In groups of five the students were being herded onto the platform, handed their wands back by museum staff, and hurriedly Portkeyed back to school. Draco and Seamus must have gone first; they were nowhere to be seen. “I feel like we ought to…”
“Celebrate?” said Ron, from behind her. “Massive post-caper booze-up?”
“Ron, shh,” she said, but she smiled. “Yes, exactly. Celebrate.” She paused.
“Before we figure out what on earth to do next…”
“I'll meet you guys in the common room before supper,” Harry said. “We can celebrate then.” They were up on the raised dais now, about to step onto the platform that was the Portkey out of the museum. Harry looked towards Hermione, and checked at her hesitant expression. “Hermione…?”
“Harry,” she said, very quietly, and glanced back towards the museum.
“You don't think that maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe it was a bit too easy?”
“You must have a different definition of 'easy' than I do,” said Harry, stepping forward, and took her hand as the Portkey whirled them away.
That much wounded pride ought to put a slump in anyone's upright posture, Draco thought, but it didn't seem to in this case: Seamus glared at him from the other side of Dumbledore's office, standing rigid and upright against the far wall. His face was a colorful relief map of bruises: blackened eye, bloody nose, bruised chin, swelling lower lip.
Draco smiled at him pleasantly. They had been herded in here by Professors McGonagall and Snape and told to wait for Dumbledore to arrive. As soon as they had left, Seamus had commenced glaring at him and hadn't stopped yet. Smiling at Seamus hurt Draco's split lip, but it was worth it anyway just to see his hands clench against his sides in impotent fury. He supposed it was interesting to note that he hadn't lost his joy in malice via his association with Harry. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing, but at least it was interesting.
Surprisingly, it was Seamus who broke the silence first. “She would never kiss you back,” he said. “Never. Never. Never.”
Draco picked up a crystal paperweight from the desk and held it up to the light that poured through the window. “Never never never?'” he echoed.
“That's right, Finnigan. Because if you say it three times, that'll make it true.”
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Seamus demanded, his voice thick with dislike.
“What do I want?” Draco echoed with a laugh. “Let's see…I've always wanted to own a Quidditch team. Maybe the Appleby Archers. And I want to be old enough to get a tattoo. And I'd like a really nice suede jacket that won't get ruined in the rain —”
“No,” Seamus interrupted. “What do you want with Ginny? Why her?” His eyes slid away from Draco, and fixed on the floor. “You've got everything already. Haven't you? Why do you want her too? Just to show…that you could have her if you wanted?”
The crystal paperweight felt heavy in Draco's hand. It was shaped like something, he couldn't quite tell what, it seemed to move fluidly under the touch of his fingers. “You're in love with her,” he said, feeling some surprise, although he thought he might already have known it. “Aren't you?”
Seamus raised his eyes from the floor. They were intently blue, the one beauty of an otherwise ordinary face. “If you take her away from me just to show that you can,” he said, “and then you hurt her again, I swear I'll kill you, I don't know how yet, but I'll find a way and I'll kill you. You can die, you know — even if you are a Malfoy.”
Draco just stared at him. Behind them, the door to the office opened with a click, and Dumbledore came into the room. He regarded both boys silently for a moment before he spoke. His voice was grave and quiet. “Sit down,” he said. “Both of you. Please.”
Draco looked down at the paperweight in his hand. It was a rose, he saw, with a heart carved out of a chip of emerald. He wondered why he hadn't seen it before. Setting the crystal flower on the desk, he sat down, and Seamus sat down beside him, leaning as far away from Draco as he could get.
Dumbledore looked from one of them to the other. His expression was one of tired resignation. “So,” he said. “I have heard what transpired in the museum. I suppose it would be a truism to state that I am surprised at you both. Neither of you seems the type to employ physical violence.”
“They took our wands away,” Draco said. He heard his own voice with surprise. That wasn't what he had meant to say at all. “Sir,” he added, weakly.
Seamus shot him a look of grave disgust. “It was just a scuffle, Professor,” he said. “It got a bit out of hand.”
“I started it,” said Draco, and batted his eyelashes at Seamus.
“That's true, sir,” Seamus said, steadfastly ignoring Draco. “He did start it.”
“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “Yes, I'm sure he did.” He looked at Draco, and Draco's heart dropped into his shoes. “You have disgraced the school,” he said, “and more importantly, you have disgraced yourself. Both of you.”
He looked down at his folded hands, and then back at the hangdog boys slumped in their chairs. “Twenty points from Gryffindor,” he said, “and thirty points from Slytherin. You will both serve detention. A month of it for you, Mr. Finnigan. And for you, Mr. Malfoy — a month.” He saw their horrified expressions, and for a moment it looked as if he might smile.
“You will serve your detentions together,” he added. “By the end of it, I expect you to be able to write each others' life histories.”
“I could already write Finnigan's life history,” drawled Draco irritably.
“Was born, ate a potato, sucked at Quidditch, almost got shagged but not quite, ate a potato, died.”
“Thank you, Mister Malfoy,” said Dumbledore coolly. “Let me make that two months of detention for you.”
“Good,” interjected Seamus, and shot a glance at Draco. “And I think you should have to pay the bill for the
