“You know,” Ron muses, through a mouthful of sausage. “You could take up puzzles.”
“Hmm?” Harry responds, his own fork hovering halfway between his plate and his mouth. Malfoy is sitting down the far end of the Slytherin table, again, a noticeable gap between him and the rest of the students—even the other eighth year Slytherins who came back for N.E.W.T.s, like Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass.
“Or pottery,” Ron suggests.
“Sure.” Harry frowns. Even fucking Goyle is sitting apart from Malfoy, down the other end of the table with Millicent Bullstrode. Prick.
“There’s knitting too,” Ron says loudly. “Mum would happily give you tips. I’m just saying—you know, if you’re looking for a hobby.”
“Right,” Harry says, watching Malfoy push food around his plate, head down. He looks so washed out, and Harry feels a sudden surge of anger—at how much impact Voldemort is still having on them all, still dividing them. No-one fucking understands, Harry thinks. Just because Malfoy had the Mark on his arm, didn’t mean he hadn’t been just as fucked over as the rest of them, in the end. Has any one of them ever had Voldemort occupy their home for months on end?! No! And yet everywhere he goes, Malfoy leaves a trail of empty space around him: sitting in class alone, sitting at dinner alone, sitting in the library alone. Shunned, ignored, avoided.
“He doesn’t have time for a hobby,” Ginny tells Ron cheerfully, helping herself to the jam. “Hey, Harry—did you hear about Malfoy and Tracey Davis?”
“What?” Harry’s attention snaps back to his own house table.
“Ginny! I’m trying to course correct here," Ron groans, as Harry demands, “What happened?”
She throws a piece of toast crust at his head. "Nothing happened. I just wanted to remind you the rest of the world does still exist. Hello. Hi."
Harry looks back across the hall. Tracey Davis is sitting the closest to Malfoy, only two metres from him. "You're sure nothing happened?"
Hermione, reading her arithmancy textbook beside him, lets out a tired sigh.
“We’re losing focus here,” Ron says, lifting a hand for silence. “Come on. Harry needs a hobby. I can’t go through this again.”
“Gardening,” Neville offers.
“He could get a feckin’ girlfriend,” Seamus points out, exasperated. “You literally have them lining up, Harry! Half the bloody country wants some Chosen schlong.”
"Never use that phrase again," Harry begs, still watching the Slytherin table.
“No, no, he tried that,” Ginny tells Seamus, voice solemn. “It interrupted his Malfoy stalking time far too much.”
“Fuck off.” Harry throws a piece of toast at her this time, swinging his leg over the bench. “I’ll talk to you wankers later.”
“BE SAFE HARRY!” Ron bellows as he walks across the hall. “DON’T FORGET PROTECTION CHARMS.”
People look around as he walks past, tittering. Harry’s face is boiling by the time he gets to the last table. He sits down across from Malfoy, who looks up, staring at Harry like he's grown a second head.
Puzzle 🧩 Day 9 of @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean's unofficial microfic may prompts. Read the whole anthology on ao3