The Greatest Love, The Highest Sacrifice

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Chapter 10 – Watcher of the Skies
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies,
When a new planet swims into his ken.
-Keats, “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer”
How to win the Quidditch match without cheating? As Draco sat in the Slytherin common room, his mind desperately attempting to find the solution to his problem, he felt very strongly tempted to curse Ginny Weasley. With the worst spell he could possibly find.

Damn her! he thought to himself.

Why did we have to bet on that, of all things? Slytherin not cheating in a Quidditch match – when hell freezes over! And why is it so important to me that we win? And don’t cheat in the process?

Draco moaned, letting his head fall into his hands. He’d spent the better part of the week trying to work out strategies that would ensure a Slytherin victory. He’d called three extra practice sessions, much to the annoyance of several team members – including Blaise, who’d been furious that she was forced to miss her weekly pedicure in Hogsmeade.

“You have no idea how difficult it is to get an appointment with Impedimenta Ibsen!” she had seethed at him. “She’s the pedicurist for all the Witch Weekly celebs – and she doesn’t like cancellations!”

But Draco’s steely determination had quieted her protests – at least while he was around.

Yet despite all these careful measures, Draco felt no closer to victory. On the contrary, he felt further from it than he ever had in his life. And the irony was that this was the one match he had to win. He’d pounded that into his team until they cringed if he even walked past them in the corridors. And their shock when he had declared the no-cheating rule…he seriously doubted some of his teammates could even get through breakfast without cheating.

Fortunately, he’d had an excuse ready to hand them when they’d demanded an explanation for this outrageous condition.

“New monitoring of players,” he had explained tersely. “That Weasley professor’s been given permission to use Sneakoscopes on our brooms, and if we’re caught cheating, we’re eliminated from the competition.”

It had been a blatant lie, of course, but Draco knew that none of his team would dream of going anywhere near Charlie Weasley to ask him to verify the claim. He had ridden the wave of complaints and curses directed at Weasley for the remainder of the week, and had enjoyed the distinctly cold treatment the Care of Magical Creatures professor had received at the hands of his seventh year Slytherin class. About time he got his own back for being so quick to judge me had been Draco’s satisfied thought, until a surge of remorse had hit him. Bloody Ginny, he fumed, gritting his teeth in frustration, I can’t even hate someone anymore! Though, truth be told, he knew it was Norri’s influence as much as it was Ginny’s.

Norri. When he wasn’t thinking of Ginny, he was contemplating Norri – or, more correctly, how to make sure that she and his cousin never crossed paths again. Which was easier said than done. Draco had never had any hold over his cousin – quite the opposite, in fact. And he had never witnessed anything – not even the slightest action, look or word – that indicated Justin had any ounce of compassion in his body. Just like Father, he thought gloomily, then shied away from that thought. Thinking about Lucius Malfoy automatically lead to thinking about Narcissa – and Draco didn’t want to remember his mother. That meant visions of her crying…black eyes… bruised arms, legs, body….

Don’t want to think of this now.

So, what to do? If Norri stayed at Hogwarts, she had a fair certainty of remaining safe. But Draco couldn’t see her holding to that condition. She’d spent too much of her life kept in one place for her safety. And she’d had enough – as she’d told him earlier in the week, quite strongly, when he’d attempted to dissuade her from going to Hogsmeade. Even the threat that Sirius would be there had not been enough to deter her. The only thing, the only person she was determined to keep safe at all costs, was Harry. And if he was going to Hogsmeade when he shouldn’t be, then she was going as well.

Bloody Potter!

Draco swore to himself as he recalled that, once again, the Boy Who Lived had endangered someone else’s safety for a lark, even though he had not realised it at the time. This last admission came grudgingly from Draco. Though they were on the same side, though Norri was his aunt, though he might be falling in love with the little sister of Potter’s best friend, Draco could not bring himself to like Harry –

Falling in love? Where the hell had that come from?

Draco started up from his armchair.

“I’ve been spending too much time thinking,” he muttered to himself.

“So I’ve noticed, Mr. Malfoy,” came a smooth voice from the other side of the fireplace.

Draco, startled, looked over to the source of the voice. It was late at night – after twelve, in fact – and he’d thought that all the other Slytherins had gone off to their dorms long ago. According to his perceptions, his contemplations had been solitary.

He’d been wrong.

