Finally, to Hogwarts. Although not right away (because there are other things to do first), and we're not really getting there (but we get Draco & Harry bonding time).
Enjoy,
A_A
DEATH EATERS KILLED AND ARRESTED!
Screamed the title on the first page of the Daily Prophet. A much more levelled Wizarding Gazette reported 'Riots and arrests after the Quidditch World Cup Final'. Voldemort read both articles. Focused on sensation, Rita Skeeter included more speculations and calls to the public than hard facts, as always. She screamed about the inadequacy of the Ministry of Magic, the heroism of the Hogwarts founders as defenders, the absolute panic and chaos, and - lastly - she named all that were arrested and killed. It looked like he had lost both Malfoys, Macnair and Rowle. He guessed that the arrested would land in Azkaban, so it made no difference - he was about to break out those already there, so a few heads more wouldn't change anything. Malfoys, on the other hand, were useful. Lucius served with valuable advice and information, not to mention his various contacts in the Ministry. On the other hand, there was always Corban, much less pompous in comparison, so maybe Lucius wasn't such a great loss. But Narcissa was an excellent healer, and those were difficult to replace. Rowle and Macnair, in the light of the current plans, were rather a good riddance. None of them had any extraordinary abilities besides mindless murder, and that could only be a nuisance without a war.
Wizarding Gazette supplied much more information, detailing last night's happenings as much as it was possible, pointing to the unknown factors, and placing doubt on the seriousness of the attack and the true affiliations of the attackers. They seemed to be convinced that it was rather the expression of personal beliefs than a true attack caused by the return of the 'You Know Who'. It named the same killed and arrested, but among defenders added the ministry official, Arthur Weasley, and Gringott's curse breaker, William Weasley. What's more, they pointed to the international scandal caused by the riots and quoted not only the British but also Bulgarian officials and a few of the guests (local and foreign).
"You will proceed with the search on your own today, Barty," Voldemort informed the boy. Only when he looked at Barty did he notice howh Barty's head hung over the newspaper and his eyes were wet. Why would he? Oh, yes...
"I'm sorry about Rowle," Voldemort added, feeling absolutely nothing of the sort. But Barty seemed content to hear such a thing, and it cost nothing. That reminded him, however, that Rowle was quite clever when it came to organising rare books and manuscripts. Barty worked quite closely with Rowle for some time, and they seemed friendly.
But it was Barty's death that would be a real loss. And Lucius... Well, Voldemort wasn't exactly happy about that. He rather... enjoyed(?) his company? No, that would be too much to say. He enjoyed Abraxas' company, and the news of his death was truly unpleasant. And young Draco was still alive, which saved Abraxas' line from extinction.
Dropping the previous thoughts, Voldemort thought for a second that Salazar would blame him for the disaster of his followers, and with scorn - he apparated back to England.
As expected, the founders were in the living room. Only three of them but in the company of Augusta. Now, he regretted not aligning with her sooner. Her wit and sense of strategy, connected with her unique knowledge of the political stage, were more than useful. They were outstanding and impressive.
"Have our owl reached you so quickly, Tommy?" asked Helga lightly, and Voldemort felt the spike in irritation. Now a little lesser than at the beginning, but he disliked the name with passion, and that would never change.
Salazar, as expected, had plenty of reproach and placed it everywhere while summarising the information obtained from Amycus. Rowena returned somewhere in the middle of Salazar's monologue and seemed slightly amused. Then, she detailed the names of all participants. The Inner Circle save Severus and Igor with a couple of more eager or ambitious additions.
"I would expect much more than this thirteen years ago. Considering our previous approach, if they decided to gain my positive attention, that would be the correct course of action. However, unwelcomed now. I will send them Amycus with further instructions and..."
"Erm... excuse me?" came from the doors, and they all turned to see uncertain Potter standing on the threshold.
"What is it, Harry, dear?" Helga asked warmly.
"Sirius read the Prophet, and he's quite... We had to stun him. So Hermione thought we should tell you."
