- chapter one -
Smacks and Bangs
Trailing through the deafening, swarming corridors of Hogwarts was what Draco Malfoy did best with his spare time. Lurking past startled first years, glaring at anyone who dared to stare at him one moment too many, hexing anyone whenever he damned well pleased was a hobby of his he would never abandon.
With the indispensable assistance of his two larger cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, he was unquestionably the one they feared – the one they hurried out of the way – and he, being the heir to Malfoy Manor, secured a respectable seat around the airs of Lord Voldemort and his fellow Death Eaters. His dark grey eyes remained vague, deluded in an air of arrogance, of conviction that he, Draco, was certainly more momentous than anyone else who dared cross his path.
To some extent, he had Crabbe and Goyle to thank – for they served him hand and foot, listened to his every command, laughed at his cruel, sneering jokes, even if various jokes were ridiculously dreary, they would fill the air with their rudimentary, unpleasant laughter.
Keeping his pointed chin high, and running a hand over his sleek, silvery blonde hair, Draco trotted towards the Slytherin dungeons. It wasn't a great distance away from the Great Hall, and the changing staircases were left empty of his presence – for the dungeons existed just a few steps below ground level.
With Crabbe and Goyle as his shadows, he prowled past the Slytherin gargoyle, one of a dark, derisive snake hauled up against a gruesome looking barricade – its teeth drenched in colourless blood, and its eyes beady and horrid, with dangerous slits running down. Draco had always admired that statue. Its presence alone usually caused some passing students to wince at the sight.
Smirking to himself, he mumbled the password of the Slytherin common room to the gargoyle, and obediently, the hefty, prickle-framed doors behind swung open, revealing the green and silver linings of the area.
The common room, unlike what most though, wasn't at all dark and monotonous. The narrow, yet elongated windows surrounding the room were unreachably high off the ground – and they were positioned in such a way that during the day, there was always light radiating in. The Persian carpets aligning the floors held great implication – as they brought in a sense of much beauty and elegance. During the darker hours, there would be enchanted candled heaving off every corner of the room – each glistening with either brilliant green flames or magnificent silvery white. The walls of the common room were etched with symbols of snakes and other such perilous visions, and many portraits of past Slytherin Heads of Houses hung around, usually muttering hexes to the students within hearing distance.
It was rather a cold November afternoon, and they had just returned from lunch in the Great Hall – leaving their stomachs full and their minds buffed with energy.
Draco needed someone to release that storm of energy on before his next class. He spotted a small second year hunched down by the corner beside the stairs that led to the boys' dormitories. With a distinct sense of satisfaction piercing through him, Draco stomped towards the boy – scorning at the way the boy was so transfixed on whatever book his nose was buried in.
The boy had reddish hair, and he was noticeable lanky. This reminded Draco of those perfidious blood traitors, the Weasley family. Hovering closer, Draco noticed the book in the boy's hand was Hogwarts: A History, and this filled Draco's stomach with another pleasurable little squirm – as during his previous years, he would find the mudblood, Hermione Granger, perched by a table in the library, draining herself with that same book. This unfortunate second year had the manner of all the people he loathed the most circling him.
Draco's hand grasped the end of his wand in the pocket of his robes – and when he spoke, he attempted to sound as saccharine as possible, 'Hello.'
The second year jerked up his head, nearly terrified, and gave Draco what appeared to be a pleading look. He didn't speak.
'Manners, boy. When someone says hello, it is proper to greet them in return,' said Draco abruptly.
The boy hesitated for a moment, probably contemplation whether or not this was some sort of trick or dare – when finally he stared at Draco determinedly and spoke, revealing crooked, unsightly yellow teeth, 'Hello.'
'Speak up, boy. Don't whisper. It makes you appear like a weak little prat,' said Draco shrewdly.
Draco knew the boy's patience was wearing thin, and much to his pleasure, he caught the boy rolling his hideous green eyes. The boy sighed, and when he spoke this time, his voice was carried – as if he were attempting to stress each syllable - and much louder than before, 'I said hello.'
Pulling out his wand at last, Draco pointed it at the boy, causing the boy to cringe and drop the book, 'How about you try that again, only without the eye rolling and the unnecessary sighing.'
