Chapter 3,             "Morality versus Mortality"

As it happened, Professor Slughorn was a very unimportant man of no means whose invitation to lunch had exclusively been extended to witches of wizards born of fame, or the closest thing to it. Blaise had been welcomed due to his mother's riches and the fables that surrounded her name of how each of her seven husbands had died. Cornac Mclaggen, whose father was good friends with the Minister of Magic, was present, though uninterested. Neville's mother and father, apparently, though deranged and in Saint Mungo's now, had been well-respected Aurors, in their prime.

Mavis's father was the reason behind her own invitation; Cyril's high influence among the Aurors and the Ministry at whole was entirely intriguing to old Slughorn.

Oh, and Harry Potter—due to his being Harry Potter—had sat, perturbed, in silence throughout the whole lunch, except for when Slughorn (rather awkwardly, mind you) interrogated Potter on his dead parents and whatnot. Mavis was fairly sure Harry was well-accustomed to dealing with insipid questions such as Slughorn's, because he answered them with no trace of loathing in his voice.

Overall, it wasn't an entirely detestable affair—in fact, Mavis had enjoyed a satisfactory lunch out of the whole thing—but she still would have rather stayed in her own compartment, bothering the trolley lady for sweets as her meal.

The corridors, naturally as they were, this late in the train ride, were nearly entirely empty. Mavis and Blaise, not exchanging any words or expressions between them, headed all the way down to compartment R, where they had left a snoring Theo and seething Draco in their wakes. Blaise slid the door open and, gentlemanly allowing Mavis to enter before himself, shut behind himself; but, oddly, the door jammed just before it could reach the frame. Blaise furrowed his brow and tried twice more to slam it closed.

"Blaise," said Draco, unamused, "just close the damn door."

"I'm trying," he demanded in response, now using both his hands to try and wrangle the thing. "I don't understand what it's stuck—"

All at once, the door flew open, hard as Mavis had ever seen such a flimsy thing move. Blaise toppled over into Theo's lap, erupting him from his nap in an angry way. Draco shot out of his own seat to avoid getting pinched by the ferocious door. Mavis stuck herself to the wall, arms pinned beside herself, watching the entire ordeal with wide eyes.

Once the cacophony died down, everyone returned to their seats, looking ruffled; Theo, rubbing his eyes, insisted that he had been about to get to bed with Sid, which overall went ignored by the rest of the carriage. Mavis looked upwards, on her tiptoes, and made to pull her book—she'd recently been reading Tolstoy, just because—from her bag atop the luggage rack, and as she blindly reached around to find her own things, could have sworn she felt something nudge her hand back, like one of hers or the boys' bags had gotten offended at all her handiness. She furrowed her brow and kept sweeping around til she found the familiar book.

"So, what did Slughorn want?" said Malfoy, settling back into his seat, as far against the wall as he could get from Mavis. He scoffed a laugh. "Surely it wasn't something of your excellent marks, or else I would've been invited—"

"Just trying to make up to well-connected people," Blaise said dryly, messing with the cuffs of his coat. "Not that he managed to find any, except maybe Mavis."

Draco, unsurprisingly, was not pleased by this information. "Who else did he invite?"

Mavis lifted her shoulders in a short little shrug. "Mclaggen, his uncle's big in the Ministry; Some little lad called Belby, no idea what was so big about him; Longbottom, Potter, that Weasley girl."

Malfoy sat up very suddenly, eyes narrowing in that cold way he was so good at. "He invited Longbottom?"

"Well, I assume so," said Blaise indifferently, "as Longbottom was there."

"What's he got to interest Slughorn?"

"Maybe he's hiding an auspicious fortune from everyone at Hogwarts and is, truly, secretly, an ultra-famous Welsh pop star," Mavis suggested, flipping a page in her book.

"That's got to be it," said Theo, pointing to Mavis.

