CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VII
After what happened last week, during their first flying lesson, a rivalry had begun between the famous Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Well, if you can call the one-sided animosity a rivalry. What would actually transpire in their feud is the half-hearted banter from Draco and the infuriation of one Ron Weasley. It had enraged the Gryffindor and was soon a running joke among the Slytherins.
Now, Draco is treading towards the great hall, dragged behind Pansy.
"Draco, I swear if you stay another day in that library, I will scream."
Draco made a noncommitted sound at her words, mind still groggy with sleep.
"Ugh, look at you! Always coming back just before curfew. We have never even seen you around since school started! You're not even going there for school works!" Pansy scolded, looking back at Draco half draped over Blaise. The dark-skinned boy guided them through the halls with a pleasant smile. Seemingly accustomed to the antics of his usually composed friend as he clung to his frame like a soggy blanket.
Draco slowly opened his mouth for a response, "Too loud..."
Pansy groaned, her hand raised to pinch at him when a voice piped up behind them.
“Ha! Malfoy, don’t you feel jealous?" Draco turned around, a brow raised, slowly gaining enough consciousness, “And why would I be jealous?” It was Weasley.
“Harry got into the Quidditch team thanks to your little skit with Neville’s Remembrall.” Weasley said with a smug look on his face. Potter just stood there awkwardly; that seemed to be the only word Draco could describe him with. He narrowed his eyes at the two Gryffindors then made a sound of realization.
“Weasley, if you wanted to thank me, just say so.” Draco gave a small smile as he stood up properly.
Weasley’s face immediately turned red at his words. Draco had missed this, sort of.
“We’re not trying to thank you! You—you” Weasley stuttered, trying to insult Draco.
He turned to his friends, “You guys go first. It won’t take long.”
Pansy looked at him, unimpressed. “Didn’t need you to tell me, Draco. But thanks, I’m positively starved.” she drawled, walking away with Blaise to the great hall.
“So, what else do you want? Other than to thank me.” Draco said, turning back to the two children disrupting his quest for a much-needed coffee.
Weasley exploded.
“We’re not trying to thank you!”
Draco agreed with him in a placating tone. And Ron's face burned even more, almost contesting with his hair.
“I—Malfoy!” Ron began to exclaim but was interrupted when Harry asked, “Why did you do it?”
That question gave the three boys a pause. Harry looked at Draco intently, waiting for his response. But Draco had stiffened at his question, his hands clenched in a tight fist before flexing them in a practiced motion.
“Why’d you do it? You knew it was me.”
A million words flashed across his mind. He felt bitter and helpless as he looked at the boy who had asked him the same question. Last he asked, Potter had looked at him with pity in his eyes, he saw through his piteous façade and saw just how much of a coward he really was. But this time, young Potter’s eyes shined with a fit of flaming anger and a burning curiosity. Draco blinked, which brought him back to reality. They stared at each other for a moment before Draco offered a smile at the dark-haired boy and shrugged one of his shoulders.
“I can’t answer that. But you know, Potter, it is a rare chance for anyone to be scouted so early on for the quidditch team, especially for a first-year." Draco mused, almost to himself, "So…enjoy it.”
After hearing his words, the uncertainty was plain on the boy's face. Draco could see he was unsatisfied with his answer, but this is no longer of Draco’s concern.
"Breakfast?" he invited them graciously--he really needed that coffee-- and walked away into the great hall.
The week has been full of those short conversations between the two Gryffindors and him. Draco never really engaged, only indulged them with their apparent need to see him as an enemy. He could not fathom how he bantered with them so many years ago; it's so tiring now. It must have been youth.
The things he would do for their fates…Draco felt like giving a sigh.
By the time he made it to his friends, Pansy was cackling in glee, “And her face! Should’ve found someone to paint it!” Blaise smiled, showing his pearly whites, while he smeared jam onto bread, giving it to Pansy wordlessly. She accepted it without question.
Draco picked up a cup, the pumpkin juice inside quickly turned black into a nice cup of coffee. He silently sighed as he took a sip of the bitter drink. After Potter's sudden question, he had sobered from the grasp of sleepiness. The coffee didn't taste as delicious as he had hoped.
"Draco?" He looked up to see a worried face of Pansy, "Are you alright?" He had a distinct feeling that the girl had been calling for a while.
"..."
Pansy seemed concerned at his lack of response, "Is it because of those two? Should we do something about them-"
Draco stopped her before she said anything more. "No, Pans. I'm alright."
Pansy worried her lower lips, "Is it about what I said about the library then? I know you like libraries but...we can go tomorrow. Alright?" That finally snapped Draco out of his stupor.
"So you do care about me!" His face cracked into a smile.
"...Ugh! You are impossible!" She spat out after realizing he was fine. Blaise started adding sugar to his coffee. Draco's smile turned softer at his friends; he sipped the coffee appreciatively.
