[Author's Note: From here on out, the POV is first person. The prologue was meant to be the only one in third. Sorry if that disappoints you. PS: I combined the second and third chapters together because they were quite short , the following two are a bit brief until flowing back out into longer instalments. Xox]
I am just a pale shadow of myself.
Sleepwalkin', getting lost in the crowd.
Yeah, that's the feeling you get, when you live like a ghost coming out of a hole.
It ain't easy when the past is dead,
And you're livin' like there's no tomorrow.
No, no, no, there's no tomorrow.
- No Tomorrow, Mobile
I stand facing Kings Cross Station's entrance unsure if I'm delusional or not. Thinking of the sacrifices to be here however, cause me to open the door, dragging my trunks and owl inside, solemn and alone.
'Are you serious, Draco? You want to go back there, to that miserable excuse of an establishment?' My mother's fuming reaction to rings in my ears as I recall the memory of telling her my decision to go back to Hogwarts.
"It's a bloody better place than staying cooped up here! All you do is weep all day long, reminding me that father is gone, and not helping me feel any better in the process!"
I regret my words. They were too harsh. But I needed to make my point clear.
'Well what do you expect?! That I'd be thrilled for you to go back to a place where you almost died? Where your safety was always at jeopardy?'
"Lord Voldemort is dead now, isn't he? There won't be anyone around who wants to kill me will there?" I spat back.
I cringe just remembering the uncomfortable silence that ensued. She was shocked and I was bitter. What she responded with me after almost brought me to tears. I had been exceptionally numb up until that point, my days filled with drink and my nights blacked out. And the statements brought me to life.
"…Draco, I'm just afraid of what's going to happen in the hands of scarred children, and yes, you are still a child. And I can't stop you from going. But you must promise me you'll be careful. I know this will be good for you, it'll get you out of the house. I had to make an unbreakable vow once, but no one is around to help you in case someone decides to try and hurt you again. You're my only child. Remember that now the status of the Malfoy's has waned, people will not be so afraid to speak out against you. I'm just trying to protect you, darling. I love you."
I was at a loss for words, it was the most she'd been able to speak to me in what felt like weeks. And she was right at her warning, but I feel some kind of odd - well desire isn't the word –compulsion to go back. Primarily to simply do something, but maybe because a part of me thinks finishing school is the best option in my current state. You need an education to be successful, that is one of the main similarities between the Wizarding and Muggle worlds, and the only technicality I loathe. I'm rich enough to neglect working, but to live without purpose other than drinking is not healthy, and it's not a cycle I care to repeat for the rest of my life.
So here I am now, trudging along to 9 and ¾, ready to jump through the pillar like every young witch and wizard getting on the train. Only unlike them, I'm none too thrilled about it. I'm thankful that there seems to be nobody here yet. I decided to leave hours earlier with an awkward goodbye to my sobbing mother, promising to write. The sooner I get on the train, the better. This time round I do not want nor need any attention paid to me.
Just in case anybody sees me, I upturn the large collars of my grey coat to shield my face, and then when the coast is clear, I run through to the platform smoothly.
As I reach the other side, I'm relieved to see that the Hogwarts Express is waiting in its tracks. I'm even more glad to see that scarcely anyone is around, just a couple porters. Dropping off my luggage, I enter the hold, and walk all the way to the back where the Slytherin's normally sit.
Then I wait.
After Merlin knows how long, trying to calm my nerves, I feel myself nodding off.
{}
"Let's just sit in here, everywhere else is full," a voice is at the door to the train compartment, and it slides closed.
I stir as I awaken, my head resting against the window after having dozed off, probably a few hours it's been.
Upon the realization that I don't get to sit by myself, it would perhaps be best to pretend I'm sleeping until I know who the company I've landed myself in are. Perhaps the whole ride I will have to, damn.
And to my horror, as soon as I'm conscious enough to register sound, I recognize immediately the voices who have interrupted the confinement as a male voice plops down beside me.
Weasley.
"So Hermione, how did you manage to find your parents again in Australia?" comes Ron Weazelbee's unmistakable whiny tone. "Never quite got the story out, did you?"
"Well, Ron, it was surprisingly easier than I thought it would be." I can sense happiness and relief in Granger's tone, not full of stroppy superiority like I remember it.
