𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐈𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭

"Potter."

Alright. Perhaps, not everything could be glorified to such an extent as a mysterious night bird. Nothing about Draco Malfoy particularly intrigued Harry now, other than the fact that he was there, in front of him, just when he wanted someone to be.

In the years of war, he thought he had pretty much figured out everything about Draco that he found worthy of knowing.

Draco hates Muggleborns.

Draco hates Gryffindors.

Draco hates Harry.

Harry wondered if, maybe, he just hated everyone, only tolerating those who idolize him as an almighty God.

But why he wanted to befriend Harry in first year, that was something no one but Draco knew for sure. Draco Malfoy was a social climber, he needed to be on top of everyone at all times. The thing is, Harry just couldn't see himself as anything of benefit to him, other than that tiny scar upon his forehead.

He just wanted Harry's scar.

"Bit late for a stroll, is it not?" Draco asked with his usual snark.

"You're doing the same thing."

"I have my reasons, Potter. Reasons that are none of your concern."

"And I can't also have reasons?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

Draco scowled at him, but walked closer. He could see Draco's face more clearly now, gaunt and precisely sculpted. As pale as Nearly Headless Nick.

He looked exactly the same as he had the day Harry watched him leave the battle with his parents. Exactly the same as the day he denied Harry's presence in the dangers of his home.

Draco didn't speak.

Harry didn't move.

Draco was there, in front of him, talking to him, seeing him.

"Well?"

"Well, what, Potter?"

"Don't you have some snarky comeback you've been rehearsing since the train ride?" Harry asked, shifting his weight.

There was silence.

"No, Potter. I don't."

Another silence.

"Don't you want to hex me? Curse me? Throw me down the hall because I'm so arrogant? And stupid? And entitled?" Harry was becoming frustrated now, with Draco's lack of putting up a fight.

"No, Potter. I do not."

Harry noticed now that Draco didn't seem to keep up his hostile tone either. He too, sounded simply exhausted.

Harry sighed, deflating his shoulders of their tension. "I think I'll head off to bed now, if you'll allow me, that is."

Draco didn't respond. Eyes of glass moved beyond Harry, and then he too was gone. And with that, Harry's imaginary invisibility cloak took him over once more.

𖦹𖦹𖦹

Everyone was awake when Harry woke. The common room was packed of bustling first-years gushing about first classes. There were also many tired, yet optimistic older students hoping for an uneventful year at last.

Neville caught his eye first, sitting alone on a red phelt sofa, empty parchment and quill in his lap as he waved Harry over to him.

"Morning, Harry," he said causally.

"Morning. Where has everyone been? Have you seen Ron or Hermione?"

"Of course," he began writing in scribbled motions on his parchment. "They said you ditched them on the Express and at the feast."

Harry slumped down beside Neville, blankly looking ahead at the wallpaper.

"I didn't ditch them, I just didn't know where they were," he said, a hint of haste.

"Oh," said Neville, looking down, "You didn't miss out on anything, they couldn't get out of each other's gazes."

With an eye roll and a frown, Harry stood up, and away he went from Neville.

He couldn't quite put a finger on it, but something felt off about Hogwarts this time around. He felt hazy, and everything in the room seemed to be wrong. Yet, it was the same as it had always been.

Draco wouldn't leave his mind. Their conversation, his lack of commitment towards his hateful demeanour. It was like he'd given up.

Harry felt like he'd given up too. All of the sudden, classes were unappealing, the common room was a headache, the arched hallways didn't captivate him as they once did many years before.

Draco was the only thing that Harry found interesting, mysterious.

If he had no battle to fight, no war to win, no enemy to defeat, what could he do but ponder his old enemies?

The word enemy—even for Draco—seemed like a bit of a stretch. The only time Harry had ever considered Draco as an enemy was in his sixth year, in the bathroom, with the dim light and the wet floor as it bled Draco's blood.

After that, after hurting him, making him bleed out, Harry no longer wanted to hurt Draco, or anyone. Once was enough, once taught him enough about himself and the world to know that he never wanted to see Draco's blood ever again. 

Harry wondered back to the year before, when the Room of Requirement was set ablaze, and he almost had to witness Draco's blood for a second time. He wouldn't have it, though Ron made it clear that it wouldn't have mattered either way.

He thought about the way Draco held onto him, fighting for his dear life, and then the way he had so easily submitted to his parents and to Voldemort. How he gave up, after fighting so hard.

He wondered what could have happened had Draco refused to move when his mother called his name. What would have happened had he not left the battle immediately after.

Perhaps, that would make him easier to forgive, easier to believe that Draco didn't want to hurt him anymore.

But there was nothing to believe, because that's exactly what Draco had done, or not done, per say.

For a person like Draco Malfoy, someone raised to loath Harry Potter and everything associated with him, raised to spit on Muggleborns and Gryffindors—the bare minimum was simply acceptable.

𖦹𖦹𖦹

"Mister Potter!"

Harry's head shot up to meet Professor Flitwick's from the front of the classroom.

"Yes, Professor?"

"I would appreciate it if you would have the decency to pay attention in my class."

"Sorry, Professor," he apologized, insincerely. "Just got distracted."

"Well, please," he said, turning back around to face the black board, "You can examine the window as thoroughly as you like later."

Flitwick returned to writing out incantations and effects on the blackboard. The word Deprimo could be seen written at least three times in a corner of Harry's vision point.

Draco sat in the row to the right of his, the window Harry had been distracting himself with to his left. They sat far in the back. Harry took notice of the fact that Draco was always seated in the back of the room. Always trying to go unnoticed—especially now.

He found it ironic, that while Harry wanted his fellow classmates to notice his presence and talk to him, Draco did anything in his power to do the opposite.

It was like their roles had been reversed since their past years.

"Mister Potter!"

Once more, Harry lifted his head to the now very much annoyed face of his Professor.

"Apologies, sir."

"I'm afraid that's a detention. Tonight at eight. Don't be late."