Forgetting Draco Malfoy

Chapter Two: Welcome to Diomede

A fiction by:

Maura Belle

Author's Notes: See Bottom for Disclaimer and official apology. Enjoy the fic.

Draco Malfoy brought his saxophone out of the case; letting his touch linger on the keys his fingers seemed to call home. Hesitantly, he brought the mouthpiece to his lips, already taking in the sight of the few adults heading towards work, stopping for a bit of music to, perhaps, lift their spirits before their bosses brought them crashing down again. But by chance, Draco would at least soothe them before their commute to the agonizing city. He took off his black baseball hat, which said "Bomber #21" in green letters and set it on the ground before his feet, among the crowd. His dark green jacket provided enough warmth from the sour spring winds and his fingers would get all the heat they needed moving about the keys so quickly. A quick breath and then the beginning of a small song, one that mimicked a child's lullaby, but far faster was the tune.

The melody slithered down from the bell of the golden sax with the black keys towards the feet of the watchers, who were often so taken by the music they forgot all troubles, fears, and worries. At times, they forgot entire appointments, but never became upset about it. Listening to Draco play was always a worthy experience.

It was almost like it was magic that swept across the streets. Sometimes, even when there were no breezes, fallen leaves will pick up from their places on the ground and move around in little cyclones and pick off those yet to fall from the small trees. Like snakes, the notes played into the on-lookers' ear and enchanted them with such happiness they believed they were dreaming. At times, they did. The joy was real. What they saw was not.

A woman named Tata by her long-since dead mother, who had been obsessed with greetings and farewells, always seemed to see the same thing. She was there—a younger version of herself—on the sidewalk and often times the streets of Diomede*, dancing with her husband once again. Always, she was featured in the streets doing the impossible. She remembered her very stubborn friends who insisted on her wearing black constantly after every song Draco played.

"Darling thought black made me look far too pale," She would say. "He preferred to see me in a nice shade of blue--a dark blue, preferably. I think I shall wear blue in heaven... when I meet him again."

(A/n: *Diomede: pronounced "dee-ah-med-ee")

And so she had made up her mind about everything, except what to do about those memories. After a dance or two, she would always want another and another, and she found herself silently, unknowingly longing for one for more than 50 years. Even after his death in the war, she'd known she wanted to clasp her hand in his and twirl her dress and smile broadly. Pale skin and deep red lipstick—he loved it. Once she'd heard Draco play, such a slow, sad, yet beautiful tune, she saw herself as a young maiden, laughing along the streets of a place she was never able to get out of. And there he was.

He cut across the streets to reach her, ignoring the Christmas decorations she saw even now, in spring. The band still played from far off, from the inside of a radio, the singer's name unknown, but the music beautiful. He had taken her hand. Merely taken it, without a word or cue, and laid in it, a small white flower. She tucked it behind her ear like she had seen done in a film, and grabbed his hand. Then they were dancing. Turning and spinning, laughing and playing all the way. What's a dance if you don't know the steps? They made them up.

Pale skin and deep red lipstick, with a royal blue dress on and a headband pushing back her white hair—as well as stretching a few wrinkles away—graced her now, riddled with such age she could not walk without a cane. She had a mirror attached to it of course, so she could always see who was behind her. She was always wondering if he would just pop up behind her with a little smile. He would be old, too, yes, but in his old uniform. No war had ever laid a hand on him. No battle brought him down.

With one eye open, Draco saw her smiling gently. Her cane was firm in her grasp, but she held it as though she didn't need it. She was twirling in the sidewalks and the streets—in high heels and a blue dress. She watched the roads as though she were watching a movie… and she was the star.

The Mayor was a strong supporter of the Cummings boy, feeling it was good for the town's image if they welcomed a newcomer such as he. Draco had known nothing about the town, and Mayor Turbin had wanted him to be an example of what great hosts they could be.

