#6: Friend or Foe
Most of class time was spent rigorously taking notes until Harry's hand cramped up. By the time Professor Sprout was done, she had assigned everyone a foot-long essay about the poisonous plant and Harry was relieved to finally leave Greenhouse 4. Pulling his bag over his shoulder, he waited by the entrance for Ron and Hermione.
They were whispering to each other furiously, casting occasional glances towards his direction and then glaring at each other. They were arguing again. Harry thought they had moved on from that after seven years. But they were Ron and Hermione. That was how they worked.
"Weasley and Granger having a lover's tiff, are they?"
Harry's eyes widened. He turned around to find Malfoy standing right behind him. Harry shrugged. "I'm used to it. You would be too, after all these years."
"You would think so," replied Malfoy. "Try listening to Blaise and Pansy. I'm lucky I haven't gone completely mad yet."
"You mean Zabini and Parkinson are..." Harry started to ask but stopped when Malfoy snorted.
"Please, Zabini would rather fuck all the students in Hogwarts than commit to Pansy. And Pansy is rather picky when it comes to blokes."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Weren't you dating her at one point?"
Malfoy tensed and narrowed his eyes at Harry. "Weren't you dating Weaselette at one point?"
"Fine, I guess that wasn't a fair question," answered Harry, clenching his jaw at the thought of Ginny spending all her time with Michael.
"No, it wasn't," agreed Malfoy, relaxing a little. "Right, so library tomorrow? For the project?"
"Yeah," said Harry absently, looking at an angry Ron and a grim Hermione making their way to him. "Shit, I can tell all hell is going to break loose now."
"Potter."
Harry looked up and caught the two packages just in time. He frowned. "What's this--"
Malfoy gave him a sympathetic smile. "You might need these, in case Weasley throws a temper tantrum. Good luck with that."
Before Harry could say anything, Malfoy brushed past him to leave the greenhouse. Zabini and Parkinson chose to follow him out with evil smirks on their faces. Strange, very strange.
Suddenly, Harry felt a finger jab him in the chest. He steeled himself as Ron took a step closer.
"You're a jerk, d'you know that?" spat Ron, his face as red as a tomato.
"Ron, just leave already!" Hermione scolded him. "It would be better if you didn't start a commotion and make a fool out of yourself."
Ron glared at Hermione and Harry before stomping out of the greenhouse without another word. After a couple of minutes, Hermione pulled Harry by the arm so they could walk back to the castle.
"What's gotten him so riled up?" asked Harry, rubbing his chest.
"Don't tell me you don't know," answered Hermione, rolling her eyes. "He hates the idea that you're hanging out with Malfoy."
"Ron's jealous of Malfoy? A couple of civil conversations doesn't exactly make us best friends."
"I know."
"He's really not that bad."
"I know. He--oh never mind."
"What?"
"I know Malfoy is trying. He's been helping with the castle reparations, and he hasn't done anything terrible to you yet."
"Yet is the keyword," muttered Harry. That earned him a smack on the arm. "Ow! Okay. So, we've been getting along. He actually gave me these to endure the wrath of Ron Weasley."
He offered a Fiery Fortune Cookie to Hermione, who took it with a grin.
"Never really understood what all the fuss was about these things," admitted Hermione, opening the package and breaking the cookie in half.
"It brightens up people's days," commented Harry, copying her. "You'd be surprised."
They had just reached the courtyard when Hermione let out a gasp. "What in the world?!" She shoved the fortune into Harry's hand. "This is ridiculous!"
Harry couldn't help but laugh when he read the slip of paper. "I have to say, I actually agree with this bogus writer for once."
"Let me see yours," huffed Hermione, leaning in to read Harry's slip.
"See? My fortune backs up yours. Reality makes no sense."
"There's absolutely no logic to that, though! And that's not what your fortune means."
"If you want a better fortune, go to Trelawney," suggested Harry, eating his cookie. "I'm sure she would delighted to predict your future."
"I'll write to George instead," replied Hermione. "I know he can do better than this. His writer's absolute crap."
"Good luck with that."
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