Chapter 3
Draco had never been pulled aside by a teacher for anything bad; he wasn't ever in trouble. But, when Professer Snape pulled him aside after class to ask about the rumors, Draco knew it was game over.
"Draco, while I have no problem with you liking a boy, quite frankly I don't care, I would rather you put an end to this rumor going about."
"What!? What rumor? I haven't heard any-"
"You know exactly what the bloody hell I'm talking about, Draco. Either dispel this rumor or I will tell your father."
"Oh, fuck off. Like he's going to believe you. He doesn't even fucking like you. I doubt he even remembers you! Tch, get off my ass, Snape."
Draco walked out of the room, grumbling angrily. How dare he pull him aside to say that? And how did he even find out? No one ever talks about it in Draco's class. (Then again, it's probably because he's there that they don't.) Anyway, that didn't matter, because he had bigger fish to fry; getting to his dad before Snape did. Of course, that would be quite the challenge. His father hated talking to him in the school year, and in fact, he heard him joke numerous times that he sent him to Hogwarts to leave him alone! He didn't believe it, but when a joke is made so many tomes, you start to think it true.
As Draco walked, he thought all these things. He turned a corner and stalked down to dungeons, where the Slytherin common room lay. What he didn't see, and what he should've seen, was the pair of glowing green eyes following him down the steps to the boys' dormitories.
Draco felt Snape's eyes on him. He felt the piercing stares from his pupils, and yet, he did not look up to meet them. He did not think about them, or wonder why they stared. He simply tuned them out as best as he could.
He didn't just feel the eyes of his classmates; he felt the eyes of Potter. He could sense the attention that Potter had to everything he was doing. But he couldn't bring himself to snap at him, either. Of course, of the Weasley and the Mudblood knew, then he knew. They obviously told him everything. If they hadn't, then one of their peers had. Either way, one thing was certain: he knew, and he wasn't going to let it go.