AUTHOR'S NOTES: There seems to be great disagreement as to whether Blaise Zabini is a boy or a girl. I believe that Blaise is a boy, and that’s why in this fic, he has a girlfriend (don’t worry -- this won’t get slashy, in case that’s not your thing). Also, I wasn’t sure if Mrs. Avery or Mrs. Nott were ever mentioned by first name, so I just made them up. If anyone knows their real names from the HP cannon, drop me a line; I’d be most grateful, and I promise to give you credit at the very top of my next chapter.
Moving on, this chapter’s title is a reference to one of my favorite songs by Eve 6. Thanks again for joining me on this wild ride. Now on with the show!
CHAPTER 2 – Blaise’s Superhero Girl
The train arrived at Hogsmeade Station without further incident. The winds had diminished somewhat, but the night air was still very cold. As he was every year, Rubeus Hagrid was on hand to round up the first-years to take them across the lake in boats.
Shivering, Draco was only too glad that he didn’t have to travel by boat; it might tip over tonight, or worse, Hagrid might just try to push him overboard. Either way would spell certain disaster, as he would end up missing the feast and spending the night in hospital, drinking Pepper-Up Potion or some other equally disgusting healing draughts that the resident quack, Madame Pomfrey, was known to peddle.
Once they were off the train, Draco saw Blaise Zabini motioning for himself, Crabbe, and Goyle to ride with him in his carriage. The Zabinis were on their way back from a trip to the United States, where Draco thought they had relatives. They had dropped their son Blaise off in Hogsmeade to ride in the carriages with his friends. He was most anxious to visit with them, Draco in particular. Over the years, each had become the brother that neither one had.
Blaise and Draco had corresponded throughout the summer. In one of his letters, Blaise had mentioned this amazing girl he knew. It seemed that he had grown very fond of her, and Draco was rather curious how it had all panned out for his friend.
They walked toward the carriage that Blaise had chosen, engaged in a casual conversation about the day’s journey. Then completely out of the blue, Draco asked him, “So, how did things work out for you with that girl?”
“Oh.” Blaise stammered, “Well, . . . uh, she’s . . uh, it went fine. Just fine.”
“What does that mean?” Draco demanded. “Did you get laid or not?”
Blaise was slightly embarrassed at his friend’s blunt manner. He sighed exasperatedly and stopped in his tracks. “Look, she’s fantastic, okay? But I’ll tell you all about her later, all right?” His tone made it clear that this conversation needed to be reserved for a more private setting. Draco shrugged and dropped the subject.
The four boys stepped into the carriage. Blaise had cast a Warming Charm before the others had arrived, and their carriage felt nice and toasty inside. However, despite of his efforts, the ride seemed colder, longer, and more jarring than ever. The unseasonably frigid night that had fallen seemed to seep through the joints of the carriage, chilling its passengers to the bone. Draco decided that the loathsome beasts that controlled the carriages had to be one of Dumbledore’s sick jokes; the rickety contraptions didn’t retain any heat, and they seemed to find every single bump in the road. He was certain they hit them deliberately, just to spite him.
The students finally reached the school and exited their carriages. The huge front doors of the castle were a welcome sight, even to Draco. His arse was as sore as if he had practiced Quidditch for four straight hours without casting a Cushioning Charm on his broom.
But in all honesty, it wasn’t really all that good to be back. He was so sick of Hogwarts. It was just a step above that other school, the one that rich muggles spoke so highly of. It seemed like his father had called it Etton or Easton. Oh, Draco bemoaned, why couldn’t our fathers just send us all to Durmstrang, where they focus on something truly useful? Like actually learning to perform the Dark Arts instead of just learning to fight them? As if one could possibly go up against the Dark Lord and his followers!
The Sorting Ceremony was dull and routine, except that Slytherin got the most new members. They added nine new housemates, including two who were transfer students from other countries. Sophia Bellucci was a cute 12-year-old Italian girl who, unfortunately, had yet to completely master the English language. Rumors were being whispered around the table that her Latin was impeccable and that she was very adept at charms. They also welcomed Michael Grant, a sandy-haired boy of 15 from far-away New Zealand. When the Sorting Hat finally placed him by roaring, “SLYTHERIN!”, Michael smiled, relieved that it was over; he had been under its scrutiny for several minutes.
Dumbledore rose to greet the students and make a few announcements. For those who were either new or completely clueless, he stated the obvious: “The Forbidden Forest is forbidden.” Draco deemed that this was for the benefit of a handful of Gryffindors who tended to forget it on an annual basis. The Headmaster also reminded everyone that the caretaker, Mr. Filch, requested everyone’s help in maintaining some semblance of order in the castle.
