Better Be Slytherin
XXIII
Magic, Tragic
It was a mid-autumn night. The silhouettes of the tall, bare trees looked pitch black against the pale blue-grey sky with its glimpses of pink. The sun was setting, covering the air, the trees, the beige-green dry grass and the vast castle in a soft grayish-pink layer. It rather looked as if the sun was rising, not setting. The air was chilly, almost choking. Cold for this time of year.
Pansy had one last deep breath of the fresh air before she headed inside the dark castle. Everything was at peace, all students and teachers alike were asleep.
She had dragged out her Prefects round that evening, wanting to postpone the inevitable moment when she had to try to go to sleep. It had not been as easy falling asleep after she and Draco had ultimately split up. It felt empty, not being able to kiss him before heading down to her dormitory for the night. To not sit in his lap with his arms around her in the common room. On top of that, she saw him nowhere.
She had no idea what he was up to or if he was sad about how it all had turned out as well. Everything he had shouted at her echoed in her mind and it was all she could think of. She had just wanted to have a bit of fun and mess around with Draco, but he had gotten so serious over the past month. She liked it when they were just laughing and snogging not discussing serious matters and seeing him frightened and stressed, it was not the Draco she had, supposedly, fallen in love with.
Pansy snorted to herself as she made her way through the entrance hall towards the staircase leading down to the dungeons.
It was the end. Her insides ached at the thought.
As late as a few weeks ago she had still not even known how she felt about him. Perhaps she had never been very in touch with her emotions, what did she know. She had known she liked him of course they had loads of fun together, which she obviously enjoyed, but fancied? She probably had not known she fancied him until now. Now that she did not have him pining after her anymore.
She sighed as she made her way through the dungeons, into the Slytherin common room as quietly as she could and finding nobody inside she sat down on one of the armchairs near the window looking out over the lake. It was bitterly ironic that Madam Puddifoot's was where it all had begun for her and Draco, Pansy thought, and where it all ended.
As the sun set down far beyond the lake, filling the surface of the water with millions of dancing sparks, which she viewed from below the surface, she realised with the feeling of a sudden punch in the stomach - it was all over.
She stared out of the window for a long time.
The previous couple of days had passed by in a blur, yet at the same time they had felt long as years. She hated sitting in a group in the common room because he would be there; hated walking past him on her way out of the common room, or when they accidentally caught each other's eyes at dinner in the Great Hall. He always looked away immediately and left her feeling uneasy.
She hated how he made her feel, how she could think about nothing but him and what she had done wrong. She could not be her usual merry and confident self, she could not ignore him or play it cool, she could not focus on a conversation with her friends, she could not even make snide comments to Crabbe. It was as if he had taken away a piece of her and left her used and imperfected. He could go on like nothing had happened, she had realised, feeling a lump creating in her throat as she had looked at him from across the common room the previous evening, a grey and dark evening.
He had been sitting on an armchair, leaning over his books, his quill moving quickly and his blonde hair covering his face. It angered her slightly, the helpless feeling that crept up inside her. He was not hers and he did not care about that fact and she could do nothing about it. No, she decided, it would not matter if he had hurt her, that she had been stupid enough to believe he would be her king forever, that he had shut her out and she was left alone. It did not matter. And since he did not care she would not either.
They had been in school for about a month now, time had flown by, yet Draco still had not come very far on his mission for the Dark Lord. It was October now and raining almost every evening. The weather definitely matched his mood.
After their unsuccessful date at Madam Puddifoot s, Pansy had been avoiding him totally. She did not speak to him and she left whenever he arrived. That meant that their entire group had been broken up and Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Zabini and Nott could not all be together anymore. Usually, Pansy was the one winning them.
Draco hardly had any time to spend with his friends anyway, and feeling a slight guilt for disappointing her so completely, he did not mind her taking over his friends. It did sting slightly however, when whenever he arrived, she immediately would leave, nonchalantly and without even looking at him.
He spent most of his time working on his task, and, he supposed, shut down his feelings and whenever he did not, he spent his time doing school work. Everything went on as usual at Hogwarts. Draco could hardly escape hearing Pansy screech at Tracey Davis for borrowing her latest copy of Witch Weekly without asking, the next morning, which, he supposed, was the reason all the Slytherin sixth year girls looked tired at breakfast in the Great Hall. He could not either miss out on that time Pansy stuck her leg out, tripping a Ravenclaw girl – Pansy had apparently found it aggravating that the former was going to the library. In Draco s opinion, she was probably projecting her anger over their split, but what did he know.
