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snortinglaughter · 6 years

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Flowers and Antlers.

Part 1

“Why you fretting, mate?” Ron eyed him as he sipped his Butterbeer.

“I’m not.” Harry had kept his eyes on the door ever since they’d entered the Three Broomsticks. He’d overheard Neville saying he’d come with Malfoy; this was the perfect opportunity.

“Yes, you are. You have that look on your face, like when you were trying to ask Cho -”

Harry wasn’t even paying attention to Hermione’s words because at that exact moment Neville and Malfoy entered the place.

“Oi, Nev!” Harry called out.

They stopped in their tracks. Malfoy stiffened visibly when he realized who had called after his friend. He murmured something in Neville’s ear –a little too close, Harry found himself thinking– and walked away, searching for a table.

“Hey, Harry!” The boy smiled as he approached.

“Hi! Fancy joining us?”

“Oh, well, I’m actually here with Draco.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I- we actually thought you’d both like to join us.”

“We?” Ron managed to say before Hermione kicked him under the table.

“Um. Maybe some other time, mate. It’s not that he has anything against you lot, it’s just…” Neville looked over his shoulder to where Malfoy was waiting for him and sighed. “Some other time, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.” Harry watched as Neville walked away.

“I may have missed part of a conversation during breakfast, mate, but since when do we want Malfoy to sit with us?”

“I just figured, you know, maybe it’s time for us to put our differences aside.” Harry shrugged. Ron looked utterly shocked by his response; Hermione just sat in silence studying him through narrow eyes as if Harry was a riddle that needed to be answered.

“Harry, you do realize this is Malfoy we’re talking about? The boy who’s made your life miserable since you first set foot in Hogwarts?” she said.

“I know, ‘Mione. But, don’t you notice something different about him? He’s not bullying first years anymore, not sneering at people left, right and center, not even making remarks about how my hair looks like a nest of pigeons with rabies.”

“Pigeons aren’t mammals, Harry; they can’t get rabies.”

“But what if, like, a dog with rabies bites a pigeon?”

“Harry, no. It’s not-“

“Forget about fucking pigeons, Hermione; Harry Potter is honest-to-Merlin trying to convince us that Draco sodding Malfoy is a good person now,” Ron whispered fiercely, looking around as if they were having the most embarrassing conversation and he was afraid someone might overhear the nasty details.

“Just think about it, mate. Malfoy befriended Neville Longbottom of all people; doesn’t that tell you something?” Harry froze for a second, realizing that yes, he was in fact defending Malfoy. Ron leaned over the table and looked deep into Harry’s eyes.

“No, he doesn’t look like he’s been Confunded.” He put a hand over his forehead. “No, he doesn’t have a fever.”

“Don’t be daft, Ron. I’m serious,” Harry said, slapping his friend’s hand away.

“Well, he is alone after all; none of his friends came back to sit their N.E.W.T.s,“ Hermione reasoned. “I suppose Nev sees something in him that we haven’t.”

“Yeah, that or Malfoy probably has him under the Imperius Curse,” Ron said grimly.

Harry felt a sudden twinge of annoyance at the suggestion and subtly reminded Ron about the Chudley Cannons’ latest defeat —that was enough to distract the red-head from anything— and discreetly glanced at Malfoy’s table every now and then while his friend kept talking about game tactics and statistics. Neville was laughing hard at something the blond was saying. It was still so strange to see them interact; Harry’s curiosity piqued as he wondered what they talked about. Was Neville aware of Malfoy’s nightly activities? If so, then he must know about the drawings.

"Harry?”

He’d spent more time than he wanted to admit guessing what the drawings might be; landscapes, maybe? Harry remembered an ugly painting of a bowl of weird-looking vegetables somewhere in the Dursleys’ house. Malfoy caught his gaze and Harry turned back to Hermione.

“Harry, are you even listening?”

“Yeah, about the Cannons,” he said.

“No, mate. About going to Honeydukes before heading back to the castle; I’m out of Cockroach Clusters. You sure you’re alright?” Ron looked sincerely worried about him, though Hermione was eyeing Malfoy with curiosity.

“Yeah. Perfectly fine. So, Honeydukes? Sure; I’m in the mood for some chocolate frogs,” Harry said quickly.

He could swear he felt someone’s eyes on him as they left.

Fire. Everywhere.

He couldn’t breathe; couldn’t see.

There was someone else inside, screaming. He had to help.

Harry’s eyes shot open; he sat up, breathing hard and wincing at the feeling of his sheets sticking to his back, and tried to blink the darkness away. He’d had nightmares about Fred and Lupin, about werewolves and Lavender, but never about the fire. He cast a cleaning charm on the bed, since it was soaking with sweat, and searched for another set of pajamas and a towel. The idea of staying in bed surrounded by dark curtains made him feel claustrophobic; a nice warm shower might help him relax. Harry had just exited the dorm, still thinking about his nightmare, when he crashed into something –no, someone– and fell on the floor.

“What - ” the other person whispered. The back of Harry’s eyes filled with tiny white stars.

