Padfoot and his Pup

30. | Fisticuffs- Part IV

"He's impossible! Intolerable! Utterly insufferable!"

"And your newly expanded vocabulary is incredible," Sirius teased, earning a pout from his godson.

Harry had finally decided to take Sirius' advice (order) and use the mirror.

"You're supposed to be on my side."

"Harry, love, I'm always on your side," the man reassured, mouth quirking upwards into an indulgent smile. He stood the mirror up against the quill stand on his desk. "I hope Filch isn't being too much of a pain."

"He mostly leaves us alone since he had to take that stupid cat of his out in the evening for fresh air." Harry found the caretaker and his cat ridiculous.

"So apart from all those wonderful adjectives you mentioned, the detentions are okay?"

"They're not totally awful. There was a time yesterday when I thought I was going to throw myself off the owlery."

Not bothering to hide his grin, Sirius sat back to patiently listen to his godson rant about how impossible Draco was.

"Potter, this corner is tricky! Potter, should I change the water or is it not filthy enough yet? He had to mop the floor, and yet he made me demonstrate how. Five times!"

Sirius snorted. Draco was Narcissa's son alright. Although he had to admit that other than annoying Harry to the limit, the boy was fine.

There may yet be hope for him.

"You poor thing." It was nearly eight thirty. "Are you heading to dinner now?"

"In a bit," Harry replied, switching the mirror to his left hand.

"Make sure you eat some vegetables," Sirius advised, hardly believing the words that came out of his mouth. "We'll talk soon. Love you, kid."

Harry paused to look around the Gryffindor common room to make sure no one else was around. "Love you too," he whispered. He was still a respectable twelve year old after all.

*****

It was about a week after the whole fight on the Quidditch pitch and Draco was almost positive that he was losing his mind. It was a slow, maddening descent towards insanity. That was it. The only logical, reasonable explanation for his current train of thought.

For there was no way Draco Malfoy was envious of Harry Potter's apparently unrivalled skill at sweeping the bloody floor.

He glared accusingly at his corner of the classroom that was still layered with dust and then at Potter's portion of the room that was downright sparkling.

He was obviously not cut out for this sort of work and yet it irked him beyond reason that Potter was irritatingly good at it.

Despite everything, he had to admit that the last couple of days had been... not deplorable. He firmly refused to think about his father, the events still raw in his memory. His mother had written to him though and her letter showed she wasn't upset, at least not anymore.

It didn't help that after the meeting, his father had called him outside and torn him a new one. Lucius always did have a scathing tongue that could destroy almost anyone in its path.

While that particular trait had miraculously vanished in Sirius Black's presence, it had returned tenfold to verbally lash Draco until he was left feeling worse than before.

Lucius' reaction had made him evaluate his own stance on the entire matter, his actions, their impact and the subsequent consequences.

Guilt was an unfamiliar emotion, something he'd never had to deal with before. He was Draco Malfoy after all, what did he have to be guilty about?