Chapter Warnings: cussing


Feud


Shouts of laughter and taunts fill the air as mid-October's chilly winds make a wonderful day for Flying Lessons. Well for everyone except Harry Potter that is.

Standing beside the bleachers, Harry stays out of the windy gusts that try to whip him off his feet. Winter doesn't bother the young Slytherin like it does the other children, but it's more dangerous for him. Where the average person can feel the stinging bite of the cold and realize they need to put on extra protection, the Potter heir has to guess at the temperature by watching other people so he doesn't make the mistake and catch pneumonia or heat stroke. Just because he can't feel pain or the extreme sides of ice and fire, doesn't mean his body can withstand them.

Glaring at the happy faces racing on brooms above him, Harry has his arms crossed since he's bound to the ground. He's always wondered what it would be like to fly. To find a freedom in the wind and speeding away from all the troubles trying to catch up. Unfortunately, he doesn't get the opportunity. Now, as the equipment handler, he's in charge of the school brooms that can be signed out by those who don't own one or for those who want to try a few risky moves without breaking their personal besoms. Harry also stands guard in making sure the Bludgers don't escape the chest. He mostly tries to amuse himself by thinking about releasing them and watching some of the students get throttled.

Madame Hooch zooms by just then, weaving through the Slytherin and Gryffindor students, whilst ready to blow on her shrill whistle. The raven-haired male cocks his head to the side and entertains the vision of her getting hit by an imaginary Bludger and falling off. It serves to improve his foul mood.

His mind though, keeps drifting back to last night and his midnight escapade. The scene plays out in his head a few times, how Peeves and the Bloody Baron had acted. Their obvious fear. He can still hear that awful clacking noise. Fresh and repeating in his mind. Sinister in nature and almost mocking. Harry wonders if he can ever forget that disturbing sound.

"Hey you!"

The youth turns to the impudent voice with a deep scowl on his face. Three Gryffindor's come tromping towards him, elbowing each other and annoying him with their overzealous happiness. The one in the middle, with red hair and a great amount of freckles makes a beeline to him. "My name is Potter."

The redhead stops short, a look of hesitation crosses his face at the Slytherin's clipped tone. He blinks again because really, this is the first time he's looked at the Harry Potter. At the beginning of term when the legendary hero showed up, everyone had insisted it wasn't really the boy who defeated the Dark Lord. No, it couldn't be. This scrawny thing smaller than even him... Ron's starstruck expectations had fallen. When the wraith was labeled Slytherin, Ron had given up entirely in childhood dreams of friendship. The Weasley just can't see anything special in the four-eyed snake in front of him.

Seamus and Dean stand oblivious behind Ron, still yammering about different feints and moves.

Ron wants to prove to them he can indeed mimic a Grizzle Sweep invented by the Heidleburg Harriers in 1989 with a partner, but he doesn't want to accidentally break his own broom in the process. His mum would kill him! So he'll have to chance talking to the cursed kid. "Yeah, hand me a broom would ya?"

With a sigh, Harry holds out his hand. The redhead only stares at it in confusion. Irritated Harry seethes at him, "You have to hand over your broom."

"What?! I'm not giving my broom to some slimy Slytherin!"

Seamus and Dean look up in question to their friend's sudden outburst.

Frown deepening, Harry sucks in a breath. His vision dots with black as irritation rises in his body. "It's a trade you curd! You have to switch out yours for a school one, it ensures that you don't steal it."

"Who in their right mind would steal a crummy school broom?"

"I don't know! But if you want to use it you have to trade it."

"Fine!" Ron hands over his broom with a distrustful glare. "When I come back there better not be even a scratch on it."

"Right." Harry snatches the ugliest broom he can find and holds it up.

"Seriously? Give me a better one!"

"Why? So you can break a better broom with whatever stupid maneuver you're trying to act out?"

"Why you-" Ron pulls back his fist, but Seamus grabs at him.

"Oy, don't do it Ron. He's only tryin' to make ya flip!"

"Just take the broom." Dean agrees, eyeing a few Slytherin males who land on the ground a few yards away from them.

The two boys glare at one another until Ron tears the broom from Harry's hand rudly. The redhead goes to turn away when he catches the triumphant smirk twisting onto the so-called Hero's face. Bloody Potter! The frail and worshiped kid cursed by the Dark Lord. At least the brat's alive! How can someone like the Savior be anything less than kind and generous? Instead the berk is a Slytherin! Heat erupts in his chest and fists clench, but Seamus and Dean have their hands on his arms. "You know... you should join the Quidditch Team."

Harry's satisfied smile falls off his face in confusion.

A grin tugs at the side of Ron's cheek seeing the flash of hope in those eyes, "They could use a lackey to carry their equipment."

His body stills. Nostrils flare and jaw tenses, but otherwise Harry remains silent. This is the first time someone outside of his House has said more than a single line to him, and it just so happens to be an offensive statement.

