Chapter 25
Draco had nowhere to go. Anger was coursing through his veins, but he didn't really know why. Maybe because she was trying to threaten his wellbeing. It wasn't kindness or even interest that had made her kiss him. It was pure Malice—her wanting to make his relationship with his family difficult. Not that he had expected anything better from her.
Hall after hall passed and he still had no idea where he was going. People were getting ready for their treks to Hogsmeade and the castle was slowly emptying. Hermione would be one of them, so he could easily go back to the apartment.
What he wanted was a drink, but that would mean traipsing all the way down to Hogsmeade and all the unpleasantness that would entail.
Unwittingly, he ended up in the Great Hall, which was mostly empty, but he didn't want to stay there. As large as the castle was, there were few places he could go to be completely alone. The astronomy tower had used to be his place of solitude, but the place was corrupted now, imbued with Voldemort's evil and it only reminded him of the part he'd had to play in it.
In the end, he sat down in one of the remote halls where no one was likely to come. It bothered him how isolated he was. It couldn't be good for him—he knew that, but he had no choice.
Living with Granger had never been comfortable, but it was worse now. And why was that? Why was he so very angry? Because she had gone on the offensive in a very sneaky way. Should he be surprised? No, Granger was sneakier than people gave her credit for. Always had been. He just hadn't seen it coming.
Maybe he was so angry because for a moment, it had felt like they had settled a bit, had let a truce exist between them, but it hadn't been true. And maybe he had wanted it. Had needed it was more the truth of it. Maybe he'd wanted one front he wasn't battling on.
With a deep sigh, he leaned back and closed his eyes. He wasn't proud of having run out of the apartment in practically a panic. What was there to panic about? It wasn't as if the kiss had meant anything. Maybe it was simply how easily she had gotten to him, because for a moment, he'd been shaken by it—which was exactly what she'd intended.
Was he panicked? No. Did her kissing him completely undo him? Hell no. There wasn't a girl in the school he hadn't kissed—well, almost. Now with this kiss from Granger, the list was more complete. A notch he hadn't expected to ever get.
Was she gone yet? Could he return? Fuck he was bored. Bored with being here, bored with trying to find space. He didn't want to go back to the apartment to just sit around. Then it struck him. There was one thing he hadn't done in a long time, that he loved to do. Fly.
That's how he would spend the morning. At least until lunchtime. Work out some of the tension, feel the wind, the air, his skill. The quidditch ground would be deserted and if not, he would make it so.
Waiting a few more minutes, he returned to the apartment and changed. As expected, it was empty. Left again with broom in hand, not even bothering to even return to the ground, instead jumping off the mezzanine walkway and taking off. Strictly not allowed, but no one was around. Even if they saw him, I don't think the staff were of mind to admonish him for his behaviour.
Flying over the castle, he veered toward the quidditch ground.
His cheeks turned pink when flying in the cold. Wind burn. It would stay a few hours and he considered himself in the mirror. His hair was a mess, but he looked elated. He felt better. A simple pleasure, but it was his.
It had to be mid afternoon. Anger had left him. Granger would be home soon, and he needed to determine how to deal with this latest skirmish. Was he scared of her? No. Never.
If transgression was the new game, he could play that too. Although not entirely willing to admit it, there was a certain excitement.
The door opened behind him and he was about to tell whomever it was to fuck off, when he saw Potter through the mirror. The words froze in his throat. Potter, dickhead that he was, was one of the few people he couldn't push around. Engaging with Potter meant escalation, because Potter didn't back down.
No wand drawn. Well, that was something at least, because he hadn't forgotten Potter cutting him to pieces that one time. And the shithead only received a slap on the wrist for it. It would be the same now. War hero versus social reject. Draco sarcastically wondered whose side that would land on.
As Potter hadn't drawn his wand, neither did he, but it had been a mistake, because a fist crashed into his face as soon as he turned around.
Pained searched through his consciousness. Sadly, a familiar sensation. "Fuck," he yelled as he crashed into the basin behind him. His nose was broken—he could feel it. Plus the blood which was now gushing.
"You touch Hermione again, I'll kill you."
Holding his hand up, he was absently trying to catch the blood coming from his nose. He really should be hitting Potter back, but he kind of got why Potter was there, considering the shove that had happened in front of him. "Since when can't Granger fight her own battles? She's never needed you to fight her battles."
Potter was stumped for a moment, until he composed himself and redrew his original conclusion. "If you ever lay a hand on her, I'll end you."
"Well, if you want to talk about inappropriate touching, you should talk to her."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"Like everything else, it's none of your fucking business, Potter."
Again he was stumped. Intelligent banter had never been Potter's strong suit. A skill Granger had always served out for him. While Potter was distracted by trying to think, Draco performed a silent Reducto charm and Potter flew back into the wall. That had to hurt. In fact, it winded Potter who was trying to catch his breath with whaling breaths. "You'll get kicked out of school if you start attacking students." Probably not true, but Potter would refuse to see that he was given special treatment, even as he always had been.
Potter finally caught his breath, rising staunchly to his feet. "Consider this a warning."
"Why don't you sort your own shit before worrying about anyone else," Draco said. There wasn't anything specific he was eluding too, but hopefully Potter would assign some meaning to it. Potter's jaw clenched. And apparently there was. Whatever.
With a last glowering look, Potter left and Draco stood up, seeing the mess his face was. With his wand, he healed the break, which hurt like hell. Magic didn't work as well on tissue. The wound was sealed, mostly, but it would take some time for it to settle.
With his wand, he cleared up as much of the blood as he could, but it couldn't entirely stop the seeping. Fucking Potter. Always jumping to conclusions and coming with the violence. Prick.
He could feel a bruise at the back of his head too from where he'd hit the hand basin. He'd be lucky if he didn't have a concussion. Tiredness seeped into him. Any rush and freedom he'd felt from flying was gone now. Getting attacked did that to you.
With some paper, he held his nose shut as if that would stop the bleeding. He hated getting his nose broken. Not that it was his first time. Always came with bad memories.
His quidditch gear was soiled, requiring more than a simple spruce up. Fucking Potter.
Face still aching, he left, before Potter changed his mind and returned. Or worse, the fucking Weasel found out. If Potter was dumb, the Weasel was pure moronic. Although typically he was too senseless these days to do anything.
"What happened to you?" Granger asked as he walked into the apartment.
"Flying," was all he said.
"Your nose is broken."
"Thank you for pointing that out. The realization completely escaped me."
"Did you try to heal it?"
He swatted her hands away from his face. "It's healed."
"It's still bleeding."
"Yes, that happens."
"You should be more careful. And you literally stink of blood. I hate that smell. Let me see."
"No," he said, avoiding her as she tried to look up his nose as if she could see the injury.
"I'm very good with healing spells."
"Actually, I'm not too bad myself. I've had some practice."
"I guess we both have," she said more quietly. "The break will be quite weak for a while."
She was telling him things he already knew, but he gave up trying to stop her examining him and just relented.
"Ah," he warned as she tried to touch his nose and she stopped.
What would she do if he told her that Potter had done this? He was curious, but he didn't want her running to Potter and trying to defend him. That was the last thing he needed. Getting your wife to warn off your bully was equal to getting your mother to do it. It just wasn't done by any self-respecting guy.