A/N: A big thank you to everybody who put this story on their 'story-alert'-list and to clarex-ama, Amaterazu Setsuko and LauraGene for reviewing. Thank you for giving this a chance.
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Beta: Amaterazu Setsuko – Thank you for the quick read-through, honey!
Enjoy!
Thoughts
"spoken words"
--- change of POV
'reading'
...::Chapter Two: Puzzles and Confusion::..
Chapter rating: K+
Words: 2213
Draco gave an exasperated sigh, as he saw the handwriting. But then he remembered the reluctance and agony in which Potter had written this, and thought he could deal with a little scrawl. I definitely won't be the only one who's been forced to write out the truth, for your rival to read.
Draco almost frowned as he saw the name Sirius Black on Potter's list of guardians. He saw that particular last name rarely these days, and always in the context of his mothers family. He and Potter were, crazy as it seemed, actually distantly related, even if not by blood. He had known about Black being Potter godfather before, of course, but why am I first realizing our distant relations now? Draco pushed the question away and continued reading, wanting to know the other boys secrets.
And the question was quickly forgotten as he saw the tiny letter 'No' that made Draco flabbergasted. Why would anybody want to treat Potter badly? He pondered, but then he wanted to smack himself. I – of all people – should know. I've spent years doing that! And I did it, because… Draco chose to blame the fact that he couldn't come up with an immediate answer on his eyes falling upon the next scribbled letters. Potter slept in a cupboard?!?
Deep in his own thoughts, swirling with information he had no idea how to react upon, Draco didn't notice a similar facial expression on the boy beside him.
---
Harry could hardly believe what he read, but he knew it was the truth. And it certainly explains how the only emotion he seems to show is anger or disdain… or fear… Harry shook his head mildly, not wanting to think about the war. He knew Narcissa loved her son more than anything else, and it was because of that love everyone could now sit and safely groan over homework and the likes. But why hadn't she showed that love?
Malfoy had been both neglected and drowned in attention. Attention from his parents financial connections during social gatherings at the Manor, showed off like a recently achieved artefact, attention from an endless row of personal teachers, forcing him to memorise French grammar, long classical piano pieces, impeccable etiquette and manners. Teachers, who was not back down from using physical punishment if necessary.
The first time Malfoy had been punished by a teacher, he had been 6 years old. Seeking protection and comfort from his father had only given him a "Malfoys do not cry and disgrace themselves because of a little pain. We are purebloods. Learn from your teachers and hide your flaws. We are not to be seen as weak".
All he ever learned was the smooth, cool, controlled surface that was the Malfoys' all important impression to give.
Harry's head was spinning, old prejudices colliding with the immaculate handwriting on the parchment before him. But then his mind froze and he had to blink several times. He had reached the question asking Malfoy about himself. Harry read.
'I have many contradicting feelings towards Potter. I hate his stubbornness. I hate his hero-complex. I hate that he isn't an arrogant bastard. I hate his modesty. I hate that he always has to be so nice. I hate that he is so loved and worshipped. I hate his glasses. I hate that I admire his courage and honesty. I can't believe I'm writing this. I hate feeling grateful for him saving my life, returning my wand without a fuss, and testifying on me and my mother's behalf like the perfect hero and poster boy for justice and truth. I hate that I have no idea how to act around him or how I want to act around him. I hate that he has always been able to make me lose my composure. I hate that he is not easier to hate. I respect him and I hate knowing that this is actually true, because it would be so much easier just to hate him.'
If his palms didn't hurt because of his nails digging into them, Harry would be positive he was dreaming.
---
Draco couldn't help glancing at the boy – no, man – beside him. Had the great Harry Potter really slept in a cupboard, been hunted down by his cousin and enslaved like a common house elf, doing chores and servicing muggles all around the clock? Seeing the broad shoulders the fate of the world had rested upon only made it that much more unbelievable.
Draco recalled the skinny little boy he'd met in Madam Malkin's so long ago and failing hard at impressing. Back then he'd just been a snobbish little child, using every possible opportunity to boast about himself and his family. He had changed since then, generally for the worse, but he hoped he had changed a little for the better as well. That he had made a few good choices in his life. That, of cause, depended on one's definition of 'better' and 'good'.
But Potter had changed far more drastically over the years. And this new Voldemort-Is-Finally-Dead-Potter had been willing to forgive, forget and move on with his life. Even Pansy gets a nod from Potter now when they pass in hallways. She had, somehow reluctantly but knowing it had to be done, apologized for wanting to hand him over to the Dark Lord.
Draco inwardly shook his head at himself. I guess I'll have to settle with never solving the Potter-Puzzle… He let his eyes wander lower, to the next question in line, having no idea what to expect next. Draco almost choked as he read Potter thoughts concerning himself. Wide-eyed, he encountered sentences he never thought he would see written in Potter's nearly unreadable handwriting. 'I'm grateful he covered for me and glad he had the courage…', 'I hope he has changed…', 'I don't understand why he still calls Hermione a mudblood…', 'I guess I don't really know him now, but before the war I hated everything he represented fiercely…', '…I respect him in some sort of twisted way now…', 'It all kind of depends on if he decides to show some civility…' and '…, then I'd perhaps be able to forget the past and start over…'.
Draco stared and almost groaned. This was not making anything easier. Would I really be civil towards the Golden Trio just to gain… what, even? Friendship? Draco snorted silently. Would I even want to? Answers were not something Draco had a lot of these days.
