Superlatives

'He just couldn't resist, could he,' Harry thought, as he picked up his belongings and joined his Potions partner. Draco Malfoy, of course. Because the whole world would end if something actually went Harry's way. Literally. He had yet to speak.

"Just brilliant," Draco snapped. He thought it was all Potter's fault, too.

Harry, wisely, said nothing, just took out his notebook and began copying the instructions from the board.

Draco glanced at him, instantly taking in his rival's volatile stance. Potter's green eyes were practically glowing with barely restrained magic. Was he the only one that had noticed this? Between Weasel and Snape, the Golden Boy was going to snap.

"I'll prepare the cauldron, Potter," he said curtly. "You get the ingredients."

The raven-haired wizard nodded jerkily and stood. If Malfoy managed to be this civil all period, he might just make it through without ruining his potion, or, say, destroying all the glassware. Snape was positively itching to slap him with detention, or maybe just slap him upside the head.

Harry noticed, with some trepidation, that Ron was glowering at him as he returned from the storage room with a tray full of ingredients. Harry forced himself not to drop everything and demand to know what he'd done wrong now. Instead, he sat silently beside his nemesis and double-checked that he'd gotten everything they needed.

"Slice the dandelion root four times lengthwise, and then chop it into two millimeter segments," Draco instructed.

Harry did as he was told, happily losing himself in the task. Ten minutes later, he glanced over at his partner, watching idly as Malfoy moved with ease and confidence to complete the first few steps of the potion. He was a natural at this.

Feeling eyes on him, Draco looked up. "Done?" Potter nodded, so he leaned over to inspect his work. "Right, I'll stir, and you drop in one pinch of dandelion root every twenty seconds."

Harry moved closer, plucking up the timepiece and waiting for Malfoy to begin. He never thought he'd be grateful for Potions class, but it provided an excellent distraction today. For some inexplicable reason, his rival seemed to realize just how close to the edge he was. They stood side by side over their cauldron, working silently until the step was complete. That was when Harry looked up and saw that their classmates were watching them avidly.

Draco felt Potter bristle, and, risking a glance around the room, instantly sorted out why. He was beyond pissed about this whole fiasco, but somehow it seemed to be hitting Potter harder. Maybe it was because very few people would dare to question Draco's actions, even if he was shagging his nemesis. The entire Wizarding world, however, seemed to think they had a say in every aspect of Potter's life, and the stupid prat allowed it. His partner's eyes were almost glowing again in his rage.

"Potter," Draco snapped, effectively drawing the wizard's attention back to him. "Grind up the African Beetle."

Harry locked gazes with him, catching the flood of emotions in Malfoy's silvery-gray eyes. It didn't match the harshness of his voice. He let out the breath that was trapped in his lungs, and turned his attention to the mortar and pestle as directed.

The rest of Potions passed in much the same way. Everyone was fascinated by the spectacle of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy working well together without fuss, especially on the heels of the infamous photo. They didn't realize that Harry was afraid to open his mouth for fear of unleashing his magic, and Draco, though he loved to play with fire, made it a point not to play with nuclear bombs.

What was that old saying? Never shove your wand up a Hippogriff's arse? Especially when said Hippogriff was Harry Potter. It was hard to say whether it'd be worse to shove a wand up Potter's arse or a Hippogriff's arse, but seeing as Draco didn't have time to prepare a cost/benefit analysis of the situation, he stuck with the platitude's original intent. Meaning that his wand stayed firmly in his pocket.

Due to their lack of squabbling, and Harry's newfound attention to detail, they brewed their potion correctly. They cleaned up in silence, and then Harry went to rejoin his friends. He still hadn't said a word. Ron accosted him as soon as they left the classroom, apparently having plenty of words of his own to make up for Harry's dearth.

"Bloody hell, mate!" he exploded. "Why were you and sodding Malfoy acting so chummy?"

The raven-haired wizard eyed his friend speculatively, but said nothing.

"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione intervened. "Harry didn't choose to be partnered with him. School work is more important than petty rivalries."

Ron shook his head belligerently. "Not when it comes to Malfoy." Turning his gaze to the boy in question, he added, "Do you realize how that looked? Now it's gonna get 'round that you and that Death Eater spawn really are filthy faggots."

The hallway was full of students by now, and those that were more interested in the face-off between Harry and Ron than being on time to their next lesson (read: everyone) watched their interaction eagerly. Harry felt Dean and Seamus stiffen at the redhead's choice of words. He turned his head to meet their eyes, and both nearly staggered at the electric rage they saw. With a brief nod, they acknowledged the silently offered apology for Ron's prejudice.

Draco watched the spectacle, knowing exactly why Potter wasn't speaking. He also caught the look he threw Finnigan and Thomas. Potter turned deliberately away from Weasel and began to walk at a carefully moderated pace, presumably to his next class. His lackeys immediately followed, with Weasel babbling on maddeningly all the while.