Chapter Two - The Road to Hogwarts
DISCLAIMER: All of it belongs to JKR of course!
AUTHOR NOTES: Thank you SO MUCH to those that reviewed. It seems that I only get reviews for the first day or so, when my fic is on the first couple pages, and then it gets lost in the masses. Alas, that I'm not famous. :) Ah well, it's enough to have 2 reviewers...you guys keep me going! Please read and review...good bad and ugly welcome.:D
Those who insisted that the
King's Cross barrier was the only way to the Hogwarts Express were lying,
or dreadfully dim. There were other ways, if one had the right connections,
and the Malfoy's always did. Draco had never been to King's Cross station;
a pureblood
avoided Muggle interaction
at all costs, and the station was simply saturated in un-magical failures,
or so Lucius had told him.
The preferred route was through
Knockturn Alley; the dank, dark and delightfully dangerous location of
choice. While the average wizard child shopped and was exposed to the world
of witchcraft and wizardry through Diagon Alley, the purebloods (or the
respectable ones, anyway) hung about it's shadier sister alley. Ah, Draco
had many fond memories of Knockturn Alley, betting
among his friends on such trivial matters
as who might perform the Cruciatus Curse the longest on passing rats or
spiders. It was here that he had earned himself respect, here that he first
dabbled in the tempting Dark Arts - without his fathers permission of course.
It would not be publicly acceptable for a respected man to condone
such activities, but Draco knew that his father silently acknowledged them
anyway.
He had many friends in those days. Vampires
and werewolves, pureblood wizards, Veela; all but Mudbloods and Muggles
were accepted. One could find any object of desire, any fanciful trinket
or ancient forbidden text or crippling potion. And Lucius had bought them
all for Draco; any little thing his spoilt son had wished for had been
instantly his, thrust into the greedy hands of the heir of Malfoy. Many
things had changed in the last years.
Knockturn Alley was no longer the (relatively)
safe haven for purebloods it once had been. Dangerous sorts roamed the
streets, exiles of society, neither the Dark Lords servants nor Light traitors.
Murderers, thieves, forgotten men with animal ferocity glittering just
below the surface of their eyes scuttled about the slimy cobblestone. Now,
Draco was forbidden to wander the old paths; he had knowledge, yes, knowledge
to protect himself, and more importantly, kill if need be, but despite
his education, he was far from infallible.
Perhaps according to some, thought
Draco sulkily, his eyes boring rebelliously into the broad back of his
father. Beloved shops were strode past, no more than blurs, leaving Draco
with mere glimpses of the treasures inside. Green, ruby, and silver vials
stacked in windows: dragon blood, werewolf blood, unicorn blood.
Vampire bats screeching frantically, the words 'ready
for harvest' posted
on their wildly swinging cages. Hundreds of Dark Arts books, priceless
and ancient, mouldering behind dingy glass windows. Things of his childhood.
His breath coming in bursts,
Draco refrained from his routine checklist of complaints and arguments
for the sake of keeping up with Lucius' impossibly long strides, content
to whine inwardly instead. The Malfoy's surely had one of the most extensive
collections of Dark Arts objects, even among the ancient families, yet
Draco was rarely exposed to the wonders and dangers of them. Lucius kept
them safely behind his flaming sword, or hidden with spells far beyond
Draco's present skill (though he had certainly tried). According to his
father, it was not 'prudent' that Draco have that kind of knowledge ('I
will not be cleaning up after you have a little accident and let something
slip, Draco').
If you weren't so wrapped
up in yourself, perhaps you'd notice that I already HAVE 'that kind of
knowledge'. How do you think I entertained myself all those days you brought
me here and disappeared into the Bloody Boar to do your 'business'? Surely
not with a game of Exploding Snap?! Ruddy git.
But his father kept walking
all the same, his son's internal monologue un-noticed. Draco had come to
understand long ago that it was enough that he stay in line; that he behave
respectably. It truly made little difference if there was any real respect
between them; Draco was a coward and both he had his father recognised
it. He thinks me no more than a
child who delights in his fathers toys,
he thought bitterly, for worst of all, he knew he himself had carved Lucius'
image of him. He had never spoken out, not in all his sixteen years, against
his father; had shown little resistance to his demands; had offered no
more than hidden sneers of rebellion. In
his eyes, I know nothing.
Someday, he would
prove him wrong.
'Do hurry up, Draco,'
Lucius called darkly over his shoulder. Draco did not bother to blame his
speed on the house elf who puffed along behind him; of late, his fathers
patience had worn thin, and for once, Draco was tired of the silent fighting
that families such as the Malfoy's were inclined to use. They were approaching
the Dram anyway.
