QUEEN'S HEIRS I
Attraction
Attraction: Where by a chess player (typically white) sacrifices minor or major pieces to expose the enemy king.
Summary: AU OOTP (Queen's Heirs I) Attraction is a play in chess where a player (typically white) sacrifices minor or major pieces to expose the enemy king. As war looms and each side gathers its soldiers, Dumbledore—the White King—struggles to manoeuvre his strongest knight. Unfortunately for him, Harry Potter has never been good at chess.
Warning: Language, nudity, violence, slash (malemale), femslash (femalefemale), het. (malefemale), supernatural themes, mild torture, gore, mature content and character death/murder.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: This story is AU of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. It is the first in the series called Queen's Heirs that consists of three stories, which take place over the duration of the fifth to seventh book of the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. Queen's Heirs has been under construction since January 2007.
IMPORTANT: Due to this site's recent crackdown on content, the MA sections of this story will be posted elsewhere. The link shall be provided at such time.
IMPORTANT: This story is slash and does contain femslash! If you do not like or are unsettled about the content of this story, then please leave. I don't appreciate criticism or flames that try to belittle, insult or debate moral/social/religious issues. I obviously have no problem with it as I am writing a fictional – people seem to forget that part quite often – story that contains slash.
Prelude – Return to Hogwarts
"—ville! Neville!"
Neville Longbottom's eyelids flickered in his sleep but outwardly he showed no other sign of waking. The sounds of a bustling city from outside his window had so far been unable to disturb his slumber. London—a city that never fully slept—had been in motion for hours as its inhabitants spilled out of their homes and down into the underground on their way to start another day. All the while, Neville had remained lost in his dreams; his naked chest rising steady and falling slowly with each breathe that escaped from his chaffed lips.
The crimson drapes that were drawn across his windows had succeeded in blocking out the sun's direct rays but small streams of light still managed to seep through, basking Neville's room in a warm orange glow. The weather in London was unseasonably scorching in spite of the fast approaching autumn months and Neville's Cooling Charm had worn off during the night. His bedcovers were now strewn on the floor at the foot of his bed and a light sheen of sweat covered his tanned shoulders.
The summer had been good to Neville. Despite his grandmother's initial scorn at his love of Herbology, she had still seen it fit to put Neville to work in the gardens. Spending long hours in the hot sun tending to Augusta's Fire Seed Bushes had added several inches to Neville's frame as well as transformed his motley skin into a dark gold colour.
Nurturing the gardens had been a respite for Neville. It had offered him an escape from all the thoughts that had whirled uncontrollably through his mind ever since the end of the school year. The vision of Harry Potter clutching Cedric Diggory's lifeless body would stay with Neville for as long as he lived. The distraught wails of Cedric's father stumbling towards his son's pale corpse haunted Neville's dreams accompanied by his dorm mate's desperate cries as Harry repeated the same two words over and over again: he's back.
Two words that had gutted Neville, leaving him speechless amongst a crowd that had begun to whisper and sob as the realisation that their champion was dead spread amongst them like wildfire.
He's back. Neville was one of the few students in that crowd who could truly understand the implications of those two small words and horror had flooded through him.
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back.
As the students around him grieved, Neville had been rooted to the spot, his heart racing and his head filled with the image of his parents—broken and distorted—victims of You-Know-Who's last siege against Wizarding Britain. Neville had begun to imagine what nightmares He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would bring with him this time; how many people would suffer and how many lives would be lost?
At least one, he had thought numbly as Amos Diggory's heart wrenching sobs had reached his ears.
As the sheer enormity of the occurring events had hit him, Neville stomach had rolled with nausea and the colour had fled his face, leaving him cold and trembling. His eyes had darted through the panicking crowd, trying desperately not to imagine who else would fall before You-Know-Who's wand. It was then that his gaze had caught a pair of wide grey eyes on the far side of the stadium. Seeing Draco Malfoy pale, shaky and terrified had made Neville realise that he was not the only one who understood Harry's foreboding call.
For just a moment, house colours were stripped away and Neville could only see another potential victim of the horrors to come. It did not matter if you were a Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Slytherin; if You-Know-Who had indeed returned everyone would suffer. In that moment, Neville had known with startling clarity exactly where he would be when the call for battle was heard. He would be on the front line, side-by-side with Harry Potter and ready to face the terrors that You-Know-Who would unleash. Neville had wondered, as he watched Malfoy watching him, if there would come a time when their gazes would meet again. But instead of catching each other's eyes on the opposite sides of a Quidditch pitch it would be over a battlefield with a war separating them far more than house rivalries ever could.
However, the weeks past, school ended and the students of Hogwarts had returned to their homes still shaken by the death of their peer yet there was still no mention of war. The Ministry was silent, the Death Eaters were silent and a part of Neville often wondered, as he plodded through each day tending to his grandmother's gardens, if he had dreamt it all. But some nights when he went to bed the vision of Cedric's lifeless eyes reminded him that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was indeed back, merely lurking in the shadows on the fringe of the wizarding world, waiting for his time to strike.
Looking at the boy snoring softly into his pillow, it was hard to believe that Neville was plagued by any such nightmares. His body was lax and not even the stifling heat seemed to be causing him any discomfort. Neville had been up late the previous night packing his school trunk which now stood full in the corner of his room. Placed on top of his desk, next to a pile of untouched Charms books (a birthday gift from his grandmother) was his new Mimbulus Mimbletonia. It was pulsating and swaying as it enjoyed the humidity and quietness of the room. The sound of Augusta's footsteps stomping towards his bedroom was an unheard forewarning that Neville's slumber was about to be interrupted. The Longbottom matriarch had been calling out futilely for quite some time and in the end it was the sharp rap of her knuckles against Neville's wooden door that jerked him awake.
"Neville! Are you up?" Her voice bellowed through the thick oak door, the aggravation clear in her tone. Letting out a groan as the last remnants of slumber fled from him, Neville rolled onto his back and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the palm of his hand. Squinting blearily, Neville had a peek at his nightstand clock from between his fingers and moaned when he saw the early hour.
"Neville!" His grandmother shout pierced his eardrums and caused Neville to wince as he sat up to swing his feet over the edge of the bed. Patience was not a virtue that Augusta possessed in abounds.
