Chapter four
Draco Malfoy pondered over the events that went down in the dimly lit shop of Burgin and Burkes, as he sat on the Hogwarts express a week later. Burgin have been very reluctant to make any promises on providing him the information on how to fix the Vanishing Cabinet, that is until Draco had shown him the mark. He could see the color draining from Caractacus' face as he lifted the sleeve of his shirt, fear, flashing through the man's eyes. Draco felt a sudden rush of power and control at this. He left the shop soon after that with assurance that the cabinet's twin shall be safe and a little piece of paper with the words Harmonia Nectere Passus scribbled on it.
Draco pressed his face, which was heated from dragging his trunk up to the train, gently to the cool surface of the window. The platform was partly obscured by the steam of the engines, the air filled with children's screams, owls hooting and the sound of trunks rolling on the cobbled floor.
Draco sought his mother, who was standing at the far end of the crowd, looking out of place with stiff posture, pale, composed face and spotless appearance among a hoard shabby, patched cloaks, mismatched hats, even, Draco thought to himself, disgusted, muggle clothes.
She caught his gaze, smiled palely at him and raised her hand into a waive. Draco nodded back, remembering vaguely, how just a year ago, both of his parents have been standing there, saying goodbye. His thoughts were broken by the sudden sounds of the train, slowly leaving the station. He caught a glimpse of jet black hair of Harry Potter, hurrying past his window and thought, that if his plan works out, he will be dead within five months.
There were three other people in his compartment. Crabbe and Goyle, sitting by the door, each reading their own comic book, Zabini, with the usual expressionless mask on his face and Pansy Parkinson, who sat very close to Draco, playing with a stream of her hair.
"You seem stressed," she said, grabbing his shoulders gently, trying to get him to lay his head onto her lap. Draco had let her and she began stroking his hair, looking rather pleased.
Blaise disappeared a few hours into the trip after he'd gotten a letter from professor Slughorn to join him in his compartment. Draco has heard his father talking about Slughorn on a couple occasions when reminiscing about his school days. He described him as a collector of gifted or otherwise well connected students, the crème de la crème so to speak.
So why was he not invited? Wouldn't he be a great addition to the old Slughorn's collection? He was, after all, one of the few direct descendants of an ancient pure-blood line, he was a prefect, a member of the quidditch team and he had received more than satisfactory results in his O.W.L exams.
"So what did Slughorn want?" he asked indifferently when Zabini came by their compartment an hour later and sat back on his chair, opposite from Malfoy.
Blaise was a tall, slender boy, with dark skin and high cheekbones. His eyes, which were a very dark shade of brown, always seemed a bit bored.
"Oh, you know, making new webs of connections."
"Who else has he invited?" pressed on Draco, sitting up now and leaning on the back of his seat.
"Two blokes from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw," replied Zabini, expressionless. "Also Longbottom," (Draco snorted) "Potter and that Granger girl."
"I understand Potter," said Draco, his resentment building up in him. "Precious little Potter, the chosen one and all that… but why the other two?"
"Well, I have no idea about Longbottom," said Pantsy "but that Granger is quite brainy, maybe that's why he picked her." When nobody replied, she continued, a slight grin on her face. "too bad brains can't help her not to be an ugly insufferable know-it-all."
"She's not that ugly," said Zabini flatly. "although I wouldn't touch a filthy little mudblood like her no matter how good she looked." Draco nodded in agreement, trying not to think of his task.
"I will never understand how she got Krum to date her in the fourth year," continued Pantsy, apparently not quite done bashing the mudblood yet.
"That bloke's been hit over the head with a bludger one to many times, if you asked me," said Zabini and the whole group chuckled.
Draco lay back into Pantsy's lap and she continued to stroke his hair. He felt anger and resentment stirring up in him. Exclusion was something we was not used to nor did he care much about it.
"My father spoke very highly of Slughorn back in the days… he was a bit of a favourite of him…" he said, lazily. "Shame, he's probably gone senile and forgotten to invite me."
The truth, which was that his invitation probably hadn't arrived because of his father's imprisonment, stayed lost in the air.
"But what do I care," he continued, as nobody said anything in his agreement. "if some old fat hasbeen doesn't want me to be his pet. Chances are I won't even be returning to Hogwarts next year." Draco was pleased to see he had gotten their attention at last. Crabbe and Goyle gaped at him, Pantsy's hand froze mid stroke, even Blaise, whose face has always been a mask of boredom and indifference, stared curiously at him.
"What do you mean?" asked Pantsy, slightly hurt.
"Well," said Draco, shrugging. "I might move to bigger and better things."
He let that statement sink in, enjoying the effect. After all, what was the exclusion from the Slughorn club compared to the inclusion into the Dark lord's most inner circle?
