Disclaimer: I ain't Bri'ish and I don't own Harry Potter.
A/N: Goy.
WHY OH WHY CAN"T I STICK TO MY UPDATE SCHEDULE? I'm such a slow writer...and I lose my inspiration so easily...
Sigh. No more excuses.
Here's the latest chap of PTL (which is quite meh in my opinion, but whatever)so...enjoy? 26 pages!
Happy Birthday to anyone whose birthday is today!
Pretending To Live
Chapter 7: Deserving to Die
And the quiet tick of the grandfather clock upstairs continued.
Everything was quiet. Just the sound of our breaths, barely audible.
No flashing curses, no harsh yells, just...us.
I opened my eyes and saw that I was lying face down on hard, wood floor—which I honestly hadn't noticed until now—and tentatively, I began to pull myself into a normal sitting position, cautiously examining my latest surroundings.
It seemed that everyone was on the floor, like I was, and they too were scrutinizing the room we were currently residing, wincing as they felt their sore muscles and various bruised appendages from the rough landing.
The room was plain, its walls a discrete tan color and rectangular in shape, roughly the size of our bedroom back at Grimmauld Place. It appeared mostly unfurnished, with the exception of a small circular table in the center, made also out of wood but darker, and on it sat a rather large looking folder.
"Where do you think we are?" Hermione whispered into the quiet air, her voice sounding slightly fatigued.
Harry stood up, running his hands through his hair as he looked around, green eyes flashing.
"I don't know," he said finally. "but my best bet is to check that binder on the table."
Since I was closest to the center of the room, I made my way over to the table, picking up the slightly dusty black folder gingerly. It felt substantial, heavy in my hands and I flipped open its cover eagerly.
My eyebrows rose in surprise and I looked up at the others. "The first page is a note from Dumbledore!"
Running my hands over the thin yellow parchment—the same kind that Dumbledore used—covered in the familiar thin sloping hand, I began.
"If you are reading this then know that the Portkey you have taken is successful.
You are currently residing in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, on September the 1st, 1944 at 4:35 PM. At this very moment, my 1944 self is marking several papers in the main Transfiguration office, and it would be best to inform him first of your situation.
Remember, until you discuss this with my past self, you must not be seen.
I hope you enjoy our first meeting as much as I have.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, 1997." I finished reading and looked up at the others. "Well, that seems fairly straightforward."
Malfoy snorted. "Of course. And I suppose we're just meant to breeze through the guarded, crowded halls of this godforsaken place undetected and unacknowledged, is that it?"
I blinked at him. "I suppose."
Harry fumbled around for a second underneath his jacket, appearing to be searching for something. "Wait—hang on a moment—aha!"
The silvery blue folds of his Invisibility Cloak slid out, like water made tangible and fell into his triumphant hands. " We can use this!"
"Do you think all five of us will be able to fit under there?" Hermione asked anxiously, her hair frizzing into her face and she swept it away impatiently. "I mean, we could barely fit under last year."
"I know, I know," Harry muttered, eyeing the fabric as he held it up in front of him. "But we have to try."
"—argh, watch where you're putting that thing!"
"—if you get your arse out of my face Weasley, then maybe I will!"
" – guys this is so not the time to be arguing about—ow!"
"—sorry, sorry, lost my footing there—"
"—and you decided to put it on my ear?"
"Oh for goodness sake, shut up, the lot of you!" Hermione said exasperatedly from her strangely contorted position next to me underneath the Cloak. "People can still hear us!"
"Where do we go?" I whispered, struggling to see past the thin fabric of the Cloak. This definitely not how I imagined exploring Hogwarts for the first time—back then, I'd actually thought I'd be able to see the place, how 'bout that.
"Give me a second," Harry muttered and I heard the sound of rustling paper as he tried to fumble for something in his jacket yet again, and hitting me in the nose with his elbow in the process.
"Ow!"
"Sorry, sorry," he said apologetically finally dislodging the object from his clothing. "Here, I have the Map."
"Do you take that everywhere, mate?" Ron asked incredulously somewhere behind me. "Blimey, I knew you loved the school and everything, but that is just sad..."
"It was for emergencies, alright?" Harry scowled as he scoured the Map with his eyes, the tip of his wand set alight and his tongue between his teeth. "Here, look, I think we have to take a left at the end of this hallway, then left again at the second turn we see, then up the staircase to Dumbledore's office, that should be pretty easy so long as we don't run into anyon—oh crap."
A mass of black began heading straight toward us, pouring from the staircases and every classroom and my eyes widened in disbelief. "Oh no. Are you serious?"
I heard the sound of a smack as Harry facepalmed himself. "I completely forgot that class ends at twenty to!"
"Oh wow, they're getting closer..."
"That's what the Killing Curse is for," Malfoy muttered underneath his breath, and I elbowed him sharply.
"Argh! What in the bloody—"
"Git reflex."
"Look, guys!" Harry exploded, silencing the both of us. "We'll just have to wing it, okay? Just—just try and slip through without hitting anyone."
Crouching low to the ground to hide our feet—because everyone else but me was freakishly tall and kept on tugging the Cloak upwards—we managed to duck and weave our way past what I was sure was the majority of the Hogwarts student body until we found a mostly deserted corridor.
"Okay," Harry panted, putting his hands on his knees. "The... hard part's... over. Now... we just... have to...get to Dumble...dore."
"Didn't...you say... the Transfiguration office... was at the top of those stairs?" I wheezed, clutching at my chest.
