Three Legged Race

Longbottom staring at him was starting to become concerning. Was he planning to get back at him for punching him in the face? Not a great plan, but nobody ever said Longbottom was smart. Draco frowned at the other boy and relaxed as he looked away, darting his gaze away like he could pretend it had never been focused on Draco at all.

Draco felt tense, a feeling that he was well acquainted with, but had never learned to like. He had to keep reminding himself to relax his jaw- his mother would be so upset if he cracked another tooth. He thought about walking up to Longbottom, just to see what would happen. It would give him something to do with all this energy, anyway, instead of crushing his jaw and raising his heart beat.

He leaned back and rejected the thought. The best and worst outcome of doing something like that would be getting to punch Longbottom in his pale, moony face again which, he knew from experience, would feel great (besides the pain in his knuckles he’d only just managed to get rid of) but would also get the attention of his father. The longer he went without passing under Lucius Malfoy’s radar, the better.

Crabbe was jabbering on about something at his elbow, and Draco focused even more of his energy on blocking him out. He had even less of a tolerance for him lately, Goyle as well. They hadn’t talked about the “incident”, as the Sponsors had taken to calling it, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about it. Maybe some distance was best after all. Zabini gave him a look, like he’d just said clever and was waiting to be praised, and Draco tried to pay a little more attention.

Dumbledore was getting up, and everyone in the hall leaned forward, suddenly at attention. The younger kids, the ones who’d never gone through this before, looked like they were going to start screaming. He caught himself smiling, and turned it into a smirk. He leaned back in his chair, as if the whole thing bored him, even as he remembered what was supposed to come next.

“In seven days,” He began. “the trials of the tournament will begin. All of you have either handed in your group assignments, or been given a group, and you will remain in that group until the end of the summer. Your group will act as one- win as one, if you are lucky enough to win. Remember to encourage each other, and to be willing to ask for help- there is more than one type of knowledge, and type of strength.” He paused and smiled at them like a pleased grandfather. “Now, if you would be so kind as to gather in your groups.”

There was a nervous bustling, mostly from the tables full of first years. The older campers generally just sat in their groups, knowing what to expect, and usually sat in them all year long anyway. Draco pushed his chair back with a quiet groan. He could feel the others looking at him and refused to look back, not wanting to see their looks of mockery or guilt or anything else. Longbottom and Finnegan were sitting next to the wall across from him, and as he walked to them, he could feel them both adamantly not watching his approach. He couldn’t help but slow down, enjoying the moment of tension now that he wasn’t the one feeling the tension itself. When he was still nearly a table away, Longbottom looked up at him, eyes harder than he’d ever seen them. He paused without meaning to, then caught himself, plastered a rude smirk on his face, and finished his approach. He ignored the chairs, not wanting to give up his towering position.

“Your groups will meet at least once a week. Make sure you fill out a schedule at the end of the week to pass on to your Sponsors. If you’d like to request an area in advance, fill out a form at least 3 days in advance. Ah, and,” He said with even more of a smile in his voice, as if he forgot a pleasant surprise. “as always, any punishment that finds itself to one member of your group, may find itself to the rest, if a Sponsor believes it should. So don’t toe the line too carelessly, boys.”

With his speech finished, signalled by Dumbledore sitting back down in his chair, watching them all with a strange fondness, Draco turned his attention back to the boys in front of him, and found one of them already staring. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Longbottom this time.

“So it’s true,” Finnegan said, spitting a little as he did so, not in the rude way he’d expect from those in his own cabin. More in the way of someone who can’t figure out how to close their mouth.

Draco merely raised an eyebrow, not finding the question worth answering. He wasn’t sure if he was talking about the “incident” or the fact that he was joining their group, or possibly both, but either way it was a stupid thing to ask him.

Longbottom made a noise like he hadn’t made up his mind whether to clear his throat or exhale, like a pathetic wheeze. His face reddened when Draco looked at him, but his eyes didn’t dip away from his like he was so used to. Draco frowned at him.

The chatter of the other groups was getting to him. It felt like they were each yelling directly into his ears, with the sole purpose of grating on his nerves. He took a deep breath through his nose and tried to keep his cool, detached air as cool and detached as physically possible. It hadn’t been a great day to begin with, stress-wise, and he felt dangerously close to snapping at someone.

“So,” Longbottom said, as if he were about to conduct an actual meeting between people who didn’t hate each other and a boy who was obviously not listening because he was staring at his ex, then stopped. Draco’d heard about the break up- he knew all the gossip, whether he wanted to or not- and from the spacey, forlorn way Seamus Finnegan was staring at the table past him, all the rumors seemed true. He’d be in even worse form, which meant it would be that much harder to still win this year. Draco was put off by the thought for a good handful of reason he didn’t feel like analyzing at that moment.

“We’ll meet the first day we’re allowed,” He said, taking up position of leader as if it had been a given. Well, it had, to him at least. “Obviously. Whenever we’re allowed, if you’re as rubbish as you were last year.”

Longbottom looked like he was about to object, and Draco cut him off. “I’m not letting you two break my winning streak. Just do what I say, and stay out of my way during the actual events, and we’ll be fine.”

A strange look came over Longbottom’s face, one that made Draco’s already closed fist flex even more tightly closed automatically. He frowned deeper, and relaxed his hands the best he could.

“Yeah, sure, Malfoy,” The other boy said in a tone that made Draco want to punch him, punishments be damned.

He fought for something biting to say, but the time to be smooth and clever had passed, and Longbottom was already walking past him. Finnegan visually shook his head, apparently trying to come back into his right mind, and followed behind his teammate, with an expression like a whole night could have gone by without him noticing.

