September 6th, 1991
The class was worse than expected for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy and the girl from the train, both of whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus’s cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people’s shoes.
As soon as the smoke had billowed past Harry, he heard a harsh voice flow through the room, “Nott -move. Aegis!”
As soon as the spell finished, a translucent blue shield encased the four Slytherins on the other side of Ron -the one closest Harry assumed to be Nott. Noticeably, the shield was centered on Malfoy and only blocked the area around the Slytherin boys, no further. Within seconds, the rest of the class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs. The potion trickled around the shield’s barrier on the stone floor and the gas was unable to pass through it.
“Idiot boy!” snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”
Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.
“Take him up to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.
“You — Potter — why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor.” Snape turned to look at the shield as it began fading into nonexistence, critically examining it with narrowed eyes, “One point to Slytherin House, on behalf of Malfoy’s ability to cover Longbottom’s mistake.”
-
Watching Snape berate Tibble was not as satisfying as I thought it would be. Actually, it was disappointing. Snape could have been less obvious and made Tibble feel twice as bad. It would have been brilliant to see Slytherin’s Head of House use his cunning rather than his unrestrained resentment. At least the class itself was interesting.
Potions are exceedingly wonderful, and my brother is a natural wonder at them. However, despite Draco leaving a spot for me, I sat towards the back with Daphne and Pansy. My brother had Crabbe and Goyle on one side and I’d rather keep a distance from them -especially on any date I remembered from elsewhere. I’d had to do so all week, but that was due to the general idiocy the two radiated. Eventually, Nott had sat in the empty seat next to Draco while Zabini joined our row. Bulstrode and Spektor had opted to sit right up front, and the others in our year were otherwise spread out.
When Snape spoke, it was in a cold voice that went out of its way to make you feel small. It was much like home and I understood how Father would have taken Snape under his wing so readily. Growing up I had seen Snape several times, he would stop by a couple times a year for any events Father put on and Mother and him had tea at least once whenever summer came around. Usually, Draco and I gave greetings and made small talk before being sent off. It’s not as if I had never thought of Snape, but when I was young his presence simply wasn’t pressing. He was a family friend. He was around sometimes. Now, I am reminded of all he has done for us. And what he did for us in elsewhere. I am reminded of who he serves now.
Dumbledore.
Not that it really mattered. If it was up to me, Father’s status as an imperioused would remain fact. But Fate and Destiny may get in the way.
The perfect example of which was Longbottom’s noxious potion. Had I not known Snape’s distaste for Tibble, his disdain for Longbottom, and the scenes in elsewhere, I would have likely cast a more volatile protection spell over Draco. As is, aegis is the only true protection spell I’ve learned this week. I had, of course, been perusing a charm book from Mother’s collection: Spells of Myth: Practical Uses for Ancient Charms Vol. 1. I can hardly cast it more than once, as it is rather magically advanced. Despite my memory, my fitness, and my general affinity for magic, I am limited by my age. My magic is still stabilizing within me. Though I have stopped going accidental -due to my control of my emotions and conditioning, that has not allowed me to cast anything under the sun. Most of these limits will be gone within the next few years now that I’m regularly able to practice charms. Like actual muscles, it seems magic stabilizes within one the more it is used. This is courtesy of Pillory’s Magical Theories of Growth in Adolescent Witches. Apparently, witches reach stabilization faster than wizards.
Fate pushed the same conversation, down to the very questions Snape asked. Yet, Draco was different. The aegis was different. The House points to Slytherin were different.
If I can count on Fate to set me up, I can alter Destiny as I need.
The only question left is how much Destiny can be changed.
-
It was afternoon when I realized something was wrong. Draco had not spoken to me since breakfast. No, perhaps before breakfast. He had simply nodded or huffed at breakfast itself. The realization came when Daphne, Pansy, and I were lounging on the green. And as I thought about it, I realized my brother and I had not chatted privately since the beginning of the week. I dark feeling snaked through me.
