NOVEL WEB Chapter 32: The Guessing Game
Whoosh.
Pop. Pop. Crack.
"Shit," Draco muttered, eyes widening as the cauldron's surface began to warp. Cracks spread along its rim like spiderwebs, and the once-clear potion inside turned into a bubbling, black, slimy mess.
He didn't wait.
"Protego!"
The shield snapped into place just as the cauldron burst apart.
BOOM.
Shards of metal and a spray of dark sludge slammed against the magical barrier, sizzling on contact.
Draco stayed perfectly still behind the flickering shield, jaw tight.
"Tch… another bottle of venom, wasted."
His irritation simmered just beneath the surface as he lowered the shield. Black goo dripped from the ceiling, sizzling as it hit the stone floor. The stench alone was enough to make his eyes water.
Third time this week.
He stared at the shattered remains of the cauldron, scowling as smoke curled upward from the mess. That particular Acromantula venom hadn't been easy to get.
He flicked his wand at the nearest spill. "Scourgify." The sludge vanished with a faint hiss, leaving behind a faint scorch mark on the stone floor.
Grrrrr.
Draco paused, scowling. That sound definitely didn't come from the potion.
"Oh, brilliant," he muttered, pressing a hand to his stomach. "Now you want attention?"
He sighed, defeated, and started packing up his things.
With a final glance at the scorched spot where the cauldron had exploded, Draco slipped out of the Room of Requirement.
The castle corridors were mostly empty—unsurprising, considering most students were in class. Not all, of course. There were always a few wandering about: the ones without lessons at the moment, or those who simply didn't bother showing up.
Draco fell somewhere in between.
It had started with Divination—he'd skipped one class, then two, then stopped going altogether. Care of Magical Creatures was next. Now, aside from Potions, Transfiguration, and occasionally Charms, he barely showed up at all.
Not that it went unnoticed.
McGonagall was the strictest—points docked every time she caught him. Snape, on the other hand, couldn't bring himself to deduct from his own house, so he conveniently turned a blind eye.
As for punishment? Mostly dull stuff. Helping professors restock ingredients, assisting Sprout with herb repotting, or cleaning cauldrons in Snape's dungeon. Tedious, maybe—but not the worst outcome.
In fact, he found it useful.
Most students saw detention as a chore. Draco saw it as an opportunity.
With fewer people around, he could ask questions—real questions—without interruption. Discuss theory, test small ideas. Get actual answers from professors who didn't have thirty other students demanding their attention.
It wasn't a punishment.
It was quiet. Productive.
Exactly what he needed.
Still… with how he'd been acting lately, it wouldn't be long before Dumbledore came knocking.
"Draco."
He paused mid-step.
The voice wasn't loud, but it carried through the corridor with quiet certainty.
Draco turned slowly to see a tall boy leaning casually against the stone archway at the end of the hall. Cassian Mulciber.
Sixth year. Slytherin.
Draco's mind processed the details automatically.
Half-blood. Excellent at Potions. Quiet. Keeps to himself. Used to get pushed around when he was younger—doesn't anymore. Not since he put that Ravenclaw in the Hospital Wing in his third term.
All that information flowed in naturally, instinctive, like flipping pages in a book he'd already memorised.
Cassian wasn't smiling. He rarely did.
"Yes?" Draco asked, keeping his expression neutral.
"Professor Dumbledore wants to see you," Cassian said plainly.
Of course he does. I just jinxed it.
Draco gave a curt nod. "Did he say what for?"
Cassian shrugged. "No. Just said to tell you. He's waiting."
Without another word, the older boy turned and walked off, robes swishing behind him.
Draco lingered for a moment, eyes drifting toward the nearest window. The sky was a dull, heavy grey. Rain, maybe. Or just the usual gloom.
"Well, whatever," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes and began walking toward the Headmaster's office.
Let's see what the twinkle-eyed old man wants this time.
Draco walked at a measured pace, hands in his pockets, but his mind was already sorting through the possibilities.
Skipping class? Or was it the forest?
His jaw tightened.
No… probably the forest. Or worse—maybe Dumbledore had noticed him vanishing entirely on certain nights.
He'd prepared for all those outcomes, of course. Rehearsed what to say, how to deflect, even which expressions would seem innocent enough.
Eventually, he reached the familiar stretch of stone where the entrance to the Headmaster's office lay. The grotesque stone gargoyle towered over him, unmoving.
Draco blinked.
"...Shit."
He hadn't asked for the password.
He stared at the gargoyle a moment longer, then glanced around the corridor. Empty.
Fine. Time to try The Fanfiction Method.
He cleared his throat.
"Treacle Tart."
Nothing.
"Sherbet Lemon."
Still nothing.
"Fizzing Whizzbee."
Stone silence.
"Cockroach Cluster."
Not even a twitch.
"Pumpkin Fudge?"
The gargoyle gave him the same deadpan stare it had given every other guess.
"Ugh—Sugar Quill?"
Still nothing.
Now he was just annoyed.
"Grindelwald?"
Still no movement.
"Oh Gellert?"
Now even he felt awkward saying it.
He rubbed his temples. "Maybe… 'For the Greater Good'?"
The gargoyle remained stone-faced. Literally.
He exhaled sharply, glancing up at the ceiling like it owed him something.
"…Lemon Drop?"
Whrrr-click.
The gargoyle shifted to the side, stone grinding against stone as the staircase began to spiral upward.
"Of course it's Lemon Drop," Draco muttered, stepping onto the moving stair. "Its really is a cliché."
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Suggestions for other world's for which door should be opened permanently like GOT