A/N: To all of my awesome readers, congratulations! By going this far into the story, you have earned the right to become wizards and witches yourselves! Allow me to retrieve your magic so that I may bestow it upon you. Er ... that's strange ... I know I put it somewhere ...
Sorry, this might take a while. (cue sweat drop) In the meantime, your feedback is always magical! Speaking of which, here's a quick shout-out to my reviewers before we jump into the Club and a duel that's been a long time coming: Draco vs. Harry.
guest#9/Philkins27 (ch.12): Thank you so much for your rewarding and detailed feedback. I always look forward to it. Per your advice, I did take my time on this chapter. It took a while to decide how the various duels would play out!
sharingoxygenwithyou: Thanks! Grey Luna is tough to write because a lot of people can't get their heads around normal Luna. In canon she went five lonely years before meeting Harry and got into the D.A., and I think it really affected her. Here she is still an oddball, but she has a supportive house to help her adapt quickly to life at Hogwarts. A stronger start and an influential friend puts her in position to lead as well as follow.
Sunset Whispers: I was going to make Lucius meaner at first. He is a cold and disdainful person by nature, but also a consummate politician, and I gave him a soft spot for kids too. So he tolerates Draco's friends because his son has earned his trust and respect, and being civil to Ginevra and Hermione furthers his ultimate goals of minimizing the damage done by the Heir and recovering Tom Riddle's diary. Even if Ginevra does find out about the book, she'll be less likely to squeal to her parents if she views the Malfoys as friends. I suspect this is why Luna wanted Draco to approach her in Chapter 10. She's always thinking, that girl.
Sadia140230: I appreciate your feedback! You understand the core concepts of the story quite well. The one friendship between Luna and Draco changes their courses dramatically, and who knows how far the ripple effect will spread? Finding that out, I think, is the real beauty of AU stories.
guest#10 (ch.2/4/9/10/12): I haven't thought much about pairings yet as they're all still a bit young. Romance will never be the main focus, but something might develop if I continue this story into 'Prisoner of Azkaban' and beyond.
Joshua's Tall Tales: Thank you, Joshua! Sometimes I wonder if the Humour tag is throwing people off. But at any rate I'm very happy with the response this story has had.
ghostcrab311: That's what I love about writing this: Draco is still Draco, Luna has a sinister edge to her, Ginevra's being corrupted bit by bit (though she is increasingly a willing participant in this), and Hermione's pragmatic side is causing her to buy in to the status quo. But when the 'good bad guys' are smarter and more effective than the 'good good guys', it's tough to go against them. Thanks for your feedback!
XIII: Nonfatal Exposure
The Great Hall was decked out quite impressively when the students rushed in that evening. Black velvet draperies hung across the ceiling, where the thousands of candles hovered over a golden stage. Draco heard a rumour that Lockhart was involved with the interior design, and if so the man had missed his true calling. He wished he could have stayed after dinner to watch the massive chamber being set up, but Merlin forbid the students should ever see the school's elves doing their work, so the doors were all bolted until the clocks struck eight.
Draco walked into the cavernous room with a purpose. He'd been waiting for another chance to step on Potter ever since last week when someone caused Goyle and Crabbe's potion to explode and his nose swelled up as large as his head. He'd seen Fred and George sneaking in and out of the loo near the dungeons often enough to recognise one of their firecrackers, and he had no doubt their brother Ronald and the Boy Who Lived With Blood Traitors were involved. Any Slytherin would know better than to pull a prank on Snape, and most of the other Gryffindors were smart enough to keep their heads down in potions class. But Potty and Weasel? Never. His suspicions of the Trio were further aroused when Pansy told him she saw Hermione ducking back into her seat with something stuffed down the front of her robe.
"I might have turned her in to Snape straightaway if she wasn't with you," she told him over a brutal game of wizard's chess that evening in the common room. "But since she is I assumed it was Malfoy business. Anyway, I've never minded that little know-it-all so much. It's the other mudbloods I can't stand."
Draco didn't know what was going on any more than Pansy did. More alarming was the fact that she knew Hermione was connected with him! It turned out Crabbe and Goyle had seen the swot wearing the band with his family crest and told Pansy about it. He swore all three friends to secrecy until further notice, but resigned himself to the fact that the news would soon leak out all over Slytherin.
"Now what do I do?" he whispered to Luna when they took their places in the crowded, bustling Hall.
"Damage control, of course," she said serenely. "We will get ahead of the news, before it gets ahead of us."
His eyes widened. "You mean tell them? Everyone?"
"Very soon. Tonight if possible. You've been wanting to introduce her for a while, no? To show everyone muggleborns are not so different. This is your chance."
Draco slapped his forehead lightly. "Of course! Luna, I don't know what I'd do without you."
Her smile this time was different; almost teasing, and closer to the surface of her eyes. "I fear nargles would have made off with your whole wardrobe by now."
