All's Fair

~*~

Chapter Six

Regaining consciousness after blacking out always felt very strange to Harry.

The first time it had happened, he had been just nine years old. Dudley had decided one morning that it would be funny to sneak into his sleeping cousin's cupboard and awaken Harry by jumping on top of him. The sudden weight of the rather large Dudley startled Harry so much that he fell out of his bed, banging his head on the floor in the process. At first nothing seemed wrong, and Harry had gone to the kitchen to help cook breakfast, feeling a little nauseous. The next thing he knew he was waking up on the ground, with Aunt Petunia screaming for Uncle Vernon and shoving a glass of orange juice down his throat. He had been so confused, as it was one of the only times he remembered his aunt ever showing any type of concern for her freakish nephew, and he just kept repeating to her that he was fine and must have somehow fallen asleep while standing.

It was a similar experience now, as Harry struggled to open his eyes. He came to the realization that he was lying on the cold, stone floor, the memory of what had taken place beforehand flooding fuzzily back to him, as if it had all been part of a dream. When his heavy lids finally lifted, he was terrified to see a pair of enormous green eyes staring into his own.

He quickly sat up, hand automatically reaching to pull out his wand from his pocket, when his brain registered that the intruder was none other than Dobby the house-elf.

"At last Harry Potter is awake!" Dobby shrieked in his squeaky voice, his distressed face brightening. "Dobby was so worried!"

"Shush, Dobby," Harry mumbled, rubbing his temples to prevent an oncoming headache. His skin was flushed and hot, almost tingly, and he felt as though he had had too much of Hagrid's mead last night.

Taking a step back to give the Gryffindor room, Dobby slapped a hand over his mouth. Harry started to get up and move over to his bed, but proved to be too unsteady to do it on his own. Dobby raced over to his side once more to assist.

"What time is it, anyway?" It was clearly morning, and the sun was shining bright and cheerful through the window. A little TOO bright for Harry's tastes at the moment.

"It's almost time for Dobby to go back to the kitchens with the other house-elves to make lunch, sir," Dobby squeaked in a much softer tone, eyes still wide with concern. "Dobby was just making the beds in Gryffindor Tower, sir, when he found Harry Potter and couldn't wake him up. Dobby was just about to get help."

Blinking in surprise at how much of the day he had already missed, the raven-haired boy felt a pang of unease. Was the potion SUPPOSED to have that sort of an effect? He was positive that he had followed the instructions exactly as the book said. Slowly he realized that Dobby was still talking, asking if Harry was alright and, upon no reply, offering to get Professor Dumbledore.

"No!" he cried, grabbing hold of one of the house-elf's frail arms to prevent him from vanishing. Harry didn't even want to think of how he would try to explain all of this to the headmaster. "No," he repeated more calmly, seeing the startled look on Dobby's face. "I'm fine, please don't worry Professor Dumbledore with this, Dobby. I was just a little over exhausted, but I'm perfectly alright now. Honest."

Dobby still looked a little doubtful, but he nodded agreeably, and Harry hid a sigh of relief. He smiled down at his small companion, releasing his grip. "Thanks for worrying about me, though, you're a real mate," he said, and Dobby blushed, his large eyes watery with pride, positively tickled at the compliment. "I'm sorry I haven't stopped by to see you yet this term," Harry added with genuine regret. "I'll have more time to visit once this month is up and I'm finished serving my detentions with Draco."

Saying his rival's name aloud immediately brought to mind silken blonde hair, steely grey eyes, and a determined pink mouth. Harry felt something within him flutter with pure desire and longing, quickly followed by fear and horror at the awareness that the mere thought of Malfoy still turned him inside out. The potion hadn't worked!! How could this possibly be?! His heart began to pound in panic, and all the color in his cheeks faded.

Apparently Dobby was still reveling in being deemed a friend of The Boy Who Lived, so he didn't take notice of the sudden pale hue his hero sported. "Dobby looks forward to that, sir!"

