Harry Potter & the Slytherin Rivals of Hogwarts

Chapter 2: ...Are We There Yet?

Bringing up Potter nowadays was somewhat of a strenuous topic for Draco Malfoy to join in on, let alone think upon. On the one hand, the four-eyed git had defeated someone that had, for well over two decades, been the most fearsome wizard of all time. And on the other hand... he was a Gryffindor. Though while the War of Victory, as they'd ironically named it, was finally over and done with by what would have been the end of Draco's seventh year, the Slytherin, never mind any of his other class mates, had yet to actually finish their seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

So here his classmates and he were, a year older than the usual 7th Year, riding the Hogwarts Express to a school where the last time any of them had seen it was in near rubble the war had turned the castle into.

The war...

It wasn’t something one could easily forget. The day the war had been officially declared by the ministry, and then announced to the students at Hogwarts, was exactly how one would envision it to be—cold wind blowing up and down in the castle, grey skies, dark clouds looming around, ice rain pouring down every now and then. It was a very dreary day indeed, perfect, Draco supposed, for killing and maiming innocent bystanders.

Draco remembered it all very elaborately. He could still see Dumbledore calling an assembly when the 7th years were just beginning their first class of the day; Advanced Potions VII. A quiet, younger teacher had shot into their classroom, mumbled something incoherently, and quickly left as Professor Snape’s eyes widened and his mouth tightened into a thin line. He quickly dismissed his pupils to the Hall, where everyone else was chattering about, wondering what was going on.

[Draco’s thoughts and memories start here]

I knew what was going on the second I walked in there, Draco reminisced.

Potter was whispering something to his Gryffindor friends; they looked horrified, angry and perplexed all in one. He gave them both embraces, kissed Girl-Weasel on the cheek and nodded to the rest of the Gryffindors. He seemed to have taken a long needed breath, bowed his head, and looked up warily at the congregation of teachers.

Dumbledore rose then, and the Hall fell silent instantly. He looked around at everyone, starting with the Gryffindor table, his eyes lingering on our table. And then he spoke in his age-old voice.

"Friends, students, and faculty. The day has finally arrived. We are indeed going to war. [Startled gasps sounded all around, cries echoing about the large room] The school will not be closed down, but locked down. All students will remain here, safe and well cared for. Many of the professors will be here to help you. However, rules will be strictly followed."

Dumbledore kept giving us words of encouragement, telling us our parent’s and families would be fine. But I forgot most of his speech. I was too busy surveying the Hall for everyone’s reactions.

Many were filled with horror, some with anger, and few with valor. Though, Potter was the only one with all three emotions displayed in his eyes, as well as his body language.

I can only remember that all years of every house, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Slytherins and Ravenclaws, were quickly shuffled into the dungeons, though, we were directed to a part of them that none of the Slytherins, or even myself, knew of.

For our protection, I suppose.

However, I wanted to know what was going down that day, so I stayed behind, and hid behind a large plant in the corridor, near the Great Hall.

Professors Snape, Hagrid, McGonagall, Trelawney, Sprout and Dumbledore came out together and stood in the (somewhat) empty corridor. Behind them, came Potter. And what they said, I remember snippets of that conversation; just the main things.

" ‘arry, you know you don’t ‘ave to do this." Hagrid was standing in front of Potter, one hand on his shoulder. Potter bit his lip, looked down, and then answered.

"Professor-" Potter looked up, but shook his head as if to rectify something. "Hagrid, you know I have to do this. It can’t be any other way."

" ‘eadmaster, shurley—" Hagrid was cut off.

"If Harry wishes to accompany us, so shall he have it."

Then I heard footsteps coming down another corridor, heading for Potter and the professors. They didn’t seem alarmed at all by the hurried steps so all I could do was hold my breath in nerve wrecking anticipation.

Then suddenly, a figure in a dark cloak and a hood appeared before them. The shadow-figure quickly took off his hood and looked desperately at Potter. It turned out to be our old Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Remus J. Lupin, if I remembered correctly.

They were all silent as he searched Potter’s eyes, as if looking for some kind of answer.

