Fuoco con Fuoco

At first the debates went very well. Students from all four houses spoke their minds on everything from Voldemort to pie, and the number of fights slowed to a trickle. Professor McGonagall was pleasantly surprised with this result. What she found even more shocking, however, was the amazing lack of hostility released in the arguments. The students flocked to the sides of two main ringleaders; Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Draco had all the Slytherins and about half of the Ravenclaws. Harry had the Gryffindors and the remaining Ravenclaws. The Hufflepuffs straddled the fence for the most part, making sure they didn’t offend anybody. Most of the debates were between the two camps, but neither Harry nor Draco had spoken once. They merely sat, surrounded by classmates, shooting death-glares at each other across the room. Things carried on like this for at least three weeks.

After a particularly rousing match of wits between Hermione and Goyle one night, most students were ready to turn in. In fact, Professor Sprout had already fallen asleep where she sat. But Harry appeared to have other plans. He rose from his chair; eyes locked with Draco’s.

"Malfoy, what of Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

Draco stood to face Harry. "What of it?"

"Well I think it’s a wonderful subject."

"Well you’re wrong," Draco replied. It was almost a snarl.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. Malfoy was terribly predictable. His posture had grown defensive and his glare had intensified, but he had barely been provoked. Students who were previously exiting the room returned to their seats and looked at one another eagerly. It seemed the debate society was finally going to serve its true purpose.

"Am I?" Harry asked, still composed. "I always thought Professor Lupin was an excellent teacher. I can fend off all sorts of evil now." He waved his wand lazily in the air.

Malfoy gave a derisive snort. He had sufficiently calmed himself and now almost mirrored Harry’s relaxed posture. "I wouldn’t be too sure Potter. For starters, you’ve merely been lucky. People feel some sort of need to defend poor, dear Harry Potter, so you’re never left alone to fight off Voldemort…"

Redness was creeping into Harry’s face and his hands were twitching at his side. "I’ll have you know I’ve faced him on my own and…"

"Gotten lucky," Draco finished for him, smirking at his advantage. "I heard about the bit with your wand Potter."

"From your Deatheater father?" Harry spat.

Draco gave the slightest start at the mention of his father. "No. In the usual manner; the school rumor mill. As I was saying, you’ve been lucky. And if you were ever left alone to fight Voldemort, those silly spells you learn with Lupin would do you no good."

Harry stuffed his twitching hands into his robes and tried to turn the conversation back into a civil debate. "Alright. People like me and I’m lucky. I agree with the first and not the second. Aside from that, I don’t see why the spells we learn wouldn’t help us. Why else are we learning them?"

Draco laughed and slowly began circling Harry. "Are you sure you don’t know this one Potter? Even Muggles understand the basic premise. You must fight fire with fire. The so-called "Dark Arts" are outlawed because of how powerful they are. They give men the powers of gods. Light magic only gives men what is their birthright. You can’t fight strong magic with weak magic. You can’t counter divinity with mortality. Voldemort likes to keep his enemies mortal and he doesn’t fight fair. It won’t be all "Jelly Legs" and "Petrificus Totalus" like it is with me. If you think you stand a chance you will have to meet the Dark Lord on his own terms."

By the time Draco finished he was sounding breathless and almost gleeful. Harry’s mouth was set in a grim line, but he managed to begin circling just as Draco was. The entire room was transfixed as they watched the two boys staring at each other like hunters eyeing their prey.

"You just walked into this one Malfoy," Harry stated calmly. "I have two questions for you. Number one, how do you know so much about the Dark Arts, hmm? Number two, why do you call Voldemort by his proper name? Aren’t you afraid like everyone else, or are you so close to him that you can even call him ‘Tom’?"

Now it was Draco’s turn to anger visibly. Instead of growing red the color drained from his already pale face.

"Do not presume to insinuate anything about me or my family in connection with Voldemort! My father was found innocent and my political views are no ones concern but my own!"

Harry offered a dazzling grin, thrilled to have found a weak spot. "Suit yourself Malfoy. I thought debate was the purpose of this, but if you don’t think you can defend yourself and your views, I understand." He turned away and walked briskly from the room. Draco simply stood there bristling for a few moments.

The room was completely still. Everyone was soon startled back to reality by one of Professor Sprout’s loud snores. Realizing the show was over, students began filing out. Only Draco stayed, thinking, long after everyone else had left.

