It was a hot day in September, the first day of the term, as Harry and Ron sat inside the stuffy perfume congested Divinations classroom, listening to Professor Trewlaney go on. They hadn't heard a word that she had said from the start of the lesson.
"Why, oh why, did we not give this up?" asked Harry, grimacing. He turned to face Ron, who's eyes were drooping shut from boredom.

"Easy grades, Harry." said Ron. "And also Hermione's not in this class so she can't scream at us to do our homework; she'll never know if we have any."
Ron glanced around the classroom, focusing on Lavender and Parvati who were sitting completely still, enraptured by Professor Trelawney's words.

"At this point, its not worth it." He vaguely noticed Lavender and Parvati's hands shoot up in the air, as a small paper plane few by Harry, and on reflex, he reached his arm up to catch it.

"Ahh! Yes, Mister Potter, why don't you demonstrate for us?" said Professor Trelawney.

Oh bugger.

"Er, me?" asked Harry.

"Yes Mister Potter, come along now!" Professor Trelawney was moving her hands in a come-hither motion at Harry. He slowly walked forth, his heart rate steadily increasing. When he reached the front, Professor Trelawney put her hands on his shoulders and sat him onto a chair, that was facing a table with a crystal ball, Tarrot cards, and an aubergine.

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

"Okay dear, here you are," she handed him a small vial filled with an inky purple substance, closed with a cork stopper. He looked up at Lavender, who was absolutely oozing envy, and was steadfastedly giving him the "evil eye".

"You may start now, Mister Potter."

Crappety crappety crap.

Harry barely moved. He sat staring at the aubergine, willing it to come to life and start singing, tapdancing, screaming Imperio - anything! But alas, as Professor Trelawney would say, Jupiter and Neptune were on the opposite sides of the axis, and Pluto was having an affair with Venus. In other words, Lady Luck was not on his side. Either that or she was taking a gambling break.

"Oh my, Mister Potter, I completely forgot that you need assistance!" said Professor Trelawney.

Oh thank God.

"Here," she said, handing him a small knife. "Aubergines are murder to cut, really messy." she smiled.

Harry fingered the vial in his hands, wondering if maybe he was supposed to drink it, or pour it on his face or something. Finally he decieded to play for time and improvise. He picked up the Tarrot cards from the side of the table, and laid them out around the aubergine and the crystall ball.

"Hmm, Mister Potter. I've never tried that before, does it help?" asked Professor Trelawney.

"Er, yes, infact it's, er, quite, vital, you see. It makes Saturn, er, dance." Then he took the knife and slowly cut a hole in the aubergine, the juices running down and turning the dark blue table cloth purple. Finally, he uncorked the vial and poured what little there was into the hole. Slowly, smoke started appearing, and the aubergine slowly disintegrated, followed by the velvet cloth. Harry pretended not to notice.
Thank God I didn't pour it on my face, then.
He swirled his hands around over the crystal ball, and screamed,

"Booyakasha!"

****
As they walked down the stairs from the divination classroom, Ron's stomach was hurting from laughing so much.

"Blimey,Harry! Didn't know you had it in you, taking the piss off Trelawney. Oh her face when you said boo..boo..booya?"
he stopped in his tracks and doubled over laughing again, using a window sill as support, tears of mirth streaming down his face.

"Yes, yes. Alright."

"No, I mean really," said Ron, after he'd regained his composure and was now walking down the corridor leading to the Great Hall. “I wish Creevey had been there…he could have taken a picture for me!" Cue more laughter. Even once they entered the great hall, and had sat down next to a puzzled Hermione and Ginny, Ron was still having spasms.

"What’s so funny, Weaselbean?" drawled a familiar voice.

Aw fuck it.

"Hullo, Malfoy," said Ginny absently. Draco ignored her.

"Laughing at the fact that Harry smells like a girl? What, have you been getting some?" He said, turning to face Harry.

"Malfoy, that’s a really lame insul - " he started, and then realized that he probably did smell like perfume, thanks to the Divinations classroom.

"Come to think of it," continued Draco, relentless, "you smell awfully the same, Weaselbean," he paused, as if considering the possibilites. "Ménage a Trois, huh?" he said, pointedly staring at Hermione.

