Eight and Eighth--Chapter 3
Title: Eight and Eighth
Author: Marmalade Fever
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, and more.
Genres: Romance, Drama, weird combo of in-Hogwarts and post-Hogwarts
Spoilers: DH (though no epilogue)
Overall Rating: PG-13
Summary: Up from the ashes of seventh year grow the roses of the eighth. Eight students return for their final year at Hogwarts, and Hermione Granger would never have thought Draco Malfoy would or could be one of those roses.
E & E-Chapter 3-Closed Quarters
By Marmalade Fever
Draco’s mother caught his wrist just as he was about to leave. He turned back to face her, feeling reluctant. This was not a situation he knew how to handle. Her eyes were full of tears, just beginning to brim over and run silent paths down her soft cheeks. “Draco,” her voice was so choked with tears and desperation that he could only just hear her, “all I want, all I have ever wanted, is for you to be happy. As long as you’re safe and happy, I’ll be happy. So I want you to do something for me. Anything that you think will make you happy, don’t be afraid to take it.” He stared into her pale, bloodshot eyes for a moment, not entirely sure how to take this declaration, her fingers digging themselves into his wrist like a vice, so he just nodded. What else could he do when his mother was in such a state? The very barest hint of a smile tried to curl her mouth as she reached out one hand to smooth through his hair, the way she had when he had been very small and would fall asleep with his head in her lap. Her hand wavered, her muscles drained of their strength, and she moved to cover her eyes as a fresh onslaught of grief took over her. Panicked, Draco looked left and right before leaning down to kiss his mother’s forehead, hoping against hope that this small gesture could bring her some comfort. Sighing, he boarded the train.
He wished bitterly that his father was not an empty vessel awaiting death.
Draco stared bitterly as McGonagall concluded her speech. Be good, get along with others, try to move on. Let’s prevent another war, shall we? These weren’t her exact words, but that was what he gathered from it. She had explained to the hall about the returning students. There were others from different years as well, though they weren’t being segregated quite so much as he and the other “Eighth Years” were.
He was deliberately trying not to make eye-contact with the rest of Slytherin House. It was hard to say why exactly, but it felt as if talking to anyone, really, would mean admitting to something. What that something was… he wasn’t entirely sure. But the further he kept from talking about this last year, the better. And talking to his Housemates seemed like the worst option, those who had known and looked up to him for something that no longer could stand for anything.
Actually, he felt as if he needed to reinvent himself. Alright, so that seemed a little too strong of a word. He felt as if he needed a new reason to be respected, something that no one, not Potter or the former Dark Lord, could take from him.
Reluctantly, he had realized over that dreadful summer that he had spent almost his entire school career hiding behind Crabbe and Goyle’s bulky forms, his father’s (arguably) good name, his own surname, his blood status, and his money. Take those away, and what respectful qualities were left him? His posture, his sharp wit, decent-though never good enough-Quidditch skills, an okay assortment of spell knowledge, and a rather nice head of hair.
That just wasn’t enough to cut it.
Crabbe and his father were never coming back, anyway.
Just as everyone was rising from their seats to head, half-nodding, to bed, McGonagall made a final curt throat-clearing sound. “All Eighth Years, please report to me to be directed to your common room.”
Draco glided silently down alongside the table and up to where McGonagall stood. There were eight of them, a rather ironic number considering they were the Eighth Years. There were even four boys and four girls. And half, he noted sourly, were Gryffindors.
How utterly disgusting.
Draco had developed a firm wish to never, ever have to talk to Harry Potter ever again. That didn’t look entirely likely at this point. He had spent the better part of a month trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had somehow been the owner of the best wand, the bloody Death Stick for crying out loud, without ever even knowing it.
His current wand was okay and everything. But it would always be a disappointment in comparison.
“Follow me, please,” McGonagall said, primly as ever. Draco trailed behind the slight crowd, just a few feet behind Dean Thomas.
A sudden urge to vomit overtook him as Weasley took up Granger’s hand and gave it a cutesy squeeze. Well, it was about bloody time. It had been apparent to Draco that those two would become an item ever since Fourth Year, when Weasley had stopped mooning after and started growling towards Viktor Krum. Granger hadn’t been any better in the sixth year, even if Draco’s memories of the time were a little… preoccupied with other matters.
