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A dreaded day in Potions had arrived. Professor Snape had demanded a five-foot-long essay detailing the dangers of concocting Angel Trumpet's Draught if the potion maker were to forego crushing the flower's petals and placed them directly into the potion. Ron's parchment fell short of the mark by five inches, and Harry's contained a few lines of last-minute scribbles, the ink barely dried as they made their way to the dungeons.

"Sure is a shame Hermione couldn't be here to help me on this one," Ron groaned, referencing Hermione's current position in the hospital wing. took his seat in the Potions classroom.

The boy found his mind thankfully wandering from the recent events at Hogwarts as Snape droned on at the head of the class, idly scribbling down bits and pieces of the lecture to avoid drawing anymore unwanted attention.

"— Makes sense that nobody would want to sit next to him since supposedly he's the one going around offing Muggles."

Harry lifted his head, broken from his brief moment of peace by the sound of Crabbe and Goyle chortling at Draco's hushed banter.

"As if Potter could manage it, anyways! Everyone knows he's friends with that filthy Mudblood Granger."

Their laughter rose in volume, causing the hand around Harry's quill to tighten. Ron leaned over and did his best to comfort him, sympathetically whispering "Don't let those gits get to you. Just eggs 'em on," before hastily returning to his own notes after he caught Snape glaring at him.

With a heavy sigh, Harry bent his head back down and tried to lose himself in the looping letters on parchment, the soft yet prominent scribble of the darkened quill's tip against the coarse, yellow paper, the way his letters so neatly connected as ink etched out a course for—

A sudden outburst of howling laughter brought quite a few pairs of eyes onto the smirking Slytherin trio, Harry's own emerald hues glaring towards Draco as he tried to hush his cronies through his own bout of giggles.

Their laughter died out as they saw Snape's cold gaze focused on them, lips taut with apparent frustration. "Mr. Malfoy," came his monotonous tone, "Please refrain from distracting the classroom any further."

"Yes sir, my apologies," said Draco through a mirthful smirk that betrayed any sense of remorse. Still, the Potions master turned away, more than satisfied by the shallow amends.

"Figures he wouldn't take points from his own house," grumbled Ron. "If you so much as breathe, he's down your bloody nec—"

"Mr. Weasley— Although I'm not surprised you were failing to listen, I will not tolerate any further disturbances. Ten points from Gryffindor." That set the trio off once again, Snape turning a blind eye to their antics as he returned to the lesson.

Ron's agitated expression took the physical manifestation of Harry's thoughts; he'd had it with Draco. Even now, the boy continued whispering rumors and insults about him, probably thinking he was invincible in Snape's class.

And for a moment, Harry thought he was, too.

It was unbelievably childish to let his own emotions get the better of him— he could hear Hermione chastising him now… but Hermione wasn't there, and he found perfect justification for his plans to get back at Malfoy. Of course, getting caught wasn't the ideal ending… what to do…

Suddenly, Harry's hand moved to grasp at the wand poking out from his pocket. The wand was sat in his lap and beneath the table-top to ensure Snape couldn't see it. Eyeing the professor warily, Harry waited for the perfect moment… There.

"Rictusempra."

Ron jerked to attention as he heard the spell quietly roll off of Harry's tongue, eyes wide with concern. The air grew thick as Harry waited, and waited some more, fearing the charm had missed its intended target, until the silence was cut by a sudden giggle.

Green hues found their way to Draco once more, this time curious and hopeful as another giggle escaped him. He sprang from his seat frantically, then, as he began wheezing from a sudden onslaught of laughter.

Snape turned sharply on his heel, ready to scold the boy once more, but paused at the sight of Draco rolling on the floor in a tizzy. Soon enough, the whole class had devolved into uproarious laughter at the sight of the second-year's reddening face.

"Blimey, look at him go," Ron said amidst the ensuing chaos, clapping Harry on the back. "Well done, mate."

"Enough! Malfoy, what has gotten into you?!"

With great difficulty, Draco raised a hand to point at a smug Harry Potter, barely managing to respond between his gasps for air. "I-It was him! Pr-professor, stohohop this!"

"Finite Incantatem!"

The class fell silent as Snape shouted out the counter-spell, quickly turning his attention onto Harry. The look in his eyes alone told Harry that he was not getting off easy for this one. "Detention, Mr. Potter. My office. Eight o'clock. And Draco—" Glaring eyes met with that of the recovering Slytherin's. "I expect you to be there as well. I will be confiscating both of your wands, and you will be writing a formal apology for your actions."