"I'm up!" Neville called back, his voice still rough from sleep. He had given up the hope that she would leave to allow him to catch a few more minutes of shut-eye.
"The Hogwarts Express leaves at eleven o'clock and we will not be coming back for any reason. Make sure you have packed everything. Is that understood?" Augusta's irate voice penetrated his room for a third time and Neville answered swiftly in order to avoid baiting her temper anymore than he inadvertently had.
"Yes, m'am."
Neville listened as she huffed and stomped heavily down the stairs from which she had come. Releasing a sigh of his own, Neville's gaze turned to the picture on his nightstand and, the same as every morning, smiled back at his parents who waved at him from within their frame.
"Good morning," Neville whispered softly, gazing at them longingly as his mum placed a swift kiss to his dad's cheek causing Frank's face to flush a deep red. Chuckling at his parents' antics, Neville pushed himself to his feet and groaned as he stretched his arms high above his head, loosening the last kinks of sleep from his body. He was completely naked. During the night his boxers had suffered the same fate as his discarded sheets and now, if there had been anyone else in the room, they would have been able to truly appreciate just how kind a summer of labour and sun had been to Neville. His imposing height was matched by his filled frame and large callous hands were scattered with burn scars. His shoulders had broadened and whilst his stomach and thighs still jiggled as he walked most of his baby fat had turned into muscle. Dark patches of hair covered his chest, underarms and trailed down his stomach to encircle his half-erect cock. Neville's jaw was squarer and he held himself taller and with more ease than ever before.
Over the summer Neville had grown from a boy into a man and as he strode towards his shower, he could not help but think that this year was going to be better than all the others. It would be challenging but with mounting confidence Neville knew that he was ready to face whatever Hogwarts threw at him. Turning on the shower faucet, he stepped under the freezing spray and let the water flow over his heated flesh. With a grin that transformed Neville's once portly face into an striking one he felt himself grow excited about the school year ahead.
It was going to be unforgettable.
In a few short minutes, Hannah Abbott would regret not putting an end to her mother's snooping through her school trunk sooner. At the moment, the young Hufflepuff watched on as her mother unfolded and refolded each piece of packed clothing, edging closer to the secret that Hannah had forgotten was buried beneath her belongings. The fastidious fashion in which her mother unpacked and repacked Hannah's possessions was so unlike Noemi Abbot's usual care-free manner that it had disturbed Hannah into keeping silent. Each item was handled delicately and refolded so precariously it was as though the elder Abbot thought that the fabric would dissolve in her hands. It was funny, Hannah mused, as that was how her parents had been acting all summer. Both of them had tip-toed around their daughter and successfully avoided discussing the topics that dominated the Daily Prophet; the very newspaper that they both worked for.
Sighing in annoyance, Hannah continued to comb her long golden locks as she peered at her mother's thin frame in her mirror's reflection. It was disconcerting for Hannah to see her mother so quiet and withdrawn but Hannah could not stop the small smile that drew at her pink lips as Noemi affectionately stroked her Hufflepuff tie before replacing it in her trunk. Hannah's mother was the only other Hufflepuff in her family. Her father had been a Gryffindor along with his brothers and it had never fully sat right with him that his only child and magical heir had been sorted into another house. Hannah's house was just one of the many reasons her father had to be disappointed with her—some of which he was not even aware of yet.
As Hannah pulled her hair back into a ponytail her brow wrinkled into a frown when her mother's reflection paused in the middle of her exploration of Hannah's belongings. Noemi's bright eyes flickered to meet Hannah's in the mirror before she reached hesitantly into the bottom of the trunk.
"Hannah, was there something you needed to tell me?" Noemi soft voice was tinged with amusement that Hannah did not hear over her growing embarrassment at the sight of the dainty pair of black lace panties that her mother held precariously with the tips of her fingers. Hannah's face flushed red as she realised with growing horror that her mother had undoubtedly seen the matching bra and negligee that were also hidden beneath her regular washed out pyjamas. This was the secret that she had forgotten was buried in the depths of her trunk. Taking control of her gawking mouth, Hannah spun in her seat with a denial on the tip of her tongue.
"It's not what you think. It's just...jus—" Hannah's rebuff stuttered to a stop at the sight of her mother raising a single eyebrow in disbelief. With her face taking on an even darker hue of red, Hannah dropped her gaze to her lap, her mind scrambling for something to say that would not give her away entirely. Her mother remained silent as Hannah struggle to justify the pair of panties that had no purpose outside of a bedroom and most definitely did not belong in the possession of Edgar Abbott's eldest daughter. Hannah's father had been raised in a strict, old-fashioned pure-blood household and held the belief that his heir would one day be bonded as a virgin. Fortunately for Hannah, Noemi, who was watching her daughter's internal struggle with unconcealed humour, did not hold the same views as her husband.
"I just wanted to look pretty," Hannah finally murmured the weak excuse to her mother, praying that Noemi would take pity and let her daughter just die from embarrassment in peace.
"But darling, they're not even your size."
Apparently Noemi was not feeling particularly merciful today. Hannah had been by no means ready for her mother to learn that she was engaged in a sexual relationship. But the possibility of Noemi realising the true implications of a pair of too small panties was a fate far worse in Hannah's mind.
Jumping to her feet, Hannah sprung across the room and snatched the offending underwear from her mother's grasp and threw it back inside her trunk. Tears of humiliation tickled at her still flushed cheeks as she grabbed the items her mother had unpacked and began tossing them into the chest without care.
"Just forget it, okay. I was being stupid and they're silly. So just leave it. I don't want to talk about it," Hannah snapped with her back to her mother as she cried so Noemi would not see her tears.
"Hannah, darling," Noemi grasped her daughter's hand and hugged her against her chest, "I was just teasing," she apologised softly, "I did not mean to upset you."
Sobbing softly, Hannah buried her face in her mother's bony collarbone and let herself be held. The secret she held so close to her heart had nearly been unveiled and that terrified her. Taking a deep breath, Hannah's nose filled with the scent of her mother's flowery perfume and she slowly relaxed, content with the knowledge that there would be no more questions from Noemi today. But her mother was a reporter and Hannah knew curiosity would win over at some point.