His snicker was cut short by the appearance of their esteemed instructors. Or rather, one's considerable esteem made up for the other's lack of it; a dark and gloomy Professor Snape shuffled to the edge of the stage, looking like he'd rather be anywhere in the world than next to Professor Lockhart and his foppish festoonery.
"Gather round, gather round one and all!" cried the hack. "Can everyone hear me? Or rather, can everyone see me? Yes? Yes? Good! Now Professor Dumbledore has been surprisingly punctual in granting me permission to start this little Duelling Club, to train you all up should you ever have cause to defend yourselves, perhaps from the dastardly fiend that petrified our dear Mrs. Morris last month ... "
"It's Mrs. Norris!" shrieked Filch from the back of the room. Stifled giggles floated over the crowd. To the other students' knowledge there had been no further attacks, and many had begun to dismiss the Hallowe'en incident as a malicious prank.
"Of course, exactly what I said ... after much study, I myself have determined that a Transvaalian Tubersnort was responsible ... "
"Nonsense," Luna whispered in Draco's ear. "Everyone knows the Transvaalian Tubersnort hibernates in October."
"And the man calls himself a professor," Draco replied.
Lockhart prattled on: "As I have successfully defended myself from dozens of deadly creatures from basilisks to blast-ended skrewts without even mussing my hair, it was not only proper but inevitable that I, Gilderoy Lockhart, should be your instructor!"
"What's a basilisk?" Draco muttered to Luna.
"I'm not certain. I thought those were just made-up."
He snorted. "Well, if you think they're made-up ... "
She dug a sharp, skinny elbow into his side, and Draco chose not to finish the sentence.
Lockhart finished basking in his applause and turned to Snape. "And allow me to introduce my assistant, Professor Snape! I have it on good authority that he knows a tiny little bit of duelling himself from his younger days as a De—" He halted when he caught a glimpse of the potioneer's face. "Er ... delivery boy for the Daily Prophet, when customers refused to pay their subscription fees! Yes, that's it!"
Snape's expression softened from murderous to merely outraged.
"As I was saying, he has sportingly agreed to participate in a little demonstration of advanced duelling techniques! Don't fret, young ones, you'll still have your potions professor when I'm through with him ... "
Snape's hatred of this man was palpable as they raised their wands, turned, and walked the customary paces down the stage. They faced each other again and Lockhart bowed with a frivolous flourish that made a few of the girls nearly swoon; Snape merely jerked his head downward.
"I can't watch," Daphne said fearfully at the Slytherins' end of the Hall. "Snape's going to kill him."
She wasn't far off. No sooner had Lockhart counted down from three than Snape spun his wand around and over his shoulder and cried, "Expelliarmus!" A brilliant scarlet flash filled the hall. Next to his father, Draco had never seen anyone concentrate their magic so potently and make it look so easy. Lockhart left his feet as though a hippogriff had snatched him up, flying so far backward that his head cracked the wall (or was it the other way around) and he slumped forward into a seated position, out cold.
Many of the Slytherins whooped and cheered, ignoring the female gasps and shrieks from elsewhere in the hall, especially Lockhart's own Ravenclaw. Cho Chang buried her face in the shoulder of Marietta Edgecombe, who stood watching with great interest.
"Since Professor Lockhart has so kindly yielded the floor," Snape said nastily, "that was a standard disarming charm, a particularly useful technique to make an opponent release their weapon and, at advanced levels, to reflect their offensive magic back on them. Duelling is not a performance. It is a fight for survival. If you've not learned that in your Defence classes, then you've learned nothing. Miss Farley, if you would be so kind as to retrieve this... "
He indicated the fallen implement on the stage. Gemma quickly accio'd Lockhart's wand.
" ... And Mr. Flint, if you would retrieve that ... " Snape gestured distastefully to the fallen wizard. The towering boy obediently lifted Lockhart from the stage as though he were a sack of potatoes. "And take him to the hospital wing, we may begin our first lesson in earnest. Filius, if you would care to assist me ... ?"
Another hush fell over the hall as the charms teacher and Ravenclaw Head of House stepped forward. Filius Flitwick didn't look like much; the old half-goblin was just about three feet tall if you counted his shock of white hair. But he was a formidable duellist, nearly as strong as Dumbledore according to Draco's parents.
"Certainly, Severus," Flitwick said. His light, reedy voice was much more serious than usual, taking on the gravelly sound Draco had heard from the goblins at Gringotts. "Students, while Professor Lockhart is seen to, we shall continue with the lesson and put you all into pairs. The object of this lesson is to attempt the disarming charm Professor Snape just showed you. Have no fear of hurting each other; you have years to go before you attain a fraction of his expertise. Whoever succeeds first shall be the winner. Students who attempt any other enchantments shall be immediately dismissed from the Club. Understood?"
Grudging murmurs answered him from around the room. Draco was impressed. The younger students complained a bit, but from the older ones who must have seen hints of the little man in action? Not a peep. Snape was summoning the Gryffindors and Slytherins together—of course. The man always had to get one up on the lions. For the first time it occurred to Draco that this behavior could be seen as childish. The lions reluctantly trudged over. Potter and Weasley were already shadowing Hermione, casting suspicious glances between her and the snakes. She was beginning to look quite put out with them.
