The Malfoy Project

𝟖𝟐 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐠𝐝𝐚

     The morning is cold. And wet. And Draco-less.

     His mattress is empty; the sheets are barely slept in. The rest of my friends' beds are also empty. The clock on my bedside reads eleven-thirty-five. I rub the sleep from my eyes as the events of the night before come flooding back, along with a dull, pounding ache at my right temple. I curse out loud. 

     I should be waking up in the local inn of some quaint faraway town right now, not the safe confines of the circular, yellow-painted, plant-covered, cinnamon-smelling Hufflepuff dormitories. 

     The bathroom is a warzone as usual. The air is still heavy with floral-scented steam. The countertops are scattered with toothpaste tubes, makeup brushes, and stray strands of hairs of varying shades. The silence is pleasant, if not enjoyable, and I take my time brushing my teeth and finger-combing my hair up into the black silk ribbon, suddenly wondering how I could have ever been fully prepared to leave this place.

     A typical Sunday in the Hufflepuff common area will find Leanne and Susan feeding the cats; Hannah on the couch with her feet on the table, reapplying lipstick or checking for any new lines on her forehead that might have magically developed overnight; Ernie and Justin Finch-Fletchley sparring off to the side and barrelling into the couch, earning a shriek and a kick in the arse from Hannah. Neville will be carrying his massive watering can and making rounds, like a prison warden, inspecting every leaf and stem. And I will smile my way past them all and go to look for Monty.

     This morning, however, Leanne and Susan aren't in the common room. And neither are Hannah and Ernie. In fact, the place is empty bar a couple of Fourth Years I don't know very well and two First Years chatting at the study table. Their eyes trail me from the moment I enter the room, all the way to the common room entrance. No doubt they must've heard a Slytherin boy had stayed over. Scandalous. But they are too young to understand, so I simply ignore them.

     In the kitchens the elves are washing up from breakfast. Or rather, they had magicked the brushes and mops to do the cleaning while they giggle and gossip over the leftover pastries and sandwiches.

     Rose greets me with a big shout, and the other elves chime in after her. I send the a wave, and Rose flings a powdered almond croissant at me, which I barely catch. With a grateful 'Thank you!' I carry on down the corridor, savouring the perfect combination of flaky pastry and sweet almond filling, the momentary cloud of bliss putting all other thoughts on hold. I round the corner, about to pop the last bite into my mouth, when someone grabs my elbow and yanks me to the side.

     "Morning, buttercup. Sleep well?" I find myself walking beside Ernie. Marching, actually. We stride with purpose down the passageway that leads from the kitchens to the rest of the castle. Before I can tell him that I had indeed slept well, his arm slithers under mine as he pulls me closer to him. "The whole school knows about the fire," he says. "Don't ask me how, they just do. What they don't know is who was actually there, which, as far as they're concerned, wasn't us. Okay?"

     His voice is urgently low, and he is speaking too fast for my sleep-logged brain to catch up. I can only mumble a confused "Huh?" through a mouthful of croissant.

     "The fire at Manor. I told McGonagall and now everybody knows. If students ask, we were not there. Capiche?"

     I balk at him. "What the— Draco specifically told you not to tell McGonagall!" 

     "I had to," he argues. "Someone just tried to murder a student, Ains. It would be unconscionable not to tell her."

     "Where is Draco, anyway? He wasn't there when I woke up."