Lord Voldemort was a fresh stain in everyone's mind, but he was just that: a stain people were carefully washing away and trying to forget. Because Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, killed Lord Voldemort in 1981.
It was 1998 and there was no sign of the dark wizard. He was gone. Every year that passed made Voldemort easier to say, easier to rationalize and never let happen again. Those that had lost loved ones could process and mourn in peace. Children could grow without fear of war looming over their heads.
Purebloods prejudiced against muggleborns had to change their way of thinking if they wanted to continue prospering in the new age. Muggleborns became equal to purebloods, thanks to Albus Dumbledore's pro-muggleborn politics. Dumbledore fought for equality and used Hermione Granger, Golden Girl, Brightest Witch of Her Age, as his figurehead. All she had to do was do well in school, be an example for everyone to follow, and manage not to strangle Draco Malfoy.
''I'm going to kill him!'' Hermione said and held her vine wood wand tightly, nearly breaking it. Her frizzy hair rose with each step she took towards the Slytherin common room. Pansy followed hastily and listened. ''The nerve! The gall! That pompous, irreverent fink will pay!"
"Not because he made me believe we were friends or anything, Parkinson,'' she continued. Pansy didn't dare interrupt the goldmine which was a fight between the two most academically acclaimed Hogwarts nerds, ''He's a rich bastard and I'm too familiar with rich bastards. But I won't stand for cheating and unfair application standards and - THAT APPRENTICESHIP SHOULD HAVE BEEN MINE!"
Pansy went to say something. She was cut off.
"But no! He just had to have his family meddle in everything. Just because you can pull strings, Pansy, doesn't mean that you should.''
Hermione was the only one that Draco Malfoy couldn't beat academically for all seven years of their Hogwarts education. This put her in a more favourable position with a lot of mentorship programs some post-graduates participated in. A lot of people who weren't prejudiced against muggleborns were hoping to have Hermione be their apprentice.
This ticked Malfoy off pretty badly. Hermione almost wanted to say it angered him more than Harry beating him at Quidditch, but she knew better.
When classes got harder in sixth year, Hermione and Draco tentatively became friends because nobody could keep up with them. To say they dominated the Hogwarts playing field would be putting it mildly. People feared their prowess. However, they feared the drama each of their fall outs brought more.
''So, Granger.'' Draco had said like the snake he was, pretending to be nonchalant while all he did was calculate. She should not have trusted that pretentious, sleazy aristocrat. ''Who would you most want to apprentice to?'
''Gilderoy Lockhart.'' Hermione had said without a moment's hesitation, nose buried in an old tome seeping with magic. Both of them had gotten passes to the Restricted Section and then they took every advantage of reading until their eyes popped.
Both had twelve OWLS.
Though, Hermione had one NEWT more than him.
Which made her the better candidate for apprenticeships. She could choose and she had chosen Gilderoy Lockhart. Her one, singular, titular, most important dream was supposed to come true.
''You're exaggerating.'' Pansy Parkinson calmly said and brought Hermione back to the present.
''Parkinson, I will burn him on a bonfire made of my mistakes. He may be the primus inter pares of them all.'' Hermione's voice was like fire without wind, calm, but still dangerous.
Pansy rolled her eyes at the Gryffindor's dramatic behaviour. ''Not everything can be handed to you, Granger. Perhaps Lockhart preferred a Malfoy over a muggleborn.''
''That apprenticeship was mine, Parkinson.'' She swiped her wand as she crossed through a corridor full of children, tumbling them to the side to allow both graduates passageway.
''You just asked Dumbledore, the coot probably didn't relay your plea.'' Pansy, ever reasonable, reasoned.
''It was a sure thing.'' Hermione hissed and her whole hair rose, each lock sizzling with magic. Her eyes widened in realisation and hurt that angry tears welled in her eyes. But she wouldn't dare shed them for someone like that snobbish, irreverent arsehole!
They reached the Slytherin dorm and Pansy opened it with her password.
''I have no more use of you, Pansy. You may leave.'' Hermione dismissed.
Pansy remained where she was. ''Oh, Granger, you misunderstand now as you usually do Slytherin matters. I want to see this.''
The Gryffindor sighed. ''So be it.'' The two entered the common room and instantly in their vision aligned a man wearing graduation robes. A blond, dead man.
''Pansy, how could you lead her to this sacred place?!'' Draco Malfoy yelled and ducked cover behind a leather couch. He took out his wand and waited for Hermione to strike. Hermione saw this as him admitting guilt.
''Which one of them did you beg for my internship, Malfoy?'' Hermione walked over to the couch and asked again, this time her voice darker. ''Do I have to attack an old, sick man? Or perhaps it was your father who bribed your way into Lockhart's outstretched arms?''
