Chapter Two: Bruised Shin
Draco Malfoy loved his life. Honestly, he did.
That was, until recently.
Before last year, Draco had had everything. His friends followed his every command. His parents bought him whatever he wanted them to buy… But then stupid Potter ruined everything.
When he had come back from the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament, Harry Potter told the world that the Dark Lord had returned.
Even as Potter clung desperately to the body of the Hufflepuff boy, and a sliver of fear rooted itself in Draco's heart. He remembered that night so vividly.
…
Last Year
The crowd's constant murmuring was grating on Draco's last nerve. They had been waiting for ages, just staring at the wall of greenery that was all they could see of the hedge maze.
When Potter and the others had first entered, the crowd erupted into cheers of encouragement. They maintained their momentum for an impressively long time after the champions disappeared from view, but now the onlookers were growing restless, shifting and whispering amongst themselves.
And then suddenly, what looked like two figures appeared on the grass below. Cheers erupted once more from the crowds in the stands, and Draco leapt to his feet to see who the Triwizard Champion was.
Then he heard the screams.
He ran through the crowds - not towards the commotion, mind you; he wasn't some reckless Gryffindor. He ran to the side, securing a clear view as everyone else surged forwards.
He saw Potter clinging to the pretty Hufflepuff boy, and for a second, an inexplicable anger blossomed in his chest.
But something was wrong. Diggory was too still, and Potter was screaming.
The angry heat in his veins was quickly replaced with a terrible cold.
Frantically, Draco looked around. He caught a flash of familiar blond hair.
"Draco!" called his mother. He'd rarely seen her so openly fearful. She deftly maneuvered through the throng of people and enveloped him in her arms briefly.
When he pulled back, he peered behind her - but his father was nowhere to be seen.
And he knew.
He heard what Potter was screaming, and he knew it was true.
The Dark Lord had returned.
His life would never be the same.
…
Draco sat in his chair, adopting a bored expression. The toad-like woman at the front of the classroom was droning on and on about Merlin knew what.
The door to the classroom slammed open.
"Mr. Potter," said the toad in a horrifically girly voice, "May I ask why you find yourself tardy on the first day of term?"
Potter appeared to be just as agitated by the women's false cheer as Draco was.
"I… got held up," he said, then he quickly added, "Professor."
"Well I hope whatever held you up was worth 10 points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. Now, if you'll kindly take your seat, we can resume as if this rude interruption never happened." The woman cleared her throat to continue, and Draco had to fight to keep from digging his nails into the desk.
"As I was saying," Umbridge continued, "Turn to page two in your textbook and - is there a problem, Mr. Potter?"
Draco looked back to see Potter standing exactly where he had been, except now he was staring just to the left of the Slytherin.
Draco followed his gaze to the empty seat beside him.
The only empty seat in the class.
Fucking brilliant, thought Draco, even as his heart fluttered slightly. He ignored the traitorous organ and sent a glare towards the still-frozen Gryffindor.
Potter hesitantly stepped forward and claimed the empty seat, scooting his chair as far from Draco as he could.
The class proceeded to read quietly to themselves the portion of text that their too-pink professor assigned - until they were interrupted by Granger's hand in the air.
As if we needed this class to get even worse, Draco mused.
He observed silently as Granger actually challenged a professor. He would have been impressed if it hadn't been so idiotic. Honestly, hasn't she been listening to the pink toad's speech at the welcome feast? The ministry was trying to wriggle in to Hogwarts and regain some of the control that Potter had lost them by announcing the Dark Lord's return. And yet the brave, bushy idiot thought that it would be clever to ask why the ministry-approved Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum only included theoretical lessons?
One by one, the Gryffindors were all dragged into the debate. Draco could feel Potter's anger spiraling out of control.
Don't say anything, Potter. Don't. Say. Anyth- but Draco's internal pleas were cut off by Potter blurting:
'So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?'
'There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter.'
Umbridge's serene smile grew at the edges, and there was a glint in her eye that set Draco on edge. She was baiting Potter. She wanted to have this confrontation out in the open - a chance to deny his claims from last year.
Draco risked a glance at Potter. The wizard's brows were furrowed over his striking eyes. His posture was tense - fingers curled into fists, no doubt pressing angry semicircles into his palms. Despite his tanned complexion, Draco could see the unmistakable flush of rage beneath his cheeks.
He wasn't just rising to the bait, he was sprinting headlong into a trap.
"Quiet, Potter," Draco whispered through barely-moving lips. He didn't even know why he was interfering; he hated the stupid git!
But the stubborn wizard plunged onwards, yelling "There IS something out there, and we need to be ready for him - Lord Voldemort!"
