Chapter 8 - The Seventh Night

                                    

                                          
Draco went to the owlery on Sunday morning. Not to write this time, only to see Harrison. 
                          
After handing over his meaty and 'please don't kill me because I'm petting another owl' peace offering to Acacia, he went over to Harrison's spot. Some owls were still snoozing, but Harrison was already wide awake. He heard that owls in the muggle world slept in the day and came out at night. How wild. 
                          
Harrison graciously accepted the salmon owl treat and hopped onto Draco's shoulder, nuzzling his neck with his soft feathers. 
                          
"Your owner's right, your feathers are glowing," Draco chuckled. 
                          
Harrison hooted softly in response. Draco didn't bother to cast a Bubble-head Charm this time, he was too distracted to notice the smell. 
                          
He didn't for a second think it was Potter before the Hogsmeade incident, after all. He shouldn't act any different than before, his admirer was so sweet and so nice, it would be rude to do so. It was just his brains messing with him, giving him false hope before proving it could most definitely not be Potter. 
                          
Sighing and stroking Harrison with a finger, Draco gently pried off the bird from his shoulder and let it perch on his palm. He fed it another salmon treat, hoping he wouldn't spoil Harrison and get a Howler from his admirer.
                          
He gathered his thoughts, let Harrison fly back to his own little landing, and bade goodbye to him, then headed out of the owlery back to the Slytherin dungeons.
                          
Just as he reached the bottom of the spiral staircase of the tower, he crashed into someone with very, very messy, jet-black hair. 
                          
There was a shattering sound and there was deep blue ink flowing all across the floor.
                          
"Damn it! Reparo!" 
                          
When Draco finally came back to his senses from seeing stars, Potter was already stuffing an ink bottle back into his bag.
                          
"I'm so sorry, are you okay?" asked the raven-haired boy.
                          
Draco looked up. His evergreen eyes laced with genuine concern. 
                          
Draco was suddenly furious. He hadn't been in a particularly good mood since he proved yesterday that Potter couldn't be his secret admirer. Now he had Potter to blame it on.
                          
"No, you idiot! Watch where you're going, will you?" he bit harshly.
                          
He saw Potter wince and he almost softened and apologized, but quickly retrieved his angry composure. 
                          
"I'm- I'm sorry. Are you hurt?"
                          
"Do I look like I'm not?" Draco snapped, rubbing his forehead. 
                          
"Here... let me." Potter waved his wand and his forehead was no longer tinged with pain. 
                          
"I don't need your bloody help! Leave me alone!" Draco yelled, pushing past the other boy and ran down the corridor, not bothering to look back. 
                          
Stupid Potter. Stupid Potter. Stupid Potter. Stupid Potter for existing. Stupid Potter for healing his forehead with his perfect Auror abilities. Stupid Potter for not being his secret admirer. 
                          
He raced past his startled housemates and practically stumbled down the stairs, thanking Merlin that his dorm was empty, and slammed the door behind him.
                          
He threw himself onto his bed and cried.
                          


                          
---
                          


                          
It had been a week. A week since his secret admirer last wrote to him. It was another Friday night, and Draco was starting to get worried. He had been a bit busy so he didn't bother to borrow Harrison to write initiatively, but if the Gryffindork did write to him, he wouldn't turn down a little chat.