u/rynegp_28

The same greenish light filtered through the windows overlooking the Black Lake. The same leather armchairs stood arranged around the fireplace. The same assortment of students gathered in their usual corners, complaining about homework, discussing Quidditch, and occasionally insulting one another.

But something had changed.

Perhaps it was the fact that the Daily Prophet was arriving every morning with another disappearance. Or the increasingly strained letters from home. Maybe the fact that certain students had begun speaking in lowered voices whenever particular surnames were mentioned. Whatever the reason, Hogwarts no longer felt quite as insulated from the outside world as it previously had been.

Tonight, eight sixth-year Slytherins occupied their customary corner of the common room. Blaise Zabini was reclining on a sofa, examining his fingernails with an air of profound indifference. Theodore Nott sat opposite him, reading a book on advanced defensive enchantments. At a nearby table, Daphne Greengrass was working through an essay for Professor Slughorn, while Tracey Davis lounged beside her, making remarkably little effort to complete her own Herbology assignment. Pansy Parkinson was seated beside Millicent Bulstrode, who was sharing a large packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans with Crabbe and Goyle.

Only the ninth member of their group was absent.

"Where's Draco?" Pansy asked.

Nobody answered right away.

"With Snape, probably," Blaise eventually said.

"Professor Snape," Pansy corrected.

"Yes, Pansy. Professor Snape. The very same."

She ignored him.

"Again?"

"Apparently."

Pansy frowned. "That's the third time this week."

"Fourth," Theodore said without looking up.

Daphne paused her writing. "Fourth?"

Theodore turned a page. "Monday morning, Tuesday after lunch, Thursday late afternoon, and tonight."

Blaise glanced toward him. "You've been keeping count?"

"No. I simply possess a functioning memory."

Tracey snickered. "Careful, Theo. You'll make the rest of us feel inadequate."

"Speak for yourself," Millicent said, fishing another bean from the packet.

She examined it suspiciously. "Greg, what color is this?"

"Brown," said Goyle.

"I can see that."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Because I want to know what flavour it is, you idiot."

Goyle shrugged. "Chocolate?"

Crabbe leaned over. "Could be gravy."

Millicent considered this for a moment before finally eating it. Her expression immediately soured. "Ugh!"

"What?" Crabbe asked.

"Earthworm."

Goyle burst out laughing.

Millicent punched his shoulder. "Shut up!"

Across the table, Daphne sighed. "Do you three ever tire of that game?"

"Nope," Crabbe answered.

"Clearly."

Tracey reached for the packet. "Give us one, Millie."

"Get your own."

"You're holding the entire packet."

"Exactly."

Pansy, meanwhile, was still staring toward the entrance. "I don't understand why Draco keeps having these meetings."

"Perhaps he's finally being disciplined for something," Blaise suggested.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"One can dream."

Theodore lowered his book. "Snape's been taking a particular interest in him since September."

"Well, obviously," Pansy said. "He's always liked Draco."

"Not quite like this."

Daphne glanced up. "What do you mean?"

Theodore hesitated. "Nothing."

Blaise watched him. "How illuminating."

Before Nott could elaborate, the common room door opened. Draco Malfoy stepped inside, looking dreadful. His blond hair, ordinarily arranged with meticulous care, was slightly dishevelled. His robes hung loosely from his shoulders, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. He stopped just inside the doorway, apparently surprised to find all the others in his year gathered together, still awake.

Pansy immediately brightened. "Draco!"

He gave a distracted nod. "Evening."

"Where've you been?"

"Out."

"With Professor Snape?"

Draco's expression tightened. "What's it to you?"

Pansy blinked. "Nothing. I was only asking."

"Well, don't."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Draco crossed the room and dropped into an armchair beside the fire. Crabbe offered him the packet of sweets. "Bean?"

"No."

"Suit yourself."

Goyle took one instead.

For several moments, nobody spoke. Then Blaise broke the silence. "Well, since we're all here, perhaps someone can explain why Slughorn thinks inviting half the school to dinner constitutes an education."

Daphne gave a faint smile. "Oh, are we discussing Professor Slughorn now?"

"Apparently," said Theo.

"He's rather fond of you, Blaise," Tracey remarked.