"Darling, you know that all I wish is for you to be happy," Noemi reassurances were whispered into Hannah's hair as she brushed a kiss against her daughter's brow. The woman's softly spoken support did nothing to calm the unease in Hannah's heart for she knew that her parents would never accept her if they knew the truth. Taking a step back Noemi offered her daughter a small smile as she conjured a handkerchief to gently brush the tears away from her daughter's eyes.
Stealing a glance over her mother's shoulder at the mirror, Hannah grimaced at her reflection; she was a mess. Red rimmed eyes stared back at her and her cheeks were splotched red. She envied the girls whom managed to bawl their eyes out and still look amazing doing so. Hannah always looked like death warmed up after she cried.
Glancing up to meet her mother's gaze, Hannah watched as Noemi's eyes turned took on a sad tinge. Brushing a pale hand against her daughter's cheek Noemi sighed, "This year is going to be very difficult for you, darling. Promise me you'll stay with people who make you happy?"
Unintentionally, Hannah's thoughts flew to the true owner of the pair of dainty panties and her embarrassment returned but she managed to smile back at her mother and promise, "I will," for it was true. Hannah intended to make this year about her friends and she knew that they would make her fifth year a happy one.
Zacharias Smith had never been fond of breakfasts in his aunt's household. His presence was mandatory—much to his distain—and each morning his aunt's house-elf, Hokey, was sent to wake him using whatever cruel and unusual method that she saw fit. This morning, Hokey had not even announced her presence; she simply Apparated in, vanished his bed, and Apparated out leaving Zacharias alone to fend for himself amongst the tangle of covers that he had abruptly awoke in against the cold stone floor.
Zacharias scowled into his coffee at the recollection and shifted in his sit to try and relieve some of the pressure on his aching tailbone. Hokey was an ancient house-elf and had been the faithful servant of Zacharias' grandmother, Hepzibah Smith the First, until she was murdered. After Hepzibah's death, Hokey had attached herself to her daughter, the current matriarch of the Smith family, and quickly adopted her new mistress' severe distain for her nephew. As a result—during the two weeks of every summer that Zacharias' father ordered him to spend at his aunt's home—Hokey gleefully carried out her mistress' commands to make his life a living hell. Whether it be vanishing his bed, hiding his belongings, intercepting his mail or even charming his hair pink for an entire week, the vicious house-elf took joy in the pain it caused him. The first thing Zacharias planned to do when he inherited his aunt's mansion was to hand that scrawny little house-elf a scarf and watch it wail. Revenge would be sweet.
The self-satisfied smirk was still on his face sometime later when his aunt Hepzibah waddled her way into the dining room and glared at him through her beady black eyes. Zacharias' scowled right back and watched as she shuffled her way towards to the over-sized and over-stuffed chair at the head of the table. Ever since he was little, Zacharias has always thought that his aunt's appearance resembled that of a Muggle mule; a mule with a ginger wig and so much powder on her face that she was paler than a ghost.
Hepzibah's teeth were crooked and stained yellow. She was grotesquely obese thanks to the life of leisure she had inherited from Zacharias' grandmother and she always dressed in fashion that was more suited to the eighteen hundreds than now. The corset that Hepzibah wore was stretched so tautly around her bulging middle that Zacharias was positive that the only thing keeping it in place was magic. Every morning, Hokey had the task of strapping a pair of far too small satin slippers to his aunt's swollen feet and fitting her into the atrocious frocks that were also inherited from her mother. The whole process took hours and throughout its duration Zacharias was forced to wait, unable to touch a morsel of food until his aunt was 'presentable' enough to join him.
Frowning at his aunt as she sank into the seat next to him, Zacharias watched as the wooden chair creaked and groaned from the strain of her weight. He could not keep all the hopefulness out of his expression as he recalled the previous summer when the chair had collapsed from underneath her. It had been the highlight of his year and as he saw the legs bend from the sheer mass that was his aunt, he could not help but hope that he would be privy to a repeat performance. For just a minute, Zacharias believed his prays had been answered as the chair buckled severely under the tense form of his aunt. Visions of shattered wood and his aunt's arse connecting harshly with the stone floor filled his head as Zacharias watched on in eager anticipation. However, the moment passed and the chair held. It had to have been reinforced by magic, Zacharias thought as Hepzibah released the breath she had been holding and turned her critical stare towards her nephew.
This morning, after his abrupt awakening, Zacharias had been feeling particularly rebellious. Instead of the customary dress robes that his aunt demanded he wear during his stay, Zacharias was dressed in a pair of tattered Muggle jeans that hung low on his hips, clung at his thighs and displayed flashes of flesh between the various rips in the blue fabric. Visible above the neckline his ratty tank-top was a small sign of infinity that Zacharias had inked onto his collarbone on his thirteenth birthday; it had been shortly after the first (and only) time his father had tried to ship him off to stay with his aunt for a whole month. His father had been furious when he had discovered what his son had done.
Zacharias was the sole heir to the entire Smith family—a family that was very old and powerful with ties linking them back to Helga Hufflepuff herself—and Mr Smith always hated the utter disregard his son displayed towards his heritage. Zacharias' father had been sorted in Ravenclaw and, as a result, lost any claim he had in regards to the family inheritance. There could never be a Ravenclaw as head of the Hufflepuff lineage. When Zacharias had been sorted in his ancestor's house, his father chance of honour had been restored but his son had resisted every step of the way.
What his family did not understand was that Zacharias had no interest in a life of luxury, parties and mindless chatter. He envisioned a future with him as a lead figure within the Wizengamot. Zacharias wanted to be centre stage amongst the most powerful figures in wizarding Britain, making his mark on the world by introducing laws and legislations that would change the foundations of the Ministry for good. The only reason that he put up with the annual visits to his aunt was so that one day he could use the Smith name to get him there.
"Humph," His aunt's scoff drew Zacharias away from his thoughts and he lifted his defiant brown eyes to meet Hepzibah's disapproving gaze. This was another reason why Zacharias hated breakfasts with his aunt; she took full advantage of the opportunity to go on in detail about every aspect of his person that was a disappointment. As his aunt began to pile her plate high with the food that had appeared before them, Zacharias wondered what she would berate him for today. He did not have to wait long to find out.