"Where did they end up, anyways? And how did you manage to modify their memories again?"
As soon as I hear Potter, I draw my head closer into my neck to try and shield my face better.
For some reason, I just can't bear to let him know I'm present, even though that realization is fast approaching.
My knees are bent and folded up against my torso uncomfortably, resting on top of the seat. Maybe I should just 'wake up' and get the hell out of here.
"I contacted Professor McGonagall about it, who told me that if I could locate them, I could reverse their memory charms. Then I was fortunate enough to have Kingsley help me Apparate and track them down in Melbourne. I looked through 411 databases for the 'Wilkins' and –"
"Database?" comes the idiots interruption.
"A Muggle thing, Ronald. Anyways, as I was saying, I found them after a few days of searching. It was quite a long story to implant back into their memory, I tweaked it a bit, admittedly. You don't need the intimate details. But, I'm so pleased to have them back," she breathes. "It was a great summer and fall after I, um, left the Burrow. Lots of catching up we have to do."
Australia, though? My face contorts in a puzzled expression; I had no idea that Hermione Granger would have gone to such length to save her parents. She is a mudblood of course, and the parents would have no chance of survival if the Dark Lord decided to go after them. Come to think of it, likely he did…I'll admit just slightly I'm impressed.
"Yeah we do, that's great to hear, Hermione." Potter says fondly. "I've had a super summer too, probably the first I think, ever. The Dursley's are probably celebrating every day that I haven't been there." They all laugh. I wish I could open my eyes just to roll them.
"I'll bet you had a great summer," Granger clicks wryly. "Months at the Burrow? A temporary home. Got up to some crazy antics with Ginny everyday did you?" she teases.
"As a matter of fact, I didn't really leave a single day – oh shut up Ron," he cuts in as our resident child emits a tiny disapproving growl. "She wasn't talking about Ginny in a bad way."
"Yeah, I get it." Weasley practically shouts. "You two have been sucking face all summer, all fall, and up until now. I don't need to remember the details."
I have a weird urge to snort; Weasley is such an idiot. I hate to admit it, but Potter, as his best friend, is probably better for his ginger sister than anybody else she'd gone out with. Michael Corner? Dean Thomas? Gross.
The compartment stays silent for a while, the clank of the starting train can be heard from the outside, and sure enough, the blasting sound follows soon after. There's no going back now, we're off.
"….Anyways. So you got to go with Kingsley, er, great." Potter tries to cover up the lapse of conversation pointing interest back to Granger's story.
'Yes, it was. It was.' She coughs. "It's strange you know? That he's the Minister of Magic, and Professor McGonagall is now the Headmaster. Just eerie, I always thought that…well, that-"
"That Dumbledore would graduate us? Yeah, me too. But, at least they couldn't have picked better replacements." Potter is neither bitter nor sarcastic.
I'm clearly missing something here…Potter was obsessed with Dumbledore.
"Last year seems so surreal," Weasley notes. "After all the things we've had to endure before and after – it all seems like it was a dream. I haven't honestly sat down and thought about it since it happened."
"I know what you mean," Potter concedes. "I just wish I didn't have to talk about it constantly with everyone, you both got off lucky. Five interviews in a week, no thank you. School work will actually be a relief."
"I think it'll be really dull compared to the mess we had last year. I mean, we could write books and tall tales from that stuff. Fetching a sword from underneath ice, impersonating government officials, breaking into Gringott's," Weasley laughs. "That old dragon was great even if he was a dangerous-"
"Ron!" Granger cautions him. "Remember that we're not alone in here," she hisses.
"Oh yeah, sorry. You think we know him? It kind of looks like….no."
"What?" his friends ask in unison at his horrified inflection.
"It looks like it could be….Malfoy!" I do not appreciate the disgusted tone in which the Weasel spits my name, but I really expect nothing less.
"Oh don't be silly, do you really think he'd show his face after everything that happened last year?" Granger starts disbelievingly.
"Well he's wearing hoity-toity expensive clothing, and he's blonde. A classic Malfoy sign," he argues. I fight very hard the urge to smirk, happy my face can't be seen properly. Coming from Weazelby, that is the ultimate of compliments.
"Honestly, didn't you see the platform? There were absolutely no Slytherin's there. The only person I saw was Blaise Zabini, and when he saw nobody come forward onto the train he left with his parents.
