Brave New World

A/N: I want to thank everyone for reviewing, I really do appreciate them. It\'s very inspiring to know my story is being enjoyed so far.

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Chapter Eight



Draco Malfoy swaggered into the Slytherin common room Monday afternoon with a smirk on his face that immediately put every single student within visual distance on guard. Not much had changed about the Slytherin during his tenure at Hogwarts. Rather than mercilessly slicked back, his hair was parted at the side and sculpted to neatly frame his face. He was still pale, his features remained somewhat angular and he dressed with the utmost care as befitted his station.



Crabbe and Goyle remained ever faithful in their place two steps behind him like the well trained pets they were. Parkinson now clung like a limpet to his arm as she evidently claimed her life’s ambition as Malfoy’s significant other.



Sometimes blood remained ever true, Blaise mused, as he held back a sigh displeasure.



He found the four of them amusing, really. The perfect caricature of Slytherin, as none of them exhibited the true characteristics of their house. Cunning was a trait Malfoy had yet to become acquainted with, as his actions were as apparent as the sneer on his face. The two thugs’ life’s ambition was to be seen and not heard and between them held the knowledge of a third year, using their connections to drift through school until they took up their Death Eater masks. And like her mother, Parkinson had terrorized the girls of Slytherin who even dared glance in Malfoy’s direction more than twice.



They held the old ways in contempt, making a pretense of following them as was the tradition of Slytherin house. Preferring instead to practice the darkest of magic in preparation of their lives in support of the same Dark Lord who threatened the very existence of the Wizarding world every time his Death Eaters went out into the muggle world.



How could he take Malfoy seriously when his every thought, every gesture was a pale imitation of his father? When every word from his spiteful mouth typically began with ‘My Father’ or ‘The Dark Lord’?



“Potter’s finally cracked.”



The blond stopped in the center of the common room to make his announcement. Practically preened with joy. “I guess knowing the Dark Lord was gong to destroy him and his blood traitor and mudblood friends was more pressure than the pathetic half-blood could handle.”



“They said he was carried into the infirmary crying like a baby,” Parkinson giggled cruelly even as she looked to her boyfriend for approval.



“I heard from a Ravenclaw who was studying in the library that Potter snapped and tried to hex Professor Snape. Said he lost Gryffindor a hundred points and received three months of detention.” A brave fourth year spoke up from his seat by a bookcase where he sat with three others studying.



Malfoy didn’t’ look pleased to have his spotlight stolen and definitely not by a younger student but it was too late. The gossip line in Slytherin had commenced and would only continue to gain momentum.



“I heard two Hufflepuffs saying when he was brought into the infirmary; Potter was covered in blood from where he had tried to kill himself.” A blonde third year grinned and practically vibrated in her seat, so eager was she to be able to contribute. Conduct very unbecoming of a Slytherin to show her enjoyment.



“There was a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff in the Great Hall at lunch that said Potter tried to hex his friends and that’s the reason he was covered in blood.” A second year tried to contribute, “But then Dumbledore caught stopped him and Potter tried to attack the Headmaster and had to be tied in restraints in the infirmary and drugged.”



Gossip by the time it reached the ears of Slytherin common room was usually so distorted and far-fetched that it took years of practice in deciphering each layer until some accurate pieces of the truth could be found.



Harry was definitely in the infirmary recently, the reason was subjective as Harry had made the treatment center a mainstay due to the injuries he acquired over the years. Professor Snape and Harry were in an altercation at some point. Detention was a given as were the usual loss of house points. This was nothing new. Snape punishing Harry for some reason, valid or otherwise, was as dependable as sunrise. And usually a way to make a few galleons before Hogsmeade weekend.



The blood was a cause for concern because it had been mentioned more than once but Harry was in classes all day so it must not have been serious.



“It almost seems a waste now to kill him,” Malfoy had to speak up over the rising voice level to regain the attention he had lost so he could begin pontificating again.



“The Dark Lord has plans for Pothead and I plan to be there when he’s begging at our Lord’s feet begging for his life.”



