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Draco knew he hadn’t been the best person throughout his life. He was a school yard bully, he'd said a lot of mean things to people who didn’t deserve it, and he made way too many wrong decisions before he even reached adulthood. Hell, that was a little bit of an understatement. He stood on the wrong side of the war, he knelt in front of a mad man who called himself the Dark Lord, and even took a Mark he knew he would spend his whole life regretting.
All in all, Draco understood he had a lot to redeem; many consequences to face. That was why when he was asked to go back to Hogwarts for what McGonagall dubbed as Eighth year for the war survivors who couldn’t take their N.E.W.T.s the year prior, Draco prepared himself for the worst. He was prepared for when many students threw him an accusing, dirty look his way. He tried not to think much of people whispering whenever he walked down the hallways, minding his own business. He didn’t take it personally when some professors couldn’t hide their disdain and treated him with subtle but unmistakable discrimination in their class.
He expected all of that. He deserved that much after what he did, after all.
“What did a buffalo say to his son when he left for college?”
Draco wondered if he truly deserved this.
He blinked at Harry Potter, who was sitting innocently across the table he was at, an odd smile on his face. Just a moment ago, Draco was peacefully reading alone in his favorite corner of the library. It was his favorite because it was almost always deserted, far behind the history shelves that no one cared to visit, making it a perfect sanctuary whenever Draco needed a rest from people and their unconcealed dislike toward him.
But Potter found him here, like he somehow always did lately, no matter how secluded Draco thought his hideaway was.
The thing was, Potter didn’t come to insult him or try to guilt trip him for what he did in the past like most students who stopped him in the empty corridors of Hogwarts. No. Potter approached him every time to tell him terrible jokes. And Draco couldn’t for the life of Salazar understand what the Saviour wanted from him.
“Pardon me?” Draco said as politely as he could amid his puzzlement, because that was what he was these days. Polite, laid back, and completely non-threatening. He was a little proud of himself that he could keep up the decent person facade in front of Potter.
Potter’s smile turned into a wide grin for a reason Draco couldn’t fathom. If he had to be honest, it scared him a bit as he tried to lean back in his chair.
“Bison,” Potter said, his voice full of excitement.
“What?”
Potter only grinned wider and leaned forward, apparently unaware of Draco’s discomfort. “Bison, Malfoy. Don’t you get it? Bison. Bye, son. The buffalo said ‘bison’,” Potter said, hands moving animatedly to emphasize his punchline.
Draco wondered if something happened to his head during the war. Because, what the fuck.
“Okay?” Draco mumbled uncertainly as he moved to gather his belongings on the table, preparing to escape from this bizarre situation.
But Potter wasn’t quite done.
“Wait, wait,” Potter blurted out, putting his hand on top of Draco’s parchment to prevent him from packing it into his bag. “Where do baby cows eat lunch?”
Something had definitely happened to Potter’s head during the war.
“I don’t know, Potter,” he said slowly, trying not to raise his voice and offend this newly mental wizard in front of him. He wasn’t sure how dangerous it was if someone as magically powerful as Potter got his head damaged—and Draco didn’t want to chance it. “Please let go of my parchment.”
“The calf-eteria.”
This had got to be a prank. The Gryffindor bunch must be so bored out of their minds since McGonagall ruled the Eighth year students out of the Quidditch Cup and tried to find a new source of entertainment. Draco wouldn’t put it past them to see harassing a former Slytherin bully as a good laugh. He just hoped they thought of something better than sending the Saviour himself to deliver impossibly bad jokes to him.
Without any more words, Draco yanked his parchment free from Potter’s clutch and hurriedly bolted from the library, feeling Potter’s oddly intense gaze on his back. His experiences during the war had sharpened his fight or flight instinct, ensuring him to always choose flight every time.
Those lips were turned downward again this morning. They almost always were, as long as Harry remembered, at least since they returned for Eighth year. Before that, Harry remembered scowls, condescending smirks, and unkind grimaces. But today, the elves served a pile of perfectly toasted bagels, delicious sausages, and mouth-watering omelettes. There was no reason to frown at the nice plate of breakfast under his nose.
Despite the tasty feast, Malfoy was frowning. Scowling, really, at his breakfast. The furrow between his brows was obvious even for Harry who had been silently observing him from across the Great Hall. Beside the blonde, Parkinson was chattering, likely to herself, with some enthusiastic hand gestures that Malfoy only responded to with occasional absent-minded nods. Harry wondered what Malfoy was thinking; what gave him such a long face so early in the morning.
