The fanart for this chapter was made by https://www.quotev.com/Daryldixonlover and it's so amazing! It can also be seen on her DeviantArt profile ( https://titania0323.deviantart.com/art/This-is-the-Fate-of-Lainey-Fitzroy-636375861 ) and she has a lot of other great fanart on there that I plan to use in future chapters (:
"So, this is who you were trying to kill. Not sure who he is but you seem to have done a decent job."
My eyelids closed slowly, and when I opened them again, Darrin's body was still lying on the floor of my dormitory. The sly voice that I'd barely heard from behind me belonged to the purple-haired person that smoothly stepped into view.
"What? You've never seen a dead person before?" she mocked, raising her purple eyebrows at me. "Oh, but of course you have. Diggory, your father, Lyle—even though there wasn't a body left—that ass-hat Voldemort..."
"I-I killed him," I stammered, my wide eyes fixed on the unmoving body. "I didn't mean to kill him—I didn't want to kill him—"
"Really? Well, now I'm intrigued. Who did you want to kill?" Melody asked as she leaned casually on the bunk bed post.
"Just—stop—stop acting like this is okay—this is not okay!" I exclaimed with pure panic. "We need to—we need to get him out of here—and we need to get him help—but no one can know it was me—"
"Of course you wouldn't even want to own up to your first kill," she droned with an eye roll. "Pathetic."
"I didn't—I didn't mean to kill him! No one can know I have poisoned candies, Melody. No one can know that—wait... Did you tell Slughorn that I made the poison in class?"
"No," she said with a snort. "I've made far worse potions than your dumb Drink of Death. Why, did he find out?"
"Never mind," I answered hastily as I regained my ability to move and hurried over to Darrin. Touching his skin was unnerving, especially when I found he had no pulse. "Oh—oh God, he really is dead."
"You were hoping he was alive?" she questioned with a mocking laugh. "Why are you so frazzled? Was he your new boyfriend?"
"He's a dead person!" I hissed incredulously. "He's a student—and he's dead—and I killed him—and we're at school—and I'm going to be expelled and go to Azkaban—"
"Give it a rest," Melody groaned as she stomped over to where I crouched beside Darrin. "No matter how much of a pain you are, I'm not letting you go to Azkaban. You don't deserve to be there anyway. You're too pathetic and good. I'd have to go with you to keep you alive, and I don't plan to become a prisoner there for at least five more years."
Before I could fathom a thought, she grabbed hold of Darrin's ankles and hoisted him off the ground.
"Are you going to help me?" she questioned with impatience. "This dead guy is so fat that I don't even think my levitation spell will hold him up."
I gritted my teeth, grunting through them as I hoisted Darrin's heavy body off the ground by his arms. "He's—not—that—fat."
Melody's green eyes glared at me as though she was summoning her Target Knife, but luckily I wasn't stabbed, and the two of us managed to hull Darrin's body out of our room and into the corridor. She dropped his legs carelessly, forcing me to drop his arms as well.
"Melody!" I shouted in a whispered tone.
"Yes?" she prompted at a normal speaking level. "What do you want from me? He's dead."
"But he's—well—fine. What do we do now?"
She smiled without any sense of positive emotion before shouting, "There's a dead person in the corridor! Everyone come look!"
Her voice echoed down the hallway, reaching the common room where the faint sounds of conversations could be heard. All noise ceased at her call, and a few of the dormitory doors burst open.
"Fitzroy," was the first voice that hissed through the hall. It was Malfoy, who had stuck his red face out of his room to glare at me. "What did you do?"
"I didn't—"
"He ate one of the candies, didn't he?"
"Shut up," I growled, enunciating each word clearly. More heads were popping out now, and a horde of students from the common room was filing toward us. Malfoy's expression was beyond furious, worse now than it had been when we'd encountered Snape earlier in the evening, but my attention was averted from him when another spoke.
"Who was—"
I glanced down the corridor to see that the voice had come from the seventh year boys' room, and it was Brian Urquhart who was sticking his puzzled face out of the doorway. When his green eyes locked onto the body on the floor, they slivered into a scowl that was directed solely at me.
"S-Someone get Madam Pomfrey," I commanded, looking at the wave of students that had come upon us. "Quick! Someone get her!"
My desperate pleas were, of course, ignored, and Urquhart and another seventh year boy instead took it upon themselves to hoist Darrin up in the same fashion that Melody and I had and then proceeded to carry him down the hall. Urquhart's glare as he carried away his dead friend was venomous, like he was trying to kill me with the harsh green of his eyes. I sank back into my room, wanting only to curl up in my bed and sob, but apparently that was not allowed.
"Fitzroy!" Malfoy barked, stalking into my room and slamming the door before Melody could follow us in. She banged dully on it, but then said something along the lines of "I'll just go to Harper's room" and disappeared.
"Did you kill him?" Malfoy questioned, his words like poison to my ears. I massaged my forehead before trying to rub the tears out of my eyes.
"I don't—I don't know—I didn't mean to! He came in here and started eating the candies—I didn't notice!"
"Idiot!" he spat, running a hand through his hair before he began to pace the room. "I knew your plan was a pile of rubbish! I shouldn't have gone along with it. Now what? Everyone's going to know—"
"No one knows," I insisted with as level of a tone as I could produce. "Just—just Melody—and I think Urquhart suspects—"
"Why would Urquhart suspect?" he demanded, halting his pacing to glower at me.
