Disclaimer: Much as I'd like to, I don't own Draco Malfoy, or any part of the magical world that J.K. Rowling has all the copyrights to ... please don't sue me. There are some parts of this story that are quotes from the book - it can't be helped - events are the same as in the book, but Draco's opinion of these events may vary from Harry's. The prank Draco pulled on Flint was inspired by Red Dwarf.
Author's Notes: I needed to do some re-writing, after reading OotP. I have made some minor changes to this chapter, mostly spelling and grammar, but again, Nott's name got changed ... I'm gonna stop mentioning Nott's name, after a while.
A lot of plot happens very fast, in this chapter. It's amazing how much information I fitted into such a short space. I had expected this time frame to cover two or three chapter.
Chapter 5 - Quirrell's Odd Behaviour
Flint first. Potter can wait.
I'd been watching their Quidditch practices with avid attention, since they started. Their tactics were impressive, and I think I could find most of them in the book Father bought me (A Guide to Quidditch Strategies, and How to Get Away with Cheating). Flint seemed to be a bit of a tyrant. Basically: if you failed you got yelled at, and if you succeeded you got yelled at less so. But the brooms they were flying were second rate, at best. Cleansweep 6 (three of them), Cleansweep 7, Comet 220, Nimbus 1900 (two of them). Potter just got a Nimbus 2000 - our Seeker's broom is barely half as fast. Flint didn't seem to care that I was watching them. I'm in their house, so what am I gonna do? I'll tell you what I'm gonna do - I'm gonna show up that second-year prat who calls himself a Seeker. This practice has been going on for five hours, and still nothing.
"Oi! Higgs! It's over there!" I yelled, pointing at the sparkle of gold across the pitch from me. The second year glared at me, long enough for the Snitch to move away. "Now it's gone. If you'd focus, rather than being so insecure ... you think I'm going for your job, don't you?" I asked grinning.
"As if!" Higgs yelled down at me.
"Next year! Just you wait!" I yelled back.
Game getting boring, now. I looked up at Flint, seeing him enjoy himself far too much, trying to knock the Keeper off his broom. He'll be busy for a while. Time for that revenge.
I know it's childish. I know it's immature. But what you need to remember is that I was only eleven, and my imagination for revenges didn't stretch to anything particularly un-childish, yet. I sneaked into the Slytherin team changing rooms, and found Flint's locker. "Alohomora." I whispered, and the locker creaked open ... I won't tell you what I did, yet, because it'd ruin the surprise. Five minutes later, I strolled out of the changing rooms, leaving no noticeable trace that I'd been there.
* * *
That evening, at dinner, I sat back in my chair, exuding an air of smugness.
"What are you up to, Draco?" Milli asked, from across the table, where three of the girls were sitting, and had been chittering.
"Wait and see." I said, with a shark's grin.
"What is it?" Blaise asked - now the girls seemed completely intrigued.
"Not telling." I said, grinning even more broadly.
Pansy, who had been sitting next to me, opposite the other three girls, gave me her best puppy-dog eyes (considering she looks a bit like a pug, it's not to difficult for her to do the puppy-dog eyes), and asked, in her sweetest little-girl-lost voice (which sounds so insincere), "Please tell us, Draco, please."
"Nu uh." I said, shaking my head, and refusing to give in.
I looked up as the doors opened and the Quidditch team (now changed back into their normal everyday robes) entered the Great Hall, trying to look like they owned the place. Good timing, now let's see. I set it for 5-30, and it was now - I checked my watch - 5-28. "Just in time." I whispered.
"What's just in time?" Cat asked.
"The Quidditch team. I'd hoped they'd make it." I said, not giving anything away. I checked my watch again - 5-29. "Any second now." I said gleefully, as I watched the second hand tick round, "Just watch the Quidditch team." I said to the girls, who immediately did so. I began the countdown, "Five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... now." I said looking up. Sod-all happened. Flint shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then, slowly, a look of fearful confusion appeared on his face, and a grin on mine. Then he started to convulse in pain. He doubled up and fell to the floor in agony.
"What did you do to the poor boy?" Blaise asked, stunned.
"Shrinking charm on a timer ... Crabbe gave me the idea." I said, grinning.
"What, exactly, is shrinking?" Cat asked in morbid fascination.
"His underpants." I said, grinning viciously.
"That's bad, Draco. Very bad." Milli scolded, while grinning, all the same.
"What did he do to you, to deserve that?" Cat asked.
"He didn't give me a chance to try out for the Slytherin team. I can spot a Snitch way better than Higgs can." I said, watching the twitching sixth year.
"Won't it do permanent damage?" Theo asked, sitting down next to me, and obviously having overheard what we were saying.
