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Draco threw another knife, the blade slicing through the air like it was made for this very purpose, cutting the apple clean in half.

His grip tightened on the handle, the anger bubbling up inside him, but it wasn't directed at anyone else. It wasn't Potter, Weasley, or even the damn hippogriff he was mad at. No, this was all about himself.

Why the hell had he thought—even for a second—that his life wouldn't be in danger if he just kept his head down? That if he stayed out of everyone's way, everyone else's mess would just magically stay away from him?

Why had he thought, in the most ridiculous way possible, that if he didn't poke the beast, the beast would just... what? Ignore him? Like some kind of bad movie where everyone's too busy to notice the guy who's obviously about to get his ass handed to him?

And why—why—had he convinced himself that he could just play life like it was some scripted drama? Where everyone has their lines, the plot is easy to follow, and all the crazy stuff is left for the side characters? Spoiler alert: he was the side character.

The list of dumb-ass assumptions running through his head could've filled a book. It was like a broken record, just spinning the same stupid thoughts over and over. He was trapped in his own mental hamster wheel, wondering when it would finally end.

The apple—now a sad, sliced mess—rolled off the desk, but Draco didn't even notice. He was too busy staring at the knife, his brain working overtime. The only thing he knew for sure now was this: life was never going to play out like he thought.

Sighing, Draco flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as his mind raced. While the major suspicion was on the students who'd been present during the incident, he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that there was something else at play.

Could there have been an Animagus in the mix?

He don't think Peter is behind it.

He sat up, frowning. Who the hell had the motive? And more importantly, who had the balls to pull off something that sneaky? No one immediately came to mind, but that didn't mean much. Hogwarts was full of weirdos with too much time and too much magic on their hands.

Deciding he'd driven himself mad enough, he shoved the thoughts aside and got up. Maybe a walk around the castle would help clear his head—or at least distract him from the absolute mess his life had become.

Leaving his room, he strolled down the corridor, hands shoved in his pockets, letting his feet take him wherever.

As he turned down another hallway, two Ravenclaw girls passed him, whispering between themselves.

"Did you see her? I swear, she's such a weirdo," one of them muttered.

"Yeah, no wonder they call her Loony Lovegood," the other snickered.

He kept walking, barely sparing them a glance.

Funny, wasn't it? Everyone acted like Slytherins were the worst of the worst—evil, bigoted, rotten to the core—but the moment someone else threw a nasty remark, no one batted an eye. Hypocrisy at its finest.

It wasn't like students from other houses didn't badmouth people. They did. All the time. But somehow, the focus was always on Slytherins. Like they were the only ones capable of being cruel.

And what about the war? Wizards from every house had been in support of that madman, yet somehow, Slytherin alone bore the blame. The world had its favourites, and Slytherin was never going to be one of them.

As he passed another hallway, he spotted a girl sitting on the floor. Blonde hair, scattered belongings—looked like she was collecting her things.

There weren't many girls with that hair colour, but he didn't even need to guess. He already knew.

It was Luna Lovegood.

Of course, it was.

Draco slowed down slightly, watching as she calmly picked up her things like it was the most normal thing in the world to be sitting on the floor in the middle of a corridor. Which, knowing her, it probably was.

Loony Lovegood. The nickname given to her by others.

Draco wasn't exactly the type to go around helping people, but he was curious—just how close was she to the version he remembered?

"Did you trip over your own imagination, Lovegood?"

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