Chapter 3: Charming

Hogwarts Library - Fall 2012

In a quiet, deserted corner, a boy with raven hair and a girl with untamed, brown hair sat together side by side at a desk near the window. They worked separately, scribbling on a parchment with different books open before them. It was a ritual that they had begun since the first day of their second year, the two most peculiar muggle-borns of Hogwarts uniting together albeit secretly. Hermione Granger gave a sideway glance toward the boy next to her, as surreptitiously as she could, keeping up her pretense at assiduity as her hand continued to move busily across the parchment with the feathered pen. Edmund Pevensie seemingly did not notice her glance as he kept at his own assignment. There was a certain deadly, or unearthly, calm about the boy that unnerved Hermione at times, just as now. As the sunlight shone on his light-coloured skin, Edmund looked more of a mythical figure than human (or wizard). Something like an elf or a wooden spirit, as he was dressed in Slytherin green. If the sun had shone any more brightly on him, Hermione believed that she would have been able to see through his skin.

Suddenly, Edmund stopped writing and scoffed. Startled, Hermione asked. "What?"

Edmund with an unamused semi-scowl answered. "I just realised that it's an absolute waste of time taking notes on this book."

Hermione's own eyes sparkled with amusement and admittedly slight contempt. She rather liked their new professor. "What's wrong with the book?"

"More like, what's wrong with him. He is completely enamoured by himself and fantasizes too much." Remarked Edmund, the distaste more apparent than before, as if saying his thought out loud made it even more repulsive.

"What do you mean?" She attempted to argue.

"I mean," Edmund replied, his face unchanged but somehow the meaning of 'how could you not know?' surfacing anew, "this book is but a fictional self-praise, and I've read better fiction than this."

"Oh?" Said Hermione, her mind somewhat agreeing to Edmund's criticism of their new Defense against Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, but unwilling to admit defeat. "Such as?" She challenged.

Edmund raised his brow as if to say 'really?'. "Miss Granger, anything would be a better read than this." He commented.

Hermione internally scoffed at his insistence in calling her Miss Granger. She tried, but it seemed that there was no way of convincing the boy to just call her Granger or Hermione. But, regardless, she was now genuinely curious. "No, but what would you prefer to read, really?"

At this point, Edmund had pushed Lockhart's books away from him and was taking out a new set of books for Charms. He didn't glance up at her question, but he seemed to be thinking, considering some of the options he already had in mind. A few more seconds later, he finally answered. "Lord Edgware Dies*, perhaps, at the moment."

"Agatha Christie?"

"That one, yes." He began to work busily over a piece of parchment once again.

Already too distracted to stop the conversation and also very interested in finding out more about the mysterious boy, Hermione forged on. "Is that the one with an actress who hired Poirot to prove her innocence because everyone thinks she's the one who murdered her husband, but it turned out that she was the murderer?"

Sighing, Edmund placed his quill down, finally sparing a glance toward her way. "Yes." He said.

"Quite realistic, isn't it?" Wondered Hermione. "I mean, if so many people found her to be evil enough to kill her husband, then she must have been really that evil. She did kill three people in the book, right?"

That had made Edmund pause, hesitating only for a little while before responding. "She did. But, even in reality, sometimes, what seems to everyone is not what really is."

The way he contemplated his words before he said them, Hermione could see that this had to do with someone for Edmund. Himself? Or perhaps…

"Are you suggesting that Malfoy may not be a complete git?" She asked, half-kidding.

Yet, in response, Edmund held Hermione's gaze in all serious- and earnestness and said. "He is a complete git, Miss Granger. What I'm suggesting is that he isn't completely that."

To that, Hermione found herself mulling but remaining silent. Instead, she asked. "Have you a copy of the Christie book?"

"I'm afraid not. All my old belongings have been… removed."

Hermione crinkled her face in confusion, but seeing Edmund's face determined to not talk about it anymore, she did not ask for clarification. "Well, if you'd like to try my favourite book at the moment, I could lend you it."

Edmund smirked a little at that. "If you mean Standard Book of Spells, I already have a copy of my own."

Mock-gasping, Hermione made a playful grunting noise. She was actually genuinely surprised that Edmund was able to kid around. It made her surer than before that Edmund was a good person and potentially a good friend. She could trust him, possibly. "No, my favourite book is not a course book, thank you. It's Catch-22 by Joseph Heller."

An undefinable look passed over the boy's face. Something akin to confusion but not quite. "When was it published?" He asked.

"I believe… in the 1960s? I'm not sure. But I know my copy was released in 1962."

