Chapter Text
Knock, knock.
“Mr. Malfoy is at the door again.”
“I don’t want to see him.”
Knock-knock-knock!
“He appears to be rather insistent.”
“I’m not talking to him.”
“Then perhaps you should open the door and tell him that, so that he might stop interrupting our quiet evening with his incessant pounding on the door,” says Snape silkily without rising from his armchair.
Harry, who has claimed the couch as per usual, reluctantly gets to his feet and reaches for his wizard’s cane, his stomach twisting in that odd way it always does when Snape uses words like “our” and “we.” It’s been a month since Harry’s ill-fated encounter with Malfoy and the subsequent attempt to get his sight back. The potion was unsuccessful, but Snape has used Harry’s continued blindness as an excuse to tutor the boy privately and take the rest of the term off from Potions teaching. It still baffles Harry a little as to why, but he has become strangely comfortable here, especially since Snape inexplicably started to be nicer to him.
The cane is a wonderful invention, really, because it allows him to get a sort of magical impression of the area in front of him, so that he doesn’t have to bump into things. Snape assures him that even if he remains blind, his other senses will improve to compensate and he won’t need the wizard’s cane forever. Harry still kind of hopes that Snape’s modifications to the cure potion will work and he won’t have to get used to anything else.
Knock-knock-BANG!
“I’m coming,” says Harry irritably. He yanks open the door and stares sightlessly out into the corridor, hoping to gain some intimidation points over Malfoy. “What do you want?”
“What in Merlin’s name is that thing?” says Malfoy’s snooty voice.
Harry scowls at him. “Maybe you should’ve looked this stuff up before hitting me with that spell.”
“I didn’t know what it did,” says Malfoy petulantly. “You can hardly blame me.”
“For using a spell you didn’t recognize?!” Harry didn’t think it was possible to hate Malfoy more for the events of a month ago. Clearly, he was wrong.
“Well, the book said it was a good spell for dueling!”
“And yet,” says Snape’s voice rather ominously from behind Harry, “dueling is not permitted in Hogwarts without supervision from a teacher. I believe that will be another two weeks of detention, Mr. Malfoy.”
Harry takes some small amount of pleasure in Malfoy’s spluttering, but he’d honestly rather have his sight back than see Malfoy in detention.
“All right, all right,” says Malfoy irritably. “It was stupid. I understand that now.”
“Congratulations,” says Harry. “Now go away.”
“But I want to—”
“I don’t want to talk to you. You’re not my friend, Malfoy,” Harry snaps. “What makes you think you have the right to stick your nose in the life that you tried to ruin?” He would say Malfoy did ruin it, except that if he’s honest with himself, he’s not sure he regrets what happened. There’s the thing with Snape, after all. That all being said, he’s still furious with Malfoy for being such an idiot.
Malfoy sighs. “I was about to say, I’m sorry.”
Harry finds himself speechless for a moment. Then he croaks out a weak, “What?”
“I’m sorry, all right? I was trying to make it a friendly duel, you know, like over Christmas—” Malfoy stops abruptly, possibly remembering that Snape is right behind Harry. “Anyway, I shouldn’t’ve used that spell. I only meant to have a bit of fun.”
“Fun,” says Harry flatly.
“Are you telling me you didn’t enjoy Christmas?”
“I’m beginning to wonder just what happened at Christmas,” Snape comments.
“Nothing,” says Harry hastily. “It was nothing. And I’m not—I’m really pissed at you right now, Malfoy, okay? I don’t want to talk to you.” Before he can get himself tied up in further embarrassment, he shuts the door in Malfoy’s face.
“A friendly duel?” Snape prompts.
Harry sighs and lets his forehead fall gently against the closed door.