CHAPTER V
CHAPTER V
“Draco! Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Pansy scolded him, materializing out of nowhere when Draco got off the train with the three Gryffindors in tow. Pansy glared at him with a sulking pout.
“Sorry, Pans. I didn’t mean to leave your ugly mug behind.” Smirked Draco. She scoffed at him.
“Please, we both know that I look fabulous.” Pansy rolled her eyes with a dramatic flourish. Of course, she is not wrong. Her hair was styled in a slight bob; wisps of hair framed her face. The cuts of her robes are tailored expertly for her petite frame. As the days passed, Draco could see more of the Pansy he knew in his past life. It was a clear testament of time.
“Of course, Pans.” Draco responded with a placating tone. She pouted once more until her eyes landed on the dark-haired boy behind him. With a gasp, she exclaimed.
“Harry Potter!”
The boy of her attention was currently looking at him helplessly, silently asking him for help. Potter seemed confused, and more notably, awkward. Which is quite understandable, Draco conceded. Considering he is an eleven-year-old and not from a pureblood family. Potter's inability to function in most social affairs was one of the many things Draco had ridiculed about him over the years. Though the boy does have a knack for spatting insults back and forth with him.
Draco wondered if he had been too nice.
“Well, Pansy. To answer your question, I was with Potter and his friends.” Pansy’s eyes widened for a second before they returned to the passive stare of a pureblood. He introduced them.
“Potter, Weasley, Granger, meet Pansy Parkinson.” He gestured around.
Pansy nodded as the three introduced themselves one by one, “Uh, hello, I’m Ron Weasley.” He scratched at the back of his head.
“And I’m Hermione Granger, pleasure.” Granger chirped with her bossy tone.
“Likewise.” Pansy responded with a strained voice. No one seemed to notice. Pansy turned her eyes at Potter. “Oh—uh, I’m Harry Potter.” He said meekly. Pansy raised a brow.
“I know.”
Potter lowered his head even further; a tint of red flashed across his face.
“Firs’ years! Firs’ years, ga’er ‘round!” A bellow got their attention. They turned around to see the half-giant, Hagrid, herding the first years toward a dock. Draco walked towards it, Pansy followed closely behind him, and the three Gryffindors stumbled after her; Not unlike how baby ducks would follow their mother.
Draco didn’t know how to think about this development; making acquaintance with the future savior of the wizarding world was much easier than he had remembered. Not being a vindictive bastard do the job apparently, he thought bitterly.
The boats floated steadily; as they drifted through a tunnel that opened to a great lake. Draco stood silently among the awestruck children. An exclaim went through the students as they saw the majestic castle of Hogwarts for the very first time. Everything was the same as Draco had remembered; the impressive walls and spiraling spires. Moonlight shimmered across the chilling water of the Black lake. Draco stared solemnly; memories of his time spent there slowly resurfaced. Pansy seemed to notice the drop in his mood. She held his hand in a questioning gaze. He shook his head, and thankfully, she was understanding enough as she let go of his hand and left him alone.
Draco is grateful for her friendship; heaven knows he needs it. In the last two years, Narcissa had invited his friends to the manor to get him out of the library; it had worked, to her delight. Thus, the amount of time Draco had met the girl increased considerably. Of course, they had spent their time in the library for most of the time. That was until Pansy had cried out of frustration from extreme boredom. The consequence after that was Draco accompanying her for an entire week in Italy so she could visit Blaise. He had to comply with her every request, or she would give him the cold shoulder.
Now, they are leaving the boats. Hagrid continued to lead them. He was holding an oiled lamp; it had seemed small compared to the size of his hand. They are heading towards the grand doors of Hogwarts, Pansy, and the three Gryffindor’s eyes shined with a sense of wonder Draco was sure he had when he first arrived at Hogwarts. He looked at all the children around him, a pang went through his heart and a phantom pain shot through his left arm.
The door opened, and a witch dressed in deep green robes and a pointy hat stepped forth; she had a stern but gentle face. Minerva McGonagall, head of the proud Gryffindor house. Black robes billowing behind her figure, wand raised, and arm strained against the torrid of spells ricocheting off the wall of magic conjured by the professors of Hogwarts.
