Troll in the Dungeon
Draco was livid. Why had Potter been granted a spot on the Gryffindor team after his horrendous display of disobedience? He’s only a first-year! It’s not like he even flew that well, and really, Draco had been the one to discover Potter’s talent.
He stewed in his frustration, glaring down at his homework. The murmuring of his friends was a calming background, mixing pleasantly with the quiet rustling of the library, but did little to ease his anger. Theo and Blaise were discussing their Astronomy work across the table, leaving Draco alone. Blaise broke the news earlier of Potter’s good fortune, and had taken the hint that Draco was uninterested in friendly conversation.
He couldn’t understand why Potter was so easily given a spot on the quidditch team. The boy hadn’t even needed to try out. Potter was handed the spot on a silver platter, just for a few fancy maneuvers on a second-rate school broom. Draco’s fingers clench around his quill, and he knows his expression is probably stormy.
Black ink begins to pool on his parchment, and he groans. He’d been glaring into space for so long that the ink from his quill had dripped into a puddle. Flicking his wand, he vanishes the puddle with a muttered evanesco. Luckily, he had learned the spell only yesterday in Transfiguration, where he received the aforementioned homework now sullied by wasted ink.
Rubbing the stain with a fingertip, he glances up to see Theo snickering at him. Draco sniffs in disdain and pointedly ignores him, prompting another chuckle. Seconds later, an elbow connects with his shoulder and he snaps. “Quit it! I’m busy!”
Blaise, owner of the offending elbow, laughs. “Busy with what? Burning a hole in your homework?” Draco sneers at him and shifts his chair further away from the fiend, ignoring his friends’ giggles. After a couple minutes of quiet, he refocuses on his work. Theo stretches across under the table with his foot and nudges Draco’s leg. “Mate, we’ve got Charms in a bit. We’ve really ought to go.” Draco kicks Theo’s foot away, but begins shoving his papers into his satchel grumpily.
Blaise sighs- he was also upset about Potter making the Gryffindor team, especially when Blaise himself had practiced so hard over the summer- but Draco’s annoyance seemed deeper. Concern for his friend stalls the quip he’d been about to deliver. He studies Draco for a moment until the blonde looks up with irritation, and Blaise looks away.
Draco narrows his eyes at Blaise’s scrutiny, but ignores it. They’re best friends, after all. He’s probably just worried, sticking his nose in someone else’s business. Draco hadn’t told his friends about Potter’s rejection or Granger’s kindness. Both were embarrassing and events Lucius would be furious over discovering. Keeping them hidden, even from his friends, was the best way to keep his father from ever hearing about it.
Standing, he looks down his nose at his friends as he waits for them to join him. Theo and Blaise exchange exasperated looks before standing as well, having already packed their things earlier. Draco heaves a sigh and attempts to relax his expression. He can’t stay hung up on Potter’s success. The black-haired boy seemed nice enough, and hadn’t been as arrogant as Draco had expected.
Blaise and Theo chat with each other quietly while the trio heads to the Charms classroom. Draco doesn’t participate, instead piecing together mentally just who Boy Wonder really is. He’d been shy in their classes so far, and had even admitted to not knowing the answers under intense questioning by Snape. Draco had laughed then, but he hadn’t known the answer either. However, Draco had noticed Granger almost falling out of her seat in her excitement to answer, though Snape never indulged her.
So far, Harry Potter hadn’t seemed to be much of anything. He wasn’t arrogant and didn’t boast, as Draco might’ve done, over surviving Voldemort’s attack. He wasn’t interested in the many followers he could have acquired, based on the level of popularity and admiration the wizarding world held for him. The boy wasn’t even particularly talented at magic. He was every bit a normal boy.
Draco’s feelings over Potter were conflicted. He was jealous, of course, but more because it felt like he should be, not that he really was. He felt a great deal of resentment over Potter’s rejection of his friendship, but after reflecting on the interaction in his bed every night, he wondered if he might have come off badly. Just a little bit, though. He usually stopped that train of thought before it spiraled out of control.
Really, Potter wasn’t what Draco expected, and he found himself wanting to be friends with the other boy for real, not just to please his father. If only he had taken my hand.
Belatedly, he realizes Theo had been speaking to him. He turns, quickly fixing his expression to one of someone who had been paying attention the whole time. “Yeah?”
