Intense

Silver 'I'

The great hall hadn't been the same in Dumbledore's absence. The room once echoing with lively chatter had fallen mute, gradually being hacked to only dull whispers from those brave enough. The tables grew more sparse by the day, students opting to retire early to the common rooms or kill time elsewhere.

Even Draco had to admit it was a bummer, the silver "I" pinned to his robes growing duller with every boring meal he sat through. The hallways of the castle were lifeless, extravagant walls plagued with educational decrees.

Dinner was definitely the worst of all three meals, Draco decided. He picked at the food in front of him, zoned out to the background noise of his lackey's hushed back-and-forth from either side of him. The large windows were dark, light of the hall reflecting off them and giving him little to get lost in.

"Really?" Crabbe was barely legible through his mouthful of food, but the draw of entertainment pulled Draco from his trance. Pansy Parkinson took her seat across from the trio, smoothing a wrinkle in her uniform skirt.

"I was there," Goyle's face held an ugly grin, smugness oozing from it. He continued, "I was the one that ratted him out, watched her do it myself."

"Watched who do what?" Pansy leaned towards them, joining in on the conversation.

"Umbridge used the cruciatus curse on a sixth year-" Crabbe started. Draco hissed like he'd been burned.

"Gossip is heavily discouraged." He scowled at Goyle before turning back to Crabbe. "And one must not tell lies, unless you've forgotten."

Draco's skin crawled at the mention of the curse, but he was not about to let his stupid goons mess up their positions in the Inquisitorial Squad because they had to run their mouths.

Crabbe chewed at him, swallowing heavily and licking his lips obnoxiously before responding. "I thought you two were friends though?"

Draco's brows drew tight in confusion, anxiety blooming behind his ribs. How many sixth years was he friends with? He tried to reassure himself.

Goyle chuckled meanly, rude and teasing. "I thought he'd've told you first, you know how chatty those ravenclaws are."

"Yeah, always yapping about something. Probably too scared to get on Draco's bad side." Crabbe snickered dumbly in return. He mocked, "One must not tell lies!"

Stomach churning, Draco suddenly found it hard to sit still. His lungs drew tight. His head was swimming with you, the thought of your blinking eyelashes not failing to make his heart beat faster even as concern clawed against the back of his throat. He felt his palms grow clammy.

He rolled his eyes and sneered. "What ravenclaw?"

"The one he ditched us for on the train last year?" Pansy bounced off his question. Draco's blood felt like ice water in his veins and he held his breath at your blunt inclusion. He hoped neither inquiry would be answered.

"Yeah, that one." Goyle confirmed. Draco felt sick. "Heard he'd been out by the greenhouses after hours, took fifty points from ravenclaw and went to Umbridge."

Bile crept up Draco's throat; the back of his tongue burned. The silver "I" on his robes felt like it weighed a thousand kilos. It felt like a dark mark. Shame bubbled in his chest. 

The power that came with his position in the Squad suddenly didn't feel worth it. He felt a little like a monster.

"Suspicious and outlawed activity, it's no wonder she thought he was working with Dumbledore." Goyle's voice was grating, and Draco couldn't shake the overwhelming image of you being tortured over something as ridiculous as watering plants.

His eyes felt like they were about to melt. Pansy eyed him suspiciously across the table, and he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"You alright, Draco?"

Goyle's incessant laughter rang in his ears. "Probably upset I caught that stupid ravenclaw first-" Draco pushed out of his seat. He loomed over Goyle, breath coming out shaky, and his fingers trembled.

"Shut your fat mouth, Goyle." His lips drew up at the sides in anger. The orange glow from the candles in the air felt blinding, his face went hot.

Draco wanted to punch Goyle in the nose, wanted to rip the silver "I" off his robes and throw it at Crabbe so hard it bruised. He shook his head, taking another, equally ragged breath to compose himself.

"You and your stupid rumors." His voice was a growl, louder than was acceptable by educational decree, but Draco didn't care.

His gaze turned to Pansy. She looked at him with a brow pulled up, concern and confusion on her face. He scoffed and turned away, jaggedly swaying from side to side as he stormed off down and out of the great hall.

"What's got his robes in a knot today?" Goyle wore an offended expression.

Pansy opened her mouth, silent for a moment before speaking. "You think they're...?" She trailed off at the end of the sentence, eyes pointing in the direction Draco had left and raising her brows at Crabbe and Goyle in suggestion.

The two boys stared quietly at her, expressions blank. Crabbe leaned forwards, tilting his head at her. "Think they're what?"

She rolled her eyes, turning to the food on the table. "Nevermind."