Crabbe got hexed in the corridor on the way to Charms his toenails started growing with an alarming speed, and since he was wearing shoes nobody at first understood what was going when he began roaring and moaning and writhing around, until he kicked off his shoes, and the toenails sprung forward through his socks – it was not a pretty sight, to say the least.
School-work filled their minds, and Draco kept working on the cabinet, lacking more sleep every day. A bit of snow came down, but disappeared just as quickly.
And then finally he received a letter from Borgin.
Mr Malfoy,
As I have not yet managed to find a way to mend said cabinet, I suggest you think of other ways to complete your task.
Sincerely, Borgin
It was the most infuriating little letter Draco had ever received. A mere sentence!
That pathetic excuse of a man had hardly given his problem the time of day probably. His only chance of help was laughing him in the face. Borgin knew Draco could not come round to check up on him, as he was miles away at Hogwarts, and the stupid sod took advantage of it! He had probably only glanced at the cabinet.
Draco groaned angrily out loud, receiving frowns from a couple of nearby students in the common room. He glared back at them and tossed away the envelope which he had ripped open with a rush of excitement, only to be left disappointed and frustrated.
'find other ways to complete your task'
He sighed loudly to himself and looked out into thin air. Other ways, other ways.
He had come by the idea of the twin set of cabinets by Montague telling the story about when he had been stuck in there. The tip had come to him out of nowhere, randomly, luckily and he felt unsure he would receive another solid idea the same way, pushed in his face. He had never even imagined the possibility of the cabinet idea failing and a plan B. He had no clue where to even begin now.
Deciding to write yet another angry and threatening letter to Borgin, he made his way to the Owlery.
He supposed that was the only place he could start.
Over the next few, rainy days he began feeling quite stressed out. Borgin had turned out to be a right failure with his lack of help, there was nobody else Draco could speak to about his problems, and his lack of other ideas were excruciating.
Feeling hopeless, he decided to sneak out to Hogsmeade one Wednesday night to drown his sorrows with a pint in the Hog's Head.
Obviously, he had not been the only wizard around to have that idea, he realised after he had made his way through the secret passage from the castle, out into Hogsmeade and hurried to the end of the village, to find himself in the busy pub.
However, it might not have been such a bad thing that he was not alone there that night.
Pulling the collar of his cloak up around his neck, in a small attempt to hide his face, he stepped inside the smelly and noisy room, where he had not been since an evening that spring when Pansy had chucked a drink on his head. Ah, the memories...
He made his way over to the bar, wrinkling his nose at the horrid stench of goat leavings, and sought eye-contact with the scruffy bartender.
A pint later, he felt no less miserable, and decided to visit the bartender again.
"Large glass of Fire Whiskey, please," he muttered to the balding man behind the dirty bar who narrowed his eyes skeptically at Draco, before taking his time to put out a mug and reach for an almost empty bottle. He finished the bottle into Draco's glass and rudely pushed it towards his customer.
Masking his slight content, he dropped a few galleons on the counter, grabbed his drink and made his way back towards his table in the far corner.
On his way, a man who seemed to be in a hurry bumped into Draco and in the turmoil, something slipped out of the wizard's billowing black cloak.
He snarled something and hurried on, and in a matter of seconds he had made his way past the small wooden tables occupied by the lazy-eyed middle-aged men with their pints, and the rusty door shut behind him, sending a cool wind into the pub. And then he was gone.
Turning back, annoyed with this man for making him spill parts of his drink onto his own robe, Draco noticed something glistening on the floor, nearly hidden behind the leg of an empty chair.
Frowning at the item, he felt it drawing him closer.
He casually looked around to see if anyone was observing him, before he quickly bent down to collect it. It must have been what fell out of the busy man's cloak, he thought hastily, while reaching out his fingers towards it...
"I wouldn't touch that if I were you," someone muttered above him.
Draco's head jerked from the item and felt as if a spell broke.
The bar-man stood before him, oddly serious.
"And why is that?" He retorted quickly.
"Looks like one of 'em cursed necklaces, don't it?" The bar-man consciously kept his voice low so nobody would hear them. "Might kill you, those..."
