Chapter 10: Punishments (Or Lack There-Of)

It wasn't until Draco laid in bed that night he thought with any depth on the situation. He had a girlfriend. It made Draco feel foreign inside his body. Although Sophie said they didn't have to do anything other than sit together, there were couples in Slytherin that made their relationships apparent. Would this eventually mean that Sophie expected Draco to dance with her? Would Sophie want to snog?

That made Draco panic until he soothed himself with the fact that this was not a real thing. They were only pretending so that Daphne and Goyle would get close enough for something to take.

Draco had told Crabbe and Goyle when he sat back down that he and Sophie were going together. He heard the awkwardness in his own voice about it, but they didn't seem to clue in. Sophie had apparently told the other Slytherin girls at some point before breakfast the next morning, because all five were very giggly.

"Can I steal your seat?" Sophie asked Goyle. "I want to sit beside Draco."

"Oh—sure." Goyle blinked. "Er. . ."

He looked around for somewhere else to sit. The only nearby space was on the other side of the table, to Daphne's left. Goyle moved his plate over there before getting up to go around. Draco had to press his lips to keep from laughing about how red Daphne went in the face. It didn't help that Sophie elbowed him, having noticed too.

Goyle didn't. He listened to the conversation Draco, Crabbe, Sophie, and Tracey struck up. Daphne didn't seem to be following it at all. Her gaze stuck to her plate as if someone had charmed it there. She'd completely panicked, even jumping when Goyle accidentally bumped their arms together. She squeaked out an 'It's all right', when he apologized.

Draco didn't dare pass Sophie a note in lessons until they'd all taken a seat in front of a stammering Quirrell. While his back was turned, Draco set the folded piece of parchment on the desk behind his.

So why Goyle? he'd asked.

He's like a teddy bear, Sophie wrote back. And she likes how he defends you when Theo's being dumb.

Draco waited for Sophie to gather her things when the bells for lunch went. They all ate together. It went like breakfast, although Daphne and Goyle didn't end up beside each other this time. Draco couldn't help but notice how much Daphne's gaze darted to him while they ate, though. It was a similar story when the six of them opened their books back up in the common room.

Goyle just wasn't getting it. Draco wanted to borrow Flint's broomstick so that he could hit Goyle over the head with it. He, Crabbe, and Goyle had the dorm to themselves when they went to trade out their books for telescopes.

"Goyle." Draco's annoyance was audible. "How thick can you get?"

"Er. . ." Goyle's eyebrows knitted together as he searched Draco for a legitimate answer to that rhetorical question. "Sorry? What did I do?"

"Have you really not noticed that Daphne fancies you?"

The effect spread over Goyle in slow motion. His brow smoothed out with help from his widening eyes. As if he hung upside down, blood flooded into his face. Draco could almost feel the heat coming off his cheeks.

"She does?" he quietly asked. "How do you know?"

"It's plainly obvious," Draco drawled. "If you had taken one look at her today, you would have been able to tell."

Goyle looked over at Crabbe, who shrugged and looked at Draco. "I noticed. Thought it might be rude to say something."

"There you have it," Draco said. "Everyone knew except you. Well, I suppose you do now. So what are you going to do?"

"What am I. . .?"

"Are you going to ask her to go with you, or not?"

"Yeah," Crabbe spoke. "D'you like her?"

"I. . ." Goyle's mouth opened and closed a few times. "I mean, she's cute, yeah? I didn't—I never thought about it. . ."

"God, you really are a big teddy bear." Draco rolled his eyes. "Watch her when we head up to the Astronomy tower. You'll see what we mean. She could light the grounds up with how bright her face goes."

Not even Goyle could miss it during their midnight lesson. He didn't say anything about it when Draco prompted him on their way back down to the dungeons. Draco also heard him tossing and turning in his bed before they all finally settled down into sleep.

Such a late night left Draco sleepy at the Slytherin table next morning. Even though his eyes watered while he violently yawned, he couldn't miss six owls bringing a long parcel down to the Gryffindor table. The flushed look of excitement on Potter and Weasley's faces propelled the alarms that started to go off in Draco's head.

"Let's go early to History of Magic," Draco told Crabbe and Goyle.

