Friendly Competition

[13] Flutter

"Just remember," Harry reminded Neville as they approached the library, "every hour I spend helping you on this wild niffler chase is an hour you spend helping me mark essays."

"I know, I know." Neville waved him off. "I know what I'm signing up for, just stop trying to squirm out of it."

"Fine." Harry sighed and opened the heavy wooden doors, motioning him through first and then following along behind.

They headed straight toward the restricted section, but Harry quickly veered off when he caught a distinctive glimpse of white-blond hair under an immaculate black pointed hat bent studiously over a book at one of the tables.

"Draco," he said, setting his hand down next to Draco's book on the table and leaning over him. "What are you doing here?"

Harry would have liked to have sounded demanding, or just plain inquisitive, or really anything other than what it came out as, which was utterly delighted at having already found a distraction.

Draco raised his head and blinked owlishly up at him. "Am I not allowed to be? What are you doing here?"

Madam Pince shot them a rather nasty glare for talking, and Harry leaned in closer, lowering his voice further. "I'm supposed to be helping Neville research some horribly toxic herb that probably doesn't exist. Fancy helping?"

Draco just looked at him for a moment and then smiled slightly as if he couldn't help it. "Supposed to be?"

"Well obviously I'm talking to you right now, aren't I? You could fix that."

Draco let out an amused huff. "Yeah, alright. That sounds entertaining enough. But only..." he pulled out a pocketwatch, "for an hour. I've plenty of marking to be getting to."

"I'll take that," Harry said, grinning back at him, and made the executive decision to simply not inform him of Neville's bribery. After all, who was to say Neville would be willing to bribe Draco as well? And if he was willing to do it for free, then that was his problem.

Draco began to gather up his books, and Harry turned back to see Neville stood with his arms crossed a few metres away, looking patiently amused.

"Come on," Harry hissed, grabbing Draco's last book and his arm, steering him toward Neville. "Nev's waiting!"

"I told you!" he heard someone whisper not-so-quietly from a nearby table. "They're totally together."

He glanced over to see a mixed group of second years huddled together at the table.

"I dunno..." another one said.

"Oh come on!" protested a third. "With the way they look at each other? And all the evidence the prefects gave last year? And that's not even all of it! Don't you remember how both of them stopped showing up to meals in the Great Hall for ages last spring? It's like they were off having little dates by themselves or something."

Harry wasn't sure what face he was making, but Neville grimaced as he looked between Harry and Draco, and he quickly bypassed them, giving them both a push toward the restricted section. "Go on, I'll be right there," he said, heading toward the table of second years.

Harry obediently followed Draco toward the restricted section, but it was hard not to overhear Neville talking to the kids.

"You should really keep your voices down when you're gossipping. Especially in the library. Especially when the people you're talking about are right there," he told them.

There were various mumbled apologies.

"I know you lot may not be old enough to properly remember the war much, but I'm sure you remember when the anniversary of the final battle is. And I don't mean to permanently spoil your appetites, but all those tables in the Great Hall were laid out with corpses not so long ago, so that just might be something to keep in mind in the future before you go drawing any hasty conclusions or harsh judgements. Okay?"

Neville's voice wasn't unkind at all — rather the opposite — but it certainly impressed a need to be listened to.

He got a round of hasty agreements and more shamefaced apologies.

"Good. Now focus on your homework."

He straightened up from where he had leant in over the table, and went to meet Harry and Draco in the restricted section.

~*~

A week or so later, Harry was in the middle of having some of his fifth years practise a revealing spell one by one on a paperweight he had hexed, when he heard the door open and a student called out, "Professor Malfoy!"

Harry's heart fluttered, and he looked up with a radiant smile.

"Is there a reason you're interrupting my class?" he asked, as Draco approached him.

Draco gave him an unamused look, clearly having (or at least pretending to have) no time for his teasing.

"Yes, actually. Minerva found this in one of the storecupboards in the dungeons." Draco held up an oddly shaped glass figure, wrapped in cloth to keep his skin from coming in contact. "Don't ask me why she was there, but it's radiating Dark magic and she hocked it off to me to deal with. And my free period is only so long, so I'm afraid I'm rather inclined to take the shortcut of hocking it off to you now instead of trying to fiddle about with it myself and research spells."

Harry went over to him, and spoke quietly, rolling his eyes a little. "You could have just done it after classes, or had us work on it together then."

"Ah yes, but why would I do that when I could come bother you and disrupt your lesson?" Draco responded, his voice hushed as he smiled back wryly.

Harry chuckled and turned back to his students (all of whom seemed very intrigued by their quiet conversation).

"Alright! You all get a demonstration today."

~*~

It was only much later that evening, when Harry was giving Saphronia a few treats before bed, that Draco's appearance in his classroom popped back into his head and something occurred to Harry. That— There had been a flutter in his chest, hadn't there? How long had that been going on? He couldn't think— He couldn't remember—

...He didn't know.

Maybe that was the first time.

Or maybe it was just so common now without him realising it that he didn't think anything of it.

Harry wasn't sure exactly what it meant, what to do about it, what it heralded for the future — any number of things really. He was a little afraid Neville might have been a bit right, though, even as much as he didn't want to admit it.

Bollocks.