ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅʀᴀᴛᴛᴇᴅ ʟɪʟᴀ ʜᴏʟᴍᴇꜱ || ᴅʀᴀᴄᴏ ᴍᴀʟꜰᴏʏ x ᴏᴄ || ʏᴇᴀʀ 4

i don't think you're what you seem

Draco's smirk suddenly grew teasing. "I didn't realize you were such a fan."

My face flushed. "It's a recent development."

"Well, you have my word that I'll personally introduce you," Draco looked smug beyond belief, and I immediately chastised myself for letting him have this information. He'd probably tease me about it more than anyone, and so I quickly changed the subject.

"So, our plan for revenge," I interjected quickly, before he could get a word in about it. "Who is our first target? Smith or Moody?"

The smirk still lingered, but Draco didn't seem to mind the change of subject. "Smith is easy — we fill his shampoo with Hair-Loss Potion — that's a classic, and it's terribly easy to prepare compared to how long it takes to recover."

"You've already thought this through," I mused, grinning to myself. "Sounds simple enough. Moody, then? What about him?"

"He's tricky," Draco frowned to himself. "I'd like to get him sacked — clearly he has the temperament for it, if Dumbledore didn't love him so much. He's got Potter privilege."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Sorry?"

"Potter privilege." Draco repeated with a wry smile. "You wouldn't notice, since you've got it too. Dumbledore's favorites never get in trouble, and Potter's his golden boy. Hence the name."

That's usually because we were getting ourselves into more serious trouble than expulsion, but I could certainly see Draco's point. There were quite a few things we shouldn't have gotten away with, and I wasn't even entirely sure I was considered one of Dumbledore's favorites. The memory of my vision brought back my lingering rage.

"What?" Draco must have sensed my change in state, because he hopped off the desk to stand beside me.

"I've a growing dislike for Dumbledore," I told him. At the raise of his eyebrow, I relayed to him my visions. With that, of course, came the tales of last year, of Siris and Pettigrew. I told Draco nearly everything I could recall.  The entire story took a good chunk of half an hour, and our time was coming to a close.

"The more I know, the less I trust Dumbledore. I think that's why he doesn't want me to know anything," I finished hurriedly. "But I know he has Moody here for a reason, and the timing of the Tournament seems all too convenient."

"Wait a minute." Draco shook his head, clearly still stuck on some of the details. "Dumbledore told you to break one of the most important magical laws to go back in time and save an escaped convict?!"

"Perhaps he felt guilty for having him locked up." I replied darkly.

"Potter privilege at its finest." Draco shook his head. "So you're saying," he swallowed, looking as though something had just dawned on him, "no, I know what you're saying. I've heard — well — whispers. But that's all. Whispers happen all the time. I didn't think any of it might be true."

"Whispers about?" I prompted.

"About You-Know-Who. Coming back," Draco's scowl started to deepen. "There have been some... signs on my end as well. What happened at the Quidditch World Cup was just the beginning."

"I'm sorry," I said, not really sure why I was apologizing. "Has your father been, well—"

"He's been away a lot more than usual, and we've had a few old family friends come visit, if you catch my drift," Draco looked particularly sour at this. "Mum's doing her best to cover it up by sending me to Blaise's and Pansy's, but I always know. I'm not an idiot kid anymore."