Draco entered the Great Hall with a sense of accomplishment and a proud stance in his stride. After a rotten summer, finally having the upper hand on Potter had lifted a little weight off his shoulders.

He flexed his right hand a couple of times, relishing in the tingling sensation still left in his knuckles, where his fist had met the firm cartilage of Potter's nose with a satisfying crack. No doubt the Gryffindor's nose had been broken and, for the first time in his life, he damned magic for how easily it could vanish the traces of their confrontation from the other boy's face. There had been something deeply gratifying in the physicality of throwing a punch. The sadistic part of him wanted to see the reminder of his little victory lingering on Potter's stupid features, for days to come.

Never mind. People talked and, without any evidence, Draco knew Potter would keep the ordeal between the two of them. For all his flaws, the Gryffindor wasn't one to wash his dirty laundry in public and Draco begrudgingly admired him for it.

He had always craved to be seen but this year needed to be different. With the magnitude of the task he had been assigned, he knew it wouldn't serve him well to attract attention. Nonetheless, the idea of Potter silently knowing he had been overpowered, melted some of the stress away, allowing a slow smirk to stretch his lips. He might even get to enjoy the Welcoming Feast, after all.

He took a seat next to Greg, causing the other boy to spill half of his drink on his lap, in the haste to scoot over. Pansy casted a quick "scourgify" to vanish the orange splatters that had reached her own uniform, nose scrunching up in contempt, before fixing Draco with an inquisitive gaze. With her haughty attitude and her face pinched, an image of a small and angry dog passed fleetingly through Draco's mind.

"What took you so long?" She demanded.

The hindrance with Potter meant Draco had to share the last remaining carriage with a group of overly excited Hufflepuffs that looked no older than 8. When they finally reached the castle, he had managed to slip away from the crowd to make sure the shrunken package, weighing heavily in his pocket, had reached the safety of the dungeons, causing him to miss the entirety of the Sorting Ceremony. He wasn't about to tell Pansy any of that.

"I left something behind," he shrugged dismissively, and began perusing the selection of food set before him.

He was just about to spear a roasted potato when his eye's met Theo's narrowed ones.

He lifted an eyebrow in silent enquiry, challenging the other boy to comment.

"Well, it seems you weren't the only one, since Potter has yet to make an appearance." Theo sounded almost angry and the vindictive voice in Draco's head wanted to retort that he was indeed having a secret affair with his sworn enemy.

"I don't keep tabs on Potter's whereabouts. Something you don't seem to have qualms about, Theo" he said, instead. Both Vince and Blaise sniggered at that, although it felt to Draco as for two completely different reasons.

Theo rolled his eyes but diverted his attention back to his chicken, leaving Draco to feel twice victorious.

With the progression of dinner, though, the lack of Potter started to be noticed, all around the Hall. By the end of the night his initial gratification had been replaced by unease. Draco, who had indulged in what he thought was a well deserved second dessert, felt a wave of the ever present nausea that had been plaguing him all summer, return at full force. Almost compelled to ditch them and face the consequences, he scrambled through his prefect duties in a haste, only barely gloating at Weasley and Granger's distress.

He was about to make his tactical retreat to bed when he felt a looming presence behind him. Huffing, he tossed his toothbrush back in his toiletry bag and pulled on a soft grey t-shirt, leaving the bathroom knowing he was being followed. Only after they were shielded by the curtains of his four-posters the other boy spoke.

"You know something," Theo accused.

"For the sake of comprehension, the English language requires you to state the subject of your affirmations, or you might be misinterpreted," Draco drawled, enjoying the flare of anger in the other wizard's blue eyes.

"Oh, sod off Draco. You know what!"

Theo hissed feverishly. There was fear behind the anger and, for a moment, Draco was taken aback.

"I do not, care to enlighten me? I am sure you don't mind". He feigned innocence, looking for an outlet for his own increasing ire.

Theo didn't disappoint. "You are getting mixed up in things way bigger than you." He glanced around the room to make sure the other boys were paying them no attention and casted a muffilato, before digging his index finger painfully into Draco's ribs "Somehow, I think you don't fully understand what you have gotten yourself into."

"I don't see how what I do is any of your business, Theo."

"Merlin, Draco. It's not too late! Stop before you are in too deep!" His eyes were pointedly fixed on Draco's pale, unblemished forearms.

Draco cut him off, venom dripping from every word "You have no idea. . . NO idea, Theo, of what the fuck you are talking about. So, save your precious pity talk for someone that actually needs it!"

"Where is Potter?"

A small part of Draco still wanted to say something crass, if only to see if there was any jealousy left in the other wizard, but his stomach twitched in discomfort. "In a ditch" he spat, finally.

They stared at each other for a tense moment, chests heaving.

He watched as Theo's hands clenched into fists. "Fuck you, Malfoy."

"As I recall, you were often the one-" Draco started, preparing himself for the resulting punch, but something in the other boy's face left the words dying on his lips.

He looked drained, sad and utterly disappointed. "No - Don't. Just... Don't."

It took long after Theo left for his own bed for Draco to finally fall into a fitful sleep.