My tentative friendship with Tom begins well. Although he's still arrogant, cold and a touch psychopathic, I find myself inexplicably enjoying his company. He spends his time almost exclusively with me, to the chagrin of most of the school's female- and male- population, and I am accosted on nearly a daily basis by people I have never spoken to before asking if we are dating.
The nightmares about Harry persist, so I begin to use unorthodox divination methods that I find in my newly purchased books, including inhaling an unhealthy amount of fumes before I go to bed, in an attempt to clarify the meaning of my dreams. It works.
In my dream, Hogwarts is burning. There is rubble everywhere, great chunks of stone ripped from the castle walls. Every window is smashed, the fragments of glass glittering corridors. The staircases are slick with blood.
I run out of Hogwarts, and towards the forest. The trees are silent for once. I speed up, and I somehow know where I'm going, and what I'll find when I get there.
Then I'm in a clearing, and its empty, except for a body on the floor. I already know whose it is, but I go to it, screaming its name. His name. Because I know him, somehow. He is dead, and I know this too even before I roll his body over and shake his thin shoulders, looking into his unseeing green eyes.
Then I wake up screaming.
It's why I've taken to sleeping away from my dormitory. I usually go to the Chamber, or else the Room of Requirement. Sometimes Tom finds me in the Room, and holds me and strokes my hair and tells me its okay. Sometimes he doesn't.
The first hitch in our friendship comes in the days leading up to the Halloween Ball.
It's one of Slughorn's extravagant ideas, of course, but instead of being exclusively for the Slug Club, its open to all the NEWT students. At a school with disappointingly few extra-curricular activities and social events, the ball is held in much anticipation by the student body.
Given that I have attended the last four Slug Club events with Tom, and the fact that I'm his only friend, I think Tom takes it for granted that I will be going to the ball with him. What he does not do, unfortunately for him, is actually bother asking me.
I'm not sure why it irritates me so much. Perhaps its because of the possibility that he might think he's won me over, and now doesn't need to put effort in. Which is dangerous, because then I'm no more to him than another one of his pawns.
By the time the ball is only two days away, I've had enough. I determine to get a date as quickly as possible, and preferably one that will annoy Tom the most. Unfortunately, I think the entire school assumes that Tom and I will be going together, so I haven't been asked by anyone, probably for fear of Tom's wrath.
Deep in this train of thought, I wander aimlessly down the hallways until eventually arriving at the Slytherin common room. Tom stayed back in potions to talk to Slughorn, so I am finally alone and free to make my move. I push open the door to the common room, having given the password, and have to actively stop myself grinning as I see who sits within.
Abraxas Malfoy is the only one in the room, perched delicately on a chair and reading. It's all too perfect.
"Hey," I say, taking a seat across from him.
He puts down his book, and looks up. If he is surprised to see me, he doesn't show it. "Hello," he replies politely.
I decide to get straight down to business. "Are you going to the Halloween Ball?" I ask.
He shrugs indifferently. "I suppose."
"Going with anyone?" I press.
"I was planning on going with a few of the guys," he replies casually. "You're going with Tom, I imagine?"
"Actually, Tom hasn't asked me," I say, a touch frostily. "So technically, I'm open to invitation."
There is a short pause as Abraxas eyes me warily. Then he shrugs again. "Did you want to go with me?"
"Yes," I say. And that's that.
The night before the ball, there is a group of us in the common room: several of Tom's cronies (including Abraxas), a few girls and Tom himself. I stand to leave, and Tom glances at me over his shoulder.
"Tomorrow night," he begins lazily. "I'll meet you at seven?" It sounds more like an order than a question.
"Why?" I ask innocently.
"The Ball," he replies automatically, already turning back to the group at the table.
I pause, and deliberate for a second. Then I say: "Why would I be going to the Ball with you?"
The table goes quiet. Tom turns slowly around to face me. "Why wouldn't you be?" he asks, his eyes beginning to glitter dangerously.
