Phantasy

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Chapter 2
The Hogwarts Express

The light-hearted thrumming of a guitar filled the air, a calming, soothing tune that stemmed from the blond haired teen sat within the centre of the room. His half curled blond hair fell forwards slightly, framing his face and the sharp, icy features it housed. But the lips wore nothing other than a small, easy going smile. Long fingers darted about on the neck of the instrument, the twinned hand strumming against the strings as the tune fluttered around them.

The only other occupant of the room was a girl, a few years younger than the boy. She too was blonde, but it was a softer, darker shade than that of the boy's; their features indicating that they were, in no way, related to one another. Her eyes, a bright blue, were glazed over in a dazed fashion as she swayed gently back and forth in time with the music. The boy's voice was made of soft tones that contrasted against the sharpness of the guitar when they joined in with the tune, and a small, easy going simper lit up the young girl's face. For that one moment, she forgot all about the boys that'd hurt her, forgot about the fact she missed her mother, forgot about almost everything she usually worried about, even when her thoughts made no sense.

Instead, she just remained there, lost in the music.


Stood on the pavement outside the entrance to Kings-Cross station, Gellert Grindelwald adjusted the second-hand guitar that was currently slung over his shoulder. Since he'd gathered all the broken pieces from the owner of a music shop who'd been determined to thrown the wreckage out, the blond had been intent on putting it all back together. Riddle had just eyed him oddly, but Gellert ignored him. Ever since the instrument had been invented, well, he'd been one of the first few to own one, there was no way he wasn't going to have one in this time. He'd have to retrain his body to play the right notes, to hold it right, but he'd work it all out eventually. He'd managed it before, and he would without a doubt manage it again.

After the very first day when Albus had turned up, Gellert had watched as the Master of Death had allowed herself to be pulled away so that she may be returned to the tender care of her muggle relatives, the headmaster having placed a rather rushed memory charm on the both of them, as well as all the other orphans and the workers. The rushed spell was more than simple to break through. And the man had returned the next day, giving them what could only be considered a 'proper' introduction to the wizarding world and accompanying them to Diagon Alley himself.
If there was one thing that Gellert could appreciate about Riddle, it was the acting skills. He'd played Albus almost perfectly, if it weren't for his old friends rather unique ability to purely tell if a person had any half decent characteristics, he'd probably have sold the act. So, Albus was quite obviously a little suspicious of the Parselmouth, and if it weren't for his name, Gellert was sure he'd personally have gotten off scot free.
Yet, as it happened, he did have the name of his counter-part, who was currently locked away in his precious base, unfortunate as it was. That of course, along with being in the company of Riddle, saw to it that he was very much under Albus' watchful eyes.

Not that Gellert really cared; he worked best under pressure, as it were.

.

Ten minutes later a car pulled up, and out popped Harry herself, pocketing what was no doubt a shrinking trunk. Neither he or Riddle could access the funds of their counter-part -it'd be like throwing themselves at Albus' mercy- so they'd had to rely on the grant Hogwarts had for the orphan cases. Thus, the second hand robes. Not that Gellert really cared, he was just pleased to be exploring another school, even if he were to be light years ahead of his class-mates.

"I see you haven't killed each other," Harry mused as she approached them, eyeing his guitar in obvious curiosity and Gellert just smiled back. She'd lost some weight, now that she'd spent a good month back at her relatives home and the blond swore to try everything he could to help get her out. To see someone magical treated like a house-elf by muggles, of all beings-

"What's with the guitar?" Harry asked over Riddle's mutterings of 'he couldn't kill me if he tried'.

"Got the parts and fixed it. Shall we?" He gestured towards the station, one hand curling around his trunk and Harry smiled, nodding to him before stepping forwards to lead the way. It was clear from the way Riddle twitched that he wasn't used to this change in pace, which brought up several questions of why? He'd kept his distance at the orphanage too, not approaching Gellert and only snapping when he was pushed too far. Clearly he was testing the waters, preparing, much like a snake rearing to strike. Well, it would surely be an interesting show when he did so, of that, Gellert had no doubt.

.

