Title: New Reflection
Authors: Destria and Darkrose ( the_keyboard_gang@yahoo.com )
Series: Other Side of the Mirror (Part 1)
Archive: Here on fanfiction, nowhere else. Anyone who wants it, please ask first.
Feedback: Always welcome. With the exception of flames. You flame, we get.what was the word the last person used? Ah, yes. "Feisty".
Warnings: We're writing this under the assumption that everyone has read through 'Goblet'. If you haven't, there may be some things that go a bit over your head. Additional warnings: Will be rather angsty, perhaps fluffy as time goes by. Oh, almost forgot: Draco is potentially a *gasp* sweet guy in this! (Well, with Laine, at least.)
Disclaimer: We don't claim to own the characters (unless noted as original, such as: Laine, Melanie, and anyone else who happens along) used in this story or the school, as those obviously belong to J.K. Rowling. The long and short of it: We don't own the majority of this, if you've read the books and/or seen the movie (as we hope you have, seeing as this is HP fanfiction), you'll know what's ours and what isn't. Please don't sue, you won't get much.
~*~
Silverware clinked dully in the dim dining hall of Mordremark, the Malfoy family's manor. The long, rectangular table was swathed in a cloth of crimson sateen with silvery embroideries around the hem. Draco had once asked his mother what the thread was made of, it wasn't a texture he recognized. Narcissa had said, beaming at her son, that it was Veela hair, very expensive. After that event, he simply didn't ask any more questions about the rooms' furnishings.
Lucius Malfoy sat at the head of the table, buttering a piece of toast as he scowled down the table's length at his children. Narcissa sat at his right, picking at her own toast nervously. The expression she wore, as though something smelled foul in her vicinity, seemed permanently attached to her fair face. The young man, whom Lucius glared so intently at, pretended to be oblivious of that accusing look. Instead, he focused on the plate of eggs in front of him. Sitting directly across from him, a girl with the same long blonde hair that was a trademark of the Malfoy clan tried to disappear into the dark woodwork around her.
She crouched over her own plate of eggs, her hair forming a curtain about her hunched figure, effectively hiding her face from the rest of the room. Draco watched his sister discreetly as she pushed eggs around her plate, making it appear that she was really eating. A soft hooting drew everyone's attention upwards as a large screech owl carrying a paper and an eagle owl swooped over the table towards Lucius. A beat later, a large grey-blue Osprey followed, dropping a letter next to the girl's plate before leaving the hall once again.
"Laine, pull your hair out of your face. None of us can see your lovely eyes." Narcissa ordered from three feet down the table.
Sighing, the girl complied, biting her tongue to keep from commenting aloud. Her straight locks now behind her ears, further family resemblance was obvious. Her piercing ice-blue eyes were framed by surprisingly dark lashes on her slightly pointed face. The biggest difference, however, was that her face wore the shadow of a smile; whereas everyone else in her family looked as though they were on the verge of scowling.
Lucius grasped the letters in his elegant hands and passed all but the paper to his wife, muttering quietly about the bumbling, interfering idiots at the ministry these days. Narcissa separated one letter- a brilliant pink envelope with gold ink and wax seal- from the pile and slid the rest down to the children without looking at them.
"Your school letters," she said simply, tearing into her own bit of gossip.
Laine handed the letter on top to Draco, setting the other two on top of the one her Osprey, Freedom, had given to her, planning on taking them up to her room to read, but the half-covered edge of a coat-of-arms caught her eye. Slowly, as though she were in a daze, she picked up the stiff parchment envelope and slid her finger under the wax seal. Her hands shook as she pulled the lighter parchment from inside out to read.
Not quite believing what she saw, she glanced down and noticed that the second envelope was addressed to her father. "Hey, Daddy?" She called up the table, noting with satisfaction that her father winced at the name. He looked up at her, glaring, waiting for her to continue. "This one's for you." She slid the second envelope at her father with an air of practiced ease (there was an air hockey table in her dormitory common room at her last school), then went back to reading her letter.
"Dear Miss Malfoy,"
Laine winced at the formality of the heading.
"We have recently come to know of your attending the American Institution of Magic in central Wyoming. We are also pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts for the remainder of your education. We look forward to seeing you this September.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall , deputy headmistress"
"More like learned of my existence," Laine murmured to herself, glancing at the list of supplies that was behind the first piece of parchment. Most of them she already had, which was good. Some, however, like robes, would have to be bought before the term started.
Lucius, at the head of the table had gone a few shades paler than usual, but no one had noticed. Draco, however, was craning his head around to try and glimpse Laine's letter.
"That doesn't look like the one AIM sends you every year," He said quietly, still trying to look. "Is it a Hogwarts letter? Or-" his face darkened. "Did you somehow manage to get into Durmstrang?"
"Of course not," Laine sighed. "It's from Beauxbatons." Draco's eyes widened. "Oh stop that," Laine snapped. "Here, read it for yourself." She thrust the parchment at him as Lucius cleared his throat.