"Then I better return it to its rightful owner then, shall I?" Draco muttered and removed his scarf, and moved closer to the item again.
It must have slid behind a chair when its owner dropped it, he thought... and finally he saw what it was. A grandiose old necklace with opals on it. It was mesmerisingly beautiful, and reminded him of something his mother and her acquaintances would wear to tea or dinner parties.
He grabbed the necklace within his scarf, securing his hands with the fabric in-between. And then he went off, forgetting all about his Fire Whiskey, leaving the pub in just as much of a hurry as the owner of the necklace had been.
However, he was in no way planning to seek after the man to return the necklace.
Most certainly not.
In lack of better ideas, he jogged to the end of the dark Hogsmeade street, nervously threw a glance over his shoulder, and then went on, further away from the village, until all he spotted of it was the contours of the old wooden buildings and the lights glimmering in the windows.
He rounded a shrubbery and then, before him, the large Shrieking Shack loomed in the distance.
He swallowed harshly and ignored the hairs that rose in the back of his neck. He hurried forward and sat down on the ground next to an old wooden bench, about a hundred meters away from the creaking, wonky and dreary building. Quickly, he dug his fingers into the frosty dirt and began tearing it up, digging up a small hole just behind the bench. He then wiped his hands of dirt on his cloak and hesitantly placed the necklace inside, using his scarf.
Once again, he looked around his shoulder to confirm that nobody was watching him, and then he lay one last look at the jewels and filled the hole with black dirt, watching it trickle down onto the necklace, covering it.
He knew bringing it to Hogwarts and keeping it in his dormitory, or even worse, in his pocket, was a terrible and very risky idea. He had no choice but to hide it here until he could use it, preferably when Dumbledore would come down to the village for a drink, alone...
He had a weapon, a dangerous, probably deadly weapon, and he had a potential victim. But how in the world would he manage to give Dumbledore the necklace without subjecting himself to major suspect? Dumbledore could not see him, and nobody could see him close to Dumbledore, or else he would be tossed straight in Azkaban if his plan worked. So he had to find someone stupid enough to do his dirty work for him, then.
Pondering that for a minute or two, he realised not even Crabbe would be stupid enough to give a teacher a cursed necklace in the middle of the day in Hogsmeade, with plenty of witnesses. And even more so, Draco did not think he would actually submit even Crabbe to sacrifice himself like that.
Then, with a horrid, sinking feeling, he realised McGonagall had banned him from the first Hogsmeade weekend which was coming up in only a week's time.
Suddenly he felt as if everything collapsed again and he closed his eyes tightly and sighed heavily.
It was crucial he was in Hogsmeade next weekend... How else would he manage to seek out Dumbledore and give the necklace to him?
He needed to do this without being in Hogsmeade at the time. He needed to find a way to do this without being there in person.
He needed it done while in detention with McGonagall, the perfect alibi, almost a kilometer away...
He pondered Poly-Juice Potion for a while, and then realised Snape had mentioned it took nearly a month to brew. Sod it.
Perhaps he could ask Snape if he had some in his Potion storage?
No, he would do this without Snape... He could not go to Snape as soon as something did not go his way.
He would prefer to do it himself, and not let Crabbe or Goyle try his luck for him. He wanted to make sure it happened the way he wanted it to, and securely.
And with a small gasp he realised he needed to put someone under the Unforgivable Curse, the Imperius.
He decided he could not go back to the Hog's Head in case the man who dropped the necklace had returned, so he went for the Three Broomsticks, perhaps he could find someone to curse in there.
He cleared his throat as he entered the pub, a bell ringing as the door closed behind him. It was nearly empty, which was expected on a school-night - the Hog's Head had a fairly different crowd, and guests who enjoyed drinking any day of the week. The Broomsticks was a lot quieter this evening, unfortunately for Draco.
He sighed and slipped in to sit by the bar. He ordered a Butterbeer from the blonde behind the bar, Rosmerta, and casually looked around the place for a victim.
Half way into his small bottle of golden liquid, he felt ready to give up. In the pub there were two wizards in business-like cloaks having a pint each and reading the Daily Prophet, as well as a young Wizarding family of four having a meal. And then there was witch in large hat and billowing robes, who looked slightly off her rocker, with a few too many empty wine glasses on her small table.