Well, Draco reflected, with Thing 1 and Thing 2 no longer here, the poor old squib might actually get his wish for the first time in seven years. I mean, really, a swamp in the school? How debase, how utterly Weasley. Once their lovely “farewell gift” was finally removed, I’m sure Filch was so happy that he got totally, shit-faced, falling-down drunk. I know I certainly would have.
There were a few announcements about staffing changes, but Draco paid little heed. The only one that really caught his ear was that they were getting yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Dumbledore announced that due to some rather unfortunate events, Professor Umbridge would not be returning. He also commented that she was recovering splendidly at St. Mungo’s and, in all actuality, she would most likely go back to work for the Ministry when she had returned to health.
Damn shame, I liked her. Smart woman. She knew how to work the system to get things done, Draco surmised admiringly. I must write to Father and find out what happened to her. I wonder who will take her place?
Then to Draco’s horror and utter disgust, Dumbledore announced that Professor Lupin was to once again be their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. It was as if he had been kicked in the stomach as he literally felt the air leave his lungs. Oh, shit, not the werewolf! He was simply awful last time -- he treated our entire house so unfairly!
Grinding his teeth, he glared coldly over at the table of the worst house in the school, the Gryffindors. Of course, they were simply overjoyed about Lupin’s return. Big shock there. The whole table was in an uproar, cheering and laughing like idiots.
Loathing them all, he watched them with a sneer on his face. Then the Slytherin witnessed a strange turn of events taking place at the distant table. Potter was sitting next to Ginny Weasley. He leaned toward her and whispered something, nearly touching her cheek with his lips. She laughed out loud as if she were greatly amused (Yeah, right, Draco snorted), her eyes smiling. When she tossed her head back, her long, ginger hair flowed over her shoulders and rippled down her back. The specky git seemed pleased that he had made her laugh. Apparently encouraged by this, he boldly covered her hand with his and gently squeezed it.
However, she soon surprised both Draco and Harry by showing exactly how she felt about this physical contact. She removed her hand and lightly grasped just his fingers with hers, holding onto them gently. As she did, she gave Potter a look that Draco could not quite define. He almost felt sorry for the poor, lovesick moron whose heart she had just trampled.
Almost.
Then Ginny bent over slightly and said something to Potter; she was close to him, but not as close as he had been to her. She gave him a sad sort of smile, then let go of his fingers completely. A mild wave of disappointment swept Potter’s face, which colored slightly.
My, how the tables have turned. Draco smirked with supreme satisfaction.
He could barely contain his glee at seeing Saint Potter shot down by a girl, especially one who used to idolize everything about him. He didn’t find her all that attractive himself; it just felt so good to see the great Harry Potter finally get his comeuppance. Face it, Potter -- you’re not good enough for even the likes of her. And thank the gods for that, as it means that you’ll probably never reproduce. Composing himself, Draco sighed aloud, observing, There, I feel better already, as his mood finally showed signs of improving.
Ginny was glancing around the room when she noticed Draco out of the corner of her eye. He was two tables away, but she thought she saw him actually smiling. Then as quickly as if it were turned off by an eclectrick switch, she saw his smile fade as a furious stare took its place, its intensity palpable. She locked eyes with him, matching his look unswervingly.
That’s right, look at me, you stupid girl, he chanted internally. You are going to pay dearly for hexing me. I will make you beg for mercy before I’m through with you. He watched her closely, as if daring her to look away; the brave girl did not turn her head until Dumbledore began speaking again. Tuning in to his speech again, Draco saw that he was only droning on yet again about interhouse harmony or some such load of dung.
He thought back to the announcement about the recently reinstated Professor Lupin and pondered how best to get rid of him. Suppose he must still be a serious danger to the students and staff. Suddenly, a stroke of genius hit him. I’ll just write to Father and have him sacked, like last time. It was bloody brilliant!
However, a few seconds later, the harsh reality smacked him like ice-cold water, cruel and hard. Grimacing, his sullen mood returned, as the real reason for his depression weighed down on him. With Lucius Malfoy on an extended holiday at Camp Azkaban, it was becoming increasingly difficult for Draco to get things done. He fidgeted in his seat and lamented how he would ever get through the school year.
Even Draco’s mother had begun to feel the strain. He seemed to recall her saying to her friends Lucrecia Nott and Dolly Avery that things were becoming very difficult indeed. Draco himself knew that the Ministry had gone so far as to freeze some of the Malfoy funds, pending some ludicrous settlement between Lucius and his alleged victims. Although the ladies that Mrs. Malfoy socialized with were blissfully unaware of this, his mother was deathly afraid they would find out and deny her of their company. Then where would she be? Life as she knew it would simply be over.