Suddenly desperate to be alone to figure out his feelings and what had gone wrong with the Broken Heart Elixer, Harry tried to find an excuse to get rid of the house-elf. "Well, anyway, I'm feeling much better now, so if you need to go and make up the lunch-"

Impossibly, Dobby's eyes widened even more. "Dobby almost forgot! He still has to finish the rest of the Gryffindor rooms! None of the other house-elves will come up here. Still afraid that they will find clothes," he said sadly, and Harry dimly wondered if Hermione still believed she was tricking the house-elves into freedom by leaving articles of clothing hidden in her Head Girl dormitory.

"Goodbye, Harry Potter, sir! If ever there's anything Dobby can do for Harry Potter...."

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry said, forcing a weak grin on his tired face, a facade that disappeared just as soon as the house-elf did. He lay back on his bed, and shakily covered his face with his hands. Merlin, what was he going to do now? He despised how helpless he felt, and frustrated tears misted his vision.

'Snape was right all along; I'm pathetic at Potions,' he snorted silently, and he felt a flash of anger as he recalled how he had seen his professor giving him an unfair grade. Maybe Harry wasn't really as terrible in the course as he had always thought, but he should have known he would be unable to brew something as complex as the Coeur Cassé without any assistance. Bloody hell, he hadn't even been able to read the text without looking almost every word up in his dictionary! What was even more shocking was that he was surprised at all.

Unless....

'Maybe it just needs some time before it begins to have any real affect,' Harry thought hopefully, though a large portion of him doubted it.

Taking a deep breath, he somehow managed to roll out of bed, ignoring his still throbbing headache. As much as he just wanted to drift back to sleep, he knew his friends would be frantic if he skipped both breakfast and lunch, and an explanation to Hermione would be just about as painful as one to Dumbledore.

'Why couldn't the damn Elixer have just done what it was supposed to do? How am I ever going to be able to face Malfoy all year if I can't get rid of this stupid obsession?'

Dragging his feet to the showers, Harry took some comfort in the relief the cool stream of water brought to his feverish skin.

Something told him it was going to be a long day.

*

That afternoon saw Harry heading off to the Quidditch pitch with the rest of the Gryffindor team, in an attempt to get in some strenuous practice for their first match of the season, which was against Hufflepuff in two weeks. The opposing team was made up mostly of new players this year, but Harry wasn't about to take any chances.

To their captain's chagrin, none of the young Quidditch players on his own team seemed able to give it their all at the 5AM sessions he had scheduled, and so they had (rather reluctantly) agreed that, if Harry limited the early mornings to three times a week instead of four, they would give up free time on the weekends to make up for the loss.

After requesting their presence on the pitch in an hour, Harry had left his teammates at the start of lunch (ignoring the complaints and half-heartedly thrown muffin that bounced harmlessly off his shoulder) and joined Ron and Hermione, who sat at a secluded section of the Gryffindor table. The trio had spoken in hushed voices as Ron and a slightly distracted Harry filled Hermione in on what they had learned about Hirtus Figulus, the Gryffindor Heir.

Hermione had, unsurprisingly, heard of him before, though her knowledge of the mysterious wizard was as limited as Harry's own. Once Harry had broken the news to Ron about the impromptu practice, Hermione agreed to meet them in the Gryffindor Common Room when the two boys were finished. Hermione had tried to suggest the library as a more appropriate location, but Harry firmly insisted that he already spent more time holed up there than he preferred.

Harry grinned slightly in anticipation as he went over to the broomshed to retrieve the trunk of Quidditch equipment. One of his favorite memories of his time at Hogwarts, that he knew would remain with him post-graduation, were the numerous hours of research he and his best friends would conduct prior to some insane adventure.

He was really looking forward to spending time with just the two of them, as they used to when they were younger. Over the past couple of years there was always someone else joining their group, whether it be Ginny, Susan, Neville, and so on. As appreciative as Harry was of all of his friends in the Wizarding World, he couldn't imagine being closer to or loving anyone more than Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger.

'Even if they do tend to drive me nutters sometimes with all their bickering,' he thought with a fond smile.

Levitating the trunk with a swift 'Wingardium Leviosa,' Harry followed behind it with his wand raised, the heavy mahogany box floating to the field as if it weighed no more than a feather.

"Hey, we didn't come out here to stand on the ground chatting! Get up in the air, you lazy sods!" Harry barked when he reached his immobile players, and felt his stern mask crack into laughter at the sight of their over-dramatic glares.

