Enemies of the Heir
Chapter 7: Enemies of the Heir
The summer faded into a damp, musty fall. The leaves lining the trees of the Forbidden Forest flowed from the summer’s dark green foliage to vibrant autumn shades of golden yellow, Gryffindor red, and burnt orange. As the chill whispered through the grounds, the leaves descended onto the muddy ground below, and Hagrid’s pumpkin patch grew by multitudes each day.
One rather dreary day, Draco joined his fellow Slytherin Quidditch players for practice down on the pitch. The players ran drill after drill until their hands were calloused and their muscles ached. Everything was covered in mud, and by the time Marcus Flint finally let them call it quits, all Draco had the energy for was to muck his way back to the castle in hopes of a hot shower, a large plate of food, and a nap.
He trudged through the halls, pausing only to notice the nearly-headless Gryffindor ghost whispering to Peeves. That can’t be good. Draco shrugged, he didn’t much care what the ghosts did, and he didn’t think the Gryffindor ghost to be particularly mischievous, and Peeves usually left the Slytherins alone rather than face the Bloody Baron’s wrath.
Draco continued to the next corridor, approaching the stairs to the basement and dungeons, when Peeves flew down the large staircase behind him. Quickly jumping out of the way, Draco watched in horror as the poltergeist launched a familiar and rather expensive-looking black and gold vanishing cabinet. The artifact made a thundering SMASH! and though it didn’t splatter into smithereens, it was clear it would most likely be unfixable.
Pity. I’m sure it cost a large sum of gold. I wonder if it was made by the same person who made the one in Borgin & Burke’s…
The young Slytherin heard a soft padding of paws coming toward him and spotted Mrs. Norris’ glaring red eyes. Draco flew down the steps as quickly as possible. He absolutely refused to take the blame for something that meddling poltergeist did!
Draco slowed after two more flights of steps, breathing heavily. He took his time descending into the dungeons and avoided eye contact with any chatty-looking Hufflepuffs as he passed through the basement level. He could smell the House Elves’ cooking wafting from the kitchens. Sleep and shower first, then food.
He was barely able to keep from drifting off in the shower, thank Merlin it wasn’t a bath or he’d for sure have drowned. The steaming stream of water soothed his sore muscles, and the scent of eucalyptus and spearmint encased him. Stepping out, he quickly toweled off and didn’t even bother dressing all the way before climbing under his covers and instantly falling into a deep sleep.
…
The Slytherin boys woke to the wafting aroma of pumpkin and cinnamon one brisk Hallowe’en morning. It took all of their self control not to skip the last of their lessons and just pig out in the Great Hall all day, or even better—sneak into the kitchens. Draco’s mouth watered every time they passed through the corridors or staircases near the Hall and kitchens.
Finally, the feast was beginning soon. Draco, Blaise and Pansy were the first to arrive in the Great Hall, eager to witness the enchanting decor. Bats flew through the air and pumpkins floated overhead, sparkling with glowing candles inside and all around. The gleaming golden plates and goblets lined each of the four House tables, waiting to be filled with their owners chosen meals.
The tree Slytherins took their usual seats and filled their goblets with pumpkin juice. Crabbe and Goyle sauntered in next with growling bellies, closely followed by Theo and Daphne arm-in-arm.
“So is this a thing now? Are you two finally together?” Pansy berated the couple gesturing between the two of them.
Daphne looked triumphant, while Theo’s cheeks turned a nice shade of scarlet. He chuckled nervously, “I—we—well…”
“You could say that,” Daphne flipped her hair over her shoulder grinning wickedly and winked at Theo, deepening his reddening face.
“Finally! Cheers!” Pansy grabbed her goblet excitedly and clanked it against first Blaise’s, then Draco’s goblets, then gulping her pumpkin juice down.
The food appeared soon after, and the young Slytherins tucked in. Daphne picked a forkful of steamed vegetables off of Theo’s plate, earning a disgusted scoff from Draco and an eye roll from Blaise. This only egged the new couple on and they inches closer to one another until she was nearly sitting on Theo’s lap.
Draco looked up across from him and searched Pansy’s face for a moment. She looked sad…maybe a little angry? Bitter. She would eye her best friend every minute or so, pretending to smile happily, but Draco could see the pain she had behind the mask.
She caught him watching her and her eyes turned to slits with hidden rage suddenly turned on him. Draco subtly jutted his chin toward the door, indicating that she should join him out in the Entrance Hall. It would be practically empty with everyone at the feast.
Getting the jist, she very politely excused herself from the table and Draco waited the required three minutes before also getting up to leave. As the oversized oak doors closed behind him, Pansy pounced on him.
“What could you possibly want, Draco?” She attempted to sound bored and nonchalant, but he could see right through the facade.
“Pansy, what’s wrong? I can tell you’re angry,” Draco pried. He knew he was a little out of line, they had barely spoken since she had kissed him at the Villa.
