Chapter 10: Right and Wrong
The storm raged on through the night, but by morning it had been reduced to dull gray clouds and a halfhearted sort of rain wholly unfit for the job of drenching them but nonetheless forced to pretend. Draco knew exactly how it felt.
He could feel the nudge of Olive's nose against his cheek, gently insistent until he opened his eyes. He could see the ceiling above him, hear his friends' sleepy murmurs around him as they rose with the soft, peaceful reluctance of early morning. His body could, at any rate. His head felt a bit like a lead balloon, heavy and hollow and not all there, and judging by the dull ache in his chest, his heart had likewise vanished overnight. He dressed with the profound impression of someone else controlling his limbs, and scarcely felt Theo's hand graze his shoulder as he paused in the doorway.
"All right?" He couldn't have said whether he nodded, but either way, Theo frowned. "C'mon," he said softly, and Draco allowed himself to be led up the stairs and into the Great Hall. Evidently it was still quite early, for the tables were quiet and sparsely populated. When Hermione joined them he could see the fresh anticipation of a new year mingling with her usual breathtaking beauty. He accepted her casual hug and clung to her warmth until she, too, asked whether he was all right. This, he supposed, was his cue to let go.
Theo and Hermione were talking about something, and although he could hear them, English no longer felt like his first language. And then, abruptly, he had the impression of being plunged headfirst into a vat of ice-cold water.
"...been saying it for years, you know," an unfamiliar voice was saying loudly. "Thank goodness the Bloody Baron put his foot down."
"Christ, Draco, watch it!" Theo. Seconds later, another wave of icy cold surrounded him; he tried to scream, but all he could manage was to look around in shock, and then he understood. Two ghosts hovered a few feet away, deep in conversation and blithely unaware they'd just taken ten years off Draco's life. One, wearing an elaborate ruff and a haughty expression, was Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor House ghost.
"Don't let the Fat Friar hear you talking like that," said the other, who Draco didn't recognize.
"Yes, well. His judgement's always a bit lax on these things, isn't it? That business in the kitchens yesterday, I ask you-the House-Elves will be campaigning for our removal, mark my words, and all because Peeves isn't fit for-"
A loud clang cleared some of the fog from Draco's head, and the tide of orange spreading across the tablecloth told him Hermione had knocked over her goblet. Theo leapt up with a startled shout, covered in pumpkin juice.
"What the fuck-"
"There are House-Elves?" Hermione interrupted. "Here at Hogwarts?"
"Yes," snapped Theo, looking at Hermione as if she'd gone mad. "What about it?" Hermione stared, dumbstruck.
"What d'you mean, 'what about it?'" she cried. "I-is this-I've never seen-have you?" she demanded, rounding on Draco. He shook his head slightly, thoroughly taken aback.
"Well, nor have I," Theo told her. "Not outside the kitchens, anyway, but that's the whole point of House-Elves, isn't it?" He glanced at his watch with an exasperated sigh. "If I'm not back when the bell rings, take my things to class," he snapped at Draco, then turned and shot off without waiting for a response. By the time Draco understood what Theo had said, he was gone.
"We haven't-he doesn't know which class we've got first thing, does he?" Draco asked Hermione. She frowned.
"No, he doesn't," she sniffed, as if she didn't think it was the proper time to be asking about class schedules. "Did you know there were House-Elves at Hogwarts?"
"I-no, I didn't." Draco paused. "It makes sense, though." Hermione drew back as if he'd slapped her.
"It certainly does not!" she said hotly. Draco frowned, lost.
"It's a great big castle, Hermione, and have you ever actually seen anyone cleaning it?"
"Well-no, I haven't, but…" she trailed off and glanced down at the table, and after a moment her eyes doubled in size and her face fell. "You can't conjure food from nothing," she said quietly, and the soft dismay in her voice brought him fully and abruptly back into the world around him. He'd do anything under the sun to bring back her smile.
"What's wrong?" Hermione glanced up at him, then gestured broadly down the table and at the room around them.
"This," she said stridently. "This isn't right, and no one-Draco, why am I the only one who's shocked to learn that Hogwarts keeps slaves?" He drew back slightly, startled.