"It's Sunday, Harry," Euan Abercrombie replied, his eyebrows raised as if in disbelief. "What kind of sick bastard schedules practice on a Sunday?"

Harry merely grinned brightly and flipped two fingers at him. "The same kind who has the authority to make that practice long and painful," he retorted sweetly, and that was all the six grumpy Gryffindors needed to hear before they kicked off hard from the ground.

Hiding a smirk, Harry opened the trunk and released the bludgers, before tossing the red quaffle to Ginny, who was flying low, close to where he stood.

"We're going to start with moving passes!" he called, mounting his trusty Firebolt. Just as he was about to kick off, however, he was distracted by Ron shouting to someone behind him.

"Oi! No dirty Slytherins should be on the pitch while we're practicing! Unless you're trying to steal our moves like you did last year, Malfoy!"

Harry felt his stomach drop, and privately prayed the elixir would start working in the five seconds it took him to turn around and face his enemy.

It didn't.

Malfoy stood with the rest of the Slytherin team, appearing almost angelic dressed in his green Quidditch robes, the autumn sun reflecting off his fair hair and skin, making him radiant with golden light. The ethereal image was ruined by the sinister sneer that curled his sensual lips, and even more so when he opened said lips to respond to Ron's taunts.

"Fuck off, Weasley. The only one destitute enough to have to steal anything around here is you," he fired back, and rested his chilly grey gaze on Ginny, who still hovered nearby. "I'd suggest prostituting your sister to raise some Galleons, but with those hideous freckles and that vile red hair I doubt she could attract one Knut, much less the two that are attached to a wizard."

Giving a guttural growl, a purple-faced Ron shot through the sky towards Malfoy to defend his baby sister.

"No, Ron!" Without stopping to consider what he was doing, Harry automatically took off and effectively blocked Ron's path, forcing the ginger-haired boy to make an abrupt stop in his attack, lest he crash into his best friend in mid-air.

"Watch it, Harry!" Ron's cerulean eyes widened in shock at the near collision, and then narrowed in fury as he looked past the other Gryffindor and saw Malfoy's smug expression. He tried to swerve around Harry, but again found his way obstructed by his Quidditch captain. "Bloody hell, what do you think you're doing, Harry!? Get out of the way so I can pound the ugly plum!"

Blinking, Harry slowly began to ask himself the same question. What WAS he doing protecting Malfoy? Glancing around self-consciously, Harry stiffened as he saw that everyone, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike, had stunned stares focused on him.

His brain working fast for an explanation, Harry turned to face an irate Ron. "Look, just calm down for a second, Ron! Fighting the Head Boy will only land you in detention, at best. And I'm sure Malfoy would be enough of an arse to find a way of preventing you from playing in our match against Hufflepuff," he said reasonably, regaining confidence with each word. "The last thing we need is for you to wind up suspended from the team or something so that we have to forfeit our first game of the season, so don't be stupid!"

The rest of the Gryffindor team hesitantly nodded in grim agreement, and Harry felt some of the tension drain from his neck and shoulders.

The Slytherins didn't look quite as easily convinced, and Harry noted apprehensively that their eyes remained fixed intently on him. Being masters of manipulation themselves, they could tell Harry was lying, but clearly couldn't figure out why else the Boy-Who-Lived would defend their leader. Unwillingly, his own gaze focused on Malfoy. Harry was startled to see that a small, eerie smile had creeped onto Draco's pointed face. An ominous shudder went through him at the sight of it.

"Harry's right, Ron," Ginny spoke up, addressing her brother while glowering darkly at Malfoy. "He's not worth getting into trouble over. Besides," she continued with an indignant flip of her recently affronted hair, "I can stand up for myself, thanks."

Ron sputtered for a moment, his face so discolored that Harry worried his friend's rage had caused him to forget how to breathe. "Fine! Next time I'll just let him bully you, then!" Ron finally spat out, glaring furiously at the best friend and sister who had betrayed him to defend their long-time enemy. Without another word, the Gryffindor Keeper swung his broom around and flew off towards the changing rooms.

