Draco sat on the couch, his back straight, growing stiff and aching as he forced himself not to look at the window for the thousandth time. It was dark. It had been dark ages. Dinner had come and gone, and Potter had not come back.

Draco closed the book he had been reading, though he had been stuck on the same page for what felt like an hour, and finally let himself think about what might have happened. Potter dying was impossible, someone would have told him, or at the very least he would have heard the wailing and shouting even from here if the precious Harry Potter was to die. He squeezed his eyes shut with a shudder, shaking his head to try and get rid of the thought. Even impossible, it hurt.

Another possibility, also unlikely, Potter had decided to stay with his friends. But he knew Draco was waiting, he had told him so. And Draco was...he was almost certain Potter would have sent him a patronus or even an owl; he cared about Draco that much at least.

That meant Potter had no control over what was making him late.

Draco stood up, going upstairs to his wardrobe. Potter was probably injured. Probably. He was good at getting injured, at this point he likely had the school's record for most visits to the hospital wing. Draco grabbed one of his robes, pulling it on as he headed back downstairs, and down the tower. He ran through a few other possibilities in his mind: kidnapping, love potion, professor held him back, auror or ministry requisition... Draco pulled the hood over his head as he stepped out into the cold hallway. And if it were any of those he could track down Granger or McGonagall and ask them what happened to Potter, but he wasn't waiting anymore.

The hallways were so dark they were mostly shadow but Draco decided against using a lumos to light his way. He just hoped his cloak would hide him well enough that he would have time to hide if he stumbled upon a paroling professor of prefect.

He felt Potter before he saw the door to the hospital wing and was flooded with relief, walking even faster in his haste. It was just as he had thought, Potter had gotten hurt somehow.

"Hey! It's after curfew. What house are you from?" a voice called from behind him.

Draco stopped. He had been so focused on getting to Potter, he had forgotten to pay attention. It wasn't like he could run away. Draco hoped he could convince whoever it was he was sick and let him go to the hospital wing unimpeded.

Draco turned, recognition mixing with dread as he stared at the big fifth-year ravenclaw boy, the one that liked to slam him against walls. At least his greasy little friend was nowhere to be seen.

"Of course, you'd be a prefect," Draco said.

The fifth-year bristled, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That bullies make good tattle-tales," Draco said, "I should know."

"Don't you dare fucking compare me to you, you slimy fucking worm," the fifth-year snarled, stalking towards him.

"You know I had nothing to do with what happened to your sister," Draco said, feeling remarkably calm.

"Fuck you fuck you, don't you talk about her, don't you ever-" the fifth-year grabbed the front of Draco's robes, raising his fist.

Draco grabbed the boy's wrist. He felt the fifth-year try to jerk it back, but Draco held on easily. He squeezed the boy's wrist and watched in fascination as his fist uncurled, twitching with pain as he cried out. Draco was stronger than him. But not as heavy, he didn't have the weight so it would be important that Draco didn't let the boy get the upper hand.

"Let me-! What?! What's going- Let me go!" the fifth-year said, letting go of Draco's robe and pulling back.

Draco followed him, letting the momentum carry them back, shoving the fifth-year against the wall. He grabbed the boy's robes and shirt at the collar, twisting them tight around his throat.

Draco could feel the thrumming heat filling his hands, his hands changing into talons, tearing through the fifth-years robe like tissue paper. The fifth-year's free hand clawed at Draco hand at his throat, his blunt nails sliding off the scales forming on Draco's skin, the fifth-years eyes growing wide and panicked by what he felt there, almost more white than colour. The boy could still breathe, Draco could hear the wheezing.

All he would have to do is squeeze, it would be so easy- Draco felt his hands twitch, his heartbeat picking up with a sudden burst of adrenaline and excitement.

No.

No. He wasn't a killer. He wasn't going to-

He loosened his grip.

No.

Draco took a deep breath then another. Trying to calm himself down.

"...I was sixteen when I had to take the mark," Draco said quietly, "I did a lot of terrible things. But I never went on the raids. I've never killed anyone. And I'm sorry about your sister."

The fifth-year stared at him, frozen like a rabbit and looking just as stupid.

"I'm trying to be better," Draco took another calming breath. "That said, if you ever touch me again, I will gut open and strangle you with your own intestines." He let go of the fifth-year and took a step back, "Do you understand me?"

