Disclaimer: (Who reads these anyway? "I do not own Harry Potter, not even Daniel Radcliffe.' I mean really, if you can't figure out I don't own Daniel Radcliffe, then you're as thick as me. And I'm one of a kind. ONE OF A KIND, I TELL YOU! Uh…ignore that. It was funny in my head) Forgive me, I am only twelve, which is the reason why this thing stinks. Many apologies, can you ever forgive me? Ok, enough groveling. PLEASE REVIEW! I beg of you.
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Chapter 7 Tendrils
I'm sick of it all. Stupid Potter still thinks he's all that with his new pal. I have to get her by herself. She has to be the one the He's looking for. I mean, how many female versions of Potter can there be in the world? I never liked the feast all that much. It's nothing compared to what we have back at the Manor, so I skipped. I can't believe she hexed me though. Who does the Potter brat think she is? Really?
So I'm sitting here in the Quiditch stands on a bitter cold night staring off into the forest just because of some stupid girl who happened to beat me on the head with my suitcase. Every Malfoy's dream. I wonder what father will say if he finds out. I don't think he knows I'm a Death Eater yet. I don't really want to be one. Fighting Aurors isn't my thing. I'd rather stay on the sidelines passing snide comments. But no one disobeys the Dark Lord. That's what father used to say, anyway. The 'imperiused scene" was quite a laugh. I never knew mother still had any flirting left in her. I always figured she forgot it all when she married father.
I hear a commotion and I see some sparks not far away. I suppose it's because of my immense boredom, but I follow them like a dog on a trail. Another spark shot out. I figure I should quicken my pace. I run my fingers through my hair. Mother had finally convinced me to cut it. I think she doesn't want me looking like father. Fat chance of that. His is down to his back.
"Hey, what are you doing?" I call out, trying to gather authority in my voice. I stop abruptly as I see who's there. All my old…er, how should I say this? Housemates? Sure, them, well they were gathered around a girl lying in the grass. Oh no, not that girl. The girl. I know what you're thinking, god, Draco Malfoy's not suppose to be afraid of anything and definitely not a girl. Well, whatever. All of them were there. Nott, Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle. Nott and Crabbe were down. I want to stay away. Another reason I'm not at the feast is because I don't know how the others will react when they see me. I want to put it off for as long as possible.
I don't know what to do. I rarely do these days. On one hand, I want to join in, who knows, it might be fun. On the other hand I can't. If I don't lie low, I'll be expelled and I'll fail. I can't be too suspicious. (Slughorn already gave me this look I don't like when I met him in the train on the way to hide in the bathroom. So sue me, I'm wretched.) I could help her. Yeah right, she hexed me! But it might make my job easier. Hmm. What matters more, my dignity and reputation of being heartless and cruel or the life of my mother and pride of the whole family? A stupid question really. That's it though. I'm not doing this for some half-blood Potter. I'm not even doing it for myself. I'm doing it for the family honor and my mother's head. Suddenly, it doesn't seem so bad anymore.
Back to the scene at hand. So Goyle stares at me like I've sprouted three heads and one of them is chewing on a baby turtle, which is the way he normally looks anyway. Nott looks up from the ground with something I take as fear in his eyes. I swallow a smirk. Crabbe's unconscious and Zabini gives me this, 'what's this bug doing on my sleeve' look that reminds me of the one mother has when she sees Mudbloods. Zabini goes, "Oh hi, Draco. Just having some fun. We're almost done." Potter looks at me like I'm demented but I ignore her.
"No," I say, firmly. Wow. I never knew I had that in me. "You're done now or I'll report you to McGonagall." Ok, that was lame, but stupid Slughorn's not gonna do anything. He's too lenient.
Zabini drops the casual buddy act and barks a loud, harsh laugh. "Lets get a few things straight. You shirked your prefect duties. You quit quiditch." Ha, that rhymed. Well, not really. It's more alliteration. How does he know they took away my prefect and quiditch privileges anyway? Stupid ministry official must have blabbed. How many times have I said stupid now? I'm running out of adjectives. "I get to replace you in both of those. I could report you."
"For what?" I demand. What the shit is this idiot (Yippee, new adjective!) git talking about? Zabini just smiles and sort of nods to Goyle.
Without warning, Goyle bends down and grabs the girl, who had been silent for the entire time, by the hair, dragging her up. She yelps and tries to bat his hand away. He twists her arm cruelly. I wince.
