"Come now, cousin Ron," said Oleandra soothingly. "I'm sorry for laughing, but you have to admit that was hilarious."
Both of them had been assigned detention together in the trophy room, where they were supposed to be cleaning the various cups and awards the students had amassed over the years. Ronald Weasley was doing his best to pretend Oleandra did not exist. He was currently staring at a certain trophy as if it were the single most interesting object in existence.
"Come to think of it," Oleandra said. "Isn't this where we first met? Draco had challenged Potter to a duel, but he was just setting you up for detention. We came to warn you, but we ended up duelling for real!"
"Why didn't you say anything?" asked Weasley quietly.
"Beg your pardon?"
"Blimey, Greengrass," Ron said hotly. "If you thought what he was doing was wrong, then why didn't you call him out on it? Why didn't you say anything when Malfoy called Hermione a Mudblood?"
"How is that any of my business?" said Oleandra, frowning slightly. "I don't have any more control over Draco than you do."
"What Malfoy said makes me sick," Ron's face turned a shade of green as he said this. "And if you'll still stand by him even after he said that, then you're just as bad as he is."
And with those words, Ron vomited some snails into the Cup he was just cleaning.
"The world's not as black and white as you seem to think it is," snapped Oleandra.
"Besides," she continued. "It would put my family in a difficult spot if I were to antagonize Draco. I can't be selfish after everything they've done for me."
Oleandra suddenly paused. What had her family ever done for her, apart from ignoring her all her life? They weren't bad people, but would they have ever talked to her again after she had turned seventeen, had she turned out to be a Squib? Non-magical people were just so pitiful, so… limited. You could have an owl for a pet, but you couldn't be friends with it. You couldn't be family with one. Even the most open-minded wizards would unconsciously place Muggles and Squibs under them.
Luckily, she had turned out to be magical. She had power, so she was accepted, what more was there to think about? But she couldn't chase the what ifs out of her head.
"Power," she thought to herself. "It determines everything. Money, magic, smarts. You're nobody if you don't have at least one of them. If I had more power, then maybe I'd have the guts to tell Draco what I really thought."
Better not to ask than to sacrifice too much, for a gift is always rewarded.
Oleandra was suddenly reminded of a line the hanged corpse had recited. She shivered at the memory.
After Ronald Weasley was done retching slugs into a trophy, they went back to ignoring each other. The rest of the detention was spent cleaning in complete silence, save for Filch's occasional "You missed a spot, you had better start over."
Before leaving, she gave a silent apology to poor Tom M. Riddle, whose shiny award had been soiled with slug slime. It had maybe been a teeny bit her fault Weasley had puked all over it. A hero who had got an award for special services to the school like him didn't deserve to have his trophy covered in slug juice!
_
The next morning, Oleandra had an Herbology class with the Ravenclaws. She noticed that a pair of earmuffs had been placed on the benches in front of every single pot.
Professor Sprout cleared her throat. "Does everyone have their earmuffs? Yes? Good then, we can start the lesson."
"Today," she began, "we'll be repotting Mandrakes. Can anyone tell me why we'll be needing these?"
Half a dozen hands shot up. It was difficult having to compete with Ravenclaws!
"Yes, you, Miss Greengrass?"
"The Mandrake's cry is fatal to any who hear it," said Daphne.
"Very good, ten points to Slytherin," said Professor Sprout, nodding. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young, so their cries won't kill you, but they will knock you unconscious. Before we start, can anyone tell me what they are used for?"
Daphne's hand shot up again, but this time Professor Sprout chose another person.
"The Mandrake is a restorative, isn't it?" said Padma Patil, half-saying, half-asking.
"Good, five points to Ravenclaw," said Professor Sprout.
Daphne and Mafalda scowled at the girl. They could have come up with a better answer, they thought.
"Now, when I tell you to put your earmuffs on, make sure your ears completely secured. I'll give you a thumbs up with it's safe. Now, earmuffs on!"
Professor Sprout grasped a Mandrake by the leaves and yanked hard. Oleandra stared in amazement, as instead of roots or tubers, an ugly greenish baby was pulled out of the dirt. She and her sister had never actually seen one, as their parents cultivated them in a greenhouse they had been forbidden to enter back home.
Despite the earmuffs' magically enhanced sound dampening capabilities, she could still slightly hear the poor plant crying and screaming, which ceased the moment Professor Sprout dunked the plant into fresh dirt in its brand-new home, an earthenware pot identical to the last. She gave them a thumbs up.
Oleandra blinked in confusion, then she remembered the instructions and removed her earmuffs.
"Four students to a tray, pots are over here, and fresh compost is in the sack over there. Now, get started!"
As the students grouped up, Daphne came up to Oleandra and said in a low voice, "Did you hear what it said? The Mandrake, I mean."
Oleandra shook her head. She hadn't made out any words, but then again, she hadn't been paying attention. "Are you hearing voices again, dear sister?" she said, poking fun at her.
"I'm being serious!" Daphne hissed. "I swear I heard it call for help!"
Later on in the lesson, Daphne tried speaking to one, but Oleandra wasn't looking, because something far more interesting was going on.
Draco, who was teasing his Mandrake by poking it with his index, got his finger bitten. In a panic, he backed up into Gregory Goyle, who fell back into the waiting tentacles of a particularly large Venomous Tentacula. Oleandra turned away so they wouldn't notice she was laughing, missing in the process her sister having a conversation with a plant.