When McGonagall finally came to a halt, all Draco could do was stare, and he very nearly missed the password that she gave to the impressive new statue of Merlin: ginger newt.
Seriously? Seriously?
Off to the side, Harry Potter had just snorted with laughter, and the other two-thirds were having equal trouble holding in their laughter.
It was Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, only vastly remodeled. In place of where the toilets had been, there were now a row of comfortable, squashy chairs and a large sofa. To the right, where there had formerly been a wall-to-wall mirror and line of sinks for girls to primp themselves in front of, there was now a fireplace, the smoke magically redirected. But most interesting of all was next to the fireplace, where a broken sink had once been. There was now a spiral staircase, leading downwards.
“Below,” McGonagall said, “the stairway leads off in two directions. To the right is the girls’ dormitory, and the boys’ to the left.”
“Professor?” Granger, typically, had her hand raised.
“Yes, Miss Granger?”
“Professor, may I ask what became of the Chamber?” Chamber? What was she on about now?
“It is still further below, though quite inaccessible. Your dormitories are newly added, in the manner of a basement or cellar.” McGonagall sniffed.
“Hello, Draco.” He very nearly jumped out of his skin as Moaning Myrtle floated right through him from behind, sending chills up and down his arms and neck. “Harry,” she added, her tone scornful.
“Hello Myrtle,” Potter said, suddenly tense. His eyes drifted to Draco for a moment, perhaps remembering the last time the three of them had been in this room together. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant memory for Draco, either.
“Myrtle,” McGonagall said, as if choosing her words very carefully, “I do appreciate your volunteering to become a House Ghost, of sorts, but it’s truly not necessary. And I do apologize for any inconvenience made towards you.”
“Inconvenience?” Myrtle’s eyes narrowed. “Inconvenience!” She swooped quickly around the room. “You lost me my U-Bend!” she all-but-screeched.
“Now, Myrtle,” McGonagall stressed, now adopting her detention tone, “there are many other facilities in the castle that you may haunt! But I must ask you to abandon this one.”
Myrtle puffed up. “But this is where I died,” she stressed. “You insensitive living, always thinking of yourselves just because you’re still alive! Just you wait until you’re the one that’s dead. Then you’ll wish someone would give you a U-Bend to haunt.” Still wailing, Myrtle disappeared up the chimney.
McGonagall took a deep breath before looking back to the students. “You are all responsible young adults. I expect you to act like it.” She looked deliberately in his direction. She paused then, as if weighing her options. “Also, I am sorry to inform you all that the School Board has decided that all Eighth Years are ineligible for positions on your House Quidditch Teams this year, due to the unfairness of your advanced ages.”
Across the room, Weasley’s eyes very nearly popped right out of his head. Draco would have laughed, except he felt the bracelet… manacle… whatever, shift on his wrist. He’d rather not be murdered in his bed without means of immediate retaliation.
“Are there any questions?” McGonagall asked, sweeping her spectacled gaze around the room.
Granger, unsurprisingly, raised her hand all the way into the air, her sleeve falling down to reveal her long, pale arm. “Will we be allowed to visit our House Commons?”
McGonagall seemed to consider this. “Yes,” she said finally, “however, I would like to discourage you all from spending the majority of your time there. Much time and effort have been put into crafting this Common Room for you-” Draco did snort now, it was a girls’ toilet, after all, “-and I would hate to have that go to waste.”
Granger raised her hand again, but McGonagall nodded for her to continue before she’d gotten it halfway into the air. “May we have guests here?”
“I am afraid not, for the sole reason of password privacy. Now, unless there is anything else, I have much to do before classes begin in the morning.” She bade them goodnight and left.
With eerie synchronization, everyone’s heads swiveled toward Draco. “What?” he asked, crossing his arms so that the manacle was slightly hidden from view.
“This is going to be a long year,” Potter said at last, and he left it at that.
One by one, they all began investigating their new living space. There were two portraits on the walls. One was of a dozing man with a night cap that had fallen onto his knee. The other was an imp, who was grinning at them all, baring his four rows of impressively sharp teeth. “I don’t think I’m going to like him very much,” Hannah Abbott observed.
