me about reading books, yet the second I actually do, she's submerged somewhere underwater in the Black Lake like a fish.

A fish.

I'm completely offended that they'd do something so awful to her.

It took me three hours of begging Snape to tell me what the second task was, and after finding it out, I was positively horrified (and suddenly filled with homicidal rage). Now I had to do research in this stupid library, because Potter's dimwitted savior complex would probably sabotage his chances of saving [y/n] from those damn mermaids.

I didn't trust him to complete this task on his own. He was Potter, for god's sake, the boy who really only lived because he had Hermione and [y/n] to stop him from doing stupid things.

So... I had to steal some things to devise a plan, and unfortunately, I also had to ask that Finnigan boy to leave an ominous note under Neville's pillow the night before. I told him to , and added a heart at the bottom so he wouldn't think it's me.

Sometimes my brilliance surprises me.

"Psst!" I hissed from behind a library bookshelf, "Longbottom!"

I had been camping out in this spot for about ten minutes, waiting for the idiot to arrive. No. I shouldn't say idiot. Neville is not an idiot, according to [y/n], and in all fairness, he did lend her that...really fitting suit. Ah, she looked so pretty that day, I just want to steal a time turner and see her wearing it for the first time again—

Snap out of it, you buffoon!

Shaking my head back to reality, I noticed that Longbottom had finally noticed me. He looked terrified (per the usual), staring at the note clasped in his hand. He looked back up at me, then back at the paper, then back at me.

Maybe the heart was a bad idea.

"M-Malfoy?" He stuttered, the sides of his cheeks turning beet-red, "did you give me this note?"

I narrowed my eyes, becoming him over, "yeah."

"Do you... like me?"

...

Alright, Draco, you may not be as brilliant as you thought.

The heart would clearly have made it seem like a love letter! Ewewewewwewew, this makes everything so awkward. I don't like Longbottom. No. I hate Gryffindors, and the only good one is currently submerged in a lake, so just—argh, keep focused, you idiot!

"Get over yourself, you lump," I frowned, sinking into the shadows of the bookshelf, "that heart was only to make it seem less inconspicuous."

Neville shivered, "why would you need to be inconspicuous."

"Because I know you're scared of me, Longbottom," I hissed, "if you knew it was me, you wouldn't have come."

"That...correct."

"Of course it is, I know how intimidating I can be."

Before he could accuse me of wasting his time, I waved my hand at him, gesturing to him to follow me to the opposite end of the bookshelf. Yes, I am aware of how creepy I'm coming across as, but that is the least of my worries at the current moment.

Neville scurried over, his red-lined robes trailing behind him as he walked. One he was about four feet away, I pulled a small box out of my pocket, handing it over to him with a distasteful look.

"You see this?" I pressed, shaking it in front of his face, "this box I'm holding."

The Gryffindor almost choked on his tongue, "y-yes, sir."

"Did you just call me a sir?"

"Yes...?"

His face looks like it's inviting me to punch it. Oh, how nice that would feel. Punch Longbottom, blame it on the Weasel, watch chaos break loose, and laugh quietly as the entire structure of Gryffindor house crumbled to bits as they were swallowed up into a pit of complete and utter betrayalllllllllllll......dammit.

Be nice, [y/n] would say, work on your new habits.

Fine. I suppose punching him was out of line, even though it seemed like a perfectly reasonable things to do. I suppose I need to 'be nice'.

"You look dashing today," I deadpanned, "is that a new robe?"

Neville's face went blank as he tried to process what I just said. Bloody hell, being nice was hard. Whoever came up with that clearly was a coward, and couldn't take criticism.

"Um..yes, it is actually," the boy nodded cautiously, "how did you know?"

"The tag is still hanging on your under-sleeve."

"Oh. Oh, I forgot to take that off."

Small talk is utterly disgusting. It reeked of muggle-behavior. Then again, muggles are so incredibly boring, they'd naturally have to develop a way to keep their irrelevant conversations going for at least five minutes. Wizards could just start hexing people left and right to keep themselves amused.

Clearing my throat, I changed the subject, shoving the box back at the boy with urgency.

"Take it," I demanded, "give it to Potter."

Neville back away, "Potter?"

"Yes, Potter," I frowned, "who else in this bloody school has that name?"

"Well, there's Lilac Potter in first year, um..Alex potter in third, Greg potter, and—"

"The one with the bloody scar on his forehead, then!" I exclaimed, "for heaven's sake, Longbottom, just give him the damn box!"

"If it's poison, I'm not giving it to Harry."

"It's not poison, you fool."

"I don't want to be an accomplice to murder."

"Trust me, I'm not going to kill Potter," I hissed, "given his track record, he'd probably resurrect himself and start playing Quidditch the next day."

"Well, I mean—"

"Shut it, Longbottom, I'm just trying to say that I have no intention of getting sent to Azkaban at the present moment, so just take the box before I shove it down your throat."

Dammit.

I forgot I had to be nice.

Well, it was too late for that anyways, because the fear I instilled in the boy seemed to have worked anyways. He took the box gingerly from my hands, shaking it slightly to hear what was inside.

"What are you giving him?" Neville asked, peeking inside the container.

The honest answer?

Something I stole out of Snape's storage closet.

The other honest (yet less likely to sound suspicious) answer?

"Gillyweed," I said, pulling my hood over my head, "it's to help him with the second task."

And with that, I walked out of the library, ignoring the confused squabbles coming out of Longbottom's mouth. Why was I helping Potter? Simple. I wasn't.

I was just keeping [y/n] safe.