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As the resident advisor on making terrible Welsh house names, I should probably be reading this excellent peice of writing utter trash. 
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Harry Potter And The Marauders Of The Phoenix: a Plot-Bunny Adoption
- Thread starter The Englanderish
- Start date
- Novel Fantasy
The Englanderish
Schrödinger's Kuudere Kitty Caliph(a)
- Location
- Califat de Chats
The more the merrier!As the resident advisor on making terrible Welsh house names, I should probably be reading thisexcellent peice of writingutter trash.
Chapter 7: A Game At Dinner
The Englanderish
Schrödinger's Kuudere Kitty Caliph(a)
- Location
- Califat de Chats
Gah! This took longer than I wanted it to!
I started writing, got stumped for a week and then it all comes to me in the evening and I simply have to write it before it leaves me!
I've had no sleep tonight.
Also unbeta'd since it's already late and I haven't been able to get hold of pie often as of late.
So without further ado:
I started writing, got stumped for a week and then it all comes to me in the evening and I simply have to write it before it leaves me!
I've had no sleep tonight.
Also unbeta'd since it's already late and I haven't been able to get hold of pie often as of late.
So without further ado:
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Chapter 7: A Game At Dinner
Number 4, Privet Drive was as it was on any Tuesday evening – quiet, but well lit. Its front lawn was neatly trimmed, the freshly-painted front door and garage was immaculate. Mabel rapped hard on the front door with Harry in tow. After a moment it opened, revealing the long face of Petunia Dursley. She scowled as she took in the sight of her guests, as if their very presence was somehow devaluing her family in the eyes of the neighbours.
"Ms. Baines. Harry," She said curtly, nodding to each of them in turn before turning and leading them in. Mabel hoisted her and Harry's bags over the threshold and placed them by the stairs.
"May I take your coat?" came a youthful voice from behind her. She turned to see the twelve-year-old Dudley Dursley beaming at her from his round face. Petunia shot the boy a look, but it was too late.
"Well thank you, Dudley," replied Mabel casting off her coat and handing it to him. Over the boy's head, she smirked at Petunia and strode into the living room, where the beefy form of Vernon sat reading a muggle newspaper. He looked up at her and surveyed her choice of attire – a white button-up shirt, green waistcoat and beige khakis.
"I'm glad to see you at least have the decency to disguise yourself properly," he muttered, "Welcome, I suppose."
"Dinner will be served momentarily," announced Petunia over her shoulder as she entered the kitchen. The others all settled down at the dining table and began eyeing each other up in some sort of strange stand off.
"So," Harry began, "Err… how are you?"
It was a non-starter, Vernon only grunting an "Okay," from behind his bushy moustache and Dudley both ignoring him and sitting as far away from him as possible. Darting eyes followed. Beady pupils from each occupant of the table were flitting nervously from person to person. The peculiar standoff was mercifully interrupted when Petunia brought in the shepherd's pie. The slight tap as she set it down on the placemat was like a starting pistol.
The spell was broken, Dudley fixed his eyes greedily on the pie as Petunia began to serve, Vernon began to offer Mabel wines and Harry took the opportunity of distraction to breathe out.
"Draco, dinner," called the voice of Narcissa Malfoy. Draco set down his quill and surveyed his letter one last time.
Father had been pushing him to write to Susan often – something about 'forging ties' with her family. This wouldn't necessarily bother him if Father didn't also insist on scrutinising each and every letter he sent to and received from her, making 'suggestions' in direction and topic that were anything but. As far as he could tell however, Father had yet to notice the secret, true letter written in invisible ink between the lines of the ostensible one. He rather liked the idea of literally reading between the lines. It was a rare thing to have an aspect of his life not at least partially influenced by one of his parents. Frankly, Draco couldn't care less why father kept pressing him to get information on Susan's aunt.
Satisfied with both his farce letter and his hidden one, he charmed the green ink – feeling more than a little satisfaction as it seemed to dissolve into the page, leaving only the bog standard black writing. Rising to his feet, he took a long breath and left his room, pulling the door to behind him. As he began to head downstairs, he stopped and turned back to properly close the door. If Mother found it, she would only harp on about it.
He descended the stairs, past portraits of his ancestors. Each of them politely inclined their heads as he passed. He stopped briefly at the foot of the staircase and lingered on the portrait of Father, aged seventeen. Each of the portraits had been painted when the Malfoy heir came of age. Draco gazed into his young father's eyes – light grey, so like his own. But there was a warmth to them, a humour he had never seen in the real life version of his father.
"They're waiting for you."
It took Draco a moment to realise it was the portrait that had spoken.
"Go on," the young Lucius continued encouragingly, a friendly smile on his face.
Draco nodded and entered the great hall of Malfoy Manor. At the far end of the long table, Father sat, with Mother beside him. Father gestured from his winged back chair, his cold, cold, grey eyes gazing across the room at Draco.
"Draco, good of you to join us at last," he indicated the seat farthest from him by the door.
"So Vernon," said Mabel as Petunia finished serving. "How is your work going?"
"It's going swimmingly," Vernon began, beginning to relax more into the situation. "Might well be on the verge of making the largest deal of my career. The Masons – yes, the building firm Masons – will be coming to dinner on the thirty first. If all goes well, Grunnings stands to have its financial future secured for the next decade."
"Well that sounds good. An elf wrecked the mansion yesterday – took ages to clean up."
Vernon visibly twitched at the mention of 'elf'.
"Thankfully," Mabel continued, "We had spares of everything that couldn't be fixed. We keep our spare decoratives mostly in the cupboard under the kitchen stairs. By the way, what do you use your cupboard under the stairs for?"
"Bits and bobs mostly," said Petunia, through now-gritted teeth. "Old toys, the hoover…"
"Children?" asked Mabel, icily.
"No." Petunia sipped her wine through rather pursed lips.
"Well that's good. People can get in trouble over that, after all." And all of a sudden, her voice was all sweetness and sugar. "And how are you finding Smeltings, Dudley?"
Dudley's eyes flicked nervously between Petunia and Vernon – as if waiting for permission – before swallowing and opening his mouth.
"It's... going alright, I guess."
"Not getting into too much trouble?"
"No Ma'am. Not me."
"Dudley is a good boy," cut in Petunia, "Absolutely no trouble at all. Isn't that right?"
She inclined her head to her son, who nodded fervently. Mabel chuckled at this.
"All kids get up to something sooner or later. I don't believe for one second that Harry has only got up to just what I've heard about," She replied, "And believe me, Harry gets into trouble a lot."
"Perhaps Dudley has simply been raised better," sniffed Petunia.
"Oh I can only imagine the world of good that must result from the inability to say 'no'," retorted Mabel, her former icy tone returning. Harry began to feel the overwhelming desire to shrink into nothingness. However this was going to end, it probably wasn't well.
Vernon puffed himself up, in a manner somewhat akin to a tropical bird. Petunia's horse face was turning red. Neither could say what they so very much longed to, however. Mabel was their guest. And the English are not rude to their guests. Well, not to their faces.
"Have you considered that Dudley simply does not need to be told 'no' often?" Petunia sweetly forced out.
"Yes, briefly," Mabel said, "But I dismissed it after finding it to have little grounding in reality. It's admirable that you care for your son so much, but I have to ask…" she fixed a gaze of steel on her hosts. "How well do you actually know him?" She paused to sip her wine before continuing. "I have had the questionable privilege of watching two generations of Potter children grow up and I ceased deluding myself of any of their perfection a great deal of time ago. Harry gets into trouble a lot, true. But at heart he's a good kid and that's all that matters. I can say with complete honesty that I know Harry extremely well. His favourite q-… sports team, favourite food, pet peeves, his penchant for mischief. How well do you know Dudley?"
