“Look, Harry, it’s the ferret.”

And the ferret turned away from the lake, which he was standing looking at, and sneered up at the trio, who were sitting at the top of the slope leading down to the lake.

“Aaw. The ferret knows his name!”

Harry snorted. It was seventh year, and you’d think that by now Ron would have learned some wit.

“Ron, don’t start,” said Harry. “It’s summer.”

Ron gaped, eyes wide, at Harry, then shook his head as if to dislodge water. Hermione, however, nodded primly in approval at Harry’s sentiments.

“It’s Malfoy, Harry. Malfoy!” Ron exclaimed.

“Oh, give it a rest.”

“Why?”

“It’s totally unnecessary to start a fight.”

Apparently, that hadn’t been good enough a reason. Ron pushed himself up off the ground and ran down the hill. Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. Harry agreed with her. Ron was useless. And as dim as an amoeba at times.

Malfoy, who had watched the entire thing from down beside the lake, stood up and smirked when he saw Ron coming towards him. Draco leaned back against one of the tall pine trees and raised a cocky eyebrow.

Good, Draco thought. Anything to lighten the period until summer. God knows he needed it. N.E.W.T.s in a week. How dreary. No excitement on the home front – there was a distinct lack of correspondence, of course, ever since his parents had been locked up. Not any action between Harry and Voldemort, considering that that had been settled last summer. So all in all, Ron was a welcome piece of sport.

“Oi, ferret!”

“Where?” asked Draco, looking around interestedly.

“Don’t be clever with me, Malfoy—”

“—I do apologise, I’ll remember to adapt my remarks to your intellect from now on—”

“—you’re just . . . what?”

Draco smirked. Ron was so easy. Draco would tire quickly of such bait. He needed harder stuff. Tougher nuts to crack. Someone on his level. Not Hermione, though. She could be violent, Draco thought, thinking back with a wince to that slap in their third year.

“Should I slow it down a bit, Weasel?”

He knew the Weasel part was crude. Below him. But that was exactly why it suited Ron. In addition, it was guaranteed to work every time. Ron was gradually growing redder, and seemed to be expanding.

“Weasel!” Ron sputtered indignantly, reaching a near-apoplectic state.

“More like parrot,” Draco said under his breath. “No, idiot. You’re the weasel, I’m the ferret, remember!” he added cheekily.

Ron’s wand came out. His hand was shaking. How predictable, thought Draco.

***

Sitting up on top of the ridge, Hermione and Harry watched the action unfold. They heard some of the exchange, but not that much; mostly Ron really, because Draco’s drawl was softer and altogether more . . . refined than a Weasley Bellow.

When the wand appeared from the depths of Ron’s robes, Harry and Hermione turned to look at each other.

“We’d better go,” said Hermione worriedly.

“Yeah. He could hurt someone. Probably himself, but we should still help.”

“Mmm,” agreed Hermione. “Remember those slugs?” she asked, as they rose and began running down the hill.

***

Harry was running rather fast. It looked fun, from below. His robes billowed and his hair was whipped back by the wind. His green eyes shone with exhilaration as he sped down, practically flying without a broom. All too soon, Harry stopped.

Draco, who had been watching the pair descend the slope, and had not been paying much attention to Ron, was suddenly jerked back to reality.

“ . . . much more like a weasel than me, then, Malfoy.”

Pathetic. In all that time, he had continued to worry away at that one thing, and hadn’t even tried to attack Malfoy on any other fronts.

“It doesn’t bloody matter which one of you resembles which rodent!” said Potter, with striking subtlety. “Ron, don’t be an idiot. Put that thing away. At least you haven’t regressed so far that you’re comparing wand sizes.”

Ron scowled at this. He opened his mouth to reply angrily when Draco drawled lazily,

“Mine’s bigger than his anyway. Besides, Potter, they aren’t rodents. They happen to belong to the family Mustilidae”

“Well, I’m sure that’ll help in a life or death situation, Malfoy, thanks. Now, can we leave?” Harry answered, directing the last part at a surly Ron.

“Harry, it’s Malfoy! He . . .”

“He what?” Harry asked, temper snapping. “As far as I can see, he didn’t do anything to annoy you.”

Damn, Draco thought. Harry was passive, and Draco wanted an argument. Hell, he needed an argument.