It was an oddly amusing thing to hear, at least for Voldemort, that fourteen-year-olds were able to stun the grown-up wizard, ex-Auror, and a convict. Yet it was only a confirmation of the impression that Rowena and Helga shared about Black: his mind was significantly damaged. The thought of one Black brought the memory of another. Regulus disappeared at some point, shortly before the evening of the memorable Samhain. Therefore, Voldemort never established what exactly happened to the boy. Shame. This knowledge could be useful now while dealing with his older brother... and although all trails went cold a long time ago, he could ask Selwyn about it and send him to keep looking. Salazar would be opposed to any unnecessary contact with his Death Eaters until the resurrection is reversed, but Voldemort had no such reservations. And Salazar didn't have to know.
The decision was made in a matter of seconds when others dealt with their emotional reaction to the news brought by Potter. Well, that only proved the inferiority of excessive emotional experiences. Again.
"I'll go there right away," Helga decided, standing up, but she stopped before the boy, "It's good you told us, Harry. Tell others what exactly happened and be sure it's dealt with. Sirius will be just fine."
She squeezed his arm comfortingly and left hastily. The doors clicked quietly behind her.
"Right..." Potter muttered. "We slept, and Sirius came to make sure we're fine. He was frantic. Checked on us one minute and shouted the second that it's all your fault," he looked at Voldemort, and his stare was surprisingly sharp. "That you planned it all and made them do this, that it's the war again, and that he knew that the founders lied. He started packing us, yelled something about his brother and his parents, bitched about his family, and started again. By the third time, we had stunned him... Was it your fault? Have you told them to do this?" he snapped at Voldemort. "Are Draco's parents dead because of you?!"
Ah, and the mountain of emotions again. Voldemort sighed.
"No, I have not planned nor ordered the attack. As a matter of fact, it was Lucius' idea."
"What makes it your fault," Salazar piped in. "They should be aware not to make any statements in your name without permission."
"Exactly!" Potter agreed. "So it is your fault!"
"And I will manage it..." Voldemort started calmly, but that was clearly not enough for Potter.
"You'll manage it? Manage?! How?! Are you going to promise to bring them back? You can't! They're dead! They were nasty, and Draco is an asshole, but he didn't deserve this! Or maybe you'll find him a replacement family and expect him to be grateful and happy about it? Oh dear, how thoughtful of you!" Potter sneered.
"It's not about your parents. And his situation is entirely different. He will be able to understand, and he will adjust. It's a change, but he is grown enough to understand the inevitability of death for a common..."
Voldemort didn't expect this, so he didn't have time to react before Potter's fist crushed into his face. But he managed to catch his hand before the boy did it again.
"You're a fucking moron!" Potter yelled. "It's just that for you, is it? They died, oh boy, it happens! Another 'oops', is it?"
Voldemort stood up and caught a second wrist in the middle of the swing.
"Calm down before I make you regret it," he warned, but the boy laughed.
"And what will you do?" He asked and kicked his shin quite painfully. "Kill me? Like you could!"
"I can make plenty that does not involve killing you," Voldemort hissed, squeezing his wrists.
"No, Tom, you cannot," said Rowena coldly, but she approached them, "Harry, that's enough. I understand why you're angry, and don't worry. We will take care of Draco. He won't be left alone with his loss. And most importantly, he has a family to be with him."
She steered the boy gently away, signalling to the others that they were both leaving. Just after a moment, they were gone, but Voldemort could still hear how the soothing words were mixing with the loud outbursts in response. He huffed with indignation, sitting back down. His face and leg hurt, but he decided not to react.
"I like this boy," Godric declared with an annoying smile.
"You have to work on your sensibility, Tom," piped in Augusta. "He is grown enough to understand the inevitability of death? What were you thinking?! They're fourteen! Draco is a pampered child! Of course, they don't understand! And even if they would, it's a tragedy for him! Haven't you cared for the death of your parents?"
"No," Voldemort replied coldly, all icy on the inside and outside. "I have not. My mother was too weak to survive. And I killed my father myself. He wasn't worth sparing."
Augusta shook her head.
"And I thought only Sirius Black requires a mind healer," she concluded.
"You've killed your father?" Salazar wanted to know.
