Bond (Drarry)

Chapter 7

Draco snickered and sat up, getting out of bed and gathering his books while Potter brushed his teeth and hair. A rather useless gesture, that last one, Draco thought as he entered the washroom.

"Potter, can't you tie that back?" Draco gestured as he picked up his own comb. "It looks disgraceful."

"Mrs. Weasley would probably say I need to cut it, but that doesn't make it any better," Potter said ruefully, giving up on it and starting to rub shaving potion on his face.

"No, it doesn't," Draco said, frowning in annoyance at a tangle in his own hair.

"Your hair could stand a cut too, you know," their mirror told him, and Draco nodded absently, then gave the mirror an odd look.

"What?" Potter asked.

"Nothing," he shrugged. Potter looked at him curiously, scrubbing the shaving potion off his face. "Nothing, just - married wizards traditionally wear it long."

"Really? Ron's dad doesn't," Potter commented, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"What a shock, Arthur Weasley not following wizarding tradition."

"Is that really what's expected?" Potter asked curiously, and Draco shrugged.

"Not really. It's not that unusual to cut it any more." Abruptly he decided he didn't much care about wizarding tradition in this particular instance; he would bloody well cut his hair at the first opportunity.

"Oh, don't forget Pomfrey wanted to see us first thing," Potter said, drying his face. "Actually, let's go now, while everybody's still in first period."

"Are we going to avoid everybody until Monday, then?" Draco asked, leaving the washroom.

"Yeah, I thought so."

"Really?" Draco was a little surprised. "Why?"

"Easier that way."

"We can't hide forever."

"We won't, we'll be back on Monday. Even back in the dorms, if you want." Potter hesitated. "Even - even Slytherin, if you want, I mean it'd be only fair-"

"Don't be daft," Draco said absently, pulling out non-classroom clothing. "I'm not going back to Slytherin until things have settled down."

"What? Why?"

"My housemates would rip you to pieces, Potter. You know that," Draco pulled on a shirt. "Your housemates are fluffy and cuddly and give me liquorice melts."

Potter laughed. "I would've thought you'd-"

"You thought what? That I'd insist on returning to Slytherin? So my housemates can say something perfectly innocent and you can lose that impressive temper of yours and then we can both be committed to St. Mungo's Mental Maladies wing? No thanks. I'd like to come out of this in one piece, if that's all right with you."

"Right, then," Potter said curtly, packing textbooks into his bag. "Pomfrey, then breakfast." He rooted around his desk, trying to find his notes for Potions.

Oh for god's sake, now Potter was insulted about something. "Whatever I said, sorry," Draco muttered, irritably wishing he'd walked through that doorway with somebody else, anybody else. Or better yet, that Potter had walked through it with somebody else. "I didn't mean to-" he cut off 'hurt your ickle feelings' just in time. Potter turned to him.

"You're getting rather good at apologizing, have you noticed?"

"Wonderful," Draco said sourly, and Potter grinned at him. "And now you either say That's all right or Up yours, remember?"