Vernon made to speak, but Mabel held up a hand and continued.
"And how much of what you 'know' about Dudley is simply what you are imagining him as?"
Draco sat and gazed across at his parents, patiently waiting as he always should for them to start. They did promptly and Draco followed suit.
They ate in silence.
As usual.
Occasionally, Father or Mother would ask hollow questions, again as usual. How his friends were, what he got up to today, things of that ilk. One might expect these to be conversation starters in a family meal. Not here. In the Malfoy house, such parental inquiry was little more than a report. When he was around Harry, Lucius was kindly, doting… parental. Not here. Not with Draco.
'Never with Draco. Only Harry.'
'Stop it.'
This was a line of thought that was… best left alone.
"So Draco," began Mother in an… unusual tone. "Tell us more about this new friend of yours… this Hermione."
Draco started. What on Earth was Mother up to this time? What corner of his life did she now deem fit to deign to 'improve'?
"I would hardly call her a friend," he said awkwardly. "She's my friends' friend. That's all."
"I heard she earned nearly top marks in her exams," continued Narcissa, "I don't recognise the Granger name – presumably they must be of a dilute bloodline. Unfortunate, but somebody of her intelligence would make a formidable associate. Perhaps even more… I would of course prefer one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but one has to make do with one's options."
Draco fought back the urge to snigger. If only they knew. Still, wasting Mother's time should keep her from making too many 'improvements' in the meantime.
Lucius frowned.
"Narcissa dear, Draco is twelve. Is it not a little early to be sorting such matters?"
Narcissa raised an eyebrow.
"Lucius, may I remind you just how much time you squandered in your childhood? Just take a look at your portrait in the hall – no sense in his head! A little work now will save Draco a great deal later. And this Granger girl sounds like a rather useful addition to the family."
Draco was by now biting his lower lip to keep his mouth firmly clamped.
No, he would not spill the beans now – this was too good to pass up. They were going to find out the hard way. And it was going to be fucking superb to watch. All he had to do was keep a straight face.
"Touché," conceded Father, "Even so, darling, I think it is a tad too early for such things. We haven't even met the girl yet."
The silence returned, no sound save for that of consumption.
When they had finished, a crack sounded and Dobby, the family house-elf, appeared at Father's side.
"Ah, Dobby," said Father, "Return after you have dealt with the dishes. There is a matter that I need to address."
Dobby nodded silently and in a flurry of cracks the table was cleared. His task completed, Dobby returned to Father's side.
"Kindly tell me where you were yesterday," Father coolly whispered to the elf.
Dobby nearly seized up.
"Dobby… Dobby had important errands to run. Dobby has already punished himself for his absence."
"I never gave you permission to leave the manor," he said, shrewdly.
Dobby blanched.
"It was… too urgent, master…"
Father seemed to think for a little.
"Draco, you may leave the table."
Draco gulped. He knew that tone.
Quickly (but not too quickly, to avoid rudeness) he stood and walked out of the dining hall. From the entrance hall, he headed straight for the stairs. He knew what was coming and wanted to be as far away from his parents as he could get.
Bang!
Draco stopped at the foot of the stairs. He rested his shaking hand on the bannister, fighting for calm.
'Shit, too late.'
Taking a deep breath, he put one foot onto the first step.
Bang!
A pained screech accompanied this one.
Draco forced his other foot onto the second step.
Bang!
"Could you take me with you?"
Draco started. It was the portrait of his seventeen-year-old father. The picture's eyes were struggling to meet Draco's. His earlier cheeriness was gone, his face gaunt. He looked almost-
BANG!
Louder this time; a long drawn out scream to go with it.
Draco and the portrait both flinched.
Quickly, Draco nodded and lifted the painting down from the wall – mildly surprising himself as dexterity returned to his hands, seemingly for this feat only. Clutching it to his chest, he plodded up the ornate grand staircase. Shuddering as more banging sounds crashed out from the dining hall.
His oh-so-heavy breaths panted out in bursts as he trudged ever upwards, hollow-sounding and panicked.
Suddenly there came a great crashing sound. Draco let out a small squeak as what sounded like crockery smashed on the other side of the thick wooden doors.
As if struck by a whip, Draco suddenly found his speed and flew up the steps to the landing like a bullet. Haring down the hall on the right, he bolted through his bedroom door, locked it shut behind him and threw himself under his covers. All the while the portrait was clutched firmly against his chest.
Shouting and wailing now drifted up from below, seeping through the cracks in the door. They coiled around him as he dove deeper into his duvet – trying in vain hope to block it out. But to no avail.
'Something make it stop! Please, just make it stop!'
The fabric against his face rapidly moistened as he prayed for it to just please end.
But he was not the only occupant of his room who wept.
The Burrow was as it was on any Tuesday evening – warm, noisy and full of merriment. The family was gathered in the kitchen enjoying a meal together, beds all throughout the house were made, light burst from every room.
Scabbers the rat had other things in mind as he scurried along one of the many landings. Namely he was in search of a warm, comfy place to sleep and not be bothered. His quest was of course of great importance.
He sniffed around the doorway he'd come to. Ginny's room – and it was left ajar. He was somewhat fond of the youngest Weasley, he mused as he darted in and to the foot of her extremely appealing bed. Much more interesting than Ron at least – her sense of humour matched his. But then again, Ron never bothered him – unlike everyone else.
He leapt up and grabbed onto the bedsheets, swiftly scaling it to pull himself up onto the bed proper. Quickly gazing around for the comfiest, warmest place, he settled on the space under the pillows. Wasting no time, he burrowed under.
He wasn't especially surprised to find a book there – he used to do as such himself back in the old days. He slumped up against it and settled down.
Wait.
That feeling.
That familiar feeling. He knew that feeling – the creeping dread that had only filled him when-
No. It couldn't be.
But it was.
Terror flooded him.
"Hello, Peter."
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As always, feedback, speculation etc. are always wanted!
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Finagle007
[Verified Great Old One]
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Oh god damn it.
Seems like young!Lucius is horrified by what he grew up to be...
Ranma-sensei
Sorcerer
- Location
- Citrix Receiver
- Pronouns
- Weatherdependent
Come again?
I have the feeling Mabel thinks that the Dursley boy is still not lost.
Might as well try, at least. One mage already, in the bloodline. Not that much of a stretch that there might be more.
"Sneaky Slytherinses!"
This discrepancy in demeanor needs investigating.
Goddamnit Englanderish, I want the cinnamon bun in my belly, not my lung!
Oh, but they have perfected being arseholes while still being the perfect hosts.
Draco better wish Lucius never be like that towards him. *shudders*
Heh.
stairs
Sad when your own past self hates the person you grew up to be.
It what? Can you say it like that?
Okay, I'm interested how you want to justify the roughly fifty years old half-soul of Tom knowing Peter when he didn't become a follower until much later.
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The Englanderish
Schrödinger's Kuudere Kitty Caliph(a)
- Location
- Califat de Chats
I'm putting that down to no sleep.
Are you implying that Dudley being magical would somehow make him more forgiveable/redeemable?
Secondary definition, approximately synonymous with climbing.
He's got two children ready and very willing to fill him in in what he's missed. Given that the whole treachery thing is now public knowledge...