"Yes, that is what I said, and that is what I did," Voldemort replied with forced calm. "As I was saying before the interruption, I will send Carrow back to the Death Eaters with instructions. I expect them to wait for the summon and do nothing until told otherwise. All that participated will be punished. I will ask you to probe Severus Snape. I am not sure of his loyalties, considering that he was defended by Dumbledore. He might be entangled in something. Maybe he switched sides. Or simply used the opportune situation. I would not presume to trust him until we know for certain."
With even breath, occlumency, and focus on the facts and current situation, Voldemort managed to dislocate the incident and memories that threatened to break the proper concentration on the problem at hand. Although Salazar, Godric, and Augusta looked like they would like to drag the conversation further. They didn't, however.
"We can certainly do that," Salazar nodded. "Let's consider this matter solved. Now, about our statement to the press. It seems important to present our version of events and reinforce our image in the eyes of the community. This incident may be used advantageously."
"I strongly agree," Augusta said immediately. "I think it would be best if one of you spoke up. I'd suggest Godric, but only if you'll manage to keep to the script, Godric."
"Of course, I will," Godric replied lightly. "I will watch my words. You have my word."
"Good, good," Augusta smiled. "I will delay a little the publication of my letter. It would go unnoticed in light of these events."
"Very rightly," Salazar nodded.
The way those two worked together made an impression. They clearly trusted each other's skills and competencies. Possibly, they would even define themselves as some sort of friends. Voldemort looked at that with moderate curiosity but mostly appreciation. They were a force to be reckoned with.
They took a short while to establish what Godric should say and when Augusta should have her letter published, again discussing its contents just to adjust it to the current situation. She was to mostly express her concern about the state of current education and bring to light the disturbing occurrences in Hogwarts, such as the presence of the Cerberus or an intrusion of a troll.
Only after that did Voldemort went to talk with Carrow. The man sat under the wall, just as the founders left him: bound and a little shaken. When Voldemort entered, he stupidly tried to stand up and failed, obviously.
Voldemort removed the ropes, and the man jumped up and staggered, apparently stiff after sitting in the same position for a long time.
"Thank you, my Lord," he said, massaging his wrists. "Please forgive us, we just wanted..."
"I know what you wanted, Amycus," Voldemort interrupted, not interested in hearing the same for the second time.
"We were delighted with the thought of your return, anxious to act, we..."
"Silence," Voldemort interrupted again, "As much as it pleases me, I have no time for you at the moment. You will wait for my time. Patiently. Are you able to follow simple instructions?"
"Yes, my Lord," Amycus said quickly.
"You will go to others and inform them that they forced my attention. Tell them that I demand their silence and obedience. You will do nothing without a clear command from Barty Crouch Junior or me directly."
"Barty?" Amycus asked. "But he's dead, my Lord."
"I say he's not. Do you doubt me, Amycus?"
"Not at all, my Lord."
"Your hand, Amycus," Voldemort demanded and waited as Carrow bared his forearm, exposed the Dark Mark, and extended it towards him. "That is your punishment. Yours and others. For the groundless and thoughtless action in my name, which endangered the implementation of my plans. You will tell this to others as well."
"Yes, my Lord," Amycus said much less confidently. Only then Voldemort touched the Mark on his forearm, and observed as the man squirmed in pain. He screamed, but did not withdrew his arm, even when his legs failed him, and he fell to his knees. Voldemort knew that exactly the same happened at the exact same moment to the chosen Death Eaters. All that participated and survived. He held it for quite a long time before changing pain to comforting pleasure. And removed his finger from the writhing, inflamed Mark.
"You are free to go," he said only before leaving the room.
Just after exiting the Floo in Badgers Keep, Helga passed nervous Hermione, saying only a few words of comfort, and climbed the stairs to Harry and Hermione's room. Sirius was already conscientious yet petrified. Clever little chaps. They must have thought about the possibility that the spell wouldn't hold long and took precautions.
Helga kneeled beside the man and stroked his hair.
"It's all fine now, dear," she said gently, "You've scared the kids a little. I will release you now, and please don't launch on me. I would hate to have to petrify you again when we could just talk."
