Chapter 3

4th December. Potions. 9AM.

Seamus was late. Again. His bruised left leg was still hurting him, and he struggled traversing the stairs down into the dungeons, especially after the long walk from the Hospital Ward. Better safe than sorry, he thought, though he doubted that Professor Snape would share the same sentiment. He reached the door, composed himself, and slowly began to push the antiquated wood forward. For a second he thought he may be able to join the back of the class unnoticed, before the unholy squeaking of the rusted hinges drew the attention of every pair of eyes in the classroom. Seamus went cold. He could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead. What had Draco told them? Did everybody know? Somebody giggled. He could see Ron and Hermione biting their lips, trying not to laugh. So this is how I lose my dignity, thought Seamus. By being a fucking idiot and thinking that just for once Draco had shown some real emotion. He could see Malfoy stood on the other side of the room, cackling along with some of his Slytherin minions. A hand clasped down on Seamus's shoulder, and gripped him so tightly that he could feel the bones in its fingertips.

'Late, Mr Finnigan.'

The cold, nasally voice of Snape was unmistakable. The hand loosened its grip slightly then pushed him into the room.

'Perhaps you think yourself already a master concoctor of Hemmingdew Potion. That must be the reason you feel you need not attend the first ten minutes of my lesson. Tell me, Mr Finnigan, what precisely is the function of a Hemmingdew Potion?'

'I don't know, Sir.'

'Clearly,' said Snape, with a sneer in his voice. 'Perhaps you had better make more of an effort to attend my lessons on time in future.' Seamus nodded in reply, his eyes fixed firmly, and ashamedly, on the ground. 'Now, join a pair. Let us see if anything can be salvaged for you in the rest of this session.'

The room felt chilled and humiliating. Each pair slowly returned to their cauldrons, muttering to each other as they did so, and Seamus doubted they were discussing the potency of their potions. Glancing around the room, he looked for vacant spaces but found only a spatter of empty stools next to students he didn't recognise. He picked up a stool and headed toward his fellow Gryffindors.

'Any room for one more?' he asked, but received no reply other than a few subtle shakes of the head. Everybody knew that the group Seamus was attached to became Snape's target for the rest of the session. He didn't blame them for it – he would've been the same had he been in their position. Slowly, stool in hand, he made his way around the classroom. Most pairs ignored him pretending they hadn't noticed his passing by, others muttered 'Sorry' or 'We're almost done, mate', or some other excuse to keep him as far away as possible. Cho Chang caught his eye, sat with a Ravenclaw he didn't recognise at the back of the room. She looked confused, concerned even, knowing that if she needed to ask for help she'd be ridiculed too. Seamus watched her, planning out his heroic entrance in his head, but was so caught up in his fantasy that he failed to notice the desk in front of him, which he crashed into with an almighty bang. He turned and found himself face to face with Draco and his Slytherin friends.

'Watch it, Gryffindor!' spat Malfoy. 'Just because you're incompetent doesn't mean you need to sabotage our work too.'

'I'm sorry, Dra...-, Malfoy. It was an accident. I didn't... I was just...'

'Spit it out, Finnigan. Or, better yet, fuck off and go combust somebody else's potion.' Malfoy turned to his friends and laughed with them. As he turned back around, Seamus looked into his eyes, searching for some acknowledgement, some glimmer, some consciousness of what they had shared the night before. It wasn't there.

'You can work with us, Seamus.' The voice of Cho Chang was authoritative but welcoming. Seamus admired how she was never phased by Malfoy or his minions. He looked at her, smiled, and walked to join her at her desk. It was hardly the heroic entrance he had planned, but it would suffice.

'Thanks, Cho.'

'Maybe you can help us figure out where we're going wrong.'

'Ha, you heard Snape. I'm shit at Potions.'

'Don't listen to him, Seamus.' Cho smiled at him. 'Snape thinks everybody but his precious Slytherin boys are rubbish at Potions.'

Seamus smiled back.

'Thanks, Cho.'

4th December. Slytherin Common Room, Boys' Dormitory. 10PM.

