choose each other | draco and harry

t w o

It was time for Defence Against the Dark Arts, arguably Harry's favourite class, however, the idea of trying to tolerate Professor Umbridge for two hours soured his excitement completely as he felt an instant dislike towards her. She irritated him. She didn't even have to speak to irritate Harry. The way she dressed as a pink headache, her painstakingly fake demeanour, her condescending, cold eyes; Harry hated her.

The lesson began unexpectedly, "wands away" was the instruction the class heard, though they didn't know if they heard right. The last thing Harry wanted was textbook work.  After what already seemed like hours of writing, Hermione had put her hand up in order to defy Umbridge's teaching. The class joined in, trying to understand why they weren't being taught how to actually use the defensive spells; Harry couldn't believe Umbridge's response, "Do you expect to be attacked in my class, children?" The on and off anger Harry had been experiencing invited itself back. Why were adults so daft? 

"No shit" Harry let slip out of his mouth louder than he anticipated.

"Hand! And language Mr. Potter!" She raised her voice, still keeping the sickly sweet tone. Dean and Seamus tried to suppress their chuckles whilst Hermione looked shocked.

"Sorry, just wondering what the point of learning the theory of this course is if we aren't even going to be taught how to use it to defend ourselves? I mean this is, if you've forgotten, Defense against the dark arts" Harry's mouth kept talking, he knew he should shut up, but the whole day had already been irritating, why not fuel the fire? The words flowed out like silk, an irritated, tinged silk.

"Don't cheek me Mr. Potter, I am perfectly capable of teaching the course the Ministry finds acceptable." Umbridge replied, starting straight at Harry. He felt the anger prickling, heating under his skin. Why was he reacting like this? How did she get on his nerves this quickly? Why was he getting ticked off over every little thing? Hr knew that Umbridge was enjoying this.

"The Ministry doesn't seem to think it a good idea for us to learn how to defend ourselves when the chances of an attack are about 90% possible?" Harry asked, matching Umbridge's honeyed tone of voice and unblinking stare. He didn't allow his anger to show. Keep it below surface level, Harry, he told himself like he would everyday in summer when he was with the Dursley's. The class had fell silent at this point, glad for an excuse not to write.

"What on earth are you trying to say Mr. Potter?" Umbridge asked in a warning tone; it's as if she knew what was on Harry's mind, and knew how he'd look if he responded. It felt like a sick game, an unfair game with a massive power and age imbalance. Despite Harry initially yearning for dullness, for his anger to disparate, there was this tiny part of him that wanted conflict to ensue. For him to feel something, not anger but still to receive the rush that anger gave him.

"Hmm- let's think. Quirrel tried to choke me-" Harry responded, adopting a mocking tone.

"Mr Potter!"

"Lockhart tried to wipe my memory-"

"Potter!"

Professor Lupin, albeit not his own fault, went werewolf on me-" this earned a few chuckles.

"Pot-"

"Moody turned out to be a death eater in disguise; so yeah, you attacking me? Voldemort being back? Not that unlikely." Harry breathed, smiling straight at Umbridge's silently seething state.

"Detention! Tomorrow." Umbridge bellowed, her cheeks matching her outfit. The class looked at Harry in either shock or awe.
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Draco's face seemed to show both. Awe because he wasn't a major fan of Umbridge. He couldn't pin point why though. He didn't know for sure if the Dark Lord was back, although he highly suspected it. He felt so uncomfortable this summer, the iciness of Malfoy Manor seemed to have risen to a curtain of cold. Everyone seemed to have lost their light, it was as if he had been walking on eggshells around his parents, he didn't even know why he was being careful, he didn't know anything. But, of course he wouldn't want to believe the words of Harry; yet just now, the anger the boy had exhibited was hard to call an act. He watched as he got up to leave the class, his eyes lingered for a bit too long; Blaise kicked him under the desk.

"What the fuck Blai-" Draco exclaimed a bit too loudly.

"Are we all incapable of studying in silence today? Detention for you too Mr. Malfoy. Tomorrow."

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"Come in." Called Umbridge's voice. Draco stepped in the room, expecting to see Harry, who was not there. He sat down at the desk that had parchment and ink and began to write out the lines "I must be silent in class" as instructed. The silence, the stillness, the properness, the feeling of being powerless, of having to obey; it suffocated him, he started to drift off. An hour and thirty minutes had gone by and a timid knock at the door awoke Draco. Neville stepped in, walking to Umbridge to hand her a letter. She told him to leave, which he gladly did.

Draco continued writing, wondering how Harry got out of detention. Closing his eyes, he saw his parents parting faces, coloured with fatigue. He had never really thought of this death-eater business his family was caught up in before, but his parent's recent behaviour worried him. Besides vague sentences with underlying sinister tones spoken to him over a formal dinner, he hadn't been informed of anything. It's not like he's actually back though, Draco told himself. He desperately wanted to believe that, but there was a part of him which was actually intrigued by this all.

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Harry was fuming. Livid. He tried washing his hands vigorously with soap, tried spells, nothing worked. The horrid, burning sentence "I must not tell lies" was marked into his skin, his dried blood gleaming like Umbridge's eyes when she was satisfied with Harry's punishment.

A liar was one thing Harry was not. Loyalty was a trait Harry prided his gryffindor self on, which made this whole ordeal the more infuriating. A fucking liar? How fucking dare she? He muttered curses before heading back to the dormitory. It was well past midnight, sleep seemed to be a luxury Harry craved.