I freeze. 'No Slytherin's?' If Granger's right…have I just made the biggest mistake of my life? This compartment suddenly feels like a cage, a lion's cage; I'm the only prey. And a worthy target to these people.
"Still, it's worth checking – Oi!" Weasley taps my shoulder, while the others simultaneously yell, "Ron!"
I know eventually have to get up, I just thought it'd be further along. Guess they like their privacy too. Besides, I don't know how much longer I'll have to feign sleep, and it would be nice to avoid having the stupid threesome talk about me while present. Might as well get it over with.
I'm not stupid, though. I stir under his greasy touch to appear as if he woke me and slowly put my legs on the ground, the strain leaving me, a relief long needed.
"What do you want?" I question, stretching out and pretending I'm not scared out of my mind. And as I open my eyes, the looks on the Gryffindor's faces are full of astonishment, resentment and ugliness.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?"
The last person in the world I ever expected to see on the Hogwarts Express is Draco Malfoy. It's so bizarre that if an acromantula sporting a bright red toupee was sitting across from me, I wouldn't be more surprised. But instead I'm blessed with a rude, obnoxious boy instead, somebody I thought I'd never see again.
When I was gone visiting Melbourne to find my parents I attempted to keep up with the Wizarding news, and the Daily Prophet always had Hogwarts business on the front page. The progress of the school being rebuilt and fixed was usually worth mentioning to the curious parents and students awaiting a verdict. Often, I read that most of the Slytherin families, especially those whose parents were Death Eaters, left England to find solace elsewhere. In pieces meant to assure the public that London is getting safer. The rest were rarely ever seen. And considering Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban almost for good, not to mention the events of last year have brought the Malfoy name to shame and mockery, I really don't understand why he would dare show his face. After all, we only saw a few younger Slytherin's still innocent in reputation getting aboard. Blaise Zabini waited anxiously outside the train as if he was searching for a companion, but nobody showed up so he left.
Maybe Malfoy is suffering due to the loss of his father still. Maybe he's been so distraught, he didn't know everyone in his house planned not to show up. But that doesn't make sense. He lives his life on schemes, on ruses. Why isn't he trying to milk his hellish aftermath to the war?
He clearly came very early, to have dozed off like this in the compartment…is he really ashamed? Did he not want to be seen on the platform? The King of Drama and Attention?
"I didn't think you were that daft, Weasley. I'm going back to Hogwarts, why else would I be stuck on this godforsaken train?"
I zone back to reality as Malfoy answers the question. This better not escalate to something, I can see anger rising in Ron; the telltale red ears a dead giveaway.
"I didn't mean what were you doing on the train, I mean how did you manage to muster up an invitation back?" Ron spits angrily, pointing his finger accusingly.
"Obviously they thought my talents shouldn't be wasted by sitting at home." Malfoy retorts calmly.
It's a typical Malfoy comment, and yet I can't help but notice that it doesn't hold as much demeaning haughtiness as usual.
Harry snorts. "Talents? Oh you mean like spending an entire year trying to figure out how to kill one of the greatest wizards of all time and almost killing 3 people on the process?"
"Harry!" I shriek. Now is not the time and place to bring this up. It's in the past, it still hurts, why? I tried to block this past year from my head.
"No, I'm not done. It must be a great talent to run away and avoid prison like a big baby back to Mum's arms when you realize being a Death Eater is too tough. That Voldemort is scary?"
Ron and I freeze. A jab like this is bound to muster some sort of fight, Malfoy doesn't take insults lightly. And Harry is a ticking time bomb, plainly not over this feud.
Yet he does nothing, merely glares at us, eyebrows and lips frowning. Like he's at a loss at what to say to that.
So unlike him.
"I would've thought," Malfoy states as he gazes out the window blankly, a hand cupping his chin, "That you of all people, would know what the Dark Lord was like, Potter."
"You can say his name, he's dead you know," Harry snaps sharply.
He looks directly at Harry, head tilted thoughtfully, a frown still etched on his pale face.
"Voldemort-" and both Ron and Harry widen their eyes at the fact he's no longer as gutless, "was anything but who I was supposed to believe him to be. I was forced to work for him, couldn't do anything when he took over my home and if you think I enjoyed it for a second, then you are just as vile as I always thought."
