Chapter Text
"How the fuck are you so heavy?" Draco demands, "Do you eat entire boars for breakfast? Did you drink bone-thickening juice instead of water? Or perhaps you're the long-lost descendant of the Appalachian giant, the last of your kind, borne out of the product of a forbidden love story between the shortest giant that ever lived and the heaviest witch in the wizarding world, made purely to break Draco Malfoy's shoulders as he tries to provide help to an ally in peril."
Vince laughs into his neck and continues to not be of any use as Draco drags them awkwardly along the length of the castle to get to the Slytherin dorms. "You're so weird," He says, amused, "I'm normal heavy, it's just that you're a small little stick. And you can say the word friend, by the way, I'm not going to hex you."
"Ally," Draco insists, because a Malfoy does not make friends. "And how DARE you, I am not a small, little stick! Just because you are aiming for a career as one of the stone gargoyles of the castle, doesn't mean-"
He's still yelling at Crabbe when they meet Greg on the first floor, who raises his eyebrows at 'I am a strong branch of the Whomping Willow, fast and deadly and fatal!'
Draco might have gotten a bit carried away.
"I called him a stick," Crabbe explains and Goyle snorts and gestures for Draco to hand him over. "A small, little stick."
Draco fumes and wishes his arms hurt less so he could gesture them around angrily to make his point. "I am not- "
"A stick, Draco, yes," Goyle says reassuringly, and Draco crosses his arms and hisses at him to show that he hasn't missed how 'small' and 'little' haven't been denied. Again, it's not his fault his allies are fucking ripped. "Can you get me an apple?"
"I- What?" Draco wrinkles his nose, confused.
"An apple," Greg repeats, "In exchange for taking Vince the rest of the way to the dorms."
"Ooh, me too!" Vince cheers, "A nice, red, crunchy one."
"I'm getting you both pears," Draco declares as he hands over the potion that would change Vince's fake mermaid tail back into legs and walks away with a swirl of his robes.
"Who needs a kneazle when we have him?" He hears Greg say fondly as he walks away, and Draco smiles where no one can see it in the empty hallway.
Unfortunately his good mood barely has time to sink in, because a moment later as he rounds the corner someone crashes into him at full speed and nearly knocks them both to the ground.
"Watch it, dickhead!" He snaps, pulling himself upright and throwing aside the curtain he'd stopped his fall with, then sees who it is and sneers. "Ah, Potter. I suppose it makes sense that it's you, who else in the castle would have such little decorum? And oh look, you've even broken your ugly Muggle footwear."
Potter doesn't reply, still holding onto the outcropping of the wall he'd grabbed onto, head down and breathing hard.
Draco raises an eyebrow. "What's wrong, Potter? Too tired from running away from all your adoring fans? I suppose all the attention would have tripled after the most recent publicity stunt of yours- you couldn't let the tournament happen without pulling the spotlight to yourself, could you?"
Even though Draco is the only person bold enough to say things to Potter's face, he'd thought the other must be aware of at least some of the things people whisper behind his back, which is why Draco nearly trips over backwards on his robes when Potter suddenly straightens up and starts yelling.
"I NEVER WANTED THE FUCKING SPOTLIGHT," Potter roars, throwing the bag in his hand to the ground in anger. "I NEVER PUT MY NAME IN THAT RUSTY OLD CUP, I NEVER WANTED TO BE A CHAMPION, I NEVER WANTED TO TAKE PART IN THIS FUCK-ALL COMPETITION!"
Draco stares wide-eyed as Potter suddenly breaks off and sobs, tangling his hands in his hair and pulling at it as he tears up.
"And what do I get out of this whole mess anyway, does anyone think of that?" He continues, a self-deprecating smile on his lips, tears running down his cheeks. "The entire Hufflepuff house hates me. Ron hates me. The other schools resent Hogwarts for having two champions. No one even talks to me anymore because they all think I've cheated, even though I don't want anything to do with this stupid fucking tournament, when it's most likely just Voldemort's cronies trying to fucking kill me."
Draco realizes he's been slowly leaning away this whole time and stops, because he is not going to run from the likes of Potter. Plus, Draco's pretty sure he'll somehow get implicated if he leaves the other here and the idiot drives himself into the Janus Thickey ward, so he says carefully, in case the last bit of sanity holding Potter together snaps and the other turns on him, "Can't you just… tell them you don't want to participate?"
"I tried!" Potter snaps, eyes flashing. Draco has no idea why people say he has green eyes- it's hardly just green. They're a striking hazel at the center, encapsulated by shades of jade and moss, encircled by a ring of smoldering umber-brown. Green, honestly, what's the use of all those fanclubs if they can't even get this small thing right?
