Are You Petrified Of [her] Being Petrified
Chapter 15: Are You Petrified of [her] Being Petrified
Lucius’s response about Potter’s sudden possession of the diary was inconclusive. He, too, didn’t seem to be able to discern if it was for the best or the worst. Of course, Professor Snape was also informed, and that rolled up the chain of command to Dumbledore. And that’s how Draco found himself spending his Thursday evening in the Headmaster’s office, exhausted, eyes dropping, and tiredly repeating the details of the last few months over and over again. It always ended with the same remarks and irritation with no clear path forward.
Dumbledore refused to confiscate the diary, to Snape’s irritation.
Lucius insisted on getting the diary back to the Weasley girl since she “had already been tainted by it for so long” (no need to ruin more Wizarding blood even if it is Potter).
Severus insisted on informing the other Heads of Houses about the creature being a basilisk and putting up proper precautions. He didn’t much care for most of the students, but he did enjoy living in the castle with his potions lab which would undoubtedly be shut down the moment a student was killed…again.
Draco thought the whole lot of them were idiots. Why all the secrets? Nobody knows where the diary came from, outside of those in this room. Confiscate it, destroy it or lock it up, and someone go follow the Weasley girl to go kill the beast! It didn’t sound so difficult in his head—
“Draco, go through it once more, if you will?” Dumbledore’s soft voice filled the room. Lucius and Snape shot daggers at the old man behind his back, but the Headmaster smiled kindly and motioned for Draco to speak.
The boy sighed exasperated at retelling his story again. He ticked off the main points again on his fingers as he tiredly listed them off, “the spiders…Myrtle…the diary…the hissing voice…the chickens—“
“Voice?! What voice?!” Lucius shoved past the two professors, leaning over his son. “What hissing voice, Draco?”
“The voice from the corridors, the ‘ kill, rip, tear’ whatever it said,” he waved his hand floppily as he yawned again. Three pairs of concerned eyes stared at him, and suddenly Draco wasn’t tired anymore. His blood ran cold and he sat ramrod straight in his chair. “I didn’t say that before, did I?”
Snape had gone pale, looking rather grim, and Lucius’s face was turning an angry shade of violet. Dumbledore, however, approached the young Slytherin calculating something behind his twinkling blue eyes.
“When did you hear the voices, my boy?” The Headmaster asked quietly.
“The first time I must’ve been sleep-walking. I woke up standing near the girls’ lavatory on the second floor. The second time I was in the corridor outside the Great Hall with Pansy. It was just before Mrs. Norris was found down the next hall over.” Draco paused, wracking his brain but couldn’t recall hearing it since—he’d been so consumed with figuring out what the beast was.
“Have you been able to speak to snakes before, Draco?” Dumbledore inquired.
“I—what?” Draco stuttered for a moment. How did he know about that? “Well, no, just at the Duelling Club, I understood what Potter said to the snake I cast, but I thought I figured it was because I had been the one to create it,” Draco stared at the old wizard before him.
Dumbledore nodded and began to pace back and forth behind his desk before looking appraisingly at Lucius. The elder Malfoy was ready to spit fire at the Headmaster—first his son was hearing voices and now he’s a Parselmouth ? Draco could read the expressions in his father’s eyes—neither of those possibilities would be a positive thing for the Malfoy family image if they got out. Luckily the only other people who knew were Pansy, Blaise, and Theo and he was quite sure they’d never betray his trust. But his father didn’t know that…
Gathering as much of his courage as he could, Draco asked with a squeak, the one question they were all thinking, “what’s wrong with me?”
“My dear boy, I believe we are seeing the effects of when Lord Voldemort passed through you in the chamber last year,” Dumbledore paused and his lips turned down into somewhat of a frown. “I have read a great deal on the spirit and magical core of a witch or wizard, and I’m afraid the sharing of traits is never a good sign. I had rather hoped you would remain asymptomatic.”
…
No good had come from his meeting with Dumbledore, Snape, and his father that night. It seemed that things only got worse and more tense. Although they had more answers, there was now the question of what to do with the information, and none of the men were willing to budge on their stance. Since Dumbledore was Headmaster, he had the final say—which was to do nothing and see how things turned out. Not only that, but apparently the Dark Lord had infiltrated his spirit or core or whatever. So what, am I destined to be the next Dark Lord then?
Lucius had left in a rage, and Draco felt terribly guilty that his mother would bear the brunt of it for quite some time. Snape, did just the opposite, and returned to his seething nature, scowling at students and handing out a few more detentions than necessary.
Mid-March approached, and Pansy was called on more and more frequently to tend to the Mandrakes, which were now throwing parties and making their way through adolescence. According to the lively dark-haired witch, this meant they were getting close to being ready for harvesting.
