For the first time in weeks, Draco Malfoy could breathe without being in pain. Oh, sure, his face was hollowed out and he had black bags under his eyes, and he looked pallid as a transparent unicorn...
No one was beating up on him anymore.
In fact, he'd gotten some sympathetic looks from Hufflepuffs, even. He went through his classes like a zombie, not quite there. Certainly not enough to answer questions.
Even the most bloodthirsty of Defenders of Mudbloods had backed off.
Which left Harry Potter, of course. Not that the bespectacled git was blood-thirsty. Oh, no, that would have been far too easy.
No, the bastard of a mudblood was curious.
Not that he'd lower himself to actually asking a Slytherin of all people. Draco, however, was an expert at eavesdropping, and so had heard at least ten different conversations between Potter and Granger (with Weasley occasionally adding fire to the hearth). Poor boy was so suspicious. If only he knew - there were routinely half a dozen plans in school to compromise his mental integrity.
Draco Malfoy had only participated in one, and that was by faking being a Dementor. Not his finest prank, truth be told.
Draco had no earthly idea why the Gryffindor Gang insisted on plotting in the library. That was a common-use area, and Draco Malfoy frequented it more than Potter did. (Nobody frequented it more than Granger, who he wouldn't be surprised if she had living quarters there). It made it enchantingly easy to eavesdrop.
That was more problematic than you'd think, for a crafty Slytherin, though... Draco Malfoy had gleaned that Potter was working himself up to doing something, to trying to figure out What Malfoy Was Up To - as if it was a bloody Mystery!
Draco, however, hadn't a bloody clue how to sway Potter. His feet took him, entirely unbidden, to the lake. He walked the perimeter, but wasn't any closer to a solution. Hmm... not being closer to a solution... That almost had promise...
[a/n: What do you think Draco's thinking of? Leave a review?]