"ᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʀᴏᴀʀ. ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴀʏꜱ ɪ'ʟʟ ᴛʀʏ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ."
— ᴍᴀʀʏ ᴀɴɴᴇ ʀᴀᴅᴍᴀᴄʜᴇʀ
Chapter Fifteen: Fractured Fantasy
"So it's passed. That's it," said Mafalda, glancing back as the lift doors slid shut, the lift behind them hurling down through the shaft again.
"No," said Tonks. And then, softer: "Now, the real work begins. It's all going to get a lot more difficult from here."
Mafalda nodded, but her head felt blank, and each step towards the Auror Office condemning. At least there was no reason to have to deal with Hassan Shafiq anymore. Her painful, never-ending period of shadowing (yet somehow only a week) was over, and now she was beginning her first module — Mental Preparedness — which she ironically had no idea how to prepare for. Mafalda could only hope it didn't involve Veritaserum. But with her luck, whoever was running the module would manage to find a Legilimens to interrogate them all.
"Still worried about Mental Preparedness?" asked Tonks, running a hair through her hair, short and spiky today and highlighter-yellow. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, a small smile playing at her mouth. "It's just like what we've been practising. You'll be fine."
"It's just…" Mafalda felt stupid even repeating it. Her face was hot. "What Moody says, expect the unexpected."
Tonks started to say something back, but they had just stepped over the threshold into the Auror Headquarters, coming face-to-face with Kingsley Shacklebolt. He looked distressed, and worse yet, he was looking directly at Mafalda. The chatter around them faded away, leaving a bubble of discomforting silence. Finally, after what seemed like an age of looking uneasily between Mafalda and Tonks, Shacklebolt cleared his throat.
"Mafalda, the Special Advisor to the Minister would like to see you, alone."
The room spun.
Mafalda had imagined this moment uncountable times. She thought about it when she brushed her teeth, and when she got in the lift every day, and even before she went to sleep every night. It permeated her every waking minute — and her sleeping ones, too.
Out loud, it sounded so banal.
It turned out that Shacklebolt was still looking at her expectantly. Tonks was first to recover — in fact, she'd been peering concernedly at Mafalda for a while now.
"I'll take her up to Level One," Tonks offered, almost pleading, with none of her usual brightness.
Mafalda thought her legs might collapse under her.
It must have been evident because Shacklebolt grimaced a little at the suggestion and then nodded, and when Mafalda tried to turn around and head to her execution with some dignity, she almost tripped over her feet. Miraculously, her legs started working again after that, but it was beginning to feel as if all the blood in her brain had gone down to her legs, because she couldn't seem to process a single thought, much less take in the last-minute instructions Tonks was rapid-firing at her. Even the people they passed in the hallway seemed to Mafalda like vague, colourless, featureless smears. The only thing she could possibly compare this to was coming upon the Dementors in the library.
In this case, not even a Patronus could save her.
"Come on, lift's here," said Tonks, her voice seeming to come through water to reach Mafalda's ears, and Mafalda thought that this might have been the third time she'd said it.
They stepped inside — again, banal. More Ministry employees were on their way to the office. If only Mafalda could be one of them again — blissfully bored, indulgently ignorant.
Damn her principles for getting her into this mess.
"Level One,"chimed the lift voice, slicing through Mafalda's cluttered mind like a scalpel. "Minister for Magic and Support Staff."
"Come on," Tonks murmured, giving Mafalda a sympathetic look and all but guiding her off the lift. They moved down the purple-carpeted hallways, and Mafalda's only thought was that if she was going to her execution, Tonks wasn't such a bad last companion. She was silent now, and somehow, they had fallen into step, Tonks's fingers brushing hers every so often.
So unlike herself — what was wrong with her? — Mafalda found herself hooking her fingers the next time they brushed. Even more strangely, Tonks didn't pull away.
Maybe she felt sorry for her.
Mafalda didn't have the wherewithal to care at this point. Tonks' palm was warm and dry against hers, the only real thing in this hallway that seemed to go on forever.
Finally, they stood before it.
Narcissa Malfoy, Special Advisor to the Minister for Magic.
It was just as plain and stark white as Mafalda remembered it. For a few seconds, she stood staring numbly at the door, her ears feeling as if they had been stuffed with cotton wool.
Tonks squeezed her hand but said nothing. There was nothing to say.
Expect the unexpected, indeed. But it was impossible to counteract the unexpected. The unexpected, which for Mafalda, had started at this same office a mere year ago, on the day she'd been contacted first by the Order — by Tonks. Everything since that had been an uncontrollable whirlwind.
'Giving up' Andromeda and Ted had felt like enough, when she'd scrawled their location on one of those standard-issue Ministry memos, hidden in the pages of her manual until she found a spare minute alone. The attack had been real, Tonks had said — Bellatrix, Rodolphous, and Rabastan Lestrange, and Barty Crouch Junior — the very same who had driven Longbottoms mad. They wouldn't have been sent out if Narcissa hadn't believed her wholeheartedly.
