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Draco glances around the corner, cursing to himself.
As one of Umbridge’s “inquisitors” or whatever, he has far more leeway than other students. However, he doesn’t want to get caught right now. Technically he is allowed out past curfew, but considering he’s not wearing his badge nor with an assigned partner, he will be asked to explain himself.
And Draco… doesn’t have any answers he’s willing to give Umbridge and her ilk.
The enchanted mirror in his pocket seems to burn, though Draco knows that’s only his imagination. He hurries down the corridors—as quiet as can be—listening carefully for Potter and his cronies.
He needs to find them, and he needs to do it now before they get their stupid short-sighted Gryffindor selves in way over their heads.
Potter may think he’s an adult and nigh on unstoppable, but Draco knows they’re all still children. Draco’s doing his bit, but only within the realms of his capabilities. He’s not trying to go toe-to-toe with the bloody Dark Lord. Potter truly is an idiot.
“Point me Harry Potter,” he whispers, and watches as his wand spins in his hand. Noting the direction, he sets off again.
The farther he runs, the closer he seems to be getting to the outside.
Potter and his pals haven’t wasted any time being reckless, have they?
He turns a corner and hears the echo of running footsteps.
Excellent.
Harry’s heart is pounding in his chest as he runs down the halls.
He has to get to the Ministry, he has to save Sirius.
He can’t lose him too.
Something shoots past them, Harry hears his friends scream, and something hits him in the back. His head spins, he staggers, and then he’s yanked to the side. He slams into a wall, his head cracking against it harshly—making the spinning and disorientation even worse.
“Fuck!” he shouts, just before a hand slaps over it, and a body presses into Harry, pinning him.
His head aches, and the first thing he notices is the scent of lavender.
He forces his eyes open to find his vision swimming. He can barely make out the face of someone with pale skin and hair before he involuntarily closes them again. Fuck.
“Shut up, idiot,” an awfully familiar voice hisses.
It can’t be…
Harry blinks furiously, trying to get his swimming vision under control, until he’s finally faced with the truth that it is, in fact, Draco Malfoy who’s using his entire body to push Harry against the wall. Harry has never seen Malfoy’s face this close before—holy shit he can even see individual lashes around Malfoy’s pale grey eyes—and his hand definitely smells like lavender.
“Harry?!”
“Where did you go?!”
“Harry!”
At the sound of his friends yelling for him, Harry starts to struggle, but it just causes Malfoy to press his body closer and his hand harder against Harry’s mouth. He should be able to throw Malfoy off, because if there's something that’s abundantly clear to Harry right now, it’s that somehow he weighs more than Malfoy does, because Malfoy is super skinny.
“I bloody hexed you, Potter, don’t think you’re getting away from me that easily.”
Of course he did, the slimy git, Harry thinks furiously. No wonder he felt so dizzy before. It’s just like Malfoy to be underhanded and hex someone in the back like this.
He tries to shout for his friends, but it all comes out muffled by Malfoy’s soft hand.
"Oh shut up, Potter," Malfoy hisses again. "I need you to not be a blithering idiot running away to get killed for a second, okay?"
Harry stares at him in disbelief. What the hell does Malfoy think he’s playing at? As if Harry’s just going to stay still and do nothing when Sirius…
Malfoy’s probably a bloody spy for Voldemort! That’s why he’s trying to stop Harry from making it to the Ministry in time to save Sirius!
Harry doubles his efforts to get free. He feels his own magic start to surge in an attempt to throw Malfoy’s hex off.
Malfoy’s face pales and his eyes grow wide just as Harry’s magic slams out from his body, forcing the hex to disperse and pushing Malfoy backwards, sending him stumbling. Quick as a striking snake, Harry catches Malfoy by the wrist and reverses their positions.
He snatches Malfoy’s wand out of his hand and throws it across the room before he grabs his wrist and slams both of them into the wall by his head.
“Listen, Malfoy. I don’t have time for your slimy distractions! I have somewhere I need to be!” he snarls in Malfoy’s face.
Malfoy lets out a small gurgle and starts to twist and turn in Harry’s grasp, trying in vain to free himself. Harry, who still thinks of himself as a small and scrawny eleven year-old, can’t quite believe that he’s broader and stronger than Malfoy, that Harry’s got the physical upper hand over someone else.
Finally Malfoy relents, panting harshly from exertion and glaring at Harry.
“What’s that then, Potter?” Malfoy says and sneers through his panting. “Going to the Ministry of Magic to get you and your friends killed in a mad attempt at a doomed rescue mission based on a lie, huh? That’s what you’re so busy with, huh?”
Harry feels like his chest freezes to ice in utter disbelief. How does Malfoy know that they were heading to the Ministry of Magic to rescue someone? And why does he think it’s doomed?
… And why is he saying it’s based on a lie?
“What the hell are you playing at, Malfoy?” Harry’s heart is beating so hard in his chest it seems to hurt.
He’s so focused on Malfoy he doesn’t even hear the footsteps until the door to whatever room they’re in is ripped open.
“Harry!” Ron’s voice echoes to the room, filled with relief.
It breaks Harry out of his focus, and he backs off from Malfoy just slightly—he hadn't even realised how closely pressed together they were until now that he’s moved away—though he doesn’t release him.
“Ron! Malfoy’s…”
“Malfoy?” Hermione’s voice cuts in. “What’s he doing here?”
“He hexed me, but he… He knows what we’re doing somehow.” Harry doesn’t take his eyes off Malfoy who has turned his face away and now sticks his nose in the air, the absolute posh prat.
“What? How!?” Ron steps closer. “Answer, or I’ll hex you, Malfoy.”
Malfoy turns back to Harry, then, face thunderous.
“Did you happen to know, Potter, that my mother’s maiden name is Black?” He sneers. “And by that I mean, you blithering buffoon, that she’s Sirius Black’s cousin.”
Harry feels so thrown by that he doesn’t even care about the insult.
“What? So?” Harry doesn’t give a shit about Malfoy and his pureblood lineage.
Malfoy rolls his eyes. "So, Potter... Someone who owes loyalty to the House of Black, say, a house elf, may, just may, come to my mother to share information they have not been explicitly told to keep secret from another person from the Black line."
Harry feels cold. Kreacher.
"He said—!"
"He owes you nothing, Potter!" Malfoy actually shouts. "He could lie to you until he's blue in the face with no consequence unless it's against the rules given to him!"
Harry flinches backwards slightly, though not enough to dislodge his grip on Malfoy’s wrists. He hadn’t even thought that Kreacher could lie to him, he can’t lie to Sirius after all and…
“He lied?” Harry can feel traitorous hope build in his chest. If Kreacher lied, then… “I don’t believe you.”