"Yeah, but..." Harry paused and stared slackjawed at the 345,956,249 step (approximately) staircase in front of him. "Oh that is just..."
The large wooden door in front of us crashed down with a resounding bang and all five of us burst through, ripping off the Cloak with a grateful sigh.
"Subtle, de Lioncourt." Malfoy said snidely.
"I don't think Alohamora's supposed to do that..." Harry mused, and I scowled at them, stowing my wand back into the waistband of my jeans.
"Look, this whole 'magic' thing isn't that easy, alright?" I snapped. "Give me a break!"
"Maybe for you, but I think I can manage to cast a Grade Two Standard Spell without seeming like a complete buffoon."
I opened my mouth to continue my verbal abuse but I was interrupted by a quiet, polite cough from the far end of the room.
"Ahem."
I froze, then craned my neck around to see a very familiar figure gazing curiously at us from a desk at the far end of the room, his hands folded almost expectantly on the desk.
His hair, whose normal silvery white color I had become accustomed to, was grayer, and streaked with weak strands of auburn, not to mention shorter as well. The old wizard's face was less lined, less gaunt and more carefree, but the welcoming smile that he now offered us was still the same as the Dumbledore that we knew, and that put me at ease almost immediately.
"Erm... that was a rather interesting entrance, I must say. May I help you?"
He waved his wand—which I noticed, was different to the one he used in 1997, meaning that he had not yet taken the Elder Wand from Grindewald yet—wordlessly at the door we had splintered into pieces and it repaired itself instantly.
Harry stepped forward. "Professor," he said seriously. "We—well my name is Harry Potter. This is Ron Weasley, Ari de Lioncourt, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, and... we come from the year 1997."
The expression on Dumbledore's face clearly said, 'please explain'.
Harry took a deep breath. "In the future... the Wizarding world is at war. We," he motioned to us, "are fighting against someone who calls himself 'Lord Voldemort'—"
At the sound of the name everyone but Harry and myself shivered, and the glint in Dumbledore's eyes became slightly calculating.
"—who you yourself say is one of the Darkest wizards ever to emerge in more than a century. Erm—you sent us here, to 1944 I mean, to locate an...an object that's supposed to help us defeat him, and, well... here we are." He finished lamely.
Uncertainly, I stepped forward, holding out the black binder we'd gotten in front of me with both hands. "Um, you also gave us this..."
Dumbledore quietly accepted the book and we waited in silence for a while as he flipped through its contents, occasionally pausing to read paragraph that might have piqued his interest.
As he neared the end of the book, I felt kind of giddy, unsteady somehow, as if the world had tilted beneath my feet—I figured my nerves were finally getting to me. After all, hadn't I just fought Death Eaters, travelled fifty-three years back in time, and practically sprinted my way through Hogwarts?
Finally, he finished reading and looked up, his clear blue eyes twinkling gently as he surveyed the faces of each one of us.
"Well," he said, steepling his fingers together—he definitely hadn't changed much from his future self, "This is a very interesting situation you are in. And dangerous too, no doubt about that, from what I've read."
Hermione nodded, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. "We know."
"And you are willing to go through with it?"
"Yes," Harry said firmly. "We are."
Dumbledore studied us. "Very well then. I believe there are just a few things left to take care of—but first, a trip to the Infirmary would be in order, don't you think?"
I cast a glance around the rest of us; he was right. Malfoy had a large scratch around his left eye from his scuffle with one of the Death Eaters, and Hermione had a split lip whose bleeding she was at the moment hastily trying to staunch with the sleeve of her blouse.
Not to mention all the lumps and bruises hidden beneath our clothing from the less-than-gentle ride through time.
Harry relaxed, and he gave an affirming smile. "Yeah," he said gratefully. "That'd be great."
I winced as I felt the matron—Madame Laroche was her name—jab her wand none too gently at the sticky green balm she had applied to the rather large bruise on the right side of my face, something which I hadn't noticed until now.
The weird substance began to start smoking and I yelped, flinching away.
Madame Laroche tutted. "Oh for goodness sake, it won't kill you!" she exclaimed, putting her wand back into her pocket and pulling out a small flask of purplish-grey liquid from her other pocket with the opposite hand. "Now drink this up—whatever are you making that face for?—it's a tonic for the nausea you're feeling."
I eyed the slightly bubbling substance with a mixture of distaste and curiosity.
"Do I have to?" I asked her dubiously.
"Yes!" Madame Laroche snapped, thrusting the glass container at me with increasing fervor. "Now drink!"
Gingerly, I took the vial from her, trying not to inhale the weird smoky vapors coming out of the neck of the bottle.
Bottoms up, I thought, and I downed its contents.
Almost immediately, I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep the vile liquid in—it seemed my body had instantaneously made up its mind to reject it, and it was a good five minutes (and a lot of thumping on the back from Madame Laroche) until I was sure that it was all down, and that it would stay down.
My stomach rumbled. "Okay, I'm done."
Madame Laroche nodded approvingly, and headed off to attend to her other patients who were definitely in more need of her assistance than I was—a boy around my age stared solemnly at me through eyes the size of wagon-wheels from the bed across mine.
Furtively, I glanced around, wondering how the others were doing (and avoiding eye contact with the kid, it was really quite unnerving).
Ron had turned a rather fascinating greenish—grey color and was at the moment lying on his bed with his eyes shut, his hands clutched protectively over his stomach— he'd probably taken the same potion that I had. Hermione and Malfoy looked like they were coping well, with the majority of their more severe abrasions fully healed, with the exception of the occasional bruise on their person and Harry was holding an icepack to his head, a startlingly mundane sight.