Mafalda had to hang onto that.
"I don't want to rush you," said Tonks quietly. "But the only way out is through."
Her gaze was soft but also, somehow, strangely intense, too bright to look at. Mafalda found her throat thick with something, struggling to speak.
"Yeah," she managed, after a few tries. "Gryffindors don't have a monopoly on bravery."
Tonks squeezed her hand one more time — and then the letting go felt physically painful. Trying to ignore her insides twisting, Mafalda knocked on the door.
Silence.
"Come in, Miss Prewett." As the door swung open, Narcissa's voice only grew colder and crisper. "I've been expecting you."
The room was just as stark and white as Mafalda remembered. Her footsteps echoed loud and hollow on the anaemic marble.
Her stomach twisted like a skein of wool. There were tangles in it. Her lungs burned, and Mafalda realised she had forgotten to breathe. Now she was forcing air in. There. But it felt abnormal, stilted.
And all the while, Narcissa watched her from behind that white marble desk, a squared-off slab of stone.
"Now, why do you look as if you are walking to the guillotine?" asked Narcissa, and a bolt of electricity shot through Mafalda's spine, her feet sticking to the floor.
Because that's exactly what I'm doing.
Narcissa wouldn't do it now, do it here. There would have to be either some kind of legitimate excuse or an accident, perhaps. Was that a comfort? Mafalda wasn't sure.
Now, she was standing up. Walking around the corner of the desk, studying her. Walking closer.
Mafalda was frozen.
Narcissa smiled.
"Why do you think you are here?"
Her lips were numb — her whole mouth felt flush with lidocaine as Narcissa loomed ever closer, dead, cold, and serene.
"I-I don't know, Mrs. Malfoy."
Narcissa's smile sharpened around the edges. A glimmer of something unknowable came into her frigid eyes. "I expect you might be feeling some kind of regret."
"Regret?" croaked Mafalda. Yes, there were many things she was regretting now. Perhaps everything had been a mistake.
"It must have been hard," said Narcissa, drawing back a little, studying Mafalda still but almost crooning now. They were nearly the same height, standing eye to eye.
"Sorry?"
All her mental faculties had fled long ago. Trying to understand what was going on was like wading through molasses.
Narcissa laughed. It was a sound with sharp edges, like broken glass. "The coy performance is unnecessary; we shall not be overheard nor interrupted." She turned on her heel, and ambled back towards her desk. "I meant, of course, the note you left me before Christmas. It was greatly appreciated."
"You're welcome," said Mafalda. One- or two-word answers seemed safest for now. Her blood had started to thaw. Trying to project the calm she didn't feel, Mafalda took a few tentative steps forward.
Narcissa had seated herself again, and she watched, silent, as Mafalda approached the desk. There were papers scattered over it, and despite herself, Mafalda felt her eyes drawn to the rows and rows of black ink.
Before she could make out any of it, Narcissa spoke again. "May I ask what made you come to such a decision?" Her gaze seemed almost amused. She leaned forward with an eager smile, and Mafalda's throat burned. It would be alright. She and Tonks had practised this. She had done the rehearsals. Now, it was time to play the part.
"Andromeda Tonks accepted you as a member of the Order, and yet you turned against her," said Narcissa. "It seems strange."
Master of subterfuge, you are not, Gilderoy Lockhart had told her. Yes. Mafalda did best when she told the truth.
"Snakes are known to shed their skins," said Mafalda, lifting her chin.
"Does that mean you were always planning to betray them?" asked Narcissa. She flicked her wand at a delicately wrought crystal decanter, amber liquid pouring into two matching glasses. It was the only colour in the room.
Despite herself, Mafalda swallowed hard, looking down at the proffered glass. There would be Veritaserum in hers, and to refuse to drink it would be to admit her true allegiance. But she and Tonks had trained for this eventuality.
Willing the tremor that had come into her hands to still, Mafalda lifted the glass to her lips. The movement felt stilted, alien. All the while, Narcissa did not blink.
It tasted complex and refined, which was to say, absolutely horrible. It was all she could do not to wrinkle her nose and splutter. At least it was warm going down. Upon reflection, the strong taste would mask any adulterants — Veritaserum was tasteless and odourless, but Narcissa might have already made up her mind and decided to poison her.
Well, if so, it had already been done. Mafalda set the glass on the table and met Narcissa's gaze.
You want to lie under Veritaserum? Then you'd better make yourself believe it. Make it your truth.
"It wasn't my plan from the start, even though I now wish it had been," said Mafalda smoothly, the now-familiar force of Veritaserum loosening her tongue. Luckily, she had already convinced herself of this narrative. "I was foolish, but now I finally understand the power of the Dark Lord."
"Quite a revelation," said Narcissa, running a finger around the rim of her glass. She cocked her head to the side, platinum hair shining like spun silver in the harsh light. "May I ask how you came to it?"
