Draco was bored. Ridiculously bored. It was only just half-past nine on a Monday morning and he was already mind-numbingly, spirit crushingly bored. Potions was a waste of time these days, considering the amount of time he had spent reading and playing around with his potions kit in the summer before returning to Hogwarts. Six months of house arrest had been even more boring than this Potions session, but it had had a few perks. Being able to look after his Mother without having to pretend he was staying at home just for her was one, and a rapidly heightened knowledge in potions was another.
He yawned widely, only half listening to Slughorn's babbling. Slughorn ignored him as many of the professors now did; he supposed a few of them weren't as forgiving or understanding as McGonagall. The old bat had turned out to be alright, all things considered. He knew it was probably down to her that he wasn't being horrifically bullied or even tortured like he had feared; he'd had nightmares about troupes of Gryffindors trying to pitch him off the Astronomy Tower on his first day back, but mostly they'd all just gotten on with it and paid him little or no attention.
Checking his watch, he sighed, predicating that they wouldn't be starting the practical for another half hour at least. He was past instantly blaming Hogwarts on the whole for his boredom, and now just accepted that some people just weren't as clever as he was and needed things to be explained ten million times.
He picked up his quill, flicking it around in his fingers before jotting a single word in the margin of his book. He sighed again, ignored the glance Pansy sent his way and tried to think of something to occupy himself until he could start brewing.
Looking around the classroom, he noticed Ernie Macmillan feverishly scribbling notes on a piece of parchment, apparently trying to write down everything Slughorn said. Next to him, Terry Boot was trying to shush Padma Patil who was whispering questions to him, frowning. The table closest to the door was designated Gryffindor; Granger and Weasley were sat side by side, but Draco couldn't care about them even if he tried. What he did care about was that one-third of their trio – the part he was interested in - still hadn't bothered to show up.
Skiving? You'll never pass Potions if you don't turn up, you know.
The barb sent to Potter was half-hearted at best; Draco really didn't have it in him to bait Potter properly anymore. Primarily because they had called that stupid truce; secondly because he was still wary of the Gryffindors even though Potter had promised to put a leash on them; and lastly because he was frankly becoming bored of it.
He'd had a vague thought that maybe Potter would have actually read that damn Mindworks text that he'd surrendered, and would have learnt to talk back to Draco through the link. Apparently not. He'd barely seen Potter in the week since they'd called their truce and not once had Potter spoken to him about the link or anything else for that matter.
Pansy tapped his knee under the table in a bid to get his attention. He ignored her again and reached for his quill, dipping it languidly into his inkwell-
Morning, Malfoy.
He jerked back in shock, knocking his inkwell over in the process. He cursed under his breath and set it upright, hastily grabbing his wand and Vanishing the mess before looking up to see Potter – bloodyPotter – sauntering into the room with a determined expression and a not-quite-smile plastered on his face.
"Sorry I'm late," Potter said to Slughorn who waved him in with his usual cheery greeting.
Draco just sat and stared as Potter slid into the seat next to Weasley, his eyes flicking back to Draco and his smile getting that little bit wider.
What, finally all out of things to say?
Took you bloody long enough, Draco sent back weakly, and heard Potter's chuckle echo around his head.