“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” Draco blinked.
“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said the professor.
“The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony. Because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.”
Everything she said was the same as last time; Though Draco couldn’t remember it word for word; He wasn’t really paying attention the first time, too impatient.
She explained the point system in winning the House Cup and how it would be an honor.
"I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.”
Draco had a bitter taste in his mouth.
“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarted yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”
Her eyes lingered for a moment on Longbottom’s cloak, which was fastened under his left ear. Weasley nudged at his nose self-consciously while Potter tried to flatten his hair, to no avail.
“I will return when we are ready for you,” said Professor McGonagall. “Please wait quietly.” And she returned inside the castle.
Small murmurs began as the excited students were no longer under the intimidating gaze of the professor. Some wondered what the professors would teach. What would be in the feast? One asked what the sorting ceremony could be. That was when Weasley piped up.
“Fred and George said we have to fight a troll to be sorted.”
At his words, a few faces paled, and Granger started muttering spells under her breath; Draco doubts those spells would help. Draco continued to stare at the now panicking children. Of course, he and Pansy didn’t have any reaction. After that little stunt on his birthday, Pansy had sought to ask him about anything and everything. And among the many of the things she asked, Hogwarts was one of the most frequent subjects. But with his memories being a hit or miss and how often the girl’s question left him baffled, he figured Pansy thought he was only bluffing.
Pansy snickered, “I doubt that’s true, Weasley. Are you sure your brothers aren’t just messing with you?” She teased antagonistically.
Weasley had looked offended before his face scrunched together as if conflicted between whether he should defend his brothers or believe her. Which, Draco admits, fighting a troll isn’t something a first-year with no knowledge of any spells would know how to do, let alone want to.
Soon, they were led into the great hall. A new wave of nostalgia hits Draco as he looks around the familiar hall where he had taken his meals for seven years. Four long tables positioned the room, with the head table at the end. Floating candles scattered across the room, shrouding them with a warm glow. And the ceiling was covered with twinkling stars.
“Enchanted to look like the night sky,” Granger marveled with a faint gasp.
Gloomy faces blurred around him, dark figures stood nervously together. A dreadful silence stretched through the entire hall as the two Carrow siblings smiled menacingly down at them. Draco blinked again, his mind far away from the speaking Headmaster. He couldn't quite bring himself to focus on Dumbledore's speech. But he distantly tucked away the reminder of not loitering around the third-floor corridor.
First-year was the year Draco had the least amount of information about. Other than the appearance of a troll in the dungeon, that dark figure in the Forbidden forest, nothing dramatic happened during first-year. Well, not that he's aware of. Both incidents were fuzzy in his memory; they had happened so long ago.
What he still remembered, till this day, was the burning humiliation he felt at the end of the year. Dumbledore had brazenly awarded an abundance of points to the golden trio plus one Neville Longbottom. Pushing Gryffindor from last place on the house cup to first in seconds. The entire school cheered for the loss of Slytherin. The reasons had been ridiculously vague, pointless, and unfair. It was just Dumbledore’s bias for his golden boy.
Draco had been furious; he had complained to his father for the whole summer after. Though, now, Draco could only suspect it had something to do with the yearly plot of the Dark Lord’s return. But no eleven-year-old would care about that. Draco sighed. He is sure the same thing will happen again. And people wonder why Slytherins don’t like Dumbledore as much as the other houses.
He froze, brain rewinding. ‘The yearly plots of the Dark lord’s return’… How long did it take the Dark Lord to come back to life? When did it start? First-year? Did it happen then—now? And Dumbledore did nothing?
He contemplated for a moment.
Surely, Dumbledore would've noticed the attempts of a literal Dark Lord trying to return; it is practically happening under his nose! Would he really let a child handle that, that...thing? The logical part of him can understand the idea of subtly training Potter into eventually fighting the Dark wizard, but really, on his first year? He's a child! How easy it was, the thinking of a child...Potter wouldn't think twice about breaking the rules if he thought he was doing the right thing. Soon, their curiosity will become paranoia, and they will find themselves waist-deep in the grasp of war.