Personally, Gellert found running through a brick wall to the Platform they needed a bit rudimentary, but he he let it slide by him, instead taking in all the magic around him that he could. The thick layer that rested against the barrier was subtle, a smooth sheet of energy that was packed with muggle-repelents and other such goodies. He couldn't quite pick out every last spell, for time had eroded the barriers between them till they just seemed to meld together, becoming one grand web-work of magic that still served the same purpose but would be infinitely more difficult to cancel. It was the kind of advanced magic that Gellert could have spent days studying, and had not been set up by one lone wizard, and clearly more had been added as time had passed.

Alas, it was not to be, for he too was forced to join the mass of other students that were racing through without stopping to appreciate the beautiful spell work before him. Not even Riddle seemed that interested in it, though the younger Dark-Lord had obvious had seven years to do so as opposed to Gellert himself. Harry seemed to have clocked it, from the way her brilliant green eyes had swept over the magic, but she paid it little interest other than registering the fact it was present. Unlike all the other students that took a good run up to the seemingly solid brick-wall, Harry walked right through, both hands stuck in her pockets and a frown on her face. Riddle went next, passing through in the same calm manner as their raven haired companion.

Running a hand through the fierce blond curls upon his head, Gellert clutched at his trunk with one hand before quickly marching forwards, making sure to keep his steps smooth and calm. There was silence for a moment, as he exchanged one station for another, and then there was a blast of noise as he arrived. Beside the platform, the brilliant red of the Hogwarts express stood tall, steam billowing up out of the funnel above the engine. Gellert too a moment to step back and simply take in the huge train.

"Come on, let's get a compartment," Harry murmured, digging her elbow into his ribs and gesturing after Riddle, who'd already taken off towards the carriages.


The Hogwarts express. Despite the years it'd been, the old engine still felt like home. The worn wood of the carriages still welcomed him, embraced him with the scent that only they carried. All those years of planning, fighting and getting lost in the madness, he'd forgotten the simpler things. He'd known, ever since setting foot on the train back when he'd been a tender eleven year old orphan, blind to the ways of the wizarding world, that if he could, he would make the train his. That had always been one of the end goals, to rule Hogwarts, to have it completely under thumb because it was home. No where else had he ever felt as safe and secure as he did within the confines of the stone walls that'd housed him for seven years of his life.

It was only in that final year before his death -and he sneered at the very thought of it- that he had been able to add the ancient castle to his own territory, and then he'd been unable to fully enjoy the fact he did control it. Because he'd been hunting down the threat, hunting down Potter, as he'd hunted down his Horcruxes. He'd never gotten to fully enjoy it, to completely embrace his victory over the castle he'd coveted for years, before he'd been brutally ripped away from life.

In a fashion that was almost tender, Tom ran his hands down the side of the wood that led towards a compartment door, just revelling in the feel of the walls beneath his fingertips. But, alas, he could already hear his greatest enemy and the one he'd succeeded as Dark-Lord bumbling towards him, the thick soles of their shoes slapping against the steps that allowed them to climb aboard.

With a scowl upon his face, Tom ducked into the nearest compartment, finding it blissfully empty of all living beings. Though he highly doubted it, seeing as the higher-beings that lived on above his world were cruel things, he still hoped that the two wouldn't end up in the very compartment he'd taken refuge in. As he fully expected though, it was a fleeting hope that was quickly killed in its youth as the two in the question dropped onto the bench opposite him. They were both very much different than what he'd have expected them to be.

For a start, the Potter brat -who had ended up a girl in this life, something which still made him smirk- was a lot quieter and seemingly more accepting of his presence here. Hell, she'd not even tried to 'vanquish' him yet. As if he'd allow that to happen again. The idea was almost laughable. Though Potter had without a doubt asked from him to join this crusade to raise Atlantis -something that made his veins hum with pleasure because oh by god was it a challenge, but was it even possible? Could he do something so monumental? Something that alluded even the great Hogwarts four?- that didn't mean she couldn't change her mind. So there was no way that he would be putting all his eggs in one basket.

He needed to somehow slip away from Potter's without a doubt watchful eye and start recruiting. To start spreading his influence. Because his other self had two options. Accept Tom's eventual rule -he will find a way to rid himself of Potter and the joke that had taken on the name Grindelwald- or he could perish along with them. He had no intentions of sharing his rule.

