Green

Green

By Slytherin Tattoo

Chapter 4

After class, we had a free period. Crabbe and Goyle and some freaky hulk of a kid named MacDougal went off to bully Hufflepuffs. I did some exploring.

I slipped out of the dungeons and up a flight of stairs and through a secret passage Rahab had told me about. It was a long, dark, narrow corridor. "Lumos," I whispered, and the tip of my wand lit up. I walked down it quietly to the end and pressed a panel there. The wall moved aside and I exited behind a statue of a female centaur wearing a chain mail brazier. It made one wonder about the sculptor.

Across from the statue was another staircase. I went up. I just wandered. Down a hallway that branched off in three directions; I chose left because I'm left-handed. Past about a dozen classrooms, one of which was in use, but the door was closed so I just hurried on by. Down a hall which dead-ended, so I backtracked and went a different way, through a door that a painting of a shepherd told me would open if I whistled "God Save the Queen."

Through the door, turn left again, another staircase, up--carefully, because steps kept disappearing. Avoid the third floor corridor, right-hand side to avoid painful death--Dumbledore had told us that last night. So I headed left yet again, and I found another secret passage by pressing on the nose of a statue of what looked like a cross between an oversized Cornish pixie and a barn owl (I was having serious doubts about their interior decorator). The passage only went forward a few steps before it opened onto another set of stairs. I went up. The truth is, I've never liked dungeons, I've always gone for high places. Maybe that's one reason I like flying so much.

This staircase was a stone spiral, and I heard a clicking noise up at the top every time I took a step. I never did find out why. But I kept going. When I reached the landing I had to figure out how to open the passage on the other side. I finally kicked the wall and that did it.

I found myself facing a portrait of an older man with a goatee, wearing Headmaster's robes. He was holding a quill and a piece of parchment, staring off into space. He looked at me, surprised. "No one ever comes here," he said.

I shrugged. "Here I am." I was in a long, dusty corridor. It was empty, just bare stone walls until it dead-ended down the way. Both ends were dark, but the middle was lit by sunlight streaming through the hall's one window. The window was huge--probably 8 feet across and at least 12 feet high, with a deep, recessed sill.

"What's a rhyme for curiosity?" he asked me.

"Animosity," I replied absently. "Who are you?"

"Ezekiel Black. Born 1632, became Headmaster of Hogwarts in 1696, died 1789."

"Black? My mother was a Black. You pureblood?"

He regarded me, tapping his quill on the frame. "Yes. Your name, please?"

"Draco Malfoy."

His brows rose. "A Malfoy. I haven't seen one of those in a long time. My greatest rival at school was Nigel Lucius Malfoy the Third. He was the Gryffindor Seeker. I miss him, actually."

"No Malfoy was ever a Gryffindor," I protested. "We're always Slytherin."

He smiled. "No. I was Slytherin. As are you, I can see by your robes. Age, please."

"Eleven. First year."

"First year, first day! Well, well. And what brings you to this isolated place?"

"Just exploring." I shrugged. "Why doesn't anyone come here?"

"Nothing to do here. Just a hall from nowhere to nowhere, located through a secret door. What's the point, I wonder? They just put me here because I asked for a little peace and quiet so I could compose. I'm a writer, you see."

"I figured. The whole rhyming thing." I started to drift down the corridor. "You sure there's no more hidden rooms or passages along here?"

"None that were used during my tenure as Headmaster, anyway. And none I've seen in the 94 years I've been hanging here."

Ninety-four years? I glanced back at him, then shook my head.

"Lovely view, though!" he called.

I stopped at the window and looked out. Yes, it was nice. It looked out over the lake, onto the pretty section of the Forbidden Forest--most of that woods is dark and gloomy, but one spot starts out as willows at the lake's edge, then goes back into maple for awhile, before picking up into ugly, forbidding trees. Yes, a good view. I knelt on the ledge and looked straight down. We were somewhere above the Great Hall, I thought, and a lot higher up than expected. Maybe the clicking staircase had something to do with that? I didn't know, but instead of the fourth floor, we were on more like the eighth.

I sat down on the sill and let my mind wander for a long time.

________ _______

I love flying. Father's never seen much use in it, but he lets me do it as a reward. Maybe he figures I need to have one normal "child's activity"--in case anybody ever asks. Or maybe when I told him it would be a disgrace to the Malfoy name if the other kids could fly better than me, it got to him. Lady knows he believes it about everything else. Malfoys should be the best students, the best wizards, the best dressed, the best looking. . .

Anyway, I spent as much time flying as I could. Sometimes, when everything would get to be... too much, I'd just hover above the Malfoy grounds, sitting on my broom, staring out and thinking, or trying not to think, and not to feel.

This window reminded me of that.

