After fleeing the hospital Draco ran all the way to the Slytherin common room, but rather belatedly remembered the last class of the day was still in session. Damn. He'd completely forgotten he'd gone to see Potter towards the end of lunch on his way to class. Damn. McGonogal was going to murder him. Damn. He'd already missed two days that month. Just... Damn. Draco's blood was still boiling with pent up rage from his fight with Potter, but the worst part was the guilt. Somehow, he actually felt a little bad about being so... blunt. This was ridiculous! A Malfoy never felt remorse, especially not towards those of lower class and intelligence who were just getting exactly what they deserved. It wasn't like he'd lied- it was all true and Potter would have found out eventually anyway. Try as he might, though, he couldn't shake the guilt. It just lingered in the pit of his stomach, eating away at his insides and burning through his already frazzled nerves. He was angry, but felt guilty, and the fact that he felt guilty simply made him angrier.

That was when he decided to run again: he ran up the steps to the owlery then right back down, past the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room and the staircases that led to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Tower, then back towards the Great Hall. As he ran, the twinge of guilt was slowly replaced by a comfortable cramp in his side, and at last the world began to lose its red tinge. His lungs were burning, and his right ankle was twinging, but it felt good. His vision, however, remained slightly blurry, as if in a dream; perhaps that was why he didn't see the tall forms standing in front of him until it was too late. He landed hard. Flat on his arse. It was a much harder tumble than he would have thought possible considering it was such a short way down, but the impact was enough to jar him from his trance-like state and he looked around, startled.

"Oi, Draco, alright down there? My mistake, mate, didn't see you coming."

Draco looked up to see Charlie Weasley of all people, who was apparently the tall form he'd run into. The older Weasley extended a hand to help him up and as the fog in his brain cleared Draco noticed several odd things, the first of which certainly being that a Weasel was being nice to a Malfoy. Initially Draco thought the Weasley was mocking him, calling him "mate," but it seemed the other boy was genuine (or at least attempting to be). It was very strange, and that alone raised Draco's guard. To make matters worse, Charlie was smirking-something that, strictly speaking, Weasels did not do. This wasn't the first Weasely smirk he'd received either. Saturday, at their awkward meeting outside the Great Hall- Charlie had smirked at him then too, meaning two smirks in three days. The next odd thing Draco noticed was that the tall person-sharped form he'd noticed standing next to Weasley was none other than Professor Snape, which was somewhat of a relief, seeing as he was currently skipping class. Even this blessing was particularly unerving, though, for his Head of House barely spared him a snarling sidelong glance before turning back to a scrap of parchment in his hands. While all of these things were incredibly odd, none were quite so strange as what Draco noticed next. Accepting the pale, very freckled hand still offered, he noticed the sleeve to Charlie's robes had ridden up a bit, exposing a very vicious looking bite mark on his forearm, just above his wrist. As Draco got to his feet, Charlie followed his gaze to the mark, quickly pulling the sleeve down to cover it, laughing awkwardly.

"Oh, pretty nasty looking, right? Nothing to worry about though. One of the dangers of playing with magical creatures, 'spose. Severus here- I mean, Professor Snape, of course- was just telling me about a potion that should clear it right up. Should be right as rain in no-"

But then Charlie's voice was drowned out, for classroom doors all around them opened and clumps of loud students came pouring into the hallway, pushing and bumping around them. Draco was surrounded almost instantly by a group of Slytherins, all pulling him towards the dungeons. Charlie offered a quick smile, waving as Draco was caught up in the rush and carried off. The blonde could only stare back quizzically.

Draco didn't know much about magical creatures- he had always despised that class, never paid much attention in it and was intensely relieved it was not required for 6th years. However, he knew enough that Charlie's claim raised his suspicions; it had been a horrid bite, to be sure, but it was small and the teeth obviously rather blunt to be a predatory creature- the bite barely broke the skin- and prey creatures rarely attacked unprovoked. The marks were deep, though. Deep enough, in fact, to have left the impression of two perfectly shaped arches, made up of bruises and light scabbing, almost gone but still in the identifiable shape of teeth… teeth that looked suspiciously human.

