The Malfoy Project

𝟖𝟖 - 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

     I manage to successfully ignore Monty for three days, the longest I've gone without speaking to him. Thankfully, he seems to have taken my threat somewhat seriously and has been keeping a safe distance from Draco and me. There are occasions when I catch him looking longingly at me across the hallways and am overcome with a wave of guilt and loss of what we once had. But then I quickly remember that he is not the same Montague as the one in my head. 

     It had taken him all but one day to turn the Slytherin Eighth Years against Draco. Whatever he'd said to them wasn't enough to make them hurt him physically, but they have stopped speaking to him entirely, including Pansy The glares they shoot him in the hallways alone are enough to pierce dragon hide, and I don't want to imagine the things they say behind closed doors.

     Adamant against spending another moment in the same vicinity as them, Draco has since defected to our warm Hufflepuff warren. Though often accompanied by Ernie, Draco's differing lesson schedule means there are frequent bouts of time when he would be left alone. He spends these free periods tucked into a corner with a novel and a cup of tea, or observing, with a quiet mix of curiosity and confusion, the daily hustle and bustle of my housemates as they scuttle around tidying the room, tinkering with the plants, and emptying the cat's litter-box. But mostly, he can be found at the furthest corner of the study table, knees folded up under his chin, grimly going through his textbooks in preparation for N.E.W.Ts. 

     Just a year ago, a student joining a house not his own was unheard of; the trespassing common rooms would most definitely have yielded punishment or at the very least drawn the ire of the offended house. Today, the concept of Houses is still respected, as are the great Founders, and they are as competitive as ever. But the Battle of Hogwarts had engendered a shift in the dynamics of the student body; instilled a new camaraderie between the four houses. Parties are no longer exclusive, crowds at Quidditch matches are a sea of indistinguishable colours, and inter-house relationships have ceased to be the butt of jokes.

     While many Hufflepuffs still harbour an obligatory grudge against the Slytherin boy, their affable natures compel them to disturb him with polite offers of food and drink, all of this accompanied by general nosiness. Draco's constant, inoffensive presence made it easy for my housemates to take to him, and in a matter of days, they have adopted him as a kind of prodigal son. I would come back from class to find him fending off insistent offers of freshly-baked scones and questions, or exasperatedly trying to prevent the pestiferous cat from curling up across his open book until someone would swoop in to carry it away for him. 

     With Draco reluctantly but safely indicted into the Hufflepuff ranks, he and I have stopped bothering to hide our adoration for each other as much, at least in the common room. We don't want to give people reason to chatter, but it feels so liberating to be able to nudge legs with him under the table, touch our pinky fingers in a secret-but-not-so-secret manner while studying. The Eighth Year girls tolerate him in our bunk to an extent. So, at night, for an hour or two, and he will sit on my bed next to me, propped up against each other as he listens to our inane gossip. He doesn't particularly care about who fancies who, or if Tiffany Walton from Gryffindor had said something insulting to Leanne yesterday; I suspect he is simply content to be there, to be allowed a presence, a space to exist.

     In front of my friends, he is constantly acutely aware of his movements, and tries to make them as small as possible so as not to draw attention to himself. Sometimes I think he is barely breathing. I marvel at this stark contrast to how he had been before the war, and can't decide whether to be happy that he is mellower and more thoughtful, or sorry that he has shrunk so far into himself that he no longer thinks himself deserving of a proper existence.  

     On Wednesday we sit side by side in the Great Hall during lunch, which isn't an unusual thing in itself; House seating is no longer mandated, but it attracts a few curious stares. They elbow their friends, signalling with their eyes to get a load of the new couple. Monty glowers at us from his seat at the Slytherin table where I would have normally be found at, arms wrapped around his chest like a wet leaf.