"Maybe I could go alone?"
"Or maybe you could try to look like less of a loser."
"Blaise!"
"What? I'm just telling you what everyone will think," Blaise shrugs even still with a smirk on his handsome face as Mallory grimaces as the prospect of being mocked by the populus of Hogwarts for the rest of the year. "They'll think no one asked you."
"I've been asked by three people, actually."
On this particular Sunday afternoon, with their homework completed hours ago in the corner of the nowadays popular library, Blaise had suggested a walk around the lake, rather than to spend the rest of their Sunday afternoon in the company of the Slytherins they disliked. Mallory agreed to avoid Draco, realising she is probably enabling Blaise's own avoidance of Amara. With her fur hat securely protecting her ears, she can't help but remember the last time she'd worn the hat and walked around the lake. Though smiling now, she can't help but wonder if the last time she'd been around Fred Weasley had been the last time that her cheeks had ached and her heart had vibrated against her rib cage. Has it really been three weeks since their last fleeting conversation at the bar of the Three Broomsticks? Even longer still since their secluded evening walk around the very lake that Blaise and Mallory shiver their way around.
She suddenly realises she's romanticizing someone she's only had three conversations with.
"What about you?" Mallory asks, turning her attention back to her best friend. He meets her gaze with an inquisitive, confused look. "How many proposals to the Yule Ball have you received now? You must be up to 50% of the Hogwarts population."
"And throw in 25% of Beauxbatons." He grins mischievously.
"I'd say that 75% of Durmstrang is most impressive." She grins back, letting the sky turn whiter as their laughs come out in clear fog around them, dancing in belly-tickling laughs until Blaise clears his throat, as if about to take the conversation much more seriously.
"Everytime someone asks me, I'm left wondering if they're asking me for me, or for the Zabini allure."
"Well, your entire personality Blaise is your Zabini allure."
"I'm being serious."
"Okay, sorry." She holds her mitten-covered hands up in defence. "I get what you mean, but, now looks where that's left us. Two dateless losers."
"One dateless loser and one guy just… feeling out his options."
Mallory laughs once more as Blaise turns to mocking her. She wonders for a moment why she always seems to be surrounding herself with people who make her laugh. Perhaps because Draco and the Malfoys do not live in a house of mirth. Did she laugh this much around Fred Weasley during their walk?
"Maybe we're overthinking this," Mallory proposes, speaking quickly to distract her thoughts from lingering on Fred Weasley for too long. "Maybe, we just need to think that someone is asking us because they want to spend time with us. We're pretty fun."
"I'd agree. You're fun and I'm definitely fun." Blaise smiles wider, rubbing the palms of his hands together before placing them into the pockets of his jeans. "I just want to make sure whoever I go with is also fun."
"Is there anyone you'd like to ask?" Mallory questions, wondering curiously whether the reason that the Yule Ball had taken up half of their walk around the lake is because Blaise is waiting to bring up his prospective date. "Like, someone fun who you'd want to go with?"
"There's… options."
"Ravenclaw options?" Mallory asks, narrowing her eyes at Blaise who shrugs with a guilty smile. As if she'd caught him eating from her secret stash of sweets. If Blaise hadn't been so easily distracted by a Ravenclaw with a pretty smile, then Mallory wouldn't have had that hurried meeting with Fred Weasley on the steps as she realised to never insult the castle.
"I'm sure whoever you ask will say yes." She continues, talking to drive out the sound from her thoughts. It is all too fresh; she can picture him wearing her hat, joking with her as she wonders whether she's ever had a conversation with such ease. How easy it would be at the Yule Ball.
But, only if they were the only two there.
Draco would feel it to be his Malfoy duty to scare off the Weasley and to bring his not-sister back in line. Amara would wonder whether Mallory had ever been taught the term 'blood traitor' and Blaise would probably laugh at the audacity that she had somehow found by daring to go to the Yule Ball with a Weasley.
"Maybe I should ask someone, too."
"Mal," Blaise starts, slowing his steps even as the ground remains even. "Speaking as someone who has been asked by girls to the Yule Ball. If you ask someone, you'll only end up looking like a desperate social climber."
