Even at Our Worst

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Would you like to head off now, or shall I get the Carrows?" He jeers with a raised brow, leaving them scurrying around the corner with a shriek.

Draco frowns down at his arm after they disappear, and I watch him resist the urge to tear at the aching flesh. I wrap my fingers around his free hand, pulling it back to his side. "C'mon, I think I heard Peeves causing a fuss on the next floor."

He squeezes my hand gratefully, before dropping it and following my lead.

Peeves has somehow gotten a hold of all of Filch's confiscated dungbombs, and has begun strategically placing them throughout the castle. We agree to keep an eye out for the Bloody Baron as we continue our patrol route, seeing as he's the only one with any hope of dissuading Peeves.

When returning on the way down, we reach the bottom of the Owlery staircase just in time to see two people disappear into an all too familiar wall and watch the door fade away.

"You must be fucking joking," Draco says dryling, a sarcastic laugh puffing out in a breath, more akin to a scoff.

I slap my hand onto my forehead and grumble, "One night without a fuss, is that so much to ask?" before stomping towards the wall and planting myself in front of the stubborn stones. I whip my head in both directions, wand outstretched and determine that we're decidedly alone.

Draco appears by my side slowly, a hand drifting to my shoulder. "What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking that I need to finish my NEWTs already so I can get the fuck out of this school."

"I'll drink to that."

Regardless of our intentions, it's clear that the Room of Requirement won't be appearing to either of us tonight. Whoever is using its powers has a clear need not to be found.

We end the evening curled in the kitchens with a spot of tea and slices of treacle tart, where Draco tries to convince me (to no avail) that the elves seem perfectly content (brainwashed, I counter).

⧏ ▴ ⧐

February 2nd, 1997

I had quickly become transfixed by the 'Room of Requirement Problem'— the problem being that an alarming number of students seemed to be entering it just before curfew or slightly after curfew on most nights, paired with an alarming number of students unaccounted for by their respective house's prefects.

I thought of ignoring it for a good week, and then one of the fifth-year Gryffindor prefects was made an example of by the Carrows for his lax management, and then I thought better of my own less-than-serious Head Girl discipline.

I wasn't cursing anyone anytime soon, but I did begin to take away house points with far less forgiveness than before, and I sat staking out the Room nearly every night.

Draco said last week that I needed to turn them in, but, then again, he didn't know about Padma, and she was among the frequent fliers.

Now, sitting on the bottom step leading up to the owlery, concealed by a disillusionment charm, I pout as Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley stand proudly in front of the wall, wait for the door to appear, and then shimmy their way inside without a glance over their shoulder. The overt confidence in the action is painfully Gryffindor.

Had they cast a revelation spell, they would have clearly seen that I was watching them from the shadows. It almost makes me want to turn them in if only to knock down their egos and teach them a lesson in stealth.

Three small second-years file in next, and with a sigh, I release the charm surrounding me with a flick. I twirl my hair around my finger and pile it on top of my head, sticking my wand through it to hold it in place with some difficulty.