Gilded Soul

Ousting the Weasel

Draco sat on his usual bench in the courtyard, staring at the breaking dawn muffled by the haze of morning. He watched the tree by the lake compulsively, waiting for a slim dark figure to appear. His thoughts drifted to the dream he had awoken from. There had been another person there with him, and now he had evidence to prove it. He might even be able to find out if it was Harry, as he suspected. Draco reached into his pocket to where he had transferred the silvery fabric upon getting dressed.

The scrap of cloth was cool to the touch, and had a velvety texture. As Draco twisted the fabric around his fingers, he thought about Harry. Was it really him in the dream garden? Would he show up again tonight? Draco looked longingly at the tree by the lake, but there was still no sign of the Gryffindor. He pocketed the fabric and stood to go back inside, when a harsh shove to from behind sent him sprawling face-first into the snow.

Draco quickly stood, dusting snow from his robes and shaking it from his hair. Looking back, he saw his attacker. Hermione stood ready to pounce upon him like a feral cat. Draco held up his arms as if to fend her off. “Easy, Granger. What’s the meaning of this?”

Hermione vibrated with anger. “What were you thinking picking a fight with Ron? Here I was, helping you, thinking that maybe you weren’t such a bad guy after all, when you go and…”

“Hey! Get your facts straight before you come and accost me! Ron was the one who grabbed me, held me down and tried to punch me in the face!”

“Really? You look just fine to me,” Hermione said, glancing him over doubtfully.

“Nice of you to notice,” Draco retorted sarcastically. “Did you really expect that I would let him hit me in the face?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You just stay away from me, and Ron and Harry. We want nothing to do with you, Malfoy.” Practically spitting his name she turned and marched into the castle.

Draco just stood dumbfounded. That little weasel lied to everyone. Draco didn’t waste any time plotting Ron’s downfall as he made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast.

--

Potions class went by at a snail’s pace as Harry ignored all of Draco’s pleas that he believe him about what happened with Ron. Draco made use of the quiet time to read over his notes until he couldn’t stand it any longer. “I really didn’t start it. I wasn’t nice to him, but he’s the one that attacked me.”

Harry didn’t look up from the boiling potion. “I already told you Malfoy: I don’t want to hear it.”

“That doesn’t sound like you believe me,” Draco said sarcastically.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t. Do you really expect me to believe your story over Ron’s? He’s my best mate.”

“So were not friends anymore? Because Ron lied to both of you and you choose to believe them over me?” Draco replied indignantly.

Harry didn’t answer, but the look in his emerald eyes told Draco the truth. Harry had never thought of him as a friend. Draco thought that he had made some headway with the proud Gryffindor, but it appeared that no matter what Draco said or did, he would never meet the other boy’s standards.

Draco sighed in defeat and turned away, refusing to meet Harry’s unforgiving eyes. He went back to reading his notes and worked on his report for the rest of class feeling a little bit dead inside.

--

The rest of the day went in much the same manner. Draco sulked around the castle, wading through a festering pit of sorrow. If a smaller student stood in his way, he snapped into a fierce rage, bowling the child over and storming off. Minutes ticked slowly by until finally it was time to face his detention with Snape and Weasel. Draco had already imagined murdering the foul little red head in a number of different ways, most including a blunt object for extra pain. At one point, he even imagined eating his dinner from a bowl made out of the filthy git’s skull.

Ron was already there when Draco walked into the room, and Snape walked in right behind him. “You’ll be cleaning cauldrons this evening. I hope you both had the forethought to eat dinner before arriving, because I doubt you’ll have time to go to the Great Hall tonight.” Snape glided into the room, black robes flapping behind him. He sat behind his large oak desk and began shuffling papers and scratching various notes on certain scrolls.

Neither Draco nor Ron made a move, and Snape looked up scowling. “I trust, since you both have attended my class once or twice, that you know where the cauldrons are located?”

Draco was the first to make it to the closet and pulled out the first cauldron he saw. Bringing it back to his desk he saw that it was caked with grime and a yellowish substance that he couldn’t identify. He only managed to articulate half of the cleaning spell before he felt his wand tugged from his grasp. He looked up to find his and Ron’s wands floating effortlessly toward Professor Snape. “There will be no magic used to clean the cauldrons. If you insist on fighting like Muggles, then you can do your punishment like a Muggle.”

Draco could hear Ron growling various obscenities and general foulness under his breath. It was when he heard the words “gay Slytherin bastard” however, that Draco snapped.

“You have no right!” Draco yelled, leaping to his feet and sending his chair toppling to the ground. “You lied to them, and now they both hate me!”

“Good!” Ron spat. “I told them they were nutters for thinking you were on their side in the first place. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater.”

“Enough!” Snape bellowed. He easily levitated the boys away from each other and sat them at desks on opposite sides of the room. “Not a single sound from either of you! If you even think about it, you’ll sorely regret it.”

Draco straightened his robes, pulled himself upright, and returned to scrubbing his cauldron. It was several hours and forty-three cauldrons later when Snape returned their wands and excused them both to their own common rooms.

--

In the corridor, Draco barely made it around the corner before once again finding himself pinned against the wall. This time, exhausted and obviously beaten, he didn’t have the strength to mouth off, or to dodge Ron’s fist as it came hurtling towards his face.

Draco heard his nose break before he felt it. A rush of deep red blood poured into his mouth and down his chin, the metallic taste of it making him want to retch. Ron laughed as he swung again, this time nailing Draco in the gut. “You’re not so bad now without Snape or one of your little goons around, huh?”

Draco doubled over, clutching his stomach, unable to reply. Ron kicked him hard in the back and Draco fell forward, his face smacking against the cold uneven stone. He lay there for a moment, the edges of his vision tinged black.

“I was hoping they would wise up on their own, but I guess Harry and Hermione needed a little shove!” Ron said, emphasizing the last word with another sharp kick.

“Ronald!”

Draco could barely make out the screech he heard as two figures approached from further down the corridor. Draco looked up in time to see Hermione staring at him with a mixture of pity and revulsion. To her left stood Harry, paler then Draco had ever seen him. He had pulled Ron’s arms back and was forcing the red-head to his knees.

Draco vaguely felt small hands on his shoulders and heard a feminine voice speak softly in his ear. “Draco, I’m so sorry…” before darkness claimed his vision.

--