Enemies with Benefits - A Drarry Story

Metamorphosis

          The next day, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in the Great Hall, all four tables buzzing with gossip.

          "...hear what happened to Malfoy?..."

          "...should fire him, he's a dreadful teacher..."

          "...was Malfoy's fault, honestly, he provoked it..."

          "...wonder what'll happen when his father hears about this one..."

          Harry couldn't help but feel dread pooling at the bottom of his stomach at that last comment. Lucius Malfoy, however cowardly, still held a position of power in the Ministry, and had direct control over Hogwarts. For all Harry knew, he could have Hagrid in Azkaban by the end of the school day.

          Hagrid. Poor Hagrid.

          He had been so excited to teach Care of Magical Creatures, and Harry had to admit that, before the incident, his first lesson had been quite excellent. Harry had made sure to reinforce this when they visited Hagrid the night before, and found him a drunken mess. He really didn't deserve whichever consequences that were surely coming his way.

          Harry couldn't pin the blame on Draco either. He had actually been surprisingly decent about the whole affair. This was especially conspicuous when he walked into Potions the next day with a bandaged arm.

          "Does it hurt terribly, Draco?" asked Pansy Parkinson, pouting the lips on her pug-like face.

          "No." Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust and shifted away when she tried to touch his arm. Harry watched them squabble for awhile before Ron spoke up. "Malfoy's been right quiet about that arm of his. Real strange of him."

          Hermione snapped her head to meet his gaze. "So it is obvious? I thought I was going mad!"

          Harry chuckled. "Well, it must have been quite noticeable if even Ron saw it." The two doubled over laughing as the redhead sulked.

          "Settle down, settle down," said Professor Snape as he strode in, robes billowing behind him as usual. "Today you will be brewing a simple Shrinking Solution. The instructions are there, you may begin."

          They all began to chop up the daisy roots as directed, when suddenly, Snape's voice rang through the dungeons again. "Weasley, switch seats with Parkinson, you'll be cutting his things for him."

          "But sir, I'm ambidextrous—"

          "Be quiet Mr. Malfoy. Five points from Gryffindor for hesitating to follow my instructions, Weasley," the professor drawled as the tips of Ron's ears turned red as his hair and Draco blushed in embarrassment.

          As Ron left and Parkinson came over, a silent agreement was made for each to ignore the other, and they all stood brewing their potions in silence until Snape boomed once again.

          "Weasley, ten points from Gryffindor for mutilating Malfoy's roots. Switch them with yours."

          Looking over, Harry saw that Draco's roots were indeed in shambles, while Ron's were perfectly cut into small slices. He grimaced.

          "I'm sorry, what?"

          "Did you not hear me, silly boy?" Snape snarled. "I said switch them!"

          Draco looked around awkwardly as Ron reluctantly switched their roots and began trying to even his out in an attempt to salvage them.

          Harry's eyes suddenly flitted to Neville, situated a couple cauldrons over. His potion, which was supposed to be bright green, was a sickening shade of—

          "Orange, Longbottom." Snape ladled some out and poured it back in as if to display it to the entire class. He went on to ridicule him further, but Harry lost interest— this was a common occurrence. Instead, his gaze caught on Ron and Draco.

          Ron was cutting Draco's things hastily, all but throwing them over to his side of the table. But what Harry found interesting was that Malfoy simply took it. No "Careful, Weasel" or "My father will hear about this"— he simply took his things and dropped them into his cauldron as if nothing was happening. Harry couldn't help but feel a spark of admiration for the boy he had once described as his worst, no, second-worst enemy. He really had changed.

And that made all the difference in the world.