We Were Strangers

The softness of spring was beginning to fade into the heavy sweetness of summer, and Harry found himself staring dreamily out of the window during Charms one afternoon. The smell of green grass was intoxicating, and the feel of a light breeze on the back of his neck was almost enough to induce a peaceful slumber.

Ron sat to his left, gazing at the ceiling with a slack jaw and a vacant expression, and even Hermione’s eyes were some-what glazed over as she absent-mindedly scribbled notes from the board. With the Holiday’s peeking around the corner, laziness seemed to infect almost everyone, which was unhelpful as final exams began in five short days.

Harry glanced over at Malfoy, an almost constant routine that he had developed, and watched as the blonde-haired boy inattentively ran his fingers over his wand, checking the smooth wood for blemishes. His lips narrowed into a pout as he found what must have been a smudge, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat as Malfoy gently used the sleeve of his robe to remove the imperfection.

Suddenly, as though Harry’s eyes were a pair of heat lamps, Malfoy turned around to return his stare. Harry realized that a half-smile was forming on his mouth, and he quickly tried to rearrange his features, turning his face away from Ron incase he couldn’t quite manage accurately enough. Draco also turned his head away, “preferably for the same reason,” Harry thought, because although no visual affection had been exchanged, the simple interaction overflowed with a tenderness that was mutually comprehended between the two of them.

A week had passed since he and Draco had been released from the Hospital Wing, and although they had shared a few intimate whispers in abandoned classrooms by night, they were forced to be either strangers or enemies by the light of the day. It wasn’t something that they talked about…It was simply… a necessity that they had both seemed to accept.

Harry repositioned his gaze towards the window again, and realized that with the pressure of examinations mingled with Hermione’s incessant nagging, there had been almost no time, and Harry hadn’t managed to get away to see Malfoy alone for almost three days.

“Hey, look at this, mate,” Ron whispered, nudging Harry out of his daydream. Harry glanced at Ron’s desk and saw a rather humorous illustration of Professor Flitwick that had been enchanted to display the teacher doing wild gymnastics similar to those of a monkey.

Harry stifled a snort of laughter, and Ron grinned widely, miming eating a bananna as Flitwick was writing on the board. Hermione threw them a dirty look, and mimed something unpleasant having to do with a slapping motion, which shut the two of them up fairly quickly.

“I wonder if it’s possible to die from boredom…” Harry mused, steadily slipping back into a hazy stupor. “No…it definitely would have already happened…” He was seriously considering taking a small nap when Flitwick clapped his hands loudly, causing Harry to slam his knee painfully against the bottom of the table.

“So, now that I have your attention,” Flitwick squeaked, “everyone pair up with someone from the opposite side of the room and work on the practical part of the theory. Remember, emphasis on the third syllable, or else your partner’s body hair might turn an unusual shade of green.”

Harry scoured his short term memory, trying to recall if he had heard anything that had been mentioned about the “theory,” but his mind was blank, and he looked at Hermione with a hopeful expression.

“Honestly…I don’t know why I do this,” she sighed, pointing her wand at her paper and muttering the word “Bi-Clonus,” so that the notes tripled themselves efficiently.

She handed one copy to Harry and one copy to Ron, and then looked at the two boys severely. “You know what this means,” she said, shaking her finger ominously. “Next time…”

“There won’t be a next time…” Ron and Harry chanted mechanically, and she nodded her head sharply. “Good, now go find partners, both of you, and remember, third syllable.”

Ron strolled towards Dean, who looked equally confused about the procedure. Harry began to gesture to Seamus, but as he raised his hand in a wave, he felt someone tap his shoulder, and he turned around to see Malfoy standing behind him.

For a moment, he waited, expecting Draco to tell him to move, or more accurately, exclaim that he should “move his scar-head and stop standing around like an idiot,” but no such remark came.

“Yes?” Harry asked pointedly, crossing his arms and wondering what this could be about.

“Let’s be partners,” Draco suggested casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be on friendly speaking terms with Harry.

Harry took a few steps back and looked alarmingly around the room, catching site of Ron’s incredulous expression and Hermione’s disbelieving stare.

“What are you playing at?” he hissed beneath his breath. “You know perfectly well that we can’t be partners. Now…pretend to…curse me or something…. Come on! This is looking weirder by the second.”

