same time Harry melted against him, and suddenly what they did wasn't kissing anymore: it was mouths wide open and devouring each other, it was years of building up exploding in an spectacular display of desperation, it was fierce and messy and tasted like salt (bloody hell, he had been crying after all).

That long, seemingly endless kiss turned sweet again, just for a while, before slowing down, lingering an instant, and stopping completely.

Draco refused to open his eyes, no matter how many butterfly kisses Harry left on the corners of his lips, and soon heard him laughing quietly.

"You're just being stubborn now," he complained, as Draco let his hands fall from his hair to his shoulders.

"Don't talk," Draco said in response, voice quiet and softer than he thought he'd ever be able to utter. "You always fuck it up when you speak. And now that I've seen what you can do with your mouth, I'll be much more disappointed if you use it to say something stupid."

Harry chuckled, easing up his hold on him. "Look at me, Draco."

He did, Merlin knew why, and met Harry's eyes. They were greener than ever and also kind of blurry, which gave Draco great relief, because it meant he might have not been the only one who had turned into a Hufflepuff.

"Fucking finally," he breathed, tension leaving his body.

"That's my line," Harry huffed.

Draco shook his head, knees suddenly weak and wobbly. "Trust me, it's not."

You have no idea.

"Well..." he hummed, smiling. "I guess my arse is not the only thing about me that you like."

"No, I guess it's not," Draco admitted, smiling back. "Although you do have a damn fine arse."

Harry stared at him, a brow raised in surprise, and burst out laughing; it was throaty, quiet, just for him. Draco loved it.

"I like your arse, too," Harry said after a while, thoughtful, and the way he looked at him then made Draco's chest tighten. "But I like a lot of things about you."

That was when Draco pounced on him to kiss him again, the door of the common room swung open, and Pansy screamed in joy.

He was so lost in the kiss that he didn't even hear the Eighth years hooting behind her.

"Don't you even know how to button up a coat?" Draco snorted, pulling Harry towards him by the lapels.

"I do, and I have!" he replied, indignant.

Draco looked at him from head to toe, taking in the silly knit hat, the Gryffindor scarf, and the general state of disarray of the idiot he was regretfully involved with; the coat was buttoned up in a messy way, and it seemed no button was in the right place.

He raised a brow. "You're useless, Potter."

Harry smiled gingerly, admitting defeat. "That's why I have you."

"If you only needed me for that, you ridiculous human being," he mumbled, focused on fixing the buttons, "you'd have stuck with Ginevra Weasley. Surely she can do as much."

"Not as well as you, treacle tart."

The grin in Harry's face was so smug that Draco didn't know whatever kiss him or punch him. He glared at him, just in case, and hissed threateningly, "You survived The Dark Lord, Potter, don't make me be the one who kills you."

"Would you two stop bantering?" Pansy sighed as she walked out of the common room, Granger by her side; both of them dragged their trunks behind them. "We all know it only ever leads to more snogging, and in case you have forgotten, we have to go."

Granger took in the scene and folded her arms over her chest, looking stern. She directed most of her power of persuasion to Harry, but that didn't mean Draco didn't feel it too.

Truly, that witch was fearful. It was no wonder she'd befriended Pansy; they were the only ones who could keep up with each other's levels of wickedness.

Draco shivered slightly and stepped away, once he checked Harry didn't look like a tramp anymore, forcing himself to keep a certain distance despite the puppy eyes Harry was making at him.

"Harry," Granger huffed, exchanging a quick glance with Pansy. "We're not going to stay in Hogwarts for Christmas because you started early with your goodbyes. We're not even in the train yet, for all the gods, and you haven't been a second apart in a month and a half. I think you'll survive."

"I agree," Weasley piped up, suddenly appearing behind Granger. He grimaced, glancing at them, "And on another note, you've unsettled my stomach."

"Excuse you, Ron, how do you think I feel when I catch you and 'Mione snogging?"

