As the first snowstorm blotted out the sky and the castle, Christmas finally came to an end. After a whole night's whistling and blowing, the wind gradually died down. When Draco woke up and drew open the curtains, all he saw was the clear blue sky and the snow-coated mountains beneath it; the sun's dazzle on the snow almost blinded him.
Many more students had stayed at Hogwarts during the holiday under the shadow of the Dark Lord's return, yet Draco was the only Slytherin student that remained. Not being able to go back home for Christmas dinner and presents for the first time in his life, plus the benefit of being on the receiving end of those curious glances from the other three houses, forced him to pack loads of bread and cheese and settle at the Room of Requirement, studying day and night the runes on the Vanishing Cabinet.
By the end of Christmas, his efforts had paid off; half of those faded and broken runes were restored, far more than what he had expected. And that he had lost his weight was merely the by-product. Draco rushed to his dormitory and had a good shower before he was seated in the Great Hall, devouring the last meal of the holiday. He had to admit, that although rational thinking had kept him staying in a dump, his stomach was protesting loudly against the dry bread and greasy cheese.
Therefore, the moment when Blaise flew at him, questioning sympathetically what he had suffered over the holiday, Draco swore that this was the last time he sacrificed his appetite.
"What about a portion of strawberry tart, Draco? I've brought it from France. You'll love it!"
"Thanks, but it looks cloying at the hour." Eyes lingering on the pink cream on the corner of the boy's mouth, Draco shoved away the pastry that had been stuck under his nose. Then he quickly changed into his robes, and left the dormitory. Leaving the snacks behind, Blaise hurried to follow him up the stairs to the common room, which was crowded with people.
"Whoa!" Blaise squeezed into the crowds and exclaimed in excitement. "Apparition Lessons! Fantastic! Only 12 Galleons per person! Professor Snape had suggested that every student that would turn seventeen on or before the 31st August next sign it up. C'mon, Draco. Let's do it." Without waiting for an answer, Blaise signed both of their names at the bottom. Waiting outside the crowd with a sour look, Draco itched to tell the over-delighted boy that he refused to waste any time or money on a skill that he was well acquainted with.
When they arrived in the Hall, Draco found all the students seemed to be talking about Apparition lessons. He looked toward the Gryffindor table. Potter and several other students were discussing something excitedly together while Hermione was sitting aside, looking a bit anxious.
Draco smiled slightly, knowing she always felt slightly unsure of herself when it came to physical actions, just as she did with Quidditch. Now she must be worried about not doing well enough or falling behind others.
You are smart and excellent, girl. Don't let that bother you.
He was sipping the tea when the post owls arrived. A tawny owl swooped down, landed in front of him, and held out a leg.
"So, Draco …" Spotting the fainted smile on Draco's face and knowing he was in a good mood, Blaise decided it was time to raise questions.
"What?" Draco put a Knut into the owl's leather pouch and took the newspaper.
"Since you were always disappearing last term –"
"I was in the library."
"But so many times I couldn't find you there!"
"That's because you didn't look carefully. I sat in a secluded place." Draco lied without blinking an eye as he unfolded the Daily Prophet.
At his earnest expression, a puzzled look flickered across Blaise's face.
"Ok, then how about you not act alone this semester again? Crabbe and Goyle said they were at a loss without your instructions."
Draco was lost for words. Crabbe and Goyle hadn't the slightest idea of what to do for themselves. They did as they were told by their parents. Following him was also initially their families' requirements. But they were not Death Eaters. He would not have them involved this task, nor Blaise, so maybe he should have a talk with them …
"And Pansy said she hadn't had a real conversation with you last semester. She complained to me yesterday about not receiving your Christmas present … She's really into you, mate, but do you have the same feeling …" on and on Blaise droned.
"What are you getting at?" Draco stopped leafing the newspaper and narrowed his eyes.
"It's just that Pansy …" Blaise's eyes directed Draco to the other side of the long table, where stood an anxious-looking Pansy, whose round face was flushed with excitement, making the tiny freckles on her nose more conspicuous than ever. The noise and clamour in the Hall subsided peculiarly. Half of the crowds stopped whatever they were doing and looked blatantly in this direction, while the other half were peeping out of corner of their eyes; even Potter was watching him attentively. Draco had never anticipated that his romantic life could become a hit in Hogwarts.
Hermione was observing Draco Malfoy along with other people. There standing in the Great Hall was him, arms crossed, black robes outlining his tall and slim figure, beneath the frozen rays of the winter sun that streamed through the ceiling and radiated off him, silent and motionless.
Hearing others whispering and muttering, she found the old, nasty Malfoy long gone, the one that had strut around the castle as if he owned the place, the one that was full of himself, sharp and aggressive, always seeking chances to provoke and retaliate. But he was different now. Since when had he become so quiet and reclusive? Yes, his abusive remarks were far from extinct, yet he was no longer all set with sharp thorns, ready to attack; instead, he had wrapped himself with a shell of ice, hard to reach out to.
"What do you mean, Pansy?" Malfoy stared at Pansy Parkinson, smiling slightly. And more than half of the girls, to Hermione's annoyance, blushed at his smile; Parkinson's face was as scarlet as a red banner.
"I like you – no, I love you, Draco!" Cried out Parkinson, voice shaking.
At the declaration there was a long silence. Then came Malfoy's reply, abnormally calm in comparison with the sighs and mutterings of the crowds.
"And so what?" Malfoy asked, laughing humourlessly. "You love me, so I have to love you back?"
Hermione saw Parkinson turn stiff instantly; people gasped, shocked by Malfoy's callousness.
The small smile on Malfoy's face disappeared. He turned his gaze from Parkinson, whose tears were rolling down silently, and looked ahead. When Hermione met his cold, grey eyes, she was hit by the sadness in them.
