The Pact

Hannah and I have nearly given up on the idea that Malfoy will try to talk to me anytime soon. I have a feeling Professor Snape said something to him that day that put him on edge. Besides, after our confrontation he started avoiding me as much as possible.

I walk into potions with a splitting headache, rubbing my temples as I sit next to Hannah.

“Still hurting?” she asks, tilting her head as she looks at me.

“I feel like I got hit with a bludger,” I reply softly, taking my bag off my shoulder.

“We’ll run by the infirmary after class and get you something to take care of it,” Hannah says quietly, taking care not to talk too loud.

I nod my head, waiting for class to start. Malfoy and Nott are silent behind me as usual, and I try not to think about that either.

Professor Snape strides in aggressively, shutting the blinds with his wand. He takes his place at the front of the class, then clears his throat.

“Students, today you will be working in pairs to brew a potion known as calming draught. I have taken the liberty to write all of your names on small pieces of paper that I will randomly select and pair together. The pairs are final and I will not tolerate any whining. Am I clear?”

Everyone nods their heads anxiously, afraid of what could happen if we made Snape mad. He pulls out a basket of paper slips, levitating them in the air and mixing them around. I watch in awe as they sort themselves out into pairs. Snape plucks them out of the air and announces the pairs one by one.

Hannah gets paired off with a Ravenclaw boy, Alice ends up with a Gryffindor, and Diana ends up with another Hufflepuff. I clench my jaw as there are fewer and fewer people for me to end up with.

“Ms. Lavigné, you’re with… Mr. Malfoy,” Snape drones, completely indifferent to the fact that he just pissed us both off.

I sigh indignantly and Hannah gives me a concerned look from beside me. “At least he’ll have to talk to you now,” she whispers. “Let me know what happens.”

I give her a nod as Snape lists off the last pair. He dismisses us to pair up, and I roll my eyes before (angrily) making my way to Draco’s table. He looks at me like a piece of rubbish from the bottom of his shoe.

“Don’t start, Malfoy. Let’s just get this done,” I say, my tone icy.

“Try not to blow anything up,” he says sharply, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Funny.” I give him a sarcastic smile, then start lining up our ingredients. We split them in half and start prepping them, chopping and crushing each ingredient as our course books say. The silence between us rests over our heads like a dark cloud.

“Alright, we’ve got to add my vials first, then yours, and this one last.” I lift up a vial full of amber liquid, setting it to the side.

“I know how to read, Lavigné,” Malfoy snarls, putting in the first of his ingredients.

“Really? I wasn’t sure they taught you while you were learning how to be a pure blood supremacist,” I retort, not making eye contact with him.

He kisses his teeth, facing me with a glare. “Watch your mouth. You don’t know anything about me or my family.”

I move on to adding my ingredients, mixing them counterclockwise like the book says. I’ve made this potion at least a dozen times, so it’s muscle memory at this point.

“What, and you know so much about mine?” I ask, my voice laced with more bite than I intended.

“I already told you, I know more than you think. I can’t understand why you keep acting like your family is something worth protecting.” He sounds bitter, and I can’t figure out why.

“My family is worth protecting, thanks. But, protecting… you act like I’m guarding some secret ancient artifact. Despite what you may think, we’re not hiding anything. We just sell antiques at our store front.”

To be fair, I’ve never been particularly involved in our business, so there may be another layer to it I don’t know about. I’ve always gotten the feeling that my parents weren’t honest with me.

Regardless, though, I’m sure as hell not letting little lord Malfoy think he’s right.

“Antiques?” he scoffs, a sarcastic tone to his voice. “Right. Tell me, Lavigné, do you really think selling antiques has made your family that well off?” He stops what he’s doing for a moment, letting the potion simmer. He fully turns his body to face me, furrowing his brow contemplatively.

“What are you trying to insinuate?” I ask bitterly, lowering my voice.

He lowers his even further. “I’m not insinuating anything, Lavigné. Your family had to leave France for a reason. And I doubt it’s because someone was upset with an old vase.”

“Why do you care, Malfoy?” I sneer.

“I care because your mother is making business deals with my father and I don’t want your filthy family associated with mine,” he scoffs.

“Ironic that a spoiled pure blood supremacist like you is trying to tell me about family values. I’ve heard all about your father and his political ideations, Malfoy.”

“Shut up,” he snaps, looking around to see if anyone was listening. “Our political affiliations are no one’s business, especially not yours.”

“Honestly, I don’t give a rat’s arse about your family, Malfoy. But don’t speak down on mine.”

He leans in closer to me, narrowing his eyes and lowering his voice. “Your pathetic family ran out of France after some shady plot fell through, your father doesn’t have any semblance of a back bone, and your mother is a vindictive bitch who hates you. I’d be stupid not to be suspicious of you.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. All of the air escapes my lungs, and a knot forms in my stomach. I want to make a snarky quip, to hit him as hard as he hit me, but I can’t. Suddenly, I feel like a child, begging for someone to love me.

“My mother doesn’t hate me.”

He looks taken aback for a moment, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. Why, out of everything he’s been throwing at me, is that what I chose to respond to? He sees that it hurt me, but quickly wipes any readable satisfaction off his face. “Is that why she dragged you out of your old school, refuses to talk to you, and slapped you in my manor hallway?”

“My mother loves me. In the same way your father loves you,” I shoot back, my voice low. “You think I haven’t figured out why you’re so good at healing, and brewing potions? You think no one notices the dark circles under your eyes, and the way you flinch when something comes close to your face? Well, I noticed.”