Not even with himself.

.

As the express took of moving at a slow, chugging pace, Tom rolled his eyes in half lived irritation as the blond pressed his face up against the glass. Upon seeing his expression, Potter gave a small smirk, leaning back against the plush surface of the bench and folding her hands over her lap. He could see the familiar holly and phoenix feather wand poking out of the girl's trouser pocket and Tom forced himself not to scowl. His own wand, well it's current location was very much in question at the moment; he had no idea where it could be right now.

All he knew was that by his rebirth, it had eventually made it's way to Pettigrew's hands, and thus, his own. Which meant the wand currently sat in his pocket -twinned dragon heartstrings, cedar wood and thirteen inches- was not his own. It was the closest fit that the pale faced Olivander could provide him with. The blond fool had suffered the same problem, ending up with a phoenix feather core surrounded by elder wood. The latter material had made the idiot quite joyful, if his light chuckles were of any indication.

"Are you quite done, gawking like a gormless idiot?" He could not hold his tongue, not with the rash and freeing way that the supposed Dark-Lord opposite him was stupidly gazing out of the window. The curly head of hair turned to look at him and Tom found himself fixed with a albeit impressive, icy glare. If he were anyone else, he may have even cowered. Yet, he was not.

"Please, you enjoy a short thirteen years without a corporal form; try being locked away for fifty years with nothing but the stone walls to look at." He sneered, the sharp pointed nose rising up from the slight puppy-fat that surrounded his face whilst Potter chuckled beside them.
Silently, Tom raised a brow at the girl, the underlying question of 'what could possibly be so funny' might as well have been written on his face for all that the gesture expressed.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, voice feminine and soft and nothing like he'd ever heard her speak before, because she was oh so amused in his presence unlike ever before, "it's like watching two former alpha's fight over the beta position. Quite entertaining actually."

Once Tom managed to push past the fact she'd dared to compare him to one of those mutts, be it wolf or were-wolf, both were equally as bad, he fixed the girl with his best glower.

"Who is to say one of us is not the alpha?"

"Ha, you say that like she's not already," Grindelwald's voice, dry as the air after dragon fire, cut through the confrontation almost effortlessly, "she's the Master of Death and therefore our better. Whether you wish to admit this fact or bury your head deep within the sand, you know it to be true."

Snarling wordlessly at the two, Tom reached for the advance theory book, burying his nose in it. But the two assuredly knew, that conversation was not over.

Not yet.


Never before had she ever dreamed of something like this happening to her. Before, it'd only been mentioned within books, twenty-six letters upon hundreds of paper pages that would paint such a vivid picture of lands untold; that had been the only place Hermione Jean Granger had expected magic to exist. But then, a witch, a real and true to life witch, had appeared upon her doorstep carrying a thick letter of parchment, written with emerald ink that'd glistened with her name upon the surface. She was magic.

All those weird coincidences hadn't been her mind, they hadn't been faked, nor had they been some grand set up by the multitude of bullies that'd followed her through her life. She was here, in an actually world of magic. A place where she well and truly belonged. And she was currently upon a train, heading towards a well renowned school of magic, which would teach her anything and everything she would ever want or need to know. And by the gods would she make the most of her situation.

That was why, when a frightfully nervous boy had opened her compartment door, stuttering out between sniffles and snuffles that he'd lost his toad, well, Hermione had jumped at the chance to help. Perhaps, just maybe, she could make some friends here, friends that would like her for who she was and not for the homework help he could provided, unlike all the others before them. The boy, whom upon learning she would help him had introduced himself as Neville Longbottom, was currently following her as she made her way from compartment to compartment, still wringing his hands out in that awfully anxious fashion. So far, they'd run into a bunch of older Hogwarts students who'd been wearing green ties and had snubbed them, not even bothering to answer their question, and two red-head twins that had chased them down the carriage hallways with a tarantula. The bushy haired girl could only pray and hope that not everyone was the same as the unfortunate lot they'd already met. She knocked at the next wooden door and quickly slid it back before she could be told to 'get lost' again, peering inside.

.

