This chapter contains chapter contains lines copied directly from OOTP
Chapter Two
One moment of patience may ward off great disaster.
One moment of impatience may ruin a whole life.
-- Chinese Proverb
"Elementari: (Elementary) Wizard or witch with great magic ability, developed from an early age. Its magic is the element of their being and the essence of all magic (Pure Magic), showing itself since before birth and possibly lingering after its death. This sort of power is rare but shows itself steadily throughout wizarding history. The prophecy says that every new generation must have an Elementari to balance the magic core of all Wizarding World with Pure Magic, otherwise all magic will crumble and die. For that same reason, all Elementari are doomed to be Pure Magic's very own human ward. The stronger the generation, greater will be the Elementari's power."
'Do you want some?'
Draco didn't bother to respond. He was back at the compartment with Vince and Greg, and found that once his first confrontation with Potter was off his To Do List, he was left with almost nothing left to actually do.
Especially because the Golden Boy had tackled Longbottom with him and that ruled out any other fun activity for the rest of the journey. Sure there were plenty of people to torment, but it simply wasn't exciting – or stylish – to hunt them down the corridors. Besides, they'd soon be back at Hogwarts and he'd have all the time in the world, not to mention a lot of option.
As it was, he was back at staring out the window and continued to ignore the rest of his companions.
Greg and Vince had basically bought enough sweets for an army as soon as the food trolley had passed by, as usual. Pansy deemed necessary to do something else than reading her magazine only to buy a couple of Chocolate Frog Cards and yet Blaise wasn't anywhere to be found.
Draco had declined the chocolate once and by the second time Parkinson repeated the offer he simply tuned out any possible vibration disturbing the airwaves that could resemble her voice. He didn't really mind, never had, when she did that but that had been before. In fact, he wouldn't be able to say how exactly his feelings about it had changed but they had and he just wanted it to stop.
It was weird, the way he seemed easily irritable now but suddenly more patient. Pansy had never been the clingy type, pretty self-assure she never even dared to control him in any way. Simply because, honestly, she didn't care. Pansy did what she felt like doing, and he didn't care also.
The thing was that she was over-bearing at times. She was fiercely protective of him, almost to the point of madness, and she thought highly of him, sometimes too highly. He figured she acted like that because he was indeed a masterpiece as far as bone structures were concerned, so it wasn't really her fault if she had an amazing taste in men.
Truth was that all the Slytherins were tad protective of each other. Naturally Draco was the one most of them turned to and therefore admired in different degrees. They even feared him somewhat, but that wasn't really mandatory. Mostly they simply envied him for several reasons.
One of the things that he appreciated in Pansy was that even though she was undoubtedly his most fervent allay and supporter, she was nowhere close to be submissive. It was only her way to let him vent his shit, but that didn't happen all the time.
He still bore the faint marks of her nails on the inside of his right thigh, from one day when he had insulted her. They had been only 9, at that time he was still in his "I hate girls" phase and had found incredibly funny to manhandle her and pour almost one bucket of sand over her head.
Pansy had also been the only one to ever slap him on the face. Well, aside from the Mudblood incident in third-year but he had prohibited Crabbe and Goyle to ever talk about it with anyone, and as far as he was concerned that had never happened. All the times when Parkinson got to him, just as bad and crudely as he sometimes got to her, Malfoy couldn't help but recognise the fairness of it all.
She didn't fear him in the least. She indulged at time, that was for sure, but Pansy had never feared him. Sometimes he figured that he should be wary of her, she was after all Pansy, and a woman, meaning that she was absolutely unpredictable. But then again, so was Vince and Greg. And so was Blaise, unreliable Blaise, or Millicent, Malcolm, Adrian, Daphne and basically everyone else in his House.
But even with all the lying, deceit, suspicion that had been etched in their personality, that came naturally enough to them as both attack and defence systems, the Slytherins were one. They would be there for each other, no matter what. The same way that they could count on Snape, even – especially – if they were at fault.
There was no denial that the professor would peel the incompetent alive for being caught, but that would only happen down at the dungeons and far away from an unwanted audience. In front of everyone else, he'd stand up and fight for them at all times.
Draco frowned lightly and let his eyelids flutter shut for a few seconds, enjoying the darkness before prying his eyes open again.
He couldn't remember a time in his life when he didn't know and respect Severus Snape. The older man was efficiently unperturbed, absolutely indefinable and without a doubt unpleasant. Snape was also Hogwarts' youngest professor and the best Potions Master in generations.
His father had once told him that his Head of House had brewed a Polyjuice Potion at the mere age of 7. By the time he was a fifth-year, Severus was able to create potions and spells with a perfection that most people couldn't match.
"Severus is a genius in his craft, absolutely the best at what he does, Draco" Lucius would tell him "If you really want to learn something in that school you will do it from him."
It was something he took to heart, avidly. Lucius Malfoy almost never complimented anyone. And even if his father hadn't said anything about the Potions Master, Draco was sure he'd admire him all the same.
Snape wasn't the ideal model, for he wasn't an ideal human being. But then again no one expected the heir of the Malfoy legacy to have high moral standards. Almost everyone figured that his respect came from the simple fact that his professor seemed to loathe Potter as much as, or even more than he did it.
But that wasn't it, of course it helped his identification with the older man, still it wasn't just that. Severus Snape challenged Draco Malfoy. That might not mean much to everyone else, just because they couldn't understand.
They would never comprehend the victory it was to be the only one to get an "O" from Snape, they didn't know what it was to earn one cold nod and drawled congratulations from a man who would likely to spit fire at anyone who cut a herb on the diagonal. They would never experience the exhilaration of being the only student that Severus Snape actually respected.
Not even the other Slytherins understood his dedication to trying to please Snape and making him proud. Draco didn't have to prove anything to a greasy old man, who couldn't be more of a bastard if he tried.
Malfoy didn't give them any explanation or attention. If even being with the man for four solid years wasn't enough to make them recognise Snape's brilliance, then he wouldn't point it out to them.
He wrinkled his nose lightly, when a ray of sunlight blinded him for a second. Crabbe and Goyle were grunting almost inaudibly and Pansy turned the page noisily as she continued to read, she had clearly – and finally – given up on stuffing him with chocolate.
Despite of what everyone else thought, the relationship between Lucius and Severus was turbulent. Draco didn't know exactly how they actually got close, he could suspect on the why but that was pretty much it. It had been plain to see from the beginning that even though his father acknowledged his Head of House's talents, they were incredibly different individuals.
Not opposites per se, just not the same.
Malfoy was smooth, Snape was harsh. Lucius was sociable, even if driven by dubious intentions, Severus abhorred any kind of interaction, and became extremely hostile when forced to be anything but sullen.
Still they were both ruthless, his father and his professor. They were indecipherable, absurdly intelligent, and two beautifully prolix sons of a bitches.
The blonde boy chuckled lightly, and crossed his arms over his chest. Those two could fool and convince almost anyone about almost anything. It was very amazing to watch really. The way people would always assume that Severus Snape was joking when he said that he was tempted to murderer at least one of his students everyday for messing up with a potion, just because the damn prats couldn't measure the ingredients right. Or when people blushed deeply out of ignorance at his father's double-edged comments about their appearance, and mental capacity.
Draco always loved the older men's power over words and how they were constantly using it to their advantage. It was the sort of refined art that he didn't possess yet, and that he really hoped he could master one day.
'You won't believe it!'
The door was flung open savagely and a flustered looking Blaise trotted inside. The only one who gave him any kind of attention was Pansy, who raised her eyebrow and looked over his blazing honeyed eyes.
She was immediately interested in whatever Zabini had to say. His eyes rarely ever looked that way, so sweet and big. It normally meant that something pretty awful was about to happen to someone.
He didn't wait to be questioned, as he usually did, he simply sat in front of Parkinson and crossed his legs, much in Draco's fashion without quite catching the feline casualness.
'I was walking around, you know, observing the scenario...' he waved his hands dramatically 'And collecting important information...'
