Chapter 8
Summary:
The Harry Potter 7th years are returning for their last year at school, with a little more than magic on their minds, such as the tremendous war between The Dark Lord and the Order. So it would strike the HP7Y's as odd when one of the Dark Lord's most faithful supporter's son shows up, pretending to have changed. Especially since Draco Malfoy had been expelled the year before, and had very narrowly murdered Albus Dumbledore. Even more surprising is the fact that Malfoy had seemed to take an odd interest in one of the biggest members of the Order. Hermione Granger.
Chapter Rating: T
Summary of chapter: Subtle discoveries and random gay talk.
Disclaimer: There, by writing disclaimer, I've just DISCLAIMED THE WHOLE FRIGGING CHAPTER! So there. Hahaha.
Last Chapter:
A knock on his door pulled him out of his thoughts, immediately striding in. It was his father.
Draco slid on a robe over his pajamas. His father stared him in the eye.
'I have made the arrangements, Draco. Now, it is all up to you. This is what you have to do…' His father swept a tendril of imaginary blond hair behind his ear, cleared his throat, and began to tell Draco of his part in the horror that awaited the Hogwarts students, especially that group of people that some called the Golden Trio. Draco took a deep breath. It would not be easy, he knew, but it had to be done. For the good of wizardkind, for his master, for himself.
Harry agitatedly ran a hand through his hair. He had been doing that a lot lately. Why had no one told him about this before? Had it been some sort of bribe? And what did that have to do with their staying at the Weasley's? It would mean that something was wrong with 12 Grimmauld Place. He had somehow dodged the rest of breakfast, after being shot sympathetic looks from Hermione, and plain "pathetic" looks from Ginny.
He had found the attic. After dusting the dirty trapdoor, he managed to climb up a shaky rope ladder, and swing his tired body into a grimy room. Strange rattling noises came from a wardrobe, a strange liquid oozing out of it. Harry smirked one-sidedly, after his original fright. The ghoul.
A gritty voice made him jump. 'He's right you know.' It said. Harry's heart had raced. It had been a painting, a rather frog-faced farmer brandishing a pitchfork in one hand.
'Who are you?' Harry had asked, guardedly.
'Lord Griswald of Mimbulus Mimbletonia.' Had been the immediate response.
'Mimbulus Mimbletonia? Isn't that some kind of wonky plant?' Harry had asked.
The farmer had extended his pitchfork menacingly.
'Don't make fun of herbology, yer only in yer youth.' He'd said, sounding uncannily like Hagrid.
'Why are you all cooped up in here then, eh, Lord Griswald?' Harry asked warily.
'Ask me caretakers then! Them redheads are orful perticular-like about wot makes 'em look good, and wot makes 'em look perculiar.' Lord Griswald had said, sounding disgusted.
'Well, d'you, I mean, you don't mind if I stick it out up hear, do you?' Asked Harry.
'No m'boy, no! Just keep quiet, you never know wot sort of folks them redheads got around. Frightfully talkative.' The painting had resumed to the pitchfork upright pose, his mouth a grim line.
Harry shuddered and had slid into a dark spot, jumping over an old battered empty package of Chocolate Frogs, worming his way around a box of "Easily Egested Leeches' (EELs) eventually sitting on a patch of threadbare rug.
Now, he was sandwiched between a box of tight dresses, and an old book. It was a rich, brown leather, and had the words 'Belladonna Bones' embroidered onto the centre. Harry opened the book. It was completely blank, with yellowed pages and a gold-leaf binding. He turned it over. Nothing. He sighed and held it in his lap.
He would give it to Hermione, or Ginny maybe. Even Mrs. Weasley. It looked new, and completely out of place.
But for now, he would sleep, regardless of what anyone had to say. He rested his head in his hands, and Lord Griswald allowed to him to nod off.
'Good fer a young lad ter catch a few winks.' He said, before falling asleep himself.
When Ginny managed to make it downstairs, Hermione's eyes were glassy, and she stared off into space. Oh Merlin, not again.
She alternated exchanging looks with Harry and Ron.
Harry's eyes said, 'What can I do?'
Ron's said, 'What the hell d'you think?'
Ginny gasped in exasperation and walked up to Hermione.
'Can I help?' She said expectantly. She had learned in the past that saying 'Can I help?' was much more beneficial than asking what was wrong. 'What's wrong?' is highly clichéd and overrated, in Ginny's opinion.
Hermione shut her eyes furiously, tilting her head back, as if trying to stop the tears from falling. In her hand she clutched a moving newspaper.
'Oh,' Ginny said sympathetically. It was a copy of the Daily Prophet and a picture of three witches brandishing wands at the sky. Hermione opened her mouth, and began to speak shakily.
'Take a look. Look at what, what these racists have done.' She gestured to the article. Ginny looked at the title. 'Oh.' She finished, in a resigned tone. She scanned it. 'Blah blah blah muggles, blah blah blah witches…hmm, what's wrong?' Ginny asked.
Hermione groaned. 'Read it,' she whispered.
Violation of the Ministry
It has been less than six months since the esteemed Albus Dumbledore was murdered under his own nose, and already the rumours have begun to pour in. The Advice Column at the Prophet has been teeming with questions. Even more recently, several muggles were killed at the apparition spot for the Age Before Beauty nursing home.
It has even been rumoured that it was not the wholly magical families of the present day that were engaged in the killings. In fact, the ministry has made numerous calculations as to the statistics of such matters, and the rumours have a grain of truth embedded in them.
