The Other Side
Chapter One
Hermione Granger squinted at the reflection in the mirror; she seemed to have aged considerably since the last time she had looked, but that was before the end of the war. She shook her head slightly, trying to escape her thoughts, and then picked a hair brush off her bed side table. As she attacked the mass of curls with it, her eyes continued to stare back at her. Hermione was not a very vain person, but she couldn't help from studying the small changes to her delicate features. Her face had a scattering of scars which were now tiny white ripples, but they could only be distinguished close up. Nevertheless, each had a story to tell. But there was one scar that could not be ignored. Her eyes flickered down to her chest as they scanned it. It was no ordinary scar, as even after many months it still was a mixture of red and purple. It looked like a large speed hump that ran from her collar bone all the way down to the center of her chest. As she looked in the reflection at it, she frowned, remembering the night she had received it. The night of the final battle.
"This is the last time you get away from me, Granger! Crucio..."
Hermione shook her head a bit more vigorously this time as the thoughts willed their way into her mind. She quickly covered her scar with her jacket and turned away from the mirror.
"No point on dwelling on things you can't change, Hermione," she muttered to herself as she continued to place some of her belongings into the large trunk. Hermione had never really considered herself pretty, but now, with her scar, her self esteem had hit rock bottom. But like a true Gryffindor, she continued to remind herself that looks were not important, and all that indeed mattered was family, friends, and studying. As she picked up her new copy of 'N.E.W.Ts and You, a Guide to Successful Study' her eyes fell on the badge which lay beside it.
It was Hermione's final year, and she had been made Head Girl something which she (and her parents) could not be happier about. She smiled as she picked it up, the book being momentarily forgotten. 'This is going to be a great year; the war is over and I'm Head Girl. I couldn't ask for anything more,' Hermione thought to herself. But there was still that nagging voice at the back of her mind trying to convince her that things were not as perfect as she would have liked them to be.
At the exact moment Hermione was finished packing, Draco Malfoy was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling as if there were something fascinating up there instead of just plain cream plaster. The room was completely dark, and it suited Draco's mood perfectly. He had had a miserable week.
Like Hermione, he had also been present at the final battle, but he was watching from the sidelines. Watching the carnage of the two sides battling it out to the death. But his eyes were continually drawn to his father's actions as he continued to torture the younger, less experienced members of the order and then would flee from anyone who remotely resembled his own size. Draco had watched this with a bitter taste in his mouth as he saw a side of his father that he not only disliked but despised. Up until that moment, Draco had always admired and looked up to his father as he had so much power in the world. But really, he was like all the other death eaters - scared. Scared of what might happen to them if the Dark Lord was not to win and probably even more scared of what would happen if he did.
It had been one of those moments, one of those out-of-body experiences for Draco, as he couldn't control his actions. He watched as his father flung the Crucio curse on a young wizard and without warning, Draco felt his arm rising by itself and heard his voice saying a hex. His father turned to him in confusion, and at that moment, Draco had no idea what his actions or feelings towards his father meant, he was torn. Torn between his duty to his father and did duty to himself. His father, on the other hand, was showing numerous emotions through his eyes- shock, anger, hatred were all mixed together to form a solid statement which meant 'you are no longer my son.' But the moment was short lived, as a killing curse shot out from another battle and landed squarely on his father's chest. Shock was the first thing to hit Draco as he watched his father crumple to the floor. And then the internal battle resumed. It was the first time Draco questioned where he belonged.
Fortunately, the wizard he had saved remembered his kind actions, and Draco was pardoned from all crimes. No one made a big deal out of the whole ordeal, many believing he had done it out of fear, as it was clear at that point in the battle that the Order was winning, and Voldemort was almost defeated. He was not the only one to change sides at the last minute either; many of the younger death eaters who had joined up with Voldemort at the last second believing they were on the winning side decided to bat for the other team once the scores started to change. The last thing they wanted to do was end up in Azkaban. Draco would be lying if he said the prospect of Azkaban didn't scare him, so in the end this outcome brought relief, but again it had been replaced by this overwhelming emptiness as he was starting to come to term with not knowing exactly where he fit in with the world. He also had the constant reminder of the mark on his arm. Even though it had faded it had still left a scar, a constant reminder of his father.
And yet tomorrow he would be leaving for his final year in Hogwarts. He doubted anything there would have changed, he doubted it would ever change. But some small part of him was relieved to know he was going back to a familiar place where people would treat him in the exact same fashion as before the War and before his identity crisis. His final thought on the feelings that was plaguing him was if you ignore it, it will go away, or so he thought.
He got up from his bed and looked over at his half-packed trunk. He sighed and walked over to a large table where a number of different objects lay. Another reason for Draco's foul mood was that earlier that day his father's will had been read. Numerous objects had been left to Draco with a cryptic message saying that they would come to be very useful in the future if they were used correctly.
He picked up a round purple orb which was relatively the same size as his fist and looked at his reflection in it. "I'm sure they would be useful if I knew what the hell all this junk did," Draco muttered to himself as he scanned the table. There were many different objects that seemed to get Draco's imagination going as he looked at all the different shapes and sizes. There was a shiny metallic thing that looked like a foreign brass instrument but it changed color depending on the light. There was a glass object which was a coil of two glass cylinders. One green, and one red. It sort of looked like a piece of rigid rope. Its ends were tapered off to form sharp points at each end. There was also a small yellow ball that would change form from solid to liquid, which made it very difficult to transport. Draco assumed that it was an instrument of torture, as the victim would swallow liquid, but it would change to a solid as it entered his or her body, destroying all bodily organs. Actually, he believed that they were all forms of torture, but still he was not sure. 'I can take them to school and research them. Then they might assist in scaring the new first years,' Draco thought with a smirk. With that, he started to pack the objects into his trunk.