Esprit D'Elle

“You’re sure we’re going the right way?” I ask for about the tenth time.

“Yes,” he replies with the same amount of annoyance in his voice as in the other nine times.

We’re walking through a swamp. A hot, muggy swamp that is full of insects and bacteria that can’t even see me. Not that I am complaining or anything.

I pick up my ghostly skirts so they do not become soaked with swampy water. It’s one of those habits that you just don’t drop when you die.

Malfoy trudges on. You have to admire the way he pretends nothing bothers him. Key word being ‘pretends.’

You know, silence is probably one of the most awkward situations, especially when you are with one of your many archenemies that you have just begged to help you save the life of your family.

I can’t keep my mouth shut. I’ve never been very good at it, anyway.

“Malfoy, do you think we ever could have been friends? I mean, if Gryffindor and Slytherin didn’t matter? And if blood types didn’t matter either?” I ask, trying to make small-talk. Of course, as soon as I said this, I realize what a big mistake it is, seeing as that this topic is not as safe as the weather.

“Do you really want my opinion, Granger?” he says.

“Yes.”

He stops and looks down on me. His eyes look me over and I shift uncomfortably.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“How do you figure?” I ask nosily.

“You’re clever,” he says and begins walking forward, leaving me behind. I follow.

“That’s it? You’re not going to say I’m gorgeous?” I ask, feigning a hurtful look.

“Granger, you’re no looker, I can tell you that,” he says, cringing as he steps into the dirty, brown water.

Splat!

“GRANGER!”

“You got what you deserved.”

“That was gross!”

“I know...”

He glares at me and looks sideways.

I scream as he splashes me with water. I may be dead, but even the dead can feel some things.

“You’re dead, Malfoy!”

“Too late!”

I begin to chase after him. Correction, I begin to splosh after him. He splashes more water at me and then swims off. I swim after him.

As I grab his coat I realize what I am doing. I realize that I am sort of having fun with Malfoy when I should be rescuing my husband and children. I stop and stand up straight.

Malfoy sees my facial expression. His smile fades.

“We’d better be going,” he says.

“Yes.”

We trudge on. I see Malfoy look at me. I glance at him. He looks away.

An hour later we approach a gate in front of a very large castle.

It is large, yes, like Hogwarts. It is probably even larger than Hogwarts, with many towers and ivy growing up the walls.

Chills go up my spine.

This castle does not have the warmth of Hogwarts.

“Is this it?” I ask.

He nods. “Oh yes. Can’t you feel the evil aura?”

I nod.

He walks forward, through the gate. I follow him, feeling frightened.

The castle is run-down. The garden on the sides of the path is overgrown. Dead leaves cover everything.

We reach the large, wooden door. It hasan inscription written across it. Something in Latin. Since I do not know Latin, I do not know what it means. But, Malfoy knows and it sends chills up his spine. He looks at me.

We walk forward.

We creep past a guard. And then another guard. And another. Apparently Voldemort is very paranoid. I say so to Malfoy.

“He was always paranoid. Ever since Potter reduced him to a bodyless spirit, he’s been a tad on the paranoid side. I guess you can’t blame him. If a little infant of a boy who grows into a scrawny little nerd can reduce you to nothing I suppose you have the right to be paranoid.”

“That’s my husband you’re talking about,” I snap.

“You can’t mean Voldemort, can you?”

“No, Harry.”

“Figures.”

“What figures?”

“That you would go for the side of good. The Dark side rules, Granger darling. Wake up and realize it already.”

“Think about where it got you.”

“So? It was bound to happen anyway.”

“No wonder you were in Slytherin. You’re terribly pessimistic.”

“Ah, yes, that is the one trait of Slytherin that the Sorting Hat forgot to mention. Just like it forgot to mention that Gryffindors are always goody-two shoes, and Ravenclaws are nerds, and Hufflepuffs are dorks.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“That’s why I said it.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Thank you.”

“Your welcome.”

“Wait–Where are we?”

“You don’t know where we are?”

“Would I have asked if I knew?”

“Yes.”

“Shut up, Granger.”

“It’s Potter.”

“What?”

“I’m not ‘Granger’ anymore. It’s ‘Potter.’ It has been for a while.”

“Great time to lecture me, Potger. Great time.”

“Why are the lights out?”

“You just noticed that?”

“Yes...”

“You’re aggravating me.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

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