"ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀꜰᴜʟ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱʏ, ʜᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ. ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴅᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ, ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴀ ꜱᴘʟɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴀᴄʜᴇ, ᴀ ɴᴇᴀʀʟʏ ɪʀʀᴇꜱɪꜱᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴜʀɢᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪᴛ ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴ ɪɴꜰᴇʀɪᴏʀɪᴛʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇx. ʏɪᴘᴘᴇᴇ." ― ᴊ.ʀ. ᴡᴀʀᴅ, ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ
Chapter Sixteen: Playing Cards
Nine-thirty was nowhere near approaching his bedtime (only turning in for the night after midnight was a habit Tee found impossible to shake), but that didn't dispel his irritation at being summoned to Dumbledore's office at this hour. He was halfway through a fascinating text on Re'em anatomy, to add insult to injury.
Nevertheless, he marked his place, glared at the owl who had delivered the note, and slammed the door behind him on his way out. To his misfortune, Remus Lupin, the librarian, was out in the hallway, too, looking all the worse for wear as the full moon had only started to wane yesterday.
Lupin didn't even acknowledge him, just heading for the stairs in utter silence. Luckily, it was only a short way to the Headmaster's office, and they were soon standing in front of the stone gargoyle.
Tee opened his mouth to pronounce the password, but Lupin beat him to it. Just as well. The very idea of Acid Pops made his tongue hurt.
"After you," Lupin said, in some strange attempt to be polite after his earlier shunning. Tee only glared before storming (in his mind, with great dignity and his robes billowing dramatically behind him) up the stone steps.
Even before they got to the oak double doors at the top of the staircase, Tee heard the sound of raised voices. And if his ears didn't deceive him, the paintings had joined in, too.
His life was truly a waking nightmare. The moment the doors swung open, Tee was assaulted by Harry Potter shouting at full volume at the Abraxas Malfoy lookalike. His eyes and Dumbledore's made two, and the latter winced.
"—AND YOU JUST COULDN'T STAND LOSING—"
He had a truly impressive lung capacity; Tee had to give him that.
"Harry," said Dumbledore in a diplomatic tone, but it was futile. His voice was swallowed by Potter's railing on about whatever it was and the paintings of former Headmasters and Headmistresses offering their own opinions at a similar volume level. Lupin, behind him, opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, and closed it again.
"—YOU JUMPED-UP LITTLE PLAY-PRETEND DEATH EATER—"
Tee had had enough. He whipped out his wand and cast a quick Silencing Charm, instantly muting Potter and the paintings mid-rant. Sweet, sweet silence resounded through the office, and Potter continued to flap his mouth for a few seconds before realising that nothing audible was coming out.
Malfoy gave Tee a pathetic look of gratitude. Dumbledore looked displeased, but the result was impossible to argue with. He took off his half-moon spectacles, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and gestured to the chairs in front of the desk.
Eager to get this over with, Tee strode over first and took his usual seat. Lupin was to his left and Malfoy to his right; the latter kept glancing nervously at Tee. Harry, all the way on the far end, was still fuming, his hands balled into fists in his lap and jaw working. The large boy between him and Malfoy looked bewildered.
"Now," said Dumbledore, casting a castigating glance over the students, "may we have it from the beginning, without devolving into a shouting match — Harry — Draco — ah, Vincent?"
"It was just a duel," Malfoy blurted out.
Harry lifted his head, sending Malfoy a look of pure hate. "Yeah, it was just a duel, until you brought some — what did Snape call it — exotic curse into it!"
"Harry," said Lupin.
Why, oh why, had he been dragged here, and what purpose could he possibly serve in this petty squabble?
"Right," said Harry, through gritted teeth. "So Ruby and Malfoy were duelling—"
"Why were you duelling?" asked Lupin.
"Malfoy's idea."
"She started arguing with me," Malfoy said. Tee wished it was socially acceptable to clap his hands over his ears. He hated whinging.
"And naturally, you felt a formal challenge the appropriate response to such insult," said Dumbledore, steepling his fingers. He did not bother to mask the sarcastic lilt to his tone. "Please, do continue."
"Then we all met in the dungeons," said Harry. "It's pretty simple what happened. Malfoy started losing, like I said, so he decided he'd try to kill her—"
"For the last time, Potter, I didn't know what that spell did!" shouted Malfoy.
"Likely story," snapped Harry, his face twisting into a scowl as he shot up straight. "Professor Dumbledore—"
Dumbledore shook his head, stroking his long beard. "Remember, Harry, never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by ignorance."
Harry sank back into his chair, still scowling. Malfoy, too, bristled at the perceived insult from Dumbledore, but surprisingly, he held his tongue. For a second, the room was silent, and Tee heard the ticking of the clock cutting crisply through the quiet. Fawkes was fast asleep in a smouldering nest.