"Time to split up the dream team, I think. Weasley, you seemed to find it highly amusing when Mr. Nott was affected by last week's ... mishap ... in potions." Snape looked directly at Potter, who froze for just a moment before affecting innocence. "You and he shall be the first team. Mr. Malfoy ... ah, there you are. Always ready to represent Slytherin house these days. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter in action. And you, Miss Granger, may partner Miss Bullstrode."
Potter immediately took exception. He and Weasley seemed unwilling to let Hermione get near any Slytherin. Ironically, they were so busy trying to talk Snape out of it that Draco was able to get a quick word with the girl behind their backs.
"I suppose you'll want me to throw this one," Hermione said indignantly. "You wouldn't want someone like me making one of your fellow Slytherins look bad."
"Lower your voice. And don't look at me." Draco wrinkled his nose, unfamiliar with the muggle expression. "What do you mean, throw?"
"To lose on purpose," she said glumly, pretending to study something on the ceiling.
"Are you barking?! You'd better win, Granger," he whispered as forcefully as he could without anyone overhearing. "How would it look if I hired an adjutant who can't even disarm someone?"
Hermione blinked. She honestly hadn't expected that. "You want me to show her up?"
"Being told how great we are is all well and good, but we like a challenge too. Otherwise what's driving us to get any better and be leaders in this world? Nothing about my family legacy involves sitting on my ass all my life and the same goes for Millicent. So give her all you've got, because I'm going to be introducing you to the others in the conference room. Tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow?!" her mouth fell open, exposing her buck teeth.
"I didn't want to spring it on you but it's high time they knew, and word about your chat with Crabbe and Goyle's gotten round. Can't put it off any longer."
She looked petrified. "But I can't just walk into the dungeons by myself ... "
"You have the crest and I'll be with you. Call it your newest assignment. Besides, they need this, Hermione!" Draco looked fierce, but a pleading note had entered his voice. "They need to see you, talk to you, ask you questions. I need you to show them that muggleborns are human, that not all of them are the enemy, and ... if you don't teach them, who will?"
Hermione's eyes filled up with tears. As nervous as she must be, he had her at the word "teach."
"Win any way you can," Draco mumbled, and stepped aside to face Potter. Snape had dismissed his protests and was now moving on to pair up the other students. He glimpsed the first-years about fifty feet away; Luna had been paired with (or, rather, against) Andrew Kirke. At least Luna's wand had stopped glowing after the first encounter with Sister. That would have been difficult to explain.
Hermione quickly pulled herself together and stood across from an approaching Bullstrode. The large, overbearing girl did not return her smile, but she didn't look particularly hostile either.
Win any way you can, Malfoy had said ... and it had sounded like an order. Yes. It was his fault, really, that she was about to employ this shamelessly underhanded strategy.
"Excuse me, Bullstrode," she said in a cheerful tone just as Flitwick was counting down. "Do you think this looks good on me?"
She let the left sleeve of her robe fall to expose the band, whispering a quick lumos to reveal the crest. Bullstrode's normally squinty eyes went wide as dollars.
" ... One!" Flitwick called out.
"Expelliarmus!" Hermione's pronunciation was rushed, but her intuitive hand movement seemed to make up for it. A little red flashbulb of magic went off, and a distracted Bullstrode immediately dropped her wand.
Other results varied. Draco was embarrassed when Potter managed to pull off the charm faster than him, but he didn't give the prat the satisfaction of losing his temper. Theodore disarmed Weasley with enough force to sting his hand slightly, which was unusual for a second-year. Luna and Kirke had somehow disarmed each other. Third-year Cormac McLaggen had broken the rules by trying to sneak in a tickling charm and was summarily thrown out by Flitwick, showing everyone that he meant business.
"You have all made an acceptable effort," Snape said. His tone was neutral, and he seemed to be more relaxed now that he was free of Lockhart and the potions classroom. "I believe we can trust you with a bit more leeway. Agreed, Filius?"
"Let us test that theory with one team of first-years."
"I have just the pair," Snape gestured behind him. "I suggest Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood, two of my ... less dunderheaded potions students."
Luna and Ginevra were surprised that he'd paid them a compliment, albeit a backhanded one. Everyone else was surprised because the two girls were so close.
"If he's trying to destroy their friendship ... " Draco muttered ominously.
"He's just testing them, Malfoy," Pansy said as she sidled over to him for a better look. "Relax. Those two are closer than a frog and a card, though Merlin knows why."
"Is she a blood traitor?" he asked abruptly, unable to stop himself before the words came rushing out. Pansy was not one of the nicer pure-bloods, and he wanted a sneak preview of what he'd be in for Friday night. "Am I, because of Granger?"
Pansy frowned. "Are you asking me as a friend, or a Slytherin?"
"Both."