He caught me looking at him and he winked back wearily, as if to reassure me, before closing his eyes in a fashion similar to Ron's.
It seemed everyone was still pretty worn out from the earlier events of today.
The sound of light footsteps coming from my left alerted me of another's presence and I looked up into the smiling face of Professor Dumbledore.
"Are you feeling better, perhaps?" he addressed all of us kindly. "It is no exaggeration to say that that was quite a trip you all have just undergone, and yet there is still much to discuss about your sudden presence at Hogwarts..."
"No, that's okay," Harry said quickly, opening his eyes and sitting up straight in his bed.
Dumbledore nodded. "Very well, then. I n a few moments you will be meeting with the Headmaster of this time, a Professor Armando Dippet. He will most certainly make inquiries as to your background upon entering Hogwarts—a necessary precaution, particularly since we are in the middle of both a Muggle and Wizarding war—so it would be wise to develop some sort of cover story before he arrives. I also suggest that you might change your names as well—though for some of you, this will not be necessary, most of your family names are relatively prominent, and it would be an unlucky situation should you perchance to meet a long- lost relative harbouring inconvenient inquiries as to your noticeable absence from the family tree."
"Well I'm a Muggleborn sir, my last name's Granger," Hermione said. "So I don't have to change my name."
'Yeah, it's the same with me," I said, feeling slightly relieved. I was never good with aliases, as I'd found out at my previous orphanage when some of the other kids and myself had sneaked out for awhile, changing our names so that we wouldn't get caught. I'd nearly busted all of us when I had apparently refused to answer by my title, despite the fact they'd been yelling it without surcease for nearly ten minutes.
But in my defense, what the hell kind of name was 'Berry Anne Summers', anyway?
"So I guess it's just Ron, Malfoy and me then," Harry said with an expression that suggested that he was thinking hard about something. "Alright. I'll be Harry... Harry Evans." He paused for a moment. "After my mum. She was Muggleborn, so it's not a common wizarding name."
"Very well then. And you, Mr Weasley?"
Ron looked dumbstruck. "Me? Er...well," He thought for a second, wrinkling his forehead in concentration before he gave a triumphant grin. "I'll be Ron McDonald!"
I snorted suddenly and I saw Hermione and Harry attempt to suppress their amusement out of the corner of my eye.
"What? What's wrong with that?"
"You're going to be Ronald McDonald?" I asked him, hardly daring to believe it.
"Yeah, so?"
Harry coughed loudly. "Ron, mate, where did you even hear that?"
Ron scratched his head in confusion. "I dunno... from a group of Muggles a few times, I s'ppose. It seemed like a pretty common surname if they mentioned it that much, and since you're all taking Muggle last names then I thought it'd be fine! What?"
"That would explain a lot..." Hermione remarked, and I bit the inside of my cheek to restrain the wide grin that was threatening to make an unwelcome appearance at any moment.
"Huh?" Ron demanded.
"Never mind."
Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with an amused sort of curiosity before he turned to Malfoy, who appeared to be deep in thought. "What about you, Mr Malfoy? Have you decided yet? I do believe out of all of us, your name is the most prominent."
"I was thinking," Malfoy replied slowly, grey eyes narrowed, "that maybe perhaps there should be a sort of... familial relation between two of the members of our little—'team'? To reduce suspicion? It would appear rather odd if all five of us were to suddenly materialise all at once without any apparent connections between us, no?"
I looked at him in surprise; he was right. Things were getting more and more complicated, and a little detail like that definitely could have hurt our validity later on. If we'd managed to overlook something like that, then what else could we have missed?
"Hmm, yes, you're quite right," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "that would be a problem... very well then, Mr Malfoy, from this moment on you will be known as Draco de Lioncourt."
"Whoa, wait, what?" I interrupted, the same time as Malfoy gave an indignant, "Excuse me?"
We both stopped and stared coldly at each other.
"—Incredible coherency, de Lioncourt."
"—Excuse yourself, Malfoy."
"De Lioncourt, now," Dumbledore reminded us cheerfully, clasping his hands behind his back innocently.
I tried again. "But sir—"
Malfoy cut in. "—we can't possibly be related because—"
"—we don't exactly get along, not to mention—"
"—know anything remotely personal about each other, thank God for—"
"—that, and also—"
"—probably the most obvious of reasons—"
"We look nothing alike!" Malfoy and I chorused in indignant unison, staring pleadingly at the less-older-than-he-was-before wizard.
No one could possibly object to the truth of that statement; I was dark in skin tone, eye color, hair color, whereas Malfoy was light, and almost wholly platinum, short where Malfoy was tall, hot-tempered where he was eerily cold, and not to mention kinder, more talented, generous, less arrogant, less conceited, and just generally more awesome in every way.
Dumbledore however, just smiled.
"Exactly," he said triumphantly. "And it is because you are so dissimilar that your charade as siblings will be all the more effective."
"I don't understand—"
"From what I have observed, you are both argumentative, appear to hardly be able to stand each other, aggressive, and yet despite this share amazingly similar personal qualities, not foregoing an uncanny knack for finishing each other's sentences. All of these qualities already denote that you are brother and sister to others, therefore no one will question you upon the truth of that statement."
I was shocked, almost speechless, and vaguely annoyed. It was one thing for Dumbledore to suggest this kind of preposterous idea, and another thing for him to actually make sense while doing so.
