Forecasting
Chapter 6: Forecasting
Draco shoved the quill and parchment into his pocket and dashed out of the tent, breathlessly searching for shocks of red hair. Wherever the Weasleys were, Granger wouldn’t be far off. It was too difficult to see from inside the mass of chaos swarming around him from every angle, as fires erupted in the distance; the tents lit up like funeral pyres. Someone elbowed his ribs, another stomped across the toes of his boots. The night had frozen over in terror, every face had drawn pale and ghostly—both stark contrasts to the glow of the flames dancing across their skin.
Electing for a less dangerous and out-of-the-way position, he edged toward the treeline, pausing behind a still-standing tent to scout for any more silver masks hiding in the wood. There were none, at least none that he could see, so he bobbed around the panic-induced crowd.
Flashes of brightly colored light grew nearer, and bangs boomed through the campground. He could make out the sounds of jeering, drunken shouts, and cackles from the approaching militia. A vibrant green light illuminated everything at once. The Death Eaters had pointed their wands skyward as they continued their slow march.
High above them, four Muggles floated in midair, struggling against their invisible restraints. They were twisting grotesquely—contortionists of the forced kind; marionettes dancing awkwardly pulled by hidden strings.
Two of them were young children.
More wizards joined them, revelling in their own drunken states—liberated beyond their typical way of reason, or perhaps just giving in to their baser nature for survival.
Several tents were blasted out of the way when necessary, often catching on aflame in the process. Another pyre. The Muggles were floated over the top of one such fire, illuminating their faces—Mr. Roberts —the campsite manager—and, Draco assumed, his family. His wife was upturned, her nightgown flopping over her head, revealing her drawers underneath. Mortified, she scrambled to cover up and right herself, but her efforts were of no use. The crowd below crowed with sickening delight.
When the smallest child began spinning like a top, Draco turned away, a wave of nausea crashing into him like a tsunami. He refused to watch any further. When he did finally turn back around, the mass of black hooded wizards had grown massive. Several Ministry wizards attempted to infiltrate the crowd, but were unable to gain any headway.
The colored lanterns had been extinguished around him, providing more cover for Draco’s hiding place. Scanning the crowd again, he tried to focus in on any head of hair looking even slightly disheveled. Unfortunately, this was nearly everyone who had been roused from their sleep in the calamity.
He shivered in the cold night air. The sound of children crying and witches and wizards scrambling through the trees looking for their own hiding places and escapes echoed around the wood.
“What happened?”
It’s her! Draco spun to find three dark figures in the dark as the voices quickly approached him.
“Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid — lumos !”
The light from her wand lit up her distinguished features momentarily before focusing on the path beneath them. Weaslebee was sprawled haphazardly on the ground at her feet. Typical .
“Tripped over a tree root,” the ginger growled.
He couldn’t help himself, the words just sprang out of his mouth.
“Well, with feet that size, hard not to,” Draco drawled.
The Gryffindors turned sharply, taking him in. Draco leaned against the tree trunk, trying to look as aloof and uninterested as possible. It simply wouldn’t do to look like he was panicking like every other simpleton in the vicinity, nor would he give them the satisfaction of thinking he’d actually been looking for them to begin with.
“Go fuck your mum, Malfoy,” the Weasel hissed.
Draco clucked his tongue, chiding, “Language, Weasley.” He tried to fight an amused grin, “Shouldn’t you be hurrying along, now? You wouldn’t like her spotted, would you?” He nodded at Granger trying to convey the severity to her in a look. The defiance in her eyes was unsettling at best, and Draco tried to swallow his anger.
A loud BANG! rang out followed by a flash of green bouncing between the trees, and Draco and the Weasel flinched, both looking at her with concern. She had no idea what was happening.
She stood steadfast, ignoring the sounds of chaos.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Granger jutted her chin out.
“Granger, they’re after Muggles ,” he said, pointedly trying to not use that word. “D’you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around…they’re moving this way, and it’ll give us all a laugh.”
She eyed him curiously, searching for truth in his face and he tried his best to convey his sincerity.