“Like you care, Malfoy.” She spat at him with contempt.
“You’re my friend, of course I care. Sorry if it doesn’t seem like it, but I’ve just been trying to give you space since—well—ya know…”
“Listen, I don’t need your pity, or guilt, or whatever, okay? I’m fine. I don’t need you or anyone else checking up on me. Now leave me alone and—“
Pansy cut off her rant as a flash of red hair whipped through the corridor adjacent to the one they were standing in.
“Why wouldn’t a Weasley be at the feast?” Draco wondered out loud.
Pansy huffed in annoyance. “Of course. Another Gryffindor girl walks by and you forget I’m even here.”
Draco whipped his face back to Pansy with annoyance. “Is this about jealousy, Pansy?! Are you jealous that Daphne and Theo are official?”
“Am I—what?! No! Draco Malfoy, you clueless, insensitive arsehole!”
“Hey!—“ he shouted back, “I’m not insensitive or clueless! Who’s the only friend out here talking to you or even asking about your feelings? Not even the boy who supposedly fancies you is checking up on you!”
Draco suddenly heard the eerie voice from the other night. In a cold whisper, “…I smell blood…I SMELL BLOOD!” The color drained from his face but he realized Pansy was still talking and appeared to not have heard anything.
“Fancies me?! And pray tell me, who would that be?” Pansy rolled her eyes for emphasis.
“Pansy, did you hear that?” Ignoring her, Draco whispered, almost afraid to draw attention to it.
“Hear what, the sound of me walking away? Yeah, I think I did.” She turned to stomp off.
“Wait!” She paused so he continued, “come on, you know I can’t just tell you that,” Draco pleaded with her.
“I thought you were my friend!” She pouted, crossing her arms over her chest and turning away from him.
“Now that’s not fair. I am your friend, but he’s also my friend and I can’t just sell him out! He’ll tell you when he’s ready, I suppose,” Draco tried to reason with the girl he’d known nearly his whole life.
“Whatever, Draco.” Pansy straightened herself up and wiped away any stray mascara under her eyes with two quick swipes. He hadn’t realized she was about to cry. Maybe he should’ve told her—no Blaise would kill him. She’d find out soon enough—how she didn’t know already was beyond him. Pansy was usually pretty intuitive unless she was over-emotional about the situation…
Does she fancy Blaise too? They’re both being miserable sods for no reason! He would have to confirm his theory with Theo later…
The doors to the Great Hall opened again and this time students were slowly pouring out of the doorway. The feast was over and the students would be heading back to their dormitories. Draco sighed, he really wished he could just stay out of other people’s business, but he always seemed to find himself at the center of it.
As the Entrance Hall filled with people moving toward the corridors leading to the stairs, the Second Year Slytherins banded together. The throng suddenly halted as soon as they started to turn the corner—Potter, Granger, and Weasley were standing before them looking shocked.
Draco pushed ahead to see what they were gawking at. On the wall in front of them, foot-high words were written in what Draco assumed was blood from its shimmer in the torchlight:
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE
A dark shadow hung below it, frozen—Mrs. Norris—Draco realized as he spotted the devilish cat’s demonic, wide red eyes. She was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. Draco smiled—so someone had finally done the beast in, then—good riddance! Draco paused, reading the words against processing them out loud.
“Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!”
A few students in the crowd behind him gasped, but for the most part, he was surrounded by Slytherins and a few Ravenclaws who were indifferent on the matter. Pansy smirked at his words and Blaise elbowed him in the ribs with disapproval. Crabbe and Goyle laughed loudly until a moment later the professors and Filch showed up.
“What’s going on here? What’s going on?” The nasty caretaker approached Potter and his associates. Then he saw Mrs. Norris, and fell back, clutching his face in horror. “My cat! My cat! What’s happened to Mrs. Norris?” he shrieked.
And his popping eyes fell on Harry. “You!” he screeched. “You! You’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her! I’ll kill you! I’ll —”
“Argus!” Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past the Gryffindors and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.
“Come with me, Argus,” he said to Filch. “You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger.”
Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. “My office is nearest, Headmaster — just upstairs — please feel free —”
“Thank you, Gilderoy,” said Dumbledore.
The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape. The latter gave a meaningful stare at Draco, Theo, and Blaise as he passed them.
Professor Flitwick quickly dispersed the throng of students, urging them to return to their common rooms. Draco grabbed Blaise, but Theo sent them an apologetic look as Daphne latched onto his arm and started dragging him toward the dungeons with Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle moving them along. Blaise waved him on and he and Draco slipped in the opposite direction, ducking into a bathroom to wait out the rest of the students.
“BOYS! IN MY BATHROOM? WAAAAAAAAAA!!” The ghost of a rather unattractive girl whooshed up from behind a stall. She started yelling at the two Slytherins. Draco took note she was wearing school robes and must have died a long time ago from the style of her hair, he guessed maybe she would’ve been around his parents age.
