The Shadows of His Past

PROPERTY OF THE QUEEN AND ULTIMATE RULER OF THE UNIVERSE (j/k)

She dropped the quill as though it had burned her. The ink was green. Bright green that looked like the color of a freshly pickled toad. It was the color that reminded her of Harry´s eyes. It was the color that reminded her of the letters. She had opened them excitedly, thinking they were from Harry or Ron. From the envelope a lone slip of parchment fell to the floor. And she screamed-

"Well if it isn´t my favorite Muggle-born," hissed Draco, who had finally turned around and faced a shaking Hermione. He looked sardonically amused at the vulnerable girl, and his smirk widened. Pathetic. "What´s wrong with you, Granger?"

Hermione remained silent. Her worst fears were taking over her mind and corrupting her self-control. She didn´t trust herself to speak.

"Answer me, Mudblood," whispered Draco, his voice icy cool. Despite his unsettling, level gaze, she saw his anger bubbling to the point of overflow. Hermione took a deep breath and pulled her thoughts together and let the bossy, sensible, in control, real Hermione Granger take over.

She ignored him and desperately tried to seize the reigns of the untamed mare that was her temper. Angrily, she repacked her quill, parchment, and the `A Study of Ancient Runes´ book into her book bag. Growling at Malfoy, she slammed open the compartment door with a bang! Justin and Mandy looked at her briefly with a flicker of interest, then continued on with their conversation. "That´s it! I´m leaving this compartment!" she shrieked at Malfoy.

"You left your ink, Granger," said Draco, holding out the band-new inkpot to her.

"I-I don´t need it," she stammered beginning to back away from the bottle. Draco moved not a single muscle except for the one that controlled his left eyebrow, which rose, slowly and disdainfully. For a moment they locked eyes, but she turned her heel and started leaving the compartment. Hermione had barely gone two steps, when a jet of magenta light hit her shoes and she landed, face flat, on the dusty floor of the Hogwarts Express. Hastily getting to her feet, she looked at her sneakers, where the two laces had been tied together and glared at Malfoy. He, once again, had his back turned to her and was calmly playing with his wand. Malfoy must have used a binding charm when she had turned around. Oh, that rotten bastard, she thought, reveling in the unaccustomed swearword. She slowly raised her wand, but hesitated as she remembered the growling words of Professor Moody, I don´t like people who attack when their opponent´s backs are turned - stinking, cowardly, scummy, thing to do... Hermione hesitated. Oh well, she shrugged, this is Malfoy, she raised her wand and pointed it at Malfoy´s blonde head. And this is Malfoy- the amazing bouncing ferret...

"AHHHHHH!" it was an almost inhuman cry, redolent of some excruciating pain- like being subjected to torture too terrible to imagine.

Leaving the Prefect´s compartment in a flash, Hermione bounded down the hallway as quickly as she could, as doors opened and people came rushing out to see the cause of all the commotion. In the lead of the rushing, excited crowd, Hermione paused in front to the first compartment, usually occupied by the witch with the pushcart full of sweets. It was compartment where the screaming was coming from. Her hand poised inches away from the doorknob; she hesitated, Should we get a teacher?

"Oh hurry up, Granger!" cried Pansy Parkinson pushing forward in the excited group.

Before she could make one move, the door was open, revealing-

The lights blinked out and all was darkness. The students stood close together in the suffocating closeness of the dark, shivering from the sudden cold that crept up their robes, as each student was swallowed by his or her own fears and insecurities. Scenes of familiarity flashed in the window as they slowly drew nearer to Hogwarts, but they offered no comfort.

Students frantically searched their pockets for their wands to banish the smothering velvet that surrounded them and to reveal what was crouching in the darkness and was capable of such an unearthly scream. Or causing it.

Groping hands, felt along the walls of the halls, as they each tried to get back to their own compartments by the light of a single, guttering candle. Unfortunately for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, that candle was held by Ron Weasley. He stepped towards the open door, which was swinging slightly with the movement of the train.