---
"I don't see any eyes moving, so I presume you have finished reading." Harry's head snapped up, having completely forgotten McGonagall's presence. He nodded stiffly, forcing himself not to look at Malfoy seated next to him barely a foot away. Damn, this is going to be so awkward. When McGonagall had received a tense nod from Malfoy too, Harry caught out of the corner of his eye, she started describing their next assignment.
"The Quidditch pitch looks horrible, so you'll be moving the lawn and hopefully you'll be done by dinner. But I'll be gentle and let you use magic…" Harry sighed in relief, "However…" God, I'm stupid, of course there's a catch "… because the soil of these grounds are so soaked in magic, only one spell will work. When you drink this…" McGonagall handed them each one small, identical, boring and clear vial. "…you, Harry, will know the words and pronunciation of the spell, while you," she turned towards Malfoy "will learn the, rather unnecessary complicated if I say so, wrist movements" Harry frowned, "But then how will we …" he gestured, not knowing how to continue the sentence, and McGonagall just gave him a little narrow smile while Harry saw Dumbledore's still twinkling eyes above her left shoulder. "You'll just have to teach each other, won't you?"
Both rolled their eyes, uncorked the vial and drowned it in one gulp, wanting just to get it over with.
---
As the smooth tasteless liquid ran down his throat, Draco thought he knew what was going on. She wants us to cooperate, to accomplish something together so we can bond. I'm surprised I haven't vomited yet. Bloody Gryffindor tendencies. Suddenly he felt the strangest sensation of knowledge butting its way into his mind. So that's the wrist movements? That doesn't seem so difficult… But I have to teach Potter! And that seemed more of a challenge. Putting it mildly.
McGonagall looked at them. "What are you waiting for? There's the door and I'm positive you both know where the quidditch pitch are. See you at dinner." The wooden chairs scraped against the floor as they stood. Then Potter, having completely forgotten about the chain, wanted to go the other way around one of the chairs, resulting in him almost tripping.
"What a brilliant demonstration of brain cells, Potter." He drawled sarcastically before he could help himself. Great, just great. Why can't I ever control myself around him? That was not what I wanted to say, but there's no way I'm apologizing. Potter sneered "shut up", passed the right side of the chair and strode quickly past Draco towards the door. Draco followed more slowly, but soon Potters quick stride across the office made the chain pull on his left ankle. "Can you please move in a more civilized tempo?" The familiar sneer and rudeness was still in his voice. But at least it was worded as a question he thought. I'm trying. Potter's hands curled into fists and he slowed down a fraction. Draco sped up slightly himself. See, McGonagall, I can compromise! He spat in his head.
When the door closed behind them and the stairs started to move they both looked away from each other defiantly, anger with a twist of awkwardness making the air thick. Draco questioned himself, feeling it wasn't doing to be the last time: How am I possibly going to survive this? They emerged on the hallway and began walking the path to the front doors, towards the pitch, silently agreeing on a relatively brisk pace. Something's missing he thought and looked down at the appalling chain. He realized he had been expecting harsh noises and a little resistance when it dragged across the cold stone floor, but none of that was present. Magic, he thought and shrugged inwardly.
As they dead-silently walked the deserted halls, Draco was immensely glad that it was a Hogsmeade weekend so they were less likely to receive annoying prodding questions about why they were walking beside each other. And Pansy and Blaise are properly waiting for me in the common room.
---
Harry was positive the walk from the headmistress office to the grounds had never been so long. He was constantly aware of Malfoy at his right and he both looked forward to and dreaded reaching their destination.
They exited the castle and a breeze greeted them as they headed towards the pitch, keeping up the brisk stride. Harry stole a glance. How can such a face be so void of emotion? It wouldn't kill him to smile a little, but then again, I don't think he has much to smile about. Harry shook his head slightly. Malfoy wouldn't want my pity.
At the pitch they tuned towards each other, the chain not allowing them to be more than barely 2 feet apart, and surprisingly, thought Harry, Malfoy initiated communication. The other stood defensively with his arms crossed leaning his weigh casually on one leg. "Potter, the words if you please." Harry couldn't decipher if the tone was mocking, forced, bored or something else. He drew his wand, saw Malfoy's gaze flicker towards it before meeting his gaze firmly again, and began twirling it, his fingers needing to be preoccupied.
"They're 'inciderius gramentia etiam terra flora', got it?" Harry didn't mean to sound snappish, but his nervousness took control of his voice. Why the fuck am I nervous? It's just Malfoy for goodness sake, it's not like he's gonna start hexing me and get himself expelled. Malfoy gritted his teeth. "It's the first time I hear the incantation, Potter, would you care to repeat them once more?" His grey eyes shoot sparks and his was voice sharper now. Harry could almost feel the suppressed anger prickling on his skin due to their uncomfortably close proximity.
He just shrugged, wanting to appear calm, but he had the feeling that his frantic wand-twirling worked against him, and he still had no idea what to do with his other hand. He repeated the words and absentmindedly watched Malfoy's lips as they reproduced the pronunciation to perfection, unwillingly impressed that he had learned them already. But he's always been second in class behind Hermione, so a little brain the git's gotta have.
"Now it's your turn to pay attention, Potter." Harry snapped back into focus, silently scolding himself for being inattentive in the presence of a Malfoy, which was all around stupid and dim-witted behaviour. But then he was completely put off, because the face opposite him was not emotionless any more. A slight smirk was tugging at his lips and the sharp eyes had their edge removed by confusion, but that was nearly covered by a sheen of superiority. What the hell did I do?
End of chapter two.
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