Crabbe and Goyle remained in the background, each chuckling up a stream of crudity. Pansy Parkinson, another Slytherin, had noticed the scene and was now joining in with their amused frolics. Draco took one glance at her, noticed her over enthusiastic beam, and faced the second year with much less eagerness.
He had loathed Parkinson since the first day of school, when she had vowed desperately for his utmost attention. She was a very infuriating girl, with a face that very much resembled that of a repulsive pug's. She was, in a sense, an annoyance he couldn't turn off – for she was in his house, purposely took all the same classes, and made it a convention of always sitting beside or near him in the classrooms as well as in the Great Hall.
He had once made the mistake of agreeing to accompany her to the Yule Ball that was held in their fourth year, and ever since then, he had to endure torment from several Slytherins who insisted that two were a couple. Her looks alone made him grimace, and her nagging personality didn't do much to cease that feeling of dire hatred he felt for her.
Tediously stuffing his wand back into the pockets of his robes, he hastily headed for the boys' dormitories, gathered up the books necessary for the following two classes, and marched out of the common room with Crabbe and Goyle at his heal, leaving Pansy Parkinson drowning in her effort to capture his concentration again. That second year student had been very lucky, for if that cow hadn't shown up, he would be spitting out spiders for Draco's enjoyment.
Draco's two allies parted ways as they shuffled closer to Snape's classroom. Neither Crabbe nor Goyle had managed to scuff up enough grades on their Potions OWLs the previous year, and so neither was accepted further on. That left Draco alone for two consecutive lengths of one hour, and even though both Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had managed to achieve an "O" for their OWLs, therefore allowing them to continue the course and be in his class, he didn't mind it so much. Snape was the only professor he held any sort of respect for.
He entered the dark-lit room, attempting to make as much noise as possible, which providentially caused those who had already entered the class to notice him. His mind writhed with satisfaction as he quickly took a seat between Angel Clearwater, a quiet Ravenclaw, and Matthew McIvory, a sulking Slytherin. Settling his books and such before him – he laboriously awaited the lesson. He saw Pansy Parkinson enter the classroom with two other Slytherin girls, and when she perceived that there were not empty seats near him, she brooded in desolation and was forced to settle herself far away. Smirking, Draco focused his attention on other things.
Granger and Potter, as usual, were seated two rows ahead of Draco, and neither one of them, he recalled, had bothered to acknowledge his presence. Frowning greatly, Draco felt a sudden urge to hex both of them – make them grow feathers upon their faces, cause them to itch like mad... Even with their backs turned to him as they chatted together animatedly, they provoked such significant resentment within him.
'There will be no need for unnecessary talking,' came Snape's snarling voice. The professor had just entered the class, looking as sullen and shadowy as ever. He heaved to the head of the classroom, glaring at everything through sickeningly unwelcoming dark eyes. Draco's lips curled at the sight of this. The air Snape always held was truly astonishing. 'The potion you will be working on today is called Spear of Time. If brewed correctly, the consumer of the potion will be allowed to travel back in time as a spirit, from between five minutes to a full hour, depending on the consistency of the final produce,' explained Snape. He waved his wand, and the ingredients and instructions of how to create the potion appeared on the blackboard behind him, 'If you follow the directions as explained on the board, you should come across no struggles of any sort. I expect fairly decent results, as most of you managed to scrape an 'E' for the previous assignment.'
With that, the class got to filing along the cabinet of the ingredients. Draco, wasting no time, scurried to his feet and traced over to the cupboard, pushing several other students out of the way. He was so persistent on being the first to hurry back with the ingredients that he unexpectedly smacked into Hermione Granger; causing the constituents they were both carrying to splatter on the grounds. He narrowed his eyes at Granger, attempting to shoot her with the nastiest of all glares.
Granger looked perplexed.
'And what happened here?' came Snape's precariously soft voice.
Draco continued to glower at the mudblood. 'She smacked into me.'
'We smacked into each other. It was both our faults,' said Granger pleadingly.
Although from the look on Snape's face, it was already clear whom he would stand behind. 'Ten points from Gryffindor. You will clean this up before anymore accidents occur Granger, or you will receive no marks for your potion,' he hissed enjoyably before turning to Draco, 'Hurry along and collect another set of ingredients Draco, and watch your path next time.'
