The Goodwill Games

September 8th, 1998, Hogwarts Castle


It had been a miserable first week back at Hogwarts for Draco Malfoy.

Apparently he'd become something of a pariah in his own house, something which he supposed he should have anticipated, but which still rankled nonetheless. His father had managed to secure house arrest for himself and would undoubtedly, through his money, regain all his former glory in time. Not so for himself. Every child in Slytherin seemed to blame him for every bad thing that had happened; the death of Vincent Crabbe, the death of Gregory's father and other Death Eaters, the loss of parents to Azkaban, exile, or house arrest, the loss of status promised by Voldemort, the loss of innocence, since he'd been the one to let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts to start with. It was all somehow his fault. And they let him know it at every turn.

As he was walking towards Potions class, Blaise and Pansy giggled and whispered something--Draco caught the words 'pathetic' and 'ferret' and knew they were referring to him. An instant later, his books began to fly about his head, trying to snap at him and bash him in the face. Snarling, he cast a counter-hex at them and they dropped to the floor in a sickening crunch of paper and bindings. Blaise and Pansy, along with all the other students in the hall, laughed uproariously. Draco flushed and knelt to gather his things, his heart racing, telling himself over and over not to react. It would only lead to worse things.

He managed to gather his belongings and hurried to Potions, where at least he was able to work alone on his potion; all 7th years had that privilege, as a way to test their knowledge and skills. At least there was one bit of gratifying news in this class; whatever miracle had allowed Potter to excel during his 6th year had apparently vanished. He was back to struggling with his Potions and asking his friends for help. Draco allowed himself a tight smile, adding his components.

It didn't last long, however. Draco had time to notice that his potion wasn't the prescribed colour, and then it exploded in a hot sticky mess, all over him. This time it was Hannah Abbott of Ravenclaw, who laughed at his expense. "Death Eater!" she hissed at him, and Draco knew he should have checked his components for any mysterious additions before adding them to the pot. He silently began cleaning up, raging inside.

Slughorn tsked at him, and Draco had to bite his cheek to hold back a scathing response. "Really, Mr. Malfoy. I expect better work from you. And you, Potter! That's not really the correct colour either . . . I do hope you haven't lost your brilliant touch!"

Draco grimaced as he cleaned off his robes. Despite the fact that he knew Slughorn had heard or witnessed other Slytherin students taunting and hexing Draco, he hadn't done a thing about it. And Draco knew why. His family name held no prestige. No prestige or power. He was like an insect in Slughorn's eyes. Utterly invisible. The man was a true Slytherin; he'd grant him that.

Class ended, and the other students left, while Slughorn went to his office to prepare for his next class. Draco was left alone, finishing up with the cleaning of his desk. At least this was his final class for the day; he could hide in his dorm room until dinner time and work on homework. With the desk finally clean he hurried to the door to be on his way.

And ran hard into Harry, who had suddenly returned to the classroom.

Harry must have been moving fast; they slammed into each other hard enough that Draco was pinned against the door frame with Harry pressed against him, hard enough that they actually banged heads. Draco caught a whiff of something enticing, and realised a second later that it was Harry's scent. He was aware of the scratch of Harry's robes against his wrist, the brush of Harry's hair against his throat. Draco's heart was pounding. He remembered being pressed up against that back as flames beat around them . . . .

Then Harry was stumbling back, eyes flashing bright in anger. "Watch where you're going!"

Oh that was rich, that was. It instantly brought Draco out of whatever stupor he'd been in. "Watch where I'm going?! You watch where you're going! Charging through the door like a bloody ogre! Perhaps you need to get rid of those ridiculous round glasses and find some that work, Potter." He tried to smooth his robes but that was a useless gesture; they were already a mess. It didn't help that Harry's mouth was open, revealing how perfect his lips looked when he was angry, or that his cheeks were flushed. Really, nobody should look that bloody good when they were being an idiot.

"Yeah, well, perhaps you need glasses too!" Harry snapped, brushing past Draco to walk over to his desk. He picked up a book he had left there and stuffed it into his bag. "Forgot something, that was all," he said in a lower tone. He looked embarrassed. It served him right, Draco thought, fuming.

