Chapter Nine

Once the two weeks had passed and Draco and I were back in school, the homework seemed to get more intense all at once. I was on my way to do research for a potions paper in the library when I ran into Longbottom, who was quick to accusatorily inform me that Draco had hit him with a leg-locker curse.

I sighed.

The break from being friends with the school's bully was not nearly long enough. I was more than elated to have him as my best friend, but I really wished that he could at least focus on other things besides picking on others. Rolling my eyes, I undid the curse and continued to the library.

And as I suspected, it wasn't long before Draco had found me hunched over a book on dittany and other magical plants used in potions.

"Come on, Raven," Draco whined, sitting down next to me, "All you do is study!"

"That's not true."

"Yeah? You're coming to the Quidditch match tomorrow at least, right?"

"Sure," I answered absently, looking up from the book to the shelf before me, deciding which other books to use in my essay.

Getting the idea that any further attempts to talk to me would be pointless, Draco huffed and turned to go. I didn't stop him. Instead, I continued taking notes and adding quotes to my paper.

The next thing I knew, the library was next to empty, and the once-bright windows had faded into black. For a moment, I thought I was completely alone with everyone else at dinner, but then Hermione trudged in. She didn't seem to see me right away, and instead went in search of a book. By the time she'd found it, I'd already crossed the room to her.

"Hello," I greeted, "What are you doing?"

"Looking for something," she muttered, flipping through the pages of the large book, deep in concentration.

"What are you looking for?"

She paused and looked at me curiously.

"How do I know I can trust you? You're a Slytherin."

She didn't say it rudely, but the words still stung. Anger shot through me, and I untucked my blouse, pulling it up so that she got a good view of my stomach, which was painted with purple and yellow bruising so thick that there was hardly any normal colored skin left.

"You owe me," I hissed.

Her eyes widened as her jaw dropped slightly.

"How-?"

"Thanks for the Christmas present. My father was thrilled to see I'd been making friends with Gryffindors who have non-magical parents."

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't know what your family was like."

"I know," I replied, pushing my shirt back down, "And that's how you can trust me. If I were anything like the other Slytherins, I would have broken your nose by now. What makes you think you can't trust me?"

"The nature of the information," she replied, straightening and recovering from her shock, "This will have more serious consequences if it isn't kept secret. However, I do trust you, and I think you could be useful if you want in?"

"Yeah, I want in," I answered without hesitation, though I had no clue what I was committing to.

"Promise you won't tell anyone, especially Draco."

I hesitated. I always tried to keep my word, but I wasn't sure about keeping secrets from Draco. Without realizing it, I'd already encountered one of the difficult situations Mr. Malfoy had warned me about. But, not unlike the troll, my youthful curiousity got the better of me.

"I promise."

The information shared with me was about a wizard named Nicholas Flamel and the philosopher's stone. Hermione explained that Snape was after it, and that we needed to get it first in order to protect it.

She, Harry, and Weasley had already discussed it, but I told her that the other two might not appreciate my assistance as much. She told me Harry would probably not have much of a problem with it, but she would explain to both why it was necessary.

They needed me because, not only did Snape favor Slytherins, but he was good friends with both the Malfoys and the Ashes. In fact, if he hadn't been busy at Hogwarts, he would have shown up at the annual Christmas party. If we ran into trouble with him, I could defend the others knowing he wouldn't harm me.

I was also known throughout the school as a talented witch, who was very brave. Therefore, I could most likely assist them with any challenges they may have come across.

Hermione assured me that it would be easy enough to persuade the others that I would be useful.

It was just up to me not to betray her trust.


The next day was the big Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

Draco and I weren't sure who to bet on, we hated both Houses. We obviously wanted Gryffindor to lose, but we also secretly agreed that they could easily beat Hufflepuff.

We really only went for the sport…and because Snape was the referee. We snuck into the bleachers behind Hermione and Weasley. As Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and I settled down on the cold, wooden benches, Draco reached up to poke the back of Weasley's head. Weasley, who had been in midsentence, turned around to glare at us.

"Oh, sorry," Draco chuckled, "Didn't see you there."