“She says that the moment they start trying to move into each other’s pots, we’ll know they’re fully mature,” Pansy informed the group of Slytherins. “Then we’ll be able to revive those people in the hospital wing.” She said matter-of-factly.
Later that same day, the second years were given parchments with a list of the classes they could choose to sign up for in their third year. It was a rather important decision to make, seeing as it would affect how many O.W.L.s they could get and eventually which N.E.W.T. classes they would be eligible for.
Naturally, Draco had intended to take them all. He was great at navigating demanding schedules and mental work-loads, not to mention he was exceeding all of his professors’ expectations for each class. He quickly checked off each of the new classes in addition to the required ones they had already been taking: Charms, Transfiguration, D.A.D.A, Herbology, Potions, Ancient Runes, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, History of Magic, Arithmancy, and…Muggle Studies.
Draco hesitated before checking the last box. It wasn’t that he didn’t think it would be useful to know more about the Muggle World…but he wasn’t sure how his parents would react if they found out. His mother, while worlds more open minded, may not even understand why he would willingly take the class. His father certainly wouldn’t understand, nor would he allow it. If he got wind that Draco had signed up for it, he would be dragged out of Hogwarts instantaneously.
“Mate, you can’t just check off all the classes!” Theo shook his head at him. “But you’ll definitely have to keep Care of Magical Creatures with me,” he said with his typical lopsided grin.
“And of course you’ll all be taking Divination with me, yes?” Daphne smiled sweetly as she glanced at each of her friends’ class lists, satisfied with their choices, she snuggled against Theo’s shoulder comparing their schedule for the next year.
“Why can’t I take them all? There have been others who’ve gotten twelve O.W.L.s I’m sure of it! That poncy Weasley Prefect talks about his all the time !” Draco said pointedly at Theo, having ignored Daphne’s interjection.
“The schedule’s not possible. Half of these courses are at the same time, Draco, how do you expect to be in two places at once?” Greg said gruffly with a shoulder shrug. The whole table had gone quiet and were staring at Goyle astounded. He wasn’t one for words, let alone full sentences. “What? I can read. It says it right there at the top!”
Ignoring his friends, Draco checked off the last box next to Muggle Studies with finality. He folded his parchment, and stood to hand it in to Professor Snape. “You all wait and see. I’ll get all twelve O.W.L.s and Granger won’t be able to stand it!” The blonde Slytherin smirked toward the Gryffindor table, not noticing when the rest of his own table groaned at the realization that all of third year was just going to be an intellectual pissing contest between Draco and Hermione Granger.
…
The next morning, the Slytherins walked together into the Great Hall for breakfast. The sun was shining brightly, with a soft breeze floating through the slowly greening trees outside. It was nearly the perfect spring morning—there was even Quidditch today! It was Gryffindor and Hufflepuff playing, but maybe he’d get the chance to watch Potter finally get his arse kicked for once. At least Draco was hopeful.
Once they had their fill, they all stood to start slowly making their way down to the stands to cheer on the Hufflepuffs. They made it barely twelve steps out of the castle before having to turn around. Theo had left his wand at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.
“You can’t be serious!” Pansy shouted in snarky disbelief. “How do you forget your wand? ”
Theo waved them to go on without him and he’d catch up later. “I’ll go with you,” Draco huffed in annoyance.
The two boys trotted back into the castle, retracing their steps, when Draco froze.
“What is it?” Theo asked, concerned.
“Kill this time…let me rip…tear…”
“I can hear it. It’s the voice again,” Draco said, slightly trembling. At the same moment they heard a startled shout coming from farther down the corridor—it had to be from someone on the marble staircase. It sounded like Potter.
Draco and Theo exchanged nervous glances. Theo sprinted into the Great Hall to grab his wand, while Draco launched in the other direction toward the sound. With Theo’s long legs, it didn’t take him more than a few minutes to catch up. They both arrived just in time to skid around the corner and see bushy brown hair flying over the top step and disappearing. Simultaneously, Potter and Weasley were trotting up to most likely get ready for the match.
“I’ve got to follow her, Theo, what if it’s after her?” Draco said desperately. Theo just nodded, resolute to aid in any way he could. They followed the girl up the staircase and instinctively turned toward the library. The Great Hall was emptying now behind th, as the stragglers tried to make it out to the Quidditch match before all the good seats were taken.
When they came to a stop outside the library door, Draco spotted her not far off. The two boys threw open the door, much to the disapproval of Madam Pince. She eyed them with a scrutinizing gaze as they passed her, gathering their composure. She seemed to be somewhat satisfied and allowed them to continue.
“Go get one of the books we found it in,” Draco whispered, and Theo nodded, slipping off into the stacks.
