Chapter 9: Fights and Blood
"I hate Snape! You'd think after all these years he'd finally give up his emnity towards my parents and leave me the hell alone," Draco heard Perfect Potter complain as his Mudblood friend tried to catch up to him after exiting the dungeons. Potter's other lacky wasn't with them, Draco smirked. Weasley hadn't received enough OWLS to get into Snape's advance Potions class, but then again, no one seemed too surprised, especially the Weasel himself.
Draco hurried forward, not going to let this golden opportunity pass him by. "Have you ever thought Potter that it's your complete and utter incompetance that infuriates Professor Snape so?" Draco mocked after stepping in front of Potter and Granger, almost causing a collision in the jammed hallway.
Draco didn't know how it was possible, but Potter's already contorted scrunched up even more as he was given another sour dose. His legendary scar was hardly visible as his brows furrowed to their compacity. Harry drew a long hissing breath through his clenched teeth before saying,"You'd know about incompetance wouldn't you Malfoy?"
"I ought to after having to watch YOU for the last seven years," Draco snapped back without hesitating, and with equal amounts of malice. By now most of the students had formed a circle paving the way for the fight they could feel brewing in the air. Like the very waves of the Red Sea, the students parted, the Slytherins behind Draco and the Gryffindors behind Harry, as if physically showing their allegiance and daring anyone not in their loyalties to cross the invisible and fatal line. Some of the first years that had wandered into the hallway and taken their positions with their houses even let little growls escape their lips like they were lion cubs learning to hunt.
But all of this was just space to Draco. The only thing with any relevance was that right then and there, standing before him was Harry Potter. Too long had Draco waited to physically show all of Hogwarts what he thought of their would-be hero, and was his chance. Granger made to slip out of the crowd, no doubt to find a teacher, but Draco would not let that happen.
"That's right Granger, go get a teacher. Save your precious Scarhead from getting himself into a painful problem one more time, it's only prolonging the inevitable," Draco smirked, not breaking his eye contact with Potter and allowing the trademark smirk to pass over his pale lips as he clenched and unclenched his fists.
Potter bit his lip, hard from the looks of it, and clenched a sweating hand around Granger's wrist. "Don't," he hissed, and she surprisingly obeyed. "This has gone on too long Malfoy. Lets end this, no using wands, no sneaky tricks, just man on man."
"I agree to all of your terms, but I don't really see a man in front of me to fight with," Draco laughed, a wave of equally nasty snickers filled the Slytherin end of the hall. Potter's temper was rising, he was taking the bait. Draco laughed to himself thinking of the useful lesson his father had given him while instructing him in the art of dueling, "the champion is always the one can stay emotionless and collected through the fight. Anger only let's the mind get cluttered and increases the probability of error." No matter what, Draco was going to remain emotionless for he knew Lucius was right, about this at least.
Harry made a frustrated grunting sound before quickly shedding his robes and rolling up his sleeves. Draco smirked before doing the same and tossing them aside. It was time for the final cut, the thing that would send him over the edge.
"I'd like to officially state my displeasure with this barbaric muggle custom. How'd you learn to fight like this Potter? Did your ruffian Godfather teach you? Oh that's right, he's dead," Draco added with a particular snap in his tone.
That was it. With a strangled yell, Potter leapt forward and tackled Draco to the floor, flailing his arms in front, hoping to make contact with Draco's smug face. The screeches of the Mudblood echoed through the dark hallway like a struggling pig as the onlookers chanted and rooted for their housemates.
A shot of pain surged through Draco's face as if fire had ignited on the spot of contact. In turn he yanked Harry's head back by his unruly hair and used the other fist to deal him a similar fate. Potter seemed stunned for a minute and Draco used the opportunity to push him off and get to his feet. Both boys were glaring at each other, their sholdors rising up and down, trying to get a breath before diving back in. Harry made to lunge again, but Draco was not willing to end up another heap on the floor. As Harry drew near, Draco grabbed him by the wrists and used the momentum of the furious boy to throw him into the wall. With a loud thump and a scream from Granger, Harry crashed against the wall and slumped to the floor. The Mudblood ran to his side and the hallway fell silent as the students stood awestruck at the fallen Gryffindor.
Panting, Draco leered over his opponent, fallen and beaten. It took all of his willpower not to finish what he had started, but Potter was not worth getting sent Azkaban, as tempting as the malicious thought was. Harry raised his head slowly, a stream of blood coming from his nose and joining the river already flowing down his chin.
"You WASTE- MY- TIME," Draco sneered, each word shooting out of his mouth like a sharp tipped arrow aiming to stab. Harry's hand shot up and reached for his wand, but Draco had been trained in the art of dueling since before Harry knew he was a wizard. The silver-haired champion whipped out his slender weapon and shouted, "Difindo!"
Potter groaned as the slicing curse hit his cheek and did the duty of its caster. He dropped his wand and cupped a hand around the newest wound and fell back again.
"Looks like you'll have another scar, eh Potter? That's what you like isn't it? Now you'll be even more famous then before; your world can keep on turning…and you'll have me to thank." With that, Draco turned on his heals and pushed his way through the crowd of jaw-dropped students.
No feeling could overshadow what Draco was feeling right now. He had triumphed. Images of Potter laying half-unconcious on the ground would be sufficient to fill him with a lifetime of happiness. Finally-- after fighting every urge to knock his block off, restraining his natural impulse every day for seven years—finally, it had happened. And it felt absolutely glorious.
He continued walking down the hall practically glowing with superiority, despite his limp, like a brilliant candle in a darkened chamber. Even with the rusted taste of his own metallic blood, Draco felt like a God. He had single-handedly proved to Hogwarts, hell, the whole world that Potter was not so perfect. And Draco Malfoy, his archenemy, was the one to find that "Achille's heal." It was too delicious. He wanted to fly to highest mountain and shout of his win, or plaster it all over the wizarding papers so the whole world could laught at Potter like Draco was doing now. Yes, nothing could bring him down…