What Real Thing?

For the first few weeks, Harry sniggers along with everyone else, looking on as Malfoy is tripped up, as his robes are spelled to stick to the floor, as the sugar bowl is charmed to fill with salt just as he's helping himself.

Harry doesn't think twice about it as he snorts under his breath and looks away, refusing to watch on and note how Malfoy reacts.

Or rather, doesn't react.

Malfoy remains impassive, quickly catching himself when he stumbles over a leg stuck out across his path; quietly mends his robes when they give away at the seams and rip along one side; splutters soundlessly into his salty tea before calmly dumping it down the sink.

He holds his head up high, sweeping away in an infuriatingly dignified manner, and barely seems to hear the cruel snickering that follows him.

Harry hates that Malfoy doesn't whip his wand out and threaten to hex everybody's eyeballs out of their sockets. He hates that he doesn't throw murderous glares over his narrow shoulders. He wishes Malfoy would show some semblance of the utter arsehole Harry tells himself he is.

Harry hates that now, he has to force out a laugh as he watches Malfoy's quill spurt long jets of green ink into his pale face, the grey eyes squeezing shut, the pink lips pressing together in a grimace to avoid letting in some of the ink.

Harry eventually stops joining in altogether, merely looking away or pretending to be immersed in his notes as Malfoy's hair is spelled pink, or his seat hit with Prickling Jinxes.

In their last term, they finally start practising in the simulated training arenas and Harry notes with grudging admiration that Malfoy is incredibly nifty; he's lightning quick on his feet, is nearly robotically calm in the face of hexes and curses thrown his way and is unbelievably skilled at casting multiple spells with a single strike of his wand.

Head Auror Robards is generous with his praise for the blond and Harry can't even bring himself to resent it. He and Malfoy rank among the top five and, unfathomably enough, he's almost as happy for the blond as he is thrilled with himself.

Until he notices that the commendation received by Malfoy only seems to make matters worse for him. The others pick on him worse than ever and Harry finds himself covertly throwing hexes off the Malfoy's belongings while the others are waiting around for the blond to set them off, quietly blocking jinxes; furtively Vanishing the vial of Babbling Potion that Trent Gibbons carries to slip into Malfoy's tea, silently replacing the notes that Carla Walters steals from Malfoy's bag.

During their final exam, Harry doesn't notice when one of the numerous charmed mannequins, dressed in flowing black robes with black masks across their inanimate faces, lifts its arm stiffly and shoots what would have been a severely painful Scalding Hex at him.

He drops and rolls instantly, but the scarlet jet of light heads right at him before bouncing off of a sudden Shield Charm that bubbles around him out of nowhere. Jumping up to his feet, Harry Reductos the mannequin to smithereens before he dives back down behind a low brick wall and peers over it, just in time to see a flash of platinum blond hair disappearing around one of the thick, artificial trees.

He wants to be furious with Malfoy – wants to yell into his stupid pointy face asking him how he dared to think that Harry needed his help, especially during their fucking final exam; which self respecting Slytherin does that?!

Instead, he simply throws out the prank shampoo that Gibbons replaces Malfoy's shampoo with and watches everybody's disappointment with deep satisfaction when Malfoy emerges from the showers, towelling his gold hair into an artfully tousled mess, the blond totally unaware that he'd nearly been rendered temporarily bald.