"I think your pet weasel is upset with you, Potter," Malfoy said, a gleeful expression on his face.

"Shit," Harry muttered to himself, ignoring the sniggers from Malfoy and the Slytherins. He was half tempted to go after Ron, but knew from years of experience that it was better to let the fiery redhead cool off for a while first. Catching Ginny's eye, he saw she was thinking along the same lines and they exchanged shamefaced smiles before he focused his attention on the others still on the field.

"Okay, guys, we still have a match to get ready for," Harry said loudly to the rest of his team, who were hovering close by, looking awkward. "I'll cover Ron's post as Keeper when the rest of you are working on formation. Start with four laps around the pitch." In a rare moment of compliance, the five crimson-clad players followed Harry's instruction without any objections, not wanting to push their captain's patience when he was already upset.

Struggling to keep his expression blank and his breathing normal, Harry deliberately landed directly in front of Malfoy, stubbornly trying to stare the taller boy down despite his disadvantaged height.

"Ron's right, you know; You lot shouldn't be here. Gryffindor's using the field now, so you can just slither back to your dungeons." Wincing inwardly, Harry silently berated himself for coming up with such lame banter, but it was difficult to think of anything better with Malfoy standing so close by. A light breeze had tousled the typically immaculate hair, playing with the pale strands to make them dance across Draco's forehead. Harry felt sick at the realization that he was jealous of the wind. 'I hate him, I hate him, I hate him....,' he privately reminded himself.

Still looking pleased at having helped to start an argument, Malfoy merely rolled his eyes at Harry and carelessly shook the hair off his face. "Oh, so clever," he ridiculed. "We'll SLITHER there, because we're SLYTHERINS. My, such impressive wit, Potter. Do you take Remedial Repartee lessons in addition to Remedial Potions?" The other Slytherins snickered, and Malfoy smirked, clearly enjoying being the center of attention. "And you know as well as I do that there aren't any booked practices on Sundays, Potter," Malfoy continued. "So you can either share the pitch nicely, or Madam Hooch will hear about this and you won't be able to practice all week."

Harry's jaw clenched. The chant was coming more effortlessly now. 'Hate him, hate him....'

"Fine," the raven-haired Seeker said through gritted teeth. "Gryffindor will use the far end of the field and you lot can have this half. Just make sure to stay out of our way." Eager to get away before his temper got the better of him and landed him in further trouble with the Head Boy, Harry turned to go, mumbling bitterly, "See you tonight in detention."

Before he could leave the ground to join his team, however, he heard Malfoy call him back. Pivoting to see what the other wizard wanted now, Harry crossed his arms irritably. Malfoy quickly advanced on him with a gleam in his silver eyes that sent waves of alarm down Harry's spine. Instinctively Harry moved to put more space between them, but Malfoy's Seeker hand easily caught hold of his wrist to prevent the retreat.

Harry froze in shock at the unexpected contact.

Staring wide-eyed at the contrast of alabaster skin against his own fading tan, Harry was only dimly aware of their Slytherin audience as Malfoy stepped close to speak directly in his ear. "I wasn't finished with you yet," he hissed. "You think it's as simple as walking away from me?"

Too busy trying to remember how to breathe, Harry couldn't answer. When at last he regained control over his lungs, he inhaled deeply, involuntarily discovering that his rival smelt sharply of green tea and mint. He felt dizzy. Some part of his confused brain vaguely registered that Malfoy was still talking, but Harry couldn't understand a word. He seemed to have gone temporarily deaf at the sensation of warm breath and lips brushing next to his ear almost casually,

Finally, FINALLY!, the taller boy pulled away slightly to look expectantly at Harry through narrowed eyes, apparently waiting for a reply. He was still too close and, feeling a little bit as if he was under water, Harry was all too conscious of the fact that Malfoy's grip on his arm hadn't relented.

"What was that?" he managed to choke out, disgusted with himself for how weak he sounded.

Malfoy's lip curled in mild amusement. "I do believe you're trembling, Potter." He lifted Harry's slim wrist for closer inspection, clasping it with both of his own white hands, thumbs rubbing small circles against the delicate skin. "I can feel how fast your pulse is beating," he murmered, leaning in so that his probing eyes were inches away from Harry's. "Is that all for me?"