Draco cleared his throat as he approached her table. She was sitting with a prim-looking Ravenclaw he didn’t know. He looked down at the paper in her hands, it had been unfolded and re-folded numerous times, but he recognized it instantly. She had read his note. Thank Salazar, you got it. Relief washed over him like a tide.
“What do you mean ‘you got it’? Did you send this, Malfoy?” She asked softly, her eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline.
Shit. Did I say that out loud?
“I—I mean—well—“ he stuttered out when Theo arrived with the requested book, tossing it down in front of Granger and flipping to the page.
“Got it!” Theo exclaimed out of breath.
“Shhhh!” Madam Pince hushed.
“Got it,” he whispered with a half-smile.
“Wait, you two know about—“ she looked around, but no one was apparently listening. “About the Chamber of Secrets?”
“Yes, Granger! Why else would I have sent you a copy of page on basilisks? Hello? You’re supposed to be bright!” He said angrily. She shied away from him with a glare and attitude of her own.
Sensing the tension and oncoming argument Theo put his hands up between the two, “we don’t have the time! He’s angry because he’s worried about you, ok?” Her jaw dropped open. “And you ,” he rounded on Draco, “she’s clearly still fine, now get to the point!”
Draco growled, but seemed to calm somewhat when he actually took into account that Granger was still very much alive and not petrified. “Right. The ‘horror’ within is a basilisk—“
“Worked that out for myself, thanks,” she spouted off grumpily at being outshined.
“Not helpful, Granger,” Theo said curtly.
Draco cleared his throat again, pushing back the urge to remind her he was the one who led her to the epiphany in the first place. “It’s only petrifying people because they’re seeing it indirectly—a reflection or through a ghost—if you see it without one of those…” he paused and looked into her honey brown eyes.
She gulped. Good. You should be scared.
“…you die.”
He nodded solemnly.
“Why are you telling me all of this? It’s only…well didn’t you say you hoped I would be next?” She said meekly.
“I needed Potter and Weasley to be on guard—to protect you, but those bloody idiots just left you alone, again! I know you don’t want to listen to me, but they’re not the ones in danger—you are. You are,” he finished more softly, losing some of his anger and looking across the table at her pleading. “You have to know I’ve only been trying to keep you safe.”
“I…how do I make sure I don’t look it in the eyes?” She seemed to want to say more but held back.
The Ravenclaw at the other end of the table had laid down her book and took out a small, round silver hand mirror. She took a compact out of her bag and began to powder her nose daintily.
“A mirror,” all three of them said in unison.
“How is it moving through the castle? That will help to focus on safe areas,” she asked, biting on her thumbnail nervously.
“We’re not really sure. Every time I hear the thing hissing it’s either right outside the Great Hall or up by Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom,” Draco said, disappointed that he was out of answers.
“So how would a large snake move around undetected…it couldn’t just slither down the halls…” she said thinking out loud.
“Wait, how long has Myrtle been stuck in that bathroom? Wouldn’t she know how it’s getting around if she’s been here forever?” Theo asked.
“Fifty years,” Hermione whispered, eyes widening in realization.
“That was the last time the Chamber was open—she was the girl who died!” Draco stood and began pacing next to the table, earning a glare from the Ravenclaw.
“Sorry Penelope,” Granger sent the older girl an apologetic smile, “we’re just brainstorming something.”
“Oh I can hear everything you’ve been saying. You all are terrible at being quiet. I’m shocked Madam Pince hasn’t come around the corner and blasted you three out of the library permanently,” the girl said haughtily. “It’s obvious though, isn’t it?”
Penelope Clearwater stalked toward the group of second years, pulling the copied page away from Granger’s fingers. She took her quill and wrote one word on the page before tossing it nonchalantly back onto the table before them. “The pipes.”
“I have to tell Harry and Ron!” the frizzy-haired girl cried. She wadded the page up in her fist without even thinking and turned toward Penelope. “Will you come with me? We can both use your mirror to look around corners?”
The Ravenclaw looked calculating for a moment, like she wasn’t sure if she should help or save her own skin.
“You’re a Prefect, right? And a Muggleborn too?” Granger asked gently with faux admiration and camaraderie.
Clever girl, very resourceful. Careful, Granger, your Slytherin is showing . Draco smirked when he saw the Ravenclaw girl’s shoulders slump somewhat. She was giving in.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. We should stick together if we’re both targets,” Penelope ceded.
“Good. Now you two go tell Potter and Weasley, but leave me and Theo out of it. They won’t listen if they think I’ve had any part of it—they’ll think it’s a trap,” Draco said grumpily.
Granger nodded, literally trusting him with her life. The Ravenclaw paused momentarily, “is it a trap? You are Slytherins after all.”
“Yet again, people, we don’t have time for this!” Theo shrieked as he yanked on his hair with both hands in frustration.
