Ophidian Crown | A Draco Malfoy FanFiction

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔖𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫

"Relax, Barrows. I'm not actually going." This jarred her further.

"So you're going to get them in trouble? Purposefully?" He was about finished with this conversation, clearly growing weary of her criticisms. Before he could reply, Pansy burst into a frenzy of shrill titters, prompting the group of fifth years beside the group to flinch and moue at the young girl. Pansy's nose had scrunched up and made her resemble a pug even more. "Pug-nosed Pansy" is what everyone was calling her behind her back. Ophelia felt a bit of guilt, as Pansy had been nothing but kind to her, maybe even considered the girl to be her friend. She was running short on those lately. Her laughter died down, as well as Ophelia's train of thought.

"I think it's a fabulous idea, Drakey." She severed her lips into a toothy grin, smiling broadly at the blonde boy. Ophelia shuddered, that nickname did not sit right with her, but she didn't want to speak up. Losing another friend was not on the table right now, lazily gazing over at the Gryffindor table, where Granger, Potter, and Weasley were sitting. Potter had an ever-growing stack of treacle tarts beside his plate, while Ginger and the muggle had their own little chat. How... quaint. She turned back to Draco, who grimaced at Pansy's nickname, nudging his steak around on his plate but nodded at her compliment.

Supper went by fast, and the dishes of beef and potatoes had been replaced by fruity tarts and chocolatey custards and puddings. Hefty dollops of cream adorned the crumbly apple tart that she had nibbled off of. She lost her appetite a while ago.

Draco was jabbering away with Blaise and Crabbe, and Goyle and Pansy were having their own little chat. Ophelia sat in between all of this, feeling rather lonely as she gripped the bench beneath her, staring intently at the melting cream upon her tart. Today had been one of her least favoured of the week she'd been here, though it felt like ages. Maybe she'd have been better off in Ravenclaw, exchanging analysations of books and lectures with Padma and Chang. Lovegood too, mayhap. A part of her knew she was where she belonged though, but that secret hadn't been unlocked yet. "Your future is uncertain, young one." is what she could remember. The Sorting Hat had always been so cryptic, and she had already analysed everything it had said to her thrice. But that line stuck out like a sore thumb—no clue what it meant. Her hands tensed around the bench, digging her nails into the rather soft paunch of the strake, hissing quietly as the wood brushed over the tender underside of her nails.

Suddenly, an unusual warmth graced over her hand, causing Ophelia to flinch, slightly pulling away from the suspected palm. She glanced down at her hand, wrapped in Draco's tiny pale palm, knuckles flushed and bent as he rubbed her dorsal with his thumb. She felt her cheeks tinge red and become hot, but she muffled herself by spooning the innards of the apple tart into her mouth, the rendered cream pooling around the base of the crust, logging the bottom soft and mushy. She sighed, pushing the plate to the centre of the table and leaned back, unwinding to the feeling of Draco's hand on hers for the rest of the meal.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Rumours of Harry's indecency and lack of discipline were long gone, disappeared before you could say "quidditch." Draco and Ophelia's peculiar friendship had bloomed, spending all of the time they could together; in hallways, the common room, classrooms, anywhere. Two peas in a pod. Pansy was not amused. She glared over the pumpkin pasties and candy corn, watching as the two purebloods joked and tittered together.

It is Hallowe'en, and the Great Hall is littered with shades of auburn and gold, gleaming lustrously in the ocherous candlelight. Bowls are filled to the brim with ivory and rosy mallows, platters teetering with mauvish blackcurrant and plum flan, aureate-roasted chicken basked in a steaming brew of gravy and chocolate galore. Pumpkins superseded the typical floating candles, carved with eerily creepy features, differed by the joyous grins and laughter the children of Hogwarts shared below. The ceiling is scattered with shimmering stars and tumulting storm clouds, flashing with the conflagration of thunderbolts. Ophelia smiled.

Two months into Hogwarts and her life had significantly improved. She'd moved past her differences between the "Golden Trio" and her, now living in peace with each other. No more petty quarrels. She couldn't say the same for Draco, though.

He'd been furious when he heard about their reasoning, stomping off to go bully Longbottom or some unsuspecting Hufflepuff. Poor kids. Whenever he involved himself in a conflict like that one, she stepped back and let him ruin his reputation on his own. He'd pleaded with her a couple of times to back him up, but she would always shake her head in opposition and give him the same answer every time:

"If anything goes wrong, just say 'my father will hear about this!' and they'll be on their way."

He took that a little too literally, and it was forthwith the same catchphrase he was known for nowadays. Now here she was, laughing and joking with him like nothing else in the world mattered. She felt the burning holes of Pansy's gaze in the back of her head, but it didn't matter to her. A loud boom interrupted the school's feast, drawing all of their attention to the vast doorway, now spread wide by none other than-

"I wonder what P-P-Professor Q-Q-Quirrell wants now." Draco huffed, watching as the purple-turbaned man sped through the central aisle, amid the stunned Gryffindors and confused Ravenclaws. His robes fluttered behind him, the loose strand of his turban whisking in the wind as well. He ran right up to the high-table, practically toppling over as he said this,

"T-troll! In the dungeon!!" He shrieked as his face flushed red, paling drastically and collapsing to the floor with a thud. For a moment, everyone paused to comprehend, blinking slowly to regain some composure before all hell broke loose.

Screams and shouts erupted from students and teachers alike as they all scrambled to the doors, shuffling of shoes and jostling of bodies swarmed the area, the sea of black cloaks concealing the far end of the hall. Draco was extremely horrified, his mouth agape as he released a terrifying scream, slamming his palms onto the table as he scrambled to get up. He looked pale, and Ophelia tugged at his sleeve.

"Now is not the time to be fainting, Malfoy," She wrapped her hand around his bicep and pulled him along.

"Come on!" Her voice was muffled in the loud hall, but he nodded quickly and caught up with the back of the mob. She shouldered her way through some Ravenclaw first years who let out a wail as the two passed by. Draco had now clamped a hand over his mouth, face pallid and threatening to toss up any moment. Before any student could escape the Great Hall, Dumbledore's voice boomed over the sea of black, silencing everything in a moments notice. Ophelia stumbled back as she collided into an older Gryffindor, who snarled an offence at the young girl. She whimpered, crashing into a different figure.

"Silence!" Dumbledore bellowed, his wand up to his neck, modifying his croaking voice. Ophelia apologised profusely to the person she knocked into, whipping her head around and looked up at the person. A Ravenclaw boy. She blushed gently. He was comely, his dark curly hair sticking up wildly and elfish ears. He smiled lightly, curling his lips up into a smirk.

"Sorry..." She muttered, whisking back to a frantic Draco. Once he saw the young girl, he softened, straightening his arms and neck into a rather awkward looking stance. Dumbledore went on.

"Prefects will lead their houses back to their dormitories. Teachers, follow me to the dungeons." Gemma's voice yelled over the quiet murmurs and whispering, beckoning everyone in Slytherin house to follow her quickly. Ophelia caught a glimpse of the Gryffindor Prefect's pointy hat before disappearing out the door. A tight cinching coiled around her bicep, prompting her fingers to tingle with loss of blood. She turned to her right to notice it was Draco's nails digging into her skin, his lips furled downwards into a grimace. She tugged the boy along, catching up with equally frightened Pansy and Blaise, while Crabbe and Goyle were whimpering like whelps.

For being Slytherins, they sure were wusses.