"I—it doesn't matter," I told him, looking away. "We'll just—pretend it had nothing to do with us. That we didn't know about it. I'll tell everyone that Melody and I just walked out into the hall and found him there. No one will think otherwise—"
"Yeah, because you're a superb liar—"
"I lied to McGonagall and she believed it. I can lie about this too. I have to. And if I'm going to be a lying scumbag, I might as well try to be good at it." A quivering breath exhaled from my mouth as I tried to calm my trembling body. "Well now what?"
"Now you'll burn those candies—the evidence—and then we wait to see what the professors have to say about it," he said, his own voice shaking. "No one's died in the school since Moaning Myrtle. S'pose Diggory died during a school event, but...this is different..."
"I can't believe he's dead... Who just eats random candies that are lying around? In this school—where Fred and George created hundreds of unpleasant candies!"
"People trust you," Malfoy said quietly, not daring to meet my eyes. "They don't know what you are, and they don't think you're malicious."
I blinked back the stinging sensation in my eyes and tried to swallow. "Do you think I'm malicious?"
"No," he concluded after a long pause. His tired grey eyes found mine, and with a sigh his face contorted into a sneer. "You're just the daftest human in existence."
∆
The hospital wing was overflowing with concerned students over the next few hours, and I was one of them. Madam Pomfrey tried to shoo everyone out, and she hid Darrin behind a curtain so we couldn't see him, but many, even those who barely knew him, still lingered out in the corridor, worried. Rumors had circulated that Melody and I had been the ones to find his body out in the hall, and many people asked me for the story. I was vague of course, claiming I knew nothing about what happened to him, and somehow everyone believed me. The needle that would easily pop my balloon of lies was Urquhart, and luckily, for the moment, he was in the hospital wing, grieving over his dead best friend.
When curfew rolled around, everyone was forced back to the dormitories, but I lingered, hidden in the shadows, and once the corridor was empty, I stealthily snuck into the dimly lit hospital wing. I expected only sleeping patients to be present, but when I tip-toed around the curtain concealing Darrin I saw that Urquhart was still present, sitting in a chair beside his friend's body. It took him a moment to register that I'd arrived, but as soon as his attention locked onto me, his face hardened with rancor.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he spat, his previously slouched posture now straightening toward the edge of his seat. "Murderer—"
"I didn't—I didn't try to kill him, I swear," I pleaded quietly, my voice high and throaty. "He just—he consumed poison—"
"Of course," Urquhart scoffed, shaking his head. "You're a Death Eater now so you just have poison lying around your dormitory. I know Darrin was in your room before you 'found' him. He told me he wanted to go get his money from you. I know this is your fault. I suppose now that you're a Death Eater you don't care who you kill—"
"That's not true," I insisted as a sob rose in my throat. "I didn't want him to die—I feel terrible—"
"Oh please—you're probably thrilled. Now there's one less person who knows your dirty little secret. Am I next, then? Did you come here to kill me and cover up all the evidence?"
"No," I said immediately, taken aback by his accusation. "I didn't—I swear I didn't—and I'm not going to hurt you—I won't. I...you're free to tell whoever you want. Tell Dumbledore if you must. I belong in Azkaban—for this and for everything."
His brown eyebrows narrowed with his eyes as he studied me. I saw now, in the faint light, that the whites in his eyes had a pink tinge, and his usually groomed hair was a frayed mess on top of his head. Darrin was his best friend and I'd killed him. I was no better than Voldemort. I was a true Death Eater now, a true murderer. I loathed Voldemort for taking my loved ones from me but now I'd taken a loved one from Urquhart—and all of Darrin's friends—and all of his family—
"He's not—" Urquhart began, pausing to sigh. "He's not actually dead, Fitzroy. Whatever poison you had only lasted an hour. Apparently it just put him into a death-like state, and he came back to life after. If you'd been planning to kill him, it didn't work."
My heart surged upward, and the breath that escaped my mouth was an exuberant laugh. "He's—he's alive!" I breathed as a smile broadened on my lips. "Oh my God—he's alive!"
Welling with tears, my eyes fell onto Darrin, whose chest was heaving up and down beneath the white sheets of the bed. I wanted to explode with tears of happiness—to jump on Urquhart with a hug of celebration—but when my gaze fell back onto the boy in the chair, the boy who clearly still abhorred me with all of his being, I quickly turned off my emotions and cleared my throat.
"I'm so—glad," I said in my most neutral tone. "And I'm so—sorry. Really."
Urquhart's face was tart as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Right."
"He'll be...okay, right?"
"Yeah, they're bringing him to St. Mungo's tomorrow—but I probably shouldn't have told you that. Now you'll send your Death Eater friends to go finish the job that you failed at, won't you?"
"I don't want him dead, Brian, I swear—"
"Wow, you called me by my first name," he drawled with heavy sarcasm. "You must be telling the truth."
"I am," I insisted heatedly. "You saw me before—I couldn't even keep my most dangerous secret a secret from you two. I'm not a liar—or I'm not a good one anyway."
"You've convinced everyone that you had nothing to do with this." He motioned toward his friend lying in the bed, and I winced. "You can lie when you want to. I'll be sure to watch my back, Fitzroy. Darrin may have been fooled into trusting you, but I won't be. It is ironic that the school's best lie detector couldn't see through you, isn't it? A terrible irony."
"I don't want—"
"Just go, little Death Eater," he snapped mockingly. "Go make your plots to kill me. I'll be waiting."
