Bettered Poison

AN2: < > stand for thoughts

Bettered Poison

Chapter I

Lucius locked the door to his office slow and solemnly, as if by doing that he were shutting out the rest of the world, leaving only himself and Draco.

Very little mattered apart from them, after all.

He turned around to face his son. His heir, his Silver Dragon. His pride and joy, his everything and, in more than one way, himself.

They should have had this talk before, and the elder Malfoy knew it. At the time, however, there had been much to do. Both had been injured, shaken.

Two whole weeks were necessary before Lucius thought it safe to have Draco brought to the Manor again, courtesy of Severus Snape's fireplace.

Looking at his beautiful son, dressed elegantly, moving effortlessly and with that hint of a veela smile on his thin lips, it was hard to believe that all of it hadn't been just a hellish nightmare. One hurtful, surreal set of events that impacted his world.

Lucius silenced such thoughts, now was not the time for them. It wasn't the time for mourning, regretting or reprimanding, but for simple talking. There had been an abrupt change in the game, and now new rules were in order. That had been why he had called Draco.

Had it really? Wordlessly, Lucius inspected his son's figure. His insides ached with the certainty that his most treasured belonging was to be away, far from Lucius' wings, in a place he would not have any guarantee of safety. Before the disastrous Initiation, he had thought that he couldn't get any more attached to Draco. He had been proved wrong when faced with the possibility of losing his son. He had fought for the boy then, more fiercely than he remembered ever fighting for anything or anyone before. I wasn't, though, as if he had ever fought *Voldemort* before... He had always known better than that, now hadn't he.

Draco was, however, beyond the rules Lucius set for himself. For many years he had believed that the game was everything, was more important than himself at times, for what was he worth if he couldn't play? But he had found his son to mean more to him than anything. Any thing.

He thought of that as he approached Draco, swallowing his conditioned reflex to hide emotions and letting a smile take his lips.

"Draco."

His voice was almost a whisper, and his eyes caressed the boy's cheekbone as he would have with his fingers, a brush of lips or even his own face. It was a reverent, possessive, admiring and loving look.

He thought it so very adorable when a light blush tinged his son's cheeks.

Snapping out of that trance but keeping eye contact, he made his voice a little louder and firmer as he said,

"Sit."

Both obeyed his command, taking places on the leather sofa. The afternoon sun, filtered by the leaves of the climbing plant that covered the wall of the west side of the Manor, made Draco's eyes shine an exquisite shade of silver as he sat down, his eyes not leaving his father throughout the motion.

--

If it depended solely on the youth, Lucius would never leave his sight. Not when his presence was so needed, so comforting; not when Draco was basking in the thick love waves that mirrored his own feelings for his father.

"Now. There are things we need to discuss and tell each other."

Draco nodded his agreement, lowering his chin. He knew it was to come, sooner or later. More than the threat of any verbal or physical punishment, however, was the mental image of Lucius' disappointed eyes that made him flinch slightly.

"This is not a lecture, Draco. Even if it were, though, I'd expect no less from you than looking at me."

The younger Malfoy quickly tilted his head back up, a ready apology that never left his lips for he learned that it wasn't needed upon seeing his father's serious face. It was Lucius who would speak.

"Much has happened to change our views and perceptions. Some things I personally held as sacred were put to proof and mercilessly destroyed. One thing has remained; I trust you to know to what I am referring?"

He knew. He knew so very well. He had known before sitting on that sofa, before staring at his father, before feeling enveloped in the aura of love and light that was Lucius, feeling what he hadn't achieved even through the Uylessea stone. Before gazing into the eyes of the one he loved more than any other and seeing the answer written there.

"We have endured, Draco. Not only you and I, but us."

The youth felt as though he were drunk. Deliciously inebriated by the affection he felt emanating from his father, and that more importantly was being put down in words by the elder Malfoy.

He knew that Lucius was referring to their bond, which had remained intact, if not made stronger. But somehow it sounded like something else. Along with the soft touch to his skin, the eyes holding his own. There was indescribable want in his father, intermingled with tenderness and raw need and desire.