“I think it’s more the fact that I exist,” he said. “He could, of course, be jealous of the fact that my wand is a good two inches—”

Ron shot daggers at Malfoy, ears burning.

“Harry,” he said plaintively, interrupting as Draco had known he would. “Don’t you remember all that stuff he did? And now—”

“Now what?” asked Draco, returning the favour. “Now I’m alone, and you feel brave enough to go for me? So much for Gryffindor courage”

Harry completely ignored Draco, pretending that he hadn’t said anything to Ron.

“Ron,” he said calmly. “None of the stuff Draco did or didn’t do warrants starting a fight with him for no reason.”

Draco smiled. He had it. Now the excitement could begin.

“Draco?” he enquired. “I don’t remember giving you permission to use my first name, Potter.”

“We don’t have to be enemies anymore,” said Harry steadily. His eyes were calm as he gazed at Draco.

“Are you kidding?” burst Ron. “He’s a Death Eater!”

“What if I like being your enemy?” continued Draco, as if nothing had happened. Hermione was now restraining Ron, who was gaping like a fish. Draco suspected that a Silencio charm had been used.

“Besides, though I am loath to admit it, Ron has a point. For all you know, I could be a Death Eater.”

“For all Ron knows. Please. Don’t insult me. I’m slightly more observant that him.”

“Why should I stop insulting you, Potter? It’s so easy. And, you’ve been observing me? How . . . disturbing.”

“Only as much as I felt it necessary to observe a potential Death Eater.”

Draco restrained a grin. Smiling would never do. But the adrenaline was flowing. This was fun. Since the battle, he’d hardly had any excitement. Well, since before then. Since his friends had left him.

“And what do you see then, in your observations?” he asked, mocking him.

“I saw that Nott – Theodore Nott – was sent to Azkaban and you were not. I noticed that your family connections would hardly help you on that score. I saw your left forearm when you were doing Potions. I saw the fact that for no apparent reason you have been kicked off the Quidditch squad. I saw that you’ve been quieter this year, and some of the last. I saw the absence of owls, and I saw the absence of friends.”

“And from that,” he said derisively. “—from that you deduced that I was not a Death Eater? Could another explanation not be that a, I am cleverer that that troll Nott, so could easily get out of a sentence on grounds of Bewitchment or Diminished Responsibility, b, that I wore a glamour over my arm, that c I was kicked off the team because my father is – ah – incapacitated and as a result cannot donate? D could of course be that I was quiet because my family were imprisoned, and e, I could have less friends because I, I don’t know, declared my homosexuality and preference for any other blood rather than pure?”

“Ha,” Harry said, somewhat mirthlessly. “Somehow, I doubt it. It’s a known fact that you can’t place a glamour on a Dark Mark; Voldemort” – Draco flinched – “was too vain. Isn’t that right, Hermione?”

Hermione nodded. Harry continued.

“On top of that, you may have bought your way into the team at first but you can fly – just not as well as me. No, Draco, I didn’t just deduce that you had not taken the Mark – after all, your parents would still write, and your friends wouldn’t abandon you if you just hadn’t done it. No, I deduced more. You are a turncoat. You turned to the other side. Our side. When did you visit Dumbledore, Draco?”

Hermione nodded at Harry, impressed. Ron continued to stare with a dropped jaw at the scene unfolding in front of him.

Draco gasped.

“Did he tell you? I told him not to!” he exclaimed, mentally cursing his own petulant tone as he did so.

“No. Give us both some credit. I have a modicum of insight, and Dumbledore keeps what promises he can.”

“So is this why you haven’t been fighting me all year?” said Malfoy, comprehending suddenly.

“Basically, yes.”

“Oh. Well then, Potter. You’re a fool.”

“And you’re a ferret. So?”

“So, I don’t care if you were the Chosen One – I could beat you any day. That’s why I told Dumbledore of V-Voldemort’s plans, you know. I had to keep you alive so I could constantly get the better of you.”

“You can’t fool a fool,” said a grinning Harry.

***

Draco took out his wand. Harry’s grin faltered.

This is what Draco wanted to see. This is what Draco needed. Some passion.

“Potter. Let me reiterate. You are an idiot, and I detest you. Nothing can change that.”

“Yes it bloody well can!”

But it was not Harry who had been shouting. Rather, it was Hermione, who bowled Draco over as she launched herself at him.