He had always been such a great baseball fan. That's why, when his daughter had suggested it, he'd gone ahead and signed away part of the school's property to a couple of baseball fields. Every Friday he could be seen in the stands—a hotdog in one hand, a fist made with the other, cheering on anyone he thought could win. He was always rooting for the underdog. That's why the town of Diomede thought it such an honor to lose. After all, you still get a consolation prize, right?

A pat on the back was what his father had always given him. Every time he took a swing in the back yard with his over-used bat he ran forth to try to catch it, he got a few pointers on how to improve his one-man baseball team—one-man game. An impossible task. Impossible, however, just wasn't a word in every eleven-year-old's vocabulary.

He had a great laugh, Turbin's father. He had a wonderful laugh. He never laughed at you, but made you want to chuckle at yourself. He gave tips, but he also disciplined. He was, in ways, the ideal father. Before his heart problem, he was also the strongest in his son's mind.

A toss. A hit. And the ball was sailing. A middle-aged man dashed to catch the ball as an eleven-year-old version of the mayor himself touched every base. The tree in front of the convenience store was first, and then the lamppost in front of the Inn was second. Third was a nickel in the middle of the street, which made the game more interesting if you couldn't find it. And finally, home was exactly where he'd started (the sidewalk) and exactly where his father was waiting.

With a laugh.

What a laugh.

Mayor Turbin's ears were shut off to music, and all he heard was a laugh that made him want to chuckle at himself.

Look at the mistake you made, silly thing.

That was the Mayor's take on things.

But Draco's music had different affects on different types of people.

Elizabeth Cummings, now five year older, was always reminded of the first Christmas she'd spent with her older brother and the cookies that turned out rotten, except for the icing. The sight of herself in the mirror when she'd spotted all the green and yellow icing around her mouth. They had licked every cookie clean on Christmas Eve, and not bothered with any relatives, since it was Draco's first. It had been the best Christmas ever. No Aunt Phyllis to pinch her cheek, and a new big brother as a present to hug while she drifted off to sleep with dreams of Santa. She had wondered what else he could possibly give her. She was happy already.

And the next year was just as wonderful.

"That Phyllis woman's a real pain, isn't she?" Someone to talk to, to tease, and be teased by. Someone to make fun of people with. Someone to tell all her secrets, even if a few leaked out of the corners of his mouth.

When Elizabeth saw Draco playing, heard him play, she knew she had protection, a watchdog, a friend, and a confidant. She knew he was there.

They had all cried out to him with smiles even though their lips were stretched with strain, "Welcome to Diomede. Welcome home."

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

The portraits lined a very musty, and gloomy hall. They were "normal" portraits, in Muggle terms, and they didn't come alive like all the ones the students and teachers were used to. In fact, they were Muggle portraits, but hardly of Muggles. The first was Headmaster Dumbledore. Former headmaster should have been the title used on the plaque, but the professors wouldn't hear of it. They had loved him too much. A quiet, but often jittery voice, he had spoken out against so many terrible things and stood up for so much of what was right, they believed he might still be there. He was traveling the halls at this minute, with other students in tow. The first of these students was Draco Malfoy.

His body had never been found, but since many burns covered the majority of the victims, making it hard to tell who was who, they assumed that he had been completely incinerated, or had perhaps wandered off before collapsing in the nearby woods. Such a small body among so many men, and he had remained either hidden or in the most obvious place: the wind. His ashes had perhaps already been scattered. The aurors only hoped.

After the terrible assault on the large group of men at the convention, they had wondered what motives Voldemort—for he was most certainly behind this—had for killing them. They found countless death-eaters among the bodies. Why had he killed his own followers? It led them astray and they haven't left that spot. As if determined to figure out why the Earth turns and the grass grows, they stand firm and rooted in that same spot, moving back nor forth.

The second student would perhaps be Pansy Parkinson. A lovely girl to Slytherins, but just another snot to others. She was always following Draco around, trying to hold his hand, insisting that they be "together." She was blind to his feelings, however, and never really got close to him. Even so, she was devastated by his death and had never come back to Hogwarts. Her father found a letter explaining her leave, and hinting that she might never return and decided that she had gone into the forest behind their home to kill herself. That was were the convention had been. That was where Draco had died. She was so infatuated with him; she might take it upon herself to die in the same place. But they never found her, so it is uncertain whether she walks with Draco and Dumbledore.