Draco had learned; he knew that his father feared losing him more than anything. Losing him not only physically, if Voldemort had killed him, but also his loyalty. He knew now why his father had been so apprehensive at the time of his Initiation, had insisted so much that Draco carry a piece of him around. It hadn't been the breaking of the body Lucius had dreaded; instead he had been concerned about the taking, taming and owning of Draco's soul by the Dark Lord.

The youth smiled sweetly to his father.

"Yes, Father, we have."

He turned his head to the side just so, leaning into the older man's touch, remaining still though his body ached to be pressed against his beloved's.

It was Lucius who moved forward, lessening the distance between them; Lucius who brought his other hand to his son's face, gently forcing Draco to look at him, tenderly brushing the fingertips of his thumbs against the youth's peach-soft skin.

"We have, and we always will, my Dragon."

Draco placed one of his hands over his father's, his fingers sneaking between the older man's ones, eyes locked with Lucius' in almost worship.

He let out a breath he hadn't acknowledged holding when the elder Malfoy backed off, let his hands fall to his lap and smirked to him.

Lucius kept on toying with his son's hand as he continued speaking.

"We won't ever be apart, if we don't want to. As long as we fight, it won't happen. And, may I say, you have put up a terrific battle. I am very proud of you."

"It was the least I could do, Father. Making right what I had ruined."

"Draco." Lucius' dry tone and the intensity of his gaze surprised his son. "Don't say that. It was not your fault."

"But I was the one who..."

"He made you."

--

Lucius cut him short, annoyance showing clearly in his voice, stating that it was not open to discussion.

He preferred to have it that way. He didn't want to think that his son's loyalty had failed him, not even for a second. Because his own loyalty to Draco hadn't.

"He has always been good at manipulating, I remember telling you this several times. Although it doesn't justify your actions entirely, it does lessen considerably your share of guilt. But that's not the point." The older man ran a hand for his hair, only half-aware of his son's hand still on his own. "The point is, what has happened can't be changed. However, there's no reason we can't twist it to our favour."

"Malfoy fashion." Draco smiled, worry leaving his features.

"Exactly. We're the best at making the best of everything. Let us start with what we have as reliable."

"Could those 'what's be 'who's?"

"Certainly."

Lucius seemed content with his son's reasoning, which only prodded Draco into going further.

"Right." He clutched his father's hand tighter. "There's you, me. Professor Snape."

"Oh yes. Severus is definitely on our list of reliable men." The older Malfoy smiled, amused at what was obviously a private joke. "Who or what else?"

"The rest of the Inner Circle. They're ours; not as much as Professor Snape but still on our side when it comes."

"When what comes?"

"Either Voldemort or Dumbledore."

Lucius smiled.

"Precisely, Draco. I'd been wondering whether you'd count the Old Fool as ally."

"I didn't think we were *that* desperate."

"And we aren't." Lucius freed his hand from his son's, bringing it to tuck a few strands of the silvery hair behind the youth's ear.

Draco smiled.

"Malfoys don't despair."

"Son, you're more than just Malfoy or Slytherin." Lucius' tone instantly had the youth's smile fade away, for it was tired and serious and, a small note but present nevertheless, supplicating. "There's something else I've been wanting to talk to you about."

Silence weighted upon both before the elder man finally decided to speak.

"The thing is, I can't strike against Voldemort or his minions. His forces are already too weak, and I can't risk anything happening to him. He doesn't have the same problems, though."

--

Draco felt his stare being directed to his father's eyes, almost as if magnetically. He knew then that Lucius was reading him, taking him in, analysing him. Going through possibilities.

"He won't be too pleased with me, and will have no qualms in striking at my dear ones in order to get to me. He's already done that."

Draco bit his lower lip nervously. "I'll take care, Father."

"You'll be at school with Severus, and in spite of knowing you're both very capable of standing for yourselves, I worry still. I have no delusions that you'll be safe in Hogwarts; to think that place safe from the Dark Lord is insanely stupid. Three times has he attacked Potter in some way or other, right under Dumbledore's beard."

The concern in his father's eyes ate Draco from the inside. "I'll be fine, Father." He swallowed. "You'll be the one remaining alone in the Manor."

"It isn't me you should be concerned with, Draco, but yourself. You have had enough experience with the Dark Lord to know that he is not an enemy to be underestimated. I have told you already what I think about Dumbledore's ability to guarantee your safety." Lucius' gaze still held his son's as he arched one eyebrow critically.

