So this just came to me, and I had to publish it. Review, or PM me and tell me if it should stay a one-shot, or should I keep on going with it? Feedback, please(:
Disclaimer: If I were JK Rowling, what on Earth would I be doing here, writing fanfiction about my story?
At Hogwarts, the colors of the tie around your neck meant more about yourself than spoken words ever did. Yellow and black was worn by the cheerful; the friendly peaceful ones that often got ignored and pushed to the side. Blue and bronze showed that you were intelligent (and possibly a Know-It-All) and were prone to spouting out quotes about "the mind is the greatest weapon" and such. Wearers of red and gold were adored by all (even the teachers, excluding Snape, favored them) and known for gallant shows of bravery that weren't very well thought out. Green and silver was another matter entirely. They were cunning and sly, but most of the others students (usually the Gryffindors) and some professors thought of them as a group of future Death Eaters. Oh, how evil they were rumored to be; why, even You-Know-Who himself had been in Slytherin! Why, they were just slimy stuck-up Death-Eater kids who despised everyone else! But the others turned a blind eye to the fact that it wasn't just the Slytherins that didn't exactly work to promote unity among the four houses. Oh no, once the sorting hat screeched that house after being placed on your head; you were branded. No one else wanted to talk to you, so why would you try and talk to them? You were too proud to try and beg for the friendship of a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. So it was a fact (not well-known) that the relationships between the Slytherins went much deeper than that of any other house. Complicated, messy relationships they were, but bonds that held on strong. But no one had suspected exactly how much those bonds would be tested.
Draco Malfoy watched as students were ushered onto the train, mudbloods being dragged away screaming, parents with tears streaking down their faces, tiny first years with wide frightened eyes and trembling hands. It was sickening. He had been looking forward to coming to Hogwarts; just to get away from the place he had previously called his home. He wasn't stupid, no; he knew that Hogwarts wouldn't be the same school it had been. But it was still suppose to bear some resemblance to the place where Draco had spent the past six years, at least maintain a shaky skeleton of its old self. But the War had leaked into the school, had soured even the last bits of hope that remained.
"Draco?" he turned to face the first person (besides his mother) who had spoken his name without cruelty or contempt in the past few months. Pansy. Pansy Parkinson, who he hadn't wrote to all summer. He had thought about it, knowing that Pansy would send frilly letters full of petty words about dresses and parties and how much she missed him with all her heart, but didn't want to risk one of the Death Eaters seeing who it was addressed to and getting her caught up in it all. But by the looks of her, she had gotten caught up in it all, with or without Draco's help. Pansy wasn't ugly, rather on the pretty side (except for that unfortunate pug-like nose), always taking great pride in her looks. But her previously glossy hair had lost its shine, now just brushed back with a ribbon. Dark circles puffed up under her eyes, which were weary. The War hadn't done Pansy well.
"Pansy," he nodded at her. Their relationship was…complicated. Pansy was (or had been, now he wasn't so sure) certain they were going to get married and raise little Malfoy babies together, and for the past six years she had been like the flu: just when it seemed like she was gone for good, she popped right back up again.
"How's your summer been? Mine was lovely, just lovely. Really enjoyed the weather, got a few good days of sunshine here and there. The House Elves found a new recipe for the lemon tarts, even though they've been making it the other ways forever. But Father prefers the new way, although Mother's still clinging to the old style; so old-fashioned she is, but I honestly think that-"Pansy was rambling, a sure sign she was nervous.
"Oh," Draco blinked, tuning back in as Pansy paused, wrinkling her nose. "Doesn't seem like the summer's done any good for her, does it?" she commented snidely as a thick blond Hufflepuff walked by them. At least she still has a little bit of the old Pansy Draco noted. No matter how annoying the girl could be, she had stuck by him even when he had ignored her; and that counted for something, even in Draco's mind. It was somewhat comforting that not everything had changed, even if it was just Pansy's rude comments.
They went and found an empty compartment, near the back. They were soon joined by Nott, who had bloodshot eyes and gave them both nods. Theodore Nott wasn't Draco's friend (Malfoy's didn't need friends, just connections) but one of the few people he saw as an equal. Quiet and reserved, he kept to himself, seldom speaking his thoughts aloud, which made his words all the more precious when he did choose to open his mouth. Nott was always in the library, Slytherin's better version of Granger, without the Know-It-All attitude and the bushy hair. Nott was peculiar, easily slipping under the radar. Draco envied the boy sometimes, able to shoot off a couple of philosophical statements and bury himself in a book.