"As a friend, I say you're not really a traitor unless you're undermining your own house. Hiring someone with Granger's skills doesn't hurt us; it helps us. So, no. As a Slytherin ... yes, I suppose both of you are traitors. Seeing as your family is my family's ticket to the top of the pure-blood food chain, I'm not stupid enough to make an issue of it. But if you're going to make us all choose between the favour of the Malfoys and the joy of stepping on mudbloods ... "
Draco waited impatiently as she put a finger to her chin.
" ... I think your reasons had better be good. Actually, they'd better be brilliant."
Ginevra and Luna were ready to duel. Both girls bowed low, showing the utmost respect for each other; Luna's curtain of hair obscured her face for the moment, but Draco was sure she looked as untroubled as usual. She stood calm and relaxed, a sharp contrast to Ginevra's excitement. Her drive to prove herself and stand out from her siblings was obvious, but she was a ball of nerves because of it. Draco could have taught her a thing or two about relaxing.
No sooner had Flitwick counted down than a pale beam lanced from the redhead's wand straight at Luna's feet. Despite her family's reputation for producing half-wits, Ginevra was quick on the draw. Even staring down her best friend, her intent to win was not shaken. Luna dodged the spell with evasive movements very similar to Theodore's. Her friend stayed on the offensive, and scored a glancing blow to her leg with a tickling charm.
A gasping Luna returned fire while balancing on her other leg. Ginevra ducked and rolled, her hair a crimson blur about her head. She braced herself on one hand and fired a second Rictumsempra that might have struck Luna's wand arm if she hadn't botched the motion. The other first-years looked amazed. While the two girls lacked punch and displayed a limited arsenal, their speed and confidence were well above average.
As Ginevra sprang to her feet, Luna moved her wand with an exaggerated wind-up that turned out to be a feint; the Gryffindor fell for it completely and ducked again, and the feint became the first motion of an Expelliarmus that sent Ginevra's wand skittering across the floor.
"Congratulations to Miss Lovegood," Flitwick said over considerable applause from the other students.
Ginevra's lower lip quivered as she rose. They might have very little in common, Draco thought, but he could see she hated losing as much as he did. That was something. At the same time his heart swelled with pride for Luna. All of their practises together in the past week had not gone to waste. Like him, she wasn't overly fond of combat; she took a scholarly approach, using the most effective techniques to get the fight over with quickly.
Pride gave way to resentment as Potter came into view again, placing himself between Draco and everything he wanted in an unsubtle challenge. How typical.
And how typically futile.
They barely noticed everyone else looking at them. The other first-years were allowed to duel and all of their matches ended quickly; Frye and Hestia won while the others weren't so lucky; Morag was in tears after losing to the muggleborn Creevey and had to be consoled by the Carrow twins. The second-years came next, and rosy-cheeked blonde Lavender Brown had the misfortune of being paired with Pansy Parkinson.
"Good luck, Parkinson," she said uneasily, hoping a low bow would alleviate the other girl's wrath.
"I'd keep all the luck for myself if I were you," Pansy whispered as she returned the bow. "Because you'll need it, Lavvy-davvy."
Lavender gasped. "Only my mummy calls me that! How did you know ... "
Pansy's smile might have unnerved You-Know-Who himself. When the duel began shortly thereafter, Lavender was so badly shaken she could scarcely grip her wand. The other pure-blood easily dodged her tarantellegra attempt, not even blinking as the spell ruffled her hair on its way past. Thus began a humiliating game of cat-and-mouse in which Pansy stood there lazily evading or countering a desperate barrage of elementary jinxes from the other witch. Lavender's meagre abilities were exhausted in hardly a minute, leaving her open to a stinging hex so painful that she dropped to the floor and rolled into Parvati Patil.
The Indian girl had been out-duelling Blaise Zabini, but this proved distracting enough for Blaise to recover and cast a successful Expelliarmus. Meanwhile, Millicent was so clearly unnerved by Hermione's crest that the teacher's pet scored a fairly easy victory. Weasley's broken wand was so useless that he could hardly get a successful spell off before Theodore flattened him with a few well-chosen hexes.
Pansy strode up to her opponent and plucked the wand from her hand, twirling it in her fingers as she looked to Snape for approval.
"That will do, Miss Parkinson," he said, cracking the barest hint of a smile.
She knelt down beside a whimpering Lavender and pressed the wand back into her fingers.
"I'm your mummy now, Lavvy-davvy," she said.
It was no surprise to anyone that Snape saved Potter and Draco specially for last. He never could resist the urge to pit them against each other.
Is that all I am to him now? Draco wondered. Just a little green thorn to stick in Potter's side?
"Watch your back, Malfoy," the boy growled, shoving his grubby face up close to the blond's.
"Brush your teeth, Potter," Draco said coolly.
The wannabe-hero turned red and stormed ten paces away. Draco did the same. He was inside Potter's head and he knew it. Strangely enough he didn't even care all that much. Compared to the whole mess with Sister and the diary and the Chamber of Secrets, this was child's play. Still, he did have to win. His image as a Malfoy and a rising leader in Slytherin demanded it.
