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12.

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.”