Draco couldn’t be mad about the broom. Sure, Mother had told us to lay off unbecoming acts -but when had we not continued to do such things? It is not as if Mother has ever punished us. Did it -and I shuddered at the thought as soon as it crossed my mind, offend him? Embarrass him? Did it weaken his position with the boys?
All of the above is unacceptable. We are the owners of Slytherin by magic and merit and money. He is brilliant at Potions, Charms, and Herbology. I am infallible in History of Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Astronomy.
“I have to go.”
I didn’t quite rush to get up, but my hands worked deftly to collect my things as I got ready to go.
“Oh? Who died?” Daphne said, her voice tinged with the arrogance that carried her through.
“Unsure,” I gave her a Malfoy smile and tugged my outer robe on as I stood, “You’re invited to the funeral either way.”
“Can I have your portraits?” Pansy said, “You know, if it winds up being you.”
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“No,” I hesitated, before deciding that -were I to be murdered by my brother- it did not actually matter, “Fine. But only half.”
And then I headed back to the castle, wherein my brother was avoiding me as if I had dragonpox. I wound up catching sight of Bultrode and Spektor on my way in and realized I hadn’t really chatted with either of them much this week, let alone given them the gift from my mother. I had planned on softening Bulstrode first while I learned more about Spektor.
Dorothea Spektor. First year Syltherin. She wasn’t mentioned in elsewhere, and Mother had not given me the Spektor name to memorize. Thus, she must be either a halfblood witch on her mother’s side or a muggleborn. Fortunately, she hadn’t seemed taken aback by magic, so she likely is a halfblood. One could never be too sure, though, so I was trying to listen in to see if I could find out more. Other than that she has an Ash wand, is rubbish at transfiguration, and she is from Edinburgh, I haven’t found anything definitive.
I focused my mind and gave the two a wave. Now was not the time to worry about Spektor’s bloodline. I had to worry about my own. As soon as I caught sight of a group of Ravenclaws, I checked my bearing. I smoothed my gait, straightened my back, and leveled my expression. Just because I am in a rush does not mean I have to look it.
As I maneuvered through the halls, jumping from hall to hall with my eyes roving every face to search for Draco, I was frustrated. I should have noticed sooner that he hadn’t spoken to me. I should have picked up on it when he didn’t speak at breakfast -or join me when I was working in the common room last night. I quickly tapped the stone archway that led down to the Slytherin dungeon and gave a hushed, “Repartee.”
As the stone folded unto itself, I made my way down and pushed open the main doorway. I scanned the couches surrounding each hearth and watched the chess tables to see if any of the Slytherins playing were Draco. No luck. I strode through the room and went down the hall to the boys dormitory. There were two rooms for the first years and, as I generally had no need to be in the boys dormitory, I had no idea which belonged to my brother. So, I knocked on the first door. Quietly, but still firm.
It would be hard to describe my immense dissatisfaction when a medium tall boy, with tan skin and dark hair, pulled open the door roughly. He looked half asleep.
“Malfoy?” He voice was rough and his eyes squinted as he focused on me, “You need something?”
“No, go back to sleep Pike.” I waved dismissively as I stepped back and turned on my heel. “Sorry.”
Right as I was about to knock on the opposite door, a voice called to me from the hall.
“What -no use for me without your mother’s letters?”
I turned to see Pucey walking toward me from a few rooms down the hall. I blinked as I realized that meant he was a third year -only two above me. Not a large difference. He had a dashing smile that showed off his dimples, and his eyes were dark as night. I gave him a wider smile than normal and softened my usually sharp expressions. A different mask than Princess of Slytherin. This one is of a socialite, a picture of Mother’s grace.
You are a die to be cast, Medea. With a smile, or a frown, or a bland look, the world will be yours.
“Don’t make it sound so trivial. You are invaluable. Without you, I would be left without the comforts of home.”
Pucey was about to respond when a snort came from the common room exit. As I whipped my head around I caught the tail end of my brothers goons walking away.
“Crabbe! Goyle!” I shouted, starting to follow before casting a look back at Pucey, “Next time. I have to go.”