“Oh!” This was from Granger. “I thought of another question I wanted to ask her.” She sighed, shaking her brown frizz from her face. “I’m going to look into the dormitories.” With that, she flitted down the spiral staircase.
Draco stayed in the Common Room only long enough to make a general critique of the room. Despite the modifications, it was still a bathroom, and that was insulting to the very name of Malfoy.
With that, he followed Granger’s example and went down the flight of stairs, watching over his shoulder to make sure none of the male Gryffindors decided to express their enmity with a good jelly-legs curse.
At the bottom of the spiral, sure enough, were two doors.
Being an adolescent boy, Draco briefly wondered if there were any sort of spell attached to the door to the right. There was no staircase to turn into a slide here, as there was in the Slytherin Girls’ Dormitories. McGonagall wasn’t exactly stupid, though. He was sure that she had set up some sort of precautions to prevent his entry into the girls’ room. Then again, what did he care?
There were four girls who would be living in this room. Two were Hufflepuffs. He had standards that rose higher than that. Patil was a Ravenclaw, and he didn’t have any specific qualms against that house. But he had never found himself especially attracted to either of the Patil twins, despite their obvious beauty. There was something in the way they held themselves. While Padma was a little better than her simpering, Trelawney-obsessed sister, she still had this annoying quality about her that he couldn’t really name. And finally, there was Granger, the one currently occupying the room. There were too many things wrong with her for him to name: her blood status being only one of them and the fact that she’d been tortured in his home by his aunt only a few months prior was only another.
The door to the left opened easily and he found a much more suitable room waiting for him than the Common Room had implied. There were four decent-sized four posters, all in neutral white linens and wood tones. His trunk sat next to the bed just to the left of the door to their bathroom. There were two bewitched windows, now displaying the night sky over the grounds toward the Forbidden Forest.
If he sat on his bed with the curtains drawn, he just might be able to ignore his new roommates.
He certainly hoped so, anyway.
Draco pretended to sleep, and he listened while Thomas, Weasley, and Potter exchanged anecdotes about their summers. Weasley kept talking about Granger… a lot.
“Do you think Hermione would like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” he was asking.
“I dunno, Ron,” Potter said. “It’s the first week of school. She’ll want to study.”
Weasley snorted. “Yeah, you’re probably right. You lot want to go flying instead? I can’t believe what McGonagall said about Quidditch!”
Potter sighed. “Yeah, we can play a match with just the three of us. Maybe Ginny, too. I did buy that set of balls over the summer, and I’d really like to test out my new Skybeam somewhere other than the orchard.”
Skybeam? Skybeam Millenium? “Did you just say what I think you said, Potter?”
Though Draco couldn’t see it, the others jumped. “What’s it to you?” Weasley asked.
Draco groaned. “In case you’ve forgotten, Weasel-brain, I happen to like Quidditch. Did you say you got a Skybeam, Potter?”
“Yeah, Ferret, I did.” They were quiet for a moment.
“Interesting.” That was really the only safe comment he could come up with without exposing his enthusiasm.
“That’s a funny word,” Thomas said, between a yawn. “Interesting is kind of neutral. Could be good or bad.”
“I’m aware of the fact.”
Weasley groaned. “Why on Earth are we talking to the Ferret? Silencio”
Draco opened and closed his mouth and no sound came out. The audacity!
“Ron,” Potter said, halfway between a reprimand and a chuckle.
Draco drew back his curtains and showed off his middle finger for Weasley. Instead of inciting the intended anger, the others burst into laughter.
“Alright, alright. Ron, reverse the spell and we’ll all just go to bed, shall we?” Potter was still having trouble maintaining a straight face.
“Okay. But I’m warning you, Malfoy. I know where you sleep.” Ha ha, very clever. “Finite incantatum”
“For once I’m glad Potter can pull rank on you,” Draco grumbled before closing his curtains again. He slept with one eye open. This was going to be one long year.
A.N.: They should actually be starting classes in the next chapter. Things should get a bit more interesting once they get into the swing of things. Thank you to all who have read and reviewed so far! << >>
Author: Marmalade Fever
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, and more.
