Chapter 7: The House-Elf

After the potions incident, no one had been quite comfortable entering Professor Snape's classroom – everyone had been healed immediately – discovered by a passerby (to Pansy's horror, seeing several unmoving heaps) who fainted as well. Crabbe and Goyle were heading back to the Slytherin common room, only to see many students passed out inside the potions classroom and an abnormally large pug in the doorway. They proceeded to drag them to the hospital wing – and each had been fed a rosy pink healing potion, which Draco had spluttered at Madame Pomfrey from a ten foot distance – but still, it wasn't something you just got over by your next potions class days later. And, of course, Neville didn't get by without punishment; Snape had instructed him to scrub the frog guts that exploded on the walls (which would explain the reptilian scent Draco could smell even weeks after) until he had at least created enough friction to rub off three layers of his own skin. In addition, every student affected by the fumes shot Neville dirty looks when they passed him in the halls, which he returned with hopeless shrugs, wringing his hands.

So now, with the incident in the past, Pansy was in an empty classroom training her new house elf. "Okay, so all you have to do is follow students around without being seen and write down what they say about me," she said, handing the house elf a scroll. "At the end of each week report back to me and keep me updated on all of the Hogwarts gossip. Got it?"

"Yes, master," the small elf squeaked.

"It's Miss," said Pansy exasperatedly, "Just go and find out what everyone is saying about me."

"Yes, Master," said the elf again, clutching his ears.

Draco had just finish cleaning his teeth of the Healing Potion that each student affected by Neville Longbotton's "Stunt", as Madame Pompfrey referred to it, was required to take for three months, immediately before bed. "Just in case," she said evenly, flicking her wand without looking; a nearby red-headed boy just rising from a deep, dark dream-state who was slipping on his morning socks had passed out back on to his hospital bed.

Since that occurred a while ago, Draco thought he would have become used to the acquired flavor. But he still nearly retched every time he picked bits of the smelly substance from his teeth. Its rosy color was very misleading.

As he dragged his feet back through the path to his draped velvet bed, he continued to wonder why Professor Snape and all the others had fainted, for all current victims were supposed to be wearing something like an enchanted double-sided light jacket, called a dopplesuit, designed to covered your entire face, except for small pinpricks in the general eye area for you to see. Not only did it do that, but it also had built in charms; flying, camouflaging, amazing strength, all required for making some complex potions. Looking back, Draco didn't think it fair to blame everyone for a mistake he, too, made himself. But he didn't care and went on blaming them anyway. He didn't have the energy and felt quite lethargic, for that was his third dose of the potion he'd had in the past two hours and he wasn't up for debating certain subjects in his mind. However, as he drifted off under the soft comforter, he allowed himself one more thought.

Why wasn't Hermione wearing a dopplesuit?

The next morning Hermione got out of her warm bed and made her way to the bathroom. She opened the door and saw Pansy singing to herself in front of the mirror. She instantly identified the song as "Just the Way You Are" by Bruno Mars, and rolled her eyes while thinking that only Pansy would sing that to herself (probably because no one else would).

Pansy had been woken up early that morning because of a strange dream that she had the night before. Glancing at the clock on her bedside table, she noticed that she had about two hours before she had to head down to breakfast. She decided that she would take a nice long bath and pamper herself a bit.

Pansy made her way to the bathroom and took out an array of different soaps for her bubble bath. She turned the various knobs on the tub and filled it with warm water and an odd combination of different smelling oils. After the tub was filled with water coming from the thin stream out of the faucet and a thick layer of foamy bubbles, Pansy entered it. She sighed and relaxed into the tub. In fact, Pansy was so relaxed she almost forgot about her other roommates who would be up soon, and decided it would be best for her to get ready. Pansy stood and took a towel off of the warming rack. She stared at her reflection and realized she needed a pep talk. She thought to herself, I'm beautiful, alluring, enticing, gorgeous, and bewitching – who wouldn't want to be with me?

She promptly decided on a song that would be her new anthem.

