Ecdysis

Chapter 21: Fifth Year - The Art of Avoidance

My palms began to sweat as we rounded the last corridor on our patrol route. A dusty painting of a bowl of rotten fruit awaited us at the dead end, no living or unliving soul to be seen otherwise.

My chest squeezed with disappointment.

I could back out at any time, I reminded myself, it wasn't like he could force himself into my mind. But what message would that convey? That I didn't think I was good enough?

My practicing had to have been worth something. I was a competent witch. There was no reason to doubt myself now.

I slowed my pace to match Draco's wooden stride. "What's happened to your leg?" I'd debated asking him all night. He was the type who wanted to be asked, and I didn't want to give him the pleasure. Wouldn't surprise me if he was exaggerating an injury to feed his need for attention. But my curiosity won in the end.

He paused to hitch up his trouser leg, revealing a crater-like wound on his calf. Deep purple, nearly black in the centre, blooming into a ring of burgundy streaked with cosmic blue. The violent colours of a sunset. I'd expected to see a tiny scratch, but it was hideous enough to make you queasy.

"Got hit by a Bludger a couple nights ago," he said, as unbothered as one would be about a paper cut. Coarse blond hair covered his pale skin. I had to swallow a laugh at his monogrammed socks.

My attention returned to the grotesque wound. My staring was probably impolite. "Has Pomfrey looked at it?" Incredible that his leg hadn't snapped in half upon impact.

"Nah." He shook his head, wincing as his trouser grazed the injury as he rolled it back down. He hobbled forward. "Montague lent me some bruising paste. It's not broken or anything."

"Doesn't look like the paste is working."

"It looked worse before."

It was hard to believe that his leg had looked worse, but I didn't press the issue.

He tried the doorknob when we reached the Transfiguration classroom and it opened with a weighty screech of metal. He pointed his wand skyward, igniting all the torches at once. He made a sound of protest at the unnaturally harsh lighting. Our eyes had adjusted to the dark corridors. Sweeping his wand around the room, he extinguished two-thirds of them, and the room became cosier steeped in orange and copper. The scent of wood and chalk filled the air, and something old lady sweet that reminded me of Professor McGonagall. There was a satisfying symmetry in the layout of the tables. She kept her classroom tidy.

I shut the door behind us, the cool handle a respite against my warm skin. I chose a desk near the front. Ink stains marred the wood and someone had carved a pair of stemmed cherries on the surface with smiley faces inside of them.

When Draco was satisfied with the moody lighting, he dropped into the seat next to mine, turning sideways to face me. He stretched his injured leg and folded the other.

He didn't look smug, exactly, but there was a gleam of excitement in his eye, as if he was gearing up for a race that he was confident he would win. I didn't share his enthusiasm. This wasn't one of those solo lessons where I could check my work. If I did a lousy job of Occluding, he could find all sorts of vulnerable information about me, and I wouldn't put it past him to use it later as blackmail material.

"I need a moment," I said, feeling as if I were about to present a project in front of the class. I hated presenting. My palms always became sweaty before my name was called, just as they were now, and my tongue would feel too large, enunciating words with a light shake that made me sound like I was on the verge of crying.

Draco began rolling his wand across the table, back and forth, the low scrape of wood on wood nearly doing my head in. Clearing his throat as one minute turned into nearly three.