"Oh, you have names? I always thought Weasleys were given numbers."
"Seriously?" Tracey asks, taking off her jacket and looking at Daphne and Millicent in turn.
"It's the start-of-term feast, after all," Millicent explains, rolling her eyes without Daphne seeing it.
Tracey laughs. "And you, of all people, won't say a single word for the whole train ride? No way!"
With a defiant look, Daphne puts a cough drop in her mouth. Ever since she founded the school choir last year, she has carried a stash with her and wrapped a scarf around her neck to save her voice, even on warm days like today.
But there had been silence in the compartment anyway; on the bench opposite, the cats Lady and Mabel are dozing, with Pansy sitting between them and a remarkable pile of magazines.
She told Daphne and Millicent that she's reading her latest star sign's horoscopes in preparation for Divination class, but the truth is, she wants to make sure no journalist has found out about her parents' marital crisis. Which is a bit paranoid, because so far not even the closest family friends know. Thank Merlin - Pansy doesn't want to talk about that issue, and she still hopes that everything will take a turn for the better.
Before taking a seat next to Daphne, Tracey heaves her suitcase onto the luggage rack, and Pansy peeks out from behind the Quibbler. Apparently, Tracey discovered the existence of mascara during the holidays. So now she looks even better than usual. Just like Millicent, who has grown taller and therefore got slimmer. At least Daphne hasn't changed much, though she's still the genetic lottery winner.
Would just one of them envy Pansy for the pesky bras she's been wearing in recent weeks? Probably not. She couldn't get used to the new curves on her body herself.
The Hogwarts Express slowly starts moving and Pansy turns back to her magazine. "You're late."
Tracey sighs. "I spent half the morning catching that stupid monster book."
"Don't get me started," says Millicent, "I had to sit on it and slide to my suitcase - which was one floor up!"
Pansy hasn't the faintest idea how her house-elf Tessy tamed the snappy textbook, all she knows is that Care of Magical Creatures means an easy Outstanding, while being surrounded by cute animals. The second new subject she and Millicent chose is Divination. Daphne has seriously opted for Muggle Studies, and Tracey for Arithmancy, which is not only one of the hardest subjects, but also taught by Professor Vector. She looks friendly, but is said to be even stricter than old McGonagall.
Tracey believes, a N.E.W.T in Arithmancy is a door opener for good careers, which probably can't be said of Divination (not that Pansy would care). Only Muggle Studies might be even less demanding, so maybe it is a good choice for Daphne, considering she's just a mediocre student. Sure, she always passes muster somehow, thanks to her participation in classes and her reasonable homework, but she is not exactly the brightest button that ever shone. And Pansy is secretly glad about it. She couldn't stand being friends with Daphne if she was pretty and got great marks.
"How was Barcelona?" Millicent asks.
"Absolutely brilliant," Tracey enthuses, "you don't see that much sun here all year round. And the boys are really cute … I even snogged one."
Daphne shrieks, covering her mouth immediately.
Millicent looks at her with mixed curiosity and disgust. "You did? Like, with tongue and everything?"
"Sure. It was quite nice. We exchanged chewing gums and -"
"YUCK! Spare us your culinary adventures!" Pansy snaps irritably. She doesn't want to hear about the crazy things Tracey did, while she was at home watching her parents fight over antique armchairs no one ever sits in, teacups no one ever drinks from, and valuable, ugly paintings.
Besides, Pansy always thought she would be the first to kiss a boy. Her mind is racing. In order to top Tracey's exciting story, she'd have to land a boyfriend who she can kiss as often as she wants. But how easy is it to find a boy at Hogwarts who is good-looking, well-mannered, comes from a decent family and yet isn't taken? Pansy can't think of anyone.
She decides to change the subject, putting her magazine back onto the pile. "You know what I was wondering? If they finally managed to find a competent DADA teacher this year."
Daphne opens her mouth indignantly, only to shut it again.
"Ooh, sorry Daphne, I know you and Lockhart had a special connection. Say, are you still sending him fan mail?"
Millicent giggles. "Dear Gilderoy, my hair is so dull today! What am I supposed to do to make it shine like yours? - OUCH!" she exclaims when Daphne pokes her elbow into her ribs.
"My aunt works at St. Mungo's," Tracey says, "and she told me, Lockhart doesn't even remember his own name. Serves that imposter right."
