Chapter VIII: Draca and the Dragon
When breakfast was served at the great hall, Draca received another package of sweets from her mother. She relished the jealous looks of her classmates, especially the Gryffindors at the neighboring table. Then Draca found a black envelope, and opened it.
Her father had written a simple note.
“Draca Malfoy,
Best of luck with your schoolwork. There will be no point in having you sent back home for the Easter holidays, given your need to study for your final exams. Please remember that your performance on these exams determines your eligibility to continue at Hogwarts next year. You will be either rewarded, or punished, in proportion to your performance.
Sincerely,
Lucius Malfoy”
Draca stared at the letter. Of course, her family never did anything special on Easter. But it would have been nice to get away from the school for a week. Every time she glimpsed the forbidden forest, Draca wondered if that cloaked monster was still lurking out there. Could it have been a ghoul, or maybe even a vampire?
Draca noticed Crabbe and Goyle staring at her, and quickly stuffed away the envelope.
“Aren’t you gonna eat the rest of those sweets, Miss Malfoy?” asked Crabbe.
Draca shoved the box roughly aside to sit in front of Crabbe. “No… Stomach hurts.”
Goyle guffawed, then stood to grab a handful of sweets. “Hey! Save some for me, Crabbe!”
Sure enough, Draca’s Easter holiday was spent cramming for exams.
But today, Draca was bored. She was already on top of her homework. But the only fun she’d had since the end of the Christmas holidays was the news that Professor Snape would be the referee for the next Quidditch match: Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff. At least Draca could root against Potter.
Carefully, Draca settled herself into her seat in the upper box.
“You okay, Miss Malfoy? You look like you’re trying to sit on a hedgehog,” said Crabbe.
“Stuff it, Crabbe. These old wooden seats are just uncomfortable is all. Gotta watch for splinters, don’t you?”
Goyle glanced at his seat. “Really? Are they that bad?” Then he ran a finger along the wooden surface, before he snarled in pain. “Ouch!”
Draca cackled as she watched Goyle suck on his injured finger. It had taken three weeks, but the last of her bruises from Christmas had mostly healed over. Then, something caught Draca’s ear. A girl’s voice, muttering.
Draca looked down, and recognized the back of Hermione Granger’s head from her frizzy hair. "Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis…"
Roz Weasley was fumbling with something under the sleeve of her witch’s robes. "I know," Roz snapped. "Don't nag."
Neville Longbottom glanced around. His face immediately went pale as he spotted Draca, Crabbe, and Goyle, before he quickly looked forward.
As the two Quidditch teams took their places on the field, the crowd hushed.
"I've never seen Snape look so mean," said Roz. "Look—they're off—Ouch!"
Draca poked Weasley in the back of the head. "Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."
Draca grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle. "Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"
Weasley didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Granger, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was watching Potter closely.
Draca watched Potter flying for a few minutes, as he circled the arena like a hawk, looking for the Snitch. “I could do that, just as good as he can. No, better,” thought Draca.
Then, Snape awarded Hufflepuff another
penalty for no reason at all, and Draca couldn’t help but smile. "You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" she said, raising her voice. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money—you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."
Longbottom went bright red, but turned in his seat to face Draca.
"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered.
Draca, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Weasley, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."
"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."
Weasley glared at Draca. She looked like her nerves were shot from anxiety. "I'm warning you, Malfoy—one more word—”
"Roz!" said Granger suddenly, "Harry–"
"What? Where?"
Potter had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Granger stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Potter streaked toward the ground like a bullet.
Draca felt her heart flutter. "You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" said Draca.
Then, before Draca knew what was happening, Weasley was on top of her, wrestling her to the ground. Longbottom hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help.
As Draca and Weasley rolled on the ground, they bumped into the back of Granger’s seat, before she leapt up and screamed, “Come on, Harry!”
Draca caught a glimpse of a whirl of fists, and the sounds of scuffles and yelps coming from Longbottom, Crabbe, and Goyle. Then, Weasley slapped Draca hard across her face.
The crowd gasped, before the stands erupted in cheers. Draca could dimly make out something about how someone had caught the Snitch, before she felt her skull thump hard against the floor, and realized Weasley was stepping on her.
"Roz! Roz! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!" shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.
Draca scrambled to get out from under Weasley. Longbottom was lying slumped over across two seats, unconscious.
Draca felt her skull throbbing, and realized she had a black eye, nearly swollen shut. But just barely, she could still make out Potter holding aloft the golden Snitch. The match had barely lasted five minutes. It had to be a school record.
Snape spat bitterly on the ground.
The Gryffindors were running to lift Potter onto their shoulders. Weasley and Granger were jumping up and down, Weasley cheering through a heavy nosebleed.
***
Draca had yelled at Crabbe and Goyle for an entire hour. “You two trolls couldn’t handle Longbottom, two against one?”
“But we did knock out Longbottom, Miss Malfoy,” said Crabbe.
“Yeah, he just took us by surprise is all,” said Goyle.
“That’s not the point. Just look at what Weasley did to my beautiful face. You’re supposed to protect me!”
“Sorry, Miss Malfoy,” said Goyle.
“Yeah, I guess Weasley’s tougher than she looks, too,” said Crabbe.
“It was a cheap shot! Weasley didn’t fight fair.”
“Fight a what?” asked Crabbe.
“Fight fair, you buffoon. Don’t you know English? It means Weasley took me by surprise, is all. I’d have won if it was a fair fight, one-on-one.”
Crabbe looked heartbroken. “So… you don’t need us to fight blokes for you anymore, Miss Malfoy?”
Draca groaned. “Oh, never mind!”
It was no use getting Crabbe and Goyle to understand anything. Then, Malfoy remembered something. “Hold on, I heard Granger coaching Weasley about doing the Leg-Lock Curse. They were expecting trouble at the match… Like the first match when Potter nearly fell off his broom.”
Crabbe and Goyle both chuckled, as they had been instructed to do previously at any mention of Potter falling off a broomstick. Draca’s voice cracked as she screamed. “Shut up! I need to think!”
In a huff, Draca stormed out of the Slytherin common room to stand in the dungeon hallway. Something was going on with Potter and his friends. What were they up to? Draca strained her memory. Then, something clicked. “First, they were going on and on about some old pure-blood wizard… Flamel. And what happened to Harry’s broomstick… even if he is a clumsy flyer, the Nimbus model broomsticks don’t malfunction that way. Did someone jinx his broom? Who? Professor Snape? Too bad it didn’t work, but… They’re up to something, and someone is trying to stop them.”
Draca glanced at the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. This was a puzzle, and Crabbe and Goyle were hopeless at jigsaw puzzles. But Draca knew she could crack it. All she needed was more information. One more piece of the puzzle, to make the picture become clear.
***
For the next few days, Draca made it a habit to eavesdrop whenever she was nearby Potter, Weasley, or Granger. Her best opportunities were Potions class, flying practice, and every meal at the Great Hall.
Then, one breakfast time, Draca got lucky. Draca was pacing along the Slytherin table, pretending to get a second serving of bacon, when something caught her ear.
Weasley was complaining about wanting to skip Herbology, “Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?"
Draca stood dead still.
"We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing–"
"Shut up!" Potter whispered.
As she caught Potter’s eye, Draca relished the moment. Then, with a casual flick of her hair, she strolled away.
***
Draca knew that if Potter and his friends were up to something, she’d have to catch them at it after their Herbology class. At mid morning break, Draca made her way to the grounds. Sure enough, she saw three small figures running toward Hagrid’s hut.
As Draca approached the hut, she peered through the window. And there it was! A small, black, baby dragon hatchling, sitting right on Hagrid’s table.
Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet black body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns, and bulging, orange eyes.
It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.
Draca tried to make out their conversation, but the window muffled too much of the sound. Then Draca saw Hagrid’s beady little black eyes, staring right at her, before the color suddenly drained from the half-giant’s face.
Draca bolted.
"What's the matter?" called Potter loudly.
"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains–it's a kid–she's runnin' back up ter the school," barked Hagrid.
Draca glanced over her shoulder. She’d managed to put a good distance between her and the hut, but there could be no mistaking Harry Potter as he burst out the door.
Draca knew about their little, secret, highly-illegal dragon. And even better, Harry Potter knew that she knew!
***
Draca spent the next week planning her next move. To her delight, she kept catching a glimpse of famous Harry Potter, glancing at her. She always made sure to let him see her smile. Of course, she had to rat them out to someone. She could report the dragon to Dumbledore, but everyone knew that the old fool favored half-breeds like Hagrid. Better to report it to the ministry, or maybe Professor Snape?
By now, Draca knew she was Snape’s favorite student. He recognized her natural talent for potions.
But when she tried to speak with Professor Snape after class, he kept brushing her off. It was as if Snape couldn’t wait to get out of his classroom, and go straight to patrolling the upper castle alone. And ever since Halloween, he’d been walking with a limp. Was he ill?
Finally, Draca decided to bide her time. After all, why spoil the fun of teasing Potter? And sure enough, one Potions class, she noticed Weasley struggling to work with a swollen, purplish hand. The cut was full of sickly, greenish pus. “A dragon bite wound? It has to be!” whispered Draca.
Draca wondered if all dragon bites were fatal. If only she knew the species. Then, she overheard Granger telling Weasley she had to get to the hospital wing right away.
Draca waited a half an hour, then went up the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey stopped her. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, just needed to borrow a book from Weasley for our Potions class.”
Madam Pomfrey frowned, then nudged Draca towards Weasley’s sick bed. “Then be quick about it. See that you don’t disturb her.”
Draca sat next to Weasley, her breath shaky. Weasley was lying in bed, her entire arm an angry red color up to the shoulder. Draca checked over her shoulder. Madam Pomfrey was well out of earshot. “Hello, Weasley.”
Weasley’s eyes fluttered open. “Malfoy.”
“You’re looking a bit worse for wear, Weasley. Your arm’s as blood-red as your hair. Do you think they’ll have to amputate?”