“Granger, really. Restrain yours—”

“Draco. Shut up. I know you. I observe everyone. And before you ask, no, I didn’t tell him about you joining our side. He worked it out for himself. You should have known. You seem almost disappointed that he hasn’t been arguing with you. He didn’t think you would want it, and he didn’t want to annoy you. He admires you, for god’s sake. But he knows that you would never accept him as a friend, or even an acquaintance, because you still hate him. This is what Harry deduced. You should have realised. Ponce.”

“What, so he knew I hated him, and that my life had been turned upside down, and from this he deduced that it would be best for him to stay away?”

Draco had lost his sneer, after listening to Granger’s tirade. He regained it suddenly, and stood up, brushing off grass from his robes as he did so, and offering a disdainful hand to Hermione to help her up.

“It’s like I always thought. Granger’s violent, and Potter’s an idiot.”

“Well that’s just great. Everyone’s been labelled. Can we all go now?” said Harry, looking thoroughly weary and rather upset.

“What is it, Potter, realised being pigeon-holed isn’t much fun?”

“I’ve been pigeon-holed since I was born.”

“Yeah, well, so have I, and I resent it.”

“That wasn’t an insult, Draco. You’re losing your touch.”

“Better to lose it than never to have had it.”

Harry grinned, slightly.

“So, what is it then, Malfoy? You want a fight with me?”

“Maybe I do. Life gets monotonous.”

“So, you’re asking me to insult you?”

“Well, that’s fun, but a duel would be better. More skill involved.”

“Sure you can handle me?”

“Sure I’m sure,” said Draco, surveying Harry with a leer. Harry turned beet red.

“So, Hermione said you admired me, Potter,” Draco continued, advancing upon Harry slowly, trying to provoke a reaction. He wasn't sure which reaction, yet, but ce4rtainly a reaction of some kind. “What did you admire most?”

“Hermione never said anything of the sort. Don’t flatter yourself. There must be something around making us all imagine things. Because I could swear that you just called Hermione by her name,”

“It’s like you said. There must be something going around.”

“Of course.”

“This mood is altogether too friendly for my liking,” said Malfoy suddenly. “Get angry at me!” he commanded, pouting.

“Unfortunately, that’s all too easy. I’d rather not, all the same,” responded Harry.

“Why. Afraid to dirty your robes?”

“As if I care. No, I just don’t want a fight.”

“And what if I ask for one?”

“Get it from Ron.”

“Ron is easy. Simple. Look,” he said, gesturing at Ron. “Weasel! Are you paying Granger to restrain you, or is she doing it for you out of the goodness of your heart? I didn’t think you would have the money lying around to indulge your kinks.”

Ron thrashed in Hermione’s grip, trying desperately to escape.

“Thanks, Draco,” muttered Hermione angrily.

“No problem, ‘Mione,” Draco answered, before catching himself and starting. He winced a little but continued to speak.

“See? Easy.”

“So am I up near your level then?”

“Almost.”

“Touching.”

***

“Honestly!” exclaimed Hermione suddenly, as she cast a Full-Body-Bind curse upon Ron. “I’m taking Ron away. When you’re finally done, Harry, come to the common room.”

Harry waved Hermione away, as she levitated the unresponsive lump that was Ron up the slope. He just couldn’t seem to look away from Draco, whose eyes were locked on his.

“So, why won’t you fight me?” he asked, flicking blond hair out of his eyes with a toss of his head. An absent thought drifted into Harry's mind and informed him that Draco was rather like a fractious, spoilt stallion, sometimes. He blinked to get it out of his head.

“Its immature,” Harry said.

“That's never stopped you before”

“Look. I won't fight you in public, okay?”

“Why? Scared you'll lose?”

“No. Just because, Malfoy.”

“What scathing wit. Okay then, I don’t care. Room of requirement it is.”

“Fine then, ferret,” Harry said, resigned. He may as well try and work up some anger beforehand. It was hard. This was Draco, after all.

“You’re gonna die,” said Draco happily.

“ ‘gonna’? Well, that’s shown me,” said Harry sarcastically.

“It should.”

***

Eventually Draco arrived in the Hall, Harry lagging behind.

“So, why don’t you want a fight then?” he asked Harry. Draco was confused – had been confused – the entire year. Why could Harry not hate him? Not feel such emotion? Draco could.

“Because if we can’t be friends, at least we can be civil.”

“Pssh,” said Draco, waving a hand. “Come on, sparring is fun.”