Ginny Weasley. Ginny herself could have been sharing the corridor with a portrait of her own, if he hadn't saved her. She remembered vividly when she'd approached Professor McGonagal with tear-stained cheeks the day of their return to Hogwarts from the holidays. The professor had been assigned the task of going through Malfoy's things and discovered a little black book with a memory in it; a memory of Voldemort's and some terrible secrets. She had taken the redhead aside and calmly explained how she could have been killed by this memory, and how, in a way, Draco's last act at Hogwarts had been one of valor.

Valor? Not to Ginny Weasley. As they had been alone in the hallway, he had used whatever methods he thought were needed to get that book from her. He threatened, and then he acted on such threats. She unconsciously put a hand to her cheek, where he had struck her. Her arm shook, where his tight grip had been. And then her eyes closed, unable to face that dark glare again.

In Ginny's third year—the famous Harry Potter's fourth—a boy named Cedric Diggory perished as well, and everyone was completely aware of Voldemort's return. Now they moved. The aurors dashed everywhere, securing this, recovering that, understanding completely every bit of information except that provided by Harry Potter, who had been present among Voldemort and his "followers."

"Everyone was there! I'm sure of it! Everyone I heard was at that convention! Malfoy! Lucius Malfoy!!" Harry had screamed until most thought he was insane. The professors had desperately tried to get him to calm down, but it seemed nothing could be done to shut him up until Ron gave him a good slap.

So Dumbledore might have looked on, with young Draco at his side, Pansy trying to get closer to him, and Cedric standing tall—the champion.

As Snape walked down this hall he suddenly knew how great his responsibility was as the new Headmaster of Hogwarts. He had to keep all students safe, all the time. When once everyone had thought Hogwarts to be a place of security, now it was just an ordinary school like any other, filled with secrets of finance and budget and things of that boring sort. Though he knew he would try everything in his power to throw himself before fate and keep every student protected through the rest of their days, Snape already knew that he would fall short of all that Dumbledore had done before him. His predecessor looked down on him in shame, though with a smile, from that horrible portrait that never moved, never spoke, and never breathed. It never asked for a password, nor a hello or goodbye, though many have already spoken to it.

"What do I do?" Snape whispered, hands behind his back.

And silence was the solemn response.

As it had always been.

As it would be without change.

**

The trip you'll be going on is strictly educational, but I won't blame you if you have a little fun. You'll be seeing how Muggles interact, observing them in a small town and making mental notes of what they do. Every night of the week of our stay, separate classes will be discussing their findings and making records of them. Not only does this aid the school, but it will also help a division of the Ministry. Questions? Raise your hands."

The Headmaster finished speaking and turned to face his audience of sixth and seventh year students. Some had fallen asleep, but Professor McGonagal took care of that problem. Others were chatting away mindlessly, but were also taught a strict lesson.

The Headmaster sighed as a few hands went up around the classroom, finding the first question to answer.

"Yes?" Snape asked, looking in a sixth-year Hufflepuff's direction.

"What town?" The young man asked.

"Hecubain, a very old place, believe me. Next."

Harry Potter, the famous one and in the final year of Hogwarts at last, raised his hand. "How long are we staying?"

"One week and pay more attention."

Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry shrank back in his seat, belittled. Ginny sat beside Hermione, playing with her quill, bored, as she thought of the prospect of being in a Muggle town. She couldn't help but wonder: whom would she meet?

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

"She invited you to the Thompson's garden party?" Patty asked, attempting to grab Draco's hand and hold it in her own, but failing miserably, as he kept moving away from her, quickening his steps with hungry Lane.

