It rained for the next week, and Harry allowed his mood to reflect the weather. He grew quiet and depressed, prone to drifting off in class and staring out the windows at the rain rather than pay attention to the professors. But at least he was attending class, having been made to feel guilty for not attending it by Sirius and Hermione. Dumbledore had also decided that, as part of his punishment for running off to Hogsmeade and smoking on school grounds, he was to be forced to spend an hour talking to Sirius a week.
Funny, before all of this, Harry would have spent every waking hour with Sirius and enjoyed every minute of it.
The rest of his punishment was to be served in a series of three detentions. Draco got the same, three detentions, only instead of being forced into a show-and-tell with Sirius, Dumbledore sent a letter to his father.
For a moment there, after Dumbledore had announced that he would be owling Lucius, Harry had been afraid that Draco was going to faint or cry or something. The other boy had gone deathly pale. All he'd mumbled, however, was a quiet, 'yes, sir'. Since then, he hadn't so much as glanced at Harry.
It was strange; he'd gotten Draco Malfoy into trouble. Harry supposed he should feel some sort of accomplishment over that, but he didn't. All he felt was desperately lonely.
His first session with Sirius had been, in Harry's eyes, a complete failure. He sat on an armchair in the room Dumbledore had secretly converted to a bedroom for Sirius' use, and Sirius sat on another chair, and they'd stared at each other, played with loose threads on the chair arms, avoided each other eyes, and made stilted conversation.
Harry had never thought about it before, about what it must be like for Sirius. He'd only ever thought that Sirius was sort of like a father to him, or supposed to be. He'd never known how to respond to that, he'd never had a father. Sirius had never had a son, and the more Harry considered this, the more he felt he understood Sirius and how difficult this must be for him. He'd never been a father, Harry had never been a son. It wasn't easy for either of them.
And he certainly wasn't in the mood to make it any easier.
It was only at the end of the hour, when Sirius asked rather desperately, "So how did you and Malfoy become friends?" that Harry showed any interest in the conversation.
"Oh, we're not friends," he said, smirking at the very idea.
"I should hope not. He is Lucius Malfoy's son."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Well, nothing, it's just -"
"We're not friends anyway, so forget it."
"What are you then?"
"Blood enemies," Harry replied matter-of-factly.
"Who smoke together on the pier at all hours of the night?"
"Precisely."
"Ah."
"What?"
"Nothing."
Harry studied Sirius suspiciously for a long moment and then noticed the time. "Right. That was an hour. Can I go now?"
Looking defeated, Sirius nodded. "If you ever need to talk -"
"I know. You'll be here. You and everyone else. Just waiting for me to talk. I don't want to talk."
"Then what do you want, Harry?"
It was the same thing Hermione had asked, and Harry thought carefully before replying, "I'll let you know when I've figured that out for myself."
***
It was a tense week for Draco, after Dumbledore had sent the owl to his father, telling him that Draco had received three detentions. Waiting for his father's reply was one of the most terrible experiences of Draco's fifteen years. It wasn't that he was expecting a Howler. His father would never resort to something that crass. In fact, he knew that the reply, when it came, would be stilted and short, barely more of an acknowledgement and a promise of punishment in the three weeks before Draco returned home. He could only imagine the sort of punishment. Maybe six weeks in his room! That was nearly forever!
Nearly a week after the late night trip to Hogsmeade, on a Friday morning, Draco's eagle owl finally returned from Malfoy Manor, a parchment tied to its leg.
It arrived at breakfast, swooping in with the other owls at mail time, and landing on his arm the way it had been trained, careful not to pinch.
For a long moment, Draco just stared at the owl, and it looked calmly back. Malfoy owls did not flap about for treats, it wasn't seemly. Finally, sighing, Draco took the parchment and fed the owl a bit of bread, stroking its feathers and wondering why the owl seemed to be sympathetic. Maybe because Draco was that desperate for sympathy.
Ever since that night, his housemates had tried to get him to tell them what had happened, but he hadn't wanted to talk about it. Not the trip to Hogsmeade, the punishment, or what Harry had to do with it. They'd given up by now, because no one really bothered Draco when he made it clear he did not wish to be bothered.
The owl flew off and Draco tucked the parchment into his pocket without looking at it. Time enough to learn his fate later.
