"Egg of the Phoenix"
Chapter 2: In which a house-elf eavesdrops, a statue gets fresh, a Headmaster offers candy and Draco realizes he's got some red on him.
"We do what we must, Lucien. Sometimes we can choose the path we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all."
-Neil Gaiman
There were some things that Dobby the house-elf just knew. Very small creatures, if they were careful and quiet and sly enough, could pick up on many secrets that lingered in the shadows of old houses. Dobby knew that it was dangerous to test his master's patience. But when big things were happening in Malfoy Manor, he couldn't contain his curiosity. Later on, Dobby reasoned as he played with his bat-like ears, he would punish himself for being a bad house-elf. When the Master wasn't around, he would iron his hands or kick the stove until his largest toe ached with pain. It was worth it to know sometimes. It was only a small act of defiance that he would later punish himself for. But in spite of this, something small and rebellious (and probably stupid) in the back of Dobby's mind reveled in the fact that he could do little things to disobey his abusive Master.
"We should have sent the boy to Durmstrang!" At the sound of Lucius Malfoy's voice, Dobby flinched. It wasn't that Lucius' voice was louder or angrier than normal that jolted the house-elf. It was that the man seemed much too calm. There was an angry growl in Lucius' voice, but he was forcing it back and quieting it as best he could. The worst of punishments came when Master was not in a rage, but disturbingly calm. It was when Lucius' voice was low and cruel that the worst things happened. The small house-elf, without even realizing, looked around the hallway to make sure that no one saw him. Dobby toyed with the dirty pillowcase he used as a shirt and hobbled nervously on his thin legs. There was no one else in the house to catch him, but a paranoid fear had saved Dobby more than once in the past. Those Malfoys were a sneaky bunch of Very Bad people, after all. He feared what his master would do if he came out of his study and saw him there, crouching low and playing with a tea cozy just a few feet from the door.
"Lucius, he's just a little boy!" the angry voice of Narcissa Malfoy responded. "I won't see him sent out of the country."
Oh, Dobby thought, Master's speaking about him. No wonder he's angry, It seemed that the Master was almost always angry when he was the subject of a conversation.
"He's a Malfoy!" There was a bang and Dobby imagined that his Master must have slammed his cane against a desk or a book self. He always did that when he was especially upset and he thought no one important was watching. Lucius was always calm when someone else (someone who mattered) was looking, but Dobby knew just how his Master could lose his patience when he was alone. "With our name comes a certain amount of honor. A legacy. I won't have the boy destroy it now by being sorted into…" he stopped as if the word stuck in his throat and left a bad taste in his mouth. "Gryffindor." Lucius paused. Dobby held his breath. "Do you realize what everyone will be saying once the word gets out that our son has been sorted into that house? That our son sleeps in the same room as Arthur Weasley's son!" He sighed, "That damn boy can't do anything right. And if we need to send him out of the country so that we won't have to face the shame…"
"Don't you talk about Draco like that!" Narcissa, Dobby thought, was very brave to stand up to the Master of the Manor like that. Only few others would even think of doing so. She was a bad woman, that Narcissa Malfoy, but she was the only person who could ever get away with speaking to her husband in that manner and tone. "He's our son!"
"He's nothing but trouble," Lucius responded calmly. He took a deep breath and tried to contain his fury. "I won't see him bring shame to this house and this family."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll have to speak with Dumbledore and make him see how much to his advantage it would be to transfer our son," there was a slight tremble in Lucius' voice as he mentioned the name of the Hogwarts Headmaster. But it was so small that neither Dobby who was listening carefully outside, nor Narcissa who was watching her husband noticed. "Old fool won't have a choice but to put our boy in Slytherin."
"And if that doesn't work?" Narcissa's arms were crossed over her chest.
"It will," Lucius said. It had to, was what he thought but didn't say.
---
Dobby had gotten up to do chores soon after the Master and Mistress of the house had begun to wrap up their conversation. The small house-elf had the feeling that nothing else of great consequence would be shared between the two. Narcissa had left Lucius' study shortly after Dobby had relocated to the kitchen. There'd been a quickness to her steps that told Dobby that the Lord and Lady of the Manor would continue fighting later on. Silence had filled the house soon after; which was the normal for Malfoy Manor but still uncomfortable to Dobby after years of servitude. It seemed that young Master Malfoy was in trouble, though, and that was enough to send Dobby into a quiet fit of giggles once he was safely out of earshot of the Master and Mistress.
