Chapter Text
‘OH NO YOU DON’T, LADDIE!’
Harry spun around. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing.
There was a terrified silence in the Entrance Hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry – at least, his normal eye was looking at Harry; the other one was pointing into the back of his head.
‘Did he get you?’ Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly.
‘No,’ said Harry, ‘missed.’
‘LEAVE IT!’ Moody shouted.
‘Leave – what?’ Harry said, bewildered.
‘Not you – him!’ Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody’s rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head.
Moody started to limp towards Crabbe, Goyle and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking towards the dungeons.
‘I don’t think so!’ roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again – it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upwards once more.
‘I don’t like people who attack when their opponent’s back’s turned,’ growled Moody, as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. ‘Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do …’
The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly.
‘Never – do – that – again –’ said Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upwards again.
‘Professor Moody!’ said a shocked voice.
Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.
‘Hello, Professor McGonagall,’ said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.
‘What – what are you doing?’ said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret’s progress through the air.
‘Teaching,’ said Moody.
‘Teach– Moody, is that a student?’ shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.
‘Yep,’ said Moody.
‘No!’ cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor, limbs askew and sleek hair disarrayed across his face.
One by one, the crowd began to laugh, helpless giggles pouring out of them as the Malfoy Heir continued to lay there, stunned.
Through his laughter, Harry noticed a disruption on the other side of the room- Slytherins, a few familiar, most not, standing silent, pushing through the edge of the crowd. Pansy Parkinson had her hands clapped tightly over her mouth, shaking slightly.
“Silence please!” called Professor McGonagall futilely, attempting to push through the crowd of hysterical children.
“Mr Malfoy, I can assure you this particular lesson has ended. If you would stand up, I’m certain Miss Parkinson can escort you to the Hospital Wing.”
Malfoy still didn’t move.
Around him, people were still laughing, still finding amusement in the over-dramatic Heir, but locking eyes with the cold stare of an unfamiliar Snake, Harry couldn’t help the sobriety that rushed through his frame. His stomach dropped - something was wrong.
Suddenly, a projectile launched itself through the air, slapping Malfoy on what might’ve been his cheek under the mop of hair currently loose around his face.
Malfoy didn’t so much as flinch.
The reason for which became increasingly obvious.
One by one, the hall dropped back into horrified silence, the only sound being the muffled sobs of the Slytherin still being held by her friends.
The friends who’d had the perfect angle to see what the hair had concealed from the rest of the room.
The room which could now see underneath the hair, from where the wind had blown it away.
The room that could see the glassy eyes and vacant stare of a boy they’d once ridiculed and hated in equal measure.
And the unnatural angle his neck had twisted into, being slammed over and over again into a stone floor.
And the world that would never be the same.