"Forgot your brains back when you were an infant, no doubt," Draco muttered, as Harry moved past him again to exit the classroom. Harry threw him a dark look over his shoulder, but said nothing, heading off. Draco blew out a soft breath. He willed his heart to stop beating so hard and for other parts of him to stop . . . paying attention. He hated Harry.

And yet, he was still terribly, terribly attracted to him.

Checking the hallway for any other errant Gryffindors speeding headlong towards him, Draco headed out of class and down towards the Slytherin dungeon dorms. He walked neither too fast nor too slow. Either was an invitation for attack. He kept his head up but made no eye contact with anyone, expression blank. He wondered if this was how Father had practised his detachment. It worked. Most of the time.

He made it back to the dorms without further incident and gave the password, then passed through the common room, ignoring the stares of students, heading straight for his room. His roommate was a first year--none of his class had been willing to share with Draco. He gave the young boy a glare. The boy quickly left. Seniority--and a bad reputation--had its merits.

From the drawer of his nightstand, Draco pulled out the photograph that he kept close in its silver frame, setting it on the table. He scrubbed at his eyes. It would never do to start crying. Especially if the photo's subject happened to be in.

The moment that Draco set the frame down, the subject did return, sauntering leisurely, his black eyes missing nothing. Draco swiped at a tear which had escaped one eye. The photo sneered. "Let me guess. Potter."

Draco pressed his lips together, feeling the familiar burn in his chest, the sting in his eyes. He should be over it by now. Slowly, he nodded.

The portrait of Severus Snape gave a sigh, rubbing his forehead. "We've discussed this before. You know that I don't even think you should be at this idiot-infested school any longer. Your parents could always transfer you to Durmstrang or somewhere." He stared at Draco's robes. "I don't imagine that was an accident."

Draco only shrugged. "Someone planted an incorrect ingredient into my potion components. I'll keep better watch next time." He curled up on the bed, holding his knees to his chest. "You already know why I had to return."

Snape blinked once, revealing little emotion. "Yes, and I think you must be a true masochist to endure it."

"Look who's talking," Draco snapped back.

That got a little crooked smile. "Touché. Do you really anticipate that things will change, though?"

A smaller shrug this time, with one shoulder. It wouldn't be so awful, if he had just one friend here on his side--one friend who wasn't dead, that was. Draco kept his voice carefully neutral. "Not really. I just . . . I have to see it through. I want to know why he did it."

Snape rolled his eyes. "He did it because he's an insufferable hero who has to save every poor soul he sees. He was merciful to Pettigrew, for Merlin's sake. It's nothing more than that." He pinned Draco with a hard look. "You need to find an environment where you can excel again, where your intelligence and your talents can be appreciated. Despite McGonagall's grand words, I do not think that you will find it here. I certainly never did."

"And yet you stuck through. You didn't leave for greener pastures." Draco wasn't having that argument, not from Snape.

This time it was Snape's turn to shrug. "I never denied my own foolishness. I made a vow and stood by it. I'll say nothing further on the topic." He turned to leave.

Draco reached out to touch the frame, even though he knew it was a useless gesture. "Professor--Godfather--I just want to say thanks. Thanks for listening. Thanks for your advice." Ironic that in the months since Snape had died, they'd grown closer than they ever had in life. There were a lot of things that were ironic in Draco's life.

A glimmer of warmth appeared in Snape's eyes. He gave the barest of smiles, the barest of nods. "You're welcome." With that, he was gone.

Draco lied down on the bed, staring up at the stone ceiling, mentally mocking himself for what his life had become. Snape was right, of course. In Europe he'd be treated with respect, even awe. He wouldn't have to deal with all this. But he needed to know. Had Harry simply saved him because that was what Harry did?

Or had it been more? Had he felt it, that spark between them, while Draco had been pressed up against him, when their hands had been holding on tight . . . Did Harry get that queasy feeling, the racing pulse?

The most depressing thought was that he might never find out.

***

Same Day, Hogwarts Castle


Harry tried to shake off the feeling that there was something different about Draco--besides how bloody quiet he was being so far this year, of course. Besides the fact that he'd seemed to have suddenly found himself the butt of jokes from all Houses. No, that wasn't it. There had been something strange, something different about the way he'd looked at Harry.

Harry couldn't put his finger on it.