"Well... huh. Okay."
"So I'm assuming I'll be... Draco de Lioncourt?" The curve of his mouth twisted in distaste at the name, and it annoyed me to realize that it mirrored my own expression perfectly.
Dumbledore inclined his head in affirmation. "Yes, that's right. So, you are Harry Evans, Hermione Granger, Ronald McDonald—" I stifled a laugh with my fist, "and Ariadne and Draco de Lioncourt, is that correct?"
We all nodded; Malf—de Li—Draco, and I rather resignedly.
"Well then, now it is just a matter of your background to decide, in that case." Dumbledore resumed his thoughtful beard stroking.
"Maybe we had to leave our home because of the war?" Hermione suggested after a while. "If I remember reading the book A History of Magic correctly, then there were a number of wizards and witches who escaped abroad or changed their names to avoid conflict, so we wouldn't seem so out of place."
"Yes, that's quite true, Miss Granger." The auburn-haired wizard replied. "An excellent idea. Perhaps maybe... your families and I had strong ties... but they were murdered by the followers of Grindewald during a raid—" It surprised me how similar our back-story was turning out to be to my previous one, "—leaving you all orphaned... if that is the case then we'll say your previous residence was Saxony then, in East Germany as it has been the subject of Grindewald's attention, lately so it would make sense for you to have arrived at school this late without any preliminaries whatsoever."
"So basically... you brought us to Hogwarts because you knew our parents?" Ron asked, raising a ginger brow from his slumped position top his pillows.
"Yes. Conveniently, it is not at all far from the actual truth as I probably have or will meet your parents at some time or other."
"Doubt it," I muttered.
"So, when are we meeting this Dippet person, anyway?" Mal—Draco asked, frowning.
"Headmaster Dippet," Dumbledore corrected gently, pushing his glasses up his crooked nose, where they were at the point of almost sliding off, "should, by my watch, be arriving in oh, approximately three...two...one..."
"Yes, yes, yes, what's all the fuss here then, Dumbledore?" a short, squat man with tufty grey hair and purple velvet robes asked Dumbledore irritably as he enetered the room.
His small beady eyes peered at the five of us through gold- rimmed spectacles, and they widened in surprise. "Oh?"
"Good afternoon to you too, Headmaster," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "I would like to introduce you to Hermione Granger, Draco and Ariadne de Lioncourt, Harry Evans and Ronald McDonald. They will be finishing their final two years at Hogwarts, due to the sudden and grievous passing of their parents no less than a week ago—very dear friends of mine, they were."
"Yes, unfortunate, very unfortunate," Dippet huffed fidgeting with his robes. "Well that's all very well then, Dumbledore, but you do realize that no matter the case, in order to enrol them in Hogwarts we would need their personal records, not to mention previous background his—"
"All taken care of," Dumbledore announced brightly. "In fact, I believe I have them here on my person at this very moment..."
I watched with wide eyes as he easily conjured several pieces of paper out of nowhere behind his back, which was only visible to the five of us.
The corner of Harry's mouth twitched.
" Here you are," he said smoothly, handing the parchment over to Dippet, who grunted approvingly before he stowed it away in the pocket of his coat.
"Very well then," he grumbled, sparing us a brief glance. "Yes, well, welcome to Hogwarts and all that." he said to us gruffly before turning back to Dumbledore. "I trust they'll be able to make it to the feast to be Sorted, yes?"
"Of course," Dumbledore said.
"Alright Dumbledore, I suppose if this is all settled then..."He gave us a curt nod and walked the path of his entrance, the tails of his ridiculous coat catching on the backs of his heels as he made his exit.
"Well, that was surprisingly easy," Ma—Draco remarked, an eyebrow going up as he stared almost accusingly at Dumbledore.
The old wizard blushed. "Let's just say that Headmaster Dippet was never particularly... thorough in his investigations."
"I can't believe we have to be Sorted again," Hermione muttered, crossing and uncrossing her legs awkwardly on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position to sit in.
"Relax 'Mione, we'll probably be in the same Houses again, anyway," Ron soothed, stretching over the gap between their beds so that he could pat her awkwardly on the elbow, "You, me and Harry again, just like in 1997."
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Draco hide a dark scowl, shifting himself away from the others with a strange sort of cold elegance in his manner which was at the same time both intimidating and somewhat sad.
And for the first time it occurred to me that he shouldn't have been able to come with us, to even be here at this very moment.
I'd completely failed to realize that particular piece of information when I arrived, completely forgot about the truth.
In the Half Blood Prince, M—Draco never appeared at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix—if I remembered, he had probably been given the task of killing Dumbledore by Voldemort himself around this time.
So, what had changed?
What possibly could have happened that would have made him switch sides—willingly or no? I'd assumed that I had been the only change made to this particular story, but... what if that wasn't the case?
"Ron, you tosspot, Ari hasn't had her Sorting yet!" Harry pointed out exasperatedly.
"Oh, yeah." Ron shot me a sheepish grin and Harry rolled his eyes. "Gryffindor, like the rest of us, eh Ari?"
I peeked at Malfoy out of the corner of my eye, and he was fuming, from what I could tell by his shadowed profile.
Dumbledore, also, had trained his piercing cobalt eyes on me and I had the uneasy sensation of being interrogated.
"Ari?"
Ah, yeah, the question. I knew which house I wanted to be in, knew without a single doubt in my mind, but...
