A/N. I have to say, everything on here written by Aurette is stellar. She's kept me up days reading all of her stories. She's a Severus/Hermione expert – so if you like that pairing, go check her out.
A Little Scavenger Hunt: In this chapter, you'll read a little bit about the wands given to Adam, Yvette, and Chelsea. Let's see if you can find out whose wand went to which Muggle-born. First find the chapter and passage that told which wands were available (Hint: Ginny was the one who hid the spare wands and listed them) and then, from the clues given and from what you know about the original owners, guess whose went to whom.
…~oOo~…
Chapter Six: In Which Words Are Regretted
Draco spent a surprisingly large amount of his free time thinking about how his life would have been had Potter just defeated Voldemort like he was supposed to. It wasn't something he liked to do, because he believed dreaming about the whimsical what-ifs were for Hufflepuffs, but when he found himself with a few spare minutes, lying in bed, his mind just… went there.
After he'd shagged Astoria Greengrass into a whimpering, satiated pile of blonde hair and sweaty skin, he'd sneaked out of their curtain of privacy, escaped the catacombs of the Ministry and the revel, and returned to Mould-on-the-Wold. This was where he was laying. Thinking about the what-ifs.
It would have been a tidy ending, this much he was sure of. It was so tangible in his head. He would have married a respectable, pureblooded girl per his parents' demand. It would have likely been Astoria, he thought upon reflection, or maybe even Pansy. He would have done so willingly, because that's what purebloods were expected to do. They would have resided at the Manor in Wiltshire, having one son – for this is what Malfoys have always done – and then gone about their lives, together but separate, but content that way.
But now everything was changed. His plans were skewed. Normally, Draco would be courting by now. But following the victory at Hogwarts, his parents became distracted along with every other Death Eater. A marriage hadn't been arranged in two years in the elitist pureblood community. Technically, they were still in the process of total domination of the wizarding world. Draco was a pawn that could not be retired quite yet.
The peaceful, semi-happy future he'd been – frankly – looking forward to was put on hold, if not disappeared from existence.
I could have been happy, Potter, Draco thought wryly. And you fucked it up by dying. I always knew there was a reason I hated you.
Just as he was cursing the dead "savior", there was a banging on the door.
"Malfoy! You prat! You absolute idiot! You open this door!"
If the splitting headache stretching over his skull was anything to go by, it was Hermione. No one could quite screech like her.
Draco groaned and sat up, rubbing at his temples and tossing his legs over the side of his bed. "Come in," he said, just loud enough, his voice raspy from his long night.
The door blew open, slamming into the wall with the force of the shove. "I hate you!" Hermione shouted, marching in. The first thing he noticed was that smelt like tea and cucumbers. It made him hungry. But then he noticed her hair, barely restrained in its bun, was getting frizzier by the second and was giving off blue sparks.
"What've I done?" Draco asked, scratching his ear and yawning. Slowly, he stood up and started slumping towards his trunk of things, yet to be unpacked.
"Do you have any clue what time it is?" she demanded, her hands flailing everywhere.
"Too early to be getting yelled at?" he guessed.
"No! It is two o'clock in the afternoon, you bastard!"
Oh no, Draco thought. She'd escalated into swearing. This could not be good. "And…?"
"And? AND?! AND HE SAYS!" she screeched to the ceiling. "TODAY WAS THE FIRST DAY OF CLASSES AND YOU WEREN'T THERE! THE CHILDREN WAITED FOR YOU!"
"Fuck," Draco hissed to himself, cringing as he remembered. Of course that's what it was.
"I waited for you!" Hermione added in frenzy. "I've never felt so stupid! I was counting on you! When everyone came to me telling me that letting you join our team of misfit professors was a huge mistake, I defended you! Said I trusted you – which everyone thought I was barmy for!"
"You knew I was at a revel," Draco said, a spark of anger igniting deep in his chest. He turned to her, still in his wrinkled shirt and pants, his hair rumpled.
"As if that's the reason you're so exhausted," Hermione snapped. "You must think I'm stupid. I stink of perfume, Malfoy!"
Busted. "So what?" he said with derision. "I do have a life outside of being you and the Dark Lord's lackey!" Which was probably the biggest lie he'd told in a while. He didn't have a life at all. He just went through the motions.
Hermione gasped, another curl springing into her face as she vibrated with magic. "How dare put me and Voldemort in the same category!"
"There's not much difference that I can tell!" Draco shot back. "You're both dictating, loud, and pains in my arse!"
"Why did you even volunteer?" she screamed, looking a cross between bemusement and wrathful. "I can't figure it out for the life of me! Why waste your time pretending like you care!"
"I don't even know anymore!" he shouted, something in him snapping. "For some deranged reason, I pitied you! No one wanted to help you except Loony and Neville Bloody Longbottom! In a moment of complete stupidity, I decided to offer my help. And then I thought, 'This is my penance. For redemption, I will teach a bunch of snot-nosed, harebrained Mudbloods about magic'!"
Draco felt the slap before he saw it. It echoed in his vision after the sharp sting on his cheek.
There was a stretch of silence where Draco wanted to slap himself and Hermione's breathing was emphatic in the stillness.
