"The Forbidden Forest?" Draco repeated. He was frowning at MacDougal, who held a pot of belladonna at arm's length to avoid getting drops of poisonous juice on her clothes. He could hear the faint hissing coming from the berries, and small black spots appeared on the grass where the juice had fallen.
"Of course," MacDougal replied with a smile. "There's a perfect spot right on the edge."
Draco slowed his steps. He had never been particularly fond of that forest, even at the best of times, and he couldn't forget that terrible evening in his first year when he saw the Dark Lord (though he realized who it was much later) drinking unicorn blood. All sorts of creatures lived there, and rumor had it there was also a small giant and a herd of centaurs. And huge spiders...
"Move along, Mr. Malfoy," MacDougal ordered. "This plant will be happier among its own kind."
Draco snorted. He strongly doubted that. But that was no longer his problem. Not under his bed, so whatever.
MacDougal chose a shaded spot right at the edge of the forest. Naturally, she handled the transplant herself—she pulled dragon-hide gloves from her bag and gently straightened the drooping stems of the belladonna. Draco stepped back to a safe distance and lay down on the grass under the nearest tree. Soon, Isobel joined him.
"We should wait a bit to see if it takes root," she said. Their plant looked even more pathetic among the larger ones with glossy leaves and berries that loomed menacingly over the newcomer.
"Yeah, let's wait," Draco agreed. He didn't notice any dangerous creatures, only squirrels, and the fresh air and shade calmed his nerves. His hand didn't tremble as he reached out to tuck a strand of MacDougal's light hair behind her ear.
"Thanks for saving my little plant," he whispered, leaning forward.
"Always happy to?" the girl's voice wavered on the question. But she didn't pull away, and Draco only needed to lean a little more for their lips to meet.
But he didn't do it. He didn't kiss her gently. He didn't run his hand over her blue cardigan or slip it under that chaste skirt. He didn't whisper flattering compliments to her. He did nothing of what he had planned. He didn't even breathe in the sweet apple scent of her hair.
Instead, Draco remained still. The ground beneath him was cold and hard, dampness seeped through his clothes. His wand pressed into his thigh from his trouser pocket, and he wondered what time it was. His appetite was slowly returning, and he wouldn't mind a light snack.
Don't be an idiot, he scolded himself. Kiss her. Why are you thinking about lunch?
"I'm not thinking about lunch," MacDougal said, glancing sideways at him.
Draco blinked.
"What?" He really needed to stop muttering his thoughts out loud. Yesterday he had blurted out that Granger was an absolute nightmare. Well, she is a nightmare, he countered (this time to himself). That witch walks around as if she's ready to swallow the whole world and spit out whatever she doesn't like...
"We need to get back to the castle," she said, standing up.
Draco blinked again and reached out his hand, but she was already stepping toward the belladonna sapling.
"I think it—"
The leaves to her right rustled, and a small object flew out of the bushes, passing an inch from MacDougal's head and ricocheting off the tree trunk. Draco leapt to his feet, pulling out his wand.
"What in Salazar's name—" he began.
The bushes rustled again, and another projectile shot through the air, this time aimed directly at Draco, who deflected it with his wand. The object fell into a pile of red and gold leaves, and MacDougal dived after it.
"What are you doing?" he grabbed her hand. "We need to get out of here!"
He knew centaurs wandered this forest with slings and bows. Draco and Isobel could easily become targets—those beasts were capable of anything.
"I got it!" MacDougal exclaimed triumphantly as he helped her up from the ground. Leaves were tangled in her hair, and she was clutching something tightly in her fist. "We were looking for them!"
"Watch out!" Draco breathed. Another object flew from a tree above them, arcing straight toward them.
"Confringo!"
His wand obeyed, firing the spell with precise aim, and Draco expected a small but spectacular explosion. But MacDougal suddenly pushed his arm aside, knocking off his aim. The spell sliced off a tree branch, lighting the air with an orange flash.
"Don't!" MacDougal cried. "We need them!"
"What are they?" Draco asked, but the witch didn't answer. She just kept pushing him toward the edge of the forest while new projectiles whistled around them. When they reached the lawn, Draco turned and stared at the clenched fist of the Ravenclaw girl.
"Give it to me," he ordered. "It could be dangerous."
"It's not dangerous," MacDougal insisted, raising her hand. "See?" Her slender fingers were holding something small and hard, which struggled to break free from her grip, like a tiny Quidditch ball.
Draco blinked.
"Is that... a muffin?"
She nodded eagerly.