“Go soak your head in a bucket of frog spawn, Malfoy.”
“Ah, that reminds me, I needed to borrow a Potions book from you.” Draca found Weasley’s copy of Magical Drafts and Potions, and pocketed it. “I doubt you’ll be needing it. Not after the Ministry finds out about your pet dragon.”
Weasley’s eyes went wide, before she narrowed them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That scratch doesn’t look like a simple infection, Weasley. Looks more like a bite mark from something venomous.”
Weasley looked away. “Dog bit me.”
“And Madam Pomfrey believed that? I doubt it. You know, I simply loved dragons as a little girl. Read every book I could get on them. If you ask me, this looks more like dragon venom. A Norwegian Ridgeback, perhaps?”
Weasley clenched her jaw.
Draca snickered. “You know, Weasley, I just can’t decide what I should do. On the one hand, if I tell Madame Pomfrey that a Norwegian Ridgeback bit you, that oaf Hagrid’s sure to be sacked. On the other hand, if I don’t tell her, maybe you’ll take the secret to your grave, like a noble friend. And then I’ll report Hagrid for keeping an illegal dragon.”
“You’ve got my book. Get out, Malfoy.”
Draca shifted in her seat. She had been hoping to see Weasley beg. “You shouldn’t have hit me at the Quidditch match, Weasley. I simply disliked you before that. Thanks for the book. I owe you one.”
***
For the next couple days, Draca debated what to do next. Finally, she went to the library, hoping to give the matter some thought in peace and quiet. As she passed Longbottom in the hall, Draca was pleased to see him pale and stand aside to let her pass.
Finally, she settled down at her preferred table in the library. Why not just tell on Potter now? Did it really matter who she told? Whether it was a teacher or the Ministry, they were sure to find a live dragon easily, and that would cause trouble for Hagrid.
But, no. There was nothing to pin the crime on Potter, Weasley, and Granger. They deserved to be punished too, not just the half-breed giant. It was a matter of timing. Draca had to make sure they all got caught along with Hagrid.
Thoughtlessly, Draca flipped through the book she took from Weasley, and found a letter addressed to Roz Weasley from a “Charlie Weasley.” Intrigued, Draca opened it, and read.
“So this is their little plan? Just you wait, Potter, Weasley, maybe even Granger too. Tonight, when you go wandering around the castle at midnight… I’ll be waiting for you.”
Then, Draca laughed. It seemed she had the luck of the Devil on her side.
***
According to Charlie Weasley’s letter, he planned to pick up “Norbert,” which could only be a coded reference to the Norwegian Ridgeback, in secret on Saturday night, at the stroke of midnight.
Wearing only her pajamas, Draca slunk along the corridors and up the steps. For the hundredth time, she checked the letter. Of course, if Weasley realised it was missing, she might have thought to change the time. But Weasley probably wasn’t that bright. And even if they did suspect that Draca knew, this was still their only opportunity to get rid of the dragon.
She had them dead to rights. When they came to climb the spiral staircase to the astronomy tower, she would be waiting for them, ready to fire a Leg-Lock Curse.
Then, a lamp flared behind Draca.
Professor McGonagall appeared behind her, wearing a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, and seized Draca, pinching her by the ear. “Another student out of bed? Ridiculous!”
Draca howled as she was led along behind McGonagall, clutching tight to the older witch’s arm.
"Detention!" shouted MacGonagall. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you–"
"You don't understand, Professor. Harry Potter's coming—he's got a dragon!"
"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on—I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"
***
Draca stood with her nose pressed against the stone wall in Professor McGonagall’s office, her hands folded neatly behind her head.
Feeling like she was a toddler in timeout, Draca thought about how she would have much preferred a caning to this shameful treatment.
Then, a terrible thought occurred to her. Getting detention, losing twenty points for Slytherin, what if that was only the beginning? Once her father heard of this new humiliation… But Draca didn’t want to dwell on that possibility.
McGonagall had left Draca here, with firm instructions not to move, while she searched the halls for other students wandering out of bed. The only hope Draca could cling to was that Potter and a few of his friends might still be caught.
Then, the door opened, but it wasn’t Professor McGonagall. Mr. Filch appeared, his yellow smile visible even in the shadows. Mrs. Norris purred as she nuzzled on top of his shoulder, her red eyes shining. Two students followed him meekly into the room: Potter and Granger.
Draca’s whole body shivered. She had done it!
Filch peered around the room. “Professor McGonagall, are you in—Eh, what’s this?—Another student out of bed? That makes three of them in one night!”
“Four, I’m afraid,” answered Professor McGonnagal’s voice from behind them.
Intrigued, Draca dared to take a peek without making it obvious. McGonagall entered her office, with Neville Longbottom behind her. Draca couldn’t believe her luck. The look of sorrow on Potter’s face said it all.
"Harry!" Neville burst out, the moment he saw the other two. "I was trying to find you to warn you, I heard Malfoy saying he was going to catch you, he said you had a drag–"
Potter shook his head violently to shut Neville up, but Professor McGonagall had seen. She looked more likely to breathe fire than Norbert as she towered over the three of them.
"I would never have believed it of any of you. Mr. Filch says you were up in the astronomy tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. Explain yourselves."
Hermione was staring at her slippers, hunching her shoulders.
"I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on," said Professor McGonagall. "It doesn't take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. I've already caught him. I suppose you think it's funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?"
Draca stiffened. Did they not have the dragon? She tried to take another peek, but a stern glance from McGonagall warned her not to move an inch.
"I'm disgusted," said Professor McGonagall. "Four students out of bed in one night! I've never heard of such a thing before! You, Miss Granger, I thought you had more sense. As for you, Mr. Potter, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this. All three of you will receive detentions—yes, you too, Mr. Longbottom, nothing gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it's very dangerous—and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor."
"Fifty?" Harry gasped.
Draca thrilled. That meant Gryffindor would lose their narrow lead over Slythetin.
"Fifty points each," said Professor McGonagall, breathing heavily through her long, pointed nose.
"Professor—please,”
"You can't—” whined Potter.
"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Potter. Now get back to bed, all of you. I've never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students."
Draca wanted to dance and sing. Slytherin was now sure to win the house cup!
“As for you, Miss Malfoy, after I see these three to bed, I’m escorting you straight to the dungeons. It will be up to Professor Snape to determine if any further punishment is needed in your case.”
Draca affected a sweet smile. “Yes, Professor.”
Finally, she would have justice!
***
Chapter IX: Justice for Draca Malfoy
After Professor McGonagall escorted Draca to the Slytherin common room, she found Professor Snape was missing. “He must be out on patrol, probably looking for you, Miss Malfoy. Nothing else for it. I’ll leave Professor Snape a note in his office. Straight to bed with you.”
Draca was so excited, she couldn’t get to sleep. She kept picturing herself holding up the house cup. First thing tomorrow morning, all the Gryffindors would know that they’d just been annihilated from the competition, and word would spread quickly. The famous Harry Potter, and a couple of his stupid first year friends, had lost their house one-hundred and fifty points in one night.
When the first light of dawn peeked through Draca’s curtains, she basked in the glory of it. Without bothering to change out of her pajamas, she skipped toward the Slytherin common room, hoping to find Crabbe and Goyle. It was empty, except for the towering figure of Professor Snape, who had a note clutched in his hand. “Miss Malfoy. Last night, you were out of bed, well past midnight.”
Snape spoke the words as if they were a simple statement of facts, not a question.
Draca brushed aside her bangs. “Yes, Professor. Now Slytherin’s a shoe-in for the house cup. It’s quite a story. Why don’t I tell you all about how–”
“To my office, Miss Malfoy.” With surprising strength, Snape grasped Draca by the wrist, and led her along behind him. Snape was limping badly on one leg, but even so, Draca struggled to keep up with his pace.
Snape’s office was a dimly lit dungeon. Beneath the ancient stone arches that encircled the room, Snape had furnished it with his own desk, library, and advanced-level potions equipment. After Snape released her, Draca rubbed her wrist. “I can tell you’re eager to hear what happened?”
Snape spun slowly to face Draca. “Miss Malfoy, do you recall Professor Dumbledore’s strict instructions to the students not to go wandering about the castle unsupervised?”
Draca scowled. “Yeah, but I wasn’t anywhere near the third floor corridor.”
“That is not the point. Already this year, we have had an attack by a mountain troll. How do you suppose that got past the castle’s defenses?”
“Dunno. Maybe that half-giant oaf forgot to lock a door or something.”
“Hogwarts castle is protected by far more than stone walls and iron gates, Miss Malfoy. There is an old magic that protects the school. Not to mention Professor Dumbledore’s very presence acts as a check on the dark forces.”
“Yes, well, Dumbledore’s getting a bit daft in his old age, isn’t he?”
Snape raised a hand with a jerk, trembling, then slowly lowered it. Confused, Draca stared at Snape’s hand, before she suddenly realized he’d just been about to slap her across the face. “Professor?”
“Do not insult Albus Dumbledore in my presence ever again, Miss Malfoy. Do not speak at all, unless I ask you a direct question. Our world is not safe. There are creatures in this world that would devour you alive if you ever encountered them. Hogwarts can only remain safe because its headmaster and the teachers stand guard over it.”
“So is that what happened to your leg, Professor?”
Snape’s nostrils flared, before he turned and began to clear away some of the objects on top of his desk. “Miss Malfoy, there is a set of potions equipment on the work table. Find the wooden stirring spoon, and bring it to me.”
Curious, Draca fetched the spoon, wondering if Snape was going to give her some tips on how to properly stir potions. But the moment she held it up for him to take, Snape reached for her pajama pants and tugged them down neatly with one clean yank. Then, Snape sat on his desk, scooped up Draca by her armpits, bent her over his left knee, and delivered a firm slap across her bare bottom.
Draca yelped, more from surprise than pain, and tried to twist off Snape’s lap. “S-Snape? What are you–”
Snape cut her off with another hard spank, and Draca roared.
Snape’s voice was surprisingly cold. “Hold still, Miss Malfoy.”
