Lovegood
Chapter 7: Lovegood
The Hogwarts Express chugged along its track, tried and true. The farther north they trekked, the darker the sky grew and the harder the rain fell. By midday, the lanterns were alight, and their glow was barely penetrable in the gloom. The lunch trolley cart clattered past, only stopping so Theo could collect a few Cauldron Cakes.
Draco couldn’t stand the moody compartment for another second, deciding he would take a stroll down the corridor. Theo couldn’t be swayed to abandon his sweets, and Blaise had taken an afternoon kip.
“I could use a chance to stretch my legs,” Greg announced, standing up to join him.
As they slid the compartment door open, Crabbe appeared, his arms chocked full of confections off the trolley.
“Yoo ‘eaded ou’?” He asked through the pounds of food crammed into his mouth.
“Yeah, just takin’ a walk,” Greg answered quickly as he and Draco pushed past.
“I’ll come too!” He gulped loudly, and tossed the rest of his loot onto an empty seat.
“Er—alright,” Greg gave in, and Draco sighed defeatedly.
The three boys casually wandered past compartments, peeking in to wave to the Slytherin girls when they found them. Just as they were taking their leave to return to their roaming, whispers floated in through the crack in the compartment door.
“…big money!”
“Yeah, but how do we enter?”
“I’m not worried about that, Georgey boy! The galleons! Think of what we could do with the galleons!”
“How much did Bagman say it was?”
“Thousand—“
One of them whistled.
“Eternal glory—“
“—Triwizard Cup”
“Not to mention the witches!”
“New schools, new babe pools!”
Draco looked around the compartment—they were all listening intently. “The Triwizard Tournament!” he mouthed in awe. The two voices—belonging to the Weasley twins, he was sure—disappeared down the corridor, lost among the chatter on the train.
“Will you enter, Draco?” Crabbe asked eagerly, leaving an uneasy feeling in Draco’s gut.
“Perhaps,” he answered noncommittally.
The boys took their leave, re-entering the corridor, whispering conspiratorially about their predictions for the Tournament.
“Which two schools do you think will be involved?” Draco posed the question.
Crabbe looked quizzically at him, “how d’you know there’s gunna be two?”
“Well, it’s the Tri-wizard Tournament. That means there’ll be two other schools besides Hogwarts.” Draco tried his best not to roll his eyes.
“Oh, right.”
Greg snickered. “I bet Ilvermorney comes, what’s that school in Brazil? Maybe they’ll be there…bring some of those witches they were talking about…” he waggled his eyebrows.
“Right. And I’ll be sure to let Millie know,” Draco chuckled, and Greg’s face turned a shade of vermillion. “By the way, it’s Castelobruxo.”
“What?” Greg stared blankly.
“The school in Brazil—it’s Castelobruxo.”
It would seem, Draco’s destiny was to forever eavesdrop as from an open door ahead, he heard a distinctly unpleasant voice drift out toward him.
“Look at this, Neville…”
Longbottom showed his expected appreciation. “Oh wow.”
“We saw him right up close, as well,” Weasley said.
Draco rolled his eyes. Weasley wouldn’t know class if it took a chunk out of his left arse cheek and handed it to him. Bragging over a handout? How utterly deplorable. “We were in the Top Box—“
“For the first and last time in your life, Weasley.” Draco couldn’t help the irritation he felt at the ginger every time the imbecile opened his mouth. It was the sound of his voice. It was his face.
“Don’t remember asking you to join us, Malfoy,” Potter said snarkily.
Draco ignored the comment, focusing on the unsightly garment sleeve hanging over the owl cage in the corner. “Weasley…what is that?”
The Weasel hurried to conceal it, but there was no hiding the moldy lace cuffed sleeve swaying with the rocking of the train car. Not willing to let the entertainment slip away so easily, he seized the robes and pulled them out into the open.
“Look at this!” Draco smirked as he held them up to show Greg. “Weasley, you weren’t thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean—they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety…”
Weasley’s face went crimson. “Eat dung, Malfoy.” He snatched the robes back from Draco’s grip. The Slytherins practically howled in laughter at his embarrassment.
“So…going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There’s money involved as well, you know…you’d be able to afford some decent robes if you won…”
“What are you talking about?” Weasel snapped.
“Are you going to enter?” Draco said again slowly, as if the ginger was even thicker than he thought. “I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?”
