Chapter 9
Since that night, I'd been avoiding her. She'd brought out strange, unwanted feelings in me. Sometimes, though, at breakfast, or dinner, I'd see her. She'd smile at me, and I'd smile back (although I made it a point to make it look more like a grimace; I didn't want to ruin my reputation as an evil bastard), like *that night* was our little secret.
Then, something happened. It didn't ruin my reputation, really; I'd managed to lie my way out of it after a while, but it *did* make things more public. A lot more public.
It was lunchtime, and I'd just come from my Care of Magical Creatures class. We'd been taking very boring notes about dragons in a room whose stuffiness rivaled that of the Divination classroom. That was why it was such a relief to be walking outside on the grass, towards the castle, with the breeze blowing around me.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a group of Gryffindors; fifth years, as expected, walk out of the greenhouse. All of a sudden, they all started crowding around Lily, who was as pale as I'd ever seen her. I thought it strange that her four dimwitted bodyguards (namely Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew), were absent. A blonde haired Slytherin girl (Narcissa, remember her?) had left the greenhouse as well, followed by many others.
"What's wrong with the mudblood?" My fists tightened involuntarily.
"Take her to Madame Pomfrey, quick!" Someone was saying.
"It's a thorn." A thorn? *Just* a thorn? "A Vesirose Thorn." Vesiroses were roses that had no thorns, none that you could see, anyway, but when you touched it, a thorn at least an inch long and half a centimeter in diameter appeared where you hand made contact with its stem. Sometimes, when it was especially windy, some of those microscopic thorns popped up in the worst places. I'd once seen a wizard with a thorn that had gone through his nose.
"Why should anyone worry about that bloody Mudblood? Let the mudblood's blood flow. It's dirty." She (Narcissa) gave a mean laugh, and stood, watching, her arms crossed. Part of the Gryffindor crowd had moved a bit farther away (if there were any more Vesirose thorns floating around in the air somewhere, they didn't want to be near it), and I caught a glimpse of her. I knew now why she looked so pale; blood was flowing freely from her hand, and an unbelievably long thorn protruded from the center of her palm.
I should have stayed away, and possibly checked up on her later, at the hospital wing. But I didn't. An odd emotion crept over me, a feeling of rage, and annoyance. How *dare* that blonde poodle call Lily a mudblood! It was true that I'd thought of her as that only a few short weeks ago, but thinking, and saying were two *very* different things! I walked up to them, and the crowd moved even further away. Scared of me, probably. I was a Slytherin, *and* a seventh year, at that.
Figg was holding her, and trying to *drag* her at the same time, to the clinic (hadn't she ever heard of levitating? Or had she just lost her wand? I remembered then, of course, that some magical plants were *allergic* to some simple spells, and would spontaneously combust. So as a precaution, students were asked *not* to bring wands to the greenhouse at times). The noble friend. I thought sarcastically. What had happened to the *rest* of those *noble* Gryffindors who stood there, cowering? She (Figg, who else?) glared at me when she saw me.
"Get out of the way, Malfoy."
"She needs help." I said, and stood there, rather stupidly.
"And she'll get it. Madame Pomfrey--" I didn't listen. I pushed her aside, and knelt down beside Lily, who was on the grass. I muttered a spell, and the thorn was drawn out slowly, to reveal the gaping wound on her palm. Then I paused, unsure of what to do next. I wasn't used to *healing* wounds, I was used to *making* them.
"Honestly, I don't even know *why* he's helping that mudblood--" Something broke in me, just then. Maybe the heat from that room had addled my brains, or maybe I was just tired of hearing people insult her. I don't know.
"STOP CALLING HER A MUDBLOOD!" I roared, to nobody in particular. I couldn't have been thinking straight, because the next thing I knew, I had taken the long, nearly two inch thorn, and cut *my* hand with it. I grabbed Lily's injured hand and held it with my own, our blood mingling together as it flowed down onto the grass.
"THERE! HER BLOOD, MY BLOOD!" Breathing heavily, I added, in a lower, menacing voice, "Call her a mudblood, and you call *me* a mudblood. If *anyone* calls her a mudblood again. . ." I trailed off. Threats were always better left unsaid; it gave those who heard it more freedom to imagine the horrors of what could happen.
More calmly, I ripped a piece of cloth off my robe and wrapped it tightly around her hand. Severus stepped forward, and handed me a vial. "To stop the bleeding," he said quietly. It was probably meant for me (Slytherins very rarely gave help freely to anyone outside our own house) but I gave it to her anyway. For a moment, I almost thought he nodded , before he gave me another one exactly like the first. I hadn't known he was such a boy scout. I swallowed it, enjoying the strange, burning sensation go down my throat. When I looked down my hand, the bleeding had already stopped, although the gash was still there.
Lily refused to see Madame Pomfrey. She wanted the wound to heal 'the normal way'. I don't know why, but I did too.
I still have the scar. It suppose it was rather stupid of me, but I wanted it. To remember her by, maybe? But I hadn't known she was going to . . . *leave us* so soon. Maybe I was *meant* to have that scar. Maybe I *did* have my path carved out ahead of me, without me knowing it. And maybe that's just one too many maybes.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A/N: I think it's rather funny, how Lucius practically demands to control his own future ;)
Neni Potter-Thanks for the reviews! Yes, Lucius can be a little stupid sometimes ;) he's in that transition stage, to becoming the Lucius we see now, and so he's still got a bit of good. I'm glad you liked the story! : )
Since that night, I'd been avoiding her. She'd brought out strange, unwanted feelings in me. Sometimes, though, at breakfast, or dinner, I'd see her. She'd smile at me, and I'd smile back (although I made it a point to make it look more like a grimace; I didn't want to ruin my reputation as an evil bastard), like *that night* was our little secret.