Draca started to kick her feet wildly in the air behind her. “Y-you can’t do this to me! Once I tell my father, he’ll see that you’re–”
Snape began to spank at a steady, relentless pace. His palm felt firm and heavy, and every single swat covered most of Draca’s slender backside. “As the Head of Slytherin House, I most certainly can do this to you. And I will be writing your father myself, to inform him of your shameful behavior, Miss Malfoy.”
“Noooo, please, Snape, don’t!”
Snape spoke slowly, emphasizing every single word with a ferocious spank. “Do. Not. Speak. Out. Of. Turn. Again.”
Draca gasped and squealed after every swat. Already, she felt tears building up, making her vision blurry, and desperately resisted the urge to cry.
After the last word, Snape paused. “Now, Miss Malfoy, let’s try again. You will not speak unless instructed to, and you will refer to me only by the title of Professor, or sir. Is that clear?”
“Y-yes, Professor!”
“Good. I see we are making progress. Hold tight onto that spoon, Miss Malfoy. I will need it momentarily to finish your punishment, and I expect you to demonstrate perfect obedience, and hand it to me when instructed.”
Draca’s eyes popped open, and suddenly she saw the terrible wooden spoon in a new light. “No, no, no! Not that! Anything but that! Please don’t spank me with–”
WHACK!
Draca reared back her head and howled like a werewolf, kicking up her feet to cover her bottom. “Aawwoooo!”
“I can see we will have to work on correcting your attitude, Miss Malfoy. The first law in my house is: do not bring shame to the name of Hogwarts, nor to your fellow Slytherins, nor to yourself. Lower your feet, Miss Malfoy. Now.”
Dropping the spoon, Draca flailed her arms at the desk, knocking a stack of books to the floor, before she dug her nails into the polished wooden surface. “No! I won’t do it! You can’t make me! I’m—I’m a Malfoy!”
Snape groaned. “Pathetic.”
Then, Snape easily brushed aside Draca’s feet, pinned her legs tightly in place with his right leg, and landed a hard slap, smack across the center of her bottom. Draca snarled, her voice rasping as she tried to kick free, but she could only manage to wriggle her toes.
“Draca Malfoy, you should be completely ashamed of yourself. You cannot bargain your way out of this. Let’s see if another round will help make that message clear to you.”
With that, Snape began to spank at a slow, steady pace. Draca gasped, trying to say something, but all that came out was a gurgle that sounded like, “Gunna-git-choo!”
But when the spanking didn’t stop, Draca quickly broke down into ugly, uncontrolled sobbing.
Draca’s mind went blank, except for the horrible awareness of the painful fire building across her bottom. It seemed to go on and on, but finally, the slapping sounds paused, and Draca could dimly make out Snape’s voice. “That should do for a warmup. On your feet, Miss Malfoy.”
As Draca opened her eyes, blinking past a mist of tears, she found Snape had set her on her feet. Shakily, she bent over to pull up her pajama pants. Snape caught her wrist. “No, do not bother to get dressed. You are still in a state of disgrace, Draca, and will remain so until I see an improvement in your attitude. Stand up straight, and fold your hands behind your head.”
Her lip quivering, Draca obeyed. Glancing down, she saw her pajama pants in a heap across her ankles. Her only comfort was that her pajama shirt was long enough to provide her some small degree of modesty at the front, though it barely covered her hot, stinging bottom from behind.
Then, Snape waved his wand, and the back of Draca’s shirt slowly lifted into the air, folding itself neatly against the small of her back to fully uncover her bright red behind. In horror, Draca glanced over her shoulder. The angry red handprints contrasted sharply with the usual snow-white color of her flesh.
“Look me in the eyes, Miss Malfoy,” snapped Snape.
Draca tried to obey, but as she saw the look of reproach in her favorite teacher’s eyes, she wanted to melt into a puddle. This was hell!
Snape let the silence hang for a few moments, then nodded. “Now, let’s try this again. Hopefully, you are willing to listen to reason, for your own sake at least. Why did I punish you, Miss Malfoy?”
“Buh-b-be-because, I s-snuck out of b-b-bed… s-sir?”
“Incorrect. That little spanking was just to remind you not to talk out of turn, and to address me properly. Now, take a good look at the state of my work desk.”
Draca did, and saw the state of disarray left by her struggle. The books were now scattered across the floor, and her attempts to scrape free had left long scratches in sets of ten along the top of the desk.
Snape pointed to the books. “Pick up the books, Miss Malfoy, and put them where they were before.”
Her face burning, Draca bent over to pick up the books, painfully aware of the cold air of the dungeon brushing against her blazing hot bottom. “B-but, Professor, I d-don’t know what order they should be stacked in, sir?”
Draca winced, wondering if she’d just earned herself another beating, but Snape actually smiled. “Never mind about that. Just stack them neatly.”
After Draca finished, Snape pulled out his wand, and gestured to the scratches. “You also damaged my desk in your foolish, ultimately futile attempt at escape. This is an antique. Fortunately for you, ordinary damage is simple enough to repair with magic.”
Snape tapped the tip of his wand against the desk, and the scratches started to mend themselves. Draca stared in awe. Snape hadn’t even uttered an incantation.
But Draca’s delight at the display of advanced magic vanished the moment she noticed the stern look on Snape’s face. “For over a thousand years, corporal punishment has been the traditionally favored form of discipline at Hogwarts, going all the way back to the time of the four founders. Although I disagree with some of Professor Dumbledore’s more eccentric theories on educational reform, I respect his position as headmaster, and therefore will not use the cane on you, Miss Malfoy. Thankfully, I still have been left some authority over you as Head of Slytherin House, so I will punish you to the fullest extent allowed by the school rules. When a student violently resists being punished, that is immediate grounds for additional punishment. In extreme cases, even expulsion.”
Draca’s knees trembled. “Oh, p-please, Professor—”
“No, Miss Malfoy. I did not ask you to speak.”
Draca shut her mouth with a snap.
Snape glared at Draca, then tapped his desk. “Of course, it’s not likely I’ll have to resort to expelling you. Your behavior during your first spanking was abominable, but not unusual for a first year. Are you caned at home, Miss Malfoy?”
Draca felt fresh tears welling up in her eyes. Her greatest shame was how frequently she had to be caned at home, even at her age. And according to her parents, Draca would never be too old for the cane. When the other students had asked her about home, Draca had always lied, and said her parents were pushovers. She wanted to lie to Snape, but only the fear of more punishment made her answer truthfully. “Yes, Professor.”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? From what I remember of your father, that makes sense. He strongly favored the use of the cane at Hogwarts. He’s made his position quite clear to the Board of Governors. Yet, this is very strange, Draca—if you are used to being caned at home, why did you raise such a fuss over a simple spanking?”
Draca felt a shiver travel up her spine. Of course, her resistance had probably earned her yet another spanking today. “I… I’m sorry, Professor.”
“I have not asked you to apologize yet, Miss Malfoy. I have asked you to explain yourself. Can you think of any possible defense for your behavior?”
Draca shook her head. “N-no, sir…”
Feeling stupid, Draca stared at the floor.
Snape sighed. “Let me hazard a guess, Miss Malfoy. Perhaps you were under the impression that, because I have praised your work in Potions class, that means that you never expected to be punished by me? Do you suppose that, by awarding you points for your answers, and not—for example, Miss Granger—that I was playing favorites with you?”
Draca blinked. “Well… weren’t you playing favorites, Professor?”
“I favor Slytherin house, Miss Malfoy. I make no secret of that, not even to the other teachers. It is only right for a Head of House to look after the interests of his own students, as his first priority. It’s been something of an ongoing debate between myself and Professor McGonagall. She is of the opinion that I ‘play favorites’ with my students. As much as I respect her opinion as a fellow teacher, I’m afraid I can’t help her to see the distinction. I never play favorites with my students. I favored your work in Potions, Miss Malfoy, because you show an actual talent for the art.”
Draca felt fresh tears in her eyes, but strangely, she realized she had never felt quite this happy all year. “You mean, you actually think I’m good at Potions?”
“I think your work in Potions is perfectly adequate, for a first-year. If you apply yourself, you may well go far, Miss Malfoy. But do not for a second think that, just because I praise your successes in one class, I will not also hold you accountable for your failures. For instance, that childish temper tantrum you displayed during your first spanking,” Snape tapped his wand against the desk, “was beneath the dignity of a Slytherin. If you were only a second year, I would cane you myself. Fortunately, I have a less severe punishment at my disposal. Turn around, Miss Malfoy, and bend over. Hold on to your knees, and keep yourself steady, just as if you are preparing yourself for a proper caning.”
With a fresh pang of embarrassment, Draca obeyed. She was all too familiar with this position. During a real caning at home, if she so much as flinched, her father would add an additional stroke to the total. Nervously, Draca glanced over her shoulder, wondering when Snape was going to start spanking her. But to her surprise, she saw Snape casually pointing his wand at her. “Fac paulum pungat.”
Suddenly, it felt like a hundred wasps were stinging Draca’s bottom all at once. With a howl, she jumped into the air, clutching her backside, and danced wildly in place. Then, Draca stiffened, and immediately bent over to reassume her position, clutching her knees. “Sorry, sir!”
Snape sighed. “You left position, again. Honestly, Draca, that was only a minor stinging jinx. I imagine you must earn yourself plenty of extra strokes for flinching, when you are caned at home?”
Sniffling, Draca nodded. Snot was starting to run down from her nose. “Yes, sir. Sometimes, sir.”
“Then from now on, I expect you to improve yourself. The stinging jinx only produces a smarting sensation. Unlike the cane, it will leave no lasting damage. I cannot let you off a lighter penalty, Miss Malfoy. So, show some resolve, and hold your stance. If you ever hope to become a powerful witch, it is essential for you to develop mental discipline. Now I have to give you another dose of the stinging hex. I expect you to hold perfectly still. Do you understand, Miss Malfoy?”
