Bones ⋆ Draco Malfoy (3)

| FIVE: Lean, Mean Stress Machine

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FIVE LEAN, MEAN STRESS MACHINE

     "MORNING, SIS," LIVVY says, as he reaches the two-metre radius of his sister. That morning, he was greeted by Briar, who had smiled and said that they were confronting Michaelmas at lunchtime. Livvy isn't bothered, really, that he's being dragged along. It's nicer than last year, where he found out his sister had been helping out Sirius Black (who, at the time, Livvy thought was an escaped convict) (his family thought he wasn't) (Livvy hadn't been sure) on the morning everyone found out his dad was a werewolf. And it wasn't even his goddamned sister that told him! It was two of her best friends. They praise her for it. Livvy's still unsure on how he feels.

     Livvy hides the matured angst behind his teeth. He smiles. He tries to look normal. He tries to pretend that he's definitely not pulling out one archive in his mind, the one that's all about his sister and the things she doesn't tell him, because he's too young. "Long time, no see," he says.

     Briar frowns. "I spoke to you at breakfast," she responds. Livvy opens his mouth to make a remark back, but she continues, "Right. Are you ready?"

     She gestures to the Muggle Studies classroom. The lair of the monster, where the leftover Muggle foods from last year are hostages. (They are packaged foods. Like, cans and crisps and stuff. Not, like, mouldy cauliflower cheese. Or shepherds' pie. Ew. Livvy internally grimaces. He wished every shepherds' pie was left to rot. That shit was gross, man.)

     Livvy places his hand on his heart. He's still out of breath from trying to get from the Defence classroom to Muggle Studies within five minutes. And they're on the opposite sides of school. And he was going against the current of hungry students. "Hold on, I'm still out of breath," Livvy tells Briar. "I need to look cool. If I'm out of breath, I won't be able to deliver the cool jokes I'm famous for."

     A minute passes. Well. About ten seconds.

     Briar rolls her eyes. "You done yet?"

     Livvy pauses. Don't think about that, shut it, dear, don't fucking think about her. He lets out a sigh, and shrugs, and forces a somewhat-positive expression. "Yeah, let's go," he says.

     He's expecting one of two things. One — it is their Uncle Aster, he is a Death Eater, and he very much likes the idea of murdering the children of his sister. Or, two — it's not their Uncle Aster, but he's getting really pissed off about them appearing and questioning his identity, and he gives them detention, and Livvy has to tell his friends the situation. God. It dawns on him that, given his sister's prophetic powers, option one is more likely than option two. Livvy frowns. He's too young to die. He hasn't even made out with someone yet—!

     Briar knocks on the door. Half a second later, she lets herself into the classroom. Livvy's eyes widen, and he follows her. He was hoping she'd be a little less Gryffindor about the situation.

     Michaelmas — or Aster Crouch, most likely — stands at the front of the classroom. His gaze settles on them. Livvy wishes there was a blanket of shadows to hide in. He feels a little more at ease when these kind of things are less confrontational, and more back-stabbing. Like, the Cold War.

     "You're Aster Crouch," Briar declares. Again, Livvy thinks, can you be a little less Gryffindor?

     Possibly Their Uncle gives her an odd look. He gives Livvy an odd look. Livvy gives him an equally odd look. He hopes his is intimidating. He ignores the idea that a fourteen year-old wasn't exactly likely to scare an old man. Probably around forty. His parents are around mid-thirties. If it's Aster, Livvy thinks that he'll be about forty.