The first thing she noticed was the lack of house colours and she smiled because they just had to be fellow first years. And then, she well and truly got a good feel of not just the people in the compartment, but the atmosphere of the place.

It was just like back in the amazing wizarding alleyway she'd been shown; the air was thick with undiluted magic, three different kinds as far as she could tell. And the source of each were the students before her. None of the older students had given off this impression when she'd imposed upon their compartments, so they were either better at hiding their aura, or these three were extraordinary powerful. The first one she noticed was the blond, a head of thick curly hair that was sat nearest the window, face almost pressed up against the glass as the scenery went by. He seemed completely absorbed with looking out of the glass, so much so that Hermione could only get a grasp of his facial features using his reflection. Even with that blurred form, she could tell he was all sharp angles and that there seemed to be almost no warmth on his person. Though he did seem completely at ease with the two dark haired students he was sharing with. The second one she noticed was the other male, sat upon the opposite bench with his head tilted down towards the book before him.
Her heart leapt; a kindred spirit? His hair was cut shorter on one side, parted off to the right of his head and fell in lazy half-waves that looked like he'd ripped them right from the 1940's. From what she could see of the boy's face, he was admittedly the most beautiful boy she'd ever had the pleasure to lay her eyes upon. There were few words she could begin to describe him with, only to exaggerate on how very handsome he was. And he read too, she'd never met a boy so pretty who also seemed to be so intelligent. She could tell from just looking at him.

"Can we help you?"

At the female voice, Hermione turned to the last member of the little space she'd entered, who just blinked back at her. Unlike the two that she was sharing with, this girl was not breathtakingly beautiful. In fact, she looked rather ordinary. Her raven coloured hair was as messy as Hermione's own, though it fell around her head somewhat straighter than the brunette's bushy waves. The only thing that was worth noticing upon the girl was her startlingly bright green eyes, which were still focused upon her. If she had to ever describe this girl again, from this one encounter, all Hermione would ever be able to say was that she felt... Old. Like she'd seen too much, done too much.

"Yes, Neville has lost his toad," she gestured behind her, the faint sounds of the boy eeping confirming that Neville had yet to flee the scene. The girl before her smiled, it was almost bitter-sweet the way she did, before she pulled a wand from her pocket.

"Oh! Are you going to do some magic! I've tried a few spells, and they've all worked for me so far; I've read all the textbooks too, have you? Have you read Hogwarts a History? I do hope I know enough. I'm muggle-born you see, so I've got so much catching up to do-"

"A filthy mud-blood like you will never catch up."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

The beautiful boy had looked up from his text-book now, dark grey eyes flashing with hatred and Hermione felt something deep inside her die and crumble beneath his gaze and vicious words. She didn't know what that word meant, but it was quite clearly a slur, and if the way the Neville had gasped as blond boy snapped to attention at the sound of it, it was a filthy one. Before she could even begin to think about it, a bright light had flown from one side of the compartment to the other, smashing into the boy who smacked back against the bench with a grunt, book falling from his hand.

The green-eyed girl was stood up now, wand in hand and an absolutely fierce expression upon her face as she took a quick step forwards and dug her wand into the tender pale flesh of the boy's neck.

"Watch your words Riddle, my mother was muggle-born," she growled. Hermione understood instantly.
Mud-blood was a very serious word, quite clearly, and it was derogatory against anyone born to two muggle parents. Professor McGonagall had explained she would be considered muggle-born in this world, but she'd had no idea it was something that was frowned up. The only other occupant of the room, the curly blond boy, was watching the fight with passive interest, as if he were more bothered by the rapidly approaching outcome than the currently going ons.

And then, to Hermione's absolute amazement, the dark haired boy began hissing at the girl, sharp, stinging sounds that left his mouth and sounded more like they belonged between the lips of a snake. And the girl replied back. As if they were communicating. How fascinating! Was it a wizarding language? Would she be able to learn it? Where the two of them from wizarding backgrounds, was that how they knew it? The girl had to be; she'd said her mother was muggle-born which meant her father had to have been someone from a wizarding background, otherwise the dark-haired boy would have been throwing slurs at her too.
Instead, he seemed to begrudgingly back down from the owner of the wand that was currently pressing just above his collar bone, picking up the book he'd dropped and ignoring all of their presences completely. Finally, the girl stepped out of the compartment -once she'd shooed Hermione out of the way to do so- before closing the door herself.