Fresh tears spilled down Draca’s face. Why, oh why, did she have to be so pathetic? “Yessir…”
This time, she didn’t hear Snape use the incantation. It was only when she felt the blazing heat start to ripple across her bottom that Draca realized the hex had hit her. It was much worse than before. Draca screamed, but forced herself to hold still, her knees knocking, before she felt a second wave of prickling like a thousand needles, which quickly overwhelmed the earlier heat. This time, it felt like she was being paddled by a particularly pokey, and particularly livid, living cactus.
Draca made a choking noise, then melted into ugly crying. She stood in place for a few moments, and Snape strolled around her to look her in the eye. “That was much better, Miss Malfoy. You see? You are perfectly capable of maintaining your concentration. You only require proper motivation. Stand up, please.”
Awkwardly, Draca straightened herself. Snape causally flicked his wand, and Draca felt her pajama shirt flop back down to cover her bottom. She almost felt grateful, before she noticed that the cloth only tickled her throbbing backside.
With a nod, Snape put his wand away. “Now, we may finally begin your real spanking, Miss Malfoy. Are you prepared to accept it?”
Draca tensed. “B-but, Professor! You already spanked me, twice! Then you hexed me twice! That’s four separate punishments!”
Snape shook his head. “Your initial spanking was for your disrespect. You earned the additional punishments for showing deliberate defiance and disobedience. You have now been adequately disciplined for those failings. The last matter we need to discuss is your wandering out of bed. Do you understand why you still need to be punished?”
Draca’s face flushed red again, but this time, it was from pure anger. “N-no, sir!”
Snape narrowed his eyes. “I see. Then I will explain it again. Hopefully, we won’t have to start your spanking all over again, from the beginning, to get through to you. Tell me, Draca, what do you believe would be a fair punishment, for getting caught wandering around the castle at night?”
Confused, Draca’s started to argue. Maybe she could talk her way out of another spanking? “Not this! This is completely ridiculous, Professor. McGonagall already punished me when she caught me! I got put in timeout! I got detention! I lost twenty points! Potter and his friends all got caught sneaking out of bed, too. Why am I the only one getting spanked?”
As she noticed the dangerous look in Snape’s eyes, Draca quickly remembered her manners. “Please, Professor, I don’t understand… sir.”
Snape nodded. “In the first place, you do not know what punishment Professor McGonagall has in store for her own students, nor is it any of our business. Though McGonagall doesn’t favor the cane as much as I do, she can be quite the strict disciplinarian. Think, Draca. Once the rest of Gryffindor house discovers what Potter did, how do you expect him to be treated?”
Draca pouted. Did Snape think she was stupid? “They’ll treat him like dirt. It’s all his fault they’re going to lose.”
“Exactly. The house cup is more than just a simple trophy. For seventh years, it acts as a final mark of distinction, cementing their legacy at Hogwarts. For the oldest students, it is considered particularly shameful to lose the House Cup. And for sixth years, winning the House Cup determines eligibility for the position of Head Boy and Head Girl in their final year. Professor McGonagall is perfectly aware that by punishing her own house so strictly, she has exposed her students to public shame. It’s quite devious, really.
Snape gestured to his office. “Answer me, Miss Malfoy. Where are we?”
Draca scrunched up her face. “Um—In your office, sir?”
“Precisely. That means I have chosen to grant you the dignity of privacy. However, Draca, if I catch you wandering the halls at night again this year, I will punish you in the Slytherin common room. Regardless of who is present, I will instruct you to bare your bottom, take you across my knee, and spank you like a naughty child. If you resist, I will simply force you to comply. And if it happens ever again after you finish your first year, you will get an additional caning, and I will ensure the entirety of Slytherin house are gathered to witness your humiliation. I don’t care if you’re in your seventh year. Even then, you will still be under my authority. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
Draca felt her stomach lurch. “You… you can’t be serious, sir?”
Snape’s face didn’t betray a hint of doubt. “This is not a threat, Miss Malfoy. This is a solemn promise. Now, with that in mind, would you prefer to submit to your final spanking, willingly, here in my office, or shall we continue this discussion in the common room?”
Draca swallowed a lump in her throat. “I’ll obey, sir!”
“Then fetch the wooden spoon from my desk. I warned you that I expected you to offer it to me when it was time, and the time has come. March, Miss Malfoy.”
Draca didn’t hesitate. She had to stand on her tip-toes to reach the spoon, then held it up to Snape. He took it, then pointed toward the high backed chair in front of his desk. “Kneel on the seat, and hold the back of the chair to support yourself.”
The moment Draca crawled up onto the seat, she felt the back of her shirt being magically lifted up again. Of course, the real spanking would have to be on the bare bottom. There went her last shred of dignity.
Snape tapped the spook against Draca’s bottom, gliding the smooth wood in small circles along the angry, raised welts left by the stinging hex. “Finally, Draca, we may begin. You lost twenty points for Slytherin house. Therefore, I believe twenty strokes would be a sufficient punishment. Before I begin, do you have anything to say in your own defense?”
Draca’s ears perked up. Snape’s tone of voice wasn’t cruel. It was almost encouraging, like he was testing her knowledge in Potions class.
This was a test.
Taking a shaky breath, Draca dared to answer him frankly. “Yes, sir. I don’t believe I deserve twenty strokes. Frankly, my plan to catch Potter lost Gryffindor a hundred and fifty points in one night. If you think about it, that means I’ve gained a hundred and thirty points for Slytherin.”
“Your logic is faulty, Draca. In the first place, has it occurred to you that, if you simply did nothing, Potter and his friends were likely to get caught anyway?”
Draca tensed. That did blow a hole in her argument. She tried to keep her voice steady, using the bored, drawling voice she’d learned from her father, which marked her status as a pure-blooded Wizard of the old noblity. “Well, the only reason Longbottom got caught is because he overheard me talking about my plan. So… no, Professor. It’s only because of me that Gryffindor is behind, right now. At least… we’re thirty points up, thanks to me.”
“You may have gotten lucky, Miss Malfoy, but it was hardly what I’d call a cunning plan. Why didn’t you simply bring the matter to my attention?”
“B-because… you seemed so busy, Professor. You’re always out of the common room.”
Snape tapped the wooden spoon across Draca’s bottom. To her discomfort, she noticed the stinging from the hex still hadn’t entirely faded. She didn’t think she could bear another swat without breaking down completely, let alone a full twenty strokes with the spoon. Snape’s voice was low. “That’s because I actually have a good reason to be patrolling the castle at night. I do not have time to deal with my students playing detective.”
Draca’s curiosity was piqued. She wondered if this had something to do with Snape’s leg getting injured after Halloween? But her sore bottom was a keen reminder not to test Snape’s patience any further. “Yes, sir.”
“Furthermore, although your actions did indeed hurt Gryffindor, that is not the same as helping your own house. We have still lost points against Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Perhaps I should give you forty strokes for that, but subtract the thirty we gained on Gryffindor?”
Draca’s eyes went wide at the mention of forty strokes, until she understood the trick hidden in Snape’s question. Was he was offering to lighten her punishment, if she only agreed to admit fault? “We both know that Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are too far behind us this year. Twenty points aren’t likely to make a difference.”
Using the spoon, Snape delivered a series of steady taps, with more firmness. The message was clear. He was about to begin. “A single point can make all the difference, Miss Malfoy. If you simply admit you were a complete fool, I will be merciful, and lower the number of strokes to fifteen. Otherwise, you will get the full twenty… and you will get them in the Slytherin common room. If you have any argument to make on why you don’t deserve that many strokes, this is your last chance to defend your position. Be convincing.”
Draca swallowed. “I… I’ve earned fifteen points this year in Potions class. So, really, that means I’ve only lost Slytherin a net of five points. Therefore, I should… I deserve to get five strokes, sir.”
And as Draca uttered the last words, she discovered that she really meant them. At this point, it would be an insult if Snape let her off with anything less.
“Intriguing reasoning. Very well, Miss Malfoy, I will let you off with only five strokes. But if you leave position, even once, you will get the full twenty I originally promised you. I expect you to count each one. Are you prepared?”
Draca nodded. “Yes, Professor Snape.”
The moment that Draca felt the first swat from the spoon, her calm resolve vanished. Her bottom already ached. But the spoon had a heavy weight to it, as if it was biting deep into her buttock. Not only that, it instantly reawakened the tingling sensation from the earlier stinging hex. Draca roared, but clung tight to the chair. “One, sir.”
After the second swat from the spoon landed on her other buttock, Draca felt her tears returning, and rested her forehead against the back of the chair, seething. “Two, sir.”
Draca felt the spoon impact across her left sit-spot, just below her lower left buttock. Draca let out a gargling scream, tears and snot spilling freely into her mouth. Gasping, she slammed her head softly against the cushioned back of the chair, hating it.
She didn’t want to cry again. Not after she’d worked so hard to put on a brave face in front of Professor Snape. But she couldn’t stop the tears.
Then, Snape landed a fourth stroke, across her right sit spot. Draca choked, and quickly counted. “Three, sir! Four, sir!”
“No, Miss Malfoy. The last stroke was just for dawdling on your count. Repeat your count, at three.”
Draca whimpered, a snot bubble bursting at the end of her nose. “Yes, sir. Three, sir.”
The next stroke landed immediately, aimed at Draca’s left sit spot again. Draca cried once, then started to weep softly. The crying felt different than before. Earlier, she had been half-screaming in a panic. But now, the fresh tears felt almost gently. Draca was too exhausted to pretend anymore. “F-Four, sir.”
The next stroke landed across her right sit spot, and Draca wailed loud and long. Then, fighting past her tears to catch her breath, she managed to spit out. “Five, suh-s-sir!”
Then, Draca felt her pajama shirt fall back down, covering her behind. She twisted to look behind her, and saw Snape gesturing to the ground. “Your punishment is over. You may get dressed, Miss Malfoy.”
Blushing furiously, Draca pulled up her pants, then stood sheepishly on the cold stone floor. For some strange reason, Snape’s office seemed much bigger than she remembered it ever being. “I’m sorry, sir. For disappointing you.”
