"Sorry, Aunt Petunia."

Chapter 11: The Spirit Of Halloween

That peacefulness only lasted so long.

At an ungodly hour in the morning, when no person should have been awake, a scream pierced through the weak silencing charms on their curtains, instantly waking every boy in the room.

Harry’s eyes snapped open, instantly locking gazes with an equally nervous Neville.

Malfoy was not with them.

Jumping out of the bed, they staggered towards the source of the scream, noting Seamus and Dean curiously sticking their heads out from between the fabric of their curtains.

Ron’s curtains were open, and his bed was empty.

Harry was starting to have a pretty good idea as to what had happened.

Entering the bathroom, they saw what they’d expected to see: Malfoy in his robes, drying his hair, and Ron, still in his pyjamas, looking as if he’d just seen a ghost.

“Harry!” he yelled as soon as he spotted them. “Can you see this? Malfoy’s in our bathroom!”

“Yes, Weasley, astute observation,” Malfoy drawled.

“Is that any reason to wake our entire dormitory?” Harry asked, the absence of adrenaline making him drowsy. “I was hoping I could catch a few more winks.”

“Are you serious?!” Ron still wasn’t losing his volume. “Malfoy! Is! In! Our! Bathroom!”

“Yes, and he slept in our dormitory.” Neville rolled his eyes, the gesture destroyed slightly by him immediately rubbing at said eyes. “It’s not as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be.”

Ron had officially lost his words. Malfoy used that distraction to drop the towel he’d been using onto the drying rack and walked out of the bathroom.

“Anyway, Potter,” he said, turning around slightly, “our detention is starting in fifteen minutes, so you’d better get ready.”

Harry flinched, running to grab clothes from his trunk.

“Were you even going to wake me up?” he yelled after Malfoy, receiving distant laughter as his only answer.

***

Harry wasn’t late to the practice, but it was a close call.

Both Flint and Wood - as well as Malfoy - were waiting on him, hunched over some magazine.

“Ah, here you are, Potter,” Wood said as soon as he spotted him, leaning on his broom.

“Sorry I’m late,” Harry panted out, having been running the entire way down to the pitch.

“You’re right on time.” Flint shrugged. “Nothing to apologize for.”

“In any case, come here.” Wood motioned at him, pointing to the magazine. “We’re in need of new team brooms, so you two might as well have some say in the choice.”

“I won’t be much help,” Harry said, coming closer still. “I don’t really know much about brooms.”

“Well, I’m still voting Nimbus Two-Thousand.” Malfoy folded his arms across his chest. “It’s the absolute best broom out there right now.”

“And way out of our budget,” Flint grumbled, flicking Malfoy’s ear with his fingers, making him drop the pose he'd been in. “Comet Six-Twenty or Thunder Maxima, those are the options we're considering here.”

“Can’t we just, I don’t know, flip a coin?” Harry asked. “If neither of them is significantly better than the other, we could spend weeks going back and forth.”