The Malfoy Project

𝟐𝟏 - 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝

     Since the castle had been rebuilt, much of its interior has changed. Classrooms have been shifted to different corners: what was once to the left is now on the right; some along the corridor are now bricked up and announced as obsolete. Everything in Trelawney's classroom has shifted 180 degrees; Charms classes no longer take place on the third floor but the second, where Transfiguration used to be.

     Amongst the places reconstructed were the House common rooms. During the war, the Gryffindor Tower had been completely obliterated; the Ravenclaw's lofty abode was burnt and blackened beyond recognition, and the Hufflepuffs' cosy den had been buried under a thousand tonnes of boulders, crushed into itself like a metal can.

     The only place spared from the carnage was the Slytherin common room. Shielded by layers upon layers of bricks, the dungeons remained untouched by the destruction that had been wrought upon the upper levels.

     It maintains its foreboding aura, the permanently-cold windows allowing in the smallest refractions of light from the Lake. The upholstery keeps its old-worldly charm and the portraits of grim-faced alumni still whisper to one another, Salazar himself reigning supreme over them all from above the fireplace.

     I see the appeal, but still never liked coming here. It's too dark and shadowy. At night, it reminds me of being trapped in the dark classroom with Hannah, rubble staining our limbs black and grey, the shouts of Death Eaters and students reverberating in our galloping hearts.

     Monty had valiantly agreed to come over to the Hufflepuff dorms instead. In the cover of darkness, he would slink - as much as a six-foot, 180-pound man can - up the stairs, through the kitchens, past the always-on fireplace in the common area, and right into my warm bed where we spent many nights tangled under the blankets.

     Now, he flexes his strength by choosing to carry the green velvet couch with his bare hands. Its legs squeal against the floor as he drags it away from the fireplace and back against the far end of the walls. He sets it down with a grunt and dusts his hands. "I still don't think it's a good idea, Ains," he says.

     I stand with my feet straddling the entrance of the Slytherin common room. At the wave of my wand, plates and bowls of food dance in a single file through the opening and onto the great  table in the corner. "It's not like I'd be lying to her. I'd just simply forgotten to bring the recorder. She'll still get the manuscripts."

     "Falsified manuscripts," says Monty. The dim green light colours him a sickening shade of troll. I want to point it out as a joke, but the serious look on his face makes me decide against it.

     "Edited, not falsified," I correct him.

     "I'm pretty sure that's against some journalistic law."

     "Oh, Merlin's sake, Monty, it's not like I'm plagiarising somebody or making up something untrue! It's redacting one statement. One. A few words said in passing that hold no news value."

     "But they do, though," argues Monty. "If any of it gets out, the Malfoys will be crucified. Lucius, especially. He might go to Azkaban, as he should! I mean, elf abuse? They won't stand for it!"

     "You're forgetting child abuse," I add as I rearrange the dishes. "And I'm not saying Lucius shouldn't be punished. I just don't think they could handle another media controversy right now. And what would become of Draco? Have you seen the poor boy? He looks positively miserable!"

     I hear Monty turn to look at me, feel his squint on my back. "Since when do you care about our downtrodden Seeker?"

     I study the food laid out before me. The cake stand is blocking the jelly - it should go to the back. I swap their positions. "I don't. But I still have a shred of empathy and the last thing I want is for him to pitch himself off the Astronomy Tower or something." He's already tried, but of course, I don't mention that. I think: There are a lot of things I'm not mentioning to Monty nowadays.