Not long after, Ginny made her away to Seamus and Harry. The three of them watched, in an uncomfortable silence, as Snape and Lupin conferred quickly, before escorting Draco and a whey-faced Millicent Bullstrode out of the Great Hall.
"Will someone tell me what on earth is going on? We were in Charms when Ernie McMillan came rushing in saying that Lucius Malfoy had attacked Draco in the forest," said a slightly out of breath Ginny. "If it was anyone else other than Ernie, I' d be worried..."
Harry didn't answer, but instead stormed over to the Great Hall doors and still deeply scowling, disappeared beyond.
Seamus, who was carrying Harry's things, gave Ginny a long suffering look as he sat down heavily at Gryffindor table and sighed into his long fringe.
**
Snape did not immediately offer up any information and Draco did not immediately prod him. As he often told Draco, there were only three places in Hogwarts safe enough to conduct a conversation with complete security. One was Dumbledore's Office, another was Snape's private quarters and the last was the Room of Requirement.
The Potions Master did, however, wait with Draco on the second floor outside the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Hermione, Ron and Millicent were already inside and in the process of being questioned.
Draco found it eerie seeing the school corridors so deserted in the middle of the day. After seven years at Hogwarts, he was used to students milling to and from classes; the chattering, scuffing and shuffling of feet. The distant activity in the Great Hall carried through the old stone of the castle, sounding like muttering and whispers, almost as if the stones themselves had awakened and were taking interest in the recent events.
Filch passed by once, making a quick check around the lower half of castle to pick up any stragglers. He gave Snape a nod, and Draco a sneer, although to be fair it was hard to tell given that Filch's sour look seemed to be a permanent affliction anyway.
The Caretaker's aversion to him was nothing new. Draco was used to people being less than nice to him. As he often told Crabbe and Goyle, he couldn't give a flying fuck what people thought of him as long as they left him alone to do whatever he pleased. That was the good thing about being a prefect - a private room and the ability to give detentions to snotty children who so much looked at him the wrong way.
At the moment, however, the cloud of suspicion and general dislike which he had put up since Lucius had been sentenced only served to remind him of just how precarious his situation had become since fifth year. It wasn't so much that he had reputation to protect, it was more a case of him trying to protect himself from his reputation.
He felt slightly ill now, realizing belatedly that the fight or flight response he had experienced in the forest earlier was finally dissipating, leaving the bitter, icy residue of recently experienced fear in its wake.
A sideways glance at his Head of House revealed a scowling but largely unflustered Snape. Nothing unusual there. Draco was quite convinced that a panicked Snape would be a sure indicator that the end of the world was nigh.
He was right to have been afraid, though. Draco knew this. Dark Marks were no joking matter. In the past, they were used sparingly as calling cards; to inspire fear and dread, and to claim whatever heinous dead that was committed as belonging to Voldemort. The usual intent of the message went something along the lines of: Anonymous Death Eater Wuz Here: Feel Free to Shit Yourself.
Lately, however, Marks were being launched in the middle of attacks, as if the whole mystery and terror tactic - which was arguably the whole point of shooting off a Dark Mark in the first place - had given way to run of the mill Death Eater advertising.
Certainly, Voldemort's PR campaign was not what it used to be. Some of the younger Slytherins were even taking to saying the bastard's name out loud. None of that He Who Must Not Be Named business that Draco and his litter mates had been forced to swallow while growing up.
Hadn' t Granger espoused something along those lines enough times? 'Fear of the name breeds fear of the thing itself', or some such rubbish?
God damn the girl. Bane of his week, his month, and given the way