'Gossiping again, Zabini?' Malfoy's soft comment made itself heard in Blaise's theatrical hesitance 'I have already told you how unmanly that is...'
'The emblem of masculinity, you are Malfoy...' the black boy replied slightly ruffled.
'Why... Thank you...'
'If you're done pulling each other's pig-tail' Pansy growled 'I'd like to know what you found out, Blaise...'
And as easy as that Zabini recovered and swallowed what would only be the beginning of an endless bickering.
'Actually, my news are going to interest you the most, Draco, my friend...' he grinned unpleasantly, his eyes adopting a dark honeyed shade.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow but didn't move. He knew that Zabini was looking for a reaction, something Impatient-Draco would have provided long ago. But as it happened, he was getting the hang of being patiently obnoxious.
'Really?' he drawled lazily.
'Really...' Blaise chuckled throatily 'One for very perverted reasons, the other just for the sake of... annoying you...'
Draco narrowed his eyes at the window. They would be at Hogsmeade in less than one hour, he couldn't help but wonder what exactly would be at odds this year at Hogwarts. His hands closed around his biceps and he tried to ignore the urge to play with his locket and chain again. If he weren't careful, it'd turn into a very suspicious habit.
'Just bloody say it, Blaise!'
It should have been him, but it had been Pansy.
'All right, all right...' the other boy said comically, as if he were the host of a great show, trying to appease a crowd of hundreds. After that he quickly went back to arse mode, as Millicent had labelled it.
It was that face, voice and demeanour that every boy in Slytherin had whenever they were being nasty on purpose, just to be annoying at another housemate. It was different because it was meant to tease but didn't have a lot of venom, especially in comparison with the wanker mode they reserved for everyone else.
'I believe we will have a new colleague down at the dungeons this year, Draco...' he smirked wolfishly 'One of the exchanged students this year is two years our senior... And since he's a Durmstrang's spare, I wonder where he'll be sorted into...'
Malfoy remained stoic. Why would that matter to him? Every year they had a new student, transferred from either Durmstrang, or Beauxbatons, and sometimes even others and more distant schools. Only last year Yuri Hasegawa joined the Slytherins after three years at Sakurazukamory, the best wizarding school at the Orient.
Surely it was a bit surprising that that year they had any new students at all. Even though Hogwarts was a Triwizard Champion, one of the champions did die and its Headmaster was losing any possible prestige he might have had one day.
Unless he was planning to ask the new guy why the hell he had even contemplated leaving an incredible school such as Durmstrang, he couldn't care less. Draco had always desired secretively that he had gone there instead of Hogwarts. But for obvious reasons that wouldn't have been the best marketing stunt he could have pulled.
'What is it to Draco?' Pansy stifled a yawn and went back to her magazine, clearly disappointed and bothered that Zabini had interrupted her for apparently nothing.
'Well... Nothing, really...' Blaise backpadded, what was never a good sign 'I just thought he'd appreciate to know that one of his closest friends from Russia will be our new housemate for the next year...'
Even though he could feel Zabini's gaze on him, Draco was sure that the black boy had not seen his imperceptible wince.
Damn.
That much of nonchalant in Blaise's voice could only mean one thing.
Piotr Antokolsky.
Pansy tensed.
Crabbe and Goyle continued obliviously playing card, not even daring to understand the innuendo.
Blaise was grinning maniacally.
Draco counted till one hundred, trying to weight the possibility of losing his prefect badge for hexing Zabini out of the Express and the pleasure that act would provide him.
'Also...' he entwined his hands over his lap 'We apparently have an Elementari with us... In our year even...'
'An Elementari?'
The black boy smiled and nodded, very pleased with Draco's sharp tone and barely hidden surprise. That made the other boy lean back on his seat, because he was ashamed to realise that he hadn't even noticed when he had moved away from the window and closer to the others.
'But we don't have an Elementari in our generation...' he countered with a sneer 'The last one was Eileen Prince... Well over 30 years ago...'
'Well that's not acutely correct...'
For the first time since he got back from his "patrolling", Draco looked at Pansy Parkinson. In fact as he did, he was well-aware that he made everyone in the compartment do the same. The Slytherin girl only had eyes for him though.
'We do have an Elementari in our generation...' she said absentmindedly 'It only so happens that no one knows who this person is. The Ministry knew of their existence and my father said that they found the Elementari. But since the parents didn't want anything to do with the Ministry, they simply didn't say a thing about it to anyone. Besides, with everything that was happening years ago it wasn't as if Britain was worried if a little precocious magic hairball was born or not.'
What infuriated Draco wasn't the fact that he didn't know any of that. He didn't know whole lot of things, but what truly got him hot flushed with indignation was that Pansy knew something he didn't.
The only explanation for such a gap in his database was the fact that by the time his father was informed of any of it, he most likely was still in his diaper and therefore incapable of sneaking around the house after bleak information.
But that sure as hell didn't make him feel any better.
'Why did your father tell you that?'
Pansy frowned. She leaned back on her seat and pulled the magazine to her eyes, but he could see that her gaze didn't move over the page.
'He mentioned it at the end of my third-year, more or less...'
Malfoy didn't push it. He knew that Mr. Parkinson had given Pansy the lecture of this century because of her lousy grades. Not that he really blamed the man, his father for example would probably turn him into an eunuch if he even imagined showing anything else but a collection of "O"s at the end of each year. His lowest grade so far had been an "E" in Arithmancy in second-year.
He still hadn't heard the end of that one, for his father always found fit to rub it in.
'How are you so sure the Elementari is here, Zabini?' it was his business voice, the one that didn't conceal his focus, determination and reeling mind.
Blaise, now much more interested in his own news than he had been before, wrinkled his nose in thought.
'Cormac McLaggen let me know when I encountered him on my way to the bathroom...'
'You mean you eavesdropped his conversation with someone else.' Draco raised a daring eyebrow.
'Same thing...' Blaise shrugged indifferently.
Malfoy only nodded in assent.
'And do you know who the Elementari is?'
'No...' Zabini looked distressed for the first time 'That fat wire-haired idiot didn't know either...'
'Well, well, well...' Draco began, without noticing Pansy's surprised expression 'That was a very unsatisfactory addendum, Zabini... But it will do...'
Blaise was about to retort when he caught Parkinson's blue eyes, now shimmering with a frayed greenish hint of warning. He sneered and grunted something under his breath but didn't continue.
Without a word he stood up and left once again, his beautiful ebony face set and his eyes amber with annoyance and determination.
Draco only saw Zabini again when they got to Hogsmeade and even then it was fleeting because as soon as his housemate got hold of his belongings he was out of the carriage without a word. It wasn't really like Blaise to do that, but it he didn't mind at all.
Knowing the other boy, Malfoy was sure that he was trying to find out who the Elementari was, at all costs. That was good enough for him because he knew that he would be the first one Blaise would come back to with the information.
Draco frowned as he got hold of his trunk. He wasn't even officially back at school yet and he had more than his share of problems. No matter how hard he tried to think about everything his father had told him, and tried to draw a plan, a strategy, the sight of Potter's bloody dog would always come back to him.
There was also the mysterious student interacting with his father back at the platform.
As he shoved and pushed people, luggage and pets out of his way he couldn't help but look around for a glimpse of those curls again. It was useless, the night had fallen heave and the wind was merciless.
He'd have to wait, and give the student body a throughout perusal at the Great Hall. The dinner would provide him a brilliant opportunity to pinpoint the girl. Once he'd done that, he would extract from her everything he needed to know about what he heard earlier that day. No one talked to his father like that impudently.
Pansy was nowhere in sight and Draco didn't bother to actually look out for her. Vince and Greg were quickly finding – forcing – their way to him. He could hear some people screaming, a few asking about an item of their luggage that they couldn't find, others just hurrying people out of their way or commonly hollering for their friends' and companions' attention.
Oh, right.
There were prefects supervising the first-years too.
