Chapter 3
Draco went to the library after dinner to start his work on an essay for Muggle Studies. It had remained a mandatory class, though the curriculum had changed drastically since the previous year, and he was having a hard time keeping up. The teacher was fairly competent, though it seemed to him she was trying to squeeze way too much information into one year of teaching, and covering too broad areas for one subject, which meant that the content of the lessons varied greatly from time to time. Sometimes she was teaching political science or economics, which was like the muggle version of what Draco's private tutors taught him. Other times the class completely shifted it's focus onto arithmancy and muggle science, which would then turn into a history-class instead. It was a nightmare and Draco was aware that he might have to ask some of the halfblood Ravenclaws for help sooner or later. In the library Theodore Nott was already seated at one of the desks. Draco pulled out the chair across from him.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" he asked.
Theodore looked up.
"Not at all. Is it the muggle-essay?"
Draco took out quills and parchment and sat down.
"Yeah, it is."
"Me too. I already found some books, you can just use them if you need to."
He pointed to a stack on the table.
"Thanks."
ø
They worked for a while in silence and when the clock neared nine Draco started packing up his stuff.
"Are you leaving?"
"I have detention with McGonagall tonight."
Theodore smiled slyly.
"Oh, right. Good luck with that."
"Thanks," he said.
Theodore returned to his book and Draco headed towards Professor McGonagall's classroom.
ø
His detention dragged on forever. He had somewhat suspected that this would be about the war, that secretly there was something the headmistress wanted to talk to him about, but she just had him practice his Transfigurations for an eternity while she graded essays. She hardly looked up at him, except for once, when he rolled up his sleeves and she got a glimpse of the mark on his arm. Of course she knew it was there, but the disgust was still evident on her face and he felt his stomach churning and a stab of shame went through him when he met her gaze. He quickly returned to his spells, and she moved on to the next essay. It was past midnight when she finally let him go and he was so tired he thought he would be able to sleep for two whole days when he got back to his dorm.
"Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy," she said as he opened the door.
"Goodnight, professor McGonagall."
Then he left quickly down the hall and almost immediately bumped into another boy walking in the opposite direction.
"Watch where you're going you idiot-" he stopped himself. "Oh, it's you. Sorry."
"It's fine," said Potter, looking disoriented.
It took a second for his eyes to fixate on Draco, and there was something peculiar in Potter's expression, as if he was searching for something in Draco's face and the search had distracted him from slipping into his usual mask of obvious revulsion.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
Draco felt a well-known irritation stirring.
"I know everyone feels unsafe with Slytherins out after dark," he drawled, "but I just had detention with the headmistress and I am headed back to the dungeon right now, so you don't have to worry. I do appreciate that you're taking time to patrol the hallways, though. We all feel much safer knowing you're watching over us at night."
"That's not what I'm doing!" said Potter indignantly.
"No? You have your wand out – are you sure you don't want to disarm me just to be on the safe side?"
His wand was already tucked away in his forearm holster, so disarming really wasn't necessary. Potter looked down at his own hand as if he hadn't been aware of the wand before.
"It's just a habit," he mumbled. "I couldn't sleep."
"Welcome to the club. Now, may I return to my bed or do you wish to continue the interrogation?"
"You should probably roll down your sleeves first."
"What?"
"Your sleeves," he gestured vaguely as he repeated the words with less certainty this time, as if he had just realized that Draco might be showing off the mark on purpose.
Draco looked down and felt blood rushing to his face. He had forgotten – he couldn't believe it. This was not supposed to happen. It had never happened before. No, he always, always remembered to cover it up. He considered reaching for his wand – he wouldn't mind going to Azkaban, that was fine, as long as he got to kill Harry Potter and forget that this ever happened. He quickly pulled down his sleeves staring defiantly back at Potter.
"I'm not going to tell anyone."
"Well thanks for that generous lie, Potter, but everybody knows already, so I really don't think they will be interested in the story when you decide to share it," he hissed, not even able to keep up the indifferent, sarcastic tone he usually used when speaking to Potter.
"And I am not trying to show it off, just so we're clear about that."
"Really?" said Potter, his voice suddenly cold. "You used to be so proud of it."
"Yes, well it can't be removed. I had quite a few visits to sct. Mungus, and I got them to try everything short of cutting of my arm, but there was nothing they could do. I would have gone abroad to try to find some better wizards when the English healers turned out to be incompetent, but my family hasn't been allowed to leave the country."
"Maybe you should have thought about that before joining Voldemort."
"I was 14," he hissed. "I was 14 when he came back!"
"So was I," said Harry.
He turned around to leave. Draco watched him, clutching his arm. He rarely had outbursts like this. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that made him hot-headed, but right then he was almost trembling with rage.
"We were kids!" he yelled.
His voiced echoed off the walls but Harry kept walking. When he disappeared around a corner, Draco's arms fell to his sides. He took a deep breath to compose himself, suppress the boiling feelings, and then he started walking down the hall to the dungeons.