Disclaimer: I'm making no money off this work of fiction. Everyone in this story belongs to J.K. Rowling, who I also credit with about a quarter of the dialogue in here, as well as the setting. The rest of it, however, is mine, all mine! *insane laughter* Whoops, sorry, er…
A/N: Basically, a chapter in HPSS through another person's eyes.
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The Forbidden Forest
The Slytherin firsties were off in their corner, beating each other with pillows and books on the pretense of studying. Of course, "Slytherin firsties" no longer included Draco Malfoy, who got to sit by himself in another corner. All because of a few (dozen) points lost and actually believing a Gryffindor. Good Lord.
Professor Snape had been livid. Not for any of the right reasons, of course—he was Draco Malfoy, no one could be righteously livid at him. No, Professor Snape had actually taken the fifty points from Slytherin and given him a detention because he'd been caught.
"Really, Malfoy, I expected better of you," the potions master had said dryly in the dread meeting in Snape's, for lack of a better word, lair. "Prowl around all you like at night, but at least have the sense not to get caught. For this lapse in vigilance, I subtract fifty points from Slytherin, and you'll get a detention."
"Yes, Professor," Draco had answered dutifully. On his dismissal he'd tried as hard as anything not to grin—Snape had as good as invited him to break Hogwarts rules and "prowl" around after curfew. Brilliant.
Of course, all Slytherin cared about was the loss of fifty points. The Head Girl, a rather unpleasant character, and one of her henchmen prefects had waylaid him about ten yards past Snape's office door, directed him into an empty classroom, and proceeded to give him the worst lecture in the history of the world about being a letdown to Slytherin.
"Though, of course," Ophelia Miller added, laughing, "you're not half so bad as that fool Potter…he and that brown-nose Granger and the bungler Longbottom lost their House three times what you did. And of course Snape adores us. We'll have it and more back in no time."
"Just remember, kid," sneered Pete Parkinson, Pansy's older brother, "if you slip up like this again…" He let the clause dangle, allowing the firstie to envision all kinds of horrific things they'd do to him. Draco was smart enough to know it was an empty threat and used the time to make a note of the wart on Pete's nose.
Ophelia tossed her head. "After all, you did set us fifty points closer to losing top place for the seventh year in a row. Which should be intolerable. However, allowing for your age, we'll give you one more chance." She held up one finger, to make sure the message came across perfectly clearly.
Draco couldn't help being reminded of the good fairy in Little Bunny Foo Foo. Will they turn me into a goon? he thought, and barely avoided sniggering. "Thank you," he said politely. "And now, regretfully, I have to go…everlasting pile of homework, you know?"
The Head Girl went icy in less time than it took to blink. "You got off easy, this time, firstie. Watch yourself." With one last sneer, she swept out of the room before Draco could rise, and her henchman, leering nastily, marched out after her. It would have been quite impressive if the stupid lout hadn't tripped up on his own huge boots.
Prudently waiting for the door to fall closed, Draco had a good laugh before he went back to Slytherin. When he actually did go back, he found that the other first-years had none of the…readiness to forgive that the senior students possessed. They firmly established him as an outcast—didn't even look at him.
"Fifty points!" he muttered to himself in his corner, a week after the incident. Slytherin had, true to Ophelia Miller's prediction, regained about twice the points they'd lost in that time, but still the others pretended he didn't exist. It became rather grating, to tell the truth.
Even Crabbe and Goyle had had the nerve to desert him. They forgot from time to time, of course, and would grunt at him in the halls. Presumably they said "hello", but it was hard to tell with their lack of articulation.
And then there was the detention notice, received at breakfast this morning. It read very simply about the time and the place and who to meet, and of course a Professor Snape-sarcasm note. "You'll be taking your detention with Potter, Granger, and Longbottom, under the direction of Hagrid. I sincerely apologize."
It was after dinner, nine o'clock-ish or so. Two hours to go. The other firsties started yelling at each other, something about ice cream as opposed to Fizzing Whizbees. The lackwits. As if there was any contest.
One of the prefects, a scrawny pinch-faced girl, scurried up to their corner and yelled, surprisingly strong-voiced, for them to shut the hell up for all our ears' sakes, and if you don't I will dismember you with a rusty saw, hang you from the Astronomy Tower and let the ravens finish you off.