"-wouldn't listen!" Potter finishes, and Draco blinks, focusing on what the other is ranting about so that he doesn't end up in the infirmary for 'not listening' if Potter gives into the bout of hysterical anger he's currently experiencing and decides to hex him.
"You must not have done it well enough," He scoffs automatically, even though he's not exactly sure what he's condoning.
"Well enough-" Potter sputters indignantly, looking two seconds away from either punching the stone wall or Draco. It speaks volumes about his intelligence that the probability of him disfiguring his knuckles on the wall is higher. "How can I possibly be clearer in saying 'I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire and I don't want to take part in this competition'?"
Draco clicks his tongue, familiar annoyance creeping back up now that Potter is no longer crying, along with the barest hint of relief, because he never knows what he should be doing when someone cries. "It's not what you're saying, it's how you're framing it. You have to use tact, not yell out the first bull-headed sentence that comes to mind; no teacher is going to listen to you that way. Then again, you are a Gryffindor, so I suppose the curse of bull-headedness is incurable."
"Oh, so you can convince them, can you?" Potter snaps, putting his hands on his waist and moving closer. He smells of shampoo, the wildness of the forbidden forest and the enticing sparks of fire when you get close enough, possibly a side effect of the Firebolt. "Get them to listen to your every whim?"
"Of course," Draco sniffs, "It's not that hard."
"To manipulate teachers?" Potter demands, looking disgusted, and Draco's carefully crafted persona immediately shatters, like it always does when Potter starts up with his righteous bullshit.
"To get them to listen to you, you idiot," He snaps, moving closer and glaring. "You can't keep backtalking them and expect them to hear what you have to say!"
"So what, I do the Slytherin thing and manipulate them instead?" Potter snarls and Merlin, Draco hates him so much.
"It's not manipulation," He hisses, "It's- oh for fuck's sake, you'll never understand, come on."
He snatches up Potter's bag and wand from the floor- His wand on the floor, what the fuck is wrong with him- and shoves them at the other, grabbing Potter by the wrist and pulling him along.
"Fuck- don't dislocate my shoulder, you bloody twat!" Potter yells at him as Draco tows him down the hallway, and Draco smirks and puts that one away for his argument in the stick debate that he's going to have later. "Where are we going?"
"Showing you how Slytherins do things," Draco says archly, "The proper way."
"And how will you show me that, your majesty?" Potter replies sarcastically, hopping along on one foot and casting a Reparo at his shoe.
"By getting you out of the tournament, obviously, keep up," Draco snaps impatiently, dragging them around a corner. "I know you're slow Potter, mentally and physically, apparently, but I had thought you were capable of basic logic jumps."
"Oh, fuck off," Potter snaps back. "And we're going the wrong way- Dumbledore isn't in his office, the champions and headmasters are supposed to meet in the first-year's Transfiguration classroom in two minutes."
Draco clicks his tongue in irritation, turning them around and pulling Potter along again. "You couldn't just say that earlier?"
"Maybe I would have had time to, if you didn't stride along like your underpants were on fire," Potter snaps.
"Please, you're just jealous you can't keep up," Draco scoffs.
And then fingers wrap around his wrist and he's being yanked painfully backwards and turned around. Draco pulls his hand away with a wordless snarl and glares.
Potter glares back at him as he stuffs books and bottles back into his bag- which Draco can now see is melted at the bottom- and he hisses Reparo before stuffing his wand in his sleeves and hauling Draco towards him, inches between their faces.
A second hand twists in the front of Draco's robes, and he fleetingly thanks Merlin that everyone is in class and the hallway is empty, before his entire awareness boils down to the person in front of him when Potter growls straight in his face, "I can keep up just fine."
Draco bites his lip to hold back the words that want to come out of his mouth at that, some of them salacious, some of them disdainful, all of them liable to keep him up at night in regret and embarrassment, and gives Potter his sharpest, sweetest smile instead.
"Congratulations," He says. "Have you had your fill of me yet, or do you want to hold onto me for a bit longer?"
Potter's skin goes darker and he immediately lets go, pulling his hands back like he'd been burned. He slings his bag up higher and glares as they walk off, matching Draco's stride this time. "Are you sure you can get me out of this?"
"Yes," Draco snaps back, because he despises being challenged, and he sure as fuck isn't going to pass up the chance to teach Potter a bit of basic social intelligence, and he yanks open the door.
"Potter doesn't want to take part in the Triwizard Tournament," He announces to the room.
Dumbledore, the House teachers, the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang heads and the three champions all stare at him speechlessly.
"He's saying he didn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire," Draco continues when no one says anything.
"I didn't!" Potter says desperately from behind him, stepping through the doorway to look at the others, "I have no reason to-"
Draco puts a hand on his arm, resisting the urge to dig his fingernails in, and Potter looks at him and surprisingly subsides, sinking back until they stand shoulder to shoulder.