I chanced another glance at my "brother" and still, he refused to look at us.
"Well... actually, Ron, I'd always thought Slytherin'd suit me more," I said nonchalantly, examining the less-than-perfect fingernails on my right hand, taking special interest in the chewed on one on my thumb.
From my peripherals, Malfoy snapped his head in my direction; it gave a sickening crack! and he swore quietly.
On the bed next to me, Ron wasn't doing much better.
"WHAT?" he spluttered, drops of liquid flying everywhere from the glass of water he'd unfortunately chosen to tip down his throat at that specific time.
I winced as I felt some of it land on my face and I attempted to wipe it off with the sleeve of my t-shirt.
"Ari, you can't be serious!" Ron argued, throwing the covers off himself and sitting up straight in bed. "You can't—you're not like those- those snakes!"
"What makes me so different?" I said quietly.
I watched with a sick sort of amusement as Ron turned a strange shade of green, visibly struggling to come up with an answer to my question.
"Well because—you're not evil!" he finally shot at me. "And you're sane, and you're not all smarmy and stuck uppy..."
I snorted; this was becoming less of a description of a House in general than of one specific person.
"Is there more to this list?" drawled Draco, an ugly sneer forming on his face.
Ron ignored him. "Listen Ari, loads of the wizards who got Sorted in Slytherin became Dark Wizards and death Eaters, alright? Trust me, you do not want to get involved with that crowd."
"Oh, and I suppose all Gryffindors are so perfect?" Malfoy fired, his calm facade rapidly slipping away—I suppose the Death Eater comment must've gotten to him. "Mindless, justice-loving fools without a single original thought in their heads? Spoonfed, loudmouthed idiots?"
The odd puce that was the color of Ron's face suddenly transformed into a brilliant maroon, and he opened his mouth, an angry retort clearly ready on his lips but Dumbledore beat him to the punch.
"Well I think that's enough exchanging of pleasantries for now—we do have a Sorting to get through, you know." Dumbledore interrupted politely.
An embarrassed silence permeated the air after that; someone in the room coughed.
"Er, yeah, sorry Professor." Harry mumbled, looking away.
Dumbledore blinked. "That's quite alright Mr Potter—or should I say Mr Evans?"
"Er... just 'Harry' would be fine."
"Very well then, Harry. I do suggest all of you get ready, and I will meet you in the Main Entrance Hall before dinner, is that quite alright?"
"Yes...thank you."
"Quickly, then." And with one last departing glance and a rather cheery wave, he left the room, the beginning notes of 'Yankee Doodle' just audible in his exit.
"Ron, you git."
"What?"
I shifted awkwardly on the spot, my eyes alternately darting to my left and right, where Harry and Draco stood, respectively.
My fingers drummed a secret beat within the confines of my borrowed Hogwarts school robes and in an attempt to silence them, I clasped both of my hands behind my back, doing every possible subtle (and not so) manoeuvre to avoid the hundreds of eyes staring at me curiously from the four giant tables in front of me.
You have got to be joking me.
Some bored, some uncaring, but most... curious. Curious about the five complete strangers (who weren't eleven-year old midgets) who had apparently flown in from Germany and were about to be Sorted into their houses.
Letting out a small huff of annoyance at their pointed gazes and blatant stares, I directed my eyes at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall instead, pretending to be absorbed in the twinkling night sky that shone above us, a feat definitely easier done than said.
Thousands of lit candles levitated above our heads, the strange golden glow the emanated throwing elongated purple shadows on the floor and across the stone walls of the room. On a slightly lower level, House banners hung from horizontal masts that stood perpendicular to the walls—massive red, green, blue, and yellow tapestries that seemed to be in constant motion, as if someone had enchanted them to ripple and sway dramatically in the draughty Hall.
It was more than I'd ever pictured it.
Everything was so...so big, so dark and moody- like the Notre Dame which I'd visited when I was much, much younger- and above all, it was just so...
Magical.
The only possible fitting summary, or attempted summary. Its very air simply breathed magic, raw and unadulterated, almost pulsated it out in touchable, tangible waves—and it felt old. Very old.
Like—
The sudden outbreak of clapping from the tables in front of me jerked me out of my thoughts and I snapped my focus back to the eagle lectern, where Dippet had apparently just finished his very long and lengthy annual 'Welcome Back' speech, as Headmaster.
"And now, the Sorting for our newer, non first-year students. Due to the outbreak of war in Saxony, they have decided to transfer to Britain to continue their remaining schooling here in Hogwarts. Obviously there are personal issues involved in their situation, so please be considerate in your interactions."
Translation: Keep your fat mouths shut about the damn war.
"Please give them a round of applause." Dippet droned monotonically, before stepping off the podium, coat tails still flapping comically.
Weak applause and hushed whispers followed this little speech, and my stomach flip flopped.
So much for not drawing attention to ourselves...
We waited with bated breath as Dumbledore casually strolled up to the platform, carrying something faded, tattered and very familiar in his arms.
As he reached his destination, he pulled his wand- his old wand- out of the confines of his midnight blue robes and conjured up a tall long legged wooden stool, which he carefully arranged on the stand.
Clearing his throat, he flicked his wand once more and began to read from the levitating scroll of parchment which now hovered in front of him.
'Here we go,' Harry muttered beside me.
'Granger, Hermione!'
I exhaled sharply in surprise- weren't the lists normally in alphabetical order? I had been so sure it would have been me first...