One of the buggers shoved his damn owl's cage in his shin as he stood there waiting for Crabbe and Goyle. Draco didn't think twice about it and got hold of the midget's robes, lifting him off the floor.
'If you get that cage near me again, I will make a stick out of it and roast this bloody owl like a chicken with it. Are we understood?'
The little brunette looked on the verge of tears, trembling fiercely and his big brown eyes growing in fear as he nodded frantically.
'Let the boy go, Malfoy! NOW!'
He didn't bother to put the poor boy back down as he let his grey bottomless eyes find the source of that hideous squeal. His lip curled when he got a glimpse of dirty-brown bushy curls and a red badge.
But, of course.
'I said let him go, Malfoy!' Granger's voice shook with her indignation.
'I heard it the first time, Granger.'
'Then do it!'
Draco turned back at the boy, who now had a very worrying tinge of pink over his round cheeks. Apparently the hold he had of the boy's robes was cutting the titchy's oxygen supply.
'You better keep your distance, you hear me?' he drawled softly as he let the boy go 'I don't give second warnings. And the castle is a very big property, someday you might find yourself alone at one corner without a nosy Mudblood prefect to sweet talk you out of trouble.'
'Malfoy! Are you threatening a student?'
Draco grinned, making one of his canines show. Granger blinked at the way he seemed to be white and pale all over, devoid of anything that might give people colour and make them human.
'Only giving helpful advises, Granger... Like a true prefect out to...' he then swatted the back of the boy's head, rather hard, and without casting him another glance barked "Beat it!".
The boy didn't need to hear it twice and soon he ran away from the older one's reach as fast as his little legs would carry him, his trunk and cage.
'I will report you, Malfoy!' the Mudblood chimed 'You can't do that to them just because you've got that badge on your ches– '
Draco didn't wait to hear the end of it, he merely turn his back on Granger and began his path to the carriages. Crabbe and Goyle had already reached him by then. On his way, he encountered Macmillan and the male Ravenclaw prefect – Goldstein, Pansy said was his name – trying to get a bunch of first-years to shut the hell up and get a move on after Professor's Grubbly-Plank shrilling voice.
'Hey, Malfoy!' Macmillan shouted after him 'Can you give us a hand?'
'Pass.' He replied readily without looking at the Hufflepuff or slowing his pace.
As soon as he got at the carriages he saw Pansy again, fuming as she dragged her trunks and pushed everyone out of the way. She was muttering darkly under her breath.
'Would you believe that those cows Granger and Patil were trying to corner me into chaperoning the blasted nose-dripping hellions?' she said in that high-pitched voice she only had when she was furious, Draco was sure that when she reached that note only dogs could actually hear her.
That's why he didn't even bother to try to comprehend the rest of the story as she went on. Vince and Greg followed them along, mindless of anyone they could accidentally hit with their trunks, broomsticks and cages.
When Draco found a carriage he felt like using, he trotted directly to it. A second-year seemed to be embarrassed and lost as he attempted to get inside of the carriage, nothing that a snarled "Move along" didn't solve.
As Pansy got in the carriage Malfoy looked over her shoulder at the seemingly empty shafts. He knew it, every single detail. Visible bones through black cloaks, dragonish head and white scrutinising dead eyes. He had read about them, had heard people's description when no one else thought he was paying attention and once, in his third-year, he had even found a drawing that a seventh-year had left at the common room to impress the kids. But something told him that nothing would compare to the real thing, the undeniable sight of a Thestrall.
Draco had never seen one, but he was fascinated about them all the same. He had lost counts of how many times he had irritated his father to the point of madness, trying to get a reliable picture from him. Lucius never bothered to give in to his curiosity, a lesson his son was taught from a very small age.
On the matter, the only thing that he had ever old Draco had been a very cryptic "You'll see them one day. And you'll wish you never had". But then again Lucius Malfoy always had a cryptic statement to deliver.
As it was, he still had no idea of what those reptilian horses actually looked like.
'What are you doing here?'
Crabbe and Goyle stepped forward, blocking the cool air at his back. His eyes snapped back to the interior of the carriage, trying to gauge an explanation for Parkinson's outburst. The blonde boy squinted his eyes, the enchanted candles inside the coach provided a very insufficient amount of light but he was more than used to it.
Pansy stood there, her hands on her hips – what was pretty much her attack stance – and her eyes freezing blue. She was slightly leaned forward, her demeanour screaming only one thing – hostility. Moving his gaze, and easing his light frown as his eyes got used to the dimness, he found someone sat at the farthest corner. Whomever this person was, they were reading a very thick book, and didn't even bother to look up at the Slytherin girl.
Draco got into auto-pilot and got inside, Vince and Greg following suit. He was just in time to hear a very flat answer.
'Reading...'
Uhh, bad move.
Parkinson was practically spitting fire already. It was really pinned down to a very simple fact, Pansy was annoyed, frustrated and generally pissed-off. She was dying to let it all out.
'Do I know you?'
The pheromone was tangible. Only feeling half-obliged Malfoy kept himself at the girl's side, all the time his eyes were focused on the figure that was hidden behind the book as the shadows cast over it seemed to increase and deepen.
He watched as the book began to slowly slide down, he couldn't discern anything until he got a glimpse of skin. The book continued it's way down, revealing thin and delicate eyebrows. A girl, most definitely.
But who?
No one would dare to match forces with Pansy like that, not even the older students. Not even the older Slytherins, so any other option was completely ruled out.
Unless.
Unless one of the Hufflepuffs had finally met her way to the deep end and set herself in a blind death wish. It was known to happen. At least, that was what he told the first-years every year.
Draco blinked, his lips twitching at the fun he was about to have while he watched Parkinson skinning alive this little unaware, pathetic, idiotic, absolutely Hufflepuffian, insane–
The book stopped in mid-air.
He stopped gloating.
Malfoy was used to unusual things, he was pretty much used to unusual legacies when it came to pureblood's bloodline. The marriages between close families, and at times relatives, always ended up causing very impressionable and unnatural consequences.
Sometimes this breeding, for lack of better word, failed immensely. The examples were plain to see really, just on the top of his head the name Longbottom came instantly. Weasley following, almost taking the first spot. McLaggen's weren't known for their beautiful physique either, and the same could be applied to the Bulstrodes.
But other times, that mix and strengthening of certain characteristics worked marvellously. Draco was the ultimate proof of that, after all, if it weren't for his family's mugglephobia he might never have had his hair, his eyes and skin.
The world would suffer, most certainly.
Even though, perfection didn't really have to be used as example. For instance, Blaise's eyes were unbelievable, as so were Pansy's and – it pained him greatly to admit this – so were Potter's. It was the kind of heritage that carried a specific kind of magic, or there actually had ever been a muggle whose eyes twinkled? Or eyes so black and bottomless that crushed you with their malice and could make almost everyone squirm under their penetrating glare? Or a beauty so cold and captivating in its innocence that couldn't be a better shell for the purest of evil?
Magic was everywhere and affected wizards and witches in the most common and normally overlooked ways.
But in all he knew about bloodlines, and everything that could go right – or terribly wrong – in some unorthodox relationships (Veela's blood had ever only been strong in one wizarding pureblood family, the same happened with a very unexplainable mix with Vampires – although several had died or suffered other gruesome consequences with such breeding), Draco was pretty much sure he had never seen violet eyes.
Sparkling – and annoyingly twinkling – blue, yes. Honyed and maliciously golden, sure. Blindingly green, unfortunately so. Breathtakingly grey, every single day. But violet? Deep, swirling, indecipherable violet? Never.
But there they were, carefully looking over at Pansy and holding everything back. One blink and those eyes were darkening, before his very eyes, he saw the black leaking out the pupils and taking over completely.
Crabbe grunted nervously.
Goyle sniffed noisily.
Pansy's teeth were gritting so fiercely that he was sure that Madam Rosmerta was hearing the noise.
And Draco simply couldn't look away.
