Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, and all these other people are characters belonging to J.K. Rowling. I claim no rights to them, their surroundings, or their situations. Much to my sorrow.

--- 17.5 Harry: Wind Upon the Water

Evening passed without further incident, followed by a restless (for some) but uneventful night. The next morning found Harry and Ron eating breakfast in the neglected garden behind the old mansion, which was in a state of temporary springtime so that everyone could get some air, discussing the latest grist from the rumor mill.

"So you think they'll put it to a vote?" Between oversized mouthfuls of porridge, Ron had been unable to speak of anything except the Slytherin question. This was good, in sofar as it meant he wasn't moping about Hermione's continued absence; but Harry found, all expectations to the contrary, that the idea of an entire House simply ceasing to exist didn't sit very well with him.

The gossip had now evolved beyond the level of incredulous what-if's and do-you-thinks into a spirited debate that seemed to have infected the entire student body, plus, by the sounds of it, parts of the faculty and the Order as well.

Harry shook his head as he polished off the remainder of his toast. "Ron, I don't even know if it's been seriously proposed," he said after he'd swallowed. "Professor McGonagall keeps insisting it's just a rumor. Someone's probably just looking to get back at Snape for a bad Potions grade while he's not around to put it to rest."

"Yeah, poor chap." The complete lack of sincerity in Ron's voice earned him a reproving look. "Sorry...it's a reflex. And honestly, I think it's a capital joke, if that's what it is.

"Anyway, now somebody's brought it up, they might not have a choice--I've heard a lot of people say they thought it's the best idea they've heard in ages. So what d'you think, a vote?"

"I don't know." Harry shook his head. "If they do put it to a vote, it'd probably be limited to the school staff, or the staff and the Order maybe. But they'd have to get it approved with the Ministry too, I'm sure."

He leaned back on his elbows, staring thoughtfully up at the sky. "I just can't see Professor Dumbledore standing by and watching an entire House done in, even if it is Slytherin..."

Whatever answer Ron was going to make was pre-empted by the appearance of Draco Malfoy, walking toward the two with a curiously reluctant air, meandering slowly and looking around as though hoping to be distracted.

"Talk of the devil...get a load of Malfoy," Ron said sourly. "Surprised he's got the nerve to show his face with all the talk. The other Slytherins are all pretty much hiding out."

"Yeah, Malfoy's usually the first one to run for cover. Maybe even the other Slytherins can't stand to be in close quarters with him." Harry shrugged, lying back, enjoying the sunshine while it lasted, and idly watching his rival's approach. He's looking much better today...not nearly so strung-out and twitchy, he thought, taking a certain proprietary satisfaction in the fact. He had risked life and limb to save the git the day before, after all.

Apparently Draco had also forgotten to charm his hair back, because it now hung loose around his face and shoulders. This wrought a remarkable change in his appearance; not only did the fine white-blonde stuff frame his face most becomingly, it also served to greatly downplay his resemblance to his much-maligned father, Lucius.

Just then Draco glanced their way, his gaze unintentionally meeting Harry's. Their eyes locked, in the way they usually did only when the two were about to argue or fight. Most other times (not that there were a great many other times,) they avoided direct eye-to-eye contact--or Draco did, rather; Harry had concluded that Slytherins must be akin to wolves in that way, associating eye contact with a challenge.

This time, though, all he could read in the other youth's clear grey eyes was a shadow of worry and...something else. It seemed familiar, but at the same time so alien on Malfoy's usually sneering face that he couldn't quite pin it down.

Draco blinked, and the moment passed. But he stopped meandering and walked straight up to them, hands in his jeans pockets, a strange smile playing about his mouth. It looked for all the world as though he was trying on different expressions, and discarding them as unsatisfactory.

Ron, having been blindsided far too many times to hesitate, fired his opening salvo as soon as Malfoy came within range. "'Lo, Ferret. Lovely day, wasn't it?"

The Slytherin's eyes narrowed, and Harry braced himself for the usual pissing match, quietly assuring himself that he had his wand within easy reach. But instead of delivering the expected rejoinder, Draco only nodded and said, "Yeah, they made a nice job of it. Too bad it won't last very long, but it takes a lot of effort to turn January into June, even for a little while."