Draco takes a long breath to fortify himself, thinking up a few arguments. Normally, he wouldn't go into such a situation without a plan of attack and at least three back-up ones and five ways to exit in a dignified manner, but Potter always does seem to bring out the worst in him.
Dumbledore is the first person who manages to get themselves together, asking neutrally, "What are you doing here, Mr. Malfoy?"
“Moral support,” he blurts out, “Potter can’t take the pressure of the tournament. I found him crying in the hallway.”
“Malfoy!” Potter hisses, cheeks red in mortification and Draco digs his nails into the other arm before he ruins the whole thing.
“Crying?” The Beauxbaton champion frowns, stepping forward, eyes raving over Potter, “How old are you?”
“He’s a fourth year,” Cedric Diggory says before the teachers can finish opening their mouths, “Fourteen years old.”
Her eyes go wide. “Fourteen?” she says, distressed, “I have a sister who is fourteen as well. She is not capable of taking part in this at all!” She turns to her headmistress, “Madame, please, he is far too young!”
Madame Maxime seems discomfited at her Champion’s beseeching, looking over at the other two for direction and throwing the ball in their court with a raise of the eyebrow.
Karkaroff purses his lips and looks at Dumbledore, who sighs. “It’s true, Harry has already been through so much these past few years, and he is young-”
“He’s also failing potions and transfiguration, which we need for O.W.L.s next year,” Draco puts in and Potter steps on his foot.
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Malfoy," Severus drawls from the corner, and Draco tries not to wince. He's going to hear passive aggressive jibes from his godfather all week for this entire display.
Professor Flitwick grinning and mouthing 'Ten points for Slytherin' barely lifts his mood.
"Be that as it may," Professor Spout pipes up. "The Goblet of Fire, no matter if it's been tampered with or not, is a binding artifact. You cannot back out once chosen."
Well fuck, Draco grimaces, Potter slumping in dismay next to him. There's no way you can get around ancient binding artifacts, not without a huge enough sacrifice that leaves the person worse off than if they'd just gone through with the demands.
"He can cheat, then," Viktor Krum says suddenly, jumping a bit when his headmaster snaps, "What?"
"Not like-" He struggles for the right words. "I do not mind if he gets help, if it does not count in the judge's marks."
"I suppose we could make him go before the audience arrives and let him finish his tasks in front of the judges to appease the Cup," Professor McGonagall muses.
"Unofficially part of the Tournament," Madame Maxime nods. "Fleur, what do you say?"
She dips her head in agreement and looks over at Diggory wordlessly. Cedric shrugs. "I don't mind," He says, "Might stop all the discontent in the common room then."
Potter curls into himself even further at that and Draco looks over with a frown. The Hufflepuffs didn't even matter when it came down to it, why did this idiot care so much about them anyway?
Draco shakes him by the grip on his arm for a lack of better things to do and Potter blinks, the glaze over his eyes disappearing, and he straightens back up in a manner that suggests he hadn't even realized he was shrinking away from the others in the room. Draco frowns.
"I didn't put my name in the Goblet," Potter repeats quietly, looking so miserable that he's either suddenly become the greatest actor and strategist in the country or is telling the truth and has genuinely hated every minute of the past two days.
Draco doesn't think the other is one for crying either, come to think of it. He hasn't seen the other cry even once in over three years.
"Nevertheless, your name was still in the Goblet," Professor McGonagall sighs, although she looks slightly sympathetic. "How else can you explain that?"
"Well obviously, it's because the Death Eaters are trying to kill him," Draco says without thinking.
There's a moment where the blood drains from everyone's faces, and then an immediate uproar from every single person in the room and merde, this was a bad idea.
"What?" Severus practically Apparates in front of him, "How do you know this?"
"A Death Eater came to my house," Draco sputters out, alarmed, which is true enough to satisfy the quick Legilimency sweep Severus makes. Draco carefully puts his shields back up before he continues, making sure there's no one else in his head before he lies, "Father threw them out immediately, but they mentioned 'letting the Triwizard take care of it before he arrives.'"
"Can you describe them?" The Durmstrang headmaster says urgently, placing both hands on Draco's shoulders. He used to be a Death Eater, Draco remembers. "Any memories of them at all?"
Draco shakes his head, already regretting the fib, even though it was highly likely that it was Death Eaters after Potter. "He was cloaked and he had a raspy voice." He furrows his brows, thinking about the man that had come to Malfoy Manor and promptly been thrown out with a lot of yelling, barely missing the Ministry officers. "Black wispy hair too. Till his shoulders."
"Could be a Carrow," Severus says grimly, and Karkaroff's fingers tighten on his shoulders before letting go.