Then, when those eyes were completely black but absolutely opaque, they turned back to the book, not bothering to hide again.
'I doubt it.'
He didn't look over to the other boys, he knew that they were apoplectic. And if he had no glamour at all he probably would have been too, visibly so even. But Malfoy had style and he only narrowed his eyes. He had to be alert, lest Pansy self-combusted in fury.
'Get. Out.'
It was hissed, hoarse and firm. It didn't sound like Parkinson at all. Draco mildly thought that she had finally managed to sound threatening and not only bitchy.
'No.'
Malfoy heard a sharp intake of breath and for one frightening moment he thought it had come from him. He blinked and frowned, ready to threaten anyone else with a very bloody death if they ever mentioned it to anyone, but a quick sideways glance told him that Crabbe and Goyle weren't looking at him but at Pansy.
'What did you say?'
The girl was shaking, her hands already curled into fist as she stepped forward unconsciously. He was surprised that she hadn't reached for her wand yet, Parkinson was known for her short temper. One of the many things that favoured people's wronged conclusion about the real status of their relationship.
'I said no.'
What struck odd in that voice was the fact that no matter how hard Draco tried, he simply couldn't detect anything in its tone. No contempt, no mockery and not even superiority. It was a blank infliction that he had heard many times before but never from someone his age.
It didn't spurt his protectiveness, something he'd deny forever that he actually felt towards anyone, because he couldn't find any kind of aggression in it. He was very good at noticing an offence, no matter how subtle or masked it could be. When you're a Malfoy and you aspire to be Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape, you are forced to learn how to decode words. Draco could not be the most sarcastic git he had ever known but he sure as hell knew one when he found them.
Still, there was nothing there. Not one single, simple or complicated irony. There was absolutely nothing in that low, albeit strong, steady of voice.
And that just made everything worse because it proved to them that Pansy was being clearly and bluntly ignored. Nothing angered her more than that.
Parkinson's breathing was harsh and the heat irradiating from her body was intense. She had never been so insulted in all her life. This classification was quite unusual since she had been treated worse before, but that had happened from people she knew, or people she treated just as bad and everyone expected her either simply to do it (especially when it came to bushy-haired insufferable know-it-all Gryffindors) or simply get over it (Draco was probably the only one who fit this category).
Even though, there she was and she was being ignored by a complete stranger and worse of all, right in front of Draco Malfoy. That was the kind of thing that people just couldn't survive.
'Do you have any idea of who you're talking to?'
She demanded fiercely and throatily, her hand slowly moving from her side.
'Whom'
The blonde boy blinked. The girl was insane, she couldn't be correcting Pansy's grammar. She was obviously about to explode in sudden – and still growing – hatred and the wench was bloody correcting her grammar?
She was either way out of it or she really had no idea whom she was talking to.
'What did you say?'
The voice cracked, becoming weaker and higher. That's more like Pansy, Draco couldn't help but think. He also had no option but to watch as reddish brown eyes glowed and stared at the girl by his side when a particularly annoying candle danced over the dark figure.
Another blink and those eyes were lifelessly black yet again, this time it was an instant effect and not a progressive change as it had been before. It left him unsure if that he had actually seen the transformation the first time, or if he had merely imagined it.
'No. I don't know who you are.'
At this nonchalant, and yet polite, response and the evasion of her question, the Slytherin girl literally snapped, her hand quickly – even though clumsily – reaching inside her robes.
Draco would never know why he did it. Not even later, when Parkinson demanded an explanation did he give it to her. First because she had demanded it and he didn't work that way; second because he wouldn't know what to say, even if she had submissively and sweetly begged him to say something.
The thing was that for whatever reason he couldn't quite rationalise, Draco's left hand closed over Pansy's right wrist. Piercing cold blue eyes searched his, burning the left side of his face inquiringly but he didn't look over at her.
He kept on staring openly at the girl sat in that carriage, so far off to the corner that she could be easily forgotten and whose eyes had only drifted south twice. The first time was to search for any hint of recognition over his wannabe girlfriend's figure; the second being that inexpressive stare at his and Pansy's nearly entwined hands.
'Draco...'
It was laced with indignation and a tiny tinge of hurt. As always, he ignored it.
For one dull moment he thought he had fathomed a flashing – disturbing – ray of violet that gave an appalling effect in comparison to all that deadly darkness of those strange pupils and irises. But it was fleeting and again he was left with the that hideous sense of uncertainty.
'Sit down.'
As if in cue, the whole coach jerked violently. The movement was so incredibly abrupt that the four Slytherins were sent backwards and forced to sit on opposite of the girl Pansy had almost hexed.
Silence reigned all the way to the castle.
But it was a very tense and heavy silence.
The Entrance Hall was just chaotic as the Platform had been. Everyone was running after their housemates, the kids and adolescents already forming separated groups. The torches were blazing and irradiating a welcoming warmth at all the students as they left the carriages and walked back inside Hogwarts.
Once they had stopped on solid ground, Pansy forced her way out of their carriages first, all the time huffing and cursing under her breath.
Vincent and Gregory did the same, albeit way calmer and absolutely quiet. As they got their belongings, Draco got out of the coach and went after them, maintaining a slow pace as he watched the trouble-maker finding her way out too.
When she had her head out, he saw her for the first time. Her eyes were narrowed to slits, not in annoyance or contempt, but as if she simply couldn't open them just yet. He figured her eyes were having a hard time getting used to the light after such a long time reading in the dimness.
She was blinking fiercely, as she tried to force her eyes open and he could see them watering with the effort. She looked around, letting her eyes dance over the mass of loud people before her. Malfoy frowned lightly.
Her robes were black, like his own, but they were completely black. It was Hogwarts' standard clothe, it did carry only the school's emblem on the chest. That meant that he had been right, she wasn't a student and she really didn't know who Pansy was.
'Malfoy!'
Both Crabbe and Goyle immediately stood straight at his side, moving far too swiftly than someone their sizes probably could. Forcing his eyes from the new student, he focused his tired grey gaze on Hillary Reeves. So the Mudblood had gone through her little tirade, well too bad he didn't give a damn about any of it. He doubted Snape was anywhere close to take his badge, least of all on account of a Gryffindor.
'Reeves...' he drawled lazily.
'I don't think I saw you helping the others with the first-years.'
Draco never understood this particular turn of phrasing. Was he supposed to confess his crimes, apologise on his knees and promise to never ever disappoint her again?
Well, not in this life.
'Well?' Reeves insisted.
'Well... what?'
'Malfoy...' she leaned forward slowly, trying desperately to look threatening, her right eye twitched. He almost burst out laughing. 'If I find out that you're neglecting your duties, I will go to Professor Snape and you will suffer the consequences.'
Draco was too busy trying desperately not to crack any of the jokes that were exploding in his head. Apparently the more he bit the inside of his cheek, the better the jokes got and the worse it was to keep his face straight.
When it was clear that she wouldn't get any answer, the Head Girl gave his one long look, absolutely unaware of the fact that her eye was twitching once more. She then turned her back on him and went back to whatever she was doing.
'Am I out of it or was she winking at you?'
He couldn't hold back at that and let the laughter burst its way out of his body as he and the others found their way to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast.
'Where the hell is Blaise?'
To say that he didn't give a rat's arse would be an understatement but for once Draco decided to keep that little anecdote to himself. All things considered, he was still in debt with Pansy, so he decided to stay silent.
After the whole carriage debacle, and his uncontrollable laughter at her question about Reeves – surely he wasn't laughing at Parkinson but in her bad mood she felt offended all the same – Malfoy decided to give himself a break of her endless whining tantrum. He had already explained to Pansy that he didn't have the patience for her mood swing and all it did was bore him terribly.
That had seemed to do the trick of shutting her up and deflating her self-righteousness but the first only lasted for 30 minutes.
