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Chapter Thirty-Eight

And Sometimes, the Plan Works

The following Monday they all found themselves summoned to Professor McGonagall's office after classes had finished. To all passersby and onlookers, it appeared as though all hell was about to break loose the moment the Gryffindor students realized they were heading in the same direction as Pansy Parkinson.

"What the bloody hell did you do this time?" Hermione asked Pansy in a biting tone as the four made their way along the corridor beside the lone Slytherin witch.

Pansy responded with a disgusted roll of her eyes as she accidentally jostled Granger while pushing past her to take the lead. "Whatever's going on is your fault, I'm sure," she hissed, shaking her hand, and all but turning around to spit at the star pupil.

Hermione took a step in Pansy's direction, only to have Harry slip a hand around her elbow and pull her back. As an added effort, Ginny placed herself between the other two girls as they all continued toward the Headmistress' office.

Ron trailed a few paces behind the group, staring daggers at the dark-haired witch the entire way.

Once they were all up the spiraling lift, and safely away from prying eyes and ears, they breathed a collective sigh. The shift wasn't lost on Draco, though—who was waiting for them, seated in one of the cushy arm chairs—as they all let the tension drain from them.

"Having a harder time pretending you all still hate each other than you thought you would, aren't you?"

The mirthful tone lacing his voice was not missed by any of them. They each responded accordingly . . . with sour looks and scowls, and Harry just barely keeping Ginny from slapping the former-ferret across the back of his skull.

"Easy for you to say," Ron commented as he fell into the chair opposite Draco. "All you have to pretend is that you're invisible under a cloak of invisibility."

Even Hermione couldn't help a giggle at the way Draco's eyes narrowed.

"If you are quite finished." Professor McGonagall's brows were drawn up as she stared at the group.

The snickering teenagers sobered instantly and all gave her their undivided attention.

After a moment of darting her gaze to each of them in turn, she spoke. "I believe we have all had quite enough waiting, quite enough of this silly charade."

Hermione responded, and Harry thought for certain it was likely because she was the only one brave enough to do so when the professor wore such a severe expression. "We already tried push them, they've revealed nothing we didn't already know, Professor." She shrugged, a frown gracing her lips as she wedged herself into the same chair as Draco. "What if they're more frightened of Harken than they are of being exposed?"

"Mr. Malfoy," the elder witch said around a weighted sigh. "I would like you to employ your ghost-act one more time, if you would. Perhaps another nudge is required."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but held in a groan at the look of wicked glee that flitted across her boyfriend's features at the thought of school-sanctioned torment. "And if they still don't go to him?"

"Then I will confront him, myself. Either way, this ends. Tonight. I have allowed them to believe they got away with this for too long, already."

"What are the rest of us to do, then?" Harry asked.

"You will be waiting for us in his department quarters, where I will approach him, unannounced, for a private discussion later this evening." She arched a brow. "You will all be clever enough to hide yourselves, of course. I fear Mr. Malfoy and I may need your assistance, should our plans sour."

There was a bit of fidgeting and shifting throughout the group, before Pansy, of all people in the room, spoke up. "What are you going to say when you confront him?"

The professor shrugged and dropped her gaze to some scrolls open on her desk. "I will tell him his little cohorts confessed to me, which will undoubtedly prompt him to respond."

"Professor, you're going to lie?" There was no masking the shock—and hint of admiration—in the Slytherin girl's voice.

"I do not lie, Miss Parkinson." Though Minerva McGonagall didn't look up from her work, the arching of a single brow was visible from where the student stood. "I have, however, stretched the truth when deemed necessary by the occasion."

After a moment of digesting that, Pansy leaned closer to the Gryffindor students and stage-whispered behind her hand, "No wonder you all like her so much."

Creeping along the dungeon corridor, Draco sidestepped a sleepy third year making their way from the washrooms to their dorm room. Aside from his own muffled movements beneath the Cloak, and that lone student, the dungeons were eerily quiet.

He paused, waiting for the opening and closing of the dorm room door before he continued further down the wing, to where the Durmstrang wizards were housed. Just as he was about to grasp the knob to enter Axel's room, he snatched his hand back, thinking better of it.

Turning, he scanned the doors. Which was the room of the one who'd peed his pants in fright that last time?

Remembering which door that was, Draco felt a cruel smirk curve his lips as he crossed the corridor toward it.

Aksel was wrenched from sleep by a pair of hands gripping the front of his nightshirt. "Wake up, already," the person said in an impatient tumble of words.

"Bhelin?" he asked, sitting up and swatting the other wizard's hands away. "What is it?"

"It's Enrick, he—he couldn't take it, anymore."

Kicking off his covers and pushing out of bed to stand, Aksel glanced about, seeing the others—minus Enrick—all lingering by the door. "What's happened? What's he—?"

"He said he saw the ghost again; he's gone to tell Harken about it. We have to get to him."

Aksel frowned in anger as he looked at each of them, again. They all appeared worn, bleary-eyed . . . exhausted and overwrought. Harken—as Aksel had noted from observing the professor during classes, and meals, and even when they passed each other in the corridors between classes—was calm and carefree. He seemed to have separated himself from this entire thing, while they were . . . .

He snatched his wand from his bedside table and stormed toward the door. They were paying the price for his plan.

The others all followed at Aksel's heels as Bhelin asked, noting his friend's death grip his wand, "Aksel? Wait! What're you going to do?"

"I'm going to back up Enrick." Even as he answered, he could feel the collective shock ripple through the others. They'd all thought he was going to stop their friend, not support his insane action.

But their pace didn't falter; none of them turned away, or ran back to their rooms. They'd cared about protecting the elder wizard when they'd agreed to this mess, but now, with everything gone wrong?

"I don't trust that man not to kill Enrick just to protect himself," he muttered under his breath as they hurried along. Or any of the rest of us.

He didn't know who he was more angry with, Harken for getting them into this mess, or himself for not seeing Harken clearly, sooner.