Gregory Goyle’s life is filled with difficult choices. From the moment he wakes up to when he goes to bed, he must make about one-hundred-and-three or so, he’s sure of it.
There are difficult choices about what to do in Hogsmeade. There are difficult choices about playing Quidditch (generally about which person he should hit with a ball of iron). Difficult choices about food, friends, essays, spells, brooms, Fanged Frisbees, Fizzing Whizbees and even about what underarm deodorant to buy.
Sometimes there’s a choice to make just after he gets up in the morning. Today all of his socks seem to have disappeared or are in the wash. He can’t even seem to find the ones his cousin, Wilimina, gave him last year that hopped towards the nearest laundry hamper when they got too dirty. Should he nick a pair of Malfoy’s (Crabbe’s are too big and stretched) and possibly pay for it later? Or should he just go around all day with no socks?
He decides on the latter and makes his way to the Great Hall with cold ankles.
He’s not five minutes into his bacon when there is another important choice to make.
“They don’t make socks big enough for your feet, eh?” a forth year sneers.
Should he punch the fourth year in the head or hex his hair so that it falls out (a very useful hex that he picked up from a rather unfortunate incident with his mum)? This time, he decides on the former and receives a detention from Professor Sinistra, who happenes to be walking past.
After a filling breakfast he’s off to Charms, one of his few NEWT level classes. He would have liked to have taken Potions with Malfoy and Crabbe but he’d not managed to get an ‘A’ on his Potion’s OWL. His parents, who just so happened to own a very prestigious apothecary in Scotland, had not been pleased.
Upon arriving in the Charms classroom, Goyle chooses to sit behind Daphne Greengrass, a particularly good-looking girl in his year. Malfoy and Crabbe aren’t taking Charms this year so he ends up partnering with Pansy Parkinson to practice a sleeping charm.
Goyle doesn’t particularly like Pansy. Her laughter is more like an annoying shriek that hurts his ears and he ends up half-listening to her gossip about Daphne Greengrass (here he chooses to withhold the fact that he thought Daphne was much prettier then Pansy) while they practiced putting each other to sleep.
He comes out of Charms fully rested and goes on his way to break. He’s sure Crabbe is around somewhere, but Malfoy is in Arithhmancy, he thinks. Or it could be Ancient Runes, he’s not exactly sure.
What should he spend his break doing? Hew could always sneak down to the kitchen for some snacks. Or he could go start his Herbology essay (due tomorrow)...
Once in the kitchen, house-elves scuttle over to him, bearing trays of his favourite sweets.
He looks around happily at his selections. After several moments of deliberation he cannot decide if he wants some of Plunkie’s secret stash of Quidditch Creams or some rhubarb pie.
The pie would be good, but he is going to have lunch soon...
His mum’s voice floats through his head. No pie now, Gregory. You’ll ruin your appetite!
“Yes, mum,” he murmurs almost silently, before taking a Quidditch Cream.
Goyle has absolutely no idea where his friends are. It’s lunch and they are sitting nowhere at the Slytherin table. He even checks the Gryffindor table, just in case Malfoy’s having a go at Potter. He’s nowhere to be seen.
So without having to flank Malfoy, he is pleased to find himself sitting next to Daphne Greengrass.
Once again, he is faced with a difficult choice. He would like to talk to Daphne, but she would probably look at him with that weird, girl-look (which made them look like they were about to get sick all over him or something).
Goyle takes a deep breath. “Um, Daphne?”
She looks over at him, surprised. “Yeah?”
“Could you, uh, pass the potatoes?”
“Sure,” she says with a smile, handing him the dish of potatoes before going back to her friend.
He doesn’t really want potatoes, but he piles them onto his plate so she doesn’t think he’s an idiot. He wouldn’t want anyone thinking that about him.
“Hey, Goyle!”
Malfoy strides towards him, a big smirk on his face.
“Hi, Malfoy,” Goyle says thickly through a mouthful of potatoes.
“Where’ve you been?” Malfoy demands.
“Here,” Goyle answers.
He chooses not to add the fact that he’s supposed to be here. It is lunch, after all.
“Crabbe and I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Malfoy says. “Come on.”
Goyle spares a glace for his half eaten bowl of soup, grabs a thickly buttered roll and follows Malfoy out of the Great Hall.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
Malfoy doesn’t say anything.
“Why weren’t you and Crabbe at lunch?” he tries again.
“Because we were looking for you,” Malfoy snaps, leading him across the Entrance Hall.
“Why?”
“You’ll see,” Malfoy says slowly.
“Where are we going?” Goyle asks.
“Outside,” Malfoy answers.
Indeed they do go outside. Crabbe is waiting by the lake. It’s particularly windy outside and Goyle wishes he’d brought a scarf.
“Finally,” Crabbe groans. “It’s freezing out here.”
Malfoy shoots him a look and beckons them closer. When they’re all standing together, their foreheads almost touching, Malfoy looks around.
The only other people on the grounds are a couple of third years near the pumpkin patch, and Hagrid, the stupid Care of Magical Creatures teacher. He’s striding into the forest with a big piece of meat over his shoulder and Goyle is reminded of the Thestrals last year.
Malfoy looks frighteningly determined. Goyle wonders if this is about his meeting with the Dark Lord he had been talking about the other day on the train. He would not tell them what had happened and Goyle hopes that is what this meeting is about.
“Crabbe, Goyle,” Malfoy says slowly.
They both look up obediently.
“I need you to help me kill Dumbledore.”
Gregory Goyle’s life is filled with difficult choices.