And that encounter they'd just had in the potions classroom--that had been very strange. Harry was used to the tension between them, the enmity, the hatred even. But that hadn't been what he'd felt. Truthfully, he felt a little sorry for Draco now. Yes, the fellow was still a complete prat. But he was paying for his loyalty to his family, and his father in particular. Harry just couldn't feel the heat of anger against Draco any longer. There was still heat. A strange, electric heat. But it wasn't anger.

Shrugging off the strange feeling, Harry continued walking. He needed to go back to the Gryffindor dormitory to get started on his History essay, but he really didn't feel like it. He'd been exploring the castle a bit this first week, noticing the gaping holes in outer walls that were still not repaired. Some of them had canvas over them to keep out the morning chill, though the weather wasn't too cold out yet. That would be different in a few months. Rubble had been cleared away and all the broken windows had been replaced. But he could see what McGonagall was talking about. The castle was still wounded.

This brought Harry to his current destination. He'd been wondering about the Room of Requirement since his first day here, but he hadn't had a chance yet to see if the door would appear, or what shape the Room would be in. He could do his homework later. Right now, he wanted to test the castle.

Harry stood in front of the wall where the door should be, trying to think of what exactly he needed. He needed to see the room where things were kept. It would be lovely if he could get his Potions book back; he was just barely managing to get along in that class this year, despite hard work. Slughorn had to be suspicious.

He concentrated on that, and walked back and forth, three times, hoping, praying . . .

The door appeared.

For a moment, Harry wasn't sure if he was breathing; his heart was pounding so hard. Slowly, he walked up and put his hand on the handle. It wax cool to the touch. The door appeared to be intact, undamaged. He pulled.

The door wouldn't budge.

He tried harder, jiggling the handle, pulling with all his might, but no matter what he tried, the door wouldn't open. He pounded hard on it, but to no avail. For all Harry knew, it could be a door in a wall with no room behind. It simply wouldn't open.

Finally, Harry turned away in frustration. He headed over to McGonagall's office. He wasn't sure how much McGonagall knew about the Room now; the Order members had used it to get into Hogwarts that night of the battle. But he didn't know how much she knew about it besides its existence. He debated asking her about it, then decided it was probably better not to tell her that he was trying to find out about it.

With a last glance at the fading door and a sigh, Harry went to go do his homework.

***

September 15th, 1998, Hogwarts Castle

Draco awoke one morning aware that something was wrong.

It only took him a moment or two to discern what; somebody had violated the wards around his half of the bedroom, and opened up his dresser of drawers. He had an early morning's History class today, and he was already running late; apparently his charmed clock had not rung at the time it was supposed to. In fact, as he looked over at the night table, the clock wasn't even there, but on the floor, knocked over.

Furious, Draco leapt to his feet to take stock of his room. At the end of a frenzied search, it appeared that only two other kinds of things had been taken. His socks. And his underwear.

Grimacing, Draco got dressed in his robes, donning his shoes without socks. He took his book bag and stepped into the Slytherin common room, to see if this had been a simple prank where his things were nearby, but there was no sign of them there. It had to have been someone from his House, most likely an upper Year student by the spells needed to slip past his wards. Pansy or Blaise, perhaps. Neither of them were in the common room, and the blank stares from the others told him nothing. With a snarl, Draco left the dorms and headed towards class.

It was when he was passing under an archway near the Great Hall--an arch which ironically a few years earlier had held a pair of dangling shoes--that Draco found his things. The black and white socks were tied together to hang as garlands from the archway, a sight which had many a student sniggering as they passed by. As for the underwear . . .

Draco's briefs had bespelled to hang from the ceiling, each one nicely spread out to display the fact that yes, they were in fact briefs, all black. Draco's one consolation was that they were all clean.

He stared up at them for a moment, feeling hollow and defeated. As if on cue, whatever spell had been holding them suddenly ended. He found himself covered in a rainshower of his personal things. Naturally this produced uproarious laughter around him. Sighing, he pulled the briefs off his face, plucked a sock off his shoulder, and began gathering everything up. He would most certainly be late for class.

Despite the spectacle he must be at the moment, Draco refused to allow emotion to show. Inside, he was a raging ball of fury and betrayal. Outwardly, the only sign he allowed to show was the slight shaking of his hands as he gathered up his socks and underwear.

That was, until Harry Potter stepped up and knelt down to help.