Harry nodded, pleasantly surprised to be discussing something as benign as the weather with his old nemesis. Ron looked suspicious and a trifle disappointed, but then shrugged philosophically and went back to his porridge, apparently happy to get in a few more bites before the battle was joined. He never took his eyes off Malfoy, however.

"Has there been any word from St. Mungo's?" Harry ventured after a moment, assuming that the Slytherins would be the first to hear any news.

"Only that the Professor's condition has stabilised. I was hoping you two might know. I would have thought that Gra--that Hermione would be back by now."

Ron promptly spit up his last mouthful of porridge. "Hermione, is it?" He wiped his chin on his sleeve, glaring at Malfoy with an excess of belligerence, or so it seemed to Harry. "All right, 'fess up, mate. Who are you, and what have you done with the real Draco Malfoy? You can bloody well keep him, mind you. I'm only curious."

Malfoy blinked and opened his mouth, reddening with embarrassment or anger--Harry wasn't sure which--then shut it again with a snap. "Right. Sod this, it's not bloody worth it..." He turned around and marched off without another word.

Harry looked from Ron to Malfoy's retreating back, torn between friendship and Gryffindor solidarity, and immense curiosity. He'd never seen Draco go so far out of his way to be civil, and found himself a bit cross with Ron for carrying on as usual, when clearly there was something quite unusual at play here.

"I'll be back," he told his friend, scrambling up and following the Slytherin across the garden. Ron called something indignant after him, but for once he left the redhead to his own devices.

"Malfoy! Oi, Malfoy--wait up, will you?" He caught up to the Slytherin and fell into step beside him, not quite sure what to say, but Draco saved him the bother of thinking of anything.

"What is it, Potter, thought of some brilliant new curse you want to try out on me?" That sounded more like the genuine Malfoy, but somehow the sarcasm lacked its usual inspired edge; more as though he'd said it for form's sake than fun.

"No, I just...listen, what did you mean just now by 'It's not worth it'?" Harry heard himself ask, and winced. He hadn't meant to be so blunt, but it had been such a peculiar statement that the question had just tumbled out.

He expected a curt "None of your business," but instead Draco sighed irritably, and looked away in seeming discomfort.

"Do you remember on the train that first year," he said abruptly, "the day we met, when I made that little speech to you about which wizarding families you ought to get acquainted with--meaning my own of course; and you more or less threw it back in my face and took up with the Wea--with Ron and Hermione, instead?"

Thoroughly mystified, Harry nodded, afraid to speak for fear he'd break whatever strange spell was at work. They passed several other students as they re-entered the building, neither one noticing the incredulous stares that they were attracting simply by walking along side by side (without a faculty escort.)

Malfoy struggled visibly with whatever he was trying to say. At last he blurted out, almost accusingly, "I was an obnoxious little prat, and it was good of you not to outright laugh in my face. But just for the record, when I offered you my friendship, I meant it."

He'd gone quite red in the face. Harry wondered whether the blonde was having some sort of sick fit, but he continued doggedly, "It was the only way I knew how to go about it, you see. My father had always told me it was all about trading favors and making alliances, so that's what I was trying to do."

It came to Harry suddenly where he'd seen the unusual look he'd noticed on Draco's face a few minutes earlier; it had been that same day, aboard the Hogwarts Express, when the soon-to-be Slytherin had put out his hand.

Harry had never felt the slightest remorse over his decision to reject that offer--he'd almost forgotten it happened, in fact--but this cast a whole new light on the incident. It occurred to him now that he might also have been more tactful that day; though it was doubtful he could have negotiated a friendship with both sides, surely he could have made a greater effort not to make an enemy of Malfoy?

Searching for an adequate response to such a revelation that would not sound in any way disloyal to his friends, Harry offered clumsily, "I'm...sorry it had to be that way."

"Me, too." Draco smiled bitterly. "I don't blame you, by the way. If I were you and eleven again, knowing what I know now, I'd make the same choice. Back then I couldn't make heads or tails of it."

"So what changed your mind?" Harry couldn't resist asking. They'd come back into the ball room, which was far less crowded just then, with so many people out enjoying the artificial spring.