The Dram was Knockturn Alley's
doorway to the Hogwarts Express. There was none of that dodgy walking-through-walls,
the way the King's Cross route reportedly was. All you needed was the right
kind of blood; pureblood, of course. If you were found...lacking, the hungry
flames which rose in a towering, seemingly impenetrable wall, would burn
you to ashes in mere seconds. Admittedly, it had been frightening that
first time around, before first year; Lucius had strode hurriedly through
the Dram, leaving Draco on the other side, staring at the white flames
just inches from his face. They were hot, like his fireplace at the Manor.
But Lucius' mocking voice rang out from the other side, and pinching his
eyes shut, Draco had stepped through the fire, amazed to find himself unhurt,
the flames behind him.
'Your pureblood, you daft
boy! Do you think I would have spent countless Galleons on you, hours of
arduous lecturing, only to murder you now?' His father had said with a
snort, already striding towards the train. Draco had hidden his wonder
that day, schooled his face to look bored, aloof, while internally he grinned
at the enormous red train and eagerly searched the faces of the other children
for a glimpse of possible future friends.
But that day seemed to be long ago, and
Draco stepped through the white-hot flames with barely a flicker of his
eyelids, his eyes already focused on beyond, on the train and the nearest
people to insult. 10:53.
'Come now, Draco!' His father
snipped again, keeping his voice low. He reached out his hand to grasp
Draco's wrist, thrusting something into his son's palm. 'Keep this close,
boy...it cost me a ridiculous amount of money so don't you dare lose it!
Do you know what it is?' Draco turned the small object over in his hand.
To all appearances, it was just a rock; a flat, smooth, ebony stone smattered
with swirls of grey. It hardly looked expensive. Draco shook his head,
awaiting the inevitable smug sneer.
'I thought not,' Lucius said
briskly, and clapped his hand on Draco's shoulder, the expected expression
lighting up his face. 'Never mind then, I'll speak to you about it later.
Just concentrate on maintaining a thread of dignity, Draco. The Malfoy
name still matters in the wizarding world if you command it to.' And with
that he smiled one of his tight-lipped smiles and brushed past, his long
midnight cloak nearly hitting Draco in the face. Slipping the rock into
his pocket, Draco turned to see Lucius
disappearing into the alley from which they came, his blindingly blond
hair finally bobbing out of sight. I'll
miss you too, Draco
scowled; but really, he didn't mind. The Malfoy's were not a family fond
of snuggles and hugs, and Draco didn't care to have it any other way.
-----------------------------------
The Hogwarts Express was always chaotic,
but to Hermione, this year it seemed especially so. The first years were
rather quiet and timid - as was usual - all of them worriedly looking for
empty compartments, clutching their owl or cat or toad to their chests
protectively. No, it was definitely the older students, her peers, the
ones who should know better, that were causing the ruckus. As a
Gryffindor prefect, Hermione felt it her responsibility to control her
classmates, so it was the bossy, hands-on-her-hips, woman-in-charge version
of their friend that Ron and Harry observed as they boarded the crowded
train (only moments before it sprang to life with a jolt).
'Seamus! Stop jinxing the
fifth-years! Neville...get a hold of Trevor! Parvati, stop modelling your
robes in the middle of the aisle,
people are trying
to get by! SEAMUS STOP JINXING THOSE STUDENTS!!!' Hair flying, wand
out, face pink: Harry and Ron grinned at each other and pushed through
the students; Hermione needed to be headed off, just like Mrs. Weasley,
before she truly worked up her steam.
Hermione finally caught sight
of her best friends, and her frustrated face instantly changed to a smile.
Jamming her wand back into her robes (any respectable student would surely
have changed into theirs before boarding), she dashed towards them, first
wrapping her arms around Ron, before turning to Harry. She couldn't hide
the concern on her face, but she hugged him anyway, and he waved his hand
vaguely.
'I'm fine,' he lied, but
he didn't have to force the smile onto his face; it had been a long time
since he had seen Hermione. She nodded, aiming a we'll-talk-about-this-later
look at him, and turned on her heel, pulling Ron by his un-robed sleeve.
'The meeting has probably
already started!' she snapped irritably when he hesitated; Ron threw a
helpless look over his shoulder at Harry and followed her down the aisle.
