Dracaena Draco

CHAPTER THREE. BISCUITS, BULLIES AND DETENTIONS.

September 1st was a bright, sunny, autumnal day. Draco, however, sitting in the back of his Father's chauffeured Jaguar as they headed into London on the M4, was not in a position to enjoy it, for he was deep in thought. Although he had always known that the day would come when he would have to begin to serve the Dark Side ... he had somehow never pictured the circumstances as being quite so bizarre. He had learnt some funny things in the last few days ... not least that his Father, whom he had always believed in his heart to have remained loyal to Voldemort, had in fact turned against him soon after his downfall. The mysterious Artemis Chaldean also puzzled him. His Father had mentioned him in conversation of course, told Draco about him many times during his childhood ... but had always omitted to say that it was Chaldean whom Draco would end up serving. Probably this was not surprising, he had told Draco himself that Voldemort had eyes and ears almost anywhere you cared to name. It was still unsettling though.

If the truth be told, Draco was dreading going back to Hogwarts now. When he had arrived home on that sweltering July evening, he had wished himself to be back there ... but now ... now that his life had taken such a dramatic twist, he would rather have been back home. The reason for this was, of course, the mission he had accepted ... to gain Harry Potter's trust, influence his thoughts, guide him into the clutches of the Dark Side without making it appear obvious. To do this, he would have to make friends with Harry ... a near impossibility considering the state of their relationship up to that point. He would have to be friendly, and he shuddered at the thought. The thing was, he didn't really have friends, and he was not that sort of boy. Oh sure, there was Crabbe, and Goyle, and the other Slytherins ... but Crabbe and Goyle had kind of drifted into his orbit over the course of the years, and though they proved their worth as evil sidekicks, Draco did not really like them. He had also found himself being reluctantly courted by Pansy Parkinson ... whose one saving grace was that she wasn't a Mudblood.

Draco dreaded to think how his fellow Slytherins would react at his apparent, blatant change of heart. Each and every one of them, he knew, hated that bigheaded Potter and his pathetic friends. If they saw him even talking to Harry ... let alone being nice to him ... he shuddered again. He had, mercifully, never had to face Crabbe or Goyle down in a fight, and he wasn't sure he particularly wanted to. Despite their seemingly gormless facade, they were, incredibly, blessed with a modicum of intelligence that was at least sufficient to allow them to work out that Draco was being treacherous.

"God help me," he breathed. He returned to staring out of the window ... they had left the motorway now, and were stuck in a tailback on Euston Road. Draco, despite what his Father had drummed into him over the years, was, as ever, fascinated to see the Muggle world operating in parallel to his own. That businessman in the white Renault Laguna, that motorcycle courier cutting through the stationery traffic, that shop assistant, carefully stacking volumes of books in a window display, that crocodile of schoolkids, meandering along the pavement, lead by a man carrying a Donald Duck umbrella. None of these people knew who he was ... none of them had heard of Voldemort, or Hogwarts! None of them could do any magic! They couldn't even play Quidditch! It was very weird. Draco wondered what would happen if they knew. They would probably think much the same of his people.

"Master Draco," Simpkins' voice disturbed him from his reverie. "We may be a little late arriving at the station."

Draco checked his watch. It was a quarter to eleven. The Hogwarts Express never failed to leave on time ... unlike the Muggle trains.

"How far are we?" he asked. The cars around them were beginning to honk their horns in frustration.

"About a quarter of a mile," said Simpkins.

"As long as we don't miss it," said Draco.

"I am sure, if we do, we will be able to find another way to get you to school," said Simpkins.

"I wouldn't bother trying, if I were you," Draco muttered under his breath. Fortunately, Simpkins didn't hear.

The traffic was moving again, creeping slowly along the road, they passed the cause of the hold up ... a van had rear-ended a black cab, there was mess everywhere and the other drivers were slowing down to rubberneck. The cabby was standing on the pavement, remonstrating loudly with the driver of the van, a large man in a Scotland football shirt, and two Muggle policemen. They were attracting a sizeable crowd.

They arrived at King's Cross at one minute past eleven. Draco almost leapt out of the car ... grabbed the nearest free trolley for his luggage, and saying a hurried goodbye to Simpkins, dashed into the station. To his dismay, he found it crowded with people, staring blankly at the Departures Board ... there had been some kind of security alert, a suspect package had been discovered at the next station down the line and no trains were being allowed to leave. Praying that the Hogwarts Express would also be affected by the delay, Draco elbowed his way through the crowd, attracting many stares and snide comments about the youth of today as he did so. Draco ignored them.

To his great relief, the train was still standing at the Platform, and other people were still loading their luggage on board. Draco spotted Potter and Weasley, saying goodbye to a dumpy, red headed woman he recognised as Ron's mother. She gave them a final farewell, and wandered away, looking back vaguely over her shoulder as she did so, as if worried about something. Harry and Ron appeared deep in conversation. Trying to look as nonchalant as possible, he sauntered over, one hand on the handle of his trolley. He took a deep breath.

"All right?" he asked.

Ron sneered at him. "Hello, ferret boy," he said. "What do you want then?"

Draco shrugged. "I ... nothing ... just thought I'd come and say hello," he turned to Harry, who was regarding his sternly over his glasses. "Did you have a good break, Harry?" he asked, doing his best to smile, but knowing he was blushing bright scarlet.

"It was crap, since you mentioned it, Malfoy," snapped Harry.

Draco had been just about to say that he'd spent three weeks on safari in South Africa, but thought better of it.

"Did you not go away?" he asked, knowing what the answer would be before it came.

Harry shook his head. "Not that it has anything to do with you," he said.

"Just being friendly," Draco shrugged.

"Well, you picked the wrong friends then, didn't you," said Ron. "Go away and leave us alone."

"Don't know what the world's coming to," said Draco, moodily. "When a chap can't have a pleasant chat to his peers without getting an earful," he tried to look vaguely tearful, though as he was an appalling actor, this didn't work, and he ended up looking as if he needed the toilet.

"Since when," said Harry, prodding Draco in the chest, "were you our friend?"

"I was only trying to be polite, Harry," said Draco.

"And what happened to Potter ... Malfoy?"

"I'll go," said Draco, sensing defeat. "See you later?"

"Don't bet on it," hissed Ron.

Draco turned, and began to push his trolley away, noting as he did so that it had a squeaky wheel, which only accentuated his feeling of intense foolishness. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He couldn't remember having ever been quite so embarrassed before. The direct approach didn't seem to be working ... yet.

"Get a grip, Draco," he said to himself, spotting Pansy Parkinson waving to him from the other end of the platform. He pretended not to have noticed her, and started to heave his heavy school trunk into the nearest carriage. Pansy shrugged, and climbed on board the train. Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

"Move it, Malfoy, you're blocking the corridor," someone said. Draco turned round. It was Hermione. But she looked so different ... she was tanned, she had sorted out her hair, and her eyes seemed different. She was ... Draco swallowed ... she was actually very pretty indeed. Draco couldn't take his eyes off her.

"You look ... nice," he squeaked, mentally cursing himself as he did so.

Hermione gave him a withering look. "Get your stuff out of the way," she repeated.

If Draco heard that, it didn't register. "So ... um ... did you have a good holiday?"

"Since when did that matter to you?" scoffed Hermione. "Are you actually going to move, or are you just going to stand around all day gawking at me?"

"I'll move then," said Draco. He flattened himself against the wall to let her past, and was faintly gratified when she brushed against him. He watched her recede down the corridor.

"Bloody hell," whispered Draco. "Not now. Not on top of everything else!"

* * *

It was a couple of hours later ... the Hogwarts Express had left behind the dreary suburbs of North London, and was streaking northwards through open countryside. Hazy sunshine was slanting in through the windows. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were sitting in their compartment, each passing the time in their own way. Conversation had dried up between them.

"You'll never guess who tried to talk to us on the platform," said Ron, all of a sudden. Hermione looked up from the Transfiguration textbook she was reading.

