Green

Green

By Slytherin Tattoo

Chapter 2

Crabbe and Goyle were the first people I saw as I stepped aboard the Hogwarts Express. They gave me one of their stupid grins. "Hey, Malfoy!"

"Hey." My trunk and owl had already been settled in one of the compartments. "Come on. Let's find our crowd."

We walked slowly down the aisle, checking compartments as we passed. We stopped once to say hello to Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, more old, pure-blooded acquaintances of my family's.

"Who are we searching for, Malfoy?" Goyle asked as we left them and continued on.

"Dark haired boy with glasses and a scar on his head," I replied a bit curtly. But our progress slowed after that, as we kept running into people we knew, and had to stop and chat. Still, we found him eventually, alone in a compartment with a poor redheaded boy who had to be a Weasley. Just great. They were working their way through a pile of sweets.

I opened the door and we entered their compartment. "Hello, Potter."

He smiled. "Hello, Malfoy. I was waiting for you to turn up."

The Weasley choked a bit. "You--you're friends with a Malfoy?"

Potter gave him a puzzled look.

"You're a Weasley, aren't you?" I couldn't help but sneer at him. I would have to try to lead unfortunate, misguided Potter away from him. "Ahem, Potter, do you remember when we were discussing the right sort and the wrong sort? I see you aren't aware which category Weasleys are in."

The redhead scowled and bristled at me. "What do you mean by that?"

"Who are they?" Potter interrupted, pointing.

"Oh, that's Crabbe and that's Goyle." They were flanking either side of me as usual.

"And which sort are they?"

This conversation was skewing off in the wrong direction, I could tell. He didn't like this right and wrong idea.

His next words confirmed my thoughts. "I just wondered how one could tell which sort someone is. I usually do a pretty good job of judging people on my own, anyway."

"Never mind then," I said quickly, searching for a way to change the subject. "Are you eating your way through the whole food cart? Chocolate frogs, Bertie's Beans, pumpkin pastries... hey, can I have a cauldron cake?"

"What's the matter, Malfoy? No food of your own?" The Weasley scowled at me.

"I'm afraid Crabbe and Goyle snitched most of it."

Harry slowly handed me a cake.

"Thanks," I said politely. I sat down without an invitation and unwrapped the cake. "So, which Weasley are you?"

"My name is Ron." He was still scowling at me.

I became even more calm and elegant. "Are you the youngest?"

"The youngest boy. There's one more. My sister," he answered grudgingly.

"Is that your rat?"

"His name's Scabbers." He looked somewhat embarrassed. I would be, too, if I owned that ugly, flea-bitten vermin. It looked on the verge of croaking, too.

"And is that your owl?" I asked Potter.

He patted the cage. "Hedwig."

"Mine's Jocunda."

Crabbe looked at me. "Really?"

I ignored him, as I was pondering. It was obvious to me by now that Potter didn't care about blood. He'd been raised by Muggles, so I'd heard, and he appeared to like them, and probably Mudbloods, too. He wasn't going to listen about that. But Mother considered me acquiring Potter's friendship to be some sort of coup--therefore, it had to happen.

Father hated Weasleys. I tried not to sneer every time I looked at this one.

I decided to continue just being polite and watchful. I had decided I would spend my year observing, mostly. Of course, I wouldn't take any insults, and my rank amongst the first years would need to be established, but I saw no reason to attract too much attention to myself. I'd leave that to Potter.

The door to the compartment banged open. A long brown-haired girl stood there, regarding us with a bossy, superior sort of expression. "Has anyone seen Neville's toad?"

Crabbe and Goyle burst out laughing. "A toad?"

It hadn't been what I'd expected her to say, either, but still. "Sit down," I motioned the two boys. They did.

"No toads," said Ron.

A tearful looking boy peered around at us from behind the girl. "Are we interrupting anything?" he asked in a quavering voice, as if sensing the tension radiating between the Weasley and Crabbe and Goyle.

"Not at all," I returned, favoring the girl with one of my most pleasing smiles, the one that charmed adults-other-than-my-parents as a baby, the one that made Parkinson give me her self-drawing crayons when I was 6, that made Zabini let me ride his racing broom what I was 9, but that had never yet won me anything from Mother.

Fortunately, this girl was not immune. Her haughtiness melted quite a bit. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

For being bushy haired and buck toothed, she had a very winning smile herself. I believe it's what made Ron Weasley blurt out, "I know a spell to turn my rat yellow."

"Do you? Let's see it then." She sat down, leaving the chubby kid standing in the doorway.

Now Ron looked rather nervous, but he drew out a rather old, shabby-looking wand (Father always said the Weasleys had more kids than money). The boy cleared his throat.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow." He waved the wand. Absolutely nothing happened.

Crabbe and Goyle laughed again as Ron blushed deeply. Goyle poked at the rat with his wand, which promptly woke up and bit him. Goyle hollered and flicked the rat away. It hit the wall, slightly stunned, and Ron grabbed it up. "Scabbers!" he cried.

I winced. Goyle yelled, "Your lousy, stupid rat bit me!"

"Well, why were you poking at it?" Granger scowled at him.

The boy by the door looked scared to death. "Maybe he killed my toad!"

"No he didn't," Crabbe snapped. "I've been with him; I'd have seen."

"Go away!" Ron shouted at Crabbe and Goyle.

They frowned and looked at me. "Go buy yourself some more food or something," I ordered them.

They stared at me, looked over at Harry, looked at each other, then me, then left.

Ron's rat appeared to be unharmed. He petted it, then glared at me.

I stared levelly back. But it was the girl who spoke. "I don't think that was a real spell."

Weasley blushed again.