Other mistakes addressed.
Ranma-sensei
Sorcerer
- Location
- Citrix Receiver
- Pronouns
- Weatherdependent
No, but that any of his children or children's children could be magical. When there is one in the family, it follows that there might (some time) be more.
Ranma-sensei
Sorcerer
- Location
- Citrix Receiver
- Pronouns
- Weatherdependent
Right, taking this where it belongs:
As far as I am concerned, Astoria Greengrass is probably a political matchup, with Pansy Parkinson as Draco's concubine.
The Englanderish
Schrödinger's Kuudere Kitty Caliph(a)
- Location
- Califat de Chats
[Shudder]
According to the wiki, Rowling's gone on record saying Astoria Greengrass was... not Draco's parents' choice.
Ranma-sensei
Sorcerer
- Location
- Citrix Receiver
- Pronouns
- Weatherdependent
I know. But with all the Not-Thinking Rowling did in building both the story and world around it, I feel safe in ignoring what I please.
But I agree with you on the reaction to anyone finding Pugface Parkinson attractive.
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Chapter 8: Elbowing Your Teenage Dad In The Face!
The Englanderish
Schrödinger's Kuudere Kitty Caliph(a)
- Location
- Califat de Chats
I'm baaaack! After entirely too long!
I'm gonna be fairly solidly busy next 2/3 weeks so I'm not sure if I'll be realistically able to write more after tonight any time soon. I might be able to, but I might not.
@Ranma-sensei @Mithrandir @Finagle007 @godofsmallthings @Rajvik_wolfboy @jadecriminal @Estro @MisterHalt @Betatrack @Pinklestia @BlackLantern2814
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Chapter 8: Elbowing Your Teenage Dad In The Face!
"Now," the book continued, smugly – as if it were perfectly natural for a book to speak in a cold whisper. "When dear, little Ginny relayed the story of Lord Voldemort's fall to me, I was taken greatly by surprise. I have been even more surprised to sense a rat animagus snuggling up next to me. But I was most surprised by the fact that, upon reading said animagus with legilimency, the animagus is in fact one Peter Pettigrew – legendary Death Eater spy."
Scabbers was by now quivering in what could only be described as abject terror as the book continued.
"But fear not, I think this timing is simply too good to miss. I need you to do something for me."
'No… not again. Never again.'
"I heard that," the book sharply said. "I am afraid to say, Peter, that you do not have a choice in the matter. There is no end for you that does not involve me. There is only a lifetime of servitude to me or death. If you do not capitulate, I shall force you to revert to human form – I wonder how you intend to sneak out of this hovel undetected with no wand, no mouse form and no ally in sight…"
After a few seconds of nervous twitching, Scabbers finally curled up and resigned himself to his fate.
"Very good. When your owner returns to Hogwarts, along with you, you need only do some very simple tasks. Firstly: Find the abandoned girls' bathroom on the second floor…"
Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the hall, shutting the door behind him. The toilet had merely been an excuse, an escape from the tense shadow-war that was Mabel Baines and The Dursleys interacting.
As fun as it was to watch Mabel give the Dursleys the run around, this was way too tense for his liking. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting from Mabel, but it definitely wasn't this.
His thoughts were interrupted by a small crack.
'What the-'
The house elf from the previous day stood before him. And beside him, hovered some sort of pudding. Aunt petunia's pudding. Harry froze.
"What are you doing here?" Harry whispered in a hushed voice as he glanced nervously at the door he'd just closed.
"The Diary," 'Sméagol' snapped in a low voice. "Where is it?
Harry couldn't help but stare - 'Sméagol' seemed to be in pain. Ugly, red sores peeked from under the pillow case he wore and his face was sporting several cuts. The elf was even grunting as he spoke.
"What happened to y-"
"Not important. Diary. Now."
"But-"
"Diary. Or I will drop this."
As if for emphasis, 'Sméagol' bobbed the floating pudding up and down.
Harry bit his lip. This wasn't going to end well. He sighed.
"I can't."
'Sméagol' vanished – the pudding dropped. Harry threw himself forwards to try and catch it. But he was too late.
It hit the floor with a crash, spilling its contents into the carpet. In but a moment, the door behind Harry was yanked open to reveal the Dursleys and Mabel. Mabel took one look at the mess, then fixed her eyes firmly on Harry.
"What did you do?"
The morning sun woke Draco, still curled up. He lifted his head and squinted in the bright light that creeped in through the window. Groggily coming round, he thought briefly about just laying here for ages. Unfortunately, he had things to do – for one thing, he'd not finished addressing the letter to Susan. A pale hand brushed hair from eyes before the boy groaned and began to slowly lift himself up.
"Ow."
Draco looked down and realised the portrait of his father was under his elbow, wearing a pained grimace. He pulled it away and picked up the slightly disgruntled image.
"Sorry!"
He set the picture against his pillow and got up, stretching. Glancing at the sunny view briefly, he sat down at his desk, took up a peacock quill and began addressing the envelope for Susan's letter.
"So," said the picture, slightly awkwardly. "How's school?"
Draco shrugged.
"Fine, I guess. What's it to you?"
The younger Lucius frowned, smoothing his hair back.
"I have been hung in the entrance hall for over twenty years. I don't really get updates. I'd like to know how things are going outside this house, if you would like to share?"
Draco paused to think.
"I suppose I could talk for a while."
Putting down his quill, he turned in his chair to regard the portrait, which smiled at him.
"Well then, in that case, I'd like to know about my son. What sort of people are you friendly with? Who are your chums?"
"Well, there's Ron, Susan, Neville and Harry, I guess – first and foremost. Hermione hangs around too. There's… others I'm supposed to be friends with… but, they don't get me."
"Good friends, are they, these five?"
"Four. Hermione's… she's… around, I guess. It's like…" He cast his mind around, trying to come up with a suitable way to sum up the Granger situation. No real avail, just floundering.
"She is their friend more than yours?" The picture supplied.
Draco chewed his lip thoughtfully.
"Yes, that's exactly it."
"And what about the others? Tell me about them."
"Ron's fun to hang around with; if a bit grumpy sometimes." Draco sniggered at the thought. "Hermione keeps telling him to take his school work more seriously. He doesn't and he won't."
"Content in himself first and foremost?"
"Yyyyyep. Granted, he's basically the only person who is actually a challenge in chess. Hm, now that I think about it, he's slightly ahead in wins… you'd think he'd be thicker, given he's a Gryffindor. But I suppose Crabbe and Goyle have never been especially cunning despite their house, so..."
"Well, he certainly sounds like fun – doesn't lead you too astray, I trust?"
"Not by himself, he doesn't. Anyway, then there's Susan. She's nice, but dear Merlin can she second-guess herself."
He felt himself relaxing somewhat, easing into things. This was nice.
"Da- you- … Older-you keeps trying to get me to write to her – and reading the letters for approval."
The younger Lucius cocked his head to one side curiously.
"Hmm… my mother did the same thing with one or two of my friends. Does this Susan have any relatives who are… important?"
"Yes," Draco slowly said, "I think her aunt's pretty big in the ministry."
"Ah," young-Lucius said with a nod of understanding. "I see, that explains a lot. I'm likely fishing for information, then."
"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me." Draco tugged his fingers through his hair, grimacing. Time to switch topics. "Neville's… a walking calamity. Don't get me wrong, he's kind and fun, but his magic's atrocious… and you can't trust him with anything breakable."
