"Hawthorne," called Malfoy, smirking as Charlie and his friends walked past. "Be sure to say hello to Potter for me, will you?"
"Sure thing," Charlie retaliated at once, not thinking much about the comment. "As long as you be sure to tell your dad I said that same... oh, wait," he added with a bitter chuckle.
Draco lunged, rustling a few leaves beneath his feet. He stopped directly in front of Charlie, his jaw clenched tightly while his grey eyes seemed to darken.
"Right, because your father is such a bloody saint," he growled, his tone laced with venom. "Tell me, Hawthorne, how was your summer?"
Charlie clenched his fists to stop himself from throwing his hand back and beating Malfoy's perfectly coiffured face black and blue. Charlie took a deep breath, perfectly aware that he had caught the attention of Hermione, who had now appeared looking tense in his peripheral vision.
"Oh, come on, Hawthorne," taunted Malfoy, catching the immediate attention of nearby students. "Scared to admit it, are you? If only your friends kne—"
Unable to restrain himself, Charlie launched himself at Malfoy at once, tackling him to the floor. The cluster of students exploded into chaos as the two boys tried to pummel each other into the muddied grass. Draco was clearly losing, being far outweighed by the taller boy.
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"Charlie! STOP!"
Hermione's voice rang in Charlie's ears, but his mind was too clouded with anger to form a coherent reason to stop his pursuit of punches to Malfoy's head. It was as though every ounce of rage that Charlie had internalized over the summer had been channeled into the force behind his fists.
It was what Malfoy deserved, at least that's what Charlie told himself, for the blonde haired Slytherin had simply sat back and said nothing, while Charlie's screams of pain were deluded as nothing more than the warm, reminiscent sound of superiority amongst the Death Eaters.
"Come on, mate, that's enough," came the anxious voice of Ron, as he and Neville tried desperately to pull Charlie up from the ground.
It was no use, however, as Charlie became relentless. He failed to acknowledge anything other than his fist colliding with Malfoy's pale face of painful reminder. In fact, Charlie was far too occupied to notice the parting of the group that surrounded him, nor did he hear the sound of loud approaching footsteps coming towards him.
Then, suddenly, there was a rather harsh pull at the hood of Charlie's robes, which felt too incredibly forceful to be either Ron or Neville, and the brown eyed boy was forced upright, landing on his feet with a disapproving huff. It was not until Charlie had tried to struggle against his restraints, that he recognized, with a rush of pure loathing, the upturned hooked nose and long, black, greasy hair of Severus Snape.
"Well, well, well," sneered Snape, taking out his wand with his unoccupied hand and tapping the padlock once, so that the chains around the gates creaked open. "Nice of you to return to Hogwarts, Hawthorne, although I can't say that I'm surprised by your seemingly desperate attempt at making an entrance." He looked down his long, crooked nose towards a whimpering Malfoy on the grass, adding, "Get up, Mr. Malfoy, you're embarrassing yourself."
