Children are the only form of immortality that we can be sure of.
- Peter Ustinov
Third Year
My trunks are packed and nicely stored with my new broom rested carefully on top. My father had bought me one when he found out I made the Quidditch team as seeker last year. I am wearing my best robes – newly bought also, since I have grown since Second Year. The sun is setting and I am staring at the beautiful display of colors painted across the sky in the window of our room. My parents are visiting another important wizarding family they knew in a time before me. They do that often when we come to England. I lean my head against the glass, the presence of night making it cool.
I'm surprised at my excitement to return to Hogwarts, though I still don't know if I like it or not. My mother remained silent whenever I brought up the subject of the boy with white blonde hair and storms in his eyes, though I don't think he will look very boyish anymore. My father had pulled me aside and asked me not to bring him up anymore during Christmas break last year. Why? He told me I'd understand later – not when I'm old enough – but when the time is right. He hates telling me I'm too young for anything.
I suppose that is the reason why I do not act my age. I did not bring up Hogwarts or the boy with white blonde hair and storms in his eyes again. Not because it makes my mother sad, but because she made me angry and I didn't feel like speaking directly to her anymore.
The wizarding world has changed little since the days of Harry Potter and his two best friends, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. The only differences were the absence of Ron and the presence of the next generation of wizards. Of course, Harry Potter looked around himself, into the crowded streets of Diagon Alley, and shook his head. The wizarding world is nothing the same. The buildings stood empty and cold, reminiscent of the wave of darkness that enveloped wizarding Europe for two long years.
Harry felt a strong hand slip into his own. He looked down and smiled wearily at his daughter. She almost reached his height, but he doubted she will grow much anymore. Neither he or his wife were exceptionally tall and they couldn't hope for her to grow magically.
"Hey Lillian!" A voice called toward the father and daughter, masculine. Almost immediately Harry Potter's smile fell. He turned around to see a tall man with a dreamy look on his face.
"Hello Ambrose," she smiled back at the older boy. Harry calmed, having heard about Ambrose Wood and his spectacular Quidditch skills all summer. Ambrose made his way over to them, seemingly to float. Harry smirked to himself. This 'Ambrose' fellow was almost an exact replica of his mother, Luna Lovegood.
"Hello Mr. Potter," Ambrose breathed before turning to Lillian. "I'm booking a Quidditch meeting the minute I step into Hogwarts." He said in all seriousness. Harry could hardly contain his laughter. Not only did Ambrose encompass his mother's eccentric disposition, but he also had the same intense obsession with Quidditch as his father, Oliver Wood. Fortunately, he wasn't quite as burly as his father or fragile as his mother. No, the boy was a good combination of both.
"Calm down, Ambrose. We haven't even boarded the train and you're already talking about Quidditch." The three of them laughed loudly, chattering on about Quidditch and Ambrose Wood's new appointment as the Gryffindor team captain. "In fifth year, too! Father was so happy."
Harry's eyes wandered as his daughter spoke to her friend and over the young man's shoulder. His eyes fell on a tall boy with shocking white blonde hair. He knew who that was and he did not like the intense concentration the boy had on his daughter. His silvery grey eyes were drilling holes through Lillian, though Harry could see through his well placed mask of indifference, there was an odd expression of the boy's face. It was almost as if it was taking all of the boy's strength not to do something. Harry knew that look, though he hasn't seen it in years, and he didn't like it. At all.
Goodbyes have always been hard for me, though I'm beginning to get used to it. In first year, I had to say goodbye to my mother and father for the first time, but afterwards, I only said goodbye to my father. My mother does not come to England anymore. She claims she has too much work to do for the Ministry in France, but I can tell my father doesn't believe her. He never says anything, though. He just picks up my trunk and hauls it into the charmed car that we flew to Diagon Alley.
After a while, I stopped caring. My father had bought a convertible just for the experience of flying high in the air with the wind blowing in your face and the freedom the sky brings to you. Both of us feel more comfortable in the air. My mother was furious, of course, when she found out what he had done to the car, but my father never minded. Your mother's just too cautious, he had whispered. I had laughed then, but I'm not laughing now. I hardly laugh anymore when it comes to discussing my mother.
I like to think I hate her, but I know that's not true. We're just too much alike, if that makes any sense.
Headmaster Snape watched with a blank expression as the one Marcus Malfoy moved around in front of him expressively. The young Malfoy's hands were flailing around his body and his mouth moved quickly, explaining in great detail the image he had for an out of school project. Professor Snape would have laughed had he been capable of doing so without scaring the children in which he looks after.
"I think a drama club will really bring out some people who normally are very shy," Marcus concluded lamely, seeing the unresponsive expression of the professor's face. He hadn't expect much, but he had expected more than a blank expression with a hint of amusement.
"Well, Mr. Malfoy, how do you expect to bring all those – ah – shy students into the limelight?" Professor Snape finally concluded. Marcus's face fell.
"Well," he started
"On the other hand," Professor Snape continued, as if the prefect had not said a word, "Perhaps having a creative outlet that does not consist of causing others harm might be what some ... anonymous students would need." His words were obviously directly meant for Lucas Jordan, the current reigning troublemaker and genius hex inventor. Marcus visibly brightened. Professor Snape scrawled his signature on the paper the boy had handed him earlier.
"Thank you, Professor Snape." He beamed at the older man, resembling the two children Professor Snape remembered from before, if only for a moment. Without a word, Professor Snape waved him away, his thoughts still on the memories of Draco Malfoy and his son as children.
Hogwarts, 1997
Draco Malfoy sneered at the thought that his idea of a school newspaper had to be passed by Professor Dumbledore before beginning its first stages. He had gone to Professor Snape, asking for permission and the means of print, but the Potion's master had told him to go to the headmaster.
"That's ridiculous," Draco said sharply. "It's not like I'm going to go about writing essays on You-Know-Who or something." The Professor had given his student a cold look at that statement.
"I have not, in the past five years, thought of you to become like Potter and victimize yourself because of you father's rather ... unfortunate ... reputation." Professor Snape replied. "Such school functions have to be submitted to Professor Dumbledore for approval before beginning them, as last year's Dumbledore's Army failed to do."
"As if the old man would turn down Potter and his self-righteous plans," Draco sneered.
"Bitterness does not become a young man such as yourself, Mr. Malfoy. I would advise against speaking against Potter from now on, lest you wish for the rumors of ... unpleasant ... nature to follow you." The Professor chose his words carefully.
"I'm just sick of Potter and his hero complex." Draco huffed childishly, but stood anyway. "Well, I suppose I should arrange a meeting with Dumbledore."
"Professor Dumbledore," Professor Snape corrected quietly. The boy simply turned and walked out of the Potion's office, his head high and proud. Some things have not changed yet.
yes, okay, so "the boy" has finally been dubbed a name, which has some sort of strange meaning which I have yet to tie into the story, but it shall. Originally, I posted this chapter, but only the beginning was the same. the rest of it was radically changed, so...yeah..okay
Please review?