That seemed to calm any of her concerns for the moment and the two witches grabbed their bags and ran off toward the doors. Draco let out a breath. “Thank you, Theo.”
“You would’ve done it for Daph,” Theo smiled back at his friend.
The two boys nodded at Madam Pince as they left the library a few moments later after they had collected themselves. Turning the corner, they could hear Professor McGonagall’s broguish accent drifting through the hall sharply.
Draco surged forward to see what she was so upset about. It couldn’t be. They had the mirror! They were going to be careful! They knew! She knew!
He could barely see around the professor and her thick green robes, but there was no mistaking the hand mirror laying on the stone floor in front of a mess of Hogwarts robes.
It’s her.
Draco fell to his knees. He couldn’t move—couldn’t breathe. He had just warned her—had just been with her. He should’ve gone with her, made sure she was safe. It was his responsibility. He failed. I failed. Now she’s—she’s—
Theo put his hands on his chest and pushed. Draco stood slowly, face still frozen in despair. “C’mon mate, we can’t be seen here,” Theo whispered into his ear.
The blonde let his friend lead him down to the dungeons and into their dormitory. He left Draco for only a moment, at least it seemed like only a moment, and returned with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. “Drink. You’ll feel better,” Theo said softly with a pitying look.
Draco couldn’t even find it in himself to be angry at being pitied. All he could think was that she was dead. And it’s all my fault…
He sat on the end of his bed for a long time. When he finally fizzled back into reality, the still full mug of hot chocolate he held in his hands had gone cold. The sun was starting to drop in the sky. He had sat there essentially all day, then.
Blaise and Greg slowly opened the door to their room and gave Draco a look filled with pity—just like Theo had done. This time, he let the anger rise just a smidge.
“I’m not fucking fragile, stop giving me those pity eyes!” He snapped.
Neither of the approaching boys recoiled. Instead they moved toward him more quickly and took seats on either side of him.
“She’s just petrified,” Greg said warily. “Definitely alive.”
Draco sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “And Clearwater? Just petrified too?”
“Yes,” Blaise answered simply.
Draco nodded and the three of them ventured to the commonroom. Only Theo looked concerned. The rest of the Slytherins were gossiping incessantly amongst themselves. Even the seventh years were there, and they rarely spent time in their own common room when they didn’t need to.
Greg and Vince explained that he had missed Snape’s announcement, but things were getting bad.
Flint knocked the two boys aside gruffly and began his rant. “He said all students have to return to the common room by six every night. We have to be escorted to and from the dormitories after that. Teachers are gonna take us to each of our classes. We can’t even go to the bathroom without a teacher. And worst of all—Quidditch practice and matches are postponed! It’s absurd!”
Draco would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so sick to his stomach. He needed to see her, but now he couldn’t even leave the commonroom without Snape leading the way. His stomach churned, and he was sure the breakfast from long ago would make its return any minute.
“This is too much,” he said to himself in a hushed whisper. Luckily Flint was commanding the room with his woeful Quidditch upset, and Draco was able to fade into the background. He slowly crept toward the back of the large room and cast a Disillusionment Charm over his head. He felt the tell-tale cool trickle drip from his head to his shoulders and so on.
Outside the Slytherin commonroom, the halls were eerily silent. Not even spiders or rats were lurking in the shadows. It was like the calm before a storm, when all the birds and insects pause their chirping and buzzing. He quickly climbed the sets of stairs, not stopping until he reached the Hospital Wing.
He quietly cracked the door just enough for his body to slide through the opening, then he tiptoed across the stone floor, looking for her bed. There were four beds now, lined with the drab, faded blue curtains. He knew the first two would be Creevey and Finch-Fletchley. He peeked into the third, only to find the Ravenclaw Prefect frozen in time. Draco quickly shut the curtain and stepped up to the fourth and final bed. Her bed.
He reached out for the curtain with shaking hands, and inches it open, not wanting to look. If he looked, it would be all too real—but if he didn’t, the dread would eat him alive from the inside out. Eyes closed, he moved to the edge of the bed. His blonde lashes flicked up and his vision was filled with her glassy, empty stare. It was startling and he staggered back a step.
She almost looked like one of the marble statues around the Manor’s garden. She was certainly just as beautiful, except for the look of horror in her face. It was subtle, but her eyes were wider than they should have been, and her mouth was drawn tight as if she was trying to gasp or scream. He hadn’t heard a scream… I would’ve been too late even if she had…
He tried to mold his hand into hers, but her fingers wouldn’t give. He settled for wrapping both of his hands around one of hers, as if trying to warm it up. Draco felt a tear slide down his suddenly wet cheeks. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive. He repeatedly tried to remind himself. Draco’s hurried breathing eventually slowed, and he lulled himself to sleep.