To Draco's greatest delight, Granger was looking very irritated indeed – as she had no choice but to follow Snape's orders. Her bushy hair seemed to electrify as she gave Draco one last, perilous frown before kneeling down and beginning to clean up the mess. Harry Potter knelt down beside her and helped. Draco stood there, witnessing their struggle to gather up all the grains of the reddish powder called Hell's Dust. It was utter joy, watching two people whom he truly hated appearing like slaves, sweating with aggravation to clean up what their master would tell them to. He sneered at them, making sure they caught his contented smirk as he finally strode away.
'That evil, conniving, manipulative little twit,' hissed Hermione Granger as she and Harry Potter approached the portrait of the Fat Lady. She had been muttering insults at the mere thought of him the whole way back from Potions – but she knew Harry, who had remained utterly quiet, was growing quite annoyed with her heckling. She did not care. She simply shrugged off all the irritated glances he would throw at her and persisted with ridiculing Draco Malfoy, the pure quintessence of hatred that existed in Hogwarts. 'If he so much as touches me one more time, I will curse him into obliteration.'
Harry rolled his vivid green eyes one last time before speaking the password, 'Black Pepper.'
'Of course,' said the Fat Lady as she submissively swung open the portrait door, letting them into the Gryffindor common room - a cozy, cylindrical room that held exquisite tapestries equipped with warm reddish carpeting and soft, red and gold furniture.
Hermione trotted over to her favourite spot in the whole of the room, a restful armchair placed to the right of the large, welcoming fireplace. She literally threw her books upon the wooden table to her right and furrowed her eyebrows together; contemplating which homework piece she should tackle first. Her mind was still lost in that dreadful encounter with Malfoy during their Potions class. She had the distinct feeling that he had deliberately bashed into her, just so Snape would seize points from the Gryffindor house.
She did not understand why Malfoy had to prolong such a disgusting display of disrespect for everyone. He was a Slytherin – he was a Malfoy – his father was in Azkaban Prison for providing assistance to Lord Voldemort – but did that involuntarily drench Malfoy's mind with constant hate for anyone who wasn't in his circle of heirs to Death Eaters? Hermione shook her head, causing her excessively curly brown hair to graze against her face. She realized it was quite ridiculous to expect anything decent from someone like Malfoy. He was simply a worthless, inconsequential little tyrant whom she didn't want to spend another moment thinking about.
But twenty minutes passed, and her thoughts were still clouded.
'Hermione, are you all right?' said Ron, who had taken a seat across from her. He had just returned from the Quidditch fields, and his face was soiled with mud. It had been raining, and so his vivid red hair was still damp from the splattering raindrops.
'I'm perfectly fine,' said Hermione absentmindedly, without facing him. She opened her books and began putting finishing touches on the latest Transfiguration essay that was due the following week.
'Malfoy got to her,' explained Harry, much to Hermione's disapproval. 'He banged right into her during Potions-'
'And Snape ducked points from Gryffindor instead,' Ron finished. This scenario was rather common, only it usually occurred with Ron and Harry rather with Hermione. 'Want me to strangle him for you?'
The corners of Hermione's lips tugged into a smile. Her eyes met Ron's, 'That sounds lovely. Just keep it clean and simple. I don't want to clean up anything else after that sordid rat.' They all gave in to small fits of laughter, and this placed some much-needed ease onto Hermione's heart.
'Fred and George sent me a package of their latest inventions for Weasley's Wizarding Weezies,' Ron was now saying eagerly, 'They've got some great stuff. Maybe we should test one of them on Malfoy – you know, accidentally spill it in his drink.'
'You have anything that would swell up his lips and make him incapable of filling the air with his crude voice?' asked Hermione.
Ron smirked, 'I don't think so, but I could suggest the idea to Fred and George.'
'Please do so. I don't know how much more of him I can take,' said Hermione, sounding serious, before staring down at her own neat writing. She was about to re-write a sentence in her closing paragraph when she felt Ron's eyes still on her.
He was nearly gapping at her, 'Hermione, what's gotten into you? You've never agreed to torturing someone, even if it had been Malfoy in the past,' he said, although he sounded very delighted indeed.
'Yes well, I'm simply human, aren't I? I can only take so much.'
