CHAPTER THREE: You Can Take the Kid Out of the Fight…
"Oh, Draco!" Pansy crooned as he dragged himself off of the train. "You look dreadful." She stared at his black eyes, and at the blood still gushing from his nose. He glared.
"Leave me alone." Draco snapped. "I'm not in the mood for idiots." She looked affronted, then turned her back on him.
"Well, fine." She said huffily, and she stormed off towards the horseless carriages that took them up to the school, not even looking back. Draco rolled his eyes, but the motion hurt, and he winced. Pulling his robes hastily on over his clothes, he took a deep breath and began his saunter away from the platform.
"Sooo," Blaise began, falling into step beside him. "You gonna tell me what happened to your face? Or did you decide to try for the 'goth' look?" Draco's mouth twitched with annoyance.
"Don't start with me, Zabini." He growled. "I meant it when I said I wasn't in the mood for—what the hell is a 'goth'?" he asked, distracted, and Blaise laughed.
"As far as I can tell, it's someone who wears lots of black eye-shadow and junk on their faces. But—for some reason—only when they're trying to be rebellious. Or something." He shrugged. "Heard some of the Muggle-Borns talking about it. Honestly, Muggles…" and he let his words trail off as he shook his head. Draco made a dismissive sound, and they climbed into one of the carriages. Inside sat Bletchley and Adrian Pucey, another member of the Quidditch team, third, smaller boy. A Slytherin second year with black hair, who Draco didn't know the name of; he was sitting beside Adrian and looking out the window. He looked up when the two boys climbed into the coach, and cast a curious glance at Draco's bruise mottled face. Then, catching the blonde-haired boy's eye, he looked away from the ugly glare contorting his battered face.
"Yeah, that's right," Draco muttered under his breath. "You look away, nosy little prat…" Blaise turned towards him.
"Huh?" he asked. "You say something?" Draco shook his head.
"No. Never-mind."
Blaise shrugged. "Alright." Draco turned away and pressed his face against the window, looking outside. It was beginning to rain, and water pelted the roof of the carriage, running down the glass. With a jolt, the coach began to move slowly up towards the castle, shaking slightly with the rising wind.
"Bloody hell, I'm freezing." Adrian said from the other side of the carriage. "Can't wait to get inside." Beside him, the second year's mouth turned down unhappily at the corners.
"Hungry." He stated bluntly. "I'm hungry—starving."
After his statement, everyone's stomachs began to growl, and, reaching across the middle of the carriage, Blaise cuffed the boy in the head. The black haired second year shot him a glare, then returned to looking out the window. The rest of the ride followed in silence until they pulled up to the school and got out. Holding his cloak up over his head, Draco followed the rush of students into the castle.
Stopping in the entrance hall, he shook water from his clothes and hair, and paused to look around. He caught site of a group of Gryffindors, and narrowed his eyes, searching for red hair and round, oval glasses. Finally realizing that it was a gathering of third and second years, excitedly trading what looked like Chocolate Frog cards, he rolled his eyes and, sweeping about, sauntered arrogantly into the Great Hall.
As he crossed between the long house tables, he looked up at the roof, a steely grey mirror of the sky. He scowled, and made his way over to the Slytherin table, where he sunk down beside a boy named Theodore Nott in the same year as him. They exchanged nods, then Draco turned to stare at the slowly filling Gryffindor table.
There was Seamus Finnegan, the filthy half-blood, and next to him sat Neville Longbottom. Draco snorted. Pure-blood or not, the boy was next to useless. He felt his swollen nose, then his eyes narrowed as he watched Golden Boy Potter the Wonderscar, Weasel King, and the bushy-haired Mudblood enter the Hall amid a group of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. They were all laughing, and Draco watched them split up and go to their individual tables. Sneering at their backs, he looked back to the entry way of the Great Hall, at the rising commotion of the new students arriving. He rolled his eyes again, hoping that the Sorting would be over quickly; he was starving.
He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table as each new student was called up, put on the hat, and was Sorted into their new houses. He clapped along with the other Slytherins as several new students walked nervously across the Great Hall and took their seat at the green and silver table. Draco saw Blaise thump a small, sandy-haired boy on the back when he took a seat beside the tall, black boy, then looked back up to the front of the Hall.
Professor McGonagall was rolling up the list of names in her hands, and, tucking the Sorting Hat under her arm, she strode away. As she passed the Staff Table, Professor Dumbledore stood up and, stepping towards the owl podium with its wings spread wide, raised his hands for silence. Everyone immediately stopped talking, and faces turned towards the front of the Hall.
"I know you're hungry," Dumbledore began, and smiled indulgently at the groans and angry mutters that filled the room. Then, waving his wand, he said; "So I won't keep you waiting! Let the feast begin!"
