The Forbidden Four: Year Two

Chapter Eight - Draco's Horribly Brilliant Plan

Chapter Eight - Draco's Horribly Brilliant Plan

     Contrary to popular belief, Draco was not blind. He very much did pay attention to his surroundings, and he was proud to say that he noticed quite a lot that most people didn't.

     Including the fact that his cousin had some serious anger issues.

     Now, Draco wasn't unused to Castor's anger; they didn't have the most loving relationship. But despite this, that didn't mean that Draco wasn't attuned to his nature.

      His cousin had always been the quiet type. He preferred sitting perfectly still in the shadows like some kind of creepy porcelain doll, which contrasted rather harshly with Draco's need to be the center of attention at all times. This, most likely, was probably one of the main reasons they butted heads so much.

      It was also because of Castor's quiet demeanor that Draco noticed when that began to change, and not for the better.

      Having lived with the boy for nearly five years now, Draco was used to his cold eyes and judgmental silences; had been on the receiving end of both more times than he had written his own name. That's why it was so obvious a change that it was shocking that someone else hadn't noticed it before he had.

      The first incident was minor; seeing Castor start shaking with barely contained rage after Goyle pissed his bed, only to completely explode when the giant squid came to give it's morning greeting — which, mind you, Castor usually appreciated very much.

     The second was when Pansy had ruined Castor's potion in class, causing Professor Snape to go after him yet again. Nobody else had noticed it, too busy goggling at the spectacle of their Professor scowling down his nose at yet another lousy potion, but Draco had seen the way his cousin had stabbed his quill into his desk. Whether it was on purpose or a complete accident, Draco wasn't sure.

     After that came a series of angry habits building that nobody seemed to notice — not even Castor himself — but Draco.

      It was the little things. The way Castor's quills would snap in his hands at the slightest inconvenience. The way Pansy Parkinson was no longer just a mild annoyance; an especially annoying fly buzzing in his ear, but was instead his personal enemy. It was the way his cousin no longer looked at his History of Magic homework with disdain before reluctantly getting to work; instead gripping it so tight in his hands that it was turned in ripped on more than one occasion.

      It was glaringly obvious that Castor wasn't himself, even without adding the nightmares and self-imposed starvation to the mix. Oh yes, Castor might have fooled everyone else, but Draco knew better.

      Castor Domain was a complete wreck, and it was honestly painful to watch. Not because he cared, or anything. It was just kind of pathetic, that's all.

      So, after the sixth time some poor first year had fallen prey to Castor's anger, Draco stepped up.

      "Have you ever thought about joining the quidditch team?"

      Castor looked up from his transfiguration homework at Draco's question, raising an expressionless eyebrow at him.

      "No, why ever would I?"

       It was a lie. Kind of. In truth, Castor had thought about it a few times. Before coming to live with the Malfoys, he had been kind of obsessed with the possibility of being able to fly. Ever since his mother had pointed to a broom inside a shop in Diagon Ally and whispered quietly to him that his father had played a game called quidditch in his time at Hogwarts. From her descriptions, he had been quite good at it, too.