A/N: New story I was working on, decided to go ahead and post it since I've been having a hard time drawing inspiration for my other WIP's. Enjoy!
The door was sealed shut. Draco had cast a variety of charms to ensure that his attackers couldn't get in. They had him trapped in there like a rat. That's what he realized at that moment, that he'd been reduced to living the life of a rat. He crept around Hogwarts castle close to the walls, he scurried into the Great Hall because he'd been disbarred from entering the kitchens; the elves refusing to let him eat there. He scuttled into classes early and sat far at the back with his head down hoping no one would take notice of him. They treated him as though he were an unwanted intruder, poisonous and ugly to look at. And at this very moment, they were taunting him like a rat too.
"Come on, Malfoy," goaded Seamus, "don't be such a spoilt sport. We used to be so close, don't you want to be my friend anymore?" He laughed; a laugh that ran through Draco like a cold shiver.
He took a step forward toward the closed door almost apologizing through the wood but he knew his words would fall short. There was nothing that could truly excuse the curses he had inflicted on Seamus or any of the other students under the Carrows orders. His only defence was that he hadn't wanted to get cursed himself. And even he knew how selfish the words would sound if he said them aloud.
It was either you or me.
"MALFOY!" bellowed Seamus so suddenly, Draco jumped back from the door, his heart thudding in his chest in time with the banging upon the sealed bathroom door. "Open up you stinking coward!"
"Come on," he heard Dean mumble. "Let's go before we get caught out after hours. Besides, this isn't that fun anymore."
Then there was silence. Draco wasn't sure he preferred it to the noise. Voldemort had always been hauntingly quiet before throwing a homicidal tantrum. He remembered the eerily calm façade the wizard wore before turning into a raging storm and it was this thought that stopped Draco from releasing the spells on the bathroom door and leaving. Dean and Seamus could be trying to trick him into a false sense of security. Perhaps Dean followed his statement with a wink, and on the other side of the wood, they were both laying in wait with smiles on their faces.
Draco fell against the back wall and sunk to the ground, his hair falling in his face. He wouldn't be outsmarted. He'd sit here a little longer till he was sure they'd really left. Taking out a book from his bag he decided to pass the time reading a chapter of his potions textbook. He had grown accustomed to waiting. He had waited patiently in a holding cell at the Ministry for days. He had waited patiently to reach the castle, sealed inside a carriage on the Hogwarts Express. And now this.
It was the first time they'd actually chased and corned him with their wands drawn. It was usually insults slung at him followed by laughs and goading but today it had changed. Seamus had said something, something Draco couldn't ignore and for the first time he had given back.
Fuck you, you Irish cunt. I never touched Colin Creevey.
Now he was here, on the bathroom floor, trying to read his potions book, terrified, yet still fuming. What right did they have to pin Colin Creevy's death on him? Was he to blame for everything, for the war, for Voldemort, for everyone who died?
Fuck them, he thought. I'm not a murderer.
And that fact, for the first time since Voldemort's downfall gave Draco some semblance of peace. He knew in his bones that he didn't have the heart to kill anyone. Whether it made him a weak wizard, or a strong one, he didn't care. It made him free of guilt, guilt that Seamus was trying to place on him—
A gasp broke free of Draco as Moaning Myrtle appeared suddenly from… from where he didn't know. He had been too absorbed in his own thoughts.
"Ooohh, Draco," she giggled with girlish glee. "Did I frighten you?"
"Yes," he said flatly.
Myrtle tilted her transparent head. "What are you doing in here?"
He considered lying, but— "Hiding from Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas."
"Oh."
"And I was thinking," he added softly. "Thinking that…"
Myrtle had floated right up to him, her ghostly nose almost touching his. "What were you thinking?" she whispered, her eyes wide and eager for him to tell her.
And it occurred to him for the first time that he didn't know anything about this girl who he spilled all his secrets to — had been since the sixth year.
"I was thinking I didn't know your full name." The real one, he thought, not Moaning Myrtle, the ghost that haunted the second-floor girls' bathroom. He wanted her name before death.
She drew back, floating upward above him, staring down with curious eyes. "Myrtle Elizabeth Warren." Another giggle. Shy this time. "Why?"
"Well… we're friends. Friends should know each other's names."
Her smile grew. "I was in Ravenclaw," she offered.
Draco tried to smile back.
"I didn't kill Collin Creevey," he blurted.