"I would be happier if it was indeed from Durmstrang," Lucius said evenly, watching his son read the letter. "How, I wonder did that old fool happen to hear about Laine, I wonder."
Draco looked up, his eyes going from haunted to steely in a moment. "If you're implying that *I* had something to do with this, Father, then you've got it all wrong. I haven't said a thing."
"Then how would they know anything about her, then?" Lucius' voice was rising.
"I don't know! It was probably Crabbe or Goyle, the thick gits." He struggled to keep his voice even. Arguing with his father was something even adult wizards had trouble with. Though irritatingly smug, Lucius was a formidable opponent. "I honestly don't know, Father."
His mouth pressed into a thin line, Lucius tapped the letter with the end of his fork. "Fine. Go make yourself presentable, you're taking your sister to Diagon Alley to get all this rubbish."
"Yes, Father," the children replied in unison, standing and pushing their chairs in. As they left the hall they traded a quick smile and muttered as they went their separate ways, "Whatever you say, Daddy."
~*~
Floo powder was by far one of Draco's least favorite ways to travel. They had escaped the manor twenty minutes after that rather eventful breakfast. Laine was wearing her brilliant blue robes from AIM, her eyes lined in dark pencil. Obedient insubordination was the way Laine played her cards, and she did it well. By nature, Draco was a protective older brother, shooting dirty looks at every male who dared look at his sister; not that anyone really noticed, given his usual temperament.
Laine looked around her as they walked down the Alley, eyes wide. Not from awe, but from how much it had changed since the last time she had been there. Considering that she had been nine the last time they had visited Diagon Alley, she wasn't incredibly surprised at the changes that had been made. They approached Gringotts gingerly, in no real hurry to get home again.
She waited outside while Draco went inside to get their money. She sat on the great stone steps leading up to the first set of doors, ignoring the glares from the guarding goblins and curious looks from passersby. After what seemed like forever, her brother returned.
"Honestly, were you counting it?"
Draco made a face. "There were a few of those carts in front of mine. I suppose you could call it a 'traffic jam'."
"If you're trying to be funny, it isn't working," she said tartly. "Where are we going first?"
Scowling, Draco responded, "Well at least I *tried*."
"Yes, dear boy, you tried. But where you try, I succeed. Now answer my question, please."
"Madam Malkin's. Unless you object to that?"
"Me? Object to getting clothes? Draco, I'm appalled. Don't you know that that's all girls think about?" She rolled her eyes as they walked toward the shop, not watching as people moved to let them pass. It was habit more than anything, but it did have its upsides.
Standing on the stool moments later as the witch briskly adjusted the black robe to fit her, Laine noted that these actually fit better than her American ones. And, as she looked in the mirror she saw, they weren't as cold and stiff as most new clothes were.cold and distant, much like her family. Which was, perhaps the biggest reason she disliked new clothes.
Hopefully she looked at Draco. "Dress robes, too?"
He shrugged. "Why not? I have to get new ones, anyway. According to Mother I've grown, and my old ones now hit me at the ankles. She was 'most displeased' with me for it." He took a moment to imitate their mother's voice, getting the pitch almost perfect when his own voice cracked. Laine swallowed a giggle.
"What color, dear?" Madam Malkin asked Laine kindly. When Laine favored her with a blank expression, the woman smiled a little and elaborated. "Dress robes."
"Oh.um." She looked at Draco who shrugged and continued paging through a newspaper he had found sitting on one of the many chairs in the room. "What color would you suggest?" She asked the witch earnestly.
Madam Malkin studied her face, then circled the girl once. Still scrutinizing her, she replied, "I would go with black."
"But my school robes are black." Laine said, not quite understanding.
"Oh yes, dear, I know. But school robes and dress robes are quite different. School robes are meant to be worn often, so they're sturdy. Dress robes are lighter, more flowing. Usually they're made of a nicer material, like satin or a silk taffeta."
"Oh." Laine said quietly. "Well do you have some-"
"As a matter of fact," Madam Malkin interrupted. "I have just the thing. They'll look fabulous on you, I'm sure. Come back here, dear."
Laine followed her into the back of the shop, shooting a scared glance at her brother, who simply raised an eyebrow, as if to say, 'you got yourself into this, you'll get yourself out.' There were times when she wanted nothing more than to throttle him. This was one of those times.
Madam Malkin bade her sit on a stool, then briskly began searching through cupboards. Finally, she held a dust-covered box out to Laine. "I've had these for almost 15 years now. People stopped wearing black dress robes once You-Know-Who was defeated by Harry Potter, that poor boy."
For a moment Laine puzzled over the term. 'You-Know-Who'? Who was she.Oh. The realization was sudden, and she felt like an idiot. The woman must have been referring to the Dark Lord. Then she smiled at the woman who still stood smiling before her. "Well, let's have a look, then."