"Oh, I know the type," the portrait replied with a rather knowing smirk. "And this Harry fellow?"
"Harry's a classic Gryffindor through and through," Draco said with a smug little grin. It was a fairly punchable grin.
"Reckless idiot?" The portrait was matching Draco.
"Without peer. I swear he needs me around to keep him from ruining himself."
The evening had been uncomfortably silent; the morning after, even more so. Harry could tell, plain as night and day that Mabel was not happy. It practically seethed off her at the breakfast table, continuing all through to the afternoon. She spoke not a word to Harry and only terse, Spartan exchanges with the Dursleys when necessary. It was more than a little mercy when evening finally closed in. As it drew near to the 24-hour point, Mabel bid her thanks and farewells to their hosts, taking a last sweep around the house to ensure nothing had been left behind. Stepping up to the front door, she took out her pocket watch and began counting down the seconds. Just before the hour, she swung open the door.
"3… 2… 1…"
No sooner had the hour stuck, did she march out of the house, Harry in tow.
"You have some explaining to do, young man."
It seemed Mabel was not planning to wait to have this discussion. Ah well.
"It was that house elf again!" Harry uttered without hesitation as they started down the driveway, turning into the street. "He showed up here, threatening to drop the damn-"
"Harry," Mabel cut in, dangerously.
"Oh, sorry… Um, anyway, he was threatening to drop it if… um… ah…"
"If what?"
Her only answer was the sound of their shoes clapping along, down the pavement. After giving him a more than suitable amount of time to provide an answer, she scowled.
"Harry, if you're going to use that elf as an excuse, at least have the decency to think up your full story."
"Wha- no! I'm not lying… I… just can't tell you what he wanted." His answer didn't seem to satisfy Mabel much.
"… Harry, you are not making it easy to find faith in you."
"But Mabel! Can't… can't my word count for something?"
"I don't know – you tell me. You don't exactly do yourself many favours, you know. There's always something – you're always up to something and you aren't exactly the most forthcoming. From what I've heard from Hogwarts, that hasn't changed. Sneaking around in the middle of the night, flying off like a maniac in your flying lessons, playing detective, a dragon for pity's sake!"
Harry had no answer to that. They marched on in silence, leaving him to ruminate. Looking back… was he… untrustworthy? He was certainly keeping things from her and Sirius – Remus too. But then again… what if they wanted him to get rid of Tom? And his escapades with his friends had foiled a theft, hadn't they? And the troll incident would have gone horribly if he and Ron hadn't managed to step in… but she hadn't mentioned the troll…
His thoughts were shelved when he realised Mabel had started talking again.
"Tell you what, Harry. I will meet you in the middle today – I do not especially believe your tale, but if you are willing to be a bit more straightforward with me or Sirius from now on… we'll say no more about it – no punishment. I am not asking you to divulge your personal secrets or anything. Deal?"
They stopped at the entrance to Wisteria Walk – a small, dark alley that made excellent cover for disapparition.
His eyes widened. Really? Somewhat unable to believe his luck, he nodded fervently.
"Uh… yes! Definitely!"
"Good; I'll hold you to that."
She offered him a small, rare smile before beckoning him into the darkness of the cut through.
The morning of the Hogwarts letters was a dry summer day. Ron and Ginny had been staying over at Cwpan Tân and for the most part, they and Harry had spent the morning thus far lounging around. Ron had systematically disassembled Kreacher in a game of chess, while Harry and Ginny watched on in horror at the massacre, but otherwise it had been an uneventful day so far. That changed in the mere seconds it took for three owls to dart into the drawing room.
"Aha!" proclaimed Ron, hopping up, his copy of Which Broomstick? flopping down to the ground in a neglected heap. "Finally! Took long enough!"
"Agreed. I suppose this means Dumbledore found his Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher at last." It was Remus, speaking as he poked his head in to see to the commotion. He ducked out again to search for Sirius, returning shortly with him.
"Trip to Diagon Alley again, it seems then," Sirius said, "Grab your things, kids. Remus, care to join us?"
"Certainly; it's not as if I have much else do today. Perhaps Mabel too..."
As it transpired, Mabel too seemed up to come with them this time. Remus did ask Kreacher, but the elf had had no desire whatsoever to go out. Floo powder to the Leaky Cauldron proved the most expedient method of travel and the group rapidly spilled onto the cobbles. As they were trotting up the steps to the bank, they bumped into Hermione, along with her parents.
"Good to meet you at last," Sirius jovially greeted the Grangers, wringing each of their hands. "You're lucky Arthur isn't here, though – he'd want to know absolutely everything and anything about your lives."
"I might actually pay to see that encounter," Hermione mused. Then she started and seemed to remember something. "Oh! I almost forgot! Harry, Ron, he's here! Today! In Diagon Alley! We can meet him and he's doing signings and-"
"Err… who?" Harry asked, taken aback – though not as much as Ron appeared to be. Ron was slightly struck dumb by Hermione practically bending over him in manic excitement. It was rather akin to that one time she'd slipped up in potions and her relaxing draught had triggered some kind of minor sugar-high.
"ONLY GILDEROY LOCKHART!"
"Ah," said Ron, full comprehension dawning on his face. "You heard about him."
"I most certainly have! I'm going to try and get an autograph! He's so brave to do all the amazing things he does!"
"We are eleven and we literally wrecked a bunch of our teacher's best efforts at magical defence."
"That," said Harry, looking at Ron like he'd grown an extra head. "Is… a good point."
Heading into the bank, they quickly made a round trip of the vaults and were soon just inside of Flourish & Blotts. The rest of the Weasley family was present here – greetings exchanged before the offensively handsome form of Gilderoy Lockhart, writer of all their new DADA textbooks and renowned wizarding hero, drew every eye to the back.
"Ladies. Gentlemen. So glad all of you could come – now if you could all please remain as orderly and charming as you are and I'll be able to sign a copy for all of you-" His speech was drowned by the sheer crush of heterosexual women pressing forward, jostling for position. The few shopkeepers dotted about were managing to maintain a semblance of order, but it was a straining lid at best.
"Bloody hell," Sirius muttered, "It's going to take us ages to get all your books at this rate."
"Oh quit complaining," a photographer to their left snapped between snaps, "you're getting to meet Gilderoy Lockhart!"
Sirius darkly grumbled something Harry didn't catch. And then the photographer's eyes landed on Harry.
"Oh bugger," Sirius muttered, his wand coming up to try and silence him before-
"IT'S HARRY FREAKING POTTER!"
Every eye was on the boy now – even Lockhart's. He felt rather surrounded by carrion birds. They'd lost Mabel, Remus and the Grangers in the crowd and his remaining companions seemed rather insufficient to hide behind. Before he could even open his mouth, he was carted off, up to Lockhart, who proceeded to subject him to the torment that was publicity. Hermione, who was further up the queue and supporting a stack of books, raised an eyebrow as the poor boy sailed past her. To her side, she caught the sounds of a suppressed snigger. Her head turned.
Sitting in a dark alcove between the shelves, with a hand on his mouth to try and suppress is laughter, was Draco.
"Oh, it's you." Hermione sniffed. "What on Earth are you doing in there?"
Draco waved his hand a little, trying to quiet her.
"Hiding," he said, almost whispering. "Could you keep quiet?"
He got a raised eyebrow.
"Who from?"
"Mother and Father. Well, Mother mostly." Draco's eyes darted around the shop, keeping lookout for any sign of his parents.
"And you're hiding from them because?" she replied, interest admittedly piqued. He looked rather nervous and almost anxious of being seen.