Draco lay awake in bed, replaying the events of the last couple of days over and over again in his head. The dormitory was just beginning to settle around him. A couple of Slytherin boys were still traipsing about, a couple of them returning semi-naked from the Girls' Dormitory across the walkway, in an obvious attempt to boast about their sexual exploits. Draco was unimpressed. The deep green bedsheets hugged his body tightly, almost uncomfortably. Moonlight poured in through the window, refracting and reflecting through the crystal ball that sat on his beside unit, projecting a small light pattern on its wooden surface. A number of different colours, so different, so bold, yet, somehow, the same. His mother had gifted the crystal ball to him in his first year of Hogwarts, saying it would allow his ancestors to keep him safe. Apparently it had been part of the Malfoy family for many generations, and had protected each first-born son during their time at Hogwarts. Malfoy didn't think it to be anything more than ritual and foolish Muggle-like superstition, but he humoured his mother and had kept it safe.

The cloudy sky slowly began to obscure the moon, letting less and less light filter through, and the pattern faded until the colours could barely be seen.

What would his ancestors say if they could see him now? Lay awake, not considering how to maintain the pure-blood status of the family, or how his future career will support the Malfoy estate, but whether he was attracted to Gryffindor. A boy. He knew they would be ashamed. He knew he was bringing shame to the Malfoy family. He didn't even know if what he felt was real. He hadn't meant to kiss Finnigan in the fight, and perhaps he had picked up some sort of illness or curse in the Hospital Ward that had left him weak-minded and vulnerable to the Gryffindor's advances. Draco hadn't initiated any of it. He hadn't wanted any of it. Seeing him with that Mudblood Cho that afternoon hadn't made him jealous or bitter or angry. He could quite happily never see Finnigan again, and would have forgotten about him within a few weeks. Days, even.

The clouds surrounding the moon moved on, and the moonlight intensified. The colours appeared again, brighter and bolder than before: a shocking red, juxtaposed in an elegant sequence with hues of yellows, greens and blues. Draco tried to trace the patterns with his index finger, but it cast a shadow over the desk, blocking the light, whenever he drew near.

He wondered whether Seamus was lay awake too, thinking over what had happened, or whether had had already moved on. Cho had been more than friendly with him earlier. He expected he had already forgotten all about their kiss. After the way Draco had treated him earlier, who could blame him? He didn't mean to react so furiously, but what was he supposed to do? Give Seamus a pat on the back and welcome him into the group? Besides, he and Cho are made for each other. Seamus hadn't noticed that Draco spent the rest of that Potions session eavesdropping on their conversation, picking up on every flirtatious giggle and spying on every brief moment of eye contact they shared.

He lifted the orb, holding it before his face. The light cast an array of colours across his pale face, and Draco peered through it, witnessing the spectrum of colours flickering and glowing within. They pulsated, aching for Draco to reach in and touch them. A beautiful happening, but one which can never be touched. He ran his fingers along the smooth surface of the orb, feeling its contours. He longed to be touched, for somebody to hold him close and witness his beautiful happening. He, who can be touched. And, in every fantasy that his mind took him to in those few precious minutes, there was one constant. He longed to be touched by Seamus. To show him that beneath the cold reflection of his family, Draco Malfoy is beautiful.

The moonlight faded once more, and a band of cloud, thicker than before, crept before the moon, hiding its majestic form, sheltering the world from its beams. The spectrum faded into nothingness.

7th December. Library. 2PM.

Malfoy rubbed his eyes, damning himself for how little sleep he got the night before. Transfiguration and Tyranny: the Art of Transfiguring in the Battlefield by Persephone Palgrew wasn't engaging him as much as he had hoped. It looked like McGonagall's pointless lessons on how to turn a dormouse into a doorstop would have to do for now. 'Librum Invenus', he uttered, grasping his wand loosely between two fingers, and the pages of the book began to turn, faster and faster, before settling on a double page which it felt most appropriate. On the left was a picture of a desk which had been transfigured into a fanged beast, attacking the invaders of a home. On the right was an explanation of the spell's origins, etymologies and limitations. Draco's eyes skimmed the text, but, as much as he tried, he could not keep them open.