The pair set the box on a counter and pulled off the lid, revealing a shimmering black puddle of satin. The actual shape of the robes was impossible to surmise, for in the box it looked fluid. Madam Malkin reached inside, and with a flourish, whipped the black satin mass out. It hung from her fingers, looking as though it would float lightly to earth if she had the audacity to let go. Laine's eyes widened, she couldn't help but whistle; another habit she had picked up from her American friends that irritated her father to no end.
"Go put this on while I get the other piece out."
"There's another piece?" Laine asked, moving into a dressing stall to comply to the woman's order.
"Of course there is. You didn't think that strapless robes are acceptable here, did you?"
"Well, no.." Laine murmured, looking at herself in the mirror. "This looks like the gowns American girls wear to formal dances."
"Well, it was an American witch who designed this particular style. Never caught on, though. Come out and get the next piece."
Laine emerged, and Madam Malkin held up what looked like a medieval surcoat.for a Japanese kimono.minus the obi. Slipping her arms inside the gargantuan sleeves, she shrugged the light chiffon up over her shoulders. The neckline was wide and collar-less, the 'v' meeting just under the swell of her chest before flaring out once more. It separated so the skirt of the under-robe shone through. She noted, looking in the mirror again, that the sable chiffon shone an iridescent crimson at certain angles. A pretty play of the light.
"I'm sure you can find a brooch somewhere to pin that surcoat on there," Laine could hear the smile in Madam Malkin's voice.
"Thank you," Laine breathed, moving from side to side to watch the light make patterns on the gown. "Can I show Draco?"
"Be my guest."
Laine wandered over to the door that separated this room from the rest of the shop and called, "Don't you dare laugh."
"Finally," he retorted, slapping the paper onto the seat next to him. "Took you long enou-" he stopped at Laine came into the light. He swallowed a few times, his mouth having suddenly gone dry- making it absolutely impossible to speak. "You're not...not going out in public wearing that, you know." His voice cracked every three words or so.
"Oh I'm not? Whyever for?" Laine spun around to demonstrate the light trick.
"For one thing, that's half strapless, the other half with a plunging neckline. Besides, I won't have my little sister traipsing around like some.some.*American*!"
"What, exactly, is wrong with Americans?" She demanded, voice dangerous.
"You know what I mean, Laine."
"Do I, now?" She looked genuinely amused. "Why wasn't I informed?" Draco could only scowl. "What, would you prefer I was some scheming socialite determined to marry as high into the social pyramid as possible? Perhaps the next Minister of Magic. If you'd rather that, then I could go after Percy Weasley as soon as we get to sch-" She stopped for a moment. "Wait, he's graduated by now, hasn't he? Hmm. Well, no matter. I can always skip off and meet him somewhere."
"Father wouldn't approve," Draco replied wryly, unable to keep from shuddering at the thought of his sister and Percy Weasley.
"I don't give a rat's ass what Daddy thinks," she replied coolly.
"Don't think I hadn't noticed. And you're British. Start speaking like it."
"Or perhaps Percy isn't good enough," she continued, lacing her voice with a thick English accent. "Perhaps I should aim even higher than that.How about.oh, say Harry Potter?"
"Don't joke about things like that," Draco snapped.
"I wasn't joking."
"All right!" Draco held up his hands in the customary sign of surrender. "I give up. You can wear the bloody robes."
She smiled triumphantly. "Why, thank you," then twirled back into the back room to change into her AIM robes, letting Draco rub his temples tiredly in peace.
~*~
The scarlet engine steamed out of King's Cross Station on September first, bound for Hogwarts. Laine was suddenly a little nervous. She searched the train high and low for an empty compartment, but found none. Draco invited her to sit in his compartment, but she had enough memories of Crabbe and Goyle to last a lifetime, she didn't need any new experiences. The last compartment she poked her head into had five people in it already, but it was by far the least crowded of any compartment on the train.
"Excuse me." She said faintly when there was a lull in their conversation, impatiently brushing some hair out of her face. All of the occupants turned to look at her. "Do y'all have room for one more person in here?" She tried not to wince at the slip in her speech. Draco and Daddy had been trying to get her to drop that particular mannerism to no avail. Narcissa had no opinion beyond the point that she thought it was a 'charming attribute'.
They all blinked owlishly at her. She thought she heard someone mutter something about 'Americans' from the corner. Two of the members of this party had red hair and freckles. 'Weasley' her mind screamed. Obviously Ron and Ginny, they were the only two of that particular family still attending Hogwarts. The other girl had brown hair and was reading a rather thick book. Obviously Hermione Granger. Her brother had spoken of her often. That meant that at least one of the other boys was the infamous Harry Potter. She looked around the compartment again, seeing a boy with unkempt hair, brilliant green eyes, and round-framed glasses watching her amusedly.
"Nevermind," she said quietly. "I'll find somewhere else." Inwardly she groaned as she started to close the compartment door. Now she would hav to endure Crabbe and Goyle for the remainder of the trip.