That got them to hush.
Draco grinned appreciatively from his corner, at least until Millie Bulstrode glanced over and narrowed her eyes menacingly. He quickly looked down at the book lying open in his lap—so he could look innocently as if he were doing his homework if anyone got suspicious as to why he sat all by his little lonesome in the corner.
One long, painful, lonely (though he'd never admit that to himself) hour later, people started filtering out of the common room and into their dormitories. He was left in the corner. No one walking by wished him good night or even—Crabbe and Goyle actually remembered—grunted at him. Like he'd completely disappeared, the first years pretended the corner was empty.
Ophelia, when she walked by with her seventh-year girl friends, nodded once, just dropped her chin so it might look to her friends that she really wasn't acknowledging the existence of a firstie. It was enough, though, and Draco nodded coldly back.
Ten minutes after, the common room was empty.
With nothing to do, nowhere to go, and no point in going to sleep, Draco just packed up his homework, slipped his bag under a chair where no one would look, and left, hands in his pockets. Sure, there were another fifty minutes until he had to be in the entrance hall, but that had nothing to do with anything. He'd gotten permission from his Head of House after all, right?
He sauntered off around the tunnels, glancing around from time to time. The paintings he passed whispered frantically to each other, looking at him, but he didn't pay them any mind.
At least, until a girl's voice said shrilly, "Hang on, you—yes, you, blond slimeball."
Draco whipped around, if only to exchange insults. Just get a look at the girl's painting, fire off the first thing to mind, then slope off…
But it didn't really work that way. The girl, first thing, was in front of him, so whipping around only made him look like an idiot. Second thing, she didn't give him time to riposte.
"Who do you think you are?" she demanded of him. "Coming around here just like you owned the place…didn't you know it's after curfew?" A little nastily, she smiled. "If I felt like it I could go to Filch's office painting and alert him…but I probably won't. You look lonely."
Draco bristled. "If you think that, you need vision correction."
Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she replied, "Eew, no, that means I'd have to look at you clearly. My poor innocent mind would never be the same."
All around him, the paintings started laughing, some applauding and cheering. The girl postured modestly, giggling behind her hand.
"You mean you've actually got a mind, let alone an innocent one? I never would have thought," Draco shot off conversationally. Hah! Take that and stuff it, snotface!
Deadly silence. The girl stared down at him, eyes narrowed, mouth pinched. "How dare you."
Thank God she didn't take the "I never would have thought" as bait…thank God… "How dare I what?" he asked politely, opting for a puzzled, slightly offended, slightly concerned look.
"You just… You just insulted me," the girl spat. "That's unthinkable."
"Well, I thought it. Giving as good as I got, you know?" Draco shrugged, now looking bored.
She goggled incredulously for a moment, mouth unflatteringly hanging open. Suddenly she started laughing. "Amazing. Maybe I won't call Filch on you."
Draco smirked once, then walked off.
"Hey, you come back you bloody…" The girl, a quite prim and proper-looking kid with her brown curls piled on top of her head, probably from the eighteenth century or so, started raining some of the foulest language anyone would hear on a city street down on him.
He turned, walking backwards still. "Language," he reminded her languidly, and finally turned and took off running, getting away from the curses and the paintings' appreciative laughter. You'd never think a lot of watercolor and tempera could get such character, he thought, still running.
"Hey, really, wait up," said a familiar voice from the walls.
"Bloody hell…" Draco groaned, not bothering to lower his voice, as he turned. Picture frame, check. Moving painting of a bunch of annoyed-looking nuns, check. Irate girl from eighteenth century, check. All there.
"That's no way to…oh, whatever," the girl said impatiently. "Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. Hello, I'm Melanie Hampton, of Slytherin, famed for keeping a grade average above a hundred percent throughout my seven years at Hogwarts. This is me when I was eleven."
Draco eyed her suspiciously. "I'm sure I'm sorry," he said, realized how nasty he sounded, and added, "that I forgot to introduce myself as well. Draco Malfoy, also of Slytherin, infamous for the loss of fifty points in the past week which makes me an outcast, of course."
What in heaven made me say that?
"Apologies," Melanie Hampton said, yawning.
