Chapter 2
“A fistfight, Lucius? Really?” Narcissa sipped from her teacup delicately, looking over its rim at her husband. “You may as well have an affair with him at this point.”
“That’s hardly feasible in our current positions,” Lucius responded. Beside him, Draco smirked. He had played his part for the family’s reputation, and then Father went and got himself into a brawl. Narcissa said,
“Do find a more dignified approach. Otherwise, you may discover that I have conspired with Madame Weasley to lock you both in a broomshed.”
Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Have mercy, milady. All else aside, I accomplished the errand which the Dark Lord set me.”
Draco grumbled. “I could have helped. I don’t see why you needed to dupe a random student.”
“Plausible deniability,” Narcissa said primly. “To assist knowingly would risk breaking the student’s covenant, depending on what the Dark Lord’s plan is.”
***
By the time Draco got on the Express, his plan for the year was already in place. Harry Potter was the person to know in their generation. Draco had lost his chance at becoming Potter’s friend (to yet another Weasley), so he’d fallen back on plan B: placing himself as Potter’s rival. Joining the Slytherin quidditch team would be key.
As usual, he shut himself into a compartment with Vince and Greg. “I heard about that little scene in Borgin and Burkes,” Greg said.
“You were meant to. Neat setup, wasn’t it?” Draco preened. The rumors had spread just as Father predicted.
“Good tactic, using your youth to get away with the less respectable comments,” said Vince; he always had a head for social strategy.
“I was supposed to express interest in the Darkest thing I could see, and what’s Darker than a severed hand? Between you and me, though, it was a revolting thing.” Quite unsanitary, too.
Vince nodded. “Then your father scolds you to show that the family is also respectable, and that he’s properly strict in raising you.”
“Where we all know that’s a load of bollocks,” Greg put in. Draco was more than a little spoiled, he knew; his parents would give him anything he asked for, even the occasional muggle object or book. He didn’t dare take those to school; they were shut in a chest in his room which even the house-elves were forbidden to touch.
Maybe that was where he’d gone wrong with Potter. He had assumed (“Makes an ass of you and me,” his tutor would say) that the Light faction would raise their savior child in comfort and style. Yet Potter did not present himself accordingly; was that genuine or a front, and if the latter, to what purpose? Humility was considered a virtue in some circles, but still …
“We doing the rich ponce and his goons again?” asked Greg.
“It served us well enough last year.” No one would believe the three of them as friends, of course. “Shall we go and mock Potter? Did either of you see which carriage he’s in?”
Vince shook his head. “I’ve been watching the platform since ten, and I haven’t spotted him.”
***
In a different compartment of the Express, Ginny Weasley opened her new diary and started to write:
“Hello, my name is Ginny.”
H̵̩́̒͝ȅ̶̱̦͎̌l̵̩͎̒̍̔l̵̤̀̾ȏ̶̞̮̒͠,̷̜̈̎̚ ̷̗͉͓̉̎G̵̨̨͝i̴͈͊̈ṅ̶̩̪̾͠ǹ̵̹͈͘͝y̸̡̭̎.̵̫̅̎̅ ̸̘̼̘̅͐̚I̴̱̍’̶̫̗͗̾͂͜m̶̨̥͍̔̕ ̷̣́̕T̵͙͊o̴̗̯̹͑̉̃m̴̟͛.
***
The students were starting to filter into the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast, when a familiar snowy owl swooped in to land on Minerva’s shoulder. She took the note from Hedwig’s leg and read it with pursed lips, then handed it to Severus.
“Dear Professor McGonagall: sorry about this. – Harry.”
“I need to see to the Sorting. Severus, could you – ?”
“Leave our illustrious Boy-Who-Lived to me,” he sneered. Once he was out of sight around the corner, his lip quirked up. Far be it from him to try to rein in his Lord’s mischief. In fact, one could argue that it was his duty to aid and abet whenever possible.
He encountered Caretaker Filch on the front steps. “The hellions are getting an early start this year.”
“Did you notice something, Argus?”
“Sommat crossed the wards where it shouldn’t.”
“Arthur Weasley believes that his boys made off with his enchanted car. I’m astonished that it was able to pass the wards at all.”
“This place knows nothing about that.”
“Is that so,” Severus said with amusement.
Filch grinned. “Potter’s a likely lad, no?”
“Likely to cause chaos.” Hopefully to Lockhart, the sparkling twit.
The Whomping Willow was still when they got to it; neither car nor its occupants were in sight. Filch paused, as if listening intently, and then tilted his head towards the school. They caught up with Harry and the youngest Weasley boy at the doors to the Great Hall. “I’ll leave’em to you,” Filch said, scooping Mrs Norris into his arms. “I’ll have the elves lay on a feast in your rooms.”
“Much obliged.” Severus strode closer; Weasley was peering through the crack in the door.
“Snape isn’t at the staff table – d’you think he’s finally gotten sacked?”
