Sleight of the Yen

Time and Space

Ron rolled his socks into a ball, the way his mum had taught him ages ago and flung them into his trunk. Dean and Seamus were in the showers and Neville was downstairs collecting the books and quills he had forgotten in haste of the exams. God, those exams. Ron had thought that the OWL's were hard enough. But then, sixth year exams had crept up on him and -

Well, actually, they shouldn't have crept on him, really, not with Hermione reminding him every other day since the start of the year.

But, whatever. He wasn't about to admit that. Did he really want to be fixed with Hermione's glare all train ride?

Ron looked around and sighed. He collected all the washed and folded but then-flung-around-again underwear. Seamus just had to pounce on Harry last evening. And Harry just had to retaliate by flinging Ron's underwear around.

Fine, whatever.

Actually, he knew he should've packed last night but, honestly, he couldn't be arsed to that. He could almost feel Hermione's glare on him, her mouth set into a crisp, fine line and the way her nose crinkled slightly because of her eyes narrowing -

Wait a minute. He could see her.

"Ron, where's Harry?" Hermione huffed as she tried to ignore the loads of clothes still needing to be packed.

Ron grinned at her through Dean's bedside mirror. He could see her reflection perfectly, the way she was biting her tongue at his obvious lack of packing last night. "Probably down at breakfast, where else?"

"Well, he's not."

"Not what?"

Hermione sighed in exasperation. Couldn't Ron see she was impatient, in a hurry and obviously very worried about Harry?! "Not down at breakfast! I was there, I should know," she said answering Ron's unasked question. He shut his mouth. "No one has seen him since last night."

Ron felt a little twinge of annoyance as he bent over to pick up his crusty packet of Every Flavor Beans. Hermione wouldn't give two hoots if no one had seen him all morning.

Oh, dear. There was his evil, jealous side popping up again. Ron sighed inwardly. He did love Harry and all, and wanted him to be safe. And he also knew he was being very irrational conjuring up such thoughts of envy. He didn't mean to at all. After all, Harry was his best mate whose life was obviously in much more danger than Ron's own; no sarcasm intended. He shouldn't be thinking such things. Ron suppressed the guilty feeling by reasoning with himself; it wasn't everyday he complained. He had earned it. Then he shook his head. Very stupid.

"Ron! Are you listening to me?!"

Ron looked up from examining his Beans. "Not really, 'Mione."

"Ron! This is serious! Anything could have happened to Harry. And what on earth are those?" Hermione added, wrinkling her nose in distaste at his packet of Beans. "Not Every Flavor Beans, are they?"

Ron poked one last looked at them and threw them under Seamus's bed. "Well, they were Every Flavor Beans. But they've morphed into something else." Before Hermione could open her mouth again, he added, "And will you please just relax about Harry? It's only seven in the morning, a whole bloody hour before breakfast. Harry's Firebolt isn't here, which means he's probably gone for a bit of a ride before we have to leave. It's not like he'll get to ride much this summer, and I'm sure he's savoring it. I'll be back, I've got to go and wrestle Seamus back for the belt of my bathrobe. Stupid bugger."

Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it as she watched Ron's retreating back make it's way to the bathroom. Stupid Ron, she thought affectionately. He really was a clueless idiot. Trust him to actually be listening to her. Ron, with an ear for Hermione and skills of deduction.

Go figure.

* * *

It was five a.m. in the morning and Draco Malfoy couldn't get back to sleep. He didn't have to be awake for another two hours! And he wasn't exactly a morning, wake-up-and-smell-the-sunshine person either. He was more an I-can't-be-arsed-to-wake-up-that-early-and-have-the-bloody-sun-in-my-face type of person. And waking up this early always made him grumpy.

Well, more than usual.

He had been awake ever since about an hour ago and for no particular reason either. All of a sudden, he had just felt his deep sleep waning and before he knew it, his eyes were wide open and they burnt every time he tried to close them.

Realizing that all hope for any sleep was slowly dwindling away, he wriggled into a turtleneck (it got bloody cold in the dungeons) and in one silent movement, was out the door.