Unable to respond, Sirius just stared at her. Helga smiled and removed the spell. It took Sirius seconds to stand up and dart to the doors. Doors that Helga locked tight just after entering.
"I will not talk!" Sirius barked. "You lied to me! All of you! I'm taking Harry and Hermione somewhere safe, and you're not going to stop me!"
Helga felt confident that she would, considering that his wand was safe downstairs, with Hermione. But she said nothing of the sort.
"When have we lied to you?" she asked calmly, not moving from the floor.
"When?! You lied about everything!" Sirius screamed. He started pacing the room, his fingers clutching his hair. "You schemed. You planned the attack on innocent people! It was all in the Prophet!"
"I have read this article as well. And it says also that we fought the Death Eaters. Few were killed, and many arrested."
"And that's all part of your plan! Don't you think I know? Slytherin and the blasted You Know Who must have devised all of this!"
"Why would we want that, Sirius?"
"To get into good graces? To present yourself as good and mighty? That works in your favour!" The man shouted, pointing his finger at her. "Admit it!"
"Yes, it works in our favour," she admitted, and Sirius - ready to scream at her further - was so taken aback that he didn't.
"You admit it?" he asked, confused.
"But of course. It does work in our favour. However, it's also a great disadvantage. We don't want Tom to be exposed, we don't plan any aggressive actions, and we plan to use all the help we can get. This situation works against us much more than it helps."
Sirius sat down on the edge of Harry's bed. He was still agitated, he still tugged on his hair. But at least he started thinking instead of getting carried away by his own speculations. Helga gave him a little time, and only when the movements of his hands became calmer, she spoke softly and told about everything that happened from the moment they left the stadium to her arrival at the room. She was thorough and skipped nothing. She wanted him to believe and understand, but also saw how her voice and calmness slowly ease him down, to the point where he was looking at her like a beaten dog, with guilt clearly written all over him. He was a little similar to Godric in this regard: do something stupid or emotional and then come and apologise with such a sorry face, that it was impossible to still be angry. Not that she was angry with him right now. She understood he was troubled and clearly needed help.
Clearly. As the first thing he said was, "I had to miss the final..."
Helga sighed, and again (because it wasn't the first time they spoke about it) explained patiently, "You will see the next one and plenty of games in the meantime. Right now even going as a Padfoot would only expose you to danger. I'm sorry you had to miss it, but it won't be much longer. Amelia promised that the Wizengamot will consider the matter at the last meeting of August, and you will be asked for a hearing in the first days of September. I promise you won't go back to Azkaban. Godric and I will be there, and we will steal you away if necessary."
Sirius nodded, as he always did. Helga judged him calm enough, so she moved to sit beside him on the bed.
"Now, dear," she said, placing a hand on his palm. "You scared the children quite seriously this time. You need to agree for the mind healer."
"I won't do this!" Sirius exclaimed. "I won't do what she wants me to do!"
"Your grandmother is right. And it's not only her. I want you to go. Harry, Hermione, and Rowena want you to go. You need this. But..." she squeezed his hand to stop the rising protest, and raised her voice a little. "But, you don't have to go to St Mungo's. Remember what I told you, that druids healed troubled people? Those hurt during the battles, those that went through the hard time."
Sirius nodded.
"You said you'll look around for them."
"Augusta asked around a little. There is an old oakwood in France. I will take you there and I will pick you up for a hearing. After the hearing you will go back and stay for as long as necessary."
"But..."
"No, Sirius. There is no 'but' anymore. Not when you can do something stupid and risky not even realising how harmful it could be. You will go, and with time you will come back here, to us. You will come back as a free and healthy man, and you will decide on everything then."
"But..." he tried again.
"No," Helga cut him off again. He looked sulky, but she just laughed, hugged him shortly and stood up.
"Come now," she commended. "We'll make something tasty so we can say a proper goodbye before you leave. I'm sure Harry would be the next to scream if I'd take you without giving him a chance to say goodbye."
He didn't look entirely convinced, rather reluctant, beaten, and unhappy. But he went downstairs. Downstairs, where Harry was in the middle of a fight with Rowena. Rather onesided fight, as she stood and nodded, letting the teenager shout out his anger. As she did hundreds of times before. Of course it unsettled Sirius again, but not enough to make him violatele.
