Just Harry

Part 3

Harry turned a page of his history textbook, stifling a yawn. He was trying to do as Malfoy had suggested and use this time to read the chapter so he'd be prepared when they worked on their homework later that night, but reading about the rise and fall of the Roman Empire was just so incredibly boring. He supposed it could just be that the overly dry tone of the author wasn't to his taste, but this was, unfortunately, the textbook their professor had assigned. At least the man made lectures interesting.

He attempted to focus his bleary eyes. He needed to get this chapter read by the time Malfoy got back from the one class they didn't share. They were slotted to work on this week's essay later, and Harry really didn't want another lecture like last week's.

He rather thought he preferred Hermione's lectures. They didn't make him feel quite so small. Or, he supposed, he could have grown used to them over 7 years of classes. Either way, Malfoy's exasperation hurt more than Hermione's had.

They'd fallen into a study routine surprisingly quickly. Malfoy insisted it made sense to work together since they had nearly all the same classes. Harry didn't really know what Malfoy got out of the arrangement — it wasn't like he usually ever contributed much of substance — but he was grateful. All those years of studying with Hermione as a partner (taskmaster) had left him apparently unable to focus without near-constant reminders and reprimands.

He'd never really realized how prone his mind was to wander. Like now, he thought ruefully, skimming back over the page to find where he'd stopped paying attention to what he was reading.

The sound of a keycard scraping against the lock and the doorknob turning distracted him, and he smiled as he listened to the ritual thumps and bumps that told him it was Malfoy entering their room and not someone else come to visit. He closed his eyes, picturing it as he listened. Jacket on the hook (thump). Room key and contents of pockets in the dish (assorted clatters). Shoes off (grunt) and tossed by the door (thump-thump). And 3, 2, 1...

"Potter."

Harry grinned. "Yes?" He didn't bother to open his eyes.

There was silence for a beat. Harry tried not to smile.

"Potter. What are you doing?"

"Reading." He bit his lip. Baiting Malfoy was his new favorite pastime. Not that it hadn't been his old favorite pastime.

"Is this how you normally read? Potter, you're upside-down!"

"So it would seem."

"Do all Gryffindors pretend to be bats whilst reading, or just you? And how did I not know about this? You'd think someone would have mentioned it. Merlin knows they talked about every other bizarre habit of yours."

Harry listened to Malfoy ranting as he began to pace. He held his breath to keep from laughing.

"How do you even do that? It's giving me a headache just to look at you."

There was a pause.

"Are your eyes closed? Potter!"

Harry gasped in a breath and then dissolved into laughter as Malfoy reached out and poked him in the stomach. This, of course, made him lose his balance and he slithered to the floor and collapsed in a heap.

Malfoy sniffed and stepped over him as he walked to his desk. "I'm going to read like a normal person now. Let me know when you're ready to join me."

—

Malfoy groaned and shut his textbook with a thump. "That's it," he said. "I cannot study one more minute. Are you still working on that history essay?"

Harry snorted and opened his eyes. "No. I was replaying the last Cannons game Ron took me to. What's up?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "The Cannons, Potter? Honestly." He frowned. "Are you going to play sports here?"

Harry looked up at him, surprised. "No, I don't think so," he said after a minute of pondering. "None of them really appeal. If I'm not on a broom chasing the snitch, then what even is the point?" He studied Malfoy, frowning. "Are you going to play?"

"What, me? Play one of those ghastly muggle sports? Hardly. I don't fancy running about and getting muddy."

Harry hid a grin. "Aw, come on, Malfoy. I bet you'd love rolling about in the mud."

"Mph." Malfoy turned away. Harry suspected he was having trouble hiding his own smile.

After a few moments sent pointedly staring at the opposite wall, Malfoy turned back to him.

"Potter?"

"Hmm?" Harry asked, not abothering to hide his amusement.

"Oh, shut up," Malfoy said.

"You're the one talking, Malfoy." Harry was chuckling now, homework and quidditch forgotten.

"Why was I saddled with you, of all people?" Malfoy asked the ceiling.

"Malfoy. Just spit it out. What were you going to ask me?"

"Ugh, fine. I was just going to ask — How in Merlin's everlastingly barmy name did you end up here, Potter? Surely you can't believe we ended up roommates, halfway around the world in a muggle university purely by chance? I assure you that fate could not possibly have it in for me that badly."

"Uh," Harry said, idly scratching his eyebrow, "I dunno, Malfoy. I didn't pick this place."

Malfoy sat up straighter in his transfigured office chair, abandoning his idle spinning. "Oh? Who did, then?"

Harry shrugged. "Hermione. Who did you think? She set it all up. Pulled quite a few strings. Wouldn't even tell me half of it - said the fewer who knew, the better. I don't know that it was all entirely legal, to tell the truth."

Malfoy stared at him.

"That meddling harpy!" he exclaimed, throwing his head back dramatically. "I will kill her."

"Hermione?" Harry asked, half-offended.

"No, idiot. Pansy, that devil-woman who used to pretend to be my girlfriend. Probably thought she was doing me a favor." He abandoned the office chair, flopping back onto his bed and sprawling spread-eagle on the coverlet.

Harry noticed the tip of a sock poking out from under the sloppily-made bed and grinned to himself. Without house-elves, Malfoy had turned out to be incredibly messy. It made Harry feel better about his own less-than-neat tendencies.

After a moment, Malfoy said softly, "Sorry you ended up stuck with me."

Harry put down his book, which he had picked up in hopes of finding the motivation to keep working on his essay. "Do I look like I mind?" he asked.

Malfoy shrugged a little, looking small and uncomfortable. His blonde hair fanned out over the dark green coverlet — Slytherin green, Harry noted, with delight — and his pale cheeks were tinged pink. "Don't you?" He bit his lip and looked anywhere but at Harry.

Harry shrugged, even though Malfoy couldn't see him. "Dunno. Not really. Merlin knows I've spent enough time obsessing over you. Probably good to get a chance to know you better."

Malfoy propped himself up on his elbows. "Are you serious?"

"Yes?" Harry cocked his head and eyed Malfoy quizzically. "Does that really surprise you?"

Malfoy didn't answer, just flopped back down on his bed. "Merlin," he whispered, almost to himself, "I'll have to send her chocolate. She'll never let me hear the end of it."

Harry had no idea what he was talking about and decided the easiest course of action would be to just pretend he hadn't heard.