The first Quidditch match of the season was Slytherin versus Ravenclaw, and Harry found himself looking forward to it with anxiety-tinged enthusiasm. He brought one of his research texts to the pitch, out-Hermioneing Hermione as it were, and the bushy-haired girl didn’t appear to appreciate it. She urged Harry to put his work away for once, earning an amused glance from both he and Ron.Harry shrugged. He was certain that once the game began he’d be too caught up in it to pay attention to anything else, but while everyone milled about for seats it gave him something to do. He had also begun to realize something Hermione had no doubt long since been aware of: that when he was reading or researching, people tended to forget his presence, which was a welcome respite for the Boy Who Lived. Besides all of that, he often overheard useful bits of information when he was purportedly paying attention to some obscure text or other; and he was beginning to develop an instinctive, subconscious sense of when he needed to tear his attention away from the words in front of him and focus quietly on the events surrounding him.

Perhaps Hermione did not know these things; sometimes he and Ron would joke that a bomb could drop and Hermione would still have her nose in a book. She was remarkably difficult to disturb once involved.

Harry’s attention slowly turned outwards at the murmur that arose in the Gryffindor stands; Draco Malfoy was making his way over to them, already in full Quidditch regalia. He paused before Harry and knelt, rather obviously trying to avoid the eyes that were now focused on the two of them.

“Problem?” Harry asked, noting Hermione and Ron eyeing Draco with every evidence of great dislike. He supposed it was hard to forget certain facts about the other boy when Draco was dressed in flowing robes of silver and green.

“Not particularly,” Draco replied, glancing up from underneath silver lashes. “Just wanted to know if you’ve got any last-second orders for me. Sir.”

Harry blinked at him. “Someone on your team piss you off, Malfoy?”

Draco’s grey eyes widened in surprise, and then he chuckled grimly. “You could say that.”

“D’you want Slytherin to lose, then?”

“No,” Draco replied sullenly and rather automatically.

“Do your best, then. That’s an order, I suppose.”

Draco’s lips curved wryly. “Yes, well,” he murmured, attempting to stand and not quite finding the leverage. Harry took Draco’s elbow and hauled up, while Draco rested his other hand on Harry’s knee. One half-stumble later and Draco was back on his feet, nodding to Hermione and Ron. “Weasley. Miss Granger.”

“Good luck, Draco!” Harry called, causing several of the other Gryffindors to turn and stare. “Well,” Harry muttered when he realized that one of those staring was Ron, “it’ll be better for Gryffindor if Slytherin wins, Ravenclaw’s ahead of them in points...”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Uh huh.”

Madam Hooch released the Snitch, and, moments later, released the quaffle. Harry watched, closing his Botany of Desire book with one finger betwixt the pages to keep his place... Ernie MacMillian was commentating, his officious voice perfect for the job.

“Ah yes, the Ravenclaws have an excellent team this year,” he murmured appreciatively into the megaphone. “Oh dear me, quite a near-miss with that Bludger just past Cho Chang... And the Quaffle is passed from Rawley to Higgins – Higgins to MacPherson – and the Ravenclaws score! Excellent teamwork from Jennifer, Agatha and Colin of Ravenclaw!”

Harry scanned the area above the real action, where Draco and Cho appeared to be conversing none-too-civilly, judging by the set of Cho’s shoulders and the sneer on Draco’s face, visible even from where Harry was sitting.

“– and the Slytherins have the quaffle – and –” Ernie broke off to gasp as one of the burlier Slytherin beaters hit a Bludger with unfailing accuracy – at Draco Malfoy.

“Draco!” Harry shouted, finding himself on his feet – Ron was dragging him back into a seated position, but Harry had warned Draco in time – the blond Slytherin shot up into the air, the Bludger scraping the side of his broom. For a heart-stopping moment, he spun out of control – Harry was on his feet again, shaking Ron off, his wand out. If Draco fell, he would conjure something, he would figure something out –

But Draco was slowly correcting the course of his broom, glaring at Cho as she giggled.

Harry took a deep breath and began to sink back down when he saw Severus Snape standing in a rather similar position directly across the Quidditch pitch. Their eyes locked for a moment, and Harry grinned and shrugged bemusedly, seating himself.

“Could you be a bit more obvious?” Ron demanded. “Try flashing lights that say ‘I love Draco Malfoy’ and charm them to follow you, maybe?”

“What?” Harry demanded, the aftereffects of adrenaline flooding him, making it particularly hard to feel embarrassed. He was still focused on slowing his heartbeat, on telling himself that Draco was all right. As his mind latched on to the words and parsed them, he turned to Ron. “What?” he repeated, more emphatically.