_______ ________

"Like it here, do you?" Ezekiel Black asked me as I passed him again eventually, when it was time to go to my next class.

"I do," I admitted, almost hesitantly. "I'll be back."

"Good." He smiled. "You're quiet. And you can rhyme."

I smirked and left.

_______ ______

One of the first charms I learned was "Occulere," to cover up any flaws on your face or body. It's a beauty charm, actually, Mother had said, used mostly by ladies, but it was also used by mediwizards on people after accidents, and by Death Eaters to cover Dark Marks.

In my case, I used it to cover scars. By the time I started school, I'd gotten so good at it that I only had to renew it every six days or so, but I would still check myself in bed every morning, before I opened the curtains.

My second full day I woke up, completely alert as I'd been trained to be, to hear an owl tapping against the window. I scanned my arms--looked fine--and got out of bed to see what was up. I opened the window and let him in.

He had a little note attached to his leg, which turned out to be addressed to me, which I'd known as soon as I saw the owl. It was from Mother.

"Dear Draco,

"How is dear Harry Potter? How is Professor Snape? What about the rest of your House? You are in Slytherin, aren't you? Write to me immediately."

And it was signed, "Narcissa Malfoy."

She was anxious for her reports, I guessed. So I sat down and wrote a reply, assuring her everything was fine and yes, I was in Slytherin, and sent it off.

I found myself walking up to breakfast with Crabbe and Goyle, and Rhiannon Reed, Rahab's best friend. The two girls were fourth years, and Rhiannon was fairly pretty herself, with short blonde hair and a ready smile.

"What are you boys up to today?" she asked with her usual boundless energy.

"Herbology," I answered. "Gardening for wizards."

"Ah--I don't much care for it, either." She brushed back one of her long, dangling snake ear-rings. They were green, and every so often one would flick out a long-forked silver tongue.

"What do you like?" I asked.

"Charms."

"Charms for the charming."

She laughed. "And you?"

"Well, I haven't tried it all yet, have I? But we have Astronomy tonight and I'm expecting to enjoy that. I have a constellation named after me, you know."

"Oh, after you?"

"Well, I'm sure they had me in mind." I grinned at her, and she grinned back.

"Rahab told me I'd like you and she was right."

I barely beat down a blush. "Oh, um, thanks." I hadn't expected her to say that. It made me feel... warm. For a little while.

______ _______

That second day I coasted by. After lunch, I made another try to talk to Potter. This proved to be more successful, as we stuck to discussing Quidditch, and I told him I'd lend him my copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, a great little book. I sent it to him later by owl, along with a signed picture of one of my favorite teams, the Montrose Magpies, that I had an extra of. I thought he'd like that.

I did homework, prowled the grounds, hung out with the first years, talked to Rahab, sat in on Flint's Quidditch organizational meeting, longed for my own broomstick, and went to Astronomy later that night.

"There it is." I aligned my telescope just right and showed Crabbe and Goyle. "Draco."

They both looked. Crabbe gave me a grin.

"It's in Slytherin silver, too," Goyle said, which made me laugh.

I was right; I would enjoy Astronomy.

Afterwards, the three of us trooped back to the dungeons, with Zabini and some kid named MacDougal behind us, and Pansy and Bulstrode in front. The other first year girl, who I hadn't known previously, had tried to be friends with them during class, but they kept leaving her out, and now she fell back from walking with them, to us.

I glanced over at her. "Broadmoor, right?"

Her face lit up. "Yes! Nokanda! And you're Malfoy, of course."

"Of course." If I hadn't been in a good, flowing sort of mood, I probably wouldn't have talked to her, to be honest. To be honest, strange girls make me a little nervous. If I've known them forever, like Pansy or Rahab, it's different, but you never know with strangers. Rhiannon that morning had been bad enough, but she had pressed the conversation herself and... she was older, it was more complicated, and this girl... I don't even know what I'm saying. Anyway, I talked to her.

Nokanda Broadmoor is small--smallest person in school, has dimples, black hair cut short to fall around her face, eyes brown like cocoa, like melted chocolate, like--I was laying in the grass once, and this moth landed on a twig next to me, and I could hardly stop my hand from reaching out to touch it, it looked so soft and velvety and warm. And as soon as I realized I was finding clichéd descriptions for her eyes, I stopped talking. Infinitely preferable was Rahab or Rhiannon, older, worshipped, untouchable, and infinitely, infinitely safer.

Of course, this is remembering back to myself three years ago. I wasn't that aware of my feelings at the time--I was only 11, not really interested in girls yet. What was I thinking then, exactly? So hard to say now. With all that's happened since that time... all the emotions churning and spinning...

Flashing and drowning...

Blue and green and black and gold...

________ ________

"Of course," I said, haughtily, if I recall.

"Have you seen the Falmouth Falcons play?"