"Yes. A deeply unfortunate circumstance," Blaise replied.

Pansy looked interested. "Has he invited you to another one of those parties?"

"Next Thursday."

"Are you going?"

"I haven't decided."

"Of course you're going," Daphne said. "You enjoy being admired far too much to refuse."

Blaise placed a hand over his chest. "Greengrass, you wound me."

"How tragic."

Theodore closed his book. "I find Slughorn…tolerable."

Everyone looked at him. Blaise raised an eyebrow. "High praise indeed."

"He's knowledgeable," Theodore continued. "And unlike Snape, he doesn't seem personally offended by the existence of students outside our house."

Daphne laughed softly. "That's one way of putting it."

Draco stared into the fireplace. "Slughorn's an idiot."

Blaise turned toward him. "He's an excellent brewer."

"He's a pompous old fool who spends more time collecting famous names than he does actually teaching."

"Rather ironic criticism coming from you," Blaise replied.

Draco's head snapped around. "What?"

"Nothing."

"No, Zabini, go on."

Blaise regarded him coolly. "I merely find it amusing that you of all people are criticizing someone for caring about family connections."

At this, Tracey abruptly became much more fascinated by her Herbology parchment. Daphne lowered her quill.

Pansy frowned. "Blaise, honestly."

Draco leaned forward. "You think you're clever, don't you?"

"Occasionally."

"Well, you're not."

"How devastating."

"Would you two stop?" Millicent interrupted.

She held out the packet of beans.

"Anyone want the last few?"

"No!" Draco and Blaise both snapped.

Millicent stared at them.

"All right, Merlin."

She pulled the packet back.

Groyle muttered something to Crabbe.

Draco rounded on them. "And what do you two have to say?"

"Nothing, Draco," Goyle said.

"Then stop whispering."

Crabbe frowned. "We weren't talking about you."

"Of course you weren't."

"We weren't!"

"Fine!"

The fire crackled. Daphne watched Draco for a moment. Then she returned to her essay. "Professor Slughorn's actually been quite helpful with our N.E.W.T. preparations," she said, deliberately changing the subject.

"Agreed," Theodore replied.

"His instructions are clearer than Snape's ever were at any point."

"That's because Snape expected everyone to read his mind," Blaise said.

"Well, he certainly expected Potter to read his," Tracey remarked.

That earned a laugh from Pansy. "Oh, Potter! Speaking of the git, have you heard about his little arrangement with Slughorn?"

Daphne looked up. "What arrangement?"

"Slughorn practically worships him."

"That's hardly surprising," Blaise said. "Potter is famous, after all."

"Potter's insufferable," Draco muttered.

"Those two traits aren't mutually exclusive."

Pansy leaned forward. "Apparently Slughorn keeps asking him about his mother. Says she was brilliant at Potions."

"She was," Theodore said.

Draco looked at him. "How would you know?"

"My father mentioned it once."

Draco's expression changed, just slightly, and Daphne noticed.

"Your father knew Potter's mother?" Tracey asked.

"Not personally," said Nott.

"Oh."

“All I heard Slughorn say was that Lily Evans Potter was one of the brightest students for Potions he had ever taught during our parents’ generation, and that Granger strongly reminded him of her.”

“How do you even know her name?” asked Pansy, bewildered.

Theo shrugged. “I hear things distinctly and tend to remember them well.” He returned to his book, and another silence settled over the group. 

This time, it was Pansy who broke it. "Anyway, Slughorn's ridiculous. He invited that awful Cormac McLaggen seventh year boy to one of his dinners."

"McLaggen's a Gryffindor," Millicent said.

"Yes, Millie, I know."

"Just checking."

"And apparently Ginny Weasley."

Tracey raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Apparently."

Daphne considered this. "She's quite good at Quidditch."

Pansy stared at her. "Must you always find something complimentary to say about Gryffindors?"

"I wasn't complimenting her personality."

"Still."

"Would you prefer I invent reasons to dislike people?"

"Wouldn't hurt," Millicent said.

Tracey laughed.

Daphne gave her a sideways look. "Don't encourage her."

"Sorry, Daph," Tracey muttered, just to her.

Draco suddenly stood. "I'm going upstairs."

Pansy looked alarmed. "Already?"

"Yes."