He sighed. He needed someone trustworthy, someone who would always be around, so that it would not look suspicious when they turned up in the streets of Hogsmeade or spoke to Dumbledore...
Madam Rosmerta placed two clean wine glasses on a towel with a clink and then sighed tiredly and removed her apron. Draco's head jerked back to her. She wiped her hands on a towel hanging out from the pocked of her dress, and moved behind the bar, walked through the pub and into the lavatory door named 'Witches'.
His heart-rate had gone up to double its normal pace.
She was perfect.
He casually got up and strolled after her.
Half an hour later he rose and without hesitation walked back to the high street, acting as if he had not been up to anything particular, and made his way back to the secret passageway into Hogwarts.
The next day he praised his resourcefulness and actually felt proud of himself and his achievements so far.
By breakfast his appetite had actually returned and after he managed to stuff himself with eggs and sausages and a large goblin of pumpkin juice in the buzzing Great Hall he began to feel human again. Perhaps he would even have a break and go out to see the sunlight today?
His mild thoughts were interrupted by Tracey Davis telling him Snape had ordered him to his office once again. Even that only produced a slight eye-roll from Draco, who would not let Snape ruin his day. Needless to say, he did not go. However, he did not go outside either, since it was raining once more, and it was not as if he was finished with everything – he still had loads to do in case the necklace ordeal did not work itself out. However, the thought did seep through that perhaps, perhaps, his entire task could be over now. If his plan went its way and Dumbledore touched the necklace, all of his work could be finished, and in plenty of time. He tried not to let the excitement cloud his judgment – he knew better than to count his dragons before they hatched.
For a brief second, he wished he could casually go up to Pansy, give her a kiss and take her outside for a stroll. Tell her a joke and have her in fits of her high-pitched, screechy laughter. But she was on the other side of the Slytherin table, fifty meters down, and laughing loudly at someone else's jokes.
Late that evening when he left the Come and Go Room after some unfocused cabinet-work, he stumbled over Filch's ruffled cat – after curfew. The incident shook him so much he ran all the way back to the dungeons and the nervousness did not disappear until he was in bed. He realised he could not be running around the castle like he had done, unsupervised, with potential caretaker's and their filthy animals lingering around every corner. Worse, what if it had been Dumbledore himself he had bumped into? Or Snape? Or any other teacher for that matter? He would have to be plenty more careful, he could not walk around on his own at midnight anymore.
He needed Crabbe and Goyle to guard him. But nobody could know it was them.
Finally, he came upon the idea of Polyjuice Potion - something he had thought about in the past but ruled out because of its trickiness. Yet, he decided he would not produce it, but steal it from Snape. Surely he wouldn't ask Snape for help. And, in a twisted way, he felt smugly excited stealing from his Head of House and Godfather. As if rebellious. Ha, he thought mischievously on Snape's behalf. Serves him right, the nosy bastard.
It took quite a bit of persuasion (manipulation and threats) to win Crabbe and Goyle over. Goyle was easier. And then finally he could set his plan in motion.
They tested it out the same night Draco had stolen the potion. He knew they weren't going to like or enjoy it but, really, their needs were not pressing or important at that time. Finishing his task, that was the only thing that was important.
He told them to always stay about ten meters behind him. They shouldn't really be spotted together a lot, so he had to only use them when he really needed it.
He had a slight issue left, which surprisingly enough Pansy settled for him the following evening in front of a vivid fire in the common room.
He was actually studying a bit away from the others who were round the sofas. Knowing McGonagall, he'd be in another month's worth of detentions if he didn't finish her stuff. It aggravated him, knowing she was extra hard on him, as if she knew he didn't have the time for it...
Naturally, Pansy's voice broke his study-trance, and he could not help but to overhear what she said.
"I wish we had a button or something," Pansy complained to the company of Greengrass, Davis, Wilkes and Blaise Zabini. Even Crabbe and Goyle were sat around her, the idiots. "For the House Elves. So we could order food in the evenings. Or one of those enchanted galleons the Mudblood used last year to summon their little group," she went on, sniggering. "That'd be perfect, actually - anyone know what happened to those? It's a shame really I don't know any of the names of the House Elves, or I could've just called out, couldn't I?"