"I believe I have made it abundantly clear on several occasions that I expect you to be properly attired throughout the entirety of your stay here. Imagine what people would think if they saw you dressed like that," Hepzibah's distain for his clothes was apparent as she dragged her gaze slowly down his figure whilst her thin lips curled in disgust. A smirk appeared on Zacharias' own face as he glanced over at her hideous lilac frock that was at least two hundred years old. When comparing his jeans to that monstrosity, he doubted anyone would find fault in his appearance.
Zacharias' amusement must not have been as well hidden as he thought as Hepzibah narrowed her beady eyes at him and snapped, "Wipe that infernal grin off you face. Don't think for a second that I don't know whom you have picked up these filthy Mudblood habits from." Luckily Hepzibah had turned her attention back to the pile of greasy bacon on her plate and she did not see Zacharias' mouth draw back into a snarl at the word 'Mudblood'. After everything that had happened over the last couple of months, it sickened him that she was still comfortable using that word.
"It's that boy," Hepzibah continued her spiel, oblivious to Zacharias' growing rage, "If I catch you dressed like this again, I will order your father to cease all your contact with him. Am I understood?"
Zacharias fists were clenched together on top of the table as he glowered at his aunt. He knew that any effort that he made to defend his friend would have no effect and would only land him in more trouble. What frustrated him the most was the fact that he had stood alongside his father at Cedric Diggory's funeral as they watched his body be lowered into the ground and he knew that both of his relatives were privy to all the information that the Daily Prophet was not printing and yet, they were still able to dismiss half-bloods and Muggleborns with words like Mudblood just because of their lack of magical heritage. Did they not realise that it was ignorant and prejudice attitudes like theirs that made room for wizards like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to rise?
Sighing in frustration, Zacharias responded to his aunt through gritted teeth, "Yes, Aunt Hepzibah." Thankfully, he was spared any further bereavement from his aunt when an ordinary post owl soared in the dining room window and dropped its parcels on the table before flying out again as quickly as it arrived.
Hepzibah offered him one more "humph" before she reached out with chubby fingers to snatch this week's edition of Witch Weekly from the tabletop and flicked it open to the latest developments about the Celestina Warbeck and the French Vampire Slayer. Rolling his eyes at his aunt's antics, Zacharias picked up the copy of the Daily Prophet which had been deposited before him. Ignoring the scowling image of Harry Potter glaring up at him from the front page, Zacharias flipped the paper open to scan the contents of the inner pages. One headline on page two caught his eyes immediately.
DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED HIGH INQUISITOR FOR HOGWARTS
By Betty Braithwaite
In the earliest hours of this morning, the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, called for an urgent meeting of the governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to discuss the recent accusations against the school's current headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore. With the safety of the students foremost in their minds, the protectors of Britain's most famous wizarding school spent many long hours debating Dumbledore's future at Hogwarts in view of the allegations currently laid against him.
For those readers who have not been following the developments regarding Dumbledore as they have brought into light by the Daily Prophet, the recent accusations made against the Headmaster are based on the events of the last couple of years. Two years ago, the school was nearly forced to close when a monster that had been previously unleashed on Hogwarts many decades ago paralysed a number of students. Shortly after these horrific happenings, Dumbledore hired a werewolf, Remus Lupin—who is a known associate of the mass murder Sirius Black—as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. During the same year, Black managed to break through the castle's defences and attack several students before Ministry officials forced Black to flee the vicinity.
The tragic death of the young Hogwarts Tri-wizard Champion, Cedric Diggory in June this year, followed by the reinstatement of Lupin as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, has finally forced the school board into action. This morning, with a majority ruling, the school governors have issued a vote of no-confidence in Dumbledore and began implementing measures to monitor and evaluate not only the Headmaster's performance but to also examine the capabilities of all current staff members. The person tasked with this magnanimous duty is none other than the current Senior Undersecretary for the Minister of Magic, Dolores Jane Umbridge, whom, effective immediately, is the new High Inquisitor for Hogwarts.
Madame Umbridge was unavailable to make any comments as she was busy preparing for her new life at Hogwarts. We at the Daily Prophet wish her luck with her findings.
Zacharias' eyes bulged in his sockets as he read—and re-read—the article. The Ministry was interfering with Hogwarts; it was unprecedented. For over a thousand years, Hogwarts has operated as a separate entity from the Ministry of Magic and acted as a place of sanctuary for the children of magic. This changed everything.
So lost in his musing, Zacharias almost did not notice as a familiar barn owl swooped in through the open window and dropped a folded piece of parchment on his plate. Startled out of his thoughts, Zacharias' gaze darted over to his aunt to see if she had noticed the late delivery. Satisfied that Hepzibah was still engrossed in the scandalous story of Warbeck and the vampire slayer, Zacharias slipped the note into his lap where he quickly unfolded it. As his eyes quickly scanned the contents, he was oblivious to the small smile that spread across his face as he read:
Is Mr Prefect ready to take Hogwarts by storm?
It was signed with a smaller version of Zacharias' tattoo but he knew who sent it; Zacharias would recognise that familiar scrawl anywhere. All thoughts of a High Inquisitor slipped from his mind as he gently traced the blue ink.
"Stop grinning like a lunatic. You look deranged," Not even his aunt's derogatory slurs were able to wipe the smile from his face now. Rising from his chair, Zacharias abandoned his breakfast in favour of heading upstairs to finish packing.
"Where are you going? Come bac—Ah!" The grin on Zacharias' face turned wicked at the sound of his aunt's chair collapsing out from underneath her filled his ears. With an extra spring in his step, Zacharias swiftly climbed the stairs back towards his bedroom, leaving behind the outraged squawks of his aunt and shrill cries of Hokey as she tried to help her mistress.
This year was going to be different from the last but as Zacharias fingered at the parchment he still held in his hand, he was positive that something good would come of it
"MUM! Have you seen my pink blouse? The one that I wore to the Spinnet's anniversary party last week?"
Priya Patil sighed as her daughter's bellowed question echoed down the staircase, "No, honey, I haven't. Have you tried the laundry?" Priya shouted back feeling a migraine forming behind her temples. Every September 1st was the same; a mad rush of last minute packing followed by a hectic traverse across London to King's Cross Station. Just one year, she would like for both of her daughters to be ready on time. Unfortunately for Priya, Parvati was not the only family member running late this morning.