And whether he could turn that frown upside down or not.
Well, there was only one way to find out, wasn’t there?
He stood up from the Gryffindor table and immediately caught Hermione’s attention.
“Where are you going?” she asked, putting down her fork.
“Um,” Harry mumbled. It was never an easy task to come up with an acceptable excuse for his friends. “Out for a bit?”
“You’re going to go to the Slytherin table, aren’t you? You’ve been staring that way the whole breakfast,” Ron said flatly from his side. “You have to stop it, mate. You'll start to become obsessed again.”
Hermione frowned at her boyfriend. “It’s Malfoy again, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Harry has been at it for days now.” Ron threw him an accusing look. “This is like Sixth year all over again but weirder. And worse, I suppose.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Harry defended himself. “I’m just… I’m just being friendly, okay? Just like what McGonagall said, we’re working on inter-House unity this year. I’m trying to set a good example for that.”
Ron rolled his eyes and took a gulp of his orange juice. “By pestering your former enemy, sure. The last time you tried to engage him in a conversation after class, Malfoy actually looked terrified, you know.”
“I think Ron is right, Harry. I don’t get why your obsession with Malfoy suddenly resurfaced,” Hermione added, and her frown got deeper.
But of course his friends didn’t understand. They wouldn’t. They didn’t have the same mission as Harry did at the moment. Deciding to ignore his friends, Harry glanced across the hall again, only to find Malfoy pushing his barely touched plate away, like he was done with his breakfast. Harry couldn’t have him leave just yet. He had to move fast.
“Well, see you guys in Transfiguration,” he said hastily, not looking back for his friends’ protests as he walked briskly away from his table.
He could tell Malfoy noticed him before he reached the end of the table where he was eating with Parkinson and a handful of other Eighth year Slytherins. The grey eyes caught his and they widened for a second before Malfoy turned to Parkinson next to him, speaking to her rapidly, one of his hands reaching for his bag.
Harry just walked faster.
“Hey, Malfoy,” he greeted, trying to sound pleasant. Then, as though an afterthought, he added, “good morning.”
Malfoy looked up from his seat with his usual confused frown. He nodded warily.
He didn’t seem interested in exchanging more pleasantries. Malfoy quickly turned to Parkinson again. “Pans, I think I should—”
“What did one plate say to the other?” he blurted out.
Not only Malfoy, but almost half of the students at the Slytherin tables were now turned to him, some with blatant bewilderment while others with apparent interest.
Draco sighed, defeated. “Honestly, Potter, what do you want from me?”
“Dinner’s on me,” Harry finished his joke with a grin, ignoring the unimpressed look Draco gave him and the thick air of confusion blanketing the Slytherin table.
It seemed like Malfoy was not the only one who was completely unimpressed with his attempt. Without looking up from her buttered toast, Parkinson snorted. “Come off it, Potter, leave Draco alone. He’s taken, you know.”
“What?” Harry startled at the same time Malfoy made a noise of surprise himself.
Parkinson waved her toast idly at him. “Yes, taken by surprise that your terrible jokes could get even worse every day,” she said nonchalantly, her tone the epitome of boredom.
Malfoy shoved her shoulder lightly as Harry let out a breath of relief. Malfoy couldn’t be taken like that , right? At least not without him knowing. He had been watching him for so long, he would know if there was anyone else other than his friends around him.
Not that any of it would matter at the moment. The other Slytherins were still staring curiously. Zabini and Nott had matching calculating stares, studying both Harry and Malfoy in turns, and Malfoy began to fidget in his seat.
As a blush rose high on Malfoy’s cheeks, he cleared his throat. “As I was saying, Pans, I’ll head out to our class first,” he said, almost too quickly to articulate each word properly.
Before Harry could blink, Malfoy was out of the hall, practically running from the still interested spectators.
The stares the Slytherins gave him started to make him feel uncomfortable. Not only that, the students from the other Houses were throwing a curious glance of their own. Harry could distinguish Ron and Hermione’s among the others and he was not looking forward to explaining this situation to them. They wouldn’t understand.
Harry excused himself, too—which was only met by an arch of Parkinson’s brow as though the witch couldn’t care less even if Harry wanted to banish himself to the end of the world. Harry supposed she truly didn’t.