Then suddenly—

"No! As your Godfather, I will not allow this! It’s unspeakable. You are not going to go." He turned toward Dumbledore. "He is not going. I forbid it."

"Remu—"

"No, Harry. You could be killed. I won’t let what happened to your parents and Sirius happen to you. You are the closest thing I have to kin now. I may be selfish, but I’m not going to lose you. Sirius appointed and acknowledged me as your godfather in his will. I will not— You don’t know how powerful Voldemort—"

My eyes widened at the casual use of the Dark Lord’s name. Lupin kept going on about how Vol- how the Dark Lord- might kill Potter.

"Remus, it’s my choice and mine alone. I choose to fight. I can’t just sit here with the other students, knowing that you, Hagrid and the others are fighting out there—fighting against Merlin-knows-what, and fighting against a cause that I believe so deeply in. It’s not because I feel I’m obligated to do this, it’s because I need to do this. For my parent’s, for Sirius, Cedric, for all the families he’s harmed, for the past, present and future. And for me.

“Besides, were I to stay here it would put the other students in harms way. You know when he’s made his point doing whatever he’ll just come right here for me. I can’t- I won’t put them at risk."

Potter looked pleadingly at Lupin.

With a sigh of defeat, Lupin said, "I understand, Harry. I don’t like it. But I understand."

"Thank you."

After that they spoke of their reinforcements, moving on to people they knew they would be going up against and what their weaknesses were. And then McGonagall said it.

"Lucius Malfoy—"

"I am well aware of that issue, Minerva. Lucius hasn’t exactly been lying low now that Voldemort is at his strongest."

"And the boy? What are we to do? He is the father of one of our students, Albus. What if he—"

Potter didn’t seem to pay attention—he was too busy staring at the oh-so-impressive stone walls.

Then—

"I don’t think Malfoy is the issue here," Potter stated. I remember seething at that. "We have to do what we need to, regardless of any relations. We probably don’t even know how many of the Hogwart’s student’s parents are Death Eaters, or even supporters, of Voldemort. It isn’t like Draco’s fighting with us, against his father or anything. Staying here and out of the war makes him a neutral, whether it’s against his will or not."

It felt weird for Potter to call me by my given name. And to be viewed as weak. Though, this time, my pride wouldn’t get in the way of staying alive and out of something I wasn’t concerned in. Not yet at least.

"You are absolutely right, Harry," Dumbledore finalized.

They left after a while. Most likely preparing for war. I slumped against the stone wall, my head pounding with so many thoughts.

In the beginning of our schooling at Hogwarts, in First Year, I had offered my friendship to Potter—because, of course, I was ordered to by my father. If he accepted, Potter would be swayed to our— my father’s side. He would be taught a certain way, brain-washed, and easy prey for Voldemort to manipulate, to use. However, he declined. And from then on, it was a war all our own.

Father told me I should attempt to be nice to Potter, to gain his trust, but I suddenly didn’t give a rat’s ass what Father’s plans were—the only thing that I was focused on was the simple fact that Potter didn’t want to be associated with me. I had everything—money, power, my handsome good looks... but no. He declined my friendship. He declined a Malfoy. He declined ME.
So naturally, Potter had to pay. Along with anyone else that was associated with the stupid four-eyed git.

That evening (the day the war was announced) felt as if it would never end. After contemplating in the corridor near the Great Hall, I decided it was time to retreat to the dungeons where my fellow classmates awaited. When I arrived down in the designated area I was escorted to a secret part of them, and then retired to a room that I was told I shared with Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle.
Safety in numbers, you know.

It was hard not to think of my father. Would the Dark Lord win? If he did win, would he kill all the Mud-Bloods and Muggle-lovers? How many of my fellow students, all years and houses, would be left alive? Would I have to become a Death Eater because Father was one? What happened if they lost, though? Would Father still treat me and Mother as trophies and things to be ordered around? Would he die? Would I even care if he did?

I wasn’t sure of any of the answers and fell into a fitful sleep.

When I awoke, Goyle was in my room, sitting on Zabini’s bed, looking at me intently. He looked almost intelligent.

That thought alone was rather nerve wrecking.

"The war’s over."

"What?"