"I'm on my way to my detention now, so really I hope you won't think less of me if I depart now," he sneered, and set off for the third time, hands in his pockets. He only had thirty minutes left because of these bloody portraits.
"Oh, for—Good riddance, Draco Malfoy—hope you die on your detention—it's happened, you know, several times in my school days to tell the truth—"
Her voice faded after he turned a few corners, thankfully. There is a God, Draco thought, and snickered. Death at Hogwarts? In a teacher-assigned detention? What had they done, skewered themselves to death with quills? Ink poisoning? Swallow a lethal amount of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover? Cleaning desks and writing lines hardly constituted a death…Melanie Hampton sure was full of it. Come to think of it, her eyes were brown, too.
Draco glanced at his watch. Ten forty-seven, giving him maybe ten minutes to wander around, then get to the entrance hall from wherever he was.
A ghost, a rather bemused-looking, scruffy warlock, said absently on his way past, "Oh, hello…nice night, isn't it…"
The Slytherin ignored him and sloped past, deciding not to wander anywhere but just hide out in the entrance hall. As far as Draco knew, the paintings in there were all of ancient venerable people who slept most of the time, and no not-quite-right-in-the-head ghosts haunted it. With his luck, they'd start tonight and curse at him under the guise of prim geniuses from the Dark Ages.
The entrance hall was empty and dark, though. Draco found a spot in the shadows where he could wait around…see, when he was here, he couldn't get caught. All he had to do was say innocently I've got a detention and they'd have to let him go.
If they saw him, that was. Doubtful in the near-pitch darkness.
Ten minutes passed in one way or another, and finally Argus Filch shuffled in muttering to himself. He peered around, peered at the watch on his grimy wrist, peered around again, and then muttered, "Hmm…they're late…"
Draco stood slowly, slid into a patch of moonlight, and said suddenly, "What are you talking about? I've been waiting for almost a minute."
Filch peered at him and just grunted. "Rgh."
Potter, Granger, and Longbottom showed up at the top of the stairs then, all looking quite nervous and rather pale. Longbottom really looked like he was about to cry. Far below, Draco put on a smirk and felt it would stay there until he came back.
Filch muttered unpleasantly something about "You're late," but when the three of them came down the stairs, looking like they were afraid something fuzzy and green with teeth would jump out of the shadows and rip them to pieces, all he said was, "Follow me." The decrepit caretaker lit a lamp and opened one of the huge doors; the four of them silently followed him outside.
"I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" he sneered. "Oh yes…hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me…It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out…hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed…"
Maybe that was what Melanie Hampton had been on about, Draco thought.
"Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do," Filch finished, and closed the heavy door. They set off marching, Filch in the lead.
After walking about fifty feet, Draco heard someone sniffling. Repeatedly. Probably that thickheaded clumsy goblin of a Longbottom. The idiot.
"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started…" came a distant shout. Hagrid the giant stood outside his hovel, a crossbow slung over his back and a large quivering animal of some kind cowering around his massive boots.
Potter looked actually rather relieved all of a sudden, Draco noticed, glancing at him. Filch leered around at the year's famous little hero and sneered again. "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf?"
Draco started to favorably rethink his opinion of Filch.
"Well, think again, boy," the caretaker went on, "it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come back in one piece."
He heard it, but he didn't believe. Draco stopped dead in his tracks and demanded, "The forest?" When Filch just looked at him with a snaggle-toothed smirk, he protested further, "We can't go in there at night—there's all sorts of things in there—werewolves, I've heard…" Draco checked the moon. Yes, it was full. So he wasn't quite as much of an idiot as he might have looked. He was about to go into this was dangerous, it was homicide to send a bunch of first years into the forest, the Forbidden Forest, and that really they'd gotten detentions for being out of bed after hours so weren't the teachers really contradicting themselves giving them detentions after hours? This was…
"That's your problem, isn't it?" Filch said, sounding rather like he was choking back laughter. Draco seethed. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"
Well no, I never thought my teachers would be insane and homicidal enough to send me into a position where there was even the vaguest threat of werewolves…but obviously I was wrong. Dad was right—I should have gone to Durmstrang…
Hagrid marched up with his crossbow in hand and the quivering creature-thing—now identifiable as a rather ugly boarhound—scurrying along beside him.
