#thirsttoprove

That was the trick of it, wasn't it? He never planned, not for the long term. Yes, he was quite good at acting like he'd known it all along, but he was improvising. He was always improvising. Things only worked out in his favour as often as they did by a combination of intuition, good reflexes, and luck. And his luck never held out for long, did it?

He was surprised Harry wasn't yelling. Sort of wished he had been, because then he might have been able to keep yelling back at him.

Because I like you, you damned idiot. Was that so hard to believe? That he wasn't willing to just give him up, that he'd convinced himself he could just keep dodging the consequences for the rest of his life --? Or that, just maybe, he might've started to imagine that he could make him understand --

Apparently, it was.

"I don't know." He felt something clench inside his chest, heard himself speaking, coldly, as if from several metres off. "Maybe I'm just a fucking sadist. Maybe I just wanted to see the look on your face when you found out. That's the only thing that makes sense, yes?"

“Yeah, they said it was a misunderstanding and the place is already reserved for you.” Harry shot Draco a grimace. “I know you’re waiting for me to bite the dust, but it’s not going to happen. I’m going to live forever just to piss you off.”

“Do you really think that is the best way to ask a girl out?” In all fairness to Harry there would be a lot of teasing to survive in the next day. It had become a habit for Harry, Hermione, the Black's, Lupin's and Weasley's to all gather for the holidays especially since the war ended after all they had all become one big family.

---

     {➹} – THE HEDGEHOG MENTALLY scolded himself for tensing up at the sight of the human, had even gone as far as to force his body to relax under the other’s gaze. He knew they weren’t all bad, even had some that were close friends.

    But, then again, most humans he met didn’t point a stick at him upon first meeting.

        * * *

 The doorbell rang out through a modest rural home, ruffling the feathers of an elderly barn owl as it perched above the entrance. There was more disruption to follow as Drew slammed a mug down next to the hob, waiting for the kettle to start singing. He heard footsteps coming down the stairs, his youngest daughter darting past towards the front door.

 Drew leaned around the doorway and yelled after her-

   “If that’s one of those bastards from The Daily Prophet, tell them to piss off!”

 Elspeth yanked the door open, wand in hand until she realised who was on the front step, hazel eyes darting helplessly to the scar on his forehead. The young woman winced and smiled at the further noises coming from the kitchen behind her, of slamming drawers and muttered curses.

   “He’ll cool off when he sees it’s you.” She told him, grinning as he crossed the threshold. Pocketing her wand, she showed him through to the small kitchen where her Dad was moodily making a cup of tea. “It’s not The Daily Prophet, Dad. It’s one of those bastards from the Ministry instead.”

 Elspeth gave Harry a wink as she left, leaving him to his fate. There was fury in Drew’s eyes as he turned around, easing slightly when he realised who had entered the kitchen. Not one of the idiots who’d placed him under house arrest.

   “Merlin’s beard, Harry Potter! It’s an honor to meet you, lad, though not under the best bloody circumstances...what can I do for you? You’ve not been sent here to interrogate me, have you? Because I’ve had quite enough of that for one lifetime.”

Hermione had returned from Australia after returning her parents memories and were sat with Harry in his room. It was a quiet affair as they were on a small beach with no one around so it was rather simple to do, the only thing she was dreading was their reaction after they found out why she did it. "Yeah I might seem so strong. Yeah I might speak so long." She said, referring to what her parents said to her after she explained everything about the war, Horcruxes, Voldemort, everything.

   She rubbed her hands together, safely secured behind a layer of leather, though she was well out of arm’s reach of the boy with lightning on his forehead. In all her years -- which was climbing steadily towards two centuries now -- she had never seen anything quite like this, quite like him. She knew more about magic than any ordinary non-magical person, but then, there was little about Beatrice that was truly normal anymore. Magic had not cured her, and she’d begun to think there was no antidote at all. Perhaps she could not be reverted to anything normal because there was nothing to revert her to -- she had been born with the garden ; they existed in tandem. 

   As did good and evil -- with a war brewing on the eastern front of Europe, from the shadows of the Wizarding World to broad daylight. It had only been three days since she’d escaped an unthinkable fate, forced to aid the side that countered her most basic morals. And this boy was at the crux of it all, with this twisted story she’d heard recounted a number of times. The boy who lived. Now face to face with the girl of poison. Perched on a stump in the forest behind a layer of protective spells. And yet that was far from the strangest thing she’d encountered.