Not surprisingly, Mrs. Malfoy had screamed loudest of all when her husband was taken into custody. She maintained that Lucius’s conviction was an atrocity, a great injustice, as he had obviously been under a very strong Imperius Curse. Pointing to all of the noble causes the Malfoys had contributed to over the years, she vehemently protested his innocence in an effort to reduce his sentence. When she’d said this at his trial, Lucius, who had shown no emotion whatsoever, gave her a warm, loving smile.
However, her impassioned testimony hadn’t helped much, except perhaps to shave a couple of months off of his sentence. With her social standing, as well as her cash flow, in the balance, his appeal had become her new pastime. If Narcissa had given her son any of her time before, now she gave him none at all. Although she had her own selfish reasons to justify her convictions, she truly believed in her heart of hearts that Lucius was not guilty. Draco reasoned that she had either lost her mind entirely under the stress, or she was dying to go to Gladrags in Paris to shop for her new winter wardrobe. He looked down and sighed. His head throbbing, he closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands. It was such a drag being a convict’s son.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore’s speech seemed to drag on forever. It was at least as boring and frivolous as Fudge speaking at some deadly dull Ministry function. He was spouting some insignificant drivel about cooperating with the muggle community and improving interhouse relations.
That caught Draco’s imagination. He smirked, thinking, I quite agree, Headmaster. In fact, to further house unity, I think I will expand into some ‘interhouse relations’ of my own this year. Maybe I’ll start with that hot Asian babe, the delicious Cho Chang. Then I’ll get a two-for-one with those luscious Patil twins, and maybe end the year with the creamy, dreamy Ginny Weasley.
He caught himself just in time. I’ve got to stop doing that, he chided himself. I’m just delirious because I’m sitting here about to starve to death and suffering from a monstrous headache.
As if to drive out his betraying thoughts, he made up his mind. That Ginny Weasley is just like her mother. She is a harpy, and no arse -- no matter how fine it is -- is worth that. I’m sure she would eventually drive me to perform Avada Kedavra on myself someday.
At last, Dumbledore stopped speaking, raised his hands, and looked around. Oh, good, he’s finally done -- come on you old codger, clap your hands twice and start the feast! Draco’s mind shouted. His hands were just inches apart, then he paused. Instead of signaling that it was time to eat, the aged wizard noticed that the rotund Professor Sprout was rising to her feet, requesting that she be allowed to add “one tiny announcement.” He nodded, inviting her to speak, which she did . . at great length. Draco groaned aloud, and none too quietly -- he was getting extremely hungry, as he hadn’t eaten well all day.
Professor Sprout was about as interesting as the previous speaker had been. She was spewing some nonsense about an optional Advanced Herbology class (yawn) and that it was for sixth and seventh years only. Now, who would want to take more of that shite than was absolutely necessary? But the old bird just wouldn’t shut up! She went on and on. Really, who cared that they were making great strides in hybrid plants and new potion mixtures? So what if some mediwizards felt that one of them could possibly hold the key to any number of magical injuries -- wasn’t that what Death Eaters were all about, causing pain and suffering? Unimpressed, Draco sneered, concluding, That would kind put my father’s friends out of business, wouldn’t it? But they’ll never be able to undo Avada Kedavra. Once dead, always dead.
He thought he would expire from boredom if the old biddy didn’t shut her gob soon. Honestly, hunger was the only thing keeping him from falling off the bench. He decided that was probably a good thing, him being a school prefect and all that rot. She finally ceased her yapping and sat down. Dumbledore signaled for the feast to begin, and thankfully, it did so without any further delay.
As was the case for the past five years, the Welcoming Feast itself was the highlight of the evening, maybe even the entire day. The Hogwarts house elves offered an outstanding variety of sumptuous, delectable dishes. Even if that worthless traitor Dobby was among the hundreds of elves in service here, Draco felt he still had to give credit where it was due. Thinking of Dobby, he briefly contemplated the little twerp. I'm sure Father never would have given Dobby clothes. I wonder how he managed to lose him? Then he continued devouring his Beef Wellington.
He remained in a somber mood for the duration of the feast. Blaise chatted animatedly with Pansy and Milicent, completely ignoring his best friend. When the girls turned to gossiping, Blaise attempted to pick up his earlier conversation with Draco, hoping to tell him more about his summer. Well, aren’t we in a good mood, Zabini?
It actually sounded rather exciting. There were many fascinating things about America that struck Draco’s curiosity. He mostly wondered what the girls were like, as British girls could be such snobs.
However, most of the first-years soon finished their meals and were starting to get restless. The other prefects saw this and stood up, indicating that it was time for them to begin their duties for the year. They ushered the new students to the Slytherin common room and provided them with the password. Once everyone had settled in, the sixth-year boys decided to call it an early night, exhausted from the day. Draco and his roommates descended further into the dungeons to go to their room. They talked for a little bit longer, until one by one, sleep overtook them.
