By the Way Chapter Three

By the Way

By: Provocative Envy

OOO

CHAPTER THREE

“Hey, Granger, been caught crying lately?” Malfoy’s voice, mocking and cutting and exhaustingly familiar, sliced through the peaceful quietude of the library later that day with almost military precision: he was on a mission, a quest, almost, to trample as much of my newfound simplicity as possible.

And I was so very tired of it.

“Not that I can recall. Why? Have you?” I returned icily, the implied insult falling clumsily out of my mouth: I felt out of practice with our routinely cruel, customarily sharp wordplay.

“Since I haven’t been pushed aside for a twittering airhead anytime in recent memory, I can’t say I’ve been given any reason to. Unlike some people in this school,” he added thoughtfully, pointedly; I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back the deep, deep breaths I knew I should be taking, that I knew would give away my inner turmoil.

“And unlike some people in this school, you have no concept of common courtesy, morals, and all around pleasantness. So please excuse me as I acquit myself of your…illustrious presence,” I shot back, brimming with the kind of sarcasm I could only ever muster up around him; brimming with the kind of bitterness and constriction I only ever felt around him.

I had never understood why he hated me so much. I had never understood why picking on me brought him such unabashed pleasure. If it all came down to the circumstances of our respective births, I could argue just as logically that his bloodlines were so convoluted, so intricately and brutally guarded, that he gave new meaning to the phrase ‘close family ties’. I could make the reasonable observation that where I came from, in my world, my society, his age-old, traditional practice of intermarrying with second cousins, first cousins even, was considered a horrifyingly outdated and unhealthy method of procreation.

“Illustrious, you say?” he repeated with a sneer. “Finally, it seems, you’ve learned your place.”

“Oh, of course. I never would have dreamed that senseless servitude to an inferior would feel so, so good,” I replied scathingly, the barest hint of my temper simmering to the surface.

“Senseless would definitely be the more apt word to describe your loyal, loving, ever so faithful ex-fiancée, I think,” he retorted, smirking.

“Not that you would know anything about that,” I replied, outwardly calm. “Since Pansy’s an outright academic, correct?”

His eyes, normally a placid, shuttered gray, stormed to life; this was the part of our encounters that I dreaded, the part where it got hard: hard to breathe, hard to speak, hard to find the courage to look up and see animosity, loads of it; to look up and see anger, the insuppressible kind.

“Compared to Brown, maybe,” he seethed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against my table. “That girl doesn’t have much going for her, except for the obvious.”

“The obvious being her complete lack of affiliation with you?” I guessed sweetly, trying to ignore the way my palms were sweating, the way his jaw was clenching.

“No, I was thinking more along the lines of her being quite the exact opposite of you,” he answered, rudely scanning my body, my face: all of a sudden, I was aware, so aware, of how I’d been in a rush that morning and had hurriedly tied my hair back in a messy excuse for a bun, how my skin was probably patchy and red from the crying I hadn’t been able to do earlier, how skinny and unfeminine and boyish my figure was, even hidden under layers and layers of clothing.

“If you’re referring to her complete illiteracy, we’re in agreement,” I managed to choke out, knowing, knowing, knowing what was coming next yet being unable to shield myself, unable to stop it. Dimly, I wondered if my ego could stand this.

“No, I’m not sure Weasley cares too terribly much about how many OWLS she got. I’m talking about all the ways that matter. Silly little Mudblood,” he tittered, knowing he’d found his mark, knowing, knowing, knowing in the way that only he could that he’d struck the fatal blow, that it was only a matter of time before I withdrew and tried to maintain a semblance of control, tried to retain a sliver of dignity.

But then, just when his lips had started stretching into a heinous approximation of a smile, something happened.

It started to rain.

Outside, I watched as raindrops fell, one by one, slowly at first, then faster, faster, drizzles and torrents and chaotically imperfect patterns. And I was reminded, all at once, of the frailty of water, of its seemingly infinite threshold for pain; but water couldn’t feel pain, could it, so maybe it wasn’t pain, maybe it was something far simpler, far more basic and common and normal.

Maybe, just maybe, it didn’t break because it didn’t let itself.

Maybe, just maybe, it didn’t break because it was, for all intents and purposes, too strong to.

“Not everyone’s as shallow as you, Malfoy,” I finally said, catching his gaze.

“That’s what all the smart girls want to think,” he told me with a harsh laugh, shaking his head in mock pity.

“And how would you know? I certainly don’t see you spending very much time with any,” I bit out, incensed.

“My powers of deduction are quite up to the task, let me assure you,” he retorted.

“Clearly. After all, you did manage to determine that Pansy was the only girl in the school who’d do--”

“Ha! I’m sure you were stupendously happy with the Weasel once you realized everyone but you two was--”

“Oh, come off it, better him than someone who’d require a paper bag over her head to make anything even come close to happening, let alone--”

“As opposed to picking the one redhead in the history of the school who confessed his undying love with all the finesse of a Neanderthal?” he burst out, his pale face flushed and his voice overloud.

“Better than the girl who doesn’t even know what a Neanderthal is!” I shouted, pushing my chair back and leaping to my feet.

“Oh, like the Weasel does? At least when you explained it to him all you’d need is a mirror!” he yelled.

“Which would most certainly come in handy if the concept of inbred egomaniacs was ever called into question!” I returned, flipping a strand of hair out of my eyes.

“Since I’d much rather be a bushy-haired personification of the word desperate!” he shouted heatedly.

“At least you wouldn’t be a pathetically intermittent, pitifully inept version of your father anymore!”

“Speaking of idolatry, maybe if you stopped worshipping Potter for more than eight seconds you’d learn to see what’s right in front of you! Like you boyfriend cheating on you!”

“Children! Stop this yelling at once.”

Madam Pince’s voice cut through our individual tirades, effectively ending what had turned into the longest battle of wits I’d ever been engaged in with Malfoy. We glared at each other as we collected our things, not trusting ourselves to speak.

It was still raining when I got back to my dormitory.

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