Theo huffs and bumps him with a shoulder. “Come on, Malfoy. Pay attention. I asked if you’d seen Pansy since this morning. She disappeared after breakfast.”
Draco shrugs, momentarily forgetting his thoughts of Potter. “No. She’s probably off with Daphne somewhere. They’re dormmates now.”
“Yeah, but she might miss class. What if she’s forgotten?”
Draco and Blaise exchange eyerolls. “I’m sure she’s fine. If she’s with Daphne, then she won’t be late. Daphne’d have a fit if she missed class.” They turn the corner into the Charms classroom, and Draco lifts his chin slightly upon entering. He checks the students already seated and jerks his head toward Pansy, who is with Daphne, as he’d suspected. “See? They’re both here.”
Theo scrunches his nose as Blaise moves to sit by Vincent. Draco takes a seat near Pansy, and Theo slides in next to him. “We were almost late, Draco,” Theo whispers, and Draco rolls his eyes again. He’s about to retort when the Weasley boy walks in, Potter a step behind. There aren’t any seats left in duos, so the two split, Potter sitting next to another Gryffindor and Weasley sitting next to Granger, who looks entirely absorbed in a thick book. “Weren’t as late as those two,” Draco whispers back.
The clock sounds, alerting the school that the next class has started. Little white feathers appear on each desk, one per pair of students. Barely a minute passes before Professor Flitwick begins, his voice annoyingly high pitched. “Afternoon, students! Today we will be learning and practicing the levitation charm.”
Draco’s fingers absently brush his wand within his robe pocket, twitching in excitement. He leans over to whisper to Theo. “Levitation means floating things, right? I could float bugs into your bed. Then I needn’t touch them.”
Theo glares at him, but Flitwick cuts him off with his next instruction. “Watch while I demonstrate.”
Flitwick raises his wand, pointing it at a little blue feather resting on his desk. He clears his throat before speaking clearly, “Wingardium Leviosa.” Flitwick follows the incantation with a swish of his wand and a flick of his wrist, causing the blue feather to slowly float up to the ceiling.
Draco watches the wand movement, not looking to see where the feather ended up. He wants to get every bit of magic perfect and excel in his classes. That would make father proud. Flitwick gestures toward the feathers on the student desks. “You may begin- do make sure to keep the wand movement precise.”
A cacophony of voices rise, filling the room as students attempt the spell. Theo and Draco play rock paper scissors to decide who gets to try the charm first, in which Theo wins with his rock. Pouting, Draco leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.
Smirking, Theo points his wand at the feather, mimicking the incantation and wand movement. “Wingardium Leviosa.” The feather stays put, much to Theo’s disappointment. The brunette tries again, with no success. “Seriously? I’ve done exactly what the professor said-”
A flash of white and an excited gasp causes both boys to turn. One white feather is swirling toward the ceiling, a smug looking Granger beneath it. She guides the feather with her wand, and Flitwick beams at her. “Miss Granger, such wonderful charmwork! 5 points to Gryffindor!”
The girl flushes with pride and glances over at Weasley, who looks disgruntled. The ginger snorts and looks away, and Draco looks back down at his own feather. He tilts his head at Theo, but doesn’t lift his gaze. “Mind if I give it a try?”
Theo lowers his wand and watches him curiously. Granger had been the first to successfully complete the charm, and Draco doesn’t want to be outdone. He’s certain he can get it on his first try.
He glares at the feather and points his wand, speaking firmly. “Wingardium LeviOsa.” The feather vibrates slightly, almost in annoyance, before gently floating to the ceiling. No excited gasps or praise follows, as many other students have also found success, though Draco is pleased with himself. He smirks at Theo as the feather flutters down to rest on the desk.
“First try.”
“Well, you said the incantation weird. The feather was probably just intimidated by your pointy face.”
“It was not! It floated, didn’t it? ‘Cause of my excellent charmwork! Wait, my face isn’t pointy-”
“Absolutely wasn’t your charmwork. It only listened because of your face. You looked positively murderous. Poor thing probably feared for its barbs.”
“Barbs? They’re not called that.”
“They are! I read about it in a bird book. There’s like, eight different parts of a feather.”
“What, like feather anatomy?”
“No, you git-” Theo’s exasperated snort is interrupted by Flitwick, who is now in front of their desk, peering up at them sternly.
