Chapter 2 : I
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It was a gorgeous summer day. The blazing sun was shining brightly down on London’s streets and the birds were singing their earthy lullabies, under the azure, cloudless sky, whilst the trees swayed to the music carried on the wind’s back. And as Hermione Granger looked out the window of her father’s 1994 Mercury station wagon, she could tell that the upcoming year would be promising with good fortune.
The Grangers were on their way toward King’s Cross, the train station, for it was that time of year where schools opened up and their daughter’s school year was just at its beginning. It would be Hermione’s seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it made her glum to think that once June came around, she would not be able to pour over the many books that adorned the mahogany shelves of the school library; those same ones that were her friends from the start of this epic journey. But, she told herself, that wouldn’t happen for many months to come and there were plenty of good things that would keep her occupied until then. It was only a fortnight before when she received her annual supply list, and to her pleasure instead of a newly reinstated prefect’s badge was a letter from the Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, which had a small package wrapped in paper, attached to it. Hermione had read and reread the letter until edges of the parchment had begun to fray, and after it had sunk in she let out a yelp of excitement.
To Miss Granger,
We are pleased to inform you that you are qualified for the position of Head Girl. As you may or may not know, this position is a most honorable one. With this title, come specific obligations. You, along with the Head Boy, will be in charge of organizing events such as Hogsmeade trips and prefect meetings. In addition to these matters, you as Head Girl will receive certain privileges. On September 1st please be prepared for a meeting that will detail your duties in much more depth, prior to the Prefects’ Conference, in the Heads Compartment.
Needless to say when she tore the package, a badge had fallen into her lap, only it wasn’t a badge Hermione was accustomed to seeing. It was large and shiny with fresh ebony color too, ornate with the Hogwarts crest smack in the center. Above the emblem were two words etched in cursive silver letters “Head Girl”. The feeling of triumph mixed with superiority had filled every fiber of her being as she held the glassy looking badge in the palm of her hand.
Even as she sat in the back seat of Thomas Granger’s car, gazing out the window as trees and roads and cars zoomed past, she would smile to herself on her latest accomplishment and then look at her trunk beside her, knowing the badge was safely tucked away from harm’s grasp.
Often she would wonder whom the Head Boy would be during those blistering hot summer afternoons, where her mind would drift to happy thoughts of her school. Neither her best friends, Harry Potter or Ron Weasley had been in touch with her for weeks to tell if one of them made Head Boy. Harry, who lived with his dreadful aunt and uncle, was imprisoned in his own room, according to his last letter in the mid August. Ron on the other hand was vacationing with his family to visit his elder brother, Charlie in Romania. Hermione only hoped that her partner wasn’t Draco Malfoy. Why, he didn’t even deserve to wear a prefect’s badge! He had a passion for sabotaging his authority as a prefect. If a timid first year boy got lost looking for the Charms classroom, he would mislead him towards the girls’ locker room as some sick joke to entertain his minions, Crabbe and Goyle. He most definitely did not deserve the title of Head Boy, thought Hermione grimly.
“So honey, why don’t you tell your mum and I what this “Head Girl” business is about?” Thomas Granger asked his daughter with a hint of excitement, his eyes still on the road. Hermione loved her father, for he was the one who was always interested in the wizarding world, and he found Hogwarts simply fascinating. Hermione thought she took after her father mostly, with only getting her mother’s brown eyes and smugness. Thomas Granger was muscular for his age of forty-five years. Even though Hermione had inherited the unnaturally bushy brunette hair from her father, a stranger would not be able to tell because Thomas had his brown hair buzzed short. He had bright blue eyes that were always luminous with happiness, a reflection of his youthfulness. Thomas Granger was an easy man to get along with; everyone had to agree because he was one of those rare people who would accept anyone.
“Being Head Girl is about the same as being Head Girl in the average secondary school except at Hogwarts, the responsibilities are greater and it looks better on an application,” Hermione explained to her eager father in words he would understand. “I’m going to learn more about it when I’m on the Express.”
“We’re very proud of you Hermione,” he said thoughtfully to his little girl. By “we’re” Mr. Granger had meant himself and his wife, Roselyn Granger. “Aren’t we proud of her Rose?” he asked his wife, sitting beside him in the passenger seat. She hadn’t uttered a word since she first got in the vehicle.
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Granger breathed to her husband. She looked over her shoulder at her daughter, a toothy smile spread across her face. “We are very pleased with you sweetie.” And then she turned around and went back to her muteness.
Roselyn Granger was probably one of the loveliest looking people Hermione had ever known, and also the most aloof. Her mother was a very pretty woman, with a porcelain complexion that would rival Snow White’s own. She had shoulder length honey blonde hair, with those same chocolate brown eyes Hermione herself had, only hers always had a small glisten of disapproval, unlike Hermione’s warm, friendly ones.
Ever since Hermione received that fateful letter from Hogwarts when she was just a girl of eleven, her mother distanced herself from her child. Roselyn wanted her daughter to become a dentist, the same profession as herself and her husband’s, and go to school with regular boys and girls, just as she did. She didn’t want her daughter to become something else in a world she couldn’t be a part of; a world she would never understand.
Whenever they would go out into that bizarre magical world, Roselyn always made it a point to show that she was proud her daughter being…different, for she would be ashamed if people found out she was a little disappointed at what her daughter had become.
As they were pulling into the parking lot of King’s Cross, Hermione’s heartbeat quickened. Within the hour she would be on the Hogwarts Express, talking merrily with her best friends, and having a magnificent time because it would be a perfect year after all.
Draco Malfoy lounged idly in the back seat of his 1945 model of a limousine, nodding off to sleep now and then as the posh car made its way to King’s Cross. The night before Pansy Parkinson had come to visit him, they were up for most of the night doing Merlin knew what. She had wanted to come along for the ride but he had insisted they would go on the Hogwarts Express in separate ways. One night with her was enough; he didn’t want to spend every minute of the day with the little wench nor did he think he could handle twenty four hours of her nonsense rambling of a future together.
He had an inadequate summer, compared to others he had experienced. Those other summers weren’t exactly great shakes either, but in those days his father didn’t treat him, or even his mother, like unruly houselves. Draco didn’t receive the Head Boy’s badge, as he was expecting, and only getting the seventh year Slytherin prefect badge in return. He wanted to please his father for just once; no matter what he did it wasn’t perfect enough. The only way to make Lucius Abraxas Malfoy truly proud was to become a servant of the Dark Lord, and serve him well; but unfortunate for Lucius, Draco never felt any desire to follow orders, willingly, from the most evil wizard of all time, from anyone for that matter.
“Signore Malfoy?” a thick, Italian accented voice called Draco hesitantly through the thick fog of the boy’s sleep. Draco’s icy, grey eyes opened to see his driver peering at him through the rear view mirror. The poor Squib was scared to death of the pureblood family.
“Yes, Benedict?” Draco drawled, a blonde eyebrow arched imperially.
“We’re—We’re at the station.”
Draco was starting to get annoyed. “Then why are you still sitting there, you fool! Get my things.” The man didn’t need another command, because if looks could kill, he would have dropped dead with the look Draco had given him.
Author’s Note: I hope you, so far, liked this story! I promise you the next chapter will be more exciting! This was after all, a building chapter. Updates WILL be coming (which story, I have no idea.) Reviews are greatly appreciated!! Thank you Harrys_Patronum for betaing this chapter!
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