[a/n: second post of the day.]
Draco Malfoy wondered how he'd missed it, when Potter sat down that second day for breakfast, he gave a telltale "oof." Draco Malfoy stared down at his scones for half a minute, thinking over the ramifications. Better to keep that under my hat, Draco thought. Besides, nobody'd believe me.
Potter tried to start up a conversation - wisely, not with Malfoy, who smirked at him in delight. Malfoy was quite engaged with enjoying the lumps and bumps on Potter's head, back and arms. Those were from the girls in the prefects' bathroom.
Besides, Draco Malfoy was scheming - because any scrap of poorly known knowledge was something to profit off of.
Potter didn't have much luck talking with Theo, whose responses were monosyllabic at best. Draco knew how to talk with Nott - bring up some obscure arithmatic theorem, and get it slightly wrong. Theo'd light up and become animated, and take over the conversation from there. Theo didn't suffer small talk. If Potter had been braver, he'd have sat nearer to Tracey Davis, the one Slytherin who might have given him the time of day. Not because of a flighty crush she'd had on him two years ago, but because he was wealthy, and the poor halfblood could always position herself as a Known Social Climber.
It wasn't the worst position to take, not in House Slytherin. Climb on top, or be climbed upon, would be a better motto for the house.
Draco knew who was climbing on himself, and he counted himself lucky.
His father's white eagle owl winged in, and Draco deftly swiped the letter. It was from his mother. Now, Draco was thankful that Potter was on the other side of the table.
Oh, Draco! My little dragon, my son!
I have heard the most troubling of news!
They say you've gone mad, as mad as my sister!
Tell me you haven't been drawn into the Darkness,
So far that you'll never find your way out!
He laughs, oh, how he laughs,
At the missives from your friends,
They say you've gone unhinged...
Nobody listens to a mother's tears.
Soon, he will tire of this sport;
so, make haste and be about what needs doing.
I write whilst I can.
Draco finished reading the letter, plastering it against his chest before rolling it up. The other Slytherins were too wellbred to try and swipe it, but Potter's eyes burned with fiery curiosity. Draco stood, bid farewell, and swiftly sped out of the hall.
He was even vaguely surprised that Potter had followed him.
Time to put ill-gotten knowledge to better use. Draco thought, heading up the North Tower stairs in silence.
Alas, Potter was not to be put off by silence and speed. Draco could hear the sudden dash from behind him, and then a small hand like iron clasping his shoulder. "What's wrong?"
Draco turned around, and smirked. "You expect me to tell you?" Draco's voice turned more mocking, "Poor Widdle Savior Potter, found someone who can't be saved."
"Tell me," Potter growled, with a remarkable display of Gryffindor bravery.
Just because it's truth doesn't mean I can't bend it to my will. Draco sneered, "Brave, brave Gryffindor, just what the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Nothing's wrong," Potter said, so firmly that Draco might have almost believed it.
"Down the stairs then?" Draco Malfoy smirked. With his free shoulder, he bodychecked Potter down the stairs. An instant later, Draco's wand was in his hand - casting cushioning spells, just not enough of them.
Draco and Potter heard the sickening crack of a long bone.
Draco posed, drawling, "I suppose it's my duty to see you to the Infirmary." Draco strolled past Potter, who was preoccupied with not screaming. Without looking behind himself, Draco cast a levitation charm, and as they descended, he said, "Remember, mum's the word."
[a/n: This went differently than I thought it was going to. Leave a review?]