Chapter Four ~Detention~
That evening after supper but before the pudding appeared Draco watched as Professor McGonagall stood and left the Great Hall, smiling at Adelaide and nodding at him on her trip between the house tables towards the large, wooden doors. Both he and Adelaide followed behind, Draco more slowly than the latter who seemed even to be excited. Detention, on his second night. If only he had more time to study the books he had found but he had them shrunk in his pocket in case he ever had a spare moment.
Adelaide also had a book shrunk and bouncing around in her robe pocket. Her photo album that Gran Minerva and her father had helped her fill. A photo album of her mother's pictures. Isobel had been fond of both muggle and wizarding photography and had even owned a Polaroid camera which Minerva had bought for her on her 14th birthday, much to the confusion of Isobel's wizard father, Elphinstone. None the less Isobel had thrived on capturing every image she could, whether it was the people she loved or a beautiful sunset. This habit had continued up until her death and so the photo album was bustling with both still and moving images.
Upon entering the classroom leading to Professor McGonagall's office she informed Draco that he was to dust every shutter in the well-windowed room without the use of magic. "I have some grading for you to help me with upstairs, Miss Hart." She announced as climbed the stairs to her office and waiting for Adelaide to enter before she closed the door. Spying the muggle feather duster on the desk near the door Draco picked it up and then banished the dust on half the shutters with his wand. laying the duster at his side, he then sat down, un-shrunk his book and began to study the effects of poisons on precious stones.
Upstairs, however, the atmosphere was far less morose. The two women settled themselves in the worn, purple arm-chairs next to the fire and the wireless radio ready for the Quidditch match between the Hollyhead Harpies and McGonagall and Adelaide's favourite team, the Montrose Magpies, that was set to start in half an hour. Adelaide rummaged through her pocket and pulled out the miniaturised book in order to return it to its original size while the professor retrieved her partially finished embroidery from the end table to her left. "You know," McGonagall addressed her granddaughter "I think we should decide upon another way to have our evenings together. The other student will start to wonder why I give you detention for the smallest things and why you look so pleased about it. That is not to say you won't receive punishment for misbehaviours, I will do my job, even if you are my granddaughter."
"I wouldn't expect any less from one of the toughest teachers of Hogwarts." Adelaide laughed at the startled expression of the elder. "Neville Longbottom told me that you are, and I quote 'as tough as Devil's Snare'" Both women laughed.
"Oh, Longbottom. He's a lovely boy. Not brilliant at transfiguration, poor dear but I hear from Pomona that he is a whiz at herbology." McGonagall nodded to herself. "I just remembered," she said as she startled herself out of her memories. "We haven't had any dessert." Setting down her fabric and needle the old woman summoned a house elf.
"You would like it now, missus?" asked the elf and at McGonagall's nod the she popped away only to be back within seconds holding a tray with a teapot, two cups, a steaming tray of bread and butter pudding with caramel sauce and a small stack of bowls and spoons. Adelaide, her grandmother, and apparently her mother's favourite. They then sunk into easy chatter about each of their days as the elf rested the tray on McGonagall's desk. This was not an uncommon occurrence. Many evenings Adelaide would floo her way to this very office and sit with her Gran as she sewed and they both listened to whatever Quidditch match was reported on that night. Often their meeting included the same tea and pudding they were now delighted with.
"You look so much like her." McGonagall stated after they finished their pudding.
"Sorry?" Adelaide had been distracted by her mother smiling and brushing tendrils of dark, curly hair away from her face from a page in the album. Her favourite photo.
"You look so much like my Isobel," McGonagall repeated "Honestly, my dear. You are practically her when she was sixteen, even in temperament."
Adelaide had heard this often from her Gran, as well as from her father and her friends when they saw Isobel's photo but she loved hearing it even if she know she could never match her mother's careless beauty. Where Isobel's figure was petite, her eyes vibrant green with curling hair as darks as night, Adelaide's figure could be described as merely small, her eyes were dark, even verging on hazel rather than green and her dark, though not black hair fell in loose waves instead of her mother's bouncing curls. Adelaide not only idolised her mother for her beauty but also for her creativity, clear in her photographs; her intelligence that showed in her school marks and most of all for her bravery. Adelaide missed Isobel, even if she hadn't known her past the time of Adelaide's infancy.
After half an hour of eating, chatting and looking at photos, either of Isobel or that Isobel had taken, Adelaide stood to turn on the radio sitting on the mantle above the roaring fire. "You know" She said, sinking back into the comfortable arm chair "I feel a little sorry for Draco out there."