“Either explain what you’re on about or go away, Malfoy,” Granger said testily without even looking up from Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4. He hadn’t even noticed her, holed up in her corner. She was piled up behind luggage and books, looking mousier than ever.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know?” Draco grinned delightedly. “You’ve got a father and a brother at the Ministry and you don’t even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago…heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father’s associated with the top people at the Ministry…maybe your father’s too junior to know about it, Weasley…yes…they probably don’t talk about important stuff in front of him…”
Draco laughed at the ire building in the Weasel’s now purple face, turning and leaving with Greg and Crabbe close behind. As expected, the door was slammed shut behind them. Unexpectedly, shattered glass clattered behind them.
“Ron!” Granger chided, reproachfully, before casting a reparo. The glass shards whisked themselves back together and into a single pane in the door. Draco could practically feel the touch of her magic as it picked a few stray bits of glass from his robes. It prickled his neck, but in the most relaxing way.
Before it could settle into his bones, Draco shook it off as a drafty chill and marched quickly back to their compartment. He took his seat, cracking open a book and resisting the very strong urge to check the enchanted parchment. It was foolish to think she would’ve sent him a message, especially after his stunt with Weaselby…he just couldn’t help himself. Sometimes the words just spewed out, but he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy watching Ronnikins’s face turn scarlet.
He remained in much the same attitude of self-reflection and torturing himself by checking the parchment as discreetly as he could once Crabbe fell asleep as well. Draco’s thoughts boomeranged between Granger’s disappointment, his desire to be in her good graces and the pure joy he got from wiping the stupid git’s smirk off his face. It’s like being friends with Harry Potter was his whole personality.
Rationally, that was no argument for his behavior—he knew that, really he did—but something about the ginger just irritated him to no end. Every breath that ignoramus took, grated on his nerves, and after three years of it, he had just decided to roll with the status quo. He shouldn’t be subjected to the lowly obtuseness that ran rampant in Gryffindor house at all, with the exception of a single witch who didn’t even belong there to begin with.
Eventually, the train stopped, ending his internal monologue titled Ronald Weasley Is A Fucking Twat. As they disembarked the steam engine, peals of thunder rumbled overhead. The Slytherins discreetly aimed impervius charms at one another, in hopes of protecting themselves from the torrents of rain. Unsurprisingly, none of them woke Crabbe from his loud snoring, and he only got up in time to scramble after the rest of his housemates into the chaos.
Draco ducked his head, pulling his robes and hood around his head tightly. His eyes squinted against the pelting icy rain, he trudged alongside Theo—forgetting all thoughts of chivalry. It was every man (or woman) for themself.
The trio stared wide eyed for only a moment when they spotted the first years getting ready to cross the lake in the ever-smaller wooden boats. Inching down the platform, they waited for one of the musty, black carriages to stop in front of them. They didn’t dare step out onto the muddy track until absolutely necessary.
Draco, Blaise, and Theo quickly popped into the next empty carriage as it pulled toward them. A fourth student calmly climbed in behind them and the carriage pulled away, swaying in the storm’s fierce winds.
“Hello,” the newcomer announced dazedly.
“Hi,” Blaise grumbled without looking up, trying uselessly to dry his robes.
“Draco Malfoy. Theodore Nott. Blaise Zabini,” the Ravenclaw girl said mystically.
Theo cocked his head to the side, taking in the strange girl before them. She was completely soaked through, her many layers of robes and clothing clinging to her thin frame.
“Lovegood,” Draco nodded politely. While they never really spoke or interacted in public, she was a cousin of sorts—her mother’s mother was sister to his own grandmother, Calliope. He only knew the relation from his father’s rare comments in passing, though, as his grandfather, Abraxas, had her portrait locked away in his wing after she died, which was since off limits. No one spoke about her much after Abraxas died, as was the Malfoy way—no emotion, no weakness.
The Ravenclaw seemed to perk up at his acknowledgment, but her consciousness still appeared to be in a different dimension altogether.
“You can see them too.” She stated, looking Theo in the eyes, her own blue orbs wide and unblinking. It wasn’t a question.
His friend’s brows shot up to his hairline, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Wha—how did you—? Can you see them too?”
“Of course. My mother died, same as yours. Not in the same way, of course, that would just be odd.”
Draco, knowing full-well how…unusual Luna Lovegood could be, tried to stifle a laugh, as discussing two dead mothers was nothing to find humor in. It was difficult, though…
“How?” Theo questioned in bewilderment. “How could you possibly know?”
She frowned slightly, “Oh dear, the wrackspurts have gone and made your brain fuzzy. Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll clear up soon.” Luna looked out the window nearest her. “They’re called Thestrals, you know. Misunderstood creatures, but you three would know all about that.”