"Priya, have you seen my draft for the new magic carpet trade policy?" The Patil matriarch rolled her eyes in exasperation as her husband barrelled into the kitchen—robes buttoned crookedly and his glasses askew—and began scrambling through the draws in search of his missing document. Sometimes it felt like Priya had three children instead of two.
"Darling," Priya skilfully intercepted her husband as he scurried his way through the kitchen cupboards and edged closer to her china cabinet. Most people would wonder why he was searching through the culinary draw for a Ministry document but Priya was well used to her husband's antics when he became frantic.
"You need to calm down, dear," Running a smoothly hand down his chest, Priya swiftly straightened his husband's robes and placed a chaste kiss to his lips.
"I know, I know," the Patil male huffed as he ran a shaky hand through his thinning hair, "It's just that draft is due today—and I still have to have Edgecombe to sign off on it—and you know what Creswell is like when it comes to deadlines. I swear, ever since Dirk got his promotion from the Goblins Liaison Office, he's been walking around like Queen Lizzy herself invited him for tea."
"Darling, shush," Priya clamped a hand firmly against his mouth and giggled as he glared at her over the palm of her hand. Reaching up, Priya's husband gently removed her hand from over his mouth and she could not stop another chuckle escaping from her lips at the sight of his pout.
"You're laughing at me," he said petulantly and Priya pressed another swift kiss to his cheek.
"I'm sorry, darling. You're draft is on your bedside table from when you had it last night," another laugh broke through her lips as her husband's shoulders visibly sagged in relief.
"Thank you. I'm sorry. I'm just all strung up with Dirk acting like a right pain in the backside and now with Fudge...I mean what the bloody hell is he thinking?" Priya eyes slid to the Daily Prophet that was spread out on the kitchen table. The cover's headline flashed back at her in large, bold ink; HARRY POTTER, THE BOY-WHO-LIVED-TO-LIE.
"I know, darling," Priya reassured her husband, watching as he rubbed vigorously at his brow, a quirk of his when he is angry. "You'd better go or you will be late," she reminded him gently. Nodding sharply, he pressed his own quick kiss against her lips before darting away towards the stairs. Priya watched as he paused next to his eldest daughter where she was perched on the bottom stair and wished Padma a quick "Good Morning," before leaping past her up towards their bedroom.
Letting out a fond sigh at her husband's actions, Priya turned her attention to her eldest daughter. Padma had been sitting quietly at the foot of the stairs for quite some time; her trunk was packed and sitting by the door and her eyes were glued to the book that was balanced on her lap. Whilst her daughters were identical in their looks, Priya could not help but notice the extreme differences in their personalities.
Parvati was the adventurous one of the two; always ready to dive head first into any situation. She was loud and boisterous and when she had arrived home this summer, Parvati had spent the majority of the first week telling her mum in depth about her year at Hogwarts. Padma was the opposite of her twin. She was more reserved and only offered details about her classes and exams sparingly. If it were not for the constant stream of mail that Padma received, Priya would have been hard pressed to believe that the girl had many friends.
Even with their differences, Priya was proud of both her daughters whom were turning from girls into young ladies. Parvati had always been a vibrant youth and at some point during her fourth year at Hogwarts, she had made the transition easily. Over the summer, Priya had been lucky enough to witness Padma's own blossoming into womanhood. Love was the reason for Padma's growth—not that she would ever tell her mother if she were in love, but Priya could see it. Padma was standing taller, smiling more and was wearing her new cropped hairstyle with a confidence she had never possessed. What truly convinced Priya that her daughter was in love was the letters; small strips of parchment that Padma would shield away from her sister's prying eyes and would leave her beaming for the rest of day.
The sound of thunderous footsteps echoing down the stairs broke Priya's train of thought as her husband (now fully dressed and presentable) dashed towards her and grabbed her in a swift embrace.
"I have to go. Are you and the girls all set? The traffic is building up outside," he questioned as he brushed a farewell kiss against her brow.
"We're nearly ready to go. Parvati is missing a shirt." Rolling his eyes at his youngest daughter antics he called for her to hurry up over his shoulder.
"I'm coming!" was the irate reply. Striding over to their eldest daughter, Priya's husband pressed a quick kiss to her head and told Padma to have a good year. Priya privately shared her husband's sentiment but with a quick glance back at the Daily Prophet she could not help but wonder if they would be safe.
"I will dad," Padma smiled up at her dad as she wished him farewell.
"Goodbye Parvati! Don't make your sister too late!" Priya's husband called as he stepped out the door with one last wave at his wife and daughter.
"If everyone would just leave me alone, I would be ready by now!" Parvati's snapped response caused Padma to roll her eyes heavenwards and Priya release another exasperated breath. It was time to get this show of the road, she thought as she marched towards the stairs, intent on speeding up her daughter's progress.
The stream that flowed under Bottom Bridge was bursting with Gulping Plimpies, a fact that made Luna wish she had brought a larger bucket. Luna Lovegood was currently fishing for plimpies to restock their kitchen supply before she left for school. Her father enjoyed making them into a soup and it was one of the few dishes he was able to prepare without causing any severe damage to himself or their home. Gulping Plimpies where only ever found in the deepest patches of rivers and streams which is why Luna was currently standing knee deep in rushing water; her trousers were rolled up to mid thighs to avoid getting wet and her hair was pulled back into a large bun out of her face.
Usually, Luna would be standing in the stream for hours and, if she was lucky, manage to catch enough plimpies to make one singular bowl of soup. Due to the recent heavy rain in Ottery St. Catchpole, the amount of plimpies that she had captured had doubled, if not tripled. The rapid increase in their numbers must have been due to the bizarre weather phenomenon occurring across Great Britain.
The plimpies were not the only creatures whose numbers had grown as a result of the weather oddities. Luna knew for a fact that Minister Fudge had recently acquired an Umgubular Slashkilter, a creature that was usually very hard to come by. Normally, Luna would wonder why no one else had appeared to notice the Minister's sudden erratic behaviour but she guessed it was due to the colony of Wrackspurts that had taken up residence in the Ministry of Magic. Funny little creatures Wrackspurts—they would float through your ears and make your brain go all fuzzy.