No wonder Potter got all the "Special" treatments. Dumbledore needed him—hell, the whole world needs this buffoon of an eleven-year-old to kill the darkest wizard to have ever lived! Draco groaned internally. Why?
“Malfoy, Draco!” The call of his name brought him back from his torrent of thoughts, and he raised his eyes to the platform where the stool and the hat lied. An effortless smile he did not feel slid onto his face as he glided towards Professor McGonagall. He sat before her, and darkness was all he saw.
Surprisingly, the Sorting hat didn’t instantly announce Slytherin like it had the first time. Instead, it rested itself on his head for quite a while. Feeling antsy, Draco breathed out a sigh as he waited patiently. Trepidation in his throat.
“Hm…you’re an interesting one, aren’t ya?” said a foreign voice he had never heard before; he tensed up, the slight shake in his leg stopped immediately. He did not feel comfortable with someone in his head.
“Aye, it is hard to read with all your walls, young Malfoy, although you are much older than the last time we have met, and much changed.” The voice said slowly. It was the hat, he realized. Draco could only guess what the Sorting Hat had seen.
He remained silent.
“A curious one, indeed.” The hat continued to contemplate.
“Do you have a name?” Draco asked, the question coming out of nowhere. The hat was surprised; Draco supposed no one had cared to ask.
The hat finally answered, “No, when I came into existence, I was deemed as the Sorting Hat. So, I suppose that is my name. what an interesting fella’ you became.” It chuckled in his mind. “Ah, but we’re getting off-topic. The house to sort you in, young Malfoy, it is a tough question indeed.”
“Full of ambition and cunning cleverness. Wisdom gained from experience and the unquenchable thirst for more. As well as the courage and bravery to face your predicament.” The hat drifted off.
“What about Hufflepuff?” He quipped.
“What about Hufflepuff?” the hat asked in return. A hint of mischief in its voice as if sharing a joke with him.
“I will give it to you, devotion and persistence. But I don’t think that was ever considered an option for you, young Malfoy.”
“No, I suppose not.” Draco admitted, “But, as much of a lovely chat this was, I think I’ve stalled you long enough, I am not the main star tonight.”
“Oh, but you certainly are the most interesting one.”
A weird smile flickered on Draco's face, “Well, Sorting Hat, perhaps I should choose my own house, as it were.” Although Draco couldn’t see it, he could feel the hat nod. What a peculiar image.
And Draco stood up from the stool and took off the hat. The hall was silent, and professor McGonagall seemed lost for word.
“Mister Malfoy?” he gave a small smile to the professor and bid the hat goodbye, walking away to the Slytherin table.
The hat chuckled, seeing his choice, “Very well then, Young Malfoy, better be in SLYTHERIN!” it bellowed.
The Slytherins slowly started clapping. They seemed hesitant and confused as to why the hat had let the young Malfoy heir choose his own house?
“Never knew you would be a hat stall, Draco.” A clear voice said, Daphne Greengrass. Draco smiled lightly.
“Was having a nice conversation, is all.”
“With the hat?” she raised one of her impeccable eyebrows at him. He shrugged, elegantly, the way his mother does. Daphne chuckled into her hand.
“If I didn’t know what genius thoughts you tend to have in your head, I would’ve thought you’ve gone mad from all the times you hole yourself in your family library.”
“How did you do it?" A voice chirped behind him, "Choosing your own house, and the hat lets you! I’ve never even heard of it before.”
“Well, Pans, there are things even I do not know.” Draco said with a dramatic wave of his hand.
“Impossible. You?” Pansy played along, her tone, sardonic; Smirking as she sat down with them at the table.