When Draco awoke the next morning, his foul mood had not dissipated yet. His class schedule had been delivered to his nightstand, and it looked as though this year would be almost as busy as the last year. The only saving grace was that they had completed their O.W.L.s and their N.E.W.T.s weren’t for another year. Still, there would be prefect meetings, Quidditch practices, books to digest and essays to regurgitate, and sexy witches to bed. So much to do, so little time, thought Draco. He took one last look in his mirror, a slight curl on his lip. The mirror said that he looked stunning, which he did; he knew that mirrors never lied.
Exiting the Common Room, he happened by two ladies who seemed very friendly indeed. “Hi, Draco,” the prettier one said, giving him a sexy grin. “Did you have a nice summer?” Wondering why he couldn’t recall her name, even though he was fairly certain that he had slept with her on at least one occasion, he replied gruffly that he did and went back to ignoring them.
That’s right, mirrors never lie, he repeated to himself. I must find out more about the Weasel’s mirror. It could prove very useful to Lord Voldemort. May even push up my initiation sooner and help me move up the ranks as a Death Eater.
Deep in his thoughts, he quickly ascended two flights of stairs and moved swiftly down the corridor toward the Great Hall. He soon heard someone coming up behind him, shouting, “Hey!” It sounded like Blaise; he turned around and saw that it was. Zabini ran to catch up with him, saying, “Oy, there you are, Malfoy! Wait up!”
“Hullo, Zabini. So you had a nice summer, eh? Spent most of it across the pond?” he said in an offhand manner.
His friend, still out of breath from jogging after him, replied, “Oh, yes. It was very nice indeed.” He pointed his wand to his chest, uttered a simple Recovery Charm, then continued smoothly, “And most of that was due to a lovely witch in Massachusetts. We were there for nearly a month; it was bloody fantastic! I’m telling you -- honestly, I think I’m in love.”
“What?!” Draco snorted. “With an American? How utterly repulsive.” He sneered as he said this, but Blaise defended his choice of sweethearts.
“Are you kidding? She is, as they say in the U.S., definitely Da Bomb!”
“Whatever that means, I’m sure she’s not worthy of you. Does she know you come from one of Britain’s oldest, best-established, and well-connected wizarding families?”
“Of course she does! Didn’t you get my last owl?” he asked, sounding offended. “She’s a distant cousin of my mum’s, so she’s a pureblood. And she’s very pretty,” Blaise bragged.
Draco said nothing to this. As they arrived in the Great Hall, Blaise challenged, “Do you really think I’d choose someone who was poor or otherwise repugnant? Honestly, what do you take me for?”
They sat down to breakfast and continued their discussion. Blaise talked some more about his girlfriend, whom Draco learned was named Marianne Elliot. He had a few wizard photos of her, and Draco had to agree that she was very good looking. She had thick, chestnut hair that went down to just above her chin. It was cut in a very modern style, framing her face nicely. Her expressive doe eyes were brown and deep, and the skimpy, lacy tank top she wore in one of the photos left little to his imagination. She was winking, smiling shyly, and waving her fingers innocently. Draco’s mouth got very dry and his pulse quickened. Damn, Blaise was right; this girl’s hot, he thought. He involuntarily licked his lips. Her eyes remind me of someone else, but who?
Feeling a bit of heat rising inside him, Draco handed the photos back and tried desperately to put aside the images he had just seen. He cleared his throat and commented nonchalantly, “Well, she certainly looks nice. What about her family? Are they well-connected?”
Blaise reported proudly, “Yes, very. They are one of the oldest wizarding families in all of New England. In fact, her ancestors narrowly escaped the Salem Witch Trials back in the 17th century. Her family is wealthy, and they are held in high regard in the American wizarding community. As you can imagine, even my parents are pleased with the match,” he confirmed, biting into an apple.
The two were so engrossed in their talk that they barely noticed the morning owls. One had sat down directly in front of Draco. Pansy cautiously interrupted him by tapping on his arm. She pointed to the elegant eagle owl that she recognized as belonging to his mother.
Narcissa had named her pet Dionysus because he liked to sip out of her wine glass. Weird bird, Draco thought. He patted Dionysus on the head, who took off promptly. Owls of the rich never expected or waited for payment; their rewards were great in the houses that they served.
He opened the care package his mother had sent. As usual, it contained a few sacks of Galleons, sweets in a flavor he didn’t like, and a letter that she hadn’t written herself.
Blaise also received an owl. The bird was a foreign breed, most likely native to America or Canada. Draco knew by the look on his friend’s face that it was a letter from the lovely Marianne Elliot. Blaise inhaled the perfumed ivory parchment then closed his eyes. He smiled and sighed, looking blissfully happy.
Draco exhaled heavily. This was going to be the longest year of his life.