It’s something Malfoy would lie about. Why wouldn’t he? He’s probably here to make sure that Harry doesn’t make it to the Ministry in time to save Sirius. Maybe Harry should just hex the bastard and keep going.
“You are so bloody lucky Kreacher went running to my mother to tell her all about how he tricked you, rather than to my very-much-insane aunt.” Malfoy’s face twists into a deeper sneer. “If you go to the Ministry, you’ll play right into You-Know-Who’s hands.”
Ron snorts loudly then.
“What a convenient explanation, Malfoy. How do you even know about it? No way would an owl make it all the way here from Wiltshire in the time it’s been since Harry spoke to Kreacher. And we just used the only Floo available in the whole damn castle.”
And that’s… that’s a really good point.
“If you think that the only way to contact someone is through the use of a Floo or an owl, Weasley, then it’s clearly not just money your family lacks!” There’s the stupid posh arsehole Malfoy has always been peeking out again, hurling insults at Ron as always. If Harry had thought for even a second that maybe Malfoy was actually out to help them, here’s the solid proof he was delusional to even consider it.
“What did you say?!” Ron roars.
“Ron! Not now!” Hermione cries.
Despite the struggle he hears behind him, Harry doesn’t turn his attention away from Malfoy. Malfoy whose pale cheeks are gaining blotchy red colour and whose eyes look like they would shoot curses at him if they could.
Harry yanks Malfoy forward and slams him back into the wall, taking pleasure in the way his head bounces off the wall and the squeak of pain he lets out.
“Stop beating around the bush, Malfoy.” Harry pushes himself further into Malfoy’s personal space to throw him off kilter, to intimidate him.
It’s Malfoy’s own fault they’re in this situation anyway!
“Who’s beating any bushes? You’re mad, Potter!”
Harry snarls. “Just spit it out! Stop wasting my time! Talk, Malfoy!” Every second they waste is a second longer that Sirius is in danger and might die.
“I have an enchanted mirror, alright!” Malfoy yells, twisting in Harry’s grasp. “As if my parents would send me off here when You-Know-Who is loose without the ability to contact them instantly!”
“Enchanted mirror…?” Harry murmurs, and the thought strikes him like lightning from clear skies.
He gasps.
“The mirror!”
He releases Malfoy instantly and turns around to his friends.
On Ron and Hermione’s faces he sees dawning comprehension. They’re remembering the mirror Sirius gave him just now too.
“How could we have forgotten?” Hermione cries, wringing her hands.
“Is it still in your bag, Harry?” Ron’s face is still red with anger, but it's set in an expression of grim determination now.
“It’s in my suitcase in my room. Let’s go!” Harry whirls around to face the door, ready sprint back to Gryffindor tower.
A small snort escapes Malfoy, and Harry is reminded of his existence. For a brief moment he considers leaving Malfoy behind, but he can’t. He can’t trust him.
“Hey! Let me go, you brute!” Malfoy screams as Harry grabs his wrist and drags him along, forcing him to run with the rest of them back to the tower.
They don’t run into any teacher or Filch—or worse, Umbridge—on the way back through sheer luck, considering the constant barrages of angry demands Malfoy is yelling at him, increasingly out of breath, as they run to grab Sirius’s mirror.
“Leaping toadstools!” Hermione yells at the Fat Lady as they near the portrait.
“Why, goodness me! You shouldn’t even be out at this time!” the portrait huffs, but swings open to reveal the common room.
Harry drags Malfoy inside. “Make sure he doesn’t leave!” he shouts as he runs up to their sleeping quarters, leaving Malfoy in the common room with Hermione and Ron.
He falls to his knees by his trunk and starts to dig through it.
When he finally finds the mirror, he nearly drops it in his haste, but catches it at the last second.
Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been happier about his Seeker reflexes in his life. He had promised he wouldn’t ever use this mirror, but it’s his only choice now. Because if Malfoy is telling the truth...
“Sirius Black,” he whispers to the mirror, and waits.
When Sirius’s face appears in the mirror, unharmed and smiling, Harry nearly cries.
“Harry! I was beginning to think you’d never use the mirror!” Sirius laughs and then tilts the mirror. “Say hi to Buckbeak, why don’t you!”
Harry stares at the Hippogriff as it squawks a greeting, and swallows harshly.
Kreacher lied.
Malfoy told the truth.
Sirius's face returns in the mirror, but he’s frowning now. “Harry? Are you alright?”
Harry staggers to his feet, and carries the mirror with him as he heads back to the common room.
“I… I was…” he stumbles over his words.
Sirius is okay. He’s in Grimmauld Place with Buckbeak. Kreacher lied.
That means… That means Voldemort got into Harry’s head again. And nearly…
If Malfoy hadn’t…
When he reaches the common room, he looks at Malfoy standing there as if he’s never seen him before.
Part of Harry wonders if that might not actually be true.
Perhaps he hasn’t ever really seen Malfoy before in his life, not properly.
Draco looks around the Gryffindor common room and stiffly refuses to shift from foot to foot. He cannot show any weakness right now, not surrounded by Gryffindors in their own territory.
It looks just about how Draco expected it to. Red and wood and fires and rugs and sofas. Comfortable and quaint, with none of the elegance of the Slytherin common room.
Longbottom and the Weaslette are giving him uncomfortably intent glances, but Granger and Weasel are muttering something between themselves. Loony Lovegood is humming to herself and seemingly not paying attention to just about anyone else in the room. She’s a bloody Ravenclaw, so Draco has no idea what she was doing with Potter and his group. Aren’t Ravenclaws supposed to be smart?
Draco really has no idea why Potter decided to drag him along, and he wishes he could just leave now. He needs to contact his father as quickly as possible to let him know that he’s caught Potter and stopped him from doing something stupid and foolhardy.
Potter comes stumbling down the stairs then, holding something in his hands.
“Harry?” Granger immediately says, eyes wide and hopeful.
Draco’s aware that these people have no idea how much he’s been helping them over the past months, but he still finds it quite annoying how they don’t trust a word out of his mouth. Though perhaps that is his own fault all things considered.
Potter swallows. “He’s safe,” he says, still staring at whatever he’s holding.
Weasel lets out an explosive breath.
“Harry? Who’s safe?” A voice comes from whatever Potter is holding. Older, definitely an adult. Likely to be Sirius Black, then.
“You,” Potter says, and shivers. “I… I had a vision and…”
“So you’re not planning on continuing your mad rampage and head to the Ministry anymore, yes?” Draco cuts in, absolutely done with this whole situation. He needs to talk to his father!
“We can’t talk here,” Weaslette says. “Let’s go to… to… to the Room of Requirement?” She winces.
“Umbridge nearly busted us there, we only got away because of that Patronus warning us… but I don’t think we should have this conversation in the middle of the common room either…” Ron mutters.