Helga noticed Hermione in the corner. She looked equally scared and on the verge of laughter. When Helga asked about it Hermiona said, "He punched You Know Who. In the nose... Or where it should be..." and then she couldn't hold it any longer.
It was her laughter that broke the tension entirely and changed the stressful morning into a cheerful afternoon.
The last days of Summer passed in a blink. Harry and Hermione finally went to the Diagon Alley for a school shopping. Before they left, Helga handed Harry a long list of other things that were necessary for a fourteen-year-old (in the opinion of Augusta Longbottom), and he was told explicitly not to come back before he had every item on the list. At the same time, Rowena gave a lengthy list of books to Hermione, who made it even longer after a short consideration.
Neither Harry nor Hermione were prone to linger in the shops longer than necessary, but the lists were long, the pouches grew thi quickly, and the bags got heavier and heavier... Fortunately,omewhere around noon, they met Salazar, absolutely astounded by all they carried. He shrunk everything immediately and ordered them to Gringotts. They planned to go anyway. It seemed, however, that Salazar had some more ideas, forcing Harry to go into his vault for longer than it took to grab some coins.
Apparently, there were other things behind the mountains of gold. Large chests filled with documents, smaller boxes with family jewellery, two columns of books, a couple of secured paintings, and plenty of other things (that looked like they could come in handy and needed a place to be stored). Salazar was interested in documents, while Hermione insisted on taking books. Harry just looked around, surprised, and settled on rummaging through the coffers filled with plenty of weird things of unknown purpose and function. Salazar gave him information about this or that, if he considered something to be worthy of attention. But - as usual - he was rather snappy.
When Salazar finally announced the visit to be over, they spent another hour in the office. Harry had to sign a paper stating that he was the only one able to access his vault. Salazar signed as the proxy for Helga, and then they were asked to sit in the corner. Hermione leafed through a book. Harry looked around with curiosity and watched as Goblins circled in and out with one document after the other. They were talking about investments, and Salazar made a deposit of a large chest which contents were examined one object after the other. When Harry shyly asked if it was going to take much longer, Salazar suddenly remembered about their presence and allowed them to go.
Starving, they hurried to the Leaky Cauldron, where they ran into Godric and Neville. The time spent in their company was much more enjoyable but didn't last that long. After all, Hermione had over twenty more books to find, and Harry still ignored the underlined part of his list, which stated 'clothes'. Godric and Neville, on the other hand, came here only for the Butterbeer, completely uninterested in doing anything else. Or at least anything that involved running errands.
They haven't managed to buy everything that day, and Helga send them back to the Diagon on the morning of the next day.
When it finally came to packing, Harry couldn't even figure out what he owned and how to fit everything into the trunk.
So Helga sent him to buy the more capacious one...
By the time Hermione and Harry sat in the train, they were both exhausted with all the shopping and crowds of the Diagon in the last days of summer.
"Oh no!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly, causing Harry to jump in surprise.
"What?"
"I forgot Hogwarts History! I left at home!"
"You can't be serious..." Harry deflated, relaxing back onto the bench. "You have ttwo and a half out of three compartments of your trunk overfilled with books. I had to sit on your trunk so it would even close. You have enough..."
"They are all necessary," she replied, proudly raising her chin.
Harry had no doubts that none of them were necessary, but Hermione would read them all before Christmas. They came back to their companionable silence, and Harry remembered the transmutation handbook under his bed. He definitely left it there. But he just shrugged it off. Helga would go to the Badgers Keep sooner or later and she could bring it with her. He could manage until then.
Harry observed the chaos on the platform, happy that the noise was muted by the windows and too groggy to do anything. He had one book he wanted to read, and he kept it in his pocket. He doubted he'd have time today, but still wanted to be sure it wasn't lost or forgotten. It was a gift he received for his birthday. A unique one. The book was handwritten by Salazar as the handbook to parseltongue and parselmagic, all written in parselscript. Salazar explained that he prepared a few in case any gifted student showed up. He was very disappointed that none did and excited (if such a term could be used in relation to Salazar) to finally teach someone other than his children. Harry couldn't help but feel eager to meet his expectations. It was absolutely ridiculous, but he did. He already read the book through, but the theory was complicated, spells advanced, and he had zero control over his parseltongue, still needing a snake to speak it.