“And what is it exactly that you’ve been thinking about, Draco?” Professor Snape asked slowly. His voice was casual, but his eyes glittered with unusual intensity. “Have you received an offer of anything lately? Anything that might be bothering you? Or is that you’re worried about something that is coming – the long shadow of presentiment, perhaps?”

Draco’s eyes clouded in bewilderment, then cleared as he realised what Snape was asking. For a moment, he considered not letting his Head of House know the truth, but he remembered Norri’s implicit trust in Snape, and decided to alleviate his concerns.

“Don’t worry, Professor,” he said, grinning wryly. “I’m not stressing over whether or not to become a Death Eater.”

Snape’s eyes widened for a moment at the simplicity – and humour – of the boy’s reply, then he nodded. He swerved in his chair and regarded the fire for a moment. When he spoke, it was so low that Draco almost didn’t catch the words.

“I’m rather glad to hear it, Draco.”

There was a moment’s silence as Snape considered the fire, and Draco considered Snape. Then the Potions Master turned back to him.

“Well, if it’s not that, what is it? You haven’t finally succumbed to the general lot of a seventh year, have you?”

Draco’s expression revealed his confusion.

“Calf love, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape explained with a grimace that might just have been a smile.

Despite himself, Draco felt the heat surging to his cheeks. Snape might be an ally of Dumbledore’s, but he was still Snape. And he hated the Weasleys as much as the next Slytherin.

One glance at Draco made an answer unnecessary. Snape smiled to himself, then his brow furrowed as he considered the possible objects of his student’s affections.

“She’s not a Slytherin, is she?”

“No sir,” Draco replied, wondering if this conversation was really happening.

“Then she would have to be…” Snape trailed off, staring at Draco fixedly, and Draco felt that his professor’s gaze held something more than just curiosity in it. Concern? Disbelief? Jealousy?

What the hell did Snape have to be jealous of?

Snape opened his mouth, obviously to ask a question, then clamped it shut again.

Draco shifted in his seat. Having the Head of your House asking whom you were interested in was bad enough – especially if you were a Slytherin. Even more so if you were Draco Malfoy. And if she was a Weasley….

But there was more to it than that. Though he couldn’t quite work out what it was.

Draco stood up, resolutely shaking the feeling that this was all very anticlimactic.

“Guess I’ll be heading off then, Professor,” he said, aiming for a tone of studied nonchalance.

Snape nodded and turned to the fireplace. He seemed to have dismissed their entire conversation.

Draco raised an eyebrow as he observed his Head of House for a moment. Then he shrugged his shoulders, and drifted to the staircase leading to the Slytherin dorms.

As he reached the stairway he was stopped by the sound of Snape’s voice.

“Is she…is it Elsie Norr, Draco?”

He spun to look at Snape, but the older man’s gaze was firmly – determinedly – fixed on the dancing flames.

“No, sir,” Draco said quietly, and turned away.

As Draco climbed the stairs to his room, he wondered if it was relief that had made Snape’s shoulders slump forward like they had. Of course, he hadn’t been able to see his face, so he couldn’t be sure. But nevertheless….

 

*

Hours later, Draco twisted and turned restlessly in his bed. He was exhausted, and he had spent the day practicing Quidditch…planning Quidditch…plotting Quidditch. But even with his exhaustion, he couldn’t sleep.

Snape’s face – Snape’s question – was eating away at him.

And for the life of him, Draco Malfoy couldn’t work out why it was such a big deal.

Not that he didn’t mind when one of his professors – his Head of House – was showing an apparent interest in a girl who, by all appearances, was young enough to be his daughter. Far from it. In fact, if anything, Draco felt he should be extremely concerned. It had been almost six years ago, but he had not forgotten the rumours that had run rings around Hogwarts when Aeryn Blake had mysteriously left the school.

True, she had been a mutant. But the rumours – malicious, biting and totally anonymous– suggested that there had been more to her departure than had met the eye. The fact that Aeryn’s closest friends – Bloody Potter again! fumed Draco to himself –never acknowledged that the rumours even existed had certainly sped up their deaths. But some people had continued to wonder. And Draco had always been one of those people.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Snape to do what was correct in a given situation. And Draco feverishly hoped with all his hope that his trust in his Head of House wasn’t misplaced.

Nor was it a question of not respecting Snape. On the contrary, Draco respected Snape immensely. More than any other Professor at Hogwarts – even Dumbledore. Of course, that was because he was a Slytherin. Snape was caustic, impatient, secretive – all the things that made a great Slytherin and a model House Master.