"Oh."
"Don't pout," he rolls his eyes in irritation as Mallory desperately tries to hide how much his unexpected words have hurt her. "Would you rather me say that you should go for it? And that you won't look as desperate as Carrow does fawning over Viktor Krum in the library?"
"You're really not mincing your words today." She laughs bitterly, feeling her cheeks grow red. Perhaps this is why Blaise and her have never spoken about dating before.
"I just don't want you making a fool of yourself. Especially, if who you want to ask may upset your family, and the rest of Slytherin for that matter."
He gives her a knowing look, even as she tries to pretend that he's not referring to the very person she's spent the entirety of their tour around the lake thinking about.
"I wasn't… I wouldn't even dream of…"
"And yet you immediately know who I'm referring to." He points out, knowingly. Perhaps he should be in Ravenclaw, Mallory thinks bitterly, he certainly has the ego for it.
He shakes his head at her, his mouth a narrow line as their previous giggles becomes a bitter memory. This is a Blaise she does not see very often.
"I only said I might ask someone because I don't think anyone else is going to ask me anytime soon. I humiliated the Gryffindor, showed I wouldn't go for a Slytherin with Belby and then flat-out refused a randomer so I'm sure nobody thinks I'm desperate right now." She pauses in thought. "Except you, maybe." She adds as an after-thought, feeling thoroughly annoyed at Blaise, picking up her steps as Blaise huffs beside her, also picking up his pace.
"Merlin, do you have to be such a girl?"
"I don't see how that could be such a bad thing," Mallory snarls, as if sparks of flames are about to alight on the ends of her black curls.
"Why are you snapping at me?" He responds, in the same tone of voice he might use to ask for an ice cream; calm and unbothered.
"Because you are hurting my feelings, Blaise!"
"How?" He responds, still not matching Mallory's emotions as her voice rises in pitch as her anger begins to build like a tsunami, deep within the ocean.
"Never mind." She dismisses herself, realising that Blaise may be many things, but he certainly is not in touch with her emotions. "I've got Transfiguration with McGonagall now, actually." She excuses herself, pulling back her mitten to check on the time. The watch that Narcissa had bought for her fifteenth birthday illuminates the time even as the moon's light hides the full extent of Mallory's emotions. She'd be early to McGonagall, but perhaps that could be a surprise for her Professor. Before her OWL year, she had often turned up to their sessions red in the face and out of breath, having lost track of time with her friends. Now, the blush on her cheeks she would have to blame on the December chill outside.
"You've got another twenty minutes yet." He points out, his brown eyes upon his own watch.
"She changed the time." She lies quickly, again glad that Blaise will not spot the blush in her cheeks as she realises he may begin to poke holes in her lies. "I'll see you later, Blaise."
The walk back to the castle, though lonely, gives her a predetermined time to let herself feel the full sting of Blaise's words. Does he really think she is like every other girl at Hogwarts? Desperate, emotional and too caught up in the trivial. She even grinds her teeth in irritation at his chosen gibe about Fred Weasley, despite never mentioning him by name. But he had been right; she immediately knew who he had been referring to.
If Blaise knows about that, she wonders, is there more that he has assumed from the slight changes in her behaviour; those walks where she hadn't been with him or Amara, those lasting minutes in the Three Broomsticks where everyone she would ever talk to were all sat around the same table.
Still, he didn't need to hurt her feelings about it, she thinks. She spots a stray pebble resting upon the floor of the corridor and her angry foot immediately reacts by attempting to kick it. Quickly, she slams the foot back onto the ground, swearing under her breath as she realises kicking a stray part of the castle may result in the castle holding her foot hostage once more.
"Can't do anything nowadays." She mutters to herself, wishing that Rowena Ravenclaw herself would stop being so petty as to turn the castle against her. Because it definitely must be a Ravenclaw curse, Mallory assumes.
By the time that she reaches the large doors that open at the sight of her, she is quickly wiping away the signs of upset from her cheeks. Instead, focusing on regaining her composure for meeting with McGonagall.
"Mallory! You're very early!"
