Rule Number Three

Draco had learned three things throughout his years at Watford High.

The first, and most important, was that northsiders and southsiders didn't mix. They participated in class and some were civil toward one another, but otherwise they provided one another with a large berth. Draco knew southsiders thought he and his friends were snobby and materialistic, but he didn't care—southsiders were miscreants who were only a step above cavemen. It was a divide that was simply not breached.

The second was that his best friend, Baz, was hopeless. Or, rather, his situation was. Being gay for your arch nemesis was simply not done and it had no chance of ending well. It didn't matter that Simon Snow had "fucking gorgeous blue eyes" or "hair made of sunshine" because he was a southsider. Also, he was almost certainly straight, unless his friendship with Potter was a cover for more deviant behavior.

This brought Draco to his last point: he hated Harry Potter with a burning passion. He was Snow's best friend and seen as the leader of the southsiders—they looked at him as if he were untouchable, some sort of god. Granted, most people looked at him like that—Baz said it was because of "the air of confidence he carries himself with," and Draco retorted that it wasn't confidence, it was arrogance.

By the end of his senior year, he had unlearned all three claims.

--------------------

Draco was jerked from his thoughts when a sharp pain struck his temple. He shot a glare toward his best friend, who merely raised an eyebrow expectantly. Baz's skin was a golden, reddish shade in the sunlight, which Draco envied immensely. Whereas Baz was dark, he was light: skin too pale, hair too pale, eyes too pale.

"Well?" Baz prompted.

"Well what?" Draco flicked Baz's ear in retaliation for the one to his temple.

"Christ, you were in your head again." Baz shook his head and sighed, raising his face to the sunlight like a flower. "I was wondering which class you had next."

They were sitting outside the school building at a bench overlooking the parking lot. He and Baz had claimed the table in freshman year and it had been theirs ever since.

"Oh." Draco pulled out his phone to glance at his schedule. "Health."

Baz groaned. "Lucky you. I have Chem."

Draco snickered at his best friend. "I heard he assigns partners on the first day. You have Snape, right?" Baz nodded. "I don't envy you."

The other boy swore beneath his breath. "Well, Health isn't any better—you have to watch an actual birth eventually."

Draco scrunched up his face in disgust. "Is that why you went home sick last semester?"

"It's not pretty." Baz shuddered dramatically. "I now hold an infinite amount of respect for my mother."

"At least I have Pansy to entertain me. You have Millie. She'll be talking to you about her teacup chihuahuas the entire period." Draco smirked.

"Don't remind me," Baz grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "I suspect Pansy will only want to discuss her trip to Paris over the summer. She's been texting me about it nonstop."

Commotion from the parking lot caught both Draco and Baz's attention. He recognized the southsiders instantly. Of course, Harry was in the midst of the chaos. There seemed to be some sort of argument. Squinting his eyes, he started as he recognized Pansy. She was in a heated quarrel with Harry, Simon, and Ginny, Harry's on-and-off girlfriend.

"Come on," Baz slung his bag over his shoulder and strode purposefully down the hill toward the parking lot, leaving Draco no choice but to follow.