Chapter 9: A Lesson

Chapter 9: A Lesson

Mad-Eye's Sixth year Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson the next day was awkward, to say the very least. At least for three people, and two in particular.

It was Selene's prerogative to make George uncomfortable, but when the Gryffindor finally found his way to the fourth floor classroom, he was dismayed to see that she had already taken her seat.

She said nothing as the twin slowly pulled his chair out and dropped his bag onto the top of the desk. The books inside made a thumping sound as the bag hit the wood, but Selene remained motionless. After a few seconds, she looked up slowly, meeting George's gaze for half a second before she turned away from him again, back to her open textbook.

To his part, George said nothing, simply pulling out his books, quill and parchment, shooting a look at Fred, who was all the way over on the other side of the classroom. His twin shrugged, shooting back a tight, strained grin, rubbing the end of his nose.

Fred had said nothing about his midnight rendezvous with the Malfoy girl to his twin, even though George had noticed that something was up when he had returned with the Firewhiskey. To start off with, Fred had made excuses about Filch and Mrs Norris, but when George wasn't buying it, he simply shrugged the matter off and went to bed.

From what Fred Weasley knew of Selene Malfoy, he hadn't expected her to be that honest with him. Lucius's Dark Mark was reappearing? What did that mean? He refused to think about the obvious connotation - because You-Know-Who was dead, Harry had killed him all those years ago.

As for Malfoy being a member of the Death Eaters herself, he was still convinced that his assumption was correct. For one thing, he knew that the Malfoys were related to the Lestrange family. Surely Malfoy, the niece of the only official female Death Eater, would at least be connected to them in some way, other than family loyalty? For all he knew, Selene idealised her aunt Bellatrix, and had similar murderous tendencies to boot. She seemed like the perfect image of a Pureblood woman, eyes cold and blue, an exterior that reminded Fred exactly of Narcissa Malfoy herself. Who knew what Malfoy had done during the War? Who knew what she remembered?

Fred glanced across at his twin again, who was poring over his book, obviously in an effort to ignore the Pureblood heiress to his left. He sighed, and shook his head to himself, ignoring the strange look it garnered from his partner. George was always too trusting, too accepting. He believed too many tales, read too many positives into false stories. At least George had him around, to pull him away from his intrinsically gullible nature. And he wasn't talking to Malfoy anymore, which was the best outcome he could hope for.

Still, something didn't seem quite right. Surely Malfoy was lying, in some capacity? Fred just didn't trust her, just as he didn't trust any scheming Slytherin wannabe. Ravenclaw she may be made out to be, she still acted and looked like a Slytherin to him. Anyone with words that cutting and eyes that freezing was as good as the rest of the snake scum.

Fred dismissed the memory of the panic in her eyes, as she stood on the top of the Astronomy, begging him to give her a second chance and believe her words. It was just a ruse, a ploy, to get his father out of a job and exploit their family for her amusement. She knew they didn't have as much money as a family as her own. She obviously disapproved of their friendliness towards Muggles and Muggleborns, she'd said as much in the courtyard. To her, the Weasley family were nothing but Blood Traitors. He couldn't forgive her that, no matter how much she pled.

When the class was over, and everyone was filing out, Fred couldn't help but notice how Malfoy stopped, to try and grab George's attention. She was ignored, and George walked right past her, not even giving her the time of day. To her credit, she squared her shoulders, and fell into step alongside Cho Chang, the pretty Scottish Ravenclaw, but her swift, upset glance at her deskmate betrayed her.

"Good lesson?" Fred asked of his twin, as they walked down the corridor, heading for the Grand Staircase, and for lunch.

"Excellent," George grinned, winking at an unsuspecting Third year as they strolled past. "You just have to hand it to the man, Moody just gets it."

"True," Fred chuckled, running a hand through his hair. It was getting rather long, which he was enjoying. It was a shame that his mother would inevitably make him cut it all off. He was anticipating a pair of scissors awaiting him as soon as he returned home for Christmas. "Lupin was alright, and all, but Moody has that spark."

"Lupin was a nutter," George snickered to himself. "A good teacher, but still a nutter. Shame he turned out to be a Werewolf, in the end, I think he rather liked us."

"D'ya reckon he knows Bagman?" Fred asked, an idea forming in his mind. "I mean, if we had Lupin on our side against that thieving dickwad, an ex-Professor-"

"Fred," George raised an eyebrow at his twin, seemingly very confused. "Are you sure you're okay? That would never work. Never. Lupin always played by the rules, I doubt he'd approve of gambling long enough to help us out, mate."

Fred sighed, and begrudgingly nodded. "I suppose you're right, Georgie," he grinned, slightly awkwardly. "He always did need to pull that broomstick out of his arse a little."

"What is up with you?" George asked of his twin, furrowing his brow, patting Fred on the back. "You've been on edge ever since last night. And you went up to bed early, during a party! Are you completely sure that nothing's the matter?"

Should he tell his twin about his conversation with Malfoy? Somehow it didn't seem like George would react particularly well to the news, so Fred kept schtum. "Honestly, I'm fine," Fred insisted, shaking his head and allowing himself a jovial smile. "I promise. Nothing's the matter with me."

"Bullshit," George rolled his eyes for good measure. "Fred, something is obviously up with you. Remember, I've been with you since the womb, you can't fool me." He sighed, and paused at the bottom of the staircase, leaning against the banister. "Freddie," he paused after this nickname, as if contemplating something. "Is this… About what Malfoy said?"

