“He’s a coward, really,” Harry says, watching as Draco Malfoy cautiously steps towards the edge of the lake.
Hermione gives him a reproving look. “Really, Harry,” she begins, but Harry holds up his hands defensively.
“That’s all he is,” Harry says. “In terms of why he’s not someone I’d spend too much time with. But he’s not evil, either.”
“I suppose that’s better than Ron’s opinion of him,” Hermione says resignedly. Draco is bent to pick the winter-loving magical mist flowers that grow along the lake bank. Harry has a vague memory that the flowers are meant for a healing potion that Draco’s required to brew as part of his Potions Mastery. It hasn’t been so very long since the idea that Draco Malfoy might want to help people, had been laughable. Harry supposes that this is part of growing up – the difficult part, the part which even living on the run doesn’t prepare you for.
“I think I could get along with him,” Harry muses. “I don’t know about being friends, but I could at least work with him.”
Hermione positively beams at him. “That might just be one of the most mature things I’ve ever heard you say,” she says, then laughs when he sticks his tongue out at her.
“So,” Harry says, and crouches to scoop up a handful of snow. He packs it together in his mittened hands, then looks up and gives Hermione a roguish smile. “How could I possibly get his attention?”
Hermione attempts to give him a stern look, but her lips are twitching.
“I can’t be mature all the time,” Harry protests. “Want to help?”
Later, the three of them will avow that theirs is the only friendship in the world which started with two snowballs to the back, and a handful of snow crammed down a shirt.
Re: merry xmas
“He’s a coward, really,” Harry says, watching as Draco Malfoy cautiously steps towards the edge of the lake.
Hermione gives him a reproving look. “Really, Harry,” she begins, but Harry holds up his hands defensively.
“That’s all he is,” Harry says. “In terms of why he’s not someone I’d spend too much time with. But he’s not evil, either.”
“I suppose that’s better than Ron’s opinion of him,” Hermione says resignedly. Draco is bent to pick the winter-loving magical mist flowers that grow along the lake bank. Harry has a vague memory that the flowers are meant for a healing potion that Draco’s required to brew as part of his Potions Mastery. It hasn’t been so very long since the idea that Draco Malfoy might want to help people, had been laughable. Harry supposes that this is part of growing up – the difficult part, the part which even living on the run doesn’t prepare you for.
“I think I could get along with him,” Harry muses. “I don’t know about being friends, but I could at least work with him.”
Hermione positively beams at him. “That might just be one of the most mature things I’ve ever heard you say,” she says, then laughs when he sticks his tongue out at her.
“So,” Harry says, and crouches to scoop up a handful of snow. He packs it together in his mittened hands, then looks up and gives Hermione a roguish smile. “How could I possibly get his attention?”
Hermione attempts to give him a stern look, but her lips are twitching.
“I can’t be mature all the time,” Harry protests. “Want to help?”
Later, the three of them will avow that theirs is the only friendship in the world which started with two snowballs to the back, and a handful of snow crammed down a shirt.