'I'm going to die,' Harry thought frantically, irrationally. 'It doesn't matter if he kills me for it later, because if I don't kiss him right now, I'll only die sooner.'

"Oi, D-Draco! You b-b-back away from P-Potter now!"

And suddenly the trance was broken. As Malfoy turned his flaxen head to confront the owner of the stuttering baritone, releasing the grip on his prey, awareness forced the mist from Harry's mind with a jolt, causing him to stumble back a step. With the regained control over the traitorous thoughts, the Gryffindor became fully conscious of the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team. They didn't look happy.

It was Crabbe who had interrupted the two rivals and now stood quaking under Malfoy's astonished gaze. The five other housemates smartly remained silent, a healthy distance away from the Head Boy, but Harry was taken aback that the hostile looks on their faces were aimed at their captain rather than at The-Boy-Who-Lived. Apparently they were Not Amused with Malfoy's seductive performance.

Unfortunately for Crabbe, Malfoy's shock was rapidly being swapped for hostility as well.

Turning away from Harry completely, Malfoy stalked aggressively toward his bulking friend, seeming oblivious to the fact that the other boy was easily twice as large as the svelte blonde.

"What did you say?" asked Malfoy dangerously.

Crabbe continued to shake, but stealing a nervous glance at goggling Harry strengthened his resolve. "I.... I said to leave H-Harry alone," he repeated, cringing.

Blinking, Harry pinched his arm. No--he was definitely awake. He carefully moved to have a better view of the surreal scene taking place in front of him.

"HARRY?! Since when is that dirty half-blood Harry?" Malfoy spluttered, his typically bloodless cheeks tinged pink with rage. Disregarding a painful twinge, Harry dazedly wondered how appalled Malfoy would be if he knew just how much he resembled Ron when he was angry.

"Don't call him names!" Crabbe's shout was at total contrast with his terrified expression.

Malfoy was doing an admirable impression of an enraged goldfish. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he snarled. "You bloody traitor!" His fist bunched up in preparation to strike his formerly loyal sidekick, but by now Goyle had joined in, putting himself inbetween them.

"Stop fighting," Goyle grunted. "You're friends, so you shouldn't fight."

Simple as the words were, they surprisingly seemed to be what Malfoy needed in order to recollect himself, though his posture remained tense. This appeared to be good enough for Goyle, however. The brunette placed a beefy hand on Malfoy's shoulder.

"That's better, Draco," he said in his raspy voice. Malfoy had taken a couple of deep breaths and relaxed slightly when Goyle opened his mouth again. "Now apologize to Harry for being mean and promise not to touch him anymore."

Green and grey eyes stared at him.

Harry stood fixed in place just long enough to see Malfoy's fist fly into Goyle's pudgy face. Hopping on his Firebolt, he hastily took advantage of the violent distraction to escape to the castle unnoticed. He didn't know what was going on with the Slytherins, but he knew he didn't want to be around when the two Beaters regained their sanity.

*

It was nearly dinnertime, and Hogwarts' corridors were steadily getting busier as students from all four houses began to trickle towards the Great Hall.

Weaving his way around the hungry crowds, Harry ignored his own grumbling stomach and instead slowly walked the passages that led to Gryffindor Tower, looking down to avoid eye-contact with anyone. Filch must have had more time on his hands since Fred and George Weasley had left over a year ago--Harry didn't think he had ever seen the school's stone floors so clean.

After fleeing from the Quidditch field that afternoon, the befuddled teenager had spent the following hours hiding out in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, trying to sort out his confused thoughts while simultaneously avoiding the teammates he had left stranded without a captain at practice. Unfortunately he hadn't gotten much accomplished, as Myrtle had decided to lay her own woes on him. The miserable ghost had recently had an unpleasant encounter with Peeves, and Harry had wasted over an hour trying to convince her that being spotty gave character.

Lost once more in his ponderings, Harry absently greeted the Fat Lady with the password. It just didn't make sense. 'Why didn't the potion work?' he asked himself for the hundredth time, and was about to head up the stairs to his dorm when someone called his name from across the Common Room.