Pansy doesn't miss Lockhart either, despite the Outstanding on her certificate - without ever having raised her hand in his class. He got into default of payment after ordering several robes and tailored suits from her mother's fashion label, so Pansy threatened him in private with going to the press, which seemed to thoroughly impress him.
"I always thought he was overrated," Millicent says. "And that Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award he rambled on about - does that even exist?"
Pansy snorts. "Rubbish, Lockhart and the chief editor just got along VERY well, if you know what I mean. Poppy Green can't even keep her own dirty business private."
During the following hours, in which the latest celebrity gossip is debated (it's visibly a torment for Daphne not to blurt out her knowledge), the sky darkens until rain pelts loudly against the window pane.
At lunchtime, the old lady with the food trolley sticks her head in. "Something off the -"
"No, we're on a diet!" Pansy replies, waving her hand at the baffled lady, who moves on to the next compartment.
"Hey!?" Millicent mumbles accusingly.
"Don't panic," Pansy soothes, "you'll have enough sweets from Hogsmeade soon. Unless you care about your figure the slightest bit and try the new mono-diet with me: three apples for breakfast, two for lunch and one for dinner. Easy to remember and guaranteed to work!"
Before Millicent can reply, the door is opened again.
"I told you we're -"
"Hi, midget."
Pansy takes a deep breath and fakes a smile. "What do you want, Draco?"
*.*.*.*
"Have you seen Saint Potter?" he asks, taking a bite from his Jelly Slug. "Or is he travelling with a flying car again?"
Tracey nods towards the window. "Unlikely, it's quite a storm out there."
"What you got there?" Millicent asks, her eyes wistful.
"Jelly Slugs. You can have them," he says, tossing her the bag.
Millicent squeaks with delight while Pansy takes the Daily Prophet from a stack of newspapers and unfolds it. "Do what you want, but don't come running to me when you've gained weight."
"Let me see that," Draco murmurs, grabbing the Prophet and ignoring Pansy's protests; the front page caught his attention. "Arthur Weasley, Head of … blah blah blah … won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw. 'We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts.'"
Draco looks at the photo of the extended family, whose parents obviously wanted to reproduce until the mother finally whelped a girl.
Pansy gets up and snatches the Prophet out of his hands. "We all know how obsessed you are with Harry Potter's little clique, but as you can see, they're not here. So please go away, you're annoying!"
He crosses his arms. "Sorry, I'm just still fascinated about you sitting there and catching up on the day's events instead of painting your face."
Tracey laughs, and Pansy hits the rolled up newspaper on his head, before he leaves their compartment with a grin.
At the end of the long corridor, Crabbe and Goyle hang around, trying not to attract attention but failing miserably, as they get taller and broader each year. When he sees Draco coming, Crabbe nods towards the compartment beside him. Draco feels the adrenaline rush through his body; he's absolutely willing to fight.
From their first day at Hogwarts on, he's been trying to get rid of Scarface. Last year he even sent his house-elf to stop Potter from returning to Hogwarts with invented stories. But not only did Dobby turn out to be completely useless, Potter also tricked Draco's father into freeing the elf.
His mother was furious, as her husband had fallen for the trick of a twelve-year-old (and didn't wring said twelve-year-old's neck on the spot), so Draco spent the summer watching his parents either ignoring or yelling at each other.
He quickens his pace and finally opens the sliding door. "Well, look who it is, Potty and the Weasel."
The last traces of a sunburn are visible on Ronald's face, which only makes him uglier.
"I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley. Did your mother die of shock?"
As Weasley jumps up and knocks a cat basket to the floor, there is a loud snore. Only now Draco notices a man sitting next to the window, whose robes look like he's crawled through mud and barbed wire. "Who's that?" he asks, wrinkling his nose.
"New teacher," Potter replies. "What were you saying, Malfoy?"
Draco clenches his fist in his pocket and orders Crabbe and Goyle to follow him. So what, they'll run into each other many times without an adult around.
"New teacher," he mimics Potter. "That guy looked like a rough sleeper! That's lowbrow, even for Dumbledore. I'm telling you, Hogwarts goes down the drain now that they've sacked Father from the Board of Governors."
"A new teacher for what?" Goyle asks, shuffling after him.
"Blockhead," says Crabbe. "For Defence Against -"
He pauses, as the train starts to rattle and slows down. The lamps are flickering, and students are sticking their heads out everywhere.