Draco made a gagging noise, pretending to be more annoyed than he really was. After all, Weasley was raging red and looked about to die of embarrassment; it wasn't a bad deal.

"Harry, honestly, do you want me to kill you?"

"You can fight later!" Pansy insisted, scowling, and pushed Harry and him forward with a hand on each of their backs. "Blaise and Greg aren't the best ones to trust with keeping seats; they just can't work together. Especially now that Blaise is all over that girl in Seventh year and the only thing Greg can focus on is Luna Lovegood."

"We know how to walk, Pans," Draco rolled his eyes, stepping away from her hand.

"Shut up, dear," she said, unfazed. "Hermione, can you Levitate our trunks?"

"Ron will help me," Granger nodded, to her boyfriend's obvious displeasure.

However, since Weasley was pants at Levitation charms, soon Draco had to take matters into his own hands, roping Harry into helping him.

Together with Granger, they managed to get out of the castle without losing anything (Draco might have hit a Ravenclaw with one of the trunks, but really, he was a jerk anyway), Weasley on their tail. Pansy was in charge of tracking their friends down, a task she'd also gotten the past seven years, so it was no wonder she found Blaise and Greg's compartment in less than five minutes.

Nobody was surprised in the slightest when Draco claimed the seat next to Harry's, sprawling on the bench and resting most of his weight on Harry's side.

Nobody was surprised, but they were a little cross, since that forced them to share a bench that was a bit too uncomfortable for five people.

Regrettably, Draco had to sit up properly (although still very close to Harry) when the compartment started to get crowded and it got obvious that his friends didn't love him enough to let him travel like he wanted.

First came Luna Lovegood, who forced them to change the seating arrangement so she could sit next to Greg. Then came Neville Longbottom, looking heartbroken since McGonagall had insisted he could not take Robert the parrot to his home, thank you very much, mister Longbottom.

At some point, when Thomas and Finnigan joined them briefly, accompanied by Macmillan, Draco found himself sharing compartment with six Gryffindors, three Slytherins, a Ravenclaw, and a Hufflepuff.

It was more than he could stand.

With Pansy's help, he sent most of them on their way to other compartments or, alternatively, the food trolley, until he reached an acceptable number of people sharing his space... which happened to be the moment Harry chose to chide him for chasing his friends away, but that wasn't anything else but a coincidence, of course.

On the whole, the train ride was... interesting, at the very least. He even managed to convince Harry to snog in the bathrooms for a bit.

Compared to it, the parting was mild, but with more snogging, which was always a plus.

"Merlin's frilly knickers, knock it off!" Blaise yelled, not for first time.

Draco pulled away from Harry, his breathing still ragged, and glared at his friend. "Honestly, Blaise, you knock it off, you're ruining our fun!"

"Well, pardon us for not wanting to see you snogging! Again!" Weasley groaned. He looked at Granger, as if looking for backup, and then glanced at them. "Harry, mate, Mom's going to be here in a minute. Do you really want her to see this?" he asked, gesturing at them.

"Ron, he's not going to lie to Molly and tell her he's dating Ginny, or whatever it is what you've been thinking," Granger warned sternly, and Draco liked her just a little bit more because of it.

"I'm not asking him to lie, 'Mione!" Weasley said, turning his begging eyes at her. "I just want him to stop snogging Malfoy in front of me! Is it too much to ask?" he whined. "Is it?! You know I've been a good friend, overall. Maybe a few slip ups, but who hasn't...?"

"Ron, shut up," Harry gave a deep suffering sigh, which was all drama. For once, Draco was in complete agreement. "No more snogging today, I promise."

Weasley let out a breath, so relived Draco almost felt bad for always being more affectionate with Harry while he was near on purpose, because of course he'd been doing it to spite him; he was a Slytherin, after all.

Although he felt enough pity for Weasley to wait until Granger dragged him away to say goodbye to Longbottom, and then waited some more, to leave Pansy and Blaise time to go to find Greg and Lovegood.