Draco rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome for not getting caught, and may I suggest maybe using your Prefect privileges—though I still have no idea how you of all people got that honour—and lock yourself in a Prefect bathroom. They’re certainly large enough, and I doubt Umbridge will go busting into one of those.” Draco brushes imaginary dust off his robes. “If you’ll excuse me, I will take my leave now.”
“Nope,” Weasel says, and rudely grabs Draco by the upper arm. “You’re coming with us. And don’t think I didn’t hear that little crack about us being welcome about not being caught. I have questions, Malfoy.”
Draco sneers. “And who says I’m going to answer them? Now release me!”
Weasel, clearly illustrating his lack of upbringing, doesn’t answer and just proceeds to drag Draco along to the nearest Prefect bathroom. Draco complains the entire way there, though in a hushed tone because part of the Inquisitor Squad or not, he would really rather not get caught after curfew with this rabble.
The door closes behind Loony—who's the last person in, though Draco has no idea why she's bringing up the rear—and she locks it with a swift flick of her wand.
"Now..." Weasel begins, but gets interrupted by Potter talking to the thing in his hands.
"I had a vision, I thought... I thought you were in the Department of Mysteries. I thought Voldemort had you and..." He rushes through the words, and only trails off when he seems to choke on them.
Draco doesn't say anything, because he can only imagine he wouldn't be too happy himself if it had been his mother or his father in this particular situation. Feh, he doesn't really enjoy empathising with Potter of all people.
"Oh Harry," says a voice from Potter's hands. "I'm glad you used the mirror to contact me. I'm just fine, just me and Buckbeak here for now. Though I think Remus will be stopping by tomorrow."
"I nearly didn't!" Potter croaks. "I tried to Floo, but Kreacher answered and he... he lied, Sirius! He said you weren't home!"
Merlin, is Potter crying? In front of all of them?
Draco presses his lips together. Emotions are for behind closed doors where no one can judge you! Bloody Gryffindors.
“He…? Blasted creature! I need to go fi—!”
“No!” Draco yells the words before he can stop himself. Kreacher needs to stay with his mother, he can’t know he’s been found out! “Stop! Don’t!”
“Who’s that? Harry? Is there someone else there?” Sirius Black’s voice sounds deep with suspicion.
“It’s… it’s Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” Potter draws in a deep shuddering breath, and then he turns around and holds up a mirror. In it, Draco can see a shaggy looking man, but he seems vaguely familiar. He resembles Bellatrix a bit, though Draco can also see some of his mother in him, despite their different colouring. Potter continues, “He’s the one who stopped me. Who… He says Kreacher went to his mother? Narcissa Malfoy?”
“What the—? Well well well… So the blasted thing decided to skirt the rules, huh. Went to see Cousin Cissy. I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so pissed off.” Black gives Draco a glare—Draco thinks at least, it’s hard to tell through the mirror. “So?”
Draco snarls. “I need to tell my parents that Potter isn’t going to go running off to the Ministry, so they can bring the house elf to the—to You-Know-Who.”
“A little spy, huh?” Black snorts. “Sounds a bit like old Luscious Lucius, that. Always looking to get ahead.”
“Oh please!” Draco feels genuinely affronted for his father’s sake, and resolutely ignores the loud guffaws he hears at Black’s little name-calling. “If we’d wanted to get ahead with Him, all we’d needed to do was not warn Potter and then tell him the news. He wants Potter to go to the Ministry after all. He planted the damn vision in the first place. I don’t understand how you’re all so stupid and blind!”
“So, what’s the hurry then? If you’re trying to help?” Black doesn’t seem the least bit moved.
“Because the house elf can’t suspect anything! Mother is distracting him, but I don’t know how much longer she can! Any longer and he might go to bloody Aunt Bellatrix, and then we’re all in trouble!”
Draco’s heart is hammering in his chest. He just wants his parents to be okay. He just wants them to be safe.
“What do you think, Harry?” Longbottom says then. “I don’t think he’s lying, despite it all.”
There’s a brief silence as the others look at each other. The mirror in Draco’s pocked still seems to burn.
“Fine. Harry, let him contact his father, but make him do it here.”
Potter nods, and Draco wastes no time.
He pulls the compact mirror out of his robe pocket and opens it.
“Father,” he whispers to it, and could cry when his father’s face immediately appears, no worse for wear.
“Draco! Are you alright? How did it go? Did you manage to stop the damn boy from doing something foolish?” Father’s voice comes through strong, but Draco can see the worry on his face.
“Yes! He—he had a bloody two-way mirror too. He just forgot about it like some sort of moron!” Draco’s not going to mince his words. He doesn’t care if Potter and his lot gets offended. “You can… you can tell Mother it’s okay. Potter’s not going to run off to the Department of Mysteries.”
Father sighs in relief. “Excellent.”
“If it isn’t Luscious Lucius, huh,” Black says suddenly, voice loud and mocking. “How’s the years treated you, Lucy? Must’ve been nice to skip out on the whole Azkaban deal."
Father's lips curl in the mirror. "Black. How mature. I'm not even going to respond to the insult or clear lack of gratitude for saving your godson's life. Alas, we can't all have manners. Now if you'll excuse me." Father looks Draco in the eyes then, stern but loving. "Be careful, Draco," he says, and then the image in the mirror winks out.
Draco closes his eyes and puts the mirror back in his pocket where it will be safe and there's no risk of him losing it.
"Not sure I like the idea of them running around with Kreacher, but I suppose it's the lesser of two evils right now." Black's voice sounds wry.
Draco is just trying to breathe, just trying to get through this whole ordeal intact, without Umbridge finding out; without his parents being hurt. He doesn't actually care about Black or his opinions at all.
"Harry... Be careful okay?” Black’s voice is soft, but he still sounds determined. “I'll contact Dumbledore, and we'll probably set up some sort of trap for You-Know-Who to make sure that the Ministry can't keep their eyes closed to the reality of his return anymore. Just... stay safe, okay?"
Potter murmurs something in return, but Draco doesn't bother to listen. He's not really interested in what Potter has to say either.
Draco' part here is done, and now he just wants to go to bed and sleep for three months. Well, as soon as he knows his parents have made it out safely, of course.
"Great, with no foolhardy plans to run into You-Know-Who's trap, I'm heading off to bed." Draco brushes some imaginary dust of his robes and starts to turn around so he can head out.
"Not so fast!" Weasley grabs Draco by the bicep again, yanking him backwards. "Still got questions for you, Malfoy."
Draco gives him a nasty smile. "Still not interested in answering, Weasel."
"Tough," Female-Weasley says, "'Cause I don't think Ron's about to let you leave until you do answer his questions."