Draco froze as he looked up, expecting that electric green gaze to be on him but instead, Harry was looking down at the floor, swiftly snatching up socks (Draco noticed he judiciously left the briefs alone) and handing them to Draco. With that pale skin, it was impossible for Harry to hide the fact he was blushing slightly. Draco snatched the socks from him, scowling, feeling an uncomfortable heat pass through him. "Saving me again, Potter?" It wasn't the best retort in the world. But it was worlds better than having Harry stare at him while his arms were full of his private things.

Instead of answering, Harry just gave a shrug, watching as Draco hurried to gather the rest of his things before other students could snatch them and carry them off. "No," he said at length, stepping in front of a young Gryffindor trying to make off with something. The student--stammering--dropped the sock and ran off. Draco caught it as Harry tossed it over to him. "Do you know who did it?"

Draco debated answering. "Someone in my House, or able to get into my room. Past my wards." He stared at Harry, wondering. Harry certainly knew more about secret rooms and passageways in the castle than anyone else. But Harry didn't look to be enjoying this little spectacle. And it would be far too Slytherin, too cunning, for him to use this as some sort of plan to befriend Draco. Harry just wasn't that brilliant.

"I guess you have a few enemies, after last year," Harry said in a low voice. This was dangerous. Why were they actually having a conversation? Particularly one where Potter sounded like he felt sorry for Draco? Draco sneered, feeling something black and ugly take place of the loneliness and humiliation he'd felt a moment ago. He stood up, holding his things tightly.

"Don't let it be a concern to you, Potter. I can manage my own affairs. Go on and let yourself laugh like the rest of them. I don't care." The hurt in his chest belied that statement, but Draco held firm, chin up, aristocratic and untouchable. He saw a sparkle of mirth in Harry's eyes and just about punched him. How dare he think this was funny!

"Black, Malfoy? Somehow that doesn't surprise me." Harry stood up as well, backing away, rubbing the back of his neck as if it burned him. Well at least they were back to familiar territory. Even if they both were still blushing.

"Oh I imagine yours are red and gold with a little 'H' sewn in them like those awful jumpers," Draco retorted. Left to words, he could always outsmart Harry.

Harry smiled, and Draco felt that peculiar warmth flow through him again; it felt like his stomach had suddenly down a slow flip. "Oh they're black too." With that, he turned around and walked away, leaving Draco with an image emblazoned on his mind.

Draco was simply thankful the robes and the armful of socks hid the effect of that image.

***

September 30th, 1998, Hogwarts Castle


An announcement had gone out a week before: the first Goodwill Game would take place on the last day of the month. Students were delighted when the afternoon classes were cancelled, and everyone was told to gather in the Great Hall. They were divided by class year and team. The first game would be the same for all years, but with varying degrees of difficulty.

McGonagall stood before all of them, as Harry tried to avoid looking at Draco, tried to avoid thinking about him. Ever since that sock incident, he'd been having disconcerting dreams about walking in on Draco in his bedroom wearing only those damned black briefs. What was worse was that the dreams came complete with a morning erection. Why couldn't he have a nice dream about kissing Ginny or something? It was like his body was rebelling after too long a lack of, well, anything. He'd also had one dream about Oliver Wood and riding his broomstick that had been weirdly erotic. It was very distressing.

"I see that everyone is together in their teams; thank you for your participation. The object of this game is fairly simple. There are a number of special items which have been hidden around the castle. Each team will be assigned one of these items to go and retrieve," McGonagall began, as Harry dragged his attention back to the matter at hand. She held up a basket which seemed to be filled with strips of black cloth. "Now here is the catch. All of you will be blindfolded and tied together. All of you, that is, except for one student per team. This student will be given the location and description of the item, and it will be their responsibility to lead the rest of you to that place, retrieve the item, and return it here. You will be dependent on their instructions, so please listen carefully. For each bump, bruise, fall, or injury, the team will be counted down. The team who retrieves their item the quickest while maintaining the safety of the entire team will win today's game. Good luck, all of you."

Why was it no surprise to Harry that Draco was the one holding the envelope with the clues to their item?

At least Draco had the grace to look embarrassed about it. "I certainly didn't pick this job," he snarled, when it was time for the 7th years to line their teams up. McGonagall went so far as to dictate their order, placing Harry first behind Draco. This of course meant that Harry would have to hold onto Draco's waist, to be led along by him. Yikes. Just . . . perfect.