Draco flinched.
Umbridge pounced, "Ten more points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for your lies."
Potter opened his mouth to snap at the frilly witch, but was cut off by a bark of startled pain as Draco kicked him in the shin under the table.
The dark-skinned wizard turned his emerald glare to Draco, who kept his eyes forward and carefully blank.
"Don't give her what she wants," Draco whispered.
Potter stared at him for a moment before turning his furious gaze onto the desk in front if him.
"Now, let me make a few things quite plain," Umbridge said in her saccharine voice, "You have been told that a certain dark wizard has returned from the dead. This is a lie. What happened during the Triwizard Tournament last year was, indeed, a tragedy, but it was an accident."
Beside Draco, Potter gripped the desk until his knuckles turned white. Draco barely heard him whisper, "I watched him die... I couldn't save him..."
Something about his voice cut Draco.
It was almost as if Potter needed to say the words out loud, even if he couldn't openly contradict the witch who was still prattling on at the front of the classroom.
Emerald eyes flicked towards Draco, as if just remembering he was there. They stared at each other for a moment, neither fully knowing how to respond. At a loss for what else to do, Draco gave an almost imperceptible nod. Potter stared at him a moment longer before returning to glare at the desk.
Umbridge finally finished her speech and set the class reading again. She seemed… disappointed that Potter had stopped responding. Draco smirked at that. It had been risky interfering like he did, but for some reason he didn't understand, he wanted Potter as far away from the woman as possible. Even though he still hated the Scarhead, of course.
He decided that, just this once, it had been worth the risk.
The rest of the class dragged on, and finally, after what seemed like hours if staring at the ministry-approved drivel, Umbridge dismissed the class.
Draco slowly began packing his things, ever aware of Potter sitting frozen beside him. After another few seconds had passed without the wizard moving, Draco sent a furtive glance sideways.
The other wizard was still staring at the desk in front of him, a large crease between his dark brows, oblivious to the motion of the dwindling class.
Draco turned his face away. He could imagine what Potter was seeing in his head...
Gulping at what he was about to do, Draco steeled himself before whispering, "You did well today, Potter."
Potter blinked, then flicked his green eyes towards Draco.
"What?"
"She was obviously trying to rile you up. You did well not to fall for it."
Potter drew a deep breath, "I would have… why did you stop me, Malfoy?"
Draco paused, unsure how to answer. Truth be told, he didn't know how to have a civil conversation with the man in the first place, as it had never really happened before.
Finally, he responded with a small sneer, "I may not like you, Potter, but I abhor that woman. I couldn't allow her to get what she wanted - even if that meant helping you not make a fool out of yourself."
Potter seemed to consider that for a moment.
"Well, I was going to thank you, but then I remembered the bruise on my shin," he responded.
One corner of Draco's mouth quirked up. Maybe they couldn't succeed at having a fully polite interaction, but he still rather… enjoyed it.
He put on his most superior smirk and stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
"You're quite welcome, Potter."
And with that, he left the somewhat bewildered wizard to gather the rest of his things.
…
Harry Potter turned over in his bed, dreaming about long corridors. He was so close to the end, and something in him was urging him onwards. He reached out his hand towards the very last door –
Harry sat up straight in bed. He'd been having the same odd dream all summer, when he wasn't having nightmares. He much preferred wandering the corridor at night instead of revisiting the graveyard, but he didn't seem to have much choice in the matter.
Sighing, he rolled over, closing his eyes again and recasting a silencing charm on his four-poster, just in case. As his breaths became slower, he hoped against hope that he would actually get some rest that night. Even so, the last thing he saw before he drifted off was a pair of crystal grey eyes…
…
Last Year
The smell of the early morning air flitted about on the playful wind, helping Harry stay awake. It was so early, and he still felt sleep clinging to the corners of his eyes, but he was excited nonetheless.
The Quidditch World Cup. The match of the century. And he was actually going to watch it.
He followed the redheads through the tall grass, looking up when Mr. Weasley called to someone. Squinting his eyes in the early morning darkness, he was able to make out two figures approaching.
He took his glasses off and cleaned them roughly on his shirt before cramming them back on his face.
His heart skipped.
"'Ello, Amos. Beautiful morning, isn't it?" greeted Mr. Weasley, who then turned to address them, "Children, this is Mr. Diggory. I daresay you've met his son, Cedric. They'll be portkeying with us to the match."
"Great day for a match!" responded Amos Diggory, "All these yours, Arthur?"
"Oh no, only the redheads," said Mr. Weasley, pointing out his children. "This is
Hermione, friend of Ron's - and Harry, another friend -"
"Merlin's beard," said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "Harry? Harry Potter?"