.

It wasn't until Neville let out a low, shallow whimper that Hermione even remembered the boy was present.

"Sorry about Tom, I'm still trying to beat the problem he has with muggle-borns out of him. Saying that though, Gellert isn't exactly a big fan of muggles either... I'm surprised he didn't snipe anything in. Though he's never claimed to have anything against muggle-borns..." The girl trailed off, rubbing her hand in an almost nervous manner against the back of her neck as her green eyes peered at her from behind the thick lenses of her glasses. Hermione's mind rung within her head, calling for her to remember just where it was that she'd heard of the name Gellert before, because she recognised it and it was without a doubt uncommon for a name.

"Anyway, I'm Harry." The girl murmured, sticking out her hand to shake Hermione's own. The bushy haired girl did so, curiosity piped because there was suppose to be some famous girl called Harriet Potter of the train; was she maybe-

"Neville Longbottom." Neville had already shook hands with the girl and Hermione cursed her own brain because she hadn't introduced herself right.

"Her-Hermione Granger," she stammered, watching as Harry's face lit up and she drew her wand again.

"Great, now what's your toads name?"
Neville stuttered out the name as Harry carefully placed her wand upon her palm, tongue peeking out from between her lips in concentration. And oh, how desperate was Hermione to ask what spell the girl had used to send the beautiful, hateful boy -Tom- into the bench-wall. But she didn't dare break the girl's concentration as she whispered 'point me' at the long, thin wood in her hand. To Hermione's amazement, the wand spun about, Harry walking up and down the corridor before she stopped and grinned.

"Accio Trevor!"

And like a bullet, the toad came shooting towards them from down the corridor, Neville scrambling to catch his wayward pet whilst bumbling out several 'thank you's' as he did so.

"Are you Harriet Potter?" Hermione finally asked, watching as Harry looked up at her. And then, the girl had the audacity to wink at her.

"That's me. If you can bear the presence of Tom again, you can join us and ask all the questions you want."
Oh it was so very tempting, she had so many questions bubbling up on the very tip of her tongue and Harry seemed oh so very nice so far. She defended her against the boy who was perhaps maybe her friend and she'd helped them find Neville's toad with a spell Hermione had not yet read about.

She turned to Neville, silent question in her eyes and the boy nodded nervously, heading back to the compartment they'd been sharing as she called after him, promising to return later. Her desire to know was simply overrunning everything else.

.

Before her, Harry gently pushed open the compartment door again, ducking in and taking a spot on the bench next to Tom so that Hermione wouldn't have to. Instead, she found herself looking towards the blond haired boy -Gellert? That was one of the names Harry had said, had she been referring to this boy?- who was now fully paying attention In fact, he'd held out his hand towards her in greeting.

"Gellert," he introduced himself and Hermione quickly took note that this boy was oh so very nice to look at too -not as much as the offensive Tom, but close- as she slipped her hand in his. And to her mortification, he brought it to his lips to brush them against the backs of her knuckles.

"Her-Hermione," she stammered out, listening to the boy's accented, throaty laugh as Tom grimaced at him from across the other-side of the compartment. The blond haired boy tapped at the bench beside him and Hermione dropped down, legs suddenly feeling weak. Was this how all wizard's greeted one another? How very little she knew of this world and it's customs, she was so out of her depth it was almost unbelievable.

"Ignore Gellert, he seems to like playing with people," Harry murmured, sending a stern look at the source of her embarrassment. Gellert, a merry-wild smile upon his face, simply lifted his palms up in a gesture of half-hearted surrender, clearly unable to help the grin upon his face.

"First, yes I did survive the killing curse, no those books have never come to ask me questions so they can't be accurate as I was the only survivor, and no, I don't want to talk about that. Anything else is fine."
At the first bit of her words, Harry had shot the dark-haired boy a smirk, and Tom seemed to tense at the mention of it, bringing the book closer to his face as if to shield himself. Hermione herself was rather upset, because she had plenty of questions about that night. But the girl's words rang true. She had been the only survivor of that night, and to even ask a question about the night she had been made an orphan when they were nothing more than strangers would be rather tactless.