Behind Harry stood Luna, and then Ernie and Hannah. Glancing over at the other teams, it looked like in many cases it was the Slytherin member who was leading--except in the case of Goyle. Apparently he'd either begged off successfully or been considered a risky venture; instead Ron was leading that team, with Goyle directly behind him. Harry couldn't help but snigger. Ron leading could be almost as scary.

They helped put each other's blindfolds on, and McGonagall came by to ensure that they were secure, tightening and adjusting where necessary. It was certainly effective; Harry couldn't see a thing.

"A reminder to you all; there is to be no magic allowed in today's game. If I sense the tiniest charm, if I see one wand out, that team will be disqualified, and will share a one hour detention which I will ensure will be unpleasant. I hear Hagrid has a new creature needing to be looked after . . ." Harry heard students groan in response to McGonagall's words. Hopefully it wasn't another batch of Blast-
Ended Skrewts.

"You hear that, Malfoy?" Ernie hissed, reaching around Harry to poke Draco in the back. "If you bloody mess this up, I swear, we will get even. Won't we, Harry?"

"I--" Harry stammered, taken by surprise. Suddenly he was glad he wasn't in the 'driver' seat. He remembered still Ernie's accusations from second year, how quick he'd been to judge someone he barely knew. "I know he'll try," he said instead. Silence greeted that statement, and he wished he could see the expression on Draco's face. Under his hands, he could feel Draco's lithe frame, warm even through the robes. A muscle twitched on Draco's back as Draco shifted his feet. Harry swallowed. This wasn't supposed to be this . . . arousing.

Draco cleared his throat. "I'm going to try and make my instructions simple and clear. 'Duck your head' means duck your head. If there are stairs, I'll say so, and whether they lead up or down. We're going to move quickly, so hold onto each other. It's not my fault if you trip each other up or let go." His tone was gruff, but Harry could hear the nervousness underneath. He knew as much as any of them that this was important. He could ensure himself a year of torment. Or he could redeem himself just a little bit.

"Start now!" McGonagall called in a clear, loud voice."

Harry had to hurry and grip harder as Draco began moving forward, trying to rush them towards the door probably to beat the other teams there, Harry figured. He gave sharp commands for them to mind the tables and benches, jerking Harry aside at one spot for reasons Harry didn't know. "Filch's cat," Draco said by way of explanation, as they passed by the main doors, the wood rubbing against Harry's sleeve.

A few minutes later, Draco quietly said, "Stairs. Up." They could only hear the distant sounds of other students now. It was eerie and rather exciting, Harry had to admit, walking around the castle without being able to see anything. They reached the landing of the second level, and then suddenly Draco reached an arm back and shoved Harry against the wall. "Against the wall, everyone!" Something splattered on the ground where Harry had been, and he felt water splash his leg. "Peeves is dropping water bombs," Draco said by way of explanation. Of course the mischievous spirit would take advantage of a mostly blindfolded school.

There was another splash, further down near Ernie. Draco yanked them forward, and Harry almost lost his grip, he hugged himself tight to Draco's back to avoid that, and the group moved forward again. The most annoying thing about this entire trial was that Harry's other senses were heightened. And Draco smelled divine. Harry wasn't sure what it was, but it was good enough to eat. And that was just so very wrong.

Another set of stairs up, and they began winding through a series of rooms. Harry tried to keep track of where they were, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. "Are we there yet, Malfoy?" Ernic called with exasperation in his voice. Harry felt the muscles in Draco's back tensing up. He wondered if Draco's expression showed any change as well.

"Almost there," Draco said in a low voice. "They've set up some obstacles. Watch your knees, Potter. Benches. We have to climb over them. Hang on, everybody."

Harry had to say he was impressed. Ernie kept trying to goad Draco, whether to trick him into making a mistake or just to hound him, Harry wasn't sure, but Draco was keeping his temper, quietly instructing them as they made their way through what must be a classroom--Defence Against the Dark Arts, possibly. Suddenly Draco stopped, and Harry bumped into him. He cursed under his breath. The last thing he needed right now was for Draco to figure out that he was actually excited, doing this. Luna was pressed up against his back, but he hardly felt her. All his attention was on Draco.

