Harry’s feet were functioning better than his brain at the moment. Correctly realizing that he would be waylaid by his friends in the Gryffindor Common Room or dormitory, and that Snape was already well-aware of his usual haunts of the Owlry, Astronomy Tower, and Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory, his feet took him to a place where his welcome was assured but others were unlikely to find him: the kitchens.

His arrival caused the usual stir among the house elves, but his request for a cup of cocoa and a quiet, hidden corner were promptly fulfilled. By the time he had finished his hot chocolate, his mind had emerged from the white-hot rage that had consumed him, and the enormity of his actions dawned on him.

Snape was going to kill him.

And when the professor was finished with him, Draco would have Crabbe and Goyle jump on what few scraps of tattered flesh remained.

But the worst part of all was that Harry deserved it.

He still wasn’t sure how it had happened. The Dursleys had treated him unfairly thousands of times, and he just took it and took it. He had never snapped like this before, never took out his fury on some poor soul who just happened to be standing there. Oh, Merlin! Did I just think of Draco and “poor soul” at the same time?

But this time, he was so angry with Dumbledore that he thought his head would explode, and what did he do? He went straight to Snape’s and punched the first person who spoke to him. Harry wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have socked Ron if he had been the one to address him. He had acted out of pure fury, not rational thought. At least Draco would have attacked someone in order to make himself feel better. Harry didn’t even have that excuse.

Harry sighed. He knew Snape wouldn’t actually kill him nor let Draco’s goons hurt him – much – but he also knew he was going to get about a million detentions and one heck of a spanking. And he also knew that he couldn’t console himself with the thought that Snape was overreacting or being unreasonable or unfair. He had behaved very, very badly and done something even Draco would have scorned. Draco would never have been dumb enough to just walk in and punch him in the middle of Snape’s quarters, for Merlin’s sake. Harry groaned. He was a complete idiot. And – based on his actions – not a very nice person, either.

Well, he might not be able to do much about being an idiot, but he could at least try to fix the other. “Twinkle,” he called to a nearby house elf. When the little creature promptly came over, twittering with glee at the prospect of being of service to Master Harry Potter, he asked her to bring Draco Malfoy to him. He could at least apologize to the other boy, not that he expected him to accept it.

“Yes, Master Harry Potter Sir! Twinkle is getting Master Draco for youse!” she popped away, clapping her hands in excitement.

Harry figured there was a good chance he was about to get a retaliatory punch in the nose, but he still had to say he was sorry. He knew Snape would make him apologize again, in public, but he also knew that Draco would – quite rightly – scorn that apology as one coerced by threat of gruesome punishment. Harry wanted Draco to know that he really was sorry, even if the Slytherin just sneered at him.

He sort of hoped that Draco would try to punch him, because he expected that the house elves around them would react very badly to the sight of the unpopular (at least with house elves) Malfoy attacking him, the elves’ favorite student. Then he berated himself for wanting to see Malfoy covered in chocolate pudding and pinched till he was black and blue; he needed to remember that, thanks to him, Draco was the victim in this situation and he was the villain. Still, it was comforting to realize that however much Draco might want (or be entitled to) revenge, he wasn’t going to be able to exact it right then and there.

A moment later, Twinkle reappeared, a struggling Draco in her grasp. “Here he is, Master Harry Potter Sir! Just as youse asked!”

“Potter, you f–“ Draco visibly got a grip on his tongue. Profanity was something the lower classes used. “I see you’re moving up from assault to kidnapping, Potter. The Headmaster will be very interested in this, I’m sure.”

“Twinkle! I didn’t tell you to kidnap him!” Harry exclaimed in horror. “I just wanted to talk to him.”

“Oh no! Master Harry Potter Sir is angry with Twinkle!” the hapless house elf wailed.

“No, wait!” Harry grabbed her just as she was about to bang her head against the flagstone floor. “I’m not angry. I just – erm – was surprised by your initiative. Good job.”

“Really?” Twinkle gasped with delight. At Harry’s nod, she danced away, ecstatic over his praise. Harry turned guiltily to Draco.

“Uh, sorry about that. I forget that house elves can get a little carried away. I really only wanted to talk to you.”

“And if I don’t want to talk to you? What are you going to do, punch me again? Oh wait, let me close my eyes so you can take me by surprise like last time.”

Harry colored. “Malfoy, can I please just apologize? You know I’m going to catch holy hell over what I did. I just wanted to say I’m sorry before Snape catches up with me.”

Draco sneered. “Yeah, right, Potter. Like you really regret hitting me. The only thing you’re sorry about is that Snape is going to punish you. Are you apologizing in the hopes I’ll tell him to go easy on you?”

“Yeah, right. Malfoy, the only thing less likely than you asking Snape to go easy on me is him listening to you if you did. We both know what I’m in for, all right? I don’t think he’d let me off if I fell off the Astronomy Tower and was in the Infirmary with a dozen broken bones. He’d just levitate me into position the second I regained consciousness.” Despite himself, Draco couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter at the mental image Harry had conjured up. Harry managed a rueful grin of his own. “And besides if I were trying to make points with Snape, would I really have brought you down to where I’m hiding out? You think the house elves care that I’m apologizing?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “So why are you apologizing, Potter? You can’t expect me to believe you actually mean it.”

“Look, Malfoy, we both know that you do plenty of things that I would be more than justified to hit you for, and in those cases the only way you’ll hear an apology from me is if Snape is making me. But whether or not you believe me, I am sorry for hitting you today. I wasn’t even mad at you. You were just in front of me when I lost it. And so for once you didn’t deserve it and yeah, I’m sorry.” Harry looked hopefully at Draco, but the Slytherin’s expression was inscrutable. As the seconds ticked by, Harry glanced furtively around to make sure the house elves were otherwise occupied, then leaned forward and whispered, “Look, if you want to punch me back, go ahead. I won’t tell.”

“And let you show Snape your own bloody nose? I don’t think so! Is this a set-up, Potter?”

Harry sighed. “No. Sheesh, Malfoy, you have a suspicious mind. I just thought you might feel better if you punched me. I forgot that you punch like a girl. That’s why you keep Crabbe and Goyle around.”

“Shut up, Potter!” Malfoy snapped. “Just because Malfoys prefer not to bruise our knuckles like you brawling troglodytes doesn’t mean we can’t punch when we want to. I’m just not willing to let you off so easily.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to frown in suspicion. “What do you want, Malfoy? I already apologized.”

“In Slytherin, if you do someone an injury, you’re expected to make it up to him. So,” Draco looked at him expectantly, “what are you offering?”