Draco Malfoy's face...
First, it went deathly pale.
Then ashen.
Finally, it turned a sickly, liver-dark purple, flushed with extreme humiliation.
Compensation?
That word was a hundred times more vicious than those two sticky jinxes had been.
It left him like a prisoner bound to an execution frame, empty-handed, watching his enemies learn how to trample him underfoot more effectively, more elegantly.
He opened his mouth.
His throat felt as though it had been filled with quick-drying cement. He could not make even the faintest plea for mercy.
The entire Great Hall was deathly silent.
Every gaze was fixed on this one-sided, silent execution.
Just then, Dumbledore's voice drifted lightly through the air, yet carried an unmistakable note of finality that brooked no argument.
"A very creative approach to teaching, Douglas."
He smiled, his blue eyes behind their half-moon spectacles sweeping over Malfoy.
"It is essential for students to understand the power and cost of magic from different perspectives."
That settled it.
Dumbledore turned to the deathly pale Malfoy, his tone as gentle as though he were inviting him to sample a piece of toffee.
"Then it is decided."
"Mr. Malfoy, please be sure to treasure this valuable opportunity to... 'sit in.'"
"Breakfast is over."
Like a decree of pardon, Dumbledore's voice instantly released the taut tension in the Great Hall.
The air began to move again.
At the Gryffindor table, subdued cheers broke out first, hushed and full of the relief of having survived a disaster.
The students began rising from their seats.
As Fred and George passed the Slytherin table, they made a point of stopping.
They gave the devastated Malfoy an exaggerated, deep bow.
Their movements were perfectly synchronized, full of theatrical flair.
"Thank you very much," Fred said.
"For providing our dull breakfast," George continued.
"With