Luna was startled out of her thoughts when a particularly nasty plimpy attached itself to her foot and began nibbling on her toes. With slender fingers, Luna plucked the tiny creature from the water, displaying practised ease as she tied its legs into a small knot before dropping it into her battered pail along with the rest of her catches. Luna smiled down at the grumpy faces glaring back at her as their squirmed and strained against their bonds.
Deciding that she had caught enough plimpies to keep her father well stocked for at least the next few weeks, Luna plucked at the fishing nets she had secured with small stones beneath the water's surface. The sound of laughter reached her ears and Luna stopped to listen. For a moment, there was silence. Luna could hear nothing but the rush of the river and the crowing of a bird amongst the trees. She was beginning to believe she had imagined it but then a woman's laugh rang out from behind the brushes and it reminded Luna of soft tinkering bells blowing in a gentle breeze. This time, a man's deep chuckle followed. As Luna watched, two ghostly figures danced out into the open, frolicking towards the riverbed.
Although there was no music, the two people moved together in flawless, elegant motions, to a tune that only they could hear. The woman was beautiful. Her skin was unearthly pale and glowing in the sunlight. She had long translucent hair that spun and twirled about her with each step that she made. Hers eyes were bright and full of joy as she pranced just out of reach of her dance partner. The man who chased her was equally handsome with his tall frame and tanned skin. Laughter was etched on his face as he pursued the woman through the trees and into the shallows of the riverbed. They were lost in each other, oblivious to the world around them, as they played their game of cat and mouse.
Luna watched as they cavorted. She saw each time that the woman would feint—seemingly surrender and allow the man to get close—before dancing beyond his reach once more. From where she stood knee-deep in the stream, Luna witnessed the man's unhurried pursuit. He was slow and tender as he followed the woman in their captivating chase. His movements were unconcerned and his rough chortle rang out from his chest each time she darted out of his reach. It was as though he enjoyed the teasing. That he knew that the beautiful maiden would come to him and their playful dash would end with her in his arms.
"Luna!"
Luna's trance was broken at the sound of her father's amplified voice calling for her from her house. Glancing up at the sun, Luna was surprised to see how late it had become and realised she would have to hurry. When she turned back to face her ghostly companions she greeted with the sight of an empty clearing. They had vanished. Even the sound of their joyous laughter could no longer be heard.
Letting out a sigh of disappointment, Luna began to collect her things before trudging back up the slope towards her home. She hoped that this would not be the only time she saw them. But even if they never appeared before her again, Luna though it had to be a good omen for the year to come. Perhaps the sighting to two ghostly lovers was a sign that she would make friends when she returned to Hogwarts. Either way, Luna left the clearing with a smile on her face as the woman's soft whisper reached her ears one last time.
"Take care, dear Luna."
Daphne Greengrass tried and failed to swallow around the lump in her throat. This was the first time that she had ever been terrified of returning to Hogwarts. Even the nerves she had felt during the train ride of her first year could not compare to the flood of emotions churning through her at this moment. The blood from her face had rushed to her heart which was pounding against her chest. Her normally pale skin had taken on an unsightly shade of grey and sweat was accumulating in her palms.
Glancing down to where she had clasped her hands in front of her, Daphne's gaze became fixated on the gold band that encircled her left ring finger and she suddenly felt nauseous. It was a simple band, its only decoration being a large emerald stone encrusted within the metal; however, its implications were huge. The knowledge of what she had done had weighted her down all summer, but now—on the day that Daphne was to return to Hogwarts and face her peers—the future that had been laid out for her suddenly seemed unbearable. The scorn and judgement that she would face in the coming months made her visibly ill.
The worst part of the whole debacle was that Daphne had no way of knowing if any of her friends would remain by her side after they discovered the truth. She hoped that they would be a shoulder to cry on but the realisation that she may have to follow through with her decision all on her own—without even the support of the man who gave Daphne her ring—forced her to choke back a sudden sob. She would have to find the strength to carry on somewhere within herself because she would have no allies in this battle. In an arranged marriage, a wife must fight for herself. With that thought foremost in her mind, Daphne forcibly tried to ease her frayed nerves but she could do nothing to stop her limbs from trembling or the lump from growing within her throat.
Realising her mother had been trying to catch her attention—her voice had been indistinguishable over the ringing in Daphne's ears—Daphne plastered a strained smile on her face and met her mother's concerned gaze.
"Daphne, are you alright? You look positively green," Aria Greengrass queried her daughter.
Clearing her throat which had gone inexplicably dry, Daphne croaked her response, "I'm fine mother. You know that I detest travelling via Floo," her feeble excuse may have satisfied her mother curiosity but Daphne's younger sister, Astoria, shot her a disbelieving look from where she stood by her side. Recognising her sister's scepticism, Daphne forced herself to relax as she took Astoria's pale hand in her sweaty palm and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Well do try and buck up, dearest," her mother's drawled, all concern having fled from her voice, "Think of what people would say if you appeared at King's Cross looking as you do now. A recently engaged woman like you should not be seen looking like a lamb being carted off to the slaughter," her mother reprimanded. At the word 'engaged', Daphne's hand had tensed tightly around Astoria's, causing her younger sister to wince and pry her fingers from her sibling's tight grasp.
"Forgive me, mother," Daphne tried to appease her mother whilst ignoring the rolling of her stomach, "I did not think about how I would reflect badly on you and father."
"Not just your father and I," Aria scoffed, "Your fiancé will be at Hogwarts with you this year and I doubt he will have any tolerance for you behaving in a manner that does not uphold the high standards of our families' heritages. You'd best keep that in mind before you start gallivanting around like a silly schoolgirl," Aria warned, "There is far too much at stake for you to gain your future husband's disfavour so early on."
Daphne could not answer as the lump in her throat was choking her. She was very well acquainted with everything that her family would lose if her fiancé was to withdraw from the arrangement because she was unsuitable. She knew what was at stake and why this marriage had to be a success for both families. Their protection, safety and honour were all riding on her playing out the role of a perfect pureblood wife. She was to be a trophy on constant display. Ready to be judged, poked and prodded at every moment; never faltering in her duty as the new matriarch of two powerful families joined together by the bonding of her and her future husband. Daphne felt as though she would faint.