"It's part of the house research project on the balance between blueberries and batter. We enchanted twenty-four muffins: ten we found, one we ate, and the rest are still on the loose." She glanced at the forest. "They said the muffins escaped from the castle."
Draco stared at the muffin in MacDougal's hand. It was stale, pitted with holes, covered in dirt and splattered with berry juice. The blonde witch pulled out her wand.
"Incarcerous!" she said, and thin ropes bound the muffin, which continued to wriggle furiously. She stuffed it into her bag.
"Fascinating," MacDougal said. "We wanted the muffins to sort themselves by blueberry quantity, but the berries try to escape, rolling the muffins away…"
Draco had never heard anything so absurd and pointless. If this was how Ravenclaws spent their free time, his habit of getting drunk no longer seemed so terrible. Sure, he might have started a few fires, but at least whiskey bottles didn't behave like wild animals.
"We're going back to the castle," Draco declared. He grabbed her hand, grimacing at the sticky blueberry juice on her palm.
MacDougal chatted happily while Draco dragged her across the castle grounds.
"Just imagine, Mr. Malfoy, we could be the first to study the behavior of feral baked goods! Did they form a pack? Do they have an Alpha Muffin? Are they territorial? That would explain their aggression. We need to go back and—"
"What?" Draco stopped again. "We are not going back to the Forbidden Forest to hunt for rogue, bloodthirsty muffins!"
MacDougal pouted.
"You don't have to go. I just thought you might enjoy it."
"No—and you're not going, either!"
She patted his arm.
"Don't worry, I'll be fine," she smiled. "I'll borrow Luna's cork helmet."
They argued all the way back to the castle, but MacDougal had no intention of abandoning her mad quest to track muffins in the wild. All she needed was a notebook and a butterfly net.
"I wonder if we can tag them?" she said. It became clear—Lovegood wasn't an outlier in her house. All Ravenclaws were insane.
When they reached Dumbledore's statue, MacDougal finally noticed Draco's nervousness. She stopped, studying him with a concerned frown.
"Mr. Malfoy? Are you alright?" she asked.
"Yeah," he snapped. She stepped back. "I mean, yes, thank you for asking," he corrected himself.
Bookish girls loved formalities. He sighed wistfully, remembering the pretty Slytherin sluts who appreciated selfishness and rudeness in men. Ah, those were the days…
MacDougal squinted, looking up at him.
"Why do you spend so much time with me?"
"You're nice," Draco said. He had a whole monologue prepared about a lonely, aching heart beating under icy armor.
No one else understands me. No one else tries to see the real Draco.
"Hmm…" She didn't look convinced, but she didn't ask for clarification. Instead, she pulled out a scrap of parchment and touched it with her wand—elegant, made of chestnut.
"You need to visit the belladonna every day for a week," MacDougal said. "If the other plants think she has no friends, they'll attack her."
Draco stared gloomily at the schedule. The last thing he wanted was to drag himself daily into the Forbidden Forest to maintain the social life of a deadly plant.
MacDougal slung her bag over her shoulder.
"I need to take this muffin to our house lab. And you clearly need a nap."
The Slytherin couldn't hold back a light sigh. His weak glamour charms were wearing off. Draco had wasted the whole morning, and he had only himself to blame. The witch had brought him to a secluded corner of the forest, sat down next to him, allowed his lips to almost touch hers… And what had he done? Dreamed about lunch, leaving her hanging in uncertainty?
"You're crumpling your scroll, Mr. Malfoy," the Ravenclaw said.
"Draco," he corrected, stepping closer.
"I need to go to the lab, Mister…" She looked at him meaningfully. "Draco."
"And I need to sleep, Isobel," he whispered in her ear. "Are you sure you don't want to tuck me in?"
The girl blushed bright red and recoiled.
"Absolutely not!" she snapped and marched away indignantly. Draco remained standing, watching her disappear into the castle. Progress.
"Well, well, well," came a nauseatingly familiar voice. "How sweet."
Draco turned around. Tennant was sprawled on the steps by the statue, his jacket off, the gemstone in his ear glittering in the sun. The massive wizard beckoned him with a finger, and Draco reluctantly obeyed.
"Giving up on Granger?" Tennant asked. "Wise. A little wimp like you can't handle her. She needs a firm hand."
"Your hand, I suppose?" Draco tried his best to sound bored. He wasn't in the mood for his roommate's filth.
"Why not? Potter's not around, right?" Tennant leaned back, crossing his legs in heavy boots. "My offer still stands, Drakey. Help me, and you'll get a piece… when I'm done."