"Why on Earth didn't you tell us this earlier?" Professor McGonagall snaps.
"I thought it was a simple conclusion to draw!" Draco protests. If Potter had figured it out, he thought the adults would have as well. But clearly not, since McGonagall only groans and buries her face in her hands and the rest of the teachers are badly masking expressions of fear.
"Are there Death Eaters in the castle?" Viktor asks quietly.
"No," Dumbledore says immediately. "No, Death Eaters can't get in the castle without alerting the wards."
"Even-" Father, he wants to ask, but he already knows the answer. Draco carefully doesn't look at any expressions on anyone's face, choosing to look at the shelf with the green brains instead.
"-so, it's settled then," Dumbledore says. "We'll send Harry beforehand to do the tasks, with help from any friends of his choosing as long as they aren't present during the actual event, and keep his scores unofficial."
"What will you tell the children?" Madame Maxime asks.
"We can't tell them it's a possible murder attempt, it'll cause panic," Professor Spout says, worried.
"Tell them it was a prank, then," Draco interrupts, putting on his best indifferent expression. "You could ask for the perpetrators to show themselves and make a speech about how the tournament isn't a joke or something of the sort."
He forces himself not to squirm as everyone in the room stares at him, because a Malfoy should never display any self-consciousness. But his lip twitches slightly in a defensive snarl anyway and his hands curl slightly into fists. "What?"
"Ten points to Slytherin," Severus says suddenly. "Now get back to class, you'll be informed of any further events. Why were you even in the hallway in the first place?"
"Someone turned Vince's legs into a mermaid tail," Draco replies and Professor McGonagall sighs and walks out of the classroom.
"You know, you've got quite a knack for helping your friends, Draco," Cedric says cheerfully.
"Yup!" Professor Sprout says, just as cheerfully. "You would have done very well in Hufflepuff, I think."
Draco can't possibly mask the sheer, unadulterated horror that passes through him at that statement and he stares at them, paralyzed. Potter snorts next to him, then steps forward and fervently says, "Thank you, thank you so much," And promptly drags a scandalized Draco away from the bemused crowd.
"A Hufflepuff," He says faintly, "A Hufflepuff."
"I think it'd be good for you," Potter says cheekily, and it's only because Draco is a harsh breeze away from needing a fainting couch that he doesn't get punched in the face. Draco is towed unresisting down the end of the hallway, still paralyzed in fear at being told he would have done good in Hufflepuff by the Head of House and the Champion, before Potter finally pulls them to a stop under the hippogriff tapestry.
When he finally manages to compose himself and look over, Potter is aiming a hundred-watt smile at him, whole face lit up with joy, blinding in its intensity. Draco stumbles a bit over his robes as he comes to a halt and Potter somehow gets brighter, laughing a bit, smiling wide.
"Thank you, Malfoy," He says, voice cracking in sheer happiness. "Seriously, I can't believe you did that, you have no idea how much I didn't want to do the Triwizard. I mean, you’re still a right bastard, but- what do you say we have a temporary truce, hm? Until I can pay you back for this."
"Uh huh," Draco says, dazed, feeling rather like he's been staring at the sun for too long. "Sure."
Potter grins wider and then pulls Draco closer into a- into a hug , tight and long and warm and he barely has the time to pull his soul back into his body to enjoy it before Potter moves back and smiles once more, and then goes running down the hallway, shouting, "See you later!"
"See you," Draco murmurs uselessly to no one, blinking hard a few times before he can get his legs to start working again to go back to the dorms.
He forgets the apples, but his queer heart can only take so much, so he forgives himself and he goes to lie face-down on his bed between a snoring Vince and Greg for the rest of the afternoon instead.
"Are you feeling colder than usual? Do you have a headache? How many fingers am I holding up?" Pansy shoots one question after the other, worried enough that she doesn't so much as blink when Vince grabs some of her fries.
Blaise puts a hand on Draco's forehead, which practically covers his entire face (he has big, slender, beautiful fingers that have been the topic of discussion amongst them all more than once) and frowns. "Maybe we should book an appointment at St. Mungo's. We can sneak out after the third period."
"I'm not sick!" Draco snaps, pushing Blaise's hand away. "Fuck off, all of you."
"It's been twelve hours and you haven't mentioned Potter once," Pansy says emphatically.
"You didn't make fun of him in Potions either," Greg pipes up, traitor that he is.
"And you haven't looked his way at all since entering the Great Hall," Blaise finishes, grabbing Draco's fork to stop him from eating and then letting go just as quickly as Draco tries to stab him with it. "It's unnatural."
"My life does not revolve around Harry Potter," He says indignantly. "I don't have to be paying attention to him every single day, do I? I don't want to deal with his stupidity today, that's all."
