Always Something - Dramione

Chapter Fourteen

By the morning, Draco and Hermione were still guests at Malfoy Manor, having been prevailed upon to stay the night by Lucius and Narcissa, who simply could not let them leave on the sour note of having carelessly drugged Hermione. No one contacted them to raise an alarm when Pollux was absent from his classes that same morning. But Rose Weasley noticed his empty seat in advanced potions immediately. Her keen sense for trouble had been inflamed, and she'd been watching for him ever since Professor Stuve had excused him early from charms class the previous afternoon.

By lunchtime, no one she asked had seen him, not even strange little Castora, whom James had brought to sit with them at their usual table.

"If anyone would know where to find him," Cassie told Rose, "it would be Griselda Goyle."

"Yes, but where is she?" Rose asked, standing up to survey the Great Hall again.

"She sits by the teachers when she wants to be left alone," Cassie explained.

"Oh! You're right," Rose cheered. "There she is. It's good to have a legilimens at the lunch table."

James looked sideways at Cassie. "Something like that," he said. He tapped his wand against the outside of Cassie's dish. "You're not eating, Malfoy. Do you need your soup warmed a bit?"

"No, thank you. It's fine."

At this, Albus raised his eyebrows, looking across the table, trying to catch Rose's eye. But she was already scrambling over the bench, moving toward Griselda's seat just under the dais where the teachers were sopping up their soup with thick slices of buttered bread. On the table in front of Gris was her Remote Note, open to a blank page. She slammed it closed as Rose took a seat beside her.

"No updates," Gris said, a flurry of hands and parchments as she gathered her things.

"No worries," Rose said, laying a hand on Gris's arm. "I'm actually here to ask you about Paul."

"Haven't seen him."

"No, nobody has," Rose said. "I'm beginning to wonder if he's alright. He wasn't in potions this morning. I'm sure you noticed."

The suggestion felt too knowing -- implying an enraging intimacy, something the girls shared that they had no business sharing. Gris felt her face growing hot. "If he's feeling poorly, he'd do well to stay out of class and in bed. That's probably where you'll find him."

She stood up to jam her books, parchments, quills, her wand itself into her bag.

"Look," Rose said, standing beside her, "it's not my place to intrude into Paul's private quarters. But -- "

Gris slung her bag over one shoulder, turned sharply enough that she might have apparated if she wasn't inside the castle, and marched toward the hall's exit. Rose trotted alongside her. "Griselda, wait," she said. "I'm a bit dense sometimes but even I can tell Paul is the inspiration for your Torrence. Once I saw it, it's all I can see when I look at him now -- "

"Will you please leave me alone?" Gris said. She had meant it to sound like a snarl but it sounded more like desperation, begging.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that. It's against my nature. I'll make myself mad," Rose said. "Paul is Torrence the Veela -- not literally, I know, of course, but still, Griselda. And you, of all people, you must know that what he needs if he's suffering right now is his mate."

Gris stopped and threw her bag on the ground between them. "Then go. Leave me out of it. Just go."

Rose frowned. "Why would I go?"

Gris picked up her bag and turned away again.

"Griselda, you're his person. If you think there's anyone else, I can tell you you're wrong." She caught Gris's arm and held it, traces of her werewolf nature alive in her grip, forcing Griselda to wait. "Paul told me what happened between the two of you the other night, and that he hates himself for being so stupid about it. Please," Rose said, "go and free Torrence from that seaside rock before the tide comes in."