"How do you expect me not to be angry when you just sat there while everyone was tortured or killed?"
"SHUT UP!" he shouts, making everyone jump from their skin.
"You could've tried to do something for once in your miserable life, instead of following along meekly and being a coward like your father-"
"STOP!" Malfoy sneers, shooting onto his feet. My stomach lurches as his hand snakes down to enclose around the wand in his pocket, but he retracts it after a moment, instead taking off his jacket, incensed.
He closes in on his target, putting hands on Harry's shoulders, who fidgets under his grip. He looks extremely gaunt and tired, like he did in sixth year. He's a free man, the war is over, why does he still look like he's living in shadows?
"Never insult my family again Potter, or I'll jinx you to the next galaxy." With stony eyes he matches his gaze with Harry, whose expression doesn't waiver.
"Go ahead and try Malfoy, you tried killing all of us, and then we saved your sorry ass, with no thanks in return. You're a waste of space! You care for no-one except yourself. You and your father are bigots, and always will be. As far as I'm concerned-"
"I'm not my bloody father!" Draco screams, this time louder than before. "And just because I hate you doesn't mean I dislike everybody you piece of horse-"
"OI!" Ron yells in Harry's defense, shoving Malfoy off of him.
"Fuck off, Weasley!" he withdraws his hands, lurching towards Ron instead. "There's that concept called love Potter, oh I know it's terribly important to you. I'll have you know that just because you are the bane of my existence, doesn't mean I don't have any to spare. My father and mother are the only people I feel that emotion for. Why the bloody hell do you think I was out of my wits trying to kill that stupid headmaster? Simply because I was afraid he'd kill only me, right?" he seethes sarcastically. "You surely couldn't open your mind to think that sometimes I can care, just because you haven't seen it before does not mean it doesn't exist!"
"Malfoy-"
"My mother cries all day long, you twat. My Dad's in fucking Azkaban for being an idiot, and what am I left with? Hostile peers in an institution? I don't bloody know why I got this letter Weasley, but it's a damn sure better way to try and spend my time at a school buried in books where people probably hate me, than living in a place that haunts and reminds me of what happened there every single second of the day. So don't you dare try and kick me out of there, don't you dare pretend like I'm doing something wrong. Because I won't. I'll make it my business to get you."
After that long explanation, and probably most maliciously heart-felt talk that we've ever experienced or seen with him, Malfoy slams open the door to the hallway and walks out.
Harry is shaken, even a tad remorseful, but stubbornly crosses his arms, nothing left to say.
For the first time ever, I feel a little sympathy for Draco Malfoy.
I really didn't think this through. As I stand in the hallway of the train, I am at a loss of where exactly I am going to go, or I can go.
All I know is that I had to get out of there, my blood is boiling and I would've snapped if Potter made anymore comments, horrible or not. Another second and I would have probably been killed; or committed murder, either one. But now I have to go and find another place to sit, which, considering the apparent lack of classmates aboard, might prove a difficult endeavour.
I'm only hoping that remaining Slytherin's are at the end of the train, as per usual.
If there are any, my mind reels grudgingly. It's wishful thinking at best to even imagine that every old student would return, but education to the high-class is just as important a factor in social standing than money is.
Fuck this, seriously, fuck this.
After about 5 minutes of pacing to and fro, I opt to get out of the hall. People tend to visit other friends and I don't want to be confronted in this irritable state. I'll be expelled before I step foot on campus. Picking a compartment at random I knock on the door, reluctantly feeling politeness is the best approach.
A girly shriek is heard and I sigh; obviously this was not the right one to choose.
Just as I'm about to escape (quickly), Lavender Brown slides the door open, her mouth shooting ajar in shock.
"You!" she exclaims dimly, with wide eyes. No idea how to respond; I've always hated her on principle, never spoken to her in my entire life.
"Who is it Lav?" comes a voice within the compartment. I suspect I know who it belongs to.
Sure enough, Parvati and Padma Patil's heads appear. Popping up next to Lavender's a moment later.
"Malfoy!" the twins shout in unison bewildered, pulling their friend backwards as if I'll try something, scared.
I don't even bother uttering an excuse, I turn on my heel to walk further away.
