From The Platform To The Threshold
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters had never seen such a day, or never will again. Such a battle could never be repeated in the history of all mankind. For on that day, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy shook hands and smiled at each other.
And no, neither of them died. Though I'm not sure neither one nursed broken fingers.
This, then, is how it came about.
"Harry! Harry!" The Boy Who Lived whipped around to see a radiantly beaming Hermione trailing a reluctant Ron.
"Hermione, slow down." Ron scolded.
"Oh, Ron," Hermione sighed exasperatedly. She waved, practically glowing. "Hi, Harry."
"Hello, Hermione." Harry said softly. He smiled at her.
[A/N: Hermy's heart: Pitter patter ;)]
"What's all this fuss about this place anyway?" Ron asked. "It's in America, right?"
"North America," Hermione corrected. "More specifically, Canada, and Western Canada at that. And-"
"Are you going anywhere with this, Hermione?" Ron and Hermione exchanged glare.
"You're getting very good at that." Harry commented with a sly smile, before cowering beneath the combined effects of his friends' murderous glances. They laughed.
"Anyway, this school, the Magical Academy for Select Students, [A/N: I can't for the life of me remembered what it's called.] is the first of its kind in British Columbia, Canada." The scowl was added as an afterthought. Ron looked away and pretended not to notice. "It's very much linked to Hogwarts, and that's why we were included in the exchange program." Hermione squealed. "It's going to be just wonderful! The chance to study another culture, live amongst them and learn their ways- it's going to be such fun!" She let out a giggle of girlish glee. Ron rolled his eyes.
"We're not going to live amongst the Quamala pigmies of the Amazon, Hermione," Ron protested, "They're real people, you know. A lot like us, in fact."
"Oh?" a familiar icy drawl asked them. "Do you really think so?"
He always sounds like he's whispering in your ear, even when he's ten feet away, Harry thought, infuriated. I hate that.
He always sounds like he's whispering in your ear, even when he's ten feet away, Hermione suppressed both a sigh and another girlish giggle. If only he weren't evil.
Draco Malfoy did indeed look quite evil at that moment, his lazy I- know-something-you-don't smirk plastered across his pale face, his grey eyes glinting malevolently.
"Malfoy." Harry nodded, seething inwardly.
"Potter. I, for one, am amazed that you were accepted - my, my, I was under the impression that only the best were permitted - I must have been mistaken." The smirk was replaced with a faint sneer as his gaze slid languidly over Harry and his friends.
"Why, Weasley; Granger; so glad you joined us," he commented silkily. "I would have thought the Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers would be staying behind."
"I suppose you were wrong." Draco looked up behind him at none other than a none-too-pleased Mr. Weasley. "Apologize for your language, Mr. Malfoy."
"And why should you be giving me orders?" Although Mr. Weasley was taller than Draco, his tone made it appear as though the Malfoy towered over him. Arthur was neither intimidated nor impressed.
"I'm a professor at MBSS," Mr. Weasley proudly announced, "and I'm to be your chaperone on your journey."
Only Harry noticed Draco's face fall momentarily before he regained his composure.
"Well," he said, "I guess I'll be seeing you around. Hermione." With one final smirk, he slid unhurriedly away with a backwards glance and a wink.
"Hermione?" Ron asked, visibly shaken.
"Yes, Ron?"
"Did Malfoy just call you by your first name?"
*****
The students piled into the train, laughing and talking amongst themselves, and several introductions were made. There was, beside Mr. Weasley, a Miss Riley, who insisted on being called Mimi and was the self- appointed Counselor of the group. She spotted Draco and Harry's animosity in several seconds. They are not all that subtle about it, after all.
It only took the new Director of Inter-Student Relations a few minutes to concoct a plan to get the group 'together'. Exploding Snap, Chocolate Frogs, parlor games, all failed. There was only one option left. Group therapy.
At this point, the students bailed.
Hermione, Harry, and Ron found a compartment to themselves and sat down wearily. They looked out the window at the countryside flashing by; in the far distance the English Channel shimmered in the summer heat.