The house-elf didn't rest for very long. Dobby was used to ceaseless amounts of hard labor. Time and time again, he'd have to do one small chore followed by some complicated task that made little sense. More often than not, when Lucius was in a bad mood, Dobby would be found doing something extremely strenuous that was somewhat unnecessary. Lucius always seemed to have one job or another for his house-elf to do.
It was while Dobby was on the kitchen floor, scrubbing smooth stone that he heard the tapping. Being used to a regular inflow of owl delivered mail, Dobby was not surprised by the noise. The small creature jumped up from his spot on the floor quickly, surprisingly agile for so small a being, and opened the kitchen window with a slight push. A large grey owl fluttered into the room and passed Dobby without as much as an acknowledgement of the house-elf's presence. The bird, Dobby noticed, was unfamiliar and somewhat ruffled around the edges. The creature looked a bit old and weathered. In one talon it held a bit of parchment. There was a seal on the letter, but Dobby couldn't make it out. It looked a bit like a crest, but the bird moved too fast for him to be certain.
Dobby shrugged, accustomed to this sort of thing, and watched silently as the owl flew down the hallway and straight for Lucius' study. He didn't know why, but for a moment, the house-elf swallowed loudly and took a deep breath. It was as if he was preparing himself for Something Very Bad that was about to happen. Noticing suddenly that the bird was molting, Dobby ran after it, picking up stray soft feathers that fell to the floor. There weren't many, but if the Master saw even the slightest spot of dust in his home, he'd be terribly angry. And already, Lucius was in a bad mood from the news he'd received from Draco earlier.
Dobby knocked on the Master's door and opened it, letting the owl in. The house-elf knew better than to enter the room unasked. Instead, he simply stood outside quietly, waiting for the owl to leave. Dobby watched out of the corner of his eyes as Lucius snatched the bird out of the air. It squawked in protest and attempted to peck at Lucius' fingers, but the Master had released it quickly. He held the envelope in his hands for a moment, clenching his jaw when he saw the seal. He opened it slowly and neatly, with an air of artificial calm that Dobby knew only too well. Dobby watched silently as the Master read the letter. It had to have been very short, for his eyes had gone back to the top again at least three times before his face became as red as Dobby had ever seen it. The knuckles of the hand that was still clutching his cane were white. The house elf knew what was coming. He backed away quickly but quietly and on his way back to the kitchen heard the sharp banging sound of the Master's cane hitting something. Twice. Dobby shuddered as he bent down to continue his scrubbing. It was going to be a very long day for him.
---
Draco had been the last person in Gryffindor tower to fall asleep the night of the sorting, and he was very sure that he was the first one awake the next morning. He probably would have waited for the riff raff to leave before he even stopped pretending to be asleep had he not had a very important mission in his mind: He had to get to Dumbledore immediately and solve this wretched problem. It was so early when he rose that he could barely see the clothes he was putting on for the darkness. After a bit of trouble and a few close calls with waking up others in the room, Draco had managed to dress himself with as much dignity as he could muster and quietly made his way out of the portrait hole into the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room. As the portrait of a fat woman closed lazily behind him and he started off down the hall, he realized with a jolt that he had no clue where Dumbledore's office was. This was a big castle – a big, magical castle in which staircases moved of their own volition and paintings talked to their viewers and a poltergeist liked to throw things at passersby – and Draco, who had only just arrived last night, was searching only for one specific room at dark thirty in the morning, alone. Suddenly his mission seemed quite a bit more hopeless than it already had.