''Hermione, you're angry and you're probably not thinking straight-''
''Which one of them did you beg?''
''My grandfather, OK.'' Draco admitted. It pained him to do so, but lying would have only made things worse.
Pansy sat in an armchair that gave her the best view and relished in her ex-boyfriend's blunder.
''Fucking Abraxas, seriously?''
"This is really important to me, Granger."
She gritted her teeth and aimed the tip of her wand at Draco Malfoy's ashen face. ''How could you? I told you who I would like to apprentice to in CONFIDENCE and BAM'' –she slammed her wand to the ground and there was a loud blast of noise—''you become Gilderoy Lockhart's apprentice instead of me!? Malfoy, I thought we were friends!''
At least, Hermione thought as she watched Malfoy watching for any sign of escape – at least he didn't lie.
''This is an opportunity I can't let pass me by, Granger.'' Draco confessed hurriedly, watching for signs of escape, tumbling words out of his mouth like a frantic man. ''I was supposed to have some American hermit living in Southeastern Europe. That would have been suicide for my image! I wouldn't be taken seriously, Hermione. Gilderoy Lockhart took down a vampire human trafficking ring with a single stake and his wits! He fought a bloody Basilisk, Hermione! It's nothing personal-''
''BULL-'' She sent a stinging hex right at his forehead. ''-SHIT!''
It hit. He always had poorer shield reflexes than she.
''I can't believe you hit me in the FACE!''
''Oh, put a glamour over it!''
''Well, I'll bloody have to!'' Draco chanced a glance in the nearby mirror and saw a jagged mark on his forehead. He couldn't prove it, but he had a feeling that Hermione had made him look like Potter on purpose.
Pansy summoned some popcorn from her dorm. She crossed her legs and took handfuls of the popped goodness. High-pitched Draco screams of sheer infuriation alerted the disinterested party of Slytherins to come to the common room.
Theodore Nott burst into laughter upon seeing the scene unfolding before him. Millicent Bulstrode sighed a sigh of a woman too fed up with Hogwarts. She and Pansy were going to forego the whole mentorship ordeal and go straight into private sector, Millie breeding Kneazles and Pansy running a business. Pansy loathed the whole idea of witches having to get married to mean something in the magical world. Her business would change that by opening up new opportunities and doors.
Theodore Nott was going into healing. That was why his first instinct after laughing himself to madness was to check Draco's wounds.
''It'll heal.'' Theodore said and patted Draco on the back twice. He looked over to Hermione and snort-laughed into his hand. ''Granger,'' he tipped his head as a greeting and she did the same, fuming like a kettle while doing so.
Millie walked over to Pansy and sat down on the arm of the chair. She leaned down and kissed Pansy gently. Pansy melted, finding Draco's match against Hermione second best to this blissful feeling.
''You ready to leave this hellhole?'' Pansy asked, muggle borrow-words buried deep in her vernacular. Being friends with Granger did that to a Sacred Twenty-Eight child.
The horrified look Millie gave her said enough: every single one of them was ready to leave.
Everyone, that is, except for Harry James Potter, Boy Who Lived who, alongside Hermione Granger and Albus Dumbledore was giving a speech at the graduation ceremony simply because he had killed the darkest wizard Britain had produced.
''And,'' Hermione controlled the urge to tear the podium away from him for starting a sentence with a preposition, ''uh,'' oh, kill Voldemort as a baby, why don't you, but then don't learn how to do public speaking, nice one, Harry, ''I'd just like to, uh, say that we can't forget what hardships people have gone through during the war to give us, the newer generation of wizarding Britain, the opportunity to study in peace. It's a privilege many have taken for granted. That is why,'' Hermione sensed where Ginny Weasley, bright young girl, had helped her boyfriend with his speech because it finally started to sound like a SPEECH, ''I will be becoming an Auror. Uh, yeah, and-''
Ron Weasley started clapping before Potter finished his speech, but it didn't matter, because the whole school agreed that this sounded like the perfect end and applauded with him.
''Hermione,'' Draco hissed at her to get her attention. She didn't dare look at him. ''I'm sorry, if it means anything. I'd still like to be friends.''
She discreetly side-eye glared at him.
And then minutes later threatened his properly dressed family.
''You will rue the day you crossed me!'' Hermione pointed at Abraxas Malfoy, a man she'd come to see as a grandfather figure that lent her dark tomes. Lucius and Narcissa didn't stare, so to speak, but still observed the patriarch of their family holding back soft smiles at the muggleborn their son could never beat. At least until now. Though, it had taken Malfoy influence to do so.
Abraxas crutched over to her with a simple, black diamond encrusted cane, placing a hand on her shoulder. He leaned in and whispered, ''Hermione, dear girl, you can do so much better than Gilderoy Lockhart.''
