The Dueling Club was gruelling.
At least when Lockhart was talking. The ridiculous octopus-haired show-off was prancing around, shamelessly plugging his books.
"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works."
"He should plug his published works up his arse," Drew scowled.
Her twin sister around turned to shoot her a reprimanding look. Drew hadn't even realized she was there. "What?" she snapped.
Ari rolled her eyes, "Don't say that word."
Lockhart was still talking, "...assistant, Professor Snape. He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself!"
" 'A tiny little bit,' " Malfoy scoffed loudly. Drew found herself silently agreeing.
The DADA snothead didn't seem to hear, "Now I don't want any of you to worry — you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"
"I hope Snape kills him," Pansy whispered.
"I would read that book with rigour," Drew replied.
"You would read it with rigor mortis," Wilby giggled, elbowing her slightly.
She turned to him, "That was a very morbid pun and I loved it."
The whole room held their breath as Lockhart and Professor Snape stood with their backs to each other. The Head of House's face was such a mask of disdain and anger that Drew was surprised Lockhart wasn't quaking in his violet robes.
They both took ten steps away from each other before whipping around with their robes flying. Lockhart's mouth was opening, but Snape beat him to it. "Expelliarmus!" he bellowed.
A dazzlingly scarlet light blasted Lockhart in the chest. His wand went flying, and he did a backflip in the air before slamming into the wall, sliding to the ground with a whump for good measure.
The screams of alarm masked Drew's clapping and Malfoy's cheering.
Snape glanced in her direction, and she could have sworn he was smirking just a little.
Unfortunately, Lockhart hadn't been given the humiliating death he deserved.
The idiot was unsteadily picking himself up. His ridiculous green hat had fallen off and his octopus hair was standing on end. "Well, there you have it!" he exclaimed ebulliently, teetering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm — as you see, I've lost my wand — ah, thank you, Miss Brown — yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy — however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see..."
Drew wanted to break open his skull and stab his stupid brain.
Snape seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Lockhart noticed and quickly squawked, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help —"
The two teachers moved through the crowd, matching up partners.
To Malfoy's glee, he got put with Potter. He skipped off to find him, bragging that he was going to eviscerate him.
Having lost her Draco, Pansy reached for Millicent, only for her friend to get stuck with Hermione.
"Parkinson and Piramyd," Lockhart singsonged while fixing his hair. "Such a wonderful-sounding pair!"
"Seriously?" Pansy growled at him. Her eyes flashed hatred, but she grudgingly shot Cyndee a half-smile.
"Blue and Getaway," Lockhart grinned widely. "I expect great things from you two Getaway girls," he laughed, rubbing her head.
Drew ducked away from the unwanted patting. "Don't harass your students," she barked angrily.
Lockhart instantly blushed crimson, "Oh, I...I apologize." He hurriedly stumbled back onto the platform and called out, "Face your partners! And bow!"
Drew inclined her head, and Wilby did a full-on Japanese bow with his hands on his thighs, making her laugh.
"Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents — only to disarm them — we don't want any accidents — one...two...three!"
At the same time, Drew and Wilby blasted their spells. Two white beams shot towards the other, and Wilby's wand was yanked out of his hand. Drew whirled to the side, Wilby's spell spinning past her and making Neville's wand go flying.
Neville couldn't notice the Slytherin boy's apologies, as he was busy untangling himself from a surprise tackle by Justin Finch-Fletchley.
Suddenly Lockhart was clamouring for something to stop, and Snape was booming "Finite Incantatem!"
The room quieted dramatically. Ron was patting Seamus on the back and muttering about a broken wand, and an angry Millicent was trying to punch Hermione. Malfoy and Potter shunned away from each other, and Drew realized they were the main reason for Snape's spell.
"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd like a shy meerkat, peering around at the aftermath of the duels. "Up you go, Macmillan...Careful there, Miss Fawcett...Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second." He risked a glimpse at the furious Snape, and spluttered out, "Er, let's have a volunteer pair! Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley —"
"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape scornfully, swooping over like a malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Neville's pink face went pinker. Snape's mouth twisted into a gnarled grin, "How about Malfoy and Potter?"
"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, appearing overly eager to go along with the Potions professor. He ushered Potter and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed off to give them room.
"Oh, this'll be dramatic," Drew sniggered.
Lockhart appeared to be giving poor Harry some dreadful advice that involved flapping his wand about and then dropping it.
When the duel began, Malfoy had the upper hand. An unfamiliar spell, Serpensortia, rushed past his lips and a long snake with glittery black scales erupted out of his wand, slithering for Potter with its fangs open.
Harry wisely scrambled a step back, as did the rest of the students.
Eyes glinting with misplaced glee, Snape lazily told Harry to not move and that he'd handle it, but Lockhart had another plan. His plan, of course, involved making everything worse.
"Allow me!" he shouted, striding over, keen to redeem himself. He waved his wand with a bang, and the serpent bounced ten feet into the air before angrily falling to the ground with a smack.