"No, wait," the girl she assumed was Hermione said sharply, closing her book with a snap. "Honestly, one would think you had never met an American before," she told the others, then turned to Laine as Hermione's companions blushed furiously. "Please, have a seat."
"Thank you," Laine murmured, perching on the plush seat by the door. "And actually, I'm not American, I'm English."
"Can't be," Ron said frankly. Hermione glared at him.
"Yes, I can be. I've just spent the last few years in America for school, is all." Laine replied, trying to smile but failing.
"Oh, that's all." Ron muttered, wincing and rubbing his head after Hermione smacked him with her book. "Those things're dangerous, you know."
"For you, perhaps." Was the tart reply. "I figure if I do it often enough, I may knock some sense into you."
The boy in the corner, who Laine thought was Harry had been silent until now. "I'm Harry Potter," He said quietly, smiling at her. "The loud one is Ron, the brunette is Hermione, the red-head is Ginny," he was pointing to each person in turn. "And that one's Neville. Hermione was practicing hexes, so he won't be talking for awhile...or at least until she finds the counter for it."
"I'm looking, I'm looking," Hermione growled, opening her book again.
"I'm Laine," She introduced herself quietly, choosing to leave it at that. "And obviously incredibly talkative," Ron drawled, still rubbing his head.
Laine actually did smile this time. "I'm a little off-balance right now, Ron."
"Mmph?" Neville asked, or rather, tried to ask.
"Why?" Ron translated.
"Nosy," Hermione muttered, running her finger down the page.
"Am not. Neville asked."
"Well, think about it. I've lived in America since I was 9. Only coming back here to visit during Christmas holiday." Not adding that she wouldn't've come back then if it hadn't been an obligation. "And now I've been uprooted."
"What year are you, anyway?" Harry asked, sounding honestly curious.
"Fourth," she said quietly.
"A year below us," Hermione commented absently.
The rest of the trip was pleasant, both she and Harry treated everyone when the witch with the snack cart came around, Neville actually being able to eat some of the sweets (Hermione had eventually found the counter to the hex, for which Neville was incredibly grateful). But like all good things, it eventually came to an end. Laine, not quite knowing where to go, followed Harry and the rest of his companions off the train to where lines of carriages (with what she could only assume were invisible horses) waited for the students.
She followed suit when they all climbed into the carriages, finding that the one she had selected was blissfully empty, and remained that way. She watched the castle loom up before her as the carriage drew closer. It was a lot bigger than the Institution, as the locals had called the school- which they thought was a center for mentally disturbed youth- and perhaps it was its size that made it so breathtaking, but somehow Laine didn't think so.
When she climbed out, she was immediately swept into the flow of students moving into the castle. She let them carry her along, this time gazing around in awe. Once inside the Great hall, she stationed herself in one of the shadows to the right of the doors, letting people stream around her and seat themselves at the four huge tables that took up the majority of the room. Teachers were seated at the table on the dais, and when it seemed that no one else was coming in, the doors next to her boomed open, admitting a stern-looking witch leading a group of scared first-years.
Laine watched, amused, as each student in turn was sorted. When the last first-year had been seated at their house table (Zariah, Quincy- Hufflepuff), a wave of quiet chatter broke through hall. Professor McGonagall had not moved. She still stood before them all, clutching her parchment scroll in one hand.
"Excuse me," she called. Instantly the chatter died. "Is Miss Laine Malfoy present?" "'Malfoy?', 'Malfoy has a *sister*?', 'Another one? Isn't one of them enough?'" Laine heard the whispers start immediately as she began slowly walking up the center aisle. As she passed the Griffindors, she caught looks from the group she had sat with on the train. Ron looked betrayed, Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Neville merely shocked. Laine shook her head, keeping her face blank as she felt every pair of eyes in the room focus on her.
"She's not a first-year!" Someone said loudly from the direction of the Ravenclaw table.
"Though she is not a first-year," Professor McGonagall explained to the crowd. "Miss Malfoy has been attending a different school, and as she now attends Hogwarts, must be sorted into a house."
Laine reached the foot of the dais and bowed slightly to the teachers as the other students digested this bit of information, then went to sit on the stool. As she turned and faced the crowd, silence once again overtook the hall. It had been so much easier at the Institution, she thought to herself. None of this 'sorting'. You were just in the dormitory they assigned you, simple as that. She didn't like being singled out like this, but she supposed that she should have expected it. After all, it wasn't as though she could go the next four years without telling anyone her name.
/Hmm./ She heard in her head as McGonagall put the hat on her head. /Another Malfoy. Well, this is easy. SLY-/ the voice stopped. /No.not Slytherin.Gry...Gryffindor./ The voice sounded stunned. "GRYFFINDOR!" The hat shouted to the room.
The silence was almost unbroken; no one clapped, no one cheered as she went to sit at the farthest end of the Gryffindor house table.with the exception of Professor Dumbledore. All around the room, the whispers started again.
"A Malfoy? In Gryffindor?"
~*~
End Part 1.