The fifth-year nodded frantically, sliding along the wall away from him, "What are you?" he said, utterly horrified.

"A monster," Draco said, his voice sounding hollow in his own ears.

The fifth-year edged a few steps further away before turning and bolting back down the hallway.

Draco didn't move. His hands changed back and then began shaking as the reality of what had just happened washed over him.

How much of him was this cruel monster? And how much was him? Was his cruelty something he learned, or something he had in him all along-? like a cancerous rot.

Draco shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut.

He was trying to be better, but was it even possible? Or was there just something wrong with him? Something he couldn't fix.

-

-

Draco eased the door to the hospital wing open just wide enough to slip inside. He headed towards a bed near the end of the room where Potter was but paused near the door. There was one other bed, occupied by a younger student, he had tossed and turned and kicked most of his blankets off, the arm laying over his stomach was covered in fresh pale scars that looked like a bite mark, from something big.

Draco stared at the scars before turning and looking out the window. The moon was heavy, but it wouldn't be full for a few more days. There were only a few things that magic couldn't cure entirely and left a scar, all rare and mostly dark, and one was the wounds left by a werewolf.

Draco hurried to the other occupied bed and cast a silencing spell around it. There was an empty potion vial by the bed which Draco picked up, squinting at the label in the low light. It was dreamless sleep, which meant Draco would have to wait until morning to talk to Potter. At least there were no blood-replenishing potions, no dittany, and no new scars.

Potter was laying on his side, Draco sat on the edge of the bed, leaning against his back. Potter's hair was tangled and knotted, looking rough, wet and then dried again. Draco ran his hand over the hair spread over the pillow, finding a few pieces of bark and a fragment of a twig which he carefully pulled out. He started at the bottom, combing and untangling Potter's hair one strand at a time, being careful not to pull even though he knew Potter would sleep through it. His hair smelled like sap and pine needles, and the smell lingered on Draco's fingertips.

By the time he was done, Draco could comb through Potter's hair from root to tip without a single snag. And he was no longer shaking. He knew he'd probably get in trouble if he stayed but decided being yelled at was far better than leaving ever would be.

Draco laid on the edge of the bed, slipping an arm around Potter. The pillow was too small to share, but he was tired enough that it didn't matter.

-

-

"Mr Malfoy, what do you think you're doing?"

Harry's first thought was that Pomfrey's shrill voice was probably one the worst things to wake up to, if for no other reason than it meant he was in the hospital wing again. He could hear Malfoy's trademark morning grumble behind him, as well as him trying to avoid getting up by hiding his face; pressing it into the back of Harry's neck, his lips brushing across the sensitive skin.

Harry shivered, not fully aware of how strange it was that Malfoy was even there. But it was nice. He was happy that Malfoy was here. That's all that mattered.

"It's fine," Harry said, his voice low and broken by sleep.

"It most certainly is not," Pomfrey snapped, obviously put into a bad mood by waking up to an unexpected visitor in her infirmary.

"You can't make him not have been here when he already is, and I don't mind so-" Harry said.

"So nothing. You will owe me a detention once you are done with your changing, Mr Malfoy," Pomfrey said, "And I won't hear otherwise." She turned on her heel and walked to the other end of the room.

"What sort of detention would it even be?" Malfoy muttered.

"Changing bedpans?" Harry suggested for a lark.

"Ughhhh," Malfoy groaned, squeezing his arm tight around Harry.

Harry laughed, "I doubt there will be anyone here who needs a bedpan. And you'd probably just vanish the, uh-"

"Don't," Malfoy warned, "don't even. I haven't had breakfast yet and you're going to ruin my appetite."

Harry would have been happy to stay as they were all day, but Malfoy let go and slowly sat up. After he had a few seconds to will himself to move, Harry got up as well. He winced as a brief wave of dizziness washed over him that seemed to settle into a faint throbbing headache. Harry grimaced, pressing a hand to his head. He didn't like headaches, they reminded him of... the past.

"Careful, careful," Pomfrey tutted as she came back, handing Harry a pain potion, "You had a bit of a concussion. I've done what I can to reduce the swelling and injury, but there's only so much magic can do when it comes to the mind."

"A concussion?" Harry said, drinking the potion quickly and shivering as the pain in his head faded.

"What else?" Malfoy nearly demanded.

