CHAPTER TWO: I Don't Talk to Mudbloods
Sometime along the trip, Draco must have fallen asleep, because he woke up to what seemed, at first, an empty compartment. It wasn't until he looked around that he saw Neville Longbottom sitting in the opposite corner, and someone sitting beside him, concealed behind a copy of the Daily Prophet.
Draco caught Neville's eye—quite by accident—but the boy instantly blanched, and, turning to the person beside him, he tugged at their sleeve.
"He—D—Dra—Malfoy's awake." He finally said, giving up on saying the blonde's first name, and casting the other boy a wary look.
The newspaper folded down, and Harry looked at Draco over it. Their eyes met, and there was a moment of silence. Harry looked cautious and wary. Draco just felt horrible. His mouth tasted disgusting, and his entire body ached. He closed his eyes for a few minutes. When he opened them again, Harry was frowning down at the newspaper, mumbling something under his breath.
Only Neville seemed to notice that Draco's eyes were on them again.
"Um, um… how do—how are you feeling?" Neville asked. "Uh, Draco." He added, hesitant. Draco tried for a sneer, but from the way Neville was looking at him, he could only assume it hadn't been a very successful attempt.
"Like shit." He said bluntly. Harry looked up again at the sound of his voice. He was silent for a moment, looking at Draco. Then, seeming to come to a decision about something, he shrugged.
"What, Malfoy? What do you want?" he asked. "You want water or something?" Draco noticed that he refused to use his first name, and that his voice was anything but friendly. He sneered a little.
"Well, well," he said, his voice weak. "Not such a Golden Boy after all, are we, Potter?" Harry ignored the remark, and, reaching into the rucksack at his side, he pulled out a water bottle and tossed it at Draco.
"Just shut up and drink your water, Malfoy." He said, and disappeared back behind his paper. Draco glanced at Neville, but the boy seemed too scared to look at him. So, shrugging mentally to himself, Draco slowly sat up. Propping himself against the back of the chair, he opened the bottle and took a long swig. He paused, waiting for the nausea, but it didn't come, and he took another drink. He looked around the compartment, swishing water around in his mouth to get rid of the vile aftertaste of being sick. His foot clanged against something, and he looked down to see the bucket the Mudblood had conjured for him. It was clean and empty once more.
Somewhat relieved that he hadn't just kicked a bucket full of sick all over the floor, he closed the lid on the water bottle, and slouched. Swinging one of his legs idly, he looked at the front page of the Daily Prophet Harry was holding.
"Whatchya reading there, Potter?" he said. He was pleased to hear that the condescending tone in his voice was back. Harry didn't rise to the bait. He just turned the page he was reading.
"Why?" Harry asked. "Going to insult my intelligence, Malfoy?" he spoke from behind the paper, sounding rather bored. "Going to ask me if I can even read?" Draco was a little startled. But he recovered quickly.
"Well, obviously not, Potter, since I just asked you what you were reading, which would imply that I clearly believe you possess the ability."
Neville was watching them both nervously. Harry, however, stayed calm.
"I'm reading a newspaper, Malfoy." He replied. "Maybe you're the one who can't read." Draco snorted.
"Lovely, Potter. Just lovely." He fussed with his hair, which was stringy and damp with sweat. One side was flattened to his head from sleeping on it. "Anyone ever tell you what a brilliant personality you've got there, Potter? Really—it's just brilliant." His voice dripped with sarcasm, and he began to smooth the wrinkles out of his jacket using his wand.
"Thank you, Malfoy." Harry replied just as caustically. "You're such a treat yourself." The two fell silent, and Neville relaxed.
"So, um," he began, slowly. "When do you think we'll get there?" Harry shrugged and looked at his watch.
"I'd say pretty soon. I mean, it's already been—"
"I KNEW IT!"
The compartment door flew open, and the three boys all looked up as Ron Weasley barrelled into the room. Floundering madly for his wand, he pointed it accusingly in Draco's direction. "CAUGHT YOU IN THE ACT!"
Everyone stared at him. It was Harry who spoke first.
"Ron, what are you talking about?" he asked. Ron waved his wand violently towards Draco, shooting out several red sparks. Draco slid out of range, scowling.
"Watch it, Weasley, you'll set us all on fire with that." He muttered, but Ron was steaming on with his accusations.
"HERE HE SITS, PLOTTING TO HEX US ALL TO DEATH!" he bellowed. Everyone fell silent, staring at him again.
"Ron—" Harry began, but Ron cut him off, gesturing at Draco again.
"His wand! HIS WAND!" Harry and Draco both looked at Draco's wand, lying across his lap. Draco picked it up, and glanced at Ron.
"You're about as sharp as a bit of dragon dung, Weasley." Draco said scathingly. "'Hex you all to death'… oh, yes, but of course." He clenched his jaw irritably. "Honestly, Weasley, I was getting the wrinkles out of my clothes." He rolled his eyes, and turned away to wash his face with the water from the bottle Harry had tossed at him, all the while muttering about idiots under his breath.
Ron stood in the doorway of the compartment and stared at Draco, dumbfounded. Harry looked at him for a moment, then sighed and threw a handful of Chocolate Frogs at the redheaded boy. "Ron—shut up and sit down." He stood up himself. "I'll be right back." He slipped past Ron and out of the compartment.
Ron scooped up the Frogs and tucked his wand carefully back into his robes. Shakily, he went and sat down where Harry had been sitting. He watched Draco doggedly.