"Because Mother will not stop trying to run my life for me. I took my chance while she was fawning over the Lockhart queue and ducked in here."
Hermione stared.
"What?"
"Look, I know we don't really-"
"Draco? Draco?" Draco blanched at the sound of Narcissa Malfoy's cooing through the crowd. Practically melding into the books around him, he shot Hermoine a pleading look. Rather unsure of the odd situation, Hermione shrugged and waited for Narcissa to pass by. When she had gone, Draco breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thanks, I guess," he mumbled, "So… what brings you here?"
"I need books," came her blank reply, "And, well, Gilderoy."
Draco forcibly clapped a hand over his mouth to contain his laughter.
"Gilderoy? Wow, you are taken with him, aren't you?" he chortled between sniggers, "Have you planned out how many kids you'll have with him when he sweeps you away yet?"
"… No," Hermione sniffed, rather affronted.
"Oh Merlin, you've totally thought about it!"
"I have not!"
"Of course, of course, Granger." His tone of voice was more than a little disbelieving. "Still, at least you're not being paraded around up there like Harry." He gestured up to the front, just in time for Lockhart to announce himself as the new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. "Oh. Well, this looks set to get a lot more fun."
Unfortunately for Draco, his luck ran out shortly thereafter; his mother swooped out of nowhere.
"Draco! There you are, come along, we had better get some robes next. Now, I was thinking some nice shades of blue – to offset your eyes. And, of course we'll need to have your dress-robes fitted for next week's dinner… Your hair's getting too long, too, you'll have to have it cut."
As he was led away, Draco's expression to Hermione said quite plainly, 'Kill. Me. Now.'
Harry winked at Ginny from the table as her name was called out. She tried to keep a level head, awkwardly clomping up the steps to the raised area that housed the staff table and, tonight, the stool and Sorting Hat. As she sat, nervous, Professor McGonagall perched the sorting hat upon her head.
'Oh, hello. What do we have here? Another Weasley?'
'AAH! Er, yes. Um. Are you in my head?' Somehow, she managed to not fall off the stool.
'Yes, indeed I am. Shall I just put you in Gryffindor with all the others, or do you have an objection to that?'
'Oh, um, no, no, Gryffindor's fine!'
'Oh good. Ever since the Lovegood child earlier, I've really been desperate to just get through this and sleep for a day. Or a year or two.'
'Lovegood?'
'She seemed to think I was something else.'
Ginny felt more than heard the hat slightly rant about something called wrackspurts.
'Er… are you still there?'
'Oh, apologies.' And then the hat shouted out to the whole hall. "GRYFFINDOR!"
Somewhat confused, but nevertheless glad, Ginny felt the hat lifted away and hopped up, scooting quickly over to the Gryffindor table. She high-fived Harry, sitting down between him and Neville, earning more than a few gossiping whispers from around the hall.
The year started largely uneventfully, leaving aside Lockhart's flat out bizarre first lesson, in which he saw fit to unleash Cornish pixies into the classroom. The resulting devastation earned him the enmity of Filch and a long, angry entry in Tom. Ginny had made a few token efforts to fit in with those in her year, but rapidly defaulted to hanging out with Harry – which meant hanging with Neville, Draco, Hermione, Susan and – to his irritation, Ron. Draco had also joined the Slytherin Quidditch team, paid for in full by Lucius Malfoy's donation of a full contingent of Nimbus 2001s. The decision, like most of those in his life, had not been Draco's choice. Sure, he enjoyed it, but the idea and execution had been all down to his parents. Again.
More of an issue, however, was the matter of finding a place for Harry and Ginny to talk to Tom privately. The two searched up and down the castle, before finally finding a quiet little room near the top of North tower.
Unfortunately, not all of Ginny's life was as quiet. One early morning, in a History Of Magic lesson, Ginny found her mind-numbing stupor interrupted by a "psst". Glancing to her side, she saw a curly-haired boy with a wide smile and a camera around his neck looking rather eagerly at her.
"Uh… what's up?"
"You're Ginny Weasley, right?" he rushed out excitedly.
"Yes, yes, I am. Why?"
"You know Harry Potter, right?"
She stared at the boy, an eyebrow raised in confusion.
"Yes. What's it to you?"
"Well, um, could you, um, maybe get me a picture of him signed? I can't seem to find him as much anymore."
Ginny's eyes widened. Ooooh no.
"You're Colin Creevey?"
"Oh, has Harry mentioned me?" Colin leaned forward, earnestly.
Ginny let out a pained sigh. Great, trapped in Binns's class with Harry's adoring fan. Lovely. She hoped she was never this awkwardly obsessed over anyone.
'I have a fan.'
'A fan?'
'Yes. His name is Colin and he keeps following me around. Then he found out Ginny's a friend and he's now finding excuses to sit near her in lessons.'
'Oh dear. He's not too much of a problem, is he?'
'Thankfully, no – he just annoys Ginny a little. He's… weird.'
'Well, I can safely say I've never had a fan, so I'm afraid I can't really offer much advice to you. Now, have you decided about this Death Day party? Do you want to go?'
'Yeah, I think so – Nick seemed like he could use the companie.'
'Company, Harry.'
It wasn't until Halloween that Peter finally got his cue.
That evening, sweat trickled down his forehead for the first time in over a decade as he gingerly lifted the paralysed cat by the tail. It looked wrong the way it was all stiff. He felt horrible, even as he hung it from the torch bracket. Honestly, the rooster blood had been more bearable – they had at least been dead. Mrs. Norris was just… staring, frozen, uncanny.
His thoughts were interrupted, however, by the sound of voices. Panicking, he took one last look at the unpleasant display before morphing back into his mouse form, scurrying from the scene. As he slipped into an alcove, he heard a shriek of alarm behind him. Queasy and tired, he hobbled off to find somewhere to be sick.
'Ginny. Ginny. GINNY! Slow down please. Mrs. Norris is petrified, you say?'
'YES! Professor Sprout reckons she can have her cured by the end of the year – something about Mandrakes – but everyone's freaked. Hermione's trying to find anything on the stuff all over the wall. I'm not sure if Neville or Susan screamed louder.'
There was a long pause, Tom presumably thinking hard. She was lying on her stomach on one of the comfy sofas in the little hidey hole she and Harry had found. She kicked her legs up impatiently - come on, Tom!
'What was on the walls?'
'Something about the "Chamber of Secrets", whatever that is.'
'Chamber of Secrets? You're sure that's what it says?'
'Yes, why, do you know it?'
'Of course I do – I'm the one who caught Hagrid.'
Ginny froze, staring at the page. That couldn't be right. Not their Hagrid, surely. Putting quill back to paper, she responded.
'What do you mean Hagrid?'
She waited, tensely. Finally, Tom's writing faded into view.
'It's probably best if I show you.'
I'm gonna be fairly solidly busy next 2/3 weeks so I'm not sure if I'll be realistically able to write more after tonight any time soon. I might be able to, but I might not.
@Ranma-sensei @Mithrandir @Finagle007 @godofsmallthings @Rajvik_wolfboy @jadecriminal @Estro @MisterHalt @Betatrack @Pinklestia @BlackLantern2814
+++++
Chapter 8: Elbowing Your Teenage Dad In The Face!