“Sorry, mate, didn’t see you there.”

“Potter?”

Harry’s heart jumped and he tried blinking the blurriness away as he adjusted his eyeglasses.

“Malfoy?”

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” the blond responded resentfully.

“I didn’t say you were.” Harry noticed the sketchbook he’d seen in Scrivenshaft’s laying on the floor beside Malfoy, who immediately took it and stood up.

“I’d like to enter the dorm, if you don’t mind.”

Harry scrunched his brows together in confusion for ten full seconds before realizing he was still on the floor and blocking the door.

“Oh, right,” he said as he stood but didn’t step aside. “Listen, Malfoy, um. Don’t know if Neville mentioned but, er, next time you’re in Hogsmeade, you and Neville that is, if you’d like to sit with us at the Three Broomsticks we wouldn’t mind. If you want, of course; you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Oh boy, he was rambling. “And, uh, I don’t think you’re doing something bad or anything, I mean I’ve noticed you’re not in bed sometimes. Wait, that didn’t sound – I’m not spying on you, I just -”

“Potter.” Thank Merlin Malfoy decided to interrupt; it couldn’t get more awkward than this. “I get it. I’d like to get some sleep now.”

“Right. I’ll just go shower; my bed’s all wet.” What?

“Oh.” Malfoy blinked. “That’s – alright. Goodnight, then.”

He finally stepped aside as Malfoy entered the room and looked back at Harry with curious eyes.

Harry quickly headed toward the boys’ restrooms. Merlin, what the bloody hell was that? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so embarrassed. And he’d been so close to the sketchbook; that confirmed his theory that Malfoy was sneaking away to draw. If he ever wanted to have a look he needed to get closer.

“My bed’s all wet,” he snorted. “Brilliant, Harry, fucking brilliant.”

They sat at the Ravenclaw table the next morning; Harry had a clear view of Malfoy and Neville and was thinking of a good excuse to approach them while the conversation flowed around him.

“Muggles claim it’s a forest fire but father is certain it’s a Heliopath,” Luna was saying. “I got an owl from him yesterday saying he was planning an excursion to find it.”

“That’s wonderful; I hope he’s careful, though.”

Harry frowned as he watched Malfoy peeling a bunch of white grapes with his wand.

“Oh, he’ll be fine; he’s probably taking a newt scale necklace to repel the fire.”

“How does that work?” Hermione asked, genuinely interested. She had decided to make an effort and try to understand Luna’s beliefs.

Malfoy was using his knife and fork to cut his grapes into halves.

“Newt scales have magical properties which intensify if you leave them in a bowl with water and African Sea Salt to rest under the full moon.”

Was Malfoy seriously plucking the seeds out of the grapes? How ridiculous; that was it. Harry stood and walked straight to the Slytherin table to stand beside him.

“Malfoy, what do you think you’re doing?” The blond looked up, confused for a moment.

“Having breakfast; what does it look like, Potter?”

“You’re using cutlery for grapes and you’re plucking the seeds out. Honestly?” Harry didn’t realize everyone at the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables were watching.

“Don’t forget the peeling part,” Neville murmured without taking his eyes off his pancakes.

“I peel them because the skin feels rubbery and it leaves a weird sensation on my tongue.” Malfoy said with his posh accent and raised a pointy eyebrow at his friend before turning back to Harry. “And I don’t like seeds in my grapes; they have a very unpleasant bitter taste. What did you expect me to do? Chew them?”

“You can spit them out?”

“That’s extremely impolite, Potter; have you no manners? Do you do the same with watermelon? Do you spit the seeds out and maybe keep score on which seed goes farthest?” Malfoy pressed his lips together; Harry was certain he was trying to suppress a smile.

“I don’t, but it might be fun, yeah?” He grinned; Malfoy blushed and rolled his eyes, though Harry didn’t see malice in the gesture.

“Definitely no manners, then.”

“People are watching, lads,” said Neville with a smile that resembled something like smugness.

Everyone in the Great Hall was staring, even McGonagall; her eyebrows had nearly reached her hairline. Neville gave him a funny look and realization dawned in Harry’s mind; he was having a polite discussion about grapes with Malfoy. It amazed him what he was willing to do to have a look at Malfoy’s drawings, but Harry had a plan and he was not backing up.

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “You do your thing, then. I’ll- breakfast. Yeah.”

Harry turned back to his friends who were looking at him like he’d gone bananas and felt his face grow hot.

“What was that about, Harry?” Ron inquired as Harry took his seat and heard Dean snickering.

“I remember Seamus acting weird before we finally - ow!” Someone had obviously kicked him under the table and suddenly everyone seemed to be in a hurry.

“I forgot my DADA textbook, gotta go.” Ginny said as she stood.

“By the way, father wanted to know if you’d agree to a short interview for The Quibbler, Harry. Once he’s back from his excursion, of course.” Luna waved goodbye and took off after Ginny.

“Yeah, we have to go too.” Seamus pulled on Dean’s arm.

“Before you finally what?” Ron frowned; Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed.

Harry felt as flummoxed as his friend. Was he missing something?