"Shouldn't do." I said, "That is if someone gets him to the hospital wing one of these days." I added, getting a bit nervous - I didn't want to be responsible for causing him permanent harm, even if I didn't get caught ... I only wanted to hurt and humiliate him, not kill off his family line. I stood up and yelled at the Quidditch team, "Are you all stupid, or something? He needs medical attention, doesn't he?"
They gave me blank looks.
"He is on the floor, twitching like he's under an Unforgivable bloody curse! Do something!" Theo snapped.
That got them. The Chasers and Beaters picked their captain up, and carried him out, still twitching.
* * *
Madam Pomfrey said Flint would make a full recovery, and she'd love to get her hands on the idiot that did that to him, so she could give them a piece of her mind, muttering things like, "Dangerous pranks and thoughtless students, inconsiderate backstabbers and unsafe spells." All in all, I think she just complimented me.
Flint was still in the hospital wing, that Thursday, and missed one Hell of a Hallowe'en Feast. The highlight of the evening being when Quivering Quirrell burst into the Great Hall, proclaimed that there was a troll in the dungeon, and fainted.
In retrospect, sitting in our dorm after the event, I wondered why Quirrell had acted like that. He has a thing for trolls - loves them (I'm not sure what context I mean that in, to be honest). Why did he run and faint, at one measly troll in the dungeons, when he SAYS he's been able to handle whole troop of trolls? Not normal, at all.
"What'ya thinking about?" Theo asked, seeing my frown, and lack of attention to my homework.
"Quirrell and the troll. He should have been able to handle that troll himself." I said, still frowning.
"So? He wimped out. He's a wuss, Draco - we all know, he's afraid of his own bloody turban." Theo said, sitting across from me, with a vindictive grin. "Bet we could make him have a nervous breakdown, next lesson."
I looked up. That sounded like a fun thing to do, "Yes? I'm listening."
"Well, if we timed it right." Theo said, looking around conspiratorially, before taking out a packet of Fireworks, "We set these, on a timing spell, and ..." so it continued. It was really a good idea, but I wasn't paying much attention.
Theo managed to pull the little stunt off on his own. He told Quirrell that the fireworks must have been left there by the previous class ... said class being Gryffindor third years, the story was believable, and the blame was planted firmly on the Weasley twins.
* * *
Flint had recovered in time for the first Quidditch match of the season. He seemed in a particularly foul mood, but he was in perfect health. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in the audience were all backing the Gryffindor team. We were outnumbered by 3-1 ... at least the teams had even numbers. Just as the game was about to start, Cat and Blaise landed in the two free seats to my left.
"What'd we miss?" Cat asked, panting from having just run to get here in time.
"Just the rest of the school booing our team." I said, a bit bitterly.
"Oh, we heard that part." Blaise said, producing a green and silver flag and a pair of omnioculars from her pocket.
"Well they're about to take off, any minute. What took you two so long?" I asked.
"We were ... busy." Cat said evasively.
"Busy with what?" I asked, getting suspicious. A word to the wise - Slytherins are always up to something.
"Nothing you'd be interested in. Look - there they go." Blaise said, before being drowned out by cheers and chants from all around us. And the game began. It would have been impossible to continue a conversation now, even if I had wanted to.
I watched the action, with the attention any fan would, although I paid specific attention to the Seekers. Both of them. I wanted to size up my competition, both for the position on the team next year, and for the Quidditch Cup, when I play them, next year. And I will play next year. A Malfoy always gets what he wants ... or else someone gets hurt (example - Flint). Higgs' strategy seemed not to have wavered a bit - still circling a bit too low and not wide enough. Potter, on the other hand, had excellent tactics and was likely to spot the Snitch first. That wasn't too good, but at least it would put me in a good position for next year.
Then something odd happened. Potter's broom started bucking. That is not something a Nimbus-brand broom does, let alone a Nimbus 2000. I looked around, but no one else had noticed yet. I turned to the commentator's booth, but the third-year Gryffindor commentator was busy moaning about our latest score, and didn't see anything abnormal. I glanced up to where Potter had been ... higher ... he was at least 70 feet in the air, now ... the drop would kill him. I don't know why I cared, but I didn't want him dead ... painfully mutilated by my own hands, yes ... but not dead. I looked around again, hoping someone had noticed what was happening, and vaguely wondering why I hadn't tried to tamper with his broom, myself.
The teachers box presented an interesting dilemma. Two of them were watching Potter, but they were both just staring at him. "Gimme those." I snapped, snatching Blaise's omnioculars and putting them to my own eyes. Quirrell and Snape were both watching Potter, who was still going up - must be 100 feet, now. The odd thing was that Quirrell was chanting, maintaining a concentration and eye contact … and obviously not stuttering. Who was that, and what had he done with our DADA teacher? And Snape was doing much the same. One of them was hexing Potter's broom, and I actually cared to find out which one ... mostly because Quirrell was already under my suspicion, but partly for morbid curiosity.