"Kind of," Fred didn't wait, continuing into the Entrance Hall, and through the great oak doors for lunch. "Partially, I guess. Not entirely."

"She isn't worth your thoughts," George replied adamantly. "She obviously hates the very thought of us, it isn't worth your time to worry about. She's no better than her parents, or her brother, or any of her family."

"Yeah," Fred nodded along to this, biting his tongue as he considering bringing up the events of the night before. "Just… Why did you trust her, before?"

They had reached the Gryffindor table by this point, George's reply dying in his throat upon the site of food. Fred didn't press the subject, taking a seat next to Angelina Johnson, and leaning forward to listen to her conversation with Alicia Spinnet about the Harpies victory against the Falcons. Oh, and take a generous helping of Shepherd's Pie.

He was just being paranoid, he knew it. And George was right, Malfoy wasn't worth his thoughts. She never was, and she never would be.

oOo

"Cedric doesn't actually want people to wear the 'Potter Stinks' badges," Cho narrowed her eyes at Marietta, who had been in the process of attaching one to the front of her robes. "Seriously, don't wear them."

"Eet ez a leetle humiliating," Fleur protested, from Selene's left. "Ee ees too young, non?"

"He's way too young," Selene nodded, cutting up her toast into a million tiny squares. "It's just… Surely he wouldn't have done that? He doesn't seem like the type to willingly throw himself into danger, not really."

"You've never talked to him," Cho mentioned, rolling her eyes. "Ever. How would you know? Maybe he's a massive attention whore."

"Intuition," Selene replied drily, standing up and grabbing her bag. "Somehow I don't feel like a thirteen year old boy would square off against a Basilisk willingly. I'll see you all in a bit, I need to go and find Draco."

In all honesty, she didn't really want to spend much time with her friends today. Cho was too busy obsessing over Cedric to care all that much about anything that wasn't Tournament related, and Marietta was just being petty. And Fleur was Fleur, it was nice to see her but at the same time, her constant haughty insistence that Harry was lying about not putting his name in the Goblet (and that 'ee es too young, non?') was grating on her nerves.

It was freezing cold outside, so Selene murmured a warming charm to keep her arms from falling off. That would be a tragedy. She wasn't lying when she said she needed to find Draco, she definitely had a bone or two to pick with him over the badges. They were definitely uncalled for, even if Harry had willingly chosen to enter the Tournament.

And it didn't take her a long time to find him, either.

"Alastor!" Professor McGonagall was saying, rushing forwards towards where the Defence Professor was standing, his back to Selene. "We do not use Transfiguration on students as punishment! Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that!"

It was highly illegal, even. In Hogwarts: A History, there was a chapter solely dedicated to the punishments at Hogwarts through the ages, and the ones that were currently outlawed. Transfiguration had been banned in the early 20th Century.

Selene walked forward, arms crossed, as Moody transfigured the unlucky student back to their normal form. She froze as soon as she realised it was Draco who had been on the end of the spell, and rushed forward, kneeling down next to him on the ground.

"Are you okay?" she asked quickly, pulling her wand from her pocket and glancing around. "What happened? What did you do?"

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were standing, a little distance away, both chuckling away to themselves, although that was slowly dying down as they noticed Selene's furious expression.

"You think it's funny?" she spat, getting to her feet again, slipping her wand back into her pocket. "He could have been killed, and you're laughing?"

Both Professor McGonagall and Professor Moody had disappeared, obviously assuming that the present company assembled were capable of managing the problem themselves. Selene let out a long held breath, and walked up to the two boys, taking advantage of her one or two inch height advantage on them. "I'll take thirty points from Gryffindor," she said coldly, tapping her Prefect badge as Ron began to protest. "No, Mr Weasley, I will."

"Malfoy-" the third of their trio, Hermione Granger, piped up, but Selene cut across her protest in an instant.

"I don't want to hear it," she glared. "When a student's life is endangered, it would be prudent to assist them, rather than standing there and laughing."

"He hexed us!" Harry protested, ignoring Selene's icy gaze. "He tried to, at least."

"Well, then no harm is done," Selene said quietly, shaking her head in their direction. "I'm still taking thirty points. And, next time, think about the consequences before you act so callously."

Draco had been watching this scene unfold with a measure of disbelief in his eyes, but upon his sister's final statement, he quickly slipped away, eyeing Potter and Weasley as he went to join Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini, the lattermost of which was quickly wiping away tears of mirth.

This left Selene on her own in the middle of the courtyard, getting several dirty looks from quite a few of the other assembled Gryffindors who had been watching her brother get Transfigured. She dusted the bottom of her robes down and adjusted her tie, straightening her back a little as she walked away, willing the heat to not rise to her cheeks. It was amazing, sometimes, how judgemental people could be. She just wanted to keep her brother safe, was that simply too much to ask? Especially in the current climate, she could very well end up being his last defence.

"Watch where you're going, Malfoy," a worryingly familiar voice spat, as Selene turned the corner and walked straight into a tall, solid mass. She winced as she realised the owner of the voice - or the possible owner. "Not content with killing off our fun?"

George/Fred was glaring at her like she'd just killed his Puffskein, elbowing past her without a second thought, leaving the Ravenclaw standing there, staring after him with an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. That was a friend that she'd lost. And one she probably would never get back.