“Potter, Harry!” Professor McGonagall’s voice rang through the hall again, this time catching Draco’s ears. He looked at the tiny boy as he dragged his feet across the hall. Interest, hidden behind an unreadable cloud in his eyes, he returned to his thoughts. He wondered if there was a possibility for Potter to be sorted into a different house. But he quickly stopped the thoughts; It wouldn't do him any good if he changed the past too much. It was his only advantage. Maybe there will come a time where he had to forego any cautions of affecting what should have happened but now is not the time. Draco could only hope that he was nice enough to the golden trio for them to leave a good impression.
He didn’t know how many minutes had passed, but he could tell it was a while if the impatient but anticipating looks were anything. Has it always taken this long for Potter to decide on his bloody house?
Why did he ask? It's Potter.
Then suddenly, with a roar, “GRYFFINDOR!” the table clad with red raised into a cheerful riot. With two voices being the loudest.
“We’ve got Potter! We’ve got Potter!” The Weasley twins, it seemed…
He looked away, disinterest on his face while Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, resuming the sorting ceremony. Until Weasley joined his Gryffindor table beside Potter and Granger, and the last member of Draco’s own friend group joined them as well, Blaise Zabini. A young wizard with shining dark skin and an attractive smile on his face, coal eyes gleaming as he saunters towards their table.
“They really are the rowdy bunch.” He said.
Pansy sneered at the table full of children wearing red ties, and Daphne smiled into her hand.
“Nice to see you too, Blaise.” Draco replied instead.
“I know it’s Potter, but aren’t they too excited?” Pansy drawled with faux annoyance. A pout on her face as she peeked over at the cheering Gryffindors; festivity is ample amongst them. Pansy had always liked a more joyful surrounding. Rather than the sober ones common to a pureblood gathering. But it wasn’t of acceptable behavior for any respectable purebloods. This must be a breath of fresh air for her. Blaise smiled knowingly.
The dinner was finally served, and Draco watched all the children around him, well, his peers. The wild Gryffindors, joyful Hufflepuffs, laid-back Ravenclaws, and the proper Slytherins. The older students chattered to the first years about Hogwarts and what they should expect for their school years. And the first-years were listening to them with apt attention.
Draco suddenly felt out of place, like he shouldn't be here. He stared at the many joyous faces as they laughed and dined. Wonders in their shining eyes as cups and plates refilled themselves like magic. Draco felt a crushing guilt wash over him, and the familiar feeling of shame rose to his throat. For so many years, he had been a fool. Thought of himself as someone important, a force to be reckoned with. Acting on the baseless ideas of his own significance.
Of course, he wasn’t the only bully in Hogwarts. That would be absurd; people aren’t that nice. But he was the main instigator and the stupidest of them all. He was a disgrace to his house and the proud name of Malfoy.
Still, he paid the price in the end. His whole family did, along with the reputation of the proud house of Slytherin.
He wondered if he should still feel guilty about something that technicality had never happened. Logically, he shouldn’t, so he doesn’t…but that is irrelevant. He shouldn’t be dwelling on these thoughts.
Soon they were being led into their dorms in the dungeon. As they snaked through the twisting paths Draco knew by heart, he remained silent while Pansy raved excitedly about the school year with Blaise. And as he looked at his peers, shadows of his past life appeared before his eyes. He looked down at his feet, his steps, light and sure, something his heavy heart did not share. And Draco soon found himself lying on the sheets of green silk of his bed. Vincent, Greg, and Blaise; sound asleep. And he was left to his thoughts.
Perhaps, this would be a much longer year than he thought. Though he knew in his mind that seven years would pass in a blink of an eye, and he'd be left floundering for the remains of one Harry Potter’s life. If not, his own.
…
They walked through the halls filled with paintings; Harry stared in amazement as the people in the pictures talked and moved about. Two older students were guiding them towards a stack of stairs.
“Please let us pass through.” One of them had said.
They continued to walk. Harry was confused about who the prefects had asked when he felt a tremor under his feet. The stairs are moving! The first years gasped as they held onto the railings when the steps they are standing on seemed to spin in different directions.
“The stairs are enchanted!” One of them exclaimed; it was Hermione.
Finally, at the end of the stairs was a painting of a fat lady. She had a golden cup in her hand, and her portrait was framed with grapevines. She spoke.