He dragged his feet to the empty hallway leading to his Transfiguration class. It was still too early for anyone to head to their classes and Harry appreciated the quiet space he had for himself. He leaned against a huge window facing the lush grounds of Hogwarts’s garden, watching as the magical plants stirred awake, shaking the dew from their leaves.
Sighing to himself, Harry thought about his friends’ words. Okay, he might be a little obsessed with Malfoy again lately, but this was nothing like Sixth year. This time, Harry knew Malfoy wasn’t up to anything bad. In fact, he was not up to anything at all. He was trying so hard to keep everything to himself, minding his own business, careful not to step on anyone’s toes. And Harry was dying to step on his.
Ron and Hermione wouldn’t understand his simple purpose.
Harry gazed far out of the window, watching the West Tower looming on the other side of the castle. He stared at the Owlery on the top of that tower and remembered the night his so-called obsession of Malfoy resurfaced in full force.
That night, Harry had been awakened by a nightmare. They happened so often after the war that they had stopped bothering him so much after a while. He just wished they wouldn’t wake him up at an ungodly hour of the night, making him too wide awake to continue his slumber. Knowing he wouldn’t fall asleep anytime soon, Harry had left his room to wander alone around the castle.
He had no destination to reach, just letting his feet bring him wherever they pleased at that moment, and he’d soon found himself climbing the spiraling stairs to the top of the West Tower. Before he could step into the Owlery, though, he realized that he wasn’t the only one having a sleepless night.
From the crack of the door where Harry had peeked into the room, he could see Malfoy sitting on the windowsill at the far end of Owlery, back against the window and head thrown back. His platinum blond hair was illuminated gently by the moonlight. Around him, no less than half a dozen owls were flying and hooting cheerfully.
That night, Harry had witnessed something he'd never seen before. Malfoy was smiling serenely, laughing every time an owl landed on his shoulder to affectionately peck his ear. Throughout the years he'd known Malfoy, Harry didn’t think he had heard the Slytherin laugh. A sneer, yes, and maybe some sardonic snickers, but never a genuine, happy laugh. One filled with joy instead of contempt.
He didn’t expect that it would sound so beautiful.
Harry had been so enchanted by the sound of Malfoy’s laugh, the breathtaking sight of his smile, that he stayed unmoving behind the Owlery’s door for hours on end, vaguely feeling the dawn breaking as a new day started. Just when Malfoy shifted from his seat, seemingly moving to leave, Harry hurriedly ran away from his hideout.
But the sound of Malfoy’s laugh wouldn’t leave his mind. It echoed in his brain for days, a contrast from the solemn and impassive tone he heard Malfoy used to address the professors in their classes. Harry was aching to hear the beautiful sound again.
So, Harry made it a personal quest to make Malfoy laugh. He had been trying to amuse the other with his jokes, but to no avail so far.
To be fair, Harry was aware that his strategy of delivering jokes might not be the brightest idea he had, but he simply couldn’t think of anything else. It was not like Harry and Malfoy were friends to begin with. They certainly weren’t enemies anymore, but they also weren’t mates who laughed at each other’s jokes. But Harry was desperate at this point. And he had gone so far that he couldn’t back out.
Soon, Malfoy would laugh at his jokes. He was sure of it.
It had been a long day. Draco made a little mistake in Potions class and Slughorn was not holding himself back from going in on him. He knew better than to expect anything more from Slughorn, no matter how ridiculous his teacher had been. He had set his cauldron just a tad too hot, making his potion boil before it was supposed to, and Slughorn wasn’t hesitant in the slightest to tell him how much of a failure his project was, completely discrediting every perfect piece of work he had done in his class until now.
Draco let out a long sigh, leaning against a windowsill in a deserted hallway. He knew perfectly well that Eighth year wouldn’t be a walk in the park—or just another happy year where he could do anything he pleased and threaten to report anyone who displeased him to his father—but at times like this he was just so tired.
But, of course, things could always be worse for Draco. From the corner of his eye, Draco saw a mop of unruly dark hair emerging from the end of his supposedly empty hallway. He tried to bite down a groan. Draco was too tired to run away from Potter right now. Maybe Potter was just walking by, he hoped silently as he slumped in his stance.