Her words came without thinking, emboldened by the Veritaserum.
"On that night at the Creevey farm, when Bellatrix Lestrange followed the boy and I."
He had been so trusting. He had believed in her. For a few seconds, Mafalda had been the most powerful thing in his universe.
And then—
"Prewett, you cannot win against me! The Dark Lord has taught me spells of power such that you, girl, cannot possibly hope to comprehend!"
"Her power was like nothing I'd seen before."
Bellatrix was an architect of pain. An artist of torture, she painted with blood and mingled the horrific visuals with the screaming that was music to her ears, and the result brought her infinite joy.
"But she chose to spare me, and I think I know the reason why."
But I am merciful; I will give you the choice to live. Give me the boy!"
Narcissa took a sip of that nauseating whisky and pursed her lips. "Why?"
Complete belief.
"Because it turned my world upside down. Because every day since then, I questioned my choices."
"Won't you want your pound of flesh?" Narcissa leaned back in her chair. "For your uncles. Fabian and Gideon Prewett?"
Mafalda flinched, and all of a sudden, the truth, the real truth, was pounding in her head, blazing and searing and screaming to get out. She muscled it down.
"Trust me, Mrs. Malfoy… vengeance is the last thing on my mind. We're long past the age of blood feuds. That's medieval."
Narcissa smiled behind the glass. "Agreed. We are all serving the purpose of the greater good, after all."
Unable to speak for fear of something disastrous coming out, Mafalda only nodded. Now, Narcissa was standing up, coming closer again. A hand landed on Mafalda's shoulder, cold even through the thick wool. A few strands of hair whispered against her cheek as Narcissa leaned in, anchoring her to the spot. Here, there was no escape but death.
"Can I count on your loyalty in service of the Dark Lord?"
Narcissa's eyes were like two harpoons. The hooks buried in Mafalda's mind, holding fast.
No. No, no, no. You can't.
A flood of words pushed and pulled at her tongue. A chorus of truths.
She needed this to be true. If this wasn't true, everyone in the Order was at risk. The whole world was at risk. Tonks, perhaps still waiting for her in the Level One corridor, helpless as to her fate, was at risk.
With a herculean effort, Mafalda turned so she was looking directly at Narcissa. With the image fixed in her mind, she breathed,
"Yes."
The smile returned to Narcissa's face — one of triumph. She drew back, releasing her hold on Mafalda, regarding her as if with newfound interest. Mafalda suspected she knew why. Narcissa had been betting on her for more than a year, and it seemed that the bet had finally paid off.
Now comes the hard part. Now comes playing the part each and every day.
Surely, Mafalda would be assigned to her soon as long as she performed well in Auror training.
Mental Preparedness should be a walk in the park, thought Mafalda, but there was a sour taste in her mouth.
Above all, January at Hogwarts was wet.
Walking around the snow-covered grounds caused a layer of dampness to seep into one's socks within five minutes, and everyone's boots tracked in a flood of slush; anyone caught doing so found themselves at the mercy of Argus Filch. The wet blew in from windows opened to air classrooms and triggered a series of chills and colds, which required at least a hundred vials of Pepper-up Potion before the first week was out. Ironically, the dungeons were the only place completely safe from the wet, due to the lack of windows. Slytherins stretched out before the emerald fireplace and finally enjoyed a respite from the cold, muggy weather while watching fish swim past the underground windows.
"This is amazing," Blaise Zabini sighed, trailing into the common room from the dormitory with a pair of fresh, dry socks. "Can you imagine what it's like in Ravenclaw Tower right now?"
"Astoria says they've been charming the windows sealed, so I think they're alright," said Daphne Greengrass, his fellow prefect, looking up from the roll of parchment in her lap. "I have got patrol in half an hour, though."
"Who with?"
Daphne looked a little irritated. "Goldstein."
"You think that's bad? I got Granger last night," said Blaise, sitting down beside her and stretching his legs out.
"At least Granger doesn't talk your ear off," said Daphne, pressing her quill against the parchment with considerable force.
Ruby found her thoughts wandering from her own essay on Wiggenweld Potion to their conversation. A trail of scrunched-up pieces of parchments, old, failed drafts, were scattered beneath her feet. Anthony wasn't nearly so talkative anymore, she reflected. But then again, Daphne liked everything 'just-so.'
A beat of silence passed.
"The real question is, how was Christmas at Malfoy Manor? Draco hasn't said anything about it, and you know how hard it is for him to keep his mouth shut."
"Well, you know who's there. He can't," said Daphne, and Ruby's heart skipped a beat. She abandoned her essay, letting the quill drop from her limp fingers and glancing over.
Daphne had her feet tucked up under her, essay similarly abandoned, but her workspace was neat, quill resting parallel to the sheet of parchment, ink bottle sitting just beside it. Blaise was drawing circles in the plush emerald rug with his feet, eyes half-closed.