Draco, however, remained in the passageway, leaning against the coolness of the wooden panels. Without warning, a tiny owl that appeared to be made out of pure silver swooped down and dropped an equally tiny letter into Draco's hands. He unfolded the note, and read;
Draco, I must regretfully ask you to remember your instructions. I did not think you would forget so soon; I suppose I must remind you. I had never expected my son to be a simpleton. You are to gain the confidence of Harry Potter, and then you are to betray him to the Three whom my Lord and I will point out. The Three will bring him to us, and my Lord will have his revenge. You must also be sure to tell him of the road to your betrayal, which the Three will reveal to you in due time. Remember, three roses, one stone, three maidens, one soul's song, three hearts, one master. If you cannot understand such simple instructions, I will have to replace you with a much more intelligent servant. Your father Lusius M
As Draco finished the letter, he sighed. The bit of parchment let out a similar sound and folded itself over and over again until it resembled a minuscule silver spark, from which wafted purple smoke until it went out. He moved towards the door where Harry and his friends were sitting, close enough to overhear some of their conversation.
"Could you believe her?" Ron asked incredulously. "Is she a Professor?"
"Hardly," Hermione scoffed, "She's far too unprofessional."
"I don't mind her," Harry protested, "She was just doing all that for the good of the group."
"And Professor Trelawney only foretold your death several hundred times out of concern for your best interests, right?"
Draco could hear Harry narrow his eyes.
"That's not funny."
"Funny? Well, we all agree you're funny-looking, Potter, but this trip is nothing to laugh at." And there was Draco Malfoy, leaning against the compartment doorway in all his sardonic splendour. They glared. He smirked.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" He faked a pout and flopped down next to Hermione. "Hello, Hermione."
She just looked at him.
"Well, well, well, no need to get touchy; I just came over to tell you something."
"What? Have you decided to stop being an arrogant prat and thought we'd like to know?" Hermione bristled.
"Why, of course not, darling. I'll always be an arrogant prat. What would happen to the world if I wasn't? What would happen to Pansy Parkinson?" An awkward silence passed. "Alright, the world would probably be better off without her, but I digress."
He took a breath.
"I thought Potter might like to know that there is an event coming up which might just succeed in tripping him up on the stairs to greatness," Draco informed them cordially, or as cordially as you can expect from Draco. "That's all." He rose to leave.
"Do you know what it is?" Came the terse reply. "Will it effect you?"
"And will you live through it?" Ron asked.
"Why, of course, my dear Weasley." Draco answered. "What would happen if I didn't? What-"
"Okay, okay, we get it!" Ron interrupted. "Shut up, Malfoy."
"Weasley, I'm hurt," he clutched his chest in mock reproach. "But I just wanted to say, good luck, Potter. You're going to need it."
"As will you." Harry replied.
And they shook hands and smiled.
*****
The rest of the trip passed without event; the Atlantic was as cold and grey as it had ever been when they arrived at the coast. Mr. Weasley plucked a discarded soda bottle from the sand.
"Ah ha!" he cried. "Our Portkey!"
They all crowded around, six at a time. There weren't that many of them there; Mr. Weasley and Mimi; the official Chaperone, Professor McGonagall; the rest of the Weasleys - "Mum's going to be really lonely at home," Ron joked - Harry, Hermione, Draco, Penelope Clearwater, Cho Chang, Blaise Zabini, Malcolm Baddock, and surprisingly, Moaning Myrtle, who kept casting agonized glances at Harry and sighing. He made sure not to be in her Portkey group.
The Portkey dropped them on a low hill just before a small but splendid looking castle; purple, white, green, and blue flags flapped from four turrets. They could make out several greenhouses clustered on the roof - An odd place to put them, Ron mused - and beyond them, a golden pinnacled spire flashing brilliantly in the sun. Above the heavy, elaborately carved oaken door, a great crest hung. The sun's rays shone directly upon it, making it seem like the crest held all the light in the world.
At the top, a white dove and black raven were intertwined, holding the same olive branch in their beaks. Below them, a black cat of some kind was rampant on a star-filled violet field, and around dove, raven, and cat was a silver serpent.
"Dovecote, Ravenclaw, Felixa and Slytherin," Hermione said softly, "The four houses of the Magical Branch for Selected Students."
"Or in other words," a rich, bright voice called from a lower window, "Welcome to MBSS."