When they were all gone (bloody finally), he turned back to Harry and winced dramatically.

"Don't tell me your 'no snogging' rule is in force. It'll better have been a filthy little lie to get our friends off our backs."

Harry beamed at him with that twinkle in his eyes that Draco had learnt to recognize as a sign of mischief.

"Oh, it wasn't a lie, but that rule isn't in full force until we part."

And then he proceeded to prove it by kissing him senseless for several minutes, until their friends came back and yelled at them.

"Harry!" Granger said, exasperated. "We can't leave you two alone even for a second, can we?"

"We all know the answer to that, Hermione," Pansy snorted, getting noises of agreement from both Blaise and Weasley. "Well, Draco, I hope you've finished your snogging session, because we've just seen your Mother on our way here. She'll be here in a moment."

Draco was certain his face mirrored Harry's disappointment.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" he asked him, offering him his most tempting smile.

"Is your Father there?"

"You know he is," he replied, narrowing his eyes. “He came back last week.”

"Well, then I'm positive."

He heard someone snickering behind him, probably Weasley or Blaise, but he didn't bother turning around.

"As you wish," he huffed, and tried to step back, only to be retained by two hands sneaking in the pockets of his coat and pulling him forward.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Harry said, beaming.

Draco raised a brow. "How many Weasleys are there, again?"

It was a pity, how Harry's face fell at that, but his pouty expression wasn't too bad either.

"Forget it."

"Don't sulk, Harry," Weasley butted in, patting his friend's back. "He's just afraid I'll win at chess if he comes to the Burrow."

"Afraid is not the word, but I agree you'd have advantage there, since I'm certain your chess set is charmed."

"It's not! Tell him, Harry!"

Granger stepped between them, looking as annoyed as always when Draco managed to push her boyfriend's buttons (not that it was his fault, it was just too bloody easy). This time, however, she was fighting to hide a smile.

Maybe that was why he didn't say anything when she chided, "Ron, don't be a child. Draco has to go and finish saying goodbye to Harry, if he may."

He even grinned at her, choosing to ignore her use of his first name (Weasley didn't, as his sharp intake of breath made apparent).

"Thank you, Grang- Hermione." Another dying noise from Weasley. He could get used to it. "Sweetheart?" he called, turning his head to Harry.

This time Weasley seemed to be choking on his own spit. Granger even had to use Blaise's help to reanimate him.

"Draco?" Harry called back, smirking, but clearly against being the cause of his best friend's death. A pity, really.

Before Draco could say anything, though, he took his hands out of his pockets with a startled look, something clenched in his left hand. Draco immediately recognized what it was and paled (or maybe he blushed, because his face was burning).

"That's mine," he was quick to say, snatching back the Gryffindor tie.

"No, I don't think so," Harry replied, looking deeply amused. "Actually, I'd swear it's mine."

And yet he didn't attempt to get it back, which was an obvious victory in Draco's book.

He was busy wondering how he could get the upper hand, and probably feign that moment had never happened, when he saw his Mother's easily recognizable hair among the crowd.

She was approaching them swiftly, giving him a perfect chance to sneak away.

And sneak away he did.

He stole a quick kiss, leaving Harry dumbstruck, and beamed at their friends with as much innocence as he was able to. Then he cried out a "Happy Christmas! I'll owl you all", and bolted away.

He still had time to catch a glimpse of them before losing them in the crowd, and he felt warm all over when he noticed they were all smiling.

His Mother found him a second after.

She'd later tell him that she'd known something was up even before he told her, because he'd been grinning like a fool. He refused to believe her, though, throwing such a tantrum at the dinner table that she forbade him from having dessert, as if he were a child.

Draco forgave her, but only because she hadn't said anything when, after Apparating to the Manor, he had ignored her in favour of staring at nowhere, lost in thoughts of green eyes and kisses that made his chest hurt.

The Gryffindor tie was still tightly clutched in his hand.