Sighing resignedly, he decided to press his luck and simply wander, hoping he came upon the headmaster's office, or at least something that would give him a clue as to where that office was located. Taking a staircase to the floor below, he passed a painting of a goldfish that was performing impressive acrobatics in a bowl that Draco suspected held only half of the water it had held to begin with. Dismissing a curious question as to whether a painting fish could die, he continued to walk. At least half an hour later - during which a suit of armor had tried to stab him and a statue of a very frisky-looking witch had attempted to pull his robes right off of him - he found himself back in front of the fat lady in the portrait. He stood there for a few minutes - quiet, so as to not awaken the woman - tapping his foot impatiently, looking around, refusing to give in to cruel fate and go back to his - the thought disgusted him - bed. He had just decided that he would be just fine with staying out here until breakfast started when the portrait swung open.
Jumping backward so it didn't hit him in the face, it took a him a moment to realize that Professor McGonagall was standing in front of him with a bit of shock mixed with her usual stern expression. "Mr. Malfoy!" she exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing outside your tower this early in the morning? And on your first full day!"
"I..." Draco swallowed. Of course, McGonagall could help him! Why hadn't he thought of this sooner? "I was trying to find Professor Dumbledore's office. I need to speak with him. It's--"
"Urgent, yes," finished McGonagall. She absentmindedly smoothed her hair to the tight bun fastened atop her head. "I admit, I'm not surprised." She sighed and looked at Draco's currently expressionless face. "Yes, come along, Mr. Malfoy, I'll show you to his office. I suppose he'll be expecting you as well." Draco could barely hide his smug smile as he followed McGonagall down the hallway.
---
"Licorice wand," said McGonagall. Draco watched as a gargoyle jumped out of the way. McGonagall waved a hand to the stairs and told him not to miss breakfast, then turned and left. Draco could still hear her heels clicking against the stone as he climbed the staircase to Dumbledore's office. Coming upon a large wooden door, he hesitated briefly before tapping lightly. The door, which he supposed had already been open, was pushed by his menial efforts to reveal more of the room behind it. Unsure of what to do next, Draco slipped his pointy face into the office and saw Dumbledore at his desk, not only fully dressed but also looking completely awake. Dumbledore looked up at Draco and smiled kindly. "Yes, I wondered how long it would be until you came to see me, Draco. Come in, come in."
Draco obeyed, closing the door behind him before he crossed the room and took a seat opposite Dumbledore at his desk. The headmaster pushed a bowl toward him. "Peppermint toad, Draco?" Draco looked down at the bowl and noticed that its contents - tiny toads colored like peppermints - were bouncing about rather excitedly, looking up at him. Wanting to show utmost courtesy to Dumbledore given his reason for being there, he politely took one and swallowed. Across the desk, Dumbledore smiled at the boy's mildly surprised expression. "Yes, they do hop rather realistically, don't they? Good bit of magic for Honeyduke, I must give him that."
Draco smiled politely and nodded, taking a deep breath and mentally preparing himself to give Dumbledore a grand speech as to why there had obviously been a mistake. It took the blond boy just a few seconds to get all of his points together; he had already practiced what he would say to Dumbledore as he had wandered the halls of Hogwarts. Still, there was a nervous feeling settling in his stomach and it had little to do with the candy he'd just swallowed that was hopping around in there.
Draco looked around Dumbledore's office for a moment, eyes scanning the room to see a great many pictures of men and women staring down at him. Some of them seemed friendly enough, waving as his eyes passed over them. Others glanced down at him, still sleepy and barely interested. Some gave him ugly glares.
"They are the former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts," Dumbledore explained, an easygoing look in his eye. "There is no doubt that I will, one day, join this group of admirable wizards and witches." There was a strange twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes but Draco couldn't even begin to understand what it meant. He would have no time to decipher it, either because it was at that moment that a beautiful sound filled the room. "Ah, Fawkes," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Good morning."
Draco watched wide eyed as the Headmaster's phoenix woke from slumber. It was singing a song that filled Draco's body. The sound seemed to reverberate in the room and sink into his skin. It was beautiful, he thought as he sat and watched it. Never before had he seen a real, live phoenix and part of him doubted what he was actually seeing. Phoenixes were extremely rare creatures. He didn't know why, but sitting there and looking around at the phoenix and the portraits and the great many other odd looking magical objects, Draco suddenly felt very small.
"Fawkes," Dumbledore spoke softly, "is indeed a phoenix." It was as if the Headmaster could read Draco's thoughts and it was unsettling to the boy.