"They aren't slaves," he countered at once. "Christ, Hermione."
"What are they, then?" she demanded.
"Well-servants, but-"
"Draco, what's it called when you've got a servant who you don't pay?!" snapped Hermione. Her eyes were alight again, but this time it was with a fury that smacked him in the face as the answer to her question punched him square in the chest.
"Unfortunately, Miss Granger," came the soft, cold voice of Snape from behind, making them both jump, "Professor McGonagall has not had the foresight to give your course schedule to me this morning. I must therefore ask that you return to the Gryffindor Table, where you belong." Hermione went pale.
"I-right," she stammered. "Of course, Professor, I'll-" she broke off, glanced at Draco, and made her way across the Hall to the Gryffindor Table. Draco watched her go, feeling much colder than he had a moment ago.
Hermione would've bet every penny she'd seen in her life on Ron's reaction to House-Elves in Hogwarts, and he didn't disappoint.
"Oh, come on," he groaned, before she'd finished speaking. "This isn't going to be another of your-your-" he snapped his fingers a few times, squinting up at the ceiling as if trying to remember a very difficult word.
"My what, exactly?" Hermione tried to snap, but it came out as more of a sigh.
"You know," said Ron carelessly, buttering himself some toast. "One of those things you're going to harp on about all year." Hermione opened her mouth to respond, furious, then closed it; what was the point? First Ginny, then Draco and Theo. If she was going to find an ally, it certainly wouldn't be Ron. They ate largely in silence until the bell rang, and Ron sprang up at once to join the usual stampede toward the exit. Hermione caught Harry's elbow as he made to follow.
"You're telling me," she said in an undertone, so Ron couldn't hear, "that this doesn't strike you as the slightest bit odd?" A strange look flickered over Harry's face, but it vanished within seconds and he shrugged.
"Well...maybe a bit," he hedged. "There's loads of odd stuff about the Wizarding World though, isn't there?" He swept off after Ron and Hermione watched him go, feeling as if the world were suddenly turning in the opposite direction. It wasn't the first time she felt at odds with something other wizards accepted as universal truth; however, enthusiasm for Quidditch was a far cry from what she could only regard as slavery.
For the first time in her living memory, Hermione wished the first day of lessons would go by more quickly. Obviously, asking her friends' opinions wouldn't do; as soon as earthly possible, she had to get to the library.
Her preoccupation lasted through one of the most unpleasant Herbology lessons she could remember attending, where she paid dearly for her inattention as Ron tipped thick, petrol-smelling Bubotuber pus over her bag. She'd only just managed to clean the mess when the bell rang, and found herself shaken firmly from her thoughts the second they reached Hagrid's cabin for Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid was standing over a few large wooden crates, beaming around and utterly unconcerned about the loud explosions coming from within and Fang's obvious desperation to get as far from the crates as possible.
"Mornin'!" he called jovially, waving a hand at them all. "Better wait fer the Slytherins, they won' want ter miss this." Lavender Brown took a tentative peek into the nearest crate, then recoiled with a yelp.
"Ugh, Hagrid, what are those things!"
"Blast-Ended Skrewts!" cried Hagrid, oblivious to the looks of horror on the faces of those nearest. "On'y just hatched!" Unable to resist, Hermione edged forward to peer into the crates, then found herself going the way of Lavender at once. They looked vaguely like headless, shell-less lobsters, with uneven numbers of legs protruding out all over their bodies and horribly similar in color to human flesh. The smell of rotting fish permeating the air around them was so thick that, upon returning to Harry and Ron, it took her a few gulps of fresh air to suppress the urge to vomit.
"What are they?" hissed Harry, face full of apprehension. Hermione opened her mouth to answer, found that she lacked the words to describe what she'd seen, and simply gave a halfhearted shrug.
"Thought yeh'd raise 'em yerselves!" Hagrid went on, oblivious to the class's increasing trepidation. "Make a bit of a project of it!"