Genres: Romance, Drama, weird combo of in-Hogwarts and post-Hogwarts
Spoilers: DH (though no epilogue)
Overall Rating: PG-13
Summary: Up from the ashes of seventh year grow the roses of the eighth. Eight students return for their final year at Hogwarts, and Hermione Granger would never have thought Draco Malfoy would or could be one of those roses.
E & E-Chapter 3-Closed Quarters
By Marmalade Fever
Draco’s mother caught his wrist just as he was about to leave. He turned back to face her, feeling reluctant. This was not a situation he knew how to handle. Her eyes were full of tears, just beginning to brim over and run silent paths down her soft cheeks. “Draco,” her voice was so choked with tears and desperation that he could only just hear her, “all I want, all I have ever wanted, is for you to be happy. As long as you’re safe and happy, I’ll be happy. So I want you to do something for me. Anything that you think will make you happy, don’t be afraid to take it.” He stared into her pale, bloodshot eyes for a moment, not entirely sure how to take this declaration, her fingers digging themselves into his wrist like a vice, so he just nodded. What else could he do when his mother was in such a state? The very barest hint of a smile tried to curl her mouth as she reached out one hand to smooth through his hair, the way she had when he had been very small and would fall asleep with his head in her lap. Her hand wavered, her muscles drained of their strength, and she moved to cover her eyes as a fresh onslaught of grief took over her. Panicked, Draco looked left and right before leaning down to kiss his mother’s forehead, hoping against hope that this small gesture could bring her some comfort. Sighing, he boarded the train.
He wished bitterly that his father was not an empty vessel awaiting death.
Draco stared bitterly as McGonagall concluded her speech. Be good, get along with others, try to move on. Let’s prevent another war, shall we? These weren’t her exact words, but that was what he gathered from it. She had explained to the hall about the returning students. There were others from different years as well, though they weren’t being segregated quite so much as he and the other “Eighth Years” were.
He was deliberately trying not to make eye-contact with the rest of Slytherin House. It was hard to say why exactly, but it felt as if talking to anyone, really, would mean admitting to something. What that something was… he wasn’t entirely sure. But the further he kept from talking about this last year, the better. And talking to his Housemates seemed like the worst option, those who had known and looked up to him for something that no longer could stand for anything.
Actually, he felt as if he needed to reinvent himself. Alright, so that seemed a little too strong of a word. He felt as if he needed a new reason to be respected, something that no one, not Potter or the former Dark Lord, could take from him.
Reluctantly, he had realized over that dreadful summer that he had spent almost his entire school career hiding behind Crabbe and Goyle’s bulky forms, his father’s (arguably) good name, his own surname, his blood status, and his money. Take those away, and what respectful qualities were left him? His posture, his sharp wit, decent-though never good enough-Quidditch skills, an okay assortment of spell knowledge, and a rather nice head of hair.
That just wasn’t enough to cut it.
Crabbe and his father were never coming back, anyway.
Just as everyone was rising from their seats to head, half-nodding, to bed, McGonagall made a final curt throat-clearing sound. “All Eighth Years, please report to me to be directed to your common room.”
Draco glided silently down alongside the table and up to where McGonagall stood. There were eight of them, a rather ironic number considering they were the Eighth Years. There were even four boys and four girls. And half, he noted sourly, were Gryffindors.
How utterly disgusting.
Draco had developed a firm wish to never, ever have to talk to Harry Potter ever again. That didn’t look entirely likely at this point. He had spent the better part of a month trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had somehow been the owner of the best wand, the bloody Death Stick for crying out loud, without ever even knowing it.
His current wand was okay and everything. But it would always be a disappointment in comparison.
“Follow me, please,” McGonagall said, primly as ever. Draco trailed behind the slight crowd, just a few feet behind Dean Thomas.
A sudden urge to vomit overtook him as Weasley took up Granger’s hand and gave it a cutesy squeeze. Well, it was about bloody time. It had been apparent to Draco that those two would become an item ever since Fourth Year, when Weasley had stopped mooning after and started growling towards Viktor Krum. Granger hadn’t been any better in the sixth year, even if Draco’s memories of the time were a little… preoccupied with other matters.