"It's not very good, at any rate," she continued, and I couldn't stop my smirk. "I've tried a few spells, just for practice, and they've all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, so it was a surprise to get the letter, but I was very pleased."

My smirk disappeared. She was a Mudblood. This couldn't get any worse.

"You're actually advertising your Muggle roots?" I said before I could stop myself. But Father had ingrained it into me so many times: only pure-bloods mattered. And on the one hand, I wanted to ask him, "What does that make 90 % of the world then?" But. . . isn't that the way it is? Think of Qudditch. 90 % of the people who play Quidditch will never be good enough to go pro. And those 10 % who do will be further graded and divided, and their teams ranked, winners and losers, labeled, you're worthy, you're not, you're #1, and the rest of you are nothing, go away. So was this different? I couldn't make sense of it.

But now they were all looking at me. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nobody asked you to come in and criticize Weasley's spell," I said to take the focus back off me. Parkinson says I have an arrogant, undertoned way of saying things that she fiercely admires, and I heard it thick in my voice when I spoke, a casual sort of unthinking disdain, that implied you were a fool to argue with me, and I couldn't be wrong. "He's Weasley, by the way, you never bothered to ask."

It was the girl's turn to blush. "Fine. And who are you?"

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

The kid at the door let out a squeak. "I've heard of the Malfoys. Your dad's a Death Eater."

I only got my wand half-way out before he'd turned and fled. I looked over at Granger. "Who was he?"

She swallowed; I wondered what my eyes showed. "Um, Neville Longbottom. I just met him."

"I hope somebody did eat his bloody toad." I sat back, feeling my heartbeat go back down, my blood start to feel cold again.

Granger was obviously unhappy. "I've learned all our course books by heart. Do you think it will be enough? Can you do magic, Malfoy?"

"A bit."

"Show us," she commanded. A Mudblood was ordering me around.

I looked at Potter, who'd been silent in the corner all this time. He seemed disturbed, too. "He's not really?" he asked when I met his eyes, as if it came spilling out without his wanting it to. "Your father's not a Death Eater?"

"If he was, he'd be in Azkaban." I let my sleeve fall back and held up my wand, and pointed it at the locked train window. "Alohamora."

The window opened itself quite readily. We heard the clack of the train wheels outside.

"Very good," the girl smiled.

But the Weasley was still regarding me with suspicion. "Yeah--your father claimed he was bewitched, wasn't that it?"

The adrenaline was back. "Exactly what are you implying?"

Our gazes locked. There was nothing else I could do. Could I have screamed, "Yes, he was a Death Eater, he still is, he loves the Dark Arts, he's been teaching me, he likes to demonstrate them on me!" I couldn't have even if I'd wanted to.

And in the end, he shrugged and looked away first. "Nothing."

The girl cleared her throat and changed the subject. "Do any of you know what House you'll be in? I've been asking around and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best. I hear Dumbledore was in it! Ravenclaw wouldn't be bad, though, I suppose. . ." she trailed off, looking at us expectantly.

"My brothers are all in Gryffindor," Weasley sighed, putting his wand away, not meeting my eyes. "Huh, I bet George knew that spell was a dud, he gave it to me." He sighed again. "Mum and Dad were in it, too, but I don't know if I'll be in it. Huh, imagine if they put me in Slytherin!"

"That's the house Vol--You-Know-Who was in?" Harry asked.

"Yeah." Ron nodded.

"It's very unlikely. You're hardly Slytherin material," I sneered, but he took it as a compliment. "Don't you have, like, 12 brothers?" I couldn't help asking.

"Five. And a little sister."

"Wow," said Hermione. "I'm an only child."

"Me, too."

"Me, too. My cousin Dudley doesn't count."

"Wow," Hermione said again, in a completely different tone. She'd finally noticed Potter's scar. "You're Harry Potter. I know all about you, of course--I got some extra books, for background reading, and you're in three of them."

Potter looked quite dazed. "Am I?"

"Goodness, don't you know? I'd have found out everything I could if it were me."

"Tell me," I cut in, "do you have aspirations to be a librarian?"

She frowned, unsure if I was insulting her. She contented herself with saying to Ron and Harry, "You should be putting on your robes soon." (I was wearing mine already.)

"Yeah, yeah." Weasley brushed her off. "So, what's your Quidditch team?"

"Um, I don't know any. . ." Harry mumbled.

Granger's expression turned bored. "I should really go make sure that boy's found his toad. We must be about there by now." And she stood up and bustled out.

The three of us looked at each other. "Good grief," Harry said.

"I hope she's not in whatever House I'm in," Ron grimaced. I laughed.

"Anyway, Quidditch is the best game in the world, just wait," Ron enthused. He began to tell Potter all about the game, so of course, I threw in my own opinion and knowledge. We'd debriefed Potter pretty thoroughly by the time the train pulled in.

We all stood on the platform, feeling a little nervous, though I was careful not to show it. A light came towards us then; it was that giant of a man, Hagrid. He was calling for first years to go with him. We did.

Crabbe and Goyle turned up at my shoulder as we rounded the corner and saw Hogwarts for the first time. It was impressive, even for someone as used to castles and luxury as me.

"Only four to a boat," Hagrid ordered, and I knew I was going to lose when Potter got in a boat with Weasley and Granger shoved after, and Crabbe and Goyle got in another boat and looked up at me patiently, and when I hesitated the briefest instant, that toad kid got in Harry's boat and that left me out. And none of them would be Slytherin, and I knew I would, Malfoys always were, and that would be that. It wasn't like I wanted to share a boat with a Mudblood and a Weasley and an idiot, but it would mean failure if I lost Potter, and I knew I would, and I hated him for it.

"Oy there! Is this your toad?" Hagrid was yelling at the kid, and I got in the boat with Crabbe and Goyle and we all moved out over the water.