"Well, Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall have already deducted points."
All three students nodded.
"Then Remus, will you take Harry and Vincent to bed?" asked Dumbledore, setting his glasses down on the desk. His blue eyes gleamed with a steely intensity. "Tom and I would like to have a chat with Draco."
Would we?
Tee shot a glare at Dumbledore, but it seemed to glance off him. There was truly no getting out of it, then. What did Dumbledore want him here for in the first place?
Behind him, Lupin had gotten up. The large boy still looked bemused, getting up too and shuffling his feet. He looked almost longingly at Malfoy before Lupin placed a hand on his shoulder and started guiding him out. Harry had to be coaxed out of his chair, glaring daggers at Malfoy all the way to the door. Just before the door shut behind them, Tee heard Harry say, "Can we visit her in the Hospital Wing?"
How touching.
"Would you like a Sugared Butterfly Wing?" asked Professor Dumbledore, extending a small bowl of what looked like sugar-coated, chocolate-dipped and desiccated butterfly wings to Malfoy, who appeared to be beginning to melt into his chair, eyes wide with fright.
Honestly, Tee couldn't blame him. They did look revolting. He was no aesthete, but even he could tell there was something seriously wrong with Dumbledore's palate.
"You can't expel me," said Malfoy, though there was a note of desperation in his voice. Not to mention, he was looking at the bowl of Sugared Butterfly Wings as if expecting an army of Blast-Ended Skrewts to emerge from it. "My father's the chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors."
Tee's stomach clenched. Yes, he remembered this game from his years as a Slytherin. Someone always had a cousin here, an aunt there — they were born into the power that he'd had to claw his way to a fraction of. He knew the rules of the game and its little unfairnesses, and yet they never failed to leave a bad taste in his mouth. Malfoy would slip out of this one like a greased eel.
Evading consequences was the Slytherin way, after all — God knows he'd avoided his fair share. But he'd been smart enough not to get caught in the first place.
"Be that as it may," said Dumbledore, "the situation is indeed very serious, Draco."
"Potter's as responsible as I am!"
Malfoy lifted his head, his bottom lip wobbling and eyes brimming with crocodile tears.
Ridiculous. How old was he — fifteen, or sixteen? — crying over a mess that, by Harry Potter's account, he was partially responsible. Tee nearly scoffed out loud.
He jolted when he heard Dumbledore's voice, clearer than if Dumbledore had spoken directly into his ear, and yet his lips had not moved: "Now, Tom, this is a risky and unpleasant business, but I think we cannot avoid it. You must look into his mind to discover the machinations of our… mutual friend. Do not, at all costs, draw attention to what you are doing."
Ah, so there it was—another menial task—looking into some tiresome individual's mind. Tee grimaced.
"I completely understand that emotions run hot at your age," Dumbledore was saying, in a manner that he so keenly recalled from the days of sitting across from Dumbledore in the Transfiguration Professor's office, "but that is no excuse for resorting to violence — and violence of that calibre."
Now, it dawned on him with the force of a thunderclap. Tee understood the whole game. The choreography was laid out before him like a winning hand at cards.
Why were you duelling?
She started arguing with me.
Malfoy had been goaded. Baited, like a bull, and Ruby Potter had offered herself up as the red flag to lead him, unwitting, into this very chair.
To waste such a careful endeavour would be… well… rude.
Tee let the ebb and flow of the conversation — or rather, Dumbledore's lecture — fade around him as he got up and moved behind the desk. From here, Malfoy looked smaller, almost hunched in his chair. Pretending to be engaged in cataloguing the contents of Dumbledore's desk drawers, Tee waited patiently for the right moment.
Finally, Malfoy looked up, still crying like a small child. His countenance was miserable, tears running down his blotchy face, some settling into the small pond of snot dripping from his nose. He locked eyes with Tee for a split second — and all was lost in that moment, though he did not know it.
How far he had sunk, to be forced to delve into the mind of a Malfoy. A dizzying array of images flashed past Tee's eyes, blurring into a maelstrom as Dumbledore's office faded from every one of his senses.
Through it all, there was something, a sound. Tee listened closer.
Desperate. Panicked.
He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!
Clearly, he was not talking about Dumbledore.
Guilty.
I didn't mean to do it! I had no idea what it does!
So he was telling at least part of the truth, then. The images swirled all around Tee, every moment of Malfoy's life flashing past his eyes, too much information to begin to make sense of. But they were all overwhelmingly, soaked with rabid, irrational fear. Now, there was something Tee was well-acquainted with — there was something he understood it.
