Truth's Like Blood Underneath Your Fingernails by ChoicesWeMake

"Malfoy, shut up!" Theodore Nott's voice is raising to an exasperated groan. "Nobody wants to hear you talk about flying, again!"

"Yeah," chips in Blaise. "If I hear one more word about how your brilliant maneuvers helped you narrowly escape getting chopped to pieces by that dangerous muggle helicopter, I'm leaving the common room to do a voluntary detention..with Filch."

Harry snorts, but doesn't say anything. They've already heard several long variations of that story, as well as pretty much every other time Malfoy had been on a broom since birth. Apparently, he is a natural. Practically raised on a broom. Pretty much right from his mother's womb! Harry snicker again.

"What're you laughing at, Potty?" Malfoy snips hatefully. Blaise frowns a little, still keeping himself relaxed, and Harry jumps in to reply before he can.

"Shove off, Malfoy," Harry casually sits up a little from his lounging position on the sofa, "I'm just a bit skeptical, that's all."

He is sick and tired of Malfoy talking about the upcoming class. His heart beat a little faster when he thinks about it - flying - but there's no reason Malfoy shouldn't be as good as he says, and Harry hates the thought of making a complete fool of himself on a broom and giving Malfoy something else to needle him about. As if you need a broom to make a fool of yourself, boy, scoffs something that sounds like his Aunt's voice and Harry shoves it from his mind, irritated.

"Skeptical, Potty?" Malfoy narrows his eyes, scrutinizing him. "And how much experience do you have on a broom? Oh, wait, that's right - none."

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, two rather large goons who've attached themselves to Malfoy recently, laugh loudly.

"Raised by muggles, poor Potty," Malfoy sighs mockingly. "Ignorant about the superior ways of wizarding life-"

Harry's sitting up, rod straight now, and he can feel his fists clenching, and that red blush of temper on his face that comes so easily whenever his relatives are brought into conversation.

"I may be ignorant about a lot of wizarding life," Harry says cooly, "but I know people pretty well, and I think you'd be a stuck-up, two-faced, insufferable prat in either world."

Even Nott takes a quick glance at Harry, and Malfoy's pale face is turning a red that rivals Harry's. To his side Goyle lets out a little growl, but Harry is pretty sure they won't start anything here in the common room. The prefects would be sure to call Professor Snape, and they don't have a death wish. He may be fond of Malfoy for reasons Harry still can't ponder out, but he won't put up with fighting in his common room.

Malfoy sputters before hissing something about "you're going to regret that, Potty Potter," and swaggering away, Vince and Greg trailing after him.

Harry sighs, falling loosely back into the sofa. He's working on trying tho relax around the other boys, the ones he doesn't think mean him any harm, and Blaise. Harry smiles fondly. He loves that he can just let go around them, he's just having a hard time reminding his body of it sometimes. Often it plain doesn't listen. Someone could be having an argument across the room that's nothing to do with them, but the loud, angry voices echo in the back of Harry's mind like drums, and he just can't force his muscles not to tense.

Right now, though, things are great. Harry pretty much won that round - he's always been quick with his tongue, Malfoy's gone off in a huff, and now Blaise, Harry, and a rather neutral Nott are piled around each other, talking about classes and listening to the pleasant pop and hiss of flames from the fire place in comfortable silence.

"I should work on that transfiguration essay," Nott drawls lazily.

Blaise hums. "Weren't you going to ask Greengrass about helping you with that?"

Nott sniffs. "I could do it myself, you know. It's just that she has a particular proclivity for transfiguration."

Blaise raises his eyebrows and makes a little unconvinced noise in the back of his throat. Nott eyes him warningly as he rises and slowly starts meandering toward the other side of the room, where, sure enough, Greengrass is next to Parkinson, Bainbridge and Bulstrode, scribbling over some parchment. Harry watches him sidle up and can hear his overly-casual, "What're you up to, Parkinson?" before he and Blaise turn away, grinning at each other.

Harry hasn't really met Daphne Greengrass, only seen her around, usually surrounded by Pansy Parkinson, Tabitha Bainbridge, and Millicent Bulstrode, who seem to head up the first year girls. Harry, quite unsure how one is supposed to act around girls, has avoided them altogether, but he has noticed Nott eying Daphne more than once in the Great Hall.

"Hey, Harry-"

His first name hovers in the air hesitantly, and Harry tenses, shifting.

"Yeah?"

Blaise is almost too offhand when he tosses Harry a book, and Harry catches it with both hands.

"Saw that in the library…thought you might want to page through it."

Blaise leans back and throws his hands behind his head, half-closing his eyes, stretched and cat-like. Harry smiles a little before turning his attention to the volume in his hands. Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century? Why is Blaise giving him this?

"Um, okay, Zabini. Thanks." He laughs a little, tucking it under his arm.

"Try chapter twenty six," Blaise adds, peering at him lazily through lidded eyes.

"Sure, em, ok. I will."

Do friends just give each other gifts like this? Granted, Blaise only rented it from the library for him, but...Harry will have to try and think of something he can do back. He's pretty sure that's how friends act. He just doesn't have much experience. He's grateful and a little startled that Blaise even thought of him outside of their interactions, and he promises himself to read through the chapter before bed tonight.

"So, are you excited for flying class?"

Blaise shrugs.

"I guess. Mum hasn't let me fly a broom much, but I've been up a few times. A little nervous, I guess. You think Malfoy's as good as he says?"

Harry shakes his head with a snort.

"Git."

"Prat."

They smirk at each other companionably for a moment, before glum settles over Harry again.

"We won't have to wait long to find out."