Sophie followed them out of the Great Hall, along with Daphne and Tracey. Draco managed to convince them to go on ahead. The echoes of their footsteps had only just faded away when Potter and Weasley emerged with that package in hand.

Draco snatched it. He barely had to crinkle the parcel's brown wrapping to confirm his suspicion.

"That's a broomstick." Draco threw it back. "You'll be for it this time, Potter. First-years aren't allowed them."

"It's not any old broomstick," Weasley piped up in a boastful tone that did not befit him. "It's a Nimbus Two-Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy? A Comet Two-Sixty? Comet's look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it?" Draco scowled. "Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle. I suppose you and your brothers have to save up, twig by twig—"

Draco caught movement out the corner of his eye. He looked down to his right, then took a step away.

Professor Flitwick looked between them all. "Not arguing, I hope, boys?"

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," Draco told him.

"Yes! Yes, that's right." Professor Flitwick lit up. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two-Thousand, sir." The smugness in Potter's tone—that he was getting away with this after Draco had spent half the summer trying to convince his father to see about him being allowed his—about made Draco want to toss in rage. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it."

That proclamation rooted Draco's feet to the spot as Potter, Weasley, and Professor Flitwick all went on their ways. Eventually, Crabbe poked Draco in the arm.

"We should get to History of Magic," he said.

Draco's mind raced the entire way there. He took down notes during the lesson, but failed to actually recall anything that Binns droned on about. His distraction followed him to Defence, where Draco's mind was more free to wander. In Charms, when he saw Professor Flitwick again, a theory developed. By the end of Herbology in the afternoon, Draco figured he had it all sorted.

The seventh-years had Herbology right after the first-years on Tuesdays. Draco's eyes widened when he spotted Higgs among them.

"All right?" Higgs asked when Draco marched up to him.

"No," Draco practically snapped. "I need to speak with you later. And Flint. Does he have a lesson right now?"

Higgs hummed, lips bunched to one side in thought. "Double Charms, I think."

"Meet me at the pitch at four, then."

With a jerk of Draco's head to Crabbe and Goyle, the three of them were off to the castle. Flitwick didn't teach fifth-year Charms in the same classroom as the first-years. They only had to wander a bit further down the Charms corridor before they heard a spirited din through an open door.

Draco poked his head in. They were doing a practical lesson, changing the colours of each other's hair. Professor Flitwick was instructing someone up at the front with his back turned. Draco told Crabbe and Goyle to stay put before darting in.

Flint was in the back row. His skin looked jarringly more olive than usual when he sported neon green hair. Matching eyebrows rose when he spotted Draco. "Malfoy? What're—?"

"Pitch at four," Draco said quickly with a glance at Ellie Selwyn, Flint's practice partner. "I need to speak with you as soon as possible."

"Should I be worried, or. . .?"

"No," Draco replied. "Definitely not. But you need to hear this."

He stormed off. After a couple hours of further stewing, Draco headed for the Quidditch pitch. Higgs was already there. He leaned against the wall beside the changing room door.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Flint knows to meet us," was all Draco would say for now.

Soon enough, Flint arrived. He still had his bag from class, and a few of his individual eyebrow hairs remained different colours. Draco spotted pink and blue ones among the black.

"In here," he said, pulling his changing room key out. Once he and Higgs had sat down inside, he pulled his tie loose. "All right, Malfoy. Out with it. What's the emergency?"

"Gryffindor—" Draco spat, pacing in front of them, "—has found a Seeker."

"Oh?" Flint straightened with interest. "Who?"

"Harry bloody Potter."

Both Flint and Higgs blinked. Their brows wrinkled in confusion.

"Potter?" Flint repeated. "He's a first-year. He's not even allowed a—"

"Oh, there are apparently special circumstances," Draco cut him off. "Did you not see that parcel Potter received this morning? It was a broomstick. And Flitwick said it himself, he heard from McGonagall that there was some sort of exception. You remember what I told you happened in Flying class last week?"

Both nodded.

"He didn't get punished by McGonagall at all. She made him Seeker!" Draco kept on. "I swear it! I know it!"

Flint narrowed his eyes. "Wood has seemed to have gotten his will to live back. . ."