A loud collective gasp from the crowd drew my attention back to Potter. He was literally holding on by one hand. Flint was busy scoring goals, while no one was watching ... I have to admit, he's a good player and that was a smart move, but he's still a git and I hate him. A few Slytherins around me had taken up the chant of "Drop! Drop! Drop!" but I was now more interested in the small speck of gold near the ground. Oh Higgs, you bloody distractible idiot - look down and win the game for us you twit! Flint ought to be really regretting not letting me play, now ... except for the obvious fact that he doesn't know I'm better than Higgs because he didn't give me a chance to prove myself.
Another spark of light caught my attention, now ... Snape's robes had caught fire, and he had managed to knock Quirrell over in the process of putting them out ... by the looks of it, he seemed to knock Quirrell over on purpose. My bet would be on Quirrell being up to something that involves a significant lack of Harry Potter. Speak of the devil - Potter was back on his broom, and diving for the Snitch ... which, miraculously, was still where it had been when I had last seen it.
Higgs hadn't a hope of catching up, but Potter didn't catch it - he nearly swallowed it ... as Flint so accurately worded it, after the match.
* * *
I spent the next few weeks watching Quirrell very carefully. He seemed normal, during classes, but if I loitered around, and made sure I was the last student to leave the room, and could hear him talking to himself ... talking to yourself is tantamount to hearing voices ... something's up with him. Maybe he's working with someone else. Question is: what's he up to?
Christmas was boredom incarnate. I won't go into details, but all Father's 'old friends' ... that means Them ... were there, and they all got drunk and started duelling. I made myself scarce at this point, and don't know what happened after that. I was actually pretty thankful to get back to Hogwarts, and away from Father's idea of 'Christmas Spirit'. I am so staying at school, next year.
The only good thing about Christmas was the presents, which included: new dress robes, all sorts of cutesy little nick-nacks that Mother thinks are adorable, some cool Dark Arts books, and a Spy Ball. Spy Balls are cool things, but bloody expensive and hard to come by. If you cast a simple charm on some thing/one/where, you can view it/them remotely, through what looks like a normal Divination-style crystal ball. I'm going to use it on Quirrell.
* * *
I was in the seemingly deserted Library, on the first weekend of term, working on my Charms homework, when I heard a voice muttering, to herself, "Can't believe it's not here. Must be somewhere. Maybe in this one." and then Hermione Granger emerged from behind a stack of shelves, holding a book titled 'Great Witches and Wizards of Our Time'.
"Hey, Granger! What are you up to?" I asked, abandoning my homework in favour of being nosey.
"None of your business, Malfoy." she snapped, spitting my name like a swearword.
"I'm not trying to be nasty to you." I said, calmly, holding up my hands in a gesture that asks for truce, "I was just curious. That book's not on the curriculum is all."
"Well it's none of your business, is it?" she asked, but it really wasn't meant to be a question.
"Look, Granger, I know you're not usually the sort of person I'd want to socialise with, but the Daft Duo don't believe in Libraries, so I don't have to pretend that I don't like your attitude." I said, smirking, "I really only wondered if I could help you, since you're ... new to the magical world, maybe I'd know where to look for whatever you're trying to find?"
She gave me an odd look, "What do you mean, I'm not the sort of person you'd usually want to socialise with?" she asked cagily.
"You're a Gryffindor and you're parents are Muggles. I wouldn't normally even give you the time of day, so think yourself lucky that I have taken a notion to be nice to you."
"I still don't need your help. It's not something I want to let all of Slytherin house in on," she said, with a sharp tone to her voice that I knew was intended to sound vicious.
"Ouch. Intelligent, good-looking, and now with the witty-come-backs as well. Now I really am starting to like you." I said, "And anyway, you wouldn't believe the number of secrets that we keep from each other, in Slytherin house ... there's a lot of secrets, lies and espionage going on within the snakes' common room."
"Hmmm ... well, I don't suppose you've ever heard of anyone called Nicolas Flamel, have you?" she asked.
"That's what you're looking for?" I asked, grinning.
She nodded, watching me like I might grow fangs at try to drink her blood if she didn't keep a close eye on me.
"That's easy, then ... he's pretty famous, actually. But I'm not going to just give information away for nothing. Tell me why you want to know."
Hermione looked around nervously, before seeming to decide that it might be worth telling me, to find out what she wanted to know, "It's something to do with what's in the Forbidden Corridor, on the third floor."