"Yeah, Malfoy,” cut in Harry, that’s something you’d know about, right? What with Crabbe and Goyle, and everything,” Malfoy narrowed his eyes in hate.

”Well then perhaps one of you prefers using Eau de Lady?”

Ron was slowly turning red. “Hermione! Aren’t you going to say anything?!” He asked Hermione, who was daintily eating away at a shepherds pie. When she was done chewing her mouthful (and aggravating Ron) she looked up, and said rather sheepishly,

”Well, Ron, I would, but –“

"YOU’RE HAVING A TORRIED AFFAIR WITH MALFOY, AREN’T YOU??” screamed Ron, his voice getting a little hysterical, and reminiscent of a five year old girl. “BEFORE WE KNOW IT, THERE’LL BE LITTLE BLONDE BRATS RUNNING AROUND EVERYWHERE!”

Most of the student body was now staring at them, including a fair load of teachers who were thinking about whether the offspring of Draco and Hermione would have frizzy blonde hair or straight brown hair.

“Oh Ronald, please,” cut in Ginny, “be sensible. If Draco and Hermione were to have children, they’d have brown hair.” And she fell about laughing.

If anyone of them had looked around, they would have seen Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore surreptitiously passing Galleons across the table.

Draco once again ignored her, but nonetheless looked offended. “No freaking way will I be consummating with some buck-toothed, frizzy haired chipmunk!”

”Oooooh,” chorused the Hufflepuff table.

”Well at least I’m not a FERRET!” retorted Hermione, immediately and easily.

”Ahhhhh,” chorused the Ravenclaw table.

”Oh sure,” said Ron. “Now she replies.”

”What do you want me to do?” Sit around and say nothing while he insults me?”

”Yeah, just like you did when he insulted me. Oh, and Harry.”

“Why do you always need me to stick up for you?”

”I don’t need you to stick up for me!”

By this time, Ginny had grown bored of the argument, and was now counting the peas on her plate.

“Well it sure seems like it!”

“Fine. Well from now on I’ll never stick up for you, AND I refuse to have anybody stick up for me!”

Well, I don’t care, because I’m not going to stick up for you , AND nobody will stick up for me, either!”

“Good!”

“Fine!”

“FINE!”

“Ooh goody!” said Draco. “Weasel, you remind me of shite!”

“Malfoy,” cut in Harry, threateningly.

“I SAID NO ONE WOULD DEFEND ME!”

“And I think you’re ga-ay,” said Malfoy, in a sing song voice.

“Shove off, Malfoy.”

“Granger, I don’t find you’re blood tainted,” Hermione had the beginnings of a smile, when -

“I think its downright filthy!”

See smile run. Run, smile, run.

“Weasley, your hair looks like someone ate a shitload of carrots and then vomited.”

“Shove off, Malfoy.”

Draco smirked.

“I suppose I’m getting rather bored of this, really, so I suppose I’ll just go,” he said, turning around.

“Oh, but one last thing,” Draco drawled as he turned to face Hermione. “Nice tits, Granger,” and he walked away.

Ron looked reminiscent of a Picasso painting. That is to say, his eyes were completely out of proportion with his face. Hermione looked down and fidgeted with her shirt a little, readjusting it.

Oooh thought Ginny, a little irked. He noticed you! Why does he not notice me? Not that she liked him or anything. That thought was laughable. Really. Seriously.

Suddenly a loud chorus of laughter erupted from the Slytherin table. Harry guessed that Malfoy had told them what witting and amazing lines he’d come up with.

“Students, students, settle down, please,” came the booming voice of Professor Dumbledore. “I have an announcement to make,” he said, “I had a many number of students inquiring about the health of our previous DADA teacher. Let it be known that Professor Wopsle is recovering very well and he now only has three heads. However, as it seems is the tradition at this school, we have a new Defence Againts The Dark Arts teacher. Please welcome, Professor Lucius Malfoy.”

From his seat, Draco fainted.