But he was also a great deal more.

Snape was the one person Draco felt truly prepared young Slytherins for life in a world where Voldemort still lived. For a world which considered Slytherins to be Death-Eaters-in-training. For a world in which everyone expected the worst of you – the witches and wizards who fought Voldemort condemning you for it, and those who supported the Dark Lord expecting you to do the same. In a world like this, the Potions master provided a solitary example that a person could be a Slytherin – in every sense of the word – and still be a good person.

Which wasn’t to say that his Head of House doled out advice like Professor McGonagall doled out white rabbits in a Transfiguration lesson on making fluffy slippers. Quite the opposite, in fact. Snape was just as acidic and unforgiving with his own students as he was with any Gryffindor. The difference was, for the Slytherins, he counted on an important lesson being learned.

And he repeated the lesson until it was. A paper silently returned for resubmission because it had been written on a deadly potion instead of a healing one. Five points taken from a student on the grounds that their impeccable uniform was being worn incorrectly when he caught them bullying a younger Slytherin child. A month’s detention for injuring another student in an informal duel. Methods which were infinitely subtle, but perfectly clear to those who had the intelligence to read them correctly.

Rather like the individual, specialised Potions sessions that Snape ran for his seventh year students once a week in December each year. The other Houses had long complained against the bias these sessions showed towards Slytherins. The Slytherins anticipated them with glee, expecting tips for O.W.L.’s and advice on their extension Potions assignments. When Draco had accepted a dare from Blaise in fifth year to sneak in on one such session, he had learnt the true purpose of these individual meetings with Snape.

He had timed his invasion well. Garet Gormon was on his Quidditch team, and he had Lucius Malfoy to thank for a brand-new Nimbus 2000. If Draco was caught in his private study session with Snape, which was extremely unlikely, Garet would be extremely unlikely to follow it up.

Draco hadn’t been caught – though he had almost given himself away. He had been overcome with shock when confronted with the sight which met his eyes as he lowered himself down the freezing chimney flute into Snape’s Potions classroom, so overcome that he had almost fallen into the grey ashes beneath him.

Garet was seated at a desk opposite Snape, sobbing uncontrollably. At first Draco thought he had been subjected to one of Snape’s famous scathing reviews of a paper. But then his ears had tuned in to the conversation, and he had heard the words “father”, “Voldemort”, “birthday” and “Death Eater”. It hadn’t taken many more minutes of eavesdropping for Draco to realise that Garet was expected to join Voldemort’s latest recruits on the night of his eighteenth birthday. From Snape’s reply, it was obvious that the same expectations applied to all of the seventh year Slytherins. Draco waited a few minutes more, long enough to hear Snape begin to outline a solution to Garet’s problem, and then made himself scarce. Being discovered in this particular study session by Snape would be tantamount to formally requesting decapitation – and Draco was having enough trouble taking his head out of the clouds without losing it altogether.

Having given Blaise some vague explanation about the study session, and collected the box of sugar quills she had to pay him in forfeit for winning his dare, Draco had gone to the Astronomy Tower to consider what he had discovered, and had, en route, bumped into one of the Weasley twins – he hadn’t been sure which one – in a somewhat compromising situation with Angelina Johnson Normally, he would have summoned Peeves to announce all over the school that two Gryffindors were snogging in an empty classroom. But not that night.

Instead, he made his way up to the highest turret of the Astronomy Tower, casting a spell on the last few steps to ensure that no one invaded his privacy. And then, Draco had spent the rest of the night considering his own situation.

His father – elegant, successful and heartless. A man who obviously expected his only son to follow in his footsteps. Who would do anything (quite happily) to achieve his ends. Including sacrificing his son.

His mother – beautiful, battered and broken. Draco adored his mother, and believed that she was the only person he really loved. His first beating as a child had taken place when he had attempted to stop Lucius Malfoy from hurting his wife. It had been a futile attempt, one which Narcissa Malfoy had immediately insisted he never repeat. From then on he had watched, every single time, without flinching, as the incident was repeated over and over again. And he had sworn to himself that one day he would save her – and have vengeance on the man who had made her life a living hell.