Smacks and Bangs
Trailing through the deafening, swarming corridors of Hogwarts was what Draco Malfoy did best with his spare time. Lurking past startled first years, glaring at anyone who dared to stare at him one moment too many, hexing anyone whenever he damned well pleased was a hobby of his he would never abandon.
With the indispensable assistance of his two larger cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, he was unquestionably the one they feared – the one they hurried out of the way – and he, being the heir to Malfoy Manor, secured a respectable seat around the airs of Lord Voldemort and his fellow Death Eaters. His dark grey eyes remained vague, deluded in an air of arrogance, of conviction that he, Draco, was certainly more momentous than anyone else who dared cross his path.
To some extent, he had Crabbe and Goyle to thank – for they served him hand and foot, listened to his every command, laughed at his cruel, sneering jokes, even if various jokes were ridiculously dreary, they would fill the air with their rudimentary, unpleasant laughter.
Keeping his pointed chin high, and running a hand over his sleek, silvery blonde hair, Draco trotted towards the Slytherin dungeons. It wasn't a great distance away from the Great Hall, and the changing staircases were left empty of his presence – for the dungeons existed just a few steps below ground level.
With Crabbe and Goyle as his shadows, he prowled past the Slytherin gargoyle, one of a dark, derisive snake hauled up against a gruesome looking barricade – its teeth drenched in colourless blood, and its eyes beady and horrid, with dangerous slits running down. Draco had always admired that statue. Its presence alone usually caused some passing students to wince at the sight.
Smirking to himself, he mumbled the password of the Slytherin common room to the gargoyle, and obediently, the hefty, prickle-framed doors behind swung open, revealing the green and silver linings of the area.
The common room, unlike what most though, wasn't at all dark and monotonous. The narrow, yet elongated windows surrounding the room were unreachably high off the ground – and they were positioned in such a way that during the day, there was always light radiating in. The Persian carpets aligning the floors held great implication – as they brought in a sense of much beauty and elegance. During the darker hours, there would be enchanted candled heaving off every corner of the room – each glistening with either brilliant green flames or magnificent silvery white. The walls of the common room were etched with symbols of snakes and other such perilous visions, and many portraits of past Slytherin Heads of Houses hung around, usually muttering hexes to the students within hearing distance.
It was rather a cold November afternoon, and they had just returned from lunch in the Great Hall – leaving their stomachs full and their minds buffed with energy.
Draco needed someone to release that storm of energy on before his next class. He spotted a small second year hunched down by the corner beside the stairs that led to the boys' dormitories. With a distinct sense of satisfaction piercing through him, Draco stomped towards the boy – scorning at the way the boy was so transfixed on whatever book his nose was buried in.
The boy had reddish hair, and he was noticeable lanky. This reminded Draco of those perfidious blood traitors, the Weasley family. Hovering closer, Draco noticed the book in the boy's hand was Hogwarts: A History, and this filled Draco's stomach with another pleasurable little squirm – as during his previous years, he would find the mudblood, Hermione Granger, perched by a table in the library, draining herself with that same book. This unfortunate second year had the manner of all the people he loathed the most circling him.
Draco's hand grasped the end of his wand in the pocket of his robes – and when he spoke, he attempted to sound as saccharine as possible, 'Hello.'
The second year jerked up his head, nearly terrified, and gave Draco what appeared to be a pleading look. He didn't speak.
'Manners, boy. When someone says hello, it is proper to greet them in return,' said Draco abruptly.
The boy hesitated for a moment, probably contemplation whether or not this was some sort of trick or dare – when finally he stared at Draco determinedly and spoke, revealing crooked, unsightly yellow teeth, 'Hello.'
'Speak up, boy. Don't whisper. It makes you appear like a weak little prat,' said Draco shrewdly.
Draco knew the boy's patience was wearing thin, and much to his pleasure, he caught the boy rolling his hideous green eyes. The boy sighed, and when he spoke this time, his voice was carried – as if he were attempting to stress each syllable - and much louder than before, 'I said hello.'
Pulling out his wand at last, Draco pointed it at the boy, causing the boy to cringe and drop the book, 'How about you try that again, only without the eye rolling and the unnecessary sighing.'