In all honesty, Draco had to admit – to himself only – that Pansy was right and they both knew it. If tables were reversed, he would have hexed her if she had tried to stop him. And he was the type of guy that was very touchy when he was in a foul mood, so if it had been Pansy laughing hysterically at one of his questions (or at least if that was what he'd think she was doing), he would have probably cast a silencing charm on her. And he'd have prohibited anyone to undo it until he felt like listening to her voice again.
Thinking all of that made it easier for him to simply pretend he hadn't heard her as he, Vincent and Gregory checked out all the Slytherin girls and some others from the other Houses. It was one of the only subjects that inspired a coherent interaction from them, the other two was Quidditch and beating someone up. Not necessarily in this order.
Draco had to snigger as Vincent literally gawked at Susanne Bones when she walked pass their table on her way to Ravenclaws. Vince had been head over heels infatuated with the Hufflepuff since second-year, although Malfoy couldn't quite understand why.
Greg on the other hand had finally grew out of his stupid – not to mention bat blind – crush on Millicent. The other two suspected that it had been something born at the Yule Ball in third-year but still they couldn't quite accept it for all the time it lasted. As it happened, Draco saw the boy staring openly at Greengrass and was silently glad that at least one of them was learning something from him.
As the other two were too busy drooling at their chosen, he focused on everything out of the ordinary. It didn't take him long to zoom in several things, especially when Potter and his minions arrived.
The murmur seemed to grow, but in a complete different way than it did for the past years. People were still talking about the Golden Boy behind his back, not even bothering to hide it, but this time the note of their comments was slightly off.
Draco leaned back, squaring his shoulder and following Potter with his eyes. Yes, the Boy Who Lived knew it too, even though he was trying very hard to forge a nonchalant facade. The blonde boy grinned savagely.
Albus Dumbledore wasn't the only one who was coming out of the Triwizard Tournament debacle with his name marred. Apparently the Wizarding World wasn't that fond of its Favourite Boy anymore, not that anyone could blame them for doubting what a 15 years old had to say about the Dark Lord. The same wizard that even after 14 years of his – supposed – defeat, was only ever mentioned as Him Who Must Not Be Named.
As far as everyone was concerned, it was easy to believe that Harry Potter was an attention seeker brat and that Hogwarts' Headmaster, one of the most powerful wizards that had ever existed, was becoming senile. Even though he cheered this change of pace, it also unnerved him deeply.
Stupidity irked Malfoy.
This massive decision for general imbecility reminded him of something he read once.
"The greatest trick devil has ever pulled, is to make everyone believe he doesn't exist."
Its context had been absolutely different but he believed that in its essence, it fit completely to their current situation. Draco shrugged. It wasn't really any of his business, anyway. He most certainly wasn't about to initiate a social movement to enlighten the Wizarding World of something not even the Ministry wanted to acknowledge. He definitely wanted to stay filthy rich and in one piece, for if he ever even tempted to do something like that his father would not only disinherit him – what in itself was too cruel for words and would bring him to an instant death – Lucius would also make sure he lost at least a couple of very necessary body parts.
'Scoop, Malfoy..'
Draco was pulled out of his thoughts by Blaise's hand on his shoulder as the black boy pushed him to the side. He frowned but let go as soon as he noticed that the motion would put Zabini between him and Parkinson.
'Where have you been?'
For obvious reasons Blaise looked mildly surprised at his sudden interest. Malfoy kept his ground and his gaze unwavering. The other boy blinked twice before he shrugged indifferently.
'Around...' he said simply, his eyes scanning the Great Hall.
Draco didn't push it but he knew that Zabini was hiding something. Whatever it was, he'd find out one way or the other. The Slytherin only kept to himself what he didn't want to share, what meant that he knew that Malfoy would most certainly take it from him, given the chance.
'By Salazar! What is that?'
The blonde boy instantly followed Blaise's eyes to find the source of his indignation. Draco almost laughed. Only one thing could evoke that tone from Zabini, being beautiful as he was, the black boy had low tolerance for anything but.
That was so much true that he even admitted that the Weasley girl was pretty, and he wasn't even that drunk at the time, although he'd pluck out his own eyes with his wand before he ever got close of the blood-traitor.
It was a very distinct way of classifying and living the world, that way of Blaise. Even though he had a very strict social selection politics, just like any other well-respected pureblood (that meaning Slytherin), he had a lot of tolerance when it came to beautiful people.
It wasn't that he was vain, and he was, but it had a lot to do with his upbringing too. Zabini's mother was one of the most beautiful witches alive, especially for someone her age and so many times woefully widowed. Blaise had once told him that his mother never got tired of amusing him with the remembrance of her pregnancy. She had promised herself to kill the child, if it looked anything but perfect.
Pansy and the others laughed at the non-existent joke, but Draco knew that the boy meant his words. Blaise's mother had chosen a Zabini to be not only her second husband, but also the father of her child, only because he was stupidly rich and hands-down handsome. If Blaise hadn't followed the obvious course and inherited his parents' physique, his mother preferred him dead.
Something that unsurprisingly was extended to her husbands.
With this bedside story, it was impossible to demand that Zabini actually cared about anyone's inner beauty or personality. It was his soft spot too, even though he had little patience for imbecility, Blaise was more than capable of putting up with it in favour of a pretty face.
It had been the reason why he had invited Daphne for the Yule Ball anyway.
So Draco could understand fully why the sight of mouse-brown hair, a pallid, toadlike face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes – mixed with an appealingly horrible sense of fashion – would distress him so much.
'Do you know who that monster is?' Blaise insisted horrified.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, a challenging eyebrow, making the black boy's head whip back to the staff's table. He could see his housemate's brain working frantically while his amber eyes adopted a pale yellowish shade.
'Umbridge...' Zabini said after a while and looked over at Draco for confirmation. He nodded.
'What is she doing here?'
The blonde boy shrugged, his grey eyes focused on that ghastly figure. Dolores Umbridge couldn't be more hideous if she tried, poor woman. His father had told him much about her, her ways and mostly the best way to get in her good graces.
'Well, Blaise...' he drawled calmly 'We do need a DA professor, don't we?'
'But Umbridge?' the other hissed 'What the bloody hell does she know about Dark Arts to even attempt to teach us how to defend ourselves against it?'
Draco chuckled lightly and placed one elbow over the table. His chin was the propped over his closed fist, his eyes glinting with that bluish sparkle it sometimes had.
'And who told you she actually needs to know something to teach us anything?'
Blaise frowned fiercely, his eyes becoming brownish in intrigue and suspicion but before he asked Draco what he was on about, Prof. McGonagall entered the Great Hall, leading a several clearly frightened first-years.
Malfoy sneer, almost roaring at the boy he had verbally abused back at Hogsmeade. The little brunette yelped, pushing himself as far away from the Slytherin table as he could, without getting too far from his fellows first-years.
Vince and Greg sniggered, even though they had no idea of why the boy acted that way, all the time mindful not to make a lot of noise and get the Gryffindor Head's wrath over at them.
The blonde boy watched silently as the midgets positioned themselves before the staff's table, most of them looking way past pale and downright green. Draco remembered vividly when he had been the one there, staring at the Great Hall and knowing that he simply had to be sorted into Slytherin.
No Malfoy had ever been sorted into any other house, well if they had, they had been immediately disowned. It was a matter of proving himself worth of his name, his family, as everything seemed to be a way to test if he deserved to be who he was.
He knew acutely well what all the other kids said about Slytherins, he knew too that most of them were trembling there, praying to go anywhere but the house of the snakes. Anything but bearing Salazar's symbol on their chest, anything but dress everyday in green-and-silver for seven years.
Draco had been different. He had stood there, wishing, hoping that whatever happened, he'd be a Slytherin. No matter what people thought of him, no matter what they said and no matter how he would be disliked in that school, he would be a snake. He would be Salazar's student.
And he had won.
He was a Slytherin.
As he amused himself with the different levels of embarrassment, anxiety and plain mortification before him, Malfoy found two known faces. Both of them logistically taller than the rest of the students, and for that same reason they stood far away from the others.
