He’d been wrong, there hadn’t been a happy threesome driving everyone mad with their wholesomeness by the end of that afternoon. The Weasel had grown a whole new set of hands instead. Draco kept cornering her after classes to keep her anger stoked, he wanted to do his part to keep the school sane. He’d been looking for her, for someone to take the edge off of his humiliation at the party, when he’d found her crying in a blue pool with small winged creatures expertly placing luminescent bags of sand in the hallway to control the flood.