"It's very," Draco searched for a word that wouldn't sound stupid, "elegant," his voice fell.
"Yes," Dumbledore said, smiling brightly. He reached out to the creature and ran two fingers gently down its back. The Headmaster took a deep breath then. "So, Draco, I am sure I already know what brings you here, but why don't you tell me with your own words?"
Draco looked at him and did his best to ignore the toad in his stomach, whose jumping was thankfully dying down a bit by now. "Sir...it seems that I've been put into the wrong house."
"I see," said Dumbledore, adjusting his spectacles. "Might I inquire as to what put you under that particular impression?"
"I'm a Malfoy, sir," Draco said, as if this should have answered and solved everything. And really, he thought, it should have, from the beginning. "You know that I come from a very long, respectable line of Slytherins. But...your hat sorted me into Gryffindor yesterday." Dumbledore nodded simply, as if pressing Draco to continue, which Draco thought was utterly unnecessary. "There's got to be a mistake, sir. I'm meant for Slytherin."
Dumbledore was silent for a few moments, but his eyes never stopped twinkling as they stared at Draco's pale face. The boy was a bit disconcerted by this, but he nevertheless kept his eyes on the professor. It was something his father had been teaching him since he could remember - maintaining eye contact. "It's a very important yet oft forgotten element, Draco," Lucius would remind him before meeting new people, cane in hand and sneer already painted on his face, "to getting one's way."
Finally, after what seemed like hours to Draco, Dumbledore spoke. "The Sorting Hat cannot see bloodline, nor can it see the future. The Hat sees only what lies in its wearer's head, all of it. When the Hat was placed on your head, Draco, it saw all of the thoughts in your mind of which you are already aware, as well as those that lie untouched by you in your mind's deepest recesses. It saw the opinions that you believe you hold along with those that you truly hold. The Sorting Hat has seen in you what you have not yet seen in yourself." Draco was not sure what to think or say of this. He was hardly sure of what he was even hearing.
"But," Draco stammered slightly. This wasn't going how he expected, "I don't want to be in Gryffindor. I was born for Slytherin. It's what I'm meant to be." By the end of this sentence, Draco's voice was barely above a whisper.
Professor Dumbledore smiled again at the sight of Draco's mouth hanging slightly open. Their gazes never left one another's. "There is a difference, Draco, between what one is born to be and what one will be. Sometimes we get to choose the path we are meant to walk. But other times, the path is set before our feet. Not everyone is given a choice as to where they begin. But it is what we do once we are on a set path that defines who we are. The choices that one makes will constitute that difference. That is what the Hat sees. That is why you were sorted as you were. That is why you are a Gryffindor."
Draco flinched at the name. Finally finding his voice, he stammered, "Professor, surely there's a way...I mean, I can't...maybe I could put the Hat on again? Perhaps it was...not up to par when it was on my head before...can't I try to be re-sorted, sir?"
Dumbledore sighed in a smile - always that bloody smile, Draco thought bitterly. It's demeaning. "The act of being sorted under the Hat comprises a binding magical contract. The Sorting Hat cannot sit on the same head twice."
Draco couldn't believe it. Dumbledore was telling him that he would have to stay in Gryffindor, that he had no choice in the matter, that there was nothing either of them could do..."Professor," he started, grasping desperately at an old stand-by, "my father will no doubt--"
"I have already sent an owl to your father, Draco," said Dumbledore. "I have explained everything. You need not worry about him. He can do no more than you or I at this time." The consistent twinkling in the headmaster's eyes was beginning to make Draco's own eyes water with irritation. Draco swallowed and clenched his jaw, biting down his surging anger and disbelief; the last thing he needed was to lose control of his temper in the Headmaster's office. "Breakfast will be starting momentarily, Draco. Surely you'll want to go down to eat. I certainly do." Draco stared blankly at him. There was a bit of comfort in letting his features go blank, in putting his own feelings aside. It gave Draco the illusion of control, and at the moment this was just what he needed. Breakfast. Right. Draco pursed his lips and gave a singular nod before concisely thanking Dumbledore for seeing him so early. Excusing himself, he started the silent, boiling angry journey to the Great Hall, wondering what his father was thinking at this very moment and how long it would be before he knew for sure.