~End of Chapter~
So whadya think? The plot is forming in the background; sorry if it is not apparent yet where we are heading, but I hope you will stick around for the ride. And I promise, there will be D/G, but with his attitude, she wouldn’t give him the time of day, would she -- (yet)? Thanks again for reading and reviewing!!
Moving on, this chapter’s title is a reference to one of my favorite songs by Eve 6. Thanks again for joining me on this wild ride. Now on with the show!
CHAPTER 2 – Blaise’s Superhero Girl
The train arrived at Hogsmeade Station without further incident. The winds had diminished somewhat, but the night air was still very cold. As he was every year, Rubeus Hagrid was on hand to round up the first-years to take them across the lake in boats.
Shivering, Draco was only too glad that he didn’t have to travel by boat; it might tip over tonight, or worse, Hagrid might just try to push him overboard. Either way would spell certain disaster, as he would end up missing the feast and spending the night in hospital, drinking Pepper-Up Potion or some other equally disgusting healing draughts that the resident quack, Madame Pomfrey, was known to peddle.
Once they were off the train, Draco saw Blaise Zabini motioning for himself, Crabbe, and Goyle to ride with him in his carriage. The Zabinis were on their way back from a trip to the United States, where Draco thought they had relatives. They had dropped their son Blaise off in Hogsmeade to ride in the carriages with his friends. He was most anxious to visit with them, Draco in particular. Over the years, each had become the brother that neither one had.
Blaise and Draco had corresponded throughout the summer. In one of his letters, Blaise had mentioned this amazing girl he knew. It seemed that he had grown very fond of her, and Draco was rather curious how it had all panned out for his friend.
They walked toward the carriage that Blaise had chosen, engaged in a casual conversation about the day’s journey. Then completely out of the blue, Draco asked him, “So, how did things work out for you with that girl?”
“Oh.” Blaise stammered, “Well, . . . uh, she’s . . uh, it went fine. Just fine.”
“What does that mean?” Draco demanded. “Did you get laid or not?”
Blaise was slightly embarrassed at his friend’s blunt manner. He sighed exasperatedly and stopped in his tracks. “Look, she’s fantastic, okay? But I’ll tell you all about her later, all right?” His tone made it clear that this conversation needed to be reserved for a more private setting. Draco shrugged and dropped the subject.
The four boys stepped into the carriage. Blaise had cast a Warming Charm before the others had arrived, and their carriage felt nice and toasty inside. However, despite of his efforts, the ride seemed colder, longer, and more jarring than ever. The unseasonably frigid night that had fallen seemed to seep through the joints of the carriage, chilling its passengers to the bone. Draco decided that the loathsome beasts that controlled the carriages had to be one of Dumbledore’s sick jokes; the rickety contraptions didn’t retain any heat, and they seemed to find every single bump in the road. He was certain they hit them deliberately, just to spite him.
The students finally reached the school and exited their carriages. The huge front doors of the castle were a welcome sight, even to Draco. His arse was as sore as if he had practiced Quidditch for four straight hours without casting a Cushioning Charm on his broom.
But in all honesty, it wasn’t really all that good to be back. He was so sick of Hogwarts. It was just a step above that other school, the one that rich muggles spoke so highly of. It seemed like his father had called it Etton or Easton. Oh, Draco bemoaned, why couldn’t our fathers just send us all to Durmstrang, where they focus on something truly useful? Like actually learning to perform the Dark Arts instead of just learning to fight them? As if one could possibly go up against the Dark Lord and his followers!
The Sorting Ceremony was dull and routine, except that Slytherin got the most new members. They added nine new housemates, including two who were transfer students from other countries. Sophia Bellucci was a cute 12-year-old Italian girl who, unfortunately, had yet to completely master the English language. Rumors were being whispered around the table that her Latin was impeccable and that she was very adept at charms. They also welcomed Michael Grant, a sandy-haired boy of 15 from far-away New Zealand. When the Sorting Hat finally placed him by roaring, “SLYTHERIN!”, Michael smiled, relieved that it was over; he had been under its scrutiny for several minutes.
Dumbledore rose to greet the students and make a few announcements. For those who were either new or completely clueless, he stated the obvious: “The Forbidden Forest is forbidden.” Draco deemed that this was for the benefit of a handful of Gryffindors who tended to forget it on an annual basis. The Headmaster also reminded everyone that the caretaker, Mr. Filch, requested everyone’s help in maintaining some semblance of order in the castle.
Well, Draco reflected, with Thing 1 and Thing 2 no longer here, the poor old squib might actually get his wish for the first time in seven years. I mean, really, a swamp in the school? How debase, how utterly Weasley. Once their lovely “farewell gift” was finally removed, I’m sure Filch was so happy that he got totally, shit-faced, falling-down drunk. I know I certainly would have.