His friends stare at him in silence.
"He's dying," A seventh year sitting next to them says. "Forget St. Mungo's, you lot should make an appointment at a funeral home."
Draco sputters wildly, "I don't even know you!"
"Yeah, but everyone knows you're obsessed with that boy and vice versa," A fifth-year on their other side pipes up, amused.
"I am not obsessed!" Draco snaps, slamming down the fork so hard half his food goes flying out over the table.
"You kinda are," A third-year says and Blaise stops checking his pulse to burst into laughter. "Luckily, he's just as bad, otherwise you'd be an embarrassment to the whole house."
Draco growls, making the third year shrink back satisfyingly even as Vince grabs his hands tightly. "No hexing the babies," He says firmly, ignoring Draco kicking him.
"I am not obsessed," he repeats, painfully aware that most of the table is staring at them and grinning or giving him sympathetic looks. "I-"
"May I have your attention please," Dumbledore calls out and Draco has never liked him more. He doesn't bother listening to what the old nutter has to say, taking advantage of everyone looking away and scarfing his food down as quickly as he can.
"Damn," Blaise says when he's done, "Didn't think about it being a prank honestly, but I guess it makes sense- hey, wait, where do you think you're going?"
"Away from you deluded imbeciles," Draco declares and grabs his bag and strides away.
"Did you know about this?" Pansy yells after him, and Greg calls out, "You can't run away from the truth!"
"Cunts," Draco mutters as he slings his bag up higher and makes his way outside. It’s a nice day- cloudy and windy and cool- so he takes his homework out to the edge of the Great Lake. The hill the castle is built on steeps down straight into the water, but Severus had told him about a small patch of land at the very middle of it, a sandy bar which you have to wade through the shallows to get to, well worth it for the privacy and the quietness and overall being the most peaceful place in the whole school.
At least, it was, until Weasley comes splashing up to him out of nowhere, dragging Granger and Potter behind him, looking a weird mix of constipated and livid, and demands, “Was there really a Death Eater at your house who said they were trying to kill Harry?”
“How did you find me here?” Draco asks, nonplussed, which is a fair enough question considering he’s completely covered from view by the huge rocky walls on either side, and the only way you could possibly catch sight of him is at a certain angle on the other side of the lake, which happens to also be in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.
Of course, annoying idiot that he is, Weasley doesn't answer, waving a hand dismissively. “Never mind that,” he says, “Are you telling me actual Death Eaters put Harry’s name in that cup to try and kill him?”
“Yes,” Draco replies, miffed, wondering how badly this lie is going to bite him in the arse in the future. “I already told Potter this.”
“Bloody hell,” Weasley swears, running a hand through his hair worriedly. “People are actually trying to kill you, mate.”
“Now do you believe us?” Granger snaps. “I looked up past events- this stupid Tournament is not a joke! Did you know-”
"But how did they even get in the castle?" Potter frowns. "Dumbledore says at the very least the wards would have notified them if someone with the Dark Mark walked through them."
"They must have a bribed a student or something," Draco says, "Now can you get lost-"
"I suppose that's possible, considering how many people are in the castle at the moment," Weasley frowns, very much not getting lost, putting his hands on his hips. "We don't really know anything about the Beauxbatons or Durmstrang students."
"And you can't exactly go about questioning them either without causing an uproar," Hermione sighs. "There's already so much animosity as it is."
"Why would any of them do it though?" Potter says. "You know how many secret passages the school has- who's to say someone hasn't just snuck into the school and is just hiding out in a broom cupboard or something?"
“Not that the thought of that isn’t absolutely delightful,” Draco interrupts, grimacing, “But can you three nutters get out of the Great Lake before-”
“Shit, the Squid!” Potter exclaims, and promptly climbs onto the sandbank, his two shadows yelping and following him hurriedly.
“That’s not what I meant!” Draco snaps, scrambling to get his books and parchment out of the way before they stomp all over them like the brainless trolls they are. “I don’t want people to find- Granger, if you drip water over my essay, I swear to Merlin I will hex you.”
“Right, yes,” Granger says, picking up the scroll he’d spent the last twenty minutes working on and firing three drying charms quickly. She goes to give it back, then glances at it and frowns. “Wait, how-” She flicks it open and scans the length of it, “That doesn’t make sense- how would adding owl feathers help? Professor Snape said you had to use badger claws.”
“Yes, well, there are always different ways to do potions,” Draco says shortly. "Now give that back."
"What do you mean different ways to do portions?" She demands, holding it away from him. "Professor Snape said at the start of first year itself that if you tampered with the instructions, you would never get the portion you needed."
"Yes, well I didn't tamper with the instructions, did I? I just replaced one of the ingredients."
