A/N: Hey, this is for Mimi, my first reviewer, who took a chance. And Phire Phoenix, you're a wonderful person.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter as well as the Jaguar XKR…or anything else related to it…them…whatever. You get my point.
Chapter three: Wild At Heart
Draco stepped out of the "family carriage," a Jaguar XKR Convertible, and into King's Cross Station.
Transfiguring his car keys into a smaller pendant version (which he then looped onto the thin, barely visible chain around his neck), he strode, his black trench coat billowing behind him as he pushed his trolley forward, to the barrier separating Platforms 9 and 10, and leaned casually into it.
Almost all at once, Platform 9 ¾ materialized in front of his eyes, the Hogwarts Express right in the middle, steam blowing out of its glorious scarlet body.
He strode to the train, lugging his trunk to a nearby empty compartment.
"Watch it!" someone muttered from behind him.
Whipping around, Draco's sneer quickly turned into a smirk as he came face-to-face with none other than Hogwarts' new Head Girl: Hermione Granger.
"Well, well, what's the mudblood doing here alone?" drawled Draco, letting his eyes sweep her whole body from her head to the tips of her ridiculously high-polished loafers, to the shiny badge above her breast.
Hermione turned red as she felt Draco's appraisal on her body, but quickly struggled to keep her temper. After all, what kind of a Head Girl would she be if she couldn't handle simple situations as this?
"Sod off, Malfoy. I was here first, and I'm waiting for Harry and Ron, so if you would kindly get out, I would appreciate it," she stated calmly.
Malfoy just raised an eyebrow at this.
"What makes you think that purebloods give way to mudbloods like you? Malfoys never give in, and Malfoys get what they want, and right now, I want this compartment."
By this time, Hermione was holding on to her temper by a considerably thin length of thread.
"Look, Malfoy," she started, her voce clipped, "I'm going to ask you one more time. As Head Girl, I am requesting you to leave, before I take points off for challenging authority."
Hogwarts had a points system, much like a contest between the four houses, where, in the entire course of their school year, professors and the Head Boy and Head Girl, could take and award points to those deserving them. Only, what one person did inevitably affected a lot of people, as points were tallied by House.
I never think about when,
I only think about where,
There's nothing I wouldn't do,
So don't tell me about any rules…
Draco snorted.
"Go ahead, you little swot. Take points off, I don't really give a rat's arse. Unlike you, the rest of us normal people think that there's more to life than grades and points. So, in response to your request, I must say no."
Now visibly shaking with suppressed anger at how accurately Malfoy hit home, Hermione, never one to back down, sat at the seat near the window, staring pointedly at Malfoy, as if saying "Well? I'm obviously not leaving, so I suggest you bugger off."
Draco scowled at this, and, him being a Malfoy and all, he too sat down, only opposite of Hermione.
"What are you still doing here, Malfoy?" demanded Hermione, "Harry and Ron will be here in a bit."
"I told you already, Granger, Malfoys get what they want, and I want this compartment," Draco drawled, raising his chin in a fashion which challenged her to annoy him further. "How daft can you get?"
I wanna be wild at heart…
"Well, I'm not leaving," snapped Hermione. "And Harry and Ron will be really angry when they find you in our carriage. So, unless you want them to test some of the new hexes and curses they've been learning on you, I think it would be wise for you to step out of this compartment right now."
Just then, the compartment door burst open and Harry and Ron rushed inside, both quite red in the face; bent over, clutching stitches at their sides, and gasping for breath.
"Hermione-we're sorry we-took-so long-" Harry started in between breaths, oblivious to Malfoy's presence.
"Yeah-we got waylaid-by mum-and Dad-they reckon that-we're going to do some-thing nasty-and bad-again this year that-could-get us into trouble-and expelled," finished Ron, still panting winded.
Malfoy, who had remained impassive, now had his interest piqued.
Hermione seemed to have picked up on this development as she coughed and got Harry and Ron's attention.
"Um, Harry, Ron, we're not alone."
"Huh? Who'd you invite Her-"
"What in Merlin's name are you doing here, Malfoy?" shouted Harry, obviously forgetting that he was still out of breath.
"I don't think that's any of your business, Potter. This is my compartment, and your mudblood friend was just leaving," answered Draco, sneering at Harry.
"I was here first, Malfoy, and you know it!" cried out Hermione indignantly.