She hadn't knocked before entering, being so used to entering the Transfiguration classroom as the hour turns for their sessions, that she hadn't realised that McGonagall might have a life outside of waiting to practice Transfiguration with Mallory.
McGonagall, who is behind her desk at the front of the room, quickly scoops up some pieces of parchment which are bound together by a red ribbon and files it into her drawer, locking it quickly.
"I hadn't even put the pot on for tea. Come."
She gestures to Mallory, who crosses the classroom quickly, all the while trying to hold her jaw still as it threatens to shake. Either chattering from the cold or the aftermath of Blaise's words, Mallory isn't sure which.
They enter the door at the back of the room, which, during the day, is always shut. Whilst Mallory has always been able to sneak a glance around it when McGonagall leaves it open during the evening, she smiles at the invitation to enter.
It is draughty, she realises immediately, and not as cosy as she'd expect McGonagall to live her life within, since, to Mallory, she had always seemed warmer than the other adults in her life. In fact, the room could pass for a disused room in Malfoy manor; without the abundance and oppolunce that coats every inch of Mallory's home.
There is a desk, alive with a life that is lived as broken quills, empty tea cups and marked papers are scattered across its surface. Unlike her desk in the classroom, this is private, and Mallory smirks as she realises that perhaps Professor McGonagall is much more of a slob in the privacy of her office.
"Stop smirking Mallory, I just haven't had the chance to tidy this week. What with the preparations for the Yule Ball."
"Sorry Professor." She apologises immediately, hoping that McGonagall won't retract her invitation into a viewing of her private life. Mallory crosses the room, as McGonagall reaches the small corner of a kitchen, filling a black pot with water before leaving it to warm on the stove. Beside the stove, an old ladle sits, hung from the wall, rather than tidied away with the rest of her utensils.
"That was a gift from a student," McGonagall points to the ladle when Mallory watches her, confused. "I'd packed it away, almost threw it away a couple of times but… now it is back as I decided it needed… redemption."
"Who gave it to you?" And why? Echoes in Mallory's mind as she wonders how McGonagall could be fond of an old, rusted metal ladle.
"It was a joke from one of my old Gryffindors. He had a knack for giving me things I had no need for. That ladle was his farewell present when he left. He never did explain the punchline..."
Mallory moves away from the small kitchenette to the more personal side of McGonagall's office, where a red, plush sofa sits alongside a shabby padded armchair and a bookshelf. She stalks across the room, then, her curiosity piques to admire the collection of books that McGonagall hides away in her office. She recognises a few textbooks that McGonagall herself has lended to Mallory over the years, more common textbooks that are taught across the curriculum of Transfiguration and then, more unusual titles that will hold advanced magic.
"Professor? Who is this man?" She asks, spotting a younger McGonagall smiling beside a man. The professor sits upon a stool, posing politely for an unseen photographer and long, auburn hair rests upon her shoulders. He looks older than the photographed-McGonagall, with broad shoulders and a very wide smile.
"He was my husband." She replies, smiling sadly at Mallory, who suddenly feels an urge to walk away from the bookshelf. "He died 10 years ago in February." She reveals, crossing the room to pick the photograph up. "We'd lived in a cottage in Hogsmeade. He was retired and I continued to teach, walking up each morning. Sometimes, I'd have a chat with Hagrid along the way."
"Why don't you live there now?" Mallory asks, though, wishing immediately that she'd bitten her lip as the ghosts of her past swim behind McGonagall's spectacles. She shrugs, sighing before replying,
"Well, Mallory, I suppose I was lonely."
The words hang, weighty, between them, as Mallory wonders how she can comfort her Professor when she is completely incapable of even comforting herself.
"But, I'm happy here, too. This is like my little corner of the castle. I have the kitchens," she gestures to the kitchenette, "minus the house elves, mind you. I have the library, a part of my classroom and even," she gestures to the cosy sofa and armchair, moving across the room to sit on the armchair, reclining into the back of the cushions. "A piece of the Gryffindor common room." She turns back to look at Mallory. "Though I suppose, Miss Black, you're opposed to sitting on the furniture of your sworn enemy?" She laughs as she says this and Mallory wonders whether, outside of the classroom, McGonagall is even funnier and carefree than Mallory had guessed her to be.