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters had never seen such a day, or never will again. Such a battle could never be repeated in the history of all mankind. For on that day, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy shook hands and smiled at each other.
And no, neither of them died. Though I'm not sure neither one nursed broken fingers.
This, then, is how it came about.
"Harry! Harry!" The Boy Who Lived whipped around to see a radiantly beaming Hermione trailing a reluctant Ron.
"Hermione, slow down." Ron scolded.
"Oh, Ron," Hermione sighed exasperatedly. She waved, practically glowing. "Hi, Harry."
"Hello, Hermione." Harry said softly. He smiled at her.
[A/N: Hermy's heart: Pitter patter ;)]
"What's all this fuss about this place anyway?" Ron asked. "It's in America, right?"
"North America," Hermione corrected. "More specifically, Canada, and Western Canada at that. And-"
"Are you going anywhere with this, Hermione?" Ron and Hermione exchanged glare.
"You're getting very good at that." Harry commented with a sly smile, before cowering beneath the combined effects of his friends' murderous glances. They laughed.
"Anyway, this school, the Magical Academy for Select Students, [A/N: I can't for the life of me remembered what it's called.] is the first of its kind in British Columbia, Canada." The scowl was added as an afterthought. Ron looked away and pretended not to notice. "It's very much linked to Hogwarts, and that's why we were included in the exchange program." Hermione squealed. "It's going to be just wonderful! The chance to study another culture, live amongst them and learn their ways- it's going to be such fun!" She let out a giggle of girlish glee. Ron rolled his eyes.
"We're not going to live amongst the Quamala pigmies of the Amazon, Hermione," Ron protested, "They're real people, you know. A lot like us, in fact."
"Oh?" a familiar icy drawl asked them. "Do you really think so?"
He always sounds like he's whispering in your ear, even when he's ten feet away, Harry thought, infuriated. I hate that.
He always sounds like he's whispering in your ear, even when he's ten feet away, Hermione suppressed both a sigh and another girlish giggle. If only he weren't evil.
Draco Malfoy did indeed look quite evil at that moment, his lazy I- know-something-you-don't smirk plastered across his pale face, his grey eyes glinting malevolently.
"Malfoy." Harry nodded, seething inwardly.
"Potter. I, for one, am amazed that you were accepted - my, my, I was under the impression that only the best were permitted - I must have been mistaken." The smirk was replaced with a faint sneer as his gaze slid languidly over Harry and his friends.
"Why, Weasley; Granger; so glad you joined us," he commented silkily. "I would have thought the Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers would be staying behind."
"I suppose you were wrong." Draco looked up behind him at none other than a none-too-pleased Mr. Weasley. "Apologize for your language, Mr. Malfoy."
"And why should you be giving me orders?" Although Mr. Weasley was taller than Draco, his tone made it appear as though the Malfoy towered over him. Arthur was neither intimidated nor impressed.
"I'm a professor at MBSS," Mr. Weasley proudly announced, "and I'm to be your chaperone on your journey."
Only Harry noticed Draco's face fall momentarily before he regained his composure.
"Well," he said, "I guess I'll be seeing you around. Hermione." With one final smirk, he slid unhurriedly away with a backwards glance and a wink.
"Hermione?" Ron asked, visibly shaken.
"Yes, Ron?"
"Did Malfoy just call you by your first name?"
*****
The students piled into the train, laughing and talking amongst themselves, and several introductions were made. There was, beside Mr. Weasley, a Miss Riley, who insisted on being called Mimi and was the self- appointed Counselor of the group. She spotted Draco and Harry's animosity in several seconds. They are not all that subtle about it, after all.
It only took the new Director of Inter-Student Relations a few minutes to concoct a plan to get the group 'together'. Exploding Snap, Chocolate Frogs, parlor games, all failed. There was only one option left. Group therapy.
At this point, the students bailed.
Hermione, Harry, and Ron found a compartment to themselves and sat down wearily. They looked out the window at the countryside flashing by; in the far distance the English Channel shimmered in the summer heat.