So instead, she asked, "what were those spells you used earlier? I've not read about them in any of the books I bought."
Beside her, Gellert chortled softly, inspecting his wand and rubbing the polished wood upon his shirt, as if to rid it of the messy finger-prints that rested upon the surface.

"The first was an obnoxiously overpowered Expelliarmus. Disarming charm. It's not stuff for firsties," the blond murmured. He didn't sound English, Hermione noted, though it wasn't a harsh accent that accompanied his words. It just gave him more character it seemed, a kind of emotion to his words that otherwise wouldn't belong there.

"The second," Harry mused, picking up where her icy featured friend had left off, "was a summoning charm. Also not something you'd learn in first year... Though I suppose you could look it up in the library if you wanted. Every heard of exploding snap?" And the girl pulled out a collection of cards from her pocket, a slight gesture to Hermione enquiring if she wished to join both her and Gellert in the game. And while she had so many more questions to ask, so much she wished to know, she forced it down. Because here she sat, in the company of two people she may tentatively call friends in the future.

So she hoped anyway.


Ron Weasley was a simple boy. He came from a big family, with five older brothers and one younger sister. So, it was to be expected, that he had very little to call his own. Even now on the way to Hogwarts, that hadn't changed. Percy's old rat was sat upon his lap, and he was sharing a compartment with two other people, who'd vacated it half an hour ago to set off on a quest to search for a missing toad. So when only one returned, clutching at the lost beast, Ron was of course curious.
As Neville managed to choke out the words that together meant Harriet Potter had helped him, Ron was without a doubt intrigued.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one to overhear.

"Potter's on the train?" Fred, one of the five older siblings that Ron -in his opinion- had been cursed with, cried out from where he'd poked his head into the compartment. Instantly there were calls and shouts down the corridor, and Ron watched as a pack of future Slytherins -no doubt about it- passed by with a Malfoy -yuck- at the head, and Ron felt to need to hit somethin hard. Because he couldn't even have information as simple as this without his brothers -and thus, everyone else- finding out.


Sneering at the two chatting girls that Goyle pushed aside, Draco Malfoy made his way down the multitude of compartments with purpose in his stride.

Harriet Potter was on the train. And if there was anything his father had taught him, it was the importance of making new connections. He'd known Crabbe and Goyle since he was a child, his mother encouraging them to 'play nice together' because they'd end up in the same year at Hogwarts. At first, Draco hadn't liked it; he was clearly smarter than the two boys, and neither of them wished to play Quidditch, their only interest seemed to be food.

But then, then his father had sat him down and explained the benefits of having the two larger boys as friends. They could very well protect him, and his father had been right on his other point. Stood side by side and a little behind him, the two boys did make him seem more intimidating. That, his father had said, would make gaining allies a lot easier on the train. And while the interior décor of his current transport wasn't up to his usual standards -but then again, what was- he'd make do.

Because he was off to Hogwarts, and he was going to be placed in Slytherin and he planned to gather together his year group and start off his own little web of influence. Just like his father. Though, if he was smart about it, he'd be able to extend it outwards to Ravenclaw and maybe even Hufflepuff; because while he might not want to end up there, it couldn't hurt to know people in different places.

.

Coming to a halt at the only closed compartment door, Draco raised an eyebrow as he looked inside through the frosted glass. No other compartment had glass like this, so someone had clearly used some form of spell on it to protect their identity. Draco was in no way stupid; there was only one person on board that could possibly be famous enough to warrant such measures. Though he had no idea who had put the spell up.
He knocked once before quickly sliding the door open, taking in all the appearances before him. Two boys, two girls. He clenched his jaw a bit, because the two boys were in clear second-hand robes -poor plebeians, what could she possibly be doing sharing with people like this?- and while they may pay some attention to their looks -both their hair was styled just so to empathise their features- Draco wasn't here for them. Instead, he took a good look over the two girls.

The bushy-haired one had the front of her wild locks curled back around her ears, showing off a clean forehead, so it wasn't her. Which left the one with messy black hair.