She stared into the mirror and started to sing, "Oh, her eyes, her eyes make the stars look like they're not shining, her hair, her hair falls perfectly without her trying." This song describes me perfectly, Pansy thought.

Before she could sing the chorus the door opened to reveal Hermione, who was leaning on the door frame, trying to control her laughter.

* – * – *

Draco picked the lacewings from his teeth. Another horrific ingredient of Madame Pompfrey's new Healing Potion. They'd been required to take it after they had been turned over to the hospital wing, and most of the reactions were somewhat comical.

"Draco! Draco!" called Theodore Nott obstreperously.

Draco turned with utter annoyance. "What?" he said somewhat fiercely.

His eyes widened as he saw Theodore barreling toward him. He crashed into to Draco and they collapsed on the spot.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" shouted Draco with obvious rage.

"Sorry, sorry! But look at this!" Theodore shoved something into Draco's face.

It was very colorful, with brightly-hued spots decorating its spine. A frog. One that Draco recognized to be Neville Longbottom's. Good, it was his blasted potion that knocked them all out.

Draco picked it from Theodore's hand. "Where'd you get this?"

"The Gryffindor common room!" he said excitedly.

"How dare you step foot in there!" said Draco, though he really had nothing against them. Lucius had told him not to trust anyone involved with Gryffindor House.

"Because one of them told me my hair looked weird." His eyes were widening like it was excruciatingly obvious. "So I stole their frog!"

"You stole onefrog" Draco let his hand slack and the frog tipped to the floor. "And your hair does look weird."

"I meant to say that someone told me your hair looked weird – hey wait! What's wrong with mine?"

"My hair's fine. Just go away. Wait, wait," Draco called him back.

"Yes?" said Theodore hopefully.

"Do you have floss?"

"What's a floss?"

"Never mind, Hermione probably has some. She introduced me to it. It makes me feel like a peppermint candy – "

"You mean Granger?" Theodore interrupted. "She's such a loser. And you thought Gryffindors were bad?"

Draco's cheeks flushed. Theodore continued before he could say anything.

"And why are you insulting my hair? Have you seen her – "

"That's enough!" Draco suddenly shouted. He pulled out his wand, not giving Theodore enough time to react. He sent a mild stinging jinx that blasted him square in the nose. Theodore clutched his face and began to writhe on the floor.

"Aggghh!" He moaned uproariously. Overreacting for sure.

Draco stepped over him and began to walk to Hermione's room. The lacewings were starting to make his breath sour.

* – * – *

Hermione sat on her four poster. A sharp thunk told her that Millicent had reached her own bed and was preparing to go to sleep.

She reached for her dresser. On it sat a note. A picture, actually, that she couldn't stop looking at, trying to interpret its meaning:

Hmmmm . . . perhaps it was symbolic. She promised herself to go down to the Hogwarts library first thing tomorrow morning, before Herbology with the Gryffindors. They got paired up with them more often then any other house. . . .

* – * – *

Draco stared lifelessly at Professor Sprout, who was instructing them on how to extract slight poisons from saplings. He peeked toward Hermione, who was alternating between taking notes and looking intently at their professor. Although she seemed to be taking on the role of teacher's pet, he knew that she was quite bored, for they had both learned how to extract poisons from any plant when they were six. Narcissa gardened often and Lucius used poisons often, for reasons no one could place – he was always holed up in his room doing who knows what.

"And where shall we make the incision in the stamen on this one?"

Professor Sprout was holding up a slender blossom. No student could tell by the look of it – except for Draco and Hermione, Narcissa had taught them – but the flower, and all of its kind, had been magically enhanced by Helga Hufflepuff long, long ago. It only showed its true form when under attack. Draco had merely seen pictures of it, the great monster it became. A humungous beet-colored head resembling that of a Venus Flytrap mounted on a thick, bright green stem. Hard as armor. Yellowing teeth ringing together at the smallest sound. They were used as guards in old war zones. Despite its vicious quality and tendency to lash out, it was also used for healing. Draco never understood how, though, because the descriptions he read didn't go into specific detail.

His eyes flashed worriedly. If you made an incision in it, it would think it was under attack.