There were a few announcements about staffing changes, but Draco paid little heed. The only one that really caught his ear was that they were getting yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Dumbledore announced that due to some rather unfortunate events, Professor Umbridge would not be returning. He also commented that she was recovering splendidly at St. Mungo’s and, in all actuality, she would most likely go back to work for the Ministry when she had returned to health.
Damn shame, I liked her. Smart woman. She knew how to work the system to get things done, Draco surmised admiringly. I must write to Father and find out what happened to her. I wonder who will take her place?
Then to Draco’s horror and utter disgust, Dumbledore announced that Professor Lupin was to once again be their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. It was as if he had been kicked in the stomach as he literally felt the air leave his lungs. Oh, shit, not the werewolf! He was simply awful last time -- he treated our entire house so unfairly!
Grinding his teeth, he glared coldly over at the table of the worst house in the school, the Gryffindors. Of course, they were simply overjoyed about Lupin’s return. Big shock there. The whole table was in an uproar, cheering and laughing like idiots.
Loathing them all, he watched them with a sneer on his face. Then the Slytherin witnessed a strange turn of events taking place at the distant table. Potter was sitting next to Ginny Weasley. He leaned toward her and whispered something, nearly touching her cheek with his lips. She laughed out loud as if she were greatly amused (Yeah, right, Draco snorted), her eyes smiling. When she tossed her head back, her long, ginger hair flowed over her shoulders and rippled down her back. The specky git seemed pleased that he had made her laugh. Apparently encouraged by this, he boldly covered her hand with his and gently squeezed it.
However, she soon surprised both Draco and Harry by showing exactly how she felt about this physical contact. She removed her hand and lightly grasped just his fingers with hers, holding onto them gently. As she did, she gave Potter a look that Draco could not quite define. He almost felt sorry for the poor, lovesick moron whose heart she had just trampled.
Almost.
Then Ginny bent over slightly and said something to Potter; she was close to him, but not as close as he had been to her. She gave him a sad sort of smile, then let go of his fingers completely. A mild wave of disappointment swept Potter’s face, which colored slightly.
My, how the tables have turned. Draco smirked with supreme satisfaction.
He could barely contain his glee at seeing Saint Potter shot down by a girl, especially one who used to idolize everything about him. He didn’t find her all that attractive himself; it just felt so good to see the great Harry Potter finally get his comeuppance. Face it, Potter -- you’re not good enough for even the likes of her. And thank the gods for that, as it means that you’ll probably never reproduce. Composing himself, Draco sighed aloud, observing, There, I feel better already, as his mood finally showed signs of improving.
Ginny was glancing around the room when she noticed Draco out of the corner of her eye. He was two tables away, but she thought she saw him actually smiling. Then as quickly as if it were turned off by an eclectrick switch, she saw his smile fade as a furious stare took its place, its intensity palpable. She locked eyes with him, matching his look unswervingly.
That’s right, look at me, you stupid girl, he chanted internally. You are going to pay dearly for hexing me. I will make you beg for mercy before I’m through with you. He watched her closely, as if daring her to look away; the brave girl did not turn her head until Dumbledore began speaking again. Tuning in to his speech again, Draco saw that he was only droning on yet again about interhouse harmony or some such load of dung.
He thought back to the announcement about the recently reinstated Professor Lupin and pondered how best to get rid of him. Suppose he must still be a serious danger to the students and staff. Suddenly, a stroke of genius hit him. I’ll just write to Father and have him sacked, like last time. It was bloody brilliant!
However, a few seconds later, the harsh reality smacked him like ice-cold water, cruel and hard. Grimacing, his sullen mood returned, as the real reason for his depression weighed down on him. With Lucius Malfoy on an extended holiday at Camp Azkaban, it was becoming increasingly difficult for Draco to get things done. He fidgeted in his seat and lamented how he would ever get through the school year.
Even Draco’s mother had begun to feel the strain. He seemed to recall her saying to her friends Lucrecia Nott and Dolly Avery that things were becoming very difficult indeed. Draco himself knew that the Ministry had gone so far as to freeze some of the Malfoy funds, pending some ludicrous settlement between Lucius and his alleged victims. Although the ladies that Mrs. Malfoy socialized with were blissfully unaware of this, his mother was deathly afraid they would find out and deny her of their company. Then where would she be? Life as she knew it would simply be over.
Not surprisingly, Mrs. Malfoy had screamed loudest of all when her husband was taken into custody. She maintained that Lucius’s conviction was an atrocity, a great injustice, as he had obviously been under a very strong Imperius Curse. Pointing to all of the noble causes the Malfoys had contributed to over the years, she vehemently protested his innocence in an effort to reduce his sentence. When she’d said this at his trial, Lucius, who had shown no emotion whatsoever, gave her a warm, loving smile.