I sighed, closing my eyes and wishing that I could open them and be in a different time or a different place. To go back to my first year would be nice, when I was innocent and happy. Or my second year, when I still thought my mum was a simple Muggle. Or my third year, when my biggest problem was boys. Or, even my fourth year, after my father was dead but I still had my brothers, still had Fred... But, as I expected, when my eyes opened again, I was still staring into Urquhart's acrimonious face, Darrin was still lying unconscious on the hospital bed, and my left arm was still burning with the Mark that had forever cursed me. I was no longer a good little girl; I was a plague, a disease that harmed every person that I came into contact with, even those whom I had just met that day.
∆
The mysterious and almost fatal accident with Darrin Hunt was all anyone could talk about at Hogwarts over the next two weeks, and, for some inexplicable reason, no one in the school even had the slightest idea that I was the one behind it—no one except for Malfoy, Melody, and Urquhart, of course. Everyone else was under the impression that it had been an unnamed first year that accidentally concocted a poison and left it where Darin could find it and drink it. This story was fishy to my ears, of course, but I allowed people to think what they wanted as long as they didn't think the truth.
The Darrin fiasco was a nice distraction from classes, which were at an all time high in the boring department. With everything else that was going on in my life, going to class just felt so trivial, and though I'd never been a huge fan of school, never had I loathed every minute of it. I was too anxious about too many things to focus: I couldn't stop thinking about how we were going to sneak a horde of Death Eaters into the school or how we were going to kill Dumbledore or how I was going to keep it all a secret from all of my friends or how I was even going to get Malfoy to talk to me again. Since our epic failure with the Sherbet Lemons (which I honestly should have known would be a dud—no, a disaster from the start), he'd been avoiding me completely. He sat far away from the fifth years at meals, he fled the common room when I entered, and he'd even switched spots with Crabbe in D.A.D.A. and Melody in Arithmancy to avoid me. I now had to practice spells with Crabbe, which was really just me demolishing him, and I had to fudge my way through magical math with Melody, to Harper's great dismay. He'd put up quite a fight to keep Melody as his partner, as she was now his snogging partner as well. The entire argument had put me into a boiling rage that's origin I couldn't identify. I should have been happy for Harper; he was one of my best friends and he was finally with the girl of his dreams. It was an issue I tried not to dwell on because I constantly came to the conclusion that I was a selfish and irrational bitch.
Saturday September 14th was the first day that I managed to enter the common room without Malfoy storming out in a frazzled hurry. This was not because he had any intention of speaking with me, though; when I arrived, it seemed that he was in the middle of a debate with Ashley Pucey. She was dressed in her green Quidditch robes, and her blonde hair was pulled back in a sporty ponytail. Crabbe, standing next to Malfoy, was admiring her quite openly.
"Gryffindor is having their tryouts today," she was saying as I cautiously approached them. "We have to have our tryouts! They can't have a team before we do! We can't let them get ahead of us!"
Malfoy's expression was one of boredom as he examined the ceiling far above her head. "I don't know what you want me to do about it, Pucey."
"You need to hold the tryouts!" she exploded exasperatedly. "Today—now! We need to make a team—"
"I have more important things to worry about than Quidditch," he informed her as his cold grey eyes fell onto her furious face. He noticed, just then, that I'd appeared on the outskirts of their conversation, and his face drooped with distaste.
"But—but you have to!" Ashley pleaded, unexpectedly taking hold of the collar of his shirt and shaking him with her words. "Crabbe and Goyle are too stupid to do it, and I'm not allowed to because I'm a bloody girl! You're the only person on the team that can do it!"
"What am I too stupid to do?" Crabbe asked mindlessly, his eyes fixated on her hair as it caught a few stray rays of light.
"Everything!" Ashley exploded as she let go of Malfoy's shirt and pushed him backwards. He straightened his black button-down and tried not to look too stricken.
"Ready for tryouts, Pucey?" Brian Urquhart said as he came strolling over to us, also already clothed in Quidditch gear. A crooked grin was plastered on his lips, and for the first time since the Darrin accident, he actually didn't look completely repulsed by my presence. "You too, Fitzroy?"
"What are you talking about?" Ashley demanded shrilly.
"I'm talking about the fact that I'm the Slytherin Quidditch Captain this year," Urquhart explained suavely. "And unlike Montague, I'm confident enough in my own skills not to be threatened by girls playing on the team. You'll still need to try out, of course, but I'm assuming you two will fare well."
"You—can't—be—the—Captain!" Ashley fumed, emphasizing each word dramatically. "You were never even on the team!"
Urquhart shrugged carelessly. "I had a concussion. And, even though I've never formally played for Slytherin, I'm sure I could kick all of your asses. Besides, Malfoy doesn't seem to be stepping up to the occasion."
"I'm not playing this year," Malfoy informed him bluntly. "I don't have time for petty games anymore."
Urquhart's nonchalance faded with this. "But you're our Seeker. You have been for years—"
"Make Aaron Vaisey do it. He was my reserve last year."
"Aaron Vaisey is—a good friend," Urquhart began as he lowered his voice, "but he's a terrible Quidditch player. We need you."
"I guess this is probably the best time for me to announce that I don't want to play either," I put in before Malfoy could retort. "So don't count on me as Keeper."
Urquhart's face had formed a fierce scowl. "Why don't you want to play?"
I pursed my lips before saying, "Well, I'm sure you're aware that my brother was murdered, so."
"So what?" he prompted impatiently.
"So I don't want to play," I concluded, keeping my head high with finality.
"What does your brother dying have to do with you playing on the Quidditch team?"
"Yeah, Fitzroy, please enlighten us," Malfoy chimed in with a malicious smirk forming on his smug face.
"It—has—everything to do with it," I stammered in aggravation. "I'm not playing, all right?"