"But you've only just got here."

"And?"

"Well, I thought we might—"

"Not tonight, Pansy." His voice was sharper than necessary.

Pansy recoiled slightly, and Draco seemed to notice. For a moment, something resembling regret crossed his face, but he just as quickly looked away. "Goodnight." He headed toward the boys' staircase.

"Draco," Nott called after him.

Draco stopped. "What is it, Theo?"

"How's your mother?"

The question seemed to catch him completely off guard. "My mother?"

"Yes."

Draco hesitated for a moment. "She's fine."

Theodore regarded him. "Good."

Draco remained motionless for a moment. Then he turned and disappeared upstairs. Nobody spoke until the sound of his footsteps had faded.

Pansy looked miserable. "What's wrong with him?"

Blaise exhaled. "Where would you like me to begin?"

"Blaise!"

"What? You asked."

"He's been under a lot of pressure."

"Clearly."

Daphne folded her hands on the table. "Has anyone actually spoken to him about it?"

"I've tried," Pansy said.

"And?"

"He won't tell me anything."

Millicent shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't want to."

"Well, that's obvious!"

"Then leave him alone."

Pansy looked offended. "He's my friend, Millicent."

"Didn't say he wasn't."

"Then why are you being so horrible?"

"I'm not being horrible. I'm saying if he wants to talk, he'll talk."

Crabbe nodded. "Yeah."

Goyle nodded after him.

Pansy looked between them. "Oh, wonderful. Millie, Vincent, and Greg have solved everything."

"Glad we could help," Millicent replied.

Tracey bit her lip to suppress a laugh.

Daphne glanced toward the staircase. "He's lost weight."

The others looked at her.

"What?" Pansy asked.

"Draco. He's lost weight since September."

Theodore nodded. "He isn't sleeping much either."

"How do you know?" Blaise asked.

"We share a dormitory."

"Yes, Theo. I'm aware."

"He gets up in the middle of the night. Sometimes he doesn't come back until morning."

Pansy looked increasingly distressed. "Where does he go?"

Theodore hesitated. "I don't know."

"Have you asked?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"He told me to mind my own business."

Blaise gave a humourless laugh. "That sounds like Draco."

But Theodore didn't smile. "He clearly seems to be frightened of something."

The words changed the atmosphere. Pansy stared at him. "Draco isn't frightened."

Theodore looked at her. "Everyone's frightened of something, Pansy."

"Not Draco."

"Especially Draco."

Another silence. Beyond the windows, a shadow passed through the dark water. Tracey shifted herself closer to Daphne. "Do you think his recent behavior has something to do with his father?"

Nobody answered immediately. Lucius Malfoy's imprisonment had been common knowledge since June. Draco had spent much of their time at Hogwarts, right up until the end of the previous year, boasting about his father's influence at the Ministry. Now Lucius was in Azkaban, and the Malfoy name no longer carried quite the same assurances it once had.

Blaise finally responded. "Wouldn't surprise me."

Pansy looked down at her hands. "His mother must be terribly worried."

Theodore's expression became unreadable. "Yes," he said quietly. "I imagine she is."

Daphne studied him. "Theo?"

"Hm?"

"Your father's still in Azkaban as well, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

Theodore looked mildly surprised. "Thank you."

Pansy sighed. "I wish everyone would stop talking as though something dreadful is about to happen."

Millicent looked at her. "Pansy, something dreadful happens practically every week now."

"That's different."

"How?"

Pansy opened her mouth, but then closed it.

Tracey looked toward the folded Daily Prophet on the table. "Another Ministry official disappeared yesterday."

Blaise nodded. "Yes."

"And that family in Yorkshire."

"Yes."

"And the attack in Diagon Alley last month."

"Tracey," Daphne said quietly.

Tracey stopped. "What?"

"Nothing."

Their eyes met. Daphne's expression was composed, but Tracey recognized the warning. It said not here, not in front of everyone. Tracey looked away.

Millicent broke the silence by reaching into the sweets packet. "Well, whatever happens, I'm not spending the Christmas holiday here."

"Neither am I," Blaise said.

"Mother says we're going abroad," Pansy added.

"Where?" Tracey asked.

"France, perhaps."

"Nice."

"What about you, Daphne?"