From where did it come?
Tee looked again. And this time, he did what Salazar had told him. He tried to understand what he was looking at.
Malfoy's mind swayed under his feet like a rope bridge, unstable and frightened. Tee screwed his eyes shut and let himself fall through, taking the path of least resistance. More and more images zoomed past his eyes — rows of red-robed students, the icy fjords of Svalbard shimmering in the midnight sun, the rippling colours of the aurora painted across the sky, seabirds circling above in the open air, whooping resounding across a snow-covered Quidditch pitch, not Hogwarts. But something crept in, tainting every carefree moment.
Yes.
He was getting closer.
All of a sudden, his feet hit solid ground, bone-breaking force resounding through his body. Dumbledore's office was long gone. Instead, he found himself in a grand drawing room, the kind that needed tapestries to keep the heat in. Warm candlelight filled the room, illuminating the figure sitting in front of the towering pipe organ like a Renaissance painting.
So this must be Malfoy Manor.
Malfoy himself, standing at the door, confirmed it.
"Merry Christmas, Draco," said the voice — a cold, soft tenor.
"My Lord—" Malfoy released the doorknob from his trembling fingers, stepping inside. "You summoned me?"
So it was true; Potter's paranoia was justified this time. Then again, Tee couldn't blame him. He'd never been the glass-half-full type, either.
The figure sitting at the head of the table still did not move. It was snowing outside, sticking to the diamond-paned windows and frosting over, but none of the cold came in. If anything, the air was hot and stifling from the overabundance of candles.
Malfoy had begun to take the long walk down to the head of the table, his hands trembling at his sides. A mere silent observer, Tee overtook him, striding up to the figure at the head of the table, now silhouetted orange by the fire. Tee peered at him intently — they'd stood face-to-face at the Siege, yet he'd not had a good look at him. But now, in this memory of Malfoy's, he could look as long and as closely as he liked.
The Elixir of Life had given Voldemort a harsh, frightening beauty. Like Mordred, he was marble-pale — but unlike him, not bloodless. In fact, he looked healthy to the point of overabundance, the rubedo in his veins far, far redder than blood, staining his cheeks and mouth from the inside-out. But it was the eyes that were most striking, a pure, deep ruby-red that seemed to glow with their own light like two red suns, and it was the eyes only that Tee had seen during the Siege.
"I understand you have fulfilled your obligations?"
Tee jolted. Voldemort was looking directly through him at Malfoy, who had come to a stop at a respectful distance.
"Yes, My Lord," said Malfoy, running his hands up and down his arms, despite the heat.
"Come closer." A joyless smile curved Voldemort's mouth.
But, Tee noticed, he made no promise of not biting. Malfoy seemed to be delicately aware of this omission as he crept closer with the tentative manner of one approaching a tiger with an offering of meat. What was surprising, however, was Voldemort's air of impatience, the way he drummed his long, pale fingers.
As Malfoy approached, he snapped them, extending his hand. The boy regarded it as if it were a Venus fly-trap. Achingly slowly, Malfoy reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew a strange, bumpy bundle.
Tee leaned forward, but he could not tell what it was, in the shadows of the firelight. It was with a trembling hand that Malfoy extended the bundle to Voldemort, who flicked a finger towards it. The wrappings of the bundle fell away, leaving a hard little brown ball that looked to Tee like scrunched-up fabric.
"Are you sure this is his?" asked Voldemort, regarding the strange ball as if it were far more interesting than it was.
"Yes, My Lord." Malfoy swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, voice strained. "I made sure of it — myself."
"Good," Voldemort murmured, but his eyes were fixed on the ball of fabric, not paying Draco any mind. "Very good."
What could Voldemort want with some rag? There had to be something about it! Tee leapt to his feet to get a better look, making a circle around them.
That colour of the stain looked familiar.
Was that…
Blood?
"Tom?"
Another shuddering jolt arced through his bones, and again he was standing in Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore peered at him over his half-moon spectacles. The sense of being in Malfoy Manor had not worn off, and Tee found himself still wondering whose blood that was — and why Voldemort cared so much about it.
"Yes, Professor?"
Dumbledore's smile, quite like Voldemort's, did not reach his eyes. "It is past curfew; would you mind escorting Draco to the Slytherin dormitory?"
It was, of course, not a question, but an order. Tee gritted his teeth, casting a critical glance at Malfoy, now looking both chastened and shell-shocked.
"It would be my pleasure."
Perhaps he had layered the sarcasm too thickly on the last word because Dumbledore gave him that infamous, piercing stare.
Ah, it must be part of Dumbledore's game, then. The longer he spent with Malfoy, the higher the chance of getting something truthful out of him. However, Tee doubted he would talk.