***

After that night, the tenor of the debates changed dramatically. Now the room off of the Great Hall served as the proving ground for Draco’s latest insults and Harry’s latest comebacks. The pair argued about Quidditch, Voldemort, socks, Voldemort, who had the better dorm, and Voldemort. In fact, even their arguments about Quidditch, socks, and dorms seemed to lead back to Voldemort.

These arguments gradually grew more and more intense in character. At first they were very exciting to watch, with each boy continually gaining and loosing the advantage over the other. It was a fast and frenzied dance, one that caused more than a few people to stop attending the debates. Some found it nearly impossible to follow the boys’ rapid-fire train of thought. Others simply saw no reason to attend anymore, seeing as they’d never get a word in edgewise. Within a matter of days, bot Harry and Draco had only a few supporters apiece at these matches. Draco brought Crabbe and Goyle, who stood around and were generally useless. Pansy came once or twice, but soon grew bored when she saw Draco would not be paying any attention to her. Hermione came for Harry out of loyalty, but mostly sat and read in a plush chair. Ron, on the other hand, followed the daily exchange with an interest rivaling Percy’s love affair with his job. Most nights he stood just behind Harry, shadowboxing. Right jab for Harry, left jab for Malfoy. Most nights he tired himself out.

But later, even he fell away. When it became obvious that the two were not going to jump down each other’s throats at the slightest provocation, Dumbledore even removed the teacher. "It’s time they learn to communicate on their own," he said. Professor McGonagall was wary, Professor Snape was furious, and Madam Pomfrey readied two beds "just in case".

Two days passed and there were no incidents to speak of. On the third night, Professor McGonagall assumed her animagus form and slid into the debate room to check on the two boys. From what she could tell, they were utterly unaware that they no longer drew spectators. It seemed they hadn’t even noticed the absence of a moderator. If they did, they didn’t care. Both were seated in the armchairs they usually occupied, at opposite ends of the room. They spoke loudly enough to project across this distance, but they no longer shouted. She wouldn’t exactly call them amicable, but they had still come quite far in her eyes. She had to give Dumbledore credit. The man was a genius.

"I prefer the gingerbread flavoured ones. I think they’re the best."

"Well you’re wrong Potter. Anyone with any taste knows that grass is the finest flavour."

"Grass? I always knew you were nutters Malfoy, but grass?" Harry shook his head.

"Oh please Potter. Like gingerbread is any better. Conjures up all sorts of images of sugarplums and toy soldiers that go rooty-toot-toot. One would almost think you didn’t have a childhood or something."

"Shut up."

"Oh, hit a nerve, have I? I’ll have to file that one away for future use."

"Why not just go ahead full blast with the insults now? No difference really."

Draco cocked his head to the side and looked at Harry meaningfully. "No fun. You’re simply not in a tetchy enough mood this evening. Is something up?…Not that I much mind either way," he added hastily.

Harry shook his head. "I’ve just been thinking a lot is all."

"Ah yes," Draco nodded. "It does hurt the first couple of times doesn’t it? But buck up, you’ll get used to it soon enough."

Harry groaned at the self-satisfied smirk on Draco’s face. "Please, spare me. Do you not even try to come up with decent ones now that there’s no one else here?"

Draco drew himself up. "I don’t snark on demand you know, Potter."

Harry didn’t respond, just sat looking into the fire. "He really looks quite exhausted," Draco observed. His head rested against the back of the chair and his left leg was curled beneath him. The flicker of the flames accentuated his cheekbones and the hollows of his eyes.

"Potter…" It was a whisper. "Potter, why don’t you go up to bed? You’re obviously not in the mood and it is past midnight."

The other boy did not stir. Draco rose and ambled over to Harry’s chair. He had dozed off, Draco noted with a sigh.

"Any visions of sugarplums dancing in that head Potter?" he whispered softly, reaching into his robes for a clean handkerchief. He drew it out, whiter even than his skin, with a dark green "M" sewn on it. He pointed his wand at it and a moment later was holding the corner of a beautiful goose-down quilt. Draco tucked this around Harry’s small frame and stepped back. "Of course, Draco Malfoy," he thought to himself, "Of all the enemies you could have had you picked this one. He looks just like a child who fell asleep waiting for Santa Claus. What a challenge."

But in the back of his mind, even as he spoke the words, he knew that Harry was a challenge. That was why they met in this room every night. That was why he hadn’t gotten bored of tormenting Harry these six years. Harry was a challenge, his foil. They were well matched and they knew it.

Draco lingered for a few minutes more, pondering the content of Harry’s dreams. As he turned and exited the room, a tabby cat darted back into the shadows to evade his steps.