He relished the peaceful breakfast with his two friends. Soon, Vincent and Greg joined them as well. Life in Hogwarts, so far, is still easy-going, and Draco will mourn when it ends. But for now, he will count his blessings.
…
Draco made his way silently through the dark corridors. He had been bidding his time; the third-floor hallway that was proclaimed off-limits was a mystery he needed to investigate. What did Dumbledore not want anyone to see?
He had excused himself to an early slumber, sneaking away from his roommates as they were preoccupied with their nightly routines, or rather, Blaise's nightly routine. He had sought to encourage Vince and Greg to take care of their skin with masks and potions. Draco was about to turn to the staircases when he saw two shadows in the corner of his eyes. Draco quickly hid, peeping down the hall to see Granger and Longbottom enter the Trophy room. What are they doing out of bed? If he had seen Potter and Weasley, perhaps he would understand, but Granger and Longbottom? He quietly followed them into the room, only to see Potter and Weasley. Never mind then, everything is normal.
He sighed exasperatedly, “What in the bloody seven gates of hell are you all doing?”
...
Harry immediately turned around at the voice, as well as everyone else. When did Hermione and Neville get here? But his attention was quickly taken by the boy who had asked the question, Draco Malfoy.
Their reactions were immediate: Hermione was panicking, Neville was whimpering, and Ron was scowling at the white-haired boy, who was pinching the bridge of his nose as if struck by a terrible headache.
“None of your bloody business, Malfoy!” Ron replied scathingly.
After Malfoy had mentioned his father being the seeker for the old Gryffindor Quidditch team, Harry has been itching to know if it is the truth. So, he and Ron had planned to find out in the Trophy room after receiving his broom from Professor McGonagall as a small celebration. Malfoy turned his eyes on him and scanned the room for some silent seconds before his eyes softened as if knowing the reason why they were here in the first place. And, confirming it, he said, “You could’ve come here before curfew.” Harry ducked his head, an unidentifiable emotion emerged from his chest.
“Well, what are you doing here then?” Ron asked after feeling called out.
Malfoy paused for a second, “I was doing an errand for my Head of house.” He said with a straight face. Ron scoffed, “As if we would believe that? Actually, no, maybe you are. What, Malfoy, you’re already a nasty little Death eater in training, are you?” Ron accused hysterically before he clamped his mouth shut, and the air in the room immediately became cold.
Now, the room is quiet once again as they watch as Malfoy’s eyes flash with a rapid change of emotions. Harry couldn't even begin to understand before the silver pools of his eyes turned unimaginably cold. Suddenly, Draco's face broke into an easy smile, and the room’s stifling quiet was interrupted by a light chuckle. But all Harry could hear was a choked sound. Ron was suddenly struck with the feeling of fear and bewilderment that magnified when Draco said, "Good one, Weasley. But I'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from saying things like that again."
Malfoy stared at the four of them, the corners of his mouth sharp and his two eyes formed playful crescents. Somehow, they all wilted under his gaze, gulping like children caught out of bed by their parents. Harry didn’t know how to feel about it.
“Come now, back to your dorms.” Malfoy said, turning to the exit. And the four Gryffindors followed. Harry observed the white-haired Slytherin; Why was his hair white? Before Harry allowed himself to be distracted, he glanced at his face; Malfoy was still smiling. But the smile was anything but natural. It didn't reach his eyes. It wasn't forced, but it is nowhere near genuine; A thing that Harry was curious about. Harry couldn't say if he had ever seen any honest expressions on the Malfoy heir. Hermione seemed especially uneased as her eyes went from Malfoy to Ron and back; neither seemed to have noticed. But they all froze as a "meow" echoed through the halls, closely followed by the unmistakable voice of Filch, “Anyone here, my sweet?”
Harry immediately took charge, to Malfoy’s displeasure from the small voice of protest. But Harry and the others are already running blindly away from the direction where Filch’s voice had come from, and he had no choice but to follow. They climbed the changing staircases, leading them to a place they had never seen before, the forbidden third-floor corridor, Hermione had said. The sound of Ms. Norris meowing was still behind them, so they continued to run until, in front of them, stood a locked door blocking their path.
“It’s locked!” Harry is panicking more and more as Ron said, “That’s it, we’re done for!” When Harry saw, at the corner of his eyes, Malfoy holding a whimpering Neville.
“Oh, move over!” Hermione pushed them aside and pulled out her wand, “Alohomora!” miraculously, the door opened on its own, and Hermione demanded, “Get in.” And they bustled in.
“Alohomora?” Ron asked.
“Standard book of spells, chapter seven.” Hermione glared at Malfoy as they heard a soft scoff from him, “Bloody know it all.” Though he sounded relieved as he grimaced.