From the very first time Harry rejected Malfoy, the boy had become obsessed with ‘getting Potter.’ From trying to hurt his feelings by insulting his friends and his deceased parents to trying to get Harry in trouble and sabotaging his potions in class, Malfoy tried every thing possible and usually failed.



“Such a child,” Blaise murmured, standing from his seat in the shadows by the fireplace and started making his way toward the entrance. Perhaps if fortune deemed him worthy, he might catch Harry before he went to serve his detention. It would be nice to speak to him again, as he had enjoyed being with the Gryffindor the other evening.



“Did you say something Zabini?”



Not satisfied with the attention his announcement had garnered, Malfoy had resorted to his usual, attacking students to reassert his dominance. Usually the boy had sense to avoid throwing barbs in his direction but seemed to think he needed something dramatic to get his point across.



“Of course he didn’t Draco, Zabini knows better.” Parkinson drawled, making certain she was loud enough to draw everyone’s attention to the altercation. “He knows his place.” This made Crabbe and Goyle start chuckling like the performing animals they were.



“Yes, the Zabini family has been neutral for years, Pansy.” Draco made it obvious what he thought of the word neutral. “Though, I really don’t see what his family could do for the Dark Lord. Other than money of course, magically they’re as weak as Potter.”



That brought a small smirk to his face before he could stop it. A comparison to Harry wasn’t a bad thing in his opinion. It was too bad Malfoy was too ignorant to know otherwise.



“Of course if the Dark Lord needed to kill off the blood traitors, he could always try marrying them off to the ‘black widow.’ That would get the job done, wouldn’t it Zabini.”



Hearing that moniker come from Parkinson of all people brought forth a rage he could barely control. It wanted to strike out, to take revenge for what that damned family had done to his mother. Hardening his heart, he turned a gaze of cold fury and watched the witch flinch and burrow closer to Malfoy as if that would protect her should he choose to act.



“You would do well to keep my name from your lips.”



The room was still now, perched on the edge of anticipation as a confrontation never witnessed began to unfold. He silently cursed Malfoy for drawing this attention. This was not his way but perhaps had been years in the making. Normally he would have ignored Malfoy and continued on with his business but no one, no one, disrespected his mother.



“What was that Zabini? I didn’t quite hear you all the way over there.” Malfoy’s sneer daring him to step into the Slytherin political arena he had avoided for years. The hierarchy was well established and Malfoy had no fear.



Slowly he turned, tilting his head to the side as he looked the wizard over. Pansy gasped and paled at the icy disdain he aimed in their direction. Afraid, she released her grip on Malfoy’s arm and took refuge behind him with Crabbe and Goyle.



“I said,” he began slowly enunciating each word so there would be no mistaking his warning this time. “You would do well to keep my name from your lips. Malfoy.”



Whispers broke out then, from the corner of his eye he saw the first and second years slowly edging their way out of the path of the confrontation. Astoria, Daphne’s younger sister, was in the room and carefully rose from her seat heading toward the girls’ dorms, telling him that Daph and Tracey were upstairs and would soon be joining them.



“So you’re taking up for Potter now? Against our Lord. That would be rather foolish don’t you think? A Slytherin taking the side of a Gryffindor. You know the rules of our house Zabini, where your loyalties should lie.”



“My loyalties are my own, as they have always been. As the Zabinis always will be. I’m not surprised you wouldn’t understand the difference as the smaller, more intricate, aspects of Slytherin cunning seem to escape you.”



“What did you say?”



“I believe you understood me quite well, daddy’s boy.”



“Crabbe, Goyle-”



“Why don’t you come over here instead Malfoy? I might be able to respect you more without you hiding behind your pet boarhounds.”



Malfoy took two quick furtive glances around, realizing their altercation was going in a direction he didn’t like. The sneer on his face grew uglier as he stalked across the space toward, his wand already gripped in his hand and a curse on his lips.



Three moves, he thought carefully. Malfoy would be capable in a dual. His father would ensure that as the son’s place would be as a Death Eater and the Dark Lord would not tolerate incompetency. Blaise’s mind was already working the scenario, seeing each advancement as it progressed and what could counter.