Potty snarled, “Hermione’s a witch!” Stupid. Fucking. Potter. He, too, has no idea what’s happening, obviously— AND IT’S ALL ABOUT HIM .
“Have it your own way, Potter,” Draco rolled his eyes as he got into character. If they wanted a villain, he’d give them a villain—as long as it meant they got her out of here and somewhere safe. “If you think they can’t spot a Mudblood, stay where you are.”
The word tasted like ash. He didn’t mean it at all. His face held a malicious grin, but his voice was hollow. He hoped beyond hope she would hear the distinction.
“You watch your mouth!” This time it was the Weasel again.
Her eyes locked on Draco’s. “Nevermind, Ron,” Granger quickly grabbed her friend’s arm and dragged him away as the ginger tried to take an aggressive step toward him. Another bang sounded much closer, followed by high-pitched screams.
Draco chuckled, “Scare easily, don’t they? I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What’s he up to — trying to rescue the Muggles?” He adopted a lazy tone to hide the fact he, too, had jumped at the sound.
“Where’s your parents?” Potter ground out. “Out there wearing masks, are they?”
Draco turned away, from one idiot to the other, flashing his best devil-may-care smile. “Well…if they were, I wouldn’t be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?”
Granger’s mouth nearly dropped.
“Oh, come on,” she snapped, giving Draco a look of disgust, “let’s go find the others.”
“Keep that bushy head down, Granger,” Draco sneered back.
Her back remained facing him. “Come on ,” she repeated, pulling the moronic duo up the path.
“I’ll bet you anything his dad is one of that masked lot!” Weasley roared hotly.
Granger responded feverishly, “Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him!”
Draco watched her go as their voices faded into the forest. He longed to chase after her—to make sure she actually went somewhere safe—but it wasn’t his job. He did what he could do, and would just have to trust those two imbeciles to do as they’re told.
He pulled the enchanted parchment from the chest pocket of his robes, and a quill. He scratched onto the paper “ I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it…They never would have left.” Draco started to fold it back up but decided to add another “ I’m sorry” to the end for good measure.
The parchment firmly packed away, Draco kept watch for any sign of approaching Death Eaters. He was no duelist and his spells were rudimentary at best, but he’d give it a good go. He cast a Disillusionment Charm, and cozied up under the tree he’d been leaning against.
He sat for several minutes, not seeing much except a young French girl searching for a “ Madame Maxime ”, a horde of goblins goggling over some gold, and Ludo Bagman running in the opposite direction of said goblins looking rather frazzled, continuously looking back over his shoulder. A rustling in the bushes startled Draco, and when he peered into the brush, he drew back quickly.
A house-elf thrashed out of the overgrowth, moving most peculiarly. It was as though it was being held back by its tea towel.
“Bad wizards!” She squeaked, “People is high in the air! Winky is getting out of the—the—the way!” She disappeared along the path and Draco heard her tromping back into the shrubbery. Although…he could’ve sworn there were more than one set of footsteps…it was entirely impossible to know for sure. Too many people were still scrambling around the wood. He felt like he was in some sort of play or dramatic reenactment where several separate plot points were being executed simultaneously on stage— Into the Woods he could call it…
More loud bangs sounded from all along the edge of the wood. Draco could make out a few masks through the trees, but with their hoods up, there was no way to know who was who.
From somewhere deeper in the woods, an intelligible shout echoed.
“Who?!” A nearby Death Eater shouted angrily.
Its partner returned the sentiment but with fear, “That wasn’t part of the plan!”
Draco, confused, looked up to the sky, where the others had been struck dumb. A vast, glittering green melted above the treetops, penetrating the pure blackness of the night sky. A serpent protruded from the mouth of a large skull that appeared to glow with emerald stars.
It didn’t seem possible, but the screams that erupted were even more deafening and alarming than before. He could barely think through the chaos. Death Eaters we’re leaving—running back the way they had come, some simply Apparating away with pop s and bang s for the clumsier ones.
A hand seized the collar of Draco’s robes from behind. He froze.
“What. Are. You. Doing. Here.” Lucius hissed
Father.
His brain and his mouth were suddenly disconnected.