"Now," the book continued, smugly – as if it were perfectly natural for a book to speak in a cold whisper. "When dear, little Ginny relayed the story of Lord Voldemort's fall to me, I was taken greatly by surprise. I have been even more surprised to sense a rat animagus snuggling up next to me. But I was most surprised by the fact that, upon reading said animagus with legilimency, the animagus is in fact one Peter Pettigrew – legendary Death Eater spy."
Scabbers was by now quivering in what could only be described as abject terror as the book continued.
"But fear not, I think this timing is simply too good to miss. I need you to do something for me."
'No… not again. Never again.'
"I heard that," the book sharply said. "I am afraid to say, Peter, that you do not have a choice in the matter. There is no end for you that does not involve me. There is only a lifetime of servitude to me or death. If you do not capitulate, I shall force you to revert to human form – I wonder how you intend to sneak out of this hovel undetected with no wand, no mouse form and no ally in sight…"
After a few seconds of nervous twitching, Scabbers finally curled up and resigned himself to his fate.
"Very good. When your owner returns to Hogwarts, along with you, you need only do some very simple tasks. Firstly: Find the abandoned girls' bathroom on the second floor…"
Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the hall, shutting the door behind him. The toilet had merely been an excuse, an escape from the tense shadow-war that was Mabel Baines and The Dursleys interacting.
As fun as it was to watch Mabel give the Dursleys the run around, this was way too tense for his liking. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting from Mabel, but it definitely wasn't this.
His thoughts were interrupted by a small crack.
'What the-'
The house elf from the previous day stood before him. And beside him, hovered some sort of pudding. Aunt petunia's pudding. Harry froze.
"What are you doing here?" Harry whispered in a hushed voice as he glanced nervously at the door he'd just closed.
"The Diary," 'Sméagol' snapped in a low voice. "Where is it?
Harry couldn't help but stare - 'Sméagol' seemed to be in pain. Ugly, red sores peeked from under the pillow case he wore and his face was sporting several cuts. The elf was even grunting as he spoke.
"What happened to y-"
"Not important. Diary. Now."
"But-"
"Diary. Or I will drop this."
As if for emphasis, 'Sméagol' bobbed the floating pudding up and down.
Harry bit his lip. This wasn't going to end well. He sighed.
"I can't."
'Sméagol' vanished – the pudding dropped. Harry threw himself forwards to try and catch it. But he was too late.
It hit the floor with a crash, spilling its contents into the carpet. In but a moment, the door behind Harry was yanked open to reveal the Dursleys and Mabel. Mabel took one look at the mess, then fixed her eyes firmly on Harry.
"What did you do?"
The morning sun woke Draco, still curled up. He lifted his head and squinted in the bright light that creeped in through the window. Groggily coming round, he thought briefly about just laying here for ages. Unfortunately, he had things to do – for one thing, he'd not finished addressing the letter to Susan. A pale hand brushed hair from eyes before the boy groaned and began to slowly lift himself up.
"Ow."
Draco looked down and realised the portrait of his father was under his elbow, wearing a pained grimace. He pulled it away and picked up the slightly disgruntled image.
"Sorry!"
He set the picture against his pillow and got up, stretching. Glancing at the sunny view briefly, he sat down at his desk, took up a peacock quill and began addressing the envelope for Susan's letter.
"So," said the picture, slightly awkwardly. "How's school?"
Draco shrugged.
"Fine, I guess. What's it to you?"
The younger Lucius frowned, smoothing his hair back.
"I have been hung in the entrance hall for over twenty years. I don't really get updates. I'd like to know how things are going outside this house, if you would like to share?"
Draco paused to think.
"I suppose I could talk for a while."
Putting down his quill, he turned in his chair to regard the portrait, which smiled at him.
"Well then, in that case, I'd like to know about my son. What sort of people are you friendly with? Who are your chums?"
"Well, there's Ron, Susan, Neville and Harry, I guess – first and foremost. Hermione hangs around too. There's… others I'm supposed to be friends with… but, they don't get me."
"Good friends, are they, these five?"
"Four. Hermione's… she's… around, I guess. It's like…" He cast his mind around, trying to come up with a suitable way to sum up the Granger situation. No real avail, just floundering.
"She is their friend more than yours?" The picture supplied.
Draco chewed his lip thoughtfully.
"Yes, that's exactly it."
"And what about the others? Tell me about them."
"Ron's fun to hang around with; if a bit grumpy sometimes." Draco sniggered at the thought. "Hermione keeps telling him to take his school work more seriously. He doesn't and he won't."
"Content in himself first and foremost?"
"Yyyyyep. Granted, he's basically the only person who is actually a challenge in chess. Hm, now that I think about it, he's slightly ahead in wins… you'd think he'd be thicker, given he's a Gryffindor. But I suppose Crabbe and Goyle have never been especially cunning despite their house, so..."
"Well, he certainly sounds like fun – doesn't lead you too astray, I trust?"
"Not by himself, he doesn't. Anyway, then there's Susan. She's nice, but dear Merlin can she second-guess herself."
He felt himself relaxing somewhat, easing into things. This was nice.
"Da- you- … Older-you keeps trying to get me to write to her – and reading the letters for approval."
The younger Lucius cocked his head to one side curiously.
"Hmm… my mother did the same thing with one or two of my friends. Does this Susan have any relatives who are… important?"
"Yes," Draco slowly said, "I think her aunt's pretty big in the ministry."
"Ah," young-Lucius said with a nod of understanding. "I see, that explains a lot. I'm likely fishing for information, then."
"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me." Draco tugged his fingers through his hair, grimacing. Time to switch topics. "Neville's… a walking calamity. Don't get me wrong, he's kind and fun, but his magic's atrocious… and you can't trust him with anything breakable."
"Oh, I know the type," the portrait replied with a rather knowing smirk. "And this Harry fellow?"
"Harry's a classic Gryffindor through and through," Draco said with a smug little grin. It was a fairly punchable grin.
"Reckless idiot?" The portrait was matching Draco.
"Without peer. I swear he needs me around to keep him from ruining himself."
The evening had been uncomfortably silent; the morning after, even more so. Harry could tell, plain as night and day that Mabel was not happy. It practically seethed off her at the breakfast table, continuing all through to the afternoon. She spoke not a word to Harry and only terse, Spartan exchanges with the Dursleys when necessary. It was more than a little mercy when evening finally closed in. As it drew near to the 24-hour point, Mabel bid her thanks and farewells to their hosts, taking a last sweep around the house to ensure nothing had been left behind. Stepping up to the front door, she took out her pocket watch and began counting down the seconds. Just before the hour, she swung open the door.
"3… 2… 1…"
No sooner had the hour stuck, did she march out of the house, Harry in tow.
"You have some explaining to do, young man."
It seemed Mabel was not planning to wait to have this discussion. Ah well.
"It was that house elf again!" Harry uttered without hesitation as they started down the driveway, turning into the street. "He showed up here, threatening to drop the damn-"
"Harry," Mabel cut in, dangerously.
"Oh, sorry… Um, anyway, he was threatening to drop it if… um… ah…"
"If what?"
Her only answer was the sound of their shoes clapping along, down the pavement. After giving him a more than suitable amount of time to provide an answer, she scowled.
"Harry, if you're going to use that elf as an excuse, at least have the decency to think up your full story."
"Wha- no! I'm not lying… I… just can't tell you what he wanted." His answer didn't seem to satisfy Mabel much.
"… Harry, you are not making it easy to find faith in you."
"But Mabel! Can't… can't my word count for something?"