"Saturday, I think it is. Should be interesting," He responded. Patty's horrid looks turned worse when she frowned at the fact he had not asked her to be his date. After all, it was for family, and shouldn't they be married someday? In her mind, they were the perfect couple, and she'd followed him around ever since she'd moved to Diomede, which had been shortly after he had arrived. At first, the town believed she'd treated him strangely, as though they had been acquaintances already. She continued, even now, to ask him questions such as "Do you remember that?" or "Wasn't that funny when…" But he insisted that he'd never seen the girl, and everyday, hoped she was just a figment of his imagination that would float away. Tough for him, though. She would just go with her guardian, her own family—her uncle.

"Interesting? I hear they've got great entertainment lined up for that party. Live band and stuff," Lane said, as he grabbed a cafeteria tray and began loading it down with food. Only a year older than Draco or Patty, he had always been the one to treat the Cummings boy with the most respect, and even agreed to lending him things when he had first arrived. He attempted to be the one to 'show him the ropes' but it turned out Draco caught on fairly quickly, finding alleyways and twists and turns in a day it had taken Lane years to discover. All in all, this brown-haired, brown-eyed boy was his best friend, though neither of them admitted it because of 'image'.

"She said she was bring her brother and her son to introduce to the town," Draco continued.

"I didn't think she had a brother," Patty wondered aloud.

"Or a son," Lane added.

"Her husband was killed in the war, she told me," Draco said. "Only two months after they married."

Patty concluded, "It doesn't seem likely she would have a kid… Maybe she adopted."

"Nah. She's lived in Diomede her whole life, my grandpa told me. Never has been seen with any children. Couldn't tolerate them until she got old and lost her mind," Lane said, snagging a milk carton from the lunch line. Patty grabbed her traditional lemonade, and Draco admitted he wasn't thirsty.

"I don't think it was the getting old that made her crazy, I think it was that she lost her husband," Patty sighed. "That sort of loss could kill a person, believe me!"

"How would you know?" Lane asked, tossing some food onto her tray, appalled at the small amount she'd had before. Before Patty could protest against his actions, Draco spoke to avoid conflict.

"Maybe someone to represent him, then. Someone who's been like a son to her," Draco wondered aloud as he passed the lines in the cafeteria.

"My grandpa?" Lane suggested.

"Doubt it."

"It's true he's younger than her by almost 30 years and he's real old!"

"Rumor has it," Patty began, "… that she'll be 200 next spring. I'd shoot myself before I got that old."

"Poor Tata," Draco murmured. "She's insane."

"Maybe," Lane shrugged.

"Perhaps," Patty said, saying a longer word to sound smarter, but not exactly succeeding.

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

"Shut up! I've already sold five of those!" Josef threw his arguments towards the three snickering teenagers, but gave up when Patty burst out into giggles and tears and Draco had to throw a hand over his mouth to keep his laughter from growing in volume. Lane laughed loudest as he pointed at the fake nose rings hanging in their little packages on the hooks of the display. The gas station wasn't exactly the busiest place or the 'hang out' preferred by most teens, but the three friends could at least tolerate Josef Ledger.

The merchant frowned and leaned against the windowsill to pout. Then an idea struck him.

"Fine. You find out how hard it is to sell stuff," He muttered, as he took a permanent marker and three nametags and began to write on them. He slapped one on each unaware kid, and as they came to their senses, they stared at him with open-mouths.

Lane's name tag read "Stoop," Draco's was "Stooped," and Patty's was "Stupid." And there they were, the new employees of the only gas station in Diomede: Stoop, Stooped, and Stupid.

"Do we get money?" Lane asked, always wanting some more to spend.

Josef responded with a glint in his eye, "If you make it. Any of you know how to drive?"

They were almost afraid to answer "yes."

"There was a call that came in a few minutes before you came in. Bus broke down a little outside town. Man acted like he'd never used a cell phone before… It was really weird because he kept shouting and stuff, anyways… Oh yeah! Your job! You bring it here with the tow, and I'll fix it up, while Patty keeps shop."

"Why don't you drive the tow truck there and we'll all stay and watch the station?" Lane suggested, his mind filled with dirty thoughts of stealing a little quarter from the cash register.

