Draco checked his watch. He still had some time to relax before Quidditch practice, an hour at least, and he fully intended to spend that hour lounging on his bed, avoiding responsibility and thinking about nothing in particular. He headed for the dungeons.
He’d barely gotten to the end of the hallway when he heard a familiar voice mutter “Dammit!” followed by the appearance of Harry Potter around the corner, heading outside. Harry’s fists were clenched, and he walked quickly, in the manner of someone in a very, very bad mood.
Draco smiled.
Relaxation could wait.
*
Thirty points, Harry thought. Thirty points Snape had taken from Gryffindor that day, in what was possibly the worst Potions class *ever*. Most of it had been Harry’s own fault for screwing up a potion and then having the audacity to defend Neville, who had somehow managed to make a potion that did the exact opposite of what it was supposed to. Add to that his continued struggles with Transfiguration (how hard was it to turn a glass into a plate, anyway?) and nervousness about the upcoming Quidditch match and Harry was a wreck. He hadn’t been in a mood this bad in a while, and it didn’t help that Ron was unsympathetic and his roommates were ridiculously noisy when all he wanted to do was just relax for five seconds and clear his head. When Seamus and Ron had decided to play a particularly rowdy game of chess, Harry had snapped, gotten up and left the room without a word.
He was now heading towards the lake, determined to find a nice quiet spot to just sit down and brood. Not the most constructive thing to do, he knew, but so what? He had a lot on his mind. Hell, he *deserved* some quality brooding time.
Facing the lake, there was a small grove of trees that would block him from view of the castle. He settled against one surrounded by wildflowers and a large rose bush, and promptly began glaring at the lake and thinking about how much he hated everything.
His thoughts had just turned to the good old self-pity standby concerning his lack of luck in the romance department when Draco Malfoy stepped around the tree and sat down next to him.
“Hey Potter,” Draco said cheerfully. “You look upset. Whatever could be wrong? Fame and fortune getting to be too much for you? Just remembered the tragic circumstances of your entire life? Finally realized that your friends are losers?”
Harry sighed. The day now officially could not get any worse. “What are you doing here, Malfoy? Did you see that I was in a bad mood and couldn’t resist coming over to make it worse?”
Draco frowned. “Am I that transparent? Or am I just getting predictable?”
“Go away,” Harry said.
Draco didn’t.
“I hate my life,” Harry said bitterly. Glaring at nothing in particular, he proceeded to start ripping out clumps of grass from the lawn.
Draco raised an eyebrow at him. “Surely the grass never did anything to you, Potter.”
“Fuck off.” Harry turned his glare to the rose bush next to him. He aimed his wand and savagely muttered “Incendio,” causing a particularly large rose to burst into flames.
Draco calmly pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his robes and took one, then leaned over Harry and lit it on one of the petals.
“You’re weird,” Harry said as Draco took a drag and casually puffed out a few rings of smoke.
“You’re the one setting the foliage on fire,” Draco pointed out. “Don’t project your issues onto me.”
“That’s-“ Harry started. He paused. “Wait. What are you doing?”
Draco looked thoughtfully at his cigarette. “I appear to be smoking. What are you doing?”
“No, you’re. You’re being nice to me. Kind of. Or at least you’re not insulting me or trying to hex me behind my back or anything, which I guess for you is congenial behavior. Why? What are you setting me up for?”
The vaguest trace of amusement appeared on Draco’s face. “You know, Potter, I’m not really such a bad guy.”
“Oh,” Harry said. “Of course you’re not. You’re the nice boy that’s spent the last four years tormenting me and my friends for no reason other than that you enjoy it. And let’s not forget that you’re most likely in the service of the evil wizard that destroyed my life and keeps trying to kill me.” He looked at Draco. “Sure, Malfoy, let’s be best friends.”
“No need to be harsh,” Draco said lightly.
“When you’re involved, there’s always a need to be harsh.”
“Fair enough.”
With a sigh, Harry looked out at the lake. He shifted slightly, his robes catching on the bark of the tree he was leaning against. The blackened remains of the rose he’d torched crumbled onto his sleeve, dusting it with ash. “Since when do you smoke, anyway?” he asked idly. “That’ll kill you, you know.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you do it? It’s a stupid Muggle habit anyway.” Harry turned his gaze to the ground, slightly ravaged from his earlier torture of the grass.
“Yeah, funny thing,” Draco said. “I don’t give a sod.” He paused. “Anyway, I think I’m addicted. I could still quit anytime, of course. But I kind of like being addicted to something. Makes me feel special.”
Harry almost smiled, but caught himself just in time.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Harry finding himself unable to return to his previous state of discontent. Draco had enchanted the cigarette smoke to swirl into different shapes, so the air in front of them was filled with smoky stars and half-moons, and what looking suspiciously like slithering snakes. With a barely audible chuckle, Harry softly blew the smoke away from him, and watched the tiny shapes dissolve and disappear.
“I thought you were supposed to be making me feel worse,” Harry said, regretting it as soon as the words left his mouth. They’d been so peaceful there, and Harry had finally been able to relax. All thanks to Draco, oddly enough, and Harry had to go and ruin it.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “I seem to have lost the motivation,” he said. “Would you rather I torment you?”
“I’m just not used to you being nice, is all,” Harry said.
“Well don’t get used to it. I still hate you,” Draco said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, I hate you too,” Harry responded quickly, but couldn’t work up the effort to put any malice into it.
They looked at each other.
“Right,” Draco said.
“As it should be.”
“Good.”
Draco looked at the grass. Harry looked back at the lake.
“I have Quidditch practice,” Draco said, standing up. “I’m going to go. To practice.”
“Okay,” Harry said.
Draco looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he just walked away.
End
6/23/2002