"As long as a lion doesn't eat me if I sit down." Mallory jokes, sitting down and pretending that the sofa isn't far comfier than those on offer in the Slytherin Common Room.
"It suits you, Mallory."
"Let's not get too far or I'll start transfiguring these into Slytherin colours," Mallory quickly warns, earning her a laugh from her Professor.
Silence falls in McGonagall's office once more, though, the soft whistle of the pot upon the stove fills the room and Mallory looks for more clues about her Professor.
"How long have you taught at Hogwarts?"
"I was offered my job at Hogwarts in 1956, so I will allow you to work that large number out far away from me or it'll remind me how old I am."
"And…" her question lies perfectly balanced on her tongue, neither spoken nor unspoken. McGonagall waits patiently. "What year did you leave Hogwarts?"
"1954. I've not spent many years outside of this castle ever since I first set foot in it when I was eleven years old, Mallory" McGonagall answers slowly, narrowing her eyes at Mallory as if wondering what Mallory is thinking.
Still, the question lays like scales, undisturbed as still she wonders whether her question may invite a few of McGonagall's own.
"Have… Gryffindors and Slytherins… have they always been like they are now?"
"What do you mean, Mallory?"
"I don't know what it's like in Gryffindor, obviously, but in Slytherin you would be publicly bashed for being even friendly to a Gryffindor. I just assume it would be the same the other way around." She blushes as McGonagall's hard eyes examine her, barely blinking. Has she seen straight through the question? "I just wondered whether that rivalry has always been there, whilst you've taught but then also when you were a Gryffindor yourself?"
"First of all, Mallory, I am a Gryffindor. House pride doesn't disappear once you leave the castle." She chuckles to herself. "Second of all, unfortunately I don't have a straightforward yes or no for you. It depends on the times and it depends on the students. Certainly, there have been friendships, even relationships to be built across the house divide. Sometimes, those friendships have led to public admonishment. Sometimes, accepted." McGonagall shrugs, perhaps unable to answer a question from Mallory for the first time since their tutoring began, though today Mallory did not have questions about irreversible transfigurations, which last caused a heated debate between the two.
"If you don't mind me asking, Mallory, what's caused your question?" She speaks slowly, and Mallory instantly wants to confess all to her Professor (though, there's not much to tell). She imagines her Professor's shocked face as she confesses that her reasons for asking such a deep question about the nature of the house divide, something allegedly to have existed since the beginning of Hogwarts itself, is all over a handful of conversations with Fred Weasley, another of her Gryffindors. Would McGonagall be able to offer anything in return? A secret way to find her way around her family, her house and the general opinion of the Hogwarts population. "You've always seemed very content in your house."
"I am." She answers quickly. Worrying McGonagall assumes she can turn Mallory into one of her Gryffindors too. "The Yule Ball has me thinking, I suppose. If we're supposed to be closing this divide across the schools, to make friends, then surely we should start at home first?" She pauses, as McGonagall leans slightly back into her seat, as if Mallory had just confessed every single word exchanged between her and Fred Weasley. "Not that I can stand most of the Gryffindors, either way. It just got me thinking. You know, the ball and all."
She hopes that's the end of the conversation, suddenly feeling a desire to disillusion herself into the armchair so that McGonagall's stare no longer directs itself at her. Her stare remains, telling Mallory that all McGonagall needs is further explanation. Mallory distracts her eyes from the uncomfortable feeling that sinks into her stomach, cringing as she wishes that McGonagall hadn't invited her into her own personal quarters. Maybe then, Mallory wouldn't have felt tempted to confess her own private thoughts in return.
"Yes, I imagine the Yule Ball may bring about some interesting partnerships." McGonagall agrees, watching Mallory still with a close eye. "Perhaps your family has some thought on your own partnership?"
"Lucius and Narcissa?" Mallory asks incredulously, imagining a world where Lucius Malfoy may show an overly caring nature towards her. "They haven't written to me about it, if that's what you mean."
"Perhaps, then, they believe you are more than capable to choose your own suitable partner. No Gryffindors in sight for Miss Black."