Higgs snorted. "You know what? I hope you're right, Malfoy. It would be an absolute honour to wipe this pitch with the Boy Who Lived."

Flint wasn't completely sold, but Draco only had to wait until eight o'clock that evening for vindication. He played a chess match against Sophie when Flint and Higgs leaned over the back of the chair on either side of him to relay the news.

"Figured Wood wouldn't want to wait if he had someone new to test out." Flint's eyes gleamed. "Couple Disillusionment Charms, and we didn't miss a thing."

"I'll give Potter this: he's not a terrible flyer," Higgs added. "He's only two weeks to train before our match, though. There's no way Wood will have him ready by then for proper play."

"Nimbus Two-Thousand under his arse or not." Flint ruffled Draco's hair. "Thanks for the warning. There's a sharp little mind inside this bloated head."

Well, if Draco couldn't manage in getting Potter expelled, seeing him publicly embarrassed was a strong contender for his satisfaction. Draco had already been looking forward to the first Quidditch match of the season.

The Slytherin team added an extra practice a week in preparation. Draco headed out there with them on Friday. When he left the pitch, Sophie stood among the gaggle of everyone else's girlfriends and boyfriends. Draco tried not to notice that the rest of the team greeted theirs with hugs, kisses, and the touching of hands.

"Hi," he cautiously greeted Sophie.

"I have something exciting to tell you," Sophie said as they started walking together ahead of everyone else. "Gregory just asked Daphne to go with him."

Draco's eyebrows popped up. "About bloody time. God, all week, he's been fretting about it."

"I think he just meant to ask her to the Quidditch match, but Daphne got too excited." Sophie laughed a little. "They sorted it out, anyway."

"Good."

Had Sophie not informed Draco before they reached the common room, he wouldn't have even been able to tell anything had changed. Goyle and Daphne sat beside each other, but a sizeable gap existed between them. They were both too shy to hardly look at each other.

Despite this, Draco couldn't remember ever seeing Goyle so happy in recent times. He wasn't really much one just to smile for the sake of it, but a little one remained present when he followed Draco and Crabbe to the dorm for bed.

Maybe because Draco's eyelids were heavy with sleep, he was more confused than put on alert when met with aggression upon crossing the threshold. Nott had jumped up from his bed, apparently sitting in wait.

"You're a real, proper arse." Nott pointed at Goyle. "I hope you know that."

"Huh?" Goyle replied. "What did I do?"

"You knew I fancied her. I told you in the summer!"

Goyle frowned, taken aback. "You expect me to remember that?"

"Didn't see Nott's name on her, did you, Goyle?" Draco piped up.

Nott rounded on him. "You stay out of—"

"Don't call him an arse." Draco stepped in front of Goyle. "You said something in summer? You can't bagsy a person."

"And what did you have to do with this?" Nott shot at him.

"Other than I was the first one to notice Daphne fancied Goyle. . ." Draco paused, letting the full sting of that revelation settle in, "—not a thing. I was at Quidditch when Goyle asked her to go with him. It was all him. Don't be pissy because you could never drum up the same guts he just did."

The look that Nott gave Draco ought to have combusted him into flames. Rather, Nott flung the curtains shut around his bed and fell quiet.

Draco ended up brushing his teeth next to Crabbe in the bathroom mirror. He nearly toppled sideways when Crabbe elbowed him.

"For the record," Crabbe mumbled through a foamy mouth. "I noticed that Daphne fancied Goyle before you did."

Draco rolled his eyes, unable to smirk for the moment. "Go on, then."

By the end of the weekend, Goyle and Daphne had gathered enough courage to take a walk around the school grounds by themselves. They'd calmed down by mid-week, their cheeks no longer resembling two pairs of gala apples whenever they interacted. When the Halloween feast arrived the following Thursday, they decided to sit off by themselves.

"It's going well, isn't it?" Sophie asked Draco.

"I'd say so."

The two of them didn't hang out as much now, spare to do their homework. It was just as well anyway that Draco and Sophie call things off. Their going together had served its purpose.

Draco opened his mouth to say something about it, then thought perhaps it was better to do so in a more private place. He returned to his glazed lamb, suddenly aware of a hush washing over the Great Hall like a wave. All that remained to be heard was a single pair of footsteps.

