The Joys of Being a Gryffindor || Harry Potter

FIVE

On Boxing Day, Draco discovered the Mirror of Erised. He also cried, yet a-bloody-gain, which he hoped he wouldn't have to do for at least another year. Better to get the tears out now when he's young and emotionally unbalanced as he was now than to be bawling at the age of forty-five.

Draco hadn't gone to supper last night, instead staying in his room and studying for the rest of the day. He'd already been asleep when Potter and Weasley had come to bed, so he didn't see them. And when he woke up today, they were gone. But they had left another note on the bed.

Malfoy,

If you want, you can sit with us in the Great Hall. If you don't, we understand and will leave you alone.

They'd hadn't signed it, knowing that it was obvious who it was from, but it was clear that they had spent a while on it, given the number of crossings-out on the sheet. He almost smiled at some of the blunter approaches, like 'sit with us'.

A strange new feeling rose up: satisfaction. Gleeful satisfaction that they had realised they had been wrong and cruel and were now crawling to make up for it. Draco, being pridefully wounded, was tempted to make them dance for him like monkeys and squirm a bit more, but he worried that they'd go back to their old habits if he did.

So, he dressed in some suitable smart clothes and began to make his way down to the Great Hall. No one watched him as he walked by, which was a first, making him wonder what the duo had done to achieve this. If they had done anything, that was. It might just be ignorance that kept people from staring.

However, along his way, he heard the soft sounds of speech, though disjointed speech. Draco was instantly curious.

He pushed himself against the wall and stayed close to it so as to remain hidden. He followed the sound of voices, two voices, both agitated, and found himself in an otherwise empty corridor with no lights, which was all the more ominous. Darkness crept in to his peripheral as he continued further down into the unknown.

Draco pushed his head as silently as possible around the corner when the voices were nearest-

- to glimpse Snape and Professor Quirrell in a heated argument.

Snape obviously has the upper hand, as he was towering over the stuttering DADA teacher fiercely. Quirrell looked terrified, his eyes wide and his mouth quivering as if he were trying to speak but couldn't get the words out.

"You idiot. Attacking a student." Snape hissed, his wand clutched tightly between his pale fingers.

"I-I-I didn't m-mean to. It w-was an a-accident." Quirrell cried out.

"Liar. You knew exactly what you were doing." Snape's voice was colder than ever. "Attacking Potter at a Quidditch game, now, that is lunacy. You should be glad it failed." Draco paused. Quirrell attacked Potter at the game? How hadn't he heard about this? His curiosity was not sated as Quirrell only continued to squirm.

"I-I'm s-sorry!"

Snape regarded him disdainfully. "You're weak, as I always knew." Snape went silent for a long, tense moment, and as he did so, Draco leaned forwards-

- and stumbled.

His feet made a loud noise on the floor as he desperately tried to right himself without notice.

But it was too late.

Snape had already whipped around and grabbed Quirrell by the collar, yanking him away and out of sight. Draco cursed, in a way his mother would not have been proud of and made to follow them. His shorter legs could not keep up with them, though, and they were soon gone, Merlin knew where. He cursed again, feeling rather rebellious.