Note: This is going to be a collection of stories, too short and undeveloped for my liking to be posted separately. One day I might start picking characters randomly, but right now I have enough ideas to write about. Also, as a rule, the action of each piece takes time in one place at one time. I'll try to use different characters, but my favourite ones (for now, Daphne) may appear more often than others.


Peace

"The main ingredients of the Draught of Peace are powdered moonstone and the syrup of which very poisonous plant?"

He read the question out loud and looked at his companions, as if waiting for them to supply an answer, though in truth he expected no such thing. Even his companions knew, most of the time, that no such mental effort was anticipated from them, and stared at their parchment, patiently waiting for him to come up with the answer.

They were idiots, of course, utter fools and morons, but they were loyal and useful in other ways. Yet sometimes he regretted the absence of a considerably smarter companion – not too smart, not anyone as awful as that Granger; he could not understand how Potter was able to tolerate her – but someone just bright enough. Crabbe and Goyle were very talented when it came to beating up young Gryffindors, but it had dawned on Draco that his life contained greater tasks and aims than terrorising his fellow students, tasks to which his companions could contribute in very small, meaningless ways, if any at all.

Though infinitely annoyed with their lack of intelligence, they were useful enough for him to keep them, and help them academically, by letting them copy his homework. At one point he had even tried to teach them something, but it had proved way too bothersome. There was very little need to bring them along to the library, but they might amuse him on the way there by finding a suitable victim to bully. And they were there to laugh at his derisive comments, though all the wit was lost on them. And if someone decided to come and assault him, they knew a couple of nasty hexes, or could at least break the offender's arm.

And though they did bother him, they bothered him much less than anyone else he could have invited into the library, like Pansy, for example. At least the brutes came here with the purpose of doing homework, or homework being done for them, and if he wished, he could tell them to shut up and then pretend that they did not exist. Pansy had the habit of always reminding him of her presence, in a hundred little ways that all annoyed him very greatly. And she thought that the point of going to the library was to snog in public.

He tapped the parchment with his quill, frowning. He didn't know the answer. Neither did Crabbe or Goyle. It was probably written down somewhere in his Potions book, but he couldn't be bothered to look it up yet. He thought of telling his companions to do it for him, and was greatly annoyed when they failed to read his mind. Such useless lumps of flesh! There they sat, stupidly staring into the void, quills ready to write down the answer yet incapable of doing anything to find it out by themselves. They could read, to some extent at least. But the idea of taking out their Potions book and looking for the answer was clearly beyond their reach.

Draco let himself wallow in his annoyance with them for a moment longer, and doing that, he heard a clear voice speak, "Hellebore."

He knew by the tone alone that it had not come from either of his companions. Of course, they were too stupid to even suggest an answer, but the voice was also full of such steadiness and clarity as neither possessed. In addition to that, it was a distinctly female voice. Draco looked up.

A girl stood by their table. She had dark hair and skin and an expression of benevolence. She was pointing at his homework, to make it plain that she was giving him the answer to his question.

He recognized her, and it was a relief to have someone to insult. Someone intelligent who understood that she was being insulted.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, sneering at her. "What a generous Gryffindor you are. I'm almost sorry to tell you, but since this is probably the only way you ever get boys to notice you, and perhaps even repay your kindness, I suggest you look up the correct answer before running off to whisper it into the ear of someone with considerably lower standards."

He finished and sat back to enjoy the hurt, the indignation, and the angry reply. All he got, however, was one long look, and then the girl left. She simply turned and walked away, without a single sign of raised tempers, perfectly cool and calm. There was something in her look that bothered him, but for the moment Goyle's muttered words bothered him more.

"What?" he snapped at him.

"She's not a Gryffindor," Goyle said. "Her twin sister is a Gryffindor, but she's a Ravenclaw."

Draco stared, barely able to keep his jaw from dropping open. He was about to demand from Goyle the explanation of such manifestation of intellect, and worse, interest, but then changed his mind, and remarked with sarcasm, "In that case, you better run after her and give her my most sincere apologies."

He returned to ponder about her last look, while Goyle half-rose to follow his command, was pulled back down by Crabbe, and a small argument issued between them, whether Draco had meant his words or not.

Had it been pity, patronisation, quiet contempt? No. There had been an overall calmness, as if nothing, nothing at all, could disturb her peace of mind. And the other component – apathy, indifference, lack of interest. She had looked down at him, determining whether he was worth the effort of another word from her – apparently he wasn't. She was nothing, nobody, and it shouldn't have bothered him the least that she deemed him unworthy of a reaction to his insult. But the look itself was a gravest insult to him – no one, no one should look at him like that! It was the look he used to whip at others, but nobody should dare use it on him. Someone would be getting a long, unpleasant, and painful visit from his goons soon after, though he had yet to decide whether to attack the girl herself, her twin sister, or both.

He raised his quill and marked down the answer she had given him.

Such unwavering calmness, such perfect peace of mind... all that would soon be wiped away. If he couldn't have it, neither should anyone else.