"Tell me," said a voice in Hermione's ear, "that he isn't talking about those." The Slytherins had arrived, and Draco was staring at the nearest crate with the signature combination of revulsion and fear he reserved for Hagrid's lessons.
"Shove off, Malfoy," snapped Ron.
"Charming as that invitation is, I'll be staying, actually." His arm slipped a bit too tightly around her waist, and Ron muttered something highly unpleasant under his breath and stormed off to join Dean and Seamus at the other side of the class. Harry hesitated for a split second, opened his mouth as if to speak, seemed to think better of it at once, and followed Ron with an awkward sort of half-shrug at Hermione. Suddenly quite annoyed but unable to articulate why, Hermione jerked away from Draco at once.
"Just because they're not very pretty doesn't mean they aren't useful," she snapped. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, even if you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet." Draco raised an eyebrow.
"These things can be used in spells?" Hermione frowned, lost.
"Er-"
"Potions?"
"Well-I don't-"
"They cure infections?" Catching on, she rolled her eyes.
"He hasn't got around to that yet," she sniffed. To her immense chagrin, Draco turned to Hagrid.
"Why would we want to raise them?" he asked. Hagrid looked flummoxed. "I mean, what do they do?" Draco added, after a few seconds. For a moment, Hagrid furrowed his brow, clearly thinking very hard. Hermione stared very hard at a patch of grass a few feet away, unable to watch this excruciating spectacle.
"Tha's next lesson, Malfoy," said Hagrid finally. "Yeh're jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll want ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things-I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer. I've got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake-just try 'em out with a bit of each."
"I don't think they'll be near as useful as dragons," muttered Draco. Unable to suppress the suspicion that he was right, Hermione sighed.
"You don't think-" she broke off and bit her lip. "He didn't...invent them himself, did he?"
"That's exactly what I think," said Draco grimly. "And I'll bet everything I own that before the end of the lesson-"
"Ouch!" cried Dean Thomas, so loudly that quite a few people jumped. "It got me!" He held up his hand, which now bore a large and arrestingly red burn. Hagrid hurried over to examine it, and gave a knowing sort of shrug.
"Yeah, that can happen," he said grimly. "Yeh'll wanna watch out fer the ends-they explode, see? Ah, and some of 'em have got stings-I reckon they're the males...the females've got sorta suckers on their bellies-ter suck blood, see." Lavender gave a shriek and withdrew her hand from the crate. There was a moment of stunned silence. Hermione turned back to Draco, her earlier irritation replaced with a grim sort of helplessness.
"You'll bet everything you own," she said slowly, "that someone's hurt by the end of the lesson?"
Draco nodded, a curious expression on his face as if he wasn't sure whether to laugh or not; Hermione raised one eyebrow just enough to firmly answer this question in the negative.
No one was very keen to reach into the crates after that, opting instead to break into twos and threes and lounge in the grass as far from the Skrewts as possible. Harry and Ron alone made a few halfhearted attempts to follow Hagrid's directions, but soon gave up and spent the rest of the lesson talking to Hagrid instead. Draco gently led Hermione off to the base of a nearby tree, where he studied the leaves intently for a few moments before turning to her again, suddenly looking very serious.
"I haven't heard you mention them before," he said matter-of-factly. "House-Elves, I mean." A stab of defensiveness shot through her, but unlike Ron, Draco didn't look annoyed or dismissive. In fact, Hermione thought he looked as if someone had died.
"Draco, is everything all right?" He nodded, but the look in his eyes changed little.
"It's just. You'll be going to the library, I suppose?" Hermione nodded, perplexed.
"Yes, but-"
"Can I come with you?" She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the bell and the most coordinated mass exodus from a class she'd seen in her life as everyone all but sprinted for the castle.
"Of course. C'mon." They stood and started up the path, but they'd scarcely gone ten feet when they were jostled roughly apart by Dean and Seamus, who appeared to be looking everywhere except where they were going.
"Watch it!" snapped Draco, earning himself a very rude hand gesture from Dean.
"Watch yourself, Malfoy," growled Ron, coming up behind Seamus.
"Ron!" snapped Hermione, casting a desperate glance around for Harry-not that she expected he'd be much help, she thought bitterly.
