September 1st, 1991
Harry had woken up that morning, gotten in the car with the Dursleys, and had another unusual day. So unusual, in fact, that it took him several minutes of chatting with the boy in front of him before he was able to fully accept the strange, magical train was truly real.
“What’s your Quidditch team?” Ron asked.
“Er — I don’t know any,” Harry confessed.
“What!” Ron looked dumbfounded. “Oh, you wait, it’s the best game in the world —” And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he’d been to with his brothers and the broomstick he’d like to get if he had the money. He was just taking Harry through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn’t Neville the toadless boy, or Hermione Granger this time.
Three boys and a single girl entered, and Harry recognized the boy in front at once: It was the pale boy from Madam Malkin’s robe shop. He was looking at Harry with a lot more interest than he’d shown back in Diagon Alley, though it was less than most others today.
“It’s you?” he said, only minor curiosity coloring his tone. “They’re saying all down the train that Harry Potter’s in this compartment.”
“Yes,” said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards. Behind them was a pale haired girl who looked similar to the boy from the robe shop, and, rather than interest, Harry thought she looked like she had smelled something unpleasant. Not to say she was unpleasant, but she was intensely cold looking from her ice blonde hair to the pale blue pullover and grey sport pants she was wearing.
“Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle,” said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. He briefly paused as he glanced at the girl but glossed over her introduction, then focused back to Harry. “And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”
Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him, an indecipherable expression on his face.
“Laughing at my name, are you? That’s rich coming from a weasel. Red hair, freckles, and no sense of decorum, you’re clearly a Weasley.”
He turned back to Harry. “You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You’d best figure out whose worth your time early on.”
For a moment, Harry thought the boy was going to reach out his hand but instead Malfoy looked back to the girl who seemed similar to him -and who had not said her name.
“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” Harry said coolly, interrupting the brief glance between the two.
Draco Malfoy didn’t go red, or even pink, instead a muted grin spread across his face. Harry found it rather unsettling.
“That’s rather the point, Potter,” he said slowly. “Then again, your father was left to do the same and look what that got him. You hang around Weasley, and oafs like Hagrid, and we can make bets about it.”
Both Harry and Ron stood up.
“Say that again,” Ron said, his face as red as his hair.
“Oh? Ickle Weasley is going to fight?” Malfoy’s face still had that smile, but his eyes sharpened.
“Unless you get out now,” said Harry, more bravely than he felt, because Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than him or Ron.
“That’s rather unnecessary,” Malfoy snorted, not looking the least bit plussed by the threats, “We’ve no reason to stick around with the likes of you two.”
The three boys looked pleased with themselves as they left the compartment. Harry noticed he no longer saw the girl, and he hadn’t caught her leaving either.
As fast as Malfoy and his gang had popped up, they had left. Harry felt both irritated and offended by the whole encounter. Before Harry had the time to truly process it, Hermione Granger had come in.
“What has been going on?” she said, looking at the red faced, red haired boy sitting next to a dumbstruck Harry.
“You’ve met Malfoy before?” His face scrunched in distaste.
Harry explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.
“I’ve heard of his family,” said Ron darkly. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.” He turned to Hermione. “Can we help you with something?”
Before Hermione could answer, a cold voice filled the compartment, “Ah, what’s new? A Weasley who is just as self-righteous as the rest.”
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All three of them looked to the pale haired girl in the doorway, a harsh look replacing the disgust from earlier.
Ron spluttered and the girl clicked her tongue, “Now, now, don’t strain your mind too much coming up with a retort.”
“Potter,” even as she said Harry’s name, the girl looked as if she wished she hadn’t. In fact, she looked like she didn’t want to say anything at all, “Word of advice, mind yourself. I’ve heard the stories. You are not in the Muggle world anymore. Act like it.”
Her hard gaze left Harry, ignored Rob entirely, and settled on Hermione Granger -who looked rather put off by the whole exchange, “Muggleborns need to accept that too.”
The girl was gone, no name given, and Harry decided she was rather unpleasant as well. Right as Ron opened his mouth, Hermione spoke urgently.
“You’d better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we’re nearly there.”
It was later that Harry wondered how the pale haired girl knew Hermione was a muggleborn.
-
I cursed internally. I had left early to have as little presence as possible. And to change into my robes. I was on edge from having to keep my mask up all day. And Father had made some nonsense comment when I boarded the train. I wanted a break from Crabbe and Goyle. There were half a dozen excuses running through my head. None of them were the reason though.
The reason, of course, is that my anxiety is eating me alive and I am unable to even explain to Draco why that is. What if Draco dismissing him, because he did make no mistake, was not enough? What if Crabbe and Goyle not fighting that blasted rat had long term consequences? The thought was eating me alive and brought be back to Tibble’s compartment. What I said wasn’t exactly incendiary. Maybe.
Twisting a lock of hair around my finger, I had to tense my arm to stop myself from pulling it out of my head in frustration.
