HUFFLEPUFF
I don't own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.
H U F F L E P U F F
…
Written by Ivana Review
Based on the Novel by J.K. Rowling
© July 2008
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Draco Lucian Malfoy easily stood out in the group of Hogwarts' newest first years. His helmet of platinum blond hair was a beacon of white light in the sea of students. For some equivocal reason, the eleven-year-old pureblood was fidgety, shifting his weight from his left foot to his right, and then back to the left. This was peculiar because Malfoys were, inherently, never nervous. They were above such a weakness, they were purebloods, and thus immune to the stigma of anxiousness.
So why now, of all times, was young Mister Malfoy fiddling with the loose bundle of thread at the hem of his new school robes?
The only adequate answer to such a question was that Draco and a herd of other young witches and wizards were about to sorted into the house that they would be chained to for the next seven years.
But then, one could protest, why would Draco be apprehensive about such a ceremony, when his family's history in the Slytherin house went back to the founding of the Magical Academy itself? It was obvious that Malfoy would follow suit and proudly sport a silver and emerald patch on his robe in the near future.
When the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall, shouted 'MacDougal, Morag,' Draco knew he would be next. Inadvertently, Malfoy lifted his pale fingers to run his hand through his bleach blond hair. However, his long fingers scraped across his gelled back hair, disabling his hand from combing through his blanched locks.
"Malfoy, Draco!"
Swallowing his fears like a piece of food that had not been chewed enough, Malfoy masked his uneasiness with an arrogant smirk, and confidently swaggered up to the stool.
The Sorting Hat was a bit heavier than it looked, as the weight of the ragged old cap made the pureblood slightly slouch.
Ever the spoiled little boy, Draco wished that they would have provided him with an unused and more elegant hat, but Malfoy's tenseness prevented him from protesting.
He sat there for a moment, drowning in the tension and silence.
Several times, Draco thought he heard the word 'Slytherin,' but it turned out to be merely his subconscious chanting the word that he was dying to hear the most.
With over one hundred pairs of eyes staring at him, the pureblood began to feel another foreign emotion prickle on his alabaster skin.
Embarrassment.
Their unrelenting gawking at him, and why - because of that retched hat's indecision?!
How dare they?
Did they know who he was? He was Draco Lucian Malfoy, the only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. He was a member of one of the most distinguished, respected and feared families in the entire magical world. He was smart; he was an excellent wizard, an superb flier for his young age and…
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
… A Hufflepuff
Wait, what?
The latter part of the young Malfoy's thoughts was indeed what the Sorting Hat's decision was. The students clad in black and yellow, indifferently clapping for their newest addition made this apparent.
No! It was impossible, he, Draco Lucian Malfoy, could not be a Hufflepuff. There was no way! There had to be something wrong – mistake, yes, of course that was it! The batty old rag had merely announced what house he was not sorted into. Okay, well time to announce where he did end up.
Draco sat there for a moment, waiting for the ancient hat to say 'Slytherin,' but the deafening silence was all that he heard.
"Mr. Malfoy," the stern voice of Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor house, hissed. "Please join your housemates."
"N-no, I'm a S-Slytherin. I can't be a Hufflepuff! I refuse!"
"You must accept where I sort you, boy," the raspy voice of the dirt coloured cap growled on top of Draco's head. "If you do not, then you have no place at this school."
"No, no, no, no, no! I won't, you can't make me. I'm a Slytherin! A Slytherin! A Slyth– "
The rest of the pureblood's ranting was cut off, as the boy plunged into unconsciousness.
………
Draco awoke with a start. His head pounding from the frighteningly realistic dream he had just experienced. He had dreamt that he was back in his first year at Hogwarts, being sorted into houses, and he had been placed in Hufflepuff! Or, as he had dubbed, the rejects' house, the one they placed students that had been accepted into the magical school by sheer dumb luck, and/or a mistake.
Of course it was nothing more than a dream, he had indeed been christened a Slytherin since before he was born. To banish this impossibility once and for all, Draco lifted his left hand to gaze upon the silver and emerald ring that his father had given him after he had received word that his son had been accepted into Slytherin house.