"No Ron!" hissed Ginny urgently tugging on the back of his robes.

"Let´s go find out what it is," Ron whispered- his face eerily silhouetted by the dancing flame. It was obvious he was enjoying all the attention.

****

Dudley Dursley sat at the back of his Math class in Smeltings. The teacher was prattling on about some assignment, but he wasn´t paying attention. He could always steal it from some kid who got good grades. Looking around the musty smelling classroom, he sized-up any likely candidates. In the front row, listening aptly to the droning teacher, sat a small, dark-haired boy who looked no older then twelve. The boy looked a little like Harry. Dudley immediately hated him. His hands slowly inched to his wide bottom as he looked at the boy with fear, a fear only the thought of magic could create. As the teacher passed out the previous week´s test grades, Dudley prodded Piers Polkiss in the back with his knobbly Smeltings stick.

As Piers waved irritably for Dudley to `stuff his fat face so he could hear what was going on´, Dudley heard the teacher announce, "Only one person got a perfect grade." There was the sound of a collective indrawn breath. "I ask him to stand up and to proudly display his test." The small boy with the dark hair stood up, but his hands remained tightly clenched around his paper. Dudley smiled and nodded at Piers. Seconds passed- unnoticed, as the class speechlessly stared at the boy. The whole room sat waiting, in silence instilled by their fear of Dudley and his gang, until the bell rang which only interrupted briefly the lull of silence. Then they continued sitting in their seats.

"I think our grades will be improving now, Dudley," whispered Piers Polkiss.

"I´ll get things set up with Malcolm and Gordon," sniggered Dudley dully, pounding on his desk with a fat fist. The entire class remained motionless and stared at them, speaking so softly that even in the complete silence what conversation the two had was a mystery. Dudley and Piers, slowly followed by the stout and stupid Malcolm and Gordon, walked out of the room and waited in the hall for the rest of the class to leave the classroom. Slowly, the class filed out, talking to one another and moving their lunch money from their pockets to the soles of their shoes or underneath their flat straw boaters or where nobody, except themselves, could find it.

The last person to walk out of the room was the small, black-haired boy. As the boy walked down the hall, Piers and Dudley appeared from the shadows, flanked, on either side, by Malcolm and Gordon.

"We´ve been having a bit of trouble in Math class-" hissed Piers.

"Excuse me, but I´m going to be late-"

"-and I think you can help us," continued Piers as though the boy had not spoken. No one dared interrupt Piers. He crossed his thin, pale arms and approached the boy, who was easily a foot shorter then he.

"Me? No I-"

Piers shook his head and seemed to cluck his tongue with false sympathy.

"No, I can´t-" but the boy´s remark was cut short by the largest boy grabbing him by the shirt collars and lifting him cleanly off the ground. He felt like he was going to faint. No threat could possibly be clearer. Piers surveyed the boy, with cool, unshowing interest, but he seemed stiffened on his resolve. The three boys loomed about him, forming a wall of flesh that incased him and surrounded him with tangible menace that emanated from their very demeanor.

"Perhaps, we can help you change your mind." Piers slate eyes became a dark, thundering gray and shook his head again, signaling that the boy could use a bit more...coercion. But before a single tooth could be taken out, or eye blackened, they suddenly dropped their poised fists. As though a magical force was protecting this puny, bespectacled boy, all of them suddenly had the little tingling feeling, which must be obeyed, that told them that they had to go to the bathroom and they sped off before a single hair on his body could be harmed.

Dudley in the lead, they pounded down the brown and beige-tiled halls with an echo following them that sounded like several, stampeding elephants. They ran as fast as they could into the nearest bathroom and into the closest, empty stalls. Dudley squeezed himself into the first stall and began pulling down his bright-orange knickerbockers with a sigh, but suddenly he felt as though someone had put a hook, somewhere behind his navel, that was pulling him forward by an invisible leash.