"Don't talk to me, Potter," Draco says bitingly as soon as Harry enters the Slytherin common room. Arching an eyebrow, Harry watches the other boy stomp from the room and down into the dormitory. Given that he had had approximately no intention of talking to Draco, he finds himself slightly amused, and he looks from Draco to Blaise and Theodore.

"He been rehearsing that?"

"It's been very theatrical," Blaise confirms dryly, nodding his head and sprawling back against Theo's thighs. Theo, to his credit, is paying absolutely no attention to the other boy. He has his head buried in a green-covered book that declares itself to be The Compleat Guide. What, exactly, it's a complete guide to, Harry cannot actually tell. In mirror image to Blaise Zabini, Winston is curled on Theodore's other side, his little face pressed under the cloth of Theodore's outer robe, and Harry's lip twitches. He slips down into the library, entering a few books Remus had given him to settle onto the shelves, and he considers lying down and having a nap.

He'd stayed awake almost all night, looking through the last of his mum's old photos, and by the time he'd remembered he was back to school tomorrow, "tomorrow" had meant "in two hours". At the very least, there are no classes today, and he can be grateful for that.

Setting down the last of the books, he elects to flee the Slytherin common room for a little bit, and he makes his way up towards the great hall. In the entrance hall, students filter in from the courtyard outside, shaking off broomsticks or dizzily regretting their mother's portkey enchantment, and under McGonagall's keen surveillance, a few students step cleanly (or clumsily) out from the temporary Floo they've made of the fireplace.

Harry catches the first year Hufflepuff that had given him a Chocolate Frog card a few months back - Beth something, his mind vaguely recalls - as she flies out of the Floo at high speed, and he raises his eyebrows in McGonagall's direction as she shakes her head and regrets this year's Hufflepuff stock. He meets another Hufflepuff upon entering the great hall, though, and he offers Cedric a grin of greeting as he takes the mirror the other boy proffers him.

"Any luck?" Harry asks, and Cedric sighs, shaking his pretty head. He could be a model, Harry thinks vaguely. Cedric Diggory is exactly the sort of man they get for Muggle cologne adverts - some sparkly bottle called Vampire or Sin or Heaven. Harry holds the mirror in his hands, feeling its weight in his hands, and he turns it over to examine it. Engraved in a swirling text on the back are the words In degrees, I show the way.

"I've tried it under all kinds of light, carried it around - took it out under the moonlight, tried putting it into the lake... There's a bathroom just for us prefects, and it's got all different kinds of bubble bath, but it didn't do anything in the bath, either. I was thinking, what kind of angle does it want me to hold it at, how should I be making it reflect things?" Harry nods his head and keeps his expression neutral; likes Cedric, honestly, but he can't help but wonder what made the other boy try to take a bath with the mirror.

"I guess I'll try everything I can, then. We've still got time." Cedric earnestly nods his head, and he pats Harry on the shoulder as he turns back to the Hufflepuffs. Harry settles at the Gryffindor table, half-heartedly joining a conversation with Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas: the two are positively animated about an upcoming Quidditch match, and it's nice to let their excitement wash over him as he thinks on the mirror.

Maybe he should put it in the fireplace?

"Bit surprised to see you showing your face in here, to be honest, Harry," Seamus says, with only a slight edge of hostility. "I kind of think your man Malfoy has got the right idea."

"What do you mean?" Harry demands, glancing suddenly up from the mirror's gilded edge, and then he sees where Seamus' finger is pointing. On the front of today's Daily Prophet, in a smooth, green text is the byline Written by Rita Skeeter. "Oh, God," Harry groans, and reluctantly pulls the paper towards him. Skeeter had apparently waited the week until everyone was back in school to publish the "article" about he and Draco fighting in the flowerbeds - it suggests hamfistedly that both them and Viktor have been seduced by the terrible Hermione Granger, and implies that Viktor is a foreign predator.

It's one of her worst articles yet, and reading it makes Harry feel just slightly sick with anxiety - how many people read this nonsense?

