Taboo

They entered the Great Hall and seated themselves at the House tables to watch the Sorting. Once the Sorting was over, Dumbledore invited them to dig in. The Great Hall was instantly filled with noise, as people conversed about their summer holidays and reached for their favorite dish. Malfoy was too preoccupied to think about eating. He allowed Pansy to fill his plate, absentmindedly scooping some baked potato into his mouth. The food was as delicious as always, but Malfoy didn't seem to taste it. Pudding appeared, but he didn't show the slightest interest in it.

"What's wrong, Draco?" said Pansy, obviously concerned.

"Nothing," said Malfoy quickly. "I'm just not in the mood."

"At least have some of this gateau," she wheedled. He shook his head. "It's really good."

"No, really, I don't want any," he protested, as she tried to get him to eat a spoonful.

"Just one teensy bite--"

"I said I don't want any!" Heads swiveled to stare in his direction at this outburst.

"Fine," said Pansy, sulkily dropping the spoon onto her plate with a loud clatter. The puddings vanished and Dumbledore stood to make his usual after-feast speech. The Great Hall was filled with whispers as everyone noticed his injured hand.

"Did you see--"

"Look at his hand!"

"Eurgh, what happened to it?"

"Welcome back everyone! And welcome to the new students," he said, ignoring the whispers. "I'd like to introduce to you our newest staff member this year, Professor Slughorn, who will resume his old post as Potions master." The whispers increased in intensity, but Dumbledore talked over them. "And Professor Snape will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts." The Slytherin table exploded in applause. Dumbledore waited until the chatter died down to make his final announcement. "Hogwarts will be a hosting a new event this year, though I daresay not quite as exciting as the Triwizard Tournamet," he said, his blue eyes twinkling. "The Friday before you leave for Christmas, we will be hosting a Christmas Ball in the evening. All students are, of course, invited, but not required to attend. Now, I have nothing more of importance to say, and I can see that many of you are eager to retire to your beds. Good night!" With a wave of his hand, he dismissed everyone. All the students filed out of the Hall, murmuring excitedly about the Ball.

"Draco," said Pansy, apparently over their recent disagreement. "Aren't you excited about the Christmas Ball? You are going to ask me, aren't you?" He mumbled that he was tired and headed to his dormitory, leaving Pansy calling after him.

He lay in bed, pondering his dilemma. He wanted to ask Hermione to the Ball, but he couldn't. Pansy would be jealous of Hermione and furious with him, his reputation would be ruined, and Hermione would most likely refuse. He didn't blame her for that. He lay there in agony, wishing that he could go back in time and change everything. "I wish it didn't have to be like this," he muttered. Abruptly, he sat up, struck with a sudden inspiration. He realized that it didn't have to be like this, and that he had the power to change it. All it would take was some careful planning. Smiling to himself, he rolled over onto his side and fell asleep.

---

Malfoy woke up early the next day and hurried up to the Owlery. He quickly scribbled a note and tied it to his owl's leg.

"I don't know if she's at breakfast yet," he whispered, as she hooted sleepily. "Just deliver it when she's alone. Make sure Potter and Weasley don't see it."

He headed into the Great Hall, sitting down at the almost empty Slytherin table and grabbing a stack of toast. There was hardly anyone eating breakfast at this hour, as it was still extremely early. Taking a bit of scrambled eggs, he saw a familiar mane of bushy, brown hair in the corner of his eye. His heart leaped.

Hermione placed her book bag under the table and ladled some porridge into a bowl. Soon, more people were drifting in looking very groggy, and a few owls had flown in. Malfoy saw his owl land in front of Hermione. He turned away quickly and pretended to be interested in a platter of bacon as other Slytherins arrived. Pansy sidled up to him.

"Are you mad at me?" she said, leaning against him and hugging his arm. "I'm sorry about last night."

"It's okay," said Malfoy, craning his neck to see around a group of Hufflepuffs that had just wandered in. Good, she was opening his note.

"What are you staring at?" asked Pansy, trying to see what he was looking at.

"Nothing," said Malfoy, turning back to his plate. "Would you like some marmalade for your toast?"

"Why, thank you, Draco," she said, giggling and batting her eyelashes.

---

Hermione unfurled the piece of parchment, wondering who it could be from. Dear Hermione, it read, Meet me in the trophy room at 8 o' clock tonight. It wasn't signed, and she didn't recognize the person's handwriting. She read it over again, still trying to figure out who the mysterious not sender was. She saw Harry and Ron approaching the table and hurriedly stuffed it in her bag.

"You're late," she said, as Ron pulled the platter of sausages toward himself. "I expect we'll be getting our schedules any moment now."

"We slept in," said Harry sheepishly, reaching for some bacon.

"Oh, here she comes now," said Hermione, spotting Professor McGonagall. She was handed her schedule and left for her Ancient Runes class.

"Potter and Weasley..." she said, ticking them off her list. "Why haven't you applied for Potions? It's required if you want to become Aurors."

"I thought I had to get an 'Outstanding' in my O.W.L., Professor," said Harry.

"As Professor Slughorin is now teaching the class, an 'Exceeds Expectations' will suffice. Do you want to continue with Potions?"

"Yes," said Harry keenly. As Ron's mouth was currently stuffed, he answered for him. "And Ron does too."

"Very well then," said Professor McGonagall, handing them their schedules. "Professor Slughorn will lend you the ingredients and you'll have to borrow a textbook until you can write to Flourish and Blotts." She moved on to Neville, who was looking quite anxious.

"Hey," said Ron happily, scanning his and Harry's schedules, "we've got a free-period right now. Want to go outside and practice?"

"Practice?" said Harry blankly. What was Ron talking about?

"Yeah, you know, Quiddtich," said Ron, giving Harry a funny look. "When are you holding tryouts?"

"Oh," said Harry, remembering that he was now Captain of the Gryffindor Quiddditch Team. "Erm...I'm not sure yet, but definitely this week."

They retrieved their broomsticks and headed out to the pitch.