His uncle. For, despite the fact that Justin had never lived in Malfoy Manor, he was an important aspect of Draco’s life. Every secret he had ever kept from his father had been discovered by Justin. Every mercy he had ever shown in his first year at Hogwarts had been discovered by Justin. Justin, who had endless sources of information – though after Barty Crouch had been given the Kiss in Draco’s fourth year, Justin’s accuracy had been somewhat lessened. One of all too few small mercies, but one for which Draco was profoundly grateful. Yes, Justin would have to be taken into account when Draco refused the call to join the ranks of those who served Lord Voldemort.

For he had never intended to join them. To Draco, a Death Eater was a man like his father. And the youngest Malfoy was determined never to follow in his father’s footsteps, regardless of the cost to himself. He had fully intended to accept death if it was the only viable alternative (his one concern had been what his mother might be forced to go through as an “incentive” for his decision), but now, remarkably, there was someone – totally unexpected – who could provide him with an answer to his problem.

Who would have thought that Severus Snape would be the redemption of a generation of Slytherins? Draco had mused in a mixture of wry amusement and relief as he had slowly made his way back to his dorm room, the first rays of dawn lighting his way.

But redemption he certainly was, and in a way that was clandestine enough for him to continue appearing as a secret supporter of Voldemort to the rest of Hogwarts, an appearance Snape was careful to preserve. If it meant the survival of his students, he couldn’t care less about outside opinions.

Which was why Draco trusted Snape.

Draco swore and slammed his head into his pillow as, once again, he bent his mind around the problem before him.

And no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, no matter how hard he tried to push the idea out of his head, there was something about the Potion Master’s interest in Norri that worried him.

It wasn’t his jealousy, and it wasn’t his interest, although those two thoughts did worry him greatly, but that wasn’t what was keeping Draco awake this night.

It was Snape’s …concern?

Draco sat upright in his bed.

That was it! he thought to himself. Snape was concerned. Almost as if…as if he knows that things are not quite normal with Norri, that Elsie Norr is not exactly who she appears to be.

The thought, oddly, brought with it more than a little relief.

He sank back down, and as his head touched the pillows, something else occurred to him.

I wonder if she knows?

And from there, a totally new line of thought developed, involving Norri and her friends, including a certain redhead, and knowing about Quidditch and Yule Balls and redheads…at which point, he fell asleep.

 

*

“So, Draco, how’s the game plan for the Quidditch match going?”

Norri dumped her books next to Draco’s as she asked her question, looking around to make sure Madam Pince wouldn’t come up and disturb their conversation. But the librarian appeared to be busy berating a group of third years who had “wandered” into the Restricted Section, so there wasn’t much chance of an interruption from that quarter. And Ginny was busy finishing her Muggle Studies paper in their dorm, so they were safe there too. But Draco didn’t seem interested in talking.

“Don’t,” was his only reply – muffled by the book in which he was burying his head.

Norri snorted. “Come on, Draco. There’s no way you expect me to believe you’re actually reading Hogwarts: A History. No one reads that book except Hermione – and even she cheats sometimes by reading the chapter summaries.”

“Which you would only know if you’ve read the book yourself,” was his tart rejoinder – mollified by the fact that his eyes were gleaming at her from over the top of the book.

She blushed.

“Well, what would you?” she asked, shrugging self-consciously. “When you’ve had almost twenty years in the place – every holiday and every school year, plus more besides – you get to reading anything. Even something as boring as this.”

He grinned. “You’re as bad as Granger, you know. Oh, and quit with the flowery language too, by the way – anyone would think you’d lived in Shakespeare’s era with the phrases you use sometimes!”

He laughed, ducking as she tried to swat him with a book. Then he caught a glimpse of the book’s title, and his eyes glittered teasingly. “And if you are going to bludgeon my brains out, pick something a little more interesting than Mastering the Moon, for goodness sake!”

Norri’s face tightened, and Draco halted mid-tease, suddenly realising why she would have that particular text.

“Trying to help Professor Lupin, are you?”

She nodded, holding the book to her chest protectively.

“It’s for our extension assessment with Snape,” she said quietly, not quite meeting his gaze. “I was hoping I could go part-way at least to developing a permanent version of Wolfsbane. Sometimes I think that in the middle of all this, we forget how much Remus suffers every month. We’ve all got our problems, but he shouldn’t have to bear his alone any more than the rest of us.”

“Yes, we’ve all got our problems,” Draco moaned, obviously going off on a tangent to what Norri had been saying, and promptly thunked his head on the desk.

Norri smiled in sympathy, and put her hand on his shoulder.

