The True Nature of Love

The True Nature of Love

Chapter Two

Sixth year, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Harry sat in the library working on his Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment. His preliminary research into Avada Kedavra had yielded disturbing results; it was fatal to all who crossed its path because it forced the soul of a person out of his or her body. The curse had roots in necromancy, the most heavily regulated form of magic in existence. From what Harry could discern from his limited research, a very powerful practitioner of necromancy could force the soul of a dead person back into its body. Harry recalled Dudley watching zombie movies in the front room despite Aunt Petunia's protests.

There had been rare accounts of necromancers so powerful they could force the soul out of a person and trap it in an urn or ceremonial holding device. This kind of treatment was rarely administered because it took an extremely powerful necromancer to pull it off. Additionally, the 'dark' energy one had to tap into to perform a ceremony of that magnitude resulted in horrible side effects; if someone repeatedly worked with magic that dark, they ended up looking worse than the people they tormented. I suppose that's why Voldemort looks so wretched, Harry thought to himself, reading on. Avada Kedavra was directly descended from such ceremonies, except wizards were able to use their wands and an incantation in lieu of the blood of a goat and severed hands.

Harry was starting to regret his choice of spell. He really didn't want to think about how his parents or Cedric died or the fact that by all accounts, it was incredibly painful to have your soul ripped from its body. When Cedric had died...he hadn't had time to react. Harry had allowed himself to believe that his parents and Cedric had felt nothing. Stop! Don't think about it now...not here. Harry was saved from his somber thoughts by Neville.

"Harry, can you give me the password to the common room? I've forgotten it again."

Bless your forgetfulness Neville Longbottom! Harry was about to tell Neville the password when he remembered he had an unwelcome guest sitting across from him. His gaze shifted to Malfoy, who was eyeing Neville as if he were viewing the most unpleasant thing on the face of the planet. Harry resisted the urge to say something nasty to him and pulled Neville off to the side.

"It's canary cream, Neville, you should remember that," Harry said, recalling last year when Neville had turned into a giant canary in the middle of the Gryffindor common room.

"Harry, do you know how many assortments of Weasleys' Wheezes I fell victim to last year? I could go through a list of thirty possible passwords if that's my only clue."

Harry smiled and replied, "Tell Ron and Hermione I'll be up shortly. And, er, tell them I'm still alive--and so is he." Harry jerked his head in Malfoy's direction.

Neville, looking slightly disappointed by this last bit of news, nodded and headed in the direction of the Gryffindor common room. Harry ambled back to his table, careful not to disturb any of Malfoy's papers. He had managed to avoid talking to the Slytherin all evening and he wanted to keep it that way. Actually, he had managed to avoid speaking to him each of the past three days they had meet to 'discuss' their presentation.

The Potter/Malfoy method of studying consisted of sitting at the same table never speaking or acknowledging the other's presence. This last rule was waived on occasion as each boy shot hostile glances at his counterpart. Harry's sitting motion halted as he realized Malfoy had taken the book he had been reading moments before Neville interrupted him. Determined to keep his calm and avoid a row with Malfoy, Harry picked up another book from the table.

"I'm not done with that one," drawled Malfoy.

Harry counted to ten before answering him. "You didn't seem to mind taking the book I was reading."

Calmly thumbing through the book in question, Malfoy replied, "Of course I didn't mind, the essential difference being that was me."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry nipped irritably, sitting down and opening the book.

Malfoy was about to reply when Blaise Zabini appeared. For a moment, Harry thought Malfoy looked more disturbed by Zabini's presence than his own, but he knew that wasn't possible; the Slytherins were one big, happy, inbred family. Sure enough, when he peeked up from his book again, Malfoy's 'heir to the throne' expression was firmly back in place.

"Pansy and I are headed to the common room," Blaise told Malfoy, ignoring Harry.

"Where's Crabbe?" asked Malfoy, never looking up from his book.

"He's staring off into space alongside that Anthony Goldstein chap," came Zabini's aloof reply.

"Like you accomplished anything with Pansy--well anything involving the two of you in an upright position," snapped Malfoy.