That earned Malfoy a disapproving look before Pomfrey looked back at Harry, "You broke a few ribs, along with some other minor fractures, those are all healed, although you should know well enough by now that they will be a bit more fragile for a month or so."

Harry nodded, wondering what happened to the wolf, "No one else was hurt?"

"No," Pomfrey said and then softened as she glanced back at Thomas, "Thank Merlin."

"Can I go then?" Harry said.

"No, you cannot," Pomfrey said.

"Why? You said you healed everything you could," Harry said.

Harry got the disproving look this time. "You need to rest, but I can't keep you here-"

"Then-"

"-until Minerva talks with you, that is," Pomfrey said, "She wants to hear everything that happened. Hermione and Ronald will be coming as well. So you will stay here until then." She turned to go back to Thomas' bed and spun back around, shaking a finger at him, "And rest."

Harry turned to Malfoy, "What're you doing here?"

Malfoy grabbed a handful of Harry's hair and pulled, "Was I just supposed to wait like a good maiden in a tower and just hope you weren't dead?" gave his hair another tug.

Potter winced though it barely hurt, "I was knocked out. It's weird that Hermione or Ron didn't tell you."

"Why in the world would they? They don't like me," Malfoy said.

"They don't hate you or anything, and they know I like you," Harry said.

Malfoy let go of Harry's hair with a flush, "So what happened?"

"A student got attacked," Harry said.

"I gathered that much on my own," Malfoy said, nodding to the bed where the young student was sleeping, "and you came to the rescue."

Harry frowned at him, "I couldn't leave him-"

"I know," Malfoy said. He placed his hand over Harry's threading his fingers through Harry's, "...but not knowing was... terrible."

"Sorry, chickadee," Harry said, his voice soft as he leaned against Malfoy, "I just couldn't leave him."

Malfoy nodded faintly, biting his lip in thought.

McGonagall's clipped, no-nonsense footsteps made them look up.

"How are you doing, Harry?" McGonagall asked, summoning three chairs, which arranged themselves at the end of Harry's bed, and sat down.

"I feel fine," Harry said quickly, not wanting to be trapped in the hospital wing, "Good as new."

Malfoy shot him a look.

"I'm glad no serious damage was incurred, although I do wish no one had been hurt at all," McGonagall said. She clasped her hands together over her knees tightly, her knuckles going white, "I've temporarily changed Hogwarts wards so no one can go in or out. I will notify all the students that the severity of the threat has changed later today."

Malfoy swung his legs off the edge of the bed, his rigid posture a fair imitation of McGonagall's. Harry grabbed his glasses, squinting at them for a second to make sure they weren't cracked or bent before putting them on, the room coming into focus.

"Hogsmeade is reinforcing their own wards," McGonagall said, she looked down at her hands, stretching them out, forcing them to relax with a frown, "I had hoped this year would be calmer and safe. I want my students to be safe."

"You're doing what you can," Harry said awkwardly.

McGonagall looked at Malfoy, "...I'm surprised to see you here, Draco."

Malfoy's chin lifted, looking nervously defiant, "I was worried about him." he waited, anticipation writ all through the tension in his body.

"Good," McGonagall said, she nodded, "I'm glad. I hoped the two of you might work out your differences. You have far more in common than you think."

Malfoy relaxed, through his looked a little put out that he didn't have to defend himself.

McGonagall hesitated and then sighed, "I was hoping to speak to you sooner than this but the time leading up to the break is always hectic-"

"Yes?" Malfoy said, worry replacing the tension.

Harry wanted to reach over and hold Malfoy's hand again, he wasn't even sure when Malfoy had pulled his back. His hand felt colder for the absence.

"Are you planning on going home for the holidays?" McGonagall asked.

Malfoy shook his head, "I can't leave, so Mother would have to come here and with the international portkey and- it's just easier not to."

"I understand," McGonagall said.

"If it's not to much trouble," Malfoy added nervously, "I would appreciate being able to firecall my mother."

"Of course, you can use the fireplace in my office, you won't be disturbed there," McGonagall said.

Malfoy nodded, relief washing over him.

There was an awkward beat as they all seemed to run out of things to say.

McGonagall looked towards the door, "I did tell Ron and Hermione to be here promptly after the first bell."

"They're just down the hall," Malfoy said.

Harry and McGonagall looked at him.