Hermione and Ron were sitting on opposite ends of one of the plush couches nearest to the fireplace, surrounded by tons of books. Some lay open on the extra space of cushion between the couple, while others were stacked into careful piles on the floor. Harry reluctantly abandoned his thoughts once more to join the two Prefects, sitting across from them in a lone armchair. He really hoped Hermione wasn't going to try to rope him into studying for the N.E.W.T.S already. He had enough on his plate to deal with for the moment.

"Where have you been all day?" asked Hermione, frowning. A concerned crease appeared between her brows.

Noticing that Ron hadn't bothered to look up from the thick tome in his lap, Harry groaned inwardly. He had forgotten that his best friend was angry with him.

'Because of Malfoy,' he thought irritably. 'Everything always goes back to that git.'

"Andrew Kirke came by earlier looking for you. He seemed rather annoyed that you left practice without telling anyone, but luckily Ginny took it upon herself to cover for you so that you wouldn't get into trouble with Madam Hooch," the bushy-haired girl continued, a disapproving glint in her eye.

Releasing a weary sigh, Harry slumped low in his seat. Watching the yellow flames flicker in the fireplace, he took his time in responding to his friend.

"I'm sure they were secretly thrilled I wasn't there to torture them," he said finally, sneaking a glance at Ron to see if the redhead would crack a smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. To his disappointment Ron maintained a stoic air, but Harry was familiar enough with the other boy to know he was at least listening.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "That's not funny OR fair, Harry. Leading the team is YOUR responsibility-" She began scolding, but something in Harry's expression must have caught her off-guard. Leaning forward, Hermione observed him intently. "Are you okay, Harry?" she said with care. "Andrew said you spoke with Malfoy before running off, and to be quite honest you look rather frazzled."

Smiling weakly, Harry waved a dismissive hand. "Just the usual rubbish Malfoy dishes out," he lied. Desperate to change the subject from the bane of his existence, Harry searched his head frantically for what to say before he recalled something. "Hey," he sat up thoughtfully. "You want to hear something really strange?"

Harry proceeded to tell the young witch (and her eavesdropping boyfriend) an edited version of what had happened with Crabbe and Goyle on the pitch.

"That IS strange," Hermione mused dryly when he was done. "I hadn't realized that those two could even speak in complete sentences."

They both jumped when Ron abruptly slammed his book shut. Still keeping his azure eyes averted from Harry, he reached for one of the texts stacked on the floor, muttering under his breath as he did so. Harry thought he heard something like, "Betraying your best friend is popular today."

Throwing Ron a dirty look, Harry childishly decided that two could play the ignoring game. Deliberately leaning towards Hermione so that it would be clear Ron wasn't included in the conversation, he picked up one of the books, too. Surprised, he recognized it as one of the many that he had borrowed from the library's collection a week ago.

"Where did you get this?" he asked curiously, and no sooner had the question escaped his lips than he remembered the plans the three of them had made at lunch. Smacking his forehead with his palm, he winced, peering at Hermione guiltily from under his hand. "I forgot to meet you guys."

Hermione snorted. "That much is obvious," she said, raising her eyebrows at him. "And we took the books from your room. I hope you don't mind, but I have a master key and you weren't exactly around to ask...."

"No, not at all," said Harry, flipping through the pages of 'The Legend of Godric Gryffindor.' He paused briefly at an illustration of the sword he had retrieved from the Sorting Hat years ago in the Chamber of Secrets before moving on. "So did you find out anything about Hirtus Figulus?"

Frustrated, Hermione shook her head. "Hardly a thing so far, I'm afraid. Just that-"

A bang at a closed window across the room interrupted her. Glancing around the room, Harry noticed for the first time that the three of them were alone in the Common Room, the rest of Gryffindor having doubtlessly gone to dinner already.

"Probably an owl," he said, and had stood to go let it in when Ron beat him to it. Not recognizing the rusty colored bird that flew in carrying an enormous package, Harry sat back down. Ron was about to rejoin Hermione on the couch when the owl landed on the gangly boy's shoulder, dropping its heavy burden in front of him.

Blinking, Ron merely looked at it in puzzlement for a second before tearing at the brown paper. He removed a piece of parchment from inside, his head cocked to the side.