Hermione walked slowly over to the stool where Dumbledore waited and sat down. The hat came over her head-
'RAVENCLAW!'
Loud roars issued from the long table draped with blue and bronze on the far right side of the Hall, but the rest of us looked on, stunned.
'What the bloody hell was that?' Ron whispered furiously to Harry. 'She's supposed to be in Gryffindor!'
'I dunno,' Harry replied, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he watched Dumbledore gently usher a rather dazed looking Hermione off the platform and to her new House. 'But I remember something about Hermione saying something about how the Hat wanted to put her in Ravenclaw that one time...'
Ron opened his mouth angrily to continue arguing, his freckled face already a rather unflattering shade of burgundy but was cut off by Dumbledore's calm voice calling out another name.
'McDonald, Ronald!'
Ron shot us a look and stumbled his way over to Dumbledore, who awaited him with the Hat.
Dumbledore placed the Hat on his head, where it slipped downwards to his nose and he hastily shoved it upwards.
The Hat remained still for a long time, only twitching slightly in response to what looked like a string of violent muttered curses coming from Ron's mouth.
'What in Merlin is the Weasel doing?' Draco muttered beside me.
Seconds ticked by, with what was visible of Ron's face gradually turning into a somewhat unhealthy-looking shade of yellow-green and his knuckles turning white on the stool he gripped, before the Hat finally voiced its decision.
'SLYTHERIN!' it bellowed from the wide split just above its brim, the sound echoing throughout the vast space.
'WHAT?' Harry and Draco both spluttered from beside me, something which would've definitely caused suspicion had it not been drowned by the applause (and a few catcalls) from the table shrouded in silver and green.
'What the hell? He's a blood-traitor!' Draco whispered horrified, in a higher pitched voice from his normal one, and surprisingly, his face devoid of its usual sneer.
'I don't know what's going on...' Harry said, his emerald eyes trained on Ron's slightly punch drunk figure unwillingly dragging himself towards the Slytherin table.
It would have been comical if it wasn't all so confusing- it seemed that each leaden step he took towards the table required a tremendous amount of effort, and his complexion was becoming noticeably more ashen with each one.
Dumbledore cleared his throat rather pointedly in our direction and, remembering where we were, snapped our gaping mouths shut in unison in an attempt to retain at least some of our dignity.
Ignoring the still shell-shocked looks on our faces, he turned towards the parchment once more.
'Evans, Harry!'
Harry started, then unwillingly stepped over to the stage, allowing the Hat to be placed on top of (or in his case, over) his head.
'Fine, then,' Draco exhaled, watching him. 'At least with Saint Potter-'
'SLYTHERIN!'
Draco looked like he could have fainted.
The cheers from the Slytherin table rang throughout the Hall once more and Draco had finally calmed down some beside me and was now seething with a sort of resigned anger, his mouth set in a slight sneer once more.
'Good God,' he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, 'I can't wait to see what they do with me.'
Raising an eyebrow, I punched him lightly on the arm, to which he shot me glare. 'Suck it up, bro.'
He exhaled sharply in annoyance and raised his head in time to hear Dumbledore call out his false name.
'De Lioncourt, Draco!'
'Have fun in Hufflepuff,' I whispered to him, smirking and he staggered slightly in his steps towards the stool, only to continue on straight backed and Malfoy-like, not looking once in my direction.
I sighed to myself; there was only me left now. Why such suspense?
Gingerly, he sat down on the offered seat and Dumbledore placed the hat on his ridiculously blonde head.
There was a moment's silence, and then-
Draco twitched.
'GRYFFINDOR!'
I snorted; this was so not turning out anything like we expected.
Fizzy bubbles of excitement burned through my stomach- it was my turn next, my turn...
Draco walked to his cheering House table in much of the same manner as Ron, and I chuckled out loud at the sight of his defeated person. Of course, the grin on my face soon faded once I heard Dumbledore utter those portentous words.
"De Lioncourt, Ariadne."
I exhaled carefully, incredibly, incredibly aware of the hundreds of pairs of watching eyes following my every move as I slowly made my way to where Dumbledore waited, an odd twinkle in his eyes.
Cautiously, I lowered myself on to the chair and waited with extreme agitation for the Hat to be placed on my head.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity I felt something soft brush the top of my head and the view in front of me was eclipsed by a wall of black fabric as the Hat was lowered over my eyes.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence—so naturally I started panicking.
Maybe I was too much of a Muggle to be Sorted after all...
Now now Miss de Lioncourt, why such doubt?
I jumped a little in my seat, then relaxed as I grew more accustomed to the soft voice reverberating throughout my mind.
Is that you Mr Hat? I'm sorry. I'm not really used to all of this, you know...
I know. You have come a long way Miss de Lioncourt—as I have remarked to the last few I have just Sorted—and, well...
Mr Hat, can I ask you something? The others—why did you Sort them into those Houses? I know how they were sorted in 1997—
And you were wondering why I chose to sort them in their wrong Houses?
Yes.
There was a slight pause.
When I was first created by Godric Gryffindor during the time of the Founders it was for the purpose of selecting the students that shared traits that were in favour of the Founders—ah, I see that you have heard—or read—my last song, have you?
Yeah... something about the Hogwarts founders dividing? And of the students of Hogwarts... uniting? Or we'll 'crumble from within'? Something like that? But wait, how do you know about it if you haven't created it yet?
Time is irrelevant to me, Miss de Lioncourt. I simply exist.