Harry found himself laughing despite himself. The separate houses were like families--they didn't air dirty laundry around outsiders. The Slytherins were normally the most tight-lipped bunch--evidently Zabini and Malfoy had forgotten themselves. This was a pleasant breach in protocol. Now Malfoy was staring at Harry as if he were an annoying insect. Indifferent to his gaze, Harry looked at him and whispered, "Go pureblood pride."

Malfoy looked angry for a second; then he seemed to adopt the 'you're just a filthy, annoying insect' approach again. As he turned his attention back to Zabini, Harry spotted Seamus and Dean leaving the library and decided it was time to go. He didn't bother excusing himself; he just left the two Slytherins to their whispered argument. He was about to catch up with Dean and Seamus when he was halted by someone calling his name.

"There you are, Harry; I've been looking for you."

Harry looked around and saw Lavender Brown approaching him. He was momentarily shocked because she rarely addressed him. She and Parvati normally sat in corners gossiping about everyone else. "What do you want?" asked Harry, opting for outright suspicion over manners.

If Lavender was put off by his response, she didn't show it. "Well, you know Parvati is in the other Defense Against the Dark Arts section. She and I are looking into the Imperius Curse and we wondered if we could talk to you about it sometime this week." She finished hurriedly when she saw the skeptical look on Harry's face. "It's just--we don't know anyone else who has resisted it and we wanted to include your experience in our presentation."

Harry considered her request for a moment, then acquiesced, "As long as I'm not put on display like some freak, it's okay with me."

Lavender smiled and to Harry's surprise, she gave him a quick hug before whispering, "Thank you."

Harry still had a look of astonishment on his face when he entered the Gryffindor common room a few minutes later.

"What's wrong mate?" Ron asked from a cushy chair by the fireplace. "Did you happen upon Ginny and Dean? I was traumatized for a week after I caught them snogging in a classroom."

"No, I didn't--though that thought will now haunt me for the rest of the week."

Harry paused to laugh as Dean, who was sitting nearby with Ginny, exclaimed, "Oi!" in mock anger.

Harry lowered his voice and muttered, "Lavender just hugged me."

"Lavender Brown? You have the best luck," Ron reflected, clearly agitated by Harry's good fortune. "Did she, er, do anything else?"

Harry's face turned red as he answered, "NO! She just wants my help with her Imperius Curse presentation."

Hermione seemed to have a different opinion regarding Lavender's motivation. She scoffed at his statement and said, "Sure she does. In case you haven't noticed, Lavender's grades have always been near the top of our year. Not to mention the fact that she was in class the day you learned to fight off the Imperius--she's already heard your method of throwing it off." Hermione looked up from her Ancient Runes homework. "She has a crush on you," she finished matter-of-factly.

"She likes Harry?!" exclaimed Ron, not bothering to mask his disbelief.

"Well, not that I think I'm as hopeless as Ron makes me out to be," Harry glared at Ron before continuing, "but she's never even had a full conversation with me. How could she like me?"

"Well, perhaps crush is the wrong word, but look at it from her perspective. Last year you dated Cho, who is one of the most popular and prettiest girls in school, not to mention the fact that she's older than you. Then look at how Cho carried on when you two argued--she was clearly upset and everyone noticed. So Lavender decided you must be worth her time." Hermione paused and looked at Harry as if she were sizing him up. "Besides, you're not half bad looking."

"Wow. Thanks for that ringing endorsement, Hermione." Both she and Ron laughed as he continued, "Honestly--with friends like you and Ron, who needs a sadistic psychopath like Voldemort stalking them?"

"Speaking of sadistic psychopaths," started Ron, "how'd things go with Malfoy?"

"Well, we haven't said more than four sentences to each other over the past four days. That's great in my book."

Hermione looked at him with a disapproving look on her face. "Harry, I can't stand Malfoy any more than you, but you two should at least talk for five minutes to decide who is doing what for your project."

"I say you go to Dumbledore and demand a change of partner," Ron said as if it were the obvious decision.