His face turns red, and he looks furious, but I see a flicker of pain in his eyes. I don’t feel particularly great about myself, but I can’t seem to stop.

“You walk around with your nose in the air, acting like everyone is beneath you, because that’s what you were taught. That’s all you know. The only example you had growing up was a man who cared more about money and power than his own son, and now look how you turned out. You’re a selfish prick, just like him.”

I know it’s below the belt, but I need him to feel the way I do. I go to grab the final vial we need to add, but he snatches it off the desk before I can, giving me an icy glare.

“Don’t you dare speak about my father, Lavigné. That’s my last time trying to help you!”

“Is that what you think you’ve been doing? Helping me? News flash, getting on my last nerve isn’t helpful,” I seethe, staring him down.

“You’re a pathetic excuse for a witch. You can’t even brew a potion properly. No wonder your mother beats you.” 

His voice rings in my ears, his flat tone somehow worse than his angry one. I huff, turning away for a moment to not only regain my composure, but also to stop myself from landing a punch straight on his jawline.

I turn to face him once more, steadying my voice. “That’s low. Even for you, Malfoy.”

“You act like you expected better.”

We stare at each other for a brief moment, the silence hanging around us with a palpable tension. 

He’s right, after all. Why was I acting like I expected anything else? Because he helped me one time? Maybe it was all a ploy after all.

I break his gaze, looking off into the distance. I can’t help the face I’m making, but I don’t care. It’s an old classic of my mother’s making. Disappointed but not surprised. 

“You’re right. This is exactly what everyone expects from you.” 

I meet his gaze, not changing my expression at all. Something crosses his face, but I can’t quite make it out. Annoyance? Anger? Guilt? 

He tucks any emotion away quickly, then starts to pour the amber vial in, and I try to snatch it away. We’re supposed to add it in gradually, a few drops at a time.

“Malfoy, stop.” I reach out for the vial, but he swats me away.

“Piss off, Lavigné. I know what I’m—”

“You’re going to—”

I’m cut off by a rapid explosion from our cauldron, purple smoke billowing out. We both sit there, stunned. Every single person in the class turns to look at us, and Professor Snape snaps his head in our direction, looking furious.

“Mr. Malfoy! Do you not care about your marks in this class?” He starts to storm over to us, and I look over at Draco. He sits the vial down on the desk in between us, and he’s frozen. Part of me wants to laugh in his face, and tell him ‘I told you so’ for being so insufferable.

“I expect better from you Mr. Malfoy. This is absolutely unacceptable.” His voice comes out like a hiss, through clenched and bared teeth.

I listen to Snape go on and on, and I turn to look at Draco’s face. Despite everything I’m feeling, what I see breaks my heart.

He doesn’t look like the arrogant, annoying bloke I’m used to. He looks like a small child being chastised by their parents. He looks shocked, confused, and… hurt.

Without even thinking, I grab the vial and turn to our pissed off professor.

“It was my fault, sir.”

He stops mid sentence, turning his cold eyes onto me. “I’m sorry, Professor,” I stutter out, “I put the whole vial in at once instead of a little at a time.”

He pauses, glaring at me as he looks me over. “How… disappointing. I must say, I am rather surprised Ms. Lavigné. You got this question correct on our last exam.”

I swallow hard. Shit. “I know, sir. I’m just… distracted today. I wasn’t thinking.”

I can’t even look at Draco, who no doubt has his jaw on the floor right now. Snape’s eyes darken, and he lifts his nose up. “I expected better, Ms. Lavigné.”

“Yes, sir,” I mumble.

“Class dismissed,” Snape bellows. “Not you, Ms. Lavigné. You will have plenty of time to think about what went wrong while you clean up this mess and every other station of your classmates.”

“Yes, sir,” I reply dejectedly, not meeting his eyes. Snape walks back up to the front of the room and Draco turns to me to say something.

“Why would you do that? I—” he starts, but I cut him off. “Save it, Malfoy.”

His face flickers with that same look from earlier—guilt, I’ve decided—but he grabs his things and turns around. “See you tomorrow, Lavigné. Expect an owl from your mother.” Before I can ask what he means, he walks out.

“Ms. Lavigné,” Snape drawls, pulling my attention away. “I don’t have all day.”

“Sorry, professor.” I drop my head and get to work, cleaning up every station by hand.

I don’t know why I did that. Malfoy most certainly didn’t deserve it. But I don’t know… something about his face just got to me. Or maybe it just reminded me of myself, when I was a little kid getting smacked or yelled at or being told I was useless. His expression was a painful reminder of everything that haunts me.

It took me almost an hour to finish cleaning up. Later that day, I did receive an owl from my mother. The note read, “We have another meeting with the Malfoy’s tomorrow. Dress nicely. Meet us at home at four. Don’t be late. -Mum”

At least Draco’s parents told him in advance. Of course, I’m just finding out the night before.

Hannah immediately notices something is wrong when I get back to the dorms. I unload everything on her, the events of the day, the meeting tomorrow, and how over it I am. She just has the chef make me some brownies, and we cuddle up on the common room sofa, playing exploding snap until I can’t stay awake any longer.

I’m not happy about this meeting tomorrow. I don’t want to see Malfoy, I don’t want to deal with my mother, and I can’t listen to our parents drone on about nothing for hours again.

I resign myself to a restless sleep. My bed isn’t as comfortable anymore.