Hermione eyed him suspiciously, but reluctantly accepted the broom. “I’ll wait for you in the Common Room.” She said, striding away.
Harry waited until she was out of sight before jogging to catch up with the blonde.
“Malfoy!” He called, raising his hands briefly to show he wasn’t armed as the three Slytherins whirled around. “I just want to talk to you. Alone.”
Draco sneered at him, but curiosity flared in his blue grey eyes. “You’ve got two minutes, Potter. Don’t waste it.” He shoved Crabbe and Goyle away when they would’ve lingered. “Go on! I can handle Scarhead.”
Harry gritted his teeth at the hated nickname, waiting until the two goons were gone before speaking again. “Look, this is going to sound strange, and it will likely never happen again, but I wanted to apologize.”
“This ought to be good.” Draco scoffed. “For what, exactly?”
“For the way I acted when we met for the second time, in the Great Hall before the Sorting.” Harry said quietly. “It was probably a complete shock because it was an absolute about face from our first meeting in Diagon Alley. You were the first wizard my own age that I’d ever met, to be honest.” He shook his head, grimacing. “Look, I can’t tell you the details, but sometime between that day and the first day of school, I was Obliviated. They took all of my memories, and gave me new ones. I didn’t even remember meeting you until a couple of nights ago, okay? So as far as I knew, Ron was the first wizard our age that I’d met, and I really wanted a friend.” He glared at Draco a bit defiantly. “But the memories are back now, and that one sticks out, so I just wanted to apologize. That’s all.” He turned abruptly away, wanting to get out of hexing range before the shock wore off.
Draco watched him go, still gobsmacked. Of all the things that he had expected, an apology from the Golden Boy was not one of them! He stared after the dark haired Gryffindor, brow furrowed in thought.
Obliviated. Someone had Obliviated the Boy Who Lived. But who? And why? He shook his head, hard. “Who cares.” He muttered. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
But it did. Draco had been surprisingly and genuinely hurt when Harry had refused to shake his hand, turning his nose up at everything silver and green in favor of Weasley red and Gryffindor gold. He hadn’t questioned why Potter had done such an abrupt about face, but the barb had struck deep and he had channeled all that hurt and resentment into becoming Harry’s rival. If they couldn’t be friends then they would be enemies and thus equals and in each other’s lives, in some way.
But what was he supposed to do now? It felt almost…petty and undignified to continue his self-imposed revenge on Potter (although Weasel was still fair game), and Granger had a wicked right hook that he had recently experienced up close and personal. Maybe he would lay off a bit for a change. Ignore all of them, and rile them up by his very inaction. See how Potter liked it, being snubbed like he had done to Draco…
The blonde stopped in surprise. Why hadn’t he questioned the other boy’s abrupt personality switch? And why was that particular day in the robe shop so vague in his own mind? He probed the hazy memory, like testing a sore tooth with his tongue. He could remember that day, but…someone had taken the memory. And the more he searched, the more hazy spots he found in his mind.