Draco kept a mask of cold disdain, but his eyes involuntarily flicked up to the statue above them. The marble eyes of the Headmaster seemed to express disapproval.
"I've been following Granger, hoping to get her alone, but she's too sharp," Tennant went on. "Swear she's got eyes in the back of her head. Spots me every time."
The thoughtful grimace looked odd on a face so much like Thorfinn Rowle's.
"Thought I had her last night." Tennant shook his head. "But she turned the corner and vanished."
Draco couldn't help a smirk. Yeah, Tenney, she really did vanish. Right into my bed.
"But I have an idea," Tennant perked up. "Granger keeps meeting up with the Chief Mudblood. We'll tail him. Tonight after dinner. You distract him, and I'll…" The wizard's grin was identical to Thorfinn's.
Draco rolled his eyes.
"That's your brilliant plan? Trail that scrawny git and hope they meet?"
"I could call Gargle."
"Goyle."
Tennant shrugged.
"Seems eager to help."
"I'll help," Draco said indifferently. "If you can just—"
A sharp whistle cut through the air, and both wizards turned—the Weaslette was crossing the lawn toward them.
The war and a year with Carrow had left their mark on this particular Weasley. She looked impressive: tall, athletic, in tight black leather. Her crown of copper braids gleamed in the sun. She was no longer the gray little mouse his father had mocked in Diagon Alley. Pansy hated her with a burning passion, and Blaise watched her secretly when he thought no one noticed.
Weasley stopped a few steps from Draco. On her black glove, a pocket Sneakoscope spun like a top. She stared at them with a look that unpleasantly reminded Draco that this witch's mother had killed Bellatrix.
"You're up to something," Weasley spat. She glanced at the statue. "Weird place for a conspiracy." Her words came out sharp, like that fake Moody's, with a growl Draco remembered from when he'd been a tiny terrified ferret.
Tennant rose with unexpected grace and stepped down a couple of steps toward Weasley. His white shirt, unbuttoned at the top, flapped in the gusty wind.
"Well, darling," he said, "you're quite a sight for sore eyes…"
"What are you plotting?" Weasley practically tried to sniff out suspicious behavior. "I'm watching you. Both of you."
"Oh, I love it when pretty witches keep an eye on me," Tennant drawled.
"Every. Single. Step." The witch's face literally glowed with maniacal enthusiasm, and Tennant visibly tensed.
"Tennant Rowle," said Weasley, "son of Death Eater Thorfinn Rowle. Transferred from Durmstrang. Professors there are being arrested in droves—the school might shut down completely. Smart of you to bail."
She gave him an appraising look with her piercing brown eyes.
"And you look clever. That's a surprise."
"Well, well, Red," Tennant tried to soften his tone, "let's go somewhere private and have a nice chat." He moved closer to her. "You're hurting my feelings, talking like that…"
"DO NOT TOUCH MY HAIR!" Weasley's shout was caught by the wind, making Draco flinch. Her wand pressed against Tennant's throat, and her eyes said she was ready to send them straight to Dumbledore.
"Trying to fool me, Rowle? CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
Weasley stepped back, her eyes blazing.
"I'm watching both of you," she repeated, then turned and sprinted toward the castle. Students scattered out of her way.
Stunned silence. Then Tennant sharply turned to Draco.
"Who… the fuck… WAS THAT?"
"Ginevra Weasley," Draco answered.
"Weasley," Tennant savored the syllables. "Blood traitors."
Draco remembered the Prophet articles about her.
"She's dating Harry Potter, I think." That bespectacled idiot deserves her.
"She gives me the fucking shakes," Tennant declared.
Draco couldn't disagree.
"Weasley's been friends with Granger for years. Maybe rethink your plan, Rowle."
"No way. One psycho blood traitor won't stop me."
Draco shrugged. Tennant really did love playing with fire.
"Tonight after dinner we'll watch that mudblood Puff," Tennant growled. His face glowed with grim stubbornness, though he couldn't stop himself from glancing nervously at the castle's huge doors. "Fuck."
Then he shot Draco an evaluating look.
"You look like shit, buddy. Quit drinking."
Tennant strode away, unbothered again, his usual cocky swagger back. The sun disappeared behind the clouds, casting a shadow over Dumbledore's statue. Draco felt sick, and it wasn't because of last night's firewhisky.
Dark plots. Clouds in the Divination mirror. Rain in Wiltshire. A witch in danger. There was no easy way out. Draco clenched his fists. He'd been a fool to think the war was over for him.
END OF PART ONE