Temptation on the Warfront

6

"Are we going to talk about this?" Ron asks sulkily from where he slumps on the floor with his back pressed against the couch.

Harry casts him a puzzled glance over his shoulder, "Talk about what?" He would rather not talk about anything right now, because he's been looking for the Marauder's Map since he'd finished cleaning up after dinner, and he doesn't dare ask the others if they've seen it — because Hermione's exasperated expression is already perfectly clear in the forefront of his mind, and he'd rather not mention it at all. Besides, he has a rather good guess about where it might be, and it makes his stomach sink into a pit of woe.

"Talk about the fact that Draco fucking Malfoy ate dinner with us, and nobody seemed to care? Are you both mental?"

Hermione sighs, rearranging her blankets over the couch. "I'll take first watch, Harry."

"What — no, it's fine — I will, I just need to find... something," He searches through his rucksack for what must be the twentieth time, and even though the act is mostly for show, he's still disappointed when his hands return empty.

Ron grumbles at being ignored, and his irritation causes several sparks to issue from the end of his wand.

"Ronald! What on earth are you doing? You nearly set the blanket on fire!" Hermione chastises, scowling and rubbing where the material became singed, before giving Harry a worried glare, "You haven't lost... it, have you?"

Harry frowns, "It?" Realisation hits him and he supposes Hermione must mean Malfoy's wand, "Oh — no." How could he lose something he scrutinises so often? Something that has become a regular part of his sleepless nights? "No. Er — it's nothing. Forget it. Anyway, I'll just — er — g'night—"

"Harry, you do know there's no reason for you to have to leave the room every night?"

Harry shuffles on his feet, thankful Hermione didn't pry, but now feeling quite awkward under an incredulous stare from Ron which seems to say, 'yes, you have every reason to leave the room every night.'

"It's fine, really, 'sides, Sirius's—"

"Sirius's room can't be good for you, Harry. It's so —" She breaks off and looks bashfully down at her hands. Ron, who Harry assumes is close to breaking point, begins to beat his pillow into submission before throwing his head down onto it as though he's attempting to murder whatever plucked bird has already died to create it. Harry grimaces, not only because he feels like he owes his friend an explanation, but because he suspects Hermione had been going to say the word 'lonely.' And the weirdest part about it all is that Harry countered the statement in his head with, 'I'm not lonely at night, not since you gave me Malfoy's wand,' and that sentence just sounds so bizarre and abnormal that Harry feels sort of sick. "Are you okay, Harry? You look a bit pale."

"What — I'm fine. It's fine, really, I can think better up there, is all."

Hermione doesn't look convinced, she only purses her lips and says, "Alright then. Goodnight, Harry. Don't forget to wake me up in four hours."

Harry nods halfheartedly, hoping that after he leaves Hermione will succeed in getting Ron out of his sour mood.

He makes his way slowly up the stairs, Hagrid's moleskin pouch under his shirt hugging Malfoy's wand to his chest like a guilt-ridden secret.

Draco hears the top stair creak, and hastily shoves Potter's stupid wad of insulting parchment behind his back. The next second Potter himself appears in the still barren doorway, and Draco musters all his remaining energy into glowering at the boy who looks just as tired as Draco feels.

"Come to do some handiwork, Potter?" Draco asks, gesturing to the nonexistent door.

"Where is it, Malfoy?" Potter's voice is somewhat faded, filled with that no-nonsense sort of tone Draco expects to be more of Granger's forte.