Always Something - Dramione

Chapter Nine

James Sirius Potter took the door of the Slytherin dormitory right in the face. Unfortunately, the resistance only made Castora Malfoy push against it harder from the other side. He had staggered clear of it, his wand and newspaper dropped to the floor at his feet, both of his hands covering his nose, eyes stinging when she finally pushed through, the stone wall closing over the door behind her.

At the sight of him, she gasped. "Oh no! Sorry, sorry, sorry!"

James blinked through his watering eyes to see who had maimed him. Of course -- always the Malfoys busting the Potters' noses.

The small group of girls around him were cooing and fawning, entreating him to lower his hands so they could have a look, insisting on escorting him to the hospital wing for treatment. The loudest one of them, Maybell Vandersee, was a girl Cassie knew as his girlfriend.

"You need to have it seen to," she was saying. "This is your FACE."

He answered from behind his cupped hands, muffled and nasal. "Comrade Malfoy has to take responsibility. Come along, Malfoy."

Cassie stood gaping at him.

"Malfoy," he called, still covering his nose. "Let's go."

She scrambled to pick up his wand and newspaper and followed him down the corridor. The only person addressed as Malfoy at school was Paul. Sometimes at home her mother used the name for her father but it was just to tease him -- at least, it used to be. "Right," she said trotting behind James toward the hospital wing.

"Is it bleeding very much?" she found the nerve to ask as they turned a corner, clear of Maybell and her friends.

"No," he said, dropping both of his hands, laughing.

Cassie let out a huge sigh, too relieved to be mad. "Thank goodness."

"You did hit me," James assured her. "And it did hurt like crazy. But it's not in need of medical repair. At least, I don't think so. Whaddya reckon, Malfoy?" He stooped to her height and ran his forefinger down the straight bridge of his nose. "See? No harm done."

Cassie's head was spinning. Her dad always tried to tell her she was a natural legilimens but she had no idea what was going on in James Potter's mind at this moment, as he stood in an empty corridor laughing at his nearly broken nose. She looked over her shoulder, waiting for Maybell, or someone else to appear. James got all sorts of attention from all sorts of girls. He wasn't the best looking boy in fifth year, but he might have been the most charismatic. Being the son of both the "chosen one" and a professional quidditch player seemed to do a lot for a boy's swagger.

She blinked at him. "Yeah, it seems fine."

"Hey, don't run off," he said. "I've actually been meaning to have a word with you. Unless Paul has already..."

She could only shake her head, more confused. Definitely not a legilimens, just a daddy's girl.

"Here's the thing," he began, taking back his wand and newspaper, unfolding it to the Page Four photo of their fathers. "Just so you know, word is out that there's something wrong with your Mum right now. And so you'll know what people are driving at if they act like my dad's involved in it, take a look at this."

"But he's not involved," she said, leaning over his arm to read the article.

"I know. But in case anyone gives you a hard time about it, I thought I'd provide some context for you."

She nodded at the photo. It was awful to see her dad that way, looking stupid and angry and sad all at once. She pushed the paper back at James. "That's very kind. But no one gives me a hard time." No one, she thought, gives me any time.