Professor Quirrell braced himself against the High Table in front of Dumbledore. "Troll in the dungeons. Thought you ought to know."

Draco dropped his fork. Everyone around him started talking loudly, stopping only when the bang and sizzle of firecrackers forced them to.

"Prefects," Dumbledore filled the new silence with a bigger voice than Draco ever considered him capable of. "Lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

"Is he mad?" Draco heard someone say nearby. "What're we supposed to do if we run into the thing, tangle with it?"

"Bollocks—"

"All right everyone," Bletchley called from where he stood. "No need to panic. First- and second-years with me and Jules. Come along, now."

Draco found himself quite fond of Bletchley all of a sudden. He crowded in close with the others.

"Sixth- and seventh-years, wands out," Bletchley said. "Fifth-years too, if you've learned the Stunning Spell yet. If we run into the troll. . .several of those at once ought to do it."

"Is that likely?" Draco had to ask.

"Nah." Bletchley met his gaze. "We'll smell it long before crossing its path. Just stay close."

It was definitely the slowest trip ever down to the dungeons. Draco had grown used to the distance over the past few months. He'd never realized just how many enclosed corridors it took to reach the common room. He really did not like the idea of being stuck in one of them with a troll.

They came to one of the more open areas of the dungeons. Draco's stomach dropped when an awful smell touched his nostrils.

"Don't panic," Julia told them all. "Trust me, if you're not tossing, there's still some distance between it and us."

Bletchley looked back over the first-years' heads, then gestured someone over. "Farley, Blishwick."

Gemma Farley and Spencer Blishwick, the sixth-year prefects, pushed their way forward through the crowd.

"Stay here with everyone," Bletchley told them. "Jules and I are going to see if the troll is between here and the common room, or if it's off toward Dungeon Five."

They split off, Julia heading straight and Bletchley to the left. Bletchley disappeared around a corner. Before Julia had left view, Bletchley returned. He'd gone pale.

"Keep on for the common room," he said needlessly. "Farley, Blishwick, if you would catch everyone up to Jules, I'm going to find a professor."

Juno landed in front of Draco at breakfast, carrying a short note tied with a red ribbon:

Draco,

I was alerted last night regarding the troll, and will be at Hogwarts for an emergency governors' meeting this afternoon.

I would like to see you.

Father

"Aw, no sweets today?" Crabbe asked.

"It's from my father, not Mum," Draco replied. "Too bad, I ran out of everything last night."

He'd raided his stores. All the sweets made for something decent to pass around with his friends after they finished eating dinner in the common room. The older students had summoned Firewhisky for themselves, and were handing out Butterbeer to the younger ones. Draco had drank his fill of that as well, to the point of his stomach holding the ghost of an ache this morning.

Father hadn't given Draco a time or place to meet up, so he assumed that meant three o'clock in 7F again. He found his father alone there.

"Hullo," Draco announced himself. "Have you been waiting long?"

"The meeting only ended about ten minutes ago." Father stopped shuffling through parchment and closed them in a folder. He set his glasses on the table while Draco took a seat.

"You all talked about the troll?" Draco asked. "Did anyone figure out how it got in? We smelled it, you know, on the way to the common room. Devon Bletchley and Julia Montague had to make sure it wasn't in our way."

"Is that so?" Father hummed. "Funny, Dumbledore never mentioned that."

"I don't know if he knew." Draco ran his fingertips over the grain of wood on the table's edge. "We were only with the prefects, and Bletchley said he was going to find someone to show them where the troll was."

"I wonder if he was the one to direct McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell in the right direction." Father's eyebrows jumped on his forehead before resettling. "You have a girl in your year named Hermione Granger, yes?"

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. "The Gryffindor know-it-all."

"Well, Little Miss Know-It-All considered herself a match for a mountain troll. She might have died last night, had Harry Potter and a Weasley not rescued her."

Draco grunted. "For someone that acts so smart, she sure is stupid."

"Indeed." Father crossed his legs. "Thankfully, you have more sense than that."

"It's called a will to live, I think."

Father laughed, which made Draco smile. He returned to seriousness rather quickly. "What else is new for you? You must be too busy to write."