Silence followed.

"Father..." Draco began hesitantly. "Have I already apologised to you?"

--

He looked beautifully fragile on that moment, and Lucius ached. His son had fought the Dark Lord without flinching in his resolve; in spite of it there he was, looking up to his father as he would when he wasn't but five years old, and four, and six, and all the years that came before and after.

His hands made it to the boy's shoulder, and he held Draco fimrly but not without tenderness.

"I don't want you to." He shook his son lightly when Draco threatened to look away. "Draco. Listen to this. To me." He waited until he had the youth's attention before continuing. "You will not apologise. You don't have to be anything but proud, ever. And, even if you aren't, you mustn't show it to anyone else." He let a few moments pass, for his words to sink in, before he could say any more. "You're not mine anymore, Draco. Nor are you Voldemort's. You are your own and I couldn't possibly be more proud." His lips brushed against his son's forehead. "My Dragon."

He didn't move immediately, but pulled back soon enough, eyes locking with Draco's. A smile invaded his lips and he started talking again. He didn't want Draco to reply. He wanted his boy to think about what he had said, and make the best use of his advice.

"Besides, you don't have much to worry about. I think I'll hardly be alone. The rest of the Inner Circle has taken it to gather here in their spare time. I've even settled specific guest rooms for each of them." Lucius' lips curled into a teasing smile as he added, "Nott's is near yours."

"Father!" Draco cried out in mock indignation, smiling amusedly.

"That man snores like a train engine."

"Believe me, after four years of sleeping next to Crabbe I could sleep through a Mandrake quarrel."

From there the conversation drifted to unimportant, smaller, non vital matters. They remained close, touching one another, laughing carelessly together as if they had nothing to worry about. They had had their talk, expressed their concerns, reached an agreement about the rules and players to be kept and changed. What they needed now was time to digest the information, as well as the new situation.

It had changed in regards to Severus. Voldemort. The Inner Circle. The other Death Eaters. The Ministry. But, most important of all, in regards to both Malfoys.

Neither Lucius nor Draco had ever been especially touchy-feely. Yet there they were, playing with each other's hands, hair. Enjoying the closeness, adapting to this new facet of their recently re-shaped world. If nothing else, Draco's Initiation and all that followed had served to bring them closer. Which both very much enjoyed.

That newly achieved closeness was all the more precious because the moments both could spend together enjoying it were rare. There had only been a week since the Disaster, and the younger Malfoy still had four and a half months to spend in Hogwarts before he could return home for summers vacation.

*--*--*

Draco laid awake in his bed in the Slytherin domains. Private quarters were not something every student had access to; the young blond had only received his own the year before, his fifth. It had taken the Malfoy name as well as Severus Snape's favouritism to get it, and more than a few times Draco found himself entering his room, locking and warding it, sighing in relief at the possession of his sanctuary and wondering how had he been able to do without it for four whole years.

Presently, his thought and concern were focused on other things. Differently from his schoolmates, what was keeping Draco awake wasn't the results of the end-of-term tests.

And he still felt bad.

It had been his fault, he knew. He had been lucky to have people willing to fight for him, his father's unflinching loyalty, as well as Severus Snape's. Although he had betrayed both and let them down in so many ways, they had fought for him. At the time he had felt grateful, immensely grateful for both men's presence.

The very day before that disastrous evening, he would have thought it nothing more than fair.

However, he knew now that just because he was the most important thing in his father's life it didn't mean he had the right to wreck the rest of it. If nothing else, the past events had caused Draco to grow up, mature. He was now aware of the extension of his power over his father; and knew as well that that knowledge should be used to try to please and protect the other man from any harm rather than emotional blackmail or any other kind of manipulation. Manipulation was for the weak, those he sought to use, toy with or destroy; not the one he loved above all else. If he could make his father happy and proud, why not do it? Lucius' happiness and pleasure were his own, after all.

Draco rolled on his side. No sound disturbed the pensive silence that hung over the room, impregnated the very air. The noise from the Slytherin Common Room, two floors down, couldn't make it to his quarters. Nor was Snape in his study, from where it would be possible for both to hear what was going on in each other's rooms. Nothing would disturb the young Malfoy's thoughts.

