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Summary
“As I was saying Scarhead, relation with savages like the Weasleys will create barbaric traits. But seeing you, I can tell it already has.” He smirked, seeing the veins on Potters forehead. This was the usual and the norm. Weasley then spoke, diverting his attention from Potter. This created a sudden change in Potters behaviour, making him almost calm and at ease.
“You’re a desperate little ponce, aren’t you? Merlin, can you believe this Harry?” He exchanged a look with Potter, both of them not trying very hard to withhold their laughter. The Weasel knew. He knew.
Draco could only stare with wide eyes and a parted mouth. He refused to deal with this humiliation. He felt panic gripping him, and chose to walk off, ignoring the buffoons behind him giggling like little girls.