When McGonagall finally came to a halt, all Draco could do was stare, and he very nearly missed the password that she gave to the impressive new statue of Merlin: ginger newt.
Seriously? Seriously?
Off to the side, Harry Potter had just snorted with laughter, and the other two-thirds were having equal trouble holding in their laughter.
It was Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, only vastly remodeled. In place of where the toilets had been, there were now a row of comfortable, squashy chairs and a large sofa. To the right, where there had formerly been a wall-to-wall mirror and line of sinks for girls to primp themselves in front of, there was now a fireplace, the smoke magically redirected. But most interesting of all was next to the fireplace, where a broken sink had once been. There was now a spiral staircase, leading downwards.
“Below,” McGonagall said, “the stairway leads off in two directions. To the right is the girls’ dormitory, and the boys’ to the left.”
“Professor?” Granger, typically, had her hand raised.
“Yes, Miss Granger?”
“Professor, may I ask what became of the Chamber?” Chamber? What was she on about now?
“It is still further below, though quite inaccessible. Your dormitories are newly added, in the manner of a basement or cellar.” McGonagall sniffed.
“Hello, Draco.” He very nearly jumped out of his skin as Moaning Myrtle floated right through him from behind, sending chills up and down his arms and neck. “Harry,” she added, her tone scornful.
“Hello Myrtle,” Potter said, suddenly tense. His eyes drifted to Draco for a moment, perhaps remembering the last time the three of them had been in this room together. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant memory for Draco, either.
“Myrtle,” McGonagall said, as if choosing her words very carefully, “I do appreciate your volunteering to become a House Ghost, of sorts, but it’s truly not necessary. And I do apologize for any inconvenience made towards you.”
“Inconvenience?” Myrtle’s eyes narrowed. “Inconvenience!” She swooped quickly around the room. “You lost me my U-Bend!” she all-but-screeched.
“Now, Myrtle,” McGonagall stressed, now adopting her detention tone, “there are many other facilities in the castle that you may haunt! But I must ask you to abandon this one.”
Myrtle puffed up. “But this is where I died,” she stressed. “You insensitive living, always thinking of yourselves just because you’re still alive! Just you wait until you’re the one that’s dead. Then you’ll wish someone would give you a U-Bend to haunt.” Still wailing, Myrtle disappeared up the chimney.
McGonagall took a deep breath before looking back to the students. “You are all responsible young adults. I expect you to act like it.” She looked deliberately in his direction. She paused then, as if weighing her options. “Also, I am sorry to inform you all that the School Board has decided that all Eighth Years are ineligible for positions on your House Quidditch Teams this year, due to the unfairness of your advanced ages.”
Across the room, Weasley’s eyes very nearly popped right out of his head. Draco would have laughed, except he felt the bracelet… manacle… whatever, shift on his wrist. He’d rather not be murdered in his bed without means of immediate retaliation.
“Are there any questions?” McGonagall asked, sweeping her spectacled gaze around the room.
Granger, unsurprisingly, raised her hand all the way into the air, her sleeve falling down to reveal her long, pale arm. “Will we be allowed to visit our House Commons?”
McGonagall seemed to consider this. “Yes,” she said finally, “however, I would like to discourage you all from spending the majority of your time there. Much time and effort have been put into crafting this Common Room for you-” Draco did snort now, it was a girls’ toilet, after all, “-and I would hate to have that go to waste.”
Granger raised her hand again, but McGonagall nodded for her to continue before she’d gotten it halfway into the air. “May we have guests here?”
“I am afraid not, for the sole reason of password privacy. Now, unless there is anything else, I have much to do before classes begin in the morning.” She bade them goodnight and left.
With eerie synchronization, everyone’s heads swiveled toward Draco. “What?” he asked, crossing his arms so that the manacle was slightly hidden from view.
“This is going to be a long year,” Potter said at last, and he left it at that.
One by one, they all began investigating their new living space. There were two portraits on the walls. One was of a dozing man with a night cap that had fallen onto his knee. The other was an imp, who was grinning at them all, baring his four rows of impressively sharp teeth. “I don’t think I’m going to like him very much,” Hannah Abbott observed.