Once out into the dungeons, Draco wondered at where he should go. It wasn't as though he made pre-dawn trips of this nature all the time. And he didn't want to savor the last morning at Hogwarts. Those kinds of things were for certain loser, scarhead, orphans he knew. With glasses. And impeccably messy hair.

Draco put his feet on auto and thought about yesterday. He was fascinated really, with the way Harry had conjured -

Harry.

Harry.

Potter.

There was said scarhead, running the length of the Quidditch pitch. Draco stepped over the parapet and walked towards the wood and stone railing. What on earth was he doing out this early, running like he had a mad Hippogriff on his tail?

Draco leaned on the railing and folded his arms leisurely. Perhaps, in all the fierce running, Potter would trip and fall headfirst, break his glasses, and end up with a bloody nose. Draco could do with some mild entertainment.

He squinted against the slight light of the red rising sun to try to get a closer look at Potter.

There was an expression on Potter's face. It was beyond anything Draco had observed before. It was pain, hatred, determination, all in one. Sweat glistened and dropped, as if in slow motion, down Potter's body and though there was nothing even remotely attractive or fetching about the wonder boy, Draco couldn't explain why he couldn't take his eyes off him. With every step Potter took, as he ran, Draco could almost feel the fluidity of Potter's leg muscle's working to keep up with every new step that it conquered. It was a constant rhythm, the movement of Potter's hands propelling him forward, to the liquid movement of his legs. His hair, streaked with mud and sweat, shook defiantly, unwilling to slow down, so that Harry was a black and red streak in the rising sunlight.

It was as though he were saying something; Draco couldn't make out quite what.

And all of a sudden, Potter slowed down and came to a stop. It was all over too soon.

Draco watched, not in a taunting manner, but almost as if he were puzzled. His eyes slightly narrowed, and his shoulders relaxed as he straightened himself and nonchalantly tried to decipher Potter's movements.

Harry was leaning over, hands on his shins and panting hard. He looked desperate and angry, like he was trying to cleanse himself; as if he thought if he ran fast enough, the wind speed would eradicate something. Well, Potter always was a senseless idiot. Draco raised one eyebrow as Harry panted painfully and stood up. He looked around, the slight breeze tousling his already ridiculously messy hair.

And then, his eyes fell upon Draco.

Draco flinched at the sudden, burning glare. But he didn't break off the sudden gaze. He held Potter's stare and for once, the latter's face didn't twist into the expression of hatred that usually dawned upon his features. Potter's look was a surge of nothingness and Draco's was as well. He didn't know why in Merlin's name he was standing here focusing upon what he thought was the scum of the earth. It was actually a little fun. Like a challenge to see who would look away first.

But it was unnerving.

Suddenly, Harry's expression turned to that familiar one of loathing and Draco breathed an inward sigh of relief. All this coincidental staring was leading to question not only himself but Potter. Now that Potter's face was back to its normal Bastard-Malfoy state, though, all was right with the world.

Without a second glance, Potter broke off and jogged away to the school entrance.

Damn. Draco rubbed the back of his neck. What the hell had Potter just done?

Well, at least Draco had held the gaze. He hadn't backed down. Hah! Take that stinking Potter!

...But he still felt like he was missing the mark of things. What had just happened?

* * *

Harry came up to his dorm. The Common Room was thankfully quiet and the sixth year boy's dorm was abandoned. Everyone must be down at breakfast. Harry came to his own packed trunk and neatly made bed. There, in neat, straight writing was a note from Hermione.

Harry,

We're down at breakfast. Don't be late for the train. We've taken Hedwig and Pig with us.

See you soon.

Hermione and Ron.

God, he must have the best friends in the whole entire world. The sudden upsurge of sheer love and gratefulness towards his two best friends was slightly overshadowed by the blatant disgust he was feeling. Harry looked himself in the wardrobe mirror. His sleeveless black tee was soaked with sweat and his red track shorts were muddy. His face was red with all the exertion.