"There's a letter from Mum," he said, his eyes scanning it quickly. As he reached the bottom of the page, a huge grin stretched across his face, and he eagerly began digging into the package, withdrawing multiple articles of clothing. "Look!" Ron beamed, holding up a red shirt with a giant yellow 'R' on the front.

"It's a bit early for Christmas presents, isn't it?" Hermione frowned, but Ron shook his head patiently.

"This isn't for Christmas," he corrected her with a breathless laugh. "Mum's decided to start a clothing line! Some crazy big-wig fashion wizard saw one of her jumpers and thought they would sell. In exchange for 30% of whatever profit they make, he's helped front some money to get her designs on all types of clothes. They're gonna sell them at Fred and George's shop! Here, she sent samples for the three of us and Ginny."

"That's fantastic, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. Harry just gave an uneasy smile, unsure of whether his friend was still angry with him.

This went unnoticed by Ron, who excitedly began sifting through the assortment of clothes, separating the H, R, and G insignias. The owl that was resting on his shoulder nipped at his ear gently before taking off out the window, undoubtedly heading for the Owlery for refreshment.

Chewing on his lower lip, Ron stared in confusion at the 'H' pile. "Uh, I guess the more girly ones are for you, Hermy," he said, handing her a couple of shirts. "And I think these must be yours, Harry."

Harry hesitated before accepting the garments offered to him. "Thanks, but I thought you weren't talking to me," he said apprehensively, half expecting Ron to yank them back at the reminder.

But the Gryffindor Keeper just ducked his head sheepishly and shrugged. "Well, it's not like I was going to stay mad at you forever anyway," he said, looking at Harry directly for the first time since the raven-haired boy had entered the Tower. "I hate it when we have a row, I shouldn't have gone nuts like that. Alright?" He gave a small smile which Harry gratefully returned.

"Yeah," replied Harry happily. "We're good." Looking back down at the clothing in his lap, Harry held up a thin goldenrod shirt emblazoned with a spring-green 'H' when an idea came to him. "The three of us should wear these to dinner. You know, to advertise for your mum."

Ron's eyes lit up. "Good thinking!" He picked up the red shirt again and quickly changed into it, carelessly dumping the dirty top he'd been wearing onto the pile set aside for Ginny. "You two had better hurry if we want to make it to the Great Hall before they stop serving, though."

Glancing down at himself, Harry realized he was still dressed in his Quidditch robes. "I'll be right back!" he promised over his shoulder as he raced up the stairs to his dorm, his arms full of clothes, while Hermione dashed off to the suite she had earned for becoming Head Girl.

*

Spending time with Ron and Hermione had helped Harry to almost forget that he still had to meet with Malfoy after dinner for detention. Of course it was impossible to completely forget, what with the blonde sitting just across the Great Hall during the entire meal. He did his best to keep from staring at the handsome boy, trying to focus on his food and the chatter of his fellow housemates instead.

That Crabbe and Goyle weren't at their typical stations next to Malfoy hadn't passed Harry's attention, however. Apparently the Slytherin threesome hadn't made up yet, unlike the Gryffindor friends. While Malfoy didn't have a visible mark on him, Goyle had a nasty bruise on his right cheek and a bandage on the bridge of Crabbe's flat nose suggested that Madam Pomfrey had refused to fix a broken bone as a punishment for fighting. Harry also couldn't help noticing, with increasing discomfort, that the two hulking Slytherin bullies had kept their eyes trained on the black-haired boy the entire time they greedily shoveled beef stew into their mouths.

Time had gone by more swiftly than Harry would have liked, and now he found himself heading for the library yet again, his pace deliberately slow. His heart was already beating hard in anticipation of being alone with his rival, despite his aversion.

With each step he took towards his fate, he tried to convince himself that he didn't want to be with Malfoy, but it was useless. The Coeur Cassé hadn't influenced the way he felt about the other boy in the slightest. If anything, their almost intimate encounter on the Quidditch field that afternoon seemed to have broken some part of Harry's spirit, making it impossible for him to lie to himself anymore.

Harry Potter was inexplicably falling in love with Draco Malfoy.

~*~