"Well, I pity Slughorn's taste," Malfoy said, entirely ignoring Mavis and Theo's interjections. "Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a favourite of his. Slughorn probably hadn't heard I'm on the train, or—"

"I wouldn't bank on it," said Blaise, lifting his head to face Malfoy with a flat expression. "He asked me about Theo's father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends—did you know that, Theo?—and when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry he didn't look happy. Don't think he's interested in Death Eaters or the like."

"And your family, Malfoy," supplied Mavis, "is the epitome of 'the like'."

Malfoy looked entirely enraged, but he forced out a single humourless laugh. "Well, who cares what he's interested in?"

"Yeah," said Blaise, smiling slightly. He pat Malfoy's knee patronizingly. "Who cares."

"Hogwarts," alerted Theo suddenly, picking up his head from the window and nodding to the horizon. The castle poked up from the highlands into the blue skyline like a Muggle postcard. "Best get changed, I think."

Blaise stood, as did Theo, and both reached up to gather their robes from the rack. Theo hoisted his trunk down from the rack just above Mavis's head; and had she imagined it, or did she hear an slight intake of breath from over her, a gasp of what sounded like pain?

Her eyes met Malfoy's and they shared a curious, skeptical look.

Outside their compartment, the corridors were filling up again and trunks were creakingly wheeling out to be ready when the train pulled to a stop outside Hogsmeade. At last, with a final lurch, the train came to a complete halt. Theo was out the door at once, in want of beating the crowd of confused first years and patronizing fifth years, who assumed, now that they were upperclassmen, that they knew everything.

Shaking his head, Blaise followed, but stopped in the doorway to turn back over his shoulder. "You two coming?"

Mavis twisted on her robes and tucked her arms through the sleeves in a hurried manner; she emerged from the neckline with a nod. "Coming—"

"You go on, Blaise," said Malfoy suddenly, nodding to him. "I need Mavis to... check something with me."

Looking between the two of them curiously, Blaise hesitated for a moment, then nodded and turned to go, lugging his trunk in his trail.

Mavis turned to Malfoy, skeptical. Slowly, he slid the door to their compartment shut, and now Mavis noticed his wand gripped in his left hand. She thought, for a moment, worried, that he was intending to make some sort of a move on her; she had not and would never be attracted to Draco Malfoy, but if they were in an enclosed room together, alone, Merlin only knew what could have occurred—

Suddenly, Malfoy twisted, sticking his wand up to a top corner of the carriage and shouting, "Petrificus Totalus!"

"Malfoy.." began Mavis, briefly wondering if she had just become a witness to a psychotic break. "Wh—"

Without warning, a stiff body tumbled out of the luggage rack and fell, with a floor-shaking crash, at Mavis's feet. This figure did not—could not move a muscle, but his eyes, strikingly light and filled with oh-so much raw hatred, met Mavis's, and she froze, nearly as stiff as Harry Potter, lying at her feet.

"I thought it was you," Malfoy said jubilantly, tucking his wand into his robes pocket. "I heard Nott's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the room after you lot came back from Slughorn's.."

"Malfoy," exhaled Mavis, unable to rip her eyes from Potter, feeling suddenly a bit guilty for playing witness to what was certainly an expellable misdemeanor. "What—"

"You saw him, too," said Malfoy, sticking out his chest, suddenly fixing his cold glare upon Mavis. "Did you want me to just let him go?"

Flashes of memories washed through Mavis's head: Potter and his friends, all laughing at Mavis's failed attempt at a Tickling Hex in front of her entire Charms class; Potter's detestable eyes watching her, with no reprieve, speed along through the corridors; his name, bolded and screaming at her in capital letters, headlining the Prophet every other issue.

"I suppose not," she said cautiously, twirling her own wand between her fingers. "We're just going to—?"

"—leave him?" Malfoy's upper lip curled in a bitter smile. "Of course. What else would you expect for a tricky minx? Though, while I've got you here," he added, almost as an afterthought, looking down at Harry.

And he brought his foot down, hard, on Harry's face. Mavis couldn't stop the little gasp that escaped her lips at the crack, nor the wince that passed across her face as Harry's blood spurted everywhere.