'Figures.'

Receiving no comeback, the Gryffindor's glance at one another with mischief brewing. They never witnessed such a quiet Slytherin before. The idea of getting back at the otherwise snarky and pompous bastards fills them with courage to continue.

"If you lick the dirt off their boots they might let you touch a Snitch."

"Maybe if you play Find The Snitch in their pants you'll get a prize." The boys snicker at the perverted meaning that unleashes an array of jibes.

"You could wax their balls!"

"Polish their brooms!"

The jokes get more debauching as they go, sending the Gryffindor's into fits of laughter at the otherwise blank expression on Harry's face.

Trust a Irishman though, to take it too far, "You can be their glorified bitch."

Dean chokes in surprise, Ron and Seamus continue to roar in laughter. The dark skinned boy glances over with an apologetic smile, but it slides off his face the moment he takes in the unnatural gleam in those stark green eyes. He steps back with building unease. The pale and gaunt face makes those vibrant orbs almost glowing. Dean can see themselves reflecting in those orbs, not laughing, but screaming instead... Then the dreadful moment is broken-

"Well if it isn't the weasel and his posse of Bloodtraitor friends." A gleeful voice cuts through the Gryffindor's fun like a sharp knife.

They all turn in time to witness a devious blond strutting over to them with two thugs following closely at a brisk pace.

"Malfoy..." Ron spits the Pureblood's name like a curse word, drawing an amused grin from the arriving boy.

"Well yes, that's my name isn't it? I'm so glad you remember." Comes the daunting purr. Those calculating orbs flick over the scene, assessing the situation.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing. Just leveling the playing field. Never knew you Gryffindorks were brutal enough to gang up on someone."

"Yeah? Well we've been taking notes from your lot, and it seems like ganging up is perfectly acceptable."

"Our lot?" Draco's lips quiver, "There's nothing wrong with taking examples from your betters, Weasley. You just happened to make one mistake..."

Ron growls as the blond leans dramatically into his personal space. "Yeah? And what's that?"

"You don't mess with us snakes unless you want to get bitten."

"You white haired son-of-a-" Again, Dean and Seamus latch onto Ron as Malfoy easily rocks backward on his feet, Crab and Goyle hunch forward in anticipation for the redhead to try and land a punch.

"Run along weasel, you'll need some practice on that broom if you want to try and beat me at anything."

Harry watches, as the Gryffindor's stomp off, plotting whatever thick-headed revenge that lions concoct. Pranks most likely. He levels his eyes on the intrusive Malfoy who is smoothing long robes as if invisible residue is left behind from the Gryffindor's. His orbs track the perfectly manicured nails as they sweep down the fine material with analytic detachment.

Lifting his pointed chin, Draco lets out a exasperated sigh. He shoos away his cretins. "Don't look at me like that, it's... unsettling."

Finally blinking, Harry turns away. The strange vibes of utter calm and drowning anger evaporates from him only to be replaced by a snarl.

"Much better."

"Go away, Malfoy."

"Oh? After coming to your aid you're going to get all pissy with me?"

"I never asked for your help." His eyes narrow on the blond. "I can handle myself."

"Really?" Draco steps closer, a sneer mirroring the other, "Because last I saw, you were being verbally whipped and simply taking it like some slow-witted buffoon. Slytherin's don't take defeat lightly. You better find some sort of pride Potter, because if the other Houses don't eat you alive, trust me when I say that Slytherin will."

Harry sucks in a breath, rage building inside; towards the Gryffindor's for their assault, towards Malfoy for being right, but mostly towards himself for being so feeble. As if summoned by the tension in the very air that helpless soul-sucking sensation comes from nowhere and everywhere. A dizzying feeling of weakness begins to slip into his bones, making him light-headed. He sways on his feet. Forcing himself not to fall, Harry grits his teeth and hisses out, "I can handle myself."

Gray eyes take in the wobbling legs, shaking hands, as well as the messy hair and sweat. Mostly, Draco notices the burning green orbs that are shinning with determination. "Can you?"

Heart thudding in sudden excitement, Harry realizes just who he is talking to: The Slytherin Prince. Until now he hasn't really given any of the students much thought, let alone the nosy Malfoy heir. If there is anyone in his House that can improve his ranking then it's Draco bloody Malfoy. "Let me prove myself."

Like before, two males stare at one another. This time without confrontation or hatred, this time with understanding and conviction.

"Fine..." Draco drawls taking a step to the side, pretending not to be pleased with something in his own secret thoughts. "The Slytherin Dungeon tonight, after Lights Out."

A grin slowly breaks across Harry's face as he watches the blond saunter away. Finally a chance to prove himself!

'This is it!'

With a laugh, Harry throws down Weasley's broom and gives it a kick for good measure. He suddenly can't wait for tonight! No matter what Malfoy throws at him he'll be ready. He simply will not lose, because the truth is: he can't afford to.


Chapter End.