"It wasn't Malfoy, was it?" she asked.

Ron nodded. "Spot on," he said.

"What did he want?" asked Hermione.

"He was ... it was weird," Ron went on. "He was trying to be nice to us. He called Harry Harry."

Hermione had to admit that that was unusual. "I bumped into him as well," she said. "He looked stressed."

"What did he say?" asked Ron.

"Not much ... that's the thing," said Hermione. "He kept staring at me ... he can do puppy dog eyes when he wants to."

Ron shuddered. "Okay, bad image," he said. "You know what that means, don't you?"

"How do you mean?"

"Come off it, Hermione," said Ron, looking exasperated. "I'm not as green as I'm cabbage looking. Somebody has hooked themselves a secret admirer."

"I don't want a secret admirer," said Hermione. "I'm not ready for that level of commitment ... especially not from Draco Malfoy, thank you very much."

"You'll be fending off his advances next," said Ron. "It'll be boxes with pink balloons in them, and little choccies on your pillow."

"Don't be disgusting, Ron," said Harry. "The very thought," he turned to Hermione. "Please promise me you won't try and get off with Draco?"

Hermione blushed. "The very thought," she said. "Had not even begun to cross my mind."

"That's a great relief," said Harry. "I had a very nasty mental picture forming there."

"I don't really want to know," said Hermione. "Anyway ... there isn't any way I'd ever find myself attracted to him ... and just imagine what his darling Daddy would say if he knew he was seeing a Mudblood."

"Hermione's right," said Ginny, who had been rushing to finish her Charms homework. "There's no way Draco would try anything ... look at him ... the boy is warped, and probably gay too," she added.

Hermione nodded her agreement. "There you go," he said. "It was probably nothing."

Ron shook his head. "You mark my words," he said. "The moon hit his eye like some kind of pizza. It's amore."

"He was probably just constipated," said Hermione. "I hope he really suffers."

"Who suffers?" asked someone. Hermione looked up to see Draco leaning casually in the doorway.

"Nobody," said Hermione, quickly. "What do you want this time?"

"I was ... the trolley's coming. I was wondering if anybody wanted anything," said Draco.

"I think we can buy our own food, thank you very much," said Harry, with feeling.

Draco shrugged. "Fair enough?" he said. "What are you guys up to?" he was blatantly staring at Hermione again.

"Nothing, since you asked," said Ron. "Now bugger off."

"Huh, charmed, I'm sure," snorted Draco. "Just making conversation."

"Well don't," said Harry. "What has got into you?"

"I'm the same as I've always been," lied Draco.

"That'll be the day," said Harry. "Why are you being nice to us?"

"Just thought it was pointless being nasty to everybody," said Draco. "It doesn't get me anywhere really, does it?"

"So we're seeing the new, all improved, twenty five per cent extra free, Alpine Fresh Draco Malfoy, are we?" asked Harry.

"In a manner of speaking," said Draco. "Mind if I join you? Crabbe and Goyle are being very dull today."

"Yes, we do mind," said Ron. "Take the hint and go away."

"Come on, Ron," said Draco. "I'm at least making the effort to be nice to you. You might as well do me the courte..."

"No," said Hermione. "You see ... Malfoy ... the thing is, we don't actually like you. At all. The thing is, we'd rather bathe in our own vomit than have anything to do with you. Now I don't know what you've been taking, or how much of it, and frankly I don't care. Just go away and leave us in peace."

Draco stared at her. If such a thing were possible, he would go as far as to say that she had become even more beautiful in her anger. He stopped himself ... tried to shake such thoughts from his mind, and said. "I won't pretend I'm not insulted," he said. "I came in peace, and you shot me down! I hope you can live with that," he finished, turned, and left the compartment, slamming the door shut behind him. He clenched his fists and cursed himself. He'd flown straight over enemy guns and had been stupid enough to think they wouldn't open fire.

"You can't deny it," said Ron, back in the compartment. "He's acting weird."

"I wonder what he's done with the real Malfoy," mused Hermione.

"You have to admit, he was looking at you then," said Ron. "Lovesick staring is the first stage ... he'll be crying in bed tonight, that'll be stage two."

"Don't," said Hermione.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," said Ron. "I'm not a psychiatrist, but I can tell when somebody has just fallen head over heels in love."

Hermione glowered at him, and returned to her reading. However, she couldn't get back into it, and before long, found herself staring round the compartment. Perhaps Ron had been right ... they were all growing up, after all. She'd definitely noticed it. She'd started buying fluffy pens, and looking at other boys whenever she went out, and crying for hours on end about nothing in particular. She wondered if the others were going through the same thing. She looked at Harry ... physically, a very slight boy, though he had definitely grown lately, now, without a doubt, on his way to manhood. There was already a squarer set to his shoulders ... his robes didn't hang as limply as they once had ... his face was different too ... she'd never noticed that before. In so many ways he still resembled that timid eleven year old she'd watched, shaking with fear, up on that stage, waiting to try on the Sorting Hat. But then, in so many ways, he didn't.

Then there was Ron. There was no denying he'd done some serious growing. He must now be approaching six foot. His hair was no longer the vibrant, shocking red it had once been, but was now more muted in tone, though still distinctive. His robes still didn't fit properly ... everything always seemed a little too small for him. There's no doubt about it, she thought. We've all changed.

Her thoughts turned to Draco. Of course it was obvious Draco was attracted to her ... the signals had all been there. But then ... was she really going to admit that to a couple of hormonal fifteen year olds? Hah! As if! She wondered how she felt about him, before realising it was something she had honestly never thought about before. There was no denying he was a handsome boy. His eyes were very deep, melancholic, even. His silvery blond hair, which did not seem to have darkened with age, gave him a certain rarity value. However, that was as far as it went. She knew he was a hateful, nasty, spiteful boy. She would not want to be seen dead with such a person, and that, at least as far as she was concerned, was an end to it.

* * *

Unbeknownst to her, back in his compartment with Crabbe and Goyle, Draco was thinking roughly along the same lines. His thoughts disturbed him, too. He had never, ever felt that way about any girl at all ... and though he longed to tell Hermione how he felt, he knew he never could. What would his Father say, after all? His control over Draco's life was so complete that he had already practically arranged a marriage for him ... into another wealthy wizarding family. He'd never met, nor even seen the girl in question. Such is the way things always pan out for me, he thought, stoically, as he watched Crabbe and Goyle giggling childishly at a cartoon in the magazine they were reading.

Hermione was different though. Draco had always secretly suspected that he envied her for her friends, her brains, if not for her looks (until now, anyway). But she was a Mudblood, and Draco had always been told what their kind was like. His Father had never let an opportunity to instruct his son in their evil ways pass unexploited, and consequently Draco had been influenced in turn by his Father's hatred of all things non-magical ... though of course, he didn't yet know this.

In his mind, he was forming a mental picture of himself and Hermione. He grinned at the thought. It would be a bloody shock for the old man. "By the way, Father. This is Hermione ... she's a Mudblood but she can't half cook a good rhubarb crumble!" He grinned. Perhaps it wouldn't be so hard to get into Potter's inner circle after all. If he could make Hermione fall for him, he might just be in with a chance ... and if not, there were always the dragon trees, even now safely stowed in the bottom of his trunk.

* * *

The delay in leaving King's Cross meant that darkness had long since fallen by the time they pulled into Hogsmeade Station. With the darkness had come fierce, angry clouds that scudded across the sky, borne on the strong, westerly wind, occasionally affording a glimpse of the stars. On all sides, the Northumbrian peaks seemed to close in on them.

It was very chilly outside. Harry hugged his robes to himself for warmth as he cast his eyes up and down the platform. Despite whatever the year would hold for him, and he had a feeling it would not be without adventure, he was glad to be back. He could see Fred and George, leaning on one of the wrought iron pillars, flirting outrageously with Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet ... there was Neville, Dean and Seamus. Draco was surrounded by a gaggle of Slytherins, hanging onto his every word.