Harry quickly replied, "No, I don't want to bother him with something as trivial as this." Harry looked at the clock on the wall and made up a quick excuse to avoid the obvious course this conversation was taking. "I'm going to head up to bed now--it's been a long day. See you two at breakfast." He rushed off before either of them could say anything to him, though a quick glance as he headed upstairs proved Hermione was looking at Ron with the worried expression that had become the norm for her.

Harry turned and continued his way toward the sixth year boy's dorm. He wasn't angry with Dumbledore, but he did harbor a bit of resentment toward him. Had he just informed Harry of everything sooner, Sirius would not have died. On some level Harry knew Dumbledore had just made the decision he thought best for Harry, but that didn't comfort him much. Sirius was still gone. So Harry didn't trust himself to be alone with Dumbledore; who knew what awful things would come out of his mouth in such a situation? He just needed more time. Harry sighed as he entered his dorm room.

"Hullo, Harry."

Harry tried to hide his disappoint at finding Neville in their room; he had wanted some time alone but it looked like that wasn't going to happen.

"Hi, Neville, what have you got there?" Harry's attitude changed quickly when he noticed the look on Neville's face. "What's wrong?" he asked, walking over to the other boy's bed.

For a second it looked as if Neville was going to say nothing, then he motioned Harry closer to him and said quietly, "Do you remember last Christmas? When you met my mum?" Neville paused as if he didn't want to think about the fact that both of his parents were in St. Mungo's.

Sensing this, Harry quickly said, "Of course I remember. What about it?"

Neville smiled at Harry appreciatively and went on, "Well, remember when my mother handed me the gum wrapper?"

Harry nodded--how could he forget? He would never forget seeing Neville contemplate throwing the wrapper away, then changing his mind and slipping it into his pocket. That moment had made Harry wonder who was worse off, him or Neville. Neville's parents were alive, but he had to live with the fact that they barely recognized him.

Harry's eyes widened as Neville showed him what was in the large, flat box on his lap. Inside it, carefully arranged, lay an assortment of candy wrappers, string, quills, sickles and a piece of parchment with doodles etched on it. Harry knew what he was looking at, but he let the silence wash over him waiting for Neville to speak again.

"This is all the random stuff my mum has given me over the years," he said, looking at Harry as if he were expecting him to make fun of him. "I know it's silly..." Neville's voice trailed off as he focused on the contents of the box.

Harry put his hand on Neville's shoulder and said, "Neville, it isn't silly at all. I would keep a twig if it came from my mum."

Neville looked up at Harry and nodded, then turned his attention back to the box. I guess I'm not the only one who needed to be alone tonight, Harry thought guiltily. He gave Neville's shoulder a reassuring squeeze then headed over to his own bed. He wondered how Neville would react if he found out about the possibility that he could have led Harry's life. Harry still hadn't told anyone, not even Ron or Hermione, about the prophecy. They still acted like he was on the verge of throwing himself over a cliff anytime he said he wanted to be alone. He didn't want to imagine how they'd react if he told them about the prophecy--not yet anyway.

Harry had just come back from changing into his pajamas when Ron arrived. Harry could feel his nervous gaze on the back of his neck. He turned and gave him a weak smile. "I'm fine, Ron, really. I'm just tired."