Just when Drew thought things couldn't get more interesting, as the snake slinked its way over to an alarmed Justin Finch-Fletchley, Harry opened his mouth.
What he said wasn't English, nor was it anything that could even be called a human language. It was something composed of hisses and snarls and bites.
The snake froze and lowered itself into a docile pose, as if it'd been kicked unexpectedly.
"What do you think you're playing at?" Justin screeched, and before anyone could make a move, he was storming out of the hall.
"What was that?" Drew asked Pansy, hoping that she'd know and be willing to explain.
"That was Parselmouth," the Pureblood said carefully. "It's the ability to speak Parseltongue, the language of snakes. Salazar Slytherin was famous for having it."
Drew's eyes popped, "That's wicked awesome. Does that mean Potter's a descendant?"
"Probably," she shrugged, watching Potter and his friends walk out of the room. "Lucky bastard."
Back in the Slytherin Dungeons, everyone was whispering excitedly.
"Potter's probably the Heir of Slytherin," Isabell declared loudly.
"Are you an idiot?" Malfoy snapped, squinting his eyes. "Potter? He got rid of a Dark Wizard last year and now you think he's killing people like Granger? — who is his bloody best friend too, might I add."
"Then who do you think it is?" Eliza sneered. "Tell us, if you are so smart."
"I'm not allowed to tell," he announced smugly, grinning at all the attention. "I swore on the Malfoy honour."
"Malfoy honour, my foot!" Drew snarled. "You don't know anything."
"I know that you're a target," he argued back bitingly. People around them gasped at this new knowledge.
Drew clenched her fists, readying herself for a fight.
"It was obvious," Malfoy jeered. "Just look at your twin sister — anyone would know she's a Muggle-born. And just last week, I heard her confirm it herself."
Drew slow-clapped three times, "Great, you've established yourself as a total creep by stalking my sister."
"Don't turn this back on me, Getaway, you're the one with filthy blood." He reached for his wand —
Drew already had hers out, and she grabbed him by the front of his robes, the tip of her wand a fraction from his shocked face. "Just because I'm a 'Mudblood' doesn't mean I can't hex your pasty skin off," she hissed, frighteningly calm.
"Okay, okay, ENOUGH!" Xavier shouted from his armchair next to Quentin. "Honestly, Drew, can you not pick a fight with anyone who looks your way? And Malfoy, do stop bragging about things you don't know. You kids are so annoying. If it didn't make getting jobs so much easier, I would've quit ages ago."
"I...I..." Malfoy seethed, steam positively coming out of his ears. "You're probably a Mudblood too! With a name like Columbus, you can't possibly be anywhere near pureblood!"
The prefect glared at him like he was a petulant child, and in his eyes, he probably was. "Run along and do your homework. I heard you haven't touched Potions in two months."
Malfoy punched Goyle in the stomach and stomped into the dormitories.
Drew kicked Goyle in the side too, because she also needed to relieve her anger. He groaned and stumbled his way after Malfoy, Crabbe close behind.
"I can't believe you threatened Draco," Pansy said. Drew turned to look at her. She had her arms crossed and her thin nose upturned.
"I can't believe you're talking out of your nose," she shot back, walking away with her head held high.
Parkinson would get over it. Malfoy and Drew got into fights and squabbles every week, and Pansy always wound up talking to Drew again one way or another.
* ° * ° *
Justin Finch-Fletchley got Petrified the next day, along with Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost.
Drew wrote to her mother, telling her that school was great and that there was nothing to worry about.
Twice a day, Drew caught both Wilby and Cyndee giving her scared looks, as if she'd also be turned to stone if they weren't paying attention.
Then Drew had wondered aloud if the monster was Medusa, which just freaked them out even more.
She asked Quentin if he thought she would be attacked. He seemed surprised that she'd ask him, and he thought before answering. "I doubt it. I think that being a Slytherin would protect you."
And seemingly invigorated, the normally shy prefect kept talking, "It's impossible for the monster to figure out who is Muggle-born on its own. The Heir has to tell it. And if the Heir really is a Slytherin, they're unlikely to announce to the other Houses that there's a Muggle-born in their House. Their pride would be a lot more important than their goal."
That made sense. And since he was also there, she turned to Xavier. "Do you think I'll be killed?"
"Of course," he responded smoothly. "It'd be hard to resist, honestly."
Drew crushed his foot under her boot, and he made a squeaking sound. She blinked, thinking she'd stepped on a mouse for a second.
"Serves you right," Quentin said from behind his novel. Carolina tried to muffle her laugh and nearly fell off the back of the armchair.
"Be quiet," Xavier scowled at the two.
* ° * ° *
As the days went by, Malfoy's mood got sourer and sourer, and he began to sound like a lemon every time he ranted about Saint Potter this or Saint Potter that. As a result, Pansy's mood vicariously dropped too, and it became a pain to sit near her at mealtimes.
On a more positive note, winter at Hogwarts was magnificent. Once term ended, the castle nearly emptied out.
Cyndee left too, and on Christmas Eve her two friends sent her owls holding packages of candy.