"But you cannot require me of that. There's always somebody pining with unrequited love. You're not the only one." Malfoy picked up his schoolbag and began walking out. "And Blaise, next time, do not meddling. Even if you wish to."
Zabini watched his friend leave, chagrined ; Parkinson ran out of the Hall, face in her palms; the rest students were discussing what had happened in hushed whispers. Hermione could hear small cries of "cool" or speculations like "do you think if that means he has someone in mind".
"What did Malfoy mean?" asked Harry perplexedly.
"I thought Malfoy would have been happy, at least been smug." Ron looked back at Harry, also bewildered.
"Maybe that's his way of expressing that you were not good enough for me." Ginny joked, "Pretty cool, isn't it? What do you say, Hermione?"
"I think he's right," Hermione looked away and gazed at the carved patterns on the wall with a sudden interest, "People do pine with unrequited love …"
Seeming to have thought of something of their own, the four of them all turned red. But this had nothing to do with what had happened before.
March came, and snow began to melt. The weather was still chilly, with the north wind roaring, and the gloomy mood deepening at sight of bare ground and the grey Forest.
Draco continued his study and work according to schedule. The rest of runes were far more intricate, so he had devoted more and more time and energy to them. This plus practising spells had made him more reclusive than ever. Apart from the time when he attended classes, had meals and retired, he was hardly seen by anyone else. Learning from what happened last time, even Blaise would not dare to interfere. Only when he had skipped two Apparition lessons on end did Blaise voice his complaint.
"It was you who signed me up for it. Why would I participate in some training now that I've already learnt the thing?" retorted Draco as he stabbed at the lamb chops with his fork languidly.
The task of amending the Vanishing Cabinet was almost done, and as long as the testing went well, his plan would be half successful. Therefore, Draco had a rarely good mood that day; at least he was so before Charms in the afternoon, before his eagle owl hovered outside the window of the library, tapping insistently till his attention was torn away from his book.
Draco unrolled the parchment and glanced at it, his happy mood totally gone.
On the parchment was his mother's elegant writing, talking about the trivialities, but hidden underneath was the information that Aunt Bella was punished for the last incident and was not sent to work outside again, that she was resentful and left the Malfoy Manor yesterday, saying she was to "give Dumbledore's lovely flock some excitement". "I don't know what she is aiming to do. Please take care."
Some excitement? Last time it was a necklace that blew up half the street. What could it be this time?
The power of the Dark Lord was growing day after day. Even the Daily Prophet, which used to be an ostrich with head in the dirt, could no longer turn a blind eye to the series of horrific incidents. The Ministry was losing the battle against the Death Eaters, and meanwhile the internal conflict within the Ministry not only did not stop, but intensified. It was possible that the Dark Lord had already infiltrated the Ministry. The Damocles sword of war was hanging over everyone's head, and he was one of the pieces on the chessboard. Agreements with the Order of the Phoenix must be reached as soon as possible, especially under the threat of Bellatrix.
Draco replied a short letter to his mother, asking her to mind Aunt Bella's whereabouts. Little effect as it might take, Draco could not for now work out a better to way to prevent her. And just as Potter always went seeking trouble, Draco bet the so-called "excitement" would have something to do with the three of them.
As if I haven't had enough on my plates! Draco glanced at Potter, who was waving his wand like a troll, grinning foolishly.
Why is it that Hermione can't break with the two buffoons? The more he looked at them, the more indignant he became. Draco gave his wand a quick flick, and the block of wood before him was burned to ashes in an instant.
"Well done," cried Flitwick, "Mr. Malfoy has succeeded in the nonverbal spell! But next time please control your magic. Your spell is done correctly, yet the magic in it is overly strong. We only want a fire, after all." At that Flitwick conjured another block of wood for him.
Draco curled his lips and tapped the wood with his wand, feeling burning it to ashes was far more suitable to his mood than lighting a fire. Due to his lapse of concentration, the wood caught fire as if fuelled and flames abruptly leapt up towards the ceiling. Flitwick's beard was singed; two Slytherin students nearby fell off their stools; the Gryffindors were jeering and clapping, in retaliation for the derision of the Slytherins when Dean Thomas blew up his wood.
"Aguamenti! Oh dear… Please stay behind after class, Mr. Malfoy. I think you need to learn to have control over your magic. Now, class is over. Please keep practicing nonverbal spells. Anyone who does not succeed in the next class will have to analyse the theory of nonverbal spells."
The other students left the classroom, groaning and sighing. Draco stood shocked, not receiving well the news, and not even reacted when Potter and Weasley gloated over him.
He got a detention! For not being able to control his magic! Even first years would not have such problem.
"Sir, it was just an accident, you really don't need to …" Having listened to Flitwick rambling on about how to control magic for half an hour, Draco was swearing impatiently under his breath, thinking it ridiculous that someone should really study something as basic and natural as this when suddenly an idea popped into his mind.
"Sir, by using the method you explained, is it possible to cut off the magic in an instant and make the spell ineffective?"
Flitwick paused. He raised his head and looked up at Draco quizzically. "It could work if you practice it hard. But why such trouble? If you don't want your spell to work, why not stop casting it?"
"Er… it was just an thought. Next time I will have control over my magic. Thank you, Professor. May I leave now?"
"Sure, you may go. You have made great progress, Mr. Malfoy. Whatever has happened around you does not define who you are. You are still one of the Hogwarts students. Just keep it up."
Draco was gobsmacked as he watched the teacher leaving. He reflected upon his recent behaviour, trying to find something irregular that induced the words of sympathy, but none was found.
He looked down at the block of wood, tapped it with his wand and pronounced "Incendio". A few sparks sprang off the wood, but the wood did not burn. It flew up in the air.
Maybe he did need to practice hard.