The Game Is Afoot...
Things could have been better; that’s what Draco kept coming back to. He could have handled the situation with Snape a little more sense and delicacy. There were no new death-defying events, no new tasks from the System, and no progress with Snape whatsoever, so it was just Draco, his guilt, and his shame over the Snape debacle.
Draco tried his best to stay as far away from Snape as possible. So far, he hadn't come face to face with Snape, partially because Snape seemed to be ignoring him as well. On the first day, he had been sure that Snape was going to curse him to kingdom come, but Snape never even looked in his general direction, so he was feeling safe.
Draco did start a couple of hobbies to fill in his free time. He did his best to take care of Ginny as much as possible. He began teaching Harry about the benefits of managing his finances properly and seeking proper legal counsel to handle investments and legal matters. However, life had been too stagnant for his peace of mind, and Draco felt like a sitting duck.
Harry, on the other hand, was going out of his mind. Oliver had initiated a new training regimen that required the Gryffindors to practice at the ass crack of dawn, engage in extreme exercise, and practice every free minute of the day. At this point, Draco was scared Harry was going to burn out, or perhaps his 'Hero Aura' provided him with additional stamina to overcome this?
After the third time Harry skipped lunch for Quidditch, Draco had a very long talk with Oliver, emphasizing the importance of Harry never skipping a meal again. Ever. It also helped that Draco made sure to keep track of Harry's training (Oliver's suspicions of him being a spy be damned), especially during lunchtime. If it looked like they were going to skip lunch again, Draco asked the elves to provide them with a proper lunch. The elves were more than excited to oblige.
Harry’s fan club was becoming more active each day. Ginny, the giddy schoolgirl, was too flustered and shy to say anything face to face and stayed at a respectable distance.
Colin, on the other hand, was a different species entirely. He was always there, either greeting Harry or cheering for him during Quidditch practice, always with his trusty camera.
Colin actually delivered a few of Harry’s photographs that he had taken and somehow got developed. Draco asked Harry to sign a couple for Colin and made sure that Colin understood these were going to be the only ones that got signed…ever.
As tradition dictated, the Slytherins and Gryffindors clashed on the Quidditch field during one practice. Flint had somehow obtained permission to practice while Oliver had specifically booked the pitch. Flint thought it the best opportunity to show off and brag about the new broom the team had received courtesy of one Lucius Malfoy. (Draco had tried his best to stop it, but alas, his father was still a git.)
The Gryffindors were all up in tits about this being unfair and blah, blah, blah. Draco just rolled his eyes and moved on. He was not going to defend himself. As a matter of fact, everyone knew how he was drafted as a seeker for the team. He didn’t even want to be one, for heaven's sake.
The very next day was Potions. Draco had been dreading it and would have skipped it altogether if it weren’t for Theo and Blaise’s meddling personalities. He was not ready to answer those questions or deal with that level of drama... yet. So he wore his 'big boy' pants and went to class, where he tried his level best to become invisible.
He tried to be as inconspicuous as he could. Outside of outright hiding under his table, he did his best to stay away from Snape. It proved to be the most torturous Potions class so far.
As soon as the bell rang, he shot out of his chair and rushed to get his things together to leave. Unfortunately, Snape chose that moment to announce, “Mr. Malfoy, a word.”
(Shit! Damn it! Fuckity fuck!)
“Yes, professor?” Draco asked as Harry looked at him with too many questions on his face.
“A word in private, please,” Snape replied.
Harry took as much time as he could to delay his departure, but he still left. Finally, as the class emptied, Snape closed the door and sat precariously on the edge of his desk facing Draco.
“I wanted to make sure there was no miscommunication or ambiguity about the other night, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said.
“Er… oh yes, professor, you don’t have to worry. I haven’t told anyone, and I promise not to tell anyone in the future, not even my friends,” Draco said earnestly.
“I don’t care about the secrecy of it, Draco. I just want you to know that I’m fine,” Snape said gently. “I know you must have been worried about that, but it’s nothing new, so you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine. It’s just that you caught me at a vulnerable moment.”
“OH!” Draco was at a loss for words.
“I’m a transparent book to people who matter to me, Draco. It’s not that I broadcast it or anything, but I’m not hiding anything out of shame or such. Almost all of my colleagues and friends know about it. Almost,” Snape gave him a pointed look. (Translation: Lucius was an oblivious git.)