As if in slow motion, a student's hand shot up, they grabbed an odd silver utensil, and were just about to slice the stamen when Draco leapt forward, knocking it out of their hand.

"Hey!"

"Draco, get back to your seat!" said Professor Sprout sharply.

"But, Professor, that's a Monstrum Robur!" Draco cried. Hermione had been observing his conniption and was nodding furiously.

Professor Sprout was now looking at the flower with fresh eyes. "Well, bust my knickers, it is! One hundred points to Slytherin!" she declared, although she was head of Hufflepuff house. She must have been extremely grateful – that put Slytherin in the lead.

Draco didn't really think that was necessary, but he wasn't complaining. The Gryffindors were quietly seething.

Professor Sprout was looking at Draco like he was a prize, for he had saved them all. He smirked and kicked back in his chair. Their professor was now introducing a very bulbous purple root gnashing jagged teeth. It was as big as a cauldron and locked behind the solid bars of a brass cage.

Still not as dangerous as the Monstrum Robur.

* – * – *

"Draco."

Draco whirled around towards where the whisper came from. "Hullo, Hermione."

"Hi. Congratulations on the one hundred points. I never expected something like that from Professor Sprout."

"Yeah, well . . . Oh! I didn't get the chance to ask – are you okay?"

"What?"

"The potions incident," he prodded. "You were one of the students in there. You passed out!"

"Oh, yes. I'm fine, thanks." Draco didn't believe her. She was quite pale.

"Okay," he said slowly. "Come by my room at five. I need to show you something. It's got to do with our spells."

"Fine." Hermione was panting as they climbed the steps to the castle. She hadn't been like this before.

Draco looked at her. "Are you sure you're all right?" he said once again.

"Yes, yes."

"You're sweating," Draco adaged.

"I'm fine!" No, definitely not. But he left it alone.

They entered Hogwarts. Draco didn't know what was in Greenhouse 1, where Herbology with the Gryffindors had been held, but Hermione needed it. Badly.

Hermione insisted that they go to the library, that she meant to in the morning but got caught up in a 'riveting, violent, jarring novel' and something about vampires that he didn't really pay attention to. Draco followed her. He wanted to check out some Herbology textbooks.

He picked them off the shelves, some requiring wand usage for their heights, some not, but he used his wand for them, anyway. He wound up with a ring of books encircling, almost orbiting, his body. They floated around his waist like a wide belt.

"Draco, what are you doing?" asked Hermione, eying the books.

"Nothing," he said faintly. He observed a particularly thick one's table of contents.

Hermione went back to picking books. Draco didn't know why she was displaying more effects from Neville's potion. Maybe because she was in the room longer.

"Look at this." She showed him a shining, hardcover ectype of one of his textbooks, with silver-air brushed pages and a glowing spine. "I'd think you would rather have this one."

Draco took it gratefully from her, taking great care not to drop it. Even if it wasn't that nice, if it was wilted and worn down, Madame Pince would make sure he was immediately concussed.

"Thanks." He gently dropped it into orbit.

* – * – *

Lucius Malfoy dribbled the last bit of alcohol into a glass. Some spilled onto the table, but he didn't notice.

"Sir," Dobby poked him. He had passed out on the table very suddenly. "Are you sleeping?"

Lucius remained still.

Dobby levitated him across the room with a sharp snap of his fingers. Lucius's long, cloaked arms dragged along the floor, creating a droning hiss.

Lucius flopped into bed on his side when Dobby lost his hold at the sight of something odd. There. Out the window.

A howl from the mouth of a shaggy wolf carrying loudly throughout the Malfoy's front yard. Otherwise known as . . . the Gardens.

Dobby wasn't frightened by it. He casted a silencing charm that knocked out all sound within three hundred meters of The Manor. It became eerily quiet, as was intended.

Dobby proudly flapped his ears as he made his way out the door. Lucius would probably wake up from the sleeping potion at around the afternoon.

* – * – *

"But why not?"

"No, Theodore. That's my final answer."