Initially, Draco had been furious at his housemates for pulling him away before he'd had a chance to call Charlie's bluff, but the more he thought about it, the more he'd realized it was probably a good thing. Just because Charlie had what looked to be a human bite mark on his arm and had been going around smirking didn't necessarily mean he'd been the one to hurt Potter. And even if he was, what did Draco care? It had nothing to do with him. But what about Snape? Why had the two been talking? That potion story had obviously been bollocks, and the way Snape was staring at that paper was unnerving, to say the least. "Oh, please, don't let that be Dumbledore's request for Snape to brew the Veritaserum. Wouldn't it just be my luck that I'd stumble into him, while cutting class, just as he finds out how rightly I've already buggered everything up?" Draco groaned inwardly. And if Charlie had been the one to hurt Potter, what if that's what he was talking to Snape about? What if Snape was in on it. That was ridiculous. Snape wouldn't ever even consider such a disgusting, brutal, terrible thing, no matter how much he loathed every fiber of Potter's being. Sure, yelling and taunting and detention- but not this. Never this. Never.

Right?

Draco's head was spinning by the time they reached the Slytherin common room- not only were the anger and guilt returning, but now he was confused as well. And confusion.. well, confusion meant he cared. About what, he had no idea, but he had to care to spend as much time thinking about this as he was. Luckily, by the time he arrived back at Slytherin the eerie stillness of his earlier visit had been shoved back into the corners by the laughter and chatter of his housemates. Pansy and Blaise were seated by the fire, leaning comfortably against each other and talking in hushed voices. Draco couldn't help but smile- both at them and the radius the rest of the house left around them. Pansy spotted him first and fell quiet, offering him a small, warm smile. They wouldn't call him over, he knew. After his outbursts lately and another skipped class they knew to give him space, and he was intensely grateful for it. He didn't move right away, though- he had been intent on taking a long shower and brooding until dinner, and that plan still seemed quiet appealing. But then Pansy shifted on the couch, scooting a little to the left so a space opened between her and Blaise. He smiled as their childhood promises echoed in his mind once more: no demands, no expectations. He cautiously approached, offering Blaise an apologetic smile. The other boy gave him a long, appraising look but eventually returned the smile.

"Bloody hell, what a day..."

Draco flopped gratefully into the empty spot between them, leaning into Blaise just as Pansy had been a few moments before. His head clunked lightly against the other boy's bony shoulder, but a little shifting soon fixed that.

"We missed you in Transfiguration today," Pansy edged, waiting for Draco to settle before laying back against his chest. "McGonogal was less than pleased. You do remember you were supposed to present today, don't you?"

"Damn.."

He groaned, but threw a casual arm around Pansy's shoulders anyway. There was nothing much he could do about McGonogal right now. He shifted between them again, trying to get comfortable. What was he supposed to present?

"So, Draco- was there anything you wanted to, you know... talk about?"

Pansy glared at Blaise furiously, but it didn't stop Draco from going rigid between them. Blaise grimaced, unable, as usual, to filter before speaking.

"I didn't mean, about.. I just meant..."

"Yes, Blaise, there is something I want to talk about," Draco whispered, glancing surreptitiously around the common room. It had gone suspiciously quiet, but if anything more Slytherins had come in. "But not right now. Or at least, not right here. Right now I just want to... I just..."

Draco huffed in defeat, afraid that if he were to even attempt talking right now anything he tried to say would come out wrong.

"It's okay..." Pansy whispered, low enough that the obvious crowd behind them couldn't hear.

Blaise shifted and they all dipped further to the left, half sitting and half laying across the sofa. No demands, no expectations. Draco smiled, feeling the tension of the day fade somewhat and for a short while they talked of trivial things, mostly the fast-approaching Halloween Masquerade Ball, laughing and joking over likely pairings and costume ideas. These were his favorite times, Draco realized warmly; moments just like those they'd shared as children- warm, innocent afternoons spent laughing and playing while their parents planned the next Death Eater raid. Just the three of them, looking out for each other. Just caring, just being together. No demands, no expectations.