"But – wait!" Lavenders annoyingly shrill voice calls after me, but I swiftly stride down the hall. "Is it true that you're now the leader of the Death…"
I hesitate but shout a "NO!" before I can stop myself.
I remember reading a particularly nasty accusatory speculation in the Prophet by Rita Skeeter last month; now I know directly why so many people hate her phony writing and I'm sure this is payback for all the times I gave her "information".
The story was totally false about how I am now the leader of the Death Eaters, because I'm the youngest one, one of the few who was alive, not in Azkaban. Considering I'm the age now that Tom Riddle had been when he began his tirade on gaining a backing, apparently it's plausible to some people that I would be the next in line. She doesn't have circumstantial evidence that I'm a Death Eater anyways, Potter kept his trap shut for a reason I don't have the answer to.
God, everyone around me is so confusing. I don't understand anybody. One look at me and you'd be able to see that I want nothing to do with what I've done, would see that to continue The Dark Lord's legacy would be the last thing on my mind. I was shitting my pants every time I heard that snakey voice come into my presence.
Sure, I've hated a lot of people, but that doesn't necessarily entail that I want them dead.
For the second time in a few weeks, I realize now that this is how Potter must feel having people falsely accuse you of things you have not done, due to third party information.
"No wonder I'm miserable, I'm comparable to Potter."
"Talk to yourself now do you, Malfoy?" comes a malicious voice from along the corridor.
I put my head up. To the right of me, Theodore Nott stands in a doorway.
A Slytherin; A Death Eater's son too. Just like me, exactly like me.
I've never particularly favoured Nott. We've shared countless classes together, both of us have gotten enough OWL's to progress to academic courses. He's not an idiot, and I've always hated that he never wanted to join my circle. He acted like he was above it.
But even though he's goading me, I'm not about to pass up a found salvation of sorts.
"No…I was just-"
"Just talking to yourself." Nott smiles a dark grin at me, then continues sarcastically, "Come join the 'Slytherin party", we've got plenty of space."
And then chuckles. Coldly.
I follow him hesitantly towards the Slytherin box, fearing some sort of trap waiting for me. What I'm met with inside is worse.
Four students sit uncomfortably together in this section of the train. Four.
This can't be real. I'm at a loss for words as I sit down next to Nott to make five, cursing everything silently. Slim pickings, then.
Maybe I can form an understanding with Nott…we both experienced the same things last year, it'll be something. But the idea turns sour in my head because it's quite clear he hates me. He never liked my boasting. He's also a womanizing, horny jerk, and doesn't take life seriously at all. You may think I didn't, but I did, I was performing the way I was taught. I kept myself guarded with a ring of disposable people who ate up every word.
And he was the only one who saw through it and told me he did. It seems unlikely that we'll get along in the long term, unquestionably I'll left companionless once again. Alone.
I haven't spoken to someone I could relate to in a long while. Besides the fact that I've seen none of my clique for nearly a year, they're of no use to me anymore, nor I to them. Pansy never knew what being a Death Eater entailed, she wasn't a part of the real darkness, and I didn't tell her about it. Crabbe and Goyle were too stupid to comprehend the dangerous situations they faced, Crabbe's untimely death is proof of this. And Blaise? Well Blaise is always calm, unlike me, but also arrogant, like me. It grinds on my nerves to this day.
I sigh into my arm, usually I don't think about things like this. Usually I'm too drunk or absorbed in reading, or else comatose to distract myself from these thoughts. To divert my negative eroding mindset, I peruse the car. The only other boy is Graham Pritchard, a 5th year. The other two are unfamiliar girls; they look to be in 4th and 6th year, perhaps sisters.
There is a tension-filled silence that lasts for a few minutes until I too late realize the cause of it is me. I'm scum to them, or else a vandal. With nothing to lose, I ask the dirty question.
"Are we the only Slytherins here?"
More silence consumes us.
One of the girls finally clears her throat, blonde hair and blue-eyes. "We…don't know. I haven't seen anyone, personally."
"Well, isn't that fantastic." I choose, rolling my eyes.
"Haven't seen others on the train," Nott starts evenly, "But there has to be more than 5, hasn't there?"
The other girl, slender with hazel eyes says, "I mean, there are still the first years. Some of them are bound to come to Slytherin…right?" she ends worriedly.