''I can't!'' Hermione shouted and that desperation and everlasting thirst for knowledge reminded Abraxas of someone quite dear to him, ''Gilderoy Lockhart is the greatest, most acclaimed, most decorated of this year's available mentors, Mr. Abraxas. Don't you understand that?''
The old Malfoy did understand that perfectly, which was why he had made sure his grandson had the 'honour' of apprenticing to that charlatan.
As someone who knew everything there was to know about everyone, Abraxas Malfoy could tell you Gilderoy Lockhart hadn't enough sense to enter his own common room, much less do the things he'd written in his books.
Draco was inheriting a dynasty and had a desire for knowledge that would help him make a path for himself.
Hermione Granger would just get disappointed and fall into despair if her academic mentor turned out to be a fraud.
Abraxas patted Hermione's shoulder and told her kindly. ''Anyone is better than him, dear. Even,'' he shuddered genuinely, ''Americans.''
''Even Montgomery Goldsmith?'' Hermione pouted. She looked for guidance in the old Malfoy while Narcissa and Lucius fussed over Draco.
''I am certain he is not rubbish.'' Abraxas lied, having never heard of the American until his grandson had cursed his name. He asked Hermione if she would like to join them at Malfoy Manor, but Hermione kindly declined and said she had family to see. Her parents couldn't attend the graduation ceremony, what with it being held at Hogwarts, but they didn't seem to mind much.
''And now, I have to pack up and move to Southeastern Europe. There's two portkeys I have to get to on time.'' Hermione sighed, already exhausted at the mere idea of travelling via multiple portkey.
As she distanced herself from the pureblood family, Hermione raised her fist in the air – whether for comedy or not, none of them could really tell – and swore. ''You will rue the day you crossed me, Malfoy.'' Just before apparating, now once they were off Hogwarts grounds, she took her wand out, aimed it at Draco, and whispered 'finite incantatem'. His glamour fell.
The Potter-esque scar flared in the open. Lucius was grabbing Draco roughly to take a closer look. Narcissa asked him what was happening, what he'd done to deserve an attack. Abraxas' smile shifted to accommodate guffawing.
Then, with a crack, Hermione apparated to her family's home.
''She is quite amusing.'' Abraxas said fondly. He turned to his panicking grandson. ''I was rooting you two would get together, but being best friends works, as well.''
"We're not even friends anymore." It took Draco seventeen years of pureblood upbringing not to roll his eyes. ''As you can see,'' he motioned for the scar, ''Hermione doesn't want anything to do with me.''
Narcissa caressed his cheek and smiled a smile only a mother could have. ''You'll make it up to her. She is a very bright witch that won't stay mad forever.''
''She's good PR, too, '' Lucius added and cast the glamour back on his son. ''Dumbledore's muggleborn best friends with Draco Malfoy.'' The middle-aged man smirked. He had ambitions still. He even thought himself the next Minister for Magic. Any PR move to soften his Death Eater image was welcome.
''I'll try,'' Draco promised.
''She is rather fun,'' Abraxas commented. ''Reminds me of my good friend Tom from my school days.''
''Who?'' Draco asked, plans for his future weighing too heavily on his mind. The youth rarely had time to remember the past while looking forward to the future.
''Nobody,'' Lucius and Narcissa quickly said.
''So the monster just kept saying Nobody was hurting him? And none of his friends helped him from dying?''
Montgomery Goldsmith nodded and smiled like a man whose main source for company was a wild snake. ''Exactly!''
''That's stupid.'' The snake slithered off of Montgomery's cluttered desk, sliding towards the open window to his cabin. ''You're stupid,'' it repeated, then slinked outside.
Montgomery leaned into a wooden chair and sighed. Unrolled scrolls ranging from ancient Greek to Chinese surrounded him. Papers he'd written himself scattered over rooms, some magically glued to the fridge, others peeking out from underneath furniture he rearranged from time to time for amusement.
Newspapers were everywhere. The Wall Street Journal, Magical America, The Times, The Daily Prophet, Pobjeda, Gorska Vila, and too many satirical newspapers no self-respecting academia doctor would dare read (cough the Quibbler cough).
Through his window flew the latest copy of the Daily Prophet – he'd put a neighbour's house on the mail-list, but she was kind enough to always forward it to him. The American stood from the chair and glided over to the newspaper. He wondered what Magical Britain was up to, having not stepped inside it since 1981.
Montgomery deeply regretted opening today's copy. His scaly fingers clutched the paper and crinkled it. The scales trailed over his body up to his eyes, where they branched off and faded into his dark brown hair. He caught himself in a mirror next to his window, bent over and improper. Montgomery straightened his back, as he always did, because he did not want to look like a man in his seventies. Ha. What a laugh. He didn't look a day over forty.