And Draco certainly found it fun. Harry just didn’t seem to put his heart into it, whereas Draco did, always.

“So then, why do you want a fight?” Harry asked in return, panting as they reached the corridor outside the Room. He stood as Draco began to walk up and down outside the room three times.

“Like I said, Potter. It’s fun.” He paused. “And . . . it’s normal. What I used to do.”

“Before you came over to the good side officially.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re the idiot, then. You can’t just go back. You did it. You can’t change that. And I know that you wouldn’t if you could. And for that . . .” Harry stopped speaking.

Draco clenched his fist, swore as he saw an empty wand hand. He must have dropped it as he ran up here. He then resorted to physical tactics, abandoning walking backwards and forwards and just plain walking into Harry, pushing him up against the sides of the corridor.

“You . . .” he hissed. “You do not know anything about me.”

“Yes, I bloody do,” said Harry, apparently calm. How he infuriated Draco. Made him want to wrench his head right off his body. Made him want to pummel him into submission. Made him want to . . .

“I knew you had switched,” continued Harry. “I know you’re impossibly vain. I know that you check your reflection in the back of your spoon at breakfast. I know that you’re cleverer than you think you are and that when you aren’t watching yourself you are watching others.”

“Pretty elementary observations, really. You didn’t however, know that I wanted a fight, did you?” said Malfoy, who had both of his hands upon Harry’s shoulders.

“The thing is, Draco,” Harry said softly. “I don’t think you do want a fight.”

“What?” said Draco, one of his hands slipping to the wall in his surprise. “Of course I want a fight!”

“Well go on then, punch me,” Harry challenged.

Draco, still standing so close to Harry Potter, couldn’t.

“That’s not a fight. That’s a beating.”

“Oh, all right then,” Harry burst in frustration.

Harry shoved Draco, so that he stumbled backwards. Harry moved forwards again, until he was right in Draco’s face and could count the flecks in his grey eyes.

“Is this what you want?” he said, shoving him again. “Is it?” By now Draco was pressed against the other wall of the corridor, and Harry stood just inches away from him. “I doubt it,” Harry said finally, after looking at Draco for what seemed like an eternity to both of them “You just wanted someone to talk to.”

“No I bloody well didn’t!” said Draco, looking angrily into Harry’s eyes. “If I had wanted someone to talk to, I could have talked to Dumbledore or Hermione; they act so sympathetic towards me all the time.”

Draco moved closer to Harry again, pressing up even further against him as he shoved him back.

“So no,” he said, as Harry staggered back. “No, Potter. I want a fight.”

“Not just a battle of the wits? Not a duel? Just a fight?” Harry asked Draco, who was once again advancing upon him. At this point Harry mused that Hermione would have to have been quite the sleuth to hide her friendship with Draco from her boyfriend Ron. On that note, Harry continued. “If that’s the case, I can go and fetch Ron. He’d fight with you any day,” Harry offered, placing one of his feet behind Draco’s legs. Draco didn’t seem to notice. Perhaps he was trying not to.

However, Draco gulped, slightly, and said huskily, “Ron . . . is nothing.”

“So, am I something, then?” Harry asked, teasing tone gone from his voice, as he looked at Draco penetratingly.

“Merely better at fighting,” said Draco heavily

“I think so,” said Harry, pushing the blonde Slytherin backwards, so that he tripped over Harry’s foot and went sprawling to the ground.

“Clever, Potter,” Malfoy said gruffly. “For an idiot,” he added.

“It was clever. However, Zabini Blaise can fight better than me. I’ll get him to beat the crap out of you, if you insist.”

“No!” Draco said, and his head dropped slightly. Harry had broken it out of him. As he always did.

“So, you don’t want to talk, or fight. What do you want?” asked Harry, a strange emotion in his voice – Curiosity? Weariness? . . . Hope? Pity? God, not pity, anything but pity, Draco hoped fervently – as he offered Draco a hand up. There was nothing left to lose.