---
Draco made his way to breakfast in somewhat of a haze. When he found himself sitting at the Gryffindor table beside other first year students who were greedily stuffing themselves with food, Draco only wondered in a distant, detached way how he had managed to navigate himself from Dumbledore's office to the Great Hall. There was a voice in the back of Draco's head and Draco was quite sure that it was screaming. The boy pushed it aside, though. He needed to maintain his control over his emotions. At least, until he was alone.
"'Mornin'," an older Gryffindor cheerfully greeted a silent, stony-faced Draco. "Oi," the older student was looking at Draco curiously, "Y'allright? Look like you've just been sick."
"I'm fine," Draco snapped, his anger reaching a breaking point. The older student, noticing the way Draco's skin was starting to turn a slightly pink color, shook his head at this and turned his attention elsewhere.
Draco, not feeling extremely hungry, only took a few small bites of banger and played with it for a solid fifteen minutes before bringing a fork to his mouth. The boy was still in disbelief from his meeting with Dumbledore. It hadn't gone at all as planned and suddenly, as if waking from a dream, Draco realized what it all meant. The Headmaster had been quite clear; Draco would not be able to be resorted. There was no going back. He would be a Gryffindor. Until, of course, Lucius caught wind of the situation. Draco paled at that thought. He wondered if Lucius would disown him or if he'd be pulled out of school. Maybe Lucius would send him out of the country, to some foreign school. Durmstrang had looked pretty good. Maybe, Draco thought, (if he was very lucky) Lucius would simply kill him for disgracing the family. That would put things in order neatly and save Draco a lot of trouble.
Draco turned then, to look at the Slytherin table. Robed in shades of green, the Slytherin students seemed to be miles away from the Gryffindor table. Draco stared longingly at them for a long while, just wondering what it'd be like if he sat there with them. He was, of course, roused from his daydreams by a voice.
"Mr. Malfoy," Minerva McGonagall sounded as though she were at the end of her rope. "If you would please wake up and take your schedule! I haven't all day!"
Draco jumped slightly and gave the woman a sour look. He took the bit of parchment that she was holding out to him and inspected it, not even acknowledging her as she strode down the hall to other students.
"What classes do you have then?" A small voice from across the table asked him.
"Excuse me?" Draco glared. He looked up from his schedule to see a girl staring at him. She had puffy brown hair and two rather large front teeth. She reminded Draco a bit of a mouse.
"I said, what classes do you have?" The girl was looking down at her schedule. "I was wondering if all Gryffindors have the same schedule." Without much warning, the girl snatched the paper from Draco's hand and inspected it. Draco, not used to this kind of treatment, blinked for a moment before baring his teeth at her.
"Give that back, you filthy Gryffindor!"
"Filthy Gryffindor?" The girl's eyebrow arched superiorly, but she looked a bit puzzled. "You're a Gryffindor as well, you know. Or did you purchase the wrong robes?" At this, Draco looked down at his tie and found, to his disbelief, that he was wearing a Gryffindor tie. Also to his surprise was the fact that his robe now proudly bore the Gryffindor crest on his chest. The boy blinked for a moment, realizing that just the night before, his clothing had all been the color of Slytherin house, green and silver. Some kind of magic must have changed this. The girl, noting the surprise on Draco's face smiled smugly. Draco wanted to tell her that, yes, in fact, he was very much at the wrong table. He also wanted very much to add to this statement that he desired to throw his neighbor's eggs at her mousy face. But she proceeded then, to ignore him and scan the paper. "Yes, just like it said in Hogwarts, A History," she mumbled, mostly to herself. "Same classes." She tisked. "Too bad. I was really hoping I'd be able to sneak in some advanced classes. Everything's beginner level. I would have enjoyed Astronomy. Maybe next year."
It was Draco's turn to snatch his schedule from the girl's hands. "Don't do that again," he said darkly.
The girl's eyebrows furrowed now. "Are you Draco Malfoy?'
"What's it to you?"
"There's been a rumor going around about a stuck up blond boy who was missorted. I'm thinking you're him."