Somebody ... possibly Professor Flitwick, was holding a lantern high above their heads, and calling in a weak voice. "Could all the First Years congregate over here please? Just First Years ... thank you."

They had told Hermione that Hagrid wouldn't be back for the start of term ... and to Harry's surprise she had actually taken the bad news rather well ... at least, there had been no tears or recriminations. It was, however, still a shock to not see his enormous, bearded frame on the platform, marshalling the First Years like ducklings, and always with a cheery greeting for everyone. Harry wondered who his replacement was going to be.

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. "We'd better get a free carriage," she said to him. "Come on."

They trooped out of the station, to where the traditional fleet of horseless carriages was, as ever, waiting for them. Hermione spotted an empty one, and they scrambled in.

"Good to be back eh?" said Harry, as the carriage jolted, and began to move slowly forwards.

Hermione nodded ... Ron, on the other hand, didn't.

"I'm really looking forward to this year actually," she said, as the carriages swept through the open gates and began the long climb up the hill to Hogwarts. The castle itself was perched high above the village, but as Harry stared at it, he felt it seemed to have lost it's aura of excitement and friendliness. Silhouetted against the angry sky, it looked brooding and menacing. Almost ... evil.

Hermione was still chattering away nineteen to the dozen. "...have to work really hard for our exams this year of course. I hope I get straight A's. I'll be very disappointed if I don't," she stopped herself. Harry was looking out of the window, very forlornly. "Is there something wrong?"

Harry nodded. "Look at that," he said, pointing.

Hermione followed the direction of his finger. He was pointing to Hagrid's little wooden hut. There was a light on in one of the windows, and smoke was coming out the chimney.

"Wonder who they got in?" said Ron.

"Probably someone from the village," said Hermione. "Let's face it, it doesn't take a genius to do the gardening," she stopped as she saw their faces. "Sorry, that was insensitive."

"Nah, forget it," said Harry, as the carriage rumbled across the drawbridge, and drew to a halt in the courtyard. They climbed out, and went inside, still shivering, for it was very cold.

Inside, the castle seemed much more welcoming. An enormous fire had been lit in the Great Hall, the chandeliers were glowing with light, and the house tables, which were fast filling up, were laid with the ornate golden crockery and the fantastic goblets that they had come to expect. They took their seats at the Gryffindor table, and watched as the rest of the school filed in. Dumbledore was already seated at the top table, along with all the other teachers, aside, of course, from Hagrid and Professor McGonagall, who was probably even now barking instructions at the First Years. Harry smiled as he remembered how scared he had been of her, and not without good reason too. She was, without any shadow of a doubt, a scary woman.

Harry scanned the top table. There were two new teachers there. Of course, one must be Snape's replacement. He was probably the one in the fine red velvet robes, casting his eyes across the hall as though the students were utterly beneath his contempt. He was also completely bald, and the light glinted off his head. The other new teacher was a woman, and Harry suspected she must be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. She was ... there was no other word for it ... she was quite stunningly beautiful. Long, golden hair fell in cascades down her back. Her face was elegant, refined, her eyes shimmering sapphires of exotic blue. Harry could barely look away.

"You think she's a Veela?" he asked Ron, who shook his head.

"What are you talking about?" asked Hermione, leaning closer.

"Er, nothing," said Harry, quickly.

"You don't have to pretend you weren't making eyes at her!" said Hermione, straight out. "I'm perfectly able to deal with adolescent crushes."

"Ssh, you take all the romance out of a situation," said Ron. "Can't you see Harry's smitten?"

Harry made a face at him. "She's all right," he said. Ron and Hermione exchanged knowing glances.

The Hall burst into spontaneous applause as Professor McGonagall entered, towing in her wake the First Years, each of whom looked singularly terrified. She led them up the steps to the dais, where the Sorting Hat, looking even more frayed and grubby than before, rested on its customary stool.

"When I call your name," Professor McGonagall was saying. "You will step forward, in turn, and put on the hat, which will then tell you what House you are to be put into," she coughed, and from the folds of her emerald green robes, withdrew a long piece of parchment, which she unrolled with great ceremony. All eyes were on the stage.

"Ampleforth, Julian."

The boy stepped forwards, short, with sandy hair. He walked slowly up to the stool, sat down, and placed the Hat on his head.

There was a momentary pause.

"Gryffindor!" the Hat shouted. Julian removed it, looking very relieved, and tossing a grin to the rest of his Year, came down the steps to take his seat and have his hand ritually shaken by everyone.

"I hope we get a good crop this year," Nearly-Headless Nick, Gryffindor's resident ghost, was saying to Fred. "It would be nice to maintain our traditions."

Julian was already deep in conversation with Colin and Dennis Creevey, who were pointing at Harry. Harry looked away in annoyance ... evidently some things were not going to change overnight. The Ravenclaws clapped and cheered to welcome Dedman, Lucy.

"Ericssen, Johannes!" called Professor McGonagall. Johannes, who looked even more frightened than the rest of them, came nervously forwards to try on the hat, which took mere seconds to put him in Slytherin. The disappointment on Johannes' face as he stepped down from the stage, and sauntered reluctantly over to the Slytherin table, was painfully evident. Draco Malfoy was already on his feet, shaking the boy's hand. Johannes looked singularly unimpressed.

"Poor kid," said Ron.

Nearly-Headless Nick looked sympathetic too. "We can't expect everyone to end up in Gryffindor. There must always be some disappointments."

"All the same," said Ron. "He looks utterly miserable ... and now he has to talk to Malfoy. Poor sod."

The table erupted with applause and catcalls as Finnegan, Padraig was made a Gryffindor. Seamus was bursting with pride.

"That's my brother," he said to Ron. "I knew he'd do it!"

"You never said you had a brother," said Ron, surprised.

"Huh, you never asked!"

"Fair point," conceded Ron. He couldn't help noticing that Fred and George kept looking in his direction, and tossing suspicious smiles at him. He had a feeling he knew what they meant. He turned to Harry.

"You think they'll actually go through with it?" he asked him.

Harry shrugged. "Possibly," he said. "Do they ever forget to carry out a threat."

"They are the elephants of the Weasley family," said Ron. "The day they forget to carry out a threat will be the day uni-cycling lemmings invade Hogwarts and start holding Latino dance classes in Snape's dungeon."

Harry gave him a very odd look. "Right you are then," he said.

"What are you two conspiring about?" asked Hermione, turning to look at the two of them.

"Probably nothing," said Harry.

Ron shook his head grimly. "We might as well tell her," he said, with great melancholy in his voice. "She'll find out soon enough."

"What is it then ... what are you planning?" asked Hermione.

"It's less a case of what we're planning, than a case of what Fred and George are planning," said Ron.

"And what are they planning?" prompted Hermione.

Ron told her, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of clapping as Villarreal, Carlos became a Hufflepuff, so she didn't hear.

"Sorry?"

"You remember the canary creams?" asked Ron, sneaking a glance at Fred and George, who were talking to Katie and Alicia ... again.

Hermione nodded. "Poor Neville," she said.

"Exactly," said Ron. "Anyway, that isn't my point. My point is that they've been, um, how can I put this?"

"In English?"

"They've been ... fiddling with their equipment," Harry barely suppressed a snigger.

Hermione gave him a very puzzled look. "If I didn't know better, Ron," she said. "I'd feel sure you were talking about something else."

"They've been making more biscuits, right?"

"Right."

"And these ones can turn you into a hamster, right?"

Hermione nodded.

"So, guess who they're planning to try them out on," prompted Ron.

"Er, you?"

"Got it in one," said Ron. At that moment, Dumbledore clapped his hands for silence. Ron mouthed, 'I'll tell you later' at Hermione, and turned to hear him speak.

"A very warm welcome to you all," Dumbledore began. Some of the First Years were coughing nervously. "I see, perhaps not surprisingly under the circumstances, a lot of new faces here this evening."