“She does really like you, you know,” she said soothingly.

“Much ruddy good it’ll do me if we don’t win this Quidditch match,” he retorted, but he couldn’t help perking up after that valuable piece of information. He looked up and grinned at Norri.

“Speaking of liking people,” he said, and Norri backed away from the gleam in his eyes.

“Now, Draco –”

“Snape asked me if I fancied you last night.”

“He what?” Norri yelped.

Draco grinned at the mixture of shock and - was that apprehension? – on Norri’s face.

“Seemed quite…concerned…about it too,” he continued smugly.

“And what did you say?” Norri’s words came out in a breathless rush.

When Draco refused to answer, still grinning like a Cheshire cat, Norri presumed the worst.

“Draco, how could you? How could you tell him you liked me? ”

She sat there, looking so depressed that he couldn’t hold off telling her the truth. I’m getting soft, he thought to himself wryly.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t say it was you.”

“And?”

Draco shrugged.

“He didn’t say anything. Just kept staring into the fire.” He looked at her closely. “I was right, wasn’t I? Way back in first week of term, when I said that you had a thing for Snape? You do, don’t you?”

Norri sighed, and nodded.

“Always have. Since I was seven.”

Draco whistled. Then his eyes sharpened as he remembered his train of thought from the previous evening. “Does he know who you really are?” he asked carefully, hoping against hope that she would say yes.

To his dismay, she shook her head.

“Are you positive?” he asked, feeling a sinking pit opening in his stomach. “I thought he looked a bit…suspicious.”

Norri grinned.

“That’s because you’re a Slytherin. And so’s he. You always think people look suspicious. Seriously, he doesn’t have a clue. I’m positive.” She sighed a little. “I wish he did – it would certainly make liking him a little easier. It’s a bit difficult being interested in someone when they think you’re more almost half your real age.”

Draco’s eyes darkened at the truth of her words. Obviously his suspicions about Snape were ill-founded, which meant that the Potions master must be interested in her as Elsie. He gritted his teeth and muttered something under his breath – something which involved the words “School Board,” “illicit liaisons,” “abuse of authority,” and “history repeats itself” – but when Norri asked him what he was going on about, he rapidly veered away from the subject.

“So, what are you going to do?” he asked her.

Norri sighed again.

“Honestly, Draco, I don’t know. There’s just so much going on right now – Charlie, Justin, school, Voldemort – I don’t really have time to chase Snape like a teenage schoolgirl.”

“Which is what he thinks you are, you know,” Draco muttered again. “Doesn’t seem to have stopped him being interested in you.”

“What was that?” asked Norri, not having quite caught his comments.

“Oh, nothing,” he replied airily, and when she darted a doubting look at him, he shrugged. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”

He was about to change the subject completely when another thought occurred to him.

“So, you wouldn’t ask him to the Yule Ball or anything, then?”

Norri groaned.

“Heavens, no! Can you imagine what he’d say if I asked him as Elsie?”

Draco could imagine – quite well, actually – but he refrained from sharing this with Norri. Which was probably a very smart move.

“Anyway,” she continued, unaware of the train of thought her friend was following, “I’m going as myself, I’ve decided.”

This made Draco bolt upright.

“You’re what?” he seethed. “Are you insane?”

Norri glared at him. “No,” she said frostily, “I’m not. Hogwarts is perfectly safe, Charlie will be in London for Christmas and everyone can just think I’m a friend of Remus. Gr- that is, Headmaster Dumbledore has already given me permission.”

Draco caught Norri’s slip of the tongue about Dumbledore, and filed it away for further consideration. But he couldn’t let her think that he had noticed – and besides, she didn’t know that if he lost the Quidditch match, Charlie Weasley would be at Hogwarts for the Yule Ball. In fact, Draco had already decided that, win or lose, he would do his utmost to ensure that Ginny’s big brother was with her for Christmas.

But there was no point in telling Norri this, he realised as he looked into her excited face. She was obviously looking forward to an evening where she could be herself, among friends. And – a niggling thought occurred to him – maybe to let Snape see the really Norri for a change, in the hopes that it would produce the desired effect. One way or the other, he decided to let it pass. If she wanted to be Elinor for a night, let her. And if Charlie did end up being present at the Yule Ball, she could always do a Cinderella and disappear.

Draco smiled at the thought, then turned to Norri, standing up as he did so.