Draco swelled a little with pride at the fact that his name was already well known. For a moment, it made him forget the nagging image of his father wringing his neck in shame. "I am. And I have been missorted." He paused before adding, "Who the bloody hell are you?"
"Hermione Granger," the girl said, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Oh," Draco smiled evilly, "Think I've heard your name going about too… an annoying little know it all who can't keep her nose out of everyone else's business." Draco, of course, hadn't really heard any such rumor. He hadn't spent enough time around his housemates to be able to hear the latest gossip. Though Draco thought himself to be telling a lie, word of Hermione Granger and her propensity for being an insufferable know-it-all actually was spreading throughout the Gryffindor student body like wildfire.
Hermione made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded as though she were about to protest. But instead, she simply lifted her head high and gave Draco a look of pure venom. In a voice that was just a bit too high, she said, "Guess I'll see you in class, then." She didn't wait for a response. Hermione picked up her things and left quickly, nearly bouncing down the hallway. Draco watched her go silently.
Draco, feeling rather morose and not in the mood to examine his schedule (with was full of classes that would be shared with Hufflepuffs for Merlin's sake), turned his attention back to the half-eaten banger on his plate. His taste really was much higher than anything that was being served along the table. The boy idly played with his food and twirled his fork in his fingers. It was then that the owl post came.
Draco knew, as soon as the slick looking eagle owl swooped over the Gryffindor table, that he was about to receive a letter. He wasn't particularly looking forward to it. Draco knew that his father would be beyond furious, especially if Dumbledore had explained the news.
Right on cue, a small black envelope fell into Draco's lap. It was sealed with a silver wax and the Malfoy crest. Draco ripped it open and read immediately, wanting to get the worst of it over with and also wanting to know what kind of instructions his father had for him.
Draco, the letter read, Do nothing for now. I will take care of this as best I can. Draco could hear his father's voice reading the letter to him. He could hear the scorn and the sneer in Lucius' words. Draco could also tell that his father had been restraining himself from writing "you stupid fool" or "you shameful excuse for a son" or something similar at the end of each sentence. The boy tried his best to keep an emotionless face as he got through the letter.
"Um… Draco?"
"What is it?" Draco snarled, turning his attention away from the letter for a moment to see a rather chubby face staring at him. "What the hell do you want, Longbottom?" Draco's voice was unnaturally high and strained.
Neville looked afraid. "Well… I just wanted to- um- let you know…"
"What!"
"Class is going to begin soon," Neville, of course had spoken so quickly that it had come out in a squeak, "Classisgoingtobeginsoon."
"Fine!" Draco responded coldly, "Fine! I don't care!"
"'Kay," Neville said softly before bolting out of the room. Draco watched him run out, his schoolbag clenched tightly in his chubby hands. Neville passed a group of Slytherin students who paused to point and laugh at the messy looking boy. For a moment, Draco wished desperately to be part of the Slytherin group. Neville pushed through the doors of the Great Hall awkwardly, nearly dropping his bag and sending the Slytherin group into a fit of laughter. This would make two that Draco had driven out of the Great Hall. He wondered, by the end of the year, how many else would he drive away.
Once alone again, Draco buried his hot face into his cool hands. There was so much going on and so much to do. Even though he'd been missorted (and Draco would not give up on the belief that he'd been missorted) there were still classes to be taken and homework to be done. Draco would have to take Herbology, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions alongside the incompetents of Gryffindor. If he was truly unfortunate, he'd have to become partners with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Just this thought caused Draco to pale. "It's going to be a long week," he mumbled to himself. "A very long week."
"Oh yes!" Nearly Headless Nick, who'd just happened to float by Draco at this moment stopped and smiled jovially, "What a lovely long week we've got ahead of us!"
In response, Draco only groaned.
---
Author's Note:
Thank you for reading and thanks to the good folks who reviewed Chapter 1!
My partner in crime and I love reviews and thoughts about our writing, so please do take a moment to leave a thought or critique.
We really love writing this fic and have a good time coming up with everything.
Please stay tuned for Chapter 3, which we've already started and is guaranteed to be a very interesting and funny read!
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Again, thanks for reading!