"Get out," Hermione croaked, her voice suddenly quiet.
Draco blinked. "What –"
"I said get out," she whispered, backing away towards the door. Her hair sparked no more, but hung limply against her forehead and neck. Her brown eyes were filling with water. "We… we Mudbloods don't need your help." She turned her back to him, straightened her shoulders, and marched out of his room, her footfalls loud on the floorboards.
His words that day were his First Regret.
…
"You're back already." It wasn't a question. Just a statement.
Draco looked over at Amelia Bones. She was staring at him with her intense gaze and he wasn't in the mood to hear about how she suspected he'd be back to Grimmauld all along. There was probably a pool going between the refugees – they loved to gamble.
"I am a failure," Draco said in a monotone voice, dropping his trunk to the floor of the sitting room. It made a loud thud. "Is that what you want to hear?"
Amelia didn't respond at all. Rolling his eyes, Draco levitated his trunk into the corner, back to its original home. Being at Grimmauld meant living in the sitting room, sleeping on the couch. He could take Hermione's bedroom now that she was at Mould-on-the-Wold, but she'd probably castrate him if she found out. After their "conversation" she probably lost all maternal feelings toward him.
Something about knowing Hermione wouldn't mother and smother him made him sort of… sad.
He fell into the sofa, propped his feet up on it, and lounged, trying to wallow and pretend that Amelia wasn't there in the loveseat across from him. He closed his eyes.
"You disappointed her, didn't you?"
Draco's eyes snapped open. How did she know?
"It's part of the human condition, you see. We'll always disappoint the people who care about us," Amelia said, her voice soft. "It's because they value us at all."
"I am not going to pretend I know what you're talking about."
Amelia chuckled lowly. "We can't disappoint those who feel nothing for us at all. They would be indifferent to our failures. It's because she cares for you that she's upset with you."
"Why did I have to be the one to do something wrong, eh?" he challenged, not looking at her. He kept his eyes on the ceiling. "Maybe she disappointed me, ever think of that? Why do I have to be the resident fuck-up?"
Without looking at her, Draco knew she was arching an eyebrow at him.
"It's because I'm the monster with the Mark, I know," Draco growled. "Alright? I know. I was bound to ruin everything from the start. It's what I do."
"Well, I know one person who would disagree with that sentiment."
"Oh yeah? And who's that?"
"A certain little boy with color-changing hair who has taken to parading around as a blonde with grey eyes these days, in case you haven't noticed."
"He has not," Draco said. But that was a lie too. He'd noticed Teddy mimicking his looks. He just didn't want Amelia to know he'd noticed anything about Teddy at all. It revealed too much.
"You know he has," Amelia said, falling for nothing. "And deep down you know the hardest part about returning here is that Teddy will be there with Miss Granger. And you know you'll miss him dearly."
"Shut up," Draco said, but it had no passion behind it.
"You love that boy."
"I said, shut up."
"But if you truly loved him –"
"For Merlin's sake, woman!"
"– then you'd try to be better for him."
"I told you to stop it!" Draco commanded, wrenching upward in his seat and sneering at her. "You think you're so fucking important, do you? All because you were so powerful and influential in the wizarding world? Well, you're not anymore, Bones. You're in the dirt with the rest of us, so step down from that throne of yours and get used to groveling. Your words officially mean nothing. And nor do mine. Save your lectures for when the Dark Lord is dead and you're petitioning for Minister."
Amelia didn't say anything right away, but stood up. With a few steps, she was standing over Draco's prone form on the couch. She looked down into his eyes.
"Our words do mean something," Amelia said simply. "If they didn't, how could yours hurt her so deeply?"
…
Furiously wiping at her eyes, nose, and cheeks, Hermione walked back down the many flights of stairs to the very large dining room of Mould-on-the-Wold. There was a teapot with steam floating out its spout and a second cup steeping. It was like Luna knew Hermione would be coming.
"How did your talk with Draco go?" Luna inquired.
Shaking her head, Hermione sniffled once more before taking the seat next to the blonde girl. "I… evicted him. He's back at Grimmauld, I suspect."
"That's unfortunate," Luna said sympathetically.
"I may have flown off the handle," Hermione confessed quietly. "But he… he said something unforgivable."
"Nothing is unforgivable," Luna said, staring at Hermione with her big eyes. "Not even the Unforgivables. Not in all cases at least."
Hermione snorted quietly, raising her eyebrows at Luna. "Really? Name one case."
"When Snape killed Dumbledore," Luna said immediately. "I have no doubt Dumbledore forgave Snape, even if it was in the afterlife."
"Yes," Hermione credited with a thoughtful frown. "But I doubt Snape ever forgave himself."
Luna nodded in agreement, bringing her teacup to her lips, holding it very gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. Hermione smirked at the very delicate way Luna sipped her tea and wrapped her fingers around her own cup, finding comfort in the warmth of it.
Only moments later all about half of their students came running into the dining room for tea time, the other six off exploring the premises or relaxing. With Draco not showing up for his class, schedule they'd been so ready for was all thrown off. Hermione would have to make a new one before the next day.