The First Years, not quite sure if he'd made a joke, tittered slightly.

"And I see a lot of very old ones too. As some of the older students may have already noticed, two of our number are missing this year. Professor Snape, and Rubeus Hagrid are both on sabbatical this term, and will not be returning until after the Christmas break. In the meantime, Hagrid's duties, including the teaching of his Care of Magical Creatures Class, will be looked after by Xavier Wilmot, who unfortunately cannot be here tonight. Mr Wilmot has worked for many years at the Institute for Advanced Magical Research in Llandudno, Wales."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances ... obviously he wouldn't be a patch on Hagrid, but at least things didn't look as though they would be too bad.

"Our other new teachers this term are Professor Marmaduke Winston-Smythe, who joins us to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts..."

Harry turned to Ron, flabbergasted, surely that meant...

"...and Doctor Gwyneth Jones, who joins us to teach Potions, and will also be assuming Professor Snape's duties as head of Slytherin House during his absence. Professor Winston-Smythe has taught at several magical institutions in the past, and has lately returned from a post as British ambassador to Kazakhstan. Doctor Jones hails from Cardiff in Wales, and like Mr Wilmot, worked for many years at the Institute for Advanced Magic Research in Llandudno, as well as taking time to gain her PhD in potions and narcotics. She has five years teaching experience at other magical schools in Europe. May I please ask you to rise, and bid a warm welcome to both of them."

The school rose to its feet as one, and applauded to welcome the new teachers. By far the loudest clapping came from the Slytherin table, who looked very appreciative of their new Head of House.

Dumbledore again raised a hand for quiet. The took their seats again. Dumbledore continued to speak. "I am sure you will make them proud of you, as indeed you usually do with your customary flair, talent and imagination. Now, what does everyone say to a spot of grub?"

The ornate dishes and bowls set along every table filled up with mountains of piping hot food, to gasps from the First Years, many of whom hadn't been expecting it to work quite like that.

"That's a shame," said Ron. "That's a crying shame."

Harry helped himself to roast potatoes. "I was so sure she was going to be the Dark Arts teacher ... I was so sure."

"Yeah, bully for you, eh, Harry?" said Ron, cheerfully, as he made a grab for a dish of buttered carrots that was floating past.

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione was saying, in between ladling extravagant quantities of gravy onto her roast chicken. "Just because she's a Slytherin doesn't necessarily mean she's automatically horrible. She might be really nice..."

"Yeah, and I bet she does a mean beans on toast," said Ron, sarcastically.

"Well she might be!" said Hermione, more firmly this time.

"Hermione!" said Ron, exasperated. "You've been here, what, four years now?"

"Four years, this is the fifth."

"Exactly, and in all that time at Hogwarts, haven't you learned the most important thing? Slytherins don't come nice. They're all as slimy as each other! They come in any flavour you like ... as long as it's horrible. You don't get nice ones."

Hermione began to eat. "Well," she said, haughtily. "I'm going to give her a chance."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Harry came down to breakfast early the next morning, to find a few of the teachers, including Doctor Jones, already seated at the top table, and some of the students too ... including Ron. Ron was sitting at the Gryffindor table, quite alone, being stared at by some First Year Ravenclaws at the next table, spreading butter liberally on a mountain of toast. He looked up as Harry sat down opposite him.

"What's up?" asked Harry.

"Nothing, just eating some toast," said Ron.

"That's true," said Harry. "Not up for a fry up are we? I fancy a little bacon."

"Not for me," said Ron, biting into his toast, and spraying crumbs all over the table as he spoke. "I know this looks like I'm trying to have breakfast early to avoid Fred and George, but you are sadly mistaken if you think such a thing."

"Then why are you having breakfast early?" asked Harry. "Or am I missing something very obvious here?"

Ron shrugged. "I'm hungry," he replied.

"That I can tell," said Harry, as he helped himself to several very large, very fat sausages.

Ron tried to change the subject. "You still cut up about Doctor Jones?"

"Oh wake up now, Ron!" said Harry, annoyed. "She's attractive, but that's all there is to it."

"Well, I'm glad to see you adopting a reasonable and mature attitude to the situation," said Ron. "You ought to know she's completely unattainable."

"And she's a Slytherin," said Harry. "Best to forget about her."

"I'm not sure how she'd deal with a full blown relationship with a fifteen year old boy," said Ron. "She's out of your league."

"I said I'd forgotten about her," said Harry, very firmly, although the look he cast at Doctor Jones made it very clear he hadn't.

Fred and George had entered the Great Hall. George was carrying a little brown paper bag casually in one hand. Ron had a feeling he knew what it was.

Fred and George ambled over, grinning from ear to ear.

"Good morning, dear Ronald," said Fred, clapping his hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Hail fellow, well met," went George, putting his hand on Ron's other shoulder.

Fred leant in close. "I do hope ickle-Ronniekins wasn't trying to eat breakfast early and get away without us noticing."

"Because we'd only ask you to do it again," said George. "And eventually, you'd end up having breakfast earlier, and earlier, and earlier..."

"And eventually, you'd end up having it round about dinner time."

"Then lunch time."

"And finally breakfast time," concluded Fred. "Then we'd have come full circle, and we'd have you trapped. That would happen round about mid-February, by my reckoning."

"Or late January, if you still use the Julian calendar," said George. "Which we don't."

"So you see, Ronald, either way, we win."

Ron was nodding grimly. "I was hungry," he said, the lie not even sounding halfway convincing.

"We can tell," said George. "That toast mountain could keep the Sudan in food for years. Possibly even decades. We could pay off the National Debt with it. Are you entering some sort of competition?"

"Or are you just eating all the pies?" asked Fred. "Or toast, in this case."

Ron had gone slightly pale around the gills. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, resignedly.

"I thought we explained that," said George. "Eat the biscuit, become a hamster ... bang ... hilarity ensues!"

"But not right now," said Fred. "Wait till the hall fills up..."

"Maximum amusement, minimum effort," said George.

"Right," said Fred.

George placed his little paper bag next to Ron's plate. Ron slowly opened the bag, and peered inside. At the bottom lay one, very round, very innocent looking biscuit. There were little raisins baked into it, and someone had very conscientiously picked out a smiley face in pink icing.

"It looks lovely," said Ron, uncertainly.

"Of course it's lovely, we made it," said Fred.

"We'll tip you the wink when the fun is to begin," said George. "Remember, we'll be watching you."

Ron looked very downcast as Fred and George sauntered away, and took seats at the other end of the table.

"Would you like to share it, Harry?" he asked, when they were safely out of earshot.

"Not particularly," came the reply.

"Didn't think so," said Ron. He looked up ... Draco Malfoy had just come into the hall, as ever, with Crabbe and Goyle bumbling along behind him like two oversized moons orbiting a blond planet. Draco, however, looked a shadow of his former self. He was even paler than usual, and was looking around the hall not with his usual, self-assured, throwaway glance, but with definite nervousness in his eyes. Ron wondered what was the matter with him.

Harry was speaking again. "Look at it this way, Ron," he said ... the Hall was filling up by now. "What's the worse thing that can happen?"

"You mean worse than the return of You-Know-Who?"

"Not quite in that vein," said Harry. "What's the worst thing that could happen in the current situation?"

"That wooden beam could fall on my head, splitting me in two and ending my days prematurely," said Ron.

Harry looked up at the beam. It looked very secure, though he'd never had cause to notice it before now. "The worst conceivable thing?" he ventured.

"I turn into a giant hamster," said Ron. "Everyone has a good laugh, I end up looking like a complete dunce for evermore."

"It won't be for long," said Harry. "You'll be back to normal in no time ... and look, if it makes you feel any better ... I guess I'll have a bite too."

Ron's face lit up. "You mean that?"

Harry shrugged. "What have I got to lose?"

"Points, dignity, respect," Ron was ticking things off on his fingers.