"They can't just cut out an entire House," blusters Graham, "I mean, the Dark, He who must– " and everyone, even I, squirm at the use of the name even though I used it not ten minutes ago. "Sorry, just, he was the guy who wanted the non-purebloods dead. They can't assume that all Slytherin's do, otherwise that would be reverse-prejudice. So, I think that if they just cut out a house it would be redundant, right?"
I hadn't ever thought of it that way, but it makes sense.
"Yes, you're probably right," I concur. The four view me like I've sprouted 16 heads.
"I can be agreeable sometimes you know. I just generally choose not to be," I mumble/ They remain unconvinced. "Well come on, McGonagall hates my guts and she still invited me back, didn't she? I'm just surprised that most of us were too cowardly to come back."
Nott snorts. "Well what the hell did you expect? That the Death Eater children would just waltz back in like everything was normal? I mean, you read the news, many of the families just left. Slytherin was the smallest house anyways. Now we can be an ever more exclusive club," he bites, crossing a leg and shaking his head.
"I actually didn't read the news every day, thank you," After I'd seen Skeeter's article, I didn't dare touch another paper for a long time. "But I came back didn't I? So did you, Nott. And I'm the least popular person after last year. I don't bloody know why they sent us an owl, but I figure it's better than being at home."
There is yet again another lag in the conversation, and the younger girl steals glances at me until I'm so paranoid it's driving me crazy.
"Yes? Is there a reason you're gawping at me?" I ask, she blushing at the confrontation.
"Uhm, I, well I was just.."
"Spit it out," I demand, glaring at her.
"Erm, I was just w-wondering…why did you come back..?" At her sudden inquisition, all of them look towards me expectantly, like I'll willingly tell them my life story.
"And you are?" I bid her rudely.
"She's my sister, so don't talk to her with that snide tone."
"And, you would be?" I retort, ignoring her request, still riled.
"Astoria Greengrass" she harrumphs. "This is Daphne. And are you going to answer her question or not?"
"I came back because I haven't finished school, simple as that. If you want some in-depth info on how the Dark Lord was, the terrorization of the Malfoys, and how my entire reputation not to mention life was destroyed then I think you should all just back off, because I'm not telling you." Peace-keeping is not my strong point. Being nice is not my strong point.
After the statement, nobody talks for what seems like hours. I am petulant and feel vulnerable, stubbornly staring out the window like I'm too good for them when really, I'm the worst.
Finally, after a lot of uncomfortable shifting, Graham tries to start a conversation with Astoria. Attempting to impress them, I suppose by the way he's chatting them up. I close my eyes and fake that I'm snoozing again to avoid talking to anyone. Apparently, I'm not very good at it. However, my ears won't obey me to shut off and I keep listening to the mundane conversation being held by the two dimwits beside me.
"I love the Weird Sisters!" Astoria exclaims.
"My cousin is the cellist." I can hear the boast in Graham's answer.
"OhmyGOD, really? Merton Graves? You must introduce me sometime," she giggles, evidently very good at moving past uncomfortable discussions.
"I will when I get the chance. Haven't seen him in a bit, obviously. He taught me how to play the bass guitar, you know," Graham tries sounding modest but fails.
Ooh, he can play a Muggle instrument. So impressive, I think scornfully.
Astoria is mesmerized in any case. "Fascinating!"
I'm aware this is gonna sound extremely ironic and hypocritical, when I've done it so many times; I hate when other people brag to achieve their created effect. But I've never used his wealth and status to get girls; Pansy fawned over me for reasons unknown, guess because of my parentage. I stuck with her because she'd stuck with me. She was pleasant company, but she didn't understand me.
In any case, Graham isn't the only one who could play something well. Not that it matters anyways, but I could outplay that pipsqueak any day of the week.
I smirk, and tune them all out, trying to think of something good, replaying a symphony for example, before the inevitable bullshit that awaits me in a few hours time.
{}
"All righ', yeh lot – get over to the carriages so I can help the firs' years!" Hagrid shouts to everyone as he lumbers towards the train.
I'm cranky, not in the mood to be here. I've always hated that lout, and quickly I shove on my coat, walking towards the dark wooded area where the carriages are. Nobody walks with me, no surprise to me.
I arrive at the coaches and hear an odd grunt. There are weird, skeletal, frightening creatures attached to the carriages and I'm unable let out a muffled yelp.