Myrtle frowned. "That's that boy… the one that was petrified."
"Yeah." Draco swallowed a lump down.
"Like me," she whispered; her words, an echo of Draco's thoughts. "He's not a ghost here though."
"No." Draco cleared his throat. "I don't know how that all works but…"
There was a long drawn-out silence.
"Are you going to cry?" she asked. Not an insult, just a question. She'd never said anything before when he'd cried.
"No," he clipped. "I'm just… I'm angry and sometimes when I'm angry, my eyes start to sting."
Myrtle floated down to sit beside him. "What happened?"
"I'm sick of Finnigan and his shite. He said something to me about the Creevey kid, as if I was the one who…" Draco cleared his throat again, this time unable to finish explaining. "Never mind," he said standing and putting his book away. "I should probably get back to the Slytherin dormitory before McGonagall catches me."
Myrtle's shoulders visibly sagged as she watched him leave, but she didn't voice her disappointment. "Alright. I hope you come visit me soon."
"I will," said Draco. And it wasn't a lie. He placed his hand on the door, bracing himself for whatever might be behind it. It opened into darkness, the only light coming from the moon and the few torches lighting the castle. "Wish me luck," he said giving her a small smile.
He wasn't sure if she did, because the door was already closing and his feet were already taking him down the stairs, through the halls and down to the dungeons. His fear told his feet to run, but his pride refused to let him do anything but walk at a brisk pace.
Myrtle must have wished him luck because in a few minutes he had managed to reach the entrance to the Slytherin common room safely, unnoticed by Prefects, by Filch or patrolling teachers.
As Draco entered, he saw that Blaise and Theo were just finishing up a game of exploding snap.
Blaise smirked having heard Draco come in. "Care to join?" he asked without looking up from the cards.
Theo swivelled around, his voice edged with concern. "Draco, where you been mate?"
He shrugged. "Was with a witch," he lied. A lie that had been the first to come to him without thinking it through.
"No, you weren't," scoffed Blaise. "Those Gryffin-cunts giving you a hard time again?"
Theo's brows furrowed. "You mean Finnigan?" he said, directing his question back at Blaise.
Draco fell into an armchair beside the fire. He didn't dare admit that instead of facing a fight, those two had cornered him into the girls' bathroom. "I had a date," he persisted.
"Who?" cried Blaise.
Draco opened his mouth and closed it again. He watched as Theo moved over to the lounge with disinterest, a bored look on his face as he picked up a book that had been left open. "Can't say."
Blaise began laughing. "Yeah… right," he grinned, collecting the remaining good cards on the table.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"There is no witch," drawled Blaise.
Draco glared at the dark-skinned wizard with rising anger. "What the bloody hell makes you so sure?"
"Face it Malfoy. No witch wants to be anywhere near a former Death Eater."
He scoffed in response. Because he had nothing else to say. He'd been so focused on the blokes that hated him that he'd never wondered or cared what the opposite gender thought of him.
He raised his chin, indignant by the certain way Blaise had spoken. He was still a Malfoy. He was still rich, and handsome, and a Pureblood. "I could have whichever witch I wanted."
"Oh, is that right?"
"I'm a Malfoy," he said. As if his birthright was explanation enough. "Any witch would be lucky to have me."
"Then why did Pansy leave you?"
Draco's neck cricked at the violent way he jerked his head around. As angry as he was at Finnigan, he wasn't as nearly angry as he was now.
"Pansy and I were never serious," he clipped, his words sharp and decisive. "We simply outgrew each other."
He stared at Blaise, almost daring the wizard to contradict him.
Zabini pursed his lips biting back another laugh. "Fine," he finally smirked. "Care to make a wager?"
Theo lifted his head up from the book he was devouring, finally finding the conversation worthy of his time. "A bet?" he grinned. "I'll get in on that."
"If you succeed," Zabini continued, wholly intent on ignoring Theo. "I vow to step down as Quidditch Captain and name you my successor."
The offer left Draco speechless. Even Theo, who usually kept his composure, was stunned into silence.
"You're joking," he said, finally finding his voice.
"Course he is."
"Nope. Serious as a heart attack. If you win, I vow to step down as Captain and name you my successor."
Being Quidditch Captain for Slytherin was a dream Draco had had for a long time. It seemed far too easy this way, all he had to do was win a bet, a simple bet — except… except it was exactly why Blaise was agreeing to it. He sincerely believed Draco had no chance of landing himself a witch.
