Magical Objects & Their Uses
Cameras
Brief Lesson: In the Wizarding World, pictures taken with cameras have the ability to move, unlike muggle images, which are still.
Task: Write about a trapped memory, much like how a camera traps memories. This can be either a happy memory, or a negative memory.
Demolished Perceptions
"Where's Malfoy," I snarl at the first Slytherin I can find.
"He's at The Quidditch Pitch," the first-year stutters.
"I've already checked there – there's a pick-up game occurring and none of the participants are Malfoy."
"Not the Quidditch pitch, The Quidditch Pitch. It's a sports pub in Hogsmeade. However, I don't suggest that you go there now it's closed for a –"
I leave before the firstie can finish his explanation. I am livid and once again, I wonder why the blond git was chosen as Head Boy. It wasn't like Dumbledore didn't have other options. While it was rarely done, one did not had to be a Perfect prior to being chosen for one of the Head positions. Anyone, and I do mean anyone, would have be preferable to Malfoy.
I walk to Hogsmeade angry. I could have taken one of the carriages two hours ago. I could have walked with my friends two hours ago. Instead, I did the responsible thing and stayed behind to prepare for a meeting that Draco sodding Malfoy had no intentions to prepare, let alone show up, for.
I easily find The Quidditch Pitch as it is the newest pubs in the village. As I reach it, the door opens and people I recognize as members of the Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin Houses leaves out. More than one person looks questionably at me, but I ignore them all. I am focused on one person and a loud noise sounds in my ears and a red patch appears on his right cheek before I realize that I have slapped Malfoy.
The pub, which was filled with various voices, goes eerily quiet.
"You . . ."
"Mudblood? That insult is old," I taunted, interrupting Parkinson.
"No one in Slytherin has openly called you that since Second Year. I was going to call you a bitch, but then I would be insulting female otters everywhere."
"Come on Pansy, she's not worth it," the elder Greengrass says as the younger instructs the rest of the patrons to leave the pub.
I then look at Malfoy; really look at him and his now pewter colored eyes are the only indication that he is upset.
"I see you ladies later in the Vipers' Pit," he says in an oddly even voice, his eyes never leaving mine. I see Parkinson giving me a glare that promises me retribution before she agrees and allows herself to be swept away by her friends.
"What was that about," Malfoy asks me, his voice still strangely even, without inflection and emotion present.
"We had a Perfects' meeting today at one," I shout at him.
"Let me repeat what you just said, so I can make sure I am clear. You storm in here acknowledging no one, slap me in the face and shout at me all because I miss a Perfects' meeting?"
"I cannot believe you're so nonchalant that you missed the meeting! I can't believe you're so uncaring that you did not even bother to send an owl to let me know that you could not come and that we needed to reschedule! How you became Head Boy, I will never know! Anyone, hell, even Ron would make a better Head Boy than you!"
"Finally, we have the real reason why you are upset. It's not because of a missed Perfects' meeting, which by the way, no one showed up for because it was rescheduled by you for tomorrow – you're upset I'm Head Boy and not one of your precious Golden Boys. Suck it up Granger – I'm Head Boy and they are not because I earned it."
"I don't see how. If I didn't know any better, I would think you bought the position like your father bought your spot on the Quidditch team," I sneer.
A hard look enters Malfoy's eyes and I belatedly wonder if I have pushed him too far.
"Davies," Malfoy barks, "do you have a Pensive on site?"
I'm startled by Malfoy request and even more startled that the person he is speaking to is Roger Davies, former Ravenclaw Perfect and captain of the Quidditch team.
"Yeah, I do. May I ask why?"
"I want you to extract some memories for little Miss Know-It-All," Malfoy says and I look in fascination as Davies extract the silvery strands representing Malfoy's memories.
"You have a very warped opinion of me, one that has been built over the years by the poor company you keep. Let's see if you will have the same opinion once you see these."
"In you go," Davies says and he pushes me not so gently into the Pensive.
~*~*~ Page Break ~*~*~
I know the theory of how a Pensive works. It's an enchanted basin that holds extracted memories and if one goes into the Pensive alone, one has to depend on someone outside of it to help them out or wait until the last memory completes before the Pensive automatically expels them out. I am not expecting Malfoy to help me out and judging by the look on Davies' face before he pushed me in, I doubt he will help. Basically, I'm stuck in a sea of Malfoy's memories.
The first scene that materializes takes place on the Hogwarts Express and based on how young everyone looks, I assume this particular memory takes place before our Sorting.
Draco is telling those in the compartment that he's leaving to confirm a rumor. Crabbe and Goyle stands in order to follow him and there's a brief flash of irritation on his face as he tells them that he doesn't need or want them to follow him.
"It's perfectly safe on the train."
