Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this fanfic, they all belong to J. K. Rowling.
This chapter took forever too...and the fact that the A/N took months longer is a bit strange, but forgive me :)
"Why do we have to watch the Sorting every year?" moaned Ron, looking longingly at the table, in hopes that food would suddenly appear.
Ginny glared at her brother. "Because," she began, in the lecturing tone that she had acquired from Hermione, "as older and more mature students, it is our duty to make the younger ones feel at home and welcome, and the easiest way to do so is by watching the Sorting, applauding for those who have been Sorted into our house, and, at the same time, furthering our knowledge about their characters and recognizing certain traits of these first-years, according to their chosen houses. Besides," she added, raising her eyebrows slightly and sounding more like Hermione than ever, "you're a prefect."
Ron stared at her in mock horror, and nudged Hermione with his elbow. "Hermione," he whispered comically, "Ginny…brainwashed…" But Hermione seemed lost in thought, her eyes fixed on the other side of the hall, for once not paying attention to the Sorting. "Hermione?"
She snapped back to attention, an almost guilty expression flashing across her face for a brief instant before she smiled lightly at the boy next to her. "No, Ron, I haven't been doing anything to your little sister, all right? However, I personally think it's good that she's learned some responsibility and integrity, don't you?" She winked at Ginny, who grinned back at her.
"Exactly," Ginny went on, beginning to sound almost like Umbridge. "Responsibility is one of the greatest attributes to be found in young wizarding folk, responsibility and obedience—"
"Your attention, please," called Professor Dumbledore, his long blue robe sweeping the ground as he stood. "I have, as usual, a few words to say to both the new and old students," Ron whimpered softly, holding his stomach, "but they can surely wait until after we eat! Tuck in!"
In the applause and soft laughter that followed, Ron's voice was clearly heard enthusiastically saying to Neville, "Wonderful wizard, Dumbledore—he truly appreciates the value of food, doesn't he?" However, all conversation came to an abrupt pause as the loaded dishes magically appeared on every table, piled with the scrumptious food so typical of Hogwarts meals.
About fifteen minutes later, after Ron had plowed through three helpings of mashed potatoes, two servings of steak and kidney pie, half a plate of a delicious fruit salad, and two slices of freshly-baked bread, all with a disgraceful disregard for table manners, he stopped long enough to glance around at his fellow Gryffindors, most of whom, though not having his capacity to eat quite so much, had managed to demolish piles of food not too much smaller than his own. However, Hermione was again staring absently across the hall at whatever had attracted her attention during the Sorting, folding and unfolding her napkin abstractedly.
"Hermione?"
Again, she turned to face him, too quickly for innocence, and with the same faintly embarrassed expression which she had worn before. "Yes?"
Ron shook his head at her despairingly. "You haven't eaten anything," he accused, reaching for his flagon of pumpkin juice.
"Of course I have," she replied calmly, regaining some of her usual composure. After five years spent with Ron, Hermione knew well that it was best to avoid any complicated debates about food with him—they often turned out to be endless.
However, Ron would not be put off so easily. "You haven't eaten anything," he repeated, with a shift of emphasis specially designed to be irritating.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, what's it to you how much I eat?" Her foot found Harry's under the table, and she managed to kick him without Ron's knowledge. Harry immediately snapped to attention, taking in the situation in a glance.
"Ron!" he called loudly from his seat across the wide table. "Listen, mate, what did you think of that Quidditch match between the Cannons and the Pixies? That last save by the Cannons' Keeper was just amazing, did you see it?"
Hermione smiled her thanks at Harry, who nodded slightly in return, still laying out every detail of a Quidditch game which the two boys had discussed over eighteen times in the week after it was played, and still had managed to relive every second of without becoming bored. Shaking her head slightly in wonder at their animated conversation, which was no less the interesting to Harry just because it was a diversion, she attempted to turn her attention back to one of the numerous dialogues in progress at the Gryffindor table—but with no success. Her glance continued to stray to the other end of the hall, where Draco Malfoy was sitting, between Crabbe and Goyle, as usual—but given a wide berth by all the other Slytherins. Pansy Parkinson, especially, sat at the other end of the table, casting foul looks at the hooded Draco every now and then, and giggling at an even higher pitch than usual, as if to show Draco and the rest of the Slytherins how little she cared about him. Even Blaise Zabini, who usually sat opposite Draco, if just to torment him during mealtimes as well, was next to the Bloody Baron, about seven seats away from Crabbe. In fact, Hermione suspected that the only reason why Crabbe and Goyle were still seated with Draco was not due to their loyalty, but because they were too slow to realize that he was being shunned by their entire house.
Though the signs of his rejection were fairly obvious, if Draco himself showed any signs of noticing, they were hidden by the dark hood which concealed most of his face. Other than his slightly jerky movements and the way he pushed the food around on his plate, quite unlike his usual graceful poise, Hermione could detect nothing that indicated that he was in the least concerned over the sudden shift in his popularity—and despite herself, she could not help but admire his courage. He, of all people, must know the price that ostracized Slytherins had to pay, but he seemed ready for anything.
However, most, if not all, of Draco's remaining dignity was merely a façade. Under his hood, his eyes scanned each face at the Slytherin table as he noted that not one of them was willing to glance his way, though some of the younger students darted furtive looks at him, their expressions clearly showing the mixture of revulsion and disdain which they felt for him. He bit his lip in impotent fury, biting back the scorching words which he longed to release, knowing that whatever he said would only be ridiculed.