“There’s no need for sniveling apologies, Miss Malfoy. You were a fool, and you’ve paid the price for foolishness, and that’s the end of it. Of course, you still have detention with Professor McGonagall. I will not intervene on your behalf in that matter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you may go, Miss Malfoy.”
Draca clutched the hem of her shirt. “Wait! Please, sir, are you really going to write to my father?”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “Of course. It was you, after all, who threatened to complain to your father about your treatment. I assumed you’d want him to be informed as soon as possible.”
Draca held up her folded hands. “Oh, but, sir… please, don’t tell him! If Father knows about what I did, he’ll… he’s going to beat me!”
“Cease that whimpering, at once!”
Draca tensed, then hung her head. “Yes, sir.”
Snape let the moment hang. “I know your father’s habits very well, Draco. He took me under his wing when I first started at Hogwarts. If your father decides you need another caning, that is simply his business. It is also his full right to punish you, as your father. Wouldn’t you agree, Draca?”
Draca sniffed. It was no use arguing. She was doomed. “Yes, sir.”
“How often are you caned, Draca?”
“About once a month, usually, sir. More than that, if I do something really bad. Whenever I bring shame upon the family name.”
“And do you believe you deserve to be caned, Miss Malfoy, for losing Slytherin house five points?”
Draca wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. Did Snape simply take delight in tormenting her? Then, she steeled her breath, and looked Snape in the eye. “No, sir. But I know it’s your decision, sir. I won’t argue with it.”
Then, to Draca’s astonishment, Snape put a hand on her shoulder. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Draca. You took your last spanking with as much dignity as could be expected of a witch your age, so we will say no more about this unfortunate matter.”
Draca’s mouth hung open. “You’re not going to write my father?”
“I was planning to at first. If this were a more serious breach of conduct, I’d have no choice. But we’re not going to need to repeat this discussion anytime soon, will we, Draca?”
Draca took a shaky breath. She wanted to jump on Professor Snape and kiss him, but she knew that wouldn’t be dignified. “No, sir!”
“Then I’m satisfied that you have been spanked more than enough, for one day’s misdeed at least. Contrary to popular opinion, I do not enjoy punishing students. It is an annoying distraction for more useful pursuits. You are free to go, Miss Malfoy. I assume you have homework, and I expect you to be able to brew a perfect Forgetfulness Potion in class next week.”
Draca bounced on her heels, smiling. “Yes sir! I won’t disappoint you, sir!”
For a few moments. Snape didn’t answer. “Draca, get out of my office.”
Feeling relieved, and only a little stupid, Draca hurried for the door.
When she reached the common room, Draca found Crabbe and Goyle sitting on the sofa, staring at her with cow-like eyes. “You all right, Miss Malfoy? You’re up early,” said Goyle.
“We wanted to go to breakfast, but didn’t know where you was,” said Crabbe.
Ignoring the lingering ache in her backside, Draca stood to her full height, and scoffed. “Bah! Can’t you idiots feed yourselves, without me telling you where to go and how to use the utensils? Get going, you clods.”
Crabbe and Goyle stared at each other, then followed Draca out the door.
With a smirk on her face and a spring in her step, Draca strode the entire way down the dungeon corridors. When she reached the Great Hall, she spotted Potter and Granger, leading an exhausted looking Weasley, whose arm was wrapped in a sling. Giggling softly, Dracs noticed that Potter looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept all night.
Draca snapped her arm at them. “Good morning, Potter! Thanks a lot! Slytherin is in the lead for the house cup, and we owe it all to you!”
To Draca’s delight, Potter looked away from her, shaking. Ganger hid her face behind her hands. Was he actually going to cry?
Then, Weasley elbowed Potter in the ribs, and snickered. “Nice jammies, Malfoy.”
Draca glanced down, and finally noticed she’d forgotten to change out of her pajamas.
Potter, Weasley, and Granger all burst out laughing.
Her face burning, Draca covered herself, then ran away, shaking her fist. “Laugh it up, Potter! You won’t be laughing when Slytherin wins the house cup!”
Back in the common room, Draca buried her face in her hands, before Crabbe and Goyle arrived behind her. “Is this part of the plan to get back at Potter, Miss Malfoy?” asked Goyle.
“Shut up, Goyle.” Draca sighed. At least she knew Professor Snape didn’t hate her. That was some small comfort.
Then she thought of the torment that Potter was in for the rest of the school year. That was a great comfort indeed.
***
Chapter X: My Father Will Hear About This!
Later that week, Draca received a letter by owl:
“Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.
– Professor McGonagall”
When she arrived at the entrance hall, she found Longbottom, Granger, and Potter were already there. Draca thought Potter looked a bit frightened of her. “What’s the matter, Potter? Did you miss me?”
“Just surprised to see you here, Malfoy. Forgot you had detention with us, honestly,” said Potter.
"Follow me," said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.
“I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" he said, leering at them.
Draca tensed. She’d heard horrible stories from her mother about the kind of punishments Filch used to mete out.
Filch smiled, as if remembering those good old days. "Oh yes... hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me.... It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out... hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed.... Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do."
They marched off across the dark grounds. Neville kept sniffing. Draca wondered what could possibly be in store for them. It couldn’t be another caning, or Filch wouldn’t be taking them away from the castle.
The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Finally, they arrived at the run-down hut where the half-breed giant lived. The windows were lit. Hagrid’s voice called from inside the hut. "Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."
Draca’s heart sank. They were going to serve detention with this savage? It wasn’t fair! Hagrid was probably the one responsible for the stupid dragon in the first place.
She glanced at Potter, and saw him smiling. Filch must have noticed too, because he barked, “I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy—it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece.”
Draca froze. Longbottom let out a little moan.
"The forest?" asked Draca, trying desperately to keep cool. "We can't go in there at night—there's all sorts of things in there—werewolves, I heard."
Longbottom clutched the sleeve of Potter's robe and made a choking noise.
"That's your problem, isn't it?" said Filch, his voice cracking with glee. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"
Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, with a great dog at his heel. He was carrying a large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.
"Abou' time," he said. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Harry, Hermione?"
"I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," said Filch coldly. “They're here to be punished, after all."
"That's why yer late, is it?" said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. "Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here."
"I'll be back at dawn," said Filch, "for what's left of them," he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.
Draca turned to Hagrid, her heart hammering in her chest.
"I'm not going in that forest,” she said, her voice frail.
"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," said Hagrid fiercely. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yehve got ter pay fer it."
"But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd–”
“–tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled. "Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on"'
Draca didn't move. She looked at Hagrid furiously, but then dropped her gaze.
"Right then," said Hagrid, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment."
He led them to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high, he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the forest.
"Look there," said Hagrid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have
ter put it out of its misery."
"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Draca, unable to keep the fear out of her voice.
"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," said Hagrid. "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least."
"I want Fang," said Draca quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth.
"All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward," said Hagrid. " So me, Harry, an' Hermione'll go one way an' Draca, Neville, an' Fang'll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now—that's it—an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh—so, be careful—let's go."
The forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a fork in the earth path, and Potter, Granger, and Hagrid took the left path while Draca, Longbottom, and Fang took the right.
***
Draca stomped along the forest path, holding tight to Fang. “This detention is completely ridiculous! What’s even the point of it?”
Longbottom’s face was pale, but as he glanced at Draca, some color returned to his cheeks. “We deserve this, Malfoy. Whatever the reason, we all broke the rules. We all let our houses down.”
“Oh, shut up, Longbottom. I wasn’t asking for your opinion. And anyway, you’re the one who screwed up Gryffindor’s chances for the house cup, not me. Frankly, I’m happy we came out ahead.”
Longbottom’s nostrils flared. “Why do you have to act this way, Malfoy? We’ve never done anything to you. Why can’t we be friends? Or at least… not enemies?”
In the distance, a wolf howled. Draca tightened her hold on Fang’s collar. “Friends? Who’d want to be friends with you, Longbottom? Your family is–”
“What do you know about my family, Malfoy?”
Draca hesitated. She didn’t actually know that much about the Longbottoms. She knew they were a prominent pure-blood family, with a lineage that even her father respected. But all she’d heard about Neville Longbottom’s family is that they’d taken the mud-blood’s side in the last wizarding war. And she recalled that her father had strictly warned her against saying anything bad about either mudbloods or Dumbledore while she was at school. Apparently, despite her father’s influence with the school’s Board of Governors, mud-bloods were still favored under Dumbledore’s administration.
When Draca didn’t answer, Longbottom leaned forward and looked Draca in the eye. “I’m proud of my parents, Malfoy. And I’m not afraid of you.”
Draca tensed. She was all alone. Longbottom was short and fat, but Draca vividly recalled the time Longbottom had tried to fight both Crabbe and Goyle on his own. “You should be. You ever thought about what we’re going to do after school, Longbottom? I don’t have to worry about that. I’m destined for greater things. But maybe…”
Then, Draca remembered her father’s warning. She was supposed to make the right sort of friends. Of course, Longbottom was a pure-blood! That had to count for something. “... Maybe I could help you. My father’s a close friend of the Minister of Magic. If I asked him to help you out, as a friend–”
“We’re not friends, Malfoy. You said so yourself.”
“Now, Longbottom, be reasonable. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot this year? You come from an old wizarding family, after all. You’re the same as me.”
“I’m not like you, Malfoy. And I don’t want to be like you.”
Draca felt her temper rising. “What do you mean? I’m a great witch. The best of my year, you’ll see.”
“Hermione Granger’s already the top of the class. Even ahead of the Ravenclaws. Harry Potter’s the youngest seeker in a century. And Roz Weasley looks out for me. She’s the one who taught me how to throw a punch, without breaking my wrist. Those are my friends, Malfoy.”
Draca spat. “Well, bully for you. A pathetic orphan, a penniless urchin, and a filthy–” Draca stopped herself before she uttered the word “mud-blood.” She almost forgot, at Hogwarts, the nobility of pure-blooded families was no longer shown proper respect, as it once had been.