Ron shrugged, looking uncomfortable; Hermione watched the pair curiously.

“You don’t really think–” Harry began. “I mean, he almost fell!”

Hermione tilted her head to one side, considering. “It just seems rather sudden. Last year the two of you hated one another – oh, excellent save!” she enthused, as the Ravenclaw Keeper swung nearly off of his broom to catch the Quaffle with his outstretched fingers.

Ron eyed Hermione gratefully. “Yeah,” he murmured. “What she said.”

“Snape said I ought to befriend Draco or give up on associating with him altogether,” Harry replied defensively. “I’m just trying to do that.”

Harry shook his head, trying to keep his eyes off of Draco and Cho for the sake of appearances, but frankly the rest of the game wasn’t as interesting to him. He was a Seeker, and was most interested in the tactics of other Seekers – and besides that, both Cho and Draco were poetry in motion in the air. And his friends, both of them, or close enough. He forced himself not to feel guilty for keeping his attention above the rest of the game.

“It’s only natural, Harry,” Hermione said absently, twirling a bit of hair around one finger. “There’s no television at Hogwarts – Parvati and Lavender have to entertain themselves somehow. Just yesterday they had me half-convinced that Professors Snape and Sinistra are conducting some sort of torrid romantic rendezvous every Tuesday evening at the top of the Astronomy Tower.”

Ron gagged. “Thanks for the mental image! Why would those two want to obsess about Snape and Sinistra anyhow?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermione trailed off, tossing a wicked glance in Harry’s direction. “Professor Snape’s hair looks awfully nice since I... er, since someone charmed it that auburn colour.”

“Someone charmed it bubblegum pink and we both know it was you,” Harry returned. “He was none too pleased, you know.”

“What?!” Ron barked. “Pink? When!” He frowned ominously. “What d’you mean it looks awfully nice?”

Harry gasped – he’d caught sight of the Snitch out of the corner of his eye. Come on, Draco, it’s right there, he thought forcefully, staring at the wink of gold. Right there, look, to your left...

Draco suddenly caught sight of the Snitch and began to wind lazily down, looking as though he were merely gaining a new vantage point from which to await the Snitch’s appearance...

One of Draco’s teammates hit another Bludger in his direction, but it didn’t matter... Draco had shot forward like a firecracker, and the Bludger missed him by a mile... The blond Slytherin leaned forward on his broom, fingers outstretched, lips moving. Harry deduced that he was almost certainly urging his broom to even greater speeds...

Another Bludger headed Draco’s way, this one finally from the opposing team – the other Bludger followed it closely, a half-second later... Harry blinked, wondering just how many people on both sides were against Draco Malfoy in this game.

It scarcely mattered. Draco wove amoungst the projectiles with grace if not ease, flipping up-side-down to avoid one Bludger in a move so fluid that a quiet, admiring murmur rose from the Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw stands. The Slytherins, of course, were on their feet, roaring. Harry had the absurd urge to join them, held in check only by Ron and Hermione’s presence at his side.

Draco’s fingers closed around the Snitch, in the best bit of flying Harry had seen since the Quidditch World Cup. The blond-haired boy waved the Snitch in the air as he banked out of his dive.

“And Slytherin wins after a rather daring capture of the Snitch by Draco Malfoy, two-hundred fifty to one-hundred eighty points!”

Harry whooped enthusiastically, grinning as Draco did a victory lap around the stands. Most of the Gryffindors around Harry were booing at this rather ostentatious display of both Draco and the captive Snitch, but Harry noted that Ron and Hermione were both quiet if not enthusiastic. When Draco reached them, he quirked an eyebrow at Harry and broke into a grin, releasing the Snitch for a split second only to grab it again.

“We all saw,” Hermione informed him rather dryly, but her expression was tinged with amusement.

Draco glared at her briefly, than shook his head as if to clear it of all irritation, as if even Hermione’s presence could not spoil the moment. “It was incredible!” the Slytherin enthused. “I mean, you told me to do my best and I just did it, somehow, like it was just any old order! Go on – go on, order me to... to kiss Pansy Parkinson!”

Harry laughed. “See, Hermione?”

Hermione shrugged. “Well – it’s Ron that said it, bring it up with him,” she suggested. “Frankly, though, I think he’s just a bit jealous...”

“Jealous?” Harry said, noting out of the corner of his eye that Draco’s own eyes were narrowing.

“Well, yes,” Hermione temporized. “Don’t be upset, Harry, but you’ve been spending more of your time with Draco than with us, lately.” She blinked as though startled by her own words. “Not that I mind! I honestly, honestly don’t,” she repeated, catching Harry’s odd gaze. “I think it’s natural that whenever one makes a new friend, he or she spends a great deal of time with that friend at first.”