“Er—thanks. I think…” Draco said as pleasantly as he could manage. The comment seemed to appease her and the carriage bumped along quietly for a few moments.
She turned to look at Draco, but she never met his eyes, just stared at his hairline. “You have them too, but I suppose Hermione Granger did that to you. She’s got them as well, she just doesn’t know it, yet.” Luna smiled to herself, pleased with her assessments. “If you ever want them to clear up, you’ll have to be more decisive.”
It was Draco’s turn to flounder at her words, open-mouthed.
“Lovegood, whatever do you mean by that?”
“A bit of everything, or maybe nothing,” she shrugged as she smiled toothily at him with such sincerity he was left baffled.
They passed under the statues of winged boars, and the castle was barely visible through the torrential downpour. The lights glowing from the castle’s many windows looked like a watercolor painting—the golden hues bleeding into the raindrops on the windows and rolling down into the blackness around them.
“Father always says thunderstorms are good for predicting transformation or renewal,” she spoke again, as if in a trance. Lightning crashed around them menacingly, and their carriage came to a halt in front of the overbearing oak doors.
Everyone was rushing up the front steps and into the warmth awaiting them inside, except Lovegood, of course, who waltzed in happily as if the gales of wind and swirling rain weren’t trying to blow her away at every step.
“She’s mad!” Theo exaggerated, once they cleared the threshold. Draco shivered, but shrugged it off. It was one of the reasons he didn’t really speak to her—she never made much sense, and when she was coherent, it was a bit unnerving.
Up ahead, the Weasel was shaking his wet mop of hair out like a dog, spraying everyone around him with his filthy runoff. “—if that keeps up, the lake’s going to overflow. I’m soak—“
A massive red water bomb broke across Weasley’s head, and Draco immediately looked to the source of his newfound immense joy. Peeves the Poltergeist in his little bell-covered hat and orange bow tie. The Weasel stumbled into Potter, spitting and sputtering the icy water out. Another water balloon dropped below, barely missing Granger, before Professor McGonagall stormed out of the Great Hall.
“PEEVES!” She shouted angrily. “Peeves, come down at ONCE!”
Professor McGonagall skidded across the water the moment she stepped into the corridor, nearly strangling Granger as she used the young witch to regain her balance.
“Ouch—sorry, Miss Granger—“
“That’s alright, Professor!” She rubbed her neck soothingly, gasping slightly.
“Peeves get down here NOW!” McGonagall barked once again, as she straightened her pointed hat and scowled through her square-framed spectacles.
Peeves cackled, “not doing nothing!” He lobbed another water balloon, this time aiming for Marietta and Cho. The fifth-year girls squealed and dove out of the way, into the Great Hall. “Already wet, aren’t they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!” He maliciously aimed a water bomb at a few newly arrived second-years.
“I shall call the headmaster!” McGonagall shouted, looking flustered and dangerous, “I’m warning you. Peeves—“
The Poltergeist stuck his tongue out, tossing the last of the water balloons before zooming wildly up the marble staircase.
“Well, move along then!” She said sharply to the gathered crowd of soaked students. “Into the Great Hall, come on!”
The Slytherins watched on as most of the students attempted to make their way through the puddles and slick stones, sliding and sloshing through the Entrance Hall. The squelching of wet shoes alone was horrendous to listen to.
Once most of the other houses had cleared out, several of the older Slytherins cast a few drying spells on the floor, and themselves, and walked into the Hall poised, as to be expected.
The Great Hall was decorated nicely for the usual start-of-term feast. The golden plates and cutlery were awaiting their diners; goblets gleamed in the light of hundreds of floating candles overhead. The elongated House tables were filled with chattering children and adolescents, eager to catch up with their friends after a summer apart. The staff sat apart, facing their pupils from the Head Table, and the Hall itself was much warmer than what they had left behind outside.
“I hope they hurry up with the speeches and all…that,” Theo waved his hand in a careless gesture. “I’m starving,” his whining accentuated by his stomach’s audible gurgling.
“We’ll have the Sorting as well,” Blaise reminded them all glumly.
“Booo,” Millie tapped her fork against the empty plate in front of her. Greg placed a placating hand on hers, whispering a ‘there there’ in her ear.
Draco looked to the head table, finding Snape glowering at the Gryffindor table, looking as greasy and menacing as ever. He sat next to Professor Sinistra who was quite the contrast next to his sallow face and hooked nose. She was chatting cheerily with Professor Sprout whose hat had fallen askew over her wispy gray hair. On the Herbology Professor’s other side, Professor Flitwick was seated on a tall pile of multicolored cushions—most likely from the Divination classroom Draco deduced by their gaudy appearance.