But yes, that was the general intent I harboured when I created the song. I am condemned to split all of you Miss de Lioncourt, condemned to sentence you to a future where you turn against your own friends—such is the magic that Gryffindor placed in me.
Ah, is that impatience I sense?
Please just get on with it.
Understand, however, it was never my intention to plant the seed of discord in each of you—nor discrimination. This is especially important for you, de Lioncourt—I see what you have to do. Unity...is something that simply cannot be disregarded.
So, what, you placed the others in different Houses so that they'd realize that all this 'segregation' crap's complete nonsense?
In brief summary.
...Are you going to do the same to me?
No. You... you I will Sort.
Answer me this, Miss de Lioncourt—what House do you honestly believe you would suit?
You're asking me this? Isn't this your job?
Well... I guess... Slytherin?
That is an option I am also considering...
I winced.
Ah, you disapprove?
You only asked me what House I'd think I'd suit. I never said I would like it.
Interesting... now, this is a dilemma...
You are... reckless, I see that. You do not think things through. To the point of stupidity.
Wow, thanks, so much.
Not very academic either, hm? Illogical... too illogical... you jump to conclusions often...
With good reason!
Secretive, deceptive... my, my, cunning... how very Slytherinesque of you...
Get on with it.
Impatient... naive...
Are you just gonna sit there and insult me this whole time?
Quick to anger, too...loyal, though, and you have quite a solid feeling for justice, something that I've rarely seen...
Oh my God this is the longest Sorting I've ever read/ been to.
You care deeply for those close to you... and a fierce protectiveness, I see that...
If you say so.
Slightly narcissistic—are you sure you and Mr Malfoy are not related?
I growled out loud.
And kindness, that is there also.
Interesting...
'GRYFFINDOR!'
I started in my seat at the unexpected announcement, which had been a change from the soft voice whispering in my mind.
Yanking the Hat off my head with relief, the tight knot in my chest loosening, I turned to face the applauding scarlet and gold table with a dizzy smile on my face.
I was sorted into Gryffindor! (:D)
I swear if I knew how to do cartwheels, I would've done it right then and there.
Dumbledore faced me with a similar smile on his face. "Well done," he told me quietly. "As Head of Gryffindor House, I personally believe the Hat was quite right in its decision."
I gave him a wide smile. "Thanks, professor."
After I tripped my way to the Gryffindor table, and planted myself on the seat next to Draco, he gave me a long look.
"What?" I asked him irritably, my mood abruptly plummeting downwards.
"Did you have fun up there?" he asked me pointedly.
I raised an eyebrow at him. "I didn't take that long, did I?"
"Four minutes and eleven seconds exactly, I timed it."
I turned my attention to the gleaming golden cutlery in front of me noticing how it reflected my own face back at me. Was that really me? Eyes heavily ringed with a sleepless purple, less than manageable hair and that unhealthily pale pallor that contrasted weirdly with my normally russet skin?
I guess time- travel didn't do much for the complexion.
"The Sorting Hat decided to give me a little history lesson while I was up there," I murmured to Draco, absentmindedly swiping at the dark smudges underneath my eyes, as if to wipe them off. "So I guess that must've taken up some time... not to mention the fact that it basically insulted me for the remainder..."
Draco snorted. "Why am I not surprised..."
I sighed tiredly then turned back towards the lectern where Dippet was mumbling another speech that he droned in his reedy monotone, before clapping his hands unenthusiastically once and causing the plates to be filled with food.
"Thank Merlin, I'm starving!" I moaned grabbing something of every plate that I could reach and piling them on my platter. I only hoped I was just imagining the drool coming down my chin.
Malfoy watched me with an expression of intense disgust as I ferociously began to attack the leg of mutton in my hands. "Do you plan on breathing any time soon?"
I waved the leg at him threateningly. "Shut up." I told him through a mouth full of mashed potato and beans.
Draco sighed heavily and resumed cutting his lean venison like the proper pure blood he was. "I cannot believe you could possibly be my sister..."
I ignored him, and continued eating—I was insanely hungry, but then again, when was I not?
As I tore another chunk out of the steak fritters in front of me, I winced.
The headache and nausea from earlier was back, and worse than before. Maybe I could get another tonic from Madame Laroche later...
Some of the people around us were giving us curious looks as well, but none attempted to start conversation with us, which I thought was quite strange seeing as this was Gryffindor house after all.
Perhaps the forties was simply a much more conservative time than to what I was used to- or maybe they were just intimidated by the dark waves of discontent practically rolling off Draco as he sat, glowering at his spinach.
I nudged him with my elbow. 'Stop sulking, you're scaring everyone off.'
Instead of doing what I asked (obviously), he turned his glare to me instead. 'Excuse me de- Ari, if I happen to be a little upset right now.' He pushed his plate away from him, throwing his napkin down disgustedly.
'What, because you got Sorted here?' I asked him with annoyance, lowering my voice so that the others glancing over at us with looks of interest wouldn't overhear.
The food on our plates melted off and were replaced by a number of sweet items, each craving for our attention, but which we both ignored.
Draco didn't reply to the question, only scowling darker.
What a woman. I scowled mirroring his expression, then sighed. 'Look Mal- Draco, I... don't really know you, okay?'
He glanced at me briefly, a blonde brow going up. Clearly, that was not what he had been expecting I would say.
It was true, though. Draco in the books had always been a sort of...a minor character, ish, with not much insight into his view of things, his version of the story. At the time I hadn't cared.
But now, I guess it was worth it to be a little more considerate to the 'bad guy'.