"Why can't I practice my magic on your hair?" Theodore whined.

"Because I don't trust you," said Draco.

"Well, if you'd just said that in the first place – "

"I did say that in the first place!"

" – then we wouldn't be wasting each other's time – "

"You're wasting my time!" Draco interrupted.

"Fine, I'll just go find Pansy," Theodore huffed.

Draco almost snickered at the end result. He had, indeed, found Pansy, and for some unknown reason (Pansy was desperate for attention) she had said yes. She also didn't know that Theodore was worst in their class, right next to Ronald Weasley. Even Crabbe and Goyle were ahead of them.

"What do you think?" Pansy asked stupidly. She fluffed her once dreary locks.

Her hair was shining, but not in a good way. It looked like an oily slab of boomslang skin. The ends split in an unappealing manner. But worst of all, it was dyed red and gold. Gryffindor colors. Theodore must not have been able to conjure up a mirror. He was now looking guiltily away, avoiding any chance at eye contact.

"So . . . " said Pansy once.

Draco chuckled nervously. "Better than Theodore's."

Theodore scowled.

"I know, right?" she said giddily, waddling out of the room with her newfound form of horror swinging from side to side behind her.

"Has she seen it yet?" Draco asked disgustedly.

"Suprisingly, yes," Theodore responded.

Draco sighed. "I'm going to Hermione's. To see if she's okay. She was supposed to come by here over an hour ago." He left before Theodore could make any rude remarks, though he didn't really think he would – his bandaged nose served as a constant reminder of what Draco could do to anyone that made fun of his friends.

Draco jogged down the steps with mild urgency, letting the faint green light that engulfed the Slytherin common room, which was right under the Black Lake, cover his body. What was holding her back?

He reached the girls' dormitory. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at his feet. He began to hover and floated up the steps. A way around the charms that traditionally blocked him out.

Draco watched the staircase transform into a slide underfoot, which made him quite glad that his parents (more accurately, Narcissa) had the good sense to teach him and Hermione magic at an early age. Just in case, he remained above ground until he was sure it wouldn't give way into the sloping stone arched behind him.

He rapped on Hermione's door.

She opened it. She still looked clammy, to Draco's despair, and spoke in a hoarse voice. "Hi."

Draco floated in and landed gracefully on the floor. The invitation to go inside was implied. He turned to Hermione and brushed a hair out of her eyes. "You're sick."

"No I'm not!" She tried to hide a loud hiccough with a laugh.

"Come on," Draco took her hand and led her to the hospital wing.

Madame Pompfrey gave her a small bottle of Healing Potion. "This is stronger than normal," she warned. Hermione nodded and took a small sip. The color almost immediately returned to her cheeks.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered to Draco once they returned to her room.

"For what?"

"Taking care of me."

Draco went red. "I barely did anything," he stated modestly.

"Well, I would've gotten worse if it weren't for you." Hermione kindly kissed him on the cheek and stepped into the doorway. "Good night," she said, and disappeared behind the wooden door.

Draco smiled. He started walking away. When she was out of earshot, he looked down at his feet, entranced, and whispered "Good night, Hermione."

He had forgotten about the stairs. He slipped when they transformed into the slippery stone slide. It was actually kind of fun – he'd never been on one before, Narcissa had only read them stories of muggle playgrounds when they were getting ready to go to sleep. Right by the fireplace: they sat on an overstuffed sofa and curled up next to each other while Lucius tried to walk in a straight line a few feet away.

Draco was woken from his stupor at the sight of a new-and-still-not-improved Pansy – materializing, seemingly out of nowhere, at the end of the slide. The last curve of stone was approaching fast. . . .

Draco crashed, feet first, into Pansy. He wound up on the floor – no damage done. Pansy spluttered and blood came out.

"Draco, I need to go to the hospital wing!" she cried, grabbing his arm.

Draco looked at her. She had a gash running along the side of her face, three missing teeth, and a bloody nose. Not to mention a swollen, sprained wrist.

"Your fine," he replied, shaking her grip on his arm and heading back to the boys' dormitory.