Hogwarts Express

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            “Here we are.”

            “Excellent,” Draco said distractedly, brows furrowed as he concentrated on slicing the
blackwort root as neatly as he could. “Just put it... anywhere. Hopefully somewhere I won’t trip
over it.”

            Harry nodded, and pushed the eyebright aside so he could set down the basket of dried
fly-agaric mushrooms. “Did you notice this thing is almost entirely plant based?”

            “It’s an old potion,” Draco pointed out, knife steadily working. “Well, it was, until we
meddled with it.” He gestured with the knife to the ancient text beside Harry. It’s cover was
nearly decayed and somewhat moldy, and from its spine hung a chain that Harry had severed last
night from the rest of the chain that still hung from its shelf in the Restricted Zone. Harry had
snuck into the library the night before with the Invisibility cloak to get it. “Would you open to the
potion recipe, please? I want to make sure I cut this right.”

            “Wow,” Harry remarked idly, smiling as he flipped through the brittle pages. They were
the kind of ancient pages some insane wizard had probably infused with poison, so Harry was
very careful with them. “You said please.”

            “Yes, well...” Draco wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand, his hair hanging
loose and all over the place. When he worked very hard on potions, he tended to loose himself to
the process, almost forgetting about looking good at the same time. “I figured we are cloistered
in the oddest of places to brew an illegal potion, so I figured I might as well be civil to you while
I’m at it. Unless you’d rather I not?”

            “No, that’s quite alright. It’s nice, really.” Harry found the page finally, and propped it up
on the stand in front of Draco. “There you are.”

            “Are you doing it again?” A simpering, depressed voice said, and both boys looked up to
see a morose looking ghost floating just outside one of the cubicles. “Oh, he’s new.”

            “Moaning Myrtle, this is Draco Malfoy.” Harry waved a hand at the ghost. “Malfoy,
Myrtle.”

            Draco looked dubiously at Harry. “Thought you said this bathroom was abandoned.”

            “Well, it is... except for Myrtle. She’s helped me out a few times,” Harry said quickly,
trying to avoid a blow up on Myrtle’s part. Draco noted with interest that he had intentionally not
said ‘we’, despite the fact that Draco knew the Weasel and Mudblood had been working in here
with Harry before. Come to think of it, did Harry even hang out with those two anymore? He
wondered.

            “Oh. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Myrtle,” Draco gave a proper smile, and an incline
of the head in substitute for a bow. “I hope you don’t mind our intrusion on your home?”

            “Oh!” Myrtle’s ghostly cheeks flushed silver. “Harry, I like your friend. Feel free to come
around anytime you’d like, both of you!” She looked pleased. “I certainly don’t mind.”

            “Thanks, Myrtle,” Harry said, giving Draco a wry grin. Trust the Slytherin to charm the
depressed ghost. “You were very charming there, Malfoy.”

            “Draco.”

            “Hmm?” Harry frowned, then coughed a few times when Draco poured the roots into the
potion, making it steam profusely.

            “Draco.” Draco waved aside some of the steam, then looked at Harry perfectly seriously.
“We’re sitting on the floor of a girl’s bathroom brewing an illegal potion. I am perfectly aware
that the last time you did this, you were with your Gryffindor friends. If this doesn’t merit calling
each other by our first names, then I don’t know what does. Harry.”

            Harry was silent for a moment, then smiled slightly. “All right. Draco. I can do that.”

            Draco smirked, then asked, “What time is it?”

            “That was random,” Harry blinked.

            “No, it isn’t. What time is it?”

            Harry gave him an odd look, then pulled his sleeve back to check the time on his watch.
“Err... 12:32.”

            “Ten thousand thundering typhoons,” Draco muttered, then stood quickly. “Match starts
in less than half an hour.”

            Harry stared at him for a moment, then a sudden horrified realization crossed his face,
and he bolted to his feet. “Shit! They’ll kill us!”

            “Exactly. Mytle!” Draco called, and the ghost immediately zipped through the door of her
cubicle to look at him. “Watch the potion for us, and make sure no one meddles?”

            “Of course!” Myrtle chirped, sounding surprisingly happy, then Draco and Harry were
racing out of the third floor girls bathroom and down the hall.

            “It’s a good thing we wore our uniforms under our robes,” Harry panted, struggling his
robes off as he ran, exposing his red, gold, tan and leather uniform underneath. “Otherwise, we’d
never be able to make it. As it is, Ron’s going to kill me for being late.”

            “You? I actually am team captain,” Draco shot back, tugging his own robes off. “Peh.
Running is for the peasants. We need to finish this potion fast, so I can just appear somewhere
else, without Apparating.”

            “Would be handy, wouldn’t it?” Harry shot back, paused for only a moment, then decided
to forgo the more traditional route down the stairs. Instead, he hopped up onto the banister,
sitting backwards on it.

            “Merlin, what are you doing, Harry?” Draco demanded, looking at him like he’d grown
an extra head.

            “Taking a short cut,” Harry grinned, then let go, and slid down the staircase in only a
moment.

            Draco stared at him for a second, then rolled his eyes, and clambered up onto the railing
himself. “Forgive me father, for ruining the Malfoy image,” Draco muttered, then let go,
screaming ((literally)) down the railing. He nearly would have flown off the end, except that
Harry caught him, and pulled him off the railing, dragging him by the arm as they started running
again.

            “Have you never done that before?” Harry laughed, still holding onto Draco’s forearm as
they raced through the entrance foyer, dashing out the great oak entrance doors. Draco was
infinitely grateful that no one had been around at the time to see that, because then his image
would have been completely down the drain.

            “No,” Draco said breathlessly, then tugged on his arm a little. “Want everyone to see you
holding my hand?”

            “Wha-? Oh!” Harry hastily dropped Draco’s arm, ears turning red again. “Sorry.”

            At last, they were on the edge of the Quidditch field, and they dashed inside the passage
that, if you turned right, led to Slytherin changing rooms, and if you turned left, led to the
Gryffindor changing rooms. Harry was about to dash left without waiting, but was pulled up
short when Draco grabbed his arm, halting him. Smirking mischievously, Draco looked into
Harry’s eyes, and purred, “Good luck, Harry.”

            Harry blinked, bewildered, and was left standing there as a laughing Draco Malfoy darted
down the right hand passage.

            Then he realized just where they were and what time it was, and swore violently. “You’ll
regret that, Draco!” He hollered down the passage, then grumbling at Slytherins and their dirty
tactics to confuse the hell out of you and therefore distract you from your game, Harry ran off to
the left.