“Password?”
“Caput Draconis.” The girl said. The painting swiveled open, showing another room full of warmth and a crackling sound.
“Remember now, first years. Caput Draconis is the Gryffindor dorm’s password. You’ll have to remember it if you want to sleep in your bed.” The other boy explained to them.
Harry looked around the dorm, a cozy place with soft couches and a fireplace where the fire is lit. That was where the crackling sound came from. He marveled at all the warm tone in the room. Older students littered around the place, reading books and playing games. Harry recognized one of the games, exploding snap, Ron had taught him on the train.
“Blimey.” A starstruck voice raised beside him. Harry looked at Ron, who glanced around the room much like Harry. “Wonder where the beds are.”
Harry’s eyes landed on the set of stairs on both sides of the room.
“Alright, it’s time for bed. First years, up the stairs you go. The girls to the right, the boys to the left. Five will share a room. Come on.” Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He buzzed excitedly as an older boy started herding them to the left staircase. He wonders how the rooms would look like.
Harry is now getting ready for bed. It was a big and lavishly red bed with bedposts and heavy curtains. It looked so much more comfortable than the cot in his little cabinet. He could hardly believe the things he had seen for this past month. The mountains of letters from a magical school, A giant with pockets filled with keys, a whole street filled with whimsical shops and merchandise. Now Harry is in the boarding school where his parents had met.
He nuzzled into the soft covers as he bid Ron good night. Soon, the room darkened and quieted. The silence enveloped him, pulling him to a deep slumber.
It was dark, and he continued to turn in his sleep when suddenly, something heavy settled on his head. It became heavier and heavier until Harry could no longer ignore the growing weight on his head. He opened his eyes to see what it was. It was Professor Quirrell’s purple turban. Harry looked at the draping fabric blankly.
“Go to Slytherin…”
Harry flinched as a wispy voice floated to his ear.
“Go to Slytherin…” It kept repeating.
“No.” Harry struggled to pull off the turban, but it tightened even more.
He kept struggling as the scratchy voice said to him again and again, “Go to Slytherin…it is your destiny.”
“No!” Harry shouted in retaliation when suddenly the heavyweight on his head disappeared. And there in front of him is Draco Malfoy, looking at him with a raise of his brow.
“You should get the black robes.” He drawled.
They were in Madam Malkin’s robe shop. Harry stood on a stool, fabric draped loosely around him with pins securing them. Malfoy sat across from him, a book in his hand. He closed it with a resounding snap.
“You need to go. There’s not much time left.”
“What?”
And there was a mirror; Harry stared at himself. A piece of red stone was clutched in his hand. He looked down, but there was nothing in his palm. Suddenly, he stood in the middle of Diagon Alley. Passengers went back and forth. Tendrils of shadows were rising from in-between the tiny cracks of the bricked road. The shops and their warped roofs fell one by one around him, disappearing into thin smokes.
“Wait! Stop!” Harry tried to stop the smokes from dissipating, but his feet were stuck to the ground, not moving an inch. The people ran around in a stampede; they too were fading into vapors. Their piercing screams faded slowly into the distance. Harry fell to the ground; the towering shadows rushed towards him when a pale hand pulled him away.
It was an older boy, although much longer, his shocking white hair was recognizable. It was Malfoy.
“Harry Potter, the savior of the Wizarding World.” He mocked half-heartedly.
Harry grabbed at him like a drowning man, “Are you real? Is magic real?” he asked.
“Am I real?” His silver eyes widened in disbelief. Malfoy shook his head, laughing as he said, “Have you lost your mind, Potter? You’d wish I’m not real.”
Harry looked at him, more confused than ever; Malfoy rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say anything else. Harry could feel a pat on his head.
“Time to wake up, Potter.” Malfoy cooed as if talking to a baby. There was a sting in his chest. Indignant, Harry was about to tell him off when Malfoy suddenly glared in the direction at his back, alarmed. Harry was pushed aside when a burst of green light flashed.
Harry flinched awake, sweating and shaking.