your cold hands

Chapter Twelve

"Luna and I are cousins, you know," Malfoy said suddenly as they made their way back to the dorm. The night felt colder than usual, or maybe it was just the lingering heaviness in Harry's limbs after Pomfrey's relentless tests. Though she'd declared him fit for discharge, the ache in his body hadn't quite left.

Harry shot him a sideways glance. "I know. You were cousins with my godfather, too."

"Black," Malfoy said, a hint of a smirk on his face. "Father couldn't stand him."

"I'm sure that went both ways," Harry muttered, lips curling. He turned his gaze back to the path ahead. "What's Lucius up to these days? Moping around in his mansion?"

"House arrest," Malfoy said, his tone flat. He raised his wrists slightly, drawing attention to the glowing cursed shackles. "We chose these over Azkaban. I suppose our pride doesn't stretch as far as it used to."

Harry's eyes flickered to the shackles, noting the faint glow of magic entwined around Malfoy's wrists. He felt an odd pang of something he couldn't quite name. "Pride was never worth much anyway. You used to be full of it."

"And you weren't?" Malfoy's mocked, his sneer half-hearted. "You and your noble hero act, parading around with your Golden Trio."

Harry snorted bitterly. "'Golden Trio.' You know, I loathe that name. Did you come up with it?"

"If you loathe it, then I suppose I did," Malfoy replied without any real venom. Surprised flooded Harry as he realised that he was bantering with Malfoy. Not just that... it was almost like they were flirting. He quickly banished the thought from his mind, cheeks beginning to flush scarlet.

He found his thoughts slowly wandering back towards Luna. Ginny's revelation had been enlightening, to say the least. A lot of Luna's behaviour since the beginning of term began to make sense. "We thought she'd been Confunded."

Malfoy frowned, glancing at him. "Who?"

"Luna," Harry clarified. "When her father printed all those stories about me in the Angel. We thought someone was controlling her."

Malfoy gave a low, humorless chuckle. "I remember Granger marching off to confront her. Always at your defence, wasn't she, Potter?"

Harry tensed at the mention of Hermione, the weight of her condition hanging over him like a shadow. "She was just trying to protect me," he said, voice tight.

Malfoy's sneer softened, just for a second. "She always was... loyal." He hesitated, then added quietly, "You always seemed to attract those special kinds of friendships, you know."

Harry looked at him, surprised by the faint trace of sincerity in Malfoy's words. Pity blossomed inside him as he recognised Malfoy's isolation and his yearning for true, meaningful connection. Connection that Harry had denied him from his first day at Hogwarts.

"I suppose," Harry murmured. "She's always been there for me. I... haven't always appreciated her."

Malfoy remained silent for a moment, then shrugged as if brushing off the momentary lapse. "Well, you've never been particularly aware, Potter."

They reached the entrance to the eighth-year building, and Malfoy pushed the door open without a word. But there was no sarcastic comment, no smug look. Just a brief glance back at Harry before he stepped through. He must have noticed the pronounced frown in Harry's brow.

"Don't wallow," Malfoy said, his voice softer now, lacking its usual bite. "It's... unbecoming."

"I don't wallow," Harry said, his voice wavering slightly as he stared at the blonde. "And even if I did, I think I've earned the right to - "