"You heard her, Malfoy. She was here first, so sod off," said Ron, straightening from his bent-over position, his breath regained.
"Watch your tongue, Weasel. No one can make mo do something I don't want to do, and certainly no resident celebrity and his moneyless weasel can change that," hissed Draco.
Harry and Ron whipped out their wands at the same time, but Hermione was faster.
"You watch what you're saying, Malfoy, or I swear I will hex you senseless, and I will deck points off for provoking me," snarled Hermione, gripping her wand and jabbing it threateningly at Malfoy's chest.
Harry and Ron stared at her, their mouths slightly hanging open.
Malfoy just stood there for a few moments, his whole body immobile and impassive, if not for the tell-tale twitching at the corners of his mouth, which one couldn't pinpoint if it was due to amusement or fear or simply irk.
Hermione never lowered her wand, nor softened her glare, and neither did Malfoy. Without warning, he whipped out his wand and pointed it at all three of his companions, hurling hexes before any of them could react. "Petrificus totalus!" After Harry, Ron and Hermione dropped on the compartment floor with sickening crashes, he hurled yet another one. "Speculum dementis!" Turning on his heel, he strode out of the compartment, smirking, leaving the three of them foaming at the mouth, looking quite mad. At the door, he paused and turned to address them one last time. "You wanted this compartment to yourselves? Well, seeing as you all have the appearance of people who have gone off their rockers, I highly doubt that anyone would be bothering you anytime soon. No need to thank me, though. This is just the first of the many favours you can expect from me."
***************
The Hogwarts Express chugged to a halt at Hogsmeade Station, the only entirely wizarding settlement in England.
Getting up a half hour later, dazed, winded and considerably angry, Harry, Ron and Hermione waited back a few minutes, as not to get lost in the sea of people all rushing out of the train in a steady stream.
Harry stuck his head out of the compartment, and after checking out the train's single, long corridor, he ducked back in.
"All clear," he declared, turning toward the compartment door.
Hermione and Ron followed suit.
"I swear, one of these days, Malfoy will get justice," said Ron vehemently, the tips of his ears going red.
"Let it go, Ron. It's not proper for us to plot revenge on him, because we'd be stooping down to his level. Not to mention, we'd face being expelled if we get caught, or if Malfoy tells on us," Hermione said firmly, leaving no room for argument, her bushy brown hair fanning in the wind behind her as she walked briskly.
The three of them trudged towards one of the empty, seemingly horseless, carriages that would bring them to Hogwarts Castle.
Harry knew better, though, than to think the carriages horseless. He saw what many others couldn't see; he saw and knew what pulled the carriages. He knew that those bony, scaly, winged horses were called Thestrals, and that only those who have seen death could see them.
"Firs' years come o'er 'ere!" bellowed Hagrid, his big bushy head clearly visible through the great mass that was Hogwarts' students, as he beckoned the first years for the traditional sail across the lake to Hogwarts.
The carriage ride to the castle was bumpy, but thankfully enough, short. Soon, Hogwarts' massive wrought iron gates came to view, its magnificent winged boars visible through the thick evening fog.
Harry, Ron and Hermione trudged up the slope to Hogwarts' magnificent Great Hall for the Starting Feast and Sorting Ceremony.
First years put on the sorting hat before the Starting Feast to determine which House they belonged to.
Harry and his two best friends made their way to the Gryffindor table, on the extreme opposite of where the Slytherin end of the Great Hall was.
Just as they sat down, the Great Hall's massive doors opened, and Professor McGonagall strode in, her robes billowing snappishly behind her, as she led a long line of first year students (half of them scared out of their wits, a quarter of them positively shivering in excitement and anticipation, the rest impassive or indeterminable) to the front of the Great Hall.
She brought out a four-legged stool, with the familiar patched Sorting Hat on it, and set it down where everyone could get a clear view of it.
The first years watched with fascination as a tear on the hat slowly ripped open, and flapped, as the enchanted hat burst into song:
"A long, long time ago,
Magic saw its finest four,
Where they met, I don't know,
But let me tell you more.
Godric Gryffindor, the bravest and the boldest,
Rowena Ravenclaw, the cleverest witch of all,
Helga Hufflepuff, the sweetest, though not the oldest,
And Salazar Slytherin, who got his every beck and call,
Founded Hogwarts and its Houses as they saw fit,
So that's why you're hear,
Don't start to knit,
Perk up your shriveled ear.