'Malfoy? Are you okay?'

Blaise Zabini stood next to the library desk, tapping an unconscious Malfoy on the shoulder. He stirred, then rubbed his eyes.

'Yeah. Yeah, Blaise. I'm just tired.'

'Haha, what were you up to last night then? You shoulda come to the Girls' Dorm with us. You know Pansy has a thing for you. She was asking after you last night.'

'Maybe. I don't know, Blaise. I've got a tonne of stuff to finish for Potions.'

'Come on, Draco. Snape ain't gonna care. Pansy's gagging for it, man.'

'Maybe. I don't know, maybe.'

Blaise smiled playfully, then tapped Draco on his shoulder, and with nothing more than a 'See yah, man,' he was gone. Draco wondered how long he'd been unconscious. The nearest window was out of sight, and there was nobody nearby he could ask. He considered just shutting his eyes again and staying there, but knew Umbridge would never let him forget it if he missed one of her Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.

He rooted his hands firmly on the desk and pushed down, lifting himself to his feet. His body throbbed with exhaustion and misery. Slowly, Draco made his way down the narrow gap between bookshelves. Whispers hovered in the air of a conversation going on in secret nearby, too quiet to pick out anything other than the excitement in the two voices. The indecipherable murmurs teased Draco's ears with their mystery. He slowed his pace, hoping to be able to hear more clearly. As he grew closer to the end of the aisle, the conversation became clearer. The voices of a boy and a girl.

'But do you want to?', said the girl.

'Of course I want to. I really do.'

'It's just, you seemed a little distant this morning.'

'I was tired. I didn't get a great night's sleep.'

There was a pause, then the voice of the girl. 'I want to, too.'

'Really? I mean, are you sure?'

'Sure I do, Seamus. I really like you.'

The name cut into Draco like a blade twisting in his stomach. It tore at his insides. He had spent all night saying the name to himself in his head, but he hadn't heard it aloud. He didn't want to hear it aloud. Creeping forward, Draco peered between the books and caught sight of them – Cho and Seamus – talking in the next aisle.

'I like you too', said Cho. 'It should be fun.'

'Brilliant,' said Seamus. 'We'll go together then.'

7th December. Library. 2.40PM.

Cho smiled, and Seamus reflected it back at her. He looked happy. He could feel his hand trembling as he moved it towards her and gently gripped her fingertips. She moved towards him, and he towards her. His eyes closed as their lips met. He could feel Cho's hands creeping onto his back, gripping his flesh, willing his body closer.

The sound of a book falling to the floor disturbed the peaceful silence of the library. Seamus let go of Cho's hand, his senses alert to the presence of an eavesdropper. For a second he stood still, waiting for a noise. A sense. A perfect stillness filled the air around them, waiting to be disturbed. A creaking floorboard gave hints of eavesdropper's position, coming from the other side of the bookcase behind Seamus. The silence returned. Seamus looked at Cho, who drew her wand, but he signalled to put it away and then started his walk to find the intruder. As he started moving, he could hear the creaking of floorboards behind the bookcase getting faster and faster as the person started to run. Almost at full sprint, Seamus burst out of the aisle and turned to the left. In a flurry of moves, he started his charge, drew his wand, and prepared to unleash the disarming spell.

'Expellia..-'

Before he could finish the incantation he was knocked to the ground by the sly eavesdropper, whose shirt he gripped so tightly that he heard the rip of material. He was left with a ripped section of a white shirt lined with neat purple stitching gripped between his fingertips, but the spy escaped. Cho rushed to his rescue, helping him to his feet.

'Are you okay, Seamus? Who was it? Why are they running?'

'I... I didn't see.'

He looked at the patch trying to remember who he had seen wearing the expensive design, but his mind was blank, not to mention nauseated after the fall.

'Come on,' he said. 'We'd better get to Umbridge's DA or she'll flip.'

