Harry Potter and The Boy Who Had No Choice

"What do you want from me?"

Chapter Twenty-One

"Slughorn not here yet?" A voice chimed from above Harry. When the raven-haired boy looked up and caught sight of who was talking to him, he quickly scrambled to his feet and brushed off his trousers.

"No, not yet," he said, glancing towards the door to the Potions classroom.

"That's odd, it's nearly seven," Malfoy commented before walking towards the door. As he stepped in front of it, the door swung open to reveal Professor Slughorn. He glanced between the two boys and chuckled.

"There you both are! I was beginning to get a bit worried." He gestured for them to come into the room and the boys complied.

"But your door was closed?" Harry said questioningly. Slughorn cocked his head and smiled.

"There was a draft. It was unlocked, of course."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and leaned towards Harry.

"You didn't even bother to check the door?" he whispered tauntingly. When he pulled away, he was wearing a smug smirk that Harry wanted to wipe off his face.

"More grading this evening," Slughorn said before Harry could give his retort. He ambled over to his desk, retrieving a stack of papers that he split between Harry and Malfoy. "I'll be back at ten to dismiss you."

With that, Slughorn exited the classroom, leaving the two boys alone to work. Malfoy sat down, spreading out his papers and his quill across the desk and Harry sat across from him. Despite the fact that Harry could've sat anywhere in the room, Malfoy didn't comment on his choice to sit near him.

They graded in silence for a few minutes before Harry's itch to bother Malfoy couldn't be stifled anymore. Just as he was about to open his mouth however, the blonde across from him spoke up first.

"So why were you sitting outside alone in the hallway?" he asked softly, not looking up from the desk.

"Huh?" Harry replied dumbly. He wasn't used to Malfoy initiating their conversations unless they began with some sort of insult. Malfoy rolled his eyes and glanced up at Harry.

"Why were you sitting out in the hallway all by yourself?" he asked again, this time his voice less gentle. "You always show up to detention just barely on time, it's not like you to be early. I find it hard to believe that you'd choose to spend time sitting in the dark in an empty hallway without some sort of reason."

"Long day. Needed a break," Hary explained himself in as little words as possible.

"Too many fans desperate for your attention, Saint Potter?" Malfoy teased, an unmistakable playfulness to his voice. Harry didn't even mind the use of his mocking nickname; its use felt more like an inside joke than an insult in this context.

"Yes actually. Far too many," Harry answered honestly, making Malfoy draw back slightly in surprise.

"Seriously? You're complaining about being adored?" he said incredulously, raising a single eyebrow. Harry himself briefly jealous that he couldn't control his facial features with such ease.

"It's not as if they actually adore me, just the idea of me. The idea of a hero." Harry shrugged and leaned back in his seat. He became quiet as he spoke. "They wouldn't adore me so much if they knew the real me."

"You mean the you who cheated in Potions, or the you who stalked me all sixth year, or the you who uses Dark Magic on his school rival?" Malfoy questioned, articulating his words with an indescribable elegance that caused Harry to not fully realize what he was saying until moments later. Once the words did hit him, his first instinct was to be angry, but he quickly realized that he didn't really have anything to be angry about: everything Malfoy said was true.