“A filthy what, Malfoy?”
“Nothing! Just—look, Longbottom—all I’m trying to say is… can’t we try again? Why can’t we be friends?”
Longbottom looked stunned. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Are you ready to stop bullying my friends, Malfoy?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Harry, Ron, and Hermione are all my friends, Malfoy. You’ve been provoking us all year.”
Draca snarled. “Potter started it!”
Longbottom looked confused. “What?”
“I asked Potter to be my friend! I offered to shake his hand, and do you know what he did? He insulted my pride!”
For a long while, Longbottom looked like he was struggling to find the words to say. Finally, he mumbled, “I didn’t know you asked to be Harry’s friend. Would… would you still want to be Harry’s friend, if he wanted to make up?”
Draca shouted. “No! Not even if Potter came to me groveling, on bended knee, I won’t forgive him! Potter, Weasley, Granger,” Draca spat on the ground, “I hate them all! They are my enemies! I’ll never be their friend. Don’t you understand? Never!”
Suddenly, Draca felt tears building up in her eyes, and quickly looked away. She couldn’t let Longbottom see her crying.
Longbottom took a deep breath. “Then that means we can’t be friends either, Malfoy.”
Then, there was a distant sound of leaves rustling, deeper in the forest, and Fang bolted. With a squeak of surprise, Draca was yanked forward, dragging behind Fang for a few feet before the dog pulled free and ran further along the path.
Draca picked herself up, spitting out a clod of dirt. “No! Come back, you stupid dog!”
Longbottom cupped his hands to his mouth and called out, “Fang!”
Far ahead, they heard Fang whining. It seemed the dog had finally realized he was alone, and was too scared to move. Longbottom swallowed. “It’s all right. We’ll just… t-try to catch up with Fang. B-b-better have our wands ready, just to be safe.”
As she wiped her mouth on her sleeve, Draca glanced at Longbottom. He was shaking. Draca grit her teeth. “Not so tough without Fang, are you? Pretending to be so brave. You’re nothing but a fake,” thought Draca.
Slowly, Longbottom tiptoed forward. “F-F-Fang? Good doggie! C’mere, boy.”
Draca stumbled to her feet. Longbottom’s attention was fixed on fang. Then, a devious idea occurred to her. It would be so easy to teach Longbottom a lesson he’d never forget.
Carefully, Draca snuck up on Longbottom, her wand at the ready. Then, she leapt on Longbottom from behind, hooking her arm around his neck, and fired green sparks from her wand right in front of Longbottom’s face. “Rrrrawr!”
Longbottom squealed, and twisted wildly to break free from Draca’s grip. He pulled away so hard, Draca fell backwards onto her bottom, and yelped in pain. “Owww!”
Then, Longbottom shot up his arm, and sent red sparks flying into the sky.
***
In a few minutes, Hagrid found them. When Fang heard his master’s voice, he came running back to join the group.
Longbottom was still in a state of panic, but he managed to stammer out enough for Hagrid to get the gist of what happened.
Draca froze as the half-breed giant fixed her with a furious look. “What’d yeh think yeh were doing, Malfoy? Why’d yeh grab on ter Neville?”
“I only… I thought it’d be funny. It was just a little joke.”
Hagrid’s beetle-black eyes glistened, his fists tightening on his crossbow. “A joke? Why I ought ter…”
For a moment, Draca thought Hagrid was privately debating whether to put her across his knee and spank her, or just shoot her in the head with a cross bow bolt. Then, Hagrid seemed to think better of it. “C’mon, follow me, both of yeh.”
Hagrid led them along a branching path through the underbrush that was apparently only visible to him. They emerged from the forest to find another well-trodden path. Potter and Granger were waiting for them.
As Hagrid gruffly explained what happened to the others, Draca noticed the look of disgust on Potter and Granger’s faces. She scowled right back at them.
Finally, Hagrid sighed. "We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were makin'. Right, we're changin' groups—Neville, you stay with me an' Hermione, Harry, you go with Fang an' this idiot."
Hagrid bent low to whisper something to Harry.
Intrigued, Malfoy leaned a bit closer to catch it.
“...I'm sorry. But she'll have a harder time frightenin' you, an' we've gotta get this done.”
And so it was that Draca Malfoy found herself marching deeper and deeper into the heart of the forest, with Harry Potter at her side. Fang led the way. Gradually, the trees seemed to press in on the forest path, until it became difficult to walk.
When she felt Potter’s shoulder bump into her chest, Draca tensed. “Watch it, Potter!”
“There’s more blood,” said Potter.
Draca glanced down. Sure enough, there was a thick puddle of silver blood, shining like the moonlight, splashed on the roots of a tree.
As she drew closer to the blood stains, Draca’s mouth went dry. “The poor unicorn… it must have been thrashing around in pain.”
She thought about how her wand had the hair of a unicorn for its magical core. While they were at Mr. Ollivander’s shoo, her father had grumbled that dragon heartstring would have been a more noble choice.
Potter held out an arm to stop her, and pointed past an ancient oak tree. “Look–” he murmured.
Draca looked, and could make out a clearing ahead.
Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.
As she felt a shiver travel up her spine, Draca grabbed Potter’s hand, and tried to pull him back. She tried to tell him to wait, but her voice was gone.
It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Draca wanted to cry at the sight. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen, and its mane was spread pearly-white on
the dark leaves.
Potter took a single step forward, then froze as they heard a slithering sound.
A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered....
Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Draca stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.
Draca felt Potter’s hand drop away from hers.
"AAAAAAAAAARGH!"
Draca screamed, and turned to flee back the way they came.
Without thinking, she ran as fast as her legs could carry her. Sher barely noticed as Fang passed her by, then left her behind.
Then Draca’s foot caught on a raised tree root and she crashed down hard on the ground, rolling head over heels. Crying from the pain, she picked herself back up and kept running, only to lose her balance again, and caught herself against a tree. “Run away! Hurry, Potter… Run…”
Draca stared around. She was all alone. “Harry?”
Sinking to the ground, Draca clutched her head. Why wasn’t Potter here?
“That thing’ll kill him! I have to go back! I have to help him, before…”
But no. If that thing could kill Potter, then it’d make short work of her too. Draca roared, and slammed her fist into the ground. Didn’t that idiot know when to run away?
Then, she realized the only possible answer. “Hagrid!” screamed Draca. “Hagrid, hurry! Harry’s in trouble!”
Draca felt tears spilling down her face. This was wrong! This whole stupid detention was unfair! What kind of stupid teachers would send kids their age into a dangerous forest.
It was all her fault! If only she was a better witch…
Then, Draca stared at her wand. Of course! She was a witch!
Draca pointed her wand up, and sent up a shower of red sparks. As she watched them flicker and die, Draca screeched, and shot even more sparks into the air. Where was Hagrid?
And then, a horrible thought struck her. As tears spilled down her face, Draca sent up another blast of sparks in a steady stream. What if Hagrid thought she was just playing another little joke? What if he didn’t come?
With a scream of rage, Draca poured every ounce of her anger and frustration into her magic. A gigantic red star blasted from her wand like a rocket, before shooting high into the sky and detonating like a firework.
Draca fell on her bottom, sobbing.
Then, Hermione Granger burst out of the woods. “Harry? What’s wrong? Where are–”
Granger stopped as she looked down on Draca’s prone form. “Malfoy? What are you up to? If this is another prank, so help me–”
Draca wailed. “Harry! Monster! Please! Puh-leeeze! Help Harry!”
Then, a giant form emerged from the woods, and Hagrid stood towering over them, his crossbow in hand. “Harry?”
Granger’s eyes went wide. “Where is Harry?”
Struggling to catch her breath, Draca pointed weakly down the forest path. Hermione sprinted down it, her wand at the ready. With a groan, Hagrid hurried after her.
Draca sat up, and buried her face in her hands.
She was all alone.
A few minutes later, Granger returned, with Hagrid following her. Then, Harry Potter appeared from behind Hagrid. He looked visibly shaken.
Draca shot up to her feet, then quickly wiped her runny nose on her sleeve. “Potter! You’re alive?”
Potter glanced at her. “Dissapointed, Malfoy?”
Draca grit her teeth. “You dim-wit! Why didn’t you run away?”
Potter shrugged. “I froze up. Guess I’m not as brave as you, Malfoy.”
Draca choked with rage. Then, Granger stepped between Draca and Potter. “We’d better find Neville. He must be terrified.”
Hagrid nodded. “Don’ worry, he’s got Fang with ‘im. I’ll lead the way.”
After they reunited with Longbottom, they returned to the castle without incident.
As she saw the rest of the group walking ahead of her, Draca noticed Potter put his hands on the back of both of their shoulders, Longbottom on one side, and Granger on the other.
Draca knew she wanted to say something, but she couldn’t think of the right words. Several devastating insults came to her mind, but none of them seemed to be right for the moment.
She’d just have to wait for a better opportunity to get back at Potter.
***
Chapter XI: The Hunt for Harry Potter
For the next two weeks after surviving detention in the Forbidden Forest, Draca suffered from a recurring nightmare. She was walking alongside Potter, just like she had been in the forbidden forest, only her feet moved very slowly, and somehow the trees kept shifting and changing.
She wanted to scream for help, until she realized they were actually inside her family home, and felt a profound sense of relief. Then she grabbed Potter and started to take the lead. But every door only led to more corridors and staircases that led deeper and deeper down, until all the light was gone. Then she saw the unicorn, which lay dying on the ground in a pool of its own blood. But no. It was Draca who was dying. She was drowning in her own blood.
Potter was standing over her, leaning forward to sneer at her. She tried to choke out something, a curse, some final words, before a black cloak enveloped her.
With a scream, Draca snapped awake, and found she was lying face-down on her pillow, her bedsheets twisted tight around her legs. She choked, and twisted to sit up, kicking off her sheets. She must have been tossing and turning in her sleep.
But as Draca tried to recall the dream, she felt the images slipping away from her. “Just a stupid dream.”