That was the second thing Harry had in his pocket: a tiny snake. At least tiny in comparison to any other snake Harry had ever seen, and Salazar said he won't be longer than fifteen inches when he grows up, and so always convenient to wear in the pocket. Currently, it was like a noodle, not thinner than Harry's little finger and a little bit longer than his palm, brown with darker spots. It ate only small eggs, enjoyed staying close to the body, and was the laziest creature in the world. Godric called it Pretzel (he had just discovered that particular treat), and Harry didn't change it primarily because it made Salazar make faces. Salazar suggested Gorgon, and that was the name Hermione wholeheartedly supported, convinced that if the Gorgons were real, this size this snake would be perfectly fitted as a hair. Harry proved that it was perfectly fitted as a Pretzel, arranging the slender body in the appropriate shape.
Suddenly, Hermione stood up and opened the window, letting in all the noise.
"Ron! Ron!" she shouted, "We're here! We saveda seat for you!"
Harry saw Ron waving at her and nodding to let them know that he saw her and would join them soon. Before he did, Neville entered the compartment and fell on the bench.
"Gran and Godric were fighting all morning," he moaned instead of hello.
"Oh no, what happened?" Hermione asked sympathetically.
"Godric ate the sandwich with his hands," Neville sighed. "Grandma insists they should be eaten with a fork."
"Such a crime! How could he?" Harry snorted with amusement. "Don't worry, Neville. There will be no more manner-related fights until Christmas."
"Tell me more," Neville replied, a smile sneaking on his lips.
Contrary to the three of them, Ron was full of energy.
"You know there will be something in Hogwarts this year?" he asked, stuffing his jacket into the corner of the upper shelf along with his bag and Pidgeon's cage. Hedwig instantly turned her back on the noisy little owl. "Dad doesn't want to say what, and Percy has a million theories. He's a Head Boy this year, and he got even more annoying than usual. But, the event. Do you know what it'll be?"
Hermione sat up straight, curious. Harry furrowed, trying to remember what was it that Augusta and Helga talked about, and Neville said, "The Triwizard Tournament, Godric told me. Grandma was angry that he did."
"Really?" Hermione asked, excited. "That's amazing! I read a lot about it. But it was discontinued because of the high mortality of the champions. Have Godric told you if they have done something about it?"
"Sure, extensively," Neville chuckled. "They made it safer and introduced an age limit, so no one younger than seventeen can compete. Godric thinks it's absurd. That's saying it short. They fought about it with gran as well."
"So your grandmother is for restrictions?" Ron asked.
"No, not at all. They just fight pretty often. And seem to enjoy it," Nevill shrugged. "I tell you, I'm glad to go to Hogwarts..."
When the train moved, there were still only four of them in the compartment, and it basically stayed this way for most of the trip. However, now or then, someone stopped by to say hi and usually stayed for a couple of minutes. Harry almost fell asleep at some point, but just as he was about to drift off, he suddenly remembered about resorting and felt how something squeezes tightly in his belly. He looked at Hermione, engrossed in her book, at Neville and Ron playing chess, and wondered whether all of them will be together in Gryffindor this evening. Now, all had their lion crests on the school robes. Ron was unaware that something was about to happen in the evening, and Hermione was eager to be resorted and hoping to land in Ravenclaw. Neville was as anxious as Harry but for different reasons. They talked about it once or twice, and each time, Neville said that he was afraid to be sorted into any other house than Gryffindor. Godric assured him that for him, it doesn't matter, and Neville doesn't have to worry. But his grandmother had a different opinion. As for Harry... Harry just wanted to stay with his friends, anxious that he'd land somewhere completely alone, with people he didn't really know.
Sure, this summer proved that he could get to know someone and befriend them pretty quickly. It took them a little time together, and Harry discovered that he and Neville had a lot in common and that Neville had an interesting way of talking about his hobbies, which made it irrelevant whether Harry liked it or not.