"Why are we stopping?"
"We can't be there yet."
"Is the train broken?"
In the next moment, all lights go out and the train suddenly stops, causing Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco to collide and topple over like dominoes.
"Watch it, you morons!" Draco snarls, pushing Goyle off him, when he notices something very strange: ice flowers have formed on the windows. And indeed, the temperature on the train seems to have dropped by fifteen degrees.
"What's going on here?" he murmurs, exhaling small clouds.
And then, as the train door opens and a huge figure in a black cloak comes floating in, Draco is paralysed with shock. He hears students screaming, doors slamming, and Crabbe and Goyle running away.
For a moment, he believes the hooded figure from the Forbidden Forest has finally come for him … but it's even worse. He is facing a Dementor. Draco hears the monster's rattling breath, while a heavy melancholy settles in his chest.
Memories of his father's disapproving looks come to his mind. When seven-year-old Draco still stutters from excitement. When he calls for Dobby every night after first year because of his nightmares about the Forest. When Potter catches the Snitch, even though his father bought Draco the world's best racing broom.
You failed, you failed, you failed ...
But somehow he manages to think clearly and touch a compartment door beside him. After rushing in and slamming the door, he recognises the silhouettes of three students.
"Who is it?" asks a male voice that sounds familiar to Draco.
As calmly as possible, he replies, "Draco Malfoy."
"My, my," says the boy, an unmistakable irony in his voice, "we didn't expect such a distinguished visitor, otherwise we would have practised our curtsy!"
"Scared of the Dementor out there?"
That voice clearly belongs to Lee Jordan, the Gryffindor Quidditch commentator, who is hardly ever seen without his best mates: the Weasley twins.
Draco rolls his eyes. "Is there just one redhead-free compartment on this train?"
"It's Fred and George Weasley to you, get it?" twin one replies.
"Oh, you have names? I always thought Weasleys were given numbers."
"Watch your mouth!" twin two growls and stands up. But then, the corridor outside is illuminated by a blazing light, that disappears as swiftly as it came.
"What was that?" twin one asks, when the lamps turn on again.
Slightly blinded, Draco steps out into the corridor, where the other students excitedly look around as well.
"Don't worry, the dementor is gone!" the new teacher calls out to them, still holding his wand. He is pale, wears a thin moustache and seems relatively young, despite the streaks of grey in his brown hair.
"Now get out of here, Malfoy," Jordan hisses, slamming the door. Draco raises his hand in a rude gesture before returning to his compartment.
By the time they arrive at Hogsmeade station in the evening, word has gotten around that the Dementor was looking for Sirius Black, the recently escaped Azkaban prisoner known for being a mass murderer.
Unlike Draco, his classmates know only half the story. They have no idea that Black was convicted of a crime he never committed. That it wasn't him, but a spy who betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord and contributed to their assassination. Draco's father knows such things. And a lot more. However, that kind of knowledge could get him into tremendous trouble. He was considered one of the Dark Lord's most loyal followers, but was acquitted in court because he had been under the influence of the Imperius Curse all along. So the official version.
"Ew, Thestrals are so disgusting!" Pansy says, giving a wide berth to the creatures which pull the carriages to the castle from second year on. They're invisible to most people, so Draco knows only from drawings that Thestrals look like skeletal horses with white eyes, black bodies, and bat wings.
"They're quite morbid," Ted agrees as they get into the carriages one by one. Apart from Pansy, he's the only one in their class who can see the Thestrals.
"Morbid?" Crabbe sneers. "Swallowed a dictionary, huh?"
"No, Vincent, but not all of us have the vocabulary of a five-year-old."
"Would you keep your mouth shut and hurry up?" Draco interrupts, his stomach rumbling at the thought of the feast.
Blaise chuckles. "Hey, you know what Longbottom just told Finnigan?"
"He forgot to kiss his granny goodbye?" Goyle suggests.
"Wrong - Harry Potter fainted at the sight of the Dementor!"
Draco turns his head so suddenly that he gets a muscle cramp in the neck, but can't help grinning from one ear to the other. "Is that true?"
"Great, Blaise, now we get to listen to Potter jokes for three and a half days non-stop," Ted says, but Blaise shrugs. "It was just a matter of time, wasn't it?"
"Like I said, shut up." Draco smirks as they sit down in the carriage. "I have to practise a performance."