At the center of the table, between two empty chairs, sat the headmaster. Dumbledore sat proudly, surveying his pawns and pieces throughout the room. His silvery-white hair and beard glittered in the flickering of the candles overhead, and he wore deep green robes adorned with stars and moons as if to mock not only Slytherin, but Draco himself and the Black family’s notoriety for using celestial names. In fact, the lower half of his left sleeve was Draco’s constellation, which irked him at the old oaf’s brazenness.
The wizard had his long, bony, decrepit fingers woven together, propping his chin up as he turned his attention to the bewitched ceiling above. Draco had never actually seen it this dark and foreboding before. Black and purple clouds entwined above, and lightning flashed across it as a clap of thunder outside echoed through the walls. Draco watched the old wizard go back to observing Scarhead—his favorite game piece—for quite some time through his half-moon spectacles, until he suddenly turned his gaze on Draco.
The temptation to look away; to avoid eye contact with such a man was strong—nearly irresistible. Who’s to say he couldn’t use Legilimency on a student from clear across the Great Hall, in the presence of the entire school. Draco stared back, unyieldingly—one might even say he did so with a bit of Gryffindor boldness. He would say it was Slytherin determination. Albus Dumbledore was no one that deserved his respect, and Draco refused to show any sort of shame or embarrassment in front of him.
There was no prickling that came to the edges of his Occlumency shields, though he made sure they were firmly in place the moment their eyes locked. Draco would take no chances this year.
“Who d’you reckon is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor?” Tracey asked them all, and Draco snatched his eyes away from the headmaster—breaking whatever strange stalemate they had been engaged in. He turned his attention back to his friends.
“At this rate, who knows. We’ve had Voldemort…a narcissistic quack…a werewolf…I’m inclined to guess that this year, Merlin will come back from the dead to teach us measly mortals,” Blaise snarked.
“At least we’d have another Slytherin teacher,” Greg added.
Pansy rolled her eyes, “Merlin’s specialty was Charms, you dunderheads. Doesn’t anyone listen in History of Magic?”
They all stared, wide-eyed at her. “No, Pansy. Apparently it’s just you and Granger,” Draco chuckled.
The conversation then turned into a pro and con argument over whether Professor Binns should even be allowed to continue teaching since he’s a ghost—not to mention the most boring and monotonous ghost in the castle.
“Come on, I’m starving!” Daphne sighed, and Pansy rolled her eyes before they suddenly lit up.
“Me too. I’m so hungry…” she looked Draco dead in the eye, “…I could eat a Hippogriff!”
Everyone within earshot burst into a fit of laughter and giggles, even a few Ravenclaws from their year who obviously remembered the incident from last year. Draco snarled, “just you wait, Pansy, I’ll—“
The words had no sooner started to leave his mouth than the doors burst open and silence fell across the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall led the first years in their straight, proper lines down the middle of the room.
“Did they swim here or something?” Pansy scoffed at the sopping wet blob of eleven-year-olds standing before them, shivering from a mixture of cold and anxiety.
The smallest boy of the lot was shooting a double thumbs-up from under an oversized fur tent—or rather, Hagrid’s moleskin coat it would seem—to another, nearly identical mousy, brown haired boy at the Gryffindor table. He must be brothers with the camera kid who practically licks Potter’s boots.
“C’mon, McG! Let’s make this a quick one!” Theo whispered enthusiastically under his breath.
The witch in question placed a three-legged stool in the center of the hall, just in front of the head table, placing the extremely old and dirty, patchwork wizard’s hat on top. Everyone waited silently. A tear opened up just above the brim of the hat, and it began to sing:
A thousand years or more ago,
When I was newly seen,
There lived four wizards of renown,
Where names are still well known.
Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,
Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,
Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,
Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.
They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,
They hatched a daring plan,
To educate young sorcerers,
Thus Hogwarts School began.
Now each of these four founders
Formed their own house, for each
Did value different virtues
In the ones they had to teach.
By Gryffindor, the bravest were
Prized far beyond the rest;
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest
Would always be the best;
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were
Most worthy of admission;
And power-hungry Slytherin
Loved those of great ambition.
While still alive, they did divide
Their favorites from the throng,
Yet how to pick the worthy ones
When they were dead and gone?
‘Twas Gryffindor who found the way,
He whipped me off his head.
The founders put some brains in me,
So I could choose instead!
Now slip me snug about your ears,
I’ve never yet been wrong.
I’ll have a look inside your mind,
And tell where you belong!