“Young men. Is there a problem here?” Flitwick says, attempting one of McGonagall’s signature looks, but instead looking like an unamused frog displaced from its pond. Both boys shake their heads, smothering giggles. Flitwick glances between the two suspiciously before toddling off to bother another pair.
The boys look at each other before collapsing into stifled laughter. Theo mimics Flitwick’s nasally voice. “yOunG mEn-” Draco kicks him under the table, not wanting him to draw the professor’s attention, but can’t hide his own amusement.
They spend the rest of the class copying Flitwick’s comments to other students when his back is turned, trying their best to appear focused and engaged when it isn’t. Draco almost slips, quickly having to snap his mouth shut when the professor passes their desk in the middle of a mimicry. The look Pansy gives him afterward is enough to shut Draco up, stopping his playful teasing.
After class, the two rejoin Blaise and Pansy and head to History of Magic. The four bicker the whole way there, Pansy berating Theo and Draco over their behaviour in Charms, Blaise telling her to lighten up, and Theo annoyed that Pansy ditched them earlier that morning. Draco just laughs along, enjoying their banter.
History of Magic turned out to be incredibly dull. Draco had always enjoyed history, but Professor Binns had an unrivaled talent for putting students to sleep. His voice described the Soap Blizzard of 1378 monotonically, so much so that Draco was shocked at the lack of emotion when the professor mentioned the economic crash and resulting death counts. All of this over soap?!
Multiple times, Blaise’s eyelids slid shut, and Draco had to nudge him awake. Draco’s notes became messier by the minute, his own eyes barely staying open. Pinching himself, he lifts his head to stare straight at Binns, attempting to stay awake. Potter accidentally interrupted the professor when his drooping head struck the desk in front of him, losing House points and keeping Draco awake for the remainder of class. Upon later review of his notes, over half were unintelligible scribbles.
The bell for dinner was a relief. Students hurried out of the classroom, Draco and his friends barely a step behind. Dinner was wonderful, and he gorged himself after his tough day of classes and teasing. He and his friends discussed the upcoming Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, the first of the year and Potter’s debut on the pitch. Halfway through his lamb chops and debate over the efficiency of the Weasley twin beaters, the doors to the Great Hall slam open, and Professor Quirrell runs in looking like he’d seen a corpse.
The hall goes silent, and Dumbledore slowly stands.
“Troll! There’s a troll in the dungeons!” Quirrell looks wildly around before adding, “Thought someone ought to know”, and falling to the ground, unconscious.
Screams immediately erupt as everyone tries to climb over each other to escape the school. Draco sits, frozen, and exchanges shocked looks with his friends before standing to avoid the crush of students. Pressed up against the wall of the Great Hall, they watch as chaos ensues for a few long seconds before purple sparks flash from the staff table.
“Students! Calm yourselves,” Dumbledore’s voice rings out, his wand pressed to his throat to amplify the sound. “Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately.”
The Hall quiets as the students shift into some semblance of order, prefects rounding up the frazzled first-years. Gemma Farley, one of the Slytherin prefects, began corralling the first-year snakes out the door, Draco and his friends included. Whispers and rumors race through the children.
“Where’d a troll come from?”
“Probably a prank from Peeves, the twit.”
“I heard someone let the thing in. Like sabotage.”
“That’s stupid. Nobody can control a troll,” a few students chorused. Silence for a moment as they consider, before another girl speaks up.
“How are we supposed to get back to the dormitories when our dormitory is where the troll is?”
“The troll probably isn’t even real. Professor Quirrel is scared of everything.”
“Dumbledore seemed worried!”
“Dumbledolt is always worried.”
“Shut up, baby snakes! You’ll be fine. Just stick close and I’ll get you back perfectly intact,” Farley hissed. The group dissolved into grumbles, but thankfully voiced their discontent more quietly.
Pansy, who looks entirely unruffled by the entire fiasco, sniffs in disdain. “Came across that swot Granger throwing a pity party in the bathrooms earlier. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the troll will eat her.”
Draco glances over at her in shock, momentarily forgetting that he’s supposed to keep his… whatever he has with Granger a secret. “Which bathrooms? The ones in the dungeons?”