Does she know? Mallory thinks immediately, thinking back over every time she has ever dared to think about a world where Fred Weasley might ask her to the Yule Ball, or even, if he says yes to her own invitation. Has McGonagall ever been present? Is she somehow capable of discerning from the look on Mallory's face when she's thinking about a certain Gryffindor.
"Only, I heard about your unfortunate incident with Mr McLaggen from my own house. The taunts are endless in Gryffindor Tower, I can only imagine the same has faced you in the dungeons."
"Oh, that." Mallory says immediately without thought. McGonagall's eyebrow quirks up slightly in wonder. "I suppose the main issue for me is that people are only asking because I'm a Malfoy... by association. Which, I'm sure neither Lucius nor Narcissa or even Draco would mind my saying yes to anyone who would ask for purely a social gain. But, that doesn't sit right with me."
"That's supposed to be a good thing, Mallory. To not allow yourself to be a puppet in that game."
"But, that just leaves me dateless. And as Blaise just told me: a loser." She rolls her grey eyes at her best friend, wondering if he will ever apologise for his words. Though, from his reaction, maybe it will never occur to him that he's hurt her feelings.
"I'm sure you will find someone. There is still plenty of time." She replies, smiling warmly at the Slytherin student before moving the conversation in a different direction. "Now, shall we try disillusioning that lovely armchair you are sat at?"
It feels entirely different to any other Transfiguration lesson that Mallory has ever had. Perhaps, due to the fact that Mallory is disillusioning the furniture of McGonagall's own private quarters. No longer is she disillusioning objects from the various collections of knick knacks that knock around the Transfiguration classroom. Rather than disillusioning the tea cup which she had once repaired from five large shards, or the mirror she had spent hours concentrating upon to turn into a peacock. This time she is disillusioning an object that before today, she'd had no idea existed behind this particular locked door of McGonagall's.
It is harder trying to disillusion something that she is not innately connected to. It may even have been easier to disillusion a Slytherin armchair that she had no idea existed. With its distracting Gryffindor colours, her unfamiliar surroundings, the only familiar constant around her is her Professor. So, concentrating on the guiding words of her professor, who whispers guidance, pointing out when her concentration appears to be distracted, Mallory copies every guide, where usually she may act upon her own instinct.
"Try the left arm now." McGonagall instructs her, just as Mallory begins to disillusion away the stuffing from the right side.
Mallory chose this particular side due to the fraying edges of the material, where the wooden structure of the armchair could almost be visible. Moving without questions, she begins on the side that appears more whole, which, she realises, helps. Eyeing up the golden stitches as the faded red material winks at her, disappearing slowly from sight as she imagines a world without this particular armchair, one that had once existed in the Gryffindor common room.
It is a long process, as Mallory methodically imagines every inch of the armchair, and she is certain by the end of the night that she would be able to recreate it on sight. As the first hour of their Transfiguration hits with only small successes, as the main padding of the sofa rests disillusioned from both Mallory and McGonagall's eyes. Finally, by the time that Mallory feels her eyes begin to glaze over, McGonagall gives her a break.
"Here, drink this tea." McGonagall hands her another cup of tea, though it has cooled enough for Mallory to hold it comfortably in her hands. Her palms shake from the excessive amount of magic she's used. Staring at the armchair, it slowly fades back into view as her concentration wanes, and she wonders whether McGonagall expects her to keep the disillusionment up whilst she fully distracts herself from the task.
"It will get easier, Mallory. It just takes time." Her professor assures her. "I never said that you'd master disillusionment in a few sessions."
"I know," Mallory agrees, "I just didn't think it would be this tiring."
"The first time I fully disillusioned my body in its entirety it took three hours and afterwards I fell asleep in the bath." McGonagall informs Mallory, causing Mallory unintentionally to laugh. "Yes, laugh away Mallory." She smiles too, perhaps at Mallory herself or at the memory of herself. "I imagine when you finally achieve disillusionment you will find yourself in an equally as humorous situation."