"Pfft, that's just a rumour." Blaise cracked an eye open. "Who'd you hear that from, anyway?"
He waved a hand. "Actually, never mind. I don't want to waste time thinking about him."
"He's only jealous that you've got 'his' Seeker position," said Daphne in a diplomatic tone.
"Yeah, who wouldn't be jealous of me?" Blaise stretched and yawned, casting a glance across the room to check if anyone was watching. His and Ruby's eyes met before she could appear engrossed in the essay again and he smiled, patting the sofa next to him.
There was no wriggling out of it. Ruby picked up her half-finished essay, quill, and ink, then trailed over to the sofa. Blaise looked triumphant.
At the very least, Ruby thought she might be able to get some information about Malfoy from either of them. Daphne certainly seemed to know something. Ruby had just opened her mouth to ask when Blaise said:
"It's Theo I'm worried about. He looks absolutely grey."
He did look under the weather, thought Ruby, when he did emerge from one of his various hiding places to venture to class. But then again, everyone had been coughing and sneezing, and besides, her heart held no love for Theodore Nott. He was one of the Dark Lord's loyalest and most dangerous servants, after all.
"Well, that's living proof you don't choose your parents," Blaise went on. He snorted. "Imagine choosing Thaddeus Nott!"
Daphne whipped around, her rosebud mouth curving into a disapproving frown. "Mr. Nott is a very nice man!"
"Oh, if you forget he flew into a rage and killed his wife—"
"That's a horrible rumour!" snapped Daphne, bolting upright, eyes flashing. "And it's hurtful for Theo—"
"Come on, Daph, the coffin was closed," said Blaise acidly. The usual levity had drained from his tone. "Not to mention they say he was a Death Eater, you do the maths. I know what you'll say — he's a pillar of our community."
Ruby knew next to nothing about Thaddeus Nott but that he was a Death Eater, and he was the wolf to Theo's rabbit — wide-boned and heavy-set, with a splintered pupil from an Auror's curse — and somehow pardoned under the perennial excuse of being under the influence of the Imperius Curse. He seemed the type if there was one. And anyone willing to use their child as a means to an end — Ruby shuddered — was a true Slytherin to the most dangerous extent.
Daphne pressed her lips together, and did not respond. She got to her feet and folded up her essay.
"Well, I had better get ready for patrol. Take care."
She sounded particularly robotic, which meant that she must be particularly furious. Supporting this assumption, Daphne headed off without another word.
Well, that went well.
"Is it true?" Ruby asked Blaise; the latter was staring after Daphne with a miffed expression.
"About Thaddeus Nott? Well—"
"No," said Ruby, leaning in closer and lowering her voice. She glanced over her shoulder, but no one was paying them any mind. "About you know who. Is he really at Malfoy Manor?"
Blaise gave her an evaluative look through his dark eyelashes, apparently vacillating on whether to tell her what he knew.
"I heard it from Crabbe — or Goyle, I can never keep them straight. Draco looked about to explode and then he took them out to 'talk,' so I think it's true."
That was a revelation. Ruby sat back in the sofa, turning the information over in her head. Now, this put every strange thing Malfoy had done this year into a fresh light. The Snitch incident was beginning to look more and more suspicious.
"Blaise — you said Malfoy only got to the stands halfway through the game."
He arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, why?" His eyes widened, catching her train of reasoning. "Now that's a bit paranoid, don't you think?"
Paranoia felt like the default setting these days. And Blaise didn't know what she did, that the Snitch that had cursed Harry was no school prank, but the handiwork of Dolohov.
Oh, she'd get Malfoy and Nott in front of Dumbledore, no matter what she had to risk. They had to get to the bottom of this.
The damp had still not relinquished its hold on Hogwarts by the next morning. Ruby's hair was already clinging to her neck by the time she shuffled into the Great Hall. She didn't have the patience for casting Drying Charms in five-minute intervals like Daphne, but what she did have was a plan.
Circumnavigating the Slytherin table, she hailed Anthony, who was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes and yawning, and headed over to the Gryffindor table. The new year had inspired a passion for studying in many students, and Hermione was certainly doing her part, to say the least, with books spread across more than her fair portion of the table.
Upon reflection, as they approached, Ruby thought that the Great Hall might not be the best venue for a clandestine discussion.
Then again, the din emanating from the Gryffindor table did make it nigh impossible to overhear anything.
"Oh, this can't be good," said Ron, casting a doleful glance over both Ruby and Anthony. "What's happened?"
"No clue," said Anthony, shrugging.
"Good morning, Ronald," said Ruby pointedly.
Harry looked over his shoulder at the Slytherin table before turning back to her. "More to the point, what are you planning?"
Even Hermione looked up now, slotting a bookmark into her Charms textbook and nearly knocking over her glass of pumpkin juice in the process. "Can it be quick, please, we've got a quiz today."
Ron cast his eyes to the grey, cloudy ceiling. "It's not like she's been studying for it the whole week."