"And there's more of us than there are of you, Malfoy. By far." Weasley's expression is gleeful, and Draco would quite like to punch it. It may be unrefined, but sometimes it's just worth it.
Father must have thought so when he and Weasley Senior came to blows a few years ago. Though he was horribly embarrassed after the fact, and Mother made fun of him for weeks.
Draco always did love it when Mother made fun of Father like that… He does so now more than ever, due to the grim turn their lives have taken since the Dark Lord decided to make everyone’s lives much worse by coming back.
Ugh, he could have just stayed gone and Draco would have been pleased. The man—if he can even be called that—doesn’t even have any proper and realistic plans to make his goals happen. Draco’s quite certain he’s entirely mad—and quite angry with his father for ever thinking that following him was a good idea. Shared ideology is not enough!
Well, mostly shared ideology, anyway. Father never was the most gung-ho about all the murder, according to himself. He could be lying, Draco supposes, but he’s quite sure Father thinks it’s beneath him to be anyone’s attack dog, so it seems true.
“Hey! Pay attention!” Weasley shakes him by the arm suddenly, pulling Draco out of his thoughts quite rudely.
“Ugh, fine. Ask your questions then, you cretins. I’d like to get back to my dorm room sooner rather than later. The longer we stay out, the greater the risk we get caught.” Draco rips his arm free from Weasel’s grip and crosses them both over his chest. “Umbridge isn’t going to be distracted for too long.”
He’s not pouting though. He wouldn’t do it in front of Gryffindors anyway.
“What did you mean when you said we were ‘welcome’ before?” Granger’s face is turned down into a look of deep suspicion: squinted eyes and pursed mouth.
Draco rolls his eyes. Gryffindors. No matter how intelligent, they’re still dim, apparently.
“Did you lot really think that the Demoiselle Crane Patronus that warned you about Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad coming for your little group manifested out of nowhere?” He raises an eyebrow at them. “Or perhaps you thought Edgecomb sent it as an apology for ratting you out in the first place?”
Potter's eyes narrow. “That was you? You can cast the Patronus Charm?”
“Thanks for that utter disbelief in your tone, Scarhead. But we don’t all need one-on-one classes with a professor or being taught by the Boy Wonder himself to learn how to cast that charm.” Draco tilts his chin up with a small sniff. “Some of us are very skilled with magic and are raised by people who are very skilled with magic.”
“Your parents taught you to cast the Patornus charm?” Potter’s voice is, if possible, filled with even more disbelief now.
“I don’t care what you think about my parents, Potter, but they’re both very accomplished, and they’re more than capable of casting the Patronus charm.” He might be pouting now, but he wouldn’t admit it under torture even.
“I didn’t think Death Eaters could—” Weaslette begins, but Draco cuts her off before she can get any further.
“Don’t call my parents that! Merlin! We’re bloody well risking our necks to keep you ungrateful sods alive and all you come with are insults and accusations,” he sneers at them. “No wonder you’re not exactly gaining allies this time around.”
“I saw your dad at the cemetery when Voldemort rose, Malfoy. He has the bloody Dark Mark!” Potter’s screaming now, and clearly he has no respect for the fact that they’re in a small enclosed space and trying to pass unnoticed.
“So what?” Draco turns his face away. “I don’t care what you think is going on. My parents are just about to go lie to the Dark Lord’s face and then as soon as they can they’re setting the Manor wards for bloody siege and escaping. I don’t care what you think you know about them.”
He huffs slightly. “I can only hope and pray to Circe that my parents chose their secret keeper better than yours did. There are enough orphans in this room.” He looks away then, because he knows that Potter’s parents are a sore spot, but it needs to be said.
They need to understand how much his parents are sacrificing, what big a target they’re painting on their own backs right now.
He takes a small glance at Potter and finds that his face is twisted in a grimace, but he doesn’t exactly look… angry. Draco wonders what that means.
“Right. Sorry,” Potter mutters then.
Draco just shrugs, still not looking at him. “Father told me to make sure I kept on Umbridge’s good side, and to try and make sure you lot don’t get into too much trouble. It’s been a real damn hassle keeping anyone from finding out and I sort of hate you all even more for it. I like to sleep.”
They’re never going appreciate or even understand how much effort it’s take to keep their stupid little heads out of trouble.
“You’ve… What?” Weasel looks gobsmacked.
“I would at least have thought Granger was a bit more subtle than the rest of you, or at least smart enough to make sure no one ratted you out… But I guess not.” He rolls his eyes.
"Hey! I cursed the ledger to make sure—!" she begins to defend herself, of course she does, but Draco cuts her off.
"The Gryffindor way, yes. Vengeance for breaking your trust, not stopping them from doing it in the first place. You really should have reconsidered that as a good idea. Better prevention than vengeance." Draco rolls his eyes. "It was sloppy, Granger, and it got you caught."
"Hey! Leave her alone!" Weasel starts to tower over him, but Draco won't let himself be intimidated.
"Well, I suppose you were doomed from the start, considering your incredibly subtle idea to have a Very Secret Meeting with a lot of students in the Hog's Head." Draco only rolls his eyes. No one ever goes there during the trips to Hogsmead, especially not large groups. "You would've been far less suspicious if you'd just had people come in smaller groups in the Three Broomsticks."
He watches them look at each other and can practically feel the awkward coming off them.
"Well, no one has ever accused you Gryffindors of being subtle, so I'm not really surprised, all things considered." He rolls his shoulders. "Are you done now? Will you let me leave or are you going to grab me again, Weasley?"
"... Fine. You can leave, for now." Granger's face is hard. "But this isn't over, Malfoy. We'll need to talk again later."
Draco just rolls his eyes.
"Fine, whatever. I'm going to bed now and try to sleep." He gives them all one last glare. "Try not to undo all my hard work and get caught now."
He flicks his wand to open the door and sweeps out into the hallway.
Now that he's alone, he has far less to worry about.
Filch doesn’t mess with anyone from the Inquisitorial Squad, and the other teachers have no ability to do anything to him either. As long as he’s not caught with any persona non grata in a way that can be reported to Umbridge, he’s safe.
He makes his way back to the Slytherin common room with no fuss whatsoever.
He changes into his pyjamas swiftly and as he slides in between the sheets he sighs and places the mirror gently beneath his pillow. If Father tries to contact him, he’ll know instantly.
He’s not sure he’ll even manage to fall asleep at all until he knows they’re out safe… But he’ll try.
Harry lies awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling.
He doesn’t think there’s any chance of him actually falling asleep tonight, not when… not when…
He shies away from the thoughts of what he nearly led his friends into, just because he forgot about the two-way mirror. He might have gotten them killed just because he lost his head, because he can’t keep Voldemort out of his thoughts.