Blaise was obviously uncomfortable and trying not to stutter, but was able to get out, “Who are y-you?”
“WHO AM I?! Why, don’t you know? I’m Moaning Myrtle. Come to throw books at me or laugh at me some more? Yes that ridiculous girl with the stupid hair and her two very rude friends already did that tonight so you’ll have to come back later!” The ghost wailed again loudly and dove into one of the toilets with a splash.
Blaise and Draco just looked at each other in confusion. So Potter, Weasley, and Granger had been here? What were they all doing in a girls’ lavatory. Not to mention they were being mean to her?
“M-Myrtle? I’m sorry they were mean to you. They tend to not care about anyone else’s points of view…Potter tends to take everything away from me—“
“Oh? And who might you be?” She casually rose up out of the stall again, re-appraising the two Slytherins.
“Draco and Blaise,” Draco replied, pointing to himself then his friend.
“Draco,” she purred. “Well, if that is all true, you’re welcome here anytime. Us misfits ought to stick together don’t you think?” Myrtle moved toward him and touched his shoulder with her icy fingers as if she were trying to flirt.
It took all of Blaise’s energy not to burst out laughing, and Draco tried to keep the horror from his face.
“Th-thanks, Myrtle. We’ve got to get going now, but we’ll come and visit you soon, if you’d like?” Blaise threw out in an escape attempt. The ghost whirred around excitedly and the boys slipped out in the commotion.
“Why the bloody hell is there a ghost haunting a bathroom?!” Blaise breathed heavily once they had shut the door behind them. Draco shrugged with an exasperated look.
They moved down the now empty hallway with speed, making sure to stay on their toes to avoid making too much sound. As they approached Lockhart’s office Draco put a hand up and signaled Blaise to move across to the other side of the door.
Draco could see the cat was laying on a polished desk, and Dumbledore was standing nearby, comforting an emotional Filch. Lockhart was pacing around the room throwing out random theories—even Draco’s limited experiences with magic told him none of those were what had actually happened.
Blaise could see Snape and signaled to him as such. Apparently he was trying not to laugh, which really would have been a sight to see as none of them could imagine the Potions Master actually laughing.
Finally someone broke the stream of nonsense coming from Lockhart’s mouth.
“She’s not dead, Argus,” Dumbledore said softly.
Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.
“Not dead?” choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. “But why’s she all — all stiff and frozen?”
“She has been Petrified,” said Dumbledore (“Ah! I thought so!” said Lockhart). “But how, I cannot say...”
“Ask him!” shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to where Draco assumed Potter sat.
“No second year could have done this,” said Dumbledore firmly. “it would take Dark Magic of the most advanced —”
“He did it, he did it!” Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. “You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found — in my office — he knows I’m a — I’m a —” Filch’s face worked horribly. “He knows I’m a Squib!” he finished.
“I never touched Mrs. Norris!” Potter shouted, causing everyone to look at him, including all the Lockharts in the many paintings on the walls. “And I don’t even know what a Squib is.”
“Rubbish!” snarled Filch. “He saw my Kwikspell letter!”
“If I might speak, Headmaster,” said Snape from the shadows. “Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubted it. “But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn’t he at the Halloween feast?”
The Grydfindors all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. “... there were hundreds of ghosts, they’ll tell you we were there —”
A Deathday party? How miserable. Not enough friends, Potter, you have to spend your time with ghosts?
“But why not join the feast afterward?” said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Why go up to that corridor?”
“Because — because —” Potter started nervously, “because we were tired and wanted to go to bed,” he said.
“Without any supper?” said Snape, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face. “I didn’t think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties.”
“We weren’t hungry,” the Weasel repeated loudly as his stomach gave a huge rumble.
Snape’s nasty smile widened.
“I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful,” he said. “It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest.”
Draco and Blaise shared triumphant grins—what a wonderful day it would be if Snape was able to maneuver that one!
“Really, Severus,” said Professor McGonagall sharply, “I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn’t hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong.”
“Innocent until proven guilty, Severus,” he said firmly.
Snape looked furious.
So did Filch.
“My cat has been Petrified!” he shrieked, his eyes popping. “I want to see some punishment!”
“We will be able to cure her, Argus,” said Dumbledore patiently. “Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris.”
“I’ll make it,” Lockhart butted in. “I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep —”
“Excuse me,” said Snape icily. “But I believe I am the Potions master at this school.”
There was a very awkward pause.
“You may go,” Dumbledore said to the Gryffindors, and Draco and Blaise quickly Disillusioned themselves—feeling like an egg cracking over their heads and a cool sensation dripping down.
The trio ran past them after another moment, and the two Slytherins decided it was time to head back to the commonroom to fill Theo in on what they had seen.