Chapter 9 — Falling Behind
The Step That Fell Behind
In the first-year girls' dormitory of Slytherin, a black-haired girl with short hair tucked neatly behind her ears stared worriedly at an empty bed. Her eyes were bloodshot—it was obvious she hadn't slept well. She looked at her roommate, who had just gotten up. The girl was the same age as her, with curly blonde hair.
"She didn't come back last night."
"Ah—should we go ask Potter in the common room?" the blonde, Daphne, said as if it were the most natural suggestion in the world—so natural that she didn't even realize how strange her answer sounded.
"Daphne, what sufficient evidence do you have to deduce that Potter would know the reason Miss Malfoy didn't return to the dormitory last night?" the black-haired girl, Pansy, asked her roommate in a sarcastic tone.
"Sorry, I was mistaken. Potter really shouldn't know…" Daphne got up and began tidying her appearance. "It was only after Potter asked me about Malfoy's whereabouts yesterday that I realized I've already grown used to him knowing more about where Malfoy is than we do. We grew up together before coming to Hogwarts, and now the time she spends with us isn't even as much as she spends with that troll-brained idiot."
"Honestly, the Malfoy family's princess… We're all from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, so why is she the only one called that? And if she insists on being a princess, she should at least act in accordance with her status. Instead, she spends all day mixing with Muggle-borns…" Pansy walked unhappily to the full-length mirror and changed out of her pajamas. The annoyance on her reflection slowly shifted into worry.
"I don't dislike Muggles, so I usually avoid using that word if I can." Daphne lazily lay back on her bed, lingering instead of getting dressed, not noticing the change in Pansy's expression.
"What if… she was attacked by the troll?" Pansy voiced the hypothesis that had kept her awake all night.
Her words made Daphne start to worry as well, but she quickly forced a carefree tone. "How could that be? Didn't Potter slip away to look for her? Besides, she's always got Goyle glued to her side. If Goyle couldn't even protect her from a troll, then I honestly don't know what value that green block of wood has left."
After criticizing Goyle, Daphne continued, "I can't believe he lasted longer than Crabbe. I always thought Malfoy preferred smarter followers."
"Crabbe wasn't smart—he was cunning. If we're being honest, as a servant, loyal Goyle is far better than Crabbe. It's just a pity he's too dull. He's followed Malfoy for five years and still keeps exactly one step behind her. He clearly likes her, yet he's never even held her hand." After saying that, Pansy found herself feeling more and more sympathy for Goyle, and her worry about Malfoy eased somewhat.
"Sorry to interrupt." A second-year girl suddenly rushed into their room, breathless, clearly having run from the common room where something earth-shattering had happened. "Miss Parkinson, you have a camera, right? Could we borrow it? The prefect urgently needs it!"
Pansy and Daphne exchanged puzzled looks.
Only after reaching the common room did they realize how serious the situation was. A crowd had gathered in front of the hourglasses that displayed the House points. Nearly the entire Slytherin House had shown up. They stared at the point counter with expressions of shock and emotion. The prefect was even hugging the hourglass and crying.
"Fifty points—! Someone actually earned fifty points for the House yesterday! Ever since that lunatic Potter joined Slytherin, this is the first time we've seen a double-digit House score!" Prefect Gemma said excitedly.
"Prefect, the camera's here." The second-year girl handed Pansy's camera over.
The prefect carefully photographed the image of Slytherin still possessing fifty points. Then she wiped away her tears, climbed onto the coffee table in the center of the common room, and declared as if giving a speech:
"Upperclassman, the Slytherin you passed down to me, along with our title as the perennial champions of the House Cup—I, Gemma Farley, will protect it with my life! Though we are currently trailing the others by a single digit, as long as we believe in hope, we can turn the tide! Everyone—the tragic Battle of Dunkirk is over. From this moment on, it is our glorious time to strike back against those barbarians!"
"Whoa—!" At the prefect's call, the Slytherin students raised their right hands and cheered passionately.
"This is way too dramatic…" Pansy couldn't bear to watch the grandly tragic display of her upperclassmen. She just wanted her camera back so she could go to breakfast—and find Malfoy and Potter.
But the feverish atmosphere had no intention of letting them go. From her elevated position, the prefect pointed at Pansy and Greengrass.
"Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass, I have an important mission for you."
Pansy and Daphne both sucked in a sharp breath. Being singled out at a time like this was definitely not a good sign.
"To ensure these precious fifty points are not deducted, I want you to take on the task of monitoring Potter and preventing him from causing trouble. You share a dormitory with Alice Malfoy, so acting together won't arouse suspicion. This sacred campaign of Slytherin rests on your shoulders."