It was cold, but not cold enough to snow. Frost covered the unkempt garden and made the windows misty. Weeds forced their ways through the already weedy garden and ivy snaked its way up the wall and found its way inside the house from the broken windows. This now meant that some of the rooms were covered from head to toe in a dark, inviting, emerald green ivy. If any human had walked inside the house (which they no longer did), they would have said it felt dead. Which it was. The house no longer settled, the floor boards no longer creaked and the taps no longer ran and the electricity had been cut off years and years ago. There weren’t even any cockroaches or any other vermin who wanted to infest the house.

The moon had just come up, casting an eerie glow on the vines, and the scant furniture around the house. A small man entered the house. He was the second person there, but the only human. He shivered. It was not the cold that chilled his bones, but the feeling of foreboding dread. Gripping the banister so hard, as if his life depended on it, the small man walked up the stairs, small pools of dust swirling at his feet as they came in contact with the rotting wood. As he put his foot down on one step, it collapsed with no warning. His foot slid inside all the way up to his thigh and left a deep gash in his leg. He gripped the beginning of the stair above and silent tears poured down his face. It wasn’t the pain of the cut that made him cry, nor the sudden shock of the fall. Rather the fact that he took this as an omen. Something bad was going to happen.

No. He thought. I’m not going to die. I’m too young to die.

His foot was just a few meters away from the floor of the cupboard under the stairs. He hoisted himself up and wiped the dust from his hands on his coat. He glanced only momentarily at the deep gash in his legs. Blood seeped through his trousers and he could feel the warmth of it running down his leg. The journey up the stairs seemed to take hours, and the steps seemed endless, but in reality it took mere seconds, and there were only about twenty odd steps.

He got to the top of the stairs, walked up the corridor, and pushed open the second door on the left. The feeling of dread increased. Inside the room, there was a crackling fire burning in the marble fireplace, which did nothing to stem the cold in the house. A cloaked and hooded figure sat in an ivy covered armchair, facing the fire, his back turned to the man. Before he could speak, or even draw a breath, the figure spoke.

“You’re late.” His voice was void of all emotion.

“ I-I’m sorry, my Lord. There-there was a de-delay. A major acid-accident.”

“ Liar,” said the figure. “ You were drinking again. I can smell it. Do not lie to me you pathetic wizard.”

“ I-I’m sorry, my Lord.”

“Pah,” the figure snorted. “Apologies. How many of them I’ve heard, Isiah. If I had a witch for everytime…” He chuckled.

Isiah looked down at the floor, not knowing where else to direct his vision. He focused it on the small pool of blood collecting at his foot, from his cut, and running down the grooves in the wood. It was sick, but he thought that the form the thick ruby red liquid took resembled a sort of lopsided rat. Then a thought came to him.

“My-my Lord?” he asked, and he took the silence in the room to be a cue to carry on. “Are you sure its safe for us to be in this house? After what happened last time, I mean with that muggle over hearing your conversation?”

“Are you questioning my planning?”

“No my Lord.” Isiah shifted uncomfortably on the spot. He didn’t like being accused, and the pain on the cut was finally striking him.

“I thought not,” said the figure. “Now,” he started, but a loud hissing interrupted his speech. A large, green snake, maybe twelve feet long entered the room, hissing. A strong gust of wind blew through the room, making the ivy ‘shiver’, and the snake hiss louder.

“Nagini.” The figure cooed at the snake, his voice filled with love. His eyes diluted, the sort of look that was usually reserved for new born babies and puppy dogs.

However, Nagini didn’t seem intent on visiting her master. She slithered over to Isiah instead, and circled his cut leg, occasionally sticking out her forked tongue to smell the air.

Isiah trembled. He didn’t like snakes, but he didn’t dare voice his complain to his Lord. Before long, though, Nagini slithered out the room again, probably to continue her unfruitful search for prey.

The figure sighed, sadly. “Very well,” he said. “As you know, the boy we need, is at- Hogwarts.” He spat out the name as if it were something vile. “and of course you cannot go there. You are too old. So I will send someone else, someone young. I was going to ask you to inform him for me, but now I see I cannot trust you.”

Isiah had the grace to look ashamed.