"Our fathers said that we have to stick together," Crabbe says and although I can clearly see that he wants to argue, Malfoy doesn't.
I follow the three and Malfoy opens a compartment door.
"May I come in," he asks and in front of him, I see Harry nod his head. Malfoy introduces Crabbe and Goyle and before he can introduce himself, Ron interrupts him.
"Pale, pointy and platinum blond – there's no need to introduce yourself, you're a Malfoy." Ron makes no attempt to hide the derision in his voice.
"I see that I'm not wanted here," Malfoy says. "I just wanted to introduce myself to the year mates that are also my close relatives. Enjoy the rest of the train ride." Malfoy quickly leaves the compartment, and I can hear Harry's confused questions and Ron denying that he is related to Malfoy. I also hear someone explaining that the three of them are related but the detailed explanation becomes fainter as Malfoy walks further away.
The memory fades and another takes its place. This particular memory takes place in the library. A sinking feeling comes to my stomach because I know what is about to occur.
"Hi Hermione," Malfoy – no, he's Draco in this memory, says. He places his books on his side of the table and sits down. I see the younger version of myself biting the left side of my lower lip and an apprehensive look enters Draco's eyes.
"What's wrong," he asks.
"We . . . can't study together anymore," I say quietly.
"Why? Did I do something wrong?"
"It's just that Harry and Ron says –"
"What did the Dimwitted Duo say?"
"They say that you and your family don't like people like me."
"People like you? You mean Muggle-born? Have I ever treated you less than?"
"No but –"
"Okay, so what's the real reason?"
"I'm a horrible liar and they're starting to ask questions about why I spend so much time in the library. I'm afraid that they're going to follow me one day and see us together."
"So you're ashamed of your friendship with me," Draco says flatly and I don't answer. He quickly gathers his books and parchment and stuffs them in his shoulder bag. I can hear him saying 'he warned me about this' under his breathe but I don't acknowledge his comment.
"You won't ever have to worry about them seeing us together, Granger," he says in a cool voice and he leaves me alone at what used to be our table.
Another memory takes the place of the last. Malfoy is in Professor Snape's office and because he's wearing his uniform, I assume this takes place after a Quidditch practice.
"Did you enjoy your first practice, Draco," Professor Snape asks.
"It was amazing wearing the Slytherin Quidditch uniform for the first time but my enjoyment was short lived. Flint and Wood argued over who was authorized to use the pitch and Flint told him the reason why we could use the pitch so he could train me and bragged about the new brooms that father donated. Then she showed up and said that I bought my way on the team and I became angry and called her. . ."
"You called her what, Draco?"
"I called her a Mudblood," Malfoy whispers and I can see the shame on his face.
"I understand that you were upset, Draco, being you did tryout and made the team on your own merit. But, she's Gryffindor and they don't understand or care how Slytherin works. Despite that, I am still disappointed in you, Draco. You say that you don't want to be like your father, that you don't want people to see him when they look at you. When you say things like that, your father is the only person they see. I'm deducting twenty-five House points. In addition, you will have a month's detention with me. During this time you will be researching the muggle dictator Adolf Hitler and write five feet parchment comparing his policies to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and how such policies are detrimental to society."
There are even more memories - Malfoy learning that his request for a Time Turner so he can take more classes being denied and him seeing one hanging from around my neck. There is a memory of Malfoy glaring at Fred and George when they boo the newly Sorted Slytherins, comforting them as he tells them to ignore the Gryffindors, especially the Weasley family. Then there are the memories of people accusing him of being a Death Eater and him looking at a bare left forearm in the privacy of his dorm room.
I feel a lifting motion and I find myself back in the pub. I am frozen in shock. Everything I thought I knew about Malfoy has been swept away by my trip into the Pensive, my perceptions demolished. I look around for Malfoy and I see him sitting at the bar, nursing what I assume is a Firewhiskey.
"The reason why you saw so many people in a closed pub today," Davies explains," is because it's the only place where the students feel safe to take their complaints to the Head Boy. They don't trust you Granger – you have a blind loyalty to Potter, to the Weasley family, to Gryffindor House. You tend to believe their version of events. The student body doesn't see you as an impartial party, something that the Heads are supposed to be."
"I thought I was doing a good job," I whisper.
"You are doing a good job, Granger. Everyone enjoys the activities you come up with," Malfoy says.
"So they only trust me to be a party planner," I say bitterly and Malfoy sighs.
"Then change their opinions. You can start by apologizing to the Perfects. It's never too late to start over."
I mull over Malfoy's words and I walk over to the bar and sit beside him.
"Hello, my name is Hermione Granger," I say, holding out my hand to him.
"Hello, my name is Draco Malfoy, pleased to meet you," he says as he takes my hand and brush a kiss over the knuckles.
It is in that moment I realize we have both decided to make new memories.