I'm a hat, what can I say?
I've sat here on this stool
Night and day,
If anything's about this school,
I can't walk, but I should know.
For I'm no ordinary hat, you see,
I delve into your feelings, high and low,
Your thoughts you can not hide from me.
So sit back, relax, and put me on,
Let me tell you where you belong!"
The whole Hall erupted into cheer as the frayed hat sat motionless once again on its stool.
Professor McGonagall once again stepped to the front and unrolled a long piece of parchment.
"Once I call your names, please step forward, sit down on the stool, and put on the Sorting Hat," she said, adjusting her spectacles on her pointed nose, before proceeding to read from the list, "Avermann, Erin"
"Slytherin!" shouted the Sorting Hat.
The whole Slytherin table burst into clapping and cheering as a tall and slender brunet with intelligent crystal blue eyes sauntered to join them, looking very much like he'd rather be anywhere than at Hogwarts.
"Austin, Kathryn!"
"Gryffindor!"
The Gryffindors, led by Harry and Ron's loud whistling, welcomed their new housemate, a petite blonde, whose layered hair hung down her shoulders, and calculating emerald gaze swept over the table, scanning for an empty spot. Ron immediately shoved Harry, who was to his left, aside and waved for Kathryn to sit beside him.
Hermione, who was sitting on Harry's other side, saw (and felt) this, and rolled her eyes heavenward, muttering something that Harry swore was boys.
"Becker, Holly ("Ravenclaw!")"
"Carlson, Lene ("Ravenclaw!")"
"Eckman, Troy ("Hufflepuff!")"
"Garret, Wallace ("Slytherin!")"
"Garnet, Heather ("Gryffindor!")"
"Lim, Élise ("Hufflepuff!")"
"McCain, Ryū ("Gryffindor!")"
The Gryffindors clapped the tall, somewhat skinny, oriental-looking boy on the back as he sat somewhere near Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan's group.
McGonagall read all the way down her list to "Watts, Ivan ("Ravenclaw!")"
` As all the first years were Sorted and seated, she rolled up her scroll, gathered the Sorting Hat and its stool, and carried it out of the Hall.
Dumbledore cast a glance upward at the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling, which was starry tonight, before standing up to deliver his welcoming speech.
"Welcome all, to Hogwarts!" He boomed, getting everyone's attention.
"Now, before we sing the Hogwarts song, start the Welcoming Feast and a new term, I have just a few announcements to make," he paused to make sure he still had everyone's attention. "Our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has added a new ground rule to the list already posted outside of his office. Next, as the older students know-and would do well to remember," he continued, twinkling eyes sweeping and lingering for the briefest moment on Harry, Ron and Hermione, "the Forbidden Forest is off-limits to students. That is all," he spread out his arms widely. "Tuck in."
As platters upon platters of scrumptious steak and turkey, mouth-watering cream puffs, heavy steak-and-kidney pie, and generous portions of seven layer death torte found their way to Harry, Ron and Hermione's stomachs, Dumbledore cleared his throat and the food immediately vanished.
"Before I send you off to bed for tonight, I would just like to take a moment to ask that this year's prefects and new Heads stay behind for a few matters of importance to discuss. That is all, off you go!"
***************
Dumbledork better have a bloody good reason for asking us to stay. I bet whatever he has to say, the Heads could handle. I snort. Yeah, I'd bet my million-galleon trust fund Granger's just dying to do anything for the old coot. I wouldn't be surprised if one day, by some freakish occurrence that I actually come near her things, I see her trunk full of photos of his crinkly arse. I snigger to myself, then stop myself abruptly, swiveling my head sharply to see if anyone heard. My eyes narrowed, I turn back, satisfied that the throng of students rushing out of the Not-So-Great Hall didn't notice me, of all people, laughing. Thank Merlin, there's only so much Father could, and would, forgive. Crabbe and Goyle simultaneously thump me on each of my shoulders, I guess that's their way of saying, "Good luck, mate, hope you don't get stuck doing anything too good, see you in a bit, then. Bye!" Then again, it could be something else; it's really quite hard to tell with those two dolts.
Walking to the head table, I see Granger and Weasel King walking in the same direction as I out of the corner of my eye. I pity their future children. It'd be tough for them growing up, big, bushy, flaming red hair. Tisk, tisk. Then again, when it's Granger and Potty or Weasel we're talking about, there's really much to pity about them…or not.