One face he knew very well. Buzz cut black hair, crystal blue eyes and deceiving dimples. Piotr seemed taller than he had looked the year before, his shoulders though looked still broad and strong. His dark complexion made him look naturally tanned, and the healthy golden glow he had on his skin told Malfoy that he had indeed gone to the Bahamas with his parents as he had said he would.
Draco frowned unconsciously. Piotr was going to be a problem. A beautiful, well-defined and throatily spoken problem, but still a problem.
Next to Antokolsky was a girl, who wasn't nearly as tall as the Russian seventh-year but was perceptively way tall for a woman. Her black hair was savagely tied at the back of her had, making impossible to know its length. She looked deadly pale next to Piotr's tanned flesh, but then again everyone did. Her eyes were black, Draco noticed with unease and she seemed to be solemnly focused on Prof. McGonagall's every move to even attempt to acknowledge anything else.
' --the damn cow I was telling you about!'
That was obviously Pansy's scandalized murmur.
But before Greengrass had the chance to say anything back, the Sorting Hat began its song. If the Great Hall had been already quiet, now the silence was deafening. No one dared to move, as they listened carefully.
In times of old when I was new
And Hogwarts barely started
The founders of our noble school
Thought never to be parted:
United by a common goal,
They had the selfsame yearning,
To make the world's best magic school
And pass along their learning.
'Together we will build and teach!'
The four good friends decided
And never did they dream that they
Might some day be divided,
For were there such friends anywhere
As Slytherin and Gryffindor?
Unless it was the second pair
Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?
So how could it have gone so wrong?
How could such friendships fail?
Why, I was there and so can tell
The whole sad, sorry tale.
Said Slytherin, 'We'll teach just those
Whose ancestry is purest.'
Said Ravenclaw, 'We'll teach those whose
Intelligence is surest.'
Said Gryffindor, 'We'll teach all those
With brave deeds to their name,'
Said Hufflepuff, We'll teach the lot,
And treat them just the same.'
These differences caused little strife
When first they came to light,
For each of the four founders had
A house in which they might
Take only those they wanted, so,
For instance, Slytherin
Took only pure-blood wizards
Of great cunning, just like him,
And only those of sharpest mind
Were taught by Ravenclaw
While the bravest and the boldest
Went to daring Gryffindor.
Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,
And taught them all she knew,
Thus the houses and their founders
Retained friendships firm and true.
So Hogwarts worked in harmony
For several happy years,
But then discord crept among us
Feeding on our faults and fears.
The houses that, like pillars four,
Had once held up our school,
Now turned upon each other and,
Divided, sought to rule.
And for a while it seemed the school
Must meet an early end,
What with dueling and with fighting
And the clash of friend on friend
And at last there came a morning
When old Slytherin departed
And though the fighting then died out
He left us quite downhearted.
And never since the founders four
Were whittled down to three
Have the houses been united
As they once were meant to be.
And now the Sorting Hat is here
And you all know the score:
I sort you into houses
Because that is what I'm for,
But this year I'll go further,
Listen closely to my song:
Though condemned I am to split you
Still I worry that it's wrong,
Though I must fulfil my duty
And must quarter every year
Still I wonder whether Sorting
May not bring the end I fear.
Oh, know the perils, read the signs,
The warning history shows,
For our Hogwarts is in danger
From external, deadly foes
And we must unite inside her
Or we'll crumble from withinI have told you, I have warned you ...
Let the Sorting now begin.
The silence persisted until the Hat quit all movement and only after a very unsure second did the applause start, and Draco had a feeling that it only was so because Dumbledore himself had started them.
Around him several students were looking intrigued and whispering conspiratorially. Although none of them stopped clapping, to say that they were taken aback would be absolutely unnecessary. Goyle and Crabbe looked over at him for an explanation. And so did several others, as if he – without so much as one single OWL – was qualified to Psyche 101 an ancient talking, singing hat. And be able to give them a report on its condition.
'Inspired this year, wasn't it?' Blaise raised an inquiring, and not totally devoid of amusement, eyebrow.
'And we thought it had merely memorized those bloody cheap rhymes hundreds of years ago...' he replied with a small grin.
The comment earned him a chuckle and a nod. It was plain to see that even though they were both showing only their amusement, their mind were reeling.
Malfoy knew that the Sorting Hat had given warnings before, whining about its duties way before the Goblins demanded any kind of legal representation at the Ministry. Apparently, every time something very unpleasant was on the works, the wannabe artist felt fit to announce its opinion.
Not that over the course of the years anyone ever deemed necessary to actually listen to it, which obviously only frustrated the bloody Hat. Lucius had told him that during the first war, the Hat had also made up a couple of dozen new verses. The same had happened, he heard, when Tom Riddle had got in Hogwarts and then when he left.
All these pieces of information he had collected with Slytherin's ghost, the Bloody Baron. He wasn't the easiest ghost to chat with, but once his dead ego was stroked enough he was able to talk pearls. It was known in the castle, by all the pictures, ghosts and house-elves that whenever the Sorting Hat deemed necessary to hand out warnings, things were about to turn foul.
The cheap old ragged piece of clothing had always got stuck on a particular key too; the union of the houses. As if there was any chance in hell that he would suddenly befriend any unworthy muggle-lover, blood traitor, mudblood or Boys Who Wouldn't Just Die, anytime soon.
That hat knew bollocks about anything, anyway.
'Slytherin!'
Draco blinked repeatedly as his whole table exploded in cheers and whistles. Even Crabbe and Goyle were punching the wooden surface to enhance the noise. Knowing that he was the one most first-years we looking at, Malfoy coached his lips into a artful, albeit cold, smile as he clapped his hands in satisfaction.
The sorting was the most boring ritual they all had to go through every year. It was clearly unpleasant for the first-years and completely tiresome for the senior students. Although the rivalry between houses always came back full force at these couple of hours, as each table tried to shut the other up as they got new blood.
Safety in numbers.
Or at least that was what some stupid muggle had said once.
Soon it was coming to an end, as every single nose-dripping hellion – as Pansy had so eloquently labeled them – found their way to their respective houses. The exchanged students would be the last to be sorted, as they were every year.
Ignoring Blaise's sideways glances and sniggers he watched as Prof. McGonagall called the first of the older students. Slowly and confidently, Piotr walked before the old witch and took the hat, placing it over his head.
Unlike it had happened to most younger students the hat sat rightfully over Antokolsky's head. It was in the moment the bloody Hat yelled "Slytherin" that Draco saw ocean blue eyes focusing on his. To his everlasting glory, it had been Piotr who blushed, not the other way around.
'Encourage him, why don't you?'
'Shut up, Blaise.'
The other flashed him an enchanting white smile that made Malfoy want to make him swallow every one of his teeth.
At last, the Gryffindor Head of House checked the name of the girl standing behind her. For some reason, Draco acknowledge that Snape was looking at him, instead of at the new student. When their eyes locked, his Head of House gave him one cold nod. He mirrored the movement in time to hear, Prof. McGonagall's unnecessarily loud announcement.
'Harper, Neci'
Draco heard Parkinson's huffs, Bulstrode's snigger and the other girls' giggles. Pansy didn't waste much time in demoralizing people.
The girl moved gently towards the Hat, blinking before she got hold of it and slowly put it over her head. Unlike Piotr the Hat was clearly a tad big for her, not big enough to fall onto her shoulders, but big enough to hide most of her face.
When she pulled her hand, Draco thought he had a glimpse of swirling violet eyes. As soon as he was sure of that fact, her eyelids closed and the Hat moved to cast a shadow over her face.
'I don't see why she has to be sorted...' Pansy snorted 'She's a Hufflepuff through and through...'
'How can you be so sure, Parkinson?' Blaise asked absentmindedly.
'She was stupid enough to quarrel with me, Zabini...' the girl sneered.
'The lass might have been the one who played with fire, Pansy, love...' Millicent drawled 'But you were the one who got burned, isn't that right?'
'That sounds Ravenclaw enough to me...' joined Maddoc, dying to piss Pansy off.