Granger looks ready to faint into the lake in shock. "Replace the ingredients? "
"Yes," Draco snaps at her. "I added snake scales, so I didn't need the badger claws and I put in owl feathers instead."
"But if you put in snake scales, it'll react with the crushed aconite!" She exclaims in distress.
"That's why I didn't add aconite, you idiot, I used belladonna instead." He snaps back.
"Aconite's necessary to speed up the portion," She practically sneers at him, crossing her arms.
"Not if you use bits of self-fertilizing shrub and stir anticlockwise," He replies in the same nasty tone, narrowing his eyes.
"But why were you trying to add snake scales in the first place?" Granger demands and Draco pauses.
"I wanted to see what it would do," He admits in the end. "It either would have turned purple and your fingers would turn into vines, or blue and your toes would turn into vines."
"OR YOU COULD HAVE BLOWN US UP!" Granger yells.
"I'M NOT THAT IDIOTIC!" He yells back.
"WHY DID YOU NEED TO CHANGE THE POTION ANYWAY, WAS TURNING YOUR HAIR INTO FLOWERS TOO DEMEANING FOR YOU? COULDN'T YOU JUST STICK TO THE BOOK?"
"YES, ACTUALLY! YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO GET ANYWHERE IN POTIONS IF YOU JUST FOLLOW THE BOOK!"
"IT'S BETTER THAN KILLING EVERYONE IN THE CLASSROOM!"
"I WAS CAREFUL ABOUT IT, YOU STUPID-"
“Honestly, as much as I think it would be grand fun to see you two get into a fistfight again,” Weasley says from the corner he and Potter are staring at them with wide eyes from, “I really don’t want to get eaten by the Squid today.”
“Shut up, Weasley.”
“Shut up, Ron.”
“They’re speaking in unison,” Potter mock-whispers to the other, eyes sparkling with mischief, “It’s too late. We’re all doomed.”
“Oh will you piss off, the lot of you,” Draco snaps crossly as he goes to shove his quills in his bag. He refuses to stay here as long as these idiots are tainting the peacefulness of the place. "Go play Exploding Snap with the murderous creatures of the forest, or whatever is it you do in your free time. At least that way you'll be inflicting your presence on living things at your level of intelligence."
"Fuck you too, Malfoy!" Potter calls out, and Draco rolls his eyes and walks away.
"We need your help," Potter says as he slides into the seat next to him and Draco nearly breaks the teacup as he slams it down on the wood.
"Are you stalking me?" He demands. "How the fuck did you even know I was here- you're not even in this class!"
At least Potter has the decency to look a bit abashed at this one. "Yeah, well," He says and then doesn't explain anything. "Remember how Dumbledore said I could get help for the tournament from some of my friends? Well, the first riddle came in and Hermione said to come ask for your help because even if you are a twat, you might be able to figure it out."
"I don't know if you hit your head on your way into bed last night and it was the last straw for even your thick skull and you've ended up with irreversible brain damage," Draco says finally. "But we are not friends. "
Potter rolls his eyes, "Obviously not. But we have no idea what the riddle they've given us means and we need your help."
"Consider this: no," Draco replies, looking up at where Professor Binns has moved onto the sixth century wars. "And if you're going to stay here and annoy me, take my notes."
Potter scowls, but unfortunately seems desperate enough to start scribbling down whatever is written on the chalkboard. "Oh, come off it, will you? It's written in some old language that none of us could read, and since you're so… snobbish and have that whole 17th century prince thing going on-"
"Excuse me, what?"
"-We thought you'd be able to decipher what language it was and save us a bit of time," Potter barrels on, squinting at the board, "What's after 'ruin'?"
"'And misery.'" Draco says, "Maybe I do need that appointment at St. Mungo's. I'm clearly going insane."
Potter snorts. "Going insane? Mate, do I have some bad news for you."
"Oh, fuck off," Draco snaps, glancing over to Professor Binns to make sure he isn't looking, then pointing his wand at the teacup he'd brought to experiment on. "Avifors. Silencio. Draconifors. Avifors. Draconifors. "
"What are you doing?" Potter asks, leaning in.
Draco feels his cheeks grow warm at the other's proximity. "None of your business. Avifors. Draconifors. Avifors. What makes you think that I'd ever help you anyway?"
Potter shrugs. "Well, we're on a truce right? And I told you, you look like the type who would know old languages."
"Draconifors. I only know five. Blaise knows seven and Pansy knows nine. Avifors. Millicent knows eleven. Draconifors. "
Potter rolls his eyes and Draco moves the inkwell out of the way right before his elbow would have knocked it over. "Yeah, yeah, alright you great bloody show-off. We get it, you all like posh stuff and old things."
"It's called tradition, Potter. Tradition and values," Draco says, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he continues Transfiguring the bird to a dragon and back.
