"For Merlin's sake, can you stop whining already?" I muttered, trailing a few paces behind Draco, who was moaning pitifully about his latest misfortune. "You barely got a scratch."
Adjusting a stray lock of my dark hair behind my ear, I quickened my pace to match his as we made our way through the winding Hogwarts corridors, the echo of our footsteps a steady rhythm accompanying our begrudging procession toward the hospital wing.
The whole situation left me perplexed. Why had Hagrid singled me out among all the students in his class to escort the ever-complaining Malfoy? I wasn’t even sure where the hospital wing was located, and I was certain I wasn’t the one who needed tending to.
I understood Hagrid couldn’t abandon the Hippogriff and the rest of the class, but assigning me to this task felt like a personal slight — or maybe some twisted joke at my expense.
"If that lumbering giant had just kept his blasted creature under control, none of this would’ve happened," Draco grumbled, shooting me a sideways glare. "Clearly, it’s personal. Otherwise, why would he send you with me?"
I rolled my eyes with a smirk. "Yeah, sure, you’re the real victim here," I shot back, dripping sarcasm.
For a stretch, neither of us uttered a word, the corridor's silence settling between us like a fragile truce, the atmosphere almost eerie in its stillness.
Lost in thought, I nearly missed Draco halting beside me. "Potter," he called, voice hoarse and tinged with frustration.
He nodded toward a door ahead, unmistakably the entrance to the hospital wing. Flushing, I hurried back a few steps, earning an exaggerated eye roll from him.
He strode inside, immediately launching into a dramatic retelling of his injuries for Madam Pomfrey, who glanced my way, her eyes softening with a mix of amusement and exasperation. I returned a sheepish smile, silently apologizing for the theatrics at my side.
With a subtle shake of her head and a faint smile playing on her lips, Madam Pomfrey directed Draco to lie down on one of the beds, her tone firm but patient.
"So, that’s my part done?" I asked, hopeful as she bustled about tending to him.
"Actually," she said without looking up, "would you mind staying with Mr. Malfoy until I return? Shouldn’t be long."
I stifled a groan, about to protest, but a quick "Thank you, love," sent me sinking into a nearby chair beside Draco's bed.
As I settled in, my gaze flickered to the smirk curling on Draco’s lips. Not long ago, he’d dubbed me the favorite Potter, and now here we were, locked in this odd vigil.
"You really should’ve listened to Hagrid," I muttered, eyeing him critically as he stretched out comfortably, clearly enjoying the unwarranted attention and imagining the sympathy he'd garner with a cast.
He laughed, a humorless sound. "Listen to Hagrid? Might as well leap from the Astronomy Tower and be done with it. Same result."
"Well, you wouldn’t be lying here then," I retorted, eyes drifting toward the door at every creak, hoping Madam Pomfrey would appear soon. "Besides, it’s not like you’ve never listened to him before."
He furrowed his brows, clearly puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"The Monster Book of Monsters," I clarified.
"Oh," Draco said slowly. "So, you’ve been watching me?"
"Please," I scoffed, turning my attention back to the window where shadows of leaves danced in the wind. "Don’t flatter yourself."
"Hard not to," he said, his voice dropping to a serious tone that caught me off guard.
I glanced up at him, expecting that trademark smirk or a biting retort, but instead, he was staring out the window, eyes fixed on the same swaying branches I’d been admiring moments before.
His platinum blond hair fell like a curtain over his forehead, and with a casual gesture, he pushed it back, only for it to fall again.
His green tie hung loose around his neck, the top button of his white shirt undone. The fabric was creased and stained from the earlier skirmish with Buckbeak.
A small smile tugged at my lips at the memory of his plaintive complaints. The phrase "It’s killed me" echoed repeatedly in my mind like a mischievous melody.
I couldn’t hold back a giggle, the image of Draco’s theatrical suffering growing funnier with each passing second.
His eyes narrowed, glinting with mock offense. "What are you laughing at, freak?" he hissed.
My giggle turned into outright laughter. The contrast between this whimpering boy and the intimidating persona he tried to project was too much to resist.
When he made such a spectacle of himself over a few scratches, his usual menace seemed to dissolve completely — at least in my eyes.
"Who do you think you are? Filthy blood-traitor!" he snapped, voice rising with fury.
By now, Draco sat upright on the bed, rigid with anger, glaring daggers at me. "You’ll regret this," he spat venomously. "Just like that dirty little bird of yours. My father will hear about it!"
I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Is that so?" I challenged. "And what exactly does your father think about Buckbeak?"
His gaze flickered, betraying a flicker of unease. "That’s different," he muttered quickly.
"Only if you say so," I said with a sly grin.
Moments stretched between us, the tension thick yet strangely familiar, as if beneath the usual antagonism, an unspoken understanding was beginning to take root.
Just then, the hospital wing doors swung open, and Madam Pomfrey returned, her presence slicing through the charged atmosphere.
"Alright, Mr. Malfoy, let’s get you patched up properly," she said briskly, setting to work with practiced efficiency.
I stood, stretching my legs, ready to leave this bizarre guardianship behind but a part of me wondered what other surprises this unlikely alliance might hold.
As I headed for the door, Draco’s voice stopped me. "Potter," he said quietly, an unfamiliar weight in his tone.
I turned, meeting his eyes. "What?"
He hesitated, then muttered, "Thanks."
A brief, genuine moment passed between us, fragile yet steady, before I nodded and stepped out, the soft click of the door sealing the peculiar truce we'd formed.