"Are you insane? I don't trust you around my baby," He pat the register two times. "And besides, it's almost rush hour."

Rush hour in Diomede not only meant when everyone got off work and complained about traffic and honked their horns as loud and as often as they could, but it also meant the busiest time for the little gas station. Everyone needed gas after their long commute to the city, for another commute the next day. That was sensible, wasn't it?

So Lane drove for a while, until he tried to purposely crash into a tree. After that, Draco drove, cursing Josef and all his clever nametags as well as the fake nose rings that had caused all this trouble.

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

It wouldn't be entirely difficult for a Muggle to change a tire on a motor vehicle, but a Wizard had no idea and no concept of this "car," let alone a bus. They'd already spent hours and hours pouring over the manuals to learn how to drive and turn the key, etc. Snape and McGonagal were at a loss for once, and it was discouraging the students. They were not allowed to leave the bus for any reason, and quite a few grew tired of their own friends.

When their liberator came in the form of a rusted, old tow truck, few did not cheer. Saved, at last, right? Snape eyed it warily, wondering, as was Slytherin nature, if these mud bloods could be trusted. Then he suddenly remembered his position as Headmaster, and his vow not to judge a student or other… He cursed the vow now, as he wanted to go back to his Slytherin's prideful nature.

Lane stepped out first, then his companion, which seemed to stop the cheering. Students looked on with wide eyes and awed expressions as the pale boy approached the relieved teachers. Harry and Ron hung out the window and Crabbe and Goyle sat speechless. Were they seeing… what they thought they saw?

"Hey. Name's Cummings," The boy said, and the students' hopes were dashed. Perhaps not as they had expected.

"Cummings?" Snape asked. "It looks to me like your name is 'Stooped'."

Draco ripped off his nametag. "That is irrelevant. What's wrong with your bus?"

"My name's Lane," The brown-haired boy butted in. "No one likes to introduce me except myself."

McGonagal nodded, warily. What odd people, she thought. She stood behind Snape a bit.

"That thing in the front popped!" A student shouted, leaning out the window and pointing to the tire. Lane snickered. Draco attempted a straight face.

"Right. We'll take a look at this thing…" Lane said through giggles. As they approached it, they noticed only that it had perhaps, run over a sharp edge in the road, and was, indeed, nothing more than a flat tire. They proceeded to check the engine and found nothing at all wrong with that. Though they didn't know much about cars—in fact, it amounted to nothing—they could see that nothing was snapped, bent, broken, or missing. At least, there were no holes, if you didn't count the one in the tire. As they pretended to inspect the vehicle like professionals, Draco began to whisper, "Do these people seem gullible to you?"

"What's gullible?"

"The word written on your forehead," Draco said, sarcastically.

"Really? How'd that get there?" Lane asked, hoping he was wiggling his 'gullible' by raising his eyebrows.

"What I mean is, they'll believe anything you tell them… especially since it seems they don't know anything more about cars than you or me."

Lane nodded enthusiastically.

"So, you remember what Josef said, didn't you?"

Lane shook his head enthusiastically.

"We only get paid if we make our money."

"We counterfeit?"

"No! We fool them… just leave it up to me, okay? Play along."

They emerged from the front of the vehicle with grim expressions, Draco shaking his head, and Lane hanging his low, as though someone had just died.

"Is it," Snape began to ask. "… that bad?"

"I'm afraid so, sir. You can still drive it, since we fixed your tire, but I would recommend you drive to the nearest town and have it looked at."

"Why?"

"Well that's about the farthest distance it can go without self-destructing, sir."

Snape paled, and then seemed to recover, as though a thought had just entered his mind.

"It's times like these that really make a guy depressed, but I'm sure you and your students will be alright," Lane said, hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders slumped. "Rough times, when your bus is about to blow up with all your favorite pupils inside."

"Rough times, when your only hope is about a couple of a miles away," Draco continued.

"Rough times, when you can't do anything to help, and you feel," Lane searched for an adjective. "Feeble."