"And if Fred and George tell everyone what you said ... then what will I lose?"

"The same things. Only more so," Ron looked slightly puzzled. "Oh ... I get it, it's one of those lesser of two evils things, isn't it? I appreciate that," said Ron. "Thanks."

Harry opened the paper bag, and peered inside. The biscuit really looked very appetising indeed. He wondered vaguely to himself how it actually tasted.

Hermione sat down next to Ron, smiling broadly and looking very pleased with herself. She looked at them both expectantly, but neither of them said anything.

"So?" said Hermione, after an awkward silence had past. "Does everyone notice how bright, cheerful and altogether bubbly I am this morning?"

"Not especially," said Ron. "Why are you so bright, cheerful and bubbly ... do tell?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Well," she said. "Our timetables are up outside."

"I hadn't noticed," said Ron, truthfully. "This makes you happy how exactly?"

"Guess what we have first thing," said Hermione. "Potions ... with Doctor Jones. We get a chance to see how nice she probably really is."

"You just refuse to ever see the bad side of a situation do you, Hermione?" said Ron. "Face it ... she will be evil ... she will be nasty ... she will take points away from us."

"Only if you give her cause to," said Hermione, taking one of Ron's many pieces of toast. "Otherwise, I'm sure she'll be reasonable. Most people genuinely are."

Ron and Harry exchanged knowing glances. Harry said. "Sorry, Hermione, but I don't buy it."

Hermione shrugged. "Typical," she muttered, giving them both very dark looks. She finished Ron's toast, and started on another slice. Ron didn't seem to notice.

The Hall was full up now ... and the air was filled with the wafting smells of fried food, and the sound of hundreds of people all trying to talk at once. Normally, it would have been most convivial. Ron, however, was feeling slightly sick now, and pushed away his toast.

"I think I'm done," he said quietly.

Fred and George were both staring at him. A slight smile was playing across Fred's lips. He winked at Ron.

"Fair dos," said Harry, opening the bag, extracting the biscuit, and setting it down on the tablecloth between them. "Half and half?"

"What's tha..." Hermione began to ask, but Ron waved his arm to cut her short.

"You break, and I choose," said Harry. "Fair?"

Ron nodded. He took the biscuit in his hands, and broke it roughly in half. Then he set the two halves down on the tablecloth again. Harry dawdled for a minute, then picked up the larger of the two.

"Have the smaller one," hissed Ron. "This is my fault, not yours."

Harry wasn't listening. He grinned slightly, and popped his half of the biscuit into his mouth. Ron did the same, and for a few seconds, everything seemed normal ... both boys chewed normally.

Harry gave Ron a funny look. "Nothing's happening," he hissed.

"What's going on?" asked Hermione.

"Ssh, shut up," said Ron. "Shouldn't it have worked by now?"

Harry shrugged. "I would have thought so," he said. He didn't feel any different at all. He looked down at his arms, but there was no sign of any fur growing. Fred and George were both staring at them intently.

Ron swallowed. So did Harry, still nothing happened. By now, all the other Gryffindors had turned to look at them.

"You think it was a dud?" asked Ron. "Perhaps they never meant to do anything."

Harry shook his head. "They don't think like that," he said. "You should know, you're their brother," he thought he heard a minuscule pop. He froze ... he felt slightly sick, though whether that was through apprehension, or some effect of the biscuit, he didn't know. Ron, however, had gone an interesting shade of green. By now, all the other tables had turned to stare at the bizarre floor show too.

"I don't feel so good," said Harry.

"You've gone green," said Ron. "You look like a wallpaper sample."

Harry felt as if something was straining inside him ... as if his whole body was trying to burst out of its skin. He felt acid rising in his stomach, and fearing he was about to vomit, clapped his hand over his mouth. But nothing happened. His stomach was gurgling, and his whole body tingling inside. Fred and George both leaned forwards. A great silence had fallen over the entire Hall ... even some of the teachers were watching ... McGonagall was already out of her seat.

Harry looked to Ron. Ron looked back, his eyes wide, as if they were about to pop out of his head. Suddenly he convulsed ... his body appeared to go into spasm, his arms and legs locking, and Harry felt the same thing happen to him. What had they done? What had they actually eaten? There was a horrible cracking sound, as if something was breaking deep within Harry's body. He closed his eyes, tightly. There was a ripping, tearing sound, a whoosh of air, and then nothing. The tingling faded. Harry opened his eyes. All around was silence. He turned to look at Ron ... but found himself staring instead into the black, beady eyes of a six foot burrowing rodent, with fur as red as Ron's hair.

"Um, guys," Hermione was saying. "This may not be the best time to tell you this ... and I know it's probably really obvious and everything. But you do know you both just turned into giant hamsters, don't you?"

"I noticed," said Ron the hamster.

Harry nodded ... his whiskers bouncing up and down as he did so.

Great gales of laughter had erupted from all around the Hall as people realised what had happened. Harry scratched himself.

"What is the meaning of this?" a voice asked. Both of them turned round to see. Professor McGonagall was standing over them, her hands on her hips, a look of such intense rage on her face, the like of which neither Harry nor Ron could remember seeing before.

"Human Transfiguration is expressly forbidden under school rules outside of supervised classes, not to mention it is highly dangerous, potentially fatal even," Professor McGonagall went on. "What did you think you were doing?"

Ron looked up. Hamsters do not easily show their emotions as facial expressions, but Harry was sure that, had he been fully human, Ron would have been looking absolutely terrified.

"It was an accident, Professor," said Ron.

"An accident was it, Weasley?" McGonagall repeated, her voice full of scorn. "You just ... accidentally happened to turn into hamsters, did you?"

"It wasn't our fault ... it was Fred and G..." began Ron, only to be cut short again.

"Your brothers, Weasley, do not appear to have turned into giant hamsters, do they?" said McGonagall, tapping her foot on the stone floor. The laughter had died away completely, and it seemed as though all of Hogwarts had temporarily halted its breakfast and turned to stare at the two of them. Harry could feel the Slytherins' eyes burning into his back.

"You surely ... must see how this looks, Weasley ... Potter?"

Ron nodded. "You must understand though Professor. It wasn't us!"

"Cheek me again Weasley, and I will make sure your life is very uncomfortable for some time," glowered McGonagall. "I am very disappointed in the both of you. You will both see me after school for detentions ... and you will explain yourselves properly then."

She took her wand out of one of the many pockets sewn, somewhat arbitrarily into her work robes, and waved it over them, muttering some words that nobody heard. Instantly, Ron turned back into his normal self, and from the looks on everyone's faces, Harry could tell he had done too.

McGonagall stalked away. Ron wiped his brow on the sleeve of his robes.

"That could have gone a whole lot worse couldn't it?" said Ron, turning to glare at Fred and George, who had dissolved into fits of laughter. The buzz of morning conversation in the Great Hall had slowly begun again, though this time with numerous audible laughs, stolen glances, and pointed fingers in their direction.

"I'll never live it down," said Harry, glumly.

* * *

Following the events of breakfast, neither Harry nor Ron were in much of a mood to have to face double Potions, even if it was with the ravishing, though untested Doctor Jones. They slouched along the corridor towards the dungeons, trailing in Hermione's wake, scuffing their shoes on the floor. Both of them had managed to get detentions within twelve hours of arriving at Hogwarts ... surely some kind of a record.

The Slytherins were already standing outside the door to Snape's dungeon. Several of them giggled and pointed at Harry and Ron as they approached. Ron scowled at them, but to their surprise, Draco, who had been leaning against the wall, trying to look as innocent as he possibly could, stepped forwards.

"Morning," he said, smiling at them.

"Shove off, Malfoy," said Ron. "I'm not in the mood."

"That was a classic ... at breakfast," said Draco amiably, seemingly unperturbed by Ron's remarks. He had spent most of the previous night sitting in an armchair in the Slytherin Common Room, wondering desperately how to go about his business. "They'll be talking about that for years."

