Opine

Chapter 2 ⚡ Desist

Mornings in the Slytherin common rooms were bitter as fuck. Draco snuffled and pushed his blankets right off the bed, a groan passed his lips and he collapsed back onto the mattress. He had not slept as well as he wanted to, his dreams invaded by Potter and this stupid book he had snuck out for him. He was annoyed, he wanted to know more about this Animagus process Potter had told him last night. Another muffled squeal of excitement reached his ears, observing the heavy wooden door between him and the sound, Draco wondered if there was a point in going out there or not. A draft of arctic air wafted off the cold stones and sent gooseflesh rising over his legs. A stifled moan of acceptance. The sound of his feet hitting the cold stone. A sudden yelp of surprise as he glared at the frigid, innocent looking floor. Draco was hating his house more and more everyday. They had the worst dorm, if he believes the rumors about the others.

Steeling himself for the cold, he set his feet down again, dashing to his wardrobe and tug on his robes, socks and his shoes. His bed was made with a wave of his wand, and he checked his schedule, piling the books he would need into his bag. His fingers brushed over the book on the Animagus, knowing that beneath it was; "Everything to know about Werewolves." He felt his throat tighten, and grabbed the top book, trying to ignore the one he had chosen as he closed the wardrobes doors.

Checking the time, he set off out of the room. The moment he walked into the primary common room, a hushed silence fell over the students, he could feel the scrutiny as he headed for the portrait. "Draco?" it was a small blonde he had known the year before, her large hazel eyes inspected him, as she tilted her head "There is still half an hour before breakfast is served, want to sit down?" she made it sound so easy. He knew that it wasn't and shook his head "I have to deliver something to the owlery, maybe another time." turning he left without another word.

He hated being Slytherin, people knew too much about him.

The first years were scared of him, the older students had riveted pity filled eyes for him, he hated every second. He felt the growl deep in his chest, he had to shake his head to get rid of the thought. The climb to the owlery was long enough for him to calm down the anger and frustration with himself and he tied the book to his owls ankle. Stroking the feathers, he spoke of the plan, in silent words. Despite the biting air up here, it was comforting to be so separated that he could breathe again.

The trip down was much heavier, every time he got closer, every single step he took, brought back the feeling of suffocation. He received two kinds of attention, suspicion or clemency, both annoyed him to no end. Draco Malfoy was not some easily breakable doll, though he had a feeling Potter knew that feeling just as well. If Draco thought his return was hard met, Harry's had been downright miserable. No one dared get too close, the few who did just wanted to know what it was like to see people die. He had seen, more than one, how Harry would leave the room near tears, strained to keep composure.

Blame. Another thing that became near impossible for them to deal with, Potter being blamed for the death of people he ought not to be. Malfoy being blamed for the near death of Potter, the death of Albus Dumbledore, all these sharp looks of people who did not know nor understood the full story. It had taken Draco a long time to understand what Potter had seen, what he had known about, but now, Draco knew. It had changed his opinion on Potter, all of this had.

Walking into breakfast, ice eyes flew over the occupance of the room, not many there, but he was looking for one in particular. Potter was not sitting at his usual spot, stooped over and reading some kind of book to stay distracted. Moving over to the Slytherin table, Draco sat where he could watch for 'The Boy Who Lived'. He picked out his breakfast, extending the length of time he stayed to watch. Hours ticked by and eventually breakfast was done and Potter had still not stepped foot in the Great Hall. A frown crossed his lips, groaning he stood up, grabbing a muffin, a warm bagel with butter and wrapping up some bacon and sausage, he fled the room before he could be chased. The doors closed behind him and he let out a huff, foolish he was.

Loud thumps came down the nearby stairs, and Potter, in dishevelled robes with wild hair, groaned and deflated when he saw the closed doors. Draco spotted the book clamped in Potter's palm in the same second the male spotted him. He sighed and walked over, the smart owl, taken it to Potter's room and must have woken the fool up. He pushed the breakfast foods into Potter's hand. "I didn't see you come in." he supplied.

"Thank you?" it was a question, but the food was taken from his hand, and the two boys moved to the entrance stairs, sitting down, staring out at the rain that had begun to pour down in sheets. Not an unusual sight this time of year. Potter ate silently, his eyes going between the rain, the book and Draco.

"What is it Potter?" he asked, trying to weave a sneer into his voice, though it just came out tired.

"Sorry, I was just... the book and then breakfast. Its unusual."

"Consider it repayment for last night. I hate to admit that you did save my ass."

"Nothing I wouldn't have done for anyone."

"I would not have saved you, I would have watched and laughed."

"I don't believe that. Maybe once upon a time you might have. Not anymore, we've been through enough now to be beyond such childish pursuits."

Draco hated to admit that the Gryffindor was right, he would have pulled Potter behind a statue, they would have both got caught.

"Fine, but I don't have that damned invisibility cloak, so we would have gotten caught, had the roles been reversed."

That got a laugh out of Potter, and Draco watched him for a moment, something about seeing that carefree look again brought Draco back and he yearned for those moments. His heart stilled and he tore his eyes off of the male. What was he doing? Being nice to Potter?!

"Don't take this the wrong way Potter." he got a good sneer on those words "I'm not interested in being your friend. This is what it is, just me repaying a debt." A debt that would never be repaid, there was more than the previous night's incident, and they both knew it. Draco pushed himself up and began to head back inside.

"I still won't stop Draco." It was Potter's voice, and it almost broke Draco to hear the sadness in it. "I won't stop trying to be your friend. I think the war changed all of us, and I want to explore those changes in you, without Ron and Hermione hissing in my ear and judging."

Draco thought about that. Crabbe, Goyle, Blaine... none of them would have ever forgiven him for being friends with Potter. He wondered, what might have been if they had never gotten off on the wrong foot, if he had never gotten himself in so deep so soon in his life.

He said nothing more to Harry as he walked away, but something, he was not sure what, had changed inside of him. He had three classes, all of them had a particularly bothersome brown haired teen in them, each time those intense eyes landed on him, he would lose concentration. It made it even more difficult that Harry was found in almost all the same hiding spots. In the owlery, he caught Harry sitting sullenly, staring at a snowy owl that closely resembled his old one. In the great hall, Harry was sitting with the Animagus book open on the table. He found him near the clock tower, studying. In the library writing a paper. It was getting ridiculous and he knew it was nothing more than his brain noticing Harry more.

By supper time, he gave in, plopping down across from Harry, much to everyone's surprise. Leaning over the table let his eyes narrow "Fine. Let's see where this goes. Just let me have some peace again." he muttered.

Harry grinned "If we don't become friends then we don't become friends." he promised.

"Oh no Potter, we are past friends." leaning across the table, he pulled Harry into a kiss, one to prove a point, and both of them knew it. It was enough to spark whispers through the great hall. Something interesting for Harry to amuse himself with. It was only as he fell into his chair at the Slytherin table he realized why he had felt something change.

When had he begun to mentally refer to Potter as Harry?