Draco blinked. “New friend?”

“Well – yes,” Hermione said. “I mean, right?”

“I guess so,” Harry conceded, eyeing Draco, who wore an expression of perplexity – the way, Harry realized, he often did when dealing with Harry. Harry considered himself a relatively uncomplicated person, so he had to wonder what it was about him that the other boy found so difficult to understand.

“Frankly,” Hermione said in a low voice, “it’s the same with Yolande and myself... so Ron’s feeling – well, maybe just a bit left out. Can we try to include him, maybe? Uhm, a get-together or something?”

Draco paled and actually took a step back, but Harry snatched at his upper arm and held on for dear life. “Certainly,” Harry replied coolly, tossing the other boy a sharp glance. “Maybe this Hogsmeade weekend?”

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! That’ll be perfect.” She turned her gaze on Draco suddenly, and went slightly stiff, although her voice was warm. “That was some excellent flying, Draco. I may not have seen much Quidditch, being a Muggleborn and all, but out of what I have seen I must say you were spectacular.”

Draco looked even more confused than before, staring at the bushy-haired Gryffindor. His gaze flicked from hers to Harry’s, rather obviously at a loss. “Uhm, thank you,” he mumbled, flushing.

“I won’t pretend this will be particularly easy,” Hermione tacked on once she finally received her response. “But, well, you’ll have another Slytherin to talk to, and hopefully Harry and Yolande can help bridge the gap between you, myself and Ron. Uhm, I’ve probably said too much already, but I find it’s best to be open with people when you want to get along.”

Harry and Draco blinked at her in tandem.

“Excellent. Well, I’m off,” she announced when it became apparent that no answer was forthcoming from either of the two boys, and swept ahead of them and out of the Great Hall.

Draco still looked pale and still strained slightly against Harry’s grip, his former joy forgotten. “I think I’ve just been steamrolled by Granger.”

Harry laughed.

“This means I have to endure her company – not to mention Weasley’s – for hours. And yours,” he tacked on.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with our company the other night at supper,” Harry protested, crossing his arms over his chest.

“A mistake. A fluke. Temporary insanity.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Honestly. It won’t hurt, you know.”

“So say you,” Draco replied, shaking off Harry’s grip. “Did you notice that crack she threw in about her Muggle nature – as if I weren’t perfectly aware? She’s trying to rub my nose in the fact that I don’t want to associate with her – but I still have to, because of you! And all that rubbish about friends,” he sneered angrily. “What was she trying to prove?”

Harry paused. “Hermione’s very up-front about what she wants,” he replied quietly. “I think that she honestly does want us all to be mates. Not everybody’s a Slytherin, you know.”

Draco snorted indelicately, and rolled his eyes for good measure. “Hermione Granger,” he repeated, “wants to be friends. With me. Son of the imprisoned Death Eater. Who’s called her Mudblood and worse since she was eleven. Me. The zealot.”

The repetition of that word bothered Harry more than he was willing to let on, but he covered by speaking rapidly, and on a new tack. “Of course she does. It’s probably one of her fondest wishes.”

Draco gaped at her. “The Mudblood has a thing for me? Ugh!”

Harry took Draco by the shoulders and shook him. “Hermione doesn’t like you, you prat, she’s had a crush on Ron for as long as I’ve known her, or near. What I mean is... well, it’s something you ought to know about Hermione that she’s got a lot of faith in lost causes.”

“Is that what I am?” Draco demanded, an expression on his face that Harry could not quite interpret.

“If Hermione could ever get along with you, I think it would confirm her belief that what she sees as wrong with the world can be changed,” he continued, speaking slowly since it was the first time he had ever verbalized these thoughts about the Muggle-born girl. “I may have a saving-people thing, but Hermione has a helping-people thing. Even when they’d rather not be helped, really –”

“So she’d like to reform me, is what you’re saying.”

Harry frowned. “Well – not quite. I don’t think she would like you to perform a disappearing act and leave a new, improved Draco Malfoy in your place. I think she’d like to see whether you can be civil with her, whether she can be civil with you. A simple, straightforward experiment, with observable results.”

“Sounds just like Granger,” Draco muttered.

“Yes. What do you think? Will the experiment be a success or a failure?”

Draco’s eyes went faraway. “Doomed to failure,” he replied.

“Well, I order you to try in any case. Or maybe I should order you to succeed, if what I saw out on the pitch is any indication...”

The smile made an encore performance, creeping over Draco’s face until the Slytherin looked nearly as happy as before, and together they rehashed every moment of the game until Harry knew Draco had mostly forgotten about Hermione altogether.