Alas, Potter seemed to have purposely walked here to see Draco. He didn’t know how Potter always found him in the most unassuming situations, but it had been long since he gave up trying to find out the answer. As Potter advanced toward him with his odd, crooked smile, Draco tried to keep his unimpressed scowl on his face.
“Why are you here alone, Malfoy?” he asked almost too cheerfully.
Draco scowled harder. “I don’t think it’s any of your business, Potter,” he muttered, managing to keep his voice even.
“Right.” Potter scratched his messy hair sheepishly, but he made no move to leave.
Arching his brow in question, Draco crossed his arms and prompted him to go on with whatever he wanted to say.
“Knock knock.”
Draco stared at him. What the fuck. He had run out of ideas to convince Potter that he was truly losing it. Right now, he had even begun to wonder if he was the one losing it, seeing that nothing made sense for him lately.
“You’re supposed to say who’s there,” Potter said.
No, it was definitely Potter who had lost it, Draco was sure.
“Wait, you don’t know knock knock jokes? Is it a Muggle thing?” Potter continued, furrowing his brows a little. The frown was gone in a second, his smile back in place. “It’s okay, though. I can teach you. If I say knock knock , you say who’s there , okay?”
Will you be on your way then? Draco wanted to ask. Instead he just nodded in defeat.
“Brilliant! Let’s try again. Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there,” Draco mumbled, feeling ridiculous.
“Alice,” Potter said, grinning wider. He seemed to think of something and added, “now you’re supposed to say Alice who .”
Draco wanted to point out that he was certainly not Alice, but it seemed to be an insignificant thing to say when Potter was in front of him pretending to knock on an imaginary door. He might as well be an imaginary character if he wanted.
He decided it was always safer to just humour Potter. “Alice who?”
“Alice fair in love and war.”
Draco felt both of his eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “What?” he asked incredulously.
Another frown was back on Potter’s face. “All is fair in love and war,” he said slowly. “Is it a Muggle saying?”
“How am I supposed to know?” Draco tried so hard to keep his exasperation at bay. “And is it a joke? Because I honestly can’t tell. But don’t you think it’s too early for a war-themed joke right now, Potter?”
“Oh, you’re right.” Potter looked a little sheepish again, but otherwise he remained undeterred. “Should we try another one, then? Knock, knock.”
Oh, how Draco wanted to pull his hair out at that moment. Or maybe Potter’s hair. He didn’t understand what was happening, what Potter’s motivation was that kept him determined to tell Draco his crappy jokes. If the fact that he was completely clueless about the whole ordeal was not enough to drive him mad, Potter’s lack of understanding of humour was certainly sufficient for that.
But Potter was staring at him with a pair of hopeful green eyes, peering almost innocently from behind his long lashes. Draco hated himself for succumbing to those pleading eyes. He inhaled deeply before gritting out, “Who’s there.”
“Who.”
“Who who?”
Potter suddenly broke into a blinding grin. “You sound like an owl,” he said as though he couldn’t be more pleased with his own joke.
Draco stared at Potter’s smile blankly for five solid seconds before slumping back against the windowsill. That’s it, he had had enough of this. “Seriously, Potter, what do you want from me? I stopped bothering you from the beginning of this year, is it too hard to reciprocate the gesture?”
Potter had the audacity to look taken aback by Draco’s words. “I… I didn’t mean to bother you, Malfoy,” he said quietly.
“So why are you doing all of this?” Draco arched his brow tiredly.
“Well…” Potter looked down uncertainly. “Friends tell each other jokes.”
“We aren’t friends,” Draco said.
For a moment, Potter didn’t say anything, until he looked up to meet Draco’s eyes, his own glinting with a newfound determination. “Can’t we be friends?”
His words were so earnest that it was Draco’s turn to be stunned. Right at that time, everything became quiet. Nothing in the mostly deserted hallway made a sound, only their even breathing. Draco tried to comprehend Potter’s question, his eyes still locked with those gleaming emerald ones. Every minute that passed made Draco feel even more dazed.
“Why would you want us to be friends?” Draco asked carefully at the end.
Potter refused to let his gaze falter. “We aren’t petty rivals anymore, are we? Why can’t we be friends now?”