"I'll go put on some more tea," Luna said as she stood up and skipped towards the kitchen.
Neville came in behind the students and slumped down into a chair next to Hermione. All of the kids around the table were chattering excitedly. He'd taken the students Draco'd been in charge of for that day. He looked tired already. He looked for at Hermione beseechingly, his eyes saying, "Tell me you've found Malfoy, please!" while remaining silent.
Shrugging apologetically, Hermione said, "We'll have to reschedule it all. But it can't be that hard. We'll just have to pick up the classes Malfoy was supposed to teach while adding a single student to each of our groups per day."
Neville, still boggled by the class system Hermione had thought up, blinked and said, "You mean to say he quit?"
Clearing her throat self-consciously, Hermione said, "Something like that."
At length, Neville said under his breath so the kids didn't hear, "You fired him, didn't you?"
"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Hermione said defensively.
"Er, I dunno, give him a second chance?"
"Draco Malfoy is running a bit low on second chances, don't you think?"
"I think we need four of us," Neville answered with a shrug, scratching the back of his head. "And let's face it – no one is more practiced in the Dark Arts and the Defense Against Them than Draco Malfoy. Not to mention advanced potions for the older kids. You've already got so much on your plate, Hermione, and I know you'll want to pick up those classes, but really…you don't have enough hours in the day to do the things you're doing. Not to mention Teddy. Who is napping right now, just so you know."
Hermione nodded. "Yes, Luna told me she put him down earlier. I checked on him. And, Neville, I do see what you're saying. But maybe we can find someone else."
"What'd he do?"
"He skipped all his classes, you know that!"
Shaking his head, Neville said, "No. I mean what he did to make you have angry eyes."
With a heavy sigh, Hermione said, "I don't want to talk about it."
…~oOo~…
Chelsea was exploring, her wand clutched firmly in her right hand. Even though she really had no clue how to use it apart from making a feather float for a few seconds, having the wand in her hand made her feel at ease. It wasn't easy going away to school or finding out she was a witch, but that stick – that long stem of elm – somehow made her feel better. It gave tangibility to the reality of it all.
That morning Professor Granger had given a lecture on wands. It was their very first class ever and already Chelsea felt like she learned so much. She talked all about the properties of a wand, calling it a "quasi-sentient instrument", and when Chelsea asked what that meant, Professor Granger hadn't made her feel stupid or silly for not knowing. She just smiled, said it was a good question, and explained that it meant that even though it couldn't think or talk like a human, it could perform certain actions, make decisions, through their own will.
It was fascinating, the concept that a piece of wood had a will at all. But it made sense considering what Professor Granger explaining that wands traditionally chose the wizard instead of the other way around.
When they started levitating feathers, Chelsea witnessed what incompatible wands and witches could mean. Adam's wand, a very long, slim, tan wand was giving him trouble. Instead of floating the feather, it made the feather bounce around uncontrollably while the whole class tried to catch it. Also, Yvette's black wand – it had a pretty silver handle – refused to do anything for twenty minutes which made the girl throw a right fit.
Chelsea's wand, however, already felt like her best friend. She knew they were a good fit, even though she didn't say so to anyone. She didn't want to make Adam or Yvette feel bad about their wands rebelling.
While she explored the southern wing of the manor, she found out that many of the rooms were empty. Some had shelves, others didn't. Some had trash, a few empty boxes, one had a full-length mirror. The mirror's glass had gone cloudy with age and there was a crack along the bottom of it.
One room, though, had a bed in it. A four-poster bed. The mattress was bare and moldy. But in the headboard, scratched by a pin or something, were the initials A.D. At first Chelsea thought it was indicating a year "After Death", but when she found no numbers realized it must be a name. She looked for other evidence of its owner, but found none except a long blue ribbon stuck under the mattress. It was a pretty satin ribbon and after long consideration of whether or not it was stealing, Chelsea wrapped it around her head and tied it in a bow on the side of her hair like a headband.
It wasn't for another three rooms that Chelsea found anything else. It was an empty room, granted, but something about it pulled her in and made her give it a second look. She checked the floorboards, the corners, tested the window. All she found was dust, dust, and more dust. Then she opened the closet door with caution, afraid bats would fly out. There were no bats or monsters. Just an old knit scarf the color of rust.
When she looked up, she saw there was a shelf at the top of the closet. Stretching on her toes to see what was on it, Chelsea frowned when she found that she was too short to reach or see. But then her eyes zeroed in on it. It was the tiniest thing – a corner of white that barely hung over the edge of the shelf. It could have been paper or an envelope, Chelsea couldn't tell which.
Chelsea wanted to levitate it down. But Professor Granger had shown a lot of worry concerning their use of magic outside the classroom, making it clear that they should be under supervision from one of the teachers or an older student when they wanted to practice and experiment.
She needed a taller person. But not an adult, she didn't want to bother them. And the older students were too intimidating.
And then it hit her. It would be a little outside of her comfort zone to walk up to someone she didn't really know, but he should be just about the right size to stretch up and grab it or strong enough to give her a boost.
Chelsea just hoped Adam would be willing to join her adventure.
…~oOo~…
~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~