Authors: Destria and Darkrose ( the_keyboard_gang@yahoo.com )
Series: Other Side of the Mirror (Part 1)
Archive: Here on fanfiction, nowhere else. Anyone who wants it, please ask first.
Feedback: Always welcome. With the exception of flames. You flame, we get.what was the word the last person used? Ah, yes. "Feisty".
Warnings: We're writing this under the assumption that everyone has read through 'Goblet'. If you haven't, there may be some things that go a bit over your head. Additional warnings: Will be rather angsty, perhaps fluffy as time goes by. Oh, almost forgot: Draco is potentially a *gasp* sweet guy in this! (Well, with Laine, at least.)
Disclaimer: We don't claim to own the characters (unless noted as original, such as: Laine, Melanie, and anyone else who happens along) used in this story or the school, as those obviously belong to J.K. Rowling. The long and short of it: We don't own the majority of this, if you've read the books and/or seen the movie (as we hope you have, seeing as this is HP fanfiction), you'll know what's ours and what isn't. Please don't sue, you won't get much.
~*~
Silverware clinked dully in the dim dining hall of Mordremark, the Malfoy family's manor. The long, rectangular table was swathed in a cloth of crimson sateen with silvery embroideries around the hem. Draco had once asked his mother what the thread was made of, it wasn't a texture he recognized. Narcissa had said, beaming at her son, that it was Veela hair, very expensive. After that event, he simply didn't ask any more questions about the rooms' furnishings.
Lucius Malfoy sat at the head of the table, buttering a piece of toast as he scowled down the table's length at his children. Narcissa sat at his right, picking at her own toast nervously. The expression she wore, as though something smelled foul in her vicinity, seemed permanently attached to her fair face. The young man, whom Lucius glared so intently at, pretended to be oblivious of that accusing look. Instead, he focused on the plate of eggs in front of him. Sitting directly across from him, a girl with the same long blonde hair that was a trademark of the Malfoy clan tried to disappear into the dark woodwork around her.
She crouched over her own plate of eggs, her hair forming a curtain about her hunched figure, effectively hiding her face from the rest of the room. Draco watched his sister discreetly as she pushed eggs around her plate, making it appear that she was really eating. A soft hooting drew everyone's attention upwards as a large screech owl carrying a paper and an eagle owl swooped over the table towards Lucius. A beat later, a large grey-blue Osprey followed, dropping a letter next to the girl's plate before leaving the hall once again.
"Laine, pull your hair out of your face. None of us can see your lovely eyes." Narcissa ordered from three feet down the table.
Sighing, the girl complied, biting her tongue to keep from commenting aloud. Her straight locks now behind her ears, further family resemblance was obvious. Her piercing ice-blue eyes were framed by surprisingly dark lashes on her slightly pointed face. The biggest difference, however, was that her face wore the shadow of a smile; whereas everyone else in her family looked as though they were on the verge of scowling.
Lucius grasped the letters in his elegant hands and passed all but the paper to his wife, muttering quietly about the bumbling, interfering idiots at the ministry these days. Narcissa separated one letter- a brilliant pink envelope with gold ink and wax seal- from the pile and slid the rest down to the children without looking at them.
"Your school letters," she said simply, tearing into her own bit of gossip.
Laine handed the letter on top to Draco, setting the other two on top of the one her Osprey, Freedom, had given to her, planning on taking them up to her room to read, but the half-covered edge of a coat-of-arms caught her eye. Slowly, as though she were in a daze, she picked up the stiff parchment envelope and slid her finger under the wax seal. Her hands shook as she pulled the lighter parchment from inside out to read.
Not quite believing what she saw, she glanced down and noticed that the second envelope was addressed to her father. "Hey, Daddy?" She called up the table, noting with satisfaction that her father winced at the name. He looked up at her, glaring, waiting for her to continue. "This one's for you." She slid the second envelope at her father with an air of practiced ease (there was an air hockey table in her dormitory common room at her last school), then went back to reading her letter.
"Dear Miss Malfoy,"
Laine winced at the formality of the heading.
"We have recently come to know of your attending the American Institution of Magic in central Wyoming. We are also pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts for the remainder of your education. We look forward to seeing you this September.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall , deputy headmistress"
"More like learned of my existence," Laine murmured to herself, glancing at the list of supplies that was behind the first piece of parchment. Most of them she already had, which was good. Some, however, like robes, would have to be bought before the term started.
Lucius, at the head of the table had gone a few shades paler than usual, but no one had noticed. Draco, however, was craning his head around to try and glimpse Laine's letter.
"That doesn't look like the one AIM sends you every year," He said quietly, still trying to look. "Is it a Hogwarts letter? Or-" his face darkened. "Did you somehow manage to get into Durmstrang?"
"Of course not," Laine sighed. "It's from Beauxbatons." Draco's eyes widened. "Oh stop that," Laine snapped. "Here, read it for yourself." She thrust the parchment at him as Lucius cleared his throat.