'And I don't pretend to." I continued. "But look, whatever it is you hate about Ron, Harry, Gryffindor or me—you have to stop this."
His steely grey eyes flicked over to mine, narrowed and his mouth parted in anger, but I ignored him.
"I mean, from what I can tell, we'll be spending the entire school year with each other, and if we don't cooperate, if we don't work together in this, then we'll never get this over and done with and we'll never be able to find a way back home. So..." I let the sentence trail off awkwardly into the otherwise busy air, thick with the sounds of the students' conversations. God.
I swear I wasn't this much of a sap when I got here. Pumpkin juice must be getting to me...
Draco let a blonde brow rise. " 'So' what?" he mocked.
I grit my teeth. "So, stop being such an ass and maybe I won't have to Avada you in your sleep."
Ah, much better.
The eyebrows shot up and he stared at me incredulously.
"Are you sure the Hat Sorted you properly?" he asked me dubiously.
I merely looked at him in reply.
He sighed, turning back to the table to reach for a bonbon, only to find it melt into nothingness just inches before his fingers.
"Fine." he said at last after he'd glowered at the empty plates and goblets for a few more seconds. "Fine. Whatever, de L—Ari—I'll do it."
"But—" he continued, holding up a slender finger warningly before I could say anything, "this doesn't mean anything. In fact, it means absolutely nothing—I assure you, just because I will attempt not to display my... distaste for this House and those in it blatantly- that does not mean that I do not think otherwise."
His grey eyes bore holes into my own like splinters of ice and I found I couldn't really look away—it was almost fascinating, his hate.
"We are not friends."
And suddenly his eyes were off my own, and I blinked, regaining my composure.
"Of course not," I told him, a small smile creeping over my face as he shot me a dirty look.
"We're siblings."
The sounds of my feet thudding sluggishly against the stone steps rang in my ears as I followed Draco to 'our' Common Room. It was late. I was tired.
And there was still so much to discuss.
"Igpay Atinlay," Draco wearily gave the Fat Lady the password, told to us earlier by one of our House Prefects.
The Lady's painted eyes appraised Draco quite thoroughly, and apparently deciding that she rather liked what she saw, gave him a lazy grin. "Of course my darling! Enter!"
Draco ignored her as he entered; I shot her a glare as she swung closed. Cougar.
Yawning, the youngest Malfoy slumped on the nearest sofa, not even bothering to look graceful this time and he swept his blonde hair tiredly from his face.
"Red," he muttered, rubbing his eyes furiously. "What is it with Gryffindors and bloody red?"
I remained standing, examining the room.
Fireplace, twin armchairs next to it, a small oval coffee table in between, and a long couch on which Draco currently resided.
Portraits (moving, of course), tapestries and paintings hung about the scarlet and gold walls (Draco had not been exaggerating) and in the center of the ceiling hung an ornate brass-and-glass chandelier, similar to the ones at Grimmauld Place but less ornate.
The air was warm and slightly musty, and smelled a little like cinnamon, which suited me just fine.
I liked it. I liked the moth eaten furniture, and the headache inducing, dizzying patterns woven into the crimson draping.
There really was no other way to describe it: it was very Gryffindor.
I smirked. This must be killing Malfoy, I thought with—regrettably—some modicum of glee.
I sat down on the armchair to the left of Draco, tucking my legs underneath me. "So, what do you think?" I asked him, keeping my voice carefully neutral.
"Shut up."
"Huh. You provide a rather convincing argument, I'll give you that."
Apparently Malfoy wasn't tired enough to shoot me a heart-stopping glare, and I took that as a good sign to continue.
"Okay, that's good, you're awake. Now tell me... about Riddle, what do we plan on doing? I mean, I know we haven't worked out anything yet, but... anything?"
"Get to him. Find the locket. Kill him. Go home." was the eloquent reply.
"Kill him? But Dumbledore said..."
Draco sighed, sitting up. "D—Ari, it's the Dark Lord. Maybe Goody Goody Dumbledore might be against the idea of offing him, but the rest of us don't—not even Saint Potter." He spat the name out hatefully. "The bastard deserves to die."
"I-I guess..."
Snorting in derision at my doubt, Draco, turned back into the couch, stretching languidly on its surface.
Was there such a thing as 'deserving to die', as Draco had said? Honestly... I'd have liked to believe it. Things would be... incredibly easier if that were so.
But then again, we'd all done things we deserved to die for, haven't we?
Life would never be that easy.
"And now?" I spoke quietly into the silence. "What's the plan for now?"
"Now?" Draco replied, his voiced muffled by the back of the couch. "We sleep, you idiot."
I sighed, but took him on his word, standing up and yawning to head for my Dormitory, while patting the black folder Hermione had Shrunk for us in my pocket. Each of us had a copy after casting the Geminio spell on it a few times earlier, and I made a mental note to have a more thorough read of it later.
"Alright. Goodnight." I said.
Draco didn't even bother to grace me with a reply.
I sighed.
Life would never be that easy...
A/N: Okay, there. Didja like? I personally am in love with the title of this chapter... it sounds quite a lot like the title of this story...
If you're wondering why this is Chapter 7 when there are only six chapters that you can see, it's because I deleted the previous one (it wasn't actually important, just a flashback). I'll probably add it at the end again as a bonus chap when I finish (and I WILL finish).
Oh, yeah, and I can say with 100% certainty that Tom Marvolo Riddle will be in the next chapter.
Thanks guys,
N