"I can find my own way, Professor Dumbledore," said Malfoy, regarding Tee with suspicion.
Does he know who I am?
That boy — Theodore Nott — he had, last year. But he didn't seem the type to share notes.
"It is after curfew," said Dumbledore, in a tone that brooked no argument. "Goodnight, Draco — Tom."
With that, Dumbledore busied himself with the papers lying on his desk. There was nothing else to it, then. Tee walked around the edge of the desk, stopping just in front of Malfoy.
He looked almost as subdued as he had in the memory, but got up without coaxing (to Tee's relief), and started to shuffle towards the door before managing a gracious-enough goodnight to Dumbledore, who smiled again in response.
Tee grudgingly offered his regards, then followed after Malfoy. Perhaps Dumbledore thought there was some risk of him running off to the Owlery immediately to let his father know what 'injustice' he had suffered if he wasn't shepherded to bed. Well, such a happenstance was likely inevitable in the long run.
The hallway outside of the Headmaster's office was dark and silent. Tee's watch read a quarter to midnight, and just then, Malfoy yawned, sizing him up.
He didn't look so subdued now that he was no longer in Dumbledore's presence, but still, Tee met his gaze, unblinking, unflinching.
Finally, Malfoy spat: "Who are you?"
So Nott hadn't given him that crucial bit of information — and Greengrass must have kept her mouth shut about the 'Heir of Slytherin' — then again, she hadn't believed it in the first place.
Tee smiled to himself. So Voldemort was playing the two boys against each other. Audacious — but clever.
"Where did you come from?" asked Malfoy — so like his grandfather — his upper lip lifting in a sneer, twisting his face into a grotesque mask. "You weren't here in first year."
You arrogant little— Tee stopped himself from continuing on that mental tangent.
Clearly, like grandfather, like son. Already his patience was wearing thin. Of all the things sent by Fate to try him — did she really have to add the reincarnation of Abraxas Malfoy to the mix?
"Well," said Tee, injecting a note of grandiosity into his tone, and recalling the memory of red robes and Svalbard, "a lot of things changed while you were at Durmstrang."
The world changing in one's absence was something Tee was well acquainted with, anyway. He started off towards the Slytherin Dungeons, and then, realising Malfoy was not following, glanced over his shoulder.
"What?"
"Could—" Malfoy's face contorted into a shape Tee had only seen once on Abraxas, on the night he'd won their duel, defeated eyes staring out of a bloodied face. "Could you Obliviate me?"
Tee might be above flattery, but the one thing he did love was the sound of begging.
"And why would I do that?" Tee crossed his arms, looking down on Malfoy. His eyes were still red and swollen, though the tear tracks had dried.
Then, Malfoy dipped his head, his voice hoarse.
"Because he'll — he'll—"
The refrain from Malfoy's mind burst into Tee's head as clearly as if the boy had spoken aloud.
He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!
That was his one order — to avoid Dumbledore — and I've failed!
I'm as good as dead—
Tee pulled away, the half of him that loathed anyone carrying the name Malfoy urging him to put his wand in his pocket and leave the boy to his fate. But logic told him that Voldemort discovering their conversation would be a poor strategic move.
"Fine," said Tee. "I'll do it once we reach the common room. As far as you're concerned, Professor Snape took points from Slytherin, assigned you detention, and took you back to the common room where you spent the rest of the night."
Malfoy gazed at him with something like adoration, like a pilgrim praying to an idol. His hands were even clasped before him, and the redness of his eyes lent a religious fervour to the whole scene. "Thank you," he said hoarsely.
Tee said nothing because what he had just done was dancing dangerously close to empathy. After all, he understood, more than most, doing everything it took to survive.
The last of the day's weak winter sun was streaming in through the windows, just barely illuminating the fifth-year girls' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. It was not an easy task, with the heavy drapes still half-drawn.
"At this point, you're going to end up with more scars than Lupin," said Lavender, giving the thin, faint scars starting from Ruby's collarbone an appraising look.
"Oh, leave her alone," said Parvati from her perch on the window seat.
It was a week since the duel — February, now — and though Snape had promised minimal scarring with the dittany, it seemed that Lavender, though hyperbolic, was to be proven right.
Ruby still wasn't sure if her scheme had been worth it. Dumbledore promised her they'd found something that seemed to be significant, but murky in actual detail, and, try as she might to wheedle, charm, and persuade, he remained steadfast against divulging anything else. If she was going to have these stupid scars from Malfoy's curse, he at least owed her the information she'd paid for with them.