Raising his stare to the teachers' table, he could see Professor Dumbledore with his perpetual smile, but most of the other teachers looked rather more cheerful than usual—and that despicable Hagrid was wearing a positively gleeful look on his hairy face. Professor Snape, however, was glaring at everyone with helpless rage, a particularly foul scowl visible behind his greasy locks of hair. Draco smirked briefly, but his smile disappeared completely as he lifted his head, looking at the Gryffindor table.
Hermione dropped her gaze to the table, pretending to study her plate, but she knew that he had seen her. Curses. How is it that the one and only time in my life that I was staring at—no, studyinga boy, he just happens to glance up? And why did it just have to be Draco Malfoy? She picked up her fork and proceeded to minutely examine the leftmost prong, hoping devoutly that Malfoy would have gone back to his scrutiny of the rest of the hall.
He hadn't. Silvery-grey eyes narrowed, one eyebrow lifted in perfect Malfoy style, he was staring at Hermione's slightly pink-tinged face, waiting for her to look up. It didn't disturb him terribly that she had been staring at him—he had become accustomed to the hypnotized stares of at least one-third of the girls in the room by his ninth birthday. However, it was unsettling, even for Draco, that it was Hermione Granger whose gaze he had intercepted—not only because of the fact that he had nearly decided that she was immune to his charms, and therefore probably not human, but also because of their parting words in the compartment.
"However, I'll still be the most popular Slytherin around. Watch and see."
"Oh, I will, Malfoy." There was no longer any trace of a smile on Hermione's face. "I most definitely will."
Did the Mudblood mean to take his words literally? Draco shuddered at the mental image which came, unbidden, into his mind: a bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl walking stealthily behind a boy with a stunning profile and golden strands of hair—no, not the hair, he corrected himself bitterly. He had not quite managed to adjust his mental picture of himself to reality.
Shaking his head slightly and refocusing his gaze on Granger, he could see no signs of her embarrassment of just a few moments ago: all traces of a blush had disappeared from her cheeks, and she was cheerfully carrying on a conversation with Longbottom, of all people. His lips twisted in an ironic smile. A perfect couple, those two. Wouldn't be surprised if he stole her from Weasley and Potter—though even Potter's a bit better than the competition. I'd hate to think of the children though…
"Welcome, one and all!" Professor Dumbledore had stood again, now that the noise level in the hall had increased, clearly evidencing that the majority of the students had finished feasting. "Permit me to take a few moments of your time for our start-of-the-term notices. As usual, first-years, please remember that the Forest just past the caretaker's hut is strictly off-bounds to all students." His emphasis was not lost on the three Gryffindors, who exchanged grins.
"Our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind all of you that magic is not allowed in corridors between classes, along with the vast majority of all Joke Shop products. He has also decided that all products of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes will be confiscated on sight, and will not be returned.
"Also, we are pleased to welcome our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Cassiopeia."
There was a burst of enthusiastic applause from the Gryffindor table and polite clapping from everyone else—save Luna, who was inexplicably banging her goblet against Cho Chang's plate. Professor Cassiopeia nodded, smiling slightly, but did not rise or try to make a speech, though a rather disappointed Ron was rather hoping that she would have denounced Umbridge to the school.
"Lastly," continued Dumbledore, after the noise had died down, "Professor Trelawney especially wanted me to inform you that she has seen particularly disturbing signs over the past few months during her daily readings. She asked me to warn all of you to be on guard against a mysterious antagonist who, apparently, has an obsession with ferret fur."
Though Professor Dumbledore delivered this speech in a perfectly calm manner, as if there was nothing less out of the ordinary than ferret-loving enemies, the consternation it caused in the Great Hall was significant. The majority of the students either had their heads buried in their hands or had ducked underneath the tablecloths in an effort to muffle their still-audible laughter, while some of the bolder sixth-years snickered while staring pointedly at Malfoy.
Among the teachers, only Professor Trelawney looked completely sober, as even Professor McGonagall was pressing her lips tightly together to hide a smile, and Hagrid was steadily stuffing a napkin into his mouth in an effort to look serious. Professor Snape looked even more furious, and was stabbing savagely at his plate with a spoon.
Only three people in the Hall seemed to be completely oblivious to what had just been said. Professor Dumbledore was still standing with a benevolent smile on his face, appearing to have taken the warning he had just delivered quite seriously. Luna Lovegood, seated right in the middle of the Ravenclaw table, was still cheerfully tapping the rim of her goblet against her plate, Cho Chang having indignantly snatched away hers and moved to the far end of the table. Lastly, Draco Malfoy was still sitting calmly in his place, sipping pumpkin juice from his goblet with no sign of concern, and apparently deaf to the commotion all around him.
"How predictable," Hermione said to herself, an amused smile crossing her lips. She knew very well that almost anyone else in the Hall, having been subjected to such public humiliation, would have either left immediately in utter disgrace or lost their temper completely. Malfoy, however, had done neither, which was somehow as typical of him as it was unexpected. Surrounded by derision, the spoiled brat of Hogwarts was somehow holding up his head, acting as if he was above it all. "But how does he do it?" mused Hermione.
At that moment, Ron abruptly cut off her thoughts by somehow falling off his chair in his fit of laughter, taking the tablecloth and everything on it with him. By the time that she and Harry were able to drag him up from underneath the several plates and pieces of silverware which were piled on top of him, Professor Dumbledore had dismissed the school.
I'd love to hear what you think of it if you have time:)