Draco scowled. “I mean it, Longbottom. Finnegan.” He raised his voice just loud enough to catch their attention.

Longbottom turned back, calmly, mouth just slightly twitching downwards at the corner. When Draco didn’t say anything else, he answered, “I never said you didn’t.”

They regarded each other silently, Draco fully frowning now, Longbottom still not quite committing to it. There was something new about him, like another layer that hadn’t existed before. The mystery of it made him, not curious, but something else he didn’t have a name for. Like looking at a math problem just out of his reach.

Or maybe it had always been there, and he’d just never had to bother with it before. It occurred to him that this was the most amount of time he’d ever actually spent with Neville Longbottom. The thought made him frown more heavily. He was willing to bet something similar was occurring to the other boy as well, as he noticed his hands clench, one foot shifting as if anxious to leave.

“Tomorrow then?” He said, and Longbottom nodded. “The lake, before dinner.”

Longbottom nodded again, as if he wasn’t really there anymore. Draco felt annoyance rush up his body, and he fought it down, knowing the other option involved even worse things to come for him.

He watched them go, and avoided Crabbe’s eye once he turned away from the door. The idea of going back to his table, and the group that was no longer his, made his stomach turn. He shoved his hand in his pocket, and headed into the throng of people making their way far from the building.

~*~*~*~*

The thing about winning is, there’s only one other option besides it- losing. If there were some third option, maybe Draco’s control of his hands, already in fists, and darting mind, would have been better. As it was, he was struggling to find a cool, uncaring part of him to show the world, and he knew he was running out of time to do so.

Winning was the easy option. Or, it always had been. Winning felt good, winning got him things. For example, it got Lucius Malfoy off his back for approximately one day. But now, suddenly, things were more complicated.

He could see two figures in the distance who, clumsy and distracted, had to be his “teammates”. Winning seemed more like the impossible option. Nevermind the fact that he didn’t really feel like doing anything that would make his father happy- or, as close to it he could actually get. Even here, far from the man, though not quite far enough away to be out of his reach, he knew that a “fuck it” attitude was only going to help in the present, and damn his future. He crossed his arms in front of him, and had to resist glowering at the two boys as they got nearer.

His back hurt, and he could feel a headache coming on.

“Took you long enough,” He greeted them, the words coming out a little more savage than he’d expected, but he did nothing to correct this.

“You just said ‘before dinner’,” Longbottom answered with a shrug.

“I am starving,” Finnegan added, grinning.

“Then maybe that means you came later than you should have,” Draco sneered.

Finnegan stopped grinning.

“Well, then next time I guess you can be more specific,” Longbottom said easily. “Or, better yet, we can discuss it instead of being ordered.”

Again, he found himself searching for the right insult just to find the moment gone. Longbottom looked untroubled, collected in a way he’d never associated with him before this year, but now was unable not to.

“Why are we meeting?” Finnegan asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“What do you mean ‘why are we meeting’?” Draco couldn’t hide his frustration, not that he really tried. “Aren’t you at least smart enough to know how the tournament works?”

“I think he meant why are we meeting before training is supposed to start.”

He ignored Longbottom’s gaze, prefering to stare daggers at Finnegan, who looked bewildered and vulnerable.

“No wonder you’ve never won before,” He added, when no one else spoke. “If you’re only peeling yourself off your couches when someone holds your hand and tells you to.”

He caught himself eyeing Longbottom’s gut, just pudgy enough to make someone self conscious. As he pulled his gaze up towards Longbottom’s face, he noticed for the first time how much taller Longbottom was. He’d never felt the inches between them before, but now it felt a little dizzying, peering up at him. Or maybe that was from the expression on his face.

Longbottom’s calm had finally disappeared.

“No wonder,” He shot back, once Draco’s eyes were finally on his. “nobody else was willing to take you.”

“Like you had a choice,” Draco spat. “You just do what you’re told to do, like a good little boy, don’t you? ‘Yes, I’ll shine your shoes, Dumbledore, please let me, thank you for allowing me to exist.’ You’ve always been pathetic, Longbottom.”

Instead of getting a raise out him, like he’d savagely hoped for, Longbottom’s face settled into a completely blank expression.

“You’re right to beg,” Draco said, leaning towards him despite himself. His hands were itching to grab his shirt, crack his jaw. “You never should have been admitted in the first place. It’s just a countdown until everybody realizes that you’re a fake.”

Longbottom took in a breath, and Draco was almost satisfied to see that he shook a little, but, then again, he could feel himself shaking too.

Someone cleared their throat from his side. Draco swiveled, expecting Finnegan’s irritating face.

Instead, he found Severus Snape. Not looking slightly pleased.

He saw Longbottom take a measured step back in his peripheral. He opened his mouth to say something to the man, but the part of his brain that was polite, or clever, seemed to be turned off completely.

Snape reached out a hand, equally silent, and Draco took the envelope within it, already feeling a sinking sensation in his stomach. There were two people out there who would write to him there, and he had a bad feeling he knew which one this was from.

Snape gave his face a long, hard look, as if reading something on it, then sighed. “I suggest you return to your cabin, Mr. Malfoy. Dinner starts soon.”

He took the suggestion without a parting glance to any of them, and tore the letter open before he hit his bed. The look of his father’s handwriting made him want to throw the paper into the fire without reading it. He took in a breath, and read it anyway.

At least there was no lecture or punishments this time. Just a job.

It looked like it was time to meet Dolores Umbridge.