“Obviously. That was implied,” Pansy huffs, flicking her short hair over her shoulder. Draco stops in his tracks and his friends disappear down the corridor with the other first-years, leaving him alone. His mind is racing. Why would she be in the Slytherin bathrooms? Did Pansy say she was crying?
It didn’t make sense to him, and his irrational worry about her possibly being eaten is confusing. Why was she crying? Did someone hurt her? Why should he care? So what if she offered friendship and saved him from embarrassment? He barely even knows the girl! Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he hurries to catch up with his friends. Granger would be fine. Trolls don’t eat people.
Draco quickly finds that his friends and the other first-years are nowhere to be found. Even the echo of Farley’s grumpy orders has faded, and he can’t remember where he’d seen them go last. Retracing his steps back to where he’d originally stalled, he politely inquires of the group’s whereabouts from several portraits, who grumble from being disturbed from sleep.
He strides through the corridors, amazed to not find a single soul. How had the group disappeared so quickly? He’d only been frozen for a few seconds, surely. Poking his head down several branching corridors, he doesn’t find even a glimpse of a fluttering robe. He’s about to give up and just sneak back to the dormitories and con Blaise or Theo into covering for him when he hears a scream.
Pausing, he cocks his head, scanning the surrounding suits of armor and sleeping portraits. The scream doesn’t repeat, and he wonders if he imagined it. He continues down the corridor before he stops again. It had sounded so real, and very close. Spinning in a slow circle, he realizes he’s in the Slytherin bathroom hallway. Granger.
He sprints directly to the girls’ bathroom, knowing innately who had screamed, and mentally chastising himself over caring at all. Whirling around the corner, he’s just in time to see a massive creature about to club a bushy-haired girl into a bloody puddle on the tile floor.
The mountain troll is hunched over her, its club raised above its massive head, a remarkable feat given the troll can barely fit into the bathroom on its own. Its skin is a mix of olive and sage green, a color reminding Draco of the paint his mother had debated over during last year’s renovations. Permanently ruined for him, now. From his position in the doorway of the bathroom, Draco can see the back of the thing’s bald head and scantily clad legs. He resists the urge to dry-heave, almost impossible once the stench hits him full force.
“Granger, get out of the way,” he shouts, but doesn’t look to see if she obeyed. Shakily he lifts his hawthorne wand and forces his feet to carry him closer, against his brain’s better judgement. Seriously, why’d the creature have to be so revolting?
Swallowing thickly, he points his wand at the club, praying that his unicorn wand can live up to Ollivander’s denotation of it being ‘special’. “Incendio,” he spits. Ribbons of fire streak from his wand and engulf the club, snaking toward the troll’s thick fingers. With a roar of pain as the flames nip its hands, the troll drops the club, hitting itself on the head.
Smoke fills the room as the troll howls, already aflame. Fire races down its body, quickly catching due to the minimal clothing and dirty skin. The scent of burning flesh fills the room, mixing with the already repugnant sour troll smell. Ugh, gross. Coughing, Draco covers his nose and mouth with a hand and ducks around the flaming troll to grab Granger’s wrist. “Come on!”
He attempts to tug her forward, but the girl acts like she’s stuck to the floor, her mouth agape. He groans and shoves his wand in his pocket, trying to pull her up with both hands. “Get up! Gods, Granger, what are you doing-” he’s cut off by a slap to his own wrist, and he lets go of her with a yelp. “OW! What was that for? You idiot, I’m trying to save you!”
She blinks at him as if dazed before snapping back. “You’ve set the whole room on fire! If we don’t put it out, the castle will be ablaze in minutes!” Draco stares at her in shock. “I set the room on fire? You’re the one that was messing around in here anyway, with a troll out and about!”
Granger lunges past him without another word and points her wand at the troll, much less shaky than Draco had been. “Aguamenti Maxima!” Water rushes from her wand, soaking the troll and the surrounding flames. Hissing steam joins the smoke as the flames are doused.
The troll is still howling, now dumbly spinning in a slow circle, its chubby hands beating uselessly at its previously engulfed head. It finally trips over the blackened rubble of the bathroom stalls and bangs its head, knocked out. Draco stands, panting and dripping wet, before surveying the damage.