Maybe I should simply let the pieces fall where they may from here on. Maybe keeping to the plot is wrong. Interacting with Tibble sure felt wrong. He is unbearable. Not for what he’s done, but who he is. A Gryffindor to his core. No cunning, no barbed words, no hidden meaning. As I said, unbearable. All the banter with him and Weasley is going to be a chore if I have to keep it up.
This morning hadn’t been great, anyway. Mother gave us pecks on the cheek and reminded us to owl once we settled in, she gave a not so subtle reminder that our antics in the Manor were not to spill into the halls of Hogwarts. Dobby had stuttered his way through goodbye in front of the family, Father and Draco saying some relatively mild barbs about it but nothing nearly as horrid as before. Father had, in his usual fashion, pretended there was nothing of note happening at all -until he pulled Draco and I aside, individually, to give us his expectations. To neither of our surprise, when we boarded the train we found out that he had very different expectations from us. Father wanted Draco to be top of year, to shine amongst our peers, he wanted him to be the Prince of Slytherin, to be feared and respected. Father had told me in few words that I was to be top of Slytherin, behind only my brother. Had it been anyone else, they would have taken him to mean that I should hide behind my brother, never outshine him, never step out of place. But the rest of what he wanted showed a different picture. I was to be powerful in the way influence is. Rather than being the figure head, rather than being feared, rather than holding the wand myself, I was to pull strings at a distance. I was to be pleasantly neutral, to take no stands, to hold all of Slytherin in my circle -no exceptions. I was to be the Princess of Slytherin, the shadow that manipulated the tides. If Draco was burning sunlight at midday, I was starlight gently trickling down at midnight. Two sides. One whole. Total control.
When we told each other what Father had said, we laughed.
“The same roles as ever, then.” Draco had hummed, as we enjoyed having the compartment to ourselves.
It always struck me as novel that our family was truly muted in our expressions of humor and joy and love, even our expressions of anger and displeasure were lesser than others -but none of us could control our tongues. Happy, sad, angry, bored, we always had something to say. It was as if our voices, droll and deadpan, were meant to mute our words, colorful and lively as they were.
Even now, when we were alone and amused by our father, we were likely the only ones who knew the others mood. It was in the twitch of Draco’s eyebrow, the light scrunch of my nose, and several other small details. One day, maybe someone else will get close enough to know us.
Crabbe and Goyle had sought us out shortly after we’d boarded -earlier than most even arrived to the station, and I watched as their fathers gave them sharp goodbyes from the window. Father must have told them when we were arriving.
Longbottom had lost his toad as expected, and he never did come to our compartment himself. The frizzy haired muggleborn destined to be part of the main trio from elsewhere had stopped in to check. Crabbe and Goyle had made some comment about the toad and she’d huffed off, never to return. When the trolley came by with snacks, I laughed internally when they each only got a couple snacks.
“What? Are we on hard times?” I scoffed, and looked to the woman with the treats, “Double what they want, and I’ll take whatever charmed hard candy you’ve got.”
Draco swatted my hand away when I went to grab the coins from his wallet, “What? Are you on hard times?”
I gave him a Malfoy smile and held my hands up, before pulling the coins from the pocket of my sport pants. Like hell I was wearing those blasted uniforms before I had to. As I took the bag of candy marbles, I waved for the boys to handle their own sweets and snacks. Leaving the thanks for them to say or not. They chose not, but so long as I wasn’t involved in the last bit I couldn’t find it in me to care. Crabbe and Goyle had thanked me, though. Which did matter.
After a boring several hours, wherein Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle would pop in and out to see other acquaintances and I read Witches of Old: The Origin of The Wicked by Erasmus Plethy, eventually all four of us were back in the compartment.
“‘eard Harry Potter is in the back compartment,” Crabbe said with thinly veiled intrigue. Goyle sputtered.
“Truly?”
“What I ‘eard.” Crabbe confirmed.
They both seemed to look to Draco for something, but he just looked at me and I closed my eyes for a moment before snapping my book shut.
“Shall we see The Boy Who Lived?” I had unbridled distaste on my tongue, but I couldn’t bring it in me to care.
“An introduction it is,” Draco had a predatory Malfoy smile, and I knew it was his reminder that we would disregard Father about this.
We simply needed to know who to ignore.
“Think ‘e’s in Slytherin?” Goyle asked.
I laughed, genuinely, “In his dreams.”
All three boys looked at me curiously, Crabbe and Goyle with slightly different expressions than Draco.
But then we were at Tibble’s compartment and my mask was firmly back in place.
Jolted back to the present, I released my hair and schooled my expression before I settled back in to my own compartment. My brother could sense my frustration and gave me a curious look but I waved him off. All four of us were in our robes now, without any house adornments -despite that we all knew that we were born snakes. Even Crabbe and Goyle, who were not particularly powerful or smart, had enough drive to sort them there.