Chapter 39: A Serpent's Warning
Neville Longbottom was timid by nature, shrinking under Malfoy's predatory gaze. But the red-headed girl who had just burst onto the scene had no such reservations.
Ginny Weasley planted herself squarely between Neville and his tormentors, her hands on her hips, her face flushed with defiant anger. "Get lost, Malfoy! That badge doesn't give you the right to be a bully!"
Malfoy's lip curled into a sneer. "Tut-tut. The Weasley girl. Should have known. You lot always stick together, don't you?" His disdain was palpable. The Weasleys, in his pure-blood-obsessed view, were a disgrace—poor, blood-traitors, and friends with Harry Potter.
Ginny's hand flew to her wand. "Leave Neville alone!"
"Or what?" Malfoy's smirk widened. "We're the Inquisitorial Squad. We have every right."
Seeing Ginny's wand come up, Malfoy's own moved with practiced speed. "Expelliarmus!"
Ginny's wand shot from her hand. Another flick. "Wingardium Leviosa!" Her wand sailed neatly into Malfoy's waiting palm.
"Pathetic," Malfoy drawled, twirling her wand. "Weasleys. All bravado, no talent."
He leveled his own wand at Ginny again. But this time, the trembling boy behind her moved. Neville stepped in front of Ginny, his own wand held in a shaking hand.
"D-don't… don't you touch her," Neville stammered, his voice quavering but his stance firm. He could take the bullying himself, but seeing a friend threatened was a line he wouldn't cross.
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle burst into loud, mocking laughter. The sound echoed cruelly in the stone corridor.
Just as Malfoy prepared to disarm Neville as well, a new, calm voice cut through the noise.
"Having fun, Malfoy? Don't you have anything better to do?"
Draco Malfoy's head snapped around. His grey eyes narrowed as they landed on the speaker.
Elian Thorne.
His father's recent, urgent letters flashed in his mind—questions about this very boy, hints of the Dark Lord's specific interest. A target. And here he was.
All thoughts of tormenting Weasley and Longbottom evaporated. Malfoy turned fully, facing Elian with a cold, assessing stare.
"I know you," Malfoy said, his voice dripping with contempt. "The Gryffindor novelty. Elian Thorne."
Elian said nothing, his expression impassive.
"What, cat got your tongue?" Crabbe grunted, taking a threatening step forward.
Malfoy held up a hand, stopping him. His gaze never left Elian's face. A sneer twisted his features. "You should watch your step, Thorne. The higher you climb, the harder you fall. And some falls… are permanent."
The threat was veiled but unmistakable. It wasn't the bluster of a schoolyard bully. It was colder, more calculated. If Malfoy's pride had been the only thing at stake, he would have cursed Elian on the spot. But he held back. He couldn't risk interfering with whatever plan his father or the Dark Lord had for this boy.
Elian's eyes sharpened. Malfoy's unusual restraint told him everything. The arrogant Slytherin was afraid of messing something up. And the only thing Draco Malfoy feared more than losing face was disappointing his father, Lucius—a high-ranking Death Eater. The pieces clicked together with cold clarity. He wasn't just a person of interest; he was an active mission objective. And Lucius Malfoy was likely the one tasked with retrieving him.
Malfoy, oblivious to how much he'd just revealed, gave a final, icy glare. "Let's go."
He stalked away, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering after him, leaving a confused Ginny and a relieved but shaken Neville in his wake.
Elian watched them go, the warning settling like ice in his gut. He then turned to the two Gryffindors. "Come on," he said, his voice low. "My coin just changed. We should get to the Room."
(End of Chapter)
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