'She surely is gorgeous enough to be a Slytherin...'
The sharp intake of breath was long and loud, for one dull moment Draco was afraid that Parkinson would pass out because she was looking faintly bluish as she glared at Zabini. But he noticed that the Slytherin hadn't taken his eyes from the new student.
'You would think so, wouldn't you, Blaise?' Bulstrode gloated.
'I don't think so, Millicent...' he stated, mildly irritated 'I know so...'
At that particular comment no one dared to question Zabini any longer. To doubt his taste on physical beauty was the same as questioning his intelligence, it infuriated Blaise deeply.
Draco didn't say a thing, ignoring Pansy's attempts to catch his eyes over their housemate's shoulder. He was too immersed in concentration, trying desperately to understand why the Sorting Hat was taking so long to make up its decision. He hadn't been sure, but he had the impression that he saw the girl's lips moving, as if she was talking to the Hat.
Could it be that she was trying to convince it to put her in a particular house?
Or perhaps she was trying to change its mind?
Malfoy didn't know, and even though he was concentrating hard to try to read her lips and discern one single word, but he just couldn't make anything out. It was when she gave an imperceptible nod, and the Hat moved on top of her head again.
'Gryffindor!'
Pansy was almost hollering in insane pleasure, amusing every one on the Slytherin table. Blaise's groan was deep and meaningful, but only audible enough to Draco. The Gryffindor table had exploded in happiness once again; clapping in animalistic fervor as the new student found her way to their bench.
Malfoy watched as she sat right next to the Weasley girl, the insufferable brat leaning in to paw her all over. As the others red-and-gold pathetic idiots tried to catch her attention and befriend her, he watched her stiff back and tense demeanor.
'Damn it...'
'Oh, shut up, Zabini!' was Pansy's ear-to-ear grin of response.
Dumbledore choose that moment to get up from his seat, and with his usual welcoming and boring warmth, he smiled at every one, with his arms wide open. Half the Slytherin House growled at the prospect one more long speech.
Crabbe and Goyle were becoming restless and irritable, something that only happened when they were hungry. And if the rumbling he was hearing was any indication, Vince and Greg were about to roast one of the first-years, if the feast didn't start any time soon.
'To our newcomers,' the Headmaster bellowed pleasantly 'Welcome! To our old hands – welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!'
The agreement was unison and the food had barely appeared on the plate and around the table, Crabbe and Goyle already had their mouths full. The same happened with Pucey, Montague and – unfortunately – Bulstrode.
Even Pansy seemed to be filling her plate with inadvisable enthusiasm, most certainly inspired by the pleasure she had whenever she looked over at the Gryffindor table. Draco lazily poured a couple of roasted potatoes on his plate, then opted mostly for vegetables and a generous piece of the cheese pie. He nodded while he chewed a piece of bread, taking that gentle act as a barked order, Vince immediately filled a goblet with pumpkin juice and placed it in front of the blonde boy.
Blaise, he noticed, was absentmindedly picking at the sausage and rice he had put on his plate, sipping at his goblet with thoughtful leisure.
'Do you think she's a pureblood?'
Draco's fork stopped in mid-air, he heard a distinguished choking sound and he could see that neither Crabbe nor Goyle were stopping to breath as they stuffed themselves silly.
'Does it matter?'
The noise was sharp when Blaise let both his knife and fork fall on his plate. He turned around so violently to stare at Pansy that Malfoy was sure he heard his neck cracking. His eyes were almost brown, though they didn't loose their golden sparkle.
'What kind of bloody question is that, Parkinson?'
Everyone in their group fell suddenly silent, waiting for the outcome of that inevitable battle. No one understood why the tension between them was blooming, least of all over of a new student – a Gryffindor at that – but it was obvious that that was only the beginning.
'Zabini, Zabini...' the girl rolled her eyes 'You know what I mean.. I don't know why this sudden interest, she's one of them now... Just another red-and-gold freak... Don't tell me you fancy her...'
Draco noticed that Pansy's voice was low and soft, patient and condescending, but the grimace on her face indicated that she believed Blaise to be infected with the plague. The black boy smirked and shrugged nonchalantly, looking over his new obsession once again.
'If she's pure, I most certainly won't hold a stupid Hat's mistake against her...' he countered calmly 'Harper... Does it ring any bell to you?'
Malfoy blinked and followed his roommate's eyes before he shook his head. That earned Zabini a laugh from Pansy.
'Oh, my...' she gushed 'Hitting rock bottom, aren't we, Blaise-honey? She's probably one more Mudblood and here you are gagging for her...'
That was cheap shot, way down bellow the belt, even for Pansy. Not to mention that it was highly dangerous to do this kind of accusation to someone like Zabini, the boy was probably even more fiercely adept of the whole muggle abhorrence ideology than Draco himself.
That was why the blonde boy straightened and closed his hand over his wand, preparing himself to threaten both of them if necessary. It wouldn't be good to embarrass Prof. Snape and get House points taken in the first couple of hours back at school.
But to his immense relief and surprise, Blaise merely grinned at the Slythering girl, placing both his elbows on the table at each side of his plate. Everyone raised a curious eyebrow at that, and Draco couldn't help but do the same.
'I doubt she's a Mudblood...' he raised his shoulders in contempt 'In fact I'm almost sure she isn't... A half-blood, unfortunately it might be correct... But a Mudblood? Very doubtful...'
The firmness in his voice effectively shut Parkinson up. Draco was now watching the boy at his side carefully. He clearly had thought a good deal about what he was talking about, and he also sounded very sure of what he was saying. It was the tone of voice Blaise had when he knew something no one else knew. Something Malfoy would kill to know.
'How can you be so sure?'
It was an obvious question but he knew that Pansy wouldn't be able to control herself.
The boy took a deep bored breath, his hand moving to his fork, as he reassumed his picking at the food. His other hands was playing with his goblet, Blaise enjoyed attention and he knew he had it unconditionally in that moment.
'You haven't noticed yet, have you Parkinson?'
Pansy growled in annoyance and impatience. Draco knew how much she loathed Zabini's habit of procrastinating, the girl was very direct and objective herself. She didn't have any willingness to take anyone's mind games.
'Noticed what?'
'Harper...' Blaise nodded in the girl's direction 'She's the Elementari...'
At this, even Vincent and Gregory stalled their frantic motion of shoving obscene amounts of food down their throats in record time, without choking once. As one, everyone around them looked over at Harper's back. Draco was caught in his stare by the Weasley girl, but one heartfelt sneer made her look away.
Although he knew that the ginger-head had quickly warned the new-comer of the snakes suddenly interest on her back. The older girl didn't even bother to look back at them, and somehow that angered Malfoy deeply.
'What?' as usual Parkinson's squeal ensnared his attention.
'You shared a carriage with her for almost one hour and you didn't sense anything?' Zabini asked in mocking disbelief 'What's your problem, Pansy? Are you magically retarded?'
Draco was afraid for the second time that night that the girl would explode with fury. At the carriage he hadn't seen it, but under the candle's light that bathed the Great Hall, he could watch as Parkinson paled and blushed repeatedly. It looked as if her blood stream couldn't decide which flow was the most appropriate for the occasion. It wouldn't take her much longer to attempt to reach for her wand, what would be suicide for there was no way Pansy could ever beat Blaise.
He wasn't only stronger than her, and knew far more curses, hexes and jinxes, he was naturally more competent at it. And infinitely faster. All thanks to his second step-father, who had had the peculiar habit of teaching Zabini how to improve his magic talents at the mere age of 5. His tactic had been casting all kinds of possible spells on the child, claiming that that was the best way for the boy to know what to use in a duel. Blaise hated the man's guts, he passed away mysteriously a couple of weeks after Zabini's mother found out about this activity, but he did have an extraordinary knowledge in the subject because of the old bastard.
One of the reasons why he effortlessly always received high compliments during Charms classes.
