Diffraction Patterns (I Don't Know How to Forget You)

Chapter 2: Intra-Action

"It's fine," Draco said quickly. "I'm fine with it."

"You are?"

"Yeah. I don't...I don't care. I mean, not that I don't care, but..." He shook his head. "You get what I mean."

"Well...thanks, mate." Draco stared at Blaise in alarm—never in their lives had Blaise ever called him "mate" before. He followed Blaise's gaze over to the Hufflepuff table, where a sandy-haired, freckled boy waved at them. "Fit, isn't he?"

"He's...er...yeah." He could think of nothing else to do besides clasp Blaise's shoulder. "He seems great. I'm happy for you."

As they rose from the bench and gathered their things, Blaise said, "Next time we meet up with Theo, I might bring Kevin. I suppose you two wouldn't mind?"

"Of course we wouldn't," Pansy said. "Look at us, championing inter-house unity. I won't be kissing any Gryffindors, though," she warned.

Blaise scoffed. "Obviously. Everyone knows it's Michael Corner you've got eyes for."

"What?" Pansy shrieked. Several heads swiveled towards them. "What are you on about, Blaise?"

Pansy and Blaise bickered as they headed towards the entrance hall. Before he could stop himself, Draco peered over at the Gryffindor table. Potter was surrounded by his usual entourage—Granger, Weasley, Longbottom, Thomas, and Finnigan. They were laughing uproariously. Draco's stomach twisted painfully as he watched Finnigan bring his hand up to his forehead and pretend to faint. He realized, with a start, that Finnigan was re-enacting his fall in Defence. And Potter—well, he wasn't laughing outright like Weasley, but he smiled and shook his head as he sipped from his goblet. And that hurt. It shouldn't have. But it did. In that moment, Draco loathed himself more for the sad little ache in the pit of his stomach than for passing out in class.

He only realized he was staring when Weasley looked up and, catching sight of him, frowned. Before he could escape into the press of students, Draco saw Weasley elbow Potter. As their eyes met, the smile dropped from Potter's face. Draco turned his nose up at them and stormed out of the Great Hall, telling himself that he didn't care as he heard another peal of laughter from the Gryffindor table.

'They're idiots,' he thought scathingly. Potter himself had fainted all over the castle in third year. But that had been because of the Dementors, he knew. And after the events of the war, he could scarcely stand to be around them, either. What was his excuse, then? He had none. He was just weak. Pathetic. Feeling very small, he pushed through the crowd and followed Blaise and Pansy into the entrance hall.

***

Draco retreated to the dormitory after dinner. He still needed to finish his chart for Arithmancy, and he had fallen behind in his Charms homework again. It was strange, sharing a room with only Blaise. They kept their space tidy: both four-poster beds were neatly made with emerald sheets, and their respective bedside tables were bare. As he sat down at his ancient writing desk, Draco pulled out his numbers chart. Vector was relentless this year; she expected them to produce complicated compositions every week. So far, Draco hadn't been particularly successful, and he felt Vector's patience growing thin. He needed to sort out his chart before he left to meet with Potter in the forest.

Bloody Potter. He was just as much of a git as he had always been. That little slice of hurt twisted in his chest as Draco recalled the smile on his face. Furious, he yanked open his desk drawer, searching for a spare quill. A very bad choice—he remembered at the last second that he kept his mother's unopened letters in this drawer. They sat together in a little pile, each roll of parchment bound with a strip of green ribbon. Before he knew what he was doing, Draco reached forward and sifted through them. Finally, he selected a scroll. His heart pounded as he unfurled it.