"I would be happier if it was indeed from Durmstrang," Lucius said evenly, watching his son read the letter. "How, I wonder did that old fool happen to hear about Laine, I wonder."
Draco looked up, his eyes going from haunted to steely in a moment. "If you're implying that *I* had something to do with this, Father, then you've got it all wrong. I haven't said a thing."
"Then how would they know anything about her, then?" Lucius' voice was rising.
"I don't know! It was probably Crabbe or Goyle, the thick gits." He struggled to keep his voice even. Arguing with his father was something even adult wizards had trouble with. Though irritatingly smug, Lucius was a formidable opponent. "I honestly don't know, Father."
His mouth pressed into a thin line, Lucius tapped the letter with the end of his fork. "Fine. Go make yourself presentable, you're taking your sister to Diagon Alley to get all this rubbish."
"Yes, Father," the children replied in unison, standing and pushing their chairs in. As they left the hall they traded a quick smile and muttered as they went their separate ways, "Whatever you say, Daddy."
~*~
Floo powder was by far one of Draco's least favorite ways to travel. They had escaped the manor twenty minutes after that rather eventful breakfast. Laine was wearing her brilliant blue robes from AIM, her eyes lined in dark pencil. Obedient insubordination was the way Laine played her cards, and she did it well. By nature, Draco was a protective older brother, shooting dirty looks at every male who dared look at his sister; not that anyone really noticed, given his usual temperament.
Laine looked around her as they walked down the Alley, eyes wide. Not from awe, but from how much it had changed since the last time she had been there. Considering that she had been nine the last time they had visited Diagon Alley, she wasn't incredibly surprised at the changes that had been made. They approached Gringotts gingerly, in no real hurry to get home again.
She waited outside while Draco went inside to get their money. She sat on the great stone steps leading up to the first set of doors, ignoring the glares from the guarding goblins and curious looks from passersby. After what seemed like forever, her brother returned.
"Honestly, were you counting it?"
Draco made a face. "There were a few of those carts in front of mine. I suppose you could call it a 'traffic jam'."
"If you're trying to be funny, it isn't working," she said tartly. "Where are we going first?"
Scowling, Draco responded, "Well at least I *tried*."
"Yes, dear boy, you tried. But where you try, I succeed. Now answer my question, please."
"Madam Malkin's. Unless you object to that?"
"Me? Object to getting clothes? Draco, I'm appalled. Don't you know that that's all girls think about?" She rolled her eyes as they walked toward the shop, not watching as people moved to let them pass. It was habit more than anything, but it did have its upsides.
Standing on the stool moments later as the witch briskly adjusted the black robe to fit her, Laine noted that these actually fit better than her American ones. And, as she looked in the mirror she saw, they weren't as cold and stiff as most new clothes were.cold and distant, much like her family. Which was, perhaps the biggest reason she disliked new clothes.
Hopefully she looked at Draco. "Dress robes, too?"
He shrugged. "Why not? I have to get new ones, anyway. According to Mother I've grown, and my old ones now hit me at the ankles. She was 'most displeased' with me for it." He took a moment to imitate their mother's voice, getting the pitch almost perfect when his own voice cracked. Laine swallowed a giggle.
"What color, dear?" Madam Malkin asked Laine kindly. When Laine favored her with a blank expression, the woman smiled a little and elaborated. "Dress robes."
"Oh.um." She looked at Draco who shrugged and continued paging through a newspaper he had found sitting on one of the many chairs in the room. "What color would you suggest?" She asked the witch earnestly.
Madam Malkin studied her face, then circled the girl once. Still scrutinizing her, she replied, "I would go with black."
"But my school robes are black." Laine said, not quite understanding.
"Oh yes, dear, I know. But school robes and dress robes are quite different. School robes are meant to be worn often, so they're sturdy. Dress robes are lighter, more flowing. Usually they're made of a nicer material, like satin or a silk taffeta."
"Oh." Laine said quietly. "Well do you have some-"
"As a matter of fact," Madam Malkin interrupted. "I have just the thing. They'll look fabulous on you, I'm sure. Come back here, dear."
Laine followed her into the back of the shop, shooting a scared glance at her brother, who simply raised an eyebrow, as if to say, 'you got yourself into this, you'll get yourself out.' There were times when she wanted nothing more than to throttle him. This was one of those times.
Madam Malkin bade her sit on a stool, then briskly began searching through cupboards. Finally, she held a dust-covered box out to Laine. "I've had these for almost 15 years now. People stopped wearing black dress robes once You-Know-Who was defeated by Harry Potter, that poor boy."
For a moment Laine puzzled over the term. 'You-Know-Who'? Who was she.Oh. The realization was sudden, and she felt like an idiot. The woman must have been referring to the Dark Lord. Then she smiled at the woman who still stood smiling before her. "Well, let's have a look, then."