Edmund grimaced. His grimace seemed so unusually tragic that Hermione was certain he was about to decline her offer. But, the next moment, he simply nodded. "Lend me it, then."

...

And that was how Hermione found herself in the Great Hall writing to her mother to send her that copy of Catch-22 she devoured over the summer and how a few days later, she received a rectangular parcel with glee. Harry and Ron looked at her and her package with curiosity, as she unwrapped and revealed the book.

"What's that, Hermione?" Asked Harry.

"It's a book," Hermione replied simply, a soft, satisfied smile spreading on her lips.

"Yes," Ron said as he rolled his eyes, "but what's it for? It doesn't look like the ones you read for study."

"It's… a gift." Hermione replied, deciding then that she would rather give the book to Edmund than just lend it, which was a surprise even to herself in that she was usually very possessive of her books.

"For…?" Ron asked. It was apparent in his voice that he hoped the thick book wasn't for him. Neither did Harry look so hopeful.

Hermione huffed in slight irritation. "Not you two, for sure!"

Instantly lightening up, his worries gone, Harry asked. "Then who's it for?"

At that, Hermione hesitated. Her two friends did not know of her acquaintance with Edmund yet. They were sure to be against it if they ever found out. But then, if it weren't for Edmund, Hermione would have never stood up for Harry and Ron that night of the Troll attack and the three of them would have never become friends. They owed it to him, even if they weren't aware of it. Also, Hermione did not want to lie to them. So she answered truthfully.

"It's for Edmund."

First, there was a look of confusion from both Harry and Ron. The confusion soon turned into realisation and shock, or perhaps wrath.

"The Edmund? Edmund Pevensie?" Ron yelled in whispers, his eyes searching the said figure from the table across the room where all the snakes nested.

Harry, equally aghast, looked behind Hermione at the Slytherins' table as well. He followed Ron in whispering furiously. "He's a Malfoy follower, Hermione! Are you insane?"

Deeply offended by her friends' apparent distrust for her judgment of character, Hermione huffed more loudly this time and argued in an equally, if not more, enraged whispers. "He's a friend! And, no, I'm not insane! He's a muggle-born as I am, and he's been kind enough to me before you two decided to make friends of me."

However, Ron, more so than Harry, still remained unconvinced. "He's probably planning something bad, and I'm sure Malfoy's behind it!"

Suddenly reminded of her conversation with Edmund the other day in the library, Hermione instantly smacked Ron's fork-holding hand. "Don't you dare! Just because he's a Slytherin and close with Malfoy doesn't mean he's a bad person. Do you two have no faith in me? I've actually talked to him, you know."

Ron moved his hand with an 'ouch', but while he nursed his injured hand, Harry stepped in, carrying on the argument. "But, Hermione, you know how it goes. There hasn't been a person who's both a Slytherin and a blood purist that has gone good."

Hermione grunted. "And it looks like there hasn't been a person who's a Gryffindor that doesn't have prejudice toward a Slytherin."

Both Harry and Ron immediately protested. "Wait, come on, that's not fair!"

"As if what you've said is fair. Edmund is not even a blood purist. He's a muggle-born, remember? Just like me?" Replied Hermione.

"But he follows Malfoy! The ultimate blood purist of Hogwarts!" Said Ron.

Changing her technique a bit, Hermione softened her tone. "Think, Ron. He's a muggle-born sorted into Slytherin. What do you think he had to do to survive?"

Ron stayed silent for a moment. "You think he's sucking up to Malfoy because he doesn't want to be bullied?" He said as he glanced toward the boy of their conversation again. Pevensie's face was impassive even as Malfoy and his meaner chums were cackling at some joke, likely a cruel one as usual. The boy did not look amused, and he certainly did not look as if he was bothered to please Malfoy. In fact, it appeared that it was Malfoy and the others who were trying to make Pevensie smile a little. The Slytherins around him seemed to be in some kind of competition to amuse him. Ron returned his glance to his own table. "That doesn't look like he's sucking up."

Hermione turned her head to see for herself what Ron had seen. When she witnessed what was going on, she frowned. But she wasn't too surprised. She remembered what he had said about Malfoy in the library. "Edmund's clever. He probably has Malfoy and his idiots wrapped around his finger."

"Well, just don't come crying to us when he turns out evil. Right now, I'm reserving my right to say 'told you so'." Said Ron as he resumed his eating process.

In exasperation, Hermione let out yet another huff, but she ignored her two friends and began rewrapping the book with care.