"I like my chances," sneered Draco.
"Yeah, Daddy'll probably swoop in and do it for you, just like everything else." Harry swept carelessly past Draco and Hermione and prodded Ron sharply in the back. "C'mon, then, I'm not missing lunch for this." Hermione stood stunned for a moment, unsure whether to be grateful to Harry or irritated with the lot of them. She glanced at Draco and found him staring fixedly at the Quidditch stands in the distance, eyes narrowed slightly and jaw strangely ridgid. She reached for his hand, but he jerked away and started up the path, rather more quickly than before. Startled, Hermione leapt after him.
"Draco. For heaven's sake-Draco!" She caught him at last, and he sighed deeply as he turned to face her, as if she were inconveniencing him terribly. "My god, what's wrong?" she tried to soften her tone, but incredulity drove her voice up quite a bit higher than usual.
"Nothing," he said shortly, but slowed his pace considerably and allowed her to fall in step beside him.
"Draco," said Hermione slowly, suddenly forced to fight against a smile working its way onto her face. "You're not...are you...upset about what Harry said?" Draco looked at her as if he'd never heard anything quite so offensive in his life.
"No," he snarled, and turned his face sharply away as they passed through the oak front doors. Hermione took a few moments to grin to herself behind his back before hurrying to catch up. This time he allowed her to take his hand, and gave her a half-smile when she kissed his cheek.
"At least they're small," he sighed, leading the way up the stairs to the first floor. "The Skrewts?" Hermione groaned.
"Well, now, yes," she said wearily. "But once Hagrid's worked out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long."
"But it doesn't matter, does it?" asked Draco, mischief entering his eyes. "As long as they turn out to be useful." Hermione laughed.
"Oh, shut up!"
They dropped their voices as they entered the library, but nonetheless earned themselves a very suspicious look from Madam Pince which only disappeared when Hermione let go of Draco's hand and gave her the most demure smile she could muster. They found their old favorite spot by the window, and embarked on what quickly proved the most frustrating hour Hermione had ever spent in the Hogwarts library. A search for books on House-Elves turned up nothing; they were largely absent from books on magical creatures, rating at most a passing mention and a haughty note that they required little care from wizards.
"Maybe they're in Hogwarts, a History," suggested Draco, shutting a large book on Wizarding law of the 18th century with a sigh. Hermione's stomach squirmed; she couldn't believe this had yet to occur to her.
"They're not." Draco frowned.
"They could be."
"No, Draco, they're really not." She felt vaguely dizzy, the same way she did standing on a very high platform; Draco, meanwhile, still looked confused.
"You don't want to check?"
"I don't need to," she whispered. "I've read it a hundred times." He continued to study her intently for a few more moments, and then his expression shifted ever so slightly. He understood.
"It's not really an accident," he said quietly. "That we can't find anything here. Is it?"
"No, it isn't." This seemed grimmer to Hermione than if she'd read detailed accounts of heinous abuse, though she couldn't have said why. Draco was quiet for what seemed a very long time, and when he spoke again, he didn't look at her.
"I think...that you're right." He paused, as though trying to remember something very complicated or uncomfortable. "I-I wasn't sure before, but...well, I don't think, er...that they always want to do what they're told. I think they've got minds of their own." Hermione's immediate thought was to smack him over the head with her book for saying something so terribly obvious; then again, evidently it was obvious to her, and no one else.
"Right," she said finally. "What, er. What makes you say that?" To her surprise, Draco recoiled slightly as if she really had smacked him. After a few seconds' pause, she opened her mouth to prompt him but found herself interrupted by the bell. Draco leapt up immediately, visibly relieved, but Hermione wasn't to be deterred.
"Wait," she snapped, hurrying after him. "D'you-do you know something about this?"
"No," he said shortly, without turning around. "Not really."
"What's that mean, not really?" asked Hermione, and then stopped dead in her tracks the moment they cleared the library doors. They live with rich families as servants, Ginny had said, hadn't she? You'll mostly find them in old Wizarding families, passed down generation to generation.