“Well, if your mind is made up,” he said smoothly, “would you do me the honour of reserving a waltz for me?” He bowed elegantly as he asked, taking one of her hands in his.

Norri laughed.

“Idiot!” she said fondly, brushing his hand away from her own. But she stood up as well, and curtsied deeply. “Master Malfoy, I would be honoured,” she said in her most noble tones.

The two of them doubled over with laughter, then quickly sat down as Madam Pince approached their desk, and – struggling to stifle their giggles – they went back to work.

 

*

So, what is she going to do when Snape sees her as Norri? Draco wondered as he strolled down towards the dragon nest later that afternoon.

He shrugged to himself. It’s not like it really has anything to do with me, he reasoned, quelling a niggling feeling that his friend had made an extremely irrational decision. I mean, he’s probably never even seen her as herself before.

This concept didn’t quite cut ice, though. Although he couldn’t quite place it, Draco seemed to remember Norri talking about at least one experience with Snape. It had happened years before – when he was in second year, if he remembered correctly, but he doubted Snape had forgotten. Rescuing someone like Norri from Justin would stick in anyone’s mind, let alone someone with a memory like Snape’s. So, where did the whole situation leave him?

Too hard t’untie, came a faint voice from the direction of the dragon nest, and Draco spent several moments looking around for whoever had spoken before he realised that the voice was inside his mind.

“Great, now I’m talking to myself,” he muttered disgustedly.

Stupid, I is talking! came a very disgruntled response, and Draco winced at its force. Sorry, came a much more subdued rejoinder.

“Who are you?” Draco asked aloud, not at all pleased to be addressed as stupid.

Ra’ed, stupid! came the reply as two small bodies hurtled into Draco with such force that he was thrown backwards, landing on the ground in a clutter of robes, bag, books – and two small dragons.

“Ra’Ed!” Draco exclaimed, picking the kit up in one hand and patting him on the head. “How did you get out of the nest – and how can you talk?”

Ra’Ed always talked, the kit answered in superior tones. Draco just could not heard.

Draco was about to refute that statement in no uncertain terms when his attention was distracted by the other kit, who by this stage was eagerly rifling through his bag.

“Here, what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, grabbing his bag, and ending up singed for his pains. The other kit chattered angrily at him, though he couldn’t understand what it was saying. “Ra’Ed,” he asked in exasperation, “what is it going on about?”

It is Mele, Ra’Ed announced huffily, obviously sharing his companion’s annoyance. Mele is bond-mate of Ginny. You have thing of Ginny Mele wants.

Draco was startled by this unexpected reference to Ginny. He vaguely recognised the other kit – she was Harry and Ron’s, if he remembered correctly – but as far as he knew, Ginny had never met any of the dragons, and he had no idea what a bond-mate was. And he certainly wasn’t giving this kit what he had in his bag.

“What is a bond-mate, and why does it want what I have?” he demanded of Ra’ed.

It is Mele! Ra’Ed repeated, then realised that this might not mean very much to a human. Mele is girl-kit. Bond-mate is stay with witch, wizard all times. Protects from all dangers. You have Ginny hair. Dangerous. Bad spells. Mele wants.

“I’m not going to use her hair for bad spells!” Draco exclaimed, torn between outrage at the suggestion and shock that they could know he had a lock of Ginny’s hair. He stared at their unrelenting expressions for a moment, then sighed in resignation as neither one of them replied. Yanking his bag open, he pulled out his diary and removed the offending lock. “All right! Here it is.”

Without any warning, Mele shot up to Draco’s hand and unleased a stream of fire that was quite impressive for such a small dragon kit. Ginny’s red hair crinkled and then disappeared under this direct attack, and Draco yowled as his hand was thoroughly singed by the small dragon’s flame. He was about to yell at the pair, when their heads shot up, looking past him in the direction of the castle before they turned as one and flew back towards the dragon nest.

Draco turned around to see what had caught their attention, and caught sight of a flash of red hair. For a moment he thought it was Ginny, and he snarled at himself for the way his breath quickened in anticipation. Then he realised that the approaching figure was much too tall to be Ginny. Or Ron. Which meant it could only be one other person.

With a groan, Draco grabbed the few books that were still lying on the ground, and sped off through the trees to avoid Charlie Weasley. He was the last person – bar Potter or Ron – who he wanted to meet. And besides, he really had to work out some kind of plan for the Quidditch match. Which was less than twenty-four hours away now.

Draco groaned again. He was doomed.