"Really rough times, when not even magic or luck can help," The Cummings boy concluded, and Snape's face fell. How had he known his intentions? Could that boy possibly have known about spells and such things, or was he just spouting words now?

Lane sighed. "Rough times, when—"

"Alright already! We'll go! Just… show us the way," Snape shouted, aggravated. Draco and Lane smirked and hopped back into their tow truck, ready to milk all the money they could out of the professors and their students.

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

The entire situation was explained to Josef, who heartily agreed. He called the Inn, which seemed very eager to be filled with students as it never had been before, and even admitted it might be too large a group to squeeze in. Then Tata, the rumored unnaturally old woman called, knowing the Inn's distress and offered a few guest rooms in her Manor on the edge of the town. Everything was working out. Everyone would be getting a little extra cash flow if this large group stayed for a few days: the restaurants, the pub, the baseball field, the Inn, the gas station (which sold souvenirs), and Tata, if she asked for money in return for her generosity.

And the two boys were the heroes. They praised themselves and were offered a small percentage from each merchant who earned something that was the result of their quick thinking. It seemed Diomede was up and running better than before, looking cleaner than before, and even smiling wider.

Mayor Turbin offered to help the professors in any way he could, by paying for a drink or two at the pub, or perhaps giving them free tickets to the upcoming Friday game, but they refused. They wanted their bus fixed so they could get to their destination as soon as possible. They claimed they were on a five-day schedule, all of which, the Mayor planned for them to spend in Diomede.

**

"You know that bus-load of kids that came to the station last night?" Draco nodded in answer, the next morning at the school. "They came here! They stayed here! They're in the Inn, and Tootsie's manor!!" Patty practically squeaked as she spoke, trying to keep it at a calm volume as though she were casually speaking and not about to cry.

"Yeah, I know. Lane and I gave them directions, remember? It's no big deal. They'll be gone in a few days, I bet."

"But Draco!" She protested, clasping her hands together to keep from grabbing his. "They'll find me out!"

"Find you out?"

"And you too! You won't be able to live here anymore! They'll take us away from Diomede, Draco!"

"Who?"

A small scream escaped her lips and she stomped her foot against the sidewalk like a spoiled little child. "You don't get it!" She screamed. And with that, she ran off, apparently too upset to speak anymore.

Patty lived with her uncle, who was, undoubtedly, not her uncle. Joseph Brown was Josef Ledger's cousin, and always after the ladies. Though there were few who were beautiful enough to catch Joseph's eye that were not taken already as a wife or girlfriend to someone else, there was one special girl he had in mind. Jessica Carver was a very attractive young lady, and there was no denying that—no man could. But she preferred a man on the sensitive side. One that could look after a child, or appreciate flowers, as she had once been quoted. So Joseph Brown looked to adopt, as he was very serious about Jessica. Lucky him, though, a child who could cook and clean arrived on his doorstep one winter afternoon. She could take care of herself, and keep up the façade of being loved and cared for--a wonderful actress, as well. He allowed her the guest room in his small, white house, and let her come and go as she pleased. Since then, it's been rumored that Jessica Carver might be looking to date Joseph Brown, and in this town, most rumors turn to truth. Patty never talked about "Uncle Brown" much and never spoke of her odd adoption, but Draco had always thought of her as sort of a kindred spirit. They'd both been taken in at about the same time, and were both introduced to the town in the same way: through Lane.

Some of the students from a school called H. Willard High wandered around the Hunton High School campus, looking as though they'd never seen a school before.

"Where do you sleep?" One of them asked.

"…. At home?" Lane replied. Patty had been absent that day, later found in Uncle Brown's "guest room," hiding.

The curious student snickered. "You don't have dormitories?"

"No. We have houses."

At the mention of houses, the student backed off and stuck with the rest of his group, cautiously "interacting" with these… students.

"I don't know what makes these kids so weird," Draco said, taking a seat on the bench beside Lane. "Maybe they're foreign."

Lane shrugged, taking another bite of his apple and let his friend continue. "This one red-head kid was wondering why there were locks on lockers. He said they were useless and all you needed was a good Alohora or whatever."

