Chapter 11

Watching Hermione Granger study had to be one of the most boring things he'd ever done.

And that included Binn's lesson on the history of another unnecessary Department in the Ministry of Magic, he'd just sat through. There he had at least been able to busy himself with something. Like plotting revenge with Pansy. Or wondering what had made Weasley blanch like that when he'd met Draco's gaze, blankly staring into space for the entire lesson, instead of disgustingly drooling all over his book, as usual. Or imagining to shear off Potter's hair. Maybe then, he wouldn't worry about his little friends for once.

Draco shifted, carefully pushing the book in front of him a bit further to the left, increasing the gap he was looking through.

Granger had occupied the whole desk by herself, two or three massive books flipped open in front of her with even more piled up next to them. Draco could see her lips moving now and then as she was silently reading to herself. Parts of her face were hidden by bushy curls, but her wrinkled forehead and furrowed brows were still obvious. And Draco felt a sense of satisfaction that, at least, she didn't seem to like what she was reading.

His nose started to itch and, holding his breath, he pinched it between thumb and index finger to keep from sneezing. Little flakes dispersed in front of him when he breathed out again and he tried not to think about the amount of dust currently in close proximity to his face. He'd also tried not to think too much about what Potter had involuntarily revealed to him, since that made him want to punch the wall again and, now he knew, that fucking hurt.

Pansy had just laughed. About Potter's slip-up. Not about him hitting walls. (Although, she'd giggled about that, too.) And by Salazar, he thought, he should've reacted that way too. He should have been ecstatic, rubbing the stupid towel in Pansy's face, because he'd done it. He was brilliant. They finally knew for sure who they had to lock in the broom-closet. And best of all, Potter hadn't even realised he'd given away Granger's secret.

He should have been relishing in sweet thoughts of revenge. Not going around throwing his manicured hands against rough stone surfaces. What did it matter to him that, despite his best efforts at blackmail, Potter had chosen his friends over him once again? He shouldn't care that he'd chosen to lie for her, heroically taking the fall again, like the great saviour he was.

Didn't. He didn't care.

Noticing how he was digging his nails into the back of the book, he let go.

Where the fuck was Pansy? He wasn't going to do this alone.

"… can't … not true ..."

Granger had raised her voice, though it was still only a whisper and Draco looked up with new interest. This didn't sound like reading something in a book.

The girl was apparently still sitting alone at the desk, but, curiously, her head was turned to the empty seat beside her.

" … doesn't … you … "

Now, there were two possibilities Draco thought of as equally plausible. Either Granger was finally missing some teacups in the cupboard (He was already sure of that, actually. It was just about the amount of tableware in there now). Or she was actually talking to someone.

Silently he reached for his wand and lifted it to his ears. He hadn't practised the spell a lot and since he could only mouth the incantation this time, his ears grew just a little bit. It was barely enough to follow the whispered conversation.

"… it's just a bit of a shock for him right now." Granger smiled a little. "You know, he was still convinced you'd marry her sometime."

Draco thought he'd heard someone sigh.

"Ron always comes around. You know that." Her hand moved, as if she wanted to touch an invisible arm, before stopping herself, putting it on the desk again. "Just… give him more time."

There was a pause. But when there finally was an answer Draco grew very still.

"Maybe I shouldn't have told him about Malfoy yet. Or the Potions lesson. Or the Polyjuice thing." It was odd to have Potter's voice come from an empty space. But he could very well imagine him sitting there, hunched under his sodding Cloak. No wonder he'd appeared to be all but invisible. He bloody had been.

And Draco thought Gryffindors really were awfully stupid. Trusting and gullible, without a shred of self-preservation in their brazen bones. So, Potter had probably come clean to Weasley. About fucking everything on his mind. Which explained why Weasley had turned into an Inferius when he'd seen Draco. He'd probably been imagining his girlfriend sucking on his Death Eater mouth.

He squinted at Granger's face. Shouldn't she be angry about Potter telling on her? Surely she hadn't meant for Weasley to find out?

Something wasn't quite adding up.

"You know, I haven't seen Ron go pale like that since McLaggen dropped that spider on his head", Potter's voice whispered. Draco hadn't known a whisper could sound so dejected.

Granger scrunched up her nose. "That was appalling. Don't you ever dare compare yourself to him, Harry."

There was more she said after that, but Draco had lost focus. There were heavy footsteps coming his way and he could tell they didn't belong to Pansy. Like all evil imps, Pansy liked to silently prance on the tips of her toes. He quickly pulled out the first book he could reach and stepped back. Draco hadn't gotten far, when someone rounded the corner.

"Longbottom", he said, faltering in his step for only a short moment. He kept walking, swiftly passing the boy, who'd stopped, frowning at something.