Draco smirked, then swivelled around as huge plates and bowls of food appeared on the long tables before the students. "Finally," he muttered, and reached out to scoop food onto his plate. Cramming mashed potatoes and gravy into his mouth, he paused to fill his goblet with iced pumpkin juice, then stuffed more food into his mouth and chewed in a long moment of silence. All around him, Slytherins were talking and eating, some teasing the new first years or throwing bits of food at each other's heads when backs were turned.
Swallowing, Draco took a long gulp from his goblet, then twisted in his seat to look around the Great Hall again. At the table behind him, the Gryffindors were almost as loud as his own table, laughing and yelling over one another to be heard over the rumble of the four Houses. Sitting closest to him were Neville Longbottom, Ron's sister—Ginny Weasley, that was her name—and Dean Thomas. Across from them, Ron Weasley shovelled mashed potatoes and roast beef into his mouth at an alarming rate. Just watching him made Draco feel sick. He turned away, but not before glancing askance at Hermione and Harry, who were only picking at their food. Hermione was frowning into an open book, the one she had been carrying on the train, and Harry was talking quietly with Seamus Finnegan beside him.
When Draco turned back to his table, Blaise gave him an odd look, but the blonde-haired boy ignored him and turned back to his food as the main meal was cleared away, and desert appeared on the plates before them.
Helping himself to pudding and treacle tart, Draco smirked.
Downstairs in the Slytherin Common Room in the dungeons, Draco stretched out languidly on one of the green couches in the cold main room, watching fellow Slytherins going about their business in slow and lethargic motions.
"Draco."
Draco looked up as Miles Bletchley plopped himself down on the other couch, watching the blonde-haired boy with heavy eyes. Blaise, from across the room, saw them and wandered over. He perched on the arm of Draco's couch, stretching his legs out in front of him.
"So, Draco," Miles began again. He and Blaise exchanged short glances, and Blaise nodded slightly. Draco's expression darkened.
"What?" he snapped. "What do you two want?" the other two Slytherins exchanged looks again, then turned to face Draco.
"Well, we're just wondering, you know… where'd you go?" Blaise asked, slowly. Draco frowned.
"What?" he demanded. "Where'd I go when?"
"On the train," Miles clarified. "After you left the compartment; where'd you go?" he looked around the Common Room, dropping his voice until he was almost whispering. "We… we heard, well, that you were with…" he paused, staring at Draco, as if wondering if he dared to push the other boy's anger with rumours. Then, as if coming to a decision, he went on; "—Potter, and his little gang of dirty blood traitors." Beside him, Blaise's eyes were on Draco, slightly curious. "And," Miles added. "That you let a Mudblood…touch you. Voluntarily."
Draco stared at them for a moment, then, tilting back his head, he let out a harsh, barking laugh. The two boys looked at him uneasily, grimacing at his somewhat maniacal chuckling. Draco wiped imaginary laugh tears from the corners of his eyes, and stretched out his arms on the back of the couch.
"You two really need to get your facts straight. Hanging with Potter, yeah, right," he rolled his eyes. "No thank you." He straightened his robes, and, pointing his wand at the empty grate, conjured flames inside the fireplace. Smirking, he looked back at his friends.
"As for the rumour about the Mudblood, well, I'd have thought you two, at least, would know better than to believe such ridiculous nonsense." He watched them closely for their reactions, and was pleased when they seemed to believe him. Miles nodded, and Blaise looked into the fire with a blank expression on his face.
"Ok." Miles said, slowly. "If that's what you say—"
"It is." Draco interrupted angrily. Standing, he vaulted over the back of the couch. "Now, I'm going to bed before anyone else comes up with more stupid ideas about me and the supposed company I keep." And he sauntered off towards the Dorms.
During breakfast the next morning, Professor Snape walked along the Slytherin table and handed out everyone's Timetables. Draco took his and, looking down at it, let his upper lip curl derisively. Pucey, sitting beside him, noticed and dragged his own timetable towards him. He raised an eyebrow.
"Joy, joy, joy," he said, and his voice was thick with sarcasm. "Double Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors, first thing this morning. Then," he licked the tip of his finger, and dramatically jabbed it at the middle of the sheet of parchment in his hand, saying; "Then, Double Charms with, again, the Gryffindors," he slid his finger down the timetable. "And, oh joy of joys, Double Potions with, again, the Gryffindors." He tossed his timetable down on his empty plate with a look of disgust. "Life's little wonders, huh, Draco?" he crammed his sheet into the pockets of his robes, and began to scoop eggs, sausage, and bacon onto his plate. Beside him, Draco snorted.