Helga assured that they would like to lessen the animosity among the houses and make it a friendly competition rather than a hateful rivalry. That sounded good, but Harry wasn't sure if it's possible that something like this would happen (and fast, at that), and he fretted that a lot of friendships would be lost because of the resorting. Especially: his own friendships.
He also thought about Draco Malfoy. And those weren't happy thoughts either. The moment he learned about the death of the Malfoys, all the reluctance to the last Malfoy evaporated. It started a bit earlier when Malfoy shared his motivation for winning phoenix tears. That gave Harry thought about finding Malfoy on the train, and for a long time, what stopped him was the idea that Malfoy sits somewhere with his friends and that the meeting wouldn't be pleasant. But finally, he decided to check it anyway. Because who knew: maybe he sat somewhere alone? Harry probably would in his situation.
He excused himself and slowly went through the train, not entirely convinced of what he was doing. He hadn't found Malfoy while checking the head of the train, so he turned back and unhurriedly walked towards its end. He stopped here and there to talk for a minute or two with someone. Passing the compartment occupied by himself and his friends, Harry noticed that Dean and Seamus joined the rest of the Gryffindors but walked further without stopping. Surprisingly, Parkinson, the Greengrass sisters and some other Slytherins sat quite close to their own compartment. In the next cart, he spotted Zabini with Crabbe and Goyle, and it occurred to him that Malfoy may not be on the train at all. He barely spotted Nott behind the large book, sitting with the group of unknown people from Slytherin and Ravenclaw. They all seemed quiet.
The closer to the end of the train Harry got, the more certain he was that Malfoy was not going to Hogwarts. But he was. In the last cart before those carrying luggage, Malfoy sat just next to the door and read the book... Read or tried to read. Or maybe pretended to read. It was hard to say. However, he clearly wanted to be left alone and avoided any company. Harry tried to step back, hoping to be unnoticed, but he failed.
"It must be funny for you," Malfoy said.
So Harry stopped and looked at him.
"What?" he asked, confused.
"Me. My parents. I spent a lot of time mocking you because of yours." He sounded provocative, but... it wasn't really. At least Harry didn't perceive it as such.
"Not really. At least I never knew mine. I just grew up without them. You had them, and now they're gone. It sucks."
Malfoy closed his book, looking around.
"It's quite nice here when you get used to it," he said bitterly. "Though my parents would freak out if they could see me. But they can't, so who cares, right?"
Harry took it as an invitation, even if it wasn't, and sat on the floor, leaning against the bathroom door.
"Quite cosy," he said. "I like small places. And it's much calmer than the rest of the train."
"Tell me about it. Zabini wouldn't shut up about his summer."
"Ron and Neville keep talking about the Final and the Tournament," Harry replied. He assumed correctly that Malfoy knew about it because he wasn't surprised. For some time, they sat in silence. Malfoy looking at the book on his lap, Harry stroking Pretzel's head in his pocket. Once in a while, he felt the tingling of the little tongue on his fingers.
"Do you know who killed them?" Malfoy asked suddenly. A little louder, a little more aggressive this time.
"Godric, most likely," Harry replied truthfully, and because Malfoy didn't reply, just clenched his fists, Harry added, "At least Helga said so when I asked. She said you'll be living with Violetta and Druella Black now. It must be... well... they seem strict."
Malfoy just nodded but said nothing again. So Harry stared at his feet in silence. He had new shoes. Truly new. It was funny.
"Are they good for you?" he asked suddenly, and when Malfoy looked at him without understanding, he explained, "I mean, do they treat you well? Like... you know... normal... not... I dunno... Are they nice?"
"They're my grandmothers, Potter. They're never nice. You're actually lucky to not have grown up with them. They kept insisting on healthy food, made me a whole schedule for every remaining day of the summer, and when we bought clothes for this semester, they refused my regular. And they keep saying I'm pampered and bite my head off for sleeping in or when I have a mess in my room. It's like leaving some clothes on the floor is a mess! And they have house elves for things like that!"
Harry smiled slightly.
"It's not a Crucio a day," he joked.
"Hilarious," Malfoy sneered. "And you? Prince Potter? How does the famous Boy Who Lived live?"