"Abou' time. I bin waitin' fer half an hour already," the gamekeeper barked. He glanced at Potter and Granger and smiled…like a drunken bear, Draco thought, and smirked for just a second. "All right, Harry, Hermione?"
Filch said coldly, drawing himself up, "I shouldn't be too friendly with them, Hagrid. They're here to be punished, after all."
"That's why yer late, is it? Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot yer place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here," Hagrid said, frowning at Filch.
He waved that off like it was a fly. "I'll be back at dawn." Then, as an unpleasant afterthought, Filch added, "…for what's left of them." He leered one last time and stumped back up to the castle, lamp jerking away like a dazed firefly.
As a last-ditch attempt, Draco turned to Hagrid and asserted, "I'm not going into that forest." He winced at the rising tone of panic in his voice, but that didn't matter. It might actually help convince these maniacs that this was dead wrong.
"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," Hagrid spat fiercely. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."
Draco started to feel really afraid now. "But this is servant stuff," he said frantically, forgetting for a moment that this was a servant in front of him, and a servant who was armed, and a servant who was about ten times his size. "It's not for students to do. I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd—"
Hagrid had the nerve to interrupt him. "—tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts! Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack." He waited a moment, then shooed Draco off with a free hand. "Go on!"
Draco stood his ground, ready to start telling him that this was homicide, illegal, highly dangerous, and so beneath the Malfoy level it wasn't even funny. Then he remembered that Hagrid was armed, ten times (at least) his size, and getting a little angry. Draco subsided and glared at the ground. He heard someone—maybe Granger, he wouldn't put it past that sneaky little study freak to do such a thing—stifle a snigger.
"Right then," Hagrid said, as if nothing had happened. "Now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight—"
No, really. I thought we were going to go pick daisies with the fairies. Gee, thanks for the update.
"—an' I don' want no one takin' risks."
Like hell you don't…oh yeah, venturing into the Forbidden Forest in the dead of a full-moon night isn't risky at all…
"Follow me over here a moment," Hagrid finished. Draco, annoyed with himself that he couldn't at least come up with something sarcastic about the final statement, followed Hagrid's hulking shape to the very edge of the forest, and a dark path twisting among the trees.
He saw something glimmering on the forest floor. Like moss maybe…but it was too flat…and moss didn't glow silver, either. Liquid? A spilled potion? Or maybe…
Hagrid had been speaking. "…stuff? That's unicorn blood."
Draco suddenly felt quite sick.
"There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."
Really, really sick. "And…what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" Draco said, hearing his voice quiver but not caring. A dead unicorn…it takes a lot to kill a unicorn…and no reason, too, unless if whoever it was wanted to curse themselves for the rest of their sorry lives…a dead unicorn…and they had to find another one. Bloody hell.
"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," Hagrid said, trying to sound reassuring. "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least."
"I want Fang," Draco said, looking at the dog. Actually he wanted to throw up, but it wouldn't do to say that. Unicorn blood all over the place…marvelous.
"All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward…" Hagrid said, ruffling the thing's ears. "So me, Harry, an' Hermione'll go one way an' Draco, Neville, an' Fang'll go the other."
Draco glanced distastefully at Neville, who had left off sniffing and now stared at Hagrid, struck dumb with horror.
"Now," Hagrid went on, "if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now…"
Obediently they all got out their wands and started flicking their wrists, muttering "green…green…green" while they did. A flurry of green fireworks started.
"That's it—an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh—so, be careful—let's go."
Ten yards further on, the path forked. Draco glanced at Longbottom, who now looked like he'd rather do nothing else than flee back to his bed, and Fang, who snuffled and leaned against Hagrid. Hagrid waved them off down the right-hand path.
A couple minutes later, everything was black silence. Fang clung embarrassingly close to Draco, whining piteously. Draco ordinarily would have pushed him away, but he was too interested in the…blood all along the path. It almost glowed, and it certainly reflected.
"Oh…I don't like this, I really really don't like this…eeeeuugh what are you DOING, Draco?" Longbottom's constant little snuffling mosquito-whine rose to a sort of scream as Draco knelt.
"Shut it, you baby…I'm checking to see if it's warm."
The cowardly lion (ha-ha, play on words and a Wizard of Oz reference, he was in rare form now…) continued whimpering as Draco reached toward one of the blood spatters, a little bit on a rock at the base of one of the hundreds of trees.