"Er, yeah, sorry." That was mostly true, although sometimes Draco just didn't feel like writing for any reason at all when he had a free moment between homework and note-taking. "Erm, oh—I'm training for Quidditch. Did I tell you that? Terence Higgs has been Seeker since he was a third-year, and he's finished here in June. Flint said there's no talent he's seen for Seekers, so it would be me in trials against whatever first-years might turn out. Flint and Higgs think I'm pretty good. Good enough for the team, anyway."

"We'll have to get you a new practice Snitch for the summer, so you can keep on it."

"Did you hear that Potter's allowed a broomstick?"

"Is he?" Father drawled. "How interesting."

Draco filled him in about everything to do with Potter getting on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and all of his special treatments. He hadn't yet told Father about what happened on the train, although Father had already heard about the rat bite through Goyle's parents.

"I mentioned it to Arthur Weasley when I passed him by at the Ministry, so I'm absolutely certain those involved saw consequences." The sardonic look Father leveled at Draco spoke to the complete opposite. "He surely wouldn't have been so rude as to snicker once he believed I was out of earshot. He must have only been trying to suppress a coughing fit."

"Family like that, they'll probably talk about it for years yet to come," Draco said with a fresh roll of the eyes. "Their finest moment, the complete lot of savages. The one in my year, he's pining for a fight. Crabbe and Goyle wish he would."

Father chuckled. "Which one is that? I lost my familiarity with the children's names after the first handful."

"I haven't a clue." Draco shrugged. "There's four of them around. The prefect with the big head, there's twins, and then. . .I don't know, Miscellaneous Weasley, maybe that's his name."

"Far too distinguished. Arthur and Molly preferred common names for their brood." Father studied Draco with a fond smile. "You're developing a sharp little tongue, aren't you? I'm slightly shocked you've yet to find trouble for it."

"Nobody dares, with Crabbe and Goyle around."

"What about Theodore?"

Draco scoffed and kicked a foot so that the sole of his shoe scuffed the stone floor. "Piss on him."

"You boys aren't getting along?"

"He's a prat. He hangs out with Blaise instead of us now. Blaise is all right, but Nott can choke on an owl pellet for all I care."

"Do at least try and be civil, won't you?" Father replied. "I suspect we won't see Montgomery as much now that your grandfather is gone, but I would prefer to remain on good terms. Your mother greatly enjoys Deidra's company, and we have special responsibilities to Theodore."

It was a bit late for that, but. . .

"I'll do my best," Draco promised. "We had it out with him, so we're probably just going to avoid each other from now on."

"What did you fight about?"

"He was upset Goyle asked Daphne to go with him, because he fancies her."

Father tilted his head, holding his chin. "Gregory has a girlfriend? Aleksandra or Edwin never mentioned."

"He maybe hasn't told them yet. It's only a new thing. Goyle might have to get over himself about the whole thing first."

"Daphne's a good choice. A good girl."

"Yeah, she's all right," Draco agreed. "Really nice."

Father's eyes narrowed slightly in thought. "What about you?"

Draco furrowed his brow. "Me?"

"Don't you have a girlfriend?"

Father asked that in a slow, careful way. As Draco blinked at him, a weight started to make itself known around his stomach. Something in the room—something between them—changed. The light nature had evaporated, leaving a dryness that seemed intent to rob Draco's mouth of moisture.

"Erm, not really," Draco said. "We only decided to go together so that Goyle and Daphne would. I was going to tell her last night it's off now that's all on, but I forgot after everything with the troll."

"Hm."

"Should I have said something about it?"

"I hear she's Muggle-born."

"It's not real," Draco repeated, although this didn't really seem to move his father. "She's not a Mudblood, or anything. It's the one I told you about. Sophie. We just wanted our friends to go together, and Daphne was too embarrassed to sit with me and Crabbe and Goyle for any other reason. We never did anything. We didn't even hold hands. Honest."

"I don't think you would lie to me, Draco." Father clarifying that made Draco feel better. "It was just slightly concerning to hear. There are lines of acceptability when it comes to a boy with blood like yours mingling with someone whose by comparison is nugatory."