“This, idiot,” said Draco, grabbing his hand with unexpected force, jumping up, pushing Harry back against the wall and kissing him senseless. Harry didn’t have much time to respond – he was still in shock – when Draco said:

“Of course I want to fight with you. I’ll do anything with you, so long as it’s passionate. Passionate hate, passionate love. Two sides of the same coin. Friends, no. I could never, never be friends with you. Even at best friends, it’s still too bloody passive.” Draco paused before taking a deep breath and continuing:

“It’s you. It’s always been you. You could get under my skin like no other. When nobody else could touch me, your insults could hit my core. You could – still can, I suspect – see right through me. So respond, Potter, and show me which I can do. Love or hate. I love you for inspiring me. I love you for being you. I love and hate you. I hate you, the hero. I hate you, the Gryffindor. I love how your insults affect me. I hate my weakness in being affected by you. I have hated you from the beginning. I love and hate the fact that you don't seem to care. I love seeing things about you that nobody else bothers to. I have loved you – or at least realised that I loved you – for a few years now. Tell me. Love or hate.”

Draco didn’t look away from Harry. Harry looked angry. Great, Draco thought. He was going to get a beating now, and it wouldn’t just be a physical one.

Sure enough, Harry spoke with hatred in his eyes.

“You’re the bloody idiot here, Draco,” said Harry.

Draco’s eye’s filled with hot, angry tears, just as Harry moved his head forwards and kissed him on the nose.

“Berk,” Harry said fondly. “You’re a fool. I don’t know why we even wanted you on the good side. You’re useless at reading people. Couldn’t you tell? You were probably more interested in your hair than in me shooting glances at you, I suppose.”

“Shut up, Potter,” Malfoy said, kissing Harry once more.

***

Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape were enjoying a leisurely walk together through the school. They were walking up to the Staff Room, and were reasonably happy, seeing as almost all of the pupils had gone out to enjoy the sun.

Severus was almost smiling, a shocking sight, as he casually batted off Dumbledore’s assertions that it was time he settle down with a nice Healer or something.

Then they passed Harry and Draco, who were fighting in the corridor. Fighting for control over the kiss that was making them both moan, pressed up against the wall. Severus stopped speaking and just continued walking. He was too flabbergasted to utter any sound, let alone remove house points. Safe to say, any trace of a smile was instantly removed.

Snape gaped. Dumbledore smiled. Harry and Draco didn’t notice them pass.

“That’s five galleons to me,” Dumbledore said, as they rounded a corner of the corridor. “I told you that they’d settle their differences by the summer.”

Snape shook himself. “Not like this you didn’t. You could have given me some warning.”

“It was obvious, my dear boy. Draco defected because of the obvious good of doing so, but he fought hard, and gave us extensive information, damaging information, purely because of Harry. Harry, as well, has been sighing over Draco all of this year, and last. For a spy, you’re not particularly observant.”

Severus Snape snorted in disbelief. He wanted to pinch himself – but wouldn’t of course; it was so vulgar and showy. All the same, his world had been turned upside down. If this . . . romance existed, why not the Crumple-Horned-Snorcack?

***

Many hours later, Harry opened the door to the Gryffindor common room cautiously.

“Wha—?” he exclaimed, upon seeing Hermione sitting calmly, ostensibly waiting for him, clutching a book as she curled up on the sofa. “Is Ron here?”

“I – ah – sent him to bed. So,” she asked interestedly, sitting up. “Been thoroughly snogged?”

“Are you sure Ron’s not here?”

Hermione nodded.

“Then yes,” replied Harry, sitting down.

“Here’s his wand. I’m giving it to you because I take it you’ll be seeing him again?”

“Definitely. How did you—?”

“Oh, it was so obvious. You know, since I’m Head Girl and he’s Head Boy, we’ve sort of become friends. I hear the things he doesn’t say. It was simple. I hope you’re happy with him.”

“I think I will be. I don’t know if Ron will be so happy with knowing you’re friends with Draco, let alone that I’m . . .”

“—in love with him?”

“Possibly,” Harry answered, a grin on his face. He was unbelievably happy. He didn’t care what Ron thought. He was in love. And he was going to remain so for the rest of his life. He knew it. Harry Malfoy. Draco Potter. Crazy future scenarios rushed around Harry’s head. First fight. OH wait, done that one. First shag. First house. Growing old. And none of that scared him. Because Draco would always be there. A constant in some way or another.

“What the fuck?”

Ron stood at the top of the stairs, anger and disbelief etched into his face.

***

“Ron! You’re supposed to be in bed, asl—”

“You mean under the full Body Bind. Dean freed me when he woke up from a nightmare,” he spat, shooting an angry glare at Hermione, who blushed slightly but returned the stare defiantly. “But Harry, what in Merlin’s name is this?”