Draco, however, remained in the passageway, leaning against the coolness of the wooden panels. Without warning, a tiny owl that appeared to be made out of pure silver swooped down and dropped an equally tiny letter into Draco's hands. He unfolded the note, and read;
Draco, I must regretfully ask you to remember your instructions. I did not think you would forget so soon; I suppose I must remind you. I had never expected my son to be a simpleton. You are to gain the confidence of Harry Potter, and then you are to betray him to the Three whom my Lord and I will point out. The Three will bring him to us, and my Lord will have his revenge. You must also be sure to tell him of the road to your betrayal, which the Three will reveal to you in due time. Remember, three roses, one stone, three maidens, one soul's song, three hearts, one master. If you cannot understand such simple instructions, I will have to replace you with a much more intelligent servant. Your father Lusius M
As Draco finished the letter, he sighed. The bit of parchment let out a similar sound and folded itself over and over again until it resembled a minuscule silver spark, from which wafted purple smoke until it went out. He moved towards the door where Harry and his friends were sitting, close enough to overhear some of their conversation.
"Could you believe her?" Ron asked incredulously. "Is she a Professor?"
"Hardly," Hermione scoffed, "She's far too unprofessional."
"I don't mind her," Harry protested, "She was just doing all that for the good of the group."
"And Professor Trelawney only foretold your death several hundred times out of concern for your best interests, right?"
Draco could hear Harry narrow his eyes.
"That's not funny."
"Funny? Well, we all agree you're funny-looking, Potter, but this trip is nothing to laugh at." And there was Draco Malfoy, leaning against the compartment doorway in all his sardonic splendour. They glared. He smirked.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" He faked a pout and flopped down next to Hermione. "Hello, Hermione."
She just looked at him.
"Well, well, well, no need to get touchy; I just came over to tell you something."
"What? Have you decided to stop being an arrogant prat and thought we'd like to know?" Hermione bristled.
"Why, of course not, darling. I'll always be an arrogant prat. What would happen to the world if I wasn't? What would happen to Pansy Parkinson?" An awkward silence passed. "Alright, the world would probably be better off without her, but I digress."
He took a breath.
"I thought Potter might like to know that there is an event coming up which might just succeed in tripping him up on the stairs to greatness," Draco informed them cordially, or as cordially as you can expect from Draco. "That's all." He rose to leave.
"Do you know what it is?" Came the terse reply. "Will it effect you?"
"And will you live through it?" Ron asked.
"Why, of course, my dear Weasley." Draco answered. "What would happen if I didn't? What-"
"Okay, okay, we get it!" Ron interrupted. "Shut up, Malfoy."
"Weasley, I'm hurt," he clutched his chest in mock reproach. "But I just wanted to say, good luck, Potter. You're going to need it."
"As will you." Harry replied.
And they shook hands and smiled.
*****
The rest of the trip passed without event; the Atlantic was as cold and grey as it had ever been when they arrived at the coast. Mr. Weasley plucked a discarded soda bottle from the sand.
"Ah ha!" he cried. "Our Portkey!"
They all crowded around, six at a time. There weren't that many of them there; Mr. Weasley and Mimi; the official Chaperone, Professor McGonagall; the rest of the Weasleys - "Mum's going to be really lonely at home," Ron joked - Harry, Hermione, Draco, Penelope Clearwater, Cho Chang, Blaise Zabini, Malcolm Baddock, and surprisingly, Moaning Myrtle, who kept casting agonized glances at Harry and sighing. He made sure not to be in her Portkey group.
The Portkey dropped them on a low hill just before a small but splendid looking castle; purple, white, green, and blue flags flapped from four turrets. They could make out several greenhouses clustered on the roof - An odd place to put them, Ron mused - and beyond them, a golden pinnacled spire flashing brilliantly in the sun. Above the heavy, elaborately carved oaken door, a great crest hung. The sun's rays shone directly upon it, making it seem like the crest held all the light in the world.
At the top, a white dove and black raven were intertwined, holding the same olive branch in their beaks. Below them, a black cat of some kind was rampant on a star-filled violet field, and around dove, raven, and cat was a silver serpent.
"Dovecote, Ravenclaw, Felixa and Slytherin," Hermione said softly, "The four houses of the Magical Branch for Selected Students."
"Or in other words," a rich, bright voice called from a lower window, "Welcome to MBSS."
