The Thin Line Between Love and Hate

Chapter 2: Malfoy Maladies

Harry staggered into the great hall the next morning, his demeanor groggy from lack of sleep the previous night. He glared at Malfoy with a bit more vehemence than he normally would have spared the other male, noticing, with some smugness, as he did so that the other boy was also looking sleep deprived. Though, it was in a way that cautioned against anyone mentioning it. His attention turned when he heard Ron calling him, motioning for him to join himself and Hermione.

The Gryffindor forced himself to at least appear cheerful as he slumped down onto the bench across from his friends, not wanting awkward questions to arise about why he hadn't slept well the night before. It was never a good idea to mention to Ron that he was having trouble sleeping due to Malfoy. Thank Merlin it was Saturday and he wouldn't have to deal with the little puss ball if he didn't want to. He would just have a relaxed day to do whatever he wished.

An hour later, breakfast was over and the boy who lived was seriously considering doing homework to ease his boredom. Ron's homework that is, as he'd finished his own the night before. Hermione would skin him alive if gave in to the urges to do her boyfriend's work though. He glanced over to where the two of them were engaged in a heated game of chess in which Hermione was steadily losing to her opponent. He stood up and stretched, yawning as he looked outside. The late September day was still warm enough that wearing robes was uncalled for when not required and the sun was shining over the grounds in a truly inviting manner. A glance back at Ron and Hermione decided him, and he went upstairs to get his Firebolt from his room.

"Oi!" Harry called from the foot of the stairs, causing his friends to look up at him. "I'm going to go out for a bit. I'll see you at six for practice alright, Ron?" The redhead nodded and went back to examining the board, only to oof slightly as he was elbowed by Hermione. "Would you like us to come with you, Harry?" she inquired, not wanting him to venture out alone with the way his luck tended to go concerning Voldemort. "No, 'Mione. I'll be fine." He replied before all but bolting out of the portrait hole, desperate to get out of the choking confines of the common room.

He made his way down to the Quidditch field, slowing his pace only once he was out into the rare sunshine of the day. He passed various people as he walked, who, like himself, were willing to face the slight chill in the air so long as it got them outside where the thick walls of Hogwarts couldn't suffocate them. He cursed under his breath when he saw that the Slytherin team was practicing.

Draco saw Harry come onto the field and cursed to himself, glad that all of his teammates were looking at his adversary rather than their Seeker, as he had nearly fallen from his broom in shock at seeing the other male. He felt it like a physical blow when Potter's eyes came to rest on him, full of seething anger at being denied his flight and clearly blaming it on the silver haired, Slytherin Seeker.

He returned the glare, pissed that Potter would have the audacity to interrupt his practice. His team was beginning to look to him again so he flew low enough that shouting wouldn't ruin the sinister note of sarcasm in his voice. "Come to spy on us, Potter?" he sneered. Draco felt his insides churn with rage as he heard Potter laugh at him. "What the hell is so funny, Potter?" He snapped, breaking the Gryffindor Seeker out of his laughter. "If I was going to spy on another team I'd do it with one that has at least a SLIGHT chance of beating us, Malfoy," he replied once he could breathe again, though his words were still broken by suppressed chuckles. He was still laughing as he left the pitch, putting Draco in an even worse mood than he had been in previously as he realized that with the dunderheads he had for teammates his rival was probably right.

The rest of practice didn't go well for Draco. Some of the players who had made his team could have been in Hufflepuff for all the cunning they had in them, and it frustrated him that even Harry Potter, who was about as dense as they come in Draco's opinion, could see that their entire strategy was based around brute strength and him getting the snitch before the other Seeker did. It wasn't nearly as Slytherin as it should have been. Were it not for their reckless bravery and foolish courage the Slytherin team captain would have loved to be a Gryffindor at times like this. At least their game play changed on occasion.

But then... He WAS captain. Malfoy smirked. "Back in the air everyone! We're trying something new. That cup's going to be ours this year."

After his brush in with Malfoy, Harry headed back to the Gryffindor tower. Though he hadn't gotten to fly, the brush in with his enemy had at least made him feel a bit better. There was nothing quite as satisfying as coming out on top in an argument with his rival to lighten his mood and make hearing Hermione complaining about not winning at chess seem like something that he could tolerate again.

As Harry stepped into the common room, his friends looked up surprised. "Wasn't expecting you to be back so soon, Harry." The boy who lived frowned slightly as he was reminded of why he was back so soon. "The Slytherins had the field for Quidditch practice," he replied with a shrug, brushing it off as unimportant. "Come on, we should eat before practice, Ron."

Ron gladly stood up, not knowing if he could take much more of his girlfriend's anger over constantly being beaten. He had been just about ready to let her win, and Merlin only knew how much THAT would go to her head. Harry glanced down at his watch before cursing softly. He really did need to get a new one, as the one that he was currently wearing out of habit had been broken thanks to the second task of the Tri-Wizard tournament during his fourth year.