“Why does it have to make us sound so completely horrid?” Astoria grumbled. Everyone had forgotten she was there.
Not a single one of them had an answer. They were thinking the same thing, in fact. Of course, they all knew the proverbial deck would always be stacked against them. While outsiders saw money, wealth, power, every Slytherin knew they had to keep their superior status, if only to not be stamped out by the rest of the houses. They were the villains afterall, right? Everyone needs a “bad guy” to blame, and they were easy targets. Talk about witch hunts. Draco snorted at his own train of thought, but thankfully no one noticed as the Great Hall rang out with applause for the stupid hat.
Professor McGonagall unrolled her large parchment with the first-years’ names on it.
“When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool. When the hat announces your house, you will go and sit at the appropriate table,” she stated firmly.
She cleared her throat, “Ackerly, Stewart!”
The first boy trembled as he approached the stool, placing the hat on his head.
RAVENCLAW!
The boy quickly took the hat off and scurried to his new table, while the rest of the students applauded him. He took a seat next to Cho Chang, who politely applauded the new Ravenclaw.
“Baddock, Malcolm!”
SLYTHERIN!
Draco clapped along with the rest of his table, welcoming their newest recruit who swaggered over as though he owned the place. He’ll fit right in, Draco thought a bit rudely.
“Branstone, Eleanor!”
HUFFLEPUFF!
“Cauldwell, Owens!”
HUFFLEPUFF!
“Creevey, Dennis!”
The mousy boy stepped forward, tripping over Hagrid’s massive coat still wrapped around him.
GRYFFINDOR!
“Dobbs, Emma!”
RAVENCLAW!
Several more fidgeting and fearful first-years took their turn on the stool. So far, the Sorting was pretty evenly distributed.
“Madley, Laura!”
HUFFLEPUFF!
“The Puffs can have them all—“ Theo groaned, “just let me EAT!”
“McDonald, Natalie!”
GRYFFINDOR!
“At least they’re all very straightforward; no hat stalls,” Blaise pointed out.
“Pritchard, Graham!”
SLYTHERIN!
They all cheered again, a bit less enthusiastically, as their stomachs grumbled in unison.
“Quirke, Orla!”
RAVENCLAW!
And finally, the last timid eleven-year-old sat down on the wooden stool and placed the hat firmly down on his head.
“Whitby, Kevin!”
HUFFLEPUFF!
“Finally!” Theo cheered a bit too loudly, earning him some odd looks from their housemates further down the table.
Professor McGonagall plucked up the hat and stool, carrying them back to their resting places. Dumbledore had risen to his feet, readying to make his announcements and speech.
His arms spread wide in welcome, “I have only two words to say to you,” he told them all. “Tuck in.”
“Thank Salazar!” Theo sighed in relief as the empty plates before them filled magically with foods of every sort.
The boys piled their plates high with mashed potatoes, stuffed turkey, and Yorkshire pudding. The Great Hall was quiet except for the occasional chatter and clinking of forks on plates. Outside, the storm continued to rage, the relentless rain pounding heavily against the windows as they shook from another clap of thunder.
The stormy sky inside illuminated with a flash of lighting, gleaming off the golden dishes around the Hall as the first course disappeared to be replaced by puddings.
“Mmm treacle tart, Pans! Your favorite!” Blaise reached over to place a piece on her plate but she quickly pushed it away.
“I’m not feeling so well, but thank you,” she smiled weakly at her doting beau before resuming a conversation with Daphne. Blaise watched her worriedly, but Pansy’s demeanor left him satisfied for the moment.
When the puddings had been thoroughly ravaged, nothing but crumbs left behind, the remaining debris disappeared to leave only perfectly clean plates once again. A buzz of chatter rose up in the Hall, but was quickly cut off when Dumbledore got to his feet once again.
“So!” He smiled down at them all, “Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention while I give out a few notices.
“Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch’s office, if anybody would like to check it.”
“Any chance we can magically erase a few of those?” Theo whispered conspiratorially to Draco and Blaise.
The Headmaster’s lips twitched as though trying to hold back his amusement, which for once, Draco quite agreed with. Filch had quite the penchant for ruining any possible mischief or fun.
“As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmede to all below third year.
“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”
“What?!” Draco gasped, looking around at the remaining members of the Slytherin Quidditch team. They all seemed just as put off by the declaration. No Quidditch?!
Dumbledore continued as though he hadn’t just announced the worst possible news, “This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy—but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—“
A deafening roar of thunder rolled across the sky, and the large oak doors banged open. The entirety of the Great Hall turned as one unit to witness the intrusion.