Draya Malfoy

24 - I Smell A Rat...

"What the fuck happened to you?"

Harry stopped in his tracks. It wasn't like Hermione to swear so brazenly.

The entire Gryffindor table were gawking up at him as though he'd grown another head.

"He's covered in blood again. Why is it he's always covered in blood?"

Harry rolled his eyes as Ginny began to fuss over him - jumping to her feet to dab a napkin over his face. He threw Dean an apologetic glance who looked less than amused at the sight of his girlfriend fawning over another man.

"Leave it, Gin," Harry muttered, placing his hands either side of her arms to gently push her away, "it's just a little scratch."

"Just a little scratch?!" Ron spluttered, spraying breadcrumbs from his mouth. "Blimey Harry, you look as though you've been wrestling with a wild beast."

Harry smirked to himself as his eyes flicked over to the Slytherin table where Draya Malfoy was sat looking as equally dishevelled and unkempt. Buttons had ripped off the top of her blouse revealing the top of her red bra and stubborn bits of twig remained tangled in her hair.

She glanced up and their eyes locked, her face immediately contorting into a scowl. She mouthed something at him, and despite Harry being shit at lip reading, he was pretty sure she said, 'Fuck you, Potter.'

"What's so funny?" Hermione frowned, a forkful of beef bourguignon dripping at her lips.

Harry continued to chuckle to himself, shaking his head as he squeezed himself in between his two best friends, reaching out to pinch a sausage from Ron's plate. "Nothing. Now, tell me, what did I miss?"

******

Not going to lie, Dumbledore made it so fucking easy for me to want him dead.

I nearly fell asleep face down in my stew as he droned on and on in riddles about choosing the right path to take in life... bla, bla, bla.

In theory, that would be perfectly fine if you had a nice, uncomplicated path already lit up for you with lick-arses ready to throw rose petals at your feet along your journey. But I didn't have that luxury, so Dumbledore could just shut his hairy trap and save it for the Chosen One.

During the entire 'welcome' feast, I barely acknowledged my fellow Slytherins, let alone spoke to anyone. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Pansy shooting me furtive looks, but I ignored her.

Sighing heavily, I pushed my untouched dinner aside as Dumbledore finally wrapped up his god awful manipulative ramblings.

"Let us therefore say goodnight. Pip pip!"

I tutted as I followed everyone out of the Great Hall. I mean, who the fuck says pip pip?

"Dray, where are you going?" Pansy asked, grabbing at my elbow as I tried to walk on past the stairs that led down to the dungeons, "it's bedtime."

I shrugged her off, barely glancing at her. "Going for a walk." I muttered dryly. "On my own."

Clearly shocked by my hostility, she took a step away from me, her eyebrows knitting in the middle of her creased brow.

"I don't know what's going on with you, Dray," she said, her voice low and shaky, "what with that stuff you were saying on the train earlier- and, somehow, you look as though you've since been in a fight. But enough is enough, Dumbledore was right: we need to stay safe-"

"Like I need protection," I snapped, glaring back at her as I gave a loud, bitter laugh, "least of all his."

Without waiting for her response, I flicked my hair over my shoulder and marched towards the marble staircase.