tw. prejudice

MALKA'S FORK CLINKED AROUND HER PLATE. She had her Transfiguration essay spread out beside her, and she was actually enjoying this one. It was about transmutation, to be specific, and as long it was related to Alchemy, Malka would like it. Her Healing Powder was currently sitting, spread out in six different vials. And she didn't really want to give it to Madam Pomfrey to test before she did some rounds herself. 

"Could you come with me to the Owlery after class?" Cass said, her eyes nervously flicking over the Slytherin table across the hall, and Malka knew she was looking for Talkalot and Carrow. 

"Of course," Malka replied absentmindedly, scrawling a few more words about mutating copper into iron before filling a small teacup with green grapes and stepping out of her seat. The door was right there, of course.

They went to Advanced Charms, where Flitwick lectured the entire time about Apparation, and Malka reluctantly took notes. The Charms classroom was at the base of Ravenclaw Tower, with high arched ceilings and the circular classroom walls as one giant wraparound chalkboard. Flitwick's chalk scribbled away as he talked on a floating stepstool.

Afterwards, Malka and Cass made their way out of the room, passing by the seventh years in regular level Charms. Malka had been feeling rather low lately, partially due to sadness over Thalia Winger, confusion over Regulus Black, and panic over her cousin.

"Mal- why did the wizard bring a ladder to Hogwarts?" Cass said, poking Malka in the side with the end of her quill.

Malka paused, a few seventh years roughly brushing past her. "You're not serious,"

"No, that'd be Black," Cass said, grinning. "Because he wanted to get to a higher level of spells!"

Perhaps it was the mood she was in—torn between desperation and frustration as if she was an acrobat on a tightrope—or Cass's line delivery, but Malka burst out laughing. Her laughter shook her whole chest, and tears sparked at her tear ducts. Her chest ached from laughing so hard, and it was a wonder that most of the seventh years they passed were too busy trying to hustle Flitwick's classroom.

"That's ridiculous," Malka said, as she ducked down, wiping little tears from her eyes. But just as she did so, a few things happened. The thirty minute bell rang, signaling the start of the next period, startling the seventh year next to Malka so much that they pushed into her, and since Malka's head was down, she was sent careening away from Cass and onto the feet of someone else.

Malka gasped in shock as she collided, reflexively moving away and apologizing, with a startle, she realized she'd ran into the same person she'd ran into a few days before, and she knew that from the wavelengths his mind sent, the same bursting sequence of emotions. But if that was the same person as before-

"It's you," Thorfinn Rowle said in partial shock, before his tone narrowed on disgust. "I know you,"

"I- I'm afraid you don't, please excuse me-" Malka stammered, trying to shoulder past, but a stuck-out foot sent her stumbling, and it was a miracle she did not fall. 

"Cousin," the world curled around Thorfinn's speech like a snake around an apple. Dripping with venom and ready to strike. "What a pleasure,"

Malka froze in fright. No, no, no, no. She'd avoided him for five years, Merlin, and now was the time he noticed her?

"Er- Mister Rowle, I can hear Flitwick doing your roll call. Don't you have Mal confused with someone else?" Cass piped up behind them, a bit nervous.

"Quiet, blood traitor," Thorfinn said. "I recognized you the first time, you know. The scion of my dearly departed aunt. It was a shame you ran off, but it won't happen this time,"

He raised his wand, Malka took a step back and raised hers. Luckily, the spell rang out in his mind before it tumbled between his lips.

"Confringo!" "Protego!"

The spells sizzled against each other as Malka's heart pounded. There was blood rising to her face and she felt paralyzed with fear. Thorfinn looked at her as the Shield Charm snapped away, eyes alight with fury and an insane smile toying upon his lips.

"You've got some fight in you, little cousin?" he sneered, before firing a series of spells that Malka barely deflected. 

"I'm not your family," Malka hissed, before sending a Jelly-Legs jinx his way. He was a skilled dueller and sidestepped most of it in time, but a bit grazed his right ankle, causing him to wobble and stumble over that foot.

"You filthy halfblood-"

"Verdimillious!" And Malka stumbled back from the bright green sparks filling up the hallway.

Professor Flitwick stood furiously in his doorframe, wand at the ready. Cass peered out behind him fearfully, clearly having ran to him once she saw them fighting. A few bold seventh years were also watching from inside, sitting at their desks and craning their necks. Malka had never seen Flitwick in such a way. He'd always looked at her either politely, supportively, or in an exasperated way when she didn't do his assignments or shirked her duties in favor of alone time in her dormitory. Flitwick's spectacles were close to falling off as they wobbled from rage, as he slowly turned red.

"Mister Rowle, Miss Arslan," his voice was lower, and projected through the halls. Malka looked up, blood rushing between her ears. "No fighting in the hallways,"

"Professor, I can explain-" 

"She started it-"

"Enough! Both of you fired offensive spells, detentions for both of you. And Mister Rowle, twenty points from Slytherin for instigation and crude language,"

"But Professor-"

"No, Mister Rowle," Flitwick held up a hand, glaring at the duo. "You will air your opinions to your Head of House. Now go,"

Thorfinn stood up in a huff, glaring daggers at Malka before he swept away. Cass grabbed at Malka's hand as she stammered in shock. Cass's face was red, and her freckles seemed to darken against her cheeks.

"Are you okay?" she murmured. "'M sorry, I went to get Flitwick-"

"I'm okay, thanks," Malka said, adrenaline rushing through her body before the aftershocks set in.

"Miss Arslan, go to Professor McGonagall's office, she will arrange your detentions. Mister Rowle will arrange separate detentions with Professor Slughorn," Flitwick said firmly, putting away his wand, but not before conjuring up a note with a few sentences and his signature.

He opened the door to his class a little wider, revealing more curious students behind him. His eyes rounded before he turned back to his class. 

"Hey," Cass rubbed Malka's arm. "Are you alright? Let's go back to the room,"

Malka nodded, mumbling something stupid about not noticing Thorfinn as the girls walked arm in arm back to Gryffindor Tower.

-

"Well, I never, Arslan. Five years, no Hospital Wing stints, no detentions, no disciplinary action whatsoever," Professor McGonagall looked quite a bit miffed. Not mad, per se, but miffed. "Five years of a perfect record, and now you've been in the Hospital Wing and multiple detentions, all within the span of two months?"

"...I'm sorry, Professor," Malka said stiffly, not really knowing what else to say.

"I must say, you have never been one of my most...abrasive students, and that has concluded me to let you retain yourself to your everyday doings. And I watch all my students, Arslan. You've been more...active of late, and now, as you have been openly duelling in the halls, I see it is not for the better. I urge you, tie your loose ends. End what is making you act so out of character before things escalate," McGonagall said, her voice tight and moderate.

"Yes, Professor,"

She sighed, pursing her thin lips. "Your detentions will be every weeknight until Saturday, seven to eight p.m. in the Trophy Room, where you will report to Mr. Filch beforehand. Do see Madam Pomfrey if you require a Potion. She is available for counseling, and so am I,"

Malka swallowed. It was indeed the first time she'd had a detention in five years. Well, she had to break the record sooner or later. But honestly, cleaning the Trophy Room wasn't that bad. Scrubbing cauldrons would be worse. And McGonagall wasn't that mad at her, though the bit she said about loose ends made Malka bristle. 

She left her Head of House's office with her mind spinning. How the hell was she supposed to avoid Thorfinn when he would be onto her scent? She swallowed down her anger, supposing the best way was to just continue as she had been, at the start of the year, before everything with Regulus and Cass and all. Just being quiet would probably do the trick.