Her journey towards disillusionment continues as the two idly chat about Transfiguration. Whilst continuing to disfigure the armchair, her eyes wander around the quarters, trying to discern any more about McGonagall's private life. Whilst the pictures that decorate are fairly normal; some pictures with her husband, at a table with Dumbledore but also, surprisingly, her on a stage with the lead singer of the Weird Sisters. Finally, the ladle continues to stand out of place in her kitchen; did McGonagall use the old thing or is it purely sentimental decoration?
By the time the hour calls for Mallory to return to the Slytherin dorms, she can feel her eyes falling without command.
"You'll need your sleep, Mallory." McGonagall informs her. "It's a sign that you did well today."
She smiles, still feeling only her eyes are half-open as McGonagall walks her towards the door of the office. "Just don't go near any baths."
"Mal!" Calls out Amara when Mallory enters the Slytherin Common Room after leaving McGonagall's private office. She smiles widely, gesturing for her best friend to come over immediately. Mallory looks over the common room, which is slowly emptying for the night and rolls her eyes to see that Blaise is once again at the centre of the conversation with Draco and his friends. Perhaps, she thinks to herself, Blaise has been in that group all along. He looks over, smiling calmly and Mallory, despite herself, smiles back, knowing that Blaise is probably too unaware to know that their conversation had upset her earlier. Moving away, Amara pulls her down onto the sofa as soon as Mallory is close enough to her. Leaning back into the sofa, she wonders whether, without McGoangall's Gryffindor armchair, the Gryffindor common room isn't as comfortable as she now expects it to be; the Slytherin sofa is far less comfy.
"You'll never believe it!" Amara enthuses, squeezing her friend's hand with delight. "I have a date to the Yule Ball!"
"Really?" She repeats, wondering wildly now who's asked her friend. "Who?"
"Mikael, the Durmstrang!" She giggles, bouncing up and down on the sofa like an excited child. "He came over to the Common Room and asked me!"
"How exciting!" Mallory exclaims, squeezing Amara's hands back as an overwhelming feeling of insecurity rises within her. Why hasn't anyone else asked her?
"You're okay about this?" Amara checks, "Because I always thought it was you that he liked. You're not interested in him? Otherwise I could try to say no-"
"No!" Cuts off Mallory, trying to convince Amara to stop her own insecure ramblings. She imagines what she'd have said if Mikael had asked her. Maybe she would've said yes. But is she only believing this now because that option has been taken from her? "I'm very happy that you've found yourself a date."
"And now I can concentrate fully on you!" Enthuses Amara, squeezing her hand once more. "It's perfect. I won't be distracted by Viktor Krum anymore, so now I can concentrate fully on getting you an acceptable date, too."
"You'd best act quickly, though." The two girls turn their heads as a third voice intrudes upon her conversation. "There's not many left."
Pansy Parkinson, Draco's friend smirks, having listened to their conversation and unashamedly not trying to hide it.
"Some Ravenclaws have made a list and the list of single Hogwarts boys is seriously beginning to dwindle." Pansy informs them.
"Do you have the list?" Asks Amara, smirking at Mallory as if this would solve all of their work for them.
"No." Shakes Pansy's head. "But I can remember who is still on it. Zabini is still single, plus everyone is obsessing because Potter hasn't found a date yet. But if you wanted someone to ask you, you're definitely running out of time. Maybe it's time to ask someone yourself."
"But Mal doesn't even know who hasn't got a date!" Amara argues back to Pansy, who shrugs, unbothered. "I could try to get the list for you, I guess."
"Yes!" Answers Amara, unashamedly excited. "Just watch, Mal. We can still find you an eligible match that even Salazar himself would approve of."
For the third time that evening, Mallory wonders whether even Amara had somehow found her way into her thoughts. Whilst Salazar Slytherin definitely wouldn't have approved of any date that has less than pure blood, he also would not approve of the Gryffindor with a surname synonymous with 'blood traitor'.
Is there any chance that Mallory's thoughts have been far more obvious than she had realised before?
"Can't wait!" She lies, realising that at least Pansy's list from the Ravenclaws will at least show Mallory if waiting on Fred Weasley to never ask her and her to never say yes could be a reality.