Weasley turned back to the game as Hermione continued crossing her fingers in her lap for Harry's safety.

"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want to bet? What about you, Weasley?" Draco asked, referencing the game in which Harry had fallen off his broom but had caught the snitch in his mouth. I hadn't been there to see it, but I heard all about it naturally. Word travels fast around Hogwarts.

"You know how I think they chose people for the Gryffindor team?" Draco continued, "It is the people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents. Then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money. You should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," Longbottom returned weakly, turning from his place besides Hermione, who still seemed only barely aware of our presence, if at all.

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

"Cut it out, Draco. Just watch the game," I tried, elbowing him.

He really knew how to insult everybody with just a few words. I supposed, to him, it was an art that he had perfected through practice. But Weasley was already turning around, threatening him.

"I'm warning you, Malfoy, one more word," Weasley began cautioning, but Hermione interrupted him by drawing his attention to the Quidditch pitch where Harry had dived almost vertically towards the ground in pursuit of the snitch.

"You're in luck, Weasley! Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground," Draco exclaimed with mock excitement.

Before I could stop myself, I snorted. Sometimes, unfortunately, his remarks were more than clever; they were hilarious. However, Weasley clearly didn't think so as he dove at Draco. I wasted no time shoving Weasley away.

I wasn't the only one either. Crabbe and Goyle had jumped in with prepared fists. Suddenly and unpredictably, Longbottom got involved as well. We all fought until we were nothing more than a writhing mass that lay on the cold, wet ground behind Hermione, who was still intent on watching the game.

"Ron! Ron! Where are you?" she shrieked suddenly, "Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!"

Just as Goyle was preparing to throw a punch at him, Longbottom scurried away to watch the Gryffindor Quidditch team lower themselves to the ground with victorious whoops and hollers. In the absence of Longbottom, Goyle's fist collided with my eye and cheekbone. I fell to the ground with a small yelp. That patch of skin had only barely healed from the bruise given to me by my father over break, but I could tell there'd be another to replace it within minutes.

Although, Goyle's punch paled in comparison to the slap of a forty-two-year-old death eater.

"Oh m-my god," he fumbled for words, "I-I'm so sorry, R-raven."

"It's alright," I mumbled, standing up, but Draco had witnessed the entire thing.

"What the bloody hell was that, Goyle?" he asked angrily.

"It was an accident," I explained as Goyle was too scared to.

"Accident or not, the next time he does it, I'll give him a black eye to match."


Later that night, Draco and I sat alone by the big fire in our common room. We sat on the floor right in front it, surrounded by pillows and blankets, while Draco looked at my eye. As he gently ran his fingers over it, I noticed a tiny trace of bruised skin on his own eye. I didn't bring it up, though, because Weasley probably gave it to him.

"I'm sorry," Draco said at last.

"For what?" I asked.

"Not preventing it."

"You couldn't have."

"I didn't mean to go off on Goyle either. It's just," he sighed sadly, "every time I see or hear something about your father abusing you, I feel so helpless. I hate the fact that I can't save you. But today, I could have…I just didn't. I didn't act fast enough. Wasn't paying enough attention."

"You think that you can be everyone's savior," I whispered gently, "You're jealous of Potter because that's what he is. But I think you'll be happier when you admit to yourself that some things are just out of your control. You couldn't have saved me from Goyle, and you can't save me from my father."

For a few moments, we remained in silence as he continued inspecting my eye, pretending like he hadn't heard me. The only indication that he had was the wetness, followed by rapid blinking, of his eyes.

He hadn't ever truly spoken about my father, and I didn't want to shut away his feelings. But if he ever tried to go against my father, he would get hurt. Besides, if there was nothing to be done, I needed him to stop thinking that there was.

But as he looked at my bruise with tears filling up his eyes, he looked so vulnerable. He looked like the little boy I'd been friends with since I was born. For that moment, he didn't look like the bully. He didn't look like the Draco everyone knew him as at Hogwarts.

He looked like my Draco.

The young boy who was always made to feel helpless and insignificant, but dreamt of being so much more.

I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around him.

"Thank you so much," I whispered, tears biting at the corners of my eyes.