Draco hated having cocked up without realizing it. His chest felt raw, as if his heart had sprung nailed fingers to claw at the inside of his rib cage. "I thought you said she seemed like one of the good ones."

"Lines of acceptability," Father repeated with a reassuring pat on Draco's forearm. "You hold a lot of power in your hands, Draco. You're the only child in both my bloodline and your mother's. The last Malfoy. The last Black. Centuries worth of proud lineage from two noble families rest on the decisions you'll make in your life."

"I know." Still, the reminder made Draco nervous. "That didn't have anything to do with this."

"Of course not. You're eleven. I doubt we'll be discussing things like that for a few years yet."

Draco's cheeks and neck burned, despite Father's nonchalant tone.

"Although, clearly you're not too young for a girlfriend. I suppose that depends if there's anyone yet you truly fancy."

"Not really. No," Draco corrected himself. "I don't know about any of it, really. I didn't even think about it until Sophie talked to me about Daphne and Goyle."

"One thing I'll give this girl is she has an early talent for politics." Father's eyes narrowed again as he studied Draco. "Did she ever mention a personal gain to be going with a pureblood?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember last we spoke, I told you she would have to earn her keep?" Father asked, to which Draco nodded. "I doubt there are a handful of Muggle-borns in Slytherin house. She would put herself above the rest by having an attachment to someone like you."

Draco bunched his lips to the side. "She never mentioned that, no."

"Maybe she didn't consider it," Father said. "Or she didn't want you to think of the inverse, what going with a Muggle-born could potentially mean for a pureblood."

"Nobody's said anything, or treated me any different." Sophie had laid out the advantages for Draco to go along with it, but she never said anything about her own. "I don't know. Maybe she did. It doesn't matter anyway. We'll be off soon enough."

"If that's your decision."

It already had been before Draco came up here, but talking to his father about it made it feel less so. It reminded him of skipping his vegetables for last at dinner, and then being told to eat them even though he fully intended to.

"I feel sort of stupid I didn't think about all that before agreeing to go with her." Draco spoke more to his hands. "I was just thinking about Daphne and Goyle."

"That tells me you understand what I mean by acceptable lines," Father replied. "There are definite advantages to getting on well with Muggle-borns. For myself, after the coolness I've received following the war, it's difficult to make the case I'm prejudiced when I treat them in a friendly manner."

"Right."

"To put it rather bluntly, not every Muggle-born is a Mudblood, but every Mudblood is Muggle-born." Father held his chin again, his elbow on his chair's armrest. "Just like with purebloods and blood traitors, the difference is attitude."

Draco's stomach soured again at the idea of his father finding reason to ever call him a blood traitor. He didn't think he would be able to handle it. The very thought almost made his eyes prickle.

"I'm sorry," he said under his breath.

"You've nothing to apologize for." Father reached over again. This time, he left his hand on Draco's arm after squeezing it. It was warm through Draco's shirt. "You're still young. It's my responsibility to ensure you have all the information you need. That's why we're having this discussion."

"I never want to let you down." At that, Draco's eyes did blur.

"Hey." Father's voice softened. "Look at me."

The edges of him were fuzzy in Draco's vision. He sniffled.

"I'm not disappointed," Father said. "You're being far too hard on yourself."

"Okay." Draco was happy not to have invoked some sort of ire, but he still felt bad. He knew how important this was, and it hadn't even crossed his mind for the two weeks he and Sophie were some sort of couple. "I only ever want you to be proud of me."

"I am. Come here."

They both stood. Draco buried his face against his father's chest, taking a calming breath within the hug. Father smelled like the manor house. It brought up a different kind of feeling inside him—homesickness. Somewhere in that scent was Mum too. With a pang, Draco realized it had been two months since he last saw her. He was at least over halfway now to the Christmas holidays.

Father running a rhythmic hand over Draco's hair soothed that ache. "Feel better?"

Nodding, Draco mindfully loosened his grip on the back of Father's robes.

"I was supposed to give you that from your mother, anyway." With another squeeze and a chuckle, Father let Draco go. He held him by the shoulders instead. "Chin up, hm? There's no harm done—no reason not to carry your head high."

A/N: And the Father of the Year Award goes to. . .