"I don't know – you tell me. You don't exactly do yourself many favours, you know. There's always something – you're always up to something and you aren't exactly the most forthcoming. From what I've heard from Hogwarts, that hasn't changed. Sneaking around in the middle of the night, flying off like a maniac in your flying lessons, playing detective, a dragon for pity's sake!"
Harry had no answer to that. They marched on in silence, leaving him to ruminate. Looking back… was he… untrustworthy? He was certainly keeping things from her and Sirius – Remus too. But then again… what if they wanted him to get rid of Tom? And his escapades with his friends had foiled a theft, hadn't they? And the troll incident would have gone horribly if he and Ron hadn't managed to step in… but she hadn't mentioned the troll…
His thoughts were shelved when he realised Mabel had started talking again.
"Tell you what, Harry. I will meet you in the middle today – I do not especially believe your tale, but if you are willing to be a bit more straightforward with me or Sirius from now on… we'll say no more about it – no punishment. I am not asking you to divulge your personal secrets or anything. Deal?"
They stopped at the entrance to Wisteria Walk – a small, dark alley that made excellent cover for disapparition.
His eyes widened. Really? Somewhat unable to believe his luck, he nodded fervently.
"Uh… yes! Definitely!"
"Good; I'll hold you to that."
She offered him a small, rare smile before beckoning him into the darkness of the cut through.
The morning of the Hogwarts letters was a dry summer day. Ron and Ginny had been staying over at Cwpan Tân and for the most part, they and Harry had spent the morning thus far lounging around. Ron had systematically disassembled Kreacher in a game of chess, while Harry and Ginny watched on in horror at the massacre, but otherwise it had been an uneventful day so far. That changed in the mere seconds it took for three owls to dart into the drawing room.
"Aha!" proclaimed Ron, hopping up, his copy of Which Broomstick? flopping down to the ground in a neglected heap. "Finally! Took long enough!"
"Agreed. I suppose this means Dumbledore found his Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher at last." It was Remus, speaking as he poked his head in to see to the commotion. He ducked out again to search for Sirius, returning shortly with him.
"Trip to Diagon Alley again, it seems then," Sirius said, "Grab your things, kids. Remus, care to join us?"
"Certainly; it's not as if I have much else do today. Perhaps Mabel too..."
As it transpired, Mabel too seemed up to come with them this time. Remus did ask Kreacher, but the elf had had no desire whatsoever to go out. Floo powder to the Leaky Cauldron proved the most expedient method of travel and the group rapidly spilled onto the cobbles. As they were trotting up the steps to the bank, they bumped into Hermione, along with her parents.
"Good to meet you at last," Sirius jovially greeted the Grangers, wringing each of their hands. "You're lucky Arthur isn't here, though – he'd want to know absolutely everything and anything about your lives."
"I might actually pay to see that encounter," Hermione mused. Then she started and seemed to remember something. "Oh! I almost forgot! Harry, Ron, he's here! Today! In Diagon Alley! We can meet him and he's doing signings and-"
"Err… who?" Harry asked, taken aback – though not as much as Ron appeared to be. Ron was slightly struck dumb by Hermione practically bending over him in manic excitement. It was rather akin to that one time she'd slipped up in potions and her relaxing draught had triggered some kind of minor sugar-high.
"ONLY GILDEROY LOCKHART!"
"Ah," said Ron, full comprehension dawning on his face. "You heard about him."
"I most certainly have! I'm going to try and get an autograph! He's so brave to do all the amazing things he does!"
"We are eleven and we literally wrecked a bunch of our teacher's best efforts at magical defence."
"That," said Harry, looking at Ron like he'd grown an extra head. "Is… a good point."
Heading into the bank, they quickly made a round trip of the vaults and were soon just inside of Flourish & Blotts. The rest of the Weasley family was present here – greetings exchanged before the offensively handsome form of Gilderoy Lockhart, writer of all their new DADA textbooks and renowned wizarding hero, drew every eye to the back.
"Ladies. Gentlemen. So glad all of you could come – now if you could all please remain as orderly and charming as you are and I'll be able to sign a copy for all of you-" His speech was drowned by the sheer crush of heterosexual women pressing forward, jostling for position. The few shopkeepers dotted about were managing to maintain a semblance of order, but it was a straining lid at best.
"Bloody hell," Sirius muttered, "It's going to take us ages to get all your books at this rate."
"Oh quit complaining," a photographer to their left snapped between snaps, "you're getting to meet Gilderoy Lockhart!"
Sirius darkly grumbled something Harry didn't catch. And then the photographer's eyes landed on Harry.
"Oh bugger," Sirius muttered, his wand coming up to try and silence him before-
"IT'S HARRY FREAKING POTTER!"
Every eye was on the boy now – even Lockhart's. He felt rather surrounded by carrion birds. They'd lost Mabel, Remus and the Grangers in the crowd and his remaining companions seemed rather insufficient to hide behind. Before he could even open his mouth, he was carted off, up to Lockhart, who proceeded to subject him to the torment that was publicity. Hermione, who was further up the queue and supporting a stack of books, raised an eyebrow as the poor boy sailed past her. To her side, she caught the sounds of a suppressed snigger. Her head turned.
Sitting in a dark alcove between the shelves, with a hand on his mouth to try and suppress is laughter, was Draco.
"Oh, it's you." Hermione sniffed. "What on Earth are you doing in there?"
Draco waved his hand a little, trying to quiet her.
"Hiding," he said, almost whispering. "Could you keep quiet?"
He got a raised eyebrow.
"Who from?"
"Mother and Father. Well, Mother mostly." Draco's eyes darted around the shop, keeping lookout for any sign of his parents.
"And you're hiding from them because?" she replied, interest admittedly piqued. He looked rather nervous and almost anxious of being seen.
"Because Mother will not stop trying to run my life for me. I took my chance while she was fawning over the Lockhart queue and ducked in here."
Hermione stared.
"What?"
"Look, I know we don't really-"
"Draco? Draco?" Draco blanched at the sound of Narcissa Malfoy's cooing through the crowd. Practically melding into the books around him, he shot Hermoine a pleading look. Rather unsure of the odd situation, Hermione shrugged and waited for Narcissa to pass by. When she had gone, Draco breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thanks, I guess," he mumbled, "So… what brings you here?"
"I need books," came her blank reply, "And, well, Gilderoy."
Draco forcibly clapped a hand over his mouth to contain his laughter.
"Gilderoy? Wow, you are taken with him, aren't you?" he chortled between sniggers, "Have you planned out how many kids you'll have with him when he sweeps you away yet?"
"… No," Hermione sniffed, rather affronted.
"Oh Merlin, you've totally thought about it!"
"I have not!"
"Of course, of course, Granger." His tone of voice was more than a little disbelieving. "Still, at least you're not being paraded around up there like Harry." He gestured up to the front, just in time for Lockhart to announce himself as the new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. "Oh. Well, this looks set to get a lot more fun."
Unfortunately for Draco, his luck ran out shortly thereafter; his mother swooped out of nowhere.
"Draco! There you are, come along, we had better get some robes next. Now, I was thinking some nice shades of blue – to offset your eyes. And, of course we'll need to have your dress-robes fitted for next week's dinner… Your hair's getting too long, too, you'll have to have it cut."
As he was led away, Draco's expression to Hermione said quite plainly, 'Kill. Me. Now.'
Harry winked at Ginny from the table as her name was called out. She tried to keep a level head, awkwardly clomping up the steps to the raised area that housed the staff table and, tonight, the stool and Sorting Hat. As she sat, nervous, Professor McGonagall perched the sorting hat upon her head.