Not that he needed any other disturbance than his own troubled mind.

It wasn't lights out just yet, and Draco was curled up in his bed, all alone. Most unusual for the one who was known to be the most popular kid in the whole of Slytherin House. As things were, he didn't want to be in his Common Room. It no longer represented safety or entertainment for him. Whilst he had never really trusted his housemates before, at least he had never feared that anyone in Slytherin would rise to oppose him, or cause him any kind of trouble. But with the Malfoy name being now spoken of with loathing in the Death Eater circles, the children of Voldemort's pawns wouldn't let him alone. His leadership had been shattered.

Or rather it would have been if all the Slytherin kids had so strong a bond to their parents as Draco. As it was, though, they had been carefully cultivated and taught to love him. So it turned out that Salazar's House was split in two, but oddly enough the contention was kept within house quarters. It wouldn't do for them to show to the rest of the school that they were crumbling; they had appearances to maintain and the older grudge against the remaining three quarters of Hogwarts to hold. Nevertheless, the Slytherin Common Room had turned into warzone and, as much as Draco hated to admit it, people no longer dreaded the thought of harming or even contradicting him.

What really bothered him, however, was that he was forced to seek peaceful shelter under the Headmaster's beard. By remaining in public places Draco ensured his safety and tranquillity, and he so hated to rely on anyone else. Which was part of the reason he had taken to dwelling in his room as frequently as he could. The long, lonely hours invariably had him filling his head with thoughts of the events of the past months as well as the people who had taken part in it. Lord Voldemort, his father. Severus Snape.

Severus' favouritism had always been a constant in Draco's life. But that, like nearly everything else, had suffered changes due to February's events.

Severus Snape, as Head of Slytherin, was admired and respected by all of his students, with no exceptions. He kept his choice of side to himself and demanded order and civility within the Common quarters; above all he didn't tolerate fights.

He had been clear to Draco about this.

<"You're no exception.">

What Draco didn't know was that the Potions Master had chosen that position partly to better protect him. Severus knew that as long as he wasn't seen as biased he'd maintain his authority, thus being able to rescue Draco should things get too bad.

Draco didn't question Snape's choice of behaviour. He had learned that, even in the lives of people who loved him, not everything was about him. This newly acquired idea didn't make his life easier, and he had great trouble adjusting to it. Especially because some time in the studying process he had concluded that this policy should also apply to himself.

It was really odd a thought for someone who had grown up with lots of expectations laid on him from all sides. He had to live up to the Malfoy name, the Slytherin image, his father and Professor Snape's ideals. At first, in Draco's mind, that had left him little time or space to be himself. Until he had learned that all of those things mingled to form his own personality, and that keeping those images was a part of him, not something he was forced to do.

The talk with his father had proved precious in his understanding of that. He now saw his life more clearly, was aware of the rules he had created for himself. Which left him more room to arrange all the rest as he thought best.

All things considered, he couldn't help but worry. The Light was closing on Voldemort. Somehow it had leaked out that the Dark Lord had lost his finest servants and, whilst there was no doubt his father could pull quite a few strings to slow the process and make it difficult, it was also a fact that Dumbledore was incredibly biased when the matter concerned Lucius Malfoy. The man had been dropping hints here and there since the incident with Voldemort's Diary and the Chamber of Secrets in Draco's second year.

The mistrust was very much reciprocal, mind you; only that now it was the Headmaster who could be harmful to the Malfoy. Draco was sure that the Old Fool had found a way to keep his father relatively in the dark about the Light's procedures. It was horribly hazardous now that the survival of the Dark Lord was intimately lined to Lucius', that information was essential.

As for Snape, well, the Headmaster was no fool. Although Severus had claimed to have taken the side of two of his students, it shouldn't be too difficult to guess with whom his loyalty truly laid. Therefore, the Potions Master too was probably being left out of the loop.

Draco thought it really infuriating that such vital information could be kept from the ones who needed it, especially when there was little doubt access to it was granted to idiots of the likes of Harry Potter. Powerlessness had never worked out for Draco.

Especially after having saved the day (and, more importantly, his father) during February's mess, Draco wasn't feeling content with simply letting things happen without as much as flicking his wand for his endangered loved ones.

