"What exactly did you do to make that Prophecy magic work?"
In the hospital, Draco was peeling an apple for Goyle. He still couldn't believe the incredible spellcasting the idiot had described.
Wasn't this the sort of magic only top wizards like Anton and Dumbledore could perform?
Goyle?
"I just really, really wanted it, and then it happened." Goyle grinned at him. "Anton was right. If you want something badly enough, magic will bring it to you."
Draco rolled his eyes, handed Goyle the peeled apple, and pressed it into his hand.
"Then remember: magic didn't peel that apple for you. I did."
Easy for him to say.
Want something and get it?
Draco wanted everything to go back to the way it used to be, with his mum and dad by his side, Goyle and Crabbe trailing after him like a pair of dimwits, and... and Pansy...
He let out a deep breath and shrugged. "Fine. My dad always told me that the Goyles' magic was like something out of a children's fairy tale."
He pursed his lips and looked Goyle up and down. "Well, now that I think about it, that does suit you."
Goyle said nothing. He wasn't good with words and couldn't describe the wonderful feeling of casting that spell, let alone explain to Draco what made it work.
He simply took a hearty bite of the apple, spraying juice everywhere. "It's so sweet!"
Draco pulled the white handkerchief from his coat pocket and casually wiped his fingers, still finding the explanation hard to accept.
He slumped onto the sofa and stared blankly at Goyle. "Oh, then tell me, what do you want now? Let's see if magic brings it to you!"
It was just a casual tease, but the simple-minded Goyle actually started thinking seriously.