Cheers, Potter.

Sleep well?

Harry's POV

"This is a terrible idea."

"No it isn't, stop being so cynical."

"This is a really, truly terrible idea."

"You aren't exactly filling me with confidence, Malfoy,"

"This is a muggle-made death machine, Potter" he spat, "you should have been more than bloody confident before we got on!"

"Would you calm down?" I attempted and failed to soothe his very blatant anxiety, "people don't tend to die on rollercoasters."

"I've seen Final Destination 3, Potter, you're just making it worse," he sounded genuinely nauseated and looked to Pansy for sympathy or rescue, but she just smiled sweetly and waved us off just in time for the car to shoot onto the track at break-neck speed (of course not literally, despite what Draco may think).

It was safe to assume he was not enjoying himself; he was screaming, and not in the 'Woo-hoo this is awesome!' sort of way, more in a 'Harry, when this is over, I'm going to hex you into next week' way. I did feel a little bit guilty, but I assumed he'd likely make me pay for this later, so I decided not to dwell and enjoyed myself instead.

I was pinned to the seat, the speed keeping me back, and I glanced over in Draco's direction as best I could. His hair was plastered back, reminiscent of the days he used to gel it – the memory allowed me a chuckle – and his cheeks were hollowed from the G-force, his eyes were wide and wild. I let my head fall back against the seat and closed my eyes and laughed at the man who was usually so composed screaming and flailing beside me.

As we neared the end of the ride, I stole another look towards the Malfoy. His hair was well and truly dishevelled and falling into his face, he won't like that at all, I thought, and his knuckles were white from his grip on the handle bars.

"Fun?" I asked knowing the answer already.

"Shut up, Potter,"

~Ж~

We'd stopped for lunch and had settled on a patch of green to enjoy a picnic Neville and Hermione had prepared for us all – needless to say there were a few in our ranks that were grateful of the break in rollercoaster-ing and had been very excited to get back to sitting firmly on the ground again.

"Okay, Neville I get why you don't like the rides," Ron began, "but you Malfoy?" There it was, the inevitable, "I mean, you were a bloody seeker. Brooms have no safety harnesses, no emergency stops, nothing."

"That's entirely different, Weasley," Draco started to defend himself, "these machines are entirely muggle made, and they make such atrocious sounds, how can anyone perceive them as safe?"

Hermione nodded her understanding but Ron wasn't convinced and clearly enjoyed antagonising the Malfoy, "but you're used to Harry's car now, you've never died in that, right?"

"Cars are significantly slower, and I may be used to it's horrible clanging and shaking but I only use it when I must," he fixed me with a glare, unsure why I was the bad guy I just returned it. He held my gaze for what didn't feel like nearly long enough and then snapped his attention back to my best friend.

"You need to learn to relax a bit, mate," Ron said casually, but Malfoy hadn't missed that last and his face showed it. He was looking intently at Ron, as if waiting for him to take it back or say something else that would balance out the word.

He tried to rebuild his façade, his eyebrows reset to their usual cool apathy, his eyes steely cold once more and his ever-permanent snide grin affixed to his lips. His voice betrayed him though, when he said in a strangled voice, "Am I your mate, Weasley?" He tried to sound antagonistic but all I could hear was hope.