It hit him that, if told that same sentence, he would have credited it to Potter.

Draco instantly rejected that thought. Having Voldemort as enemy didn't instantly make his favourite colours turn to red and gold. Things weren't that simple.

His hand reached out for the cigarettes on his nightstand, as well as his wand to light them. Even as he inhaled the smoke then puffed it out his eyes remained open, for he worried.

*--*--*

Severus Snape pinched the neck of a flask with his thumb and index finger, twisting the object so that its label was visible. He ran his eyes over the other shelves, where rows of flasks, vials and small bottles rested neatly, all labels facing out. He closed the door of one of his private supply room's many Potions-filled cupboards, then walked on to the next task, which would consist of washing cauldrons.

Office-tidying at the end of each term had become almost sacred to Severus. He was a creature of habit, genuinely fond of the control and normality they brought. It had proved of special importance during the last few months, when the Potions Master struggled to adjust himself to the changes that had occurred in his life.

To say that he liked the new settings was not an absurd understatement. With Severus, there was always the negative side of things to be considered.

He was with Lucius now. He had wanted it, gone through hell to achieve it; he felt himself surely deserving the Malfoy's companionship. He treasured the circumstance of his love being returned. It was something he had desired for so long that it had turned into need and now that he had it, he found that slow partaking of it made it all the more delicious. Lucius was his mate. His lover, his friend, the chaotic variable he welcomed in his orderly universe. The one who threw bits of excitement and annoyance on his well-structured, dull life. Severus had spent so much time distancing himself from the world, from people, that it was surprising to him that he should seek such a tie to humanity as Lucius. Truth to tell, the times he spent with the Malfoy figured among the best in Snape's life. If nothing else, Lucius always made him laugh. And that was worth the world to Severus, whose long times of solitude and confinement had endorsed his bitter nature. Lucius meant escape from routine, bitterness, quietness. Loneliness. He never felt alone when in the company of the Malfoy; Lucius would be always talking to him, needling him. He shook Snape from his dusty little world, throwing him inside the shimmering tornado that was Lucius' own existence.

Funny thing that Severus should mean constancy to his lover. Each sought in the other what their hearts desired but their natures forbade them from having. Together they didn't fly off into the clouds or buried themselves inside stony dungeons, but instead kept a much needed middle ground.

Perhaps the cheesy old saying about opposites attracting *was* true after all.

Severus knew better than that. His and Lucius' personalities might be strikingly different; however, their basic natures were the same. Both were Slytherins, both had certain values and shared opinions on important matters. They had brought up a child together, had they not?

Draco. Severus' pet student, his heart's child. Or rather his heart's young man, for Draco had grown. In front of the Potions Master's coal black eyes, the spoiled, intelligent, whiny, angelic-looking boy had grown into a feline Slytherin.

He used to think of Draco as a mix of himself and Lucius in one shiny, little bottle. The previous months' events had proved that wrong. Draco was neither his father nor his mentor: he was very much himself, in spite of the strong bond and little mannerisms he shared with both older men. Draco was the one who could get round them both, dazzle Lucius and Snape with a choice glance.

In a way Severus felt safe and reassured watching the cycle repeat itself, as if he was finally figuring out his role in it. He watched Draco, so much like his father. Desired by all, attached to none. He saw Pansy Parkinson's devotion, which reminded him of himself when young. Except that he hadn't been that blunt or pathetic about it. At least he hoped he hadn't, Severus amended. Anyway, it felt good watching the natural course of things. Malfoys breeding, dedicating themselves to their own business.

During fourteen long years, Severus had had no qualms about His name. If he had bothered with it at all, it had been to curse it and its owner. In a few months, though, he had come to not want to even think about Him. He, who stood always in the shadows, threatening to rise and strike, taking everything away with his blood-red power, leaving Severus to mope in the darkness.

He did not want Lord Voldemort anywhere near him, but least of all he wanted that loathed man to find any way to touch his Lucius.

He didn't fear that the Dark Lord would injure or kill Lucius; they were, after all, magically linked to each other. Severus would rather that bond didn't exist at all, would a thousand times rather run the risk of losing Lucius in the flesh than have that red-eyed monster be in any way connected to the one he loved. Because he knew, he had always known. He had been there when Lucius had first started to become interested in Lord Voldemort; he had been there at the time the Malfoy went head over heels in his desire to be high in the Dark Lord's ranks. He had resentfully watched Lucius become dangerously attached to the Heir of Slytherin.