However, her impassioned testimony hadn’t helped much, except perhaps to shave a couple of months off of his sentence. With her social standing, as well as her cash flow, in the balance, his appeal had become her new pastime. If Narcissa had given her son any of her time before, now she gave him none at all. Although she had her own selfish reasons to justify her convictions, she truly believed in her heart of hearts that Lucius was not guilty. Draco reasoned that she had either lost her mind entirely under the stress, or she was dying to go to Gladrags in Paris to shop for her new winter wardrobe. He looked down and sighed. His head throbbing, he closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands. It was such a drag being a convict’s son.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore’s speech seemed to drag on forever. It was at least as boring and frivolous as Fudge speaking at some deadly dull Ministry function. He was spouting some insignificant drivel about cooperating with the muggle community and improving interhouse relations.
That caught Draco’s imagination. He smirked, thinking, I quite agree, Headmaster. In fact, to further house unity, I think I will expand into some ‘interhouse relations’ of my own this year. Maybe I’ll start with that hot Asian babe, the delicious Cho Chang. Then I’ll get a two-for-one with those luscious Patil twins, and maybe end the year with the creamy, dreamy Ginny Weasley.
He caught himself just in time. I’ve got to stop doing that, he chided himself. I’m just delirious because I’m sitting here about to starve to death and suffering from a monstrous headache.
As if to drive out his betraying thoughts, he made up his mind. That Ginny Weasley is just like her mother. She is a harpy, and no arse -- no matter how fine it is -- is worth that. I’m sure she would eventually drive me to perform Avada Kedavra on myself someday.
At last, Dumbledore stopped speaking, raised his hands, and looked around. Oh, good, he’s finally done -- come on you old codger, clap your hands twice and start the feast! Draco’s mind shouted. His hands were just inches apart, then he paused. Instead of signaling that it was time to eat, the aged wizard noticed that the rotund Professor Sprout was rising to her feet, requesting that she be allowed to add “one tiny announcement.” He nodded, inviting her to speak, which she did . . at great length. Draco groaned aloud, and none too quietly -- he was getting extremely hungry, as he hadn’t eaten well all day.
Professor Sprout was about as interesting as the previous speaker had been. She was spewing some nonsense about an optional Advanced Herbology class (yawn) and that it was for sixth and seventh years only. Now, who would want to take more of that shite than was absolutely necessary? But the old bird just wouldn’t shut up! She went on and on. Really, who cared that they were making great strides in hybrid plants and new potion mixtures? So what if some mediwizards felt that one of them could possibly hold the key to any number of magical injuries -- wasn’t that what Death Eaters were all about, causing pain and suffering? Unimpressed, Draco sneered, concluding, That would kind put my father’s friends out of business, wouldn’t it? But they’ll never be able to undo Avada Kedavra. Once dead, always dead.
He thought he would expire from boredom if the old biddy didn’t shut her gob soon. Honestly, hunger was the only thing keeping him from falling off the bench. He decided that was probably a good thing, him being a school prefect and all that rot. She finally ceased her yapping and sat down. Dumbledore signaled for the feast to begin, and thankfully, it did so without any further delay.
As was the case for the past five years, the Welcoming Feast itself was the highlight of the evening, maybe even the entire day. The Hogwarts house elves offered an outstanding variety of sumptuous, delectable dishes. Even if that worthless traitor Dobby was among the hundreds of elves in service here, Draco felt he still had to give credit where it was due. Thinking of Dobby, he briefly contemplated the little twerp. I'm sure Father never would have given Dobby clothes. I wonder how he managed to lose him? Then he continued devouring his Beef Wellington.
He remained in a somber mood for the duration of the feast. Blaise chatted animatedly with Pansy and Milicent, completely ignoring his best friend. When the girls turned to gossiping, Blaise attempted to pick up his earlier conversation with Draco, hoping to tell him more about his summer. Well, aren’t we in a good mood, Zabini?
It actually sounded rather exciting. There were many fascinating things about America that struck Draco’s curiosity. He mostly wondered what the girls were like, as British girls could be such snobs.
However, most of the first-years soon finished their meals and were starting to get restless. The other prefects saw this and stood up, indicating that it was time for them to begin their duties for the year. They ushered the new students to the Slytherin common room and provided them with the password. Once everyone had settled in, the sixth-year boys decided to call it an early night, exhausted from the day. Draco and his roommates descended further into the dungeons to go to their room. They talked for a little bit longer, until one by one, sleep overtook them.
When Draco awoke the next morning, his foul mood had not dissipated yet. His class schedule had been delivered to his nightstand, and it looked as though this year would be almost as busy as the last year. The only saving grace was that they had completed their O.W.L.s and their N.E.W.T.s weren’t for another year. Still, there would be prefect meetings, Quidditch practices, books to digest and essays to regurgitate, and sexy witches to bed. So much to do, so little time, thought Draco. He took one last look in his mirror, a slight curl on his lip. The mirror said that he looked stunning, which he did; he knew that mirrors never lied.
