Feel
By: Lady DeathAngel
Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.
Warnings: meh, hints at an actual plot instead of meandering angst? Does that count?
A/N: um, onto part B!
He managed to ignore the stares for the most part. It was mostly because he was so busy thinking about not thinking about Remus as anything but a father figure. Hermione's voice in his head could be very distracting as well, so he hardly noticed until Ron shuddered on his left.
"This is getting bloody creepy," he muttered.
Hermione tossed her hair as elegantly as she could when it was so tightly curled as to be bushy.
"They're just being rude and we should do our best to ignore them."
He almost snorted because he half expected her to say, 'Peasants', in a delicate sniff. Ron shrugged, but his eyes kept darting back and forth and finally, finally, he noticed that they were all staring at him. He sighed and shook his head, running a hand through his hair and pulling his thoughts away from the non-reasons to avoid Remus Lupin.
"You would think," he said with a shake of his head. "They'd never seen the future of the Wizarding world shopping for school things before."
Ron laughed but Hermione tutted.
"Not to be taken lightly," she muttered.
He and Ron shared a look and shrugged. She was like his publicist, or, he thought that was what it was called. It was her job to assume the proper attitude of disdain without being calloused. She was very good at it. He and Ron were not.
Mrs. Weasley tutted as well from somewhere behind them, but Ginny, on his right, simply batted her eyelashes at the cuter blokes and ignored the nasty looks she was gaining from the prettier girls.
"Is being famous always this much of a pain in the arse?" Ron asked softly as they continued on amidst enraptured gazes and small whispers.
He shrugged.
"Yeah."
He didn't add that this wasn't the worst of it. He didn't need to. The worst of it was heading toward them.
Draco Malfoy looked much the same as ever. At least, he was recognizable as the blonde-haired, pointy-chinned, pasty-faced idiot they'd hexed into a blob earlier that summer. He was frowning. That in and of itself was nothing different. However, there was no sneer in the expression. He was missing that look that had always been present and said, 'I am better than you. I am always going to be better than you.'. That look that had always been all talk and no action.
He looked older with the frown. More menacing. It was almost attractive. Leastways, moreso than his usual baby-faced 'I am a pearl, the world is my oyster' attitude and look.
"Hello Malfoy," Ron said pleasantly, obviously pleased to be confronted. "How's your dad?"
Sadistic little bugger.
"If you think you're the first to use that particular line on me, Weasley, you're wrong. And I'm not here to talk to you, I'm here to talk to Potter."
Mrs. Weasley looked at them curiously but Ron nodded at her.
"We'll meet you at Flourish and Blotts later," he said. "We'll look after him."
She didn't want to leave them and would have argued but at that moment a woman Harry had never seen swooped down on her. She simpered about how long it had been since they'd spoken, took Mrs. Weasley by the arm and ushered her away.
"Let's talk in the Leaky Cauldron," Malfoy said. "Your entourage can follow, I suppose. Keep a bit of a distance though, if you don't mind? These streets are dusty enough . . ." he trailed off, the rest of his insult not hard to imagine.
He frowned but walked side-by-side with Malfoy as Ginny, Ron and Hermione fell back.
"Enjoying your summer?" the blonde asked in a neutral tone.
"Not particularly," he answered tonelessly.
"Neither have I."
He didn't know what he expected. Well, no, he knew exactly what he expected. He expected for Malfoy to say it was all his fault and curse him like usual. Instead he kept walking, eyes straight ahead. When they finally reached the Leaky Cauldron Malfoy practically ordered Ron, Hermione and Ginny to stand near the exit.
"I won't hex your boy-wonder," he drawled with an eyeroll.
They sat down at a long wooden table across from each other.
"I want to call a truce," he said.
"What?"
"A truce? You do know what that is, don't you Potter?"
"Of course I do Malfoy I just . . ."
"Didn't expect it?"
"Yeah."
He frowned and tugged on his earlobe.
"I'm dead tired of being embarrassed by you, Potter," he said finally. "There's no pride in it, no reward, nothing. I hate you, probably always will, but don't you think its time we grew up?"
He shrugged.
"Please don't start with your 'martyr of the Wizarding world' bit, Potter. Yes I know you've been forced to grow up at a heinously accelerated pace, but that doesn't hold water. Not with me."
He didn't say anything and Malfoy cleared his throat slightly.
"Anyway, with my dad in Azkaban for the time being and my mum . . . not handling it so well, not to mention the way the Ministry's been watching us and seizing property left and right . . . I don't have time for you. Not now."
"But you will later?"
His smile was cold.
"Of course. One day I'll pay you back for all you've done to my family and to me and I look forward to it. Until then . . ." He held out his hand.
It was a nice hand, slim and pale and his palm was cool against his own, which felt overly heated. They shook once and then Malfoy was up and walking away, not even sparing a glance at the three awestruck individuals staring after him.
"The Prophet is going to have a bloody field-day with this, Harry," Hermione said when he drew up to them.
He shrugged and sighed.
"Tell me something new," he said.