He didn't really want to touch it, to tell the truth…what if the cursed-life legends didn't keep themselves to drinking? What if he was cursed just by touching it…? One index finger landed in it. Squishy, he thought, but definitely cold. Which was bad—that meant the unicorn had passed by here maybe as long as two hours ago…unicorn blood took a long time to cool, he remembered from a book he'd been forced to read over the summer… Which meant that the unicorn was probably dead.
Draco shuddered involuntarily and stood. Annoyingly, the tip of his left index finger now glowed silver. He wiped it on the inside of his pocket and looked up to find Longbottom looking at him fearfully.
"It wasn't…what…oh, I really, really don't like this…"
"Shut up, you bloody coward, and let's go."
Without waiting to see where Longbottom went, Draco started walking stolidly onward, looking around for any more blood. There was a spot—and there—there—and that was another, bigger patch—oh, this was sick…
Longbottom yelled suddenly, "No, no, wait for me!" Sounds of running, and then he caught up with Draco. "Don't do that again, please…"
"I won't if you'd just keep up…it's not that hard…then again, maybe for you it is." Draco didn't look at Longbottom…he'd probably start blubbering again.
He wasn't disappointed. "I don't like this…I want my gran…I want to go home…I really don't like this…"
"I've heard," Draco spat coldly, just two words, and Longbottom shut up. Fang the boarhound-creature-from-the-black-lagoon thing stumbled on ahead, sensing something, and Longbottom fled to walk alongside the dog. Ambling along behind them, Draco could still hear him crying and the dog snuffling sympathetically.
Hmm…
Without really thinking, Draco sped up until he was just behind Longbottom. One, two, three…
"I don't like this I really don't like this I don't…"
He grabbed Longbottom's arm.
"…like this YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! RED! RED! RED!"
Red sparks shot out of Longbottom's wand, going twenty…forty…fifty…maybe seventy feet in the air.
"Oooh, that's not good," Draco muttered, before Longbottom whirled on him and started telling him off royally.
"Look here, Malfoy, I never did anything to you and you know I don't like this and you don't either, you were the one going on about how your father this and your father that and servant stuff and so just…" Longbottom took a huge deep breath after his stumbling diatribe and bellowed, "LEAVE ME ALONE!" He then proceeded to break down completely, hiccuping and crying and murmuring "I want my mummy."
To top it off, Hagrid, Behemoth and Protector of Wimps crashed up through the trees and yelled wildly, "What happened? What happened? Who's hurt?"
Longbottom pointed at Draco and blubbered, "He came up behind me I want Gran grabbed me I want Mummy I wasn't doing anything it's all his fault!" He broke down again, hugging Fang and sobbing.
Hagrid took Draco by the ear, neglecting to realize that with one strong twitch he could send Draco flying twenty feet, and shouted straight into his face, "Why are yeh so dead-bent on makin' ever'one else miserable? Sure don' make people like yeh, that's fer sure…Cummon, the both of yeh, we're regroupin'."
Not letting Draco "cummon" under his own free will, Hagrid dragged him off, by the ear, and they stumbled off through the forest with Hagrid half-carrying Neville the entire way.
There they stood, Potter and Granger, Potter looking righteously indignant and Granger just looking worried. Hagrid said dangerously, pointedly at Draco, "We'll be luck ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were makin'." He looked at Harry and Hermione. "Right, we're changin' groups—Neville, you stay with me an' Hermione, Harry, you go with Fang an' this idiot."
Draco fumed silently. He wasn't the idiot…if Neville had been looking, he wouldn't have gone overreacting and sending everyone off into a flurry. I don't like this, I really really don't like this, I want my gran, he mouthed in a simper. Neville, you're a bloody nitwit…
In a whisper supposed to only be heard by Potter (but Draco had good ears), Hagrid continued, "I'm sorry, but he'll have a harder time frightenin' you, an' we've gotta get this done."
What, just because he didn't die ten years ago means he's automatically got a higher threshold of fear? Draco thought. Irrational if I've ever heard it…notice they're all Gryffindors and he loves them. I smell a prejudice.
