Draco pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to push away the headache that was threatening just behind his eyeballs. It was this damn book, with all its stupid tiny print and its stupid Latin phrases that Draco knew he knew, but couldn't quite remember.
He gave up and instead let his gaze wander around the library; there were a fair few people there that evening, all looking fed up and miserable as they tried to plough through tomes as dreary as the one Draco had in front of him. It was cold in here, too; so cold that Draco was wearing two jumpers. He didn't want to be wearing his robes when he didn't have to, and frankly, wearing his coat indoors would just make him look odd, and he didn't want people looking at him any more than they normally did.
He forced himself to look at the book again. He'd much rather be lolling around in the common room doing nothing than working on this essay, but it had taken a lot of people a lot of effort to keep him out of Azkaban and back into Hogwarts, and he wasn't about to fuck it up by failing his NEWT's. He smiled wanly to himself, very aware of his own changed perceptions on life, and wondering if anyone would ever believe he was working hard to not let anyone down, rather than trying to get himself ahead in the world. He wasn't sure he entirely believed it himself.
"Malfoy – can I have a word?"
The sound of Harry Potter's voice made Draco jump; in the relative quiet of the library it seemed incredibly loud, slicing through the silence like a physical force. He hadn't heard Harry creeping up behind him and immediately felt angry at being caught out, his heart thudding in his chest. Damn, he knew he should have worked on this in the common room, but Pansy had become downright unbearable. He had needed a break, unwilling to hear any more of her requests to be told exactly what Potter had said, and when, and in what tone of voice.
"No," Draco said, not turning around and continuing to look down at his book.
"Please."
He paused, wondering at the subdued tone of Harry's voice and the request, so unlike the demands he had come to expect from him. He put his quill down and slowly twisted around in his chair. His eyebrows flew up as he saw Harry; he looked terrible, weary and almost miserable. Draco's interest was immediately sparked; what had occurred for such a change in Harry's demeanour? The prat had been practically skipping around on Sunday before their fight.
"What?" he asked shortly. Interested or not, he was still thoroughly angry about their argument and the things that had been said. He knew he had been just as bad as Harry, but the twat had started it with that comment about Lucius. Draco's mouth tightened as he recalled the remark; he didn't even know how he felt about his Father anymore and couldn't bear anyone else shoving their opinions in his face.
"I've been trying to find you since Monday morning," Harry said awkwardly, rocking on the balls of his feet. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it messier than it had been to start with. There was a pause, Draco waiting for Harry to continue, refusing to give him the help he so clearly needed in the art of conversing. After a while, Harry glanced around them and then back to Draco. "Can I sit?" he asked, gesturing helplessly to the chair next to Draco.
Draco's mouth fell open in indignation. "No!"
Harry sat down anyway, an almost beseeching expression on his face.
Jerking his chair around sharply so he was facing him, Draco looked over his shoulder, feeling alarmed. "Go away," he hissed fiercely. "I don't want to talk to you."
"Please," Harry said again.
Draco paused, eyeing him suspiciously. I don't want to talk to you, he said again over the link, trying to make his words sound as threatening as possible.