"I got it!" Shouted Draco excitedly as he entered the quiet lounge with Edmund as its only occupant. "I'm the Seeker for Slytherin!"

Edmund looked up from the book he had been, the one he had received from Hermione earlier that day. The lower side of his face was still concealed by the book, but his eyes seemed to be mirthful enough for Draco's accomplishment. "Well done, Draco." He remarked.

Marching into the lounge triumphantly, Draco plopped himself down on the couch by Edmund's side, a satisfactory sigh escaping him at the same time. "That'll make Father proud."

"Yes, well, you've worked hard for it," Edmund commented. He remembered Draco discretely practicing flying on his broom at night during the first year. Draco had also written to him over the summer that he had been practicing on a newer broom. He was clearly determined to make up for the disappointment his father had felt from the fact that Harry Potter made a lasting accomplishment of becoming the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts's history. "Go ahead, then. Write to him." He said.

"I'm going to." Said Draco, as if a bit insulted to be told what to do when he already knew what to do. "But, first, I'm gonna rest a bit. I'm absolutely knackered from all that work."

Then, to Edmund's complete surprise, Draco lied down, placing his head on Edmund's lap. So surprised was Edmund, he stayed still in stupefaction until the other boy fell asleep, his breaths becoming steady and silent. What confused Edmund the most was the fact that he couldn't decide whether it was a horrifying surprise or a pleasant one. He looked down at the boy's sleeping face angled toward the rest of the room. Edmund felt a slight stirring inside, a stirring too faint for him to define where it came from, and as he sat there with one hand holding a book and another now placed on Draco's rhythmically rising and falling chest, Edmund could only hope that Draco would wake up before anyone could see them like so.

The first Saturday of September, after the whole Lockhart's pixies fiasco, Edmund was sitting in the courtyard reading Catch-22 once more, having already finished it once and admired its masterful writing. Near him were Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, behaving not particularly notably. Then he heard the heavy thumping of multiple feet approaching and, looking up, found the red robes of Gryffindor Quidditch players entering the area. Oliver Wood was leading the bunch, excitedly sharing something with them, until a group of green robes entered the same area from the opposite direction. "Uh oh, I smell trouble." He heard Weasley comment, and as much he was appalled by it, he found himself agreeing with him.

"Clear out, Flint!" Wood yelled, heatedly. "I booked the pitch for Gryffindor today."

Marcus Flint, a rather trollish Slytherin Captain, merely smirked. "Easy, Wood. I've got a note." He handed a rolled parchment to Wood.

Wood snatched it from Flint's hand, and as he did, Weasley and Hermione jogged up to the scene and joined their team.

"'I, Professor Severus Snape, do hereby give the Slytherin team permission to practice today, owing to the need to train their new Seeker.'" Wood looked up. "You've got a new Seeker? Who?"

Edmund saw Draco from the back of the crowd step forward.

"Malfoy?" Gasped out Harry Potter in disbelief.

"That's right. And that's not all that's new this year…" Edmund heard Draco say. He couldn't see the boy's face, but he very well knew that Draco was smirking smugly at the moment. Then, as one, the seven Slytherins all held out brand-new gleaming broomsticks.

Ron, stunned as all the other Gryffindors were, spoke in something like a trance. "Those are Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. How'd you get those?" He asked with his eyes trained on the broomsticks.

"A gift from Draco's father." Replied Flint. Beside him, Draco sniggered before he added, "That's right, Weasley. You see, unlike some, my father can afford to buy the best."

Hermione was fast on her friend's defense, or more like offense. "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent."

Edmund inhaled sharply. Seeing Draco step up to confront the girl, he quickly put his book down and briskly walked toward them. He knew Draco was about to say something that would at least partly ruin their carefully organized plan regarding the Potter trio. So, before Draco could say something, Edmund was there.

"And so did Draco, Miss Granger." He said sternly. He stood between Draco and Hermione and put his hand up behind his back to calm Draco down. With his eyes set on the startled Gryffindor girl, Edmund continued. "I believe the gift was endowed after he's become the Seeker, as congratulation from his father, who was generous and wise enough to gift his teammates as well so that no ill feelings like envy," he glanced Weasley's way pointedly, "could be sprung. As a witness to all the effort Draco had put into becoming the team's Seeker, I'm insulted to hear such false assumption and accusation of injustice, especially from you, Miss Granger."

Weasley, much provoked by Edmund's glance at him earlier, spoke up. "Well, why," he began, stumbling on his words, "it's not like there's justice in what they're doing right now! Obviously, they got the note from Snape for today because they knew our team was going to practice today!"