With a glance up and down the table, Ruby was satisfied they would not be overheard, but beckoning everyone to lean in closer so she could whisper, just in case.
"So, Voldemort's been at Malfoy Manor — at least these past few weeks — and I'm ninety-nine per cent certain *that means Malfoy and Nott are here to do more than study for their O.W.L.s."
Everyone craned their necks to gawk at the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was complaining about something to Pansy, and Theodore was off to the side by himself.
Everyone but Hermione, that is.
"Who told you that, Ruby?" she asked, trying in vain to wipe ink off her fingers.
"Does it matter?"
Hermione said nothing, but scowled.
"Fine, it was Blaise Zabini," said Ruby, crossing her arms. "Who heard it from Crabbe— or Goyle. It's not like it matters, it is what it is."
"Great," said Ron, "information from Crabbe or Goyle."
"They are too stupid to lie," Anthony pointed out in a helpful tone.
"So what are we going to do about it?" asked Hermione. "I don't see how it helps our case."
Here came the part they probably weren't going to like. Ruby took a deep breath.
"Is everyone up for losing a lot of House points?"
"It's practically a yearly tradition at this point," said Anthony amicably. He raised the nearest glass he could find in a mock salute.
Harry shrugged. "Yeah, why not?"
"You still haven't explained what it is," Hermione said, sipping her tea and then making a face — it had probably gone cold. "Surely your 'brilliant plan' doesn't involve necromancy?"
Ruby scowled. "For the last time, it wasn't necromancy; he wasn't dead in the first place! And no, it involves using ourselves as bait to get Malfoy and Nott in so much trouble there'll be no getting out of being called to Dumbledore's office."
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. Harry looked nonplussed. She wasn't sure if Anthony had even been paying attention; presently, he was staring out the window with a far-away look.
"What I mean," said Ruby, lowering her voice even more, "is I'm going to challenge Malfoy to a wizard's duel."
The response was instantaneous and loud dismay. Ruby didn't understand it. It was a good plan, and she'd thought about it all night! Malfoy's pride wouldn't allow him to refuse.
"He was at Durmstrang," said Hermione, "he probably knows all sorts of Dark magic."
"That's great," said Ruby with a shrug. "If he curses me with something really nasty, all the better for the plan."
"Harry, mate," said Ron tiredly, drawing a hand over his face and giving Harry a pleading look.
Harry pushed his glasses further up his nose with a finger and regarding Ruby through them in a way that reminded her of Dumbledore's piercing look.
"Ruby?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm your second."
Anthony rolled his shoulders back, scratching his flesh arm with his copper hand. He wrinkled his nose. "All of that aside, how're you going to piss him off to get him to duel you?"
Ruby looked over her shoulder at the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was already scowling at something.
"Shouldn't be too hard."
They soon all fell silent; the first period of classes was soon approaching. Harry, Ron, and Hermione would go to Charms with the Hufflepuffs, and Ruby and Anthony to Transfiguration. It was unlikely she would be able to start trouble with Malfoy there — even he was not stupid enough to mess around in Professor McGonagall's class.
Professor McGonagall was seated behind her desk, as usual, when they filed in.
"Good to see you are keeping Mr. Goldstein punctual, Miss Potter," she said as they sat down not too far from the front, with a flicker of a smile; Anthony had been late to his very first Transfiguration class and had to write an essay to make up for it.
Today, however, they had been set the fairly bizarre task of turning armadillos into pillows. Ruby would have felt bad for the armadillos in question if only the whole thing weren't so frustratingly complex. Professor McGonagall hadn't gotten through five minutes of lecturing about energy diagrams by the time Ruby felt her brain start to turn to mush.
Looking around the room, that feeling was not uncommon. Pansy's eyes had glazed over, though Daphne beside her was making a dutiful attempt at copying down notes. Malfoy had abandoned all hope in lieu of nibbling on the end of his quill (which was made of sugar). Crabbe and Goyle had their mouths propped open and appeared to be in a vegetative state. The Ravenclaws were faring slightly better — Anthony, at least, seemed to understand everything that was going on.
"—and as you see, with an advanced transfiguration, the subject is excited to a level such that there are several points of equilibrium to which the transfiguration may spontaneously progress—"
Ruby inked her quill and made her best, good-faith attempt at writing notes. She would have to somehow make sense of all of this before O.W.L.s, anyway. And as it were, she did not manage to turn her armadillo into a pillow by the end of class — at least, not a pillow with armoured plates and hair sticking out of the seams.
"Did you understand any of that?" asked Ruby, shovelling everything on her desk back into her bag.
"Think I've got the gist," said Anthony. His armadillo had been Transfigured almost all of the way — although an unpleasant, mottled brown compared to the crisp white of Professor McGonagall's demonstration.
It was definitely more than a gist. Ruby felt woefully behind in Transfiguration, which meant, in other terms, she was only doing slightly better than average. To be fair, she'd been consumed with a good deal outside of schoolwork this year — but perhaps that was just a convenient excuse.