On the far end of the Hall, good ol' Al-butt was standing to one side having chitchat with some wizard in olive green robes.
"Sir," began the Head Boy pompously. "You wanted to see us?"
Quite. State the obvious and display your lack of tact Ernie boy. Or intellect for that matter. Makes me wonder how a wet rag like that made Head Boy. The headmaster's eyes swept over us. When his gaze lit on me, I stood up straighter, looking the bastard squarely in the eye. I fancied I could see him flinch, hating him for what he did to Father. Even so, I had to surreptitiously wipe some sweat from my brow. The heat you see- the old fool might think I was frightened.
"The Southeast wing has been completed," began Dumbledore. "work started immediately after the end of last term. Considering the events of last year, I thought it prudent that you all be briefed on the - "
"Headmaster," said Snape, who pushed through the massive oak doors just then. His voice had a strident ring to it. "Sir, I must protest. I implore you not to do this."
"Your objections are duly noted, Professor."
Snape took hold of himself with visible effort. Still, his voice came out a touch strained.
"Sir, forgive me for my impertinence, but what, may I ask, is the purpose of our very elaborate precautions if-," again, he took a deep, slightly ragged, breath. "We might as well give them the keys to the castle!"
Them? I mused. Who's he talking about now?
"And much good it will do them," observed Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. "Myself, I sometimes wish for their escalators, what with our stairways."
Escapators? I thought. Something muggle, maybe. Weasel's dad would have an orgasm the day he sees one, I reckon. An image came to me of just that, causing the beginnings of a laugh to burst out of me. Luckily I was able to turn it into a cough just in time.
"Caught a bug, Malfoy?" sneered Ron. "Oh, wait! Ferrets don't catch bugs."
"A bit drafty, are we?" I shot back, smirking. "It seems like our weasel's fur is getting moth-eaten."
Weasel-king looked down his robes to where my finger was pointing. Two patches were just visible near his hip, their color not quite blending in. His face flushed a satisfying crimson as he fished around for his wand. All the time, I noticed Bush-Head desperately hanging onto the back of Weasel's robes… if you could actually call them that.
I would have loved getting a rise out of Weasel King and showing him who's the superior one. I would've had a duel with him, if that git Dumbledork didn't interrupt, the slimy goody-goody he is.
"That will be enough, Mister Malfoy, Mister Weasley." He turned to everyone else present. "We've come to the point where the dark and the light must face off, where the whole world faces the danger of chaos. Yes, the muggle world will suffer just as much as the wizarding world. We stand to face future peril, and we must stand united and prepared. I wish not to scare you off, but to warn you, and help you prepare." I listened to his speech, trying to look disinterested. "You're all probably wondering who this man beside me is," the old coot said, pointing to the man in olive robes. "This is Professor Maximus Phelps, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Master. He wasn't able to make it to the Sorting due to unforeseen traveling complications." Traveling complications? I mused. As far as I know, traveling complications are virtually unknown to wizards.
"Now, the entire student body will look up to you all," he continued, looking at us, Prefects, and the two freak Heads, Granger and Macmillan, "when the time comes." There he goes again, talking about that time. I fought not to roll my eyes. "In these dark times, we must stand together, be beacons to your fellow students." Beacons? What's gotten into the old prune? "Oh, and I have but a few more things to say before you all trot to bed. First, it is your duty to inform and remind the students that the Forbidden Forrest is off-limits. Oh, and point out Mr. Filch's list of forbidden items posted outside his office. I believe he's added Puking Pastilles and the rest of the Skiving Snackboxes," he said, and I could tell he was somewhat amused. Figures. The old coot got along well with the Weasel twins. Sickening, really. He yapped again, "The second thing is about your patrolling schedules." He grouped together boys and girls from each year, including the Heads, from different houses. And on he went, Granger got Fridays with some dorks and dorkettes from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, I think. I got Thursdays with a Slytherin, a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff. What luck I must have.
I vaguely reckon I heard Dumbledore sigh before continuing. "Now, I believe you all need your rest for tonight. Off to bed, now."
I restrained from shaking my head. The old coot made us stay behind for some stupid constant vigilance thing?
As I turned to leave, I discreetly glanced at Professor Phelps. Odd. For some reason I can't shake off, I reckon there's something more to him than what meets the eye, and I swore I'd find out.