Malfoy didn’t move for a moment, and Harry realized that he looked almost offended…but in the next minute, his sneer was back, and he shoved Harry roughly, glaring contemptuously around the room.

“Obviously I’m kidding, Potter,” he smirked, smoothing his hair haughtily. “Don’t stand there like an idiot.”

He stalked away to join Crabbe, who was looking relieved that Malfoy had returned to character, and the two of them whispered behind their hands before laughing loudly in Harry’s direction.

Feeling slightly disoriented, Harry turned back to Seamus and shrugged in what was actually genuine confusion. Hermione caught his eye from the other side of the room, and the two of them exchanged a darkly significant look, which left Harry with a sinking feeling of dread somewhere in his stomach.

After practicing the spell for a few very un-successful minutes, and having managed to do almost everything other than what the charm intended, Harry dropped his wand arm in defeat. Professor Flitwick glanced at his class in exasperation, his eyes drifting from Neville, who had glued his own feet to the floor, to Ron, who was staring horror-struck at Dean’s lime-green hair, and finally called loudly, “Ok everyone! That’s enough now! Return to your seats. I think we need a short reminder about how to engage in proper conduct.”

The class trudged drearily back to the tables, and Flitwick clapped his hands again to indicate that they should all listen carefully.

“Don’t forget that this is a dueling charm,” he said, eying them as if he knew that they all had, indeed, forgotten. “That means that you need to follow the dueling guidelines, which I will review for those of you who are…a little preoccupied.” Harry shifted guiltily in his chair.

“No…I have a better idea,” Flitwick corrected himself, scanning the room thoroughly.

“Skivving off and doing something useful?” Harry muttered to Ron, who grinned in agreement.

“We’ll have two of you come up and see if you can offer a demonstration to the class. Potter, I can only assume that your whispering to Mr. Weasley is an expression of how much you would like to volunteer. Thank you.”

Harry gaped at Flitwick stupidly, and then, deciding that he would prefer to avoid any risk of a detention, slowly got to his feet and walked up to the front of the room.

“Wonderful,” piped the teacher cheerily. “Now, Malfoy, I seem to recall you calling Potter an ‘idiot.’ Perhaps you would like to join him up here and show him how much you know on the subject?”

It was Malfoy’s turn to gape, and he gave Harry a look that seemed to say, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that everyone in the whole school knows what’s going on between us and wants to make it worse.” At least, that was certainly what was going through Harry’s mind. He had only been forced to work in proximity with Malfoy once in his life before, and now two teachers in a row had caused this to happen. It was slightly un-nerving to say the least, besides being annoyingly inconvenient.

Malfoy pulled himself up from the table and hesitantly joined Harry in front of the class, trying to appear composed. Harry had a vivid memory of the last time they had dueled together…their second year at Hogwarts…and of how he had exposed to the school that he was a Parsletongue. It wasn’t a pleasant thought…and he hoped that this experience would prove slightly more successful.

“Now, if the two of you know the proper procedure, then you may commence,” Flitwick was saying from the podium, “But you will stick to the incantations that we have been focusing on during the dueling portion of the semester, and you will remember that your aim is to defeat the other by either rendering him useless (in the safe sense) or causing him to surrender. Begin when you see fit.”

Harry saw Crabbe make a rude gesture and pretend to swoon, causing the Slytherins to laugh raucously, and Goyle was whispering charm suggestions loudly to Malfoy that Harry was sure had nasty results.

The two boys approached each other, their eyes locked and their postures rigid, and when they were face to face, they each bent in a slight bow for courtesy. They held their wands up, and then spun around to walk in opposite directions 1…2…3…4…5 steps. They faced each other again, and spread their legs in the typical Dueling Stance, ready to begin the incantations.

Harry held his wand steady, watching for a sign that Malfoy was starting to use a charm, but Malfoy seemed to be waiting for Harry to make the first move, and for a good ten seconds they simply stood motionless, unable to utter a single word.

Flitwick cleared his throat awkwardly. “You may begin,” he reiterated, peering at them curiously.

Harry shifted his stance, resting his weight on the opposite foot, and tried to force himself to speak. “Come on…” his brain urged desperately. “Just curse him. A little curse…only a little one…You look like a fool.” Malfoy opened his mouth, but then closed it again, looking at his feet uncomfortably.

Once again…Harry had the familiar feeling of being frozen in time. He was unhappily aware of the spectacle that they were causing, but no matter how intensely he tried to force his brain to concentrate, the words refused to leave his lips.