"He—he's a suspicious git," he mumbled to no one in particular, and stuffed one of the Chocolate Frogs into his mouth. He chewed slowly, watching Draco. The blonde-haired boy looked up.
"What, Weasley? You got a crush on me or something?" Draco asked testily. "Quit staring—it creeps me out." Ron narrowed his eyes.
"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy." He shot back, repeating the blonde boy's words from earlier. Draco gritted his teeth together and smoothed his hair back with handfuls of water.
"Like I'd go for a blood traitor?" Draco hissed, pausing to watch the redhead's reaction to his words from under his arm. Ron sat up straight, his face strangely blank. Draco smirked at getting him to take the bait.
"You bloody little shit-fucker!" Ron suddenly yelled out, and he staggered to his feet. "I'm gonna rearrange that pretty-boy face of yours for you, Malfoy, you piece of crap!" He stumbled across the compartment towards the other boy.
The Slytherin Prince was on his feet, fists clenched at his side. "Touch me, Weasel, and I'll smash your head in." He whispered. His face was white, and his lips curled back to show that his teeth were clenched.
"Bring it on, you bastard!" Ron yowled, and he leapt at Draco. They met, scrabbling at each other and swinging punches. Neville stared at them, cowering, then stood up.
"I'm going to find Harry!" he called out, and bolted from the compartment.
Draco managed to land a right hook, and Ron staggered. He recovered quickly, and rushed forward to head butt Draco in the stomach. Draco let out a loud huff, and all the breath whooshed out of him. Winded, he batted at Ron, hitting him in the mouth and eye, but not before Ron got him hard in the nose. Blood gushed from Draco's face, and he swore.
"You little fucking—" he began, and whipped out his wand. Ron fumbled for his, but, here at least, Draco was much faster. One hand clutching his bleeding nose, he pointed his wand at Ron and yelled: "LEVICORPUS!"
With a jerk, some invisible force pulled Ron up into the air by his ankle, where he hung upside down, wind milling his arms wildly. Glaring at a laughing Draco from his upside-down vantage point, Ron waved his wand and tried to speak, but his tongue got in the way. The next second, Draco's jacket had burst into flames, and he patted wildly at the flames, yelling and trying to put them out.
There was the sound of footsteps hurrying towards them, and Hermione, Harry, and Neville appeared in the entrance of the compartment. Harry and Neville froze, mouths open as they took in the scene in front of them; Ron hanging upside down from nothing, and Draco wildly pouring what remained of the liquid in his water bottle on his sleeve to no effect.
Hermione sighed. Stepping into the compartment, she waved her wand at Draco, saying: "Aguamenti!" A jet of water shot out of the end of her wand, putting out Draco's jacket. Then she turned to Ron, and stared, helpless. "I don't know this spell!" she said, frustrated. Harry, seeming to have regained his senses, pushed past her and pointed his own wand at the upside down redhead.
"Librecorpus." He said, and Ron tumbled to the floor, very red in the face; all the blood had rushed to his head. He sat up and glared at Draco, who was mumbling under his breath and waving his wand, slowly fixing the burn holes in his jacket. His nose was still oozing blood down his chin and neck, and onto the floor.
Letting out a rough sort of growl, Ron got to his feet and dove forward, tackling Draco back into the bench. Draco's head smashed into the wall, and he grabbed feebly at Ron, seeing stars. He felt weak.
It must be because I was sick. He thought, then Ron's fist connected—again—with his nose.
"OW, WEASLEY, WHAT THE HELL IS IT WITH YOU AND MY GOD DAMN NOSE?!?He yelled, and moved to shove Ron off. But the redhead still had lots of fight left in him. He raised his fist again—
"Impedimenta!" Hermione yelled, and the spell hit Ron in the back a second later. He looked shocked, then tumbled backwards, off of Draco, allowing the Slytherin to sit up and clutch his bleeding nose. He glared at Ron through two rising black eyes, blood oozing between his fingers.
"Serves you right," he hissed, his voice thick and muffled. Ron's face twitched at him, but he was not yet capable of moving.
Sighing, Hermione stepped over Ron, giving him a look as she did so, and approached Draco. "Here," she said. "Let me see your nose." He hesitated, and she waved at him impatiently. Slowly, he uncovered his face. Pointing her wand at his nose, she said; "Episky." There was a definite crack, a burning sensation in his face, then his nose straightened. Draco took the handful of paper towel Hermione held out to him and used it to staunch the bleeding.
"It'll still bleed for a while," she said. "But it's not broken anymore. The bruises should go away soon, too." He just nodded, not meeting her eye. She shrugged, then turned away to tend to Ron. Draco waved his wand at his clothes, muttering a cleaning spell, and removed the blood dripping down his front. He looked out the window, scowling around the red rag pressed to his face.
A Mudblood… he'd let a Mudblood help him. He felt horribly dirty—what would his father say?
Abruptly, he stood up. Everyone turned to look at him, but he ignored them and walked out of the compartment. There was a voice behind him.
"Um, D—Draco?" he looked over his shoulder at her. The Mudblood. She looked confused. "Are—are you okay?" she asked. He stared at her, wondering why the hell she cared, then fixed a sneer onto his bruised face.
"Don't try to talk to me," he said condescendingly. "I don't hold conversations with Mudbloods." Ignoring her look of shocked hurt, he turned on his heel and marched back to the Slytherin compartments as the train chugged to a stop. They had finally arrived at Hogwarts.