“Oh!” This was from Granger. “I thought of another question I wanted to ask her.” She sighed, shaking her brown frizz from her face. “I’m going to look into the dormitories.” With that, she flitted down the spiral staircase.
Draco stayed in the Common Room only long enough to make a general critique of the room. Despite the modifications, it was still a bathroom, and that was insulting to the very name of Malfoy.
With that, he followed Granger’s example and went down the flight of stairs, watching over his shoulder to make sure none of the male Gryffindors decided to express their enmity with a good jelly-legs curse.
At the bottom of the spiral, sure enough, were two doors.
Being an adolescent boy, Draco briefly wondered if there were any sort of spell attached to the door to the right. There was no staircase to turn into a slide here, as there was in the Slytherin Girls’ Dormitories. McGonagall wasn’t exactly stupid, though. He was sure that she had set up some sort of precautions to prevent his entry into the girls’ room. Then again, what did he care?
There were four girls who would be living in this room. Two were Hufflepuffs. He had standards that rose higher than that. Patil was a Ravenclaw, and he didn’t have any specific qualms against that house. But he had never found himself especially attracted to either of the Patil twins, despite their obvious beauty. There was something in the way they held themselves. While Padma was a little better than her simpering, Trelawney-obsessed sister, she still had this annoying quality about her that he couldn’t really name. And finally, there was Granger, the one currently occupying the room. There were too many things wrong with her for him to name: her blood status being only one of them and the fact that she’d been tortured in his home by his aunt only a few months prior was only another.
The door to the left opened easily and he found a much more suitable room waiting for him than the Common Room had implied. There were four decent-sized four posters, all in neutral white linens and wood tones. His trunk sat next to the bed just to the left of the door to their bathroom. There were two bewitched windows, now displaying the night sky over the grounds toward the Forbidden Forest.
If he sat on his bed with the curtains drawn, he just might be able to ignore his new roommates.
He certainly hoped so, anyway.
Draco pretended to sleep, and he listened while Thomas, Weasley, and Potter exchanged anecdotes about their summers. Weasley kept talking about Granger… a lot.
“Do you think Hermione would like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” he was asking.
“I dunno, Ron,” Potter said. “It’s the first week of school. She’ll want to study.”
Weasley snorted. “Yeah, you’re probably right. You lot want to go flying instead? I can’t believe what McGonagall said about Quidditch!”
Potter sighed. “Yeah, we can play a match with just the three of us. Maybe Ginny, too. I did buy that set of balls over the summer, and I’d really like to test out my new Skybeam somewhere other than the orchard.”
Skybeam? Skybeam Millenium? “Did you just say what I think you said, Potter?”
Though Draco couldn’t see it, the others jumped. “What’s it to you?” Weasley asked.
Draco groaned. “In case you’ve forgotten, Weasel-brain, I happen to like Quidditch. Did you say you got a Skybeam, Potter?”
“Yeah, Ferret, I did.” They were quiet for a moment.
“Interesting.” That was really the only safe comment he could come up with without exposing his enthusiasm.
“That’s a funny word,” Thomas said, between a yawn. “Interesting is kind of neutral. Could be good or bad.”
“I’m aware of the fact.”
Weasley groaned. “Why on Earth are we talking to the Ferret? Silencio”
Draco opened and closed his mouth and no sound came out. The audacity!
“Ron,” Potter said, halfway between a reprimand and a chuckle.
Draco drew back his curtains and showed off his middle finger for Weasley. Instead of inciting the intended anger, the others burst into laughter.
“Alright, alright. Ron, reverse the spell and we’ll all just go to bed, shall we?” Potter was still having trouble maintaining a straight face.
“Okay. But I’m warning you, Malfoy. I know where you sleep.” Ha ha, very clever. “Finite incantatum”
“For once I’m glad Potter can pull rank on you,” Draco grumbled before closing his curtains again. He slept with one eye open. This was going to be one long year.
A.N.: They should actually be starting classes in the next chapter. Things should get a bit more interesting once they get into the swing of things. Thank you to all who have read and reviewed so far! << >>