Pansy nodded, her face pale. Daphne covered her forehead helplessly, but of course they agreed—after all, this was for the great revival of Slytherin. Not to mention, the prefect was still holding Pansy's camera while making the request.
As for Harry Potter—the one who supposedly needed to be monitored and who had unknowingly earned fifty points for the House—he was now lying in the hospital wing, staring blankly at the white ceiling like a corpse.
Of the six who had gone to face the troll on Halloween, aside from Goyle who had lost consciousness, Harry's injuries were the most severe. Severe, that is, by ordinary standards. To Madam Pomfrey, it was nothing more than a ten-minute fix. Even after healing his wounds, however, she still insisted that Harry stay overnight to make sure there were no aftereffects.
Malfoy sat beside Harry's bed, silently peeling an apple. Her hands were deft, keeping the peel in one unbroken strip until the fruit was completely bare. She placed it on the bedside table, then calmly took out another apple.
This was the sixth one.
Since Harry had woken up, Malfoy had been repeating the same action over and over, without saying a single word.
The pressure in the room was immense—like the crushing weight of the deep sea. Harry didn't dare look at her, yet he couldn't endure the silence either. When the peel of the sixth apple was nearly finished, he finally couldn't hold back anymore.
"Um…"
The moment Harry spoke, the peel snapped.
A killing intent radiated from Malfoy. For a split second, Harry even imagined the fruit knife in her hand slicing across his throat.
"S-sorry…" Such a simple word, yet Harry had to use every ounce of strength to say it properly.
"Good. At least you know that," Malfoy replied.
Of course, Harry wasn't apologizing for breaking her perfect apple peel, and she knew that perfectly well.
"You actually ran straight at a troll. What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? If Weasley and Longbottom hadn't risked their lives to distract it, you'd already be dead!"
Malfoy's roar made Harry shrink back under the covers. Like an ostrich, he buried his head, seeking some sense of security.
That gesture, naturally, did nothing to ease her anger. She yanked the blanket off him and stared coldly at the trembling boy beneath it.
"Honestly, I wasn't thinking about anything at the time." Realizing there was no escaping this, Harry sat up and answered seriously. "I just knew you were in danger. My body moved before I could think. When I thought about it before bed, I even had a nightmare."
"You're always so reckless." Malfoy slammed the apple onto the table and stood up, picking up her bag.
"Malfoy?" Harry looked at her worriedly. She seemed angrier than usual this time.
"I'm going to class. Take care of Goyle. If you're allowed to leave, wait for me in the common room."
With that, Malfoy left the hospital wing, leaving Harry alone with Goyle, who had been unconscious until now.
"Thank you…" came a faint voice from the bed beside him after she was gone.
"Huh?" Harry leaned closer to Goyle's ear. "Did you just say something?"
"Thank you," Goyle repeated. He lifted a hand and patted Harry's shoulder. Compared to his burly build, the strength in that hand was unbelievably weak. According to Madam Pomfrey, even an adult would have had little chance of surviving a head wound like his. Yet he had endured through sheer stubborn vitality.
"Uh… I don't think I did anything that needs thanking?" Harry looked at Goyle uneasily. Though Goyle, like him, followed Malfoy, he was always silent, trailing behind her with an expression as unreadable as stone. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, which made Harry find him especially hard to deal with.
"You protected milady, didn't you? So I have to thank you…" Goyle gave a rare smile. Perhaps because of the pain from his wounds, it looked strangely desolate.
Goyle lifted his gaze to the ceiling. Unlike Harry's blank staring, his eyes seemed to drift somewhere far away—back into a distant past.
"I can probably only go this far," he murmured. "The old me worked desperately to catch up to her. Etiquette, magical knowledge… no matter how hard I tried, I could only stay one step behind her. I could never walk beside her as an equal. I told myself it was fine—keeping that one-step distance was good enough. But after seeing you, I realized… I was never truly satisfied with that distance."
That was why Goyle had tried to challenge the troll—had fallen into a pool of blood in the corridor—wanting to become a hero worthy of her notice. And in the end, even the most basic duty of protecting her had to be fulfilled by someone else.
"It ends here," Goyle continued weakly. "Now I can't even keep that one step."
He shifted his gaze to the hospital wing doors. Malfoy had already left, yet it was as if her figure still lingered there, waiting for him.
"Go catch up to her. Don't worry about me. Stay by her side. Don't fall too far behind. She's lonelier than she looks."
Harry looked at the exhausted Goyle and gave him a solemn bow. Then he, too, left the hospital wing.
After class, Harry learned that Goyle's condition had worsened. He had been urgently transferred to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for treatment. He did not return to Hogwarts before the end of the school year.