Flitwick was about to count down. Potter barely inclined his head. Draco bowed stiffly, drawing attention to the boy's insult. Anything to throw him off his game.
So irritated was Potter that before Flitwick even reached one, he whipped his wand viciously and yelled, "Stupefy!"
A stunning spell was well out of the second-years' curriculum. To his credit, the lion managed a slow and weak version of it that drew many ohhs and ahhs from the younger ones, but Draco avoided this easily. One ambitious gesture deserved another, and before the cheers died down he put all his concentration into a shield charm. It was relatively brittle and did not move with him, but it was enough to absorb Potter's next few attacks and frustrate him even more.
A fizzling light before him suggested the shield was almost gone, so he bought himself some more time using one of the few spells Lockhart had actually taught them in his laughable Defence class. "Mimblewimble!"
Sure enough, Potter's next incantation came out hopelessly garbled, momentarily leaving him a sitting duck. A moment was all Draco needed to cast Everte Statum, a simple repulsion jinx that threw Potter backwards. Draco felt himself wearing down and tried to end it there with a disarming charm, but his aim must have been off, for Potter was still very much armed as he scrambled to his feet and counterattacked. Draco didn't know what the spell was, but it felt as though he'd been hit over the head with something heavy; he crumpled to the platform and curled protectively around his wand. Body absorbed the pain as mind raced furiously. He couldn't let Potter defeat him, no matter what.
"YEAH! Crawl on the ground like the snake you are, Malfoy!" Weasley cheered.
Draco's vision cleared. He might be down but he wasn't beaten, and he knew exactly which spell he wanted to use.
Potter raised his wand reluctantly, as if he thought it unsporting to finish off a downed opponent but was doing so anyway. Draco rolled suddenly and took dead aim with both hands, summoning all his remaining energy.
Potter's lips were moving, but not fast enough. "Expellia—"
"Serpensortia!"
Silver light burst forth. No one noticed a similar flash from Luna and Ginevra except for the girls themselves as a long white snake exploded from the end of his wand, deadly and beautiful. It landed heavily upon the stage, scales glistening in the candlelight, and reared its head to strike.
Strange ... when he practised this with his father, the snake had always been black. Not that he cared; it could be purple with orange stripes as long as it did the job. Most of the crowd backed away. Draco thought he heard one of the Gryffindor girls scream, but it turned out to be Dean Thomas. Colin Creevey snapped away with his camera whilst retreating. A female prefect from Hufflepuff bravely jumped in front of Finch-Fletchley, Midgen, and her other housemates who were standing closest.
It hardly mattered; the pale reptile had eyes only for Potter, who scrambled away so quickly that he tripped and barked his elbow on the platform, where his wand fell from his hand.
Draco beamed.
"Don't move, Potter. I'll get rid of it ... " Snape chuckled, obviously relishing the boy's terror.
The serpent was only a few feet away when Potter, as though in a trance, opened his mouth and made a series of perplexing noises. Was he breathing hard? Wheezing? No ... he was hissing, almost as if he were mocking the snake or—
Or talking to it.
Those dire suspicions were confirmed when the snake inexplicably slumped to the floor, and slithered grouchily back to Draco's side. The hall had gone nearly silent as it sunk in that Harry Potter, golden boy of Gryffindor, could speak parseltongue. Even Draco felt a chill ... one that soon turned to a shiver of anticipation as Weasley and Hermione rushed Potter out of the chamber.
Oh, this was rich. This was perfect. If what his father told him about the Chamber of Secrets was true ... then the little ragamuffin just might be of use to him after all.
The question was, how to make him cooperate?
Friday morning at the Lovegood house was clear and brisk. Frost decorated the garden, and the birds were flying south. Whether they did so because of the oncoming winter, or the endless series of tooth-rattling explosions emanating from the tower, was up for debate. But either way, Xenophilius said to himself, nature took its course.
Boom.
And what a glorious thing nature was! To offer him such a wealth of dazzling possibilities, to provide such exquisitely volatile chemicals and resources to work with (even if he had to steal some of them from Severus' storeroom last month) ... the fates might as well have begged him to experiment! Of course there were some things better not experimented with, as dear Pandora's memory reminded him every day. That had been a truly dangerous branch of magic, forbidden and forgotten for a reason ...
But this, he could rationalize. A discharge of incompatible energies here, a minor conflagration there ... it was unnerving to be sure, but ultimately harmless.
Boom.
Xeno ducked behind the desk and cast an absent-minded water spell to put out his hair. It needed washing anyway. A stack of letters about a mutant kneazle raiding the Auror Department's fridge (all from the same reader) turned to ash.
It was worth the sacrifice. He did this not for himself, as much fun as it was, but for Luna. His wife's death had done more than shatter his heart; it had thrown his own future into a maelstrom of uncertainty. She'd been the one to organize them, to chart their course, to make sure the house stayed relatively clean and say this was appropriate and that was not. Xeno knew he simply wasn't equipped to take on that role, and so it had fallen to Luna. Wherever she went, he would follow and whatever she may need, he would do his utmost to provide so long as she kept her promise. That was wrong, some people may say, to let the child lead the parent. It went against nature. It simply would not do.