Why couldn’t they, he asked? They just couldn’t, Draco didn’t know why. And like the rest of the mysteries behind Potter’s bizarre behaviour lately, Draco hated that he didn’t know the answer. He hated being clueless more than anything. He hated that he didn’t understand the meaning behind Potter’s intense gaze on him, his terrible jokes, his relentless attempt to talk to him. He hated that he couldn’t interpret the way he responded to all of it. Why he returned the gaze, why he stayed whenever Potter approached him, why his heart raced in his presence.
Draco hated it all.
He stared back at Potter with defiance. “Considering the fact that you’re the only one contributing to the joke sharing concept of this friendship, what do you honestly think?” he all but spat at Potter’s startled face, a little too much venom seeping into his voice.
Without waiting for a response, Draco stormed out of the hallway, leaving a dumbfounded Potter behind. As he walked away, Draco cursed himself and his traitorous, rapidly beating heart—the sight of Potter’s earnest eyes still etched in his mind.
Harry couldn’t shake the anger flashing in those pale, grey eyes.
He didn’t expect Malfoy to be angry at him like that. His intentions to talk to him lately were completely harmless. Why would Malfoy be that mad when Harry asked him to be his friend? It wasn’t a bad thing, right? Being friends?
But maybe Malfoy’s reaction wasn’t completely unfounded. Harry realized he had been a little bit of a creep. Despite his relentless attempts, Harry could see that Malfoy might see him as a bother. To be fair, he hadn’t been very straightforward with his good intentions, so it was understandable that Malfoy took him the wrong way.
So Harry took a step back. He wanted nothing but to clear up the misunderstanding between them, but before that, he first had to find an answer to Malfoy’s question. What did he want from his ex-rival?
Harry knew he was being earnest when he asked Malfoy to be his friend. At the beginning, his little quest was fueled solely by his curiosity to hear that melodious laugh from Malfoy. Without him realizing, his reasons grew along the way. The more he pestered Malfoy, the more Harry saw how much he had changed—and not entirely for the better. Yes, he was no longer a snobbish git like he used to be, which was nice, but he was also too quiet to be the Malfoy he remembered. And Harry didn’t like it for some reason. He didn’t like how lonely Malfoy looked lately, how tired, how defeated he was most of the time.
It was an unsettling look on Malfoy. And while Harry didn’t exactly miss his sneer, he knew there could be a better expression on Malfoy’s face. Like that carefree, unbidden smile he had when Harry saw him in the Owlery.
Harry wanted to be a reason for Malfoy to smile like that again. It was normal to want a smile on your friend’s face, right? For now, Harry was sure he wanted to be Malfoy’s friend. The warm feeling in his chest whenever the blonde was near might indicate something else, something stronger, and Harry would love to explore it if Malfoy gave him a chance.
And for now, there was something to clear between them. Without meaning it, Harry had unintentionally offended Malfoy, and he was determined to make it right once and for all. Harry knew Malfoy would run away again if he didn’t approach him carefully, so this time, Harry had a plan to corner him where his former enemy would not get a chance to get away.
That plan involved him slipping into the ever empty seat next to Malfoy in their shared Potions class, just in time for Slughorn to open his mouth to start their lesson. Malfoy turned his head at the unwelcomed addition to his table with wide eyes.
“What the fuck, Potter?” Malfoy hissed, earning him a glare from Slughorn that effectively shut him up.
Grinning, Harry pretended to be busy setting up his cauldron and ingredients for today’s potion, ignoring the dirty look Malfoy threw at him. This was a bit low of him, but hey, it worked, right? In his peripheral vision, Harry could see Hermione and Ron frowning from their table across the room, but he decided to ignore that as well. He had a mission to carry out.
Eventually, Malfoy seemed to realise he wouldn’t be able to escape Harry at the moment and sighed, visibly defeated. He turned his attention to Slughorn who was writing the instructions for Hair Removal Potion on the blackboard and prepared his own ingredients, pointedly pretending that Harry was not hovering a mere foot away from him.
Harry inched a little closer. “Malfoy,” he called quietly.
“Shut up,” Malfoy replied under his breath, not looking at him.
“Listen, I just want to apologize for what I said the other day,” Harry whispered, then added, “and these days, I guess.”
Malfoy sighed again. “Forgiven. Now pay attention to your potion.”
“No, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you, and I’m sorry it came across like that. I didn’t mean to offend you,” Harry said sincerely, a little desperate to make Malfoy see his point.
