LOVE COMES TUMBLING - drarry

3

December
Tensions between Malfoy and the other students had lessened considerably after Harry's declaration the month prior. They'd stopped deliberately bumping into him in the hallways, and were no longer acting as though he didn't exist. He still got the occasional dirty look, but even that was an improvement because it meant people were actually making eye contact again.

The strange tension between Malfoy and himself, however, only seemed to increase. While Harry had mostly steered clear of him, it seemed that Malfoy wasn't nearly as appreciative of Harry's efforts to get the rest of the student body to leave him alone as Harry thought he'd be. Which, really, should not have surprised him at all – since when did Malfoy do anything that Harry actually wanted him to do? Still, at least Malfoy hadn't come to class with anymore black eyes or a split lip.

Two weeks ago, Harry had even overheard three fourth-year Hufflepuff girls talking outside one of the greenhouses about how Malfoy had saved Harry's life, and there was more than a hint of reverence in the girl's tone.

And wasn't that just absofuckinglutely hilarious? Malfoy the war hero.

The fifth of December found Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the library on a cold afternoon working on a gruelingly long essay for Transfigurations. Harry's hand was already cramping from all the writing, and he threw his quill down.

"Who the hell needs twenty-five inches on Transformation versus Conjuration? It's six of one, half dozen of the other, isn't it?"

Hermione gave him a pointed look, which he ignored, and as he leaned back in his chair, he saw Malfoy swiftly approaching their table with a determined look on his face.

"Potter. A word?"

Ron looked up sharply, as did Hermione.

"Harry's busy, Malfoy, shove off."

Harry couldn't help but feel warmed by Ron's unwarranted defence. It had taken a couple of weeks for his friend to get over their fight, but he had and things were mostly back to normal now.

"It's fine, Ron," Harry said with a gentle tap to Ron's arm. "What do you need, Malfoy?"

"A word. In private." Malfoy glanced warily at both Ron and Hermione as they stared up at him.

Harry pushed away from the table. At least Malfoy didn't sound as though he were luring Harry back into the stacks to murder him and hide his body parts among the tomes.

"Well come on, then," Harry said, and walked toward a deserted section of the library over by the Restricted Section, assuming Malfoy would follow.

"What can I do for you, Malfoy?" Harry said cordially, placing his hands in his pockets and leaning against the shelves.

Malfoy looked irritated. At what, exactly, Harry didn't know. Malfoy always looked irritated these days.

"First, you can end this little crusade you have to reform my reputation, and secondly . . . I want my wand back."

Harry bit back a laugh. "Crusade?"

"Don't think that I don't know exactly what that little stunt was in the Great Hall last month. Saying that I saved you? Really, Potter?"

Malfoy was standing a little too close for comfort as he whispered furiously at him. Harry noticed the faint smell of something sharp and citrusy, but not at all unpleasant. Familiar, even, but he couldn't place it.

He straightened his glasses, avoiding Malfoy's glare. "It wasn't a lie."

"I didn't do it for you," Malfoy whispered furiously.