Draco's head jerked up and he stared at her, without anyone noticing. Enchanted coins to communicate? He knew he had complained about her big mouth before but it was definitely useful sometimes, it turned out. He was suddenly filled with great excitement. If he could only enchant one of his own galleons and slip it to Rosmerta, then he would have a way of contacting her without sneaking off to Hogsmeade! If he could communicate with her from afar, that meant he could control her all the way from Hogwarts - and nobody would know he ever had anything to do with that sodding necklace!
If the Mudblood Granger had managed to bewitch a coin a year ago, then certainly so would he! He casually felt his pockets and grabbed one of his galleons, took it out but kept his hand right by his pocket, not intending anyone to see, and studied it for a second, while the others murmured in agreement with Pansy.
Draco put the coin back in his pocket, hid his newly cheerful mood about his newfound idea and muttered to Pansy from behind his book. "You could try 'Dobby'."
He reckoned she should have some sort of reward for unwillingly helping him. Pansy looked taken aback at the fact that he had spoken to her - it was after all the first time since their large row that had split them up.
She only frowned at him in the midst of her friends, and she seemed a different person, distant and cold, as if he had never known her.
Yet, at that time, he found her utterly genius.
Draco still lingering in her mind, Pansy decided to finally have some fun that weekend. Saturday was the first Hogsmeade trip of the autumn term. However nauseous she felt over being back in the village (thinking about the last time she was there), she was set on having a fun day with her friends.
The cold was so extreme, they had to put on every jumper they had, along with cloaks and gloves and hats and scarves and woolen socks to protect themselves. And it was only October!
After breakfast she and her gang of girls sauntered towards the Entrance Hall, where Filch, as usual, stood, registering all of the students who had permission to go down to the village on a large board. The procedure took even more time than it usually did because Filch checked everyone at least three times with his Secrecy Censor. When they finally were out, the cold really hit her. She had to have her scarf up half her face, and she hugged her cloak close to her. The wind whined and just by the walk down from the castle to the village, they were all stiff with cold and shivering.
She was glad Draco had detention because it meant she could focus on herself and having fun today, and not worry about seeing him. Pansy and her girlfriends walked along the High Street. Zonko's was nailed shut with large wooden boards over the windows, looking proper creepy in Pansy's opinion. Not to mention the horrible cold, it was also boring and gray and they soon realised there was practically nothing fun to do, and that they would probably have a better time in the warm Slytherin common room in front of a warm fire with some Butterbeer (or something stronger).
Honeydukes were so filled to the rim with students that they did not even bother going in there, despite how inviting the warmth and sweets looked. However, they spotted Crabbe and Goyle in there (naturally), stuffing their mouths in a corner, hiding from the sales witches.
The streets were fairly empty; nobody stopped to have a chat, everyone hurried towards their goals. The exception was two men outside Three Broomsticks who the girls passed when they headed for the Inn to warm up.
Well inside Pansy stomped on the raggedy doormat to get the snow-rain mixture off her boots, and was instantly met by warmth, loud talking and the homely smell of Butterbeer and food. It seemed they hadn't been the only ones seeking refuge in the pub. The Slytherins went to sit by a table just by the window, looking out over Hogsmeade High Street, while Millicent got the task of providing them all with drinks, and went for the bar.
"This place reeks of Mudblood," Pansy disdainfully commented to her surroundings, which happened to be Daphne, Tracey, Queenie and Astoria. Daphne laughed cruelly and threw a condescending glance over the pub.
"Probably because the Beaver is over there with her blood-traitor mates," Queenie sniggered, nodding her head towards Gryffindor golden girl, Granger, who were sat few tables away with her loser friends. Pansy shuddered. She loathed Granger.
She didn't bother paying attention while the other girls gossiped on, but was relieved when Bulstrode came back with the drinks. She really needed it. She narrowed her eyes, just as she had the first sip of her Butterbeer, because she spotted Zabini lounging by a pillar a bit away, and her eyes trailed from him to the bar where Nott were trying to get served.
"Blaise," she called casually.
Her girlfriends turned to look at where she looked. He nodded, acknowledging them, and sauntered over. In a minute, Theodore confusedly joined them with a pint of Bungbarrel Spiced Mead each for himself and Zabini.
"Fancy seeing you here, girls," Blaise said in his usual chilly tone, not even a hint of a smile detectable on his features.
"Where are Vince and Greg then?" Pansy demanded. "We spotted them in Honeydukes a while back, with sticky fingers no less."