The excitement died down as he turned a cold shoulder to the class, returning to his lesson once more. Harry's stomach sank; he'd had plans to visit Hermione in the hospital wing that evening, and eight o'clock meant he'd be missing out on dinner.

He shot one last glare at Draco, who was more than happy to return the gesture, before both turned their heads down to scribble angrily at their notes.

A hand reached up to adjust glasses frames slipping down the bridge of his nose as he wandered down a narrow stone staircase, a chill running up his spine as he felt the warmth sapped from the air. The cold, wet atmosphere was beyond fitting for the location of Snape's dark office, where Harry would be acquainting himself with hundreds of different ways to write out "I'm sorry" during his detention.

The door sat ajar, and Harry let himself in. Draco was already sitting at the long table (seemingly placed in the room specifically for their punishment) and glaring daggers as Harry walked in. Snape sat across from the table behind his own desk, looking just as displeased as the students.

"One-thousand words each. I don't want to hear a single sound from either one of you. A fitting, if not merciful punishment for wasting my and your fellow student's time."

And that was it. The two sat adjacent to one another, eyes focused on their own slips of parchment as Snape watched silently. Candelabras scattered across the walls supplied dim, insufficient lighting, and Harry found himself squinting to see his own handwriting. It was miserable; with no way to tell the time, and no right to ask, he was left in the dark. How long had it been? Would Snape give in to exhaustion and let them leave early? Doubtful. Peeking up, the up-curl of the Potions master's lips was a sign that he could wait this out for as long as necessary.

A glowing light shone momentarily from beyond the door, seeping through beneath the door frame. Harry blinked, thinking it was his eyes playing tricks on him.

But there it was again, this time lasting longer and accompanied by a sound eerily similar to that of a fuse going off.

A moment's silence was broken by loud sparks and bangs coming from the hall, accompanied by a frightened uproar from students. Bright tangerine colors began to light up the door frame with each exploding boom, and Harry's face lit up. Filibuster fireworks. Fred and George must have set some off in the dungeons to create a distraction.

Hands were slammed onto the dark wood of Snape's desk as he stood, black cloth billowing behind him as he made a beeline for the door. "Don't. Touch. Anything," he warned. "One hair out of place and I'll have you both scrubbing the Grand Hall clean for the remainder of the year."

The door swung open long enough for Harry to see a barrage of shadowed figures rushing along the orange-toned wall before slamming shut, enclosing the two children once more.

Harry's heart skipped a beat as he eyed his wand laid perfectly straight on Snape's desk. Not two seconds after he'd laid his quill down did the penetrating voice of Draco stop him in action.

"Nice going, Potter. I suppose this just goes to show how faulty Gryffindors really are. Couldn't handle the truth, eh? Not that it was very truthful— a misguided half-blood like you could never be the Heir to Slytherin."

"Which is why you were having such a laughing fit earlier, hm?" Harry responded curtly, a soft jab at the scene Draco had caused. The boy in question scoffed, although his ears went a light shade of red at the thought.

"You think you're sooo special, don't you Potter? Is that why you lashed out earlier? Couldn't handle knowing your fans were abandoning you?"

"Sounds to me like you didn't get enough the first time."

"First time? You heard Snape; 'one hair out of place' and we'll be washing tables with Filch for the rest of the year." Harry shuddered at the thought; Ron suffered with just one night alone polishing trophies with the school's caretaker. He couldn't risk grabbing for his wand, let alone using magic against Draco once more.

"Face it— You're not the hotshot you think you are." Harry looked over to Draco, who was now smirking. "Even you have mudblood running through your veins. Your own mother was one of the—!" A yelp cut off the rest of Draco's sentence as Harry lunged towards the boy, knocking him straight from his seat. They hit the ground with a dull thud that left Draco groaning from the painful impact, Harry straddling him.

"Don't you dare insult her."

Draco looked up to see the fire in Harry's eyes, a fierce expression on his face that was meant to be threatening. For Draco? It was a challenge. As his lungs worked to function properly again after having the wind knocked out of them, he leaned his head up to shorten the distance between him and Harry.

"Your mother was nothing but a filthy Mudblood."

An enraged yell frightened Draco as he faced immediate retaliation. Harry's hands had dove down to his sides, fingers splaying out across the fabric of his vest before digging into soft flesh. With a defiant yell, Draco quickly broke out into a round of laughter, lighter than his usual taunting jeers. His own hands joined Harry's, trying to grasp at his wrists as his face contorted into an expression of anger and unwanted mirth. "Pohohotter, stop that this instant!"

