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Frustrated, Harry gives up trying to get the door open, glowering up and down the corridor for any sign of Crabbe or Goyle. He doesn't see any suspicious little girls around either.
Sliding down the opposite wall, he makes himself comfortable to wait. He tips his head back against it, letting out a long breath. The invisibility cloak always makes his hair a little staticky, but he leaves it on for now. In case someone turns up. Not Malfoy, because he's inside, but someone.
There are a million things Malfoy could be working on inside. An object, a cursed object. A Voldemort-summoning ritual. It's driving him mad, not knowing.
But the corridor is quiet, a little lonely.
The stone floor is cold under his hands, fine stone dust sticking to his fingertips. He rubs his finger and thumb together to feel the grit of it.
Harry sucks in a sharp breath at the sound of the door opening. He shrinks below the cloak, checking his trainers aren't poking out.
Open just a crack, the door stills, whoever is behind it pauses. Harry hopes the door covered the sound of his gasp.
After a moment, Malfoy steps out.
He doesn't look happy. He looks ill, and frustrated, and a little depressed. It has to be going badly, whatever he's doing. Malfoy wears accomplishment like a flashing neon sign.
For a moment, he just stands there, drooping back against the closing door, which shuts with a soft click.
Harry is very still.
Malfoy’s eyes are closed.
There's a worry line between his brows, a crease that gets deeper as he doesn't move. His eyes pop open, and he glances up and down the hall, hand going for his wand.
Stepping away from the door, he walks the few steps to where the corridor is crossed by another, and he peers around the corner in both directions. Harry frowns at him. Had he heard something?
Malfoy suddenly glances back over his shoulder, eyes roaming over Harry huddled against the wall and down the rest of the corridor.
Slowly, stepping silently, he walks along the wall Harry’s sitting against, feet in a perfect line about eight inches from the wall. Harry should move.
Malfoy trails his fingers along the wall just behind him.
He should move now, before Malfoy reaches him. He'd step on Harry.
There's only a few feet between them when Malfoy reaches his hand out, reaching - much like Snape had - at the height Harry’s face would be if he were standing. Of course, his hand finds nothing but air, and Malfoy looks down.
Harry thinks for a moment that Malfoy might rip the cloak from his head and hex him or something, but he doesn't.
He keeps looking at Harry for another moment, like he's trying to decide what to do. He looks a little irritated, but not as mad as he should be finding Harry spying on him like this. Maybe he doesn't know.
Really, that's the only thing that explains why he drops down with crossed legs that bump against Harry’s foot. Harry can't move now, or Malfoy will see his feet before Harry can fix the cloak. In fact, Malfoy's sitting on the edge of it where it pools at Harry's side.
But Harry’s not that interested in moving anyway.
Malfoy sighs.
In a low voice, one that doesn't carry, he speaks.
“Are you using it this year?”
Harry doesn't answer.
Malfoy’s hand shoots up toward Harry’s face, pulling the cloak off before Harry can move.
“So?” Malfoy says without turning to Harry. Harry brushes back his hair, trying to get the static out.
“I'm not.” Harry tells him.
“Just stalking me?”
Harry huffs a laugh.
“Yeah.”
Malfoy tips his head against the wall, closing his eyes.
“No chance you'll tell me?”
“Nope.” Malfoy says.
Harry nods.
“Where are your pals?”
“Could ask you the same thing.” Malfoy says.
“Ron and Hermione stopped being interested in my theories.”
“Because you wouldn't shut up about them.”
Wouldn't shut up about me, Malfoy is asking.
“They said maybe I should knock it off.”
“Maybe you should.”
“I'm not going to.”
“I know.”
Malfoy doesn't speak again for a bit. He turns his head a little to the side, then snorts. Harry glances up to find Malfoy looking at Harry’s still invisible lower half. Harry pulls the cloak the rest of the way, balling it up in his lap. Malfoy reaches a hand out slowly to touch it. He doesn't say anything. The material flows like water between his fingers.
“So you can tell it's me by my breath.”
Malfoy’s head jerks up, eyes meeting Harry’s. He scoffs.
“Fuck off.”
“That's the second time this year you've done it.”
“Shut up.”
“No, that's really sweet, the dedication to our epic rivalry.”
“Potter, if I hear someone breathing and I can't see them, ten times out of ten it's going to be you. It's only you chasing me around.”
Harry smiles at the opposite wall.