"So s-soon," Malfoy said, tripping over his words, "...I think it's them anyway..."

The door the hospital wing was pulled open, Ron and Hermione shuffled inside, both still looking sleep ruffled.

Harry and McGonagall looked back at Malfoy, who was looking studiously at his hands.

"Is this related to your veela abilities?" McGonagall asked.

Malfoy nodded, glancing at Harry, "I can feel people coming. I think maybe it's their magic I'm sensing, but I haven't actually been around any muggles to test it."

"Why would veela need such a... unique ability?" McGonagall asked.

"Probably to sense other veela, they were- are very territorial, but that's just a guess on my part," Malfoy said, mumbling a bit.

Ron and Hermione sat down in the other chairs. Ron yawned hugely, prompting a mirror yawn from Hermione.

"Wait..." Harry said as he slowly began adding things up in his mind, "Is that why you always know when I'm coming?"

Malfoy nodded.

"And all those times you startled me-"

Malfoy was trying not to grin and failing, turning his head to hide it.

"You little shit," Harry said.

"Now it won't be nearly as much fun," Malfoy said, putting on a morose tone.

Harry glared at him, "You're still going to do it though."

"I mean... probably, just a little," Malfoy said.

"If we could get on with the task at hand," McGonagall interrupted.

"Um, right," Harry said, "How much do you already know-?"

"Please start from the beginning," McGonagall said.

Harry nodded, "I heard someone yelling- we were on the road outside Hogsmeade- so I ran into the forest."

"You ran towards the danger-?" Malfoy said.

Around him, no one batted an eye.

"When you knew it was likely a werewolf?" Malfoy said, in disbelief.

"Oh, Harry told you?" Hermione said.

Harry shook his head.

Malfoy frowned, "I saw the plaster cast Potter made of the werewolf prints, and spoke with Hagrid who told me about the thestral."

"You saw the prints? Why didn't you say anything?" Harry asked.

"I wanted to see if you'd lie to me," Malfoy said.

Harry flinched.

McGonagall cleared her throat, "If we could return to the topic at hand."

"Uh..." Harry said, "r-right... so I- I followed the tracks in the snow and the- the blood until I found Thomas. The wolf had started tearing into his jacket, so I hit it with a cutting curse."

McGonagall tutted.

"I wasn't really thinking. I just wanted to get its attention away from Thomas, and then I hit it with a blasting spell which threw it a ways off, and I grabbed Thomas." Harry looked at McGonagall, "I remembered what you told me as I was heading back towards the road so when it caught up with me again, I used a binding spell, but it was already jumping and I got thrown back into something and that's all I remember."

"You were thrown into a tree," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Ron said, "We found you at the base when we showed up. The werewolf had already torn through half the ropes around it, so Hermione and I both hit it with blasting curses. It flew pretty far. I was sort of hoping that'd finish it off."

"It might have broken some bones, but that wouldn't slow a transformed werewolf down for long," McGonagall said.

"It was transformed?" Malfoy asked with a confused frown, "the full moon is still days away."

"I didn't get a good look," Hermione said.

"Looked hairy enough for it, I think," Ron said.

Harry felt his skin crawl just remembering it, "I remember how Remus looked when he changed and... that thing in the forest looked wrong. It didn't look fully wolf or human, like it was starting to turn back and just stopped."

"What are going to do about the boy?" Malfoy asked, his voice sounding strained.

He was looking down at the occupied bed where Thomas still slept, with an expression that made the hair stand up on the back of Harry's neck.

Harry looked from Malfoy to Thomas, trying to understand what he was missing.

"His wounds were treated with powdered silver and dittany and have healed as well as can be expected," McGonagall said, "We won't be able to tell if he's contracted lycanthropy until the next full moon, or perhaps even the moon after that, it can take a while to manifest-"

"No, that's not- the thestral died," Malfoy interrupted.

"What?" Ron said, "but we were there when Hagrid healed its leg, it was fine."

"Hagrid said it never recovered, it just weaker and wouldn't eat or drink, and he had to put it down." Malfoy looked back at the Thomas, "so what if-?"

Hermione gasped, her eyes going wide, "It's sick, the werewolf is- I knew it was strange that every time it was seen it was transformed but nowhere near a full moon. If it was sick, that would explain it!"

"If you could please get to the point, Hermione. This sounds quite serious," McGonagall prompted, her mouth pressing into a thin line.