“Get out. Now! Go to the tent and do not leave until Mippy returns you to the Manor. GO! ” The command was irrefutable.
Draco ran. He was lost among the panic, easily slipping between smoldering tents and remnants of campfires. One of the lone tents remaining uncharred, stood tall above the rest. He pushed through the flaps and was instantaneously dragged to the dining area.
“You’re safe,” his mother whispered, thanking every deity she could name as she pulled him into her arms.
Mippy appeared with a CRACK! “Mippy is to be taking yous home now,” she nodded gravely.
They arrived in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor with another resounding CRACK! and she was gone. Theo, Pansy, Blaise, and Daphne hastily ran over to them.
“Draco, where did you go? You just disappeared, mate!” Blaise chastised, as he gripped Draco’s shoulders roughly.
Theo whacked him in the back of his head with a rolled up programme from the cup, offering a cheeky grin. “Yeah, what the hell?”
“I had to warn her,” he answered frantically, which only earned him a few eyerolls. “It’s a good thing I did, too—those twats had no idea what was happening!”
“Draco!” His mother gasped at his language.
Draco stared insolently back at her. “I will not apologize for what I said, mother. Potter and Weasley are, in fact, the definition of twats, and if they had gotten her killed, I would have killed them myself.”
The rest of the Slytherins regarded their friend with sympathy.
“Your father would not have allowed any harm to come to her,” Narcissa replied sternly.
Draco scoffed, “You didn’t see it, mother. Those Muggles? They were spinning and twisting in ways their bodies shouldn’t have been able to. It was—it was—“
“I’m sure there was no real harm done. Now, enough, Miss Granger is perfectly safe and you all had better get some rest. Who knows what we are to expect in the morning,” she said with crystal clear finality.
…
And so the morning came. When he finally roused from his sleep, Draco found a copy of The Daily Prophet waiting on the dining room table. His father was nowhere to be found, so he untied the bundle, and devoured everything he could comprehend from the cover page.
“Ministry blunders…culprits not apprehended…lax security…Dark wizards running unchecked…national disgrace…” Rita Skeeter had quite a lot to say on the evening’s events.
“If the terrified witches and wizards who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the woods expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to squash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.”
Draco rolled his eyes. If there weren’t rumors before, there certainly would be now. He knew, now, why his father had been absent from the Manor—he would need to be at the Ministry, likely all day, trying to reign in the reactions to last night's events and keep his name off of any watch lists.
Lucius was out most of the week following the World Cup disaster. He didn’t have to put out many fires, but appearing to help and shuffling work around from department to department made him look like he was a deeply concerned citizen. Draco had given up listening to his nightly updates over dinner, and instead excused himself early to catch up on his reading. Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4 was the most intriguing, and he took to practicing the Charms and such for Flitwick’s class.
By the end of the week, Lucius had finally brought home some noteworthy news. Rita Skeeter had tipped off to the Ministry—indirectly of course—that she knew Bertha Jorkins had been missing and very little had been done about it.
“Didn’t you warn Bagman it would get out?” Draco asked cautiously.
“Of course I did,” he drawled uncaringly, “Ludo had no interest in anything but the World Cup. He could have spared at least one Auror to go and search for her.”
“So will they look for her now?” Theo piped in.
Lucius shrugged, “It is unlikely. Skeeter will publish her article, and I have fulfilled any favors I owed to Ludo Bagman without compromising myself or our social standing. The world is balanced once again.”
The meal continued in near silence.
”Draco,” Narcissa began, “are you excited to start your next year at Hogwarts?”
”He shouldn’t even be going to Hogwarts with that controlling buffoon still in charge. The rapidly changing nature of our world needs to be taken into account. If it wasn’t nearly the start of term, I’d have a mind to send you to Durmstrang,” Lucius said sternly. “They actually teach the Dark Arts—not that defense nonsense! When the Dark Lord rises, he won’t need to defend himself, he’ll need to be able to attack!”
”He will go to Hogwarts and I won’t hear another word about it!” Narcissa scolded her own husband hotly.
“Cissa, you know as well as I do that Karkaroff is a much safer bet than—“
Lucius was cut off by his wife’s furiousglare, and he was silenced, dropping the subject.