Daphne hesitated. "Home, presumably."

"And you, Trace?"

"Same."

Pansy smiled. "You two are practically attached at the hip."

Tracey grinned. "Jealous?"

"Hardly."

"Could've fooled me."

Millicent snorted.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Must we?"

"Yes," Tracey said.

Pansy threw a cushion at her. Tracey caught it and immediately threw it back, inadvertently striking Millicent in the face.

"OI!"

Vincent burst out laughing. Gregory nearly fell off his chair.

Millicent seized the cushion and hurled it at Vincent, who ducked. It hit Blaise.

He slowly lowered the book he'd been holding. For several seconds, he simply stared at them. "How old are we?"

"Sixteen," Gregory answered helpfully.

"Thank you, Goyle."

"You're welcome."

Even Daphne was laughing now, one hand pressed against her mouth. Even Theodore was smiling. For a few minutes, the common room felt almost normal again. Then the laughter just as quickly faded.

Pansy looked toward the boys' staircase. "Do you think he'll be all right?"

Nobody answered right away.

Finally, Daphne spoke. "I hope so."

Theodore stared into the fire. "For his sake, he’s going to need to be."

The corridor outside the Charms classroom was packed shoulder to shoulder, students spilling into one another as they hurried toward the Great Hall for lunch.

James Potter, however, barely noticed.

He was in the middle of recounting, for perhaps the fourth time that morning, the spectacular diving catch he'd made during Quidditch practice the night before. Sirius was laughing so hard he nearly walked into a suit of armor.

"...and then McGonagall actually smiled," James said, unable to suppress a grin. "I swear she did."

"Eh, must've been indigestion," Sirius replied.

Peter snorted.

Remus smiled faintly, though he wasn't really listening.

Just then, someone collided with James's shoulder, and books exploded across the stone floor.

"Oh!" a younger voice blurted. "I'm so sorry!"

James looked down. A second-year Slytherin boy, who looked rather small for his age, cheeks already burning, had dropped nearly everything he was carrying. A bottle of ink rolled lazily toward the wall. The boy knelt immediately.

"I didn't see you."

James and Sirius looked at each other. Then James said, loud enough for half the corridor to hear, "Bit hard not to."

Several Gryffindors nearby laughed.

The younger boy's ears turned scarlet. "I said I was sorry."

James crouched down, not to help, but to inspect the scattered books. "'One Thousand Magical Herbs,'" he read aloud. He picked up another. "'Elementary Defensive Hexes.'" He looked back at the boy. "Planning ahead?"

There was more laughter.

The boy reached for the book, but James lifted it just out of reach.

Remus stopped walking. Something about the expression on the younger student's face bothered him. It looked to be a sign of resignation, as if this wasn't the first time something like this had happened.

"Here," James said brightly.

For a hopeful second, the boy held out his hand, but instead, James flicked his wand, and the books sprang neatly into a stack which floated six feet into the air.

"Oh, come on," Sirius laughed.

The Slytherin boy stared upward.

A few surrounding students had stopped in their tracks completely now.

"Why so worried, Vale? You should be able to get them," James said. "You've got legs."

The corridor erupted again.

Adrian Vale gave an embarrassed little hop, but the books drifted another foot higher.

Peter laughed too, subconsciously, since everyone else was laughing. The moment Remus looked at him, however, his smile faltered.

"James," Remus said quietly.

James either didn't hear him or chose not to. "Maybe try saying 'please,'" he suggested to the second year.

Vale's expression became tense. "Please," he said coldly.

James frowned, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know, Sirius, this boy seems to have quite the attitude, for what I've done to help him. What do you think," he said turning his head at him, "should he try again."

"Very much so," said Sirius, grinning whoteheartedly.

Vale swallowed, deciding to get this over with and keep the peace. "Please," he said calmly.

James grinned. "Better." He gave another lazy flick of his wand, and the books floated back down into the boy's waiting arms. "There you are."

The whole thing had lasted maybe thirty seconds, but to James, it had been nothing, just another joke.

Vale opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it before disappearing into the crowd without meeting anyone's eyes.

James was already laughing again.

"These people. Honestly," he said, shaking his head, "he looked terrified."

"Well," Sirius replied, still amused, "you are enormous."