"It ended last night. Well this morning, around four a.m."

"Who— What? Did we-?"

"We won." I was baffled for once. I thought Voldemort would surely want me as a Death Eater, the exquisite son of Lucius Malfoy, one of the elites among Death Eaters.

"But—What happened? Dumbledore? Is he—?"

"No Drake, WE won. Potter—" A dramatic pause, his shoulders shrugged, he bowed his head and he took a deep breath, then he continued. "You-Know-Who, he’s gone."

With that I did something so un-manly, I will never willingly tell a living soul.

I fainted.

In the coming days many came back, wounded. Though, many also had died, and were greatly mourned for. The school had been since closed down, but the students remained in the castle until the date we were originally suppose to go home arrived—we’d had no homework or classes but were suppose to help out as much as we could in caring for the people that had survived since St Mungo’s was overloaded.

The first day back in the Great Hall I noticed Granger and Weasley sitting opposite each other, staring at their empty plates while everyone else ate around them happily.

Potter wasn’t there.

Did he give his life to defeat the Dark Lord? Did He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named kill Potter and then Dumbledore defeat Voldemort? I wanted to know. But asking questions so soon wasn’t something I was about to do. Suddenly—

Father! What happened to him?

Great.

So there I was sitting in the Great Hall with my fellow Slytherin’s, picking at my sausage with my spoon and contemplating whether my father had died or not. It was nearly 9:30 a.m. The mail usually came by now... Suddenly a breeze of wind interrupts everyone’s cheerful dispositions (well the ones that had it anyway) and looked up—many owls were soaring in, dropping everyone who had mail to them. I looked suddenly as I heard a very regal, domineering sound.

My gold falcon, Siphys (I named him myself), dropped a single envelope for me; it was black, had white calligraphy on it and was sealed with red wax, imprinted with a gold stamp of the Founders of Magic. My hands trembled, my body perspiring.

Suddenly I heard gasps and a roar of applause. My head turned toward the entrance.

Well. Fuck me.

Harry-bloody-Potter. Tired, bruised, and a bandage around his arm and forehead came limping in. He held his head high, but didn’t smile. His eyes were blank. Blank to everyone. Except me. He looked at me suddenly. My eyes widened and I tried to look away, but he still stared, as if trying to tell me something. Finally he sat himself down next to his friends. I looked down at my letter. Opening it carefully, I closed my eyes and silently prayed.

When I opened it—

It just didn’t quite hit me as I read the bold red print. There were 28 words filling the parchment but only two words standing out; recent disappearances.

- - -


Dear Mr Malfoy,

With deepest sympathies, our condolences go to you, Draconis Lucius Malfoy, as we regretfully inform you of your father, Lucius Donavon Malfoy, and mother, Narcissa Ptoloma (Black) Malfoy’s recent disappearances.

-The Ministry of Magic

- - -


My first thought, before the rage and mourning was this: They don’t even know my full-fucking-name. Typical. It’s Lucian Draconian Malfoy Donavan d’Laour, you dolts.

But then I remember my breath stopping, my blood running cold, and my joints numbing. My body knew nothing; no emotions, no movements, no sensations. All thoughts of Potter, of my life, of even the simplest movement flew out the window.

My friends were shaking my shoulders, asking what was wrong and for the life of me I couldn’t handle it and instead stormed out of the Hall.

“Disappeared” was all it said, no explanation of what had led up to their disappearances. Nothing. No one seemed to want to explain to me, in detail, what exactly had happened the day of the war.

Even now that I’m in my- though postponed- 7th and final year of school I still don’t know what happened to them, how they vanished. How they may have actually been killed... Did they beg for their lives if that was the case?

I shook the awful thoughts I was having about how they died and cursed them away. I couldn’t think of such things. I would go stark raving mad by the end of the day. So I headed for my room to be alone. To calm down. To mourn.

But mostly, to beat the living shit out of something.

A couple of days later school was to be out. It was summer holiday. Where the fuck was I suppose to go? As if answering my cry Siphys glided in, landing on my bed—he had brought me another envelope, though, this time it was white, the calligraphy black and sealed with gold wax.