"You think?" I asked, surprised. Nicolas Flamel was an alchemist - what would he have to do with -? Wait a second - he IS the only one known to own a Philosopher's Stone, and there must be something in that corridor that Dumbledore doesn't want anyone to get at. Oh, now there's a useful bit of information ... if I'm right, that is. I put on my do-not-disturb-while-thinking expression, and wandered into the stacks of books, browsing the titles there, until I found what I was looking for. I took out a copy of a book titled 'Magical Discoveries Through The Centuries' it was a big book, but it wasn't as heavy as it looked. "You want to be looking up books about wizards in the thirteen-hundreds, not modern ones. He'd be about six hundred years old, now." I said idly, while flicking through the book I had taken down. I found the right page, and confirmed that I was right - the Philosopher's Stone was mentioned in this book. I like to be helpful, but I prefer the insidious approach. She'll not even know I helped her ... or if she does, she'll never know it was intentional.
"That doesn't make sense ... from what I heard, he's still alive." Hermione said, frowning in confusion.
I looked up at her, not giving anything away in my expression, "I never heard about him dying, either ... maybe he is still alive." I said, trying not to give too much away. I like being cryptic, too.
"You're not helping." she said angrily.
"Yes I am, you're just not reading between the lines ... although I don't know why you want to know about the Corridor ... I wouldn't think you're the sort to be suicidal ... what were Dumbledore's exact words? 'Out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death'? That tends to imply there's something painful and deadly in there ... and it's no business of yours or mine what's in there, at the best of times." I was watching her carefully, and she reacted oddly to my comment about something painful and deadly. I paused, considering this, "You know what's in there, don't you?"
She shook her head guiltily. She knew. Gryffindors are so easy to read. They're like an open book. "So, can you help me, or not?"
"I can't tell you anything about Flamel." I said, shrugging. "On another topic - you're known as a bit of a book-worm, aren't you ... before you were Sorted, I had you pegged as a Ravenclaw."
"I do like to read, yes." she said, on-edge again. She doesn't trust me, does she? I don't blame her.
"You've read 'Hogwarts, A History', I've heard. You must be the only other first year - nay, student - in this school, who has."
"What do you mean 'only OTHER'?" she asked, giving me a questioning look.
"I've read it." I said, smiling at her reaction, "Although, when I bought it, Mother told me not to waste my money. I think you might like this book." I said, holding up the tomb I had taken down, moments ago, "I've read it before, and I think you might find it interesting."
She took the book cautiously, examining the cover, "It looks interesting. What's the catch?"
"No catch. Just, I wanted to help you out." I said, smiling. "You need to learn about our world. I am willing to be your friend, provided no one finds out I've even given you so much as a kind word."
"What do you mean?" she asked, watching me what that rabbit-looking-at-fox stare that obviates total distrust.
"I am a Malfoy ... my family are one of the oldest known, in the magical world, and we're proud of that fact. Do you know what my family, their friends, and until recently myself too, call someone like you - someone with Muggle parents?" she shook her head nervously, but her eyes never left me, "Mudblood." I said coldly, spitting the word like she had spat my name, earlier, "It means dirty blood. You're viewed as an inferior species, by a lot of Pureblood families."
"What about you? You said 'until recently' you thought the same. What's changed?" she asked, taking a step back and glancing in the direction of the door to check she had a clear escape route.
"I met you." I said, watching her carefully, "You're the first Muggle-born I've ever met, and I had honestly believed what I'd been told about them, before. When I first saw you, I thought you were a Pureblood, because the way I'd been told it, Muggle-borns were so bad that I had thought I'd be able to recognise the difference by sight ... you made a very good first impression on me, and your behaviour in our first Potions class only made me like you more. But I'd never heard of a family by the name Granger, and after a few days I figured out your parents had to be Muggles. That's when I decided that you Muggle-borns couldn't be that bad, if someone as good at magic as you are was one. Now, I still have a reputation to maintain, so if you tell anyone that I'm being nice to you, I'll have to kill them, and Obliviate you."
"You want to be my friend because I made a good first impression on you? I asked you about a toad." she said, sounding stunned.
"Yes, you did. But it's the air of superiority you managed to project, while asking about such a stupid thing - I'd have thought it was impossible for a Muggle-born to hold herself so regally." I said, letting down my guard, just a little, so that she could see I was being sincere, "And besides," I added, resorting to my usual smirk, "I could use an ally in the enemy camp."
"Now, I don't know whether that was serious, or not." she said honestly.
"Our Slytherin humour is not like your Gryffindor humour." I said, still with the smirk, "We never make a joke that isn't based in a half-truth - that's what makes it so vicious. It would be useful if I had a friend in the enemy camp, but I wasn't really being serious."
"I think I'll err on the side of caution," she said, smiling weakly, "But I wouldn't mind getting to know what you're like behind the mask. I think you let it down for a second there, and I think you seemed almost likable, that way."