Crabbe and Goyle remained in the background, each chuckling up a stream of crudity. Pansy Parkinson, another Slytherin, had noticed the scene and was now joining in with their amused frolics. Draco took one glance at her, noticed her over enthusiastic beam, and faced the second year with much less eagerness.
He had loathed Parkinson since the first day of school, when she had vowed desperately for his utmost attention. She was a very infuriating girl, with a face that very much resembled that of a repulsive pug's. She was, in a sense, an annoyance he couldn't turn off – for she was in his house, purposely took all the same classes, and made it a convention of always sitting beside or near him in the classrooms as well as in the Great Hall.
He had once made the mistake of agreeing to accompany her to the Yule Ball that was held in their fourth year, and ever since then, he had to endure torment from several Slytherins who insisted that two were a couple. Her looks alone made him grimace, and her nagging personality didn't do much to cease that feeling of dire hatred he felt for her.
Tediously stuffing his wand back into the pockets of his robes, he hastily headed for the boys' dormitories, gathered up the books necessary for the following two classes, and marched out of the common room with Crabbe and Goyle at his heal, leaving Pansy Parkinson drowning in her effort to capture his concentration again. That second year student had been very lucky, for if that cow hadn't shown up, he would be spitting out spiders for Draco's enjoyment.
Draco's two allies parted ways as they shuffled closer to Snape's classroom. Neither Crabbe nor Goyle had managed to scuff up enough grades on their Potions OWLs the previous year, and so neither was accepted further on. That left Draco alone for two consecutive lengths of one hour, and even though both Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had managed to achieve an "O" for their OWLs, therefore allowing them to continue the course and be in his class, he didn't mind it so much. Snape was the only professor he held any sort of respect for.
He entered the dark-lit room, attempting to make as much noise as possible, which providentially caused those who had already entered the class to notice him. His mind writhed with satisfaction as he quickly took a seat between Angel Clearwater, a quiet Ravenclaw, and Matthew McIvory, a sulking Slytherin. Settling his books and such before him – he laboriously awaited the lesson. He saw Pansy Parkinson enter the classroom with two other Slytherin girls, and when she perceived that there were not empty seats near him, she brooded in desolation and was forced to settle herself far away. Smirking, Draco focused his attention on other things.
Granger and Potter, as usual, were seated two rows ahead of Draco, and neither one of them, he recalled, had bothered to acknowledge his presence. Frowning greatly, Draco felt a sudden urge to hex both of them – make them grow feathers upon their faces, cause them to itch like mad... Even with their backs turned to him as they chatted together animatedly, they provoked such significant resentment within him.
'There will be no need for unnecessary talking,' came Snape's snarling voice. The professor had just entered the class, looking as sullen and shadowy as ever. He heaved to the head of the classroom, glaring at everything through sickeningly unwelcoming dark eyes. Draco's lips curled at the sight of this. The air Snape always held was truly astonishing. 'The potion you will be working on today is called Spear of Time. If brewed correctly, the consumer of the potion will be allowed to travel back in time as a spirit, from between five minutes to a full hour, depending on the consistency of the final produce,' explained Snape. He waved his wand, and the ingredients and instructions of how to create the potion appeared on the blackboard behind him, 'If you follow the directions as explained on the board, you should come across no struggles of any sort. I expect fairly decent results, as most of you managed to scrape an 'E' for the previous assignment.'
With that, the class got to filing along the cabinet of the ingredients. Draco, wasting no time, scurried to his feet and traced over to the cupboard, pushing several other students out of the way. He was so persistent on being the first to hurry back with the ingredients that he unexpectedly smacked into Hermione Granger; causing the constituents they were both carrying to splatter on the grounds. He narrowed his eyes at Granger, attempting to shoot her with the nastiest of all glares.
Granger looked perplexed.
'And what happened here?' came Snape's precariously soft voice.
Draco continued to glower at the mudblood. 'She smacked into me.'
'We smacked into each other. It was both our faults,' said Granger pleadingly.
Although from the look on Snape's face, it was already clear whom he would stand behind. 'Ten points from Gryffindor. You will clean this up before anymore accidents occur Granger, or you will receive no marks for your potion,' he hissed enjoyably before turning to Draco, 'Hurry along and collect another set of ingredients Draco, and watch your path next time.'