But they made do. Though he considered himself Irish first and foremost, the ability to muddle through was one British legacy he didn't mind inheriting.
Boom. Crash.
Goodness! That combination of ingredients hadn't worked either, unless his goal was to shatter every window in the sitting room. Oh, well. It could do with some airing out. A reasonable person might have given up by now, but there were times when rational thought was a mere inconvenience. This particular idea was something that needed a few more years to develop; rushing it to fruition would inevitably have consequences. At least Luna's pictures on the walls were warded and therefore easily repaired.
He had promised his daughter she would have these as soon as possible, and so she would. Everything was falling into place. He finally knew the threat they faced now, had pieced it together from his incomparable knowledge of magizoology, had named it in the letter he shot off to Luna and the Malfoys that morning. It contained only one word.
BASILISK.
He tried another combination.
Boom?
No.
It was more of a boommmmmmmffffffzzzzzz ... sizzle, sizzle, sizzle! Xeno hopped about the trashed sitting room with joy. Success! Clarity! The front of his robes melting away! Pain! Oh, dear.
A quick healing spell set him right. The robes were unsalvageable unless he fancied a part in the next muggle Tarzan movie, but no matter. Clothing could be replaced. Muggleborn lives couldn't. With great satisfaction, Xeno held up the fruit of his labours in the illumination from the skylight (was a gaping hole in the upper wall part of his house's original blueprint? ... no matter, it was there now) and displayed it proudly to any invisible beasties who might be watching: a large pair of distinctively shaped, pink-and-bronze, but otherwise innocuous ...
... Spectacles.
Dear Father,
I must thank you again for your advance knowledge concerning the Duelling Club. I shared it with as many of us as I could, and as a result all but two of the Slytherins in my year won their duels against the Gryffindors. I used Serpensortia on Harry Potter and it scared him out of his wits, just as you said it would. If only you could have been there.
There is another wrinkle in our plan, however. In the process of besting Potter, I also exposed him as a parselmouth. I saw him hiss back at the snake and cause it to retreat with my own eyes, and so did almost everyone else in the Great Hall. Perhaps you were right all along and he really is a dark wizard in the making. Many of the students express this opinion as well, but if true he is one of the most ill-bred and self-righteous dark wizards to come along in many years. Another possibility is that his parseltongue is an after-effect of his 'duel', such as it was, with the Dark Lord eleven years ago. I anxiously await your advice on this matter.
Luna and Ginevra are both good duellists in the making, and Pansy is lethal with a wand in her hand; I can see why Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson want to marry her off to me. They've given up trying to control her and they're hoping we can do it instead. I don't reckon our chances highly.
Selwyn watched us the whole time, and I didn't like the look in his eye. He even beat Bridget Holness in their match. You were right about his strength. He goes straight for the jugular.
I appreciate your patience with the Gryffindors. How Ginevra and Hermione became involved is a long story. Suffice it to say that good help is hard to find these days, and when they offered it I was glad enough to accept. Hermione is smart and willing to learn, quite unlike the rest of the muggle-raised rabble in this school who swagger about thinking they own the place.
We have the Weasley girl to thank for saving the latest muggleborn, a hopeless duffer named Finch-Fletchley; he was all the way up in the Astronomy Tower and I doubt Luna and I could have reached him in time. The girl has overcome a number of initial setbacks: fixation on Potter, Gryffindor sorting, and even her traitorous family. She's appearing more Slytherin every day. I realise her finding out about the diary would complicate matters, but you have my word that I'll handle her with care.
All the best, your loving son
Draco
They met after dinner on Friday in the room nearest the Slytherin conference chamber. After telling Potter and Weasley she was going to the library, Hermione slipped through the doorway and found herself in surprisingly close quarters.
"A storage closet, Malfoy?" she said doubtfully.
"I had little option," he replied, unable to hide the nervousness in his voice. His pale, pointed face was only a foot away from hers. "So, are you prepared?"
She swallowed hard. "As much as I can be in just twenty-four hours. I'm sure they'll expect me to know everything about the muggle world, if the questions ever reach that point. And I don't know everything. Suppose they ask about politics? I wouldn't even know where to start. Ever since Margaret Thatcher resigned—"
"Hermione," Draco said testily. "Must I continually remind you to breathe?"
She shook her head and took deep breaths, trying to calm herself.
"I haven't the foggiest idea about muggle current events and I doubt my housemates will ask about them. Their questions are bound to be a bit more ... elementary."
"Right," she said with a scowl. "Such as, am I actually human, do I bathe, and how do I deal with being unworthy scum."
"They won't dare be that rude, considering your position. But you've got the general idea."
The closet door creaked open, and Luna Lovegood stuck her head in.
"Hullo, Draco," she nearly sang. Calling a wizard of superior prestige by their given name was a major faux pas in Slytherin unless you were exceptionally close to them. But apparently Luna was, because Draco just smiled back without batting an eye. Then, in a monotone, "Granger."