I sat alone, quietly, in my room, the morning everyone was going to leave, fingering the envelope but not being able to open it right away.

I worked up the nerve after a few minutes (oh alright! It was like twenty!) and ripped the paper open. It was from Calgary Lenomstrong, the new Ministress of Magic.

- - -


It read:

Dear Mister Draco Malfoy.

We regret the grave news we’ve had to recently deliver to you. However, it was said if anything was to happen to them, you would reside with your Aunt Daphne in Surrey, England—in the Hidden Heights of Wizards. Your aunt will pick you up promptly after school is dismissed for the holiday. You will be able to go to your birth home, Malfoy Manor, and collect the things you wish before returning with her to your new residence.

Sincerely,

Calgary Lenomstrong Ministress of Magic

- - -


So, I ended up collecting many things from the Manor. Things of my father’s, of Mother’s. As far as I knew everything else I left behind was either burned or kept in my vault at Gringotts.

That Holiday I spent in my room, reading my father’s things, taking comfort in my mother’s journals.

[Draco’s flashback ends here]

Now it’s time to go back for my final year at Hogwarts.

With thoughts of Hogwarts in his head, Draco remembered what he had first started to think about. Potter. Where was that stupid-pompous git?

He hadn’t seen him on Platform 9¾ when everyone boarded, and come to think of it, he hadn’t noticed an annoying red-head or Ms. Nosey Granger either. Suddenly Draco shook himself.

No need to waste my precious mental space thinking of the whereabouts of Potter and his groupies.

Leaning against his seat, Draco melted into the soft cushion ready to take a snooze when he heard arguing walking down the corridor and his cab's door yanked to the side with a screech.

Silence ensued as all occupants of either the corridor or the train compartment stared at one another. Draco opened his eyes to regard the nuisances and he came face to face with the one person he'd been wondering about all day.

"Uhh... the other compartments are already full..." a rather scruffy looking Harry Potter said.

Potter and Girl Weasel were standing in front of the Slytherin's compartment asking for entrance into the usually feared Snake's Pit. Granted, only Draco, Pansy and Blaise occupied this compartment since Crabbe and Goyle had wandered off earlier, leaving more than plenty of room for the two.

Silence ensued as everyone merely stared at one another, then to either party’s leader, wondering who would say what next and whether it'd be a string of curses and hexes or grumbles and admission.

Draco could already feel his headache intensify as his two companions gazed at him in anticipation. The blond waved a hand absently to the seats in front of them and said, "Do what you will."

The Gryffindors gaped for a sputtering second before spilling in and sitting awkwardly in front of the silent Slytherins, fidgeting this way and that. "Uhm..." started the Girl Weasel. "Thank you, for letting us sit in here with you, I mean."

Her gratitude was wasted as Pansy and Blaise simply gave her a short glance before either resumed their previous engagements; Pansy flipping through Witch Weekly, and Blaise sketching on the back of his new Potions text with the edge of his wand.

Draco sat like a king surrounded by his peons. His tall, lean frame was slouched, comfortable and regarding everything and everyone within the compartment with such a nonchalant and unabashed attitude that those who occupied the car fell easily, and almost instantaneously, into their assigned peonic roles.

Regardless of the tangible hostility the houses still felt for each other, it was to a less extreme since the War that had begun and ended during what was supposed to have been their 7th and final year at Hogwarts. However, due to the crescendo the fighting had reached at the end of their 6th year, Draco and his classmates hadn't any choice as to begin their final year. Textbooks were exchanged for curses, hexes, protection spells, and so on, while students were turned into adults enlisted into a war that had nothing to do with them personally but had everything to do with them initially.

The outcome of the War proved many insights for not only adults but for the children as well, which, through hardship, pain, agony, death and darkness, some glimmer of light had managed to survive and renew hope within people's hearts. And once Voldemort was gone, the prejudice many had become accustomed to waned with time, even if the security of misdirected hostility did not.

"So, Potter, how's the family?" Draco spoke up nonchalantly, gazing out the window as the habitat of the land passed by in a breeze each second, grey eyes flickering toward an angry, reflective visage of one Harry Potter. "Oh wait, you don't have one, never mind."