"The mask is for my own protection. I'll only take it off if I decide I can trust you. That will take a while." I said, before turning and sauntering over to the desk, gathered my books, and started towards the door, "Don't forget to check that book out, before you take it." I called over my shoulder.
* * *
End of chapter 5
Author's Notes: I needed to do some re-writing, after reading OotP. I have made some minor changes to this chapter, mostly spelling and grammar, but again, Nott's name got changed ... I'm gonna stop mentioning Nott's name, after a while.
A lot of plot happens very fast, in this chapter. It's amazing how much information I fitted into such a short space. I had expected this time frame to cover two or three chapter.
Chapter 5 - Quirrell's Odd Behaviour
Flint first. Potter can wait.
I'd been watching their Quidditch practices with avid attention, since they started. Their tactics were impressive, and I think I could find most of them in the book Father bought me (A Guide to Quidditch Strategies, and How to Get Away with Cheating). Flint seemed to be a bit of a tyrant. Basically: if you failed you got yelled at, and if you succeeded you got yelled at less so. But the brooms they were flying were second rate, at best. Cleansweep 6 (three of them), Cleansweep 7, Comet 220, Nimbus 1900 (two of them). Potter just got a Nimbus 2000 - our Seeker's broom is barely half as fast. Flint didn't seem to care that I was watching them. I'm in their house, so what am I gonna do? I'll tell you what I'm gonna do - I'm gonna show up that second-year prat who calls himself a Seeker. This practice has been going on for five hours, and still nothing.
"Oi! Higgs! It's over there!" I yelled, pointing at the sparkle of gold across the pitch from me. The second year glared at me, long enough for the Snitch to move away. "Now it's gone. If you'd focus, rather than being so insecure ... you think I'm going for your job, don't you?" I asked grinning.
"As if!" Higgs yelled down at me.
"Next year! Just you wait!" I yelled back.
Game getting boring, now. I looked up at Flint, seeing him enjoy himself far too much, trying to knock the Keeper off his broom. He'll be busy for a while. Time for that revenge.
I know it's childish. I know it's immature. But what you need to remember is that I was only eleven, and my imagination for revenges didn't stretch to anything particularly un-childish, yet. I sneaked into the Slytherin team changing rooms, and found Flint's locker. "Alohomora." I whispered, and the locker creaked open ... I won't tell you what I did, yet, because it'd ruin the surprise. Five minutes later, I strolled out of the changing rooms, leaving no noticeable trace that I'd been there.
* * *
That evening, at dinner, I sat back in my chair, exuding an air of smugness.
"What are you up to, Draco?" Milli asked, from across the table, where three of the girls were sitting, and had been chittering.
"Wait and see." I said, with a shark's grin.
"What is it?" Blaise asked - now the girls seemed completely intrigued.
"Not telling." I said, grinning even more broadly.
Pansy, who had been sitting next to me, opposite the other three girls, gave me her best puppy-dog eyes (considering she looks a bit like a pug, it's not to difficult for her to do the puppy-dog eyes), and asked, in her sweetest little-girl-lost voice (which sounds so insincere), "Please tell us, Draco, please."
"Nu uh." I said, shaking my head, and refusing to give in.
I looked up as the doors opened and the Quidditch team (now changed back into their normal everyday robes) entered the Great Hall, trying to look like they owned the place. Good timing, now let's see. I set it for 5-30, and it was now - I checked my watch - 5-28. "Just in time." I whispered.
"What's just in time?" Cat asked.
"The Quidditch team. I'd hoped they'd make it." I said, not giving anything away. I checked my watch again - 5-29. "Any second now." I said gleefully, as I watched the second hand tick round, "Just watch the Quidditch team." I said to the girls, who immediately did so. I began the countdown, "Five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... now." I said looking up. Sod-all happened. Flint shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then, slowly, a look of fearful confusion appeared on his face, and a grin on mine. Then he started to convulse in pain. He doubled up and fell to the floor in agony.
"What did you do to the poor boy?" Blaise asked, stunned.
"Shrinking charm on a timer ... Crabbe gave me the idea." I said, grinning.
"What, exactly, is shrinking?" Cat asked in morbid fascination.
"His underpants." I said, grinning viciously.
"That's bad, Draco. Very bad." Milli scolded, while grinning, all the same.
"What did he do to you, to deserve that?" Cat asked.
"He didn't give me a chance to try out for the Slytherin team. I can spot a Snitch way better than Higgs can." I said, watching the twitching sixth year.
"Won't it do permanent damage?" Theo asked, sitting down next to me, and obviously having overheard what we were saying.
"Shouldn't do." I said, "That is if someone gets him to the hospital wing one of these days." I added, getting a bit nervous - I didn't want to be responsible for causing him permanent harm, even if I didn't get caught ... I only wanted to hurt and humiliate him, not kill off his family line. I stood up and yelled at the Quidditch team, "Are you all stupid, or something? He needs medical attention, doesn't he?"