“You are dismissed. I will find someone else,” said the figure. Isiah’s eyes widened. Was that all? Bowing madly, and stammering thank-you’s, Isiah ran out the room. He was unbelievably glad! All his Lord wanted was to inform him of his plans! No hexes, no curses, no cruciatus! He was overjoyed. This called for another round at Hogsmeade!

He ran towards the steps, eager to get out of the house, but he stumbled over Nagini, who had camouflaged herself in the ivy near the top of the stairs. Too scared to scream, he tumbled forward, his body hitting every step on the way down. By the time he got to the bottom, he was already dead.

In his chair, the Dark Lord chuckled.

“…as it seems is the tradition at our school, we have a new Defense Against The Dark arts teacher. Please welcome, Professor Lucius Malfoy.”

From his seat, Draco fainted.

The infirmary had never been a favorite place of Draco’s. He didn’t like that clean, stark, medicinal smell or the too-white sheets. The creepy jars full of various parts of animals revolted him, and he didn’t exactly have nice memories of this place. Every time he’d been sent in here it was because of bloody Potter. Plus, Madame Pomfrey wasn’t too nice to him. I mean, he’d fainted – poor him – and all she’d given him was some foul tasting drink for the concussion on his head.

He rolled over on his side and checked the alarm clock. It was past one and he still couldn’t go to sleep; he had too many things running around his head. He looked out of the window and tried to count the billions of stars, but for every star that he saw, a new question popped into his head. Why had he not been told his father would be teaching here? In fact, why was his father teaching here at all? God know he loved the man, but seeing him for three months in the summer and a few weeks in the winter was enough, thank you very much. He didn’t need him around all the time. He shifted positions again and closed his eyes. He tried to do a technique an old…friend of his had taught him. Try to listen to every sound, every sensation surrounding you. He could hear the gentle swish of the waves from the lake meeting the shore. The soft, gentle feel of the wind coming in through the open windows and blowing on his face, totally unnoticeable had he not been concentrating on it. The soft snoring of someone in the castle, the feel of cotton under his fingers, the sound of…giggling. Giggling? He opened his eyes and looked around. It stopped for a while and for a second Draco thought maybe he was imagining things. But then he heard it again, louder. He got up and propped himself up on his shoulders, trying to sense the source of the giggling. He heard footsteps too, getting louder. When he sensed that they were right outside the infirmary door he dropped back down onto the pillow like a bag of potatoes and pretended to be asleep.

“Well, I don’t know what happened, do I? If I did, I wouldn’t be asking you!” hissed a voice, undoubtedly Madame Pomfrey’s.

“Hahaha. I like pie!” said another voice, of a young girl that sounded quite familiar.

“Where did you find her?” asked someone else. It sounded like Dumbledore.

“Hagrid brought her in. He found her in the middle of the forest.”

“The forest! Hahaha! Forests rock. Whee!”

“Was she like this when Hagrid found her?”

“No. She was passed out. She only awoke when he entered the school doors.”

“Doors. I like doors. Doors are all flat. And woody. Hehe! Woody! How many woods can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”

They walked right inside the infirmary and Draco turned around quickly, and breathed deeply as if he was asleep.

“Just put her to bed,” said Dumbledore. “Give her something to make her sleep and we’ll deal with this in the morning.”

“Yes, Professor,” said Madame Pomfrey.

Draco heard a few footsteps and then Madame Pomfrey spoke again.

“Why him, Albus? Why Lucius Malfoy?” At the mention of his father’s name, Draco strained his ears trying to hear the response.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand your question, Poppy,” said Dumbledore.

“What I mean is,” she paused, “well it doesn’t really matter. Goodnight Professor.”

Draco expected to hear a response, but there were a few more footsteps and then a few more seconds of silence. Then he heard what sounded like a drink being poured into a glass.

“Drink up,” said Madame Pomfrey, before shutting off the lights and leaving the room. Curious to know who the seemingly drunk girl was, he slowly turned around on the pretense that he was merely turning in his sleep – in case Madame Pomfrey was still in the room. He slowly opened his eyes and almost fell of the bed in shock. For the girl in the bed right next to him, head tilted towards the ceiling, angelic face dappled in the moonlight, was Ginny Weasley.