Pansy Parkinson stepped forwards. "Come on, Draco," he said. "What are you talking to them for?"

"None of your business," said Draco, turning on her. "Who I talk to is my own affair, and I don't need telling whom I can and can't converse with."

Pansy scowled, first at Draco, and then at Harry and Ron.

"You might want to stop talking to us, Malfoy," said Harry. "Some of your little friends might not like it."

"My little friends?" said Draco. He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the other Slytherins.

"We wouldn't want to see you get beaten up now, would we?" added Ron, sarcastically.

"I couldn't care less, frankly," said Draco, tossing a casual glance at Crabbe and Goyle. "Anyway, I'd much rather be talking to people who have more intellectual capacity than a brain dead slug," he added, praying that Crabbe and Goyle either wouldn't have heard, or wouldn't have understood.

"Flattery gets you nowhere, Malfoy," scowled Harry, pointing rudely at Draco. "Least of all with me."

"I'm not flattering you," said Draco. "It's the honest truth."

"Draco, come away," Pansy was saying. "What's got into you?"

"Shut up!" Draco rounded on her. "I'm not your obedient puppy. I answer to nobody."

"Just bugger off, Draco," said Ron. "Nobody likes you, so stop trying to make us. What do you want anyway?"

"You're nothing but an overgrown playground bully," said Harry, snarling. "Go pick on some five year olds!"

"What is going on?" asked a voice ... a soft spoken, Welsh accent. Harry and Draco both looked up. Doctor Jones was standing before them, holding a large quantity of cardboard box files.

"Nothing, Doctor Jones," said Draco, hurriedly.

"It looked like rudeness and incivility to me," said Jones, fishing in her pockets for the key to the dungeon. "Before we go in, let me warn you ... I expect my students to behave politely, with courtesy and respect towards each other in my classes. I will come down like a tonne of bricks on you all if this happens again? Do I make myself understood?"

The Gryffindors and Slytherins shuffled their feet nervously.

"You two boys, what are your names?"

"Draco," began Draco, but he was cut short.

"I asked for your name, boy!"

"Malfoy."

"And yours?"

"Potter," said Harry, taking the hint.

"Potter and Malfoy. I'll remember that," said Jones ... if she recognised Harry at all, she certainly wasn't showing it. "You're a Slytherin, are you not, Malfoy?"

Draco nodded, sheepishly.

"I thought so," said Jones. "I'll be keeping a close eye on both of you ... and if I catch either of you making trouble again, I will act. Do I make myself perfectly clear."

"Yes," muttered Harry. Draco didn't say anything. He made as if to turn back to the Slytherins, but something stopped him. Somehow, he didn't want to be with them right now. He had a feeling they wouldn't be too happy with him.

Doctor Jones unlocked the door, and slowly, for they were all still a bit stunned by her outburst, they followed her in. Even Hermione seemed to be regarding her new teacher with the kind of expression she reserved usually for those she really hated ... like Snape. Silently, they took their seats on the high stools next to the workbenches, and unpacked their textbooks. As they did so, Doctor Jones arranged her pens on the desk, and enchanted a piece of chalk, which proceeded to write her name on the blackboard in a neat copperplate hand.

After a minute or two of absolute silence, during which you could have heard a pin drop, she spoke ... her Welsh accent lilting and hauntingly beautiful. "My name is Doctor Jones. I am a graduate of the London College of Witchcraft, and I have worked with potions, narcotics and many other things for many years. It is my intention that I shall turn out the best, and most able students in this school. I have taught potions for five years, and I can say with absolute authority that I have never failed to produce an A grade student in all that time. To do this I must insist upon having your complete attention at all times throughout my lessons. To this end I must lay down the following ground rules. There will be no chit-chat amongst yourselves ... no late or missed homework ... any insolence, rudeness or idleness. All these things I will not tolerate, and I shall punish troublemakers harshly. If you do not cross me, you will find me a benevolent mistress, but woe betide you if you do make me angry, for mighty is my wrath," at this point she glanced meaningfully at Harry, and then at Draco, who was glowing like a beetroot. Being told off in a Potions class was a new experience for him.

Doctor Jones stalked down the aisle separating the Gryffindors from the Slytherins, until she reached the desk where Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville were sitting.

"Just because you are Harry Potter, expect no favours from me," she said, in a low voice. Her eyes turned to Ron. "I saw that ridiculous stunt you two pulled at breakfast. The Gryffindors are evidently all troublemakers. I will be keeping an eye on you two. What's your name?"

"Weasley."

Jones turned, and walked slowly back down the aisle, holding her hands behind her back. When she reached the front of the class, she spoke again. "I received a letter from Professor Snape about this class," she said. "He told me to watch out for you. I do not like to base my opinions on those of one I have never met, but I am beginning to think he may have been right. You will take out your holiday essay assignments, and place them on your desks."

There was a panicked rush as the entire class took out their rolls of parchment, and set them down on the workbenches ... all that is, except for two.

Jones walked over to the front bench, and picked up Goyle's essay. "This looks barely adequate," she moved on.

"What is this?" she asked, picking up another parchment.

"My essay," Crabbe grunted.

"There is a banana skin stuck to it," hissed Doctor Jones. "What are we, boy ... a gorilla? See me afterwards."

Draco was still blushing fiercely.

"Where is your essay, Malfoy?" asked Jones, halting directly in front of him.

"I didn't have time," protested Draco, feebly.

"Malfoy ... we had an eight week hiatus in which to complete an essay based on material you should have covered last term with Professor Snape. How pushed for time were we, Malfoy?"

"Very pushed?" lied Draco.

"Oh yes ... did we go away on holiday?" asked Jones. Draco was quivering .. it was amazing how much she reminded him of his Father.

"I went to South Africa for three weeks," said Draco, sullenly.

"I hope we got a nice tan," said Jones, with false sincerity. "Tell me, Malfoy ... what is eight minus three?"

"Five."

"Exactly. That leaves us with five weeks in which to finish our essay. Were we so pushed for time we couldn't manage?"

Draco didn't dare tell her that he had only started it the night before term started, and as he had forgotten the work, had not been able to finish. He had been worrying about it ever since, and now it looked as though his worries were well founded.

"I was very pushed. I have a very busy life," said Draco, not fully aware of how feeble he was sounding.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Malfoy," said Jones. She looked up, and addressed the rest of the class. "The Malfoys clearly live an endless round of hedonistic parties they have little time for anything else, because they are nursing their bloody hangovers. However it changes nothing. I had you marked down as trouble the moment I set eyes on you. It appears my thoughts were justified. You will lose Slytherin fifteen points, and you will do a detention for me."

"Yes," said Draco, looking at his feet.

"Did anybody else 'forget' to do the work," said Jones, stalking once more up the aisle to where Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting. Hermione coughed slightly and tried to hide her hands under the bench. It was at that point that Harry and Ron both noticed she had not taken out her essay.

"I see the troublemaker's table has excelled itself once more," said Jones. "What is your name girl?"

"Hermione," began Hermione.

"If I had wanted to know your Christian name, I would have asked for it," hissed Jones. "I say again ... what is your name?"

"Granger."

"Miss Granger ... where pray, is your essay?"

All eyes in the class were on Hermione ... all faces a mask of shock and disbelief. Hermione? Hadn't done her homework? Both Harry and Ron were staring at her as though she had just transfigured into Snape. If Ron's mouth could have opened any wider, he'd have been able to swallow a whole hippogriff.

"I forgot it," said Hermione.

"How truly horrible for you," mocked Jones, in a nasty tone of voice. "You must be devastated. Professor Snape mentioned you in his letter. Too clever by half, he said ... insufferable know it all, he said. I see we think we are so superior we can miss assignments as and when we choose to."

"I don't think that," said Hermione, weakly.

"Granger, you will likewise lose fifteen points from Gryffindor, and you will do a detention with Malfoy after dinner. My office," she turned to the rest of the class, who were glued to their stools. "Anybody else?" she asked, in a tone suggesting 'just you dare.'

