by Perr

Draco's POV

Repulsive.
This is the foulest thing I've ever tasted. "Ugh," I say, pushing my plate away, with yet another meal I would skip in the blink of an eye. I'd rather starve than even breathe the odour of this... this...
"Escargot," Crabbe insists. "Eaten a lot of it, but I've never known what it really is. New on the table," and he shoves another forkful into his mouth.
"They're garden snails," Pansy says. "Never mind, Draco, I've never had much taste for them either."
Once again, I turn pumpkin juice into water, or syrup, or whatever besides it, and drink my fill. She just keeps sitting closer and closer to me, and eventually, I just leave my palm up and rest my cheek on it. I give up. I also notice that Crabbe has suddenly slowed down the pace of his eating.
The Gryffindor table seems to appreciate the dishes a little more than I do, though. Finnigan, Thomas, Weasleys, Granger and Potter are all seated in the centre section of the tables, in line with my own Slytherin kin. Hmm. I'm glad he's eating, I don't think he'd look very good skinny anyway.
I wonder what he thinks of the letter that I wrote him. I wonder if he still feels my hand, because I sure still feel all that flesh in it, as I start to draw patterns on the goblet with my finger. Whoo.
Potter looks up and sees me staring at him, looking at my lazy self, with my hand supporting my head. I don't want to be caught, but I can't tear my eyes away from him, his scar, his eyes, those stupid, stupid glasses, the active jaw working to chew his food... I smile, but not anything threatening, just something that matches with the heat rising in my body.
Potter doesn't look that pleased. Then I realise that the physical heat isn't really coming from me; Pansy's slipped herself under my free arm, and she cosies up.
I can't really be bothered with her anymore, so I leave her there.
At the corner of my eye, an owl comes flying into the hall, fast and soundless. It's Potter's owl, I've seen it too many times.
Folded parchment falls in front of me, just short of my plate. Sending me a letter? Something about yesterday? I push Pansy away and unfold the letter. To my disappointment--- Hormones! Hormones! There is no disappointment.
 ---unexpectedly, it's about the challenge I issued him some time back. Me and my dastardly plans. Fine, if you want to.
 I stand up and feel a bit reckless. "Hey, Harry Potter!" I shout across tables. "The Quidditch pitch! Right now!"
I know you want it so badly.
And also, that did not sound quite right.



That fight did not go well.
Me and my stupid mouth.
Me and my stupid eyes.
Me and my stupid mind.
He and his wonderful distractions.
I think I bruised my cheek. Pansy keeps touching it. Doesn't she understand that it'll only heal if she leaves it alone?!
I end up retreating to the Boy's Dormitory. Blaise had insisted that my sheets were untainted, so I agreed to go back. I climb onto the bed and dig beneath my (new) pillow and look at myself in the mirror. Yeah, I still look fabulous, except for my cheek. The mirror is alternating between green and violet, and it's so odd to find it acting the way it is.
"Stupid Potter."
The mirror clouds and it's all too familiar. Instead of running for cover, I discover that a face does show after a moment... I'm very, very confused.
"...Potter?"