"Luna," Hermione said cordially. It was crystal clear that Draco's friend didn't like her and probably never would. Malfoy said more than once that she was no stickler for blood purity, so why did she always give her the cold shoulder?
"They are ready for you," Luna said, brightening again as she turned back to Draco. "Some have chosen not to attend, but most of them followed your orders. Your Quidditch teammates are there, though I fear they are not happy about it. Theodore refused to leave his dormitory 'til Pansy threatened him."
"And Selwyn?"
"He switched with Perriss so that he would be on duty. He wants no part of this, I'm sure."
Draco sighed. "No surprise there. I suppose it's for the best. All right ... stiff upper, Hermione. Follow me."
He led her to the conference room while Luna brought up the rear. He opened the door, and Hermione's heart began to pound as she stepped inside. The room was large and square with thick walls and green and silver draperies, and the huge chandelier was recognisable from Sir Nick's Deathday Party. Fortunately it was full of living people, so she no longer felt like she was walking into a freezer. Dozens of Slytherins sat in a semicircle across the back and sides of the room. An empty chair awaited her in the middle, facing all of them. Some had their arms folded. Others turned away when they saw her. None looked excited to be there. She did not see many sixth or seventh-years, but three prefects were present; Gemma Farley sat calm and impassive near the front, Alexandra Sykes and the Perriss boy further towards the back. No Snape, but that didn't surprise her in the least. He was probably abstaining so he could claim ignorance later. She wondered if Draco had even told him about this, or Lucius for that matter ...
"Did you tell your father we were doing this?" she whispered to him.
His mouth was set in a thin line. "No."
"He would have tried to stop you, wouldn't he?"
"Yes, and you're not to mention that to anyone else. They must think I have my parents' full support. Now if you're through asking silly questions, come with me and take the chair."
She nodded and took a final deep breath. "I feel like I'm on display."
"You are on display, Granger," said Luna.
"Thank you, Luna," Hermione said sarcastically.
"You are welcome, Granger. I'm glad to see you've learned manners."
Draco cut in. "Enough. Luna, take a seat. Hermione, come along."
The brunette was still rather irritable as she followed him to the center of the room and sat in the soft leather chair. If nothing else, the terse exchange with Luna had taken her mind off how scared she was. Some of these kids were looking at her with pure hatred in their eyes. She was glad when Draco remained standing beside her, even more so when Gemma walked over and stood protectively on her other side. She caught the older girl's eye, and the prefect gave her a gruff nod.
"Right," Draco said crisply. He spoke with the confidence of one who knew silence would descend instantly on the word of command. He had come prepared, and even brought some notes on a small length of parchment. "I'm glad to see so many of you chose to attend. If it were my father standing here you'd be hearing a formal speech, but seeing as I've known you lot for years and we all know pretty well why we're here, I'll give it to you straight. This is Hermione Granger. She got top marks out of all the firsties last year and, as a few of you already know, I've signed her as my first adjutant."
Eyes popped. Many who had been scowling and shuffling their feet now sat up very straight in their chairs. Theodore Nott quivered all over with rage. Millicent Bullstrode and Blaise Zabini were not pleased either. Sophie Roper, normally a mousy girl, looked downright fierce. Crabbe and Goyle just shrugged at each other, and Pansy seemed amused by the whole thing. Frye Harper, the skinny beanpole who wrote the Scrawl, alternated between staring at her and attacking his notepad.
"I trust you all know what that means. She's working for me, and from now on you'll treat her with the proper respect. You're not to bother her or call her nasty names. If she has to enter the dungeons on Malfoy business, even our common room, you'll treat her decently and give her help if she needs it. As the son of—"
"Blood traitor!" Cassius Warrington bellowed.
Some of the Slytherins turned on Warrington angrily, but none was as quick as Gemma, who cast a silencing charm that left him shouting mutely in his chair.
"Any other objections?" Draco asked.
No one dared make a sound.
"Very well. As I was saying, being the son of a Malfoy and a Black, I need not remind you how much my family values the sanctity of its bloodline. I know what it means to all of you, to be pure. It's a rare and wonderful thing. But it's also a responsibility. It's up to us to determine what sort of world we want to live in. I've heard talk here of how great things would be for us if the other side had won the war. I think we should be grateful that we live in a world where we still have something to prove, something to do with ourselves besides sit around and be superior and breed. And for those of us who are half-bloods, you should be grateful you live in a world where you're a success story and not a disgrace. Where you can study, play Quidditch, eat with us and no one will say anything about it. Because that's not how things would be if crazy old Dumbledore and his rabble had lost, I can promise you that."
The mood in the room was shifting. Several of the pure-bloods were studying the floor, while Frye and Sophie and other half-bloods looked at Draco with something approaching awe. Gemma, herself a half-blood, was listening attentively.