There's silence for a few moments, and Draco stops casting to glance over, frowning at Potter's glazed over look. There's a haunted expression on his face, like he's remembering something that's not very nice.
"Well, sometimes tradition and values shouldn't be followed," He says finally, looking down at where he's let the ink blot the page and turning to a new one.
There's something so firm and brittle in his voice that Draco doesn't argue. "What-" He starts, then decides he doesn't care and starts casting again. "What will I get out of it?"
"Oh, come on," Potter scribbles the last of the notes out and shoves it in the textbook. "You're telling me you don't want to hold it over us for the rest of the year?"
Draco smirks. That definitely has its appeal. "I'll need a little more than that to go on, Potter."
"I'll owe you another favor," Potter offers.
"You'll owe me three and I want to know all of the secret passages in the castle that you mentioned," Draco returns promptly. The bird shudders a bit before turning into a dragon this time, and he narrows his eyes at it.
"Ugh, fine," The other rolls his eyes. They don't talk for a few moments as Draco continues casting and Potter scratches down whatever Binns is droning on about. "Library at five today."
Draco hums in affirmation. " Avifo- shit!" He drops his wand with a hiss, shaking his hand out. The teacup is now stuck between transfigurations as a bird-dragon hybrid, gold and blue and blinking at him. "Twenty-seven."
"Castings before it gets stuck?" Potter asks interestedly, and he nods before he can think better of it. "Aw, it's so cute. What are you gonna do with it?"
"Reparifarge, " Draco says, and absolutely nothing proceeds to happen. The thing bites his finger in reproach. "...Throw it away, I guess."
"What?" Potter turns to him in horror, staring at him with wide eyes.
"It's a teacup, Potter," He snaps, although his voice wavers a bit because it really looks darling, all cute beady eyes, magnificent feathers and glowing scales. "Plus it has two tails and disfigured front legs."
"So?" Potter demands, scooping it up. "It's not a teacup anymore, is it? I think you look gorgeous, dear," He coos at the creature, "Don't listen to Malfoy, darling, he's just mad because you make a prettier dragon than him."
Draco's mouth actually falls open in shock. "Excuse you," He says, offended beyond belief. "How dare you! She is not- where are you taking her?"
"With me," Potter says infuriatingly, putting her on his shoulder, dodging Draco's attempts to grab her back.
"It's my teacup, Potter!" Draco hisses, "You're not taking her!"
"You just said you were going to throw her away!" Potter protests.
"Well, I changed my mind. Give her back!" He grabs for her again.
"No!" Potter catches his hand, then says, "She'll get better sunlight in the Gryffindor dorms, you can't keep her in the dark!"
Draco deflates and looks at her. She probably needs that, doesn't she? "Fine, but I'm taking her during the day, then."
"Wha- that easily?" Potter says, dumbfounded, frowning like he's expecting Draco to demand half his wealth and sexual slavery from him in return for the creature growing up well taken care of.
Draco rolls his eyes. "Growing things need sunlight don't they? The Slytherin dorms… may not be the best place for that."
"Oh," Potter says, an unreadable expression crossing his face. He looks strangely vulnerable for a moment, and Draco swears the other's lip trembles the slightest bit, before he gulps and says, "Yeah, I heard it was in the dungeons."
"And they're very nice dungeons, thank you very much," Draco sniffs. "You can take her for now to get her acclimatized, but I want her back tomorrow morning."
"We'll work out a schedule," Potter grins as he undoes the silencing charm on her, and she chirps at Draco as he folds the notes properly and puts them in his bag. "Although, there is one condition, though."
Draco raises an eyebrow, "A condition… on me helping you?"
Potter makes a face like he's just realizing how that sounds, then undoes the muffling charm on their desk- when did he do that- and watches the students file out yawning and stretching, before turning to look at him fiercely. "You're going to apologize for calling Hermione a Mudblood."
Oh. That. Draco purses his lips, but whatever, it's not like it matters in the grand scheme of things anyway. He can hold back on the disgust about Granger and the blood traitor if he's getting a fucking Triwizard puzzle to solve in return.
He shrugs. "Fine, whatever."
Potter relaxes. "Great."
They stare at each other for a few moments in the empty classroom, for enough time that it would be off-putting and awkward with anyone else, and then turn to stare at the hybrid creature as she jumps down and starts nibbling at the corner of the desk.
"I'll ask around about what I should feed her," Potter says finally, and Draco jerks back to reality and grabs his bag.
"You do that," Draco says, already planning to do his own research. "See you at five, Potter."
"I'm so confused," Parkinson wails, hanging off of him like an overgrown sloth. Forget Quidditch training, he was going to end up built like a bodybuilder just by lugging all his stupid heavy friends around this bloody school all day.
