#20-50k

“Mate, you alright?” Ron asked, a shine in his eye that told Harry he was several drinks deep. “You’ve been staring at Malfoy all night. Don’t think he’s up to something, do you?” 

Harry frowned, shook his head.

“No. Just…nothing,” Harry said, and Ron leaned toward him. 

“You haven’t got a Marauder’s Map for the Ministry, do you?” 

“What? No, why?” 

“Thought I might find you lying awake tonight watching Malfoy’s tiny footsteps like you used to do in sixth year.” 

“Shut up. It’s not like he lives there, anyway,” Harry said, elbowing him away. 

Harry searched for Malfoy again, glimpsing blond hair as he disappeared around the corner, and Harry got up from his seat, then turned back, grabbing Ron by the arm.

“Don’t ask why, but I need you to distract Nott for me.” 

“Gross! I don’t want to talk to him—” 

“I’ll buy your drinks next Friday. All of them. Please?” 

Ron’s eyebrows lifted, a glint in his eye as he stood up from his chair and wobbled a bit before he went toward Nott. Harry lingered at a nearby table for a long moment before he went to the bathroom. He pushed the door, his heart pounding, unsure of his intentions as he rounded the stall door and nudged it open. 

Malfoy was there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head bowed. He looked up, timidly at first, but his expression shifted when he realised that it was Harry standing there. He straightened, arms hanging by his sides, mouth opening and shutting again. 

“Waiting for someone?” Harry asked, and he braced his forearm on the door as Malfoy tried to push it shut. 

“What is this?” Malfoy asked, his eyes going to the space behind Harry as if expecting someone to be there. “What do you want?” 

“I want to know why you’re hooking up with a prat like Theodore Nott. Have you no self-respect?”

“Self…?” Malfoy huffed, relenting his fight with the door as he stared at Harry in disbelief. “Even if that were true, it would be none of your business, would it?” 

Harry’s neck pricked, his heart skipping, eyes darting to the floor and back to Malfoy’s face as his alcohol-riddled brain tried to come up with an excuse. 

“The team is my business. It doesn’t do well for training if people start hooking up with each other.” 

“Oh? Well, I didn’t see you put up an argument about Weasley’s little bet regarding Finnegan and Thomas. Is your anti-sex clause only applicable to Slytherins?” 

“Well—that’s different. They were always that way—skirting around each other, even in school.” 

“So what? We’re all trainees. What difference does it make?” 

Harry swallowed, shrugged, glanced away again. 

“It doesn’t—I just—it doesn’t matter. They’re not doing anything and neither should you.” 

“Who said I was? Did you hear something? Did someone say something to you?” 

He had stepped closer, his shoulders set, eyes narrowed and Harry felt the urge to step back but didn’t—not wanting to allow space for Malfoy to exit the stall. 

“Nobody said anything,” Harry said quickly, and Malfoy looked back and forth between his eyes, stance not easing. 

“Then why would you think I was waiting to meet— someone in here?” 

Harry shrugged, leaned his other arm against the wall nearest, blocking Malfoy in.

“Well, I’m not blind. I…saw you come in here just after him last week.” 

“So? Can’t two people use the toilet at the same time? What are you, the piss police?” 

“As the Lead Auror in training, I don’t think it’s smart to sleep with your fellow trainees.” 

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself , if you’re so obsessed with all of it? Maybe it will keep your nose out of other people’s business,” Malfoy spat. “Can you move, or were you planning on climbing in here and seeing what all the fuss is about?” 

Harry let out a huff as Malfoy leaned back, folded his arms, rested his shoulder against the stall wall. 

“I didn’t think you and Nott were so close,” Malfoy said, lifting his chin, shaking his hair off his face. “That must be how you found out—he told you, didn’t he?” 

“What? No—I—I saw you follow him in.” 

“I don’t believe you. Why would you notice where I go? Why would anyone?” 

“I keep tabs on the whole group. It’s part of my job, isn’t it?” 

Malfoy’s mouth quirked, his eyes dropping to Harry’s shoulder, then his chest. Suddenly Harry’s collar felt too tight, chest heating uncomfortably under his gaze. 

“What I think is that you heard a rumour and came to see if it was true,” Malfoy’s eyes lingered on Harry’s belt for a long beat before he lifted his gaze again, shrugging. “I’m not as opposed as I once thought.” 

“Opposed? To what?” 

Malfoy didn’t answer, taking a step closer. 

“You’ve gotten better at duelling, you know?” Malfoy asked.

“I’m sorry…was that a compliment you just gave me? I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.” 

“Well, you’re still not that great. Just better than before.” 

Harry huffed, his heart leaping when he felt Malfoy’s fingers at his shoulder, sliding up to adjust his collar. 

“What is it you heard?” Malfoy asked, and Harry’s eyes found his mouth, unable to look away.

“Heard?” Harry whispered. 

“What did he tell you?” 

“Who?” 

“You came in here for a reason, didn’t you? What is it?” 

Harry opened his mouth, shook his head, licked his lips. 

“I…I don’t know. To see if you were waiting for him, I guess. Like he did last time.” 

“And then what?” Malfoy asked, his hand flattening on Harry’s shoulder, sliding down to his chest. 

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” Harry murmured.

“Your lack of forethoughts hasn’t changed, then.” 

It was better to be an owl, Harry thought, as he watched Hogsmeade pass underneath him, wings stretching wide, wind catching. He could go anywhere and nobody recognised him. There were no strangers to thank him—no friends to stare at him and ask what was wrong when everything was wrong, but he couldn’t say that or they’d worry. As an owl, he couldn’t say anything, and that suited him just fine. 

He looked up and saw Hogwarts castle, collapsing his wings to dive lower, making a loop around, coasting over the surface of the Black Lake and letting the wind take him up to the highest point of the astronomy tower. He perched there and looked down, ruffling his feathers, watching students as they crossed the courtyard on their way to classes. After preening himself, and hunting a few mice that lingered on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, he went to the owlry at sunset. 

The other owls stayed away from him. They’d evacuate whatever perch Harry chose for the night. If they had any thoughts at all, Harry was sure they knew there was something off about him—that he wasn’t like they were, and part of him wished his animagus had taken the shape of a less intelligent species. If he were a dog, for example, he was sure that he could find a pack to accept him. Then, at least, he wouldn’t be lonely in both human and animal form. 

Once the nocturnal owls cleared out, the other diurnal owls slept on the other side of the owlry from him each night, and were gone when woke up in the morning. Not one of them had ever shared their food, or preened his feathers, or done anything that the other owl friends would do. He ruffled his feathers to interrupt his thought, letting his instincts clear his mind, the edge of hunger in his stomach telling him to hunt. 

He decided to go further, toward the woods in Hogsmeade village, finding the spot where he knew mice dwelled behind a restaurant, where food scraps would be thrown. He perched on top of the roof, watching, waiting, his mind blank aside from when he’d catch a bit of movement and zero in, searching for a mouse or squirrel he could snatch up. Entirely still, he waited, hardly blinking. When a juicy-looking mouse scurried toward the building, Harry swooped, grabbed it with his talons and flew into the woods. 

He’d found a nice patch of earth to enjoy his meal, near some flowers. There was a footpath nearby, and Harry watched people pass by from the brush as he let his meal digest a bit before flying. He was watching a little girl as she ran toward her parent, stretching up for their hand, just old enough to walk. The parent picked her up, out of Harry’s eye-line, and only then did Harry hear the soft patter of paws from behind him. He turned just in time to see the face of the fox as it lunged to attack him, its pointy teeth ripping into his chest, clamping his wing, lifting him from the ground as Harry’s other wing outstretched, trying to get away.