"You're a lot better than me at Potions," said Anthony as they made their way out of the classroom as if he knew what she was thinking. Ruby smiled weakly in response.
"So, how are we going to pull this off?" Anthony nodded at Malfoy, walking a few feet ahead of them, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Pansy and Milicent were bringing up the rear, and the former turned to glare at Ruby.
"It's not like you can just flick a Gobstone at his back."
At the end of the hallway, they would split off. Ruby and the other Slytherins had Defence with Gryffindor; Anthony was going to Charms with Hufflepuff.
Well, here we go.
"I'll let you know how it goes," said Ruby, her heartbeat just starting to pick up. "And where it is."
Anthony shook his head. "I still can't believe you're doing this."
"It's the only way," said Ruby solemnly, and then they parted ways.
She quickened her pace to catch up to her Housemates as they neared the Defence classroom corridor, murmuring, under her breath, Blaise's evergreen saying about Malfoy: wind him up and watch him go.
A small mob was already starting to form outside of the classroom, or, really, two mobs, the Gryffindors and Slytherins, bunching up into separate clusters.
"—and here's to another disaster of a class," Pansy was saying, tucking a strand of her shiny bob behind her ear.
"What can you expect when Dumbledore hands the position to a Weasley?" asked Malfoy, relishing in his element of dishing out unchallenged insults. "It's charity, that's what Father says. Everyone knows they haven't got a pot to piss in." His cold gaze searched through the small crowd, picking out Ruby, and he smiled. "Was it their hovel you went to over the holidays, Potter?"
"No," said Ruby, moving closer to the core of the small throng despite herself. Lily Moon skittered out of the way, wide-eyed with fright. "But it's nice to know you think about me when I'm not around," she added in a saccharine tone.
Malfoy's upper lip lifted in a sneer as he sized her up. "You wish — I wouldn't spend time thinking about Second-Best Potter," he spat, two strands of hair falling into his livid face.
The rest of the Slytherins had quieted. Blaise was doing a poor job of hiding his smile, and Daphne was inspecting her nailbeds. Pansy had wandered closer, wrapping a hand around Malfoy's forearm, but he seemed not to notice her.
"Oh!" Ruby pressed a hand to her heart as if she'd been struck by an arrow, her mouth dropping open theatrically. "Did you practice that one in the mirror?"
Malfoy's pale eyes bulged, and he flushed hot pink from collar to hairline. "You think you're clever, don't you?" He lunged closer, nostrils flaring.
Ruby's blood felt like liquid adrenaline.
I know you have it in you, and don't lie to me. We're more similar than we're different. I know you want to push the both of them to the edge and watch them squeal.
She stepped closer, too — close enough to see the silver flecks in his furious eyes, his chest heaving up and down.
"After all, you're really the one who's second-best." Ruby leaned in even closer, savouring his gasp of surprise. She could smell the cloying scent of his hair gel as she whispered into his ear: "Voldemort likes Theo best, doesn't he?"
And she stepped away, smiling. Malfoy was completely red now, and he brushed Pansy off. His hands balled into fists; Pansy was looking askance between Ruby and Malfoy. The silence was filled with anticipation.
Malfoy seemed to tremble, blur in the dim light of the hallway.
"Be careful, Potter!"
"Or else what?" asked Ruby, the blood rushing in her ears. "Will your mum try to have me killed again?"
"Don't you talk about my mother!" snapped Malfoy, lunging forward. Fresh sweat had sprung up on his forehead.
There, she'd found the nerve. He quivered under her gaze, and Ruby felt as if she were floating out of her body, almost delirious. The air was hot, charged with electricity like the sky after a lightning strike. Daphne was moving closer to them, perhaps about to intervene.
The blood had drained from Malfoy's face — now he was white with fury, whiter than his hair. "It's not like you would know anything about being raised properly — dragged up by Muggles — and you didn't have a chance to start with, with your Mudblood mother."
The anger that sliced through her was colder and drier than she expected, sharp, crystallised. The faces before her blurred into an indeterminate smear, except for Malfoy's. The weight of the false Time-Turner felt heavy around her neck, and she was almost surprised when her lips moved, her voice sounding unfamiliar and wintry.
"You just can't stop running your mouth, Malfoy. But you can't back it up — all bark, no bite. Seems like Durmstrang was a waste."
"You think I'm all talk, do you?" Malfoy's voice was high, strained, but he was grinning like a dog before a fight. "I'll meet you in the dungeons, in front of the Paracelsus statue. Nine o'clock."
"Are you crazy?" asked Daphne, pushing back a frozen Pansy to stand between Ruby and Malfoy. "Duelling is strictly *against school rules."
"Rule number three," said Malfoy, not even sparing her a glance.
"Blaise," said Daphne in a pleading tone.
The other prefect shrugged. "He's right, Daph. Keep our secrets. The professors aren't hearing about this from us."