Blaise Zabini soon sauntered back, carelessly sitting next to Parkinson and complaining about how early he had gotten up that morning. If Draco had any friends, Blaise would have been one of them. A self-proclaimed "ladies man", known for his deviously rich mother,good looks, and the uncanny ability to sneak Firewhiskey onto school grounds after every Quidditch game; he waltzed through life with the ease only one with no worries or good acting could manage. He was the latter, thanks to the dark tattoo that Draco knew swirled on his left forearm, identical to Draco's; the same tattoo Nott had received just a few weeks prior.
"Pansy!" the four seventh year Slytherins looked up as a screech bounced off of the walls, Blaise groaning at the noise and covering his ears, Draco frowning slightly, and Nott simply raising an eyebrow and continuing to read from the thick, suspicious-looking book he held.
"Daphne!" Pansy stood up, nearly flattening Zabini as she rushed out to embrace a curvy strawberry blonde who was beaming. Daphne Greengrass, one of the biggest airheads Draco had ever met (and he had met a lot of airheads) was shrieking with delight, as if Pansy were her twin that had supposedly perished in a house fire, then turned up 20 years later. He had once considered dating Daphne (if only for her natural-hotness and association with the Greengrass name) but he would've shoved her off the Astronomy Tower by now. She was just another one of Pansy's Groupies, only good for snogging (which she was very good at, or so Blaise confirmed) and parroting whatever Pansy said, like one Pansy wasn't enough. Although she was rumored to be quite good at Charms, which might be useful to her later in the year. If she makes it that far Draco thought grimly. Daphne Greengrass was frail, needed protection. She wouldn't last long in this new world.
"And where's the other Ms. Greengrass? Too grown-up now to grace us with her presence?" Blaise commented lightly to Daphne, who gave him a giggle and a small smile.
"No, Tori's just with her little 5th year friends," she said, earning a smirk from Blaise that made the tips of her ears turn pink. Draco let out a sigh of relief at not having to face the younger Greengrass just yet. Really, a little 5th year shouldn't have been causing him as much worry as she had, but he couldn't help but wonder about what she would say when she first saw him. His last memories of the girl were of them bickering passionately, then somehow tumbling into Snape's potions closet and snogging until he was fairly certain his pumpkin juice had been spiked that morning. And five mornings before that to be honest, because there was just no way her would willingly snog Little Greengrass like that five bloody times, unless he was under the influence. She was just a distraction the voice inside his head reassured him. He found himself agreeing with it. After all, what better distraction from being given the task of having to murder your Head Master than some good snogs snuck in here and there? And it wasn't like Little Greengrass was ugly; no, quite pretty actually, with long black curls and bright green eyes. Yes, Draco found himself thinking smugly, there had been nothing wrong in his actions corresponding with the younger Greengrass. Hadn't he deserved to be able to act like any other normal teenager, if only for a few minutes? And if Little Greengrass tried to talk about it, he would just flat out deny everything.
The two girls chattered nervously about mundane topics, trying to make up for the gloom that seemed to hang in the air, forcing its way down Draco's throat. Finally, they sat in silence, listening to the screams and cries from the platform.
"That's what happens when you're a Mudblood, dearies," all their heads snapped up as Alecto Carrow stood in front of the door to the compartment, grinning nastily and rubbing her hands together in glee. Draco found her revolting. None of them spoke. Nott simply continued to read his book, his fingers tapping on its spine. Blaise seemed content to stare coolly out the window, Pansy inspecting her nails and Daphne's eyes bouncing everywhere, never focusing for long on one thing.
Alecto frowned, obviously not getting the reaction she had wanted. Going to have to try better than that Draco thought darkly as the woman scowled, then stormed away. Filthy dog, a low-ranking Death-Eater with no real purpose, except her glee in torturing the innocent and clueless that rivaled even Aunt Bella's. I'll bet anything that moronic brother is here too he thought, picturing the duo prowling up and down the Hogwarts's Express. A younger Draco would've quickly said that anything to do with Muggles had no place in the Wizarding World, much less Hogwarts. But a younger Draco still believed his father would always protect him and the Malfoys would always live in comfort. It wasn't that Draco had gone soft-he scoffed at the idea, if anything, he had turned even more stoic in the past few months-but the thought of children and their parents being tortured while other children watched seemed...wrong. No, it was wrong. Platform 9 3\4 was forever tainted, much like his cellar, his dining table- all of Malfoy Manor; unsanitary.
But Draco wasn't a Gryffindor, and he wasn't going to march up to the Carrows, puffed up with pride, demanding equality and such. No good would come out of it; only his following demise and his mother and father being tortured within an inch of insanity. No, no good could come out of it. Besides, he reminded himself, you didn't come to Hogwarts to stop the War he thought, clenching his left sleeve while he looked around the compartment at his fellow Slytherins, all looking weary and aged beyond their years.
So, one-shot, or more chapters? Review review review!