The muggles that were available to identify the murderers gave the same description. Brown hair, brown eyes, and freckles. The significant murderer was female, and seemed to be about fifty-three years old. She did not carry a wand, but instead knife wounds were located on the neck and face of the muggles. It was a peculiar coincidence that the muggles were killed at the exact apparition spot for wizards, and that the muggles were murdered with knife wounds.
Coincidence, or Muggle-born violation? Send your responses to the Daily Prophet. This is Talia Sigourney, signing off.
Hermione coloured visibly as Ginny finished.
'Muggles! That's all they are, all my parents are, all I knew I was until my acceptance letter! Muggles! Not people, not anything but Muggles. And why are they so quick not to blame it on Purebloods! I'm sure the Malfoys and the Blacks could be responsible!' Hermione said, her voice barely under control.
Ginny flinched. Her family was Pureblood, and Hermione damn well knew it.
'Indoor voice, Hermione.' She pointed out rather unsympathetically. Hermione took a deep breath.
'They also judge muggles, thinking they have to be plain and ordinary, with brown hair, brown eyes and freckles!' She said heatedly.
'You have brown hair, brown eyes and freckles.' Ron said unhelpfully. Hermione shrieked incoherently before stamping off.
'What's gotten into her?' Harry said, pleading to Ginny.
Ginny scoffed and walked off. Men.
She had walked not two feet when she felt delicate fingers lace around her upper arm. She took a deep breath. She slowly turned around, the fingers letting go of her arm. It was a tall doe-eyed black-haired woman, creamy-skinned, although she was slouched in a position that could be only described as comical.
'Wotcher Ginny.' The woman said silkily. Ginny glanced up. The woman screwed up her nose, and the features of Tonks began to peer down at her. The grip became less delicate.
'There's something you need to see. It concerns your friends. You've seen a pensieve, right?' Tonks said inquiringly.
'Sure.' Ginny said. Tonks shook her head with mock-reprieve.
'Kids these days, don't really know much, do they?'
Ginny smirked. 'I happen to be sixteen, Nymphadora.' She said snootily.
Tonks pinched Ginny's cheek affectionately then swore. 'Damn, we'd best be going to see, huh Ginevra?' She asked.
'Whatever.' Ginny laughed, before trying to keep up with Tonks.
Blaise and his mother had popped round to visit Narcissa.
Draco knew that the Zabinis were to be respected, not befriended, but Draco and Blaise were as close to friends as it was possible for them to be.
Draco laughed conspicuously as Blaise and his mother walked in. His mother, Jimewas clad in robes of silver and rose, whereas Blaise wore bottle green, his dark hair slicked back.
'Zabini.' Draco acknowledged.
'Malfoy.' Blaise's head slightly inclined towards him. Jime smiled falsely with Narcissa, while she carelessly waved a hand to Blaise.
'You run off with Drayyyyco, Blaise dahling, and let me and Cissy have a nice chat. Ciao, mia bambina.' Jime said loftily.
'Adieu, mon cherie.' Blaise replied haughtily in French,
Draco shook his head. 'What's that all about?' Draco said.
'My mother insists that I am her "baby" until I find a decent girlfriend. Too bad I told her about the fact that my heart can never achieve its own desire…' Blaise sighed.
'To put it frankly, she thought you told her you were gay.' Draco laughed.
'Ask me no questions, I tell you no lies.' Draco laughed again and punched Blaise on the shoulder. He knew that Blaise wasn't gay, but he liked to laugh at him about his rather, confusing relationship with his mother.
'Well, mine has been trying to set me up with Pansy.' Draco said.
'Touché, Malfoy, strictly touché.' Blaise said knowingly. Draco wondered how he would ever get Narcissa to know that Pansy hated him, and that he probably would like her a whole lot less if she did like him, anyway.
'You see, what you need is some sort of release. A little wager. You don't need Parkinson breathing down your back. You need a new challenge, you know, like something forbidden.' Blaise said thoughtfully.
'h Puh-Lease, Zabini. If I didn't know you better, I'd swear you wanted me set up with a Hufflepuff!' Draco laughed.
'Depends on how desperate I get, Malfoy my old friend.' Blaise chortled. Draco shook his head. Nothing Blaise could have said would have tricked him into dating a Hufflepuff. OR a Gryffindor, for that matter. Gryffindors like Patil? Or Brown? Draco shuddered.
'Your funeral, you might end up like your good old friend, Blaise Zabini.'
'What, gay?'
'No, bastard, alone.' Blaise said, sighing.
Draco shook his head again. Him, Draco Malfoy, alone? With those abs? Not likely.
'Your ego could match Potter's, you know, Malfoy.' Blaise said, as if reading Draco's thoughts.
'Hate it or love it.' Draco said, joking.
A call from the living room startled him, and seemingly Blaise too.
'Drayyyyycccooo! You and Blaise please proceed to the living room, alright?' Narcissa said, taking a page out of Jime's book.
Draco stood up. 'What we waiting for, Zabini?' he asked.
'A sonorus spell, maybe, if Cissy could get any louder?' Blaise muttered.
'Hey, don't backtalk my mother, alright Zabini.' Draco warned.
'Loud and clear, Malfoy.' Blaise said. They walked off, wondering what the frazzled mothers would have to say this time.
Don't worry, Blaise is so not going to dare Draco to get with Hermione. Helllll no. P.S., any ideas as to what might be in the pensieve, guys, cause I seriously don't know. Jime is pronounced hee-meh.
Peaches,
Anya
BTW: No Blaise is not gay. Just clearing that up.