The entire class was hushed, including Flitwick, and no one seemed to want to move and break the strange stillness between the two enemies. Ron’s mouth was half-open, and Hermione’s quill was dripping ink onto her parchment as she stared expectantly at Harry.

Suddenly, Malfoy dipped down into another bow that was much lower than the one they had exchanged previously, and Harry watched him curiously, unsure of what he was trying to do. After a few seconds, Malfoy straightened his shoulders, and without a word of explanation, walked silently back to his table to sit down.

Harry remained up front, still absurdly posed in the Dueling Stance, utterly bewildered about what his next step should be.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered from her seat. “Sit down. It’s over.” Harry looked up and saw that the entire class was staring at him in confusion. He jerked out of stance and walked quickly back to his seat, hanging his head in embarrassment, not able to meet Ron or Hermione’s eyes.

Professor Flitwick made a small sound of incredulity in the back of his throat and stepped down from the podium.

“Mr. Malfoy has just…surrendered…without utterance,” he spoke quietly. “It is…an act to show high…admiration towards another Wizard…and it is…well…it’s rare…”

Harry felt his pulse quicken, and looked up at Malfoy, who was staring straight ahead with an un-readable expression. Crabbe and Goyle were regarding him with mingled shock and disgust, but he didn’t acknowledge them and simply looked forward with steely eyes.

“It’s late…” Flitwick continued, still speaking in a hushed tone. “Homework…study for the exams. Yes…study…class dismissed.”

There was a slight rustling of parchment and bags as the students packed up in a very subdued manner, and Harry walked out ahead of Ron and Hermione, knowing that a confrontation was inevitable, but wanting to delay it for as long as possible.

“Hey, wait up,” Ron called loudly, and Harry’s stomach plummeted. He regretfully slowed his stride, and his two best friends jogged up to walk beside him. For a few minutes, no one said anything, but Harry looked up to see that they were both staring excessively at him, and he sighed in frustration.

“Don’t ask me, because I don’t know any more about it than you do,” he snapped, feeling extremely irritated for some reason.

“Harry…we just…is there anything at all that you’d like to tell us?” Hermione asked quietly, almost desperately. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed how you’ve been acting lately, and we…I mean you…I mean we are your friends, Harry. You can talk to us…”

“Not about this…” Harry thought sadly, and he shook his head in response. “I need some time alone,” he said, refusing to look at them. “I’ll see you both at dinner.”

Without waiting for a response he turned and headed in the opposite direction, feeling an odd mixture of guilt, confusion, and anger running through his body. Almost without realizing it, he broke into a run, his feet hitting the ground sharply and his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. He ran until he reached the place where he had drawn his wand against Malfoy almost two weeks earlier, and somehow, he knew the other boy would be there.

Ducking underneath the bush, he saw Draco sitting in almost the exact position that he had been in the last time they had seen each other here.

Harry didn’t want to ask about the surrender, because Malfoy had already explained. He had explained in the way that he had bowed, genuinely bowed, and in the way that he had lingered in the position for longer than was needed to be courteous. He had explained through his silence, and through his eyes. There was no need for words right now.

Abandoning the tenderness that had been a part of their previous nights, Harry strode towards Malfoy and bent to his knees in front of the boy. Lifting his chin, Harry fiercely kissed Draco’s lips and pushed him to the ground, not caring about the fact that they were outside in broad daylight.

Climbing on top, Harry pressed his body against Malfoy’s, and reached up to run his fingers through the boy’s blonde hair. Malfoy raked his fingers up Harry’s back, echoing the harsh desperation that Harry was displaying, and the two of them merged together in a wild fight for freedom.

Harry’s lips closed on Malfoy’s neck, and he passionately kissed the tender skin as Draco gripped the hem of Harry’s robes with a crushing intensity.

They moved frantically in the underbrush until they were both exhausted and out of breath, and then they lay together for a long time, listening to the soft sounds of the lake and feeling the gentle touch of the breeze on their burning skin.

Hours went by as they lay in silence, with no need for explanations or excuses, and finally when the sun began to sink low in the sky, Draco cautiously sat up and looked down at Harry. His eyes were tired and sad.

“My Father’s getting out of Azkaban,” he said, his mouth pursing as though the words almost stung his lips. “He gave names. They’re releasing him tomorrow.”

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