An unamused and unimpressed expression, which was quickly becoming his trademark, surfaced on Edmund's face as he turned around to face Weasley.

"If McGonagall wrote a note to excuse the Slytherin team so that the Gryffindors can train Mr. Potter, would you have complained, Mr. Weasley?" He asked.

There was silence, as not only the Weasley boy but also the other Gryffindor players reflected on Edmund's question.

Draco then triumphantly sneered at Weasley. "Now, bugger off, Weasley and the rest of you."

This, in turn, however, only angered the other boy, who exclaimed "You bugger off, Malfoy!" as he whipped out his wand from his robe. Hermione tried to stop him, but Weasley was already aiming the taped wand at Draco. "Eat slugs!"

However, with a pfft, a bolt of green light scissored out the wrong end, hitting Ronald Weasley himself in the stomach. He dropped to the grass, his face distorted in pain or else. Hermione ran to his side.

"Ron! Say something!"

The boy tried to, per her command, but when he opened his mouth, he only belched. Hermione drew back as a trio of slugs dribbled out of Weasley's mouth. At this sight, Slytherin boys crowed with laughter, excepting Edmund who stood there watching unsympathetically. The boy had brought it upon himself. Angrily, Weasley rose, just to belch again, and in the end, Potter and Hermione had to usher the boy away, seemingly planning to visit the gamekeeper, Hagrid.

By the day of the first Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, things were as tense as they could be. Filch's cat Mrs. Norris was found petrified, starting a rumour that "the Chamber of Secrets" had been opened by the Heir of Slytherin. Also, Hermione no longer showed up to the corner of the library to see Edmund.

Draco had frowned at that news. "Well, does that mean our plan's ruined?"

Edmund shrugged. "We'll have to see. There still might be time to mend whatever's broken."

This seemed to cause the boy to ponder about the other day's incident. "Why did you confront her if your goal was to make her trust you?"

Edmund met Draco's gaze. "She was invoking a rather immediate need to address injustice."

"You didn't have to interfere. I would've addressed it on my own alright." Draco commented somewhat as a complaint. Part of him was glad, however, that Edmund's preference seemed to align close to his affairs.

"I know you could," assured Edmund. "But you were about to say something abominable. There would have been no reparable measure once you say that word out loud."

Draco looked down in a bit of shame. So, Edmund knew. He knew that Draco was going to say mudblood.

Watching Draco's face turning dark, Edmund placed a hand on his shoulder. "She angered you. I understand that you didn't really mean it. Just try to use a different insult next time."

That had made Draco smile a little and nod. And now the boy was in a green Quidditch robe flying on his broom before Edmund. Slytherin was beating Gryffindor by sixty points at the moment. Across his tower, Edmund could see both Snape and Lucius Malfoy sitting next to each other and following Draco as he flew around looking for the Golden Snitch. It was then when a bludger began to chase after Harry Potter. The speed and force with which it raced after Potter was murderous. Clearly, someone was out to wound, if not kill, the Boy Who Lived. Edmund looked toward Snape and Lucius, but neither of them seemed to have any idea what was happening.

Meanwhile, Harry Potter had somehow spotted the Golden Snitch and was chasing after it, as Draco followed suit. With the skills the boy had achieved through numerous practices and, of course, with the latest version of Nimbus, Draco began to gain upper hand in the race as he neared the small golden object faster than Potter. However, soon, the mad bludger began to gain speed, and it flew ahead of both Draco and Potter. A few seconds later it arched back toward the two Seekers, aimed to hit at least one of them. Potter quickly moved aside, but Draco, whose sight had been blocked by Potter's flying robe, was hit directly in the chest and flew off of his broomstick. Edmund felt his heart drop as Draco lay unconscious on the grass and, confused, raised his hand to where his heart was. He couldn't feel anything per usual, not a beat, and feeling silly, he put down his hand and focused on seeing whether Draco was safely carried out and was cared for. The bludger, nevertheless, was not done with its job, which was clearly to injure Harry Potter, as opposed to anyone else, and continued to chase the Gryffindor Seeker. Potter dodged the flying ball as long as he could, but in the end, he was hit on his forearm and, too, fell out of his broomstick.

And how horribly it all went afterward. Lockhart, in vain attempt to fix Potter's arm, only ended up deboning it, and Potter was carried to the infirmary. Now, two rivals of Hogwarts were to share a room in the hospital.

*Lord Edgware Dies was published in 1933. Edmund read it before the Narnian events.