After what happened with the Mirror, Harry had wandered around in a state of shell shock for a bit. Dazed and rather confused, as though someone had made to knock him out, Harry somehow reached, of all places, the Slytherin dungeons. He hadn't been here since he was in second year, the time that he and Ron were trying to get information out of Malfoy.

Ugh, Malfoy.

The last place he needed to be was the Slytherin dungeons, the very mark of all things Malfoy. Harry didn't even know why the hell he had gone there. Swearing never again to put his legs on cruise control, he tottered back to Gryffindor Tower.

He had crept in and watched Ron and Neville snore for a bit. But he couldn't bear to be next to them. He felt...contaminated. He felt dirty, not worthy of sitting in the midst of his cleansed friends, on the clean white sheets, breathing chaste air such as this. It was five a.m. in the morning and since he couldn't think of anything else, Harry thought he'd go running. Maybe it'd take his mind off things.

It only helped clear his mind a bit. All the while, all Harry could see was Malfoy in front of him, smirking and stroking his prefect badge.

Malfoy was the guy version of a cow. Wait, what was that? A bull? An ox? A buffalo? Well, it didn't matter. He was foul enough to be either. Heck, he was foul enough to be Bobutuber pus.

With ill thoughts such as these, Harry couldn't begin to imagine his desires having anything to do with Malfoy unless you counted his desire to give the blond fucker a good kick up the arse.

Harry had never wished ill of anyone; not unless you counted the Dursley's, Snape, Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy -

Blast. Malfoy again! He just wouldn't bloody leave him alone!

Harry put on speed painfully fast, hoping his screaming muscles would divert his attention from Malfoy-ridden thoughts.

But no. Even as he stopped and tried to catch his breath there was, out of all 786 students, Draco-sodding-Malfoy.

~ The Hogwarts Train, 9:16 a.m ~

" - and so I'm expecting you know what to do. Any problems, you can call Cho or me. Otherwise, we expect you to keep an eye on your shifts."

Draco snorted. Jesus, this coming from a Mudblood. A Mudblood Headboy! What was the world coming to? Luckily, everyone was getting up so the scuffling covered up his noise of contempt. He made his way to the sliding doors of the lavish Prefect compartment and wandered down the narrow corridors of the train. Round-faced first years were poking their heads out of their compartments and one look from Draco sent them back in again.

Usually, he'd have walked back to his own compartment and gathered Crabbe or Goyle. Goodness knew those two needed to get out more often. Even if it was just in the train.

Within a span of two minutes, and no commotion in sight, Draco had reached the end of the carriage. He looked through the window of the door leading out of the carriage. Through the glass of the opposite door, he saw more people cruising around the adjoining carriage; it was as though it was a different world.

Eyes narrowed, as only a Malfoy's could, he opened the door and let himself out of his own carriage. The train gave a sudden lurch and Draco's hand flew to the slippery handle of the door. Jesus, Martin the Mad Muggle made things like this look easy. Not that he had read Martin the Mad Muggle at any point of time in his life.

Slipping his foot on the small slit of metal that connected the two trains together, he placed his hand on the handle of the door and turned himself to face the door he had just come out of. He stared back to where he had been a moment before. Pansy came out of one of the compartments, laughing stupidly at something Blaise had just told her. She knocked on the compartment right beside hers, and Theodore Nott poked his head out in response.

Turning away from the scene, Draco twisted his body so that he was facing the door of the next carriage. Keeping a firm hand on the handle behind him, Draco deftly placed one foot on the other side of the metal and outstretched his hand, successfully catching the opposite door handle. Pulling himself over, Draco sidled to one side so he could open the door, step in and no one need be the wiser.

With an air of suave grandeur, he surreptitiously stepped into the adjoining carriage, checked his hair, brushed down his robes and made sure his badge wasn't marred. Far be it for a Malfoy to be anything less than the epitome of polished fashion.

No one noticed his sudden intrusion, so Draco strolled calmly down the length of the train. He could make out Hannah Abbott's timid voice trying to sound stern and stop Colin Creevey, it seemed, from taking pictures.