"Probably still there," Zabini muttered. "I don't know how they do it."
Daphne laughed loudly, clearly having her eye on Blaise. She was not alone, as wherever they went, he had eyes on him as if he was the lead singer of Weird Sisters or something. Pansy didn't get it.
"Fatsoes," Pansy said rolling her eyes. Nott raised his eyebrows. Daphne gave out a delighted snort.
Zabini gave a tiny, sarcastic cough.
"What's got your wand in a knot then?" Queenie teased. Pansy only rolled her eyes and chewed her gum, ignoring her friend's hint at Draco.
"The way he was bragging on the train had me lose all respect for him," Blaise drawled coldly. Theodore wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, crossing his arms to protect himself from the cold. It had already begun to darken, as the two of them headed back towards the castle along the small High Street lined with tindering lights in the small buildings on each side.
"About the Dark Lord, you mean?" Theodore asked, frowning.
"Don't say 'Dark Lord'," Blaise commanded him. "Only supporters say 'Dark Lord'. You don't want to be labeled, Theodore."
"My father's always called him that. Fine, what would you have me say then?"
"He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named. Voldemort. You-Know-Who. Pick and choose, mate, give it your best shot."
Theodore looked away, perplexed. Blaise had a slight power over him; he didn't want to displease him. Perhaps it was that he was nearly his only friend, unless you counted their current topic of conversation – Malfoy – and somehow he never did count.
"Did you really reckon he was bragging, then?"
"Are you joking, mate? 'I might not be at school next year, I might move on to bigger things' what would you call that then? 'Maybe he's asked me to do something'… In that mysterious voice, as if we care?"
Theodore nodded slowly, as they rounded the last house of the village and began walking up the hill towards the castle, only a few other students in sight.
What Blaise didn't understand was that Draco had beat Theodore to it. Theodore's father had always been faithful to the Dark Lord, he'd been a Death Eater Theodore's entire life, not to mention been in the Inner Circle. Why the bloody hell had Draco Malfoy beat him to it? His father had always hinted that Theodore would follow in his footsteps once becoming of age, and now Draco, merely sixteen, had gotten there first. The prick.
He knew Blaise wouldn't understand, not coming from a family of Death Eaters, or understanding the fascination with it.
But that wasn't to say that Zabini wasn't spot on about Malfoy being a right dickhead.
"I find it pathetic, really," Blaise snorted.
"Doesn't appear to be going any good, whatever it is he's doing, however…"
"Why?"
"Have you not seen him recently?" Theodore stopped to give his friend a look, eyebrow raised. "He looks like he's risen from the dead. Not to mention how he's never around for classes anymore... I wonder where he is all the time..."
"Yeah, all right then. And he's got that detention with McGonagall, same as us…"
"That was so bloody unfair," Theodore sighed. "We were five minutes late, and it was only because professor Snape wanted to have a word."
They were almost up by the castle now, and a gang of Ravenclaws passed by. Blaise snorted again. "Not even Snape would've given detention to a Gryffindor for that. Five minutes..."
One of the Ravenclaws, a tall and skinny fellow sixth-year muttered "Bloody Slytherins," while his friend added: "Go cry to your Dark Lord."
Before they hurried past back into school, rolling their eyes at the two Slytherins.
"It fascinates me how stupid you are!"
Draco merely looked away, adapting an uninterested facial expression, crossing his arms.
"Was this your master plan?" Snape hissed at him, his nostrils flaring in anger.
The stupid bint, both Rosmerta and that sodding student she had given the necklace to, Draco thought bitterly.
"Was this what you didn't want to include me in? Afraid I would try to steal this genius idea of yours?" Snape almost mocked him. "A student nearly died, Draco!"
"So?" he jerked his head up to stare defiantly into Snape's cold, dark eyes. "Collateral damage," he then muttered.
Snape sighed and clenched his jaw. "That's not the point. You failed. And you've brought more attention onto yourself. Potter's caught on to you, for one. He had no problem telling McGonagall all about it today – his theory that you were the one who cursed a necklace and gave it to a student."
"I don't care about Potter anymore, Snape," Draco snorted coldly. "I don't care about anyone who suspects me. I didn't get caught did I?"