Hermione pouted, “Filch is gone.”
“Probably thinks this door’s locked.” Ron said hopefully. Harry turned around to look at the room and froze.
“It was locked.”
“And for a good reason…” Harry interrupted. At his tone, the others all turned to see a massively huge three-headed dog sleeping in front of them, but it was starting to wake; it growls and yawns, then growled some more, sensing the intruders. They were in a trance as they looked at the horrifying creature blinked groggily with all three heads.
“OUT!” Malfoy ordered, spurring Neville into action as he was pushed through the door. Effectively snapping the rest out of their stupor, Harry and his two other friends ran after the two blonds. Harry could swear he heard a loud and wet snap behind his back as he ran.
They stopped to catch their breath in a random corridor; they were lost. Malfoy was cursing, quite fluently, under his breath.
“Why was that bloody thing in school?!” Ron shouted incredulously. Harry agreed though the shock was quickly giving way to curiosity. “We need to go back to our dorm.” Hermione huffed out while giving Malfoy a swat at the arm when he made another sarcastic quip, though Malfoy seemed unbothered by it.
“Neville, are you alright?” They turned to poor Neville, who was still panting as he caught his breath. His face was as pale as a ghost.
“He will be fine once you all make it to your bloody dorm.” Malfoy sighed out again as he started to walk. But once again, they froze in place as the poltergeist, Peeves, materialized through the wall and noticed the small group.
“Icky first years out of bed?” And his face lit up with evil glee, Harry tried pleading to the ghost.
“Peeves, don’t you dare—” Ron started, but Peeves was already opening his mouth, shouting, “FIR—!” Then suddenly, his voice was cut off as his form solidified before his body was pulled forward; To Draco Malfoy.
His face was murderous, almost crazed, “Peeves, I seem to have found myself in a predicament. And if you know what is good for you, you would lead this four to their dorms, quietly, and never speak of this to anyone.” Draco said lowly, right in the poltergeist’s startled face. He sighed heavily, calming down before his face contorted into something much scarier. He smiled pleasantly, pearly whites and all sharp edges.
“I would hate to see a ghost go missing from this castle…”
They are now walking down a much familiar corridor that will soon lead them to Fat Lady’s portrait. Peeves floated beside them, and if Harry ever wondered what a ghost looked like if they were scared, he now has the answer.
Ron coughed out apologetically, “Sorry, Peeves, I might have made Malfoy a bit angry.” Peeves’ lower lips quivered and only nodded in return. They returned to the comfort of the Gryffindor’s dorm, the event of the night, unspoken.
...
Draco stood before the door of the third-floor corridor where the beast lies beyond. He assumed he had been dragged into one of those milestones, quite unwittingly, might he add. His fingers tapped out a patternless tune by his thigh. Wary silver eyes scanned the hall, the door frame, the dark wooden panes enforced with iron, and lastly, the doorknob.
What is Dumbledore keeping here that is so important that he needs a Cerberus to guard it? Draco is sure below the trapdoor he saw under the creature's paw are more security measures made by the professors of this forsaken school. If this is a milestone, no doubt, this is related to the Dark Lord. And Harry Potter will be back here to stop whatever it is that will be stolen from Dumbledore's nose.
Draco thought back to his very first year in Hogwarts, at the end of the year, when Potter was admitted into the hospital wing in the dead of night. Draco was informed of the incident, along with everyone else, through the rumor mill. Draco can now assume the Golden Trio will battle their DADA Professor and, consequently, Lord Voldemort. He gulped thickly at the thought. They are children, the same age as him when this first happened. What is Dumbledore thinking? If Potter wasn't here, would the Dark Lord be able to come back much earlier than their fourth year? What will Dumbledore do then? Was he that confident that an eleven-year-old could defeat the greatest dark wizard of all time, even if he was in a weaker form? Did he have a fail-safe plan for when it didn't work?
Draco could feel his breath rushing out of him faster and heavier, and his vision was starting to spin. He clutched at his shirt as he felt a searing pain in his chest. His knees felt weak and close to giving out. A whistling sound drifted to his ears; he looked around in a daze trying to find its origin, only to realize the sound was his wheezing breath.
The hall kept spinning, and dark spots danced around in a flurry. He couldn't breathe. He. Couldn't. Breathe!
A muffled thud can be heard in the hall as Draco finally falls to his knees. But no one is there to notice. The pain in his chest grew and grew until Draco couldn't bear it anymore and dropped to the floor.
He could feel the cold dampness of the stone walls of the castle. It is so similar to the unforgiving harshness of his cell in Azkaban; he had had half a mind to think a dementor would come and suck his soul dry. But, he is lying on the third-floor corridor, choking on his breath. The thought was so ridiculous to him that he calmed down significantly. Only then did he notice his blurry vision and the streaks of wetness on his cheeks. His lithe frame fluttered as he took another shuddering breath, and the pain in his chest became somewhat bearable.
