All Life Is Yours To Miss

Chapter 9

Tuesday

This time, when Draco strides out onto the lawn at four o'clock, he is ready to have his outfit stared at, and he isn't disappointed. His Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years are just as disenchanted with him as their Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff counterparts, and this class also has the distinction of containing one of the clumsiest and most accident-prone students Draco has ever seen, and another who refuses to do anything beyond standing on the ground with his broomstick clamped between his knees because he is so petrified of heights.

Afterwards, Draco puts away his pork chops and slightly odd-tasting jam roly-poly in record time once again, and he's halfway to Duelling Club before he realises that the odd taste was the salt in the custard. He walks into the Room of Requirement, wondering about having Kreacher stuffed and mounted, when a jet of red light hits him in the shoulder and slams him back against the—thankfully padded—wall with surprising force.

"Levinson!" he growls, picking himself up and locating the source of the spell.

"Sorry, Professor Malfoy," the boy calls, scrambling over to Draco's side and looking him up and down with a gratifying expression of panic.

"What on earth do you think you're doing, casting so close to the door? If I'd been a first-year you would probably have knocked me out!"

Levinson grimaces, worrying his dark curls with the handle of his wand. "I'm sorry, sir, it's just that... well, everyone's here already. Me and Ivy took the register," he explains, pointing to a piece of parchment that has been pinned to the wall.

"Hi, Professor Malfoy," Ivy Baron says uncertainly, appearing at his side.

"What are you doing here? I thought this was club was for first-to-fifth years?" Draco says.

"It is. I'm just helping out this year because my sister wanted to come along, but she's a little bit nervous. Professor Potter said it was okay," she adds, eyes turning anxious.

"I didn't know that," Draco says, frowning. Ivy is one of his favourite students, but he never knew she had anything to do with duelling. Or Potter, for that matter. "Hang on a minute," he says, turning back to Levinson. "You took the register and started without me?"

Levinson glances at Ivy, who shrugs and smiles guiltily. "I think Holly wants me," she says, and slips away.

"Well?"

"Erm... well... okay. Sorry about this, Professor Malfoy, but we didn't think you'd come, so we just carried on as normal on our own," Levinson admits.

Taken aback, Draco says nothing for several seconds and listens instead to the sound of running footsteps and Ivy's voice as she attempts to corral the younger children.

"You didn't think I'd come?"

"No, sir. Sorry. But you did, which is... great," Levinson mumbles, scratching his head with his wand again, tempting Draco to reach out and take it away from him before he blows his own head off.

"Well, Levinson, thank you for the vote of confidence," he says acidly, walking over to a bench in the corner and leaving the fifth-year alone and embarrassed in the middle of the room.

"What do you want us to do?" Ivy asks, and suddenly every eye in the room is trained upon him. He can almost read their thoughts, especially the thoughts of the ones who have seen him for Transfiguration and flying lessons already today: please not him again.

"Whatever you usually would," Draco says with a little more bite than he intends. "I'll be watching."

He doesn't think he imagines the ripple of nervousness that passes around the room before the activities start up, and for some reason it soothes him. They are, of course, terrible, and by the time the club is over and he escapes back to his rooms, he wants nothing more than to flop face-first onto his bed and groan until there is no sound left inside him. Some of them know what they are doing, he supposes; Levinson, despite his haphazard spellwork, is patient with the little ones and possesses excellent reflexes. Many of the first-years clearly want to learn, but the overall technique leaves a lot to be desired and Draco is horrified by the number of third and fourth-years who still cannot produce a half-decent Shield Charm.