"Don't worry, Mother," Astoria voice cut through the fog of escalating horror in Daphne's mind, "I'm sure Daphne won't disappoint you or father." The eldest Greengrass felt a surge of gratitude towards her little sister. Although Daphne had thought it unfair to burden Astoria with her fears and had thus kept her true feelings to herself, it was reassuring to know that there was still someone who had her back.
Unfortunately, their mother was nowhere near as pleased about Astoria's interjection. As Daphne watched on in dismay, her mother's faced morphed into one of disgust as she eyed her youngest daughter with as much contempt that she would direct towards a piece of dung beneath her shoe.
"Well, at least I am certain that she will never be as big of a disappointment as you," Aria snarled at the dark-haired youth, her hateful eyes glaring pointedly at the Slytherin tie that hung from the girl's neck.
Daphne winced as she felt Astoria's whole body flinch under their mother's gaze. She could not stop the spike of pity that surged through her to add to the already chaotic tumble of emotions that she was feeling. When Astoria had been sorted into Slytherin, she had been the first ever in the family, a fact that her mother despised her for. Daphne had hoped that if one good thing could come out of her engagement it would be her mother getting over her prejudice for the Slytherin house. Unfortunately for Astoria, it appeared that Aria had no intentions of ever forgiving her youngest child for the supposed shame she had caused the family.
"I think it's time that the two of you were off," Aria's voice cut through the tension that had been building within the small foyer. All the horror and nerves came flooding back to Daphne at her mother's words. Hogwarts. Her friends. Her fiancé. So caught up in her own despair that Daphne almost did not hear Astoria's murmured query.
"Is dad coming down to say goodbye?"
"No. Your father left for the Ministry early this morning," was their mother's snapped response and both girls sagged in disappointment. Ignatius Greengrass was a firm man who demanded a strict household but the love he had for both his daughters was pure, tender and kind; the complete opposite of his wife. He granted their every wish and did everything in his power to ensure their happiness. If it had been anyone else but her father to approach Daphne about an arranged marriage, she would have fought against it with every fibre of her being. But after the years of dedication and love that Ignatius had showered his family with, she had wanted to do him proud, even if it meant sacrificing her every dream and goal.
"Hurry up or you will miss your train," Daphne numbly watched as her mother hustled Astoria into fireplace. Their trunks had been sent on ahead and without even a word of farewell, Aria thrust the pot of Floo powder at her youngest daughter, tapping her foot impatiently as she did so. Watching as Astoria's downtrodden figure disappeared in a flare of green flames, Daphne only wish was that both of them lasted another year. Grasping her own handful of powder, Daphne stepped over the fire grate and took a constricted breath.
"Platform 9 and ¾!"
As Daphne choked out her destination, tears welled in her eyes as she met her mother's gaze. She was surprised to see it filled with pity. One last thought entered her mind before she was engulfed in green flames. Daphne's life was no longer her own and from here on out, her only goal had to be to survive; for her parents' sake, her sister's sake and, for her own sake, survival was all she could hope for.
As Pansy Parkinson stepped out of a swirl of green flames and onto Platform 9 and ¾ the corners of her mouth drew up into a sneer as a flock of second year Hufflepuffs jumped in fright at her sudden arrival. Their eyes widened at the sight of her Slytherin robes and the group huddled closer together as they shuffled out of her path. Grasping the handle of her trunk, Pansy scoffed as she strode past them, ignoring their whispers and pointed fingers when they saw the new prefect badge glittering against her chest.
Pansy shoved her way through the crowded platform, dragging her trunk along behind her, intent on securing a good compartment early. Her trek towards the Hogwarts Express was not an easy one. A group of rowdy Gryffindor boys made Pansy pause in her path as their scuffle caused them to tumble in front of her and forced her to dodge past a group of teary Mudblood mothers who were fussing over their red-faced offspring. A scowl darkened Pansy's face as she stalked past Longbottom and his abhorrently dressed grandmother. The sudden sight of her caused Pansy's classmate to drop a hideous plant on his abnormally large feet. The plant, upon connecting with Longbottom's toe, released a foul smelling, sticky green substance all over his elderly relative in her vulture hat. Out of the corner of her eye, Pansy watch on in glee as Grandma Longbottom gripped her grandson's ear with her bony talons and squawked indignantly in his face. It was nice to see that some things never changed including Longbottom's ineptitude.
A flash of familiar blond hair in the crowd was an unwelcomed reminder for Pansy that most things inadvertently changed with time. Even from a distance, Pansy could see the differences in her best friend that had been brought on by the summer. Like most of their year mates, Draco Malfoy's body had began its pubescent growth over the holiday and he was now towering noticeably over the younger students. His figure had maintained its sleekness but his face has lost its pointy-edge. His cheekbones were softer, his jaw less angular and his neck was pale and slender. Grey eyes that were framed with dark circles scanned the platform under his white-blond bangs which hung limply against his forehead instead of being slicked back against his skull. Pansy's friend looked good but tired which was understandable after the summer that had just past.
Pansy, on one hand, had been lucky enough to escape to the continent, away from the drama unfolding in Britain. Unfortunately, her salvation had doubled as her own personal purgatory during the long weeks of summer. July had seen Pansy residing in the house of one of her mother's truest friends, Pierette Drury, France's most notable and accomplished witch of this century.
Initially, Pansy had been thrilled about spending a month in Paris, residing in a maisonette along the Seine and spending her time exploring the hidden alleyways of Wizarding France. However, upon arrival at the Drury residence, it became rapidly evident that Amaranta Parkinson neglected one crucial piece of information; the Drury's had a daughter.
A loud-mouthed, obnoxious, insufferable daughter.
A loud-mouthed, obnoxious, insufferable daughter whom Pansy was expected to babysit as a condition of her stay. Pansy had actually been relieved when August had finally rolled around and she was shipped off to her hermit-of-a-father's cabin, secluded away from society on top of the Swiss Alps.