Urquhart's angular jaw was set with frustration as he stomped over to me and grabbed me by the elbow. "Excuse us for a moment."
"You have to play, Lainey!" Ashley called after us as Urquhart dragged me into an empty corner of the common room. "I don't want to be the only girl!"
A hefty sigh escaped my lips once Urquhart and I were huddled alone on the other end of the room. "What?"
"This is because of your Death Eater nonsense, isn't it?" he questioned, his eyebrows rising not with anger but with annoyance. "You think you're above Quidditch because you're in league with You-Know-Who—"
"No, I just don't have the time or the energy or the desire—"
"Yeah, well, you'd better acquire the desire because you will play on the team. It's the only year I've ever been able to play and I won't let it be a disaster. Whether you like to play or not, you're good, maybe even better than Bletchley was. We won't find another Slytherin better than you, so if you want to keep your Dark Mark a secret, you'll play."
"You're blackmailing me." It wasn't a question. "Why does this not surprise me? All of you Slytherins are the same."
"You'd better convince Malfoy to be our Seeker too," he added with a glance back at the blond prat. "If you don't think I've figured out he's your little Death Eater partner, you really are an idiot."
"How—how—"
"Everyone knows his father went to Azkaban for being a Death Eater," Urquhart cut in with as his lips curved maniacally. "It was only a matter of time before he became one himself. If You-Know-Who was willing to recruit you, I'd think he'd be happy to put a Mark on a pureblood."
Irked but also impressed, I submitted to Urquhart's will and followed him back to the others as he beamed with triumph.
"Tell everyone you can, Pucey," he commanded of Ashley. "We'll hold the tryouts in an hour."
"Yes, yes, yes!" Ashley squealed as she hopped up and down. "QUIDDITCH!"
As she proceeded to skip around the common room and sing to everyone about the upcoming tryouts, Urquhart beckoned for Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, and I to follow him out of the common room. Like dogs, Crabbe and Goyle trailed behind him, but Malfoy stood where he was, giving me a satisfied look of amusement.
"I'm assuming you succumbed to Urquhart's peer pressure because you're weak," he drawled as his eyes sparkled like polluted water. "Have fun playing your dumb game. I'll be doing something of importance—"
"No, you'll change out of your unnecessarily formal clothes and come to the tryouts. You're playing on the team."
He snorted at me with an eye roll. "When'd you get such a big head, Fitzroy?"
"You love Quidditch," I insisted lamely.
All lightness left his expression as his muscles hardened. "There are more important things to be worrying about right now—"
"Yes, I know that, and you know that, but no one else knows that. Everyone thinks that school and Quidditch are important. Everyone thinks that life is about happiness and fun but we know that it's not and we can't let other people know that we know that."
He licked his lips before saying, "It must be something about the filthiness of your half-blood that makes every word that comes out of your mouth a jumble of meaninglessness—"
"I'm serious," I insisted through gritted teeth. "You love Quidditch. Everyone knows you love Quidditch and competition and beating Harry. They're going to know something's up if you all of a sudden quit the team after five years."
The fact that my words had finally penetrated his brain was clear in the bitterness that had consumed his face.
"Fine, I'll play on the ruddy team," he finally said with strong agitation. "But that means you actually need to help me now, Fitzroy. No more candy poisoning ideas—"
"I thought that was a good idea at the time, all right?"
"Further proof of your worthlessness," he injected spitefully. "Let's get out of here. Pucey's singing is permanently damaging my eardrums..."
∆
"I don't even know why this tryout is necessary," Carl Vaisey was saying to me as we trekked out onto the field. The sun was hidden behind a layer of clouds, but the air was warm on the skin of my neck as I pulled my hair off of it and into a misshapen bun. Many of the Slytherins had already gathered in the grass, huddling with brooms in hands, all clad in green. Across the pitch, the Gryffindors had already commenced their tryout, and as I watched Ginny soar effortlessly through the air, every part of me yearned to fly over there and join her. Maybe if I had been a Gryffindor Muggle-born my life wouldn't suck the way it did now. But, those were precisely the thoughts that I had to eradicate from my head; the Gryffindors were my stark enemies now, and my withstanding emotions for them had to be quenched.
"Why isn't it necessary?" I asked him as I fidgeted with the padding on my arms. Changing in the locker rooms had not been ideal for two reasons: one being that Ashley and I were the only girls brave enough to try out, meaning that all of the other Slytherins in the locker room had been males, and two being that I had this black and blaringly noticeable Dark Mark on my left forearm. I'd resorted to the broom cupboard, as usual.
"It isn't necessary because we all know who's going to be on the team," Vaisey assured me as we approached the large horde of Slytherins. Many were young boys, eager to make it on the team. Each one scowled at me with clear contempt; obviously they should receive a spot on the team over a girl.
"Who do you mean?" I asked, glancing over at him curiously.
"Do you see those scrawny kids up there?" he questioned, motioning with his broom toward the group of little boys. "None of them stand a chance. No. It'll be me, Draco, Vin, Greg, Brian and then Ashley and you, unfortunately. It's a pity, really, that I'm the only boy in our year who can fly on a broom. Girls are nice to look at but they're not meant for Quidditch."
"Thank you," I said dryly.
"Oh, I wasn't talking about you," he assured me haughtily. "Nah, I don't look at you. You'll always be somewhat of a Mudblood in my mind. I prefer girls like Astoria, the hot purebloods."
"Don't you all," I muttered scathingly as we finally stepped into the group of Slytherins. Ashley was already there, asserting herself as an authority figure by standing boldly next to Urquhart. Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy were among the crowd, all standing a head taller than the rest. The only other boy who seemed to be above fourth year was a brown-haired boy who had positioned himself next to Malfoy, speaking casually with him. At first I didn't notice who he was until he turned his gaze toward us to reveal his familiar blue eyes.