He’s tried but… the Occlumency just doesn’t work. It all just seems to get worse, and he can’t… he can’t do it. Not with Snape. And now his inability to learn could have gotten his friends hurt. He nearly dragged them into a fight with Voldemort over nothing, because Sirius didn’t need rescuing. They would have gone there to find nothing… nothing but Death Eaters.
But they’d been saved… by Malfoy.
He still can’t quite believe that Draco Malfoy and more than that Lucius Malfoy went out of their way to help him. Save his life. It just… it doesn’t make sense at all.
And they’d been pressed so close together. It hadn’t really hit Harry at the time, though he had noticed what Malfoy smells like, but now he can’t stop thinking about it. About the feeling of Malfoy’s chest pressed against his own, about the feeling of holding his wrists in his hands…
He thinks back to the light catching in Malfoy’s pale hair and the way his dark lashes had framed his pale eyes.
He remembers the feeling of Malfoy’s hand pressed over his mouth and how soft his skin had been. His nose had been filled with the scent of lavender, and now Harry can only wonder where it came from. People don’t usually smell like lavender, right? It must have been a lotion or something.
Cho doesn’t smell like lavender… He knows that, he’s been close enough to kiss her after all.
That’s as close as he was to Malfoy today.
If either one of them had moved just a bit closer, their lips would have touched. They could have kissed.
Malfoys lips… they looked soft too; soft and pink. Harry wonders if maybe Malfoy uses some sort of lip balm, because they didn’t even look chapped and Harry knows that his lips are, and Ron’s complained about that more than a few times. Not that he really thinks about Ron's lips a lot. Or ever.
Kissing Cho was... not great. Not at all like he imagined it in fourth year, before... before everything. She cried in the middle of it and that hadn't exactly felt great for Harry in any way.
He wonders what it would feel like to kiss Malfoy.
Malfoy definitely wouldn't cry, not unless something happens to his parents.
Harry doesn't think he cares about Malfoy's parents. He's hated Lucius Malfoy for years after all, but... They saved Harry and his friends now, didn't they? Of course, Sirius might contact Harry through the mirror tomorrow and tell him that it was all a ruse, but that seems unlikely.
After all, they stopped Harry from going to the Ministry. The only thing Voldemort could have gained from that would've been a test to see if he truly could give Harry visions... But it would still have been better for him if Harry truly did break into the Ministry and Department of Mystery. It certainly would have made Harry an even less credible source to the rest of the wizarding world.
Harry's pretty sure Voldemort wants to remain hidden for now.
Harry sighs and rolls over in his bed, resolutely closing his eyes. He shouldn’t dwell on it. Not now, at least. He’s… he’s already had a hard enough time all year. He’s been angry and distant and he hasn’t even really felt like himself sometimes.
It’s all been too reminiscent of his childhood, of having all the people around him believe his Aunt and Uncle’s lies about what a terrible troublemaker he is, even though he never actually causes any trouble. It’s been like a festering wound ripped open, and it’s made him angry and snappy.
He hates that people think the Prophet is right and that he’s actually just crazy. He hates that they won’t take the threat of Voldemort seriously, that they’d rather live in ignorance until it's too late.
Most of all he hates the Ministry for actively covering things up and painting him as a liar.
It hurts that people he thought were his friends so easily just… decided that he must be a liar. It’s like second year all over again, when everyone just decided he was the Heir of Slytherin. He never has been able to have people just… trust him.
It hurts.
He falls asleep then, still choking back tears and trying to drown his angry thoughts. Amidst all of it, there is at least one single glimmer of hope: he didn’t get his friends killed. He was stopped before anything truly bad could happen.
Harry’s not really paying attention to what he’s eating at breakfast, he’s too aware of the weight of the two-way mirror in his robe pocket. He decided to carry it with him just in case Sirius tries to contact him with information about what ended up happening last night after Harry and the others went to bed.
He doesn’t want to risk missing it. It’s just too important.
The sudden sound of the mail owls entering the Great Hall startles Harry out of his thoughts, and he looks up briefly to take the scene in. He shares a glance with Ron and Hermione, but then he just goes back to staring into his food as he eats.
They’ll talk later.
Just as he’s about to shove some scrambled eggs into his mouth, loud screaming starts up across the room, making him flinch and drop it back on the plate.
When he looks up, it’s to find horrified students holding the Daily Prophet in their hands. Some of them are crying.
“What on earth?” Hermione looks as confused as Harry feels.
“They just had their nice little bubble of denial burst,” Neville says suddenly, voice grim.
When Harry turns to him, he’s holding a copy of the Prophet of his own, staring down at the front page with a frown.
“What?” Harry has no idea what that means.
Instead of answering, however, Neville simply turns the paper around so they can read the headline for themselves.
“YOU-KNOW-WHO RETURNS! The Boy-Who-Lived vindicated!”
Harry stares at it blankly.
The photo beneath the headline depicts an almost-destroyed room Harry doesn’t recognise, and several people he recognises from the graveyard are being led out of the shot by people wearing Auror uniforms.
Neville turns the paper back around to read the article.
“Well, it’s not written by Skeeter,” he says. “It’s actually written by the Editor-in-chief herself, so that’s certainly saying something.”
“What does it say Neville?” Ginny’s voice sounds excited, but it’s hard to tell among the screaming and raised voices in the Great Hall.
Harry’s just relieved no one has turned to him yet, that they’re all too distracted by the newspaper to remember that he’s in the room at all.
“Well… It mentions that the Death Eaters attacked the Department of Mysteries late last night, and that the Ministry was forewarned by Professor Dumbledore.” Neville scans the text. “There was an altercation, and some injuries, but luckily no one on our side died or was gravely injured. Most of the escaped convicts and several other now-confirmed Death Eaters were arrested… Though You-Know-Who got away… So did Bellatrix Lestrange.”
Harry winces.
“I’m sorry, Neville.”
Neville just shrugs.
“Does it say anything else?” Hermione’s trying to see the paper over Ginny’s head while Ginny’s practically hanging over Neville’s shoulder, trying to see for herself.
“Let’s see… There’s an interview with Lucius Malfoy.”
Harry freezes, and feels almost like his brain isn’t properly computing.
“What? Why?” Ron says through a mouthful of sausage.
“Probably because Harry said he saw him at the graveyard…” Neville says as he continues to read. “Well, huh. I guess he must have frightened them into actually printing what he said verbatim.”
“What makes you say that, Neville?” Hermione says. “Not that I would put it past him, but is there a specific reason you say that?”
Neville actually laughs. “Yeah. His statement literally calls them out for printing Ministry sponsored propaganda against Harry, who he reminds everyone is a child, and says he doesn’t blame Harry for seeing someone blond at the graveyard and in his no doubt panicked fear mistaking it for him.”