Snape nodded curtly. "Not yet, anyway. Think, Draco, think. What if McGonagall or even Dumbledore would take this matter into their own hands, and investigate? Had that girl died, you'd be interrogated by Aurors right now, not your own Head of House, how would you like that? To face the possibility of being sent to Azkaban? How in the world would you finish your mission from in there? How would you save your father from in there?"
His heart beating quickly out of frustration, Draco cleared his throat and rolled his eyes. "I didn't get caught, did I?"
Snape ignored him completely. "How would you like to be interrogated by Aurors forcing Veritaserum down your throat, surrounded by Dementors? You can't afford to make these school-boy errors, Draco! If you want to be treated as an adult, then prove you're not a child!"
"Why are you interrogating me and none of the others in my class? Need I remind you, I wasn't even near Hogsmeade today? You can ask McGonagall." Draco looked up at his Godfather innocently challenging.
Snape shook his head and closed his eyes for a second. "I hope you have another plan than this."
Draco's eyes instantly narrowed. "I'm not telling you anything, so you can forget about that."
"You want it to go like it did today? You want another total fiasco?"
"It won't. I have a rock-solid plan," he lied. "I'm still not telling you a word of it, however."
"Fine, suit yourself. I don't think I have to explain what the Dark Lord would do if you disappoint him… do I?"
Draco's inside twisted up into a knot, or so it felt. He masked his anxiety totally.
"Why don't you call in your next victim now?"
"Yes, I suppose thank you is in order. Interrogating my entire House even though I already have the culprit seems like a fine way to spend Saturday evening."
"I don't know what you're on about, sir; I've been having detention with McGonagall all day," Draco gave a chilly smile and didn't bother to try and sound convincing.
"Send in the next one on your way out."
"Seeing anyone you fancy?"
Draco hadn't realised he was frowning, his face screwed up into a clenched state, his eyes hawking over the Gryffindor table, before Nott's sarcastic tone broke his trance.
Since Snape had mentioned Potter had accused him of the whole necklace business, he felt if possible more resentment towards the boy.
"Enlighten me?"
Draco gave a snort. "Sodding Potter can't keep his mouth shut."
"What's he done this time?"
"Blabbed. About me, no less."
Theodore looked confused. Draco rolled his eyes, unwilling to explain.
"Never you mind that, Nott."
His irritation lingered until Quidditch practice that evening. Urquhart had practically forced him to attend, seeing as he had missed quite a few already. Urquhart shouted at him more than he shouted at the others, which infuriated Draco to no end.
And finally, half-mistakenly Draco hit a Bludger towards the team captain, which hit Urquhart straight in the face with a bone-breaking sound. He roared out loud and crumbled; luckily they were close enough to the ground, as otherwise he would've fallen to the ground harshly. The players closest to him reacted quickly enough and captured the falling Urquhart, and hastily flew towards ground with him. Everyone hurried down except for Bletchley who still sat on his broom by the hoops, unknowing of what was going on, as he could hardly see them because of the mist.
When Draco landed, Urquhart was groaning of both enormous pain, and fury. A chip of his teeth had fallen out – he was bleeding from both his mouth and his nose. And he was roaring as loudly as he could, lividly enough to make his voice hoarse: "MAAAAAALFOY!"
Urquhart aimed kicks and fist-punches towards him, lying on the ground pathetically bleeding in the slippery grass, held back by Crabbe and Warrington.
"Fucking hell, Urquhart! I didn't do it on purpose…!" His anger produced his tone, although he was a slight bit apprehensive as Linus Urquhart was a much larger bloke than Draco was.
Vaisey and Warrington reluctantly took their captain to the hospital wing, half-dragging him up the hill towards the castle.
Wrongly enough, Draco felt relieved the practice was over.
"Bletchley!" Crabbe roared as soon as Warrington and the others had left, and finally Bletchley came soaring down from the hoops, completely clueless, and together they walked back to the changing rooms, muddy and wet, lugging their brooms along, and leaving the lit field behind.
Needless to say, Draco received quite the evil eye from a swollen and uglier than usual Urquhart the morning after at breakfast by the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.
Never before had he felt so utterly frustrated. It wasn't even a mood anymore; it was his constant state of being. Whatever he did, the cabinet refused. His eyes had gone perpetually red and burning from reading all those piles of books. Almost the entire term had gone by and he had come nowhere! His lack of patience and time was beginning to stress him out severely. He realised his beloved Quidditch was next – it had to go. Pansy was already gone and however much he missed her, it was for the best at the moment – he simply had no time.