"Er - yeah," said Harry.
Harry was used to people looking curiously at him when they met him, used to the
way their eyes moved at once to the lightning scar on his forehead, but it always
made him feel uncomfortable.
"Ced's talked about you, of course," said Amos Diggory.
Harry fought down a blush and tried hard to return the smile Cedric sent his way.
They all exchanged hellos and fell into step, heading towards a small hill.
"So you're Harry Potter, are you?" Mr. Diggory asked, moving to walk beside him.
"Uh, yes sir," said Harry awkwardly.
"My son's told us all about playing against you last year... I said to him, I said - Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will... You beat Harry Potter!" Mr. Diggory laughed jovially.
Cedric, on the other side of his father, groaned, "Dad, I told you, it was an accident! There were Dementors-"
"Nonsense, my boy!" interrupted the older man, "You beat him fair and square! Made your father proud, you did! Best flier I've seen in ages. I'll be shocked if you don't get drafted to a professional team the second you leave Hogwarts."
Cedric looked mortified at his father's rant and kept shooting apologetic looks at Harry.
"Just you wait and see!" Mr. Diggory continued, "A few years from now, we'll all be portkeying in to watch my Ced in the Quidditch World Cup!"
Mr. Diggory continued boasting about his son as they started up the hill. Harry intentionally fell behind, unsure of how to react.
He was a bit surprised when Cedric fell back too, walking closely next to Harry.
"I'm sorry about him," said the sandy-haired boy quietly, "I must have told him a thousand times that I wouldn't stand a chance against you in a fair match."
"N-no, don't apologize," Harry stammered, shaking his head, "Your dad's just… proud of you."
Cedric laughed. It was a genuine sound that did funny things to Harry's insides.
"You seem like a very kind person, Potter," he beamed, "Too kind, even."
Harry blushed scarlet. Not knowing how else to respond, he simply said, "Harry. Call me Harry."
Cedric's smile grew bigger, if that was even possible.
"All right, Harry. And please, call me Cedric."
Harry swallowed and smiled back. At that moment, they crested the hill. The few rays of sun that were peeking over the far ridge seemed to brighten Cedric's face further, making his crystal grey eyes glow luminously. Harry swallowed again.
"We're here!" the other boy exclaimed, shaking Harry from his thoughts. He watched as Cedric ran forward a few paces, coming to a stop beside an old, rather moldy-looking boot.
"All right," Mr. Weasley announced, "Everyone grab hold, and mind you keep a firm grip!"
Harry, who had never traveled by portkey before, hesitantly reached forwards. Cedric motioned for Harry to stand next to him, and they both gripped the boot, Harry's left hand and Cedric's right almost touching. As the rather large group all gathered to grab the boot, Harry and Cedric were pushed closer and closer. Harry's heart beat so fast, he was sure Cedric could hear it. He briefly considered turning the other way so they wouldn't be face-to-face, but he quickly discarded the idea. When would he have a chance to be so close to him again? Despite the slight awkwardness, he decided to take advantage of the closeness.
They smiled at each other, chuckling a bit to release some of the tension.
Cedric smelled like wild grass and fresh air. Subtly, Harry took a deep breath, trying to memorize the scent.
"Here we go! We've got about ten seconds!" yelled Mr. Diggory, who had somehow managed to turn and check his wristwatch while also keeping hold of the boot.
They counted down to one, and Harry felt a pull from somewhere behind his naval. Then he was spinning wildly, colors whirling around him at top speed. He barely made out Cedric's delighted laughter beside him before his feet touched the ground.
Only Harry didn't stop there. The sudden lack of motion made him topple backwards, sprawling on the ground in a heap. He groaned slightly, before a hand appeared in front of him.
"All right, Harry?" Cedric asked. Harry could only nod and accept his hand.
Cedric pulled him to his feet, and Harry thanked him, still staring transfixed into joyous grey eyes.
Then Mr. Diggory called for his son. Cedric took a slow step backwards away from Harry, dropping his hand and saying, "I reckon I'll see you at Hogwarts."
"Yeah, reckon so," Harry replied dumbly, a goofy smile plastered on his face.
"Enjoy the match, Harry!" Cedric said before he turned and jogged towards his father.
Harry watched him for a moment before calling after him, "You too, Cedric!"
Harry realized he was staring, and he shook himself lightly. Ignoring Hermione's questioning look, he turned to follow the Weasleys to their campsite.
A/N – Thank you so much for reading, following, reviewing, etc.! This is my first Drarry fic, so… it's kinda experimental heh. Let me know what you think so far!