I shrugged.

"I thought girls liked the Holyhead Harpies," Goyle put in suddenly.

"Well, naturally," she turned to him with that eager smile. "They are the only all-female team! But I have ties with the Falcons. Both my uncles played for them."

Zabini and MacDougal came up to flank us. "Don't tell me your uncles are Kevin and Karl Broadmoor?"

She nodded cheerfully.

"The Broadmoor Brothers who were suspended from Quidditch 14 times for excessive, predetermined, and enjoying-it-far-too-much violence?"

"The Broadmoor Beaters whose motto was, 'If we can't win, at least let's break a few heads?'"

"That's them!"

Crabbe, Goyle, and MacDougal started laughing. "Cool!"

"How very Slytherin," Zabini muttered.

Of course, Pansy and Bulstrode were feeling left out by now, and dropped back to walk with us, too. So now we were one big first year clump.

"Aren't the Broadmoors distantly related to the Crabbes somehow?"

The two mentioned descendants screwed up their faces, thinking.

"I wouldn't doubt it. All the old, purest-blood families are interwoven somehow." I shrugged. "My mom's a Black, but a little further back she was a Malfoy. So when she says to carry out the Malfoy Family name, she really means it." She had, in fact, disassociated herself with the Blacks as much as possible, now that the remaining Blacks were her and Sirius--locked up in Azkaban. Who could blame her? Although--she had no problem with her ties to LeStrange--also in Azkaban.

Thinking about it too much made my head hurt.

"Carry on the Family name," Pansy intoned dramatically, then gave a long-suffering sigh. "Who else has to put up with that?"

We all raised our hands.

"It's tough being a pureblood," said Zabini.

"Unless you're a traitor like Weasley," Goyle sneered.

I smirked. "You're still mad about the rat."

Crabbe snickered. Goyle flushed and scowled.

The others sensed a story. "What rat?" Mac demanded.

"Weasley's pet rat bit him, on the train here," I explained.

Goyle glared at me. "If I didn't tell them, Crabbe would have," I protested.

"Yep!" Crabbe grinned and slapped Goyle on the shoulder.

"Who has a pet rat, anyway?" Pansy sneered.

"Inherited, yet. Blood-traitors and paupers to boot," Millicent sniffed.

"I don't suppose a pregnancy prevention potion occurred to them. If they hadn't bred like rabbits, they might have a few more Knuts."

"Maybe his nuts were the problem," Mac suggested with a leer.

"What?" Nokanda frowned innocently, not getting it.

And then we rounded the corner and practically bumped into Potter and Weasley, who was scarlet in the face and holding his wand, and who had obviously heard most of the conversation. Potter had his hand on Ron's arm, trying to convince him to stay calm and not get in a fight with--well, 1/7th of Slytherin.

I swallowed, and my eyes unwillingly met Harry's, and his went blank and hard and looked away from me as if I was nothing, less than worthless, dung on a fly's leg.

It hurt far more than I'd thought it would.

"Speak of the devil," Zabini drawled.

"He's as red as one, anyway," someone said, and I realized with great shock, that it had been me. The others laughed as my stomach twisted up in knots.

"Shut-Up," Ron snarled, voice shaking so much with fury his words were barely intelligible.

"Or what?" Mac cracked his knuckles.

"Or--or..." But it was clearly 8 to 2, and everyone knows how evil Slytherins are, obviously none of us would've hesitated to hex him into next week, even though Weasley and Mac were, in fact, the only ones with wands drawn. But Gryffindors are born thinking the worst about us, and at that point I could hardly deny any of it; they had heard our insults; we were caught in the act.

"Come on, Ron, let's just go," Potter tried to reason with him. "Don't stoop to their level."

"Yes, just ignore us and maybe you'll go away." Tanj it, that was me again.

"Isn't it usually 'ignore us and we'll go away'?" Pansy asked.

"Why should we go anywhere?" I retorted.

Potter just looked at me while I grew colder and colder. "Come on, Ron, they're arrogant, malicious jerks. Let's go. Just leave it!"

"Hey!" Crabbe exclaimed, "Watch your mouth!"

"Yeah!" Goyle agreed, taking a menacing step forward.

"Hold off," I muttered, and confused, they did. The two Gryffindors slunk away and we walked on to the dungeons.

"What were they doing up at this hour anyway, wandering around the castle? I'm reporting them to Snape!" Broadmoor declared indignantly.

Potter would never speak to me again, and Mother... Mother would... what? Punish me? Go back to ignoring me? Pursue him herself, and smile at him instead of me? I realized suddenly that my hands were clenched up into fists, and shaking. I relaxed them, but they kept shaking. I kept them hidden in my sleeves.

Forgive me, Mother. I've never been other than a failure.

________ _________