"Malfoy," the dark-haired boy snarled lowly, fists bunching but making no other move of threat.

"Hn," the blond snorted through his nose, finally tearing his eyes from the scenery to the blazing green eyes squeezing out rays of pinpoint needles in his direction.

"Harry," the Girl Weasel mumbled quietly, touching a soft hand to the other's forearm.

"Yes, Potter, keep a reign on that temper of yours, or your Chaser might just have to scold you," the Slytherin taunted.

"You are such an arse, Malfoy," was the only thing the scar-faced goody-goody could muster in reply, mouth still drawn into a straight line as he leaned further back into his seat, doing his best to ignore the other.

Draco smiled inwardly. Ahh, there was the Potter he was used to and could find familiar ground with. Fighting once again.

While neither would admit to it, fighting with each other as they used to had become a highly missed occurrence and pastime. While their brawls weren't nearly as vicious as they used to be, the consistency and familiarity of them was what seemed to bring peace, oddly enough, to either Seeker's nearly chaotic life. A notion that probably wouldn't make much sense to anyone but them. And oddly enough, Draco found that he treasured it dearly.

Though he'd rather die than admit that to scar-face.

Twenty more minutes was spent in utter, nearly awkward silence. Gazes would catch gazes, eyes would narrow and then look away abruptly like it didn't happen. Either side of the small cab shuffled uncomfortably. Draco snorted to himself, assessing everyone discreetly.

It seemed the hostility in the cab- No, scratch that. It wasn't exactly "hostility" per se that hung in the air between either house that had been forced to share this cab by mere circumstance... It was... something else... Something like-

"Sexual tension," Pansy Parkinson said out of nowhere, taking all occupants by surprise.

Okay, that was definitely NOT right either.

Everyone stared, unabashed, at the female Slytherin, the girl merely blinking back in nonchalant reply. Draco nudged her with his elbow before leveling her with his best What the fuck was that about, you loony cow?-look.

Pansy leveled him with a look of her own, one which caused Draco's eyebrow to twitch spastically for a moment. He knew that look, and Salazar forbid he proceed any further with inquiring what loony bin she'd escaped from (or he'd be force fed salad for the rest of the week). It didn't help matters any that Potter had caught the entire exchange. Though, thankfully, the bedraggled heathen had enough brain cells left in his empty head to attempt a change in topic, one that, surprisingly enough, made more sense than Pansy's outburst.

"So," Potter began. "No room left in the luxury car for you, Malfoy?" The Gryffindor commented offhandedly of how Draco and his cronies were in a cramped, rather plebian style, cab instead of relaxing in the high class car they usually inhabited with all of the other wealthy purebloods.

Draco's mouth quirked slightly. "Hardly, Potter."

When the dark-haired boy realized his intended bait hadn't worked, he tried again. "What? Couldn't fit that oversized noggin of yours through the door?"

The blond Slytherin's lip curled, finding Potter's intended insult more humorous than offending. Though, he'd have to admit he found it even more amusing that the Gryffindork seemed to completely ignore either of their tagalongs in lieu of picking a fight with him only.

It was a fairly queer thing to become elated over but he was nonetheless.

Until he heard the gigglesnort from the ginger-haired girl next to Potter, a rather unbecoming sound she hadn't quite suppressed within her belly.

"Find something funny, Weaselette?" Grey eyes narrowed in rising agitation. And then the infuriating happened.

A gigglesnort sounded from right next to him.

Draco's attention snapped to the female seated beside him instantly. Pansy blinked, holding her hand in front of her mouth to stifle her snorts. "What? It's true, you do have a rather... large head, Draco-"

"Shut up, Pansy."

And suddenly the entire cab was laughing (Slytherins), or attempting to press their mouths into a firm line to keep from smiling and laughing as well (Gryffindors). Even Draco was fighting against it, and instead of giving into it like everyone else seemed to be doing (even though the two Houses weren't exactly... friends, nor friendly, there was some sort of... alliance there regardless), and instead huffed in complaint, turning toward the window and staring out at the darkening sky, thinking dejectedly:

Are we there yet?




Chapter end.