'What are those?', I think aloud, 'what the hell are they!'
Strange horse-like beasts; haunting to be honest. They appear to have bat wings spanning for metres, and no skin – just black bones.
"Thestrals." Nott whispers to me, causing me to jump at his proximity. Of course. A sad knowing smile crosses his face and he climbs into a carriage with the other four Slytherin's, abandoning me to stand by myself.
I suppose everyone at the battle can see them now.
A vision of last year flashes through me. Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher, being jinxed with the killing curse last year by the Dark Lord. Right in front of everyone, I saw the blood seep from her open mouth and drip onto the table when she slammed onto it.
I shake my head, trying to get it out of my head. I had recurring nightmares for weeks of his gleeful face. Those snake-like eyes so empty.
And abruptly I recall Nott, Potter and Lovegood were the only ones who could see them in that oaf's class, Care of Magical Creatures.
"Huh," I muse out loud, appraising the beast in front of me now I'm close enough to touch it. "It's so hideous…"
"I bet your mother said the same thing about you when you were born." I whip around to see Seamus Finnigan looking at me, anger resonating for every orifice. Cormac McLaggen and Dean Thomas stand behind him in agreeance, as does Longbottom, who is displeased by not menacing. Finnigan is absolutely offended at my existence, at the very idea of that me, his enemy is being allowed to return to his beloved school. Honestly, I can't blame him. I'm still curious as to why blasphemous Draco Malfoy is a free man despite my past.
Further away are bunches of other Gryffindors, looking intrigued yet uncomfortable, expecting a skirmish on the first day back at Hogwarts after the war.
Normally, I would verbally have torn this idiot to bits, but I'm not feeling it tonight. I'm exhausted, I have nobody, and frankly, I just want to go to bed.
"Very original," I mutter, leering at him before I let out a hollow laugh and sauntered away.
"That's it?" He's astonished. "No reply from the antagonizing Malfoy? No fleeting words from the boy who's unfairly escaped Azkaban?"
Fists balled, it takes all my courage not to turn round and ram him into the snow, but it's not worth it. My side will never be looked at in case of a fight. So I hop into a seat, hoping nobody will join me. They'll simply to mock me or ask questions. It has been one train ride and already the assumption that I'm exactly the same remains. That I've remained unaffected; still callous, still conceited.
After about 10 minutes nobody is in here, yet the carriage hasn't moved. Magic must have been set upon it to move only when more people are seated in it. When the last person leaves. There are stragglers certainly, but I hope whoever has to be here hurries the fuck up. I have no plans on what to do at the castle, it seems apparent that I'm a social leper.
Mother was right, I should've stayed home. All of these horrible thoughts swirl in my head and I'm not certain of anything.
The only thing I'm confident of is that these thestrals are freaking me right the hell out.
I draw breath in the chilly February air and sigh; I'm so blissfully happy to be back here.
There remains and odd twinge of sadness knowing that us three no longer are obligated to figure out the mysteries of dark forces. Thinking back, however scary, those had been the most exciting times in my life. It's a good thing they're over no doubt, but I hadn't realized until recently how accomplished I solving a problem with Harry, or devising a smart idea. Proud, even. Honestly, I'm even more proud than the Potions assignment in 4th year which Snape had grudgingly given me 96% (an O!).
I smile to myself reflecting the happy memories as walk beside Ron to the carriages, while he and Harry argue about what they always do; Quidditch. Sports, games of any kind really, cause them to be at each other throats if they disagree. Boys.
Returning to inside my mind, I can't help but recall the days past: The night I finally perfected my Patronus, drinking Butterbeer with all my friends, re-reading A History of Magic underneath that large willow tree by the lake, how giddy I felt getting my OWL results back, the trips to Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks, And -
"…Don't you agree Hermione?" Ron asks me suddenly. My thought cloud bursts, the white dreamy haze slowly fading, and I stare at him with wide eyes. I hate being caught off guard.
"Oh – oh yes, right." I nod earnestly, having absolutely no idea what they're on about.
"How can you agree with him!" Harry bellows, throwing his hands up.
I can't help but grin. Harry has gotten a ton more expressive over the summer and fall months, returning how he was when I first met him. Evidently realizing how much less he has to worry about, he is now able to care about silly statistics. To be young.