Hermione nodded hurriedly, talking even as she was obviously already thinking far ahead, "I've never read of any specific cases with a werewolf, but there have been cases of animagus being unable to change back because they were too weak or ill and doing so would kill them, it requires a great deal of energy and magic to change forms like that, so it stands to reason a werewolf could get stuck in the same way, especially since werewolves can heal nearly any mortal wound while transformed but don't retain the ability when they aren't-" she stopped abruptly and frowned.

Harry exchanged a nervous look with Ron, that look always meant trouble.

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"Werewolves can heal nearly any mortal wound," Hermione repeated slowly, "if the werewolf has been transformed for over a month and it hasn't healed itself... whatever it has could be very dangerous. The transformation might be the only thing keeping it alive."

They all looked over at Thomas, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully in his bed. Harry shuddered.

"How dangerous?" McGonagall asked.

"Is Hagrid still healthy?" Hermione asked.

"He was yesterday, at least as far as I could see," McGonagall said.

"Okay. And we haven't heard of any other animals or people getting sick and dying suddenly," Hermione said, "So I think it's safe to say it's probably transmitted through blood or saliva. We'll need to put Thomas under a stasis spell to be safe until we know for sure if and what he's been infected with."

"Poppy!" McGonagall called as she stood up, already heading towards Thomas' bed, Hermione at her heels.

-

-

Ron stretched his arms over his head with another yawn, slumping down in the chair.

"Now what?" Malfoy asked.

Ron shrugged, "Now we wait for Hermione to tell us what to do."

Malfoy stared at him.

"Hermione's planning to be a healer," Harry explained.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, before turning to Ron, "It would have been nice to know Potter was injured."

Ron raised an eyebrow, "You can call him Harry, you know."

Malfoy flushed.

"You could've sent Malfoy a patronus or an owl something?" Harry asked.

"Not you as well!" Ron said, throwing his hands up dramatically and then laughing.

Harry felt himself blush as well, "I've only ever called him Malfoy. He's Malfoy."

Malfoy nodded faintly, rubbing a palm against his red cheek.

"Barmy, the both of you," Ron shook his head. "Well...after we got you and the kid out of the forest, Hermione and his friends took you two back to the castle. I went and stopped anyone else going down the road until I got enough prefects together and we could move the students in groups and then went to check up on you, and yeah," he shrugged, "it was late, and we were knackered. Sorry."

Malfoy nodded silently.

Ron stood up, "I'm gonna see if Hermione wants me to do anything before I head to breakfast." He patted his pockets and pulled out a silver tin, "Catch, Malfoy," he said, tossing it to him.

Malfoy caught it easily and turned it over in his hands, "Bruise balm?"

"Well, I'm not gonna do it. Have fun!" Ron said and then laughed before going over to Hermione.

Harry glanced back at Malfoy and found the source of Ron's amusement was Malfoy having gone entirely red.

"What?" Harry said.

"It's-" Malfoy's voice caught, and he cleared his throat, "it's for you. You hit your back pretty hard." he turned the tin so Harry could see the label.

"Oh," Harry said and ducked his head, "It's not that bad." He sat up straight and rolled his shoulders, only to wince from the stiff ache in his muscles.

"Not that bad," Malfoy said flatly. "Do you want me or Pomfrey to put it on? And please be aware that 'I'm fine' is not one of the options."

"You," Harry said.

"Not exactly a difficult choice, I am definitely the more attractive of the two of us," Malfoy said.

Harry laughed.

Malfoy popped the lid off the tin and waved at Harry to hurry up.

Harry turned around, popping open enough buttons to pull the pyjama top over his head.

Malfoy sucked in a startled breath.

"That bad, huh?" Harry said lightly.

-

-

Bruises bloomed across Potter's shoulder blades and down, mottling across his ribs, staining his tan skin wine purple and blue with dark red spots in the centre of the largest marks. Draco reached out, brushing his fingers over Potter's back, his skin twitching and jumping under his touch.

"Does it hurt?" Draco asked quietly, pulling his hand back.

"N-no," Potter said, "You're- you're always so gentle."

Draco scooped out a generous amount of the thick yellowish gunk, and spread it across the worst bruise, bigger than his hand, spreading it over Potter's skin. "Should I be rougher?"