The Zabini’s might be neutral but by no means were they weak. His grandfather had pounded that lesson into his mind and body from the moment he turned eight years old.



“Confringo.”



But before Malfoy had finished the word Zabini was moving.



Right leg sweep, he performed without thought as his left arm was shoving Malfoy’s wand arm to the side so that his curse went wide. Right jab, left hook combination, the physical brutality surprising the teen and he had the pleasure of feeling bone crunch beneath his fist. The force of the punches did their job, sending Malfoy crashing back to the floor. Athame, the ritual dagger he carried in a holster on his left arm at all times was in his hand as he lowered to one knee over the boy. The blade pressed into his throat, even as Malfoy’s head bounced off the floor.



“Incendia vesica,” he murmured as a smirk of his own curled his upper lip. Carefully he poured his magic into the spell. The blade slowly began to turn golden red as he halted shy of actual flame.



“Stop it. Stop it!” Malfoy’s panicking voice grew louder with each protest as his skin began to sizzle.



“I thought you wanted to play?”



“My father-”



“Isn’t here right now and your throat would be slit with your life blood draining on the floor before he was even told of your stupidity.” Blaise pointed out.



“When the Dark Lord-”



“There is a reason the Dark Lord respects my family’s neutrality, daddy’s boy. You would do well not to speak of things which you have no knowledge of. Malfoy.”



“Blaise are you torturing Malfoy? What did we tell you about playing with children?” There was amusement in their voices, but he was certain that Daphne and Tracey already had their wands out, pointed at the rest of Malfoy’s cronies. His friends weren’t the useless wastes of space Malfoy’s were.



“Then the child should stay in his place.” Blaise cautioned. “For the next time we’ll see if your blood is as pure as you claim, first hand. Are we clear, Malfoy.”



The terrified Slytherin nodded once, his eyes leaking tears from the pain his athame caused his throat and the broken nose that was bleeding and discolored. He wouldn’t embarrass the boy further, his point was made.



“I’m pleased we could come to an accord.”





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FSFSFS





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When the door to the bathroom slammed open, it was all Harry could do not to cringe in annoyance because he just knew whatever was wrong was coming in his direction. It would be the perfect ending for the day from hell. He expected the drama from Snape in potions class, not even Hermione had been able to deflect the enormous loss of thirty house points but he hadn’t made much of the issue as it would be possible to regain them in DADA later during the day.



Having topped off the edge of his temper Sunday in the infirmary, he was able to ignore Snape’s snide comments about his person, though strangely enough Snape’s words were regulated only toward him and not any of the dead. Evidently Dumbledore told Leo about his loss of control and the result was having his ass handed to him for two hours, proving just how far he still had to go if he was to ever defeat Voldemort. Yet even that he could handle, as Leo wasn’t being malicious, merely proving how important it was for him to remain in control, especially when using his magic.



Professor Vector, Septima, he amended, for the woman had taken to thumping him in the forehead when called her otherwise, was also on his case for his lack of progress in learning the runes she designated. Dumbledore must have been in contact with her, for she had left him with the vague portent of ‘having something to deal with those dreams of yours’ but she needed to do a spot of research first. Whatever it was had to be better than Snape peeling open his head each night and have a go.



Detention wasn’t so bad, mindless chores were second nature to him after all his years with the Dursleys and after facing Voldemort, Death Eaters, and even his Uncle Vernon, there wasn’t much Filch could say or do that was very frightening. He had already made plans with Neville to transfer their study sessions to Saturday mornings, now he had to find a way to contact Blaise to let him know he wouldn’t be able to meet him on Tuesdays and Thursdays as planned unless he was willing to sneak out after curfew.



All he had wanted at the end of such a horrid day was a long shower and a night’s rest without interruption or nightmares.



Yes, and if wishes were hippogriffs, arseholes like Malfoy would ride.



“Harry are you in here?”



‘Ron’, he sighed to himself. What in Merlin’s name was wrong now? “I’m in here, just give me a minute.” He scrubbed a bit more water from his hair, laying the towel across his shoulders, then wrapped a larger one around his waist making his way to the front of the room.