"Yes, so do I." The elder responded. "But he did disobey me and I'm afraid this is the punishment."
Adelaide countered "It's just that he is the only person to have offered me any type of kindness." Deliberately she left out her meeting with Potter. She knew how the professor liked him and didn't wish to offend her with her own views of the boy as she had done before.
"I know for certain that he is a fan of Quidditch." McGonagall thought out loud. "Oh, yes. Alright, go and fetch him for me, please Dear."
Adelaide stood, walked to the door and opened it. Remembering her Gran didn't like it when she yelled, she walked down the stairs to Draco who looked up from his busy dusting. "Gr...Professor McGonagall asked if you would please come upstairs." She stood and waited while Draco put down his duster and met her at the foot of the stairs before turning and heading for McGonagall's office again with Draco in tow.
"Miss Hart, Dear will you bring the chair from my desk over for Malfoy, please." McGonagall said from her place by the fire and Adelaide did so as Draco stood awkwardly in the professor's office. "And Mr. Malfoy, do fetch yourself some pudding." Taken aback, Draco did so, with a generous helping of caramel sauce and sat silently in the chair Adelaide had brought over for him. At that moment the much awaited game began. Draco found himself calmer and more settled then he had been for a long time relaxing and eating pudding, if not slightly confused at the turn of events. The static-y Quidditch game with the excited and frustrated comments of both women soothed his stress and soon he, too became involved with the unofficial commentary of the room.
"It's such a shame they have never decided to film Quidditch games." Adelaide sighed at the end of the game. "Muggle television salesmen would do a roaring trade with the amount of fans out there. That is, if wizards could figure out how to use it but Listening to it just isn't the same as seeing it,"
The older women agreed "But watching it on a television set is still much different to seeing from the pitch-side. Dear, you must try out for the Sytherin team. You would be a wonderful seeker and as much as I hate to say it, would give Potter a run for his money."
Draco started at this. He was the Slytherin seeker and initially he may not have earned his place on the team but since he had proven himself to be and adequate, if not pleasing seeker. The professor noticed the young man staring at the carpet and turning red to match it. "Oh, Mr. Malfoy, dear. I'm terribly sorry I forgot you were Slytherin's usual seeker." McGonagall blushed afraid she may have offended the boy. He was a Slytherin but he was still one of her students and she felt for her mistake.
"You're Slytherin's seeker!" Adelaide could barely hold her excitement in. "Why didn't you tell me?" Draco did not have an answer but luckily did not need one as Adelaide's joy kept her talking. "You must show me your manoeuvres. Come on, Please!" Quidditch was one of the only thing her and her father could relate to each other through. Though, as she got older and her father became more miserable listening to the games with him became less enjoyable and soon the radio was shared with her grandmother and not her father. She may have inherited her talent from her former Quidditch champion father but she got her love for the game from McGonagall.
After Isobel's death Niels Hart resigned his place on the Hyperion Hippogriffs to dedicate his time to raising Adelaide but this, however was not the only reason. The Hippogriffs were the likely team to win the competition that year and so The Daily Prophet buzzed around Niels, their star Keeper. To keep the reporters from delving too far into the specifics of the tragedy Niels moved himself and his toddler daughter to a small cottage and got a job in a muggle printing press. Due to the general assumption that his retirement had been because to grief after the losing his wife and child and not to some magical cover-up, the fascination with the former champion died out soon after. Niels then, with the help of his mother-in-law raise his daughter who lived.
As Adelaide began to be able to care for herself Niels had turned to alcohol to sooth his depression, rather than his little girl. This is not to say he didn't love Adelaide, he truly did but the devastation of losing his wife had left his heart too broken to fully be repaired. This all caused Adelaide to be increasing hesitant to attend schooling away from home as her time to leave approached but she was reminded both by her father and more so by her grandmother that she must begin to look for a future and away from the past.
After the two students were dismissed from their professor's office they accompanied each other to their house common room. Draco's mind was still in the pages he had read earlier but Adelaide's was on him and his position in Quidditch. Question upon question she piled on top of him, about brooms, and flying and the movements of the snitch. She even went so far as to ask if the seat of his broom was comfortable because hers apparently was not. With each question Draco's answer was minimal and he merely shrugged when he could avoid using words. The calm he felt earlier had been slowly melted like a snowman in the harsh sun. Doubts and fears began to seep into his very bones making feel sick to his stomach. Suddenly, here in the hallway next to an anxiously chattering girl the weight of his mission crashed to his shoulders and as if he physically felt it, his body crumbled into a crouch with his head in his hands.