Not to mention, it had again made Slytherin Dungeon an inhabitable wasteland of jeering, shunning, and glaring. Most people were furious at both her and Draco for having lost a combined amount of one hundred House points. They had, after all, blown through Rule Number One: don't get caught. A few, Pansy, in particular, rested the blame solely on Ruby's shoulders. So far, she'd found a mouse in her bed (which made Ruby nostalgic for her first year at Hogwarts) and tadpoles in her pumpkin juice.
Lavender flopped down on the bed next to her, spreading her arms out like a starfish. "I can't believe it's almost—"
"Time to start actually studying for O.W.L.s, I know," said Parvati, but she sounded as if she'd rather tear her fingernails out.
"I was going to say Valentine's Day," said Lavender, thoroughly unimpressed.
Parvati made a face of abject horror. Ruby felt her stomach twist in a decidedly unpleasant way. It wasn't a holiday she had ever paid much mind to. But now, it filled her with an existential dread.
"Do you think Dumbledore will lift the Hogsmeade ban?" asked Lavender.
"No," said Parvati, without looking up.
Lavender pouted. "They lifted it for the Ancient Runes class trip."
"That was a small number and easy to keep track of because they were there to do one thing. Besides, they still got attacked by Inferi. Dumbledore can't commander a squad of Aurors to patrol Hogsmeade just because you want to snog some Quidditch player in Madam Puddifoot's."
This last bit was delivered, Ruby thought, in an unnecessarily nasty tone of voice.
"Oh, what do you have against Quidditch players?" Lavender bolted upright, nearly knocking Ruby over. "You're always being horrible about Cedric; it's like you're jealous or something!"
At that, Parvati slammed her Potions textbook shut, and sat up straight too, bristling.
This isn't good. That queasy, twisting feeling in Ruby's stomach had returned, but for an altogether different reason. Parvati and Lavender never argued — yes, they got exasperated with each other at times, but they'd always been in lockstep. Even now, they were wearing matching earrings.
"I'm not jealous," said Parvati coldly. "I'm just dead sick of you going on about him all the time."
Ruby wished the floor would swallow her. How had Gryffindor Tower — Lavender and Parvati — the only reliable haven of peace in this castle — gone the same, chaotic way as everything else? It felt as if everything had gone topsy-turvy.
Lavender answered before Ruby could find calming words to interject with: "So? It's not a crime to take an interest just because you don't!"
Parvati's face seemed alight with flame. "An interest — more like an obsession!"
"Oh, come on, this is stupid, arguing over a boy!" Ruby snapped finally. So, not so calming of an interjection, but at least it got their attention. "We've got more stuff to worry about."
"Not as far as Lav's concerned," said Parvati, tossing her plait over her shoulder with a haughty air.
Lavender leapt to her feet, and Ruby's stomach lurched again.
"Oh, sorry for disturbing you from studying for O.W.L.s you're going to pass anyway—"
"I don't mind being disturbed; I'm just sick of you harping on about—"
"It's like you can't stand the thought of me having a life outside of you!" shrieked Lavender, taking a step forward and shrugging off Ruby's tentative hand on her shoulder. "Maybe you are jealous!"
If Parvati had sounded cold before, her voice was glacial now. All of the furious intensity dimmed from her eyes.
"Or maybe I just hate having to pretend to be best friends with some boy-crazy divvy."
"Parvati," said Ruby pleadingly. "You don't—"
"Alright then," said Lavender, shaking with fury, "since you're so sick of listening to me, I'll just go somewhere else."
With that, she reached up and ripped off her beaded earrings, tossing them on the floor. Parvati recoiled as if she had been stung and Ruby's breath caught in her throat as Lavender turned on her heel, her face a mask of fury, and stormed off.
Still half in shock, Ruby managed to call out her name just before the door slammed behind Lavender, but it did no good.
For a second, a discomforting silence resounded in the room. Ruby could not quite bring herself to meet Parvati's eyes. She didn't know what to say. After all, she had always been closer to Lavender. Maybe she should go after her, try to talk to her. But what would she say? There were and had always been things between Lavender and Parvati that Ruby had never been privy to. Did Lavender even go on about Cedric that much?
"I know what you're thinking," said Parvati in that same icy tone. "Go on, go after her; it's not like anyone cares about me anyway."
Heat sprung into Ruby's face — for she had been thinking of going after Lavender.
"Of course people care about you," said Ruby. She swallowed hard under Parvati's piercing gaze. "Why'd you shout at Lavender like that?"
Parvati gave her a withering look and propped open her Potions textbook, curling herself towards the window.
"Never mind, you wouldn't get it. Just— stop gegging in."
"Alright," Ruby breathed, feeling supremely uncomfortable.
A few more painful minutes oozed by before the door swung open. Hermione shuffled in, lugging a bag bulging with library books, which she heaved onto the bed with a sigh.