Eventually, the warmth and lull of conversation drew Draco into sleep, and for a short while he was actually able to forget about Harry Potter.

It was, indeed, a very short while that Draco was able to forget the dark haired boy and all the trouble he'd caused. He had managed a record breaking three hours, though, and was still basking in the wonderful nap he'd had as he, Pansy and Blaise made their way up to the Great Hall for dinner. The meal was well under way by the time they arrived, and the light and laughter trickling out into the gloomy corridor seemed very welcoming to Draco's sleep-fogged brain. Upon entering the Hall, however, his perception rapidly changed; the soft glow he'd noticed outside seemed suddenly like a spotlight glaring down on him, and the laughter broke off first into whispers and hisses, and finally into silence. Everyone was looking at him. He was vaguely aware that Pansy was tugging his hand, but he had frozen on the spot. What!? He wanted to scream. What? What do you want?? He had expected this, had run through in his mind over and over how he would play it out. He certainly wouldn't bring it up, but if questioned he had planned to brag a little, throw in a snide remark or two for good measure, and then blow it off. He had figured his family ties, reputation and charm would be enough to evade too much attention, and that the bulk of the school would be too intimidated to even consider glancing his way. Apparently not.

Draco felt his gut clench, fighting the urge to dart out of the Hall and retreat back to the sanctity of his dormitory.

"Draco..."

Blaise urged him forward with a gentle nudge in the back and Pansy tugged him forward by the hand, and somehow they eventually made it to the Slytherin table. Now that he'd returned to his senses Draco felt humiliated- how long had he been standing there? It felt like a lifetime. "At any rate, too late now," he reassured himself, trying to shake it off. From there it was easy to slip back into his public persona; he shrugged nonchalantly at the Slytherins around him, indicating he had no idea, and pointedly began ignoring anyone and everything not covered in gravy. However, as dinner wore on the façade of indifference became increasingly difficult to keep up. The whispers got louder, erupting when parts two and three of the Goody-Goody Gryffindor Golden Trio waltzed in, their robes billowing behind them in a way that would have made Snape invidious. Neither seemed to have any intention of eating, though, as they proceeded to join the rest of the Hall in the staring contest directed at his pristine blonde head. Under different circumstances, he would have found their pathetic attempts at Death Glares amusing, but paired with the bits and snatches of conversation he could hear circulating around the Slytherin table, he was growing increasingly nervous.

"Did you hear what happened to Potter?"

A voice several seats down hissed, sending a wave of murmured questions down the table.

"What happened?"

"Is it true?"

"The scar? What about the scar?"

"Yes… the scar, what happened?"

It seemed there were voices on every side, closing in on him, combining with the countless eyes studying him to make Draco feel claustrophobic and panicky.

"The scar… the scar… is it true?"

Draco could feel them pressing in closer around him expectantly and he stood, forsaking appearances altogether and turning to flee- only to collide with Professor Dumbledore. The smell of moth balls and lemon drops had never seemed so wonderful.

"Mr. Malfoy, perhaps you would be so kind as to join me in my office? I'd like to have a word with you."

Dumbledore's voice was cold and even, but just then anything was looking better than another moment spent in the Great Hall.

"Yes, of course, Headmaster.."

Draco hoped his voice hadn't sounded as shaky to everyone else as it did to his own ears, but after his grand entrance earlier he doubted it mattered. As he fell into step beside Dumbledore, Draco noticed the Hall had once again fallen still; the Headmaster's heeled boots clicked obscenely in the oppressive silence, and Draco became painfully aware of the muffled "thuds" that were his own dragonhide footseps, a perfect encore of his Saturday morning performance. Eventually they reached the entryway, though, and began their ascent to the gargoyle on the second floor. They were out of sight, but not out of hearing range, when the Great Hall errupted into fervent chatter once more.