'You say she was stupid to quarrel with you...' he continued slowly 'But taking in consideration the amount of power she has and the fact that she doesn't even have to pull out her wand to do permanent damage on you... I'd say you were lucky your dear boyfriend saved your scrawny little arse...'
Malfoy knew that he should have retaliated Blaise's choice of words to refer to him, still he was aware that that wasn't the most important matter at hand.
Obviously, why hadn't he realised it sooner?
Something had stalled him from joining in Pansy's tirade at the new girl, without apparent reason he also had prevented the Slytherin girl from attacking. In retrospective Draco rationalised how weird it was that even when it was clear that Parkinson would reach for her wand, the girl didn't move, nor did she dive her hands in her robes after her own wand.
She had merely sat there, looking at his and Pansy's entwined hands. She had looked faintly curious, but not worried at all.
The only possible explanation for this behaviour was that he had sensed, even if subconsciously, her magic core. It made a lot of sense, for at the time his mind was busy with other matters. As he sat there, with Zabini's face looking flushed with triumph and Pansy's getting crimson with fury, Draco closed his eyes and leaned back slightly.
He tuned out any noise, any unimportant thing that could captured his attention and diverge him. He concentrated deeply, diving in his subconscious, searching for his own magic core. It didn't take him as long as it used to, his father had left him locked in his room exercising that many times in his childhood.
Lucius claimed that he had to understand his own power, his own magic and everything that involved it and revolved around it. According to the older Malfoy that was the only way his son would ever be able to make his own abilities evolve, not to mention that that way he could even develop other threads of power.
Draco had managed to find his magic core, but he never could actually understand it or manipulate it as his father had told him to. Still, taking in consideration that most wizards and witches his age barely knew that they had a magic core, he was satisfied with his own limited capacities.
Even in pureblood families, the concept that it's not the magic that makes the wizard, but the wizard that makes the magic, was taken lightly.
It was sad really, how most people had no sense of ancient knowledge.
As soon as he got a glimpse of that silver and dark green thread, Malfoy let his consciousness dive into it. The sensation it awoke was that known peacefulness and security. He loved that feeling but knew that it wasn't the right time or place to let himself go for it, so he focused on his surroundings again.
This time he didn't hear voices or any other noise, he felt vibrations, as if he was in the middle of the ocean and waves after waves passed through him.
The bigger the waves, the stronger they were. They also didn't have the same colour. The most noticeable waves came from somewhere far on his left, a white and blue wave, followed by a dark brown and amber, and lastly a sinister and completely black one. He knew those cores, they belonged to Prof. Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape respectively.
As he moved his senses around the Great Hall, he felt the teasing of a very annoying and clearly unfashionable red and golden wave. It was reinforced by other tinny waves in the same shade, although one was distinctively redder and the other obviously more golden. Draco had the feeling he had seen a flash of black and a tinge of green, but it had been fleeting and he didn't pay it much attention.
Those were most definitely the Golden Trio's magic threads.
At last, the blonde boy found what he was looking. Coming in steady and controlled flow, almost touching his own wave, was a silver and violet threat. He couldn't be sure if it was really deep purple or black, for it seemed to be one and then the other and even the two at the same time. But that didn't matter, he knew that magic core could only belong to one person.
He opened his eyes, in time to see that the girl he had been unconsciously turned to had her eyes closed too. After a few seconds she pried them open, a small frown on her face. As soon as her eyelids were flung open, purple suspicious depths stared deep into his dark grey pools.
Then, the black began to take over those irises completely and she looked away.
For the first time it wasn't Pansy who pulled him forcefully from his own thoughts. But the tiring pleasant voice of Hogwarts' Headmaster. He didn't mind the old man, too occupied with the recent events.
If she could sense his magic core, and the way he had used it to find hers, than she most certainly wasn't the idiot Gryffindor Pansy believed her to be. He didn't know how Blaise could be so sure that she was the Elemantari, being incapable of reaching his own core, but what he had said was right.
Anyone with any magic sensibility, and enough motivation to put it in action, would have already noticed the girl's potential. Even if they didn't quite notice it consciously, they would unconsciously as he had at the carriage.
For one dull moment, Draco realised that even Crabbe and Goyle had possibly noticed the ancient magic crackling earlier. After all, it wasn't like them to simply stand there without so much as a grunt or not jumping at the opportunity to present a physical challenge at anyone, be them man or woman.
This only made him feel all the more disheartened at how specifically dense Parkinson actually was. The sudden gloom was shoved to the back of his mind when Blaise placed a hard, painful jab at his side. He glared heatedly but the black boy only tilted his head at the staff table, with an odd yellow glint in his eyes.
Draco looked up and found Snape who was scowling deeply. No surprise there, but only that every single member of the staff seemed to be doing the same. Including the easy-going Prof. Grubbly-Plank, who was naturally replacing the Giant Beast Dumbledore insisted on calling their Care of Magic Creatures' teacher.
No, something was definitely not right at that table. The Headmaster was quiet, looking down, obviously surprised and most certainly interrupted. No one had ever interrupted Albus Dumbledore, let alone at Hogwarts. Still, Dolores Umbridge was quite clearly doing exactly that.
'Thank you, Headmaster' she clipped as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening 'For those kind words of welcome.'
It didn't take Draco most than three seconds to decide that he disliked that voice of her as he had rarely hated anyone else's voice before. And that was a big statement since he knew Pansy Parkinson since he was 4 years old.
'Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!' he also was reminded of why he was vehemently in favor of banning all ugly people to Askaban at birth 'And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!'
Malfoy used to be a very difficult child. He was almost impossible to please, and he also had always had the habit of being bluntly sincere about things. But there was nothing he used to loathe more than to be talked to as if he was mentally challenged. He loathed it when he was 3, he was absolutely irked by at the age of 15.
And if Millicent's frown and Zabini's narrowed eyes were any indication, he had a feeling he wasn't the only one.
'The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them to ever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.'
Umbridge turned to acknowledge the other professors and Draco couldn't help but search for Snape. The older man remained impassive, his black onyx eyes absorbing every single nuance of Dolores' speech, voice and body language.
Malfoy coached himself to do the same. It wasn't really hard on him, his father was a politician. At least, he was one at heart. He had learned to say demagogy before he could even spell his own name. He could read the real meaning of the new professor's words, even though she was successfully boring most of the students to death.
At a particular point in that excruciatingly long speech Greg had both arms over the table, his forehead over the back of his hand and a snore coming from his massive figure. To keep himself awake, Vincent was kicking Gregory under the table every time his snore began a crescendo.
Eventually the torture ended, and most students only noticed it because Dumbledore led the first round of applause. Still, the clapping wasn't very firm and let on the fact that almost no one had actually paid attention on anything that was said.
'Was I the only one dying slowly here?'
The round of sniggers that followed Adrian Pucey's mockery didn't affect Draco or Blaise. The black Slytherin leaned over to his housemate discreetly.
'Progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering...? A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation...?'
Malfoy grinned humorlessly.
'That was your favorite part?' he asked jovially 'Mine was: A new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.'
Zabini nodded slowly and thoughtfully.
'We'll have brilliant DA lessons this year...' he commented darkly.
'We sure will...' Draco agreed grimly.
Before they could say anything else to each other, the whole table was getting up noisily around them. Pansy appeared at Malfoy's left side, her arm boldly wrapped in his. He always forgot how swift she could be whenever she wanted.
'Come on, Draco... We have to lead the first-years...' she chimed.
Without a word he pulled his arm back and increased his pace. He didn't bother to see if she was following him. When he got the door he whistled with his middle finger and forefinger in his mouth, getting the attention of almost everyone still at the Great Hall.
He waved impatiently at all the boys and girls who were being snarled out of their seats by Pansy, rolling his eyes at Granger as she chastened Weasel for name-calling the nose-picking hairballs. When all of the little things were forming an Indian line before him, Draco sent Weasel a winning smile.
'Let's go MIDGETS!' he called victoriously and began his descent to the dungeons.