"It's time we appreciated how lucky we all are. And whether you like it or not, as the heirs and heiresses of established wizarding families, we have an obligation. That's to extend a helping hand to less privileged wizards who are especially smart, talented, or hard-working. Many of your parents did it, at least before the war; someday you'll be expected to do the same. So far a lot of us have ignored adjutancy. We pretend it doesn't exist, because we're caught up in all this talk about muggleborns being filthy, inferior, not deserving of a place in our world and all the rest. But how would we know? Everyone close your eyes because I want a show of hands: how many of you here have even properly met a muggleborn witch or wizard in your lives?"
Even Hermione was shocked by how few hands in the crowd went up.
"One ... six ... thirteen ... right, hands down. I've counted seventeen people out of close to a hundred. That leaves about eighty per cent of us who haven't the foggiest idea what we're talking about when it comes to muggleborns. Who haven't met one, let alone asked them what it means to be one. I'm not blaming you; many of us haven't had a chance. Well, this is your chance." He gestured to Hermione. "Your parents aren't here to scold you. Even Professor Snape isn't here. It's a confidential student meeting, just us and Hermione. Her intelligence and her loyalty to me are beyond reproach. If you've ever been even the slightest bit curious about how they live, how they feel, what their world is like, how they're different from us ... go ahead and ask. In person if you wish, or on parchment if it's more comfortable."
Hermione watched with great amusement as almost everyone bent over their scrolls and started writing. It reminded her of a sexual education class where students who were too embarrassed to ask the teacher about something out loud could scribble it down anonymously. It was unthinkable to her that muggle studies class at Hogwarts was merely an elective offered to third-years and up. But because of that, she now had the priceless opportunity to sit at the front of a room full of people and educate them herself. She, Hermione Granger, got to be a professor for an evening. It was such a thrill that she almost hyperventilated.
Oh, if only her friends could see her now! If only she could tell them all about it!
Gemma walked along the rows of seats with a snakeskin basket to collect the papers. There were several dozen easily. Hermione reached in and picked one at random.
"Hello, everyone, and thank you for coming to listen to me. I think I'm as curious about you as you are about me! Let's go to our first question." Unfolding the parchment, she read aloud: "'How do mudbloods steal their magic?' Er ... oh, dear. Well ... "
"You needn't bother with that one, Hermione," Draco said patiently, seeing her falter momentarily. He turned to the crowd. "I believe I already instructed everyone not to call you by inappropriate names."
"Thank you, Lord Malfoy," Hermione said, smiling. She felt honoured that he was standing up for her in front of his whole house. "But if you'll permit me, I don't mind addressing the question itself. This is one of the more common falsehoods about muggleborns. We don't steal our magic, but are born with it the same as anyone else. I remember performing my first accidental magic at my sixth birthday party. Another girl wouldn't stop making fun of me and I just wished she would shut her mouth, and then it really happened. She couldn't open her mouth for the rest of the party and her parents had to take her home. I think that's when muggle children started to be scared of me."
That got a few laughs. Some of the Slytherins fidgeted, as if uncomfortable thinking of her as a human being with a real childhood. These things would take time.
"'Why don't you go back where you came from? You would be safer there,' " Hermione read from the next paper. "Well, I wouldn't be too sure about that. Muggle society is full of crime that's much harder to detect and prevent because they don't have magic. You wouldn't believe what people can get away with. But more to the point ... if I went back there for the rest of my life, I couldn't use my magic freely. I would have to deny that part of myself, and you might as well ask someone to cut off their own arm. Being brought up in the non-magical world doesn't mean we love being wizards any less."
"S'pose you had to choose?" someone asked. It was Vincent Crabbe, one of the last people she would have expected to say anything. His towering figure was easy to notice as he stood up in the crowd.
Hermione thought about that. "It's hard to say, Crabbe. Almost everything I want is here, but ... my parents live in the muggle world. I love them, and of course they love me, but they don't understand magic. They're afraid of it, really. And because magic is a part of me ... well, things can be difficult at times. It's not easy to choose between your family and your future. I hope I'll never have to."
The Q&A session went smoothly as Hermione settled into a rhythm, with Draco occasionally clearing his throat to let her know when she was over-explaining something. Between debunking ludicrous myths like "my father says touching mudbloods gives you spattergroit, is that true?" and "if Potter speaks parseltongue, does that make him the Heir of Slytherin?" , while struggling with mind-benders like "do muggleborns get wrackspurts?", it was a tiring but highly productive evening.
Not until the meeting room was empty and curfew had passed did Selwyn reenter. Looking around with his beady eyes to ensure the room was empty, he levitated the two-way mirror from its hiding place up in the chandelier. His master had been able to see and hear everything that took place.
"Sir?" he whispered when he had the shard in his hands.
The voice that spoke to him was choked with rage. "They must be punished, Selwyn."
The boy's eyes lit up. "Yes, sir! This time, we'll make sure Granger can't get away. We'll silence her forever. We can—"
"Not the mudblood. The boy," the face said. The jet-black hair was lank on its forehead, the sallow face marred by dark circles under the eyes. "Punish the boy."