Miss Slytherin

Book 7: Chapter 3

Draco raised a brow at Theo, arms crossed as they sat in his room. Pansy perched on the couch beside Gregory and Vincent, her lips pursed in skepticism. Theo’s words felt more like bait than truth, the kind of gossip meant to stir the pot rather than serve a fact.

"You're kidding, right?" Pansy scoffed, mirroring Draco’s look of doubt. "Why would Sebastian Thorns be maimed? Isn’t he the perfect Death Eater?" Her voice was sharp, bitter, fingers tightening into fists against her slacks.

None of them liked Sebastian Thorns. Even if he was part of their age group in the Dark Lord’s army, he had been cast out the moment he betrayed their Finley Potter. That act alone had made him a pariah among their own, but to the older Death Eaters? He was a golden boy. The favorite. He got the job done—clean, efficient, and without hesitation. The idea of him being injured was new. And intriguing.

"I saw it," Theo insisted, running a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. "He was taking off his cloak and shirt—I saw his bandaged torso—"

"Why are you watching him change again?" Vincent cut in, more confused than anything.

The room broke into chuckles and snickers—except for Draco, who remained by the window, deep in thought.

"We were on a mission," Theo snapped, rolling his eyes. "Long story short, it looked like a burn. But not just any burn—like he’d been pressed against an open flame. And we never saw any fire. So where the hell did it come from?"

Draco tilted his head slightly. "Does it matter?" His voice was measured, cold. "Sebastian Thorns has proven himself more loyal than most. He has nothing else to lose."

"His sister, Mirelle Thorns? His family in France?"

Draco let out a slow breath. "The Argents protect their own. They remain neutral. As for Mirelle—she’s a Weasley now, if you’ve forgotten."

That much was fact. Blaise had sent them a wand message weeks ago after attending Heart Argent’s cousin’s wedding in Romania—to none other than one of the Weasley filth. Mirelle Thorns was no longer part of their world.

Then Gregory spoke up, voice low. "I think he’s hiding something."

That got their attention.

"He never hid anything before," Gregory continued. "Back when we were his... friends. And he’s not the type to get clumsy."

Theo chewed the inside of his cheek. "That’s what bothers me. I’d like to know what happened."

"Don't bother," Draco cut in, finality in his tone. "We’re already drowning. Best we keep our heads down and leave him be." His gaze flicked across their faces, his only confidants. "Drop it."

Then he turned and left.

---

But despite his own words, he couldn't ignore it.

Sebastian Thorns had changed. He still held his head high, still had that same deadly efficiency, but now... now he winced when Rabastan clapped him on the shoulder. He sidestepped touches he used to brush off without thought. He was guarded—speaking only when spoken to, movements too careful, too aware.

Much like Draco himself.

Draco had long since grown repulsed by the Death Eaters. He avoided their touch, their gazes. Not that it mattered—his Dark Mark burned so frequently that pain had become a second skin, tightening around his lungs every time he tried to breathe. He spoke when needed, and nothing more. It was easier that way. Easier to see them for what they were—bloodthirsty pawns of a lost cause. His only exceptions were his mother. And his friends.