Not much later, the teenagers were sent to pack for the train after dinner, and the weight of the events from the past week weighed heavily on them. Daphne followed Theo to his room, to ‘help him pack’, and Blaise tried to follow Pansy in a similar fashion, but was met with a closed, locked, and silenced door.
Draco packed his things into his trunk. He spent the remaining time polishing his Nimbus 2001. It was no Firebolt, but he could still make it shine. He replayed the many maneuvers and moves he had seen Ireland and Bulgaria use, and tried to envision himself using them against Potter this season. He could practically taste the Quidditch House Cup.
“Draco, dear?” His mother knocked on his door before gently opening it.
“Mother?”
“I should tell you, you’ll need to bring a set of dress robes for this term.” She smiled furtively.
“Dress robes?” Draco was puzzled, “Why would I need dress robes?”
She kissed his cheek, but didn’t answer, her secretive smile keeping her lips firmly sealed.
Draco was sure it had something to do with whatever Ludo Bagman had been hinting at when they had first arrived at the campgrounds, but he had no idea what that could actually be. Vexed by the unknown, he rifled through his closet until he found a dapper set of velvet black dress robes with a proper, high collar. Elegant, yet stately. They would do for any sort of event Hogwarts could throw together.
He held them up against his frame in front of the full length mirror in the corner, imagining what he would look like with them on. They were new—mother had insisted he needed some at the beginning of the summer and he hadn’t cared to try them on. The seamstress at Twilfit and Tattings had his measurements, and mother could pick whatever she wanted since she’d get her way regardless. With all the shopping they’d done, Draco was certain Pansy and Daphne had been involved as well.
A small thought…insignificant, really…slowly emerged in his mind. An image of Granger in proper dress robes. Would the girls need them too? He pondered what color she might choose—maroon or gold for her house colors? Gold would bring out the shimmery flecks in her eyes…maybe she’d wear green. Draco tried to picture her in his own colors, but it just seemed all wrong. Granger, the ferocious Gryffindor would never swallow enough pride to wear Slytherin colors…perhaps blue…
“Won’t you look pretty,” Pansy taunted, leaning against the open door to his dressing room.
“Shove off,” Draco grumbled, a bit embarrassed at being caught daydreaming of Granger. It didn’t help that his pants were fitting a bit tight at the moment either.
Pansy smirked as though she knew exactly what was happening. “Picturing yourself foxtrotting with an annoying, mousy, know-it-all?”
Draco started, but she ignored his stuttering and continued. “My dress is petala, haute couture, Dior-designed just for me,” she crooned, pleased. “It’s decidedly Muggle, but I think it’ll catch on. Look at me,” she smiled to herself, “such a trend-setter.”
He sniggered. “Trying to piss off mummy and daddy then? Or scare off any of their possible suitors?”
“No.” She said, affronted. “But who’s to say I can’t kill two beasts with one curse?” Her features smoothed as she slipped back into her descriptions of this one-of-a-kind dress. Draco was no longer listening, though. He’d gone back to imagining Granger in various high fashion trends he’d seen the other witches wear. That was, until his train of thought latched onto the Muggle models he’d seen in Pansy’s new fashion magazines.
Very little clothing. Lots of straps. Lots of skin. He was in trouble again.
“Listen, Pans,” he cut her off, straining, “I’m sure your dress is lovely. It’ll be the talk of the school. I need to finish packing, mind if we finish this later?”
He all but shoved her out the door, ushering her to the hall before locking himself back in his room.
A cold shower. That’s what he needed.
…
Kings Cross was already crowded when they stepped out of the Floo, the heavy rain outside pounding on the roof high above their heads. Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass latched onto Daphne the moment she popped through the green flames, Astoria held tightly to Mrs. Greengrass’s side. It was nice, Draco noted, to see that at least one of his friends had parents that cared and worried about them.
His own father had been called to the Ministry yet again—this time to oversee some washed-up, retired Auror everyone said was a nutter. Surely that was more important than seeing his only son off, but what did he expect? His father had been absent most of his youth thus far and why should it change now?