He took the watch off in disgust and tossed it into the trash. "How long do we have until practice, Ron?" He asked as he climbed out of the portrait hole for the second time that day. His best friend glanced at his own watch, which, much like his family's clock, really wasn't of much use if you wanted to know the exacts of things as it only gave directions like "A Bit," "A Smidge," "You're Late," and "Hurry Up". "We've got a bit," the redhead replied as he followed Harry through the hole, sending an indignant look over his shoulder as Hermione smacked his rear to get him to go faster anyway.

"You'll be late if you don't get a move on. Honestly, you're slower than molasses sometimes, Ron," she snapped at him, her unhappiness at having lost eight games of chess this morning causing her to slip into Southerner's speak that she'd picked up from the American Romance movies her mother liked so much. They took up their usual spots at the Gryffindor table once they had gotten down to the Great Hall, the boys bolting their meal down, as Ron's watch had moved to "Hurry Up" shortly after their food had appeared.

In a few minutes Harry and Ron were making their way towards the Quidditch pitch, brooms in hand. They were met by Ginny Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, and Dennis Creevey, their new Chasers, as well as, Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper, their returning Beaters from the previous year, who were nearly as inseparable as the Weasley twins had been.

"It's Gryffindor's turn on the pitch, Malfoy!!!" Harry yelled up at him, squinting slightly to see him in the dying light of the day.

Malfoy wanted to scream. Just when they were finally starting to get his new plays down, Potter had to show up and ruin it. He glanced at his team, noticing how close to grateful their expressions had become at seeing their enemies approach the field after the way that he'd been driving them.

"Fine!" He yelled down as he began to descend, motioning for his team to do the same as the jaws of the seven Gryffindors below them dropped at his easy compliance. His feet touched the ground and he dismounted, the movement coming with the grace of long practice. "We've got to go to detention anyway, Potter," he smirked, gesturing with a nod of his head to where Snape was waiting to escort them to their night of torture.

The Slytherin smirked as he heard the golden boy Gryffindor curse beneath his breath, the sound so vehement and eloquently put that it made him wonder where he had learned it. The knowledge of how to curse to make a sailor blush surely couldn't have come from any Gryffindor.

Little did Malfoy know, but he was wrong, as usual. You learn quite a few good curses from your fellow Gryffindors, and former Gryffindors, when you're set to de-doxifying a house. Harry grumbled a bit, then gave out instructions for the practice and left it in the skillful hands of Ron to whip the team into the shape that he expected them to be in when they would face Slytherin in the first match of the season in a couple of months.

Never had Harry James Potter dreaded a detention as much as he was dreading this one; not even when he knew that he'd be scaring his hand with the many written repetitions of "I must not tell lies." Despite his fear, the boy who lived steeled himself and walked towards where Snape was looming and sneering at him and Malfoy was looking smug at the prospect of forcing him to do all the work their professor assigned to them. He took a last look back at his team and gave them an encouraging smile. Two weeks. Two weeks and then he'd be able to ignore Malfoy for the rest of the year unless he was knocking him off his broom during a match, or taunting him in class, or... Harry shook himself mentally to dislodge that train of thought. He would ignore Malfoy. He wasn't going to let the silver-haired Slytherin ruin yet another year for him.

Thankfully, he'd picked up Malfoy's ability to keep his thoughts hidden beneath a cool exterior; otherwise, he would have just provided his rival with more than enough information to taunt him with throughout the course of their detention. He managed to keep his expression, more or less, blank as he was led down to the dungeons for what he suspected was going to be the closest thing to being hung by his thumbs that Hogwarts still allowed to happen to students.

He wanted to scream. He was certain now that Malfoy had trapped him into fighting to keep him from the Quidditch practice that they would need to beat the Slytherins in their upcoming match. A fortnight of doing whatever disgusting task Snape thought up for him was going to be torture in the highest, especially knowing that he could be out getting blown up by Voldemort, or watching Ron and Hermione snog instead. After all, showing bravado when all you wanted to do was piss yourself in fear, or wallowing in self-pity for still being single while your best friends all but got it on a few feet away from you was always ever so much more fun than spending your evenings pickling rat brains, or doing whatever other disgusting task the fearsome Potions Master chose for you to do while your arch nemesis taunted you for everything he had and you didn't.

Harry would pick getting blown up or watching his fellow Gryffindors snog any day. At least those were relatively quick and painless as the results were either death or wandering the grounds so that he didn't have to deal with the mushy affections of his housemates. He'd long ago learned where to avoid if he didn't want to come across couples who had abandoned their common rooms to make out elsewhere. Thanks to Malfoy, he was going to miss the first couple weeks worth of crucial practice.

"Sit," the boys were ordered in the low seething voice that Snape usually reserved specifically for Harry when he'd managed to royally botch a potion and was about to be given a lengthy lecture on his ineptitude. Sure enough... "Mr. Potter, you," he drawled the pronoun as though it were something so intriguingly disgusting that he simply had to try and find out more about it as it rolled off of his tongue after having given out the official title with a curtness that bordered on rudeness, "I would expect this sort of thing from. After all, you've never been much of one to obey the rules that have stood in this school for centuries. I've suspected from day one that you would eventually be caught brawling in the hallways as though you were some Muggle brat, and it is only to my profound delight that I had the honor of catching you at it."

