White Lies // Drarry

Chapter 3: Hufflepuffy Things

Draco was excused from the rest of classes after his little coughing episode, and Harry had looked up at that, face shining with hope which Snape had ruthlessly trampled on.

"What are you waiting here for then, Potter? Get back to class."

So off he went, grumbling about injustice and slimy Potions masters, but not without the instruction that he was to return immediately to the infirmary after class.

"You have to WHAT?" Ron bellowed, when they were sitting comfortably in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. His face was a striking white against his bright hair. "Oh mate, I'm so sorry," he whimpered.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Ron!" Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "You make it sound like you're in mourning!"

"I might as well be!" Ron replied, still looking stricken. "Harry has to be with Malfoy 24/7! Malfoy! 24/7!"

"I'm not going to follow him in the bathroom, Ron," Harry mumbled sulkily, but was unheard as Ron conjured up undesirable images of what-happens-when-eternal-rivals-are-forced-to-be-civil-to-each-other which included warts and stink pellets and Ever Bashing Boomerangs and the good, old fist fights.

"Really," Hermione huffed. "I thought you'd outgrown your little quarrel during the war."

"Little quarrel?" Ron squeaked out, looking at his girlfriend with wide, unbelieving eyes. "You're mad, Hermione! Quarrel?"

"Yes, Ron, quarrel," Hermione said firmly, raising an eyebrow and standing akimbo. Ron did not dare to make a sharp retort to that, because one does not make sharp retorts when one's girlfriend is standing over you akimbo.

Harry very wisely shut up as well because one does not interrupt when Hermione is standing over someone akimbo.

She continued, "And the fact that you haven't hexed each other once this year proves that! You still don't hate him, do you?" she asked, looking curious now.

"Well –" Ron started, before he paused. Then he grumbled. "Okay, no, I don't hate him. But he's still a bloody irritating git. You can at least admit that."

Harry snorted.

"Of course," Hermione said dismissively, "But you don't hate him, which states that he's changed and you've changed, and I'd like to think that time spent during the war making strategies together had something to do with that."

"Well – yeah, but –"

"And if you two – of all people to, bless me, work together – managed to set aside your differences to at least agree not to hex each other's noses off, then I'm sure Harry will be just fine," Hermione finished, smiling triumphantly as she returned to her book.

"But what – hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

Harry flashed Hermione a grateful smile.

He was lucky to have a friend like her. Hermione just sees everything. And she's pretty persuasive that not only Ron stopped panicking about it, but Harry too. In his mind's eye, he could still picture Ron and Draco sitting in one of the libraries in Grimmauld Place in a heated but very (surprisingly) civilized conversation. It was a funny memory, even if they were only talking how to best cut Nagini's head off.

He figured, if Ron could do it, then why couldn't he?

After all, they've outgrown their past hostility, after Malfoy had to stay in Grimmauld Place under the protection of the Order after some Death Eaters found out that he was a spy.

Maybe... maybe they were even friends. At least, Harry wanted to be friends.

He'd spent much of his seventeenth year of existence, when he wasn't thinking about Avada Kedavra-ing madmen, struggling with his thoughts about Draco Malfoy. More specifically, trying hard not to punch the living daylights out of him for all the things he's done during their early school years. During Malfoy's short-lived stay in Grimmauld Place, they had fought only once, on the second day.