The pair set the box on a counter and pulled off the lid, revealing a shimmering black puddle of satin. The actual shape of the robes was impossible to surmise, for in the box it looked fluid. Madam Malkin reached inside, and with a flourish, whipped the black satin mass out. It hung from her fingers, looking as though it would float lightly to earth if she had the audacity to let go. Laine's eyes widened, she couldn't help but whistle; another habit she had picked up from her American friends that irritated her father to no end.
"Go put this on while I get the other piece out."
"There's another piece?" Laine asked, moving into a dressing stall to comply to the woman's order.
"Of course there is. You didn't think that strapless robes are acceptable here, did you?"
"Well, no.." Laine murmured, looking at herself in the mirror. "This looks like the gowns American girls wear to formal dances."
"Well, it was an American witch who designed this particular style. Never caught on, though. Come out and get the next piece."
Laine emerged, and Madam Malkin held up what looked like a medieval surcoat.for a Japanese kimono.minus the obi. Slipping her arms inside the gargantuan sleeves, she shrugged the light chiffon up over her shoulders. The neckline was wide and collar-less, the 'v' meeting just under the swell of her chest before flaring out once more. It separated so the skirt of the under-robe shone through. She noted, looking in the mirror again, that the sable chiffon shone an iridescent crimson at certain angles. A pretty play of the light.
"I'm sure you can find a brooch somewhere to pin that surcoat on there," Laine could hear the smile in Madam Malkin's voice.
"Thank you," Laine breathed, moving from side to side to watch the light make patterns on the gown. "Can I show Draco?"
"Be my guest."
Laine wandered over to the door that separated this room from the rest of the shop and called, "Don't you dare laugh."
"Finally," he retorted, slapping the paper onto the seat next to him. "Took you long enou-" he stopped at Laine came into the light. He swallowed a few times, his mouth having suddenly gone dry- making it absolutely impossible to speak. "You're not...not going out in public wearing that, you know." His voice cracked every three words or so.
"Oh I'm not? Whyever for?" Laine spun around to demonstrate the light trick.
"For one thing, that's half strapless, the other half with a plunging neckline. Besides, I won't have my little sister traipsing around like some.some.*American*!"
"What, exactly, is wrong with Americans?" She demanded, voice dangerous.
"You know what I mean, Laine."
"Do I, now?" She looked genuinely amused. "Why wasn't I informed?" Draco could only scowl. "What, would you prefer I was some scheming socialite determined to marry as high into the social pyramid as possible? Perhaps the next Minister of Magic. If you'd rather that, then I could go after Percy Weasley as soon as we get to sch-" She stopped for a moment. "Wait, he's graduated by now, hasn't he? Hmm. Well, no matter. I can always skip off and meet him somewhere."
"Father wouldn't approve," Draco replied wryly, unable to keep from shuddering at the thought of his sister and Percy Weasley.
"I don't give a rat's ass what Daddy thinks," she replied coolly.
"Don't think I hadn't noticed. And you're British. Start speaking like it."
"Or perhaps Percy isn't good enough," she continued, lacing her voice with a thick English accent. "Perhaps I should aim even higher than that.How about.oh, say Harry Potter?"
"Don't joke about things like that," Draco snapped.
"I wasn't joking."
"All right!" Draco held up his hands in the customary sign of surrender. "I give up. You can wear the bloody robes."
She smiled triumphantly. "Why, thank you," then twirled back into the back room to change into her AIM robes, letting Draco rub his temples tiredly in peace.
~*~
The scarlet engine steamed out of King's Cross Station on September first, bound for Hogwarts. Laine was suddenly a little nervous. She searched the train high and low for an empty compartment, but found none. Draco invited her to sit in his compartment, but she had enough memories of Crabbe and Goyle to last a lifetime, she didn't need any new experiences. The last compartment she poked her head into had five people in it already, but it was by far the least crowded of any compartment on the train.
"Excuse me." She said faintly when there was a lull in their conversation, impatiently brushing some hair out of her face. All of the occupants turned to look at her. "Do y'all have room for one more person in here?" She tried not to wince at the slip in her speech. Draco and Daddy had been trying to get her to drop that particular mannerism to no avail. Narcissa had no opinion beyond the point that she thought it was a 'charming attribute'.
They all blinked owlishly at her. She thought she heard someone mutter something about 'Americans' from the corner. Two of the members of this party had red hair and freckles. 'Weasley' her mind screamed. Obviously Ron and Ginny, they were the only two of that particular family still attending Hogwarts. The other girl had brown hair and was reading a rather thick book. Obviously Hermione Granger. Her brother had spoken of her often. That meant that at least one of the other boys was the infamous Harry Potter. She looked around the compartment again, seeing a boy with unkempt hair, brilliant green eyes, and round-framed glasses watching her amusedly.
"Nevermind," she said quietly. "I'll find somewhere else." Inwardly she groaned as she started to close the compartment door. Now she would hav to endure Crabbe and Goyle for the remainder of the trip.