That was new. Draco thought to himself as he continued to lay there, not caring how late it must be or how long he had laid on the floor of a forbidden corridor. Draco would've got up the moment he wasn't...what exactly happened to him? It had reminded him of the times during his sixth year. Images of white-tiled walls of the girl's lavatory where Moaning Mertle was flashed to the forefront of his mind, and he closed his eyes trying to block it out. It isn't working.
He sighed. He contemplated whether to continue down the hall or go back to his dorm. But when he tried to push himself up, he sank back down onto the floor defeatedly. The cold, hard floor it is then.
...Why is he back?
...
Draco covered another yawn with his hand as he lazily flipped another page of the book in his lap, ignoring the curious gazes from his friends. They were in one of the many small hidden nooks of the library walls. Pansy and Blaise were working on their transfiguration essays that Draco had finished minutes ago.
After last night, Draco had thought much more about his first year of Hogwarts. The troll in the dungeon on Samhain, the black blob of a dragon in Hagrid's hut, the dead unicorns, and the mysterious figure in the forbidden forest. It seems wild creatures coming and going in a school full of children will be a recurring theme, Draco thought wryly. He finally decided to focus on the wiggling text before his eyes.
It was about trolls. Draco had already found a book on Cerberus, the three-headed dog that guards the gates of hell. Quite poetic, considering Draco felt like he would go straight to hell if he stepped past that trapdoor. But, he managed to find a solution to go past the guardian, regardless of whether he's excited to go. All he needs is to play some music, a tactic inspired by the Greek hero Orpheus who traveled down to hell to bring back his friend from the dead. Playing his lyre, he lulled the giant beast to sleep.
Snapping out of his musings, he read the text once again. Trolls are magical beasts known for their prodigious strength and immense stupidity, nothing Draco didn't already know. But the following sentence grabbed his attention. Trolls were particularly attracted to unpleasant smells, such as Dungbombs.
Well, that's an idea.
He scanned the remaining text, but it didn't have any lethal way of injuring a troll. He supposes this isn't a book about fighting creatures but found the information lacking regardless. He turned a few more pages, finding information on magical creatures with names starting with the letter U. Draco's eyes skimmed over the longer text in a lax manner. Many of the points written were common knowledge, but some he had forgotten and was reading it with a hum. Until something caught his eyes.
The blood of a unicorn could be used to keep a person who was near death alive, thus granting the drinker immortality. But their life will be cursed, a half-life it will be, from the moment the blood touches your lips.
Immortality. A niggling thought started forming in Draco's head. But the wispy threads connecting each other that will soon reveal a tapestry quickly unraveled when Pansy slammed her quill down onto the table.
"Ugh, why do they always require essays? Why can't we do something less boring? Like actually performing the spells? It's not like we'll need to know every single little detail to cast a spell!" She said, loud enough for the two Slytherins to hear but not loud enough to disturb the other students.
"Well, Professor McGonagall said, 'If you understand the theory, you can cast easier.' So I guess there's that." Blaise said.
Pansy pouted, mumbling under her breath, before she stood up, looking every bit like a child who just had the best idea of the century.
"We should fly on the pitch!"
Draco and Blaise looked at each other.
"What makes you think they'll allow first-years to fly on a broom if they don't allow us to bring our own?" Blaise asked.
Pansy immediately deflated.
"Well, what else can we do? I'm so bored, I can die!" She exclaimed dramatically as she practically melted onto Blaise. Her hand on her forehead.
Blaise caught her and smiled at her antiques. He thought for a second.
"We could go to the courtyard with the tree. It's nice out today." He gestured to one of the windows. Pansy looked out to the blues and whites of the sky.
"The weather is quite nice..." For a fly around the grounds, was left unsaid.
"Ok, come on." Blaise continued, "No more essays." He started clearing their table. Pansy followed his lead, putting the scrolls and papers into her bag.
"Draco?" Draco snapped to attention, turning his head, he looked at the boy. Pansy is nowhere in sight; maybe she had left them in her excitement.
"Yes?"
Blaise looked at him weirdly for a second and asked, "You coming?"
Something about the way he asked tells Draco that it wasn't the first time he asked. He felt jittery.
"Yeah, just- You guys go first, I'll clear my things first."
"But Draco, you already did that."
"What?" Draco looked down at his bag. It was packed and ready to go. The books he had been reading just a moment ago were stacked neatly beside it.
Blaise looked even more worried now.
"Draco, you sure you're alright?" The two boys stood silently in the library for a second. Blaise observed Draco as he stared, perplexed.
He rubbed a hand at his face, "Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go."
Blaise looked uncertain but could do nothing but follow Draco out of the library, staring at the back of blond hair.