"Go!" Hagrid said menacingly, pointing him off towards Potter, who had already started along like a good obedient little sheep down the faint path Hagrid had carved into the forest, Fang tagging along. Draco considered thumbing his nose, and decided against it if for the only reason that he really didn't feel like wasting the energy on a prejudiced oaf the size of the Knight Bus.
He followed Potter, of course. They walked along in silence for an amazingly long time, Draco fuming and Potter looking around vigilantly for any signs of unicorn blood…like a good little boy of course. Draco looked, too, and noticed each patch before Potter, he was sure of it.
The patches were getting larger, but it all looked much more liquid. Which meant the unicorn, if it was still alive, had to be closer. Draco looked at his watch, the glowing hands telling him it had been nearly fifteen minutes, and furthermore it was almost one o'clock in the morning.
There. Some of the silver blood was dripping off that rock…they were really close now. Twenty minutes.
Again, five minutes later. Potter didn't even look around as Draco touched the blood, splattered on the roots of a huge oak and actually welling up between some of the roots. It felt warm—like chicken soup at the exact right temperature for eating. Except chicken soup of bright silver was probably radioactive.
Draco ran unashamedly to catch up with Potter. "It's—"
"Look," Potter murmured, throwing out one arm and catching Draco rather hard in the chest. He winced and glowered, but Potter was too intent on something in the clearing just ahead.
White. Very bright white that reflected moonlight, making the blood all around it look dark.
Draco took one long, slow, deep breath, and started edging forward.
He had seen the unicorn's mane, spread out on the leaves. It lay crumpled at the base of a tree, and there was a large, dark spot centered between the creature's front and back legs. Silver oozed from the wound.
A slithering sound came from one of the bushes. Potter tensed suddenly as a black-cloaked thing—human, probably—slid out of the shadows, crawled over the leaves. It stopped right by the unicorn, never looking at Draco or Potter or Fang.
It lowered its head, and started to drink.
Draco stood frozen for about a quarter-second. Going through his head was They're cursed! They're cursed! mingled with Sick, sick, sick, I'm going to be sick accompanied by WE ARE DEAD. And finalized by a single word. RUN.
He acted on the command and bolted, screaming like a girl running from a spider. About a second later he started yelling "RED! GREEN! RED! GREEN!…" as he ran—a fountain of Christmas-y sparks poured up from his wand—hovering a hundred feet up—whoops, gold got in there too—"RED! GREEN! THEY'RE CURSED!"
His wand had no idea what to do with the last two words and so started spouting fireworks in all colors—purple, blue, gold, silver (eurgh)…but prevalently red and green, thank God.
Draco still ran along the dim path, marked with still-glowing silver blood…he was really going to be sick in a couple minutes… He hoped to the high entities above that Potter had the sense to follow…sure, he might hate the kid, but no one, not even a favored noble famous Gryffindor with horrible taste in friends, deserved to die at the hands of someone desperate enough to kill a unicorn.
Finally he stopped running and collapsed at the foot of a tree, sobbing for breath. Looked around frantically. No one.
"Arrurwooooff," Fang gasped in a sort of halfhearted bark as he raced up and collapsed right next to Draco, who actually hugged the slobbery old lump of a dog. Then he put his hand down in something slimy, sticky, and cool, came up with it silver like mercury, and was presently violently and efficiently sick in the underbrush.
"Red, green, red, green, red, green, please he's alive…red…oops…" Sparks, mostly uniform red then green, suddenly exploded in a burst of blue and gold. "Sorry…red, green…"
Finally, at long last, Hagrid and Hermione and Neville crashed up. "Where's Harry?" Hagrid demanded immediately.
Draco pointed mutely towards the clearing, not trusting himself to speak.
"Yeh left him there? Ran like the coward yeh are? Who do yeh think yeh are?"
Fury gave Draco the energy to jump to his feet, and the courage to say what he'd been thinking. "You bloody prejudiced lump," he spat. "Potter is all that matters, is it. You'd rather we both died back there at the hands of some cursed maniac full of unicorn blood than have one safe to throw the alarm, is that it. Don't care that I wanted to live, just keep brilliant Potter safe, Potter and his fame and his broomstick and his scar…he's all that matters, right?" He kicked a tree as viciously as he could manage on an upset stomach, and finished, "He lived once, he's the miracle kid, he can't die, so what are you so flaming worried about?"