Ron looked skeptical at first, but he finally gave in and told Harry to have a good night. As Harry settled under the covers, his mind strayed to thoughts of his mother. He drifted into sleep, his dreams filled of visions of her running around with him in the woods, picking up twigs along the way.

~~~~~

Draco,

My life has grown far too solitary with your father gone. Now that you have returned to school, I find myself with an abundance of time, but sadly, I have nothing with which to occupy it. I know that your father's absence is no less grating on you, and I am limited in what I can do to help you through this difficult time. Accordingly, I will arrange to meet you at Hogsmeade as soon as you send word of your school's next planned visit. I look forward to spending the day with you.

Love from,

Your mother

A slight frown manifested on Draco's face as he read his mother's words. He had returned to his bedroom after an evening of 'studying' with Potter to find his owl, Frey, sitting on his bedpost with the letter attached to his leg. Now Draco was sitting at his desk reading over the letter while his dorm mates got ready for bed. He was interrupted by the sounds of Crabbe and Goyle conversing.

"Goyle, you've got my wand," Crabbe said, sitting on his bed in pajamas.

Goyle inspected the wand in his hand closely, then replied, "It looks like my wand--are you certain it's yours?"

"It's not like you two ever use your wands, does it really matter?" snapped Theodore Nott from his bed on the other side of the room.

Both of them seemed to consider his words, nodded in agreement and carried on with what they had been doing before the wand conversation.

These are my henchmen? Draco thought with a shudder, returning his attention to his mother's letter. It seemed like a typical, loving letter any mother might send her son, but Draco knew better. His mother would never admit to being lonely--least of all in a letter. Draco also knew she was quite busy handling his father's affairs; his summer had been filled with never ending complaints about this fact. They were both biding their time until his father's inevitable escape.

Furthermore, never in five years of board school had she arranged a mother/son weekend. She lavished him with sweets and gifts on a weekly basis (which, Draco had informed her, were quite childish now that he was sixteen), but this was out of character for her. Draco had had enough experience interpreting his father's cryptic letters to read between the lines; his mother obviously had something of a sensitive nature to tell him. Considering the careful crafting of her letter, it must be extremely important. Draco pulled out a piece of parchment and replied to his mother's letter.

Mother,

We have a Hogsmeade visit scheduled next weekend. I do hope you can manage to get away on such short notice. I miss you terribly and look forward to seeing you soon.

Your loving son,

Draco

Draco inspected the letter--it looked like a run of the mill correspondence between son and mother. If it was intercepted, no one would think anything of it. Draco, noticing Frey was still perched on his bedpost, motioned him over and attached the letter to his leg.

"Clever owl," Draco whispered so he wouldn't be overheard. "Did she tell you to wait for my response?" After an absentminded stroke of the head from Draco, Frey was off into the night. Watching the profile of the owl flying off into the distance, Draco thought, I suppose this means I'll have to postpone my vengeful plans. Though, to be honest, he hadn't really thought much more about Potter since the day he discovered they would be working together.

Sure he and Crabbe had discussed locking Potter in a broom closet or sabotaging him in some way, but that was child's play. Potter deserved much worse for what he had done to his father--something personal, not a generic prank. Draco was tempted to ask his father if he could poison Potter and end his life sooner rather than later, but Draco doubted his idea would be looked upon favorably. His father didn't even want him to look at Potter in a way that could be perceived as hostile. Now that's just asking too much of me.

Draco had taken note of Potter's reaction to his research earlier that evening. His reaction to one book in particular had peaked Draco's curiosity; his face had gone pale and he actually looked like he might be sick. But then that hopeless Longbottom had interrupted and Potter had run off to help him. As soon as he had left the table, Draco, wondering what had rated such a response from his adversary, had taken the book and skimmed a few pages. So he can't handle the fact that he will surely die a painful death when the Dark Lord kills him. I can't do much with that information.

"Turn off that blasted light, Malfoy! Some of us have Arithmancy first thing in the morning," Blaise's voice called out from behind his bedroom curtains.

Draco thought about informing him that he was fast approaching Potter status in his eyes, but he remained silent and turned off his desk lamp. He crept silently to his bed, drew the hangings and settled in for the night.

~~~~~

Draco was at his wits end--he was sitting in the library with scar-head across from him yet again. They had agreed to meet in the morning before Draco had Potions and Potter had Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Draco didn't see the point in waking up two hours earlier than he had to for this nonsense. In between vague threats of violence, there was dead silence...not the most productive working relationship he had ever been in. Draco jumped when Potter spoke.

"Malfoy, this is a waste of time," he said, echoing Draco's thoughts. "Look, you don't want to be around me anymore than I want to be around you." Draco nodded emphatically as Potter continued. "Why don't I concentrate on the history of the curse, and you can focus on the mechanics of it and the 'constant vigilance' approach to avoiding it?"

Draco observed him for a few seconds before answering, "Though every fiber of my being wishes to make you miserable," Draco ignored Potter's venomous glare and continued, "I refuse to do so at my own expense--agreed."

Draco popped a chocolate frog into his mouth before saying what was really on his mind. "You sure you can handle this assignment, Potter?" he said, sneer in place.