Gradually, the restless nights full of fitful dreams had taken their toll on Draca. She was working harder and harder every day, but getting less and less rest.
Final exams were next week. Apart from Potions, which was her strongest subject, Draca was beginning to fear that even if she studied constantly, she still might not be able to pass every subject. And even Snape was growing more critical of her work of late. When he’d reviewed her attempt at a Forgetfulness Potion, Snape’s only comment had been, “Natural talent is not a substitute for diligent study, Miss Malfoy.”
The only thing she had to look forward to was the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff after exams. But it was hard to get excited knowing full well that Hufflepuff had no chance against their current team.
Draca was tired, and bored, and overwhelmed, all at the same time. What was missing?
And then, it struck her. She hadn’t even had a few spare minutes to gloat to Potter and his pals recently. But as Draca looked at the pile of unfinished homework she still had to do, and thought of what awaited her at home if she flunked out of Hogwarts in her first year, Draca knew that her revenge on Potter would have to wait until after she finished final exams.
***
History of Magic was the final of the final exams, and it was the worst of them all. Draca had a mediocre grasp of some of the key historical figures, thanks to all the names of great wizarding families which she’d memorized in her private tutoring sessions at home, ever since she was old enough to learn how to read.
As she shuffled out of Professor Binns’ classroom with the rest of the first years, and headed toward the grounds, Draca overheard a familiar, nagging voice. Granger was chattering about how well she’d done. “That was far easier than I thought it would be…I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager.”
Draca’s ear perked up. Sure enough, Granger was walking alongside Potter and Weasley.
Keeping her distance, Draca followed them, careful to keep her gait unhurried and blend in with the crowd.
Her exams were finally over. The sun was shining. Birds were singing. It was a simply gorgeous, early summer day today. And what could make for a more perfect day, than to find a way to ruin it for Potter?
Draca noticed they were headed to the Hogwarts lake, and cursed her bad luck. Out in the open, it would be almost impossible to keep within earshot, without giving herself away.
Draca examined her robe, wishing that her house colors didn’t have to be incorporated into her uniform. They’d spot her vivid green skirt a mile away, and know a Slytherin was sneaking up on them.
Could she disguise herself? But what kind of disguise?
Then, it hit her, and Draca Malfoy cackled with laughter.
***
Draca’s swimsuit was a bit old fashioned, but at least it was blue, not green. Examining her short, blond hair, Draca tucked it up into a swim cap, pouting at the sight of her large forehead. She always preferred to have short bangs in front to partially cover it up. Her mother kept trying to convince Draca to grow her bangs out long, so she’d look more like a young woman, but Draca had resisted the temptation thus far.
As Draca examined herself, she knew that she wouldn’t fool Potter and his friends if they bothered to make a close inspection, but if they only took a cursory glance, they’d likely assume she was a random Ravenclaw girl, heading out to the lake for a swim.
Quickly, Draca grabbed her towel and sprinted as fast as she could manage in her beach sandals.
At the lake, she spotted a group of older Gryffindor students. They were tickling the
tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows. Then she recognized two of them as the Weasley twins, and kept her distance. Then, Draca spotted her quarry.
Potter, Weasley, and Granger were lying under a tree, basking in the sun. After taking a deep breath, Draca walked quickly past the tree. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Potter glance in her direction, but she didn’t look back. After she passed the tree, Draca risked taking a look behind her. Potter and his friends hadn’t moved, and now she was in their blind spot.
After pretending to lay out her towel away from the tree and have a seat, Draca waited, straining her ears to make out anything. From what she could tell, Granger was going on about exams again. Fuming, Draca turned, and started to crawl on her hands and knees, steadily getting closer to the tree. “That’s right, relax, Potter. You probably don’t have a care in the world today. It’s just you and your little friends. Go on and tell them what adventure you have planned for them next, and I’ll be ready to spoil it!”
Suddenly, an owl flew overhead, and Draca tensed. If they glanced behind the tree now, they’d see Draca easily!
At that moment, Potter leapt to his feet.
Draca could make out Weasley’s sleepy voice, calling out to Potter. "Where're you going?"
"I've just thought of something," said Potter. "We've got to go and see Hagrid, now."
To Draca’s horror, Harry Potter burst out from behind the tree. His face was white with fear, but he was headed away from her, towards the castle grounds and Hagrid’s hut.
Granger and Weasley stood and rushed after Potter. "Why?" panted Granger.
But as the trio charged up the grassy slope, Draca couldn’t make out any more of what was said.
“Curses!” squeaked Draca. She started to run, then remembered she had forgotten her towel. But as she doubled back to grab her towel, she realized she didn’t need her towel, she needed to stay on Potter’s trail. But then she realized that if she didn’t have her towel, she’d look more suspicious. But then she realized that even if she did have her towel, she’d look suspicious anyway if she went charging across the castle grounds after Potter in her bathing suit.
Draca snarled, and finally settled on grabbing the towel, whipping it around her waist and tying it up like a makeshift skirt.
As Draca approached Hagrid’s hut, she saw the trio gathered outside it, knocking on the big oaf’s front door. Draca cut sideways, trying to find cover in the trees at the edge of the forbidden forest. Now what? What had Potter realized? Was Hagrid raising another dragon in secret?
Draca was panting. Approaching the hut from the front was no good. Her only hope… Draca glanced into the forbidden forest. Even on a clear, sunny day like today, it still seemed like a black void. What if that cloaked thing was haunting the edge of the forest, looking to grab an unwary student?
Draca slapped her cheeks. “Keep it together! You don’t have to go deep into the woods. Just far enough to approach the half-breed’s hut from behind.”
Closing her eyes, Draca ran a wide circle through the woods, sprinting toward the back of the hut. She felt cold. Draca came to a halt slamming against the back of the hut. Shaking herself, Draca pressed her back to the wall and slunk along the edge of the hut, getting closer and closer to them. Potter was asking about something, his voice desperate. “...we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?"
"Dunno," answered the giant. "He wouldn' take his cloak off."
Draca stiffened. A stranger, wearing a cloak? Was that just a coincidence?
There was a pause, before Hagrid went on talking. "It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head–that's the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn'
he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up.”
Draca heard something slump to the ground, before Potter’s voice answered, "What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"
"Mighta come up… Yeah... he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here.... He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I took after... so I told him... an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon... an' then... I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks.... Let's see... yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted... but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home.... So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy..."
Draca narrowed her eyes. “Fluffy? What’s Fluffy?”
"And did he–did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Potter asked. Draca sensed that he was desperately trying to keep calm.
"Well–yeah–how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep–"
Hagrid faltered. "I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey–where're yeh goin'?"
But Potter, Weasley, and Granger were already charging toward the grand entrance of Hogwarts castle.
And then, Draca remembered something. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. Snape’s strange injuries and nightly patrols. All of the times Potter and his friends went sneaking around the castle after dark. Their little research sessions in the library, reading about ancient pure-blood wizards that had nothing to do with their regular homework.
If Fluffy was a three-headed guard dog, it had to be guarding something in the third floor corridor, and Potter was trying to steal it!
“I have to tell Professor Snape!” squeaked Draca.
***
But by the time Draca got changed back into her school uniform and witch’s robes, she found Granger standing guard outside of the staff room. Draca kept hidden in a side corridor, whispering to herself. “They’re on to me! If Granger’s the lookout… does that mean Potter and Weasley are already infiltrating the third floor corridor?”
Then, there was the sound of a door opening, and a girl’s high-pitched scream. Draca peeked around the corner, and saw Professor Snape glaring at Granger. “Miss Granger, why are you loitering outside the staff room?”
“I–I wanted to speak to Professor Flitwick, to—to ask him about my exam.”
“Your exams are over, Miss Granger. It’s too late to do anything more at this point.”
“Well, yes, Professor Snape. It’s just that—I'm a bit worried—you see–I think I got question fourteen b wrong?”
There was a long, pregnant pause. Then Snape answered. “If it will keep you from falling into further hysterics, why don’t I simply ask Professor Flitwick if he is available to speak with you?”
Granger stammered, “Y-yes! Th-thank you, Professor!”
Snape closed the door. Draca sighed with relief. Once Granger was out of the way, she’d knock on the door, and explain everything to Snape.
Professor Flitwick emerged, and took Granger aside. “Come along, Miss Granger. We can discuss the results of your charms exam in my office.”
“Was it–Did I really do that bad, Professor Flitwick?”
“Oh, not to worry, Miss Granger. Let’s just say I want to hang it on the wall of the Ravenclaw common room.”
“What?”
“Come along, Miss Granger! I want to discuss the finer points of your written essay!”
Draca panicked as she saw them approaching her. She leaned against the wall and crossing her arms, trying to look like a student who was trying to look cool, without a care in the world.
Granger spotted Draca and glared at her with suspicion. But Professor Flitwick led Granger away, chattering as he went. Draca sighed with relief, and strolled toward the staff room. She had made it. Victory was hers!
At that precise moment, two tall boys intercepted Draca in the hall, hooking her by the elbows and frog-marching her backwards.
Draca squealed, her feet dragging in front of her as she was led away from the staff room. “What? Who do you think you are… you…”
Draca glanced back and forth at her captors. She recognized them from the Quidditch match against Gryffindor. It was Fred and George Weasley! “Weasley? Weasley?”
“Malfoy? Malfoy?” said Fred and George Weasley, at the exact same time.
“Fred and I were enjoying a lovely day at the lake with our good friend, Lee Jordan, when we spotted something mighty peculiar, didn’t we, Fred?”
“Indeed, George. Imagine our surprise when we saw Draca Malfoy Malfoy trying to sneak up on our little brother, while wearing her bathing suit? A most unusual sight indeed, wouldn’t you agree, George?”
“That I do, Fred. And after some of the stories we’ve heard about you from the Gryffindor first years, Miss Malfoy Malfoy, I’m afraid that we’ve come to the unfortunate conclusion that you are very likely up to no good, isn’t that right, Fred?”