The previous class was starting to filter out into the hallways, and a few people were pushing their way inside. Ruby turned away, her heart thumping against her ribcage. She'd done it. She'd pulled it off — or maybe she'd gotten herself stuck in something.
"And don't forget to bring your second, Potter," hissed Malfoy as he fell into step between Crabbe and Goyle. "I'll deal with your brother once I'm through with you."
The Invisibility Cloak swept the floor as they made their way into the dungeons. It was Harry's first time down here since last year with Mordred. Here, the corridor had been littered with shrapnel from the artifice — here, they'd both nearly died — here, Mordred's dead body had laid.
Ruby seemed unaffected, even as they passed the Mirror room. She hadn't spoken a word since they'd met up on the ground floor.
"So, who's Malfoy's second?" asked Harry.
"Nott, hopefully," said Ruby. "I'd like to see him try to wriggle out of this one."
Harry thought for a second. It was unlikely — Nott understood the value of self-preservation. But they were drawing closer; the Paracelsus statue was just visible, a towering thing made out of stone, complete with a carved floppy cap. No one was there. It was so quiet he could almost hear the water lapping against the castle walls, echoing in the empty corridor; or perhaps that was just his mind trying to fill the dark, hollow space of the dungeon hallway. Nature abhors a vacuum, after all.
Suppressing a shudder, Harry glanced at his watch as Ruby tugged off the Invisibility Cloak.
"Think he backed out?"
"Not on your life, Potter," said a cold voice. Malfoy stepped out from around a corner, wand already drawn.
Harry held his breath. The figure that followed Malfoy out of the shadowy darkness was Crabbe, not Nott.
So, Nott decided to abandon Malfoy to his fate.
"No physical contact, no Unforgivables?" Malfoy went on, shrugging off his cloak and kicking it away. "Unless there are further limits you'd like to enforce."
"Sounds fine to me," said Ruby. She had been glaring at Malfoy since he stepped into the small circle of orange light cast by the overhead lamp. Harry didn't think she'd even noticed Crabbe.
Crabbe retreated out of the circle; Harry, too, took a step back, feeling sick to his stomach. How wrong could it go in fifteen minutes? he tried to remind himself. Very soon, Hermione would be knocking on Professor McGonagall's office door and telling her she'd caught wind of a duel in the depths of the dungeons.
Ruby and Malfoy were alone in the circle now, barely bowing their heads to each other. His hex missed her by inches — Harry's heart leapt into his throat when she just stood still and let it whizz by her.
Malfoy's eyes widened, his displeasure visible even in the wan light as he raised his wand again. This time, Ruby deflected the hex, two strands of light meeting in a violent starburst, far brighter than the lamp. Both drew back, breathing hard.
"Did you spend time revising hex deflection with Weasley this afternoon? Or was it your brother's Mudblood fri—"
"Shut up. You're always mouthing off," said Ruby coldly, as Malfoy's lips moved without sound, his eyes bulging out of his head. In the darkness behind him, Crabbe stirred, gaze lumbering between them as if unsure what was going on.
Ruby raised her wand again as Crabbe crept closer to the circle, his attention locked on Malfoy.
"If he steps in, I do too," said Harry, making his way forward, and Malfoy swatted at Crabbe, face flushed with humiliation.
"Impedimenta!"
Harry's vision turned turquoise — and then he heard Malfoy hit the floor, hard. He scrambled to his feet, face contorted with rage, still silenced, his knuckles white around his wand.
So they don't learn nonverbal spells in the fourth year at Durmstrang, thought Harry, with a touch of amusement.
Ruby had moved almost to the centre of the circle, wand still trained on Malfoy, unable to defend himself. Harry felt cold, shaky relief. It would all be over soon, and without anyone getting hurt.
Cords shot out the end of Ruby's wand, undulating like seaweed, snaking towards Malfoy. Harry saw despair in his eyes before his wand shot out, too, and he shouted a spell that Harry was sure they'd never encountered in Defence or Duelling Club.
Everything that happened next seemed to be in slow motion. There was a flash of white light like a flare. Then he heard Ruby's yell of surprise, and she staggered backwards in a spray of crimson. Just in time, Harry lunged forward, catching her before she reached the floor, and ice laced through his spine. There were bloody, angry stripes painted across her shirt, blossoming so quickly there was more red than white. Her breathing was coming out in quick, uneven gasps, and her wand had fallen from her limp fingers to roll on the stone floor.
"You coward!" yelled Harry, only vaguely aware Malfoy was rushing up to them. "You realised you were losing and—"
Malfoy's face had gone chalk-white; he was trembling. "No — I didn't — I didn't know what it did—"
"LIAR!" Harry bellowed. His vision swam with red. Of course, Malfoy would act all concerned now; he was only worried about the trouble he'd be in.
"Come on — we have to — Episkey!"