"What's going on? Why aren't we moving?" Hannah asked from the back. She sounded impatient.

Harry could feel delicate muscles moving in Draco's back, indicating that probably Draco was reaching for something. But he couldn't know for sure. And then Draco was clutching something to himself, turning them around back the way that they had come. "I've got it. Remember the benches. Let's move."

"What is it?" Hannah asked as they turned around.

"Looks to be a pixie in a stoppered bottle," Draco replied, and Harry felt him shrug. "Must be for one of the DADA classes." And certainly something they didn't want to break open, Harry reflected. He could hear a tiny pattering on glass.

They retraced their steps quickly, Draco reminding them where obstacles were, knowing that while they might remember there were four benches, they wouldn't know exactly where those benches were. They reached the staircases, and heard a strange sound; that of stone grinding on stone. Ever since the start of the school year, the stairs, which had been full of movement Harry's first year at Hogwarts, hadn't moved at all.

That apparently had just changed.

Perhaps it was a sign of the castle recovering, Harry considered, but it couldn't have had worse timing. He heard Draco swear softly under his voice, and a pull as Draco changed directions. "We'll have to use the north stairway," he said by way of explanation. The other teams were likely returning by now as well. They had to hurry.

"Hold on tight," Luna said, the first thing she'd said since the start of the game. "He's going to have to hurry." She sounded calm, unperturbed by things. Harry envied her.

"Bloody right he will," Ernie said, and he sounded anything but calm. They scooted along one after the other, and Harry had the humorous image of what they must look like--a snake, probably, all winding and sinuous.

Draco managed to find the other staircase, and they hurried down the steps. Harry had to push back at one point though he didn't know who had faltered--either Ernie or Hannah, he thought, because Luna was light-footed and quick. They hurried to the next staircase. Harry could hear another team coming. It sounded like Hermione's.

"Hurry!" Draco hissed, the stress finally showing in his tone, as he pulled them along towards what must be the entrance of the Great Hall. They hurried along, but it was impossible to run with the blindfolds. Somebody behind Harry tripped. They all went down in a pile, and Harry could hear the other team scooting past them. "Bollocks!" Draco swore. "Get up! We're almost there!"

Harry reached over to help Luna and Ernie get up. Draco pulled on Harry, and soon they were all standing again, finding their positions once more. They hurried forward, and Harry felt the doorway again, and the way the sound changed as they entered the larger chamber. Draco stopped them all, and spoke. "We've retrieved the pixie." Harry felt him hand over the bottle.

"Well done. You're the second team to return; Parkinson's was the first," McGonagall stated. And just like that, the blindfolds were removed, and Harry could see again. He blinked in the light of the chandeliers and saw Hermione waving at him, looking triumphant.

Hannah stomped over to Draco, standing nose to nose with him. "We would have been first if you hadn't tripped us all up at the end there!"

A tic showed in Draco's jaw, but he said nothing. Harry actually felt the need to stand up for him. "He did his best. Second's not bad at all." As Draco turned to look at him in surprise, Harry felt himself blushing. He cleared his throat and looked away from Draco.

Hannah snorted and shrugged, obviously not convinced, but she walked away from Draco, apparently at a loss on what to do when he wasn't reacting. Ernie just looked disgusted. Luna walked up and gave Draco a kiss on the cheek. Draco stared at her as if she'd grown a second head. "I agree with Harry. I think you did a marvellous job. It was fun, wasn't it? I do hope they watch out for Snarfblazzers after this, though. They're attracted to fun and games, you know." With that, she sauntered off to go congratulate Hermione and her team. At Draco's puzzled look, Harry just shrugged.

"She must have had an interesting childhood," Harry said.

Draco shook his head. "She's still having an interesting childhood, I'd say." And with that, he went to go sit down at the Slytherin table. Alone.

Harry sighed.

He needed to talk to Hermione. A couple things had become painfully clear today. One, he didn't hate Draco any longer. But then he could truthfully say he hadn't hated Draco since the day Dumbledore died and he'd seen that Draco couldn't actually kill him. Still, it had progressed from not actually hating him, to almost begrudgingly respecting him.

And two, he was attracted to Draco. A bloke.

Yes, definitely time to think that one over.

***