Fred winked at George. “Sadly so, George. In fact, I’d solemnly swear that she’s up to no good! But you see, Miss Malfoy Malfoy, George and I take great pride in being the chief trouble-makers at Hogwarts, and we will not stand idly by as our legacy is challenged. Therefore, we have determined an appropriate course of action.”
Draca started wildly kicking her feet in front of her. “Unhand me at once! When my father hears of this, he’ll see that disgrace of a wizard you call a father sacked from his job at the ministry! You won’t be able to afford a pot to—”
Then, George held up a sock in front of Draca’s face. It was rolled up into a ball, and it had a distinct salty scent. Draca’s eyes went wide at the sign. “What? No! Don’t hurt me!”
But George quickly stuffed the sock inside her mouth.
Fred followed up with a second smelly sock, which he wrapped tight around Draca’s face to hold the first sock firmly in place. “Now, now, Miss Malfoy Malfoy, there’s no need for threats. We have no intention of hurting you whatsoever. We’re only simple messengers. Aren’t we, George?”
George nodded, and stroked the base of a statue of a befuddled looking witch and wizard. Slowly, the statue moved aside, revealing a small cubby full of dusty cobwebs. “Indeed, Fred. And we simple messengers come bearing a simple message, addressed specifically to you, Miss Malfoy Malfoy.”
Then, Fred and George shoved Draca into the cubby, and leaned against either side of it. “Next year, lay off Neville Longbottom,” said both the twins at once.
Then, slowly, the statue moved back in place, trapping Draca inside the cubby.
***
Draca screamed until her voice went hoarse. Once, she felt a spider crawling across her shoulder, and thrashed around in terror, trying to shake it off.
At first, the smell of the socks assaulted her nostrils, but after an hour she found she had finally grown nose-blind to it. She tried to count the seconds, but after what must have been two hours, she gave up.
Then, she thought of her whole year’s worth of misadventures. Somehow, the darkness and the quiet made it easier to picture her first year at Hogwarts. It felt like there was something very wrong about her situation. Something was missing.
And she knew the answer. Potter.
She had never gotten proper revenge on Potter. Right now, she should be having some grand adventure. She imagined herself dramatically bursting into the third floor corridor, before blasting aside Potter’s friends and challenging him to a one-on-one duel, the kind of climactic confrontation that she deserved. She imagined beating him, and standing over his prone body, before reminding him of that fateful day on the Hogwarts Express, when she had offered him her hand in friendship, and he had spat on her kindness.
But then she remembered that she had already missed her chance for that kind of triumph. She had challenged Potter to a wizard’s duel, an affair of honor. Potter had accepted… and she had declined to meet him, face-to-face.
She had told herself then that it was a cunning deception, worthy of Salazar Slytherin himself. But she also knew that she had lied about a matter of honor.
And in her heart of hearts, Draca knew the real reason she had lied. Last year, she had still been too scared to fight Potter.
But now that she was finally ready to face him, to prove to him that she was his equal, fate had prevented her from fulfilling her mission.
She was trapped.
“Why… couldn’t you have just shook my hand?”
And Draca Malfoy wept.
***
When the statue moved aside, Draca blinked. The light seemed blinding at first, but as her eyes adjusted, Draca realized it was only dim candlelight.
Two hands grabbed her roughly, “What have we here, my sweet?”
Draca kicked her foot up wildly. But it wasn’t Fred, nor George.
Draca ended up kicking Mr. Filch right between the legs. He roared, then stumbled backwards, groaning.
Mrs. Norris meowed once, with what might have been sympathy.
Then, Filch struggled back onto his fet. “Agh! Those were my–you rotten little–oh, that does it! What house are you in?”
Quickly, Filch ungagged her. Draca spat, then stared in horror as Filch pressed his gnarled face close to hers. “Slytherin? Then it’s straight to the dungeons with you. Oh, how I miss the days when I was allowed to use the whips! Children learned respect then. Those were the good, old days.”
“But, I was attacked by—”
“Silence! I’m not in the mood after the night I’ve had.”
After Filch arrived at the dungeons, he knocked on the door of Snape’s private office. “Professor Snape! I caught one of yours, wandering the halls. It’s…”
Finally, Filch took a closer look at Draca. “It’s you, again? Ooh, gracious. How I wish I could be a fly on the wall to see what’s in store for you, Miss Malfoy.”
Slowly, Snape opened the door. “Filch, I do not have time for your ceaseless interrupt–”
“Professor Snape!” shouted Draca, “Potter and his friends are planning to break into the third floor corridor, tonight! They know how to get past Fluffy, the three-headed dog! They’re going to steal whatever it’s guarding! It’s a heist!”
Professor Snape sighed, then took Draca by the hand and led her into his office. “Draca, step into my office. Mister Filch, you may… begone.”
“But Professor, there’s no time! We have to stop Potter, before he–”
“Silence, Miss Malfoy!” roared Snape, with such force Draca pressed her lips tight shut.
Then, Snape continued, in a steady, bored tone of voice. “Your warning comes too late. Potter and his accomplices have already finished their assault on the third floor corridor. They bypassed all the protections put in place by the teachers, including a devious, poison trap of my own design, and discovered the secrets hidden therein. No doubt the entire school will be abuzz with gossip by morning.”
“But… but didn’t you stop them, Professor? You were already on to Potter, weren’t you? That’s why you spent so much time patrolling the halls.”
“Miss Malfoy, the last thing I want to hear tonight is the half-baked theories of a first year playing detective.”
Draca swallowed. “Yes, sir! Are you… going to cane me now, sir?”
“For what reason should I be caning you, Miss Malfoy?”
“Because… because you warned me not to play detective? Because I failed to stop Potter? Because… I was out of bed, after dark?”
Snape drummed his fingers, then he pulled some papers out of his desk, and shuffled them. “No, Miss Malfoy. I do not believe you deserve a caning, today. But his late after midnight, if I have to hear one more stupid question, I may well change my mind. You are dismissed.”
Draca nodded, astonished by her good luck. “Yes, Professor.”
Snape held out the papers. “Here. The results of your Potions exam. Your work is acceptable by my standards, but you’ll have to work much harder on the theory aspect next year, assuming you ever want to achieve an O.W.L. in Potions.”
Draca clutched tight to her exam. It was riddled with corrections, written in blood-red ink. “Yes, Professor! Thank you, sir! I won’t let you–”
“Get out of my office, Miss Malfoy.”
Draca squeaked, and ran off, nodding.
***
Sure enough, the whole school was talking about the story by next morning. According to the Slytherin prefect, the famous Harry Potter and his friends had apparently murdered the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in the middle of the night, discovered the secret location of the Philosopher’s Stone, unlocked the power of eternal youth, and were currently busy turning lead into enough gold to fill the lake to the brim.
But Draca’s thin hope that Potter would finally be expelled was dashed as other rumors began to emerge. The prevailing theory amongst the Gryffindors was that You-Know-Who had been inside Hogwarts, and that Harry Potter had faced him alone, before Professor Dumbledore himself came to Potter’s rescue.
According to this version of the events, the Boy Who Lived had faced the Dark Lord for a second time, and had lived for a second time.
But Potter hadn’t survived unscathed. Everyone agreed that, whatever else had happened, Potter was currently in the hospital wing, and had been lying unconscious for over a day.
Draca didn’t know what version of the story she believed in.
But when she remembered the cloaked, hooded figure in the forbidden forest, and horrible, cold feeling in the pit of her stomach, Draca remembered something she hadn’t shared with anyone. Most adults believed that He-Who-Mus-Not-Be-Named was dead. But her father had always insisted that one day, for certain, the Dark Lord would rise again, even if a new wizard must take on that mighty role.
At one point, Draca walked all the way up to the hospital wing, planning to interrogate Potter herself. The same plan had worked well when she questioned Weasley about her injured arm.
The moment Draca arrived at the right floor, trying to think of a good excuse, Madam Pomfrey burst out of the hospital wing, carrying a broken toilet seat. It was wrapped in a ribbon and bow with a large card that said, “Get Well Soon!”
Draca ducked aside and let Madam Pomfrey pass her. “Disgusting!” growled Madam Pomfrey, to no one in particular. “Is this someone’s idea of a joke? It’s unsanitary! I will not have this filth cluttering up my wing!”
As Madam Pomfrey stomped away, Draca seized her chance to sneak in to find Potter. She opened the door a crack, and glimpsed Potter lying fast asleep in his bed. He was surrounded by Roz Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and the Weasley twins.
Quickly, Draca closed the door. She couldn’t get close to Potter. Not while he had his little gang of friends protecting him.
Draca felt something in her eye, and brushed it away.
“Just wait til next year, Potter. Next year, I’ll find a way to even the score.”
Draca slouched all the way back to the Slytherin common room. Her only consolation was the knowledge that, after Slytherin had smashed Hufflepuff on the Quidditch field, they had now definitively clinched the house cup.
Then, Draca ran face first into someone. She looked up, expecting to see Madam Pomfrey. But it was Professor Dumbledore. Draca’s mouth hung open. Despite what her father said, Professor Dumbledore had a certain presence that commanded respect. Instantly, she dropped the usual, bored, drawling voice that she liked to use. “Excuse me, Professor Dumbledore, sir.”
“Good morning, Miss Malfoy. Come to visit a sick friend?”
“No, sir. I don’t have any friends… in the hospital wing.”
“Really? That’s good news I suppose. I’m just on my way to visit Mr. Potter. Would you care to join me? If you’re eager to hear all the news of our school’s most strict and shameful secrets, I’d prefer to make the introductions myself, rather than have anyone accuse you of evesdropping.”
Draca shook her head. “No, sir. No eavesdropping! Just taking a stroll.”
Dumbledore gestured down the hall. “Then by all means, do not allow me to impede you, Miss Malfoy.”
Draca hustled down the hall. When she heard Dumbledore disappear into the hospital wing, she glanced back over shoulder, and whispered. “Get well soon, Potter.”
The End