"Malfoy—"

"Come on, Mayberry," he said plainly, only giving Harry one last contemptuous glare before he turned on his heel to go, not even looking back to see if Mavis was following him.

Almost in a trance, Mavis stared down at Harry, torn between her pure hatred of the boy before her and the inexplicable morals of hers that no human being should let any other human being lay paralyzed in a pool of his own blood. Harry was meeting her eyes, and she wondered what exactly he was trying to convey through them. Slowly, curious even of herself, she lifted her wand, still unsure of what exactly she planned to do—help or harm—while she held it aimed steadily at his face.

Then she heard a door slam towards the end of the train and she knew her time for action had passed. She sniffed, breaking her own trance, lowered her wand, and turned to go.

It was only about halfway through the welcoming feast, when the doors swung open and a bloodstained Harry Potter swept his way through the ogling gazes of his classmates to take his place at the Gryffindor table, like nothing was out of the ordinary—it was only then that Mavis began to feel sickly inside.

Not for Harry, of course; for herself. For the threat of punishment, now that there was someone—a survivor, even—that could recount the atrocities performed by she and Malfoy to staff, and perhaps even call for expulsion.

With a white hot sort of cringing feeling inside, Mavis tried to imagine the look on her mother's face when she returned home only one day after being sent off, bags in tow and a letter of displacement signed by Dumbledore. Oh, god, it would be horrible, wouldn't it?

She was imagining the many ways her mother would punish her when the fourth year by her side nudged her arm, sliding it awkwardly off the table, as Mavis had barely had control over her own body.

Curious, and a bit peeved, she turned her eyes to the fourth year. "What?"

He was a sloppy, pink-cheeked little thing with shiny yellow hair not unlike Mavis's and a speck of brussel sprouts stuck to his lower lip. "There somebody looking at you."

Mavis curled her lip in, probably, a cruel-looking manner. "What?" she said again, sharper and more frustrated than the first time.

The fourth year's gaze trailed lazily over to the Gryffindor table, and Mavis allowed hers to follow, until they were returning three vacant stares from three vastly different expressions.

"Who are they?" the fourth year asked Mavis, without taking his eyes off their challengers. "I mean, obviously, I know that's Harry Potter there, and I've seen the other two around the corridors and such—"

But then one of his friends called his name—Milby, it was—and he turned away from the situation entirely. Mavis, however inwardly disappointed to be facing Harry Potter and his golden friends all alone, did not break eye contact with any of them.

Hermione's stare was apprehensive, a book tightly clutched to her chest and a near-frown resting on her pink lips. Ron was glaring, about as red in the face as he was in the hair, mid-muttering something to Hermione in what looked like a low voice.

Upon laying eyes on Potter, Mavis had to lift a hand to her mouth to stifle one single laugh of shock. Face entirely covered in the wine-red of blood,—that perfectly matched his Gryffindor robes, mind you—he was holding a bundle of ice wrapped in a dish towel to his nose, so all that Mavis could see of his glare was the bridge of his nose and up. Funny—that stupid lightning scar was illuminated, being isolated as it was, almost glowing out of his skin.

Mavis wondered if his scar had a fancy for shifting colours with his emotions, like a mood ring, or something of the sort.

The whole thing was over fairly quickly; Ron and Hermione turned back around in their seats and blocked Mavis's view of Harry. Just as well; she was beginning to grow sick of his face, having seen it entirely too much in one day for her liking.

Dinner finished, and Dumbledore bade each House goodnight. With each rising student, the sound of benches scraping against the stone floor echoed across the Great Hall, and Mavis herself joined the horde of young students heading up to their common rooms. She slipped past the gaggle of lost-looking first year Slytherins, locking eyes with Draco as he attempted to wrangle them, hiding a smile behind her hand as she passed him and was on her way.

This was commonplace, this lonesome walk from the Great Hall to her dormitory; or vice versa, on her way to breakfast or lunch. Indeed, mostly anywhere she walked in the castle was by herself, as she reveled in the time spent within her thoughts. Each year, most especially, after the welcoming feast, lingering through the halls longer than anyone else; she rather liked reminiscing on the castle as her first time back since June.