"Lainey! Thank God you're here," Ryan Harper said as Vaisey and I reluctantly approached them. "I couldn't imagine playing on the team without you."
"I couldn't imagine you playing on the team at all," Malfoy countered, earning a few snickers from Crabbe and Goyle.
"What position are you trying out for?" Vaisey asked defensively. Clearly he hadn't anticipated Harper trying out, though, judging by his inability to get onto the team last year, I doubted that Harper would be a threat to him.
"Whatever I'm best at, I guess," Harper told him with a shrug.
"Are you even good at anything?" Malfoy questioned snidely. "The only thing you've got any real talent at is fawning over that purple-haired psycho."
"Oh shut your fat mouth, Malfoy—"
"No, he's right," Harper spoke over me. "I am fairly good at fawning over Melody. One of my finest traits, apparently, since my flattery seems to be working on her. Look, she came to watch me."
My eyes flew over to the stands where I saw that Anderson was sitting, waving at us with one hand and holding Smellfoy with the other. Next to him, with a decent gap between them, sat Melody whose purple hair was covering her face as she bent over to read an enormous book. Astoria, as I had expected, was absent.
"Looks like she came to read, actually," I observed with a bit too much satisfaction.
"No, she's here for me," Harper insisted adamantly. "She's in love with me now. You will not believe what she can do with her tongue—"
"That's gross, Harper, please—"
"Oh c'mon, Lay," he whined. "I can't talk about my sex life with Anderson. He's too distraught about losing that Weasley—"
"S-Sex life?" I stammered as my jaw dropped and my throat went dry. "Did you—have you—no—no—you can't—she—you—oh—ugh—no—please—"
"Stop stuttering, Fitzroy," Malfoy snapped at me. As I continued to spit out nonsensical words, he turned to Harper and asked, "What's wrong with her?"
"Dunno, she just started malfunctioning," he said as he gave my shoulder a nudge. Feeling as though I'd been punched in the chest, I flinched away and staggered into Vaisey, who didn't seem too miffed by the fact that I was practically leaning on him for support.
"Listen up, everyone," Urquhart nearly shouted, startling a few of the younger boys. I was too stricken by the fact that Harper had had sex with Melody to even care as our new Captain explained the tryout procedure. Somehow, the thought of it made me want to puke and cry at the same time.
The tryout process was quick and, as Vaisey had said, somewhat unnecessary. As soon as we all lifted off of the ground, it was apparent which students were going to secure a spot on the team. Even though my heart and my head were out of the game, Ashley, Urquhart, and Vaisey were the only three that came even mildly close to scoring on me, Ashley being the only one to succeed. Malfoy lazily caught the Snitch three times, Crabbe and Goyle knocked nearly half of the younger boys off of their brooms with Bludgers, and the only other person who managed to accomplish something of slight worth was Harper, who accidentally caught the Snitch when it collided with his forehead. In the end, it was exactly how Vaisey had predicted: I was Keeper, Ashley, Urquhart, and Vaisey were Chasers, Crabbe and Goyle were Beaters, and Malfoy was Seeker. Two third years were appointed as reserve Chasers, and Harper was appointed as reserve Seeker, to his great delight. I had no reserve because Urquhart had made it very clear that I wasn't permitted to miss a single match or practice. Apparently no one even came close to rivaling my skill...or maybe Urquhart was just trying to torture me... The latter seemed more likely.
After the team was announced, the dejected boys trudged back to the locker room with hanging heads and slumped shoulders while Urquhart gave us a strict and overbearing practice schedule. I spent most of his lecture staring over at the Gryffindors, as their tryout was still going on. Ginny was fantastic, and Harry was Captain now, and Ron had improved as Keeper, and Hermione was in the stands cheering them all on... I'd never necessarily been jealous of Hermione, and I wasn't sure that I even wanted to be like her, but in that moment, my envy for her was immense. I wanted to be a Gryffindor, cheering my friends on from the stands. I wanted my biggest care in the world to be school and my grades rather than how I planned to assassinate an innocent man. I wanted to be a Mudblood. I wanted to be a Mudblood. What kind of Slytherin Death Eater ever wanted that? What functioning witch or wizard ever wanted that?
I lingered on the field after the rest of the team went back to the locker room to change. Part of me wanted to wander over to the Gryffindors and talk to them. Maybe if I just explained the situation, we could all go back to normal—back to being friends and being happy. But that was irrational and silly, I concluded after grappling with my own mind for a few agonizing minutes. I was a Death Eater. They would never forgive me for that. I was what they hated most; they would never love me. Maybe I was meant to be in Slytherin for this. None of my close Slytherin friends would be pleased to hear that I was a Death Eater, but they certainly wouldn't treat me with the same amount of contempt that the Gryffindors would. Some of the Slytherins, some that had always hated me, might even start to like me for being allied with Voldemort. Slytherin was where I belonged now, and it was who I needed to be now. For the first time, I walked away from the Gryffindors with the acceptance of my new fate, my new identity, my new friends...
When I entered the Slytherin locker room, most of the actual team was still undressing from their Quidditch garments, and I made sure to cover my eyes as I passed Crabbe and Goyle. Ashley seemed to be drooling over Crabbe's blubber, which was cute and sweet...in a disturbing sort of way... Urquhart was mostly dressed, so I gave him a quick smile, which he returned with creased eyebrows. Vaisey received a smile from me as well, and his response was an eye roll. I couldn't seem to bring myself to grin at Harper as I slipped by him; when I looked at him now, I just saw Melody's aura of evilness surrounding him like a purple cloud.