In response to Malfoy's spell, Ruby's wounds attempted to knit together, and Harry felt her jolt, but the bleeding just pushed them open again.
They couldn't afford to wait for the professors now. It had been nowhere near fifteen minutes, or at least he guessed, as he couldn't tell with his watch smeared with blood, and every second counted.
"Come on," said Malfoy again, voice low and scratchy. "We've got to get to the Hospital Wing."
Harry's only hope was that the professors were at least making their way down towards them. At least they wouldn't have to go too far to get help if everything else had gone according to plan. He tapped Ruby on the shoulder, and her eyelids fluttered.
"You can't stand, can you?"
"I don't think that's a good idea." Malfoy was worrying his cheek with his teeth as Crabbe crept behind him.
Of all the people to be in this situation with—
"What is the meaning of this?"
A cold voice cut through the heavy air of the dungeon corridor, and Harry turned, for the first time in his life, relieved to see Severus Snape.
"First, Goldstein comes, telling his usual outlandish tales that I found hard to believe at the time — and yet here you are, stretching the limits of absurdity."
He pushed Harry roughly aside, anger rolling off of him. Malfoy looked up at Snape, transfixed as Snape drew his wand, tracing it over Ruby's wounds and muttering a song-like incantation. Harry could only watch, feeling numb as it seemed like the blood stopped flowing, the wounds finally knitting together as Snape repeated the spell over and over again.
The horror mirrored in Malfoy's eyes did not bring him comfort.
Snape did not pay either of them any mind, half-lifting Ruby into a standing position. She looked smaller than usual and perhaps even doll-like, her head drooping.
"Are you alright?" asked Harry, rushing to her side. Ruby made a low sort of groan in response, and he noticed that Snape was pressing something into her curled fingers — Harry recognised the dark, viscous liquid as Blood-Replenishing Potion.
Ruby grimaced as she drank it; Harry recalled the unpleasant taste and texture all too familiarly.
"Malfoy… Crabbe… Potter…" Here he glanced at each of them with a cold, furious gaze as they began the arduous trek up the long, dark hallway. Malfoy and Crabbe trailed behind, the former hanging his head like a convict led to the rope and the latter looking bewildered. "I suppose one of you would like to explain to me why, in your infinite wisdom, you thought it prudent to duel in the dungeons — which, may I remind you, is grounds for expulsion?"
Snape seemed to particularly savour that last word. Harry glowered at Malfoy, daring him to say something, but he kept his pale lips pressed tightly closed.
After a few seconds of Snape glaring at all of them, Harry said: "It was Malfoy's idea, he challenged her."
Malfoy suddenly became entranced by the floor.
"And you had to acquiesce, Miss Potter?" said Snape, low and venomous. "Here I thought you were the one with slightly more brains."
Ruby did not respond, too focused on not tripping over the uneven floor. In fact, Snape was supporting most of her weight.
He looked over his shoulder, and Malfoy startled, standing to attention. "I've changed my mind. Miss Potter and I are going to the Hospital Wing. The rest of you — straight to the Headmaster's office. I expect Professor Dumbledore will be especially intrigued to learn of your sloppy attempt at murder, Draco."
"I didn't know!" Malfoy was whispering, but loud enough for Harry to hear. "I saw — one of your old notebooks — I—"
"You, stupid, stupid boy," hissed Snape.
Just then, Harry realised that there were footsteps coming towards them and two dark shapes moving in the shadows. A few seconds later and he recognised Hermione and Professor McGonagall. Crabbe started, nearly falling over his feet at the sight.
"Of all the reckless and idiotic things—" started Professor McGonagall, hurrying down the slope. But then she caught sight of Ruby, who still looked grey and was being half-dragged by Snape. "What on earth happened?"
Hermione was taking everything in with wide, disbelieving eyes. She and Harry locked gazes, and he slowly shook his head.
"Exactly what you described, Minerva, reckless idiocy," said Snape. "I am escorting Miss Potter to the Hospital Wing. The rest, I hope you and Miss Granger will bring the rest to Professor Dumbledore's office; Mr. Malfoy is itching to explain his use of exotic curses."
"Is she alright?" asked Hermione, who looked as if she had been holding back words for a long time and still wanted to say more now that she had an excuse to cross the space between the two groups.
Snape's mouth settled into a grim line. "Yes." He did not sound pleased about this.
Harry was seized with the sudden desire to smack him.
"Time is of the essence," said Snape, starting off again. Harry's mouth went dry, his gut twisting as they made their way past Professor McGonagall and up the corridor.
If anything, the air felt more oppressive now. Hermione came up to his side, her face etched with concern. As they began to make their way back up to the ground floor, Harry realised that they had technically won. Malfoy was being taken to Dumbledore's office, where he wouldn't be able to wriggle out of questioning, and they had a chance of getting to the bottom of all the strange happenings this year.
But at what cost?
A/N: Sorry this took me so long! I was almost done and then I had a horrible week :(
But last week I was able to finish this and the next chapter!