Come Christmas Day, Drew yawned and stretched her arms, pulling back her blankets and swinging her legs off the bed.
She held back a scream. Wilby was sitting on the spare bed with his legs crossed, grinning madly.
"Really?" she barked angrily, hurling a textbook at him while pulling on some black jeans. He dodged, and she demanded, "How the hell did you get in?" The hallway to the girl's dormitory had stone tiles that melted to sticky clay whenever a boy stepped on them. They ended up stuck there for two hours, getting ridiculed by any girl that passed.
"Wingardium Leviosa-d myself over," he responded.
Drew raised her eyebrows, impressed. It would take quite a lot of practice and control to cast the charm on something as heavy as your own body. "You're lucky that I'm the only one here. Milli would've bashed your head in otherwise."
Wilby reached behind him and tossed her a small box wrapped in matte silver. "Happy Christmas."
Excitedly, she tore it open and saw a pair of stylish purple fingerless gloves. "Oh, nice," she remarked, slipping them on and admiring them. They were useless against the cold, but they looked great.
She reached under her bed for his present. It was floppy, and it was obvious that it was clothing. "Merry Christmas," she said, placing it in his hands.
He opened it, finding a pastel green hoodie with the word 'BLUE' in white.
"It matches your eyes," Drew said blandly.
He laughed, eyes bright and happy as he pulled it on, "Thanks."
They went to Christmas dinner. To Drew's utter disbelief, Ari had bought her the latest joke book. It was full of jinxes and hexes that she couldn't wait to test out.
It was quite even, since Ari had flat-out screamed when Drew handed her Hogwarts: A History.
"This is the most wonderful gift!" she'd squealed, hugging Drew around the waist, to her chagrin. "Sylvia gave me a signed copy of Magical Me. God, sometimes that girl just doesn't get me. Thanks, Drew."
The Great Hall was a lot quieter than usual. Frosted trees glittered along the walls, and holly and mistletoe crisscrossed the ceiling. Enchanted snow fell, soft and warm, all over the students.
Friends chattered, and silverware clattered.
Of course, Malfoy still had to be there, but he amused everyone by obsessively making snide remarks about Potter's sweater and Percy's prefect badge, which now read "Pinhead", thanks to Fred Weasley.
Xavier wasn't wearing his prefect badge today, probably to avoid the same fate. He seemed to be going through multiple mood swings. He'd look at the mistletoe and actually smile, then look beside him at Quentin's empty seat and start frowning again.
Potter and his friends left early, and so did Malfoy, leaving Crabbe and Goyle to stuff their faces.
Soon afterwards, Drew and Wilby retreated to the grand staircases. Drew entertained herself by dumping Christmas cake onto passerby, and giving herself bonus points if she got Filch or a prefect.
Aurora joined them an hour later, snorting about something with Jinx in her arms.
"What is it?" Drew asked, watching Percy frantically try to scrape frosting out of his ginger hair.
"Crabbe and Goyle are apparently out of their minds. Penelope told me they asked her for directions to their common room."
Drew laughed, "Idiots. Who's Penelope again?"
"Oh, Ravenclaw prefect. I think she's smitten with Percy." She peered down at the Gryffindor downstairs with distaste while stroking their cat. "I don't know what she sees in him besides a huge stick."
"Ha, agreed. He even wants to catch Slytherin's Heir all on his own. Hey Wilby, why don't you Levitate his robes a bit?"
Obliging, Wilby pointed his wand at Percy and whispered, "Wingardium LeviOsa."
The prefect's robes flew over his head, and he began scrambling around blind, shouting about Peeves.
Xavier appeared out of the hall and shook his head, silently going right by him instead of helping.
Ari giggled, "Oh, that was amazing." She left soon after, wanting to read her new book.
They started to go down the stairways to the kitchens to get more cake ammo, but they were stopped by Theodore Nott.
"Not spending Christmas with your lovely father?" he taunted Wilby.
Wilby merely shook his head, an unreadable expression on his face, "Not this year, no."
"Ah," Nott smirked, white teeth showing, "he's busy?"
Drew tried to follow the conversation. "Wait, Nott, you know about his father?"
"Oh yeah, he's a delightful fellow. Bumbling but kind-hearted, and looks exactly like his son!"
"Wilby?" Drew asked hesitantly, knowing this was a sore subject.
Her friend was expressionless. "Right," he said in a flat tone. He started to leave, pulling Drew along.
Nott went on mercilessly, "Bet he gives you presents every day. Bet he treats your mum like royalty."
Wilby's cheeks went red, "No."
"Oh, he doesn't?" his tone was so mockingly shocked, she couldn't believe Wilby hadn't done something drastic yet.
"Nott," Drew said sharply, "shut your mouth." But on the other hand...she really wished Wilby would tell her his story.
Nott ignored her, "What, is your father not the great person I think he is?"
Wilby's eyes finally ignited, spewing enraged fire. "He is a despicable human being," he spat. "And he is not my father."
Then, with a powerful shove, Theodore Nott flipped straight over the railing.