I Learned Your Pulse

"Say it, Draco. It'll help."

"We would like to welcome Professor David Yasmen as our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. With any luck, he'll be here more than a year."

There was a scattered laugh among the prefects at McGonagall's words.

"We'd like to welcome back Professor Firenze, who has agreed to teach Divination to years five through eight, while Professor Trelawny will teach to years one through four."

There was a loud snort from Professor Trelawny and several people giggled at her open display of hostility. She seemed to think they were laughing at the news of Firenze, though, and smiled.

"Alright. Now let the feast begin!"

McGonagall did a terrible Dumbledore, Draco knew that, but the effort counted. The food began to pop up at the table, and pretty much every single prefect helped him/herself to a very large portion of turkey, lamb and pumpkin juice. Draco stared at the food, seeing nothing but disappetizing platters of garbage and wondering how on earth these could be gourmet masterpieces. He took one small piece of a treacle tart, and swallowed it, bile almost immediately rising to his throat. He choked it down, his eyes watering at the too-salty, too-sour taste, and looked dow at his emtpy plate, and then around the table, where people were smiling and laughing, nodding their appreciation of the food. Draco didn't have to hide his sneer - it had been a while since he felt like sneering at anyone with his characteristic look.

"Hey, Blaise, I don't see Parkinson. Where is she?"

Draco's ears picked up the soft question from Terry Boot to Blaise easily, and he felt his stomach squirm. His mind drifted.

"Bye, Draco."

"Pansy, don't - I never wanted -"

"Don't you see what I am?" she whispered, not even turning around to look at him. "I'm the very reason that everyone in there is going to hate Slytherins. I made a choice, I chose a path, and now I have to follow it."

"But, they can still win -"

"They, is it Draco?" she still didn't turn around, and Draco's fingers itched to grab her shoulder and make her. "I was under the impression you are with them."

"I never wanted any of this!" he said hotly, trying to ignore the fact that the room they were in could be penetrated at any minute.

"Then you don't want any of me."

Draco was about to retort, but at the same moment, they both heard footsteps and two very familiar voices. They immediately bolted under a stall, and waited, while two pairs of old, ratty shoes appeared.

"Ron, are you sure -"

"We don't have any other guesses, Hermione, we've got to try."

"But how? How will you do it?"

"I've heard him say 'open' twice now, Hermione, I should be able to re-create the sound."

"Ron, parseltongue is a very rare and very ancient language that can only be spoken by -"

"Shut up and let me try."

They heard a warbled hiss.

"Ron, that was nothing like -"

"Wait. Here we go!"

The sink they'd just been standing by disappeared, as did the others around it, and they all stared at a chasm.

"Bye, Draco."