"Oh, yes indeed." He agreed. Folding up his own timetable, he slipped it away and helped himself to toast. "On the plus side, however, we get to enjoy watching Professor Snape take Goody-two-shoes Potter down a couple of notches." Beside him, Adrian let out a cold laugh, and Draco smirked. His eyes flicked up to the Gryffindor table as he watched the 'Dream Team' slide into their seats and groan at their own timetables.
"Oh, that's just great," he heard Ron whine. "Three Double classes with the Slytherins in one day… which means Malfoy cubed." He irritably crumpled the offensive sheet of parchment into a ball and dropped it into his pocket. "Kill me now, please." Draco heard him, mutter, and he looked down at his breakfast with a sneer.
"Come on," he said to Pucey, and stood up. "Let's go deal with those namby-pamby little goody-two-shoes." Adrian nodded, and, standing up, he followed Draco out of the Great Hall, and through the entryway.
As Adrian and Draco sauntered down the front lawn, towards Hagrid's hut, several Slytherins caught up and fell into step with them. By the time they had arrived at the class, the Gryffindors were already in groups, chatting and laughing like they had in the Great Hall. They were gathered around a small, squat little shelter, and peering inside it curiously.
"Hey, Potter," Draco drawled, taking note of the bespectacled boy hovering at the edge of the crowd of red and gold. "Checking out some prime real-estate with Weasley for when you two finally get married and move in together?" he jerked his head towards the makeshift lean-to, and watched the predictable reddening of Ron's face.
"Shut up, Malfoy!" he snarled, and stepped forward. Draco faked a look of surprise.
"Oh, I'm sorry Weasley; did I hit a nerve?" he spoke with mock innocence. "I merely thought that, well, living in the dumpster you and the other redhead trash inhabit, that this, er—house?" he cast a frown at the makeshift structure, then shrugged with a bemused smile and continued. "—would be, ah, rather… how shall I say? Better than your current residency?" his mask of playful naivety fell away, and was replaced with a cold sneer. "Of course, since Potter is the only one of the two of you who can afford it, I guess that would make him the man of the household, am I right, Weasel King?"
Ron's face was a dark and ugly red. "Draco," he began warningly, stepping forward. Harry, too, lifted his hand towards his robes, no doubt reaching for his wand. But, before either boy could act, Hermione strode out of the crowd of Gryffindors, whipped her wand out of her pocket, and jabbed the end right between Draco's eyes.
"Shut your mouth, Malfoy, or I'll curse you into next Tuesday." She threatened. Draco's heart was suddenly in his throat—after all, she wasn't the smartest student in their year for nothing—but he chose to hide it. He thought he could push this a little further. He twisted his mouth into a sneer.
"Oh, so sorry, Granger; I forgot to add you into the situation! How left out you must have been feeling." Behind him, several of the other Slytherins snickered. Draco's own grin grew bigger. "But, then again," he went on. "You should be used to it, being left out, you know." At her confused look, he smirked. "You stupid Mudblood, no one cares what happens to you. But," and here he waved his hand dismissively. "If you really wanted to be apart of the Scarhead and Weasel Kings' future love story, then I guess you can be their dirty, dimwitted dog—it's more than you're worth, anyways." He looked at his hands, inspecting his nails lazily. "You really should thank me, giving you such a good standing in my little story."
There was a moment of silence in which he could actually feel the cold sneers of his fellow Slytherins supporting him—and hear the fury rising off of the Gryffindors.
"Hermione—no!" someone yelled out, and Harry shot forward to try and grab her arm, to try and stop her, but he wasn't fast enough. Gifted Seeker or not, he couldn't get there fast enough to stop Hermione from saying, with the tip of her wand still pressed against the skin between Draco's eyes; "Conjunctivitis!"
There was a flash, and then Draco was blind, his eyes burning and pulsing in agonizing waves. Yelling and wind milling his arms wildly, he stumbled backwards and fell down. Instantly, he heard the two Houses start shooting insults back and forth, and felt his fellow Slytherins surround him.
"You BITCH!" he screamed thickly. "You've blinded me! I can't see, I can't see!" he pointed vaguely in the direction where he thought she might be standing. "You goddamn filthy little Mudblood! You whore, you fucking—" but there was another shout ("Furnunculus!") and Draco felt as if his skin was boiling, then it faded. He raised his hands to his face, felt strange, horribly sensitive nodules and bumps all over his cheeks, forehead, and nose, and blacked out.
A/N: Um, yeah. So Draco's not having a very good week. I know I'm kind of laying on the angst or whatever a little thick at the moment, but I PROMISE that it's about to pay off. 'Cause I just figured out how Draco and Hermione are slowly going to become closer. Of course, right now, it looks rather impossible... :) But, no worries, I got it under control. :D Please rate/comment?