"Perhaps because you haven't actually asked me yet," I reply coldly.
"Fine." He shrugs nonchalantly. "Will you go to the Ball with me."
"No," I say, and begin to walk away.
"No?" he says incredulously.
"Somebody's already asked me," I state casually, still heading towards the dormitories.
"And you said yes?"
"Naturally," I reply. I don't have to look back around to picture Abraxas' deep discomfort.
There is a moment of silence. Then Tom blurts "Who?"
"Whom," I correct. "And you'll find out soon enough."
Then I leave before Tom can say anything else.
Apparently, Tom and I are not speaking. There is a horrible silence between us the day of the ball, and he pointedly ignores me in all of our classes together, which I think is extremely petty.
At six o'clock, I get dressed and do my makeup. At seven, I meet Abraxas in the common room. Tom is nowhere to be seen.
"You look beautiful," Abraxas comments sincerely when he sees me. "I like your dress."
"Thank you," I reply. "So do I." The dress in question is black, and long, and more than a little daring, given how much of my back it exposes. I am fully intending to draw as much attention as possible this evening.
I can already tell by the time we reach the large staircase that descends into the great hall that the dress is having the desired effect. We are fashionably late, which allows for much gawking and whispering as we enter together. I spy Tom, sulking with a circle of his followers in the corner, and cling onto Abraxas' arm a bit tighter. The band are just striking up a new song.
"Let's dance," I say to Abraxas, pulling him towards the floor.
"Sure," he acquiesces. "You like to dance?" he asks, once we are waltzing.
"Love it," I reply, smiling at him. He smiles back. I glance at Tom out of the corner of my eye. He looks sullen and morose. My smile widens.
We dance some more, then eat, then dance again, Abraxas nimbly keeping up with me. I can feel Tom's eyes on us the whole night, but I stop caring as Abraxas and I talk and laugh and I find myself genuinely enjoying his company. By midnight, my feet are sore, but I'm still wildly awake, still giddy with the euphoria of dancing. I grab Abraxas by the arm.
"Let's get out of here," I whisper to him. He nods, and I lead him out of the hall, Tom's gaze burning into our backs.
I guide him through the labyrinthine corridors until we reach the kitchens. I tickle the pear in one of the still life paintings, then enter through the door. Abraxas whistles through his teeth as he follows me.
"I've never been in here before," he says.
The kitchen glitters with stacks of gleaming copper pots and rows of sparkling glassware. Silver cutlery smoulders in the candlelight, and there is the comforting clink of china plates being washed by a house-elf. There are several elves drifting around, wiping surfaces and chopping carrots with docile efficiency. When they see us, they positively squawk in excitement, and begin to congregate around us, pulling up stools for us to sit down and chattering to each other.
"Thank you," I say to the elf who provided me with my stool.
They compliment us, and ask what they can get for us in the incessantly obliging way that house-elves do. I smile fondly at them.
"Do you happen to have any Lotus Gin Liquor?" I ask. "Oh, and Eton Mess. I'm really in the mood for some Eton Mess. And a strawberry pavlova. Please?"
The food and drink appears at an almost alarming rate. I pour Abraxas a measure of the liquor, and we both drink, relishing in the sugary aftertaste. Then I grab a spoon and tuck into the first pavlova. Abraxas delicately begins on the Eton Mess.
We are both stuffed full and more than a little tipsy when we return to the common room later that night.
"I had a really good time tonight," Abraxas says before we part ways.
"Me too," I reply, grinning.
"It's a shame that Tom's going to kill me," he continues, giggling a bit. I laugh too.
"Don't worry," I say, slurring my words a little. "I'll protect you."
"Thank you," he says. "You're a good friend."
"I know," I say, and burst out laughing. In retrospect, I may have drunk a tad too much.
"Night," he says as he leaves, and promptly walks into the doorframe of his dormitory.
"Night," I reply as I stagger onto the nearest sofa and pass out cold.