分卷阅读29（1 / 2）

Harry entered the bedroom as quietly as he could, and then relaxed slightly at hearing the shower running. He shook his head…that was, what…Draco’s third shower today? Yes, he would never understand how that Slytherin’s mind worked.

Then all thoughts of that Slytherin were replaced by different thoughts. Oh bloody hell…Potions. He’d completely forgotten to do the essay. Damn it. Harry groaned slightly imagining the detention he’d get for this. But then he stopped short in his mental rant.

Sitting there inside the cover of his potions book…was an essay. His essay…or at least that was his writing. But he hadn’t written the essay, of that he was sure. Harry looked towards the bathroom door with shock appearing on his face. No way…but there was no other explanation. Hermione might have done the essay for him, but then it would be in her handwriting and he’d have to recopy it…and she didn’t know where his room was to deliver it. Ron did know where his room was, but neither of them would get past Medusa (especially if Harry—who did have the password—had trouble doing so). So the only one left was… Draco. And one would have to use some type of forgery spell to write in his own handwriting.

Harry began skimming the lines of the essay as the shower turned off. It was really good. A bit better and more detailed than he would normally be but Snape wouldn’t really notice. He couldn’t see a flaw anywhere that would key someone into thinking that Harry himself hadn’t done the work.

Draco came out of the bathroom dressed in his favorite pair of pajamas (black silk) to be immediately hit with the full force of Harry’s best smile. He blinked slightly and stopped his mind from going down the path of “he looks really cute when he smiles”. One eyebrow rising in question, even as he saw the essay in Harry’s hands he asked:

“What are you grinning about?”

“Thank you, Draco,” was all Harry said as he began clearing the books off his bed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco replied as he climbed in his own bed.

Harry shook his head, though he knew Draco wouldn’t see it, but couldn’t help the thought that passed through his head: ‘Typical Draco. Even when he does something nice he has to be aloof about it.’

When he woke up the next day, Harry would ponder that thought and wonder what that meant. He would eventually arrive at the conclusion that he no longer loathed one Draco Malfoy. Got annoyed at often, yes, but he no longer hated him. He’d become used to being around Draco…what a scary thought.

Chapter 17: Lighting the Fuse

In the weeks that followed, as late November became early December, Harry found himself watching Draco more closely. He was…intrigued by Draco, that was it. He wasn’t developing any feelings other than interest…or so he told himself. He wanted to figure out just how the blonde’s mind worked. One minute Draco would be as horrible as he normally was, and then he’d turn around and actually be civil or worse, agreeable. And when he was either of those two things (civil or agreeable) Harry was forced to admit to himself that he enjoyed the blonde’s company immensely.

So he took up Draco-watching. It therefore became…almost unfortunate, that he only shared three classes with Draco: Potions, Care of Magical Creatures, and Transfiguration. Although it did give him a wide base of subjects really: one of his better, one of Draco’s worst—Care of Magical Creatures; one of Draco’s best, his worst—Potions; and a class that was somewhere in-between—Transfiguration. As such, he’d been mildly and pleasantly surprised when, after a particularly nasty assignment from Transfiguration class, he’d begun ranting about it, not caring that Draco was in the room, Draco had joined him. About fifteen minutes later he realized that those were probably the most enjoyable fifteen minutes he’d shared with Draco for the entire amount of time that he’d known him.

Of course, his two best friends noticed his strange new habit, even though one tried his best to ignore it.

“Hermione, I’m telling you, nothing is going on between Harry and Malfoy,” Ron muttered from his chair in the otherwise empty Gryffindor Common Room. “You’re just imagining things.”

“Ron, you are refusing to see the facts. Harry won’t even start eating until he’s watched Malfoy sit down on the other side of the Great Hall; that’s not normal Harry-hates-Malfoy behavior. You caught them kissing once, you shouldn’t be this blind.”

“Why not?” It did, after all, sit perfectly well with Ron to be this blind.

“Ron, just think for a moment. Harry is our best friend. What if he’s falling in love with Malfoy (Ron winced) and Malfoy doesn’t get it? Harry could be seriously emotionally scarred if something doesn’t happen.”

“Hermione, are you sure you’re not overreacting?” Ron asked, remembering how Hermione acted about the House Elves and seeing the same trend in her behavior now.