𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬

It wasn't because it was particularly Harry's choice that he found himself in the company of Draco Malfoy once again a week later. It also wasn't that it was something he had been wanting, or anticipating.

No. It was merely coincidence, once more. It was merely coincidence that Harry just so happened to blindly make his way to the Shrieking Shack, coincidence that he forgot that Draco just so happened to be there quite frequently.

But he couldn't blame himself if Draco was the only thing that brought any interest to him. He needed something to be fascinated by, anything new, pristine, unknown.

The Draco that Harry knew today was certainly a brand new boy. Barely even resembling that of the one he had known years ago.

Harry was beginning to get the impression that Draco was captivated by him as well. He asked questions, seemed to make an effort to impress. He always appeared to be at the right place at just the right time.

Anytime when Harry needed the presence of another human being, there was Draco.

This new development of what some might be inclined to call "friendship", made it so that Harry had no desire to think about his past life.

Suddenly, the minuscule remains of war had vanished. His parent's and friend's deaths were gone. The Dursley's suddenly ceased to exist.

He even found himself thinking about Ron and Hermione less and less—which would usually be somewhat of a concern, although they didn't seem to make any effort to suggest the contrary.

There was the odd "Good-morning, mate", or "Have a nice class, Harry", but that was the most of conversation that took place between them.

That brought him to be outside, which led him to the Shrieking Shack.

"I'm beginning to wonder if you're going insane,
Potter," Draco called on his arrival.

"What?"

He chuckled. "It's a Saturday, you have no homework and yet here you are, with me."

"It's nice here," Harry shrugged.

"It's a shit hole."

"You're point?"

"Don't you have other Gryffindorks to cling to?" he asked, an eyebrow raised above the line of his fringe.

"I'm sure they'll survive one day without me."

Harry didn't tell him that it wasn't just 'one day' that they had been apart. Although the look that Draco gave him seemed to suggest that he didn't have to.

Draco sighed, pacing across the room closer to where Harry sat against the corner of the wall.

"I'm sure I've said it before," he said, "but I'll say it again—that you are rubbish at lying."

Harry didn't say anything to his observation. He hadn't always been a bad liar, or at least, he didn't think he was. But that just brought up the thought once again that something in his mind made it impossible for him to make Draco believe a lie.

Part of him wondered if it had anything to do with the war, and how Draco had been treated by his family and the other Death Eaters. Chances are, they weren't inclined to inform a child about all of their plans for Harry or for Hogwarts, leading Draco to train his mind to detect a faulty word.

"I wonder if you even know how transparent you actually are, Potter," Draco said as he leaned back to rest his spine against the wall beside Harry.

"What do you mean?" Harry questioned, raising his suspicions.