PRECEDENT : Draco Malfoy II

17

The wind is cold. Only now that I am trying to empty my head do I really feel it. Actually, it's quite frigid. I suppose I've had a nervous flush of heat. I find myself drying my hands on the outside of my cloak. They are sweaty. I blame Sally-Anne, rather than myself.

I round the corner into the boat house. Malfoy is inside. He is staring at nothing in particular. It seems he hasn't seen me.

A flash of heat runs through me. If I searched to find all the causes of the fury, the Sagum would never stop spinning. I force my spine straight, force myself to breathe before rushing in.

"You know, for someone who insists you are unattached, you seem to come to my hiding spots frequently," my voice is more playful than I had thought it would be. Perhaps I would be good at drama, if I attempted to join such an extracurricular at Hogwarts.

It's easy to pretend in smaller groups. At the Yule Ball, I was flustered by the number of people inquiring about the look on my face. Here, it is easy to be calm in front of Draco Malfoy. It is just him. He isn't the kind of person who I'm ever trying to impress or to stay away from.

His head spins. I push myself properly into the storage shed, rounding the corner of the lake.

"I'm not attached," Malfoy steps closer to me. Just one step, but it is trepidatious. He is slow.

He looks put together. If he gets too close, I'm sure he will see my mess. There are things that are hard to hide. Maybe I'm as pale as Justin, or as fidgety as Sally-Anne, or maybe the despair is so evident on my face that Malfoy will see where the tears ought to be. I feel self-conscious in front of him in a way that isn't quite typical. The horror of being known is too much, I suppose. Especially here, especially with him.

It takes a while to digest what he says. He says he's not attached to me. I swallow.

"Really?" I laugh, peering at him. "I suppose you often follow around mudbloods because you resent them so, then? Should I look around, and make sure your girlfriend isn't here?"

I swear he flinches a bit at the mention of Parkinson. He doesn't step any closer to me though. When I force myself toward him, he doesn't back away either. That scares me more than it should. Last we spoke it was pouring rain and even then, he flinched away until his clothes were soaked through. He hasn't moved now.

Pushing past him, I peer around, making a big show of looking at the boats. I glance inside one, and then under another, and put my hand on my chin and stroke it in a wide and ridiculous gesture.

"They aren't here," Malfoy's voice has an edge to it.

He isn't pleased I'm having a go at him. The last time he spoke to me, he said he missed my banter. Here it is, and he still isn't pleased. Nothing is ever enough for a Malfoy.

"Actually?" I crinkle my nose as I look at him. Then, I cross my arms. "I'm surprised. Didn't Yaxley and friends, including Nott and Parkinson if I'm correct, have fun a few hours ago with a muggle-born and a halfblood outside of the Forbidden Forest? Can never be too sure that you aren't luring me into one of their traps, seeing how you insist you hate mudbloods just like the rest of your Slytherin lot."

"Stop saying that word," Malfoy manages.

The pause this time wasn't quite as long as the last. There is certainty and force in his voice. No surprise. No digesting. He knows about what happened. Maybe he wasn't there, but he either knew or has come to know what was done. The details from Justin were enough. I can picture Theodore Nott bragging in the Slytherin dorms about what exactly was done. What was cut where, what splashed when, what cries were called and who heard them. I can picture him saying the word mudblood to Draco Malfoy over and over again. I can vividly imagine Malfoy not saying a word against it.