As they began to walk, Seamus realised that Cho still hadn't let go of his hand after helping him up from the ground. In one hand, he felt her soft, delicate skin, in the other, the coarse material of the ripped shirt. He tucked it away in his pocket. They walked, hand-in-hand, towards the lesson. They discussed who could have been watching, and why they would have found it so interesting, deciding that it was probably some perverted first year. Seamus insisted that every first year boy had a crush on Cho, though she refused to take the compliment.

By the time they arrived to Professor Umbridge's lesson, most of the class were seated and already sat copying from books. Umbridge stood near the doorway handing out books to the new arrivals and giving them instructions to start reading at page 143, and copy the passage entitled 'Wary about Werewolves'.

Fifteen minutes later, Seamus had finished skimming the text and picked up his quill in preparation to start writing. Umbridge had been talking for the last five minutes, but he hadn't really been listening.'

'...So, you see, we should not always be afraid of that which changes its form, but we should always be wary. Werewolves may look scary and intimidating, but really they are beasts like every other. Many live amongst us, hiding their true identity, but we as a positive wizarding society weed them out and expose them as the beasts they are. For, nobody, truly, can lead two lives and keep them apart. In fact, we must be sure to...'

Umbridge stopped speaking. Her eyes were fixed on the door. A smile crept across her face.

'Mr Malfoy. It's nice to know that you've decided to fit us in to your busy schedule today.'

Seamus looked up and saw Draco stood in the doorway. He hadn't noticed that the Slytherin's seat had gone unoccupied. He was dressed in a woolly jumper.

'And why, may I ask,' continued Umbridge, 'have you decided to make such a... noticeable fashion statement against Hogwarts's prescribed uniform?'

'Sorry, Professor. I overslept. I couldn't find my shirt when I woke up, and didn't want to miss your lesson, so just threw this on and ran here.'

'For somebody who's just ran half the length of the castle only having just woken up, you seem to be coping rather well. Not even broken a sweat, I notice. Here, join me at the front of the classroom.'

Draco hesitated.

'Come on now, Mr Malfoy.'

Slowly, he made his way across the room. Everybody's eyes were leering at him, but he only cared about one pair. He looked at Seamus. Seamus was already looking at him. Umbridge welcomed Draco to the front of the room with an outstretched arm, and led him to her desk.

'Now, perhaps you'd like to start copying something different to the rest of the class.'

She placed her enchanted quill down in front of him. The class murmured, and Draco could overhear them talking about Harry's detention where he had been forced to use the same cursed implement.

'I will not be late to my lesson. Write it.' Umbridge's smile and joyful tone never faltered.

He ran his fingers across the soft feathers of the quill, then picked it up. As he pressed it to the paper, he felt the pressure cutting into the back of his hand like a knife. He looked up at the class, most of whom had returned to their work. Seamus was now looking at his desk, but he wasn't writing. Draco watched him, examining his profile closely. He began writing. Every letter took an eternity, slicing into his flesh, burning his hand. He clenched his fist in pain, his stare still firmly fixed on Seamus: his badly brushed hair; the look on his face of intense concentration; the tufts of hair on his chin that he had missed while shaving this morning; the mark of lipstick on his cheek that Cho hadn't told him about.

'Mr Malfoy,' said Umbridge, with an air of confusion in her voice.

Draco looked at her. Her smile had vanished.

'Mr Malfoy, I assume you know how to spell I will not be late to my lesson?'

Malfoy looked down at his hand, and saw the inscription cut into the back of his hand. He dropped the quill. The carving on the back of his hand read three letters. 'SEA'.

8th December. Slytherin Common Room, Boys' Dormitory. 3AM.

Draco lay awake in bed. He turned to his beside unit and gazed, once more, at the crystal ball. He paused for a second, and then picked it up. With all his might, he launched it across the room, and felt tears forming in his eyes.

8th December. Gryffindor Common Room, Boys' Dormitory. 3AM.

Seamus turned in his sleep, and his hand fell free of the covers. Hanging loose from the edge of the bed, his clenched fingers opened and a small piece of ripped white ripped material with neat purple stitching fell to the floor.