Then, something happened. It didn't ruin my reputation, really; I'd managed to lie my way out of it after a while, but it *did* make things more public. A lot more public.
It was lunchtime, and I'd just come from my Care of Magical Creatures class. We'd been taking very boring notes about dragons in a room whose stuffiness rivaled that of the Divination classroom. That was why it was such a relief to be walking outside on the grass, towards the castle, with the breeze blowing around me.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a group of Gryffindors; fifth years, as expected, walk out of the greenhouse. All of a sudden, they all started crowding around Lily, who was as pale as I'd ever seen her. I thought it strange that her four dimwitted bodyguards (namely Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew), were absent. A blonde haired Slytherin girl (Narcissa, remember her?) had left the greenhouse as well, followed by many others.
"What's wrong with the mudblood?" My fists tightened involuntarily.
"Take her to Madame Pomfrey, quick!" Someone was saying.
"It's a thorn." A thorn? *Just* a thorn? "A Vesirose Thorn." Vesiroses were roses that had no thorns, none that you could see, anyway, but when you touched it, a thorn at least an inch long and half a centimeter in diameter appeared where you hand made contact with its stem. Sometimes, when it was especially windy, some of those microscopic thorns popped up in the worst places. I'd once seen a wizard with a thorn that had gone through his nose.
"Why should anyone worry about that bloody Mudblood? Let the mudblood's blood flow. It's dirty." She (Narcissa) gave a mean laugh, and stood, watching, her arms crossed. Part of the Gryffindor crowd had moved a bit farther away (if there were any more Vesirose thorns floating around in the air somewhere, they didn't want to be near it), and I caught a glimpse of her. I knew now why she looked so pale; blood was flowing freely from her hand, and an unbelievably long thorn protruded from the center of her palm.
I should have stayed away, and possibly checked up on her later, at the hospital wing. But I didn't. An odd emotion crept over me, a feeling of rage, and annoyance. How *dare* that blonde poodle call Lily a mudblood! It was true that I'd thought of her as that only a few short weeks ago, but thinking, and saying were two *very* different things! I walked up to them, and the crowd moved even further away. Scared of me, probably. I was a Slytherin, *and* a seventh year, at that.
Figg was holding her, and trying to *drag* her at the same time, to the clinic (hadn't she ever heard of levitating? Or had she just lost her wand? I remembered then, of course, that some magical plants were *allergic* to some simple spells, and would spontaneously combust. So as a precaution, students were asked *not* to bring wands to the greenhouse at times). The noble friend. I thought sarcastically. What had happened to the *rest* of those *noble* Gryffindors who stood there, cowering? She (Figg, who else?) glared at me when she saw me.
"Get out of the way, Malfoy."
"She needs help." I said, and stood there, rather stupidly.
"And she'll get it. Madame Pomfrey--" I didn't listen. I pushed her aside, and knelt down beside Lily, who was on the grass. I muttered a spell, and the thorn was drawn out slowly, to reveal the gaping wound on her palm. Then I paused, unsure of what to do next. I wasn't used to *healing* wounds, I was used to *making* them.
"Honestly, I don't even know *why* he's helping that mudblood--" Something broke in me, just then. Maybe the heat from that room had addled my brains, or maybe I was just tired of hearing people insult her. I don't know.
"STOP CALLING HER A MUDBLOOD!" I roared, to nobody in particular. I couldn't have been thinking straight, because the next thing I knew, I had taken the long, nearly two inch thorn, and cut *my* hand with it. I grabbed Lily's injured hand and held it with my own, our blood mingling together as it flowed down onto the grass.
"THERE! HER BLOOD, MY BLOOD!" Breathing heavily, I added, in a lower, menacing voice, "Call her a mudblood, and you call *me* a mudblood. If *anyone* calls her a mudblood again. . ." I trailed off. Threats were always better left unsaid; it gave those who heard it more freedom to imagine the horrors of what could happen.
More calmly, I ripped a piece of cloth off my robe and wrapped it tightly around her hand. Severus stepped forward, and handed me a vial. "To stop the bleeding," he said quietly. It was probably meant for me (Slytherins very rarely gave help freely to anyone outside our own house) but I gave it to her anyway. For a moment, I almost thought he nodded , before he gave me another one exactly like the first. I hadn't known he was such a boy scout. I swallowed it, enjoying the strange, burning sensation go down my throat. When I looked down my hand, the bleeding had already stopped, although the gash was still there.
Lily refused to see Madame Pomfrey. She wanted the wound to heal 'the normal way'. I don't know why, but I did too.
I still have the scar. It suppose it was rather stupid of me, but I wanted it. To remember her by, maybe? But I hadn't known she was going to . . . *leave us* so soon. Maybe I was *meant* to have that scar. Maybe I *did* have my path carved out ahead of me, without me knowing it. And maybe that's just one too many maybes.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A/N: I think it's rather funny, how Lucius practically demands to control his own future ;)
Neni Potter-Thanks for the reviews! Yes, Lucius can be a little stupid sometimes ;) he's in that transition stage, to becoming the Lucius we see now, and so he's still got a bit of good. I'm glad you liked the story! : )