The stalls are a wreck. Smashed to smithereens, burned, and now flooded. The sinks, being magical, aren’t spitting water, but they would be if they’d been hooked up to normal plumbing. Two aren’t even intact enough anymore to be considered sinks. Scorch marks litter the floor and walls, which shocks Draco. I barely even summoned that much fire! Granger’s responding tsunami turned the bathroom into a room of literal steaming soup.
He finally checks on Granger. She’s staring wide-eyed at the damage, her wild nest of hair singed and frizzed from the sharp temperature changes. Soot smudges her skin and robes, and her wand dangles from her fingers. Overall, she seems fine. Draco breathes a sigh of relief that he’d found her in time. Tentatively, he reaches out to tap her shoulder. “Granger? You alright?”
She turns to face him, and they stare at each other for a few awkward seconds before she snorts. “Alright? Yeah, I guess you could say that. Nearly bashed to death and then almost set on fire, but I’m alright.”
Draco glares at her incredulously. “Excuse me? You should be thanking me! This was dangerous and my father would be furious to hear-” he trails off when she begins laughing. “What are you doing? Stop that. This isn’t funny!”
Granger is clutching her stomach as she laughs. “I was kidding! Yes, thank you, my saviour, for protecting me from death by bludgeoning to instead die by flame! Or, if not that, then by asphyxiation!” She continues giggling, obviously immensely tickled by herself. Draco glares at her disdainfully, now regretting his interference. Obviously good deeds weren’t worth it if you were relentlessly teased after.
When she finally calms, wiping tears from her eyes, she points at his hair. “You’ve got a bit of singing, there.” She’s obviously hiding another giggle, her lips curved up in a smug smile.
Draco turns to look in the cracked mirrors, his face aghast as he discovers his burnt fringe, even after he’d styled it so carefully that morning. His exertion must have loosened it from its smoothed back style. “My hair! You’ve burnt it!” he exclaims, parting the blackened ends with his fingers. “It’s ruined!”
She starts up her incessant giggling again before she comes up behind him and ruffles his hair. “Look, you can’t even tell now. If you keep it fluffy like that, the singing will stay hidden til it grows out a bit and you can have it cut.”
Draco stares at her and she smiles back. Granger seems to realize she hadn’t properly thanked him, and flushes. “Ah- and thank you. Truly. For saving me. Even if you almost killed us both in the process.” He feels a flicker of triumph that she’d actually thanked him, and looks back toward the mirror. “Er- yeah. You’re welcome.”
Her reflection beams at him in the mirror. He sniffs, still hurt, but he relents after seeing her unbridled joy, even after their terrifying ordeal. She’s capable of laughing and joking after almost dying, so maybe his hair isn’t so important. With a sigh, he takes her advice and adjusts his hair to hide the burnt ends. He’s about to ask her what they should do about the unconscious troll and destroyed bathroom when footsteps click into the bathroom.
Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell rush in, harried. McGonagall looks furious, while Snape is inscrutable as always and Quirrell looks close to fainting. “Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy! What- oh, goodness,” McGonagall stops when she sees the troll, lying in blackened rubble and coated in water. She gingerly steps around the splintered wreckage and grasps Granger’s face, turning her side to side to check for damage, before doing the same to Draco. He’s reminded uncomfortably of his mother’s fussing and is relieved when the woman releases him, finding her inspection sufficient.
Quirrell barely glances over the students before pocketing his wand and looking mournfully at the troll. His turban is slightly askew, and his normal stutter and fearful demeanor is noticeably absent, instead replaced with obvious distaste. Draco watches him, confused, but doesn’t have time to unpack the curious switch in behaviour.
Snape crouches down to inspect the troll, who is now bleeding from its head injury and scattered burns. He tilts the troll’s head to check its eyes before murmuring a spell that causes the troll’s body to go completely limp. Draco glimpses blood beneath the professor’s robes and averts his gaze. Snape purses his lips before turning to the two students, his voice crisp. “What… happened?”
Draco was willing to cover for them, say they stumbled upon the troll by accident- which really wasn’t that much of a lie- before he remembers she’s in a different House than him. Why would the two of them have been together? It doesn’t make sense regardless. Granger beats him to it.
“It was my fault, sir. I- I was upset, so I hid here. I was about to leave when the troll found me. Draco saved me,” Granger says, her voice more confident than she looks. Snape and McGonagall give her twin looks of surprise, but Quirrell is still looking at the troll, something almost disappointed in his eyes.
