Chapter 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Anybody who walks into this place would automatically assume something died in it.
The walls were covered with the remnants of some exploded potion, books and pieces of torn parchment were stacked like stalagmites in a cave. The smell was also a dead giveaway. Rotting potions ingredients were slowly taking on a life of their own while engulfing some poor abandoned book somewhere lying forgotten on the floor.
"What in Merlin's name happened here?" Harry Potter whispered to himself as he navigated through the private potions lab.
Knowing her for most of his life, Harry knew Hermione Granger could get quite carried away sometimes-or all the time-when it came to the pursuit of knowledge. Going back to the outrageous circumstances she's put him and his other best friend Ron through back during their days at Hogwarts, this scene he's witnessing now beats all of them.
"Hermione? Are you there?", he calls.
He hears a slight murmur from the back of the room, right behind the most enormous stack of books he's ever witnessed in his life. He's pretty sure he would be crushed into pieces if that stack ever decides to wobble and fall down.
Inching slowly towards the source of the sound, Harry finds his best friend wearing soiled clothes that look-and smell-as if they've been worn for weeks, her hair a complete mess, and her face bearing the image of distraught and fatigue.
"Oh, Harry. It's you", she says, barely looking up to greet her friend. Harry makes no reply and eyes her with a look of confusion and pity on his face.
"I'm...I'm terribly sorry about the mess it's just been...just been..." Hermione's eyes start to swell and small sobs escape her lips. She tries to hold back her tears but she couldn't. "Not in front of Harry", she tells herself. But no amount of self control could hold back the hours of frustration she's endured within the last 48 hours.
Finally, with one loud sob, her eyes gushed with tears and she clutches her hands on her friend's collar.
"Oh Merlin it's awful, Harry! I've been at it for hours! The potion...I tried everything!"
"Shh. It's okay." Harry stroked her matted hair as she cried, and flicked off a few batwing pieces that got tangled on her hair. "What went wrong? Have you tried talking to McGonagall about it?"
She looked up, wiping her tear stained eyes with her soiled sleeves.
"I was going to. Today actually. Oh, but I was so sure I was going to get it right this time! I've been at it for hours and I could never get the right concentration!"
Harry knew how important this research was to Hermione. Just over a year ago, right after they finished their eighth year at Hogwarts, McGonagall announced the good news: she and one other student has been selected for the prestigious Ministry Research Program given only to a select few, outstanding students. The research program is entirely subsidized by the Ministry of Magic and successful participants are granted the highest honor and a very generous lifetime compensation.
Of course, Hermione was never much into money. For her, it was the thrill of another challenging project and the chance to make a difference in the world.
"Hey," Harry called down to her, "it's going to be alright. You're the brightest witch of our age! If you can't solve this nobody can."
He looked at her hoping for some spark of enthusiasm, or at least for her to stop crying. Her eyes were still downcast and she made no reply.
"Alright, here's what we're going to do." Harry swiftly got up and offered her his hand. "I'm going to call Ron and we'll all go to McGonagall together. We're here for you."
She looked at his hand and looked at her friend. Harry had the kindest eyes, no wonder people keep doing what he says. With a heavy sigh, she grabbed her friend's hand, propped herself up, and flicked off another bat wing from her hair.
Harry smiled his annoyingly satisfied smile, knowing he once again succeeded in being savior-of-the-day. "Great! We're off to a good start but first..." He scrunched up his nose and motioned towards Hermione's filthy robes, " I think you need to get cleaned up."
Hermione just smiled and the pair walked out, leaving the filthy room behind.
Although he always told his friends back at Hogwarts how much he despised the place and wished nothing more than to be free of the institution, Draco Malfoy has to admit that he now dearly missed the place.
The Mahoutokoro School of Magic in Kyoto, Japan was as grand and pompous as Hogwarts was, but the place was just not the same.
The people here were kinder, too kind for his liking in fact. And although he already stood out like a sore thumb among the sea of students back at Hogwarts for his light blonde hair, height, and handsome regal features; it's nothing compared to how he stood out here as one of the only foreigners in the school.
Giggling girls followed him wherever he went, the boys were either trying to best him or imitate him to show off to their friends or catch the girls' attention.
After almost a year of staying here, he was both happy to be going home soon and yet a bit sad. He knew what awaited him back home and it wasn't something he's looking forward to.
When McGonagall called him over right after their eighth year graduation, he honestly thought she was going to yank the diploma off his arms and tell him they had no place for scum like him in today's society.
But instead of the violent rejection he anticipated, he was given a research grant-a fucking research grant! From the Ministry no less.
Apparently his potions grades were among the best Hogwarts has seen in over a century and he was now given the opportunity to learn and conduct any research of his choosing in the best potions program in the world. The best, as it so happens to be, is right here in the Far East.
More than anything, Draco was thankful to have the excuse to run off far, far away from his father-who was now under house arrest-and live life in his own terms for a change.
But of course, any business of his always gets reported back to his double-headed snake of a dad as soon as he finds out about it himself.
"I'm very happy about this, Draco." He recalls his father saying when he found out about the news," Don't you see what this means? What this could do for our family?"
"Ah, of course" Draco thought. It was all about restoring the family name to him. That's all it was. It doesn't matter to him that his son is, apparently, a potions genius capable of receiving research grants despite having a name that the actions of his own father sullied into the gutter.
"I understand my duties, father." Draco replied in an equally formal tone.
"Good. Now stop wasting my time, boy, and get to work! I expect nothing less than spectacular from a Malfoy. Do not fail me."
Draco knew in his heart he wouldn't. He has more than the family name ridding in on his success, he had his future and future of the future generations of Malfoys riding in his success as well.
Draco knows more than his father thought-things he will inherit when his father breathes his last and passes on the signet ring to him. He cannot fail, not this time.