James barked another laugh as they continued down the corridor. "Not as much as you, Padfoot. Does your mother ever get insecure about how tall you're getting?"

Sirius rolled his eyes and punched him in the arm. "Don't call me that out here," he hissed.

Remus lingered for a moment to glance back at the Adrian Vale. He had stopped around the corner, wiping spilled ink from the cover of one of his books with the sleeve of his robes. He glanced over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure the older boys were truly gone. Sighing, Remus caught up with the others, saying nothing.

James had already moved on to telling another story, having no idea that he'd become someone else's reason to dread walking through that corridor.

The corridor outside the Charms classroom was packed shoulder to shoulder, students spilling into one another as they hurried toward the Great Hall for lunch.

James Potter, however, barely noticed.

He was in the middle of recounting, for perhaps the fourth time that morning, the spectacular diving catch he'd made during Quidditch practice the night before. Sirius was laughing so hard he nearly walked into a suit of armor.

"...and then McGonagall actually smiled," James said, unable to suppress a grin. "I swear she did."

"Eh, must've been indigestion," Sirius replied.

Peter snorted.

Remus smiled faintly, though he wasn't really listening.

Just then, someone collided with James's shoulder, and books exploded across the stone floor.

"Oh!" a younger voice blurted. "I'm so sorry!"

James looked down. A second-year Slytherin boy, who looked rather small for his age, cheeks already burning, had dropped nearly everything he was carrying. A bottle of ink rolled lazily toward the wall. The boy knelt immediately.

"I didn't see you."

James and Sirius looked at each other. Then James said, loud enough for half the corridor to hear, "Bit hard not to."

Several Gryffindors nearby laughed.

The younger boy's ears turned scarlet. "I said I was sorry."

James crouched down, not to help, but to inspect the scattered books. "'One Thousand Magical Herbs,'" he read aloud. He picked up another. "'Elementary Defensive Hexes.'" He looked back at the boy. "Planning ahead?"

There was more laughter.

The boy reached for the book, but James lifted it just out of reach.

Remus stopped walking. Something about the expression on the younger student's face bothered him. It looked to be a sign of resignation, as if this wasn't the first time something like this had happened.

"Here," James said brightly.

For a hopeful second, the boy held out his hand, but instead, James flicked his wand, and the books sprang neatly into a stack which floated six feet into the air.

"Oh, come on," Sirius laughed.

The Slytherin boy stared upward.

A few surrounding students had stopped in their tracks completely now.

"Why so worried, Vale? You should be able to get them," James said. "You've got legs."

The corridor erupted again.

Adrian Vale gave an embarrassed little hop, but the books drifted another foot higher.

Peter laughed too, subconsciously, since everyone else was laughing. The moment Remus looked at him, however, his smile faltered.

"James," Remus said quietly.

James either didn't hear him or chose not to. "Maybe try saying 'please,'" he suggested to the second year.

Vale's expression became tense. "Please," he said coldly.

James frowned, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know, Sirius, this boy seems to have quite the attitude, for what I've done to help him. What do you think," he said turning his head at him, "should he try again."

"Very much so," said Sirius, grinning whoteheartedly.

Vale swallowed, deciding to get this over with and keep the peace. "Please," he said calmly.

James grinned. "Better." He gave another lazy flick of his wand, and the books floated back down into the boy's waiting arms. "There you are."

The whole thing had lasted maybe thirty seconds, but to James, it had been nothing, just another joke.

Vale opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it before disappearing into the crowd without meeting anyone's eyes.

James was already laughing again.

"These people. Honestly," he said, shaking his head, "he looked terrified."

"Well," Sirius replied, still amused, "you are enormous."

James barked another laugh as they continued down the corridor. "Not as much as you, Padfoot. Does your mother ever get insecure about how tall you're getting?"

Sirius rolled his eyes and punched him in the arm. "Don't call me that out here," he hissed.

Remus lingered for a moment to glance back at the Adrian Vale. He had stopped around the corner, wiping spilled ink from the cover of one of his books with the sleeve of his robes. He glanced over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure the older boys were truly gone. Sighing, Remus caught up with the others, saying nothing.

James had already moved on to telling another story, having no idea that he'd become someone else's reason to dread walking through that corridor.