What We Require

Ch8: Chit Chat

The first two days of term flew by in a flurry of half remembered lessons and pounding rain that left inch deep puddles scattered throughout the courtyards. The lunch bell had just tolled, signalling the afternoon classes, when Harry entered the Library.

Being a senior student meant study periods – the 8th years all had theirs on Wednesday afternoons while the majority of the younger students still had class. This meant that the library was still fairly empty when Harry picked his way carefully through the aisles of books – only the odd student was studded throughout the room, heads bent over books and notes alike. He couldn't see any sign of Malfoy, and the main tables had been commandeered by a group of Ravenclaw fifth years, so Harry made his way to the back of the library to an alcove that Hermione had unofficially claimed as hers early on in their schooling.

In this alcove there was a single desk, just long enough to fit three people (or Hermione on her own when she spread her books around her) and a large window that looked down onto the grounds of Hogwarts. The weather outside was stereotypically British, with grey clouds that rumbled across the sky and drenched the rolling countryside below.

Harry sat and let himself drift for a few minutes, watching the beads of water race each other across the pane of glass. He was brought out of his reverie by a heavy bag of books being slammed down next to him. Harry startled at the loud noise, and turned to scowl up at Draco Malfoy's smirking face.

"Bit jumpy, aren't we Potter?" the blond drawled, his grey eyes sharp and amused.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Glad you could finally make it, Malfoy."

The smirk on the Slytherin's face transformed into a brief sneer as he sat down at the far end of the table, crossing his legs gracefully as he leaned back in his seat. Harry felt a quick flash of annoyance – even when he was so obviously not feeling his best, Malfoy still exuded elegance.

"I expected you to be at the main tables – should have known you'd be back here in Granger's hideaway. Don't want to be seen with the Death Eater after all, no matter McGonagall's little plot." Draco sneered, opening his bag and pulling out a pile of books.

Harry sighed. "That's not it, Malfoy – I'm just used to studying here. Besides, I would have thought you'd prefer some privacy."

Malfoy refused to meet his eyes, separating the books into two piles and pushing one towards Harry.

"What I would prefer, Potter, isn't about to happen. The Headmistress is obviously set on this ridiculous idea of hers - so instead, this is what's going to happen; we're going to research that bloody room and get it fixed as soon as we can – I think you'll agree the less time we have to spend together, the better. Today, we're going to read these books – take down any notes you think could be helpful, and for Salazar's sake, make sure that chicken scratch you pass off as handwriting is actually readable."

Harry pulled the books towards him, and grabbed the first one without looking at the title.

"Wouldn't it make more sense for us to just go to the Room of Requirement?"

Malfoy's shoulders tensed and he answered without looking up from his book.

"Oh yes, brilliant idea Potter. Except we don't know if the summoning spell on the door will still work, and if it does, if it's stable. We don't know what kind of magic the room uses, or how it works beyond request and supply. We don't even know if the- if the Fiendfyre is still burning." Malfoy looked up and Harry could see that while his face was schooled into a scornful mask, his usually cold eyes were filled with dread. No sooner had Harry noticed this than Malfoy turned away, looking down at his book as he spoke, his words ringing with false calm. "We're not going anywhere near that fucking room until we're prepared. I know you like to run off into situations that will get you killed-"

"What, like flying back into that room to save your arse?" Harry said without thinking, and Malfoy's head jerked up from his book violently, his face pale with anger and his mouth shutting so forcefully his teeth clicked.

"Sorry," Harry said immediately, wincing at his own blunder. He was so used to their fights that he had slipped back into their usual cutting banter without thinking – without considering that things were different now. Or at least, that he was trying to make things different, if only as a favour to both Ginny and McGonagall. He must be civil, Harry reminded himself.

"No, you're right," said Malfoy, his voice sharp as ice. "Just like flying into that room. If you had any sense of self preservation, you'd have left me there. You had no reason to go back, and I still don't know why you did. We aren't friends, Potter. We won't ever be friends, no matter what McGonagall wants."

"Look Malfoy," Harry said seriously, trying to meet and hold the Slytherin's eye. "Honestly, I don't really know why I went back for you. Maybe it was just because I didn't want another death on my conscience. Or maybe it was because Dumbledore was right, that night on the tower – there's good in you, and he saw that."

Malfoy's mask slipped briefly and his mouth turned down at the corners, but Harry continued speaking, his gaze now fixated on the quill he was twirling between his fingers.

"Hell, I saw it – after all, I might have saved your life, but you saved mine first. You knew it was me at the manor, but you didn't say anything. Why is that? Like you said - we aren't friends, Malfoy. And yeah, I doubt we ever will be. But I don't think we're enemies, either. At least, not any more. Maybe we weren't ever... not really. And honestly, I'm just too tired to keep hating you – and I think you're tired too."

Malfoy simply stared at Harry, slumped back in his seat – his green and silver tie was at an angle, and his hair was mussed. Harry didn't let his gaze linger on the defeated line of his shoulders, but instead focused in on Malfoy's gaze – he was tired, Harry could see that plain enough. Even so, the silver eyes were calculating as the Slytherin digested what Harry had said.

"So, what?" Malfoy asked finally. "We just go along with McGonagall's pet project? Pretend that we're friendly so everyone else can play catch up and realise that none of this actually matters?"

Harry nodded, pulling a piece of parchment towards him and opening his first book.

"Basically, yeah. We'll be civil enough to get McGonagall off our backs, get this project done, and then we can go back to ignoring each other."

Malfoy was quiet for a moment, his eyes flicking over Harry's face as he contemplated their situation. Eventually he sighed, leaning forward in his seat and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Do you know, I actually thought my life would get less complicated after the war?"

Harry startled both of them by barking out a laugh.

"Join the club."

The two eighth years smiled at each other tiredly, before simultaneously realising what they were doing, and awkwardly looking away.

"Enough chit chat," Malfoy said briskly, a faint tinge of pink on his cheeks the only outward sign that he was embarrassed. "Let's get to work."

Harry nodded, re-opened his first book, and began to read.