My mind and my eyes were elsewhere as I entered the large broom closet. I didn't look at what was within when the light from the locker room flooded in; I searched blindly for my clothes once I was concealed in darkness. I found my sweater hanging on one of the hooks, but my pants were seemingly lost. My hands groped in the near blackness until they stumbled upon something warm and soft and...flesh-like...
"Oh—oh no—" I stammered as I stumbled backward and fumbled for my wand. Once it was in my hand, I whispered, "Lumos", only to be blinded by the bright light that reflected off of his pale skin and white, windswept hair. His torso was completely bare, but (luckily) his pants were on. The rapid pace of my heart beat was threatening to crack my ribcage, but judging by the slow rise and fall of his chest—that I could see all too clearly—he was not so perturbed.
"What—what are you—are—"
"Can't get enough of me, Fitzroy?" Draco Malfoy mused, his eyebrows jumping slickly.
"I think I'm getting a little bit too much of you right now, if we're being honest," I managed to say before swallowing down my excited jitters. I hadn't seen Malfoy shirtless since my second year when he attacked me while wearing only a towel. My young self had found him mildly appealing, but now...he'd gotten much taller and he'd certainly grown into his body well. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't find his very existence enthralling. But our physical attraction would never mask his atrocious personality. He was a Death Eater—but then...so was I.
"Well," he began, his eyes dancing over me like two gems in the light of my wand, "did you come in here to snog or what?"
"No," I answered instantly, feeling flustered by his close proximity. "I just—I didn't want anyone to see my Mark—or my body—so...so leave."
A snort came from his nostrils as he rolled his eyes. "Leave? I'm not leaving. I was in here first. I suppose that if you insist that we play Quidditch, we're going to have to share this little broom cupboard while we change. How do you feel about that?"
"I feel like vomiting," I informed him flatly. "Why are you in here anyway? I would think you'd want to intimidate the others with your—"
"With my what?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow when I cut myself off abruptly.
"You—know," I managed to spew as my face flushed with hot blood. "You're full of yourself enough to know what I'm trying to say."
Presumptuously, his lips twitched upward as he took a surreptitious step toward me. "Are you finally admitting your obvious attraction to me, Fitzroy?"
I gulped and tried to say "No" but nothing seemed to emit from my throat. Being in a closet with Fred had seemed natural and comfortable and sweet, but being trapped in here with Malfoy was alarming and stressful but somehow intoxicating. I had always said no to even the smallest idea of fancying Draco Malfoy because he'd bullied me for years and because I'd been preoccupied with Fred and because my Gryffindor friends would berate me for even considering it, but now...now Malfoy didn't harass me and being in love with Fred was out of the question and my Gryffindor friends couldn't even be my friends anymore—
What was stopping me? Why had I not already torn off my clothes and pounced on top of him? I'd suppressed my desire for Malfoy for years because other things had been in the way and it had simply not been the right time but now nothing was in the way and the time was perfect, so...why?
"I—I—"
"You're still in love with Weasley," he finished, his demeanor deflating into virulence.
"I was," I confirmed slowly, meeting his eyes timidly. "The old me was, but the new me can't be, so..."
"So you're in love with Harper then," he concluded. "I see how upset you are by the fact that he's with Flemming now. Do you think I'm blind?"
"I'm not in love with Harper, " I insisted with a bit more firmness. "I'm not in love with anyone—I can't be in love with anyone—and that's the point."
"What's the point?"
"That's the point," I repeated forcefully. "I'm not in love with anyone. Anyone," I added with emphasis, my eyes boring into his, willing him to understand. He did catch on rather quickly, his lips twisting with instant irritation.
"And what? You think I'm in love with you?"
"No," I answered honestly. "And that's the point. I don't want to be your little sex toy. I don't want you to treat me like Melody treats Harper now. I don't want..." I took a breath, "to be with you...like that."
His eyebrows were angled with a mixture of aggravation and contemplation, but he couldn't seem to deny, refute, or question anything that I had said.
"I'm in here because I don't want anyone to see my Mark either," he admitted with seriousness to his tone. "We can't trust anyone. So we are going to share this broom cupboard."
"Won't the others find it suspicious if you change in here? What reason would you have not to change with everyone else?"
His smirk was sly. "Perhaps I'll just say I wanted to be in here with you."
I rolled my eyes and fought my lips as they tried to curve upward. "Like anyone's going to believe that. You hate me, remember?"
"You said yourself that you're not a Mudblood anymore. Maybe we don't have to hate each other anymore."
He held my gaze, not daring to look away, so I asked, "Why the sudden change of heart? Two weeks ago you insisted that we act like we always have."
Arrogance now faded from his expression, and I could tell by the twitch of his nose that he was either irked with me or undergoing an internal battle.
"I've—"
"You've missed me?" I offered when he couldn't finish his own sentence.
"No," he retorted without any real conviction that he was telling the truth. "I just...need you...to help me. I can't do it alone. I don't...want to."
"You need me, huh?" I mused, allowing myself to grin. "That's cute."
"I'm serious, Fitzroy," he growled, not sharing my amusement. "Do you think I enjoyed admitting that I need your help?"
"No, which was why I enjoyed it so much—"
"Shut—up," he snarled emphatically. "We have to do this—"
"Well, I'm still not keen on the idea of killing Dumbledore, but—"
"I'm not letting you screw this up for me, Fitzroy," he barked, taking a step toward me that was violent rather than seductive. Now my heart was beating rapidly with anxiousness rather than excitement. "This is my chance to prove myself to the Dark Lord."
