Cheers, Potter.

Fancy a game, then?

Harry's POV

We'd been back at Hogwarts a few weeks and usual lessons had gotten underway. A fact that Ron loathed and Hermione loved. It didn't take us too long to fall into old habits again, Hermione being the studious one, Ron doing his best to keep up and me, barely even that.

It didn't help that classes seemed to be the last thing on my mind. I couldn't relax, I was on edge, I expected the worst to happen and was prepared to make a run for it at any given time.

It had become second nature to keep looking over my shoulder, to be ready to fight at the drop of a hat. It was strange to know that I was safe and not have any way to relieve my anxiety. Hermione had done her best with sleeping draughts, Ron had tried telling me stories about anything and everything to get my mind off of things. Neville had suggested an herbal solution, Luna had given me charms and trinkets aplenty to ward off the bad spirit. Seamus had even taken me out to a muggle bonfire where he suggested I throw things in and make wishes. Nothing had helped to rid me of my nightmares, both waking and sleeping.

"Harry," Hermione called to me from the other side of the breakfast table, concern plastered over her face, "Are you alright, Harry?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just, uh... thinking," I offered.

"Shouldn't be doing too much of that mate," Ron chided, "you could hurt yourself."

Despite everything I couldn't help but allow a grin to quickly spread across my face at the implication.

Just as a retort brewed, a familiar face crept into the Great Hall. He'd not been himself since we'd come back; usually he'd have ensured that his entrance was known to everyone and their mothers, but now he did all he could to be ignored. Draco bloody Malfoy. As I watched him favour an empty corner of the hall over sitting with Zabini and Parkinson, I couldn't help but feel an unexpected – and unwelcome – surge of pity for the blond. Even he hadn't deserved to be alone; after all, he chose our side in the end, even had a hand in helping defeat Voldemort.

Eventually it occurred to me that I hadn't actually tuned back in to the conversation at my table, a detail that had not gone unnoticed by my best friend.

"Good to see even a war couldn't stifle your old habits," Hermione remarked, voice drenched in sarcasm, a playful smile on her mouth.

"Hmm?" I half responded, still concerned by Malfoy's deliberate isolation from the rest of his house.

"You're staring," my best friend giggled quietly at my expense. I quickly dropped my eyes back to my breakfast, still quietly wondering why I was so invested in the wellbeing of someone I had labelled my nemesis.

~ Ж ~

After a long day of classes and revision, Ron and I parted from our housemates and took to the library to play chess. Of all that had changed and shifted in the last few years, I was extremely grateful for the normalcy. Ego-bruising though it was.

"Checkmate," Ron smirked, enjoying his third win against me.

"You aren't that good Ron, I'm having an off day." I huffed knowing full well that Ron was and always had been much better at chess than I.

"Your brain preoccupied with thoughts of a certain blue-eyed prat?" Ron batted his eyelashes comically at me and went about resetting the board.

"He has grey eyes, Ron," I snapped, then realising my blunder added, "and no!"

"Harry, just give up," Hermione said without looking up from her humongous volume of 'A Book of Charms and Enchantments', "you are a horrible liar and it's all too clear that you're quite obsessed with him."

"I'm not!" I was aware that I was beginning to sound like an antagonised child.

"Even if that's not what's throwing you off, Harry, you should still give up, you know how you hate to lose."

"Well, you would say that wouldn't you? You can't side against your boyfriend." She smiled at the word, still not glancing up from her read, but Ron was looking at her, just enjoying her presence.

"Come on Ron, one more game." I decided.

"Just so I can beat you again?" Ron prodded, boyishly.

I breathed for a reply and heard a clearly accidental laugh coming from behind me. I knew exactly who it was and silently prayed that he hadn't overheard our earlier comments.

"Something funny, Malfoy?" I asked as I swivelled in my chair. As had become the usual, he looked scruffy and small, slouched with hands in his robe pockets, searching for something on the bookshelf.

The war hadn't been good to the Malfoy heir, and not just his reputation had suffered. I didn't think I'd ever seen Malfoy so messy-looking, even after a Quidditch game. His white-blonde hair was overgrown, tousled and falling into his eyes, his cheeks were dusted with stubble, and the dark, bruise-like bags under his eyes spoke of his insomnia. I knew the feeling... There was that stab of sympathy again.

"N-no," he began weakly then seemed to remember who it was he was talking to and regained his posture, "it's just that, how can one such as the Chosen One be so entirely hapless at something as simple as a board game?"

If I had been angry before, I was seething now. You'd have thought a war might have softened the snooty git, but no. "I suppose you could do better then, Malfoy?" I spat his name with all the anger and irritation I'd built up over the past months and I could have sworn to Merlin that I saw him flinch.

He composed himself and rebutted, "I can most certainly play better than you."

I was entirely taken aback by the look on my nemesis' face. He was trying to irritate me, yes, but not in the way he had done in the past. His eyes were more playful than abrasive and he was hardly being confrontational. He was goading me.

I absolutely took the bait, "Is that a challenge?"

"It would hardly be a challenge playing you, Potter." A grin spread across Malfoy's face as I got more and more riled up.

"Fancy a game, then?