'I didn't know you could read.'
Malfoy watches as Crabbe and Goyle shove the cakes into their mouths and get dragged into a closet moments later. Really now? Harry and Ron accuse him of being cold and cruel, yet here they are, taking advantage of two buffoons who can’t tell right from left.
It isn’t as if he cares, but there’s still a twinge of anger in his chest as he follows the duo to the toilet. When they exit the room, he watches Percy confront them. It’s almost absurd. They can get away with brewing a complex potion, yet they can’t plan out a way to get out of the toilet without the redhead’s own brother noticing.
“Goyle. Where have you two been? Pigging out in the Great Hall all this time?” Malfoy strides down the hallway and smirks at the glasses sitting on Harry’s face. They really didn’t think this through. “Why are you wearing glasses?”
“Er– reading,” Goyle’s face responds in Potter’s voice.
“Reading?” Malfoy stares at him, his eyebrows furrowed. “I didn’t know you could read.” He almost laughs to himself but turns to face the older Weasley. “And what are you doing down here, Weasley?”
“Mind your attitude, Malfoy.” Percy turns around and walks away, and Draco walks to the dormitories, Harry and Ron trailing behind. He may as well hear what they’re going to say.
First, though, it’d give him a kick to see them try to disguise their identities. Draco smiles. “You’d never know the Weasleys were purebloods, the way they behave. They’re an embarrassment to the wizarding world. All of them.”
Crabbe tightens his fist. It’s a strange look on him, anger.
Draco feels no pity for the boy who’s shoved his classmates in a closet, snuck into the Slytherin dormitories, and outright decided to spy on him. He goads him on.
“What’s wrong with you, Crabbe?”
Goyle furtively nudges Crabbe, who responds in a quiet voice. “Stomachache.”
“You know. I’m surprised the Daily Prophet hasn’t done a report on all these attacks. I suppose Dumbledore is trying to hush it all up. Father always said that Dumbledore was the worst thing that ever happened to this place–”
“You’re wrong,” Goyle shouts. Malfoy turns to face him and stares him in the eye. He should’ve known to target Potter first; he’s far easier to anger. He gets to his feet and looks down at the two of them.
“What? You think there’s someone here who’s worse than Dumbledore?”
Crabbe shakes his head, and Goyle looks sheepish, trying to correct his mistake. He speaks in a questioning voice, “Harry Potter?”
Draco gives him an appraising look. Hm. “Good one, Goyle. You’re absolutely right. Saint Potter.” He shifts slightly. It’s getting late, so he’ll wrap them up. “And people actually think that he’s the Heir of Slytherin?”
Goyle takes the bait.
“But then you must have some idea who’s behind it all.”
“No, I don’t, Goyle,” Malfoy says matter-of-factly. “I told you yesterday. How many times do I have to tell you? But my father did say this.” He pauses for effect.
“It’s been fifty years since the chamber was opened. He wouldn’t tell me who opened it. Only that they were expelled. The last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So it’s only a matter of time before one of them is killed this time,” he smiles. “As for me, I hope it’s Granger.” The idiot girl who made the plan to spy on him in the first place.
Crabbe stands up suddenly, and Malfoy taunts him. “What’s the matter with you two?”
“It’s his.. stomachache,” Goyle mumbles. The two boys start to shift awkwardly, feeling their bodies transform back into their original forms. Draco tilts his head as they run away.
Well. That was stupid.
___
He follows them to the toilet and watches as Hermione exits with a cat’s face and tail. Suits her right.
Draco presses against the wall as the trio heads to the infirmary, and he slips through the door as they exit the hall.
"Oooo, I haven't seen you here in a while." Moaning Myrtle's pale face peaks at him from her stall, and he flinches. She croons. "I won't hurt you. I'm a ghost. Couldn't hurt you if I tried."
"I'm not afraid of you," he snaps. "I just didn't expect you to pop out."
She comes closer and peers at him. "Hmm. Well usually you're too busy carving yourself to talk, so I got bored."
"Well. There's nothing different about today, so you can shove off."
Moaning Myrtle sobs loudly and darts back to her U-bend. Draco sighs. He's not guilty. He doesn't feel bad. He doesn't.
Yet for some reason, his feet make their way towards her, and he mutters something indistinguishable. She stops midway through her hysterics to look at him, confused. He throws his hands up in the air and looks at her.
"Sorry. That's what you wanted, right? Sorry. Alright?" he says, spinning around on one heel and fleeing the room.
Draco doesn't know if he likes the person he is anymore. He doesn't think he ever liked that person in the first place.