In spite of her horrid summer, Pansy was still thankful to her mother for suggesting that she seek refuge out of London before starting what is bound to be her most stressful year at Hogwarts. Pansy had been exempt from meeting any expectations or answering any life-altering questions. Looking at the hunched shoulders of her best friend—standing as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders—Pansy could tell that Draco had not been free from such pressures. The young Malfoy heir would have been unable to escape from the events that unfolded during the holidays and Pansy felt sympathetic for her housemate as she gazed at his exhausted form.
Just as Pansy was about to call out to him, she noticed that Draco's eyes had stopped their perusal of the bustling platform and were instead gazing steadily at something through the crowd. Curious, Pansy craned her head to glimpse at whatever had caught Draco's stare.
It was Harry Potter.
Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Pansy shook her head at her friend's ongoing fascination with the Boy-Who-Lived. The two of them were like moths to a flame; they were incapable of ignoring each other. As she turned back to her best friend, intent on intercepting him before he lost Slytherin house points prior to the school term even commencing, Pansy was momentarily shocked to see that Draco was not glaring at Potter with his usual hostility. Instead, he was looking at the Gryffindor—who was currently clutching his stomach as he roared with laughter whilst being slobbered on by a mangling black mutt—with a hint of empathy in his neutral gaze.
Blinking away her initial confusion, Pansy was surprised again when she saw an edge of longing creep into Draco's expression. Incredulous, Pansy gazed back at Potter who was now making a feeble attempt at pushing the massive animal away from his red face, seeking for what Draco could possibly desire from the boy.
As she searched, Pansy witnessed the moment when the bespectacled boys' gaze rose to meet Draco's. Surprise flittered across his face before Potter's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Pansy tensed, expecting a sneer, a shout or even a crude gesture but seconds passed and nothing happened. Draco was the one who broke the exchange. The Slytherin turned away, barely even acknowledging Potter's presence. His actions (or lack thereof) caused both Pansy's and the Gryffindor's features to twist in disbelief at his passiveness.
Whilst Pansy gazed concernedly at her friend, she saw a flash of something indistinguishable across his face. She could not decipher what emotion it was but Pansy could recognise Draco's scheming expression from any distance. Unfortunately, the plans that Draco formed involving Potter always went horribly array. Someone was going to end up in the Hospital Wing for sure.
"Draco!" The boy's head whipped around at the sound of Pansy's voice and all signs of plotting fell away as a smile spread across his face at the sight of her. Raising her hand in greeting Pansy grinned as a familiar dark-skinned boy stepped up behind Draco and swung his arm around the Slytherin's shoulders. Blaise's white teeth flashed as Draco jumped at the unexpected contact and his face became tinged with red. With a fond sigh, Pansy stepped forward to stop the pair before they began bickering after Draco's elbow connected with the taller boy's stomach. These two boys were the most important people in Pansy's life after her mother and she was determined to look out for her friends during this coming year. They needed her protection, if only from their own foolishness, and Pansy would provide it.
No matter what the cost.
Any student that had ever been granted access to the Headmaster's office would attest that it is the most terrifying and tremendous experience that one could possibly have at Hogwarts. Terrifying in the sense that a trip to Albus Dumbledore's office was usually the result of some wrong-doing, yet tremendous as the Headmaster's office was unlike any other room within the castle.
The room itself was circular with many towering windows dominating the walls. Wedged in-between these massive panes of shimmering glass were hundreds of portraits, each displaying the sleeping face of a past headmaster or headmistress. Various tables were spread about the room covered in delicate silver instruments that usually whirled and sprouted smoke. The office was a cheerful one and even if a student was only there in the prelude to punishment, they were unable to not gaze around in awe at the impressive room.
Currently, the office had a very different atmosphere. The magical devices were silent and still, the portraits were awake and alert, and even the Headmaster's phoenix remained quiet on its perch, watching the room with its glassy eyes. The Headmaster himself sat behind his desk in his high-backed chair. His face was drawn together in a frown and his blue eyes were dull behind his spectacles as he scanned the piece of parchment clasped in his hands. Three identical chairs were positioned in front of his desk but only one was occupied by his Deputy Headmistress.
Professor McGonagall was at this moment fidgeting in her seat. Her steely stare kept flickering between the clock on the wall and the unlit fireplace as her aged fingers tapped impatiently against the wooden arm of her chair. Her apparent unease was a stark contrast to the stance of the room's third occupant. Severus Snape had preferred to stand, tucked away in the shadows of the office door, rather than sit in the chair intended for him. He was dressed in his usual dark teaching robes and he appeared at ease; unperturbed by the impatience that plagued his colleague. His arms were folded across his chest and his cold eyes watched on steadily as Dumbledore's features twisted with worry as he re-read the letter decorated with the Ministry's seal.
As the clock struck eleven, the fireplace that McGonagall had been watching so anxiously flared into life with a mass of green flames. Both Dumbledore and his deputy headmistress rose to their feet as all three Hogwarts professors turned to meet their expected visitor. Snape's face twisted in sneer and McGonagall's lips pressed together at the sight of the woman who had stepped out of the fire. Dolores Umbridge was clad in green tweed with a fluffy pink cardigan draped over her shoulders. Her face was round and her eyes seemed to bulge in their sockets as they greedily examined the room and its occupants. Dumbledore's expression was stern as he stepped around his desk to greet Hogwarts' newest staff member.
"Madam Umbridge. Welcome to Hogwarts. I trust you will enjoy your time here."
"Ah, Dumbledore," The Headmaster saw Severus wince out of the corner of his eye at the breathlessness of Umbridge's simpering voice, "I'd rather skip the small talk, if you don't mind. The Minister and the school governors have positioned me within the school in order to determine your future at Hogwarts. They expect me to get the job done." A toad like grin spread across her face as Umbridge's unspoken threat caused McGonagall's nostrils to flare and Severus' stance to tense. The new High Inquisitor slipped a podgy hand into her handbag to retrieve some parchment and a quill. Eyeing the trio with a satisfied smirk Umbridge spoke again in her girlish voice.
"So let's begin, shall we?"
This is the only chapter that will have so many split POVs (except for some possible future interludes). From here on out the story will mostly be in Harry's POV or Draco's with the occasional exception. The sequels in the series will be different again.
Hope you enjoyed and please review!