"They're saying that Harriet Potter is in this compartment," he declared, watching as the girl looked up at him and then raised an amused eyebrow from behind her wire-frame glasses.

"Yes?" She titled her head to a side, the messy black bangs covering her forehead shifted slightly, the very edge of a scar peeking out. Excellent, he was in the right place, talking to the right people. Her green eyes seemed to peek around him, taking in Crabbe and Goyle and Draco forced himself not to role his eyes.

"That's Crabbe and Goyle," he strode forwards into the compartment, extended his hand and noticing that the dark haired boy looked up in slight interest. Still, he ignored the filthy poor boy and offered Harriet Potter his best smile.

"And I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." Not even a twitch of the face. She didn't seemed to react at all. Though she did reach out to place a hand in his, even as the wild looking blond let out a laugh. And Draco, still with his hand holding the girl's whipped his head around to glare at the two males.

"No one asked the opinions of two filthy poor urchins."

.

He wasn't sure what happened, the only thing he remembered was facing the two boys as he snapped out his insult, just the way his father did whenever they passed the poor people on the streets. The next thing he remembered was a tug on his arm before his face became far too familiar with the plush material of the bench which he'd been thrown into. There was a scuffle like sound behind him for a second, and when Draco looked up, ready to yell at the girl that'd pulled him along like a rag-doll, he froze in place.

Because the dark-haired boy had, at some point in those short two seconds, shot to his feet and aimed his wand at him. And Harriet Potter had pulled him out of the way, all but pressing herself up against the poor filth before him with her wand jabbing against the boy's jawline. What, perhaps, was most surprising was the dark-haired boy had responded to the threat instantly, and had his wand pointed into the girl's shoulder-blade, right at her heart.

"Draco, I think it's time you go if you can't keep your mouth shut. Come back when you grow up." She didn't move from her position, in fact, she dug her wand into the boy a little more when the dark wand he held twitched towards Draco's form.

Though he would never admit it, the Malfoy scion had never scrambled from a room faster, ears burning hot with humiliation at the sound of the blond boy's laughter. As he turned, ready to hurl one last parting slur at the two boy's that ruined what could have been a perfect partnership with the girl-who-lived, he froze when the dark grey eyes found his own lighter ones.

Still held back at wand-point, the boy was glaring at him and Draco suddenly felt the need to submit, to roll over and show the metaphorical underside of his belly, just so he wouldn't have to fight that. It only just hit in now, the magic that was whirling around inside the room, snapping about between the two in the center of the compartment. Draco may have been ignorant to it till now, but he wasn't stupid. He knew when to retreat.

Even if getting back at the lot of them meant waiting till a later date.


Sweet god, do not even ask me how I managed to type so much for one chapter, I have no idea. Here's hoping I can keep it up.

On Hermione; I absolutely adore her character, there was no way I wasn't going to let her into the inner workings of the trio. She offers up a lot of opportunities, not just for Gellert to tease her, but for a lot of confrontation and tension between Tom. I don't want perfectly smooth dynamics, I want fights. And I can't think of anything that would result in Harry snapping to action more than the Mud-blood slurs and Hermione herself.

On Ron and Draco; Not much Ron for the moment, though he will eventually be included. He is, after all, just an eleven year old boy, and he's certainly not as mature as Hermione. Just like Draco here, he has his own share of problems -the whole inferiority complex brought on by his older siblings, and Harry's fame plus the two Dark-Lord genii won't help that- and I plan on having both his and Draco grow as a character till they're fully included in the plans.

On Luna; though she won't be popping up till next year, there's no way in hell that girl is getting left out. She offers up far too many possibilities.

On Gellert and his muggle-muggleborns business; It states on the wiki that Gellert wished to dominate the muggles, that he believe them inferior to wizards due to their lack of magic. And while I can't see him favouring muggle-borns over pure-bloods, I don't think he'd wish to hurt them like Tom does, not when Hermione is so clearly 'Harry's', as he sees it.

On the other Grindelwald and Voldemort; They are very still around, though I will be getting to them shortly.

By the way, does anyone happen to wish to be a beta for this story? I've read through his chapter, but I'm almost sure I've missed something or another.

Thanks for reading,

Tsume
xxx