And gods, he had been relieved when the man had died and left his Lucius alone.

That hadn't sat well with Lucius at the time, Severus knew, he had seen it. He had sighed in relief when the Malfoy had turned to the shreds of what had been left of his life, namely his son.

At first, Severus had not been too pleased with the news. Lucius had found himself a new someone to treasure, and this time he was making sure that someone would not leave him.

The Potions Master had been angry; he should have been the natural next best thing. Now that he looked back, he realised that he didn't want to be the Next best thing. At the time, however, he hadn't thought like that. He had just conditioned himself to stand the child's company, facing it as one of the many negative sides things simply, immutably *had*, Lucius' company included. If he wanted to stay with Lucius, he'd have to put up with the brat.

Which had turned into one of his very favourite activities, as he found out the joys of a pupil. The joys of a son.

A son and a lover. In a twisted way, Severus had found himself family. He wasn't a Malfoy, wouldn't ever be one, but he was linked to them. As they were to him.

He couldn't keep a small smile from reaching his lips as he thought of Lucius' invitation for private summer Potions Tutoring for Draco, to be taking place in the Malfoy laboratory.

*--*--*

6:45 in the morning. Harry Potter groaned, rubbing his eyes in an annoyed fashion then pulled the covers up to his nose.

Normally Harry would have rolled on his side and enjoyed the extra sleep hours Saturday meant, but his stomach growled a protest at the very idea.

Stomachs clearly knew nothing about end of term and how *lazy* people were supposed to be feeling.

Pulling in a pair of blue jeans and the first clean, short sleeved shirt he could find, the boy did only as much as run a hand through his floppy hair as he let out yawn after yawn on his way to the Great Hall.

He found himself a seat at the Gryffindor table and bunked down; then set to scan the room for a House Elf from whom he could get some food, since it was too early for breakfast. He frowned angrily when he spotted something silvery on the other side of the Hall, something he was quick to recognise as Draco Malfoy's head. Just what the hell was Malfoy doing there THAT early? Why hadn't he remained in his damp dungeons?

The possibility that the other boy might have been driven to the Great Hall by the same reason that himself never crossed the Gryffindor's mind. Draco couldn't be hungry. Actually, by the slim looks of him Harry decided that the Slytherin seldom fed at all. That, and he couldn't really recall Malfoy eating. Or drinking. Or falling asleep in class.

he concluded bitterly, running both hands through his hair in a vain attempt to push it down, for Malfoy's perfectly styled strands made him all too conscious of his scruffy state. He dropped that as he saw an Elf hurry by.

"Hey!" he shouted, waving a hand.

He regretted it immediately, because nearly all eyes on the Hall converted to him, and a group of four of five Hufflepuffs had been JUST entering.

Harry didn't fancy making a fool of himself in front of Malfoy, who had the unnerving gift of making him feel especially clumsy or, worse than that, watched and scanned for errors. Thus it came as relief for Harry to see that the blond hadn't raised his head.

That aside, his stomach was still complaining loudly. So Harry got up to chase after the House Elf and, hopefully, something edible. He stopped dead on his tracks when he realised where the little creature was heading to. He had no desire to collide with Draco Malfoy.

He had turned on his heels and was about to head back to his own table and patiently wait for the Elf to pass by on his way back (much to his stomach's fury) when...

"Decaf coffee?!"

Oh, yes. One could always count on Draco to bitch early in the morning. About petty things no less. Harry turned around, scowl in place.

"You were never *this* incompetent at home. Dumbledore and his kind ways, with *House Elves* for Merlin's sake!"

Harry was infuriated. Draco was smart enough to keep a quiet enough tone not to be heard by any of the few teachers sitting at the Teachers Table. The Gryffindor, however, could hear him very well indeed. He was spitting the same usual spoiled rubbish and didn't seem intent on stopping any time soon.

"Frankly, it's a small wonder the Dark lord got inside the Castle year after year after year and then just resurrected under the Old Fool's very own arched nose. If his bloody Elves can't serve properly, it was to be expected that his Aurors wouldn't-"

"Quit the whining, Malfoy."