By the time I got to the center of the common room, they were gone. Between the memory of Crabbe and Goyle storming away, the snort I was half sure was my brother, and Pucey’s confused face as I left, I decided this was not a good day.
“Salazar’s tits,” I swore.
-
Despite being the first free afternoon all week, I had spent it storming around the castle in search of Draco. I had asked the closest portraits out of the dungeon if they’d seen a boy that looked similar to me. All but one had simply ignored me. The one that answered sneered at me as she sniped. “Well, I wouldn’t tell you if you were the last girl at Hogwarts, snake.”
I nearly hexed the witch. Of course, she was a portrait from 1582 -according to her plaque, so the only thing that would actually work would be to burn her. But that would get me docked points -or maybe even a detention. So I held it in. If only she had done me the same courtesy.
Thus, I had descended back into the dungeon to check out the empty classrooms and study spaces. He was, rather predictably, not in any of them.
Hoping he’d fled to the Great Hall for lunch, I searched the Slytherin table only to find Blaise and Theo snarling back and forth. No sign of Draco or Crabbe or even Goyle.
Next was the library. Unfortunately, I had only found a frizzy haired girl pouring over books. Hermione Granger. Not the nuisance I was looking for but I was not surprised she was already huddled with a dozen books any self respecting wizard had learned by seven. Muggleborns. One can say it’s not a limiting factor, but that only lasts until one has a single question about the origin of magic, or how the ministry works, or why no one complains about violent detentions. ‘There’s so much to learn, purebloods don’t have a leg up,’ is only true if your parents never hired a tutor, or had a house elf, or even spoke to their child.
It was nearly dinner by the time I ran into Goyle shuffling through the halls. As soon as he saw me, I saw his usual daft expression shift.
“Did you just flinch?” I hissed at him, however Goyle had already bolted away from me before I spoke. It was a bit offensive that the oaf thought he could outrun me.
I stormed after him, the frustration and fear caused by Draco morphing into full blown irritation.
“Gregory Garfield Goyle,” I called, a harsh edge to my voice, and I saw his shoulders bunch but he didn’t slow down, “Stop running, Goyle.”
He did not stop running. In fact, he began to actually run -rather than the speed walk he had been doing prior. At that moment I came to a horrific realization: I could either let Goyle outrun me or I had to run after him. I could catch up in moments, but that wasn’t the point. We were in a busy hall, spattered with small groups chatting. They would see me run after Goyle, and no matter how quickly I caught him I would have to sacrifice the graceful fury I was projecting.
I had to hold back a scream as I realized I would have to follow him at my current pace. Which meant, as I followed him around a corner, I lost him.
-
Rather than run, or study, or plot, at five in the evening I was seated in the Great Hall surrounded by other Slytherin first years. Almost all of them, in fact. Nineteen eleven year olds. We were down one white blonde boy with steel eyes that matched my own.
When six o’clock passed, I continued to sit. Waiting.
Then seven o’clock.
Eight.
Eight thirty.
At nine, I was forced out of the hall and sent back to the common room.
Draco had not shown to dinner.
Crabbe and Goyle had pointedly sat as far from me as possible and when I spoke to them they ignored me. Even Zabini and Nott side stepped any questions about my brother -though Nott had thanked me for the warning in Potions. Of course, not in so many words.
“That charm from Potions -it was perfect for stopping Longbottoms blunder.” Which, while not said kindly or with an abundance of gratitude, was accompanied with a sufficiently pointed look.
As I sat in the common room, waiting for Draco to make an appearance, I ran through every moment of this week. From the train to the dorm assignments to when McGonagall handed us sticks to be turned to needles. If my brother wasn’t sitting in eyesight, I picked the memory apart to see if I could find his reflection. It worked several times, but Draco spends his life projecting a bored expression just as I do. Other than a glance every so often, or the occasional furrowing of his brows, or even a stray grumble to Crabbe and Goyle, I couldn’t find anything out of place.
I wound up falling asleep in the common room waiting for Draco to make an appearance on the present.