Not Quite a Love Song, in Ten Scenes

Part 5: Confrontation (or: Under Your Skin)

Two weeks before Christmas, the Weasel and the Mudblood tore themselves away from Potter's sickbed to assault Draco outside the Defence classroom. Or rather, the Weasel assaulted him while the Mudblood clung to his too-short jumper sleeve, jabbering ineffectively like a duck under the Babbling Curse.

Draco yelped as the Weasel's hand grabbed his collar, muffling his protests while he was dragged behind a suit of armour and the marble bust of Bethany the Bilious.

"You tried to murder Harry, you worthless little-" the Weasel growled and made to swing at him.

"And it took you, what, three weeks to figure that out?" Draco sneered, hoping that a show of bravado might delay the impending brawl. Or, failing that, at least then he'd get pummelled for a good reason. Where the hell were Crabbe and Goyle? Probably still hanging around in the classroom, snogging in the Boggart cabinet.

His tactics failed. Weasel's fist cut across Draco's mouth, followed by a sick burst of pain as Draco's teeth cut his lip. The Mudblood screeched, "Ron!" in a tone shrill enough to send horny werewolves running. It did not work on the rabid rodent, though. The Weasel swung again, and Draco tried to take cover behind his raised arms.

"Ron!"

The tone was so cold that for a split Draco second thought Snape? Then he recognised Potter's voice.

The Weasel released Draco's collar, and he landed flat on his arse on the floor in a highly undignified manner.

"I told you not to do this, Ron."

There was an uncompromising stance to Potter's posture, and the Weasel wilted visibly at the sight of it.

"How can you defend that murderous piece of Porlock shite, Harry?" The Weasel's face was beet red. He looked as if he were torn between bursting into tears and committing bloody murder on the spot.

"I told you it was an accident," Potter said, in that flat tone Draco had become unpleasantly familiar with. "Just as I told Dumbledore. I won't repeat it."

"Accident my arse!" Weasel yelled. "I saw what happened! Bloody hell, I was up there!"

Potter didn't even deign to brush it off.

"Why don't you go ahead to the Common Room? I'll catch up with you in a minute."

It was so far from being a request that it would have done Father's infamous command voice proud.

The Weasel looked as if he were about to pop a few blood vessels as the Mudblood dragged him off, scolding quietly. Draco shuddered. Just how could he bear to have those Mudbloody paws all over him? Sure, he was ugly as sin and had to be desperate, but Granger made celibacy look like a distinctly good choice in comparison...

With an inscrutable expression, Potter stared down at Draco.

I should have gone for the leather trousers this morning, Draco groused. He was beginning to feel the cold of the granite biting his backside under his stylish silk robes.

Finally, Potter offered his hand.

Draco scowled darkly as he recalled the pitch and the fact that Potter was still breathing and being disgustingly heroic, but finally he took the offered hand and allowed Potter to pull him to his feet. Potter let go as soon as Draco had stopped wobbling. His hand hovered in the air for a moment, and then Potter's fingers touched the corner of Draco's split lip and gently wiped away the few drops of blood Weasley had drawn.

Something lurched inside Draco, and a shudder ran up and down his spine on little mouse feet. As if it were Potter's fingers, skimming over his vertebrae, one at the time...

He raised a trembling hand as if to shove the Gryffindor away, and let it drop again, transfixed by the expression on the other's face.

Potter was rubbing the tiny specks of red between his index finger and thumb, as if he were caressing Draco's skin, his essence.

"Don't ever touch me again!" he finally rasped, in a voice that hadn't been this hoarse since that bloody Hippogriff had nearly torn his arm off.

Potter inclined his head a cold little fraction and just turned and followed his cronies down the corridor. As if Draco couldn't curse him from behind. As if he didn't even matter.

Yes, let the little bastard walk away from him. Draco dug sharp teeth into his bloody lip, oblivious to the sting. For that - not to mention for everything else - Potter would pay!

~ tbc. ~
Next: The Manor (or: Where the Heart Is)