"Universal key," Lane suggested. "Aloha is the brand name for a universal key that can open any lock, anywhere, anytime. Doesn't matter what make, either."

"Like Houdini."

"Houdini could pick locks. The Aloha key is legal."

"If Houdini were alive today, he would be one of those guys to chain himself up, get sealed in a box and dropped from a helicopter into the Atlantic," A new speaker announced as he took the last remaining seat on the bench, hands shoved in his black jacket.

"Back from Hawaii?" The Cummings boy smiled.

Hector shrugged. "It was a nice enough place. I heard you talkin' about the Aloha key and I knew you wanted to ask me everything about my vacation."

Lane offered an apple. Hector refused, seeing it had five bites taken out of it already. "Are all the girls tan?"

"Very tan. My sister got a tan. I didn't recognize her by the end of the week."

Draco nodded. "That's right. You two stayed on separate islands."

"I blame the toothpaste. She started the fight anyways."

"I heard she has a great uppercut."

"She can turn you into the mirror image of Jay Leno. 'Course she has a great uppercut."

Draco's head nodded, but he had not paid any attention. He was looking at the strangest group he'd ever seen, all standing around and just staring at the water fountain. Hector looked where Draco's attention was turned, shaking his head a bit to move his black hair from his vision.

"What's their problem?" He asked.

"They're foreign," Lane smirked. "They don't know how to get a drink."

**

"Let me show you a magic trick," Draco said, stepping through the group and towards the water fountain, motioning for them all to step back. With an easy press of a button, the water came up through the fountain and a small gasp escaped a redhead's lips. "Now… was that so hard to figure out?" He moved to step away, so the boy could try all by himself, looking off towards his friends. Hector and Lane stood beside the two girls of the group—another redhead, and one with bushy, long brown hair.

"He's not stupid," The redheaded girl said in her brother's defense. "He's just never seen one of these things before."

"Oh, they don't have these things in H. Willard?" Draco asked, taunting. She said nothing in response, but merely glared at him and stood her ground. A black-haired boy with glasses and an odd scar spoke up in her stead, his fists clenched by his side.

"We don't live far from here," He said, as politely as possible through clenched teeth, though he couldn't imagine why he was so angry.

Draco just widened his eyes a bit in response.

"So we're not foreigners, like you think."

He scoffed. "Then where are you from, exactly? H. Willard? I'd bet ten dollars on the spot it's a joke."

"…." The boy was silent after his first statement, as the girl had once been.

"H.W. That's something, though," And after saying that, Draco turned and left.

**

"How could he have possibly thought H.W. was something? He wouldn't be trying to guess our real school's name… would he?" Ginny wondered aloud, watching as that "rude boy" and his friends walked off.

Harry shrugged, "Don't worry about it, Ginny. He probably doesn't have a clue."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "He was just making fun of us. If I ever find out his locker number, I'll open it and mess it up so bad…"

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "We're not to use any magic while we're here… even if this isn't the designated Muggle town."

"I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between these Muggles anyway," Ron mumbled, upset that he wasn't able to use magic, but not at as upset as the Slytherins.

Crabbe and Goyle sauntered past their group, grim expressions on their faces, when they suddenly turned and faced Harry. "Who talked to you?" They demanded.

"I don't know, he didn't give me a name!" Harry made an attempt at defending himself from their verbal onslaught, which hadn't been much since Draco died.

"Well… you'd better know next time, you…" Crabbe sought for the words. Goyle found them. "DUM-DUMS!"

They barely noticed that they ought to be the ones laughing, not the ones they had just insulted.

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

Patty dried her tears as she sat on the sidewalk in front of the gas station. Was there no place to go where they weren't? The only place that seemed safe enough was here. Despite the souvenirs, the smell of gas was too foreign a smell for the newcomers, and only a few dared to travel that far to the edge of town anyway. Most stayed around Main Street, which held the shops and the Inn. Others traveled the neighborhoods, examining the houses, meaning she wasn't even safe in her own home.