"I'm sorry," she said, unable to keep the edge out of her voice. "Have you met a House-Elf?" Draco's face answered the question for him.
"All right, fine, yes, I have," he snapped. "I don't want to talk about it," he added, the second Hermione opened her mouth.
"Why the hell not?" she demanded, perplexed.
"Because we're going to be late to Ancient Runes," Draco told her, setting off once again down the corridor. "And since you decided to hand in that Time-Turner of yours, there'd be nothing we can do about it."
"So you'll want to talk about it after Ancient Runes?" Hermione pressed on.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't, all right, and-"
"You said I was right!" Hermione interrupted, beside herself. Draco sighed heavily and paused, giving the corridor a brief glance to ensure they were alone.
"Yes, I did." When he met her eyes, he didn't look angry; there was something else there, a strange combination of grief and admiration that stopped her in her tracks.
"Well, then…" she wasn't sure what else to say, and fell awkwardly silent.
"I said you're right, and I want to help you, and I will." He was speaking slowly and carefully, as if afraid of his words being misconstrued and later used against him. "But I promise you nothing about...the House-Elf that I've...met...is going to help you." He studied her intently for a few seconds. "D'you believe me?" She wasn't sure she did, but what could she say?
"I-well, yes, but-"
"All right, then." There was a pause, during which neither was sure what to do with their hands.
"You said I was right," Hermione repeated, and this time, a smile found its way onto her face. So what, really, if Ron or Harry or Ginny thought she'd gone mad?
"I say that almost daily," sighed Draco, but he was smiling slightly too.
"You do not."
"You aren't paying attention, then," countered Draco. She smirked.
"Are you saying I'm...wrong?" Draco rolled his eyes.
"At the moment I'm saying you're infuriating."
"Does that mean I can't have a kiss, then?"
"Yes. It does." He turned abruptly and continued down the corridor.
"And you say I'm infuriating!" she cried indignantly, rushing to catch up.
"And you're making us late to Ancient Runes!"
"Oh, we're not going to be late to Ancient Runes," scoffed Hermione, very much hoping he didn't spot her glance at her watch to check. Draco stopped very suddenly at the end of the corridor, just before the corner leading to their classroom. She yelped and made a desperate attempt to catch herself before smacking into him, but to her surprise he caught her with ease and grace that stopped her heart in her chest.
"I know," he said softly, and kissed her. "You really shouldn't have handed in that Time-Turner," he added, releasing her as the bell rang overhead. She waved this away and took his hand, leading him around the corner.
"We're going to be late to Ancient Runes."
Draco knew, the moment the bell released them from their last lesson of the day, that there was no question of joining his friends as they swept off to dinner. Really, there was only one place he possibly could go when his mind was in knots like this, and so he slipped silently away from the crowds and wandered up to the seventh floor, three times past the tapestry of the dancing trolls, and into the enormous room full of hidden things.
He wasn't sure whether Hermione really knew how profoundly she'd shaped his understanding of the world-wasn't sure he could ever adequately explain, wasn't sure she could understand even if he did. In any case, there was only one person who could possibly understand him now. Matilda. Matilda would know what to do.
When he reached the tower of birdcages, something gave him pause. It wasn't unusual for Draco to wonder whether the contents of the room had shifted a bit, a new piece of jewelry here, a pile of wine bottles there-after all, he couldn't possibly be the only one using the room. He'd always been quite certain, however, that Matilda's corner remained untouched each time he visited it. So why, as he drew nearer, couldn't he escape the distinct feeling that something was different? Even more disturbing, why on earth couldn't he say what it was?
All the birdcages were there; there was the chest of gemstones; the silk scarf remained perfectly in place. Unless-heart hammering now, he reached out a shaking hand and timidly removed it, suddenly afraid to look until the very last second...no, there was the book. He snatched it from the cage with an audible sigh of relief, replaced the scarf, and gave the corner another brief glance before shrugging and pocketing the book. Hell if he knew; he was probably just imagining things. He turned his back firmly on the cages and wandered away a few paces, coming to a stop in front of a large black cabinet. The intricate carvings on the doors looked vaguely familiar, but he quickly dismissed them and sank down against it, absentmindedly stroking the book's cover and gazing up at the rafters without really seeing them.