Hagrid hadn't even hung around to listen. He'd crashed off. Granger gave Draco one long look, one that maybe said she thought he might be—maybe—not quite such a slimy little worm as the rest of them did. Then, "Neville, you stay here," she ordered, and ran after Hagrid.
Longbottom cast a fearful look at Draco and clung to a tree across the path. Draco slumped to the ground, leaned against the tree he'd kicked, and let his head hang. No one really cared. The world was a scary place, and he was supposed to face it alone.
He reflected on that for the five minutes the biased giant was gone, and never moved during that time. Then the giant came back, with Granger and Potter in tow. Granger gave him another look, and then nodded once—Ophelia-like, queenly and not enough for anyone to actually notice.
Hard to believe those two happened in the same millennium, Draco thought. Potter looked extremely shaken and rather haunted. Well, Draco wouldn't be alone in nightmare-land then.
Hagrid said gruffly, "C'mon, Draco."
"And if I don't feel like it?" he sneered back, feeling ready to contradict absolutely anything that bigot said.
'That bigot' shrugged. "Then we'll leave yeh here," he said, and started trundling along back to the main path. "C'mon, Harry, Hermione, Neville. Fang! Outta there! Let's go!"
Just before they disappeared from sight, Draco got up and started walking along behind them. Granger had slowed and lagged behind. She looked at him again, sort of half—no, quarter-smiled, then hurried to catch up with Potter and Longbottom.
The walk to the castle, once free of the Forbidden Forest—which loomed innocently in the starlight, after the moon had set—seemed centuries long. Finally Hagrid opened one of the gigantic entry doors. Potter, Granger, Longbottom, and then Draco went filed through in silence. Potter and Granger started muttering as soon as they reached the staircase, Longbottom following and looking behind him every two or three steps.
Draco took a detour back to Slytherin. It was two o'clock in the morning, and if he didn't make noise no one would notice him. He'd be able to go back and sleep for six hours, then go off to classes in another day of cold-shouldering by the other firsties.
The torches were still on in the art hallway, oddly enough. And—bugger it—Melanie Hampton was still awake, watching carefully. She saw him and looked at him oddly. "Are you all right?"
Draco glanced down at himself. One hand was still covered in silver—he gagged quietly—robes were torn in at least three places from the run through the forest—and his non-silver hand was peppered with burns from the wand sparks.
"I will be," he said. "Oh, and you were right—detentions can kill you—we went in the forest."
Melanie winced. "Everyone still all right?"
"Mostly. Good night." He started walking again.
"Good night."
After scrubbing at his left hand for about five minutes and watching silver and gray go down the drain in one of the boys' toilet sinks, Draco went to bed and slept like a log, contrary to his forecasted nightmares.
The next morning, the other first-year boys were ignoring him as usual. Finally, when he was searching for a pair of socks, he said quietly, "Sorry about the points."
There was a quick moment of stillness in their conversation/argument (rather one-sided, as Avery was the one doing all the talking), this time about the Falmouth Falcons versus the Slytherin Quidditch team. Then, Crabbe and Goyle grunted simultaneously, "S'okay."
Avery Nott said, "Really, it's all right."
And then Jacob Dobbs, who never said anything as he was always scribbling in a black notebook, squeaked out, "Right."
He blushed when they all stared at him—it being the first time they'd ever heard him speak—and started scribbling furiously again.
Another second of slightly awkward silence. "So what d'you think, Malfoy?" Nott asked, and it sounded like a concentrated effort to speak. "Falmouth or Slytherin?"
As Draco said something—he wasn't quite sure what, and hoped it sounded coherent—he revised his thought from the last night. Yes, the world was a scary place, but if he tried there'd be at least a few not-so-hostile enemies there to help out.
***
COMPLETION.
A/N: What think ye? No, I don't think Hermione likes Draco. I included that to show that some people are more accepting than others. And I apologize to people who like Hagrid…I needed a bad guy…and besides, most of it is all in Draco's head… *Twilight Zone theme music plays*
Question: Did I do Draco correctly, in anyone's opinion? I might do more stuff from his point of view, if a majority thinks I've got him in character…it's fun, writing sarcasm…
Chocolate frogs and Drooble's Best,
~Flamewing