September 1st, 1991 (Part 2)

After we turned seven, Father took Draco and I to Hogwarts for an inspection on behalf of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. It was the one and only time we Floo’d into Hogsmeade and entered the school. But now, as my brother and I sat in the boats crossing the black lake outside the school, the school was different. Not in aesthetics, but in atmosphere. It was supposed to be beautiful and whimsical, like when I first visited. But as the evening light faded behind the mountains surround the school, and the turrets and castle both became surrounded by a halo of light, I felt disinterested. Though that is likely a consequence of having that first experience permanently framed in perfect detail with my mind. The only place such disinterest has never touched is the Manor -as every other year Mother has the enchantments and decor updated, altered, or altogether redesigned. When the Manor has enchantments that not even money can buy, only favors called in, and is ever changing, many stagnant places start falling flat after I pull on the memory a few times. Not to say I don’t cherish the memories. When I dive into a specific day, I am overrun with the emotions of the moment. It’s just as magical as it ever was for that frozen second. But after I return to the present, those feelings stick around for a shorter and shorter time.

And on top of it all is irritation. At myself, mostly. But also at Tibble. Draco. Crabbe. Goyle. Weasley. Granger. Even, Longbottom -who I have stopped calling Neville due to the fact that I actually do not know the current Neville at all. Anger at the fact that I nearly panicked from a single bit of plot deviance. Fury that I reacted so viscerally, gripping myself as if I was fragile. Rage that I had not been in control. Shock that perhaps I was not such a Malfoy after all. That anxiety -that weakness was not me. It was not who I have become.

In hindsight, when I ran myself through the memories, it was not drastically different than before -if anything it was net neutral in offense. Yet in the moment all I could do was track the difference in words, in shouts, in actions. I resolved myself. This would never happen again, my weakness will be stamped out. So I put my fears, my anxiety, my care, and I packed it all up and placed it in a box. I took that box and buried it in the depths of my soul. I’d go numb before I let it take control of me. Before I became as out of control as everyone else. I am disciplined, cunning, resourceful. I am a Malfoy, I am who I was raised to be. No matter what destiny and fate want to say, I will not be distracted from my goal. It’s all that matters.

Father will never go to Azkaban. Brother will not sacrifice his humanity. Mother will not sacrifice her family. Everyone else can burn.

And that is all I can repeat. It’s all I have been repeating for the past month since seeing Tibble in that robe shop. A robe shop we had never been to before, that Mother and Father had never mentioned, but was decided upon for our robes. Because, if not for fate, why would we have gone there at all?

We are one of the wealthiest wizarding families across the globe -we run apothecaries and greenhouses and a hundred other businesses. We have connections everywhere from the Americas to the far reaches of Russia and Australia. The Asian ministries have supply contracts with us. The Malfoy family is not at the same level as a Hogwarts Gamekeeper and the muggle raised son of a family of aurors. The places we shop are names that most of Diagon Alley wouldn’t know, only one in twenty would even have it on their peripheral.

The only reason Draco met with Tibble that day, despite my sheer existence changing the plot, was a pull. A thread of fate, a rope of destiny. Like a fisherman’s hook dragging us along. It had to be. But I had changed Dobby, at least a little. I had helped. My mind shifted to thinking about the black leather book tucked in the hidden compartment of my trunk and I knew I had changed more than just Dobby’s treatment.

I hadn’t planned on changing anything direct with Tibble this year. It was meant to be a plotting year. It is still meant to be a plotting year.

Even now, as I am settled against the wall of the Great Hall where all of the first years are waiting for the sorting to start I am ignoring my brother and his goons. I would rather my mind spin into oblivion as my mask of indifference keeps others at bay.

In the background, I ignored the Hogwarts school song, the brief instructions from a stern woman who introduced herself as Professor McGonagall -though her striking looks were enough for me to recognize her when we first gathered outside the hall. I had not run across Tibble or his merry gang after disembarking the train but now they were only a dozen kids down the line clustered together.

Names began being called - Abbot, Arvale, Brine, Bulstrode, and so on. Most were the same as, or not even mentioned, in elsewhere. Granger went to Gryffindor, of course. Crabbe and Goyle, Slytherin. Several Hufflepuffs and Ravenclows whose names I recognized-not from elsewhere but from the socials Mother had taken me to and the Sacred Twenty Eight family lines Father had me memorize.

“Longbottom, Neville!”

I watched as the slightly chubby boy made his was up to the stool, tripped, got up, fussed about it as he took a seat, and then proceeded to spend several minutes in apparent debate with the sorting hat. Eventually, the booming voice of the crinkly old leather hat called out, as one would have expected if one already knew what to expect, “GRYFFINDOR!”

I felt a bit lighter watching Longbottom scurry off with the hat before having to backtrack to give it to the next boy, a MacDougal I’d never seen before.

“Malfoy, Draco!”

With confidence, my brother left my side and made his way to the hat. He looked calm as the center of a storm, in that you could tell he was the dangerous sort once you stepped out of line. I quite liked that about him. Very Malfoy of him. Draco didn’t even have the hat on for more than a breath when it announced, “SLYTHERIN!”

As the snakes cheered, I caught my brothers eye and gave him a smile.

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“Malfoy, Medea!”

With the smooth grace of a born socialite, I righted myself and walked up to the center of the Great Hall. As I passed Professor McGonagall, I decided the small smile on her face was compassionate rather than condescending. Despite being Head of House for Gryffindor, I would like to think she wasn’t as bigoted as everyone accused the snakes of being. As I settled onto the stool, I felt the unmistakable feeling of rummaging going through my head -even as the hat was being lowered.

‘Slytherin.’ I thought simply.

