Slytherin Army [HP]

15. Dwarves Have a Mating Call

Valentine's Day proved almost fatal.

The ludicrous Lockhart had cockily claimed he'd made the attacks stop. And to add insult to injury, he'd had the audacity to spread gross dwarves dressed as cupids throughout the school to receive and deliver Valentines as a "morale booster."

And when she'd witnessed a loincloth-wearing abomination belch out a love poem from Gracelyn Montague for ten different Slytherins, including a mortified Quentin, Drew was very glad that she did not get one.

Wilby kept grinning at her from across the table at breakfast though, so she was willing to bet she'd have to chuck a dwarf out a window soon.

Amongst the normal owls delivering the daily post, a pink owl swooped over the Slytherin table and dropped a roll of parchment in front of Cyndee's breakfast plate.

Drew swirled her pumpkin juice, "Honestly, that's a lot more romantic and thoughtful than a half-baked midget."

Cyndee gingerly picked up the scroll, as if it were a rabid baby werewolf.

"Open it," Wilby said eagerly, seeming more excited about it than she was.

She cast a surreptitious glance at the rest of the table, and confirming that no one was looking, unfurled it.

Drew leaned closer, and when Cyndee didn't move away, read it with her.

You look lovely today

- Zabini x

Drew nearly heaved out her pumpkin juice, and Cyndee flinched to avoid getting spat on.

"Just today?" Drew demanded, then realized this was not the proper encouragement. "I mean..." she laced her fingers together, "...that's nice."

They noticed that Wilby was vibrating in his seat from sheer excitement, and Cyndee, smiling shyly, let him read the short message.

All three of them tilted their heads to look at Blaise Zabini down the table, who was stonily sipping some tomato soup while reading the Daily Prophet next to Graham Montague.

"Do I talk to him?" Cyndee murmured worriedly, blue eyes widening as she realized she had no idea what to do.

Drew had never talked to the guy, so she looked at Wilby. "Don't you share your dorm with him? What's he like?"

Wilby shrugged. "Quiet. Doesn't like talking."

"So he's the brooding type."

"He's a little sarcastic."

"Aha."

"I think he also has no feelings."

Drew looked at Cyndee, "In that case, I suggest you burn it."

"No!" Wilby shrieked, scandalized. He nearly knocked over some miso soup in his haste, and the mixture swished precariously in its bowl. "He's a nice person!"

Cyndee's eyes nervously shifted back and forth between them, "So..."

"Talk to him later," Wilby told her, pushing the soup further away. "I mean, if you want to."

Drew frowned, "But if he has no feelings—"

"That was an exaggeration," Wilby rolled his eyes.

She threw her sugar-covered bagel at him and grumbled to herself. If you lived in a world where magic existed, there could very well be a person with no emotions.