"Cheers for letting me know, Seamus," Harry mutters, and he holds the mirror tightly under his arm, quickly heading out of the great hall and weaving his way through the dungeons towards the common room. He takes his time, meandering through the corridors he doesn't use as often and chatting half-heartedly with the lonelier portraits, and when he comes into the common room, he finds the other Slytherin boys all sat together. Theodore has his head in a book, and Draco is firmly ignoring Harry, instead staring at a piece of parchment and not actually writing on it. Blaise is half-asleep, leaning against Crabbe's shoulder with his legs crossed over Goyle's lap. Usually, Harry is sure they'd throw him off, but it's a bit chilly in the common room, and the fire seems reluctant to start properly.

He places the mirror in his wardrobe, and he returns to the common room with a book to read and a paper bag with some of his gifts from Christmas in it.

"Narcissa- er, I mean, Mrs Malfoy, she sent me these," he says, finishing awkwardly as Draco glares at him. He picks out a small, pink box, and he takes some of the pods inside out. He heads over to the fire, and drops them in. Immediately, it roars to life, sending a beautiful wave of heat through the room that makes a lot of the Slytherins sigh with relief, but then the pods crack open in the fire, and they send out their fiery wisps.

One is a stallion that gallops and jumps through the air, and another is a shark that dives and flips above their heads: they're called Flookes, and they're a Zonko's product, Harry is pretty sure. Theodore grins as he watches the flaming figures dance through the air, and despite himself, Draco looks like he's trying to hold back a smile.

"What's this, Potter?" he demands. It lacks the icy edge he attempts to add to it. Harry looks back to him, and he sees what Draco has pulled from the paper bag. Brandishing his new weapon with hilarious authority, Draco holds the fly swat Ted Tonks had sent Harry for Christmas.

"It's for killing flies," Harry says simply, sitting on the arm of Theodore's armchair and coaxing Winston into his lap. "You swat them with the flat bit. It's a Muggle thing - I got sent it as a bit of a joke." Draco furrows his silver brow, examining the swat with an unwarranted fascination.

"What's it made of?" Draco gives it an experimental wave, and he looks so ridiculous that Harry can't help but grin at him. He's still annoyed at the other boy, obviously, is still furious with what he did, but... Draco Malfoy is such a ridiculous idiot of a boy even when he's not holding a fly swat. It's difficult to take him seriously.

"Plastic," Harry answers, and is about to go on when Draco yells, "A-ha!" and slams the swat down on the coffee table. There's a quiet crunch, and Harry arches his eyebrow. Draco pulls the swat away from the table, showing the green shell of a beetle clinging to the swat's thatched main piece. "Well done."

"I thought flies and stuff couldn't get in here?" Blaise asks tiredly, opening one eye. There are enchantments on the doors and windows, but Harry knows they're not foolproof.

"It's probably from one of the NEWT Potions people," Theodore explains, without looking up from his book. "Alyssa Harvey was chasing after a pink mouse the other night. Put it in the fire, Draco, don't just leave it there." Taking out a handkerchief, Draco cleans up the remains of the beetle from the swat and the table and drops the whole, green mess into the fire. Just as the Flookes had, the crushed beetle lets up a little ghost of green - Harry thinks, just for a second, that the smoky ghost resembles a set of spectacles.

"Did you see Skeeter's article in the Prophet?" Draco asks, glancing back from the fire. Harry nods his head. Draco waits for a few, long moments, looking at Harry's face, and then he says, "Sorry."

"Apologize to Hermione and Viktor, Draco," Harry says. "There's no point apologizing to me." When Draco holds out the swat, Harry takes it, and they both linger for a few moments, staring at each other. Harry is torn - he wants to yell at the other boy and tell him how pathetic he's been, but he knows Lucius and Narcissa have probably already done that, albeit with completely different motivations. "You want to play chess?" he asks, the words coming out more coolly than he'd intended.

"You'll lose," Draco says.

"Bet you a Galleon I won't. Bet you this fly swat that I won't." Draco smiles at him.

"Fine," he says. He and Harry both know that Harry's going to bed a Galleon poorer and minus a fly swat, but in all honesty, that's sort of the point.