Defense Against The Dark Arts

We Contemplate Malfoy's Birth

31st March 2023

So my plan for this chapter in google docs was "well, it's turning into a researching Nico's heritage and some weird stuff about what malfoys up to but was it meant to? Nope." so do with that as you will.

On our first Friday lesson, a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw come into the classroom whispering together. This fills me with dread, purely because the schemes they will be able to come up with could possibly rival the Stolls', but it's not just dread, but also a small sense of pride, knowing that inter-house relations were uncommon before me and Percy decided to use the same stick we had used to poke the Roman and Greek camps, to poke the metaphorical hive of bees that was the mess of Hogwarts.

From the Slytherin and Ravenclaw's conversation, I manage to catch the words "-Sent a letter home-", and "-My mother almost sent her a howler-" And heck if that isn't a great way to describe the letters that burst into flames and screech. I get the general feeling they are talking about Umbridge, because she is the best enemy to complain about and it's great to hear that even the Slytherins hate her. The same can't be said for all of the Slytherins though.

There's a gaggle of them - mostly the older years, and mostly the ones who had been singing with a concerning amount of passion. They are led by Malfoy, and they seem to be upping their game of throwing out comments to anyone not in Slytherin, as if they are making up for those who have gained some morals and stopped.

I say led by Malfoy, because he seems to always be the centre of attention in Slytherin, but if anything, he's lessened his attacks even more than some. He's not stepping in to stop it, instead passively watching. It's an odd change - not to mention suspicious, after the comment he made just before the food fight - but me and Percy seem to be the only ones noticing. Probably just as well though, because the stories I've heard about his father - not including the My father will hear about this remarks, but the other, more hushed rumours that whisper their way through the corridors don't paint a pretty picture.

And to be honest, he doesn't paint a pretty picture, either, looking at him in a purely concerned way. He's paler than he was at the start of the year, and his hair is hanging unkempt and greasy. He doesn't pay attention in our lessons, but that could be partly due to the pure exhaustion that echoes from him in the deep eye-bags and slow blinks, and long stares that don't focus on anything. He's losing his popularity too; Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle seem to be acting as groupies for another Slytherin - Zabini, Blaise I think. (I've been looking at lists of attendance too much now. saying someone's second name first is becoming natural to me.)

Draco is spending lots of time in the library with a stack of books that don't look like the sort of thing you would read as a bedtime story, and more as something you would be set as an assignment for an English lesson - dull, old and every other word has gone through a thesaurus four times. That's how me and Percy find him - not that we were actively looking, we were trying to find out about my relative who was apparently a wizard - sitting at the same table that he's been at every time he visits. And I'm going to blame Percy and his absolutely awful luck because it's the most empty table in the whole library, so we have no choice but to sit on the other side of the table with this book that looks like it's been buried several times with a dead mouse that should hopefully explain what on earth my Grandfather was doing in this school.

He scowls at us, and then seems to remember that we have authority, and looks down. Me and Percy exchange looks, and then unanimously decide to speak in Ancient Greek instead of preaching to Draco about what we're doing.

We open the book (Yes, it takes two of us to open it. Yes, it's a very large book. No, that is not a hyperbole), and both wrinkle our noses at the smell. The smell of books is usually nice, but the smell of this book would be closer to that of a dungbomb than a perfume. (Ooh, look at me using wizard-y words!)

The book is a glossary of necromancers, and the art of necromancy, starting with Harald the Unliving, also known as The Rat King, aka the Demon of England, aka the Lich-King, and finishing with Voldemort, aka Tom Riddle, aka You-Know-Who, aka The Dark Lord, aka Magic Hitler.

We find Arthur di Angelo on page 345, and it's very bizarre to read about someone that you already know and can angrily mutter to the book about how his first daughter was Maria, not Martha, and that his skeleton is most certainly not hanging in the British Museum for 'fans of the darkest arts to observe the runes carved onto his femur and note how he is missing the bones of his smallest finger, as that is from what he created the core of his wand'

After a few more minutes of angry muttering and scornful insults, I realise I have an audience of more than just Percy. Draco has been watching us with a frown on his face. And when he sees me looking at him, he glares down to where he's holding his wand, and then back at the book he was reading.

"I think he was trying some sort of translation spell on us," Percy whispers. Draco scowls at the Ancient Greek, which is practically his conformation to Percy's statement.

"Hey Malfoy, don't feel bad about your spell not working," Percy says a bit louder, and in English to Draco, "We have, um, spells to stop such spells from working around us. Honestly, your best bet to work out what we were saying would be to learn the language that we're speaking in."

Draco blinks at this, and flushes. "I. I wasn't- it was-"

"Sure, okay," I cut him off before he can embarrass himself any further. I know I'm being rather short with him, but come on, he was trying to eavesdrop on my rant about how the Book Got It Wrong. Then I wince because his emotions seem to be very fragile at the moment, which, relatable, but still something we should at least be kind about. "It's fine, it's natural to be curious. Just next time - if someones speaking in a different language, they probably don't want others to be listening in."

I'll be honest, I don't know how much I helped the situation, because he leaves about three minutes later. At least I tried. We are about to continue reading, until Percy notices Draco left the books he had been reading when he had taken the walk of shame.

"That's an invasion of privacy," I say, before being told, "No, it's an invitation to invade his privacy. It's not our fault that he left the books out."

A few moments later, after lots of stubborn curses, Percy is sitting smugly with the books in front of him, my Grandfather apparently forgotten.

"Legitimacy?" Percy says incredulously. "What, is he worried there's suspicious circumstances around his conception?"

I snatch the book from him. "It says Legilimency. Not Legitimacy. I think you need glasses," I tell him, and that quip is almost second nature to me. Percy must have heard it hundreds of times, and I've heard his reply just as many.

"It's called dyslexia, Nico."

I roll my eyes, and he groans. "Urg, you're so..." He flails about for a word. "Heterosexual."

I give him a flat stare. "Yeah, I bet you found last night heterosexual."

He smirks, and I interrupt him before he can get us kicked out of the library, by opening the book.

Legilimency: The art of manipulating the mind. It says on the inside cover.

"Typical wizards, teaching mind control to impressionable young teenagers," Percy sighs.

I can only agree.

Word count: 1333

Song: I Am My Own Muse by Fall Out Boy (the start sounds like it could be from a James Bond film, its amazing. I'm contemplating transcribing it into an orchestral piece)