Nobody said anything. Jones picked up Harry's parchment. "I see the world famous Mr Potter has managed to get his work done. You are an inspiration to Malfoy and Granger. How did you manage it with all the signing tours?" she sneered. Harry looked away ... barely able to believe someone he found so beautiful could possibly be so nasty. "I see Weasley has done his too. How nice. This parchment is shoddy, Weasley ... can we not afford decent paper?"

Ron scowled.

The assignments collected, she went back down to the front of the class, and began to write on the blackboard. The rest of the lesson passed in stunned silence, as they chopped, ground, and mixed their ingredients. Doctor Jones herself moved slowly and silently around the dungeon, like a human Stealth bomber ... you never knew when or where she would pop up next, although it was always just as someone was committing some minor error. After what seemed like an age, the bell tolled for morning break, and they gratefully left the classroom.

* * *

Draco followed Harry, Ron and Hermione without trying to make it too obvious that that was what he was doing, having told Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle that he was going to use the toilet. He caught up with them outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Wait up," he breathed. "I want a word."

The other three turned to look at him.

"For God's sake, Malfoy. Can't you just leave us alone for one second?" sighed Harry. "Must you be forever popping up?"

"I just wanted to say sorry," said Draco.

Ron snorted. "Huh ... what for?"

"For getting Harry into trouble with Doctor Jones. I didn't mean anything to happen."

Harry stared at Draco incredulously. "Why should you be saying sorry?" he asked. "I was the one being rude to you!"

Draco shrugged. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Honestly ... water off a duck's back."

Harry stared at him in even greater disbelief. "Malfoy, what is the matter with you?"

"Who cares!" interrupted Ron, stepping between the two of them. "Run along back to Daddy, You-Know-Who's little slave!" he hissed.

Draco scowled at Ron. "My Father is not in league with Voldemort," he said. Ron looked shocked.

"Get lost, Malfoy. I saw him!" said Harry, looking mortally offended, and with good reason too, thought Draco. "He was there! You're just as bad. I don't know what you want from us, but you're not getting it!"

"Just sod off, why don't you?" said Hermione. All three of them were staring at Draco as though he were something sticky someone had brought in on the bottom of a shoe.

"Okay, I'm going," said Draco, defeated again. "But I'm not pretending I'm not insulted by your rudeness," he turned on his heels, and stalked off the way he had come.

"I swear I'll do something I might regret to that boy if he doesn't keep on harassing us," said Ron, as they resumed walking towards the Gryffindor Common Room.

Hermione, on the other hand, looked slightly as though she was in some kind of a trance ... there seemed to be a dreamlike quality to her eyes.

"Is there something wrong?" asked Harry.

Hermione smiled at him. "No ... I was just thinking about ... things," she said.

"What things?" asked Ron, suspiciously. "Not Draco Malfoy?"

"Hermione, you promised," said Harry.

"Well, kind of about, Malfoy," said Hermione. "I was wondering why he was trying to get in with us."

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Harry. "He's only interested in you. He's smitten! Just ignore him if he tries to speak to you again."

"I'm not really sure that I can," said Hermione.

"Oh please, say you don't fancy him as well?" groaned Harry.

Hermione considered this for a moment. Then she said. "Well, I won't pretend he isn't handsome."

"So you think he's good looking?" said Ron.

"I ... I suppose so," said Hermione, unsurely. "He has nice eyes, and hair."

"We all have eyes and hair," said Ron. "Look at Harry, it's practically all he is!"

"He has a nice nose too, and, and, he does always dress nicely."

"Spare me the sodding details," moaned Harry.

"And I think he has a nice bottom," said Hermione.

"Hermione," said Harry, calmly. "I'm starting to think whatever it is has got Draco has got you too. Have you eaten anything odd recently?"

"I had stuffed vine leaves in Greece," said Hermione. "But it can't have been that. Anyway, I could never love Draco."

"Why not ... the way you describe it sounds as if you fancy the arse off him already," said Ron.

"He's horrible," said Hermione. "He's hateful ... he's nasty, he's a bully, and he's so bloody self obsessed. He thinks he oozes charisma ... when he doesn't. I bet he spends hours in front of the mirror in the mornings, posing."

All three of them made a face at the thought of Draco posing in front of a mirror.

"So you see," said Hermione, when they had stopped. "Even if Draco does think he's in love with me, I'm not in love with him, and I never will be, and there's and end to it."

* * *

Draco pushed open the door, and slipped quietly into the Slytherin Common Room. To his surprise it was almost empty ... he assumed all the others must be outside, playing and chatting in the warm sunshine. He was just about to flop down in a chair and get his breath back, for he had run all the way back, when he noticed four people standing in the far corner of the room.

"Hello," he said, brightly. The people stepped out of the shadows. They were Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and Blaise Zabini. All four of them were wearing angry scowls. Draco gulped.

"Hello, Draco," said Pansy. "We'd, well, we've been talking, amongst ourselves."

"As you do," said Blaise, rubbing his hands together

Pansy nodded, "And we decided we wanted a little word with you."

"Fire away," said Draco. "I'm all ears."

"We want to ask you some questions, Draco," hissed Pansy, coming closer to him.

"Along what lines, exactly?" asked Draco.

"Along the lines of ... why have you started consorting with those filthy Gryffindors?"

"What Gryffindors?"

"Come off it, Draco ... it was blindingly obvious. You were talking to all three of them ... Potter, Weasley, and you were making eyes at that Mudblood Granger. I've never seen more obvious ogling."

"Say what you will ... I was not looking at Hermione," protested Draco.

"What's the matter, Draco? Aren't I good enough for you. Decided you want to get your kicks somewhere else?" asked Pansy, she was right up close to him now.

"I don't know what you mean," said Draco, even though he did ... kind of.

Pansy smiled, and ran her fingers through her long, dark hair. "Do you think I'm pretty, Draco?"

Draco smiled, and nodded. "After a fashion, yes," he lied. "I took you to the Yule Ball, didn't I?"

"Only because Krum took Granger," said Pansy. "What's she got that I haven't?"

Draco fumed. "I do not fancy Hermione ... I do not even like He ..."

"So you're calling her Hermione now, are you?" said Pansy. "Is that where you went last night, sneaking off to meet up with her?"

"Where I went last night is no business of yours," said Draco. In truth, he had broken into Snape's dungeon to grind up the leaves of the dragon trees ... Chaldean had told him the potion was more effective if the leaves were ground first.

"It is my business, if I choose to make it my business," said Pansy. "Don't tell me you've turned traitor on us. Don't tell me you're abandoning Slytherin?"

If that's what it takes, thought Draco. Crabbe and Goyle were cracking their knuckles, and Draco suddenly felt very afraid indeed. He had never been in a proper fight, that is, one without Crabbe and Goyle to back him up, before.

"I hadn't even begun to speculate," said Draco. "You have to believe me."

Crabbe and Goyle now stepped forwards. Draco took a step backwards. Pansy was grinning, an evil grin, showing off her perfect teeth to perfection. Before he could react, Crabbe and grabbed him round the neck. Draco kicked out ... his toe connected with Goyle's knee, and his foot exploded with pain.

"What do you want me to tell you?" squeaked Draco.

"That you haven't turned traitor, Draco, that's all," said Pansy.

"I haven't!"

"But we don't believe you," said Pansy. Crabbe's vice like grip around his neck was tightening. "Goyle, I believe you have something to say?"

Goyle was pummelling his fist in his other hand. "My Father," he said. "Always told me that turncoats didn't deserve to live. He always told me about my Great-Uncle, George Goyle. Know what happened to him?"

"No?" squeaked Draco.

"He was a turncoat ... he ran away from the army, during the War. He got executed," Goyle pronounced this last word slowly, and quietly, enunciating every syllable. "Seems to me like you're going the same way."

"But I'm not," said Draco.

"Don't give me that," scowled Goyle. "You always thought I was your friend, didn't you?"