On that, Harry had to laugh.
"Let's see... Pretty good now. I like living with Helga. I shared a room with Hermione this summer. It was fun. There's always a mess around. Rowena and Hermione keep leaving notes and books everywhere, Helga never cleans her herbs thoroughly enough, and Sirius is just messy..." Harry sighed. "Though he had to move for some time around a week ago. So no, nobody is pestering me about the mess. I think I actually was the one to chide them about it once or twice. My Aunt was freakishly tidy in comparison. We renovated the Badgers Keep most of the summer, so it looks good now. Like really good. And I could fly almost every day, so it's awesome."
Hearing that Malfoy looked pensieve for some time. There was clearly a question on the tip of his tongue, but he kept it for himself, and Harry - although curious - didn't encourage him to ask it. He felt that it could be something he wouldn't like to share.
"Would you like to know a secret?" Harry asked instead, and when Malfoy nodded, Harry said, "It won't be a secret for long. Everybody will know in the evening, but until then it's a secret. So don't tell anybody."
"You're literally the only person around, Potter. And I don't plan on going anywhere."
"Good," Harry said, moving a little closer and lowering his voice. "We're going to be resorted tonight. All of us."
"What? Why?" Malfoy asked, clearly shocked.
"Cuz the Sorting Hat wasn't the Sorting Hat but just some hat. So nobody is sorted as they should. So, as far as I know, we may be in the same house tonight."
"You must be mental if you think I could be sorted to Gryffindor," Malfoy snorted. "Or that you could be sorted into Slytherin."
"I have small chances to be in Ravenclaw, but I don't know about other houses. The fake hat wanted me in Slytherin. Helga hopes I'll be in Hufflepuff. She doesn't say so, but I can feel it. And," he shrugged, "I don't care, to be honest. As long as I'm with Ron, Hermione, and Neville... But Hermione will probably be in Ravenclaw."
Malfoy nodded.
"She should be," he admitted. "I want to stay in Slytherin."
"Maybe you will. The fake sorting hat was quite sure where you should go. But we don't know how it worked."
"I'm sure as hell not going to Gryffindor," Malfoy said, "I won't be anywhere near my parent's murderer."
"You could always punch him. It feels good."
Malfoy laughed, thinking that Harry was joking. But Harry only shrugged.
"You can't be serious," Malfoy said. "I don't believe you."
"Then don't. But I tell you it feels really good, it's the best feeling in the world. Well, not better than flying, but almost as good."
"I don't believe you," Malfoy repeated and added a little quieter. "But I'd like to kill Gryffindor. And make him suffer."
"You could try," Harry replied. "I don't think it's possible, but you could try. I'd try to kill Voldemort, but it's impossible, so I just punched his flat face... He looked stupid just after. Like he couldn't believe it, it was awesome."
"You're lying, I saw a photo of him and my grandfather. He doesn't have a flat face."
"Oh he does," Harry laughed, "Since he came back, he does. He doesn't have a nose. I doubt you'll ever see that because Salazar won't let him show his face in public until he fixes it, but just imagine that. No nose whatsoever, only slits, like snakes have. Red eyes, and literally white face. Not pale, just white. And he's so bony that the clothes look rather like they hang in the closet, on the hanger, than on a real human."
Malfoy laughed but shook his head.
"You're full of shit. But I admit, it sounds funny... A little scary, too. I mean, red eyes? How did you come up with that?"
"If you don't believe me, you can assume I have a vivid imagination," Harry replied merrily. He suddenly remembered something and reached into his pocket with the book to take out two chocolate frogs. "Want one?"
Malfoy shrugged and took it. He bit off the head, looking at the card.
"Wenlock," he said. "I have a few. Do you want it?"
Harry shook his head, crumpling his own card in the fisted hand.
"I have at least two Wenlocks," he said.
"And who did you have? Was it so common?"
"Dumbledore. He's basically trash."
"Every third frog has Dumbledore," Draco agreed. They fell silent, and after a while Draco opened his book again, and even started reading for real. Harry considered returning to his compartment, but it was actually a nice spot. So he pulled out his own book, and started to read as well.