They gave me blank looks.
"He is on the floor, twitching like he's under an Unforgivable bloody curse! Do something!" Theo snapped.
That got them. The Chasers and Beaters picked their captain up, and carried him out, still twitching.
* * *
Madam Pomfrey said Flint would make a full recovery, and she'd love to get her hands on the idiot that did that to him, so she could give them a piece of her mind, muttering things like, "Dangerous pranks and thoughtless students, inconsiderate backstabbers and unsafe spells." All in all, I think she just complimented me.
Flint was still in the hospital wing, that Thursday, and missed one Hell of a Hallowe'en Feast. The highlight of the evening being when Quivering Quirrell burst into the Great Hall, proclaimed that there was a troll in the dungeon, and fainted.
In retrospect, sitting in our dorm after the event, I wondered why Quirrell had acted like that. He has a thing for trolls - loves them (I'm not sure what context I mean that in, to be honest). Why did he run and faint, at one measly troll in the dungeons, when he SAYS he's been able to handle whole troop of trolls? Not normal, at all.
"What'ya thinking about?" Theo asked, seeing my frown, and lack of attention to my homework.
"Quirrell and the troll. He should have been able to handle that troll himself." I said, still frowning.
"So? He wimped out. He's a wuss, Draco - we all know, he's afraid of his own bloody turban." Theo said, sitting across from me, with a vindictive grin. "Bet we could make him have a nervous breakdown, next lesson."
I looked up. That sounded like a fun thing to do, "Yes? I'm listening."
"Well, if we timed it right." Theo said, looking around conspiratorially, before taking out a packet of Fireworks, "We set these, on a timing spell, and ..." so it continued. It was really a good idea, but I wasn't paying much attention.
Theo managed to pull the little stunt off on his own. He told Quirrell that the fireworks must have been left there by the previous class ... said class being Gryffindor third years, the story was believable, and the blame was planted firmly on the Weasley twins.
* * *
Flint had recovered in time for the first Quidditch match of the season. He seemed in a particularly foul mood, but he was in perfect health. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in the audience were all backing the Gryffindor team. We were outnumbered by 3-1 ... at least the teams had even numbers. Just as the game was about to start, Cat and Blaise landed in the two free seats to my left.
"What'd we miss?" Cat asked, panting from having just run to get here in time.
"Just the rest of the school booing our team." I said, a bit bitterly.
"Oh, we heard that part." Blaise said, producing a green and silver flag and a pair of omnioculars from her pocket.
"Well they're about to take off, any minute. What took you two so long?" I asked.
"We were ... busy." Cat said evasively.
"Busy with what?" I asked, getting suspicious. A word to the wise - Slytherins are always up to something.
"Nothing you'd be interested in. Look - there they go." Blaise said, before being drowned out by cheers and chants from all around us. And the game began. It would have been impossible to continue a conversation now, even if I had wanted to.
I watched the action, with the attention any fan would, although I paid specific attention to the Seekers. Both of them. I wanted to size up my competition, both for the position on the team next year, and for the Quidditch Cup, when I play them, next year. And I will play next year. A Malfoy always gets what he wants ... or else someone gets hurt (example - Flint). Higgs' strategy seemed not to have wavered a bit - still circling a bit too low and not wide enough. Potter, on the other hand, had excellent tactics and was likely to spot the Snitch first. That wasn't too good, but at least it would put me in a good position for next year.
Then something odd happened. Potter's broom started bucking. That is not something a Nimbus-brand broom does, let alone a Nimbus 2000. I looked around, but no one else had noticed yet. I turned to the commentator's booth, but the third-year Gryffindor commentator was busy moaning about our latest score, and didn't see anything abnormal. I glanced up to where Potter had been ... higher ... he was at least 70 feet in the air, now ... the drop would kill him. I don't know why I cared, but I didn't want him dead ... painfully mutilated by my own hands, yes ... but not dead. I looked around again, hoping someone had noticed what was happening, and vaguely wondering why I hadn't tried to tamper with his broom, myself.
The teachers box presented an interesting dilemma. Two of them were watching Potter, but they were both just staring at him. "Gimme those." I snapped, snatching Blaise's omnioculars and putting them to my own eyes. Quirrell and Snape were both watching Potter, who was still going up - must be 100 feet, now. The odd thing was that Quirrell was chanting, maintaining a concentration and eye contact … and obviously not stuttering. Who was that, and what had he done with our DADA teacher? And Snape was doing much the same. One of them was hexing Potter's broom, and I actually cared to find out which one ... mostly because Quirrell was already under my suspicion, but partly for morbid curiosity.