“I… understand, sir,” Draco replied. “If I may, can I ask who...?”
“No, you may not,” Snape cut him off. Snape was firm and lacked flexibility; Draco doubted they’d ever talk about it again. “However, I do hope that the next time Mr. Potter decides to unceremoniously dump the pictures or memories of my very departed and dead best friend upon me, you can dissuade him from such notions?”
“Yes, sir,” Draco looked at the floor, feeling too ashamed and guilty.
“That being said, I also want to make sure that you know, I’m here for you. No matter what or when, whatever may come, I’m here.” (Foreshadowing much?)
“Thank you, professor,” Draco said, his voice heavy with emotions. (If only he had that support in his world.)
There was a ping from the System, but Draco didn’t bother to check it; he was quite sure it was the Connection upgrade with Snape.
Draco acted on his impulse and gave a rushed, tight hug to Snape and left the room before Snape could stop him. “Bye, Professor.”
Draco’s relief was very short-lived. He almost ran into a very flustered Neville, accompanied by a grave-looking Theo and more than mildly irritated Blaise. The last one being the most worrying.
“What happened?” Draco asked.
“Hagrid’s Hut, right now,” Theo said, and Draco didn’t ask any questions; he just followed them.
They were silent the whole way, and Draco's anxiety was rising by the second. He knew the trio was not one for drama, so it must have been something big.
As they reached the Hut, Draco saw Vince and Greg standing guard on the front steps. They caught the end of what Hagrid was saying to the others as they entered.
“...getting very difficult to find anyone for the Dark Arts job. People aren’t too keen…”
“Draco!” Harry moved towards him, and Draco checked him for injuries. Thankfully, he was fine.
“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Draco asked, as he saw a crying Hermione being consoled by a very serious-looking (red flag) Pansy and a pale, sweaty Ron holding a bucket. Ron was throwing up… slugs? (Oh, no!)
“Montague called Hermione something really bad,” Harry told Draco.
“It was bad…” Ron said hoarsely.
“He called her ‘Mudblood,’” Pansy said gravely.
Hagrid looked outraged and growled, “He said what?!” just as Draco asked the Slytherins, “And you guys didn’t do anything?!”
“We weren’t there,” Blaise looked tense and angry. “We heard it from someone in the common room, and we arrived at the spot Montague had left, and Ron was throwing up.”
“What does it mean?” Harry asked softly.
“It’s about the most insulting thing you could think of,” Neville said.
“It’s like the worst racial slang out there,” Draco clarified.
“It’s a disgusting thing to call someone. You see, ‘Dirty blood,’ someone born to non-magical parents,” Hagrid explained, trying to console Hermione while looking all kinds of awkward.
“We’ll handle it,” Draco assured Hermione as he shared a look with the Slytherins, and they gave him a resounding nod.
Montague’s time was up.
“Now don’t be callin' fer trouble. I don’t blame yer fer trying to curse him, but it’sa good thin' the curse backfired. At least ye're not in trouble,” Hagrid said loudly.
“Don’t worry, Hagrid, we’ll be careful,” Theo assured him.
“Harry!” Hagrid said abruptly, clearly changing the topic. “got a bone to pick with yer. I’ve heard yeh’ve been givin' out signed photos. How come I got nothin'?”
“Oh,” Harry got all red and embarrassed.
“I’m only jokin',” Hagrid said, petting Harry on the back and nearly tossing him into the table face-first. “I knew yer hadn’t really. I told Lockhart yer didn’t need them. Ye're more famous than him without tryin'. Then I told him I would never read one of his books.”
“Bet he didn’t like that,” Pansy said, and everyone burst out laughing.
“Hagrid,” Hermione said, “What did you mean before about Professor Dumbledore running out of options for DADA teachers?”
Hence, Hagrid explained in detail about the curse on DADA professors, as much as he could. (Can I try to break that curse?) The System was still a no-show.
“Is that thing real?” Greg asked, looking out the window into the backyard.
Draco moved next to Greg and saw the biggest pumpkin known to humankind. Hagrid took them all out to brag about his accomplishments. One thing led to another, and Hagrid told them how Ginny was there yesterday praising his handiwork. That’s when Draco realized Hagrid’s roosters were missing.
It seems like the game is afoot."