Zabini notices and smirks. Smirking used to be my thing. "Getting soft, aren't we, Draco?" I don't know why, but one thing always leads to another and right now, my wincing is leading to a sudden urge to slug him and wipe that smug smile off his face. Which is exactly what I did. He held his nose in shock. I can see Potter still struggling against Goyle and trying to kick him, but his grip is like steel and he just grunts.
Zabini pulls back, and hits me square in the jaw. It stings but I ignore it. I fish my wand out of my robes, and mutter, "Sectumsempra," praying I said it right while concentrating on my much hated one's face. Who knew that the "Chosen One' could teach me something?
To Zabini's horror, a diagonal line cuts across his features. Not enough to hurt much, but definitely enough to scar. Goyle drops the Potter girl, who scurries off somewhere, then points her wand at Zabini. I remember how long it took to fix my teeth and hastily step out of the way. Zabini, of course, is actually a coward, so he scampers away. Goyle follows with one last puzzled look at me. This doesn't disturb me. He's always confused about something. What's-her-face (still don't know her name!) murmurs something and Nott bolts upright. So does Crabbe, in a more clumsy fashion. When they see Goyle and Zabini's retreating backs, they hasten to follow.
Whatever-her-name-is (don't you just love my colorful vocabulary?) stands there resolutely for a few seconds, then collapses, holding her stomach, moaning softly. What am I suppose to do now? I did it, right? I got those oafs out of her hair. Now all I have to do is…what do I have to do? Why did I get myself into this mess again? Because I'm not sure it's worth it anymore.
I stare down at her. "Er…well, are you ok?" She looks up at me disdainfully. Right, Mr. Idiot. What does it look like? "What's your name?' That's a great way to start. You can't kidnap someone without knowing her name. I need to make a list of dos and don'ts.
She looks uncertain. Funnily enough, I don't blame her. I mean, I am nuts, aren't I? "Hallia," she says after some time. Another H. Why don't these people understand that twins with rhyming/similarly lettered names are dorky, not cute? Harry and Hallia. Padma and Pavarti.
"Ok, uh, Hallia. Shouldn't you go back, now?" My jaw was still aching. Damn that Zabini.
"I'd love to," she starts to snarl, straightening up at once, "but I'm having some problems with that right now, thanks to your friends."
"Hey if it wasn't for me, you'd be dead right now," I retort angrily. I fully have the right to be enraged. I practically save her life and all I get is lip. All Potters are the same. "Besides," I mumble, "they're not my friends." As I say this, it suddenly hits me that it's true. They're not my friends. They never were. But if they aren't, who are? The answer is simple really: I have none. Oh well, no big loss. I stare at Hallia for a bit, and then offer a hand to help her up. Maybe this won't be too hard after all. I wonder if we still get Hogsmeade trips this year. Then it'll be easy. Take her out on a date; guide her to some quiet corner, apparate and boom! Mission accomplished. I escape an eternity in hell (that probably is where I'm going) and we all get one less Potter in the world. Win win. Well, except for Hallia, but whatever. She doesn't count.
She takes it warily. So we need to work on trust before the asking-out-and-delivering-to-Dark-Lord part. Then slowly, hesitantly, she grasps my arm with both hands, and I pull her up. Can't believe I touched a half-blood without punching her guts out. What's wrong with me? Oh yeah, the plan.
One arm still onto mine, she looks at me, perplexed (where did I learn that word?), and raises her wand. She's still gonna jinx me?? She points at my jaw really fast, and says, "Episkey." I feel it mend. Oh, ok. So she's not so horrid. Too bad she's related to Lightning Pothead.
"I-thanks," I say awkwardly. Why am I always so freaking awkward? This girl's driving me bananas. This thing is getting nowhere. Maybe I should wait for Christmas. Hopefully she'll be going on vacation. At least the there's a chance she'll be out of Hogwarts grounds.
She nods and looks at me like she doesn't know what she did. The she slides her hand out of mine, turns and leaves, her grace only marred by a limp in her walk. I trace my jaw with my fingers and stare dumbly. Good Lord, it's somebody else's turn to suffer. I have no idea what to do and what just happened. I can feel a headache coming. I'm thinking too much. They'd better let us have Hogsmeade visits.
I know what you're thinking. Lame, lame, lame, lame, lame, lame, lame. Well, the truth is, I don't know what to do with this thing. Should they get together? Should evil Draco break Hallia's heart? Should Draco turn good? And most importantly, should Hallia die in the end? Tell me by reviewing! The first tendrils of a bond creep between them. Should it mean anything??????