Unmasked

"You Don't Know Anything About Me."

Last period came incredibly quickly, leaving the trio practically running to class. They skidded into the classroom and jogged up to the front where their seats were. Although the definitely weren't the last to arrive, they didn't want to anger McGonagall on their first day back. Ron slid in beside Neville, while Hermione and Harry shuffled into the desks to his left, behind Pansy and Draco, respectively.

McGonagall came into the room not two minutes later, scolding a couple of tardy Slytherins as she did so. In front of Harry, Draco and Pansy groaned as she took house points. He smirked.

She started the class promptly, jumping right into their lecture. Hermione beamed, as she had already been practicing that specific spell. Harry started to zone out, staring at the back of the blond head in front of him without much thought on anything other than Quidditch. He knew Hermione could easily fill him in later.

A flash of motion broke his trance as Draco put up his hand. Harry missed the question, and stared at McGonagall at the front. She was looking at Draco, who was speaking. Harry didn't catch what he said. He tried to bring his attention back to look at Hermione, but a colourful splotch on the other boy's porcelain skin caught his eye. Faint bruises decorated the back of his forearm where his cloak has fallen down. Harry stared in disbelief, however, the next time his hand went up, they were still there, along with some faint scratches. Harry's mouth turned into an O.

Hermione nudged him, and he turned to her. 'What's the matter?'

Harry read her lips carefully, then turned back to the front. "Nothing" he whispered, shaking his head. His voice got Pansy's attention, who glanced back at them curiously. She raised an eyebrow, then turned back.

When McGonagall sent them to work, Harry finally refocused. He watched as Hermione conjured golden birds above her head. Harry shook his head in disbelief. He tried the spell, but only managed to conjure a puff of feathers on his head. Hermione covered her mouth as she laughed. Harry rolled his eyes, shaking the golden feathers out of his unruly hair. When his gaze came back up, he stopped. Another mark had appeared on the boy in front of him. Right at the hem of his cloak on the back of his neck was an angry cut, surrounded by a swollen, purple bruise. Harry's eyes widened.

"What?" Hermione grew impatient. "What are you staring at? What's the matter?"

He leaned in close to her ear. "It's Draco."

She pulled away, eyes narrowed. "Harry, what on earth do you mean?"

"Look at him, Hermione. He's all beat up," he hissed.

She glanced at the blond, moving her head to try and see more than just the back of his head. "I don't see anything, Harry."

Harry flipped his hands over on the desk, scowling. "What do you mean? Look at his neck, Hermione!"

She stared at the back of his neck, then stretched to make herself taller. She nearly gasped, whipping her head back to look at Harry. "Do you think that's from Quidditch?"

"'Mione, we just got back. I don't think it's from Quidditch."

"What else did you see?"

"Bruises and scratches on his arms. They weren't there this morning..."

Hermione bit her lip. "That's unusual... where do you think they came from, Harry?"

"You're gunna think I'm crazy." Hermione shook her head. "I think they're from his parents, Hermione."

She dropped her gaze. "No... that can't be right, Harry. He's spoiled!"

"It could just be an act, Hermione. I know you've read psychology and sociology books before for fun."