He paused before continuing, turning his steely gaze on the boy who, up to that point, had been looking pleased with him as he viewed Snape's tirade over Potter and taking mental notes on the fine art of being intimidating in a sinister fashion. "But you, Mr. Malfoy," this time the pronoun was spoken with a tone of voice that was close to horror at the fact that his prized student had sunk so low. "Your behavior has shamed your house, as well as, your lineage. Both of your families have been informed of your misconduct." At this he had to pause, as Harry couldn't quite hold back a snort and Malfoy's jaw dropped in an expression of pure shock, earning them both a glare from the cold black eyes of their teacher before he continued.

"As punishment for your lack of judgment, you'll be spending your evening preparing potions ingredients to restock the stores that a particularly incompetent class of Hufflepuffs managed to deplete in a single sitting. Lucky for you the mess was large enough that it had to be dealt with immediately or you'd be cleaning that as well. Mr. Malfoy, you know the level of exactness I expect. Ensure that the boy wonder meets it. I shall return in four hours. If your task has not been completed at that point in time then you're even more worthless than I thought," this was directed at Harry, "and I shall have to assign both of you another week's worth of detention." With that the Potions Master swept majestically out of the room, leaving the two boys staring in his wake, for once in accordance with their thoughts as both of their minds rebelled against being stuck in detention with each other for another week.

They turned towards each other and warily looked each other over. "Potter," the Slytherin greeted with a sneer, and was immediately met with an equally disdainful "Malfoy." "Well? You heard the professor. Get chopping." His innards curled with joy as he saw the disgust on Potter's face, proud that he had inspired such a look. His look was smug though as his rival moved to begin the careful, tedious process of skinning shrivelfigs, a task which, apparently, Snape had gotten tired of his second years botching beyond repair.

After about the eighth one Potter seemed to get the hang of it so the Slytherin looked around the room, knowing better than to attempt to sneak out of detention with Snape. He looked down at the various ingredients before him and picked out one of the various roots that their teacher had set out to be crushed and bottled. He picked up the mortar and pestle that had been laid out for their use and began to crush them in a seasoned manner, not noticing at first the hands that had halted mid-peel as their owner stopped what he was doing to stare at him.

"What?" he snapped, his hands belying the anger in his voice at being stared at as they continued their steady work without pause. "This isn't even punishment for you, is it?" Harry inquired, his soft voice lacking the usual malice that it would have held had he not have already zoned out slightly to the steady rhythm of his task. "No," Draco replied bitterly. "Severus knows that my true punishment will come over holiday."

Had either of them been thinking clearly they would have wondered why, of all people to open up to, Malfoy had chosen Harry. As it was, neither of them saw fit to mention it as they continued their steady work in a comfortable silence that would have had Weasley in fits were he there to witness it.

They had just finished up and put everything into an easily perused order when the intimidating Potions Master swept in... and nearly dropped his teeth to see that not only had his task been carried out in a timely and efficient manner, but also that it seemed as though his students were actually getting along for once rather than attempting to tear each other to ribbons. His foul mood at having lost another bet to Dumbledore only increased by the fact that his pupils not had the decency to put each other into Madam Pomfrey's care since they weren't going to give him the satisfaction of adding a week to their detentions.

"Out," he barked at them, his patience worn thin, causing the boys to exchange a look of wariness at his irritation. "And don't make me fetch you again tomorrow evening. I'll expect you here promptly at six!" Malfoy and Potter hurried from the room, still not speaking to each other as they hurried to get into their dorms before they were caught out without a note after curfew. "Watch yourself, Potter," Draco drawled as they got to the point where he would turn to go to the Slytherin dorms and Harry would continue on to Gryffindor's. "I'll not be so amiable tomorrow night."

He watched as his rival nodded and then headed off to his dorms, where, unbeknownst to the Slytherin, he would ignore the rather obvious fact that his mates weren't quite through with the evening's romantic endeavors and fall into bed fully clothed, exhausted from the effort it had taken to not watch the way that his rival's hands had moved as he prepared potion ingredients for use in class on Monday morning. In the meantime, Draco headed up to his own dormitory, the anger that rolled off of him warning his housemates away from him as he ignored his favorite chair in favor of his bed, where he could pull the curtains closed and ignore everyone more thoroughly than his throne allowed.

He was lost in confusion at having spent an entire evening with a bloody Gryffindor, the all time worst bloody, annoying, foolish, infuriating Gryffindor, and having actually, dare he even think it? Enjoyed himself. His father would skin him alive if he ever found out. He would simply have to trust Snape to keep his tongue in check. It wouldn't due for Lucius to find out that his son had spent an entire four hours in the same room as the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Thwart-The-High-Lord-Of-All-Things-Dark-And-Gruesome-Time-And-Time-Again and hadn't at least tried to hex him into oblivion.

He was still lying there, wide awake as he tried to figure it out long after his fellow sixth years had drifted off and begun to snore loudly enough to be heard despite their feeble attempts at silencing charms that they had set on their beds. Malfoy made a mental note to correct the problem himself first thing in the morning. He slipped into his pajamas, unwilling to let his looks suffer for his preoccupied mind and finally managed to slip into slumber after another hour or so had passed.