Ron leaned against a sink, face flushed with anger and clutched in his grip a piece of golden parchment that looked very familiar. “What’s the problem?” He asked, placing his glasses back on, so at least he would be able to see while being fussed at.



“This! This is the problem! What is this!”



Dark brows raised as the crumpled parchment was practically shoved in his face. Harry carefully took the paper from his best friend, unrolling it to read.



“In honour of her 17th birthday, the friends of Hermione Jean Granger request the pleasure of your presence to join us in celebration in a Coming of Age Ceremony on September seventeenth nineteen hundred and ninety-six at eight o’clock in the evening. Please tap your wand against parchment to RSVP and receive further directions.”



He had written the least formal of the invitation styles suggested in The Curious Half-Blood book, so he wouldn’t offend anyone and from what he read, he didn’t think that was the cause of Ron’s hostility. He also had chosen regular parchment and charmed it with a nice golden sheen and red ribbon, nice and Gryffindor neutral. The edges of the invitation were trimmed with books, ‘Mione’s favorite things, so that wasn’t offensive.



“I don’t understand what the problem is?”



“That!” he waved a wild hand, eyes widening with fury. “Why would you do that!”



“Do what?” He asked feeling a bit stupid for not understanding what the problem was. After the day from hell his brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.



“That party thing! You have to cancel it! Just how many of those bloody things have you sent out anyway?”



“Twenty-Five, I believe. Why do you need me to cancel the party for Hermione? I thought you said you hadn’t made any special plans for her birthday, I never would have sent out invitations if I knew you were going to change your mind.”



“I haven’t made special plans.”



“Then what’s the problem with the two of us throwing her a party. Isn’t turning seventeen in the Wizarding world of some importance?”



“Well, yes,” Ron frowned, not pleased with the conversation still.



“So why would you want me to cancel?”



“She’s my girlfriend you know!” He shouted, throwing his hands up in the air.



“And I already know that mate, I’ve had the pleasure of watching the two of you attached to each other’s face for the past three weeks now.”



“So, I’m supposed to be the one throwing her parties, not you.”



“So why didn’t you,” Harry lifted a shoulder, still not knowing where Ron was going with all this. Then reality slapped in the face rather solidly. “You’re angry that I thought of the party instead of you?”



“You know I couldn’t afford to do something like this for ‘Mione, so how do you think it feels when you come along and do this?”



“The party if from us both, Ron.” He was starting to hate these types of conversations with his best friend.



“Yeah but you’re paying for it!”



“I’m paying for her gifts! That’s it. I asked the house elves if they would donate food, the Room of Requirement will provide decorations and Leo is loaning me his Wizarding wireless for music.”



Harry didn’t think it possible for Ron to turn a shade redder but he supposed guilt would do that. “You still shouldn’t have done it.”



“And why not Ron, Hermione is my best friend! Why shouldn’t I want to celebrate her birthday with her? This wasn’t even about you! You hadn’t made plans and I thought of the party first, so I thought it would be nice if we, as her best friends, gave her a party. Why must you always make it seem like I’m trying to insult you?”



“I wasn’t.” Though even he had to realize the lie for what it was. “You didn’t even tell me about, just sent out these invitations.”



“In case you’ve forgotten, I was a little busy yesterday, you know with Voldemort in my head. Then Hermione was around and I couldn’t tell you in front of her. And after dinner the two of you went off snogging, so how could I? Then there were classes today and detention. Do you see my point here yet?”



“Could have passed me a note during class or something.” But they both knew Ron was just making excuses now.



“You didn’t even ask me what was going on, you just stormed in here like a rampaging dragon tossing around demands and insults without even considering how I might feel about your behavior.”



He looked down at the invitation that he had taken such joy in creating, looking forward to celebrating Hermione’s day. Now those emotions tasted like ash in his mouth. It had taken a hell of a lot of convincing on his part to get Dumbledore to even allow him to miss detention that night so he could give this party and now he had a feeling Ron was going to ruin the entire night with his bad attitude.



“You need to grow up, Ron.” He frowned, feeling disappointed in his best friend, and tossed the parchment back at him before walking away.