Harry held Draco's gaze when the Slytherin lifted his eyes to him in a cold, piercing stare. And felt absolutely indignant when Malfoy utterly dismissed him, switching his look to the Elf, opening his mouth to start what would undoubtedly be another flood of unpleasant words. Harry beat him to it.

"Dobby is no longer yours to shout at."

"It isn't yours to protect either, Potter."

"He's my friend." Harry regretted these words on the instant he said them, because Dobby clung to his leg in a right embrace.

"Harry Potter calls Dobby friend! Dobby is honoured, sir!"

Trying his best to maintain his composure in spite of his newly acquired appendage and the cruelly amused look on Malfoy's face, Harry carried on.

"Besides, I don't enjoy hearing you whine this early."

"I don't enjoy being disgraced with your presence at any time, much less having you walk up to MY house table and delay MY cup of coffee."

"Then what's that steaming mug in front of your seat?"

Draco shot him a look that said very clearly 'you're a complete moron'.

"That, Potter, is decaf coffee."

"So what?"

"Even a Gryffindor can't be THAT dense." The Slytherin rolled his eyes. "What's the point in having coffee if there's no caffeine in it?"

"Tastes the same for all I'm concerned."

"Help yourself to it, then."

"I won't have your left-over! Wouldn't put my mouth on anything you touched."

"In that case I suggest you forget dating Hogwarts girls."

Before Harry could think of a reply, Draco was gone with a teasing wink of silver. Unravelling his limbs from Dobby's, the boy stalked off in pursuit of his rival. He didn't manage to catch up until the Slytherin stopped, leaning on the balcony in front of the castle's main doors, apparently busy with something. Harry approached.

"For someone who claims to descend from an aristocratic lineage, you surely know very little about manners."

Draco didn't turn around, but he made a little noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort.

"D'you think I don't know or just don't care?"

The Gryffindor was about to answer when the other boy turned around, wearing too smug a smile on his face, and puffed smoke on him.

"Besides, smoking isn't allowed inside the Castle," he said matter-of-factly, leaning against the parapet, casually almost.

"When did you start smoking?" the Gryffindor inquired venomously, waving a hand exaggeratedly to disperse the smoke.

"When did YOU start caring?" was the response he got. Apart, of course, from another puff of smoke.

"Why did you even meddle into my argument with the Elf anyway?"

"Thought I should help him out. I mean, you were making him feel like dirt for no other reason than you being a spoiled rich brat.

"And there comes the brave Boy Who Lives to the rescue. Honestly, Potter, the world's been spinning without your aid for millennia."

Harry sighed exasperatedly. "You're just in for a fight today aren't you?"

"You started it." was Malfoy's mechanic response.

"Well, you did start most of our arguments. And you sound eager to enter another one."

Draco offered him a piercing look.

"In case you haven't noticed, Potter, we're practically Seventh Years. My life doesn't revolve around making yours miserable, although I do have to admit that it is not an unpleasant occupation." He smiled slyly. "Anyway, I've grown up."

As if to prove his point, the Slytherin stepped away from the parapet, straightening himself to full height, close enough to be in Harry's personal space. Disturbingly close, actually, enough for the Gryffindor to smell the scent of the cinnamon cigarettes that were Draco's choice of smokes.

As well as notice that, oh how so very annoying that one tiny detail could be, he was a little taller than Harry himself. Harry decided to ignore that, eyeing the other boy defiantly, tilting his head up just a bit in order to do so.

"You can't get over being a prick, Malfoy."

"I'm not putting much effort into it while you're still around for me to annoy."

"Don't let me hold you back."

With that and a murderous look, Harry turned around and started to stomp back inside, to the Gryffindor tower. His appetite had been indeed ruined.

Watching the dark-haired boy leave, Draco was feeling strangely warm inside. His statement came to mind and he contemplated how true it was: it had been quite a while since he had last been engaged in a bickering session with Harry Potter.

he thought smugly.

He had almost forgot how much of an ego-boost it was to beat Potter. It was child's play when compared with what he had been through during the year, and even relaxing in a way. Draco liked constant things, and the animosity between him and Harry Potter was one of them for sure.