What was not commonplace, however, was, once the crowds passed and mostly everyone had already made it back to their common rooms, an unfamiliar hand grabbing hold of her arm, spinning her around on the spot, whirling her senses out of whack to the point where she believed herself to be less than a foot away from Harry Potter.

Then she blinked, and she wrenched her elbow out of his grasp, because she realized all at once that she was not imagining Potter.

"Get your hands off me," she said harshly, scowling at him. "Merlin, Potter, the hell is wrong with you? Did mummy never teach you manners?"

His eyes darkened at the obvious dig, and he clenched his jaw, clearly restraining himself from responding with such hostility. "You were there. With Malfoy."

She scoffed, wishing there were anyone else in the hallway to play witness to the ridiculousness she was putting up with yet again.

"Astute observation; those glasses do work," was her response, and she turned swiftly on her heel to leave the conversation at that.

"No, wait—hold on a moment," said Harry, his footsteps racing to catch up with her, and Mavis actually listened to his order—only out of fear that he would resort to touching her again. She recognised the blood having been Scourgified from his nose, leaving that pristine, heroic, set face as flawless as before. He was using it to give her a rather desperate look. "What the hell did you do it for?"

There took over, in her mouth, a foul taste—like that of shame at being caught. She crossed her arms for lack of anything else to do with them, feeling rather awkward in her own skin. She was not used to confrontation.

"And what, exactly, did I do? Because as I recall it, I merely watched the whole ordeal play out—not once did I lift a finger towards your harm. You can't have me expelled for doing nothing."

"You did, though," he reminded her, a little smile pulling at his lips, disappearing before Mavis could clock him on it. "You had your wand pointed at me, there at the end. Going to finish me off?"

"I'm afraid that's already been tried and proven impossible." She traced her finger down a little lightning bolt in the air. "Now, I truly am exhausted, Potter, so if you'll let me go—"

"But I don't want to," he said quickly, stepping to match her as she made to go. "Not before you tell me what you were planning to do to me in the train. Because I think I have an idea."

She began walking anyways, not quite caring whether he kept up with her or not. "Please share your wisdom, O Holy One. Or is it Chosen One, now...?"

"I believe it is," he said smartly, unperturbed by her attempts to crack at his shield. "Though I hear they have some fonder nicknames for me among the Slytherins?"

"Ah, Potty," she said, in false mystification. "You've caught on to those, haven't you?"

"Hard to ignore when they're pasted on a badge pinned to every one of your chests, isn't it?"

"Yes, I'd expect that was the point of them."

"I think you're a good person, Mavis," Harry said suddenly, and looking rather pleased in his accusation. "I think that's why you were going to help me on the train. Because you're good."

Mavis curled her lip in a little gag. "Ugh. Don't use that word to describe me. I would hope you have much worse by this point in our acquaintanceship."

"Acquaintanceship?" Harry repeated curiously. "You don't think us friends?"

At this, Mavis really laughed. "I'm sorry?"

But Harry truly seemed perplexed, his brow all furrowed and mussing up the shape of his scar. He slowed to a stop; Mavis turned, curiously, to face him.

"I thought we were mates," he said, tipping his head to the side. "Not good ones, but surface-level, at the very least. I always say hi to you in the halls."

Incredulity spread over Mavis's face, and she broke into a true smile of bewilderment. "Mates? Potter, I've never spoken to you once before we ran into each other at the bookshop. Are you actually serious?"

He shrugged listlessly in response. Mavis only laughed dryly, then shook her head. She turned on her heel and, still perplexed, made for the dungeons.

"Are we... not friends, then?" Harry's voice echoed in the corridor, and no reply came to his innocuous question, leaving it hanging in the air.

Via's Corner :D

Harry oblivious king! Just wait til we get a chapter from his perspective bruh you guys will be cracking tf up 😛😛 anyways blood covered Harry save me blood covered Harry