The Hogwarts Express was already waiting for them—the gleaming, scarlet steam engine standing anxiously as it puffed out clouds of steam. Goodbyes were quickly said, and Draco embraced his mother tightly before hurrying off to join the others.
Greg, Crabbe, Millie, and Tracey appeared moments later, their own trunks in tow.
“How was the rest of your summer?” Greg asked politely.
The dinner conversation from the night before still weighing heavily on his mind, Draco unloaded his thoughts. “Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know…” Draco eyed Vincent Crabbe. He knew he could no longer confide in the boy he once called a close friend. Better to play his cards closer to his chest. “He knows the Headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore—the man’s such a Mudblood-lover—and Durmstrang doesn’t admit that riffraff.”
Crabbe nodded in approval and Draco felt vomit rising in his esophagus. He felt even more sickened once his eyes landed on Granger. She was faced away from him, but clearly trying to eavesdrop. Shit.
”But Mother didn’t like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a much more sensible line than Hogwarts about Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually use them, not just the defense rubbish we do…”
”Exactly!” Crabbe chimed in. “You know, Marcus says some of his teammates that went to Durmstrang have taught him a ton of new curses and hexes. He even showed me a few.” The boulder of a boy smirked.
”…We’d best find our seats…” Tracey broke in uncomfortably. The rest of the group agreeing whole-heartedly if only to end the conversation at that. And so their quest for a compartment to themselves began.
“All the way in the back, yeah?” Theo grinned.
“Just move! These shoes are killing me—“ Pansy pushed past them, wobbling slightly. Blaise just silently shook his head as if to say I told her not to wear those .
Just as they landed in their seats, the whistle blew loudly overhead. Daphne joined them a few minutes later, looking utterly put out.
“Astoria will be joining us.” Her blunt words were sour with irritation.
Draco shrugged, “Of course, Daph, she’s always welcome.”
“No. She’s. Not.” Daphne ground out, shooting daggers at her sister who looked rather smug that she had already gotten approval from her sister’s group of friends.
“Oooo-kay?” Pansy dragged it out. “So why is Tori playing shadow today?”
Astoria beamed at them as she stood from her seat, as though presenting some newly-found, groundbreaking research. She clasped her hands behind her back and rolled up onto her toes every so slightly. “Well, mother and father are very worried about Daphne and I returning to Hogwarts this year, especially after what happened at the Quidditch World Cup. Daphne is supposed to keep an eye on me, but she said she just couldn’t be parted from you all. Mother’s solution was for me to tag along with her then—isn’t it wonderful!”
The second-year sat down, practically bouncing on her seat as she looked from face to face around the compartment expectantly.
“Well, what d’you all do on the way usually?” she prompted.
The fourth-years simply stared back at her. One by one, they each returned to their typical chatter. Draco pulled out his enchanted parchment, hoping to find a new message there, but was only disappointed once it had been unrolled.
“Mate, you need to put that thing away,” Theo said lowly, his eyes flitting between the parchment, Astoria, and the window of the compartment door.
As if summoned by the words, a head of curly hair came into view, and Draco quickly stashed his things in his bag. The door clicked open, and the temperature of the compartment dropped by nearly ten degrees.
“What do you want?” Daphne snarked viciously, and Theo placed a calming hand on her knee.
Ignoring the blonde witch, Marietta approached Draco, swaying her hips just a bit too much to look natural. “I was so worried about you, Draco…at the World Cup…when the chaos began, I wanted to look for you, but my mother took me home straight away.”
“Er—I’m fine, really,” Draco said awkwardly, not sure how he was supposed to respond to that.
His words only seemed to spur her on, and she started to gush even more. “Mother assured me she would look into the affair when she got to work at the Ministry the next morning—she monitors the Floo networks—anyway, she saw your father there and said he certainly wouldn’t be at work if something had happened to you! That’s how I knew you were safe,” Marietta’s worried face melted into a lovesick smile.
Draco wanted to vomit.
“Right, well…um…I’m glad you’re okay too?” He offered, trying to find words—any words—to say.
Pansy was biting down on her lower lip so hard with restraint, he could see a tiny drop of blood blooming there.