"Me too, apparently," I said with a sigh, thinking of what might happen to Lupin or even Fred if I didn't go through with this. "Wouldn't want to disappoint."
"Good," he huffed, taking a step back and straightening himself with poise. Underneath the muscles of his chest I could see his heart was beginning to slow, and the redness in his face was fading into paleness again. "Change quickly," he commanded of me as he shoved his arms through the sleeves of his black button-down. "We're going somewhere."
"Where?" I asked as I slipped the padding off of my arms and legs. My wand was still lit but lying on the floor now, casting shadows on Malfoy as he buttoned his shirt.
"You'll see, just hurry up."
Hastily, I scampered into the far corner of the closet and with my back to Malfoy, I pulled my Quidditch shirt up over my head.
"You're looking a little boney there, Fitzroy," I heard his smooth voice say from behind me. Startled, I jumped and quickly covered my chest with my arms. I wasn't even facing him and I was wearing a bra, but I still felt overly exposed in the dim lighting.
"Don't look at me," I snapped as I pivoted my head slightly to glare at him. Of course he was grinning impishly.
"Have you been eating at all?" he asked with a condescending tone. "You should know that skinny girls don't impress me. It's unhealthy if anything."
"Good thing I'm not trying to impress you," I quipped irascibly as I tugged my sweater over my head. My bun came undone and endless strands of wavy black hair fell over my face. "I...will try to eat more, though..."
"So you are trying to impress me," he concluded cockily.
"You wouldn't be able to resist me if I tried," I assured him jokingly, and he actually let out a mild laugh. I should have demanded that he leave the closet while I finished changing, but if we both planned to conceal our Marks, I would have to get used to being half naked with him in such a tight space. Besides, Draco Malfoy didn't intimidate me, and he only enticed me slightly. Only slightly.
∆
"If you're bringing me somewhere secret so you can kill me, I'll have you know that I...will...kill you first," I said with uncertainty as Draco Malfoy and I stalked up the moving stairs of the castle. He was clothed in a fancy black suit now, while I wore a simple black sweater and jeans. We looked like we were headed to a funeral.
"If I were planning on killing you, Fitzroy, I would have done it in the broom cupboard," he scoffed, keeping his voice low and his eyes wary of passing students. Spirits were high throughout Hogwarts on this lovely Saturday afternoon, though it was clear just by our attire that Malfoy and I were not in the same cheerful mood. As we landed on the seventh floor, I sincerely hoped that we wouldn't get anywhere near Gryffindor tower. The Gryffindors had finished tryouts by the time we'd finished changing, and the last thing I wanted was for Ginny or Harry to see me sneaking around the castle with Malfoy.
"Then where are we going?" I asked through my teeth. Harmony Flemming and Dennis Creevey were just passing us in the corridor, and even when she waved enthusiastically I could only manage to force a smirk. Malfoy seemed to be irked by the fact that I'd acknowledged her at all.
"I've searched this entire blasted castle and I haven't found the Vanishing Cabinet," he said, now leaning closer to me as we walked. "So I know where it is."
I blinked, turning my gaze up toward him as he scowled ahead at a group of Gryffindors. "Er—what?"
"Isn't it obvious, Fitzroy?" he sneered impatiently. "You should know—you spent so much time in there with Potter and his gang last year—"
"What are you—" I began to say, but I paused my sentence and my strides as the realization dawned on me. We were on the seventh floor, the Vanishing Cabinet had been moved to a place where no one would find it— "The Room of Requirement."
"Took you long enough," he muttered as he took hold of my elbow to pull me along. After we rounded a corner, I shrugged out of his grasp.
"Have you gone inside yet to look?" I asked him as we approached the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy. Luckily, the hallway was empty, and after extra cautiously checking both ways, we stepped up to the empty wall.
"No," he said, his lips sliding into an upward curve as the door materialized on the wall before us. "I thought this would be a fun bonding experience for us. Besides, what kind of assistant would you be if I didn't make you do all the work?"
I rolled my eyes, but he didn't seem to notice as he twisted the brass knob and shoved the door open. Within, I expected the high walls of bookshelves and the open floor plan with mats, like the room had been last year during our D.A. meetings, but instead, as Malfoy yanked me in, we were greeted with overflowing masses of junk. The room was piled high with dusty objects, many old and broken, and the mountains of it were seemingly endless.
"What happened in here?" I questioned, my eyes wide and incredulous as I tried to distinguish the different items.
"The room gives you what you need," he started as he took a few gradual steps inward, leaving the door behind us. "Apparently we needed the dump where everyone throws their old rubbish."
"Splendid," I mumbled as I began to sift through one of the trash piles. There were old broken wands, books, filled potion vials, and even shoes and torn clothes—literally anything we could ever think of finding. As we strolled deeper into the jungle of junk, we found larger objects, like old brooms and furniture. Malfoy was examining an ancient box not too far from me when I spotted a large mass concealed under a dusty sheet. Swiftly, I yanked the sheet down, showering myself in a thick layer of dust particles that invaded my eyes and mouth. When I'd finished coughing and rubbing my eyes red, I noticed that Malfoy had popped up next to me.
"I knew there was a reason I wanted help from someone as petulant as you," he mused as he eyed the Vanishing Cabinet with awe.
"Don't get too excited," I warned him wryly. "Unless someone's fixed it, it's still broken. Montague nearly died—"
"Montague tried to Apparate out—"
"Because it wouldn't take him anywhere...probably," I added with a slight bit of doubt. "I s'pose we should check, though, to be sure."