"Think you're funny, eh? I'll give you something to laugh about," he muttered in response, dodging the flailing hands attempting to stop him. He couldn't use his wand, but he could surely use his own two hands, and they could be just as effective.

He poked and squeezed at Draco's sides, eliciting wheezing laughter and sharp, uncharacteristic giggles from the boy, showing no mercy. Although he himself had never been tickled often, the Weasleys had done a proper job of showing him firsthand experience in winning and losing these kinds of fights, and he knew it would be the last thing Draco expected to happen.

Quickly growing bored, Harry's fingers dodged their way up to Draco's ribs, skittering along in light patterns that diminished the loud laughter to breathy giggles; not a good place to hone in on. He moved back down to Draco's stomach and sides, now squeezing hip bones before pinching at the soft part of Draco's torso through his uniform.

That had him howling.

For the first minute or so, Harry's face seemed devoid of any emotion. Draco had knowingly attacked his mother's reputation with such a low blow, and it had darkened Harry's spirits considerably. But as time edged on, a small, devious smile found its way onto his lips and his eyes lit up with fervent determination as fingers wiggled against the struggling Slytherin's sides.

"Stohohop! My fahAther wihill here about thihihis!" cried Draco as his hands weakly moved up to shove at Harry. Little did he know he'd force a gasp out of the boy and a lull in the tickling motions as he jumped away from him. In that split second of time, Draco managed to tackle the other boy and hold him down in place, unsure of what to do next.

Harry on the other hand feared for the worst. already giggling nervously. "Y-you know, Professor Snape will be back soon. One hair out of place, and all, you don't want to risk it." His own nerves gave away his disposition as Draco's reddened face slowly returned to his normal smug expression.

Two fingers gently prodded against Harry's stomach (which he desperately tried to suck in), walking up slowly to the very bottom of his rib cage. "What's the matter now, Potter? Is someone… ticklish?" At the word, Draco's other hand squeezed Harry's side, causing the boy to yell out a strained laugh.

"Malfoy, don't you dare—"

Too little, too late. Malfoy had immediately attacked the poor boy, leading to a fit of laughter mixed with loud pleas for Draco to stop and calls for help. Draco, now on top of the game, was laughing right alongside Harry; victory was his throne and right now he felt like a king.

"Speak up, Potter! Don't tell me The Boy Who Lived can't handle a bit of tickling!" Harry's face flushed at the comment and struggled to gain the upper hand once more, turning the tables after he successfully caught Draco's knee in a tight grasp.

The two rolled around the office space in a fierce battle for dominance over the other, bouts of laughter mixing with threats and defiant yells as each boy gained and lost the upper hand. Neither could tell whether or not their fight was that of playfulness or a true battle between arch enemies, and neither had enough time to think on it.

"I've got you now, Potte—"

The gentle squeak of the door's hinges caused both boys' heads to shoot up in surprise. Snape stood there, arms crossed as he glowered down at the mess inside his office, remnants of the mess outside of his office taking the form of soot on his face.

His jaw was locked in place as he spoke between gritted teeth. "What did I say about not moving?"

It seemed they now had a second reason for the red tinting their faces.

Later that night, Draco had gone back up to his Slytherin dorm.

"So Harry Potter thinks he can 'ave a go at you, huh?"

"We'll show him who he's messing wi—"

"Both of you, shut up" Draco hissed out at Crabbe and Goyle, sinking under the covers of his own bed as the two rambled on whilst cracking their knuckles. "That idiot did not 'have a go' at me, and you two better learn when its the right time to start a fight."

"That berk got you stuck in detention again!"

"That's enough!" Draco turned over in his bed in an attempt to hide the color on his cheeks. The longer he lingered on the night's events, the hotter his face felt, and his two henchmen lingering on the topic certainly didn't help. "Drop this conversation and go to bed. My father will hear of this and take care of it."

At the same time, Harry was getting back to the Gryffindor dorm.

"Blimey Harry, you look like a mess!" Ron proclaimed in a whisper as Harry finally emerged through the second-year's dormitory door.

"And I have detention again tomorrow," came a weary, hushed tone as Harry collapsed onto his four-poster bed, exhausted from earlier events.

"Again?! What did you do to deserve that?"

"S'long story, Ron. I'll tell you tomorrow." Although he wasn't quite sure he'd be telling the tale verbatim; how embarrassing it would be to admit.

"All right, mate. G'night."

"G'night Ron."