Draco tried to nod, but Crabbe's grip was too strong. "I helped you out," he said. "Think of all the times I helped you out ... you wouldn't have passed the First Year exams if it hadn't been for me!"

"I'm not just a pretty face," hissed Goyle. "I'm not stupid either. I can tell what you've been saying about me ... I do know. You think I'm thick as two short planks don't you?"

"Not at all!" Draco felt like he was beginning to choke.

"All those times ... you never liked me ... you were always going behind my back. Do you remember when my Dad used to bring me round to play? Do you know what I remember ... I remember a horrible, spoiled little brat who wouldn't share any of his toys."

"You go, Goyle," goaded Pansy.

"I wanted so badly to be your friend, Draco ... but you'd never let me. Do you know how that made me feel?"

"Not really."

"It made me very angry, Draco ... very angry indeed," said Goyle. "Now this is what I'm going to do. Do you remember the time we went to boxing classes? You got me on the chin with an uppercut, knocked out three of my baby teeth and put me in hospital. You thought I never learned anything there. But I did. Do you want me to show you what I learned?" he asked.

Draco shook his head.

Goyle drew back his fist, and punched Draco hard in the face. Draco screamed in pain, as he felt Goyle's hand connect with his nose ... heard the loud crack as it broke, and felt the numbness in his mouth. He could taste blood.

"That's your classic blow to the face," said Goyle. "Then there's this. Technically speaking, this one's illegal, but I don't give a toss."

He punched Draco in the stomach. Draco yelled again ... there was a sickening sound as his fist made contact.

"Then there are the other blows, to the upper body, to the side of the head, and of course, to the groin area."

Draco tried to stop himself crying as Crabbe and Goyle went to work on him. He raised his arms to shield himself from the blows, but they were knocked violently out of the way. He couldn't stop the tears from pouring down his face. He hadn't cried since ... he could remember. That one time ... his Father had beaten it into him, and the six year old Draco had cowered on the floor, sniffing, wailing and bleeding. He could even remember his Father's words. "British boys never blub Draco. You never cry, never let down your defences for an instant. Fight clean ... fight fair, use your fists, not weapons, and never, ever hit a chap when he's down." Then his Father had hit him again.

* * *

Draco didn't turn up to lunch, or dinner, though as they weren't exactly looking for him, neither Harry, Ron or Hermione noticed. After dinner was over, the three of them went their separate ways ... Harry and Ron to Professor McGonagall's study, and Hermione down the dank stairway to Snape's office.

She knocked timidly on the door. A voice said. "Come in," but it didn't sound like Doctor Jones.

He peered round the door. Draco was already there, sitting in a chair in front of Snape's heavy desk, which was now covered in untidy papers. Evidently Doctor Jones had been making herself at home. Hermione noticed there were large cardboard boxes, full of what looked like documents, stacked all around the room. It was Draco, however, that got her attention. His nose and face were bruised, and he was sporting a massive black eye. His left arm was in a sling.

"What happened to you?" asked Hermione, momentarily forgetting she was morally opposed to Draco.

"It's nothing," said Draco. "Have a seat. She'll be here in a minute."

Hermione sat down in the other chair, noticing for the first time a photograph of Snape as a boy on one of the highest shelves. The boy looked exactly how he had been described to her. He had lank, greasy hair, and a pointed nose. He was scowling.

The door opened, and Doctor Jones came in, clutching a sheaf of papers under one arm. She dumped them on the desk, sat down, opened a drawer, and withdrew a packet of chocolate digestives.

"I hope you both know why you're here?" she said, rustling as she opened the packet.

They nodded, as one.

"Because you broke school rules," said Doctor Jones. "As I told you, I am not very pleasant when students break rules. I don't like it much. It's a little thing, but there you go. The fact is, you are both in detention, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded. Draco, however, was staring sullenly at a large, spreading stain on the ceiling.

"So this is what I want you two to do for me," said Jones, slyly sliding a biscuit from the packet, and popping it whole into her mouth. She chewed for a moment, then swallowed. "When I took up the post of Potions Mistress here at Hogwarts, I brought with me rather a lot of old papers from my previous line of work. You noticed the boxes?"

"Yes, we did," said Hermione.

"They are somewhat disorderly boxes," said Jones. The documents within must be sorted, and filed in those cabinets," there were two of them, gun metal grey filing cabinets, such as you would find in any office or school. Hermione could never remember having seen any at Hogwarts before. Jones popped another biscuit into her mouth. When she had finished, she went on. "I will be back in two hours to check upon your progress. Touch nothing else."

She stood up, stuffed the packet of biscuits into the pocket of her robes, as if she was worried about them stealing some, and stalked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

"I suppose we'd better get going," said Draco. "She's horrible isn't she?"

"Don't dare try and pull any psychological tricks on me, Draco," hissed Hermione. "Especially not the shared adversity one. Just because we have a detention together, doesn't make me feel any different about hating your guts."

"Sorry," said Draco, as though he genuinely meant it. He eased himself, a little unsteadily, out of his chair.

"What did happen to you?" asked Hermione, lifting the lid off one of the boxes. Lying on top were several important looking papers, each stamped with a picture of a dragon, and bearing the inscription I.A.M.R. There was also what looked like an Inland Revenue tax return form from 1978.

"It was nothing. I don't want to talk about it," said Draco. He pulled a handful of papers out of one of the boxes. "Hey," he said. "These are really old."

"How do you mean?"

"They're dated," said Draco, waving the documents in the air. "Listen to this. Institute of Advanced Magical Research. Status Report for October 30th 1981. Subject Species: Common Welsh Green. Subject Name: Damien. It is my opinion that this dra ... "

"It's private," said Hermione. "You shouldn't be reading that."

Draco ignored her, and went on. "It is my opinion that this dragon is becoming increasingly hard to control. Damien is restless and is refusing food. Two handlers have already been injured. It is my recommendation that this specimen be transferred immediately to the Godric's Hollow Dragon Centre, where staff will be better able to deal with the situation."

"Where's Godric's Hollow?" asked Hermione. "I know that name, though I can't think where from."

"It's somewhere in Cumbria, it's a magical village ... like Hogsmeade," said Draco. "I thought she worked with plants and stuff, not dragons."

"Maybe she was transferred," said Hermione. She was reading one of the documents, a cutting, taken from a newspaper. "Hey, any idea what Dracaena Draco is?"

Draco froze. How could she possibly know? "Come again?" he asked.

"Whatever it is, it's illegal," said Hermione. "Listen to this. It's from the Daily Prophet. November 6th 1981. The Department of Magical Drugs and Narcotics today announced they had seized quantities of the plant, Dracaena Draco, commonly known as the Dragon Tree, made illegal in 1966, from two addresses in the UK. The haul, with a street value of approximately five thousand Galleons, was found in raids on two properties, one belonging to Mr Artemis Chaldean, of 66, Berkeley Place, London, and the other belonging to Mr Iolanthe Hitchcock, of 4, Fielding Road, Godric's Hollow, scene of the recent," she stopped, took a deep breath. "Of the recent defeat of He Who Must Not Be Named, in which the Potter family tragically perished. Both men are under investigation by this Department for possession of a Class A hallucinogenic drug, which has been linked to Death Eater activities within the past eight months. Chaldean and Hitchcock, who have already been cleared of suspected involvement in the recent crisis, are now under fresh interrogation. A spokesman said. 'We are releasing no further details at this time.'"

Draco was staring at her, open mouthed. "Why would she have left that at the top of the pile?"

Hermione ignored him ... she was pocketing the cutting.

"What are you doing? She'll notice it's gone!" said Draco, aghast.

"You didn't see me do this, right?" said Hermione. "You didn't see the cutting, I read nothing to you ... it must have just got lost. If you breathe a word of this to anybody, Draco Malfoy, I'll see to it you end up writhing on the floor in indescribable agony. Got that?"

Draco nodded, meekly.