"I'm not going in there and getting stuck. You would clearly be incapable of helping me—"
"More like I'd be unwilling to help you," I retorted snidely. "I'm not going in either. We'll just try to send some of this junk through to see if the passageway is still intact."
I expected maybe a "Good idea", but then this was Malfoy, and no idea was good unless it was his own. Nevertheless, he grabbed an old quill from a nearby pile and then proceeded to open the cabinet door. He only displaced it a few centimeters before scrambling back and dropping the quill.
"There's—there's something moving in there," he stammered, his face paling as his heart rate accelerated.
"What kind of thing?" I questioned, eyeing the slightly ajar cabinet with skepticism.
"I thought I saw—I thought—"
"What?"
"Just—just open it," he commanded, now standing a few steps behind me. I sighed at his cowardice before stepping forward to swing the door open. I'd been braced for some sort of animal or magical being, so when a human man stepped out, I, too, staggered back.
His skin was so pale that it was almost translucent, like a ghost, and his face was so badly distorted with scratches and bruises that I almost didn't recognize him at first. But, as my hazy eyes glossed over him, his bright orange hair, dead brown eyes, and familiar tall body structure were unmistakable. I was staring at Fred Weasley's corpse.
My heart stopped and my breath caught in my throat as his lifeless body plummeted to the ground in front of me. I was paralyzed with his dead face crushing my feet, and I could feel the beginnings of a scream rising in my throat. Fred was dead. Someone had killed him and shoved him in the Vanishing Cabinet. But—but how? How did he get here? Did he come from Borgin and Burkes? And why was he...moving?
Fred's moving corpse managed to freak me out more than the motionless one, so I was slightly relieved when the body stood up and was no longer Fred's at all...until I recognized the greying hair, scar scratched face, and dead, drooping eyes of my uncle.
"N-no—no—" I stammered, nearly stumbling to the ground as Lupin's body dropped like a withered tree. Blood trickled down his paled face, and I could barely manage to stifle a sob as the body heaved upward again, this time assuming a much smaller figure. Her vibrant red hair made her pasty face look even whiter. There was no life or expression in her dull brown eyes, and once her front smacked the ground, I saw that her back had been torn apart with claw marks.
I knew exactly what this was, but my heart couldn't seem to register the truth. As Ginny lay dead on the floor, I wanted to pick her up and hold her in my arms and apologize for everything—how mean I'd been to her, how I'd pushed her away, and for the fact that I was probably the reason she was dead. This scenario—all of the people I loved dying—could come true so easily that it felt like reality. My boggart before had been my father and brothers dying, and for the most part, that had happened. Was this, in some way, my Seeing ability warning me of what was to come?
The next body to rise, I thought, should have been Harry or Hermione or Ron or Harper or any of my close friends, but instead, as the boggart got to its feet, I saw that it had taken the form of Draco Malfoy.
His white-blonde hair was a disaster, frayed and coated in blood. His face was gaunt and decaying, his grey eyes like lifeless stones. It took quite a bit of will for me to pivot my head to the side and look at the real Malfoy, the living Malfoy that was standing at my side. He'd blanched almost as much as his dead counterpart, but his eyes were wide with expression and his mouth hung open with utter disbelief.
"Is that...me?" he blurted, right before his corpse fell to the ground with a thud.
I only managed to nod as I slowly pulled my wand out of my pocket. "Get—get that box," I commanded him. "The one you were looking at before—get it now." I didn't want to see whose dead body would stand up next.
Living Malfoy was frozen, so I nudged him incessantly before he scampered over to the nearby junk pile and retrieved the box. Just as the boggart was rising to its feet, now with hair as black as night, I held up my wand and cried, "Riddikulus!"
The body didn't get a chance to stand before it deflated into a black mass that flew straight into the open box in Malfoy's hands. He clamped it shut hastily and then chucked it out of sight immediately. With a sigh, he turned back toward me, and when he realized that I'd been staring at him, his lips frowned and his nose scrunched.
"What, Fitzroy? Stop looking at me like that," he snapped, gazing back at the Cabinet uncomfortably.
"I-I'm sorry," I stuttered, feeling the heat in my cheeks rushing from my racing heart. "About that—I'm sorry about that. I should have...I should have gotten rid of it quicker. I've never actually gotten rid of a boggart before..."
"Seems your fear has changed," was his only remark, and I instantly knew he was referring to the time I'd faced the boggart in my second year in D.A.D.A.; that was the first day I could remember him actually being decently civil with me, and now I was surprised that he recalled it as well.
"There's no use in being afraid of something that will never happen because it already has happened," I told him, staring blankly at the now empty Vanishing Cabinet. "What did you see when you opened it?"
"Nothing," he scoffed immediately. "Nothing scares me."
I rolled my eyes as the hint of a smirk played on my lips. "Right, well, you looked positively frightened when you saw your own dead body—"
"Your fear is dumb, Fitzroy," he cut in hastily. "Clearly I'm not going to die—not while I'm young, anyway."
"Right," I noted, studying him wryly.
"Does it..." he began, his eyes twitching briefly in my direction, "does it really scare you? Me dying?"
"I...suppose," I answered vaguely as I played anxiously with my hair. "The boggart seemed to think so anyway. I guess...the possibility of you dying is fairly high...compared to others. If we don't complete this task, I think we'll both be dead."
This notion seemed to haunt him, for he stared at the Vanishing Cabinet gravely for a rather long moment. Finally, he said, "We'd better get started, then."