Joseph Brown stepped out of his cousin's gas station and onto the sidewalk, a Popsicle in his mouth.

"What's up with you?" He asked her, and she immediately tried to dry the rest of her tears.

"Hey, Jo," She muttered, not feeling like putting up with him right now. "Nothing's the matter."

"Yes," He answered. "Something is. And I need to find out what so you'll fix me dinner. You don't cook well when you're upset."

Patty stifled a laugh. She knew he meant well. He just didn't know how to say things. "I don't like our visitors."

"Me neither. They took over the pub."

She laughed again and followed him home. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, but if things turned to worse, at least she knew she wasn't the only one who hated her fellows.

**

"Elizabeth! Dinner!" Her mother called up to her as she sat in her room on the second floor. She heard it well enough and descended down the stairs quickly, bumping into her brother as she did.

"Draco," She spoke on the landing as he turned on the top step to face her, saxophone in hand. "You see those visitors?" She smiled.

He smirked back, turned and started heading towards his room. "That's all anyone ever wants to talk about," He muttered. Elizabeth thought a moment, and to annoy him, decided to continue the conversation on at dinner. Her father should be interested.

"Yeah, one of those kids was trying to steal stuff with a little stick-wand," He announced as he played with his mashed potatoes, a habit for the middle-aged man. "He argued with me for fifteen minutes straight about how it could work if it had. I just don't understand kids these days…" He went off, trailing on about how if it were up to him, the town would be run like so…

Draco smirked and politely took the opportunity of silence to speak. "Hector's back."

"Is he?" His mother's expression brightened. "Where were the twins? Hawaii?"

Draco nodded, as he was eating.

"I think Hector's a cutie," Elizabeth announced. "And I wish you would invite him over sometime, Draco."

Draco swallowed. "Oh, sure. 'Hector, why don't you come over and talk to my sister?'"

"That's not what I mean. I don't wanna talk to him. Just… stare at his beautiful--"

"If you say anything other than 'face,' it's going through the high school intercom," Draco interrupted.

"I was going to say face."

"Riiiight."

"Draco!"

"Careful of the mashed potatoes, kids! We don't want an incident like Halloween," Mr. Cummings warned and added a few more mashed potatoes to his plate, before he finished constructed an exact replica (in potatoes) of Mt. Rushmore. Mrs. Cummings slapped his hand as a warning and he began to eat Lincoln's face, then Washington's.

"Oh, and uh… Mrs. Phillips invited me to the Thompsons' garden party."

"Did she?" His mother was once again involved in conversation, enthusiastically. "Well, that's very kind of her. Is she introducing her family?"

"It's a tradition," His father began to announce. "That at every party, you must introduce part of your family to the town. That way, we know more people, and they're kin, too!"

"I know all about that," Draco said. "I was introduced at your Christmas party, remember?"

Elizabeth frowned. "I thought it was New Year's."

"It was New Year's/Christmas/Valentine's Day," Draco took the last of the mashed potatoes, greatly disappointing his father.

"Valentine's… Oh, yeah! Because Tata's operation was on Valentine's Day, so she wanted to have the party early!" Elizabeth's epiphany astounded only her.

"Call her Mrs. Phillips!" Her mother scolded. "To call her by her first name is disrespectful."

"Sorry, Mummy," She apologized. After that, conversation was only of future plans, such as the upcoming party, and, more importantly, the high school prom.

End Chapter Two. You have been officially welcomed.

*****

Author's Notes:

Ah! I know that first part might've been a bit… er… odd, but it was your introduction to the odd people of Diomede. Btw, I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters (disclaimer) they all belong to J.K. Rowling, lucky girl. So sorry that chapter was a bit late. By the time ff.net was down I was through proofreading and double-checking and once it was up, I was on vacation. You know how summer is. Family reunions and helping your grandmother move into a new house and such things keep you from fictions. Reality is too tough to deal with in the first place; I'm surprised I find time for little Draco Malfoy. ^_^

Truly,

Maura Belle.