𝙮𝙤𝙪 || 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐲-𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲

Apart from learning first-hand how painful it was to get slashed by a Hippogriff, the event also enlightened you on Malfoy's near unredeemable attitude.

Madam Pomfrey was an extremely skilled nurse that she was able to mend your cut instantly. The treatment still left a dull ache in your arm, and it pains you whenever you stretch or carry heavy objects, but she said it will be gone in a few days as long as you don't strain yourself. Malfoy, on the other hand...

"Bandages?" You said in disbelief, eyeing the smug Slytherin you happen to come across in a deserted corridor. His arm was in a sling as if he was the one critically injured.

He raises his chin while sneering. "Father isn't too happy about this lasting injury, you know," he drawls in that same tone that just begs for you to curse him. "He was furious in his letter. He's going to complain to the school governors. Maybe even the Ministry of Magic. Better say your goodbyes to Hagrid before they get rid of him for good."

You've heard from Harry that Malfoy wasn't attending classes since the incident. Right now, he was holding his knapsack in his 'good' arm, and you suspect he's heading to Potions. You saw the Gryffindors and Slytherins going down to the dungeons half an hour ago. He was already late. Not that that would earn him detention.

"No matter how you like at it, it was your fault," you seethe. "Hagrid told us everything we needed to know about Hippogriffs. You just didn't listen."

"Like I'd listen to a brute like him," Malfoy retorts venomously. His scowl transforms into a cruel smirk. "That bird of yours won't last long. Why don't you and Potter take it around for one last ride before the school has it killed?"

You spare a moment to stare at him, at his audacity and overall entitled behavior. By reflex, you raise your left arm to point at him, about to devolve in a long, long lecture about decency and politeness until it starts aching at the abrupt movement. You wince and your arm falls back to your side, your right hand idly rubbing it through the sleeve.

The pain makes you reflect for a moment. What good would it do for Malfoy, anyway? It's been three long years and he still hasn't changed a bit. He was acting as if he was the most affected by the incident. He didn't care about Buckbeak or Hagrid, and he didn't even bother thanking you.

There's no use changing something inherent in the family.

You glance at Malfoy and were surprised to see he was just looking. Still defensive, but he was staring and you swore you saw something there. A flash of an incomprehensible emotion. Or maybe that was just your desperation combined with the light streaming in through the large windows. That thought almost made you groan. Even with your immense hatred a shred of hopefulness still shines through.

As it turns out, it was neither, because that's when you realize you weren't as alone as you thought. The hand on your shoulder just cemented that fact, and Malfoy's eyes narrow into slits at their presence.

"Is there a problem here?" Cedric Diggory's soothing voice echoes in the silent corridor, giving you enough time to gawk and for Malfoy to regain his usual air of arrogance.

"Not at all," he said shortly, wanting the conversation to be done with. "We were done talking, anyway." He shoots you a sardonic smile as he walks past you.

The silence remains until his footsteps are gone. Only then did you allow yourself to breathe out in relief, but that momentary relaxation turns into nervousness upon realizing Cedric's hand remains on your shoulder. And he was here with you. Alone.

He senses your unease and pulls back, fixing you with a smile that makes you feel those irritating butterflies all over again.

No, no, no, you're over it, you're over it, you're over it—