“You’ve got some nerve!” Daphne stood up, blocking Draco from the Ravenclaw girl’s view.
“Me?!” Marietta screeched. “Now you’re staking claims on Draco Malfoy?! When does it end? Once you’ve shagged the entire wizard population of Hogwarts! Good luck ever getting a betrothal after that!” She cackled as she retreated into the long hall of their train car. “I’ll see you later, Draco,” she cooed at him as she batted her lashes and flounced away.
Daphne slammed the compartment door shut so hard it bounced back open and she had to do it again. Her hair was practically sparking with her rage. “She—that— UGH !”
“Wow, Daph, didn’t know you got around like that,” Astoria sneered in disgust. “I always thought you were some prim and proper, perfect virgin.”
Daphne’s eyes were alight with fire, they flashed as they found Astoria’s own. “Astoria, would you kindly go jump off the train?”
The sisters clearly spoke like this often, as Astoria simply ignored her, snatching the copy of Witch Weekly out of her older sister’s hands, and leaned back leisurely.
Before anyone could comment, Pansy finally let out the loud echoing laughter she’d been holding back for the entire exchange. “She—you—oh Merlin, that was the best thing ever! Your face!” Soon, the rest of his friends joined in with her, capitalizing on his embarrassment. Daphne was the only one who sat quietly, glaring at her sister who had gone back to flipping casually through her magazine.
“Yes, ha ha, very funny, Pansy,” he rolled his eyes.
Nearly halfway through their trip, Greg, Vince, Millie, and Tracey showed up. At their arrival, the girls all left to go to another compartment, leaving Theo pouting and Astoria trudging behind them, her enthusiasm already waning.
“How was the World Cup? Well, aside from…you know…” Greg asked initially excited before losing steam as he realized what he was asking.
Draco understood, they all did. “It was great! There were so many witches and wizards from all over the world,” he grinned, remembering the Salem Institute witches and the Egyptian wizards they’d crossed paths with.
“Whoa that’s way better than sitting at some stupid tea—don’t tell Millie I called it stupid,” he winced.
They picked up a conversation on Quidditch and were soon lost in the details of the game once again. Vince was oddly silent throughout the discussion, but kept appraising Draco and Theo as though looking for an answer to an unasked question.
“Did you see it?” He finally spoke up, once the re-telling of Krum’s Wronski Feint maneuver had concluded.
Draco knew what he was asking. “The Wronski Feint? Of course, everyone saw it.” He feigned ignorance.
“Nah, not that boring shite. The Dark Mark,” Crabbe grinned deliriously.
“Er—yeah. It was…sort of terrifying. A lot of people could have died.” Draco’s eye fell to the parchment peeking out of the corner of his bag. He could practically hear the screams and see the flames from that night.
Crabbe’s smile grew wider, resembling a madman. “Maybe some of them should’ve.”
The rest of the compartment all shared wide eyed looks of horror.
“You—you don’t really mean that, Vince…right?” Greg asked timidly.
Crabbe snorted, “Marcus says those muggles and mudbloods have no business existing in the world.”
“What—?” Blaise started, but was interrupted when the trolley passed by, and Crabbe promptly stood up to lumber away after it.
“Marcus—as in Flint?” Draco asked.
Greg nodded glumly. “He spent a lot of time with Marcus over the summer—Flint was helping him train up for the Beater position on the team this year, plus all three of our fathers have been in a lot of “meetings” lately, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, what are we supposed to do with him? He’s getting a bit creepy,” Theo proposed.
“He—he isn’t hurting anyone—“ Greg defended.
“Yet.” Blaise’s single syllable echoed in the silent compartment. They were all thinking the same thing.
Draco couldn’t help but wonder what the new year would hold with a start like this. It would seem the Wizarding World had taken a very dark turn, indeed, and he was to be right at the center of it. He could feel it in his bones.
The train chugged along its track, none the wiser to the turmoil its occupants were wading through. Its only concern consisted of the rain pelting against its cars, and the clouds of steam it forced into the atmosphere. The four boys simply looked out the window, contemplating what was to come—their moods becoming as gloomy as the atrocious weather outside.