‘Oh-Ho! But-‘

‘I don’t even want to know.’ I hissed in my mind, ‘Hurry up!’

‘Well, still! You’d do well in- oh, no, maybe not. You’ve had a rather gruesome life this time.’ The hat, with its deep voice and irritating good will, had already spent much to long in my head, ‘Still, I’m sure you’ll be all right, so-‘

“SLYTHERIN!”

In earnest, the whole exchange took a maximum of ten seconds. Of that maybe five was with the hat actually on my head. But I hated to be perceived as less Slytherin than my brother. It was insulting.

As I rose and removed the hat, I scanned the remaining row of first years -catching Tibble with a thoroughly unreadable expression that likely meant he had no idea what was going on, before turning to the long row of green and silver scarves at the far end of the hall. As I made eye contact with my brother, the Slytherins erupted in cheers much as they had for him. It felt nice to be welcomed to the house.

I settled across from my brother and the two dolts, sitting with a gap on either side. There were a few hushed conversations that were interrupted every so often to cheer for a new snake, but soon enough the spots next to me were filled out. To my left sat a boy with dark skin and cropped hair and to my right was a pale girl with a black bob. The boy had been the last to be sorted. They had introduced themselves as Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. Outside of casual chatter, there was a weedy boy who barely said his own name before minimally interacting with the rest of us -one Theodore Nott. I liked him the most. He said just enough to be a part of the group, but held back from actually saying anything noteworthy.

There were several upperclassmen who dropped by once Dumbledore finished his nonsense welcome. Some I recognized, some I didn’t. It wasn’t until a frilly man dripping blood ghosted through our table that I found something worth my interest.

“The Bloody Baron, I presume?” I met the ghosts blank stare with a mild expression of my own.

“Yes, and you -are you another Malfoy?” He eyed me critically.

“I am. Even from the main line.”

“And whose offspring are you, then? Abraxas?”

“Only by a technicality. He is my grandfather. Lucius Malfoy is my father and Narcissa Malfoy -née Black, is my mother.”

“Two strong pure bloods then -very good.” The old ghost nodded and began to drift onwards, tutting as he lunged at Goyle with his chains as if offended by his existence. The chains, of course, could not physically touch Goyle but that didn’t stop him from jolting up and away. The Baron, in response, simply lowered himself into the floor -an amused groan following him.

“He’s a ghost, Goyle, he can’t even touch you,” Draco and Crabbe sniggered to themselves. Goyle himself barely looked embarrassed by his reaction and plopped back down.

In the background, an aged man with half moon glasses and a garish rogue called the gall to order. We all quieted and faced Dumbledore, some, like myself, with poorly hidden disinterest.

“Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

“First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”

Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table, likely to wherever the Weasley twins had made their haunt.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

There was some whispering in the hall at that bit, but none of the Slytherins seemed overly shocked at the notice. The wizarding world is a brutal place. And rather disgusting on occasion as well. It wasn’t until the 1800s Wizards began using muggle bathrooms, after all. Just use the loo in their robes and vanish it away. Horrid.

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. Against my will, the song flowed from me in a tune I didn’t actually mind. But that was besides the point. The song began with ‘hoggy warty Hogwarts’ and only got worse from there. It made me contemplate washing my mouth out with soap.

Luckily, that was the last bit and with a final ‘Off you trot!’ we were released to the Prefects to head to the dormitory.

A tall girl with an athletic build led us through the ever changing staircases, throwing tidbits out to use here and there.

“Stay away from that hall at night, all the portraits are Gryffs and they are constantly ratting out any snake they see - oh, this hall is perfect for when you need to throw a hex, Lady Margery will even give you pointers if she likes you - that’s the path to the library -common room is a stairwell over from Professor Snape’s office, he’s head of house so if you’re plotting make sure to plot away from there,” the prefect, Juniper Glynn, gave one last fact before stopping in front of a nondescript section of the stone wall.

All around was the Hogwarts dungeon. There was limited light, and other than the chatter of first years the slow drip of water could be heard. Glynn raised her wand, gave one of the stones a single tap, and spoke to the wall, “Exemplar.”

Rather than the wall opening like a door, each brick began shifting and folding in to the brick beside it until they were all tucked into a medium sized archway. In the dim lighting, the passageway that was revealed had a soft green glow flowing from the far end. As we all shuffled in, Glynn led us to a high-ceiling-ed stone room. There were several low backed black and dark green button-tufted, leather sofas and armchairs. Each dark wood table was decorated with some sinister themed artifact -from skulls to black glass goblets and silver serpent statuettes. On the far end of the common room was a black mantle decorated with a painting of an oversized green serpent that seemed to be readying itself to pounce on anyone who got too close -not that it could. Despite the greenish lamps, a large portion of light seemed to filter in from the windows that opened up to the Black Lake. Water patterns filled the space and gave the room a surreal feeling. On the other three walls, two had archways that appeared to lead to the dormitories. All three had tapestries showing wizards and witches in green robes going on adventures and I immediately caught one featuring Merlin casting a shield charm to defend members of the round table. The whole room was magnificent and so very Slytherin. It reminded me of Malfoy Manor. The common room was grand, yes, but cold.

It was wonderful.

“There are five to a dorm, girls through the left, boys to the right. First year rooms tend to be the closest to the door each year.” Glynn directed them, calling names of the twenty or so first years and letting them know who we’ll be roomed with.

“Austaire-Friar-Pike-Vachor-Wensel.”

“Bulstrode-Greengrass-Malfoy-Parkinson-Spektor.”

“Crabbe-Goyle-Malfoy-Nott-Zabini.”

“Davis-Kain-Rousseau-Vitale-Yu.”