"What the hell are you going on about, Malfoy?"

"Well," Draco said, drawing things out dramatically, "you looked like a frightened little girl who had spied a Dementor the other night. You know--you had that faint look on your face that became all too familiar in our third year." He paused as Potter's face turned a delightful shade of scarlet, then lowered his voice and went on in an exaggerated baby voice, "Was wittle Harry fwightened by what he read?"

Satisfaction spread across Draco's face as his study partner's face turned a deeper shade of red. He was not, however, prepared for his nemesis' lightning quick reflexes. Draco almost choked on his partially eaten chocolate frog as Potter lurched across the table at him, knocking both of them to the floor in the process all while keeping a vice-like grip on Draco's throat. Draco tried to go for his wand, but Potter had him a disadvantage.

"If you ever say anything that is remotely related to my parents or my godfather, I will hex your pathetic arse within an inch of your miserable life--do you understand you filthy, pathetic son of a bitch?" his voice rose a decibel after each insult flew out of his mouth, and he banged Draco's head against the floor to accent each curse.

What the fuck is he rambling about? Draco, who had managed to yank Potter's hands from his throat, was about to spout off a few choice words of his own when he realized someone had grabbed the rabid figure off of him.

"Harry!"

Draco clutched his throat and looked up to see Weasley and Thomas holding Potter back. Granger was looking on, speechless with shock at her friend's actions.

"Harry, Madame Pince is on her way over here. Do you really want to be sent to the Headmaster's office?" Weasley said.

Draco thought Weasley had said this last phrase like it carried more weight than it should have. Whatever the significance was, it seemed to do the trick. Draco could see the difficult time Potter had collecting himself again, but when he had managed, Draco thought he looked as if nothing had happened at all--until their eyes met. Draco almost gasped at the look of sheer, unadulterated hatred in his eyes. Potter only held his gaze for a moment before he turned and tramped out of the library leaving Weasley and Thomas staring at his retreating figure. Weasley looked like he was going to finish the job on Draco, but Granger and Thomas pulled him out of the library as well.

"Why are you on the floor, Draco?"

Draco shut his eyes and prayed that the voice didn't belong to Blaise. He turned his head slowly and sure enough, it was Blaise standing there smirking at Draco. Draco resisted the urge to sweep Blaise's legs and drop him to the floor alongside him.

"Stop asking stupid questions and help me up," Draco commanded, still torn between having a violent outburst and remaining civil.

Blaise seemed to consider the request, then grabbed Draco by the robe and pulled him up.

"Thanks for that--everyone needs to be man-handled at least once a day," Draco muttered, smoothing out his robe.

"Why is it", Blaise said, anger thinly veiled in his voice, "that out of all of the Slytherins, you're the one who causes the most headaches?"

"Who the fuck do you think you are, Blaise? I don't answer to you," Draco shot at him.

"That's your problem...you don't answer to anyone. You're a spoiled, agonizing brat who thinks of no one but yourself."

Draco was about to respond when Blaise muttered, "Silenco," making it impossible for him to speak. He grabbed Draco's robes and pulled him into an empty corridor. "Now, listen carefully Draco. Our parents have risked a lot to support the Dark Lord--hell your father landed in Azkaban--that's the kind of dedication it takes to serve him. I ask you, whose purpose does it serve for you to run around like you own this school, drawing more unnecessary attention and ill favor to Slytherins in the process? Did you ever consider the possibility that we might be called upon soon to aid the Dark Lord? Awfully difficult to do that when you've been expelled. Even if you miraculously manage to stay here, how can you help the Dark Lord if no one trusts you to feed their owl? Difficult challenge that, recruiting others with that kind of reputation." Blaise looked at Draco, waiting for his answer. Draco rolled his eyes and pointed at his mouth, his actions clearly expressing his thoughts; you silenced my voice you idiot.

"Oh--finite," Blaise whispered the counter-curse and waited for Draco's answer. "Well?" he demanded.

Draco remained silent for a moment, then said, "I don't recall any of you telling me to back off in the past." There--let him say something to that.