A loud collective gasp from the crowd drew my attention back to Potter. He was literally holding on by one hand. Flint was busy scoring goals, while no one was watching ... I have to admit, he's a good player and that was a smart move, but he's still a git and I hate him. A few Slytherins around me had taken up the chant of "Drop! Drop! Drop!" but I was now more interested in the small speck of gold near the ground. Oh Higgs, you bloody distractible idiot - look down and win the game for us you twit! Flint ought to be really regretting not letting me play, now ... except for the obvious fact that he doesn't know I'm better than Higgs because he didn't give me a chance to prove myself.
Another spark of light caught my attention, now ... Snape's robes had caught fire, and he had managed to knock Quirrell over in the process of putting them out ... by the looks of it, he seemed to knock Quirrell over on purpose. My bet would be on Quirrell being up to something that involves a significant lack of Harry Potter. Speak of the devil - Potter was back on his broom, and diving for the Snitch ... which, miraculously, was still where it had been when I had last seen it.
Higgs hadn't a hope of catching up, but Potter didn't catch it - he nearly swallowed it ... as Flint so accurately worded it, after the match.
* * *
I spent the next few weeks watching Quirrell very carefully. He seemed normal, during classes, but if I loitered around, and made sure I was the last student to leave the room, and could hear him talking to himself ... talking to yourself is tantamount to hearing voices ... something's up with him. Maybe he's working with someone else. Question is: what's he up to?
Christmas was boredom incarnate. I won't go into details, but all Father's 'old friends' ... that means Them ... were there, and they all got drunk and started duelling. I made myself scarce at this point, and don't know what happened after that. I was actually pretty thankful to get back to Hogwarts, and away from Father's idea of 'Christmas Spirit'. I am so staying at school, next year.
The only good thing about Christmas was the presents, which included: new dress robes, all sorts of cutesy little nick-nacks that Mother thinks are adorable, some cool Dark Arts books, and a Spy Ball. Spy Balls are cool things, but bloody expensive and hard to come by. If you cast a simple charm on some thing/one/where, you can view it/them remotely, through what looks like a normal Divination-style crystal ball. I'm going to use it on Quirrell.
* * *
I was in the seemingly deserted Library, on the first weekend of term, working on my Charms homework, when I heard a voice muttering, to herself, "Can't believe it's not here. Must be somewhere. Maybe in this one." and then Hermione Granger emerged from behind a stack of shelves, holding a book titled 'Great Witches and Wizards of Our Time'.
"Hey, Granger! What are you up to?" I asked, abandoning my homework in favour of being nosey.
"None of your business, Malfoy." she snapped, spitting my name like a swearword.
"I'm not trying to be nasty to you." I said, calmly, holding up my hands in a gesture that asks for truce, "I was just curious. That book's not on the curriculum is all."
"Well it's none of your business, is it?" she asked, but it really wasn't meant to be a question.
"Look, Granger, I know you're not usually the sort of person I'd want to socialise with, but the Daft Duo don't believe in Libraries, so I don't have to pretend that I don't like your attitude." I said, smirking, "I really only wondered if I could help you, since you're ... new to the magical world, maybe I'd know where to look for whatever you're trying to find?"
She gave me an odd look, "What do you mean, I'm not the sort of person you'd usually want to socialise with?" she asked cagily.
"You're a Gryffindor and you're parents are Muggles. I wouldn't normally even give you the time of day, so think yourself lucky that I have taken a notion to be nice to you."
"I still don't need your help. It's not something I want to let all of Slytherin house in on," she said, with a sharp tone to her voice that I knew was intended to sound vicious.
"Ouch. Intelligent, good-looking, and now with the witty-come-backs as well. Now I really am starting to like you." I said, "And anyway, you wouldn't believe the number of secrets that we keep from each other, in Slytherin house ... there's a lot of secrets, lies and espionage going on within the snakes' common room."
"Hmmm ... well, I don't suppose you've ever heard of anyone called Nicolas Flamel, have you?" she asked.
"That's what you're looking for?" I asked, grinning.
She nodded, watching me like I might grow fangs at try to drink her blood if she didn't keep a close eye on me.
"That's easy, then ... he's pretty famous, actually. But I'm not going to just give information away for nothing. Tell me why you want to know."
Hermione looked around nervously, before seeming to decide that it might be worth telling me, to find out what she wanted to know, "It's something to do with what's in the Forbidden Corridor, on the third floor."