"Play along, Pansy," Blaise says grimly. "We have to go along with what he says until we can find a way to alert someone discreetly for help."
"For the last time, I'm not insane!" Draco snarls.
"Maybe we could get the Greengrasses to help?" He hears Vince's muffled voice suggest from behind as he climbs out of the Slytherin dorm and he rolls his eyes.
"I heard our name!" Astoria declares, grabbing onto Draco and using him as momentum to swing back around from where she was going to enter the dorms and crashes into Pansy gracefully. "Whatever do you require our services for, my favorite social experiments?"
"If it turns out that she hasn't been joking this whole time and is actually conducting social experiments on us, I'm turning her into a clock and throwing her in the cursed rooms of Malfoy Manor," Millicent calls out as she jogs up to them, bottles clinking in her bag as she moves.
"Do you know how overcrowded those rooms are already?" Draco complains, "I don't need more trash in my house, thank you."
"Draco's going insane, to answer your question," Blaise says over Pansy's shouting as Draco uses her as a human shield against Astoria's indignant smacking. "We need your help to sneak him out and get help."
"Is this about him not looking at Potter at all during breakfast today?" Daphne says. "It's the talk of the school- people are already mourning the death of the most legendary rivalry this place has ever seen since Abraham and Joan."
"Wait, that was real?" Greg pipes up, looking stunned, "I thought Roger was taking the piss!"
"Nope! Apparently our dear Draco Malfoy, for the first time since he set foot on Hogwarts grounds, didn't look over at Harry Potter even once during breakfast, dismissed every avenue of taunting that was provided to him and walked away - walked away!- when Potter called him a bastard with no taste not ten minutes ago!”
“Oh, Godric, he’s dying,” Astoria says in tones of complete horror, and Blaise pats her on the arm and nods with all the grimness and sorrow of someone whose friend has been sentenced to the guillotine.
“For the last time, I am not-”
“Does anyone know how his other half took this rejection actually?” Pansy interrupts, lolling further onto him so she can look back at the others. "I'm morbidly curious."
“Grapevine says he was pouting at the back of Malfoy’s head the rest of breakfast,” Millicent says cheerfully, “Sulked all the way up till fourth period too, before popping into Draco’s history class, fighting with him throughout, and then walking away happy as a lark.”
“Oh, juicy," Daphne says. "What he'd say to you, Draco?"
"None of your business!" Draco snaps, "And shut up, we're here."
"The library?" Astoria says dismally, though quiet enough to not get them kicked out. "Why are we- oh. Ohh. I see what this is."
"What?" Pansy frowns, pushing past her to look at where Potter is waving at them, a determined expression on his face, clearly ignoring the looks of horror of the seven or so Gryffindors around him and the admonishments Granger is hissing at him and Weasley shaking his arm wildly. "Draco, what the fuck? "
"Just shut up and move, you overgrown mushroom," Draco snaps at her, reaching out and throwing all his weight into getting everyone to resume moving.
"What are you doing here?" Finnigan demands when Draco finally succeeds and manages to get the paralyzed idiots he's with to the edge of where Potter has pushed a few tables together and left one side empty for them. The Gryffindors seemingly realize that at that exact moment, all of them looking over to Potter in betrayal, who ignores them so thoroughly Draco is slightly impressed.
His own allies are similarly dumbstruck as he hits at their shoulders to corral them into sitting down, taking his own place in front of Potter at the center.
"Where's my creature?" He demands immediately.
A flicker of anger crosses Potter's face even as he unzips the bag next to him and the bird-dragon springs out chirping and lands on the table in front of him. "She's not just yours. I'm taking care of her too, you know."
"Yes, but it was my spell and my teacup," Draco hisses back, petting the top of her head gently. "And look at the state of yourself, how am I supposed to feel reassured that you're doing a good job taking care of her? What did you feed her?"
"Red and yellow crystal-worms, standard baby dragon food, crushed seaweed and essence of glowing potion because Hagrid said she wasn't glowing enough for a Draconifors."
"Hagrid-" He cuts himself off with a grimace. The oaf unfortunately is the Care of Magical Creatures professor. "What about beetle wings? She needs those too."
Potter opens his mouth, but Blaise smoothly interrupts him in his most calm tone, eyes firmly fixed on the Gryffindors who stare back suspiciously, all fifteen of them as tense as predators waiting to strike. "Draco darling, did you drag us all the way… here to talk to Potter about a winged animal?"
The Gryffindors bristle at the passive aggressiveness, but Potter only blinks and says, "Oh, right."
He reaches into his bag and pulls out an old, yellow scrap of paper, sliding it to the middle of the table. "This is the first riddle of the Triwizard tournament," Harry Potter says. "And I need everyone's help to solve it."