Draco, what's it called when you've got a servant who you don't pay?!
He hadn't been lying, Hermione was right. It was just...more complicated than that. It had to be. Because…
Because if it's not, began a nasty little voice in the back of his head, then Dobby never actually loved you, did he?
"Fuck's sake!" he cried aloud, and threw the book to the floor as if it were responsible for his current predicament. There was no need to be dramatic; he'd never actually thought the Elf loved him in the first place, he wasn't stupid.
Aren't you, though? whispered the voice. Who'd read with him when he was too little and stupid to do it himself? Who'd taught him to tie his shoes-and his ties, for that matter? Who'd tucked him into bed far past the age this could be considered acceptable, cared for him when he was hurt or ill? Who'd...He shook his head irritably.
Obviously, it was wrong to keep servants without paying them. Obviously, it was wrong to force magical creatures to do wizards' bidding against their will. Fucking obviously.
And yet...if his parents hadn't kept Dobby, who would've raised Draco?
Hermione was right. Which brought him back to Matilda. He picked up the book again and stared at it for a moment, taking in the little girl's wise, thoughtful expression. Hermione was right. But if he'd never picked up her book, that fateful first-year Potions lesson...he shuddered. Even unfinished, the thought hurt him so badly it took a moment before he could breathe again.
Hermione was right, but what would she say if she knew…
If she knew the only one to ever love you only did it because he was forced?
Tears stung his eyes, and for a moment he fought bitterly against them, but it was no use; he was exhausted, and then the cover melted before his eyes and another took its place.
He was reading The Witches deep into the night.
Dobby is bound to serve his masters until he dies, Sir. The Elf's hands were covered in filthy makeshift bandages, burned to a crisp underneath. Dobby is bound to keep their secrets and his silence for Young Master's parents, Sir. But if Young Master's secret is that he cares for his friend, Sir, then Dobby is proud to keep his secrets and his silence for Young Master, Sir.
He'd cried then, hadn't he? Because, already, he'd known. Hadn't he?
Do not be sad, Young Master.
He didn't pick himself up from the floor until he was absolutely certain he could create a passable impression of simple annoyance with homework. As he laid the cover over the birdcage once again, the chest of gemstones gave him pause. Was he imagining things, or wasn't there normally a tiara on top?
When he reached the common room, Pansy greeted him with a highly affronted look.
"Theo's not with you," she said sharply. Draco paused, taken aback and unsure how to respond. Daphne, on the other hand, groaned.
"He'll turn up, Pansy. Sorry," she added to Draco, removing a large stack of books from the chair between herself and Blaise. "You're just in time. We're having a laugh because Pansy's got homework and we haven't."
"Get bent," snapped Pansy, scribbling a few words toward the bottom of a roll of parchment and rolling it up with a flourish. "I'm finished, so actually, he's late." She rolled up a large and complicated-looking star chart, revealing the tabletop underneath. "Where's Theo?" Draco raised an eyebrow.
"I'd know because…?"
"Well, you two always…" Blaise made a vague gesture in the air in front of him. "Y'know. Know things about one another." Draco frowned and smacked Blaise's hand out of the air.
"Sorry to disappoint."
"Where've you been, then?" asked Pansy, stowing her parchment in her bag. Daphne gave her a knowing smirk.
"You have to ask?" Blaise snickered, and Pansy rolled her eyes.
"How could I forget," she muttered listlessly.
"Forget what?" Theo swept into the room and threw himself down in the remaining chair.
"You!" cried Pansy at once. "Where've you been? I had to do the whole Divination homework myself, which took ages, and-"
"Oh, that," Theo interrupted, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Let me copy, will you?" Pansy looked at him as if he'd asked her to cut off her own head.
"I certainly will not," she snapped.
"What if I told you I've been crystal gazing, and saw you letting me copy?"
"I'd call you a liar."
"Oh, go on," groaned Theo. "I know you've got that...that stupid...star chart thing? For my birthday?"
