human again / hp.

Chapter 115

Breakfast the next morning felt like standing in a glass tank while everyone threw stones at it. You could pretend the cracks weren't there, you could pretend the world was still whole, but you could hear it breaking. I sat among the Slytherins, because I had to, because it was expected, because even if I didn't quite belong anywhere anymore, I still wore the face of a Malfoy and that meant something to them.

Draco was louder than ever. He practically vibrated with glee, bragging animatedly to Pansy and Theodore about the hit he has landed on Potter's nose the night before. "Did you see the blood?" he said for what must have been the fifth time. "I think I broke it. Properly broke it."

Pansy gasped in theatrical delight, and Crabbe gave a brutish laugh through a mouthful of bacon.

"You should've seen Snape's face," Draco added smugly. "He looked like Christmas had come early."

I stirred my porridge slowly, watching the steam rise from the bowl in wispy tendrils. My appetite had not returned since last night. I had picked at a slice of toast, drank a little tea, and then given up. I wasn't even sure why I was pretending. I had seen the blood on Harry myself. I had seen the way he didn't even look at me after. How his face had hardened when our eyes met. The sound of my brother's voice crowing about it made my skin itch.

"You alright?" Daphne murmured beside me. She was one of the few who didn't entirely buy into Draco's theatrics. Her voice was lower, more sincere.

I gave her a small nod I didn't mean. "Fine," I said, and that was all.

When the post came, dozens of owls swept in overhead. I didn't look up. I didn't have to. There would be no letters for me. Mother hadn't written since the Prophet published the story about Father. She wouldn't. Not while the house was crawling with Death Eaters and secrets. I imagined her standing in the drawing room with a hand on the hearth, ignoring my existence. Maybe she thought it was safer that way. Maybe she was right.

Eventually, I stood up and excused myself. Daphne gave me a soft look, but she didn't follow. I crossed the Hall slowly and returned to the Gryffindor table. No one said a word as I sat down. There were plenty of empty spaces to choose from. I slid into the end of the bench, my fingers curling around the edge of the table. The distance between me and the rest of the Gryffindors felt deeper than the lake outside.

No one sat next to me.

I wasn't surprised. My surname was poison now. Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban, and though the Prophet didn't say much, everyone knew why. My presence at the Gryffindor table was like a stain. They avoided looking at me. Whispered when they thought I couldn't hear.

I stared at the table as though it could offer me comfort. I hadn't even done anything this time. I hadn't hurt anyone. I hadn't betrayed anyone. But guilt clung to me like dust, and I didn't bother brushing it off.

After we had eaten, or in my case, after I had shifted food around my plate in silence. We remained in our seats, waiting for Professor McGonagall to come down from the staff table. Her robes swept behind her as she descended the steps with that sharp, clipped stride of hers. Her eyes were narrowed behind her spectacles, and her mouth was set in a firm line. Everyone hushed immediately.

I sat straighter, heart quietly thudding in my chest. Despite everything, this mattered. My future, or at least the part of it that hadn't already been twisted out of shape, rested in her hands.

McGonagall carried a long list, which she consulted before she called out names one by one. Students would approach her, show their O.W.L. results, and be told whether they qualified for the N.E.W.T.-level courses they had requested.