Malfoy Amongst The Chaos

A Pleasant Potions Lesson?

<16>

Wanda

Somehow, I've managed not to tell Harry or Hermione about Saturday.

I've used homework as an excuse, the situation with Ron and Lavender, chaos control... anything that means I can avoid having that conversation. And the longer I leave it, the less the words want to leave my mouth. 

My magic reacted absurdly on Saturday - it drew in emotions that now seem majorly disproportionate; a raging fear, an irrational suspicion. The intelligent part of me has been warring with my instincts all weekend because he hates  me, he hates everything about me. To him, I am nothing but a vile piece of blood-traitor vermin who's death he said he'd cut out of the newspaper and frame. 

Why would  he want me touching him? Is it actually an unusual reaction?

But even as I try to convince myself otherwise, even as I shut down Harry's persistent accusations, there is something else that nags at my subconsciousness, something about the look on his face when he saw where I'd grabbed him - fear - actual fear written into every sharp angle of his features. 

I can't unsee it and I can't seem to ignore it. 

The same arguments and counter-arguments circle through my mind on a daily basis, occupying me so thoroughly that I've barely thought about anything else and anyone else all weekend. The transfiguration homework I did yesterday afternoon, an essay about transfiguring facial features, is the worst one I've ever written, the lesson I had with Snape afterwards, even worse - I shattered three whole targets instead of moving them and didn't manage to shut out a single mind that wasn't already heavily guarded with either steel or occlumency.

The building stress of everything weighs down on me as Harry, Hermione and I descend the steps into the dungeons on Monday afternoon, my magic a restless steam train of heat chugging through my blood despite the words I whisper to myself in an attempt to calm it.

It's going to be fine. You're overreacting. 

I've got to be the calm one, I've got to be the one who shuts it all down - like Hermione, but with more certainty, because I'm  the telepath, I'm  the one who they should be able to count on. I've got to be stronger - I've got to be smarter.

"I really hope it's a practical lesson this time," Hermione says from behind me, her voice cutting through the clatter in my mind, "I just don't think I was really able to prove myself last time and - oh, Harry you will stop cheating, won't you?" she pleads, and Harry scowls over his shoulder.

"For the last time, Hermione, I'm not  cheating and I'm not  giving the book back!" he snaps and she huffs loudly, muttering something under her breath.

I stay quiet and swallow hard as the classroom gets closer still, steeling myself against seeing his face when I walk through that door. Late. We're already late. But at least we succeeded in avoiding Ron's too cheery company - another thing I could do without.

"Well, I still hope it's a practical lesson," Hermione persists huffily, "And I hope Slughorn fusses extra over you, Harry, just so you can feel the guilt of knowing it's not actually your work."

He might not even be there, he skipped last week...

Harry rolls his eyes as he reaches for the door handle, grunting as he pushes his weight against it and traipses through into the classroom beyond.