"Oh, I've really got to ask Professor Flitwick to teach me the Featherlight Charm." She stretched and scratched her head, taking in the scene; a tight-lipped Parvati glowering at her textbook, Ruby with her hands in her lap, and Lavender suspiciously absent.
"What's going on?"
Her stomach turning, Ruby shook her head wordlessly. Parvati made an affected 'hmph' and curled up even more, like a snail or a hermit crab retreating into its shell.
"Did one of you have a row with Lavender?" asked Hermione, stepping closer.
Lucky guess, thought Ruby. She still couldn't believe what had happened. It was too bizarre. What was going on with Parvati?
Parvati had her cheek pressed against the cold windowpane, the Potions textbook abandoned now. She didn't even look startled when it fell to the floor with a heavy thump. Ruby's stomach clenched again as Parvati brushed off the hand Hermione tried to rest on her shoulder.
Comforting people had never been one of Ruby's strong suits. She never knew what to say in these types of situations, but she felt like an idiot and supremely unhelpful to boot, sitting her as everything happened around her. Wasn't there something she could've done, something she could've said?
"Come on," said Hermione, next to Ruby all of a sudden. "I think Parvati wants to be alone."
Is that a good idea? thought Ruby. She looks like she might hang herself with one of the bed ropes if we do. But Hermione was already shepherding her out of the room, and despite herself, Ruby couldn't help but feel relieved.
The sour feelings continued all week. Parvati and Lavender seemed to make a theatrical production of their fight — sitting at opposite ends of the classroom if they could and refusing to speak to each other at all costs. Once, Professor Sinistra put all three of them in a group (she must have thought she was doing them a favour), but all it resulted in was them not being able to finish the worksheet, as Lavender had been assigned the job of locating Polaris, but she wouldn't tell Parvati (who refused to ask in the first place) where it was once she'd marked the direction, so all of Parvati's degree measurements had been off.
To tell the truth, Ruby had expected they would get fed up by the end of the week. But no.
It was with great irritation, then, that she faced the morning of the fourteenth. It had all been going on for far too long now.
Best to pretend it was just another Wednesday, Ruby decided, and then she forced herself to sit up and shove the dark, heavy green curtains aside.
All her resolve to forget what day it was fizzled away as Pansy's shriek punctuated the heavy silence. Serrated strips of glittering wrapping paper decorated the floor, and there was a large vase of colour-changing roses resting on the table.
Ruby briefly considered going back to bed.
"Oh, isn't it so thoughtful?" Pansy bayed to the whole dormitory, shaking the delicate necklace and matching pair of earrings in Daphne's face. "I expect there'll be more gifts in the Great Hall, too."
"I expect so," said Daphne, with strained politeness. "Well — look — why don't you go ahead?"
The bathroom was just as unbearable a venue, if not more. Everyone was subjected to every gooey detail of Malfoy and Pansy's 'relationship' while the latter applied an unnecessary amount of lip gloss.
"Well, it's also—" swipe "—coming up on our six-month anniversary—" dab "—so really—" smack "—it's a momentous Valentine's Day for us—"
Millicent Bulstrode didn't help matters. She cooed, looked misty-eyed with fervent longing for such romance, and encouraged Pansy to divulge more details at regular intervals.
"What about you, Daph?" asked Pansy, finally sliding the applicator back into the bottle with a decisive click, then admiring her pursed lips in the mirror. "You and Blaise were a thing this summer, what happened to that?"
"We weren't a thing," said Daphne in a mild tone, drying her hands in a towel. "And there's — there's someone else now."
Pansy's eyes narrowed, her shiny mouth stretching into a smirk. "And you don't tell your friends?"
It was the first Ruby ever heard of it, too, but then again, Daphne didn't consider them friends, most likely.
"If it's Theodore, that's pathetic," said Pansy, flipping her hair behind her shoulders. "Really scraping the bottom of the barrel there. But then, Blaise is very hard to please, so I'm really not surprised you couldn't make it — buh-bye!"
Daphne's face hardened, but she said nothing in response, marching out of the room with her head held high. Soon enough, Ruby found herself alone in the bathroom, with the solitary sound of water dripping her only company.
She and the mirror were not exactly good friends. The permanent redness around her eyes didn't help matters.
Unlike Harry, she didn't look quite so much like James — or Lily, and rarely invited such comparisons. Instead, she found herself cataloguing new blotches, an itchy pimple on her left temple, and a thin scar from scratching herself with her quill on Monday when she'd fallen asleep in History of Magic.
All of a sudden, the door banged open, and a few older girls swarmed in. Ruby jumped, her fingers uncurling from the edge of the basin.