"See, the smartest one is always right!" Ron reaches out his long arms and hugs me, rather tightly.
And immediately I feel awkward. Ron has been doing this sort of thing since we'd met up a week before school. I broke up with him a while ago.
I thought I'd loved him as more than a friend, his kisses sent me into space and back again. Really delighted in the beginning when wed finally gotten together, I was. So ecstatic at the end of spring last year. But after a couple of weeks of being his 'girlfriend'…Ron is not who I want to be with. I toiled for days on the inside after the outburst, after I ended it. It still hurts. It's so difficult trying to be normal. After all, I'd been in love with him for 3 years, and before last weekend, we hadn't seen each other in months.
We really have nothing in common, and while I adore him and his quirkiness it doesn't go past anything intimate.
I wince as I remember that evening. When Ron had tried to take off my pants after some intense snogging. It wasn't going to work, and it didn't, if he couldn't take his time. Ron is very hormonal, very emotional and acts on it. Unlike me. I swear I'm not a prude, I just was not eager to experiment with him so fast in case it ruined the friendship. It resulted in an altercation so ugly that I left it in tears.
After all, we'd only been 'official' for about a month; I couldn't stop the thoughts of what had he done with Lavender.
"Oh are you cold?" Ron asks as he feels me shiver from the thought of his ex.
"Yeah…let's hurry, I – er, want to get warmer, maybe they'll have Butterbeer? I'm so excited!" I try for sincerity, covering up my discomfort. I'm glad he is oblivious, didn't question me too much; I don't want him to feel hurt after all.
On the other hand, Harry raises his eyebrow from behind his back. I know Ginny told him all about our talk to just remain friends. I wish Ginny were with us, actually, but she wanted to catch up with everyone else, she's too popular for her own good. We both know full well the reason Ron was so sour on the train is because Harry has had someone to hold in the summer, while he didn't.
"Okay, it's just up ahead. I can see it."
We're a bit behind schedule as we stopped to give Hagrid a hearty hello, so when we arrive to the carriages there are only one left with somebody already inside.
There is a collective groan from the boys. Harry puffs; 'Not again!'
I rush to get in front of them, surprise, surprise. I feel the urge to smile at how ridiculous this repeat experience.
Malfoy smirks at the response to his recurring presence.
Probably likes the negative attention, I think until he turns away and curses under his breath.
"Are you getting in or walking to the goddamn castle? I'm freezing my arse off here," he inquires obnoxiously.
"This will be a fun ride…" Ron notes to Harry as we all climb in with Malfoy.
The carriage starts moving, and Harry nor I can't help notice that Malfoy, is staring at the creatures pulling it rather than at the beautiful sight of the rebuilt castle. After all the death and destruction after last year, we're ignoring that fact that we all can see them.
He glances at me, raising an eyebrow at how unaccustomed he looks to them, how unnerved he is by their presence. After last year, why would this jolt him so badly?
"You can see them, can't you?" Harry states, to no one in particular.
"Of course I bloody can, why does it matter, Potter?" Malfoy glares, spitting out his words.
"Because I want to know why you're so upset about it…..who did you kill?" Harry calmly accuses, glaring right back.
"Thestrals are seen only when you have witnessed death; not necessarily you have to be the killer, Harry. You know that," I state shrilly, this accusation too far, even for Malfoy.
"Are you standing up for him?" He splutters.
"No," I state quickly, back pin straight with apprehension. "But, do we really need any more conflicts? Especially this early on?"
Silence hangs in the air after I speak. Tension a popular theme today, it seems.
Harry knows my words are true, we don't need a brawl. Malfoy even appears somewhat grateful. But Harry is angry at this pureblood traitor, because in his opinion, his bad deeds deserve to go punished. Yet here he is, a bane of his existence, a constant thorn in his side, and I suppose I can't blame him.
"Burbage." Malfoy murmurs as we almost reach the gates.
"What?" we ask in unison, craning to hear him. He explains something that distresses me to my core.
"Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher. The Dark Lord used Avada Kedavra on her last year in my house. We were sitting at the table. She just… she was a hostage. And he – he murdered her in cold blood. That's why I can see them."
He then observes the moon, the night sky breathtaking, eyes blank.
Nobody says a thing as finally we're at the gates, scrambling out to start the long walk to the Entrance Hall.