“Well then. And… the fire? And subsequent tidal wave?” Snape asks, looking pointedly at the smoky puddles on the floor. Granger blushes and glances at Draco, and he raises his brows right back. What’d she expect him to do about it? Not his fault she decided to channel Poseidon himself. Overreact much?
But he feels a pang of guilt, seeing her so out of her depth. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair before addressing Snape. “The fire was mine. I set the troll’s club on fire to distract it enough for us to get away, but someone was worried the castle would burn down.” McGonagall looks distraught at the information, and shakes her head.
“Miss Granger, the castle would’ve been fine. There are fireproofing wards at every doorway to keep flames contained within individual rooms. Your safety was far more important.”
Granger fidgets with her fingers, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, professor. I wasn’t thinking.” Snape lets out a scoff at this, being familiar with her unending questions and severely doubting she wasn’t thinking. McGonagall just sighs.
“It can’t be helped. Miss Granger, your mistake will cost your House five points.” Granger nods, staring down at the water soaking into her trainers, and Draco hides a smirk when McGonagall turns to him. “And you, Mr. Malfoy. Five points to Slytherin for your… intuition and selfless act.”
He blinks at the woman in surprise. He hadn’t thought his accidental finding of Granger would be considered heroic, or earn his House points. If he wasn’t so shocked, he’d of been lording it over Granger. When had they gotten that familiar?
McGonagall turns back to Snape. “If you could take Mr. Malfoy back to his dormitory, you’d have my gratitude. I will take Miss Granger. Quirinus, would you be able to deal with the troll? I’ll send Filch down to help soon.” Quirrell nods, his expression squirrelly. Draco snickers internally. Squirrelly Quirrell.
Granger steps forward to follow McGonagall out, stopping to look back at Draco over her shoulder. She mouths ‘thank you’ before disappearing around the corner. He watches her go, relief and discomfort twisting his stomach.
Snape clears his throat, now standing and giving Draco an imperious look. Draco blushes and heads out of the bathroom as well, Snape following behind with a slight limp. They walk in uncomfortable silence for a while, the only sounds being the snoring of portraits and the click of their shoes on the stone floors. He doesn’t yet know his head of House very well, but he’d thought they’d been on good terms. Probably not after that stunt I just pulled.
Pausing outside the Slytherin common room entrance, Snape holds out his hand to stop Draco. “Malfoy. I have many things to do tonight, of which did not include leading a wayward student back to his dorm. What, if I may ask, were you doing, to have been able to come to Miss Granger’s aid so quickly?”
Trepidation floods his veins, and he takes his time before answering. He hadn’t been doing anything wrong. He’d just gotten left behind. He isn’t in trouble.
“I accidentally got separated from the other first-years. I was trying to find my way back when I heard a scream,” he says, keeping his voice calm and uninterested. He clasps his hands together behind his back to keep them from trembling.
The potions master narrows his eyes, studying Draco suspiciously. He says nothing for a long time, just watching with those obsidian eyes.
“Interesting,” Snape drawls, holding the ‘s’ for a moment longer than necessary. “And why, Mr. Malfoy, would a Slytherin head toward the scream, and not away?”
Draco immediately bristles, annoyed with the greasy old bat’s implication. He straightens up, squaring his shoulders. He’s not as tall as Snape, only being eleven, but he draws on his Malfoy arrogance as he glares up at the thin man.
“Pansy told me earlier that Granger was crying in the Slytherin bathrooms. I remembered once I’d heard the scream, and I assumed the troll had found her.” He pauses a moment, an unpleasant thought striking him. “Wouldn’t you have done the same, professor?”
“No,” Snape replies in a dry tone after a beat of silence. “I would not have.” He turns and sweeps away, his black robes billowing behind him. Draco sneers at the man’s retreating figure before turning and hissing the password to the wall.
Why’d the old man seem so interested? And what was that injury he’d been hiding? What about the ‘things’ Snape had supposedly needed to do? Draco had taken care of the troll, surely the man should’ve been pleased and headed off to bed. He clenches his fists as he stomps through the maze to the boys’ dormitory, knocking on the door to his shared room with Blaise and Theo.
Draco had done something good tonight for his friend, and if the old bat didn’t like it, he could stick his big nose somewhere else. Draco didn’t need his judgement. I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions.