“How am I supposed to get into Hogwarts? It’s not like there’s an eighth year. And I could hardly be considered qualified for a teaching position...”
“It’s already taken care of.”
“Alright. And then what?”
“You must learn her schedule. Learn her habits. Follow her. The plan must be flawless. Figure out where she goes and when. Find a consistent time when she is alone and vulnerable. We can’t afford witnesses, and we can’t let her put up a fight. It has to be quick. I don’t want to be bribing students to keep quiet or modifying staff memories, is that clear?”
“She’s a Weasley. She’s stupid enough to put up a fight.”
“Then subdue her.”
“How?”
“Any way you can.”
X
He began to follow her.
It was a delicate dance of getting close enough to his project while remaining unseen.
He easily managed to steal a copy of her timetable. Between that and some simple obscuring charms, (and his inherent Malfoy stealth, he mused) it was easy.
For weeks, he moved like a shadow, and the girl seemed blissfully unaware. She chatted with her classmates, flashing brilliant smiles and releasing lighthearted laughs. Draco mapped out her every step. He memorized her movements. He surveyed her fraying robes. He noted when she took her meals. Where she sat. What she ate. She picked at her breakfast. She inhaled her dinners.
It was so unbelievably dull, except it wasn’t.
Safely obscured, he could sit and stare. He watched. He stared. He followed.
She was even more interesting when she was alone.
When she was alone, a dark side emerged.
Her brilliant smiles faded. Her face became weary and forlorn. Sighs replaced the laughs. A deep melancholy shaded her dark eyes. Her red lips would slightly part as she seemed to lose herself in her own thoughts. She would absentmindedly tuck crimson locks behind her ears... take off her cloak and rub her bare arms with her small hands.
He would find her alone in the library, halfheartedly attempting her homework. Or by the lake, staring off into the distance until she was ushered inside by staff. But the most interesting thing she did, was routinely walk herself to a certain infamous bathroom every week.
Every week she ducked underneath the “Out of Order” sign, and disappeared into the bathroom. A bathroom that was only used when one wanted to be undisturbed. A bathroom that none of her classmates would dare use. And every week, when he would ask Moaning Myrtle what the redhead had been doing in there, the answer was always the same.
“Nothing.”
“You would think,” Myrtle had said, “that she would never want to come in here... you know, after what she did, after what happened. That, and of course none of the toilets work. But she comes every week...she's just...odd...” Malfoy thought that if Myrtle considered someone odd, that was saying something. “But there’s something in her eyes, Malfoy. Something in her eyes when she stares into the mirror. Its creepy.”
There’s darkness inside her...
He sat pensively in his common room. Dark eyes and long, crimson hair rolling around in his thoughts.
A plan began to form.
X
“What do I do once I have her?”
“Bring her to the Manor.”
“And then?”
“You are to deliver her to the Dark Lord”.
X
Draco spent nearly half the night ironing out his plan. It was easy, really. The worst that could happen was maybe another bat-bogey hex, but with Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle now assisting him she would have no chance. Skilled as she was, she would be cornered and outnumbered. A nagging thought crept up in his mind.
You are to deliver her to the Dark Lord...
Why?
His first thought was torture and information... but that was unlike the Dark Lord to do his own interrogations... Besides, the Weasleys, the Order, and even Potter treated her like a child... too delicate and precious to be told anything...but surely the Dark Lord already knew that?
Rounding a corner, Draco suddenly found himself face to face with Weasley, her wand at his neck. Her dark red hair was gathered in a thick plait with a black ribbon. A few crimson locks had escaped and framed her face. A red flush was in her cheeks and her dark eyes were shooting sparks of fury.
“I know you’re following me!” she spoke fiercely, lowering the wand to his chest.
Draco lifted his hands halfheartedly, raising an eyebrow.
“Paranoid much? Why would I follow a weasel?”
“I don’t mind hexing first and asking questions later.” A few threatening red sparks escaped out of the end of her wand, slightly singing the black jumper he wore.
Annoyed, Draco’s hand reached over and closed around her wand.
“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Weasley. Seeing as I oversee all discipline, you’ll want to be sure you always stay within my good graces. Now, unless you want detention licking the dirt off my shoes, shut up and get to Charms.”
She inhaled a small breath and gaped at him.
“H-How did you know I have Charms-?“
“Never mind that...” Something in his expression gave her pause, because she was suddenly looking at him with compassion in her expression.
“I can help you, Malfoy,” she started gently.
No Weasley, you can’t, he thought.
He mustered up a look of loathing. “Stop your immature huffing and puffing and get to class.”
He narrowed his gaze at her and leaned forward, his face now inches away.
“Now.”
“Argh! You bloody prick!” she snapped, snatching her wand away from his grasp.
Leaving him where he stood, she stormed away.
By the time she got to class, her hair had become loose and tangled. She struggled to pull back her mane into a ponytail as she sat down for Charms. Down the hall, a certain blond sat fingering a black ribbon in his hands, before tucking it safely in his pocket.
X
Luna elbowed Ginny in the ribs. “He’s doing it again.”
Ginny glanced over to the staff table to find Draco Malfoy staring, his face blank. She turned back to her plate.
“Just what I need, fresh content for my nightmares,” she muttered.
“Well, Ginny, I think perhaps there is more to him. I think he’s handsome and misunderstood. He was quite nice to me when I was in his dungeons last year.”
Ginny considered this. “Handsome, yes, but misunderstood? No. He wears his black shriveled heart on his sleeve. Personally, if I had to get to know Malfoy, I rather get to know the troll in the dark forest.”
“You mean Dunker?”
“Yes. I just think he’s handsome and misunderstood!”
X
Desperate to quench his curiosity, Draco followed the girl into Myrtle's bathroom. She was standing at the far sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
Just staring...
The first time he found her doing this he thought her mad. She stood in front of the mirror staring for nearly ten minutes. As if trying to prove his point, she returned the next week and repeated the same bizarre action. After every Charms class, she ended up here. Draco memorized this habit of hers, and watched closely as she repeated the ritual, week after week.
It was disturbing. It was unnerving.
Yet, he was transfixed by her eerie staring contests. The bathroom remained silent, and he remained hidden and obscured, watching. She clutched the sides of the sink with soft, delicate hands. Her dark brown eyes stared unblinking, expressionless into the bathroom mirror. She never spoke. She hardly breathed. Indeed, she appeared frozen by her own reflection. Her long hair hung loose and wavy. Her red lips pressed together.
What was she doing?
Maybe she really was mad...
Or, maybe there really was darkness in her...
She stared.
He stared back.
One small hand moved off the sink and gently touched her own flushed cheek. The movement seemed to break the spell over her. She reached down to grab her school bag, walking quietly out of the bathroom.
“It’s already taken care of.”
“Alright. And then what?”
“You must learn her schedule. Learn her habits. Follow her. The plan must be flawless. Figure out where she goes and when. Find a consistent time when she is alone and vulnerable. We can’t afford witnesses, and we can’t let her put up a fight. It has to be quick. I don’t want to be bribing students to keep quiet or modifying staff memories, is that clear?”
“She’s a Weasley. She’s stupid enough to put up a fight.”
“Then subdue her.”
“How?”
“Any way you can.”
X
He began to follow her.
It was a delicate dance of getting close enough to his project while remaining unseen.
He easily managed to steal a copy of her timetable. Between that and some simple obscuring charms, (and his inherent Malfoy stealth, he mused) it was easy.
For weeks, he moved like a shadow, and the girl seemed blissfully unaware. She chatted with her classmates, flashing brilliant smiles and releasing lighthearted laughs. Draco mapped out her every step. He memorized her movements. He surveyed her fraying robes. He noted when she took her meals. Where she sat. What she ate. She picked at her breakfast. She inhaled her dinners.
It was so unbelievably dull, except it wasn’t.
Safely obscured, he could sit and stare. He watched. He stared. He followed.
She was even more interesting when she was alone.
When she was alone, a dark side emerged.
Her brilliant smiles faded. Her face became weary and forlorn. Sighs replaced the laughs. A deep melancholy shaded her dark eyes. Her red lips would slightly part as she seemed to lose herself in her own thoughts. She would absentmindedly tuck crimson locks behind her ears... take off her cloak and rub her bare arms with her small hands.
He would find her alone in the library, halfheartedly attempting her homework. Or by the lake, staring off into the distance until she was ushered inside by staff. But the most interesting thing she did, was routinely walk herself to a certain infamous bathroom every week.
Every week she ducked underneath the “Out of Order” sign, and disappeared into the bathroom. A bathroom that was only used when one wanted to be undisturbed. A bathroom that none of her classmates would dare use. And every week, when he would ask Moaning Myrtle what the redhead had been doing in there, the answer was always the same.
“Nothing.”
“You would think,” Myrtle had said, “that she would never want to come in here... you know, after what she did, after what happened. That, and of course none of the toilets work. But she comes every week...she's just...odd...” Malfoy thought that if Myrtle considered someone odd, that was saying something. “But there’s something in her eyes, Malfoy. Something in her eyes when she stares into the mirror. Its creepy.”
There’s darkness inside her...
He sat pensively in his common room. Dark eyes and long, crimson hair rolling around in his thoughts.
A plan began to form.
X
“What do I do once I have her?”
“Bring her to the Manor.”
“And then?”
“You are to deliver her to the Dark Lord”.
X
Draco spent nearly half the night ironing out his plan. It was easy, really. The worst that could happen was maybe another bat-bogey hex, but with Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle now assisting him she would have no chance. Skilled as she was, she would be cornered and outnumbered. A nagging thought crept up in his mind.
You are to deliver her to the Dark Lord...
Why?
His first thought was torture and information... but that was unlike the Dark Lord to do his own interrogations... Besides, the Weasleys, the Order, and even Potter treated her like a child... too delicate and precious to be told anything...but surely the Dark Lord already knew that?
Rounding a corner, Draco suddenly found himself face to face with Weasley, her wand at his neck. Her dark red hair was gathered in a thick plait with a black ribbon. A few crimson locks had escaped and framed her face. A red flush was in her cheeks and her dark eyes were shooting sparks of fury.
“I know you’re following me!” she spoke fiercely, lowering the wand to his chest.
Draco lifted his hands halfheartedly, raising an eyebrow.
“Paranoid much? Why would I follow a weasel?”
“I don’t mind hexing first and asking questions later.” A few threatening red sparks escaped out of the end of her wand, slightly singing the black jumper he wore.
Annoyed, Draco’s hand reached over and closed around her wand.
“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Weasley. Seeing as I oversee all discipline, you’ll want to be sure you always stay within my good graces. Now, unless you want detention licking the dirt off my shoes, shut up and get to Charms.”
She inhaled a small breath and gaped at him.
“H-How did you know I have Charms-?“
“Never mind that...” Something in his expression gave her pause, because she was suddenly looking at him with compassion in her expression.
“I can help you, Malfoy,” she started gently.
No Weasley, you can’t, he thought.
He mustered up a look of loathing. “Stop your immature huffing and puffing and get to class.”
He narrowed his gaze at her and leaned forward, his face now inches away.
“Now.”
“Argh! You bloody prick!” she snapped, snatching her wand away from his grasp.
Leaving him where he stood, she stormed away.
By the time she got to class, her hair had become loose and tangled. She struggled to pull back her mane into a ponytail as she sat down for Charms. Down the hall, a certain blond sat fingering a black ribbon in his hands, before tucking it safely in his pocket.
X
Luna elbowed Ginny in the ribs. “He’s doing it again.”
Ginny glanced over to the staff table to find Draco Malfoy staring, his face blank. She turned back to her plate.
“Just what I need, fresh content for my nightmares,” she muttered.
“Well, Ginny, I think perhaps there is more to him. I think he’s handsome and misunderstood. He was quite nice to me when I was in his dungeons last year.”
Ginny considered this. “Handsome, yes, but misunderstood? No. He wears his black shriveled heart on his sleeve. Personally, if I had to get to know Malfoy, I rather get to know the troll in the dark forest.”
“You mean Dunker?”
“Yes. I just think he’s handsome and misunderstood!”
X
Desperate to quench his curiosity, Draco followed the girl into Myrtle's bathroom. She was standing at the far sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
Just staring...
The first time he found her doing this he thought her mad. She stood in front of the mirror staring for nearly ten minutes. As if trying to prove his point, she returned the next week and repeated the same bizarre action. After every Charms class, she ended up here. Draco memorized this habit of hers, and watched closely as she repeated the ritual, week after week.
It was disturbing. It was unnerving.
Yet, he was transfixed by her eerie staring contests. The bathroom remained silent, and he remained hidden and obscured, watching. She clutched the sides of the sink with soft, delicate hands. Her dark brown eyes stared unblinking, expressionless into the bathroom mirror. She never spoke. She hardly breathed. Indeed, she appeared frozen by her own reflection. Her long hair hung loose and wavy. Her red lips pressed together.
What was she doing?
Maybe she really was mad...
Or, maybe there really was darkness in her...
She stared.
He stared back.
One small hand moved off the sink and gently touched her own flushed cheek. The movement seemed to break the spell over her. She reached down to grab her school bag, walking quietly out of the bathroom.
Author notes: Notes:
Dunker- according to Google, is a troll from a Fosen folktale.
What do you guys think so far? Let me hear it, the good the bad and the hopefully not too ugly...
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