"Why on earth would I have that?" said Pansy cooly. "I was born in November."
"Yes, but you think I'm hopeless and pretty," Theo insisted. At this, Blaise snorted and Draco and Daphne shared a smirk.
"I think you're hopeless and something," muttered Pansy, but she reached into her bag and snatched out another roll of parchment, which she smacked Theo around the head with before handing it to him. He grinned and unfurled the chart, then sighed deeply.
"Right, so Neptune's in the seventh house-"
"Eleventh," Pansy interrupted, without glancing at it. Theo rolled his eyes.
"Fine, the eleventh. What does that mean?"
"That you're an idiot."
"Oh, go on, let me copy yours." Pansy raised an eyebrow.
"You wouldn't need to, would you, if you hadn't been off doing god-knows-what." Theo smirked.
"But of course, your Inner Eye would've told you what I was off doing," he said sardonically.
"Oh, fuck off," moaned Pansy.
"It means I'll lose a treasured possession, then," Theo decided, snatching a roll of parchment from his bag and scribbling something at the top.
Pansy muttered something that started with oh and ended with sake and buried her nose in Witch Weekly.
Blaise poked Draco in the ribs and held out an Exploding Snap deck; Draco shrugged, and by the time Blaise had utterly massacred him, Theo had set aside his parchment and begun to watch.
"Ha!" cried Blaise, as the last card nearly singed his fingers.
"Yeah, yeah, you're brilliant," said Draco, giving him a light shove. "At this asinine children's game, and nothing else." He turned to Theo, seized his parchment, and found himself reading a ridiculous and obviously made-up litany of suffering spanning the whole of the following month.
"You seem to be dying three times. No-four," he added quickly, spotting the last entry. Theo looked scandalized and made a grab for the parchment, but Draco withheld it.
"On the fifteenth, you're drowning in the lake," he began. "Think you're safe from that one, as I've never seen you anywhere near the lake…" Daphne snickered. "Three days later, you're mauled by an angry manticore," Draco went on. "And it's worth noting that the following day, you've predicted you'll be betrayed by someone you thought was your friend." He paused here to give Theo a good, long smirk. "But if we were really friends, you might've warned me about the manticore."
"Oh, shut up," groaned Theo, as Blaise and Daphne laughed. Draco cleared his throat for effect and read on.
"And then, on the twenty-third, you die falling a hundred feet off a broom...well, you're not borrowing my broom, so don't get any ideas….and on the last of the month, you're having your head cut off, though it doesn't say how." He laid aside the parchment, more thoroughly amused than he could remember being in quite some time.
"Maybe the manticore comes back for another go," mused Blaise, flipping the page in his book.
"Don't be ridiculous, that isn't how manticores kill," Daphne countered.
"Oh, and October has thirty-one days, not thirty," Draco added, handing Theo's parchment back. "So you're one prediction short." Theo gave him a look that very clearly wished him all four of the grisly deaths he'd predicted.
"If I change the first one to losing a bet…" he muttered, scribbling furiously.
"You should change the manticore to one of those Skrewt things," Blaise suggested. "We're all likely to be mauled by one of them, aren't we?"
"Ugh, don't say that," Daphne admonished with a shudder.
"Maybe I'll change it to this conversation," Theo retorted, snatching up his bag. "This is ridiculous. I'm going to bed."
"She'll know!" Pansy called after him.
"She won't!" Theo replied, throwing a very rude hand gesture over his shoulder as he disappeared down the corridor. Struck by a sudden impulse, Draco followed.
"Oy!" called Blaise indignantly. "Come back here, it's time for a rematch!"
"You don't ask for a rematch when you win, you idiot," said Daphne's voice.
"You do if you want to win again," Blaise retorted, and Draco closed the dormitory door on Daphne's reply. He shoved Olive away from his pillows as usual, and threw himself down on his bed.
"Where were you, then?" he asked, without looking at Theo. The latter paused for a few moments.
"I was crystal gazing," he said lazily. "And saw Pansy letting me copy her homework. I don't have the gift, I suppose." And he drew his hangings shut, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts and a bad-tempered cat.