“Maybe he’s standing right behind us, waiting to give us detention,” said Harry. With a cue like that –
“An astute grasp of the situation, Mr Potter.” They spun around; Weasley gaped, and Harry looked far too pleased with himself. “You are both expected in the Deputy Headmistress’s office.”
Awaiting them were not only Minerva and Albus, but Arthur Weasley himself. “Dad? How?” exclaimed Ron.
“There’s a tracking charm on the car, Ron,” Arthur explained gently.
“Perhaps you both can now tell us what possessed you to do such a thing,” Minerva said. A jumbled account emerged, of the platform barrier being blocked; Severus was certain that Harry knew more than he was saying, but that could wait or a more private venue.
“I didn’t want to miss Ginny’s sorting,” Ron concluded. Arthur pinched his nose.
“If you’d waited for me and your mother to return to the car, we could have flooed here in plenty of time. As it is, we’re lucky no one saw you.” Peter squeaked; he was never one to stand in the way of mischief, but he would step in if there was any real danger.
“And Mr Potter, what was the point of this letter?” asked Minerva.
Harry blinked innocently. “We had to find our way somehow. I gave Hedwig the note for you and we followed her. It went all right until the end there.”
Minerva’s lips thinned; Severus knew she was torn between praising their effective problem solving, and scolding them for getting into trouble in the first place. Severus had been on the receiving end of that expression before. “It would be best if both of you got checked over by Madame Pomfrey.”
Dumbledore put in, “Arthur, you may take young Ronald ahead; I would like a word with Mr Potter alone.”
***
Harry was furious. He had managed to act ashamed in front of the Headmaster – and avoided eye contact in the process – but within, he was seething. Arthur had at least given practical advice. Dumbledore thought he should have done nothing but wait, and hope that someone would find him. How dare he!
Any person who would miss Harry was a person he could call on for help – who would want him to call on them. But Dumbledore didn’t know he had them. As far as he knew, Harry had no reason to think anyone would come looking for him. And he had the gall to scold Harry for solving his own problems.
“You have great power, Master, both magical and social. Dumbledore will jump at any chance to stifle you.”
Harry breathed deeply and ran through an occlumency exercise. Dumbledore would not control him. He was far more wiling to let Madame Pomfrey check him over; she dismissed him with an exasperated, “Watch out for that tree, young man.”
Ron was waiting for him just outside the Hospital Wing. “We survived, mate!”
Harry chuckled. “Looks that way. Did your dad give you a hard time?”
Ron shook his head. “He was mostly glad we didn’t get hurt; he’s already gone to take the car home. Only, my wand cracked when the Willow got us, and Dad said we can’t afford to replace it just yet.”
Arthur couldn’t mean financially – the Weasleys weren’t that hard up, not for an essential such as a wand. The situation in the Ministry must be even more fraught than Harry had guessed.
“You can borrow my wand for practice if you need to,” Harry said. Ron stopped short and stared. Thomas, too, gasped.
“Master, are you serious?”
“If I were Sirius, you’d have noticed by now.” Aloud Harry said, “It’s only now and again, right? It’s not a big deal.”
“Yes it is, Master.”
“Right, mate.” Ron shook off his shock. “D’you reckon Hermione will yell?”
Harry laughed. “She’ll tear a strip off us for being reckless, but really she’ll be jealous that she missed it.”
***
Draco hefted his bookbag as he led the second-year Slytherins to their first Defense class. If Lockhart had written this many books, to great acclaim, he ought to make up for last year’s lacklustre instruction. The girls were certainly eager to meet him.
“When I’m in the room, he won’t look twice at you, Bulstrode,” Pansy was saying.
A miscalculation; the Bulstrodes weren’t a prominent family, but Millicent’s mother was a Dimitrescu, and they had interests all over Eastern Europe. Millicent held her head high, which was impressive on her. “How shall I ever endure.”
“Hmph. And of course we have Defense with the Griffs again. I just know they’ll make us look bad.”
Draco suspected that Pansy sincerely despised Gryffindors, which seemed shortsighted. Both of his parents had drummed it into him that letting emotion slant one’s judgement about anyone was a hindrance. Even if the Gryffindors made it so easy at times.
When the Slytherins arrived in the classroom, Weasley was teasing Granger for drawing hearts on her class schedule. Draco did his best to ignore them and found a seat with Vince and Greg flanking him as usual. Pansy sat in front, where she would be noticed; Blaise and Millicent sat at the back where they could observe. Eight in their year for Slytherin, nine for Gryffindor. The classroom was big enough for twice their numbers.
Lockhart swept in, nearly blinding with his choice of wardrobe, and announced that they would begin with a quiz to check their knowledge. That had to be a good sign, that the professor wasn’t wasting any time. Draco turned his paper over.
1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favourite color?
2. How many times has Gilderoy Lockhart won Witch Weeky’s sexiest smile award?
3. How many steps are in Gilderoy Lockhart’s skin care routine?
Never mind, they were all doomed.