Bones ⋆ Draco Malfoy (3)

| FOURTEEN: Spot the Slytherin

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FOURTEEN SPOT THE SLYTHERIN

     Livvy isn't sure what he's doing.

     Like, for real. For the past couple months or so, his mind's been hurling him into murky water every time his eyes close, or every time he tries to bathe, or shower, and he has to get the cleaning thing done as quickly as possible, before he panics too much and someone finds him unconscious, naked. He dreams of the sea and the plants that coiled around his ankles; his mind wanders in lessons and it always lands on the topic of sea monsters, ones with fangs and claws and better agility underwater than himself.

     He doesn't like this. He doesn't enjoy this. He hates being haunted by the second task, and he hates not knowing why that task's lurking on him the most, when in the first one he had to battle a fucking dragon, and the Yule Ball itself was a complete mess. All he wants out of this goddamned tournament is to make out with his best friend (crush). Even if it's only one time. That's all he wants.

     But, no. If your name is Livius Conor Gordon-Isley, you're destined to a life of misfortune and angst and nightmares that lead to crying that lead to your best friend (crush) awkwardly trying to comfort you. Whilst you cry. Like a child. Like you must've done, when you saw Roman and Harleen getting mauled by Fenrir Greyback — or, when you still weren't used to the terror that is your new big sister's visions. (But, to be fair, who can blame him? When he got an older sister, she was of the age that when she had a vision, she looked like she should be in a horror movie. No, actually. She looked like she'd be refused from being in a horror movie, because it was so fucking creepy.)

     And, since his whole brain is pretty much flailing for one reason or another, he's lost the concept of hiding emotion. Which has been pretty grand, every time he's stepped into a classroom and Uncle Bart's teaching. If it wasn't for his friends physically forcing him to not say anything, he would've gotten himself murdered by now. Which would get him out of the final task, and OWLs, and NEWTs... Hmmm...

     Joking, joking.

     It's nearing June when the fog in his mind clears a little. He wonders if it's to do with the final task looming over his head like a very heavy rock, or if it's because of his sister, who's turned into her own special sort of mess. Livvy knows that, sometimes, his sister goes into a strange state before or after big visions; he recalls, when he was younger, his dad saying that she didn't move in the hours leading up to Roman and Harleen's deaths, and when Harry first defeated Voldemort, she vomited everywhere.

     Livvy sits in a corner of the castle, far away from the hall, far away from disturbances. He has Draco's copy of volume five sitting next to him, and he holds the counter-charm he's spent the past couple months figuring out. His brain hurts because of it. But he mutters it under his breath, and he tries to put all of his energy into it, and he points his wand at his own reflection. He's jolted with a spark, and he fidgets. He thinks of his sister. His blood boils. He rinses and repeats and hopes the results will improve.

     "Have you figured it out, then?"

     Livvy jumps. Instinctively, he pushes volume five out of sight. He sees Draco sit down, next to him, and Livvy sighs.

     "Merlin, mate, you scared me," says Livvy. "I thought I'd get done for this thing again."

     "Well, if you get done for it again, you have a good enough reason to get out of it," says Draco. Livvy pulls a face. "C'mon, Liv. The only reason you're using that now is because your uncle rose from the grave and cursed you."