.
History of Magic is always quiet, the only sound being the quiet exhales of students dozing off and the monotone voice of Professor Binns. Occasionally, you’ll hear the scratching of a quill from the back corner, where Malfoy sits. The moment before the bell tolls, the room seems to wake up with a flurry of activity. As students shove their quills and parchment into their bookbags, the ghost of a professor barely blinks, still continuing to drone on.
“That’s all for today. I expect all of you to have read pages 46 through 67 and bring back half a scroll of parchment on it tomorrow.” The class groans, and with the sound of a bell, the room quickly empties.
Draco stands, his hand on a desk for support as always. He drags his feet through the door and makes his way to the girls’ bathroom. It’s closer than the Room of Requirement, and he can’t bother to run across the castle between classes. Plus, Moaning Myrtle has learned to ignore him after a year of him returning her questions with silence.
He’s not even sure why he does this anymore. His upper thigh and hip are covered in angry red lines, raised up slightly. He traces over the older, healed wounds with a hand and inwardly cringes at the texture. He’s got class next, and he’d really rather not bleed onto his uniform right now.
Draco pulls his wand out of his robes and makes a sharp movement with it, tracking a sideways W as he mutters the incantation. “Crucio.”
It’s never worked, to be honest. He doesn’t know why he bothers. Maybe he doesn’t mean it enough. Maybe he’s just defective.
A jolt runs through him as he hears the sound of footsteps, and the thought crosses his mind. 'Yeah. I'm just defective.' He rolls his eyes at himself.
“What’s the matter?” a faint voice speaks from the doorway. Draco clenches his hand until it turns white. Potter.
“Can’t go in there. That’s a girl’s toilet,” another voice says.
“Oh Ron, there won’t be anyone in there. That’s Moaning Myrtle’s place. Come on, let’s have a look.” The door swings open with a creek. Draco stands still, hearing their footsteps coming nearer. They pass right by his stall. He can swear they’d be able to hear his heartbeat if they listened closely for a moment, and he tries to stifle his breaths.
The bushy-haired Mudblood reaches the end stall and speaks into it, “Hello, Myrtle, how are you?”
Moaning Myrtle sounds suspicious as she answers. “This is a girls' bathroom. They're not girls.” Malfoy smirks. That sounds familiar. Doesn't she ever have anything new to say? (‘This is a girls’ bathroom. You’re not a girl.')
Hermione plays along. “No.” She pauses for a moment and then continues. “I just wanted to show them how – er – nice it is in here.” Draco would’ve laughed out loud, had the situation been any less terrifying. The witty girl who surpassed him in all his classes. The girl who his parents constantly compared him to. She doesn't sound so smart now, does she?
Someone mumbles something intelligible, and Draco snaps out of his thoughts.
“What are you whispering?” Myrtle asks. Her voice becomes thick and tearful. “I wish people would stop talking behind my back! I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead–”
“Myrtle, no one wants to upset you.” Hermione cuts in. “Harry only–”
The ghost of a girl laughs. There’s no humour in her laughter, though. “No one wants to upset me! That’s a good one! My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!”
“We wanted to ask you if you’ve seen anything funny lately,” Hermione says, “Because a cat was attacked outside your front door on Halloween.”
Harry adds, “Did you see anyone here that night?”
“I wasn’t paying attention. Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I’m – that I’m –”
Draco stiffens. He feels his heart pounding inside his chest. He’s perfectly safe. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.
“Already dead,” Ron’s voice says from somewhere far away. Myrtle begins to sob, and the trio shuffles away, saying words to each other that Draco can’t make out.
___
He doesn’t properly learn his lesson, though. The next time the trio sneak into the girls’ toilet, Draco stands frozen a second time, listening as they discuss plans to brew a potion and make him confess to being the heir of Slytherin.
Hah. He wishes he was the heir of Slytherin.
He stops lurking around the disgusting stalls and cracked mirrors, but he almost misses it. It was meant to be a space that was just his. It was meant to be his.
And, just like everything else, Potter has taken it from him.