"Of course not you arse. You're a Slytherin--if you start something we'll help you finish it. The same as it is with our fathers--Lucius gets involved with something and Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and though my father isn't a Death Eater, he has always been there for Lucius--whoever he needs will back him up. You just seem to start more than your fair share."

Had Draco been anyone else, he would have admitted Blaise was right--he knew the other Slytherins attempted to fly under the radar for the most part. But he was Draco Malfoy and therefore infallible. Besides, he had said worse to Potter before without him cracking and threatening to kill him. Draco glared at Blaise and threatened, "If you ever touch me again..."

"I know, I know--I'll end up looking like a had. Look," Blaise peered around to make sure no one had walked behind them, "if you have to attack Potter, at least do it away from witnesses."

"So it's not the fight that bothers you, it's the location?" Laughter in his voice, Draco agreed, "Oh--alright. Besides, it wasn't my fault this time--he attacked me."

Blaise looked at Draco in obvious disbelief. "Unprovoked?" Blaise waved his wand impatiently at Draco's inevitable protests. "We'll be late for Potions--come on," he said, turning his back on Draco and walking away.

"But--he really did. You believe me--don't you, Blaise?" Draco continued defending his honor as they walked to Potions but his words fell on deaf ears. Not one to be ignored, Draco decided on a different tactic. "Hey, Blaise--does Pansy still taste like vanilla?" He broke into a sprint as Blaise chased him down the corridor.

~~~~~

"Please, Hermione, just go. I'm not going to class..."

"But, Harry, you can't skip class, I thought you said you wanted to excel in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Hermione asked, worried about her best friend.

"Just drop it, Hermione--Harry's a big boy. He can skip class if he wants to," Ron piped in, eyeing Harry apprehensively.

Harry shot him a look of appreciation and said, "Honestly, I'm fine. I'm just--getting a headache."

Hermione knew when she was outnumbered. "Oh alright, Harry. Just, try to avoid Malfoy--okay?"

"What am I--an idiot? I'm not looking for another fight, Hermione." Harry looked at her and implored once more, "Please--just go."

Hermione continued to eye him suspiciously, but she let herself be led off by Ron. As he turned to leave, Ron shot Harry a look that clearly said you're filling me in later. Harry nodded silently at Ron and turned to walk in the opposite direction from his friends. He really didn't know where he was going; he just let his feet lead him to some unknown destination. He was slightly surprised when he realized he was standing on a layer of owl droppings a few minutes later. Before he had the chance to open his mouth to call her, Hedwig flew over to him and rested on his shoulder.

"Want to go for a walk, Hedwig?" he asked his owl. Hedwig turned her big amber eyes toward him and nipped his ear affectionately. "I'll take that as a yes," he murmured, running the edge of his forefinger down her beak.

Harry soon found himself on the edge of the lake, hidden behind a tangle of shrubs--the same place he had visited when he had wanted to distance himself from everyone after Sirius' death. He observed the sky for a moment--it looked like rain was on the way. That's good, less chance of someone coming across me, he thought idly. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms were wrapped around them, completing the childlike position. His head rested on his knees as he watched Hedwig soar across the lake on a quest for ferrets. A soft breeze fluttered across his face, messing up his already disheveled hair, but Harry, already deep in thought, couldn't be bothered to tend to it.

He can't know, he kept saying to himself over and over again. But the words Malfoy had uttered a short while ago were too eerily familiar to be a coincidence. That horrible mock-baby voice--Come out, come out, little Harry! Harry squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to keep the memories from flooding back. Aaaaaah...did you love him, little baby Potter? Harry really didn't think about the night Sirius died very often...he had progressed to the 'I feel like there's a gaping hole in my heart where Sirius used to reside but at least I don't feel like crying all the time' stage of grief. Maybe it was a result of holding back, but when he did stumble across the memories it was almost too much to bear.

But...Bellatrix Lestrange was Malfoy's aunt--maybe they had had a good laugh over how baby Potter had cried over his godfather's death, and how he couldn't even perform an Unforgivable Curse on her...the one responsible for his death. An internal debate started in Harry's head:

He would have said something sooner and he wouldn't bother being subtle about it.

This is Malfoy--he lives to torment you, remember? Do you really think he isn't an inch from being a full fledged Death Eater?

I don't know! All I know is that I fucking hate him for making me remember what that evil woman said.

Hedwig returned looking nicely sated as Harry noticed the raindrops making intricate patterns in the lake. He observed that it must have been raining softly for a while because a few drops were streaming down his face. Of course he knew that to be false, but he quickly wiped the drops away, telling himself--it's just the rain.