“He what?” Hermione exclaims, giving voice to the disbelief that’s roiling in Harry’s gut. Lucius Malfoy… said something in support of Harry?
What?
"Lucius Malfoy said that?" Ron's voice is twisted in a grimace.
"He did," says Neville with a nod. "He's also expressing concern over the Ministry's interference with Hogwarts and refusal to teach Defence properly at a time such as this when we're 'more likely than ever' to need it."
So Malfoy really wasn’t lying. His parents really… Harry almost feels a little bit bad.
He glances up towards the teacher’s table. Professor Dumbledore’s eyes are twinkling with mirth—it’s now that Harry realises that if Malfoy hadn’t stopped Dumbledore’s Army from getting caught… Maybe Umbridge would have managed to unseat Dumbledore as headmaster entirely.
Speaking of Umbridge…
The puce colour her toad-like face is turning as she stares in horror at the newspaper in front of her reminds Harry a lot of Uncle Vernon.
He feels a phantom twinge of pain in his hand, right where the Blood Quill has carved “I must not tell lies” into his hand over and over again. He glances down at it, mouth twisting at the sight of the scar, and he pulls his sleeve down a bit.
And then Harry feels an elbow digging into his side and turns to find Dean giving him a wink.
And then—
“Hey Umbridge! What was that about not telling lies?” Dean’s holler goes above all of the noise, and the Great Hall descends into silence.
Umbridge’s face turns almost purple, which is quite a feat really. Harry didn’t think anyone but Uncle Vernon was even capable of that.
“Who said that?” Umbridge shrieks, spit flying everywhere.
No one tells her, of course, but the mood of the room has shifted. It’s no longer full-on panic, it’s more of a mix between fear and amusement at Umbridge’s expense. She really has made herself an enemy of most of the school; even the people who believed the Ministry lies seem to hate her.
“Perhaps you would reconsider your stance on the supposed uselessness of teaching us practical skills in Defence Against the Dark Arts… Though it’s rather too late in the year, isn’t it?” Malfoy’s bored drawl echoes across the room, and when Harry looks at him, he looks entirely unafraid.
A glance back at Umbridge tells Harry that she sort of looks like Malfoy just slugged her in the face.
“Mr Malfoy?” she gasps, seemingly shocked and appalled at this apparent betrayal.
“Then again, High Inquisitor Umbridge, my father did tell me that you lack the proper qualifications for the role of DADA teacher and if not for the Ministry forcing its way in where it doesn’t belong, you never would have been hired even with Headmaster Dumbledore’s occasionally lax hiring practices. No offence, Professor Dumbledore.”
“None taken, Mr Malfoy.” Dumbledore isn’t outright smiling, but there’s that definite twinkle in his eyes that tells Harry that he’s very amused.
“You! How dare you!” Umbridge has gone from purple to pale as milk. That can’t be healthy.
Harry stares at Malfoy, sees his mouth turn up in that cruel smirk that’s so familiar, but usually turned on Harry… He shouldn’t find it attractive. It’s weird that he finds it attractive now that it’s aimed at someone he doesn't like.
"Why wouldn't I dare, High Inquisitor Umbridge? What are you going do? Use illegal items on me to cause pain and try to torture me into silence?"
Harry isn't the only one to gasp at those words, which is how he realises that he's not the only one Umbridge used the Blood Quills on. He would almost rather wish that he was, because at least that would mean no one else got hurt at least.
"Fudge won't be able to protect you much longer, considering his days are no doubt numbered." The smirk on Malfoy's face turns even more evil. "Perhaps you should have been a bit more careful about creating enemies."
Harry stares at him, unable to pay attention to anything else.
As Umbridge continues to sputter, Malfoy sends a smirk that’s clearly aimed Harry’s way before he turns back to his breakfast. Harry keeps on staring. Keeps remembering the feeling of Malfoy’s body pressed up against his, and the way he smelled of lavender.
"Mate, maybe uh…" Ron trails off when Harry turns to look at him, but then he takes a deep breath and continues. "Maybe you should stop staring, yeah? You look a bit deranged."
Harry scrunched his nose at that, he doesn't like the sound of that at all. He's just about to tell Ron off, lie through his teeth that he wasn't staring, when Seamus speaks up.
"Harry…" He looks pensive and awkward when Harry turns to him. "I'm sorry for doubting you. I just…"
Part of Harry wants to be angry, wants to refuse Seamus's apology, but at the same time he kind of understands where he was coming from. Seamus's mother believed the Ministry, of course Seamus would be defensive of that. Not to mention that no one wants Voldemort to be back.
Harry least of all.
If Voldemort had just been gone, dead and dust, no one would be happier than Harry. He's lost enough people to that maniac to even want to consider another war. Especially since Voldemort seems to be in Harry's head and obsessed with killing him.
"I get it," Harry finally mutters.
Seamus shakes his head. "Yeah, but… I know you. And I saw what happened to Diggory… Mum's just been so afraid, I didn't want to believe it for her. But there's still no excuse, and Dean's been telling me all year to get over myself."
Harry just nods, because he doesn't really know what to say to that.
He can feel the attention of the Hall being on him again, and as always it chafes. He doesn't like being the center of attention, he just wants to be just another regular guy in the crowd. Just Harry. But now… He doesn't think he ever will be.
Draco can barely stop smirking. He's wanted to tell that toad off all year. Coming here, so high and mighty, to pursue the Ministry's lies and bungle up their education.
If she'd at least taught them properly, it would have made her seem more… what's the word? Trustworthy, that's it.
Her extreme refusal to teach them anything practical just seemed like overcompensating, like she was in truth insecure and frightened. Of course, it’s also entirely possible that she’s just one of those people who will suck up to the powers-that-be regardless of policies and ideals simply because she’s power-hungry. Not to mention sadistic.
Still, the tide has turned and she and Fudge both are out of favour. At least according to Father, when he contacted Draco in the early mornings to assure Draco that they’d made it out fine. Apparently, Mother had even managed to not only gain the house elf’s favour, but also turn it against dear Aunt Bella.
Draco will ask how later, he’d nearly collapsed in relieved exhaustion as soon as Father told him they were safe.
It’ll be weird to not go back to the Manor after the summer, but Mother assured him that their new temporary residence will be more than adequate to tide them over until the end. Draco presumes it's the smaller summer house near the coast that’s only about two centuries old—Mother and Father are hardly going to move them to the Chateau in France. That would make things sticky for Draco with Hogwarts.
Quite unfortunate really; Draco quite likes the Chateau. And France for that matter. He could transfer to Beauxbatons for his last two years and they could just stay out of this whole war thing entirely.