"And if I fail?"
Blaise tapped his chin, feigning consideration. He must've already known what he wanted before ever offering the bet. Everything now was merely for show. "There's something I want and you'll help me get it."
"And what might that be?"
"All in good time…"
Draco frowned, considering what it could be. "Tell me the terms," he demanded.
"The terms are simple. Make the girl I choose fall madly in love—"
"You didn't say anything about love," snapped Draco.
Blaise waggled his eyebrows. "Doubting your abilities already?"
Draco clenched his teeth trying to ignore the building ire in his bones, specifically his right-hand curling into a fist wishing he could break Zabini's aristocratic nose.
"As I was saying… make the girl of my choosing fall madly in love with you by Christmas — no spells, no charms, no tricks — and I'll happily make you Quidditch Captain."
He didn't know whether it was pure arrogance or the desperate desire to be Quidditch Captain, which made him thrust his hand out without a moment's hesitation.
Theo drew his wand. "Allow me," he grinned, evidently anticipating the amusement he'd derive from watching one of them lose.
Blaise rolled his eyes taking Draco's hand.
"I'm assuming this isn't going to be an Unbreakable Vow," sighed Theo disappointedly, as if almost hoping one of them would push for it.
"No," spat Blaise, eyeing Theo with irritation for even suggesting so. "Standard betting rules apply. If one of us resigns or doesn't comply with the terms, a prize is forfeit." Blaise's expression turned into a smirk. "Besides, the satisfaction of seeing Draco rejected will be enough for me," he laughed, "—and a small token from Draco's vault, of course, a personal memento of my triumph."
Draco grit his teeth. "Fine," he acquiesced. He had enough galleons to part with if it came to that — but it wouldn't, he told himself. He would prove Zabini wrong.
Theo met both their eyes before raising his wand and performing the simple binding spell.
"Oh!" cut in Blaise quickly as if he'd almost forgotten. "And no magical manipulation. We both know how talented Draco is at casting the imperius curse."
He frowned, tightening his hold on Blaise's hand. "Fuck you," he mumbled weakly, his mood fouler than it had been before.
"Done," Theo announced.
Draco jerked his hand violently from Blaise's unable to stand touching the wizard any longer.
"So," grinned Theo eagerly. "Who shall the unsuspecting victim be? How about Mandy Brocklehurst?"
Draco looked at Theo curiously wondering why on earth he wanted it to be Mandy Brocklehurst. Blaise merely shook his head disapprovingly. "Nooo," he hummed. "I have someone else in mind." Draco followed the direction of Blaise's gaze, landing on the fireplace — no, not the fire itself, above, on the mantlepiece. He was staring at an antique dragon figurine carved out of jade. "You see," he smirked, still staring at the ornament. "The witch I have in mind has history with Draco, it would only be fair to give him an advantage given the time limit. Besides," his eyes finally turned back to Draco, "this one really knows how to ride a dragon."
He felt the blood drain from his face. "No," he whispered, not meaning to say it out loud.
"Ooohhh, yes," smiled Blaise, enjoying Draco's demise. "Come on Theo, don't you think Hermione Granger would make the perfect witch?"
Theo's lips split into a smug grin.
"Choose someone else. I'm not going near that Mud… that Muggle-born."
"It's either her or you forfeit," reminded Theo.
"But she's…" Draco took a deep breath trying to contain his panic. "Aren't her and Weasley together now? Hardly ethical to go about breaking—!"
"Oh please," scowled Blaise. "As if you care… admit it, you're scared of her."
"Scared? I'm not scared."
"Well, she's just a Mudblood Draco. I mean, she'd be over the moon to be with a pureblood like you, surely you can handle one little Mudblood all by yourself."
Draco clenched his jaw, the familiar feeling of his heart thudding in his chest. He was cornered again… like a rat. He either had to admit that Hermione Granger would never date a Death Eater, or he had to admit that Hermione Granger was a witch far beyond his league, pureblood or not. It was a double-edged sword.
"Come on," chuckled Theo, "Admit when you've been beaten. Cut him some slack eh Blaise?"
"No," snapped Draco. "I'll do it."
Blaise's eyes narrowed on Draco, seemingly trying to figure something out. He expected him to have some witty remark or insult brewing but instead, he simply reminded Draco of one thing.
"You have until Christmas... don't fuck it up."