~~~~~

It was a few hours before dinner when Harry roused himself from his place by the lake. Fortunately, the rain had never reached anything beyond a light drizzle, so he wasn't drenched.

"Come on, Hedwig. Let's go back to the castle." Hedwig resumed her place on Harry's shoulder and he started his way back toward the school, which was casting a faint glow on the grounds. He enjoyed an uninterrupted journey back to the owlery, but as he was saying goodbye to Hedwig he sensed someone enter the room behind him. He turned and saw Malfoy walking toward him.

"I meant what I said earlier, Malfoy," Harry said, expecting the worst. "Not a word about my parents or Sirius." As Malfoy approached him, Harry noticed with a small note of satisfaction that his most recent growth spurt had made him slightly taller than Malfoy. He adjusted his posture, trying to leer down at him.

"I don't know what the hell you're going on about, Potter," Malfoy said with what Harry thought was a brief flash of confusion. The look was gone as quickly as it had appeared and Draco continued, "I never even mentioned him--or your parents for that matter. I was merely commenting on the horrible, painful death that awaits you. Any other correlation is simply a sign of my genius."

Harry looked at him quizzically and asked, "You mean you don't know?"

Malfoy, obviously reaching the limit of his patience, yelled back, "Know what? You're pleading your case for a rendezvous with a straight jacket solidly, Potter. Now move." Malfoy pushed Harry aside impatiently.

Harry stumbled a bit, but managed to step out of his way. Was it possible he really wasn't needling me about Sirius' death? Maybe Bellatrix is too busy with Voldemort to be bothered with her brat of a nephew. Harry considered this possibility for a moment then replied to the voice in his head, well--he was talking about my own imminent death with noticeable glee...that's not much better. Harry came out of his reverie as he realized with a start that Malfoy was glaring at him.

"What?"

"You're in my way again," Malfoy said crossly.

Harry rolled his eyes and commented, "Do you see all of this open floor beside me?" Harry stepped aside anyway, letting him pass--he really didn't want to prolong his contact with the insufferable git. Before he exited the room, Harry was struck with visions of how horrible the next three weeks would be if they continued at this rate. He sighed, mentally preparing himself for the inevitable taunts, and called out to Malfoy, "Can we at least cease with the death threats until this stupid assignment is finished?"

Malfoy glanced back at Harry and said, "No," without stopping. Harry was about to argue when Malfoy turned around and waved his finger, halting Harry's response. "I wasn't the one who leapt across a table and threatened to kill you--manners Potter."

"You're so melodramatic--I didn't say kill. I said I'd hex you within an inch of your life...well, miserable life to be precise." Harry suppressed a smug grin at Malfoy's outraged expression. "And I'm not apologizing for that either. You were out of line and you are a miserable excuse for a human being."

"Fine, you arrogant, mudblood loving, holier-than-thou son of a bitch...have it your way."

"You're pathetic," Harry said, abandoning all plans of a cease fire.

"If you want pathetic, Potter, I suggest you look in a mirror," Malfoy retorted. "Oh, and do comb your hair while you're at it."

Nonplussed, Harry shot back, "Hey, Malfoy, I thought albinos are supposed to have pink eyes--are those contacts?" Harry looked on in delight as Malfoy's face turned red. You would think that me insulting everyone in his family would upset him, but no--insult his albino-like features and he looks like he's about to blow a fuse.

"Just stay away from me, Potter. You do your part of the assignment, and I'll do mine." He turned and drawled, "I'm leaving...I have things to do."

As Malfoy's footsteps echoed down the hall, Harry muttered, "Indeed, like Tracey Davis." He ruffled Hedwig's feathers one last time before walking down to the Great Hall.

*****