Exiting the Common Room, he happened by two ladies who seemed very friendly indeed. “Hi, Draco,” the prettier one said, giving him a sexy grin. “Did you have a nice summer?” Wondering why he couldn’t recall her name, even though he was fairly certain that he had slept with her on at least one occasion, he replied gruffly that he did and went back to ignoring them.
That’s right, mirrors never lie, he repeated to himself. I must find out more about the Weasel’s mirror. It could prove very useful to Lord Voldemort. May even push up my initiation sooner and help me move up the ranks as a Death Eater.
Deep in his thoughts, he quickly ascended two flights of stairs and moved swiftly down the corridor toward the Great Hall. He soon heard someone coming up behind him, shouting, “Hey!” It sounded like Blaise; he turned around and saw that it was. Zabini ran to catch up with him, saying, “Oy, there you are, Malfoy! Wait up!”
“Hullo, Zabini. So you had a nice summer, eh? Spent most of it across the pond?” he said in an offhand manner.
His friend, still out of breath from jogging after him, replied, “Oh, yes. It was very nice indeed.” He pointed his wand to his chest, uttered a simple Recovery Charm, then continued smoothly, “And most of that was due to a lovely witch in Massachusetts. We were there for nearly a month; it was bloody fantastic! I’m telling you -- honestly, I think I’m in love.”
“What?!” Draco snorted. “With an American? How utterly repulsive.” He sneered as he said this, but Blaise defended his choice of sweethearts.
“Are you kidding? She is, as they say in the U.S., definitely Da Bomb!”
“Whatever that means, I’m sure she’s not worthy of you. Does she know you come from one of Britain’s oldest, best-established, and well-connected wizarding families?”
“Of course she does! Didn’t you get my last owl?” he asked, sounding offended. “She’s a distant cousin of my mum’s, so she’s a pureblood. And she’s very pretty,” Blaise bragged.
Draco said nothing to this. As they arrived in the Great Hall, Blaise challenged, “Do you really think I’d choose someone who was poor or otherwise repugnant? Honestly, what do you take me for?”
They sat down to breakfast and continued their discussion. Blaise talked some more about his girlfriend, whom Draco learned was named Marianne Elliot. He had a few wizard photos of her, and Draco had to agree that she was very good looking. She had thick, chestnut hair that went down to just above her chin. It was cut in a very modern style, framing her face nicely. Her expressive doe eyes were brown and deep, and the skimpy, lacy tank top she wore in one of the photos left little to his imagination. She was winking, smiling shyly, and waving her fingers innocently. Draco’s mouth got very dry and his pulse quickened. Damn, Blaise was right; this girl’s hot, he thought. He involuntarily licked his lips. Her eyes remind me of someone else, but who?
Feeling a bit of heat rising inside him, Draco handed the photos back and tried desperately to put aside the images he had just seen. He cleared his throat and commented nonchalantly, “Well, she certainly looks nice. What about her family? Are they well-connected?”
Blaise reported proudly, “Yes, very. They are one of the oldest wizarding families in all of New England. In fact, her ancestors narrowly escaped the Salem Witch Trials back in the 17th century. Her family is wealthy, and they are held in high regard in the American wizarding community. As you can imagine, even my parents are pleased with the match,” he confirmed, biting into an apple.
The two were so engrossed in their talk that they barely noticed the morning owls. One had sat down directly in front of Draco. Pansy cautiously interrupted him by tapping on his arm. She pointed to the elegant eagle owl that she recognized as belonging to his mother.
Narcissa had named her pet Dionysus because he liked to sip out of her wine glass. Weird bird, Draco thought. He patted Dionysus on the head, who took off promptly. Owls of the rich never expected or waited for payment; their rewards were great in the houses that they served.
He opened the care package his mother had sent. As usual, it contained a few sacks of Galleons, sweets in a flavor he didn’t like, and a letter that she hadn’t written herself.
Blaise also received an owl. The bird was a foreign breed, most likely native to America or Canada. Draco knew by the look on his friend’s face that it was a letter from the lovely Marianne Elliot. Blaise inhaled the perfumed ivory parchment then closed his eyes. He smiled and sighed, looking blissfully happy.
Draco exhaled heavily. This was going to be the longest year of his life.
~End of Chapter~
So whadya think? The plot is forming in the background; sorry if it is not apparent yet where we are heading, but I hope you will stick around for the ride. And I promise, there will be D/G, but with his attitude, she wouldn’t give him the time of day, would she -- (yet)? Thanks again for reading and reviewing!!
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