"You think?" I asked, surprised. Nicolas Flamel was an alchemist - what would he have to do with -? Wait a second - he IS the only one known to own a Philosopher's Stone, and there must be something in that corridor that Dumbledore doesn't want anyone to get at. Oh, now there's a useful bit of information ... if I'm right, that is. I put on my do-not-disturb-while-thinking expression, and wandered into the stacks of books, browsing the titles there, until I found what I was looking for. I took out a copy of a book titled 'Magical Discoveries Through The Centuries' it was a big book, but it wasn't as heavy as it looked. "You want to be looking up books about wizards in the thirteen-hundreds, not modern ones. He'd be about six hundred years old, now." I said idly, while flicking through the book I had taken down. I found the right page, and confirmed that I was right - the Philosopher's Stone was mentioned in this book. I like to be helpful, but I prefer the insidious approach. She'll not even know I helped her ... or if she does, she'll never know it was intentional.
"That doesn't make sense ... from what I heard, he's still alive." Hermione said, frowning in confusion.
I looked up at her, not giving anything away in my expression, "I never heard about him dying, either ... maybe he is still alive." I said, trying not to give too much away. I like being cryptic, too.
"You're not helping." she said angrily.
"Yes I am, you're just not reading between the lines ... although I don't know why you want to know about the Corridor ... I wouldn't think you're the sort to be suicidal ... what were Dumbledore's exact words? 'Out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death'? That tends to imply there's something painful and deadly in there ... and it's no business of yours or mine what's in there, at the best of times." I was watching her carefully, and she reacted oddly to my comment about something painful and deadly. I paused, considering this, "You know what's in there, don't you?"
She shook her head guiltily. She knew. Gryffindors are so easy to read. They're like an open book. "So, can you help me, or not?"
"I can't tell you anything about Flamel." I said, shrugging. "On another topic - you're known as a bit of a book-worm, aren't you ... before you were Sorted, I had you pegged as a Ravenclaw."
"I do like to read, yes." she said, on-edge again. She doesn't trust me, does she? I don't blame her.
"You've read 'Hogwarts, A History', I've heard. You must be the only other first year - nay, student - in this school, who has."
"What do you mean 'only OTHER'?" she asked, giving me a questioning look.
"I've read it." I said, smiling at her reaction, "Although, when I bought it, Mother told me not to waste my money. I think you might like this book." I said, holding up the tomb I had taken down, moments ago, "I've read it before, and I think you might find it interesting."
She took the book cautiously, examining the cover, "It looks interesting. What's the catch?"
"No catch. Just, I wanted to help you out." I said, smiling. "You need to learn about our world. I am willing to be your friend, provided no one finds out I've even given you so much as a kind word."
"What do you mean?" she asked, watching me what that rabbit-looking-at-fox stare that obviates total distrust.
"I am a Malfoy ... my family are one of the oldest known, in the magical world, and we're proud of that fact. Do you know what my family, their friends, and until recently myself too, call someone like you - someone with Muggle parents?" she shook her head nervously, but her eyes never left me, "Mudblood." I said coldly, spitting the word like she had spat my name, earlier, "It means dirty blood. You're viewed as an inferior species, by a lot of Pureblood families."
"What about you? You said 'until recently' you thought the same. What's changed?" she asked, taking a step back and glancing in the direction of the door to check she had a clear escape route.
"I met you." I said, watching her carefully, "You're the first Muggle-born I've ever met, and I had honestly believed what I'd been told about them, before. When I first saw you, I thought you were a Pureblood, because the way I'd been told it, Muggle-borns were so bad that I had thought I'd be able to recognise the difference by sight ... you made a very good first impression on me, and your behaviour in our first Potions class only made me like you more. But I'd never heard of a family by the name Granger, and after a few days I figured out your parents had to be Muggles. That's when I decided that you Muggle-borns couldn't be that bad, if someone as good at magic as you are was one. Now, I still have a reputation to maintain, so if you tell anyone that I'm being nice to you, I'll have to kill them, and Obliviate you."
"You want to be my friend because I made a good first impression on you? I asked you about a toad." she said, sounding stunned.
"Yes, you did. But it's the air of superiority you managed to project, while asking about such a stupid thing - I'd have thought it was impossible for a Muggle-born to hold herself so regally." I said, letting down my guard, just a little, so that she could see I was being sincere, "And besides," I added, resorting to my usual smirk, "I could use an ally in the enemy camp."
"Now, I don't know whether that was serious, or not." she said honestly.
"Our Slytherin humour is not like your Gryffindor humour." I said, still with the smirk, "We never make a joke that isn't based in a half-truth - that's what makes it so vicious. It would be useful if I had a friend in the enemy camp, but I wasn't really being serious."
"I think I'll err on the side of caution," she said, smiling weakly, "But I wouldn't mind getting to know what you're like behind the mask. I think you let it down for a second there, and I think you seemed almost likable, that way."
"The mask is for my own protection. I'll only take it off if I decide I can trust you. That will take a while." I said, before turning and sauntering over to the desk, gathered my books, and started towards the door, "Don't forget to check that book out, before you take it." I called over my shoulder.
* * *
End of chapter 5
