Second Chances

            Step up, step down, step up, step down. Until he was panting, out of breath, lungs burning with exertion. Calves ached, tense and overworked, even after he sat down hard on the dorm room bed. An eighth year. A second chance. Yet even still, the nightmares hadn’t left, the phantom burning in his scar still itching behind the skin in the dead of night. Harry exhaled shakily, half closing his eyes. The pain, the burning… it helped, in a way. Took his mind off the mental strain.       Staving off feelings with the burn of muscles, building strength and muscle mass for quidditch. Harry eyed the wooden box he’d been using, debating doing some more reps… but he was exhausted, and had homework to do. Hopefully his… roommate… wouldn’t be back for a while. It was Saturday after all, most people would be out and about, the eighth years especially. On weekends, they had free reign to wander wherever, as long as they were back for the evening role.       Harry sat himself down at the desk next to his bed, setting out his parchment, quill, and ink, as well as the instructions for the assignment. A half meter long, at minimum, essay on the polyjuice potion. Specifically, how it was made, its uses, the drawbacks and laws surrounding it, the many ways it could go wrong, and its interactions with other potions and substances. Professor Slughorn had mentioned something about muggle medicine, the stuff he’d seen his Aunt Petunia take when he was younger. Something along the lines of chemical reactions.       Either way, it was going to be a long essay, and require quite a bit of tedious research. Just as Harry dipped his quill in the inkpot, the door slammed open as a certain blond haired, gangly young man walked in. Neither of them were boys anymore. The one and only Draco Malfoy, son of a death eater and whom Harry formerly considered his arch nemesis. Now? His roommate. Headmistress McGonagall had insisted on inter-house dorming for the eighth years, giving a whole speech on how the divisions between houses in their year have always been too large, too difficult to handle, and frankly ridiculous. She had deemed this the best possible solution to potentially resolve lingering issues during their last year at hogwarts.       Rooming with Draco had been… rocky, to say the least. While they had entered a ‘truce’ of some sort, they still weren’t the most amicable. Sure, they didn’t hate each other anymore, and Harry had forgiven him for the bullying after Draco mumbled an apology… but the clash of two hard headed individuals didn’t just resolve immediately. They’d had plenty of spats, mostly revolving around Harry’s slight messiness, Draco’s irrational amount of hair and skin products, and the mutual refusal to share snacks.       “Oi!” Exclaimed Draco, spotting Harry sitting at his desk, all sweaty from working out and having the audacity to just do his work like he didn’ts mell. “You stink, you bloody imbecile! Go take a shower!”       Harry scowled, rolling his eyes. “Oh, stop prattling on, you stuck up ferret. What’d you do all day, spend time out in hogsmeade, harassing the locals?” He stood, stretching. “God forbid a guy work out.” He grumbled, stalking off towards the bathroom after grabbing his clothes and a towel. “And PLEASE, do you mind making a BIT of room in the shower for me, instead of reserving it for your precious 17 step skin routine?!” He shouted from the bathroom, griping on to himself under his breath as he pushed them aside, undressing and clambering in the tub.       Outside, Draco stood irritably, crossing his arms. “6 steps,” He mumbled to himself, almost like a petulant toddler. “Bloody jocks, don’t understand basic self care.” He mumbles to himself, slinking over to his own desk and carefully tucking his things in their given places. He was taught to be neat, and he was going to stick to it. Even if his father was a massive asshole to him, neatness was a virtue that was quite beneficial, and it was a good lesson taught by a bad man. Draco also kicked Harry’s little workout box under the desk, rolling his eyes once more. Sharing a room with Harry was testing his patience less than he had initially thought it would… but it still tested his patience quite a bit. Just in different ways than he expected.       Harry, emerging from the bathroom with just a towel slung low over his toned hips, rummaged for a different set of clothes in his trunk, as the other pair he had brought with him had accidentally gotten wet. He’d been getting more toned recently, Draco could see it.       “Put some clothes on!” Draco snapped. He was in a bit of a grumpy mood today, clearly. Usually he was just curt, not this snappish. Something was bothering him, but Harry was too busy rolling his eyes and grabbing clothes to care.       “Just don’t look, ya prude. Honestly, I would've figured you’d be used to it, what with your special little maids dressing you every morning when you lived in that manor of yours.” Mumbled Harry, seeming less upset and more irritated by the prickliness of today’s attitude. Granted, he was also trying to mentally calculate when the hell he had begun calling Draco…. Draco. Instead of Malfoy. Certainly a sign they were somewhat friendly, even if not always. It was still weird to think about.       “I’m not a prude!! And I can dress myself, thank you very much!” Draco squawks out the first part, vehemently spewing the next. Harry was pushing his buttons and he damn well knew it.       “Sure” Harry mocked, pulling on his boxers, trousers, and shirt, only halfway buttoning it. It was Saturday, no classes were in session, and nobody, not even teachers could call him out for it.       “Just shut up. Prat.” Grumbled Draco, turning his face away with an irritated noise.