"No. It's fine, you're fine," Potter said, his head dropping his chest, as his voice softened to an almost sleepy slowness.

"You think I'm gentle," Draco said. He moved to Potter's other shoulder, being far too through with the balm than he really needed to, tracing the lines of Potter's back. Potter's breathing was as calm and slow as it was when Draco used his calming.

"Yeah..." Potter said, "It's nice. ...I like it... just not used it s'all."

If Harry Potter wasn't used to be treated gently, then Draco thought he ought to spend as much time as he possibly could utterly spoiling with Potter with tenderness. For as long as Potter would have him. And he had a few more secrets no one else knew, little shining treasures that belonged only to him.

"He likes carrying people and being treated gently, who would believe the great Harry Potter was so soft," Draco teased lightly.

"Probably no one," Potter said, far too honestly.

Draco bit his lip, getting another dollop of bruise balm and sliding it over Potter's ribs, eliciting a surprised jump and laugh, "...and he's ticklish."

"Sh-shut up!" Potter laughed, fighting to keep himself from pulling away from Draco's touch.

Draco didn't try especially hard not to tickle him, at least until Pomfrey told them to quiet down. Draco went back to rubbing into the balm on Potter's upper back, he was fairly certain it didn't need to be rubbed in, but if Potter wasn't complaining, he wasn't going to stop.

Once Potter caught his breath back, he said, "...And I'm sorry that I lied to you."

Draco made a dismissive noise, "Well, we weren't... we weren't..."

"Together?" Potter suggested.

Draco felt his face get hot and wondered if Potter would ever stop making him feel so endlessly flustered, "Is that what we are?"

"If you want," Potter said.

"I already told you, I want," Draco said quietly. "Do you?"

Potter nodded.

"Okay," Draco said, grateful that Potter was faced away from him. He pressed his hot cheek into his shoulder. "And anyway, I learned something important from you lying to me."

He felt Potter twitch faintly under his hand.

"I think, you thought you were protecting me," Draco said.

"S'not like you could have done anything. I didn't want to worry you."

"That sounds about right..." Draco said, "Since- since we're learning about one another- Right-?"

"Right," Potter said.

Draco nodded to himself, "Since we're learning about one another, I'd rather worry. I'd rather know. I- being lied to is a thousand times more painful. You're not protecting me by not telling me, you're- it hurts far worse."

A shiver went through Potter, "Okay. Okay-I won't- I'll tell you. I promise."

"Careful," Draco said lightly, trying to distract things so maybe his cheeks would have time to cool down, "They say if you're not careful a promise can stick, whether you mean it or not, and then you have to call a curse breaker."

"Is that true?" Potter asked, looking over his shoulder and then grinning hugely.

Draco turned away so Potter couldn't see his face, wiping his hands off on his discarded hospital shirt, "I don't know. It's a story, everyone's heard it."

"Oh, so it's like your ears burning when someone's talking about you," Potter said.

"What?" Draco had to look back to frown at Potter, "That doesn't make any sense. Is it a jinx?"

Potter shrugged, turning back around, "It a muggle thing, like a superstition. I think I've heard if you sneeze it's cause someone's talking about you too."

"It sounds like a child's play curse," Draco said.

Potter raised his eyebrows.

"You know, when you were a kid, and you'd find a stick and point it at things and make up spells," Draco said.

"Raised muggle," Potter said with a sad smile, "sounds like fun, though."

Draco nodded absently, "It was. Until I did magic by accident and turned a couch into a zebra."

Potter's smile grew, "Did you really?"

"It broke my great aunt Matilda's stupid fabergé egg," Draco grumbled, "Mother repaired it, but I was in trouble for ages. It's not like I wanted a zebra, much less one that kicked things and wouldn't listen."

"What did you want?" Potter asked.

Draco glared at Potter, daring him to laugh, "...a unicorn."

"Like your wand core," Potter said.

Draco's frown grew as he studied Potter's expression, looking for the hints of mocking that surely had to be there, like the sigh of disappointment his father had done when he brought his new wand home. He had been so proud of it too, until then.

"It suits you," Potter said.

"Stop it, stop making me blush," Draco said irritably.

"Why? I think it's cute," Potter said with that stupid smile of his.

"It is not," Draco said petulantly, "I look like a boiled prawn."

Potter's grin grew, "That too, but still cute."

"Shut up," Draco muttered.