Draco
Weasel and Pothead are looking at me.
Pothead is trying to explain something to Weasel, who apparently doesn't believe it. He's looking at me, gawking. Every heard of subtlety? I sneer in my head. Finally, Pothead gives up and turns to Mudblood, seeing if she will support him. Not likely, I hope. Nothing he has to say is even close to the truth.
But when Pothead makes a gesture towards his left forearm, I forget to breathe, my veins running cold. Now, Aris-- Ridiot, I mean, pipes up, cocking her head towards Katie Bell, who's back in school.
They can't possibly know, can they?
Suddenly, Ridiot flashes me a loathing glare, here eyes searing with hatred. I panic. She knows, she knows, she knows.
Not even remembering to pull a superior smirk at her, I jump up and sprint out of the Great Hall.
The vanishing cabinet's doors swing open, sending a rush of musty air into my face. The swirling film of dust over its sides tell that it hasn't been touched in a long, long time.
Apparently, they're very picky and hard to handle, most books having described them being extremely tricky and dangerous. To put it simply, this is Plan C.
Quickly, I get to work. I've memorized the directions from Bathilda's A Guide to Vanishing Cabinets, but I still have the book here, just in case.
---time! zooming forward!!! lalalalalalaaaa!!!---
It's eleven o' clock.
I step back from the vanishing cabinet and groan, frustrated. I'm on step two. Cleaning it. Six hours cleaning a stupid cabinet, just so it wouldn't hate me and explode. What are there, like, fifty sets of directions?
Gritting my teeth, I cover up the cabinet and stalk out of the Room of Requirement, shutting the door lightly as possible.
Arista
Hermione is laughing in her sleep.
It's a quiet laugh, a real one. I'm glad she's not having nightmares, the ones I do. Hermione has been, well, I guess you could call it eminently miserable. It's probably because of Ron and Lavender. I've been trying to make her feel better, I really have. We study together, chat by the fire, and knit things for Dobby.
But when she's not with me, you could effectively call her a rain cloud.
Carefully, as not to wake anyone, I slip out of bed, my well-practiced feet landing perfectly in my shoes. Pulling my cloak over my shoulders, I tiptoe through the dark common room to the boys' dormitories.
Immediately as I pull the door open, loud, thought-intruding snores fill my ears. Everyone's asleep--
--except Harry.
I approach his four-poster, my footsteps barely audible.
"Hi," I whisper, sitting down at the foot of his bed.
He looks up at me, grinning sheepishly. "Oh, hey," he smiles. The Marauder's Map is clutched tightly in one hand, his phoenix feather wand in the other. I know he's been looking for Malfoy; he won't put that map down. I can't really say if I believe his whole theory. I wouldn't bet on it though, that's for sure.
"So," I continue. "Can I borrow that map?"
Harry looks at me suspiciously. "Midnight wanderings again?"
"Hey, you do it too," I laugh, knocking him playfully on the head.
"Yeah, fine then. Here."
"Thanks," I reply.
Draco
I blast of icy wind smacks me in the face, stinging my eyes.
Hastily, I bury my frozen, sore fingers in my expensive pockets. The door to the Room of Requirement melds discreetly into the wall around it, disappearing completely. Satisfied, I begin slowly shuffling my way back to the dorms. Filch won't be out tonight; it's Saturday, almost Sunday.
The vanishing cabinet is coming along. Luckily, I still have half a school year for it. And, since I gave up my Seeking position on the Quidditch team, I'm all free in the evenings. Except for detentions, of course.
As if on autopilot, my feet take me around the school, stopping here and there so that I can look around. Fair to say, it reminds me of a muggle tour bus. I learned that from our imbecile Muggle Studies professor.
Lost in thought, I finally arrive at the library. Long, heavy shadows stretch over the hardwood floor, silky carpets of black. It's almost like standing in a maze, tall hedges of books towering around me. I remember the time when I actually used to come here. That was, what... five years ago? Crabbe and Goyle would always wait outside, stuffing themselves with chocolate frogs while I studied. Or, rather, researched the Dark Arts.
There's no one here now, it's midnight. Closing my eyes briefly, I turn to--
What was that?
It sounds like music. Maybe... a piano? Intrigued, I quietly follow my ears, cautiously, my weight on my toes. Finally, I reach the very back of the library, the part with a view overlooking the lake. The moonlight trickles in through the windows.
And there she is, fingers dancing across the keys. The sound is... astonishing, exquisite.
Undetected, I take a seat on a rickety wooden chair, all ears.
Arista
My cousin taught me this piece.
Everything reminds me of my cousin. Please tell me that I'm just worrying too much, that everything is going to be okay. But it's hard though. Dottie and Andrew... Well, I'll just say that I'm living with my aunt now.
I have the rhythm right, a beautiful cadenza, all of the crescendos and diminuendos. Feel, Carlin had said. I need to have feel. Quivering, my fingers finish up the piece, finally coming to a rest on my shaking knees.
Suddenly, I hear a soft clapping coming from behind me. Alarmed, I jump up and whip around, banging my sides on the satin piano.
Draco Malfoy is sitting on a rustic chair, grinning. In a way, he almost reminds me of Harry.
"What do you want?" I hiss angrily.
The smile vanishes from his face, replaced by a nervous grimace. "I... you... uh, your piece... was really nice," he stammers, wringing his hands.
I raise an eyebrow. "Thanks."
As though unsure of his footing, he stands up and shuffles towards the piano, sitting down on the edge of the bench. Lightly, he places his fingers on the keyboard and begins to play.
Stunned, I watch him for a minute, just standing there, listening. He's... really, really good. I know the piece he's playing. It's a lovely duet, a classic one. I can feel my hands twitching a little behind my back, as if trying to run for the keys. And then, much to my own shock, I sit down next to him. Easing slowly into the music, I begin the other part of the duet, my part.
Draco
My stomach is knotted with nerves, willing me not to make a mistake.
I still can't believe it.
I'm playing a duet with Arista Grace.
Arista Grace is playing a duet with me.
Unable to resist, I can feel a goofy, un-Malfoy grin spreading across my face, tying ear to ear. This is bliss, more beautiful than anything I ever felt. She feels almost like a best friend, and I've always hated her so much. Ever since the first time I saw her on the Hogwarts Express with Mudblood. I wonder how... she... feels.
Finally, the end of the song arrives, an abrupt jab on our foreheads. Cautiously, I cast a sidelong at Arista. She's smiling.
Blushing profusely, she gets up to leave. Hastily, awkwardly, she thrusts her hand out at me, her eyes searching mine. Without thinking, I take it. It's odd, standing there with my fingers wrapped around her cold, skinny, little hand. She does have pretty hands, though, I'll fess that up.
"Good-night," she laughs. Her deep-set brown eyes are sparkling delicately, deep swirls of--- Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop that, let's not get all poetic here. But she is truly amazingly pretty.
"G-g-good, uh, night," I stammer.