The Slytherin chuckled, an entirely different sound from the cynical snicker he knew too well, and far more pleasant. "What d'you think? Six bloody years of putting up with the likes of Crabbe and Goyle, and watching you and your lot win the House Cup and save the world." He shook his head. "I think it started to filter through about the time my father went to prison that I'd been a bit wrong-headed about a number of things..."

Harry seated himself in the Gryffindor area, and gestured to another chair. "No offense, but I'd say that's a bit of an understatement." Seeing Draco hesitate, he added, "But I'm glad you figured it out before it was too late. Sit down, eh? I haven't spell-trapped the chair, I promise."

The blonde youth snorted softly. "Course you haven't...you're a Gryffindor," he said with only a hint of a sneer, sitting down slowly. "Truth, honour, love and all that...but honestly, I've always wanted to know. Doesn't it get a bit annoying, having to play the hero every waking moment?"

Harry grinned. The situation felt positively surreal, but he found himself actually enjoying Draco's company. "You have no idea. But if you think being a Gryffindor means forever toeing the line, you've obviously overlooked Fred and George Weasley."

He knew the moment he said it that it had been a mistake. The Slytherin still bore the vivid marks of the twins' fireworks down the right-hand side of his face, and no doubt all down his arm and side as well. Despite magical intervention, permanent scarring was a real possibility. "Sorry...I'd forgotten..." he said quickly, hoping he hadn't just brought this singularly remarkable conversation to a close.

But Draco just shrugged fatalistically. "Yeah, well...it'll teach me to pay better attention to where I'm flying." He smirked, and Harry did too. They both knew that he was too good a Seeker (though still not quite in Harry's league) to have blundered into the rockets' path through inattention. It had been a case of unlucky timing, nothing more.

An uneasy silence fell, and they both started to speak at once, then laughed. "Go on, you first," Harry said graciously.

Draco rubbed at the back of his neck, acutely uncomfortable, but still smiling slightly. "Well." His voice had dropped so low that Harry had to lean in closer to hear. "I was just going to say--you saved my life yesterday."

He stopped there, and Harry waited a moment before saying, "Yeah, I suppose I did..."

"And, well...oh, bugger it all. I'm rotten at this sort of thing," Draco muttered, covering his face with one hand for a moment. Then he drew a deep breath and sat up straighter, squared his shoulders, and looked the Gryffindor in the eye, though clearly it took some effort. "Thank you."

Harry took a long, self-indulgent moment to savor that thank you; long enough that the blonde began to look a bit worried at his lack of reaction.

Then he smiled warmly. "Any time, Draco."

And he extended his hand, just as the Malfoy heir had done all those years ago; wondering if it were somehow possible, in a world of magic and miracles, to bridge a chasm spanning nearly seven years with such a simple, mundane gesture.

Draco hesitated only the barest instant before reaching out, and they shook hands firmly--even now, in accord for the very first time, compelled to test their strength against one another just a bit. But that was all right, Harry thought, knowing he was grinning like an idiot; rivals, after all, didn't have to mean enemies.

A moment later he was startled almost out of his chair as a hand fell onto his shoulder. "Well. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed it..."

Draco was already up and had his wand out, but lowered it at once, looking sheepish and trying not, Harry thought, to seem annoyed.

Professor McGonagall smiled at them both, more pleased than he had seen her in well over a year. "Pardon me for interrupting, gentlemen; but I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time, Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy? Why on Earth would Professor McGonagall want to talk to him? Harry wondered, and saw the same question reflected on Draco's face. But the blonde nodded readily enough, and Harry glanced around for a simple excuse to bow out and let them speak without an audience.

Only then did he belatedly notice that they'd gathered a few onlookers. Ron had apparently followed them in, and was leaning on a large ornamental vase nearby, eyeing Draco with mixed distrust and confusion. And standing with his arms folded across his chest, on the opposite side, Sirius Black looked on with an expression of profound disapproval.

"Sirius?" Harry said softly, taking a hesitant step toward his godfather, unsure what he'd done wrong. Not quite meeting his gaze, the animagus jerked his head toward the hallway leading to the courtyard. Then, transmuting to canine form, he turned and loped out of the ball room without a backward glance.

Comment