He appreciated fondly, however, the fact that she took care of all the Prefect rounds without him and didn't report him for it.
When the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match came upon them, it was mid-November and the Great Hall was buzzing in delight on the morning of.
The Slytherin students booed and whistles loudly at every single member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team when they entered the Hall. He noticed Pansy sitting on top of the table, smirking while yelling and booing the loudest. The magical ceiling promised fine weather – a clear blue sky, nearly cloudless. The Slytherin table, a messy crowd of green and silver was excited and babbly, but Draco merely crammed his way in and slumped down by the table, ate a bowl of porridge quickly and did not say a word to anyone.
He knew how he looked, he had for the first time in weeks happened to see his face in a in the lavatory mirror that morning and he had big, dark bags under his eyes, probably since he only slept about three hours that night. It seemed nobody took note of him – Crabbe and Goyle were chatting to each other in grunts, their mouths full; Nott was nowhere to be seen; Zabini sat on as if on a throne, looking out superiorly over the Hall while having his morning cup of tea and the Quidditch team was joking with Pansy and her girlfriends.
He ate as fast as he could and then hurried off. He spotted Urquhart a while ahead, with Warrington and Bletchley, dressed in match attire, holding onto their brooms. The captain was still swollen in the face and had a large patch over his broken nose.
"Urquhart!"
Their team captain along with the two players turned around to face him, eyebrow raised.
"I won't be able to play today," Draco said simply.
Urquhart stared at him, the same anger as when Draco had shot that Bludger in his face appeared and flooded his face suddenly. He jerked his head and rolled his eyes, groaning: "You're telling me now?!"
Warrington mumbled in shared irritation. Draco raised his eyebrow. "Look at the state of me! I'm ill."
Urquhart let out a loud groan that almost sounded like a scream, with the sudden panic of having to find a replacement in the matter of minutes.
"That's well bad, that is, Malfoy," Warrington muttered at him, before turning his back.
"You'll be staying for extra weight training next practice, Malfoy," Urquhart warned him, pointing a fat finger in his face. "That's bad team spirit, bailing on your mates the morning of the match – you do get that we have to find someone who'll play instead of you in –" he checked his watch and groaned, "twenty minutes! How do you reckon we'll manage that? And Vaisey's who's injured as well…. We've been training for this match for months, you imbecile. The strategies, and…."
Draco listened to the end of his angry rambling, and then made his way off, but not before noticing how the rest of the players in his team (besides Crabbe and Goyle, naturally) were casting him dirty looks, standing in a group, seemingly discussing him bitterly.
He had more important things on his mind.
He spent the entire day in the Come-and-go-Room with the sodding cabinet. He had begun to detest the thing. After a long, tiring day with the Sodding Cabinet he stumbled back to the dungeons to hear about how a boy from the year below, Harper, had played instead of him, and how Slytherin had lost to Potter and his likes.
The day was, obviously, not turning out any better.
Sighing greatly, he lay down on his back in one of the sofas in the dark common room, popping Licorice Wands into his mouth and lazily flipping through "Quidditch of the Ages" – a weekly Wizarding sports magazine. He was utterly exhausted and needed to lie down for just five minutes, to hopefully cure his killer headache.
It however, might have sent the wrong image to Pansy who noticed him when she strutted inside the common room. She narrowed her eyes at the sight of him and he realised she must've wondered greatly how he had time to seemingly lie on a sofa all day and eat sweets. She couldn't know he had only even been there for a couple of minutes and had worked himself sweaty all day and was fully suffering.
Most probably for revenge, Pansy sat down next to Nott, on the sofa facing the one where Draco lay. The flames from the fireplace sparkled in her eyes when she joked with Nott about missing his bunny at home.
"Right, your bunny's dead."
"Yeah, you killed him!"
They both laughed. Draco glanced from behind his magazine and unwillingly frowned. They took no note of him.
"I've finally forgiven you, though."
Pansy smirked back at him. "Nice one. But you know, he was fat and would've died soon anyway, wouldn't he?"
Theodore's smile disappeared again and he looked at her sourly. Pansy only giggled, the way she always did.
Draco stayed frowning at them in secret and wondered why the hell Nott had begun hanging out with the others all of a sudden.
