It's Not A Love Potion (Drarry)

Chapter 5

Harry felt awful. Over the weekend he hadn't seen much of Malfoy – although Hermione had said that she'd seen him in the library on Sunday and he'd seemed perfectly normal – and so Harry had pretty much forgotten about the whole potion thing, concentrating on normal things like homework and Quidditch (and also not-so-normal things like secret training with the headmaster in preparation to defeat the darkest wizard who ever existed, but he didn't really like to think about that).

However, the day before, as he was coming out of breakfast, Harry had caught sight of Malfoy with Pansy Parkinson. Malfoy had taken one look at him and fled out of the front doors and no one had apparently seen him since – he hadn't shown up at meals, and even Ernie McMillan had commented during Transfiguration that Malfoy had skived both Arithmancy and Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Harry munched absently on his toast, seriously considering finding Snape and confessing everything. What if Malfoy had run away? What if he'd died? Harry shuddered. Malfoy may be a prat, but Harry didn't want to be responsible for his death.

Just as his mind was made up to try and catch Snape before first period began, Ron nudged him and nodded towards the doorway. Malfoy, sans cronies, had apparently chosen to come to breakfast today.

He looked like hell: he had bags under his eyes that were nearly matching his robe in colour; his already-sharp features were heavily accented as if he hadn't eaten for days; his normally neatly gelled hair was loose and rumpled and... and he was walking right towards them.

Ron noticed too. "What the hell is he doing?" he said, glaring at Malfoy. "D'you think he's finally lost it?"

"Who's lost what?" Hermione asked vaguely, her nose still buried in Know Your Nox: 2,000 Common and Uncommon Counterspells.

"See for yourself," Ron murmured, and Hermione glanced up just in time to see Draco Malfoy come to a halt directly in front of them. Her mouth dropped open.

"Malf—?"

"I'm sorry for insulting you on Saturday, Weasley," Malfoy interrupted in a thinly-controlled voice, his fists clenched by his sides. "And I'm sorry for everything I've ever said about your family or monetary status. And Granger," he turned to Hermione who stared at him in pure shock, "I'm sorry for ever calling you a Mudblood and a Know-It-All. And Longbottom," Neville looked up from his porridge and promptly dropped his spoon, "I'm sorry I called you stupid all those times. And Potter..."

Malfoy's voice cracked. He did not look directly at Harry; instead he stared intently at Neville's porridge. "Can I have a word?"

There was silence in their little section of the Gryffindor table as every eye within a fifteen-foot radius turned to Harry. He looked around helplessly at Hermione's calculating gaze, Ron's open-mouthed shock and Lavender's curious face peeking over Neville's shoulder. Then he looked at Malfoy. He was white and looked as if he was about to faint or throw up (or both) at any moment.

"Yeah, 'course," Harry said, and stood up.

"Harry!" Ron yelped, grabbing the sleeve of his robe. "What are you doing? What if it's a trick? He's... he's Malfoy!"

"I know who he is, Ron," Harry said, shaking of Ron's hand. "Look, if he starts anything I'll just hex him and leave him there, all right? I'll see you in Transfiguration."

And, ignoring Ron's sputters of indignation, Harry led the way out of the Great Hall into the row of classrooms to the side of the entrance to the school.

Classroom Eleven was the only room that Harry thought wasn't going to be filled with chattering students in the next ten minutes, and he ushered Malfoy in and threw several locking and privacy spells at the door. They wouldn't keep out a teacher, of course, but they'd at least get some warning if someone tried to get in.