When Malfoy finally turned his head to Harry after a pause, he didn’t look angry anymore. His grey eyes only seemed tired. “It’s okay, really. It’s—it’s whatever, okay? You don’t have to apologize, but I would truly appreciate it if you stop doing that from now on.”
“I—,” Harry stammered, taken aback by the raw defeat in Malfoy’s voice. “Um, yeah, okay.”
“Good,” Malfoy muttered before returning his attention to his work.
Harry tried to focus on his own potion but something still didn’t feel right. He pretended to follow Slughorn’s instructions on the board as a nagging thought came to his mind. It couldn’t just end like this. As he let his potion simmer, Harry said softly, “I just want you to know that I really wasn’t making fun of you.”
“I said it’s okay, Pot—”
“I just want to hear you laugh.”
Clearly, Malfoy didn’t expect that. He whipped his head to face Harry with furrowed brows. “What?”
“I… I saw you in the Owlery one night—and I didn’t mean to stalk or anything, I just happened to find you there when I was wandering the castle. And you… you laughed with the owls that night. Like, a genuine laugh.” Harry paused, wondering if he even made any sense. “I want to hear that again.”
Malfoy stared at him as though Harry had just transformed into a house-elf right in front of his eyes. If Harry had to be honest, that confused expression was an adorable look on Malfoy. “And why is that?” Malfoy eventually asked.
Harry pursed his lips in thought. “I don’t know,” he said earnestly, shaking his head. “It’s just… it sounds beautiful. I want to hear it again.”
It took Malfoy three seconds to process Harry’s words—Harry mentally counted it. And when the words finally seeped in, Harry witnessed as a blush slowly crept onto Malfoy’s pale cheeks. The shade gradually grew darker as the pinkish blush ended up almost beet red by the ninth count. It was such a stunning sight that Harry had to look away with his racing heart.
“Oh,” was all Malfoy said.
“Yeah,” Harry replied awkwardly, fighting a blush of his own. He took a little vial to distract himself, busying himself with putting his potion into it.
“What’s going on here?”
Obviously, Harry hadn’t been paying any attention to his class, so he was startled out of his mind when Slughorn suddenly appeared at his table with his hands on his hips. Harry’s hand slipped and the contents of his vial was splashed onto his face. The glass vial dropped to the ground and broke with a loud noise so that everyone’s eyes were suddenly on him.
When Harry looked up at Slughorn, he found horror in his teacher’s face—while his own felt all tingly and just a bit like it was burning.
The whole classroom was silent for a moment until Hermione broke it with her shriek, “Harry, your face!”
“What?” Harry’s hand shot up to his face, but instead of touching the skin of his cheek as he expected, all he felt was hair. “What’s happening?”
“Harry, your facial hair is wilder than Hagrid!” Ron shouted.
Bewildered, Harry looked at his broken vial and the remaining potion in his cauldron. He then turned to see Malfoy looking at him with comically wide eyes. He touched his hairy face again. “Well,” he scratched his newly grown beard sheepishly and looked at the still stunned Slughorn. “I guess my potion didn’t work the way it should?”
Harry didn’t expect Malfoy to be the first who broke into a loud cackle, but Malfoy suddenly let out a disbelieving noise and started roaring with laughter. The whole class soon followed, but Harry could only focus on Malfoy’s unrestrained laugh. It wasn’t a sweet, soft laugh like the one he witnessed in the Owlery, but it was just as good. Malfoy’s open expression of joy was beyond stunning that Harry could almost forget the bushy beard still growing on his face.
“Salazar,” Malfoy gasped between his laughs. “How could you mess up your potion so bad it does the exact opposite of what it’s supposed to do?”
“Mr Potter! Go to the hospital wing now!” Slughorn’s yell was heard among the loud laughter of Harry’s classmates, but Harry ignored it in favour of staring at the way the corner of Malfoy’s eyes crinkled prettily in mirth.
“So it takes a Potions accident just to make you laugh?” Harry asked Malfoy jokingly.
“I don’t know, Potter,” Malfoy answered, still half laughing. His grey eyes twinkled in delight. “Maybe you can come up with safer and more creative ideas later. Say, meet me after you've shaved all that?”
“That’s not fair,” Harry said, but he was grinning like a loon.
Malfoy returned his grin with a cheeky smile that looked so good on his pointy face that Harry swooned a little. “Alice fair in love and war, Potter,” he said. “Now go to the hospital wing, you look ridiculous with all that hair.”