Breakfast eaten, he made his way out of the Hall and back to his room to gather his books. Forcing himself not to dwell on the letter, Draco concentrated harder than ever on his classes, except for Transfiguration, which had never interested him. In that class, he let his mind wander; he was sitting in the last row and McGonagall rarely paid attention to him. So, his chin resting in his hand, he was content to stare out the window at the gray morning, rain running in rivers down the windowpane.
"I take it," McGonagall drawled at some point during the lesson, "That whatever you're looking at out there must be incredibly interesting to draw your attention from my lecture."
Draco jerked around to face her, certain she was speaking to him, but she hadn't been. It was Harry she was talking to, Harry who was sitting with his chin resting in his hand and staring out at the rain in almost the mirror image of the way Draco had been moments before. That, strangely, was more disconcerting than had she been chiding him. The thought that he and Harry had shared anything as simple as studying rain running down a windowpane was more intimate somehow then anything else that had ever happened between them. Even that strange incident on the Quidditch pitch.
"Harry," Hermione hissed, elbowing him, and Harry turned towards the professor with a start. He didn't look apologetic, however, only smiled absently and nodded, as though giving her permission to continue the lesson.
After class, while the other Slytherins made their way to History of Magic, Draco went the other way, having realized he'd forgotten his textbook. He followed the Gryffindors part of the way, they were on their way to Herbology, and then turned down the hall that would bring him to the Dungeons.
"Malfoy! Wait a sec!"
He tensed up and turned slowly, scowling. "Potter," he said coldly as the other boy hurried up behind him. "What the sodding hell do you want?"
Harry looked startled. "It's just... you dropped this."
It was his father's letter; Draco had forgotten all about it. He snatched it from Harry's hand and turned to go.
"Wait," Harry stammered.
"What?"
"Are you angry at me? You've been avoiding me all week."
Draco had never been so startled and honestly bewildered. "Avoiding you? I've never sought you out before, how could I be avoiding you now?"
Blinking, Harry said slowly, "Well, you've never deliberately avoided me either."
"Why does it matter?"
"It doesn't, of course... I just..."
"You didn't let your sodding godfather the vicious murderer convince you that we were friends, did you?" Draco sneered.
Harry looked hurt and Draco's eyes widened a bit at that. "No, of course not," he said quietly. "I just wanted to know if I'd done anything to make you angry."
"Done anything? Potter, your very existence pisses me off beyond all reason! You're a magnet for the most rotten things imaginable and they tend to happen to me whenever I'm around you! If I am avoiding you, is there any wonder?"
"Well, I... I never... I..." he trailed off. "Magnet for the most rotten things imaginable?" He looked, strangely, morbidly amused by that. "You have no idea."
"I do have an idea, that's just the thing. I've never had such a string of bad luck as I have these last few weeks whenever you're around. No wonder I've been avoiding you!"
"So you admit it."
"Of course I admit it!" Feeling exasperated, irritated, and knowing that he was going to be late for class, Draco started edging down the hall.
"But I thought..."
"Thought what? Potter, honestly, what do you expect from me? What do you want?"
"That's...funny," Harry said in a tiny voice. "You're the third person who's asked me that this week."
"Then maybe you should start thinking about it," Draco snapped.
"I just... I'm..." His eyes were huge and sparkling almost as though he were going to cry, and Harry's face was very pale now. "I'm sort of lonely. That's all."
"Sort of lonely? Since when have I cared that you were lonely? Did I accidentally drink some polyjuice potion or something to be transfigured to look like someone who cares? Did I grow red hair and freckles in the middle of the night? Oh, please tell me I didn't!"
Harry took a shaky step back. "Forget it," he whispered. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore." He ran a trembling hand through his hair, the sleeve of his robe slipping down a bit, and Draco blinked. It looked like his arm was covered in blood...
But he lowered his hand before Draco could be sure and, after all, like he'd said, it wasn't his job to care.
"Right," Draco said, swallowing a sudden burst of nervousness and wishing things hadn't changed however they had in the last few weeks. It was so much simpler when all he wanted to do was make Harry miserable. Now, he just never wanted to see him again. "I've got to go."
"Right." Harry nodded, looking suddenly very young and sad. "We've got our first detention tonight, with Filch."
Draco scowled. "I know."
"Umm, good bye then."
Frowning, Draco said rather awkwardly, "Yeah." Then he turned, and hurried away.