Draco smirked and kept going. The bloody fifth year was a voyeur! He shuddered, as he thought of what Creevey must be taking pictures of now. OK, Draco, that topic is completely off limits.

As he slowly made his way through the compartments, he could hear snippets of happy conversations. Warm breeze floated from the open windows into the compartments. From the delicious smell that rode on the breeze, Draco was guessing the witch who took care of the food-trolley had already been past here. Even though it was a bit too bright for his liking in the carriage, Draco couldn't help but relax in the warm atmosphere.

Suddenly, he heard a savage groan and an annoyingly familiar voice floating down the length of the carriage. The high voice was reprimanding the person who was groaning.

" -and I really think you should behave more responsibly. You're prefect after all and there's no reason to-"

"Hermione?" Weasley cut in.

"Yes, Ron?"

".......You suck."

Draco rolled his eyes. Of course Weasley was too stupid to think up a better comeback. And that groan could have only been his; Draco didn't know how he had missed it. But it seemed that they were heading here. The last thing Draco needed was a confrontation with a person who couldn't afford socks and a buck-toothed know-it-all. Not to mention, he didn't have Crabbe and Goyle on him.

He was surrounded, of course, by compartments with no place to go except forward (and risk touching the Mudblood if the train lurched, eurgh!) or back the way he came. And that was no fun at all.

Which left him with the only option of ducking into a random compartment while praying to merciful Lord above that it wasn't Colin Creevey's.

* * *

"Oh, Harry, there you are. We were so worried about you. What kept you?" Hermione said in welcome, as Harry entered the compartment.

"'Mione, will you stop being his mother please? Or actually, will you stop being my mother please? You sound just like her," Ron commented idly. To Harry he said, "Hello, mate. We figured you were savoring a bit of last minute air time on your broom."

"Oh. Yeah, I was," said Harry, grateful that he was being supplied with an excuse. Good thing he had packed his Firebolt last night. Tired from this morning's excursion and the strain of the visionary encounter with someone he would rather not think about at the moment, Harry slouched down on the seat. Ron was bustling around, looking for his Prefect's badge. Hermione, however, took a careful seat across from Harry and watched him closely.

More to avoid Hermione's intent gaze than anything else, Harry shut his eyes.

Malfoy.

Again. Argh!

"Harry?"

"Yes, 'Mione. I ate breakfast this morning," Harry replied to the unasked question while his eyes remained closed.

Ron laughed. "We'll be back soon, mate. Just instructional stuff."

Harry merely waved his hand in response and (thankfully) missed the look of disdained amusement Hermione was shooting him.

Once they left, Harry took off his robes and loosened his tie. Curling up on the velvet seats, Harry leaned against the window and stared out at the flashing scenery outside. The morning sun was letting loose a bronze glow and making Harry feel more exhausted than he already was. And he hadn't slept well at all this morning. Or all night come to think of it.

He would just settle down for a quick nap.....

* * *

The slamming of the compartment door jerked Harry out of a thick sleep whose comatose side effects lingered long after the sleeper was awake.

"Ron, your back so soon?" Harry asked of the presence in the compartment.

Draco froze. Oh shit. Shit. Shit, shit shit and fuck! This was worse than bloody Creevey's compartment. This wasn't Creevey's compartment. This was....though it seemed impossible to imagine. But Draco couldn't mistake that voice for anything. How many times had he wanted to hit the speaker of it? How many times had he heard it taunt his name and retaliated?

Goddamn Potter.

"Ron?" Harry opened his eyes and blearily looked around. Why wasn't Ron answering him?

His eyes landed upon a tall figure, poised at the handle of the compartment door. They looked as if they were about to launch out of the compartment on a minutes notice.

Draco froze, trying to ignore Potter. It was so loud outside of the compartment that Draco was straining to hear if Granger and Weasley had passed yet. He knew, from the level of voice and the bleary tone that Harry must've been sleeping on the seats. If he didn't answer and Granger and Weasley stopped dawdling, he could leave without Potter even noticing.

