*** Author's Note***
A thankyou to Bluisasome for pointing the out some flaws in my depiction of JKR's characters. I have reworked this chapter for you in the hopes that it makes
the story more believable and enjoyable. Thanks everyone for the reviews! Keep reading! Keep Reviewing! It all helps!
Chapter Eight
Malfoy actually skipped once he knew he was but of Hermione's line of sight. His face split into a grin and he felt positively giddy with delight. He whooped
his way down the corridor, racing towards the Herbology greenhouses, then realized what he was doing (and was revolted by his actions) and
compensated by sniffing his nose at a muggle-born first-year nearby. His first proper conversation with Granger had gone brilliantly, as far as he was
concerned. He was sorry about having to curse her bag into splitting, but what happened afterward was so good… his heart leapt as he realized that she
had actually laughed at something he said, and they had found something in common other than their taste in muggle books. It was so exciting! And he
had taken special care to not call her a mudblood or anything. His joyous waltz down the corridor was abruptly stopped by an outstretched foot and an
impromptu levitation session on Draco's part. He seemed to fly slow-motion through the air, only speeding up as his body hit the ground. He grinded
face-first to a halt in the middle of the corridor, ridiculously spread-eagled as his books exploded across the floor. He pulled himself upright, and his grin
had completely vanished. It was Potter and Weasel, standing imposingly over him. Malfoy sprang to his feet, bristling with indignation on the inside, but
hiding it by brushing off his uniform with a smirk on his face and sweeping his books up expertly in one movement.
"Sorry, Malfoy, I didn't see you there." Potter smirked and smiled at Ron, whose face didn't crack at all. He just remained staring at Draco like he was
carved out of stone. Like a gargoyle. What an ugly gargoyle he would make, too, thought Malfoy. The corridors were nearly empty. Everyone was going into
their classrooms. Noticing this, Potter leant in close to Malfoy, close enough to speak and not be overheard by anyone else.
"We saw you with Hermione just then. We saw you split her bag." Malfoy paled slightly, but didn't drop his smirk. Malfoy was never going to admit to fear,
and to POTTER, of all people. No. He would never let on. After a pause, Potter continued on.
"You leave Hermione alone, got it?" Harry hissed at him. Malfoy raised himself to his full height and conjured his favorite look, the sneer, for their benefit.
This sneer was an altime best of Draco's. If there was a sneering section at the Olympics, Draco would have easily won the gold every year. If it was a
tourre de Sneer, in which all of the great sneerers of the world sneered their way across the land of Sneer, Draco would be kilometres in the lead from the
very start. It was that fantastic a sneer. He brought the sneer home with his very best, unmistakeable drawl.
"I'll do whatever I want, Potter. Besides, 'tis none of your business what I do." He replied smoothly. He went to breeze past the two of them but
Weasel stepped up to block his way. Jeez, Malfoy thought, what is WRONG with these people? What is this? A Western movie or something?
"Didn't your mother teach you it's rude to block people's way?" he said, trying to push past to no avail.
"I don't think he's getting the message, Ron." Potter said, with an exaggerated note of concern in his voice.
"A real pity, don't you think?"
"Yeah," Ron said lamely. Draco almost laughed out loud at how ridiculous they seemed. It was obvious that they didn't do this very often. Draco, of course,
being a Slytherin had perfected interactions such as these. The two clowns in front of him just seemed to be quoting every cliche'd standoff in the history
of Muggle Western books. And did Malfoy know about Western novel books? Why yes he did, thanks to a suggestion from a friend.
"Allow me to make it a little clearer for you," said Potter.
"Don't. You. Dare. Hurt. Her. Ever. Do you understand now, Malfoy?"
"Reading you 'Loud and clear', Potter," Malfoy said sarcastically. He even threw in a mocking salute. And that's a rap, People, Malfoy thought smugly.
Weasel's cheeks was going red with anger, but Potter nodded, a smirk on his face.
"Come on, Ron. Let's go. Ferret Face is getting it now." As they walked past Draco, who remained frozen in the hallway, Ron shoulder-barged him and
Draco fell down painfully onto the floor for the second time in ten minutes. He was completely unprepared for his second fall, and as he hit the floor the
palms of his hands were the only safety net. He lifted them up to see them glittering a stinging red with his own blood. Eyes watering from pain, he let his
pale hair hang down over his face to hide the involuntary tears threatening in the corners.
"Where are your gorillas now, Malfoy? Learning to count somewhere?"
He didn't stand up until their footsteps had died away in the distance. When he was satifsied that they had indeed walked away, Malfoy wiped his
bloodied hands on his robes, cursed soundly at Potter and Weasel, and picked up his things yet again from the floor. One day, he thought through gritted
teeth, I'll get them back. I don't know how, I don't know when, but I will. He rolled his shoudlers and groaned. He hoped that falling was not going to become one of his habits, literally or... OR emotionally. It was too painful a thing to do. I hurt too much. Hurt... As Malfoy noted later, Potter had only said that he could never hurt Hermione, NOT that he couldn't talk to her. You have to be so specific with these things, Draco reasoned with himself. In fact, it's Potter's fault in the end. He shoudl have been less ambiguous. So, that means that I can talk to her, and I could get to know her, and then I could... I could...
Filled with blind hatred, indignation and strangely a little bit of hope, Malfoy hobbled off to class.
