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chapter twelve

Chapter Twelve:

Maybe using his knowledge from the Half-Blood Prince book was a bad idea. But, well, Harry really just couldn't find any fucks to give. Besides, it was fun to watch a dip form between Snape's brows and his lips to thin as he overlooked Harry's potion. He'd make this weird noise, a mix between a grunt and a sigh and then he'd stare at Harry from behind his desk with his hands steepled underneath his chin. Almost like he was on edge. He'd occasionally ask questions, which in fact only fourth years and up would know the answers to (perhaps Hermione did too, but Harry wouldn't know. He's not talked to her yet) and Harry would simply pretend he didn't know. He'd shrug his shoulders and watch as silent frustration built itself behind Snape's dark eyes.

Sometime later, Snape finally caves in and asks why Harry is crushing instead of slicing. It's a simple potion, all first year potions are simple, actually. Harry just likes to complicate his own and everyone else's lives. "I'm not sure," he answers quietly, watching the mint green potion swirl in his cauldron. "It just feels right, is all."

Snape doesn't bother with asking him anymore questions. He doesn't stop staring though. Especially when Nimmy and Verde are in his class as well. Nimmy isn't all that chatty during lessons, but Verde likes to sing songs that he's overheard from Ron. Snape is always telling Harry off for it. It's kind of funny actually, because it seems like Snape (along with Draco and Ron) is the only one that doesn't tense around his familiars and run for the hills. There is, however, always a crease above his furrowed brows whenever he spots Nimmy lounged over Harry's textbook or Verde nestled in Ron's orange hair.

Harry calls it a win.

Nimmy says she doesn't quite agree.

The next few weeks are spent normally. Harry goes to his lessons, visits Hedwig in the schools owlery, spends his time in the library and generally acts as a safe zone between Draco and Ron. Draco's still a little... well, Draco. Everytime Draco so much as says something a little off or mean or snobbish, Ron's face falls and he looks like he had been given a puppy and then denied to be let to pet it. The incident is usually followed by Ron keeping a safe distance and Draco whining about it to Harry at breakfast, lunch and tea.

This time it isn't any different.

"...and he knows I didn't really mean it." Draco sighs dramatically, leaning his chin into the palm of his hand. He uses his other hand to absentmindedly swirl his spoon through his chicken soup.

Harry makes a little humming sound, Draco's words going in one ear and out the other. He's too busy enjoying his afternoon portion of treacle tart. It's absolutely perfect. Top notch.

"—arry! Harry! Are you even listening to me?"

Blinking, Harry pauses mid bite and turns to a grouchy looking Draco. He raises a brow in silent question.

"Nevermind." Draco shakes his head, "I don't want to know." He then shoves his soup away and stands to his feet. With a grumble, he turns and leaves.

"Where's he off to, again?" Daphne Greengrass asks from Harry's left. She pushes a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear and frowns.

Pansy Parkinson rolls her eyes from the right. "Oh please," she blows out a puff of air to move her fringe out of her eyes, "he's obviously going to go see his boyfriend."

"Oh, you know?" Harry tilts his head to the side. "Granted, it's obvious. I just didn't think anyone of us would voice it." He reaches for another treacle tart, ignoring the strangled noise Greengrass makes.

Parkinson cackles and catches the attention of a few other Slytherin students.

"What's so funny?" Theodore Nott turns towards them with curiosity.

Parkinson gives a predatory grin. "We're just talking about Malfoy and his—"

"Boyfriend," Nott cuts in and turns his line of sight towards the ceiling with a deep sigh. "It's always Weasley this and Weasley that."

"Can't wait for the wedding," Blaise Zabine mutters into his goblet. There's a hint of seriousness to his words that has their side of the table falling to silence.

Greengrass clears her throat. "They can't," she says, her frown deepening, "Malfoy is to wed my younger sister." There's a particular finality to her words that has Harry stabbing his fork into his treacle tart with a scowl.

"I wouldn't worry about it Potter," Parkinson shuffles closer to him, placing her elbow against his own on the table, "there's many ways to get little Astoria out of the picture."

"Maybe you should ask Zabini," Tracy Davis says quietly from behind her thick tome, "his mother's a black widow, after all."

Parkinson gives a cruel snicker and hides her face into her hands to smother her laughter.

Zabini merely narrows his eyes, lips falling into a thin, displeased line.

Smiling, Harry can't help but think the baby death eaters are starting to warm up to him. Or maybe he's just imagining it. Either way, it doesn't seem that bad.

Later, after double Charms and a game of 'how many times can I roll my eyes before Draco grabs Ron by the shoulders and professes his love to him,' Harry sets off towards the owlery.

"Hello, beautiful." Harry can't help but grin as he strokes Hedwig's soft feathers. The owl nips at his dark hair affectionately and gives a hoot or two. "I know, I know," Harry murmurs, pressing his face into his familiars white coat, "I promise you'll get to fly with letters real soon. I have a pen pal in mind. You'll have to be careful though, he's got a few anger issues."

That night Harry dreams of Sirius falling through the veil. He dreams of Pettigrew cutting of his own arm. And when Cedric crawls out of the cauldron instead Voldermort, Harry wakes up with a start. His skin feels clammy and his heart is thundering behind his ribcage, his breaths are quick and short, loud to his own ears. There's a lump in the back of his throat. Harry eyes the drapes obscuring his bed with distrust.

"Master?" Nimmy raises her little head from her side of the pillow. The tone of her voice is worried.

Flinching, Harry forces his nerves to calm down. He forces his heart to not beat so quickly, or at least he tries to, it only ends with his chest clenching and aching painfully. "Fine," he fumbles with the bed covers, wrapping his fingers tightly into the silky material for some sort of purchase. "I'm fine."

He doesn't sleep. Instead, he keeps his gaze steady on his dark drapes. He feels like there might be death eaters lurking in the curves and dips of the drapes, waiting for Harry to fall asleep just so that they can kill him.

Harry doesn't shake the feeling away, not even when he sits down for breakfast the next morning.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Draco asks, words quiet and careful. He leans closer, ducking his head to get a better view of his friend.

"Yeah," Harry breathes out after realising that he had actually paused to think about it. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "I'm fine," he adds.

Draco doesn't look the bit convinced. "If you say so."

Whatever.

Harry doesn't care about his nightmares. He cares about getting Sirius out of Azkaban, about somehow making Hermione his friend again, about getting the philosopher's stone and literary giving it to Voldemort so he can achieve his dream of immortality and stop bitching about it.

It might take a while, but Harry's already chosen what he wants. There's no stopping him now.