"Yeah, I was just going," she muttered, weaving past the seventh-years, none of whom seemed to notice her.
Surprisingly, the common room was empty. Perhaps not so surprising on second thought, because everyone wanted to be in the Great Hall.
Ruby smoothed the front of her robes and sighed, her stomach twisted. She still couldn't pin down what about this particular Valentine's Day filled her with existential dread.
"Not a nice feeling, is it?"
Ice ran down her spine, and Ruby turned to meet the much-loathed Theodore Nott.
He smiled.
"Are we just going to keep pretending that you're not responsible for the dungeons last year?" asked Ruby.
She was trying; she was really trying to keep her anger in check. But something about this day had unsettled her deeply.
"Well, no harm done, that's all water under the bridge, isn't it?"
The smile was truly infuriating. Ruby wanted to splatter him across the wall. Like a bug.
"No harm done?" Her blood burnt in her veins; she took a step closer, lowering her voice. "What about nearly killing Harry? What about the artifice? What about—" Ruby lowered her voice even more, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention "—Sirius!"
"Oh, you mean Sirius Black?" Theodore's beady eyes glittered with intrigue, and Ruby felt her stomach flip over. "Yeah, I met him once. Looked the worse for wear, but it's definitely true what they say about the Black poise. You were with him for Christmas, right? How is he, by the way — how's the leg?"
"Talk about him again in front of me," said Ruby, her blood boiling, burning, rushing in her ears, her wand in her hand, as if in a trance, jabbing it into Theodore's face, who only smiled, his head tilted innocently, "and what happened to your little co-conspirator Malfoy, will look like a walk in the park."
"I don't think that's a good idea, you know, with your reputation," said Theodore with relish.
Truly, she was halfway to challenging him to a duel right here and now, so it was a good thing that Daphne walked by and waved her over.
Let it go, Ruby told herself. What was it Bill had said — Master your temper. It was a lot harder than it sounded.
She shoved her wand into her pocket, trying to ignore the fact that Theodore was holding back laughter, spun on her heel, and followed Daphne out of the common room.
The minute the door slammed behind them, Ruby took big gulps of air in the hopes it would be calming. It was not. The Bloody Baron practising his epic poetry from further down the corridor and bursting into tears periodically really wasn't helping the ambience, she supposed.
"Thanks," said Ruby finally, after she felt a little less sullen and they had reached the ground floor.
Daphne smiled in response, tucking a dark princess curl behind her ear. Her hair looked shinier than usual, and her makeup looked more noticeable, too.
"Well, part of my responsibility as a prefect is to maintain order," she said, not looking at Ruby, because her eyes were darting over the crowd of people flooding into the Great Hall as if to pick someone out.
The closer they got to the Great Hall, the surer Ruby was of it — Daphne wasn't just being nosy as usual but actually looking for someone. Just then, Ruby realised someone had broken off from the crowd and was hurrying in their direction.
So this is the 'someone else.'
It must be because Daphne had stopped walking. That low, twisting feeling in Ruby's stomach returned in full force as the footsteps got closer.
"—Hey, happy Valentine's Day—" the person rushed out, still a little winded.
For the second time in the past fifteen minutes, an icy shiver ran down Ruby's spine, her brain feeling numb as she made the automatic circuit from uncombed, dirty-blond hair to flushed face to the blue-and-bronze tie with the knot already starting to pull out to the prefect badge pinned haphazardly to his robes to the fact that she was coming to the earth-shattering realisation that Anthony Goldstein was standing in front of her, looking right past her as if she was just part of the decorations, and he and Daphne were holding hands.
"Oh, hiya Ruby," said Anthony airily, as if he had just noticed her standing there.
For Ruby's part, she had just realised that there was a weird, hollow feeling in the very middle of her chest.
"Yeah, happy Valentine's Day," said Ruby. She tried to inject a note of enthusiasm into her voice, but it didn't do much good. Not with them standing there, fingers intertwined like it was the most normal thing in the world. When had they started going out? Over the holiday? Or even earlier, right after the Inferi attack on Halloween?
"Sorry I never mentioned it," said Daphne, but all that Ruby could pay attention to was the fact that Anthony's eyes were glued to Daphne, and there was an almost rapturous expression on his face.
"—but you know, Pansy."
Ruby felt all wrong. Maybe her skin was too big for her bones, or she had too many arms and legs. Her tongue was strangely heavy and her throat was tight and right behind her nose and under her eyes was all tight and clammed up.
"Right," she croaked out. "Pansy, right."
It was a horribly stupid thing to think that after everything, after what Theodore had revealed to the whole school last year, it would even be a thought in his head. Not to mention that she'd actively snapped at him all year for just trying to help. Daphne was far superior in every way.