'Oh, hello. What do we have here? Another Weasley?'
'AAH! Er, yes. Um. Are you in my head?' Somehow, she managed to not fall off the stool.
'Yes, indeed I am. Shall I just put you in Gryffindor with all the others, or do you have an objection to that?'
'Oh, um, no, no, Gryffindor's fine!'
'Oh good. Ever since the Lovegood child earlier, I've really been desperate to just get through this and sleep for a day. Or a year or two.'
'Lovegood?'
'She seemed to think I was something else.'
Ginny felt more than heard the hat slightly rant about something called wrackspurts.
'Er… are you still there?'
'Oh, apologies.' And then the hat shouted out to the whole hall. "GRYFFINDOR!"
Somewhat confused, but nevertheless glad, Ginny felt the hat lifted away and hopped up, scooting quickly over to the Gryffindor table. She high-fived Harry, sitting down between him and Neville, earning more than a few gossiping whispers from around the hall.
The year started largely uneventfully, leaving aside Lockhart's flat out bizarre first lesson, in which he saw fit to unleash Cornish pixies into the classroom. The resulting devastation earned him the enmity of Filch and a long, angry entry in Tom. Ginny had made a few token efforts to fit in with those in her year, but rapidly defaulted to hanging out with Harry – which meant hanging with Neville, Draco, Hermione, Susan and – to his irritation, Ron. Draco had also joined the Slytherin Quidditch team, paid for in full by Lucius Malfoy's donation of a full contingent of Nimbus 2001s. The decision, like most of those in his life, had not been Draco's choice. Sure, he enjoyed it, but the idea and execution had been all down to his parents. Again.
More of an issue, however, was the matter of finding a place for Harry and Ginny to talk to Tom privately. The two searched up and down the castle, before finally finding a quiet little room near the top of North tower.
Unfortunately, not all of Ginny's life was as quiet. One early morning, in a History Of Magic lesson, Ginny found her mind-numbing stupor interrupted by a "psst". Glancing to her side, she saw a curly-haired boy with a wide smile and a camera around his neck looking rather eagerly at her.
"Uh… what's up?"
"You're Ginny Weasley, right?" he rushed out excitedly.
"Yes, yes, I am. Why?"
"You know Harry Potter, right?"
She stared at the boy, an eyebrow raised in confusion.
"Yes. What's it to you?"
"Well, um, could you, um, maybe get me a picture of him signed? I can't seem to find him as much anymore."
Ginny's eyes widened. Ooooh no.
"You're Colin Creevey?"
"Oh, has Harry mentioned me?" Colin leaned forward, earnestly.
Ginny let out a pained sigh. Great, trapped in Binns's class with Harry's adoring fan. Lovely. She hoped she was never this awkwardly obsessed over anyone.
'I have a fan.'
'A fan?'
'Yes. His name is Colin and he keeps following me around. Then he found out Ginny's a friend and he's now finding excuses to sit near her in lessons.'
'Oh dear. He's not too much of a problem, is he?'
'Thankfully, no – he just annoys Ginny a little. He's… weird.'
'Well, I can safely say I've never had a fan, so I'm afraid I can't really offer much advice to you. Now, have you decided about this Death Day party? Do you want to go?'
'Yeah, I think so – Nick seemed like he could use the companie.'
'Company, Harry.'
It wasn't until Halloween that Peter finally got his cue.
That evening, sweat trickled down his forehead for the first time in over a decade as he gingerly lifted the paralysed cat by the tail. It looked wrong the way it was all stiff. He felt horrible, even as he hung it from the torch bracket. Honestly, the rooster blood had been more bearable – they had at least been dead. Mrs. Norris was just… staring, frozen, uncanny.
His thoughts were interrupted, however, by the sound of voices. Panicking, he took one last look at the unpleasant display before morphing back into his mouse form, scurrying from the scene. As he slipped into an alcove, he heard a shriek of alarm behind him. Queasy and tired, he hobbled off to find somewhere to be sick.
'Ginny. Ginny. GINNY! Slow down please. Mrs. Norris is petrified, you say?'
'YES! Professor Sprout reckons she can have her cured by the end of the year – something about Mandrakes – but everyone's freaked. Hermione's trying to find anything on the stuff all over the wall. I'm not sure if Neville or Susan screamed louder.'
There was a long pause, Tom presumably thinking hard. She was lying on her stomach on one of the comfy sofas in the little hidey hole she and Harry had found. She kicked her legs up impatiently - come on, Tom!
'What was on the walls?'
'Something about the "Chamber of Secrets", whatever that is.'
'Chamber of Secrets? You're sure that's what it says?'
'Yes, why, do you know it?'
'Of course I do – I'm the one who caught Hagrid.'
Ginny froze, staring at the page. That couldn't be right. Not their Hagrid, surely. Putting quill back to paper, she responded.
'What do you mean Hagrid?'
She waited, tensely. Finally, Tom's writing faded into view.
'It's probably best if I show you.'
+++++
As always, feedback, thoughts and corrections appreciated!
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- Location
- The Darkness,USA
I like how in this Ginny isn't all Fangirlly she's "Harry Potter? Oh yeah me and him like to prank the All the adults that we know." It's awesome. Also someone needs to put that book in the core of nuclear reactor as it's going meltdown.
- Location
- Wörms, the half continent
The books the best goddam character here!
- Location
- The Darkness,USA
It would save everyone from the horrible Mind-Rape that poor Ginny and Harry are about to experience
The Englanderish
Schrödinger's Kuudere Kitty Caliph(a)
- Location
- Califat de Chats
I do not believe I left any indication when Tom intends to get to that.
Ranma-sensei
Sorcerer
- Location
- Citrix Receiver
- Pronouns
- Weatherdependent
Heh, this can only end well.
Sorry for being short, but I'm on phone and only recently woke up.
Sorry for being short, but I'm on phone and only recently woke up.
This comma works against the sentence - I'd nix it.
Is it really a thing in English to leave descriptors out? I always get an eye twitch when I see such a thing....
Article is missing.
'could only watch' or 'watched', I suppose.
The Englanderish
Schrödinger's Kuudere Kitty Caliph(a)
- Location
- Califat de Chats
Corrections addressed!
Ranma-sensei
Sorcerer
- Location
- Citrix Receiver
- Pronouns
- Weatherdependent
She did to the point of finding excuses for his failings.
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The Englanderish
Schrödinger's Kuudere Kitty Caliph(a)
- Location
- Califat de Chats
I tagged everyone who'd replied to the thread. Mostly just so they'd be more likely to see it - it's been so long, after all.
Information: Official Staff Communication
- Pronouns
- He/Him
official staff communication
This is not an Original Story, the Original tag has been removed.
The Englanderish
Schrödinger's Kuudere Kitty Caliph(a)
- Location
- Califat de Chats
I was under the impression the Original tag was for a story written by the poster. That seemed to be the whole point from what I got from the announcement thread - so it allowed someone to easily find their written stuff through their profile page.
- Location
- Wörms, the half continent
No, it's for stuff that isn't fan fiction.
I think you've gotten confused been a poster's own story, and a story written by a poster.
The Englanderish
Schrödinger's Kuudere Kitty Caliph(a)
- Location
- Califat de Chats
Would be nice to have a tag that served the same purpose for fanfiction - was helpful for there to be a place to aggregate my stuff on my profile page. Saved me some navigation and it'd be nice to flick through people's profiles to see quickly if they written anything.