"No, wait," the girl she assumed was Hermione said sharply, closing her book with a snap. "Honestly, one would think you had never met an American before," she told the others, then turned to Laine as Hermione's companions blushed furiously. "Please, have a seat."
"Thank you," Laine murmured, perching on the plush seat by the door. "And actually, I'm not American, I'm English."
"Can't be," Ron said frankly. Hermione glared at him.
"Yes, I can be. I've just spent the last few years in America for school, is all." Laine replied, trying to smile but failing.
"Oh, that's all." Ron muttered, wincing and rubbing his head after Hermione smacked him with her book. "Those things're dangerous, you know."
"For you, perhaps." Was the tart reply. "I figure if I do it often enough, I may knock some sense into you."
The boy in the corner, who Laine thought was Harry had been silent until now. "I'm Harry Potter," He said quietly, smiling at her. "The loud one is Ron, the brunette is Hermione, the red-head is Ginny," he was pointing to each person in turn. "And that one's Neville. Hermione was practicing hexes, so he won't be talking for awhile...or at least until she finds the counter for it."
"I'm looking, I'm looking," Hermione growled, opening her book again.
"I'm Laine," She introduced herself quietly, choosing to leave it at that. "And obviously incredibly talkative," Ron drawled, still rubbing his head.
Laine actually did smile this time. "I'm a little off-balance right now, Ron."
"Mmph?" Neville asked, or rather, tried to ask.
"Why?" Ron translated.
"Nosy," Hermione muttered, running her finger down the page.
"Am not. Neville asked."
"Well, think about it. I've lived in America since I was 9. Only coming back here to visit during Christmas holiday." Not adding that she wouldn't've come back then if it hadn't been an obligation. "And now I've been uprooted."
"What year are you, anyway?" Harry asked, sounding honestly curious.
"Fourth," she said quietly.
"A year below us," Hermione commented absently.
The rest of the trip was pleasant, both she and Harry treated everyone when the witch with the snack cart came around, Neville actually being able to eat some of the sweets (Hermione had eventually found the counter to the hex, for which Neville was incredibly grateful). But like all good things, it eventually came to an end. Laine, not quite knowing where to go, followed Harry and the rest of his companions off the train to where lines of carriages (with what she could only assume were invisible horses) waited for the students.
She followed suit when they all climbed into the carriages, finding that the one she had selected was blissfully empty, and remained that way. She watched the castle loom up before her as the carriage drew closer. It was a lot bigger than the Institution, as the locals had called the school- which they thought was a center for mentally disturbed youth- and perhaps it was its size that made it so breathtaking, but somehow Laine didn't think so.
When she climbed out, she was immediately swept into the flow of students moving into the castle. She let them carry her along, this time gazing around in awe. Once inside the Great hall, she stationed herself in one of the shadows to the right of the doors, letting people stream around her and seat themselves at the four huge tables that took up the majority of the room. Teachers were seated at the table on the dais, and when it seemed that no one else was coming in, the doors next to her boomed open, admitting a stern-looking witch leading a group of scared first-years.
Laine watched, amused, as each student in turn was sorted. When the last first-year had been seated at their house table (Zariah, Quincy- Hufflepuff), a wave of quiet chatter broke through hall. Professor McGonagall had not moved. She still stood before them all, clutching her parchment scroll in one hand.
"Excuse me," she called. Instantly the chatter died. "Is Miss Laine Malfoy present?" "'Malfoy?', 'Malfoy has a *sister*?', 'Another one? Isn't one of them enough?'" Laine heard the whispers start immediately as she began slowly walking up the center aisle. As she passed the Griffindors, she caught looks from the group she had sat with on the train. Ron looked betrayed, Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Neville merely shocked. Laine shook her head, keeping her face blank as she felt every pair of eyes in the room focus on her.
"She's not a first-year!" Someone said loudly from the direction of the Ravenclaw table.
"Though she is not a first-year," Professor McGonagall explained to the crowd. "Miss Malfoy has been attending a different school, and as she now attends Hogwarts, must be sorted into a house."
Laine reached the foot of the dais and bowed slightly to the teachers as the other students digested this bit of information, then went to sit on the stool. As she turned and faced the crowd, silence once again overtook the hall. It had been so much easier at the Institution, she thought to herself. None of this 'sorting'. You were just in the dormitory they assigned you, simple as that. She didn't like being singled out like this, but she supposed that she should have expected it. After all, it wasn't as though she could go the next four years without telling anyone her name.
/Hmm./ She heard in her head as McGonagall put the hat on her head. /Another Malfoy. Well, this is easy. SLY-/ the voice stopped. /No.not Slytherin.Gry...Gryffindor./ The voice sounded stunned. "GRYFFINDOR!" The hat shouted to the room.
The silence was almost unbroken; no one clapped, no one cheered as she went to sit at the farthest end of the Gryffindor house table.with the exception of Professor Dumbledore. All around the room, the whispers started again.
"A Malfoy? In Gryffindor?"
~*~
End Part 1.