"Will you stop whining already?" I groaned, walking several paces behind a dramatically limping Draco Malfoy. "He barely scratched you."
I quickened my steps to match his and brushed my hair back, eyes scanning the corridors as we made our way toward the hospital wing. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered what I'd done to deserve this particular punishment. Escorting Malfoy? Really, Hagrid?
Granted, Hagrid couldn't abandon the rest of the class with Buckbeak just to hand-deliver Malfoy to Madame Pomfrey—but still. Me?
"If that half-giant had any sense, he'd keep his bloody chicken in a cage," Malfoy snapped, shooting me a glance full of exaggerated pain. "And then he sends you to drag me to the infirmary? As if the creature didn't traumatize me enough."
"I'm sure I'm the real victim here," I said dryly. "Imagine having to walk with you and listen to that."
He didn't respond for once. We walked in an uneasy silence, the kind that echoed too loudly in the stone halls of Hogwarts. By the time I realized we'd reached the hospital wing, Malfoy had already stopped.
"Potter," he muttered, gesturing stiffly to the double doors.
"Oh. Right."
He rolled his eyes and stormed in.
Madame Pomfrey didn't even blink as he launched into a dramatic retelling of the incident—Buckbeak's "attack," the "brutality," how he was barely alive by the time I found him. I stood awkwardly by the door, meeting her gaze with a silent apology.
To my relief, she seemed to understand. She shook her head with a weary smile and sent Malfoy to one of the beds.
"You're done, then?" I asked, hopeful.
But Pomfrey didn't even look up. "Actually, would you mind staying with Mr. Malfoy until I return? Won't be long."
I opened my mouth. "Actually—"
"Thank you, dear," she said with finality, already disappearing through the doors.
I sighed and took the seat beside his bed.
"I'm going to talk to Hagrid," I muttered. "Swear I will."
Draco was lying on his side, already basking in the luxury of clean sheets and undeserved attention. His tie hung loose, and the top of his shirt was open, stained and creased from where Buckbeak had caught him. It didn't look serious, but he was clearly enjoying the dramatics.
"You should've just listened to Hagrid," I said, arms crossed.
He scoffed. "Listened? To him? I might as well jump off the Astronomy Tower. Same end result."
I raised an eyebrow. "Well, at least you wouldn't have dragged me into it."
He snorted and turned to look at me, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "So you're watching me now?"
"It's called 'paying attention,' Malfoy. Don't flatter yourself."
I turned my gaze to the window, watching the wind shake the trees in rhythmic waves. The silence stretched again.
"Hard not to," he said, unexpectedly quiet.
I glanced at him. His smirk was gone. He wasn't even looking at me.
His eyes were focused on the swaying treetops, face half-shadowed by the dim lantern light. He ran a hand through his hair absently, pushing the platinum fringe from his eyes. The sharp angles of his face, the disheveled collar, the quiet… it all clashed so violently with the spoiled prince persona he wore like armor.
And just like that, the memory of him shrieking "It's killed me!" flashed through my mind. I stifled a laugh. Then failed. A giggle escaped. Then a full laugh.
"What are you laughing at, freak?" he snapped, glaring.
That only made it worse.
"You," I said between breaths. "You—screaming—like a wounded pixie—"
He shot up in bed, face darkening. "You filthy little blood-traitor. You think this is funny?"
"Honestly? A little."
"You'll regret this," he seethed, fists clenched. "Just like that stupid owl of yours. My father will hear about this!"
My amusement faded.
It wasn't me I was worried about.
It was Buckbeak.