Draco’s not actually sure why they’re not doing that, but he supposes his parents must have a reason. Maybe the Secret Keeper is demanding they stay and help Potter? It would certainly explain why they told Draco to carefully look after the idiot.
Which, clearly Potter needs a babysitter. He has no sense of self-preservation at all. Horrifying, really.
Draco can’t believe that his future well-being will likely rest at least partly on the shoulders of a dunce like Potter. Oh well, he has Granger to tell him what to do. It’ll probably be fine.
One way or another.
Harry is rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy, and it is a problem. People are coming up to him to apologise for not believing him and being mean and gossiping… And Harry can’t pay attention because he’s too busy thinking about Draco Sodding Malfoy.
Hermione keeps giving him Looks and Ron’s starting to look kind of constipated whenever he looks at Harry now—well, when Harry’s thinking about Malfoy at least, but that sort of is all the time so...
It's almost embarrassing at this point, but Harry can't help himself. He hasn't ever really been that close to another person as when Malfoy pressed him against that wall and he later returned the favour… not even when Cho kisses him.
Well, the thing with Cho was also uncomfortable for other reasons as well, but that's neither here nor there.
Maybe he should… Try to talk to Malfoy or something. If Malfoy has sort of openly joined his and Dumbledore's side, then maybe… of course that's a bit silly isn't it? He and Malfoy have been at each other's throat since they first met almost—discounting the meeting in Madame Malkin's—so why would anything change now?
Besides, he's been terrible to Hermione and it's not like he's apologised for it. It's stupid of Harry to even consider trying to make friends with Malfoy just because he can't stop thinking about maybe kissing or touching him.
Friends don't do that anyway.
Though Harry has his suspicions about Ron and Hermione, if they can just get their act together. So far, they're both to blind to see it. Well, if they ever get married, at least Harry will have some amazing and embarrassing stories to tell during the wedding. That's something to look forward to!
If they live that long.
There's no guarantee after all. Voldemort will hardly spare any of them. Besides that, Harry can't run anywhere and he knows that Ron and Hermione will stay with him until the bitter end, no matter what comes their way.
Potter's acting weirder than usual, and that's saying something. He won't stop staring and it's driving Draco absolutely out of his mind.
At least Pansy is having the time of her life now that she realises that she can mock Umbridge openly without having to fear detention or something from Draco. Of course, she yelled at him for not telling her the truth about his opinion of her, but she calmed when she realised he hadn't even told Greg and Vince due to necessity and they even followed him into the Inquisition Squad.
They were rather put out too, but easily forgave him when he mentioned that being on the squad had given then enough extra points—absolute favouritism from Umbridge—to pass the O.W.L.s of even their worst subjects. Which is really the only reason Draco made them come along in the first place.
Daphne, as the other Perfect of their year, just gave him a tired look and went back to her book. She never did like getting involved in the constant drama going on at Hogwarts. Millicent had clasped him on the back and laughed, and Blaise had shared some of the expensive chocolates his mother sent him.
Life is good, despite Potter's constant staring.
Still, it kind of weirds Draco out; no matter how well he knows Potter and what makes him tick, he currently has no idea what he's even thinking. It's not the usual angry stare; that one Draco can basically feel without needing to look. No, this stare is definitely something else.
He'd really like it if Potter would stop, since that would make it much easier for Draco to ignore him. He doesn't want to think about Potter and his surprisingly muscled body at all. In fact, he would have happily lived the rest of his life without knowing that Potter is fit.
The fact that Potter's no longer a short and scrawny child had been obvious for a while, since he finally had a growth spurt sometime in their third or fourth year, but "not scrawny" does not equal fit. It’s bloody annoying and unfair is what it is, especially since Draco has had to come to terms with having his mother's slender build rather than his father's more powerful one.
Absolutely typical of Potter, isn't it? He always has to show Draco up!
At least Draco completely stole Potter's thunder during breakfast when the Prophet finally reported on some actual and truthful news. Potter didn't even try to follow up after Draco told Umbridge exactly what he thought of her. It's not like there was anything at all she could do to him at this point either, he's already taken his O W.L.s and she can't retroactively cause him trouble.
Besides, he had it on good authority that she will be leaving the castle in disgrace very soon indeed.
Not to mention that it's almost the end of term and they're all heading home soon. There's no reason to worry about Potter now. No more danger for the time being, at least non for Draco to deal with. Potter will be fine, surely.
Very fine, indeed.
… Some might think anyway, certainly not Draco. The "Chosen Prat" is hardly Draco's type.
It will be fun to hold the fact that Draco probably saved his life over his head forever though. No less than he deserves, really.
Harry really doesn't want to go back to the Dursleys’. He can't stand the idea of being as out of the loop as he always ends up being when living so entrenched in the muggle world; not now. He knows Hermione manages, but he's pretty sure her parents don't lock her in a single room and refuse to let her owl fly free so she definitely has an easier time of it.
Not that Hermione has an owl, but that's not the point. The point is that Hermione's family is supportive and they want to make sure that she can navigate life properly, or something like that.
But maybe Harry’s just really bitter.
He’s earned it, though.
Especially since it’s now clear to him and everyone that he hasn’t learned Occlumency... But he still absolutely refuses to let Snape back in his mind.
Even if Harry believes Dumbledore even he says that Snape absolutely is on their side… his way clearly didn't work for Harry. In fact, it did the opposite of help. He needs someone else to do it, because he clearly needs the help, but it can't be Snape.
He stares out the window and sighs, not sure what to do with himself.
Suddenly he hears a small chime and the two-way mirror Harry's kept in his pocket ever since the whole thing went down warms up suddenly.
Harry takes it out to find Sirius's face smiling back at him. He looks around the room quickly, but only Ron and Hermione are in the common room, so he turns back to the mirror.
"Hi Sirius," he whispers, relieved to see his godfather's smiling face.
"Hey Harry, I've got some good news for you."
Harry perks up immediately, straightening in his seat.
Sirius's smile turns sly. "I've fought enough with Dumbledore, and somehow Malfoy got involved, so you'll be staying with me for the summer instead of with the Dursleys."
"Really?" Harry gapes, hardly able to believe it. It sounds absolutely too good to be true, even though Grimmauld Place is far from a nice place to stay overall.
"Yep, you'll be coming with Remus. He'll pick you up at the train station, I mean." Sirius laughs.
"Brilliant!"
His loud call causes Ron and Hermione to look over while Sirius laughs and disappears from the mirror.
Life's really looking up, and Harry couldn't be happier.
A thought of Malfoy's pink lips and the feeling of his slim body pressed against Harry's pops into Harry's head and he suddenly feels all warm.
Okay, he probably could be slightly happier, maybe. But it's not exactly realistic to even really imagine something happening between him and Malfoy. He's not even sure why he kind of wants something to.