As soon as they were gone Harry heaved
a sigh, the smile sliding liquidly from his face, and swung open the nearest
compartment; there was a prim-looking second year girl sitting there, gazing
out the window, but he sat down anyway. Her eyes darted to look at his
scar, and she coughed politely and looked out the window again; Harry followed
suit. From the look on his face, the girl knew well enough not to bother
him.
------------------------------
Harry had an idea of what might be waiting
to meet him the moment he arrived at Hogwarts. Dumbledore, undoubtedly,
would wish to speak to him about - about Sirius, and Voldemort of
course, and the Plan for this year, and perhaps Occlumency and his responsibilities
and SiriusSiriusSirius.
His grave was near Hogwarts.
Not far from his parents, on a grassy little hill among countless other
headstones, some carefully tended, others chipping; silently forgotten.
And he would have to go up there. More than anything, he hoped fiercely
that they would at least grant him the dignity of a solitary visit. He
couldn't bear all of them
seeing the way he
would be, when he saw. It.
He had been there at the
funeral of course. It had been so strange, burying a phantom body. He had
stood there, at the front of them all, Lupin on one side, Hermione and
Ron on the other. There had been hands all around him, warmth, voices whispering
mindless things in his ear, and still he had never felt so alone. How he
had wished they would all go away.
He couldn't remember whether
he had cried then or not. All he remembered was the constant burn beneath
his eyelids, which he lowered to hide the tears that wobbled on the brink
of his eyelashes. Blink blink blink. They would recede for a split second,
only to come racing back, like little gnats buzzing stupidly about his
head. And he remembered the sun, how it had beat down on them all as though
it were a day just like any other.
Certainly, they all patted
his arm and looked understanding. In their hushed tones, they told him
they wished they could help, that things would get better, that he wasn't
alone in this.
But they were lying.
They didn't know. Lupin,
perhaps, understood the best; Harry had seen it there in his eyes, that
aching wish to reach out to him, to comfort him somehow. And Harry had
violently demanded in his silent way that he go away and leave him in peace,
because he could never know how much it hurt to be alone. That was a lie,
too. Somewhere, the knowledge that Lupin knew better than anyone what it
was like to be alone lingered, but Harry always pushed it down before it
could make him guilty.
'Well, if it isn't Saint
Potter. Did all your friends finally come to their senses and run?' The
drawl rudely shook Harry from his thoughts, and the girl facing him widened
her eyes at the snarl forming on his face.
'I don't see your ape-sidekicks.
Did they get sick of the smell?'
Draco Malfoy stood smirking
in the doorway of the compartment, one hand lazily pulling the sliding
door open and closed. Crabbe and Goyle, the two trollish students that
usually shadowed him were strangely absent, but if this fact bothered Malfoy,
he didn't show it.
'Oh they'll be around here
somewhere,' he said calmly, 'buying me Chocolate Frogs or some other treat
to show their absolute devotion to me, I expect.' He continued to stand
at the door looking unconcerned, and at last Harry stood, drawing his wand
so Malfoy could see it.
'Do you need
something, Malfoy?
Itching to see your pointy face covered in hexes all over again?' Malfoy
took a step back, but his face didn't lose it's arrogant smirk.
'You remember what I told
you before school ended, Potter?' He tried his best to look menacing. 'I
haven't forgotten. And don't think I'm going to take pity on you just because
that stupid dog of yours went and got himse-'
'Silencio!'
Harry didn't need to see
the director of the spell to know it was Hermione. Draco stood gaping at
her, mouth moving like a fish, before he finally realised what she had
done and pushed past her with no trace of his usual grace. Hermione appeared
around the edge of the compartment door, sliding it shut behind her.
'He never learns...' she
began, but stopped at the sight of Harry's face, which was pale with a
glimmer of sweat shining on his forehead. Her mouth clapped shut, and she
plopped down on the seat, tugging on Harry's sleeve until he sat down stiffly
beside her. His eyes were still focused wildly on the glass door.
'Never mind him, Harry,'
she said inadequately. 'He doesn't know what he's talking about.' Malfoy's
insults had probably gotten to Harry least of them all in their years at
Hogwarts, but it was the words, not the boy, that was causing his reaction
now. Sometimes, Harry looked normal, just the way he always had - smiling
and laughing - and other times, he looked like he might turn into a werewolf
at any moment, sickly and pale. He still hasn't talked about it.
The girl across from them
looked wide-eyedly from one face to the other.
At last Harry's eyes turned
from the door, but he did not acknowledge Hermione. His eyes were hooded
once more, his thoughts replaying a day mere months ago, his eyes unfocused
on the passing scenery.