To Draco's greatest delight, Granger was looking very irritated indeed – as she had no choice but to follow Snape's orders. Her bushy hair seemed to electrify as she gave Draco one last, perilous frown before kneeling down and beginning to clean up the mess. Harry Potter knelt down beside her and helped. Draco stood there, witnessing their struggle to gather up all the grains of the reddish powder called Hell's Dust. It was utter joy, watching two people whom he truly hated appearing like slaves, sweating with aggravation to clean up what their master would tell them to. He sneered at them, making sure they caught his contented smirk as he finally strode away.
'That evil, conniving, manipulative little twit,' hissed Hermione Granger as she and Harry Potter approached the portrait of the Fat Lady. She had been muttering insults at the mere thought of him the whole way back from Potions – but she knew Harry, who had remained utterly quiet, was growing quite annoyed with her heckling. She did not care. She simply shrugged off all the irritated glances he would throw at her and persisted with ridiculing Draco Malfoy, the pure quintessence of hatred that existed in Hogwarts. 'If he so much as touches me one more time, I will curse him into obliteration.'
Harry rolled his vivid green eyes one last time before speaking the password, 'Black Pepper.'
'Of course,' said the Fat Lady as she submissively swung open the portrait door, letting them into the Gryffindor common room - a cozy, cylindrical room that held exquisite tapestries equipped with warm reddish carpeting and soft, red and gold furniture.
Hermione trotted over to her favourite spot in the whole of the room, a restful armchair placed to the right of the large, welcoming fireplace. She literally threw her books upon the wooden table to her right and furrowed her eyebrows together; contemplating which homework piece she should tackle first. Her mind was still lost in that dreadful encounter with Malfoy during their Potions class. She had the distinct feeling that he had deliberately bashed into her, just so Snape would seize points from the Gryffindor house.
She did not understand why Malfoy had to prolong such a disgusting display of disrespect for everyone. He was a Slytherin – he was a Malfoy – his father was in Azkaban Prison for providing assistance to Lord Voldemort – but did that involuntarily drench Malfoy's mind with constant hate for anyone who wasn't in his circle of heirs to Death Eaters? Hermione shook her head, causing her excessively curly brown hair to graze against her face. She realized it was quite ridiculous to expect anything decent from someone like Malfoy. He was simply a worthless, inconsequential little tyrant whom she didn't want to spend another moment thinking about.
But twenty minutes passed, and her thoughts were still clouded.
'Hermione, are you all right?' said Ron, who had taken a seat across from her. He had just returned from the Quidditch fields, and his face was soiled with mud. It had been raining, and so his vivid red hair was still damp from the splattering raindrops.
'I'm perfectly fine,' said Hermione absentmindedly, without facing him. She opened her books and began putting finishing touches on the latest Transfiguration essay that was due the following week.
'Malfoy got to her,' explained Harry, much to Hermione's disapproval. 'He banged right into her during Potions-'
'And Snape ducked points from Gryffindor instead,' Ron finished. This scenario was rather common, only it usually occurred with Ron and Harry rather with Hermione. 'Want me to strangle him for you?'
The corners of Hermione's lips tugged into a smile. Her eyes met Ron's, 'That sounds lovely. Just keep it clean and simple. I don't want to clean up anything else after that sordid rat.' They all gave in to small fits of laughter, and this placed some much-needed ease onto Hermione's heart.
'Fred and George sent me a package of their latest inventions for Weasley's Wizarding Weezies,' Ron was now saying eagerly, 'They've got some great stuff. Maybe we should test one of them on Malfoy – you know, accidentally spill it in his drink.'
'You have anything that would swell up his lips and make him incapable of filling the air with his crude voice?' asked Hermione.
Ron smirked, 'I don't think so, but I could suggest the idea to Fred and George.'
'Please do so. I don't know how much more of him I can take,' said Hermione, sounding serious, before staring down at her own neat writing. She was about to re-write a sentence in her closing paragraph when she felt Ron's eyes still on her.
He was nearly gapping at her, 'Hermione, what's gotten into you? You've never agreed to torturing someone, even if it had been Malfoy in the past,' he said, although he sounded very delighted indeed.
'Yes well, I'm simply human, aren't I? I can only take so much.'