Well, besides the fact that Malfoy is kind of fit and Harry has suddenly and surprisingly found himself wanting to touch him.
He looks at his friends, who are smiling at him.
"I think I might be into guys." The words just fall or of his mouth before he can think of stopping them. Which, great Harry. Real great.
Ron scrunched his nose up. "Well, Ginny'll be disappointed." He shrugs his shoulders.
Harry frowns. "Well, I still like girls too, but… I don't really think of Ginny that way anyway?" He scratches his head.
Hermione gives him a small smile. "Well, I'm glad you told us, Harry. But ehm, is there a specific reason you've thought of this right now?"
She looks flustered suddenly.
"Not that you need a reason to talk to us! Of course not!"
Harry finds himself laughing.
Hermione and Ron soon join in, and Harry feels like everything is going to be alright. Even if they are heading for darker times.
Ron frowns as he looks down at Crookshanks who's twinning around Hermione's legs. The two of them still don't really… get along, but he's also sort of grateful to the big dumb cat.
"Where did Harry go?" Hermione says suddenly, breaking Ron out of his thoughts. "I thought he said he was just heading to the loo?"
Ron shrugs.
"Maybe he's constipated, Hermione. Relax, it's not like anyone's going to attack him on the train or anything. You-Know-Who is down most of his followers, anyway."
She rolled her eyes at him, but Ron's more than used to that by now so it doesn't affect him at all. It's just one of those things they do at this point, that always makes Harry roll his eyes at them.
"Fine," he mutters and stuffs another pumpkin pasty in his mouth. "We'll go look for him if it makes you feel better, okay?"
"Swallow before you talk, Ron, please," says Hermione, but she's smiling so it's all good.
She gives Crookshanks a pat on the head as they stand up and tells him to stay in the compartment and wait for them. Like all cats everywhere, Crookshanks doesn't reply. He does go and lay down in one of the seats to sleep though, so that's pretty much answer enough.
As they step outside, Ron catches sight of Malfoy's posse of Slytherins standing in a group and seemingly arguing. He doesn't see Malfoy's blond head among them though.
"Well if you don't want to help me find Draco," Parkinson says, voice rising in tone until it becomes shrill, "Then go back to the compartment! Stop wasting my time!"
Crabbe and Goyle immediately lumber off, looking cowed, but a tall guy Ron doesn't remember the name of stays with her.
"Hey, Hermione," Ron mutters as a realisation pops into his head, "Looks like Parkinson has lost Malfoy. You don't think he and Harry bumped into each other and got into a fight, do you?"
"Well, I hope not! We shouldn't be fighting! Especially not now that Malfoy and his family have actually helped us."
"Yeah, well… it is Harry and Malfoy."
Hermione sighs.
"Potter's gone too?!" Oops, seems like Parkinson overheard them. She must have ears like a bloody bat. "Blaise, we have to find Draco now! Who knows what Potter might be doing to him!"
Ah, right. Blaise Zabini. Now Ron remembers.
"We can look together!" Hermione says then, clapping her hands together.
Parkinson gives her a look, but nods, and they all set off together. Hermione and Parkinson head up the front, while Zabini falls back on step with Ron.
"So. Weasley."
Ron glances at Zabini. Is he planning on doing small talk?
"Yeah?"
"Is it true that Potter is hung like a Hippogriff?"
Ron chokes on air. Or maybe it's spit.
"What?!" he splutters as he tries to stop coughing.
Zabini just shrugs, looking bored. "You're sharing a room, yeah? I figured you must have seen his prick at least once. We've been having a bet going in the Slytherin common room since year three whether Potter is hung, average, or miniscule."
Ron feels like his face is going to catch on fire from the heat.
"You're nuts!" he yelps. It's not like they just undress in the middle of the room! And they certainly don't look at each other when they undress!
Zabini laughs. "Oh unclench, Weasley! I happen to know that Draco has a small mole on the top of his left buttock and that's not because I've gone looking for it."
"I didn't need or want to know about Malfoy's arse!"
And he really doesn't, bleh. It's going to take forever for him to forget this new information he's unwillingly learned about Malfoy.
No matter if Malfoy's been watching out for them this year—which is super weird—Ron still hasn't forgiven him for the previous for years. More than that, he's really not interested in Malfoy that way. Ron's had a creeping feeling of horror that that's probably more Harry's area. He hopes he's wrong, because if Harry somehow forgives Malfoy and starts dating him that's going to mean Ron will have to hang out with him too. And honestly, ugh at that thought.
Hopefully Harry has better taste in men than that.
He doesn't even like Malfoy, so the only reason Ron is even worried about it is because Harry's been… staring. Obsessively almost.
"Oh!" Hermione's loud squeak catches Ron's attention and he looks up to find her and Parkinson looking into a compartment. They push the door closed and lean against it, glancing at each other.
Hermione's face is red, and the blush is even more obvious on Parkinson's pale face. Whatever they saw in there, it clearly flustered and embarrassed them.
"You okay, Hermione?"
"Yes!" Her voice is higher pitched than Ron has ever heard it before. "I'm fine!"
Parkinson coughs loudly. "We should look for them on the other end of the train! Come on!" She rushes past Ron and Zabini with Hermione hot on her heels.
Ron stares after them. What the heck?
"What the bloody hell is going on in that compartment?" he mutters to himself.
"Let's go look," Zabini says, because clearly he's a nutter, and pushes Ron forward.
All the blinds are down, so that explains why Hermione and Parkinson were looking through a crack in the door rather than the window, but it also makes Ron feel nervous. You wouldn't pull the blinds down unless you want to be undisturbed.
"Maybe we shouldn't—!"
"Oh come on, Weasley! Where's your sense of adventure? I thought you were the Gryffindor here. I'm just out to see what interesting thing made Pansy so embarrassed. She's no shrinking violet, if you know what I mean."
With that Zabini carefully pushes the door open just enough for them to look inside.
Just in time for a loud moan to filter out into the hall.
Ron feels his eyes water from how wide they open and he stops breathing entirely.
So Malfoy really does have a birthmark on the top of his left arsecheek.
Merlin.
Ron turns on his heel, running back the way they came, his face feeling hot enough to fry an egg on. He hears the door close behind him, and then Zabini lets out a loud laugh.
Bloody Slytherins!
And bloody Harry and his terrible taste in guys!
As he makes it back to the compartment, Hermione and Parkinson are already inside. He gives them a baleful look, and then an even nastier one to Zabini as he saunters inside after Ron.
"We're not talking about it." He gives them a look like he dares anyone to protest.
Hermione shakes her head furiously, Parkinson is giggling into her hands, and Zabini just shrugs with a stupid smirk on his stupid face.
"Exploding snap?"