Harry sat up carefully. Loud, happy jeering was filtering in from the carriage through to his compartment. Whoever the person was at the door, it wasn't Ron and they were suspicious, as they weren't responding. Harry had had far too much experience with unknown people to not be wary. He slowly picked up his robes and softly drew his wand out from the depths. In three quick strides he was beside the figure, his wand tip threateningly jabbing at the nape of their neck.

"Turn around slowly," Harry instructed.

The figure tensed and did as he said.

Harry sharply drew his wand back as he took in the blond hair, silver eyes and trademark smirk. It was....no. It was!

Malfoy.

Malfoy was smirking at him. Harry knew he must look like an idiot standing there, gaping at Malfoy as though he had grown an extra head.

"Good Lord, Potter. Are you trying to look like a mutated troll? Because, let me assure you, it's working." Harry didn't respond. He subconsciously put his wand down and took a tentative step back. Malfoy frowned at this. What was wrong with the idiot? Why wasn't something fierce coming out of his mouth? Why wasn't he whipping out his wand, malice in his eyes, promises of hexes streaming out of his mouth if Malfoy didn't leave?

More out of curiosity than actual concern, Draco moved forward. "Potter? What's wrong with you? Have you forgotten to take your pills or something?" he jeered.

Harry's mind fumbled wildly as he tried to lengthen the distance between Malfoy and himself. He didn't know what the hell was going on, what with the Mirror and everything else but he didn't want to think about right now. And the last thing he wanted to encounter was Malfoy that would only spur his thought process and slow it down at the same time.

Was that even possible?

He made his way back as far as he could before hitting the window. Draco stopped in shock that wasn't very well hidden. What the fuck was going on? Why was Potter behaving as if he were a contagious disease? Not that Potter hadn't told Draco that he was a contagious disease before. But why did the stupid sod keep moving back?

He idly took in Potter's ill-hidden panic and scruffy shirt. So he had been sleeping.

Draco noted the blank look on Potter's face that rivaled the expression in his eyes; swimming with alarm tinged confusion. Dimly, he realized that the loud talking and laughing had now subsided and the compartment was quiet once more. This was the second time in the same day that they Potter and him had come fact to face like this.

It was unnerving.

Draco couldn't decipher Potter's sudden behaviour towards him but all he wanted to do was leave. Yet he couldn't. He just stared in amazement at Potter who looked peaky and ready to throw himself out of the window at a moment's notice if Draco were to take one more step forward.

Not that the idea of Potter doing so was a bad one. He just didn't want to have cold-blooded murder taint his record as of yet.

"You should go," said Harry, his voice a cold whisper.

Draco snapped out of his observant reverie and blinked in confusion at the tone of Potter's voice.

It was desperate.

It was pleading.

It was pleading?

"Go," Harry said with more force, once more. His voice wasn't tinged with malice as it was supposed to be. Just dread.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes but spared Harry the appraising look. Then, in a swish of black robes, he was gone. Harry waited a moment and then slumped down to the floor, his face flushing with relief and deep embarrassment. He didn't know what had come over him. He knew that if Malfoy had chosen to taunt him, attack him even, he wouldn't be in exactly the dandiest of positions.

Everything was fine until that stupid Mirror, Harry thought viciously. If he did have a.....a....oh God, just say it Potter.....a thing for Malfoy why was he fine until this morning? Where as now his brain functions seemed to cease.

Time. That was what Harry needed. Time and space apart. Too much Malfoy-loathing on the brain must have done this. As he got up and curled up on the seats once more, Harry wondered if the Mirror showing Malfoy meant that Harry wanted to do something drastic. Like kill him? He prodded his feelings. Was his hatred for Malfoy rooted so deep that he wanted to take his life away?

Somehow, Harry didn't think so. He might be able to see Malfoy tortured....but he didn't want to see him dead.

He had seen enough of that for one lifetime.

And with this last thought, Harry fell asleep to the only place that Malfoy didn't dwell; his dreams.

Yet.

Outside, Malfoy could only register one thought as he moved quickly towards the exit of the carriage.

What the devil was up with Potter?!

There was something definitely up. And he was damned if he wasn't going to find out what.