Raising his left hand into his line of sight, Malfoy squinted to make out the vision of his expensive ring. He knew that he was still ensnared in sleep's spell; trying to focus on the back on his hand hoping his eyesight would return to him. After blinking several times, the view of the room before him was still fuzzy, at best. Rubbing his eyes in hopes of wiping away the slumber that still grasped his sight, Draco felt his fingers brush over what felt like a scabbed over cut.
When had he acquired that? Had Quidditch practice been particularly rough last night?
It didn't feel fresh…
Groaning, Draco let his upright torso fall back onto his mattress, perhaps a few more minutes of extra sleep would sharpen his senses, and hopefully jog his memory.
Unfortunately, his sluggishness had not dissipated, and on his head's journey back to his pillow the distance he was from his headboard of his four poster bed was miscalculated, catching Draco's head with a sickening crack.
The teenager cursed profusely at this occurrence. The pain on the back of his head was causing him to see a harsh white light.
His fingers massaged the forming bruise with a tender touch.
But suddenly, he ceased this action.
His hair felt strangely coarse, grossly contrary to the fine, silk like texture that his hair customarily felt like. It also seemed a bit longer by the feel of it.
"Wuz 'amatter?" the groggy and abominably familiar voice inquired from the adjacent bed.
Weasley?
What the hell was the blood traitor doing in his dorm?
Malfoy's eyes shot open once more, and even though he was very much awake, his eyes stilled failed him, unable to see anything besides a blurry silhouette of his surroundings.
Looking to the side, Draco saw the outline of a dark object on the nightstand. For some unknown reason, the teenager grasped the item.
It was a pair of glasses.
Tremulously, Malfoy lifted the black frames up to his eyes. It looked as though someone had outlined all the surrounding objects with dark ink, and sharpened every detail.
Draco almost screamed. The room draped in red and gold. The sun was peaking through the gap in the heavy dark red curtains.
He was in the Gryffindor Tower!
His head whipped around as he recognized the Gryffindor's he had always loathed.
But something struck him odd. Where was Potter? He shared a room with Weasley and Longbottom didn't he? But Malfoy couldn't spot the Boy-Who-Shouldn't-Have-Lived anywhere.
Turning his head to the side, Draco saw Harry Potter staring at him.
When the half-blood said nothing, the pureblood opened his mouth to dish out a snide remark along the lines of 'Cat got your tongue, Potter?' only to have Harry open his mouth as well.
And when he closed his mouth, the dark haired wizard did the same.
What was Scarhead playing at?
Then it hit Malfoy like a ton a bricks.
It made sense: the cut on the head, the blurry vision that rectified by the round spectacles, being in the Gryffindor Tower, Weasley in his dorm, and…
… He was currently staring into a mirror.
He was Harry Potter.
Draco Malfoy screamed.
……….
"Draco? Draco? What is it?" the woman next to Malfoy asked, her voice laced with concern.
"Nothing," the pureblood gasped, his brow covered in a thin layer of sweat, and voice somewhat hoarse from screaming. "Bad dream. Yeah… just a – just a dream."
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yeah," the former Slytherin managed to force through his thin lips, the question in his voice as he said these words made it seem as if he was trying to convince himself. "Yes – I'm fine." He finished the last statement before he let his head drop back onto the green satin pillowcase.
Gently, Mrs. Malfoy placed her lips on her husband's forehead and repeated the same action on the handsome blond's lips, submerging the couple into a passionate tongue tryst, prior to replacing her cranium on her pillow.
Snuggling into the fine cloth, with her back to him, Mrs. Malfoy spoke for the final time that night.
"Goodnight, Draco."
Draco smiled. Yes, finally after all those terrible nightmares everything was finally back to normal. He was finally awake and back to reality.
Burying his face deeper into his pillow he pulled his wife closer to him.
"Goodnight, Hermione."
F I N
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I'll let you guys decide whether Malfoy was really awake at the end or if he finally had a good dream instead of a nightmare
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