All her 'complaining' about 'patrol rounds with Goldstein' had been purely performative, then! She had probably looked forward to them, and—
"We're going in now," said Daphne graciously. "Would you like to sit with us?"
Now, Anthony finally looked at her, too, and Ruby thought she might throw up.
"No, it's alright," said Ruby, white-knuckling what little she had left of her dignity. "I have… uh…plans."
At least they seemed satisfied by that answer, or maybe they were itching to get rid of her because they both swept into the crowd of people filtering into the Great Hall. Ruby turned her head away, but she still caught the sight of Anthony leaning down to whisper something in Daphne's ear out of the corner of her eye.
For a brief moment, Ruby considered turning tail and fleeing — anywhere but here — maybe back to the dormitory, inside Dumbledore's office, hiding in a bathroom. But everyone would know that she had been sulking if she did that. There was no way out but through.
She ran a shaky hand through her hair, wishing she'd borrowed some of Lavender's Sleekeazy's, and headed into the crowd. Thankfully, no one was paying attention to her, too busy shouting over each others' heads and ever so slightly pushing and shoving.
Something to her left caught her eye, a familiar voice floating through the din. Looking over, Ruby realised it was Harry who had somehow found himself in a conversation with Cho Chang and, by some miracle, was managing to sound somewhat coherent.
"What's your favourite team? Mine's—"
"Oh, er, the Cannons," Harry mumbled at the exact same time that Cho said brightly, "The Tutshill Tornados."
"The Tornados are really good too," said Harry earnestly.
Cho raised a disapproving eyebrow.
"The Cannons are pretty terrible, I think, they're definitely going to be at the bottom of the league. Besides, they've had to substitute their old Seeker Lennox Campbell, who was bad enough, with Galvin Gudgeon, and he's absolutely hopeless."
"It's not me who likes them, it's Ron — the, er, Cannons, I mean."
Ruby was surprised Harry had managed to get a response out at all. He looked like a deer in headlights.
Well, at least I'm not the only one having a bad time of it.
The crowd soon hurried her past Harry and Cho (which was probably for the better) and into the Great Hall, which was abuzz with activity. Cards enchanted into paper birds flitted between tables, the number of owls swooping in through the open windows seemed to be at least twice as much as usual, and the chattering was truly deafening. Somehow, she found her way over to an empty spot at the Slytherin table opposite Blaise Zabini, whose plate bore a large pile of cards, some even delivered by hand.
"You're not going to open any of them?" asked Ruby as she sat down.
"It's only the usual empty flattery," said Blaise with a wave of his hand, stuffing handfuls of valentines in his bag.
"But you love empty flattery, Blaise."
Blaise's mouth pulled into a charming smile, his hand halfway to his bag with yet another handful of cards. "It is nice, but it gets boring after a while. There's only so many ways someone can phrase 'You have amazing bone structure.'"
Ruby thought she wouldn't mind being told she had amazing bone structure once in a while.
"Are you waiting for someone?" she asked, somewhat sullenly.
"No, I…" Blaise trailed off, not quite looking at her. "I think I'm waiting for something, actually."
Just then, for some bizarre reason, a dusty-pink raven swooped down, settling in front of her. That sick feeling was back again.
"So not all hope is lost," Blaise murmured as the bird unfolded itself.
It's probably some kind of prank, thought Ruby. She, for one, wouldn't put it past Fred and George Weasley to mass-mail joke valentines.
Nevertheless, she picked it up, expecting her hair to turn green or sprout horns.
Across the card paper, in red typewriter script:
𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜. 𝙰𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚒𝚝. 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚒𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚒𝚝.
Her heart skipped the next beat, and Ruby barely realised the card had fallen out of her now-shaking hands. She looked up, trying to figure out where it had come from, but no one was paying attention to her. Everyone seemed to be paired up with their heads bent together.
When she turned back, Blaise had picked up the card, peering at it with his forehead wrinkled as if in confusion.
Ruby was still having a hard time remembering to breathe.
"See what I mean? Pointless and generic." Blaise handed her back the card, except now, it read, quite simply 𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎'𝚜 𝙳𝚊𝚢! in the same red ink.
What's going on? I could have sworn— Ruby rubbed her thumb over the ink, but it didn't budge. Must be charmed.
She tapped her wand to the stiff card paper and said, "Revelio."
If anything, it might have glowed dimly, but the holiday greeting remained, staring innocently back at her. There was no signature, no initials, no way to tell who could have sent it.
Ruby barely heard Blaise ask her a question, still trying to figure out if she had gone mad. Surely that other, foreboding message had been there, clear as day.
She did, however, have a suspicion about the sender's identity — and they were no secret admirer.