"Malfoy", he mumbled, face scrunched up, like he was actually thinking. Huh. But he couldn't possibly have seen him spy on Granger, Draco thought. When he was already three aisles down, he noticed the Gryffindor was coming after him, though.

"Malfoy, wait", he called and Draco turned around, one eyebrow raised in a perfect arch.

Longbottom's expression seemed tense and he was opening and closing his mouth like he didn't know how to start. Or had to muster up the courage first.

"Do tell, what am I waiting for, Longbottom? Your impression of a toad is lacking. I believe they do make sounds."

Longbottom blushed, pressing his lips together and Draco had already half-turned again, ready to leave and jinx Pansy, who'd obviously stood him up on her own bloody plan. But then the Gryffindor blurted out one of the most ridiculous things he'd ever heard and he stopped dead.

"I want you to stop enchanting Harry, Malfoy!"

Longbottom was staring at him so hard there was no doubt in his mind he'd actually meant every word. And Draco struggled to keep his face straight. "Come again?"

"You, you heard me, Malfoy. I saw the book you just took. And in Potions I, uh, must've, accidentally, taken two books you've loaned out. They're both on herbs used for Love Potions. And, and I know you're not even taking Herbology."

Since Draco couldn't for the life of him name the books he'd forgotten in the Gryffindor Common Room, he just dropped his gaze to the one he was holding now. A witch was seductively winking up at him, presenting a tray of tartlets. Magical Sweets to Bewitch Your Beloved, the title said in curvy pink letters, the dots replaced with hearts.

He looked back up. "What makes you think it was Potter I've enchanted?" Maybe something had gone wrong with the Confundus Charm. Longbottom's cupboard wasn't only missing all of the teacups, it was filled with other shit.

"Well, you must have, because I know you've been following him around and … and because I forgot to add the Asphodel and Harry wouldn't … " He grew silent.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Potter wouldn't what?" But Longbottom just shook his head, going pale, as if something had occurred to him just now.

"Never mind. Just … just leave Harry alone."

At that, his jaw clenched. He was bloody fed up with people telling him to leave Potter alone.

"Why?", he drawled, inclining his head. "Fancy his arse yourself?"And when the colour returned to the other boys cheeks, eyes going round, he grinned.

"No!", he spluttered. "I already like L – someone else."

"No worries, Longbottom. I won't tell." He touched his forefinger to his lips. And, turning, he hesitated, looking back over his shoulder.

"Oh, but I do want my books back. I forgot when best to pluck the rose petals."

Pansy, as it turned out, had already been jinxed. Though, Draco thought it more likely she'd been given some kind of Potion.

"I didn't ask what she's bloody wearing, I know her wardrobe is all pink", he'd said, a little irritated. And Blaise had just smirked.

"Well, she's not wearing it. She is pink. Head to toe, I suspect. Though I didn't check that."

And, after a lot of coaxing and trying to rip the curtains around her bed in the Hospital Wing open faster than she could grab them, Draco found Pansy had turned into a human sized Puffskein, with pink fur sprouting all over her body.

"It was McMillan, I know it!", she cried. "He obviously tried to be smart about it, but I saw him watching me at dinner. As if he expected something to happen. Bloody Hufflepuffs don't know subtle, when it kicks them in their yellow badger bottom."

He couldn't see her scowl, since her whole face was covered, with just the eyes peering out of two dents, where Madame Pomfrey had cropped some of the fuzzy fur.

"How did he do it, then?", Draco asked.

"Well, he must have had help. He must have. I would have noticed him getting close to our table."

There was a lot Draco had wanted to discuss with Pansy. He had a stifling feeling in his gut that he was overlooking something. It reminded him of The Daily Prophet's crossword-puzzles which he usually took over after Goyle gave up and threw the paper across the room. Filling in the boxes until only one or two words were missing was easy. But then the solution to those last ones just wouldn't fit with some of the letters he'd already believed set in stone.

He'd hoped Pansy would help him rethink his answers and tell him, if, per chance, he hadn't assembled the pieces right. Maybe he'd been forcing them together to make them fit. Misspelled a word on purpose, because he needed the E in that position.

But, watching the pink furball huff, he realised that, at the moment, Pansy probably wasn't capable of unravelling anything other than her own problems. So when Madame Pomfrey told him to leave so she could keep working on finding a counter-curse or antidote, he went and silently closed the double-doors behind him with a sigh.

There was, at least, something else he could look into.

He remembered only a single Potion they'd brewed this year which included Asphodel. But there had to be another one. Because that one would have been all but ineffective, if Longbottom had forgotten to add it.

And clearly, it hadn't been.