He closed his crimson eyes and inhaled deeply. Slowly, as he exhaled he opened them.
BOY WHO LIVED: FUTURE AUROR
Aurors, to Montgomery Goldsmith, were the least critical people one could meet. They had no idea what they wanted to do with their lives, but knew violence was a part of it. Morons. Tools, more like.
He looked at the interview held by a woman named Rita Skeeter and, against his better judgement, decided to read it.
Newly graduated Harry Potter wants for a life where he can continue to help people in need. He claims that especially now, during peace, people need to do their best to uphold it.
At that passage Montgomery had to stop, walk around the room, and come back to it. ''You think Aurors make sure wars don't happen, Potter? I cannot wait to hear what you think the Minister of Magic does.''
A moving photograph of the boy came into view. He looked positively mediocre, his hair too dishevelled for a widely consumed newspaper. Someone should've slapped him for it. If Montgomery was there, he would. Perhaps he'd kill him first and then slap his corpse, but that was less important.
He flipped the newspaper to see what else it offered today and found himself choking back angry spouts.
They gave Harry Potter three pages. An obviously slow day today. It wasn't as if Dumbledore had anything stupid to talk about. Oh, wait, they gave him three pages, too. Well how about something completely uninteresting that nobody would read, but was necessary to fill out space? An interview with Percy Weasley on Cauldron Control on page thirty-one! Montgomery was on a roll.
He flipped back to Potter's charming interview that was more of a stress source for him at this point than anything else. Montgomery, diligently, read on. It was either that or finishing another hypothesis ignorant people would tear into only to later realise how right he was and beg him for forgiveness.
Do you think that You-Know-Who is just in hiding and has been waiting for an opportune moment to strike? Did what happened with You-Know-Who influence your career choice?
''I cannot believe they printed this.'' Montgomery laughed and guided himself to the couch where he reclined and eagerly read Potter's answer. ''Oh, Rita Skeeter, your unprofessionalism delights me!'' A smile broke out on his face.
The photograph she attached to this segment of the interview had Potter squirming and looking away, perhaps towards someone to come and save him. Squirm, you pathetic boy. Squirm under the scrutinizing gaze of magical Britain.
''You signed up for a life of fame, Potter, when that mother of yours ruined my plans.''
Voldemort is dead.
''I do wonder where the body went.'' Montgomery blinked as he spoke. ''My soul simply ejected.''
We should all move past what he's done and make the world a better place. There are plenty of dark witches and wizards Voldemort has influenced – ''Oh, are there now? I haven't heard of any. But good for you, Potter, knowing more than everyone around you.'' – It is our duty as upstanding citizens to fight against tyranny and vow to never allow monsters into positions of power.
''Only 'monsters' have been in positions of power since power has existed, Potter. Though,'' Montgomery Goldsmith rolled his crimson eyes, ''what could a future auror possibly know of politics?''
Goldsmith didn't expect to spend the entire afternoon reminiscing of his time as Lord Voldemort, but there he was. Day turned to night and a hissing sound broke him out of a monologue about Dumbledore.
The snake, now with even more criticism:
''Are you still in this house?" It asked. "It has been hours. Go outside. Have a walk. Kill some mice. Eat.''
Montgomery glared at the fed-up, venomous snake and hissed at it to go away. ''Go jump away from me, poskoku.''
The poskok – most venomous snake in Southeastern Europe – hissed.
''Zorka is asking for you.''
''You can tell Zorka if she comes anywhere near me I will let her husband out of the mental institution she put him into.''
''She is not a speaker.''
''Bite her. She will understand the sentiment.''
''I would rather bite you than her.'' The venomous snake slid over to him and curled next to him on the couch.
Montgomery placed a wounded hand over his heart and gaped at the horned snake. ''I didn't expect betrayal from you.''
Living with snakes for the past seventeen years had changed him a lot. Mentally speaking, he wasn't quite as right as he used to be. Not that he was any better whilst war had gone on, though he had pretended to be. Montgomery Goldsmith was tired of pretending to have his life together.
''She said some girl is looking for you. Didn't you mention a pupil coming around today? You've been talking about it for days.'' The poskok moved to sit in Montgomery's lap.
''Ah. Yes. I do believe I joined a mentorship programme.'' Casting a cursory glance at a calendar planted on his front door, Montgomery saw that today, indeed, was marked as the day his pupil would come. Pushing the snake off of him, he surged for the door, putting on a silent, wandless glamour so the muggles didn't kill him upon sight. ''I forgot that was today.''
''Did you finish that paper, at least?''
Wisely, Montgomery said nothing.
''Stupid.'' The snake's tongue slipped out as it hissed.
