Objects of Desire

Chapter 2 - Back to School...Again!

By Azrael Geffen

Draco Malfoy had spent his summer drinking his way through every bar in Diagon Alley. He had not been allowed to return to the Manor, as the Ministry in its ‘wisdom’ had decided it would be in their best interests to go over it with a fine-toothed comb and it would not be available for occupancy for another four months or so. He had made enquiries regarding the retrieval of his parents from Azkaban and had been appalled to discover that the Ministry had decided to put all of the Death Eaters given the Kiss on display as a deterrent to others. They would be dragged on a Grand Tour of the United Kingdom and Europe and would not be available for another eight months. After such time, Draco could take them home. To add insult to injury, he had been required to pay for the shapeless white shifts that they would be required to wear. He had delivered a pile of nightshirts to the Museum, but the young apprentice, one Piers Tampling, who received the clothes could not guarantee that Draco’s parents would actually be clothed in them . Apparently, it might insult some poor Witch or Wizard who couldn’t afford such finery. Draco had snorted in derision and stormed out.

Thus, the concerted drinking had begun.

Draco had taken a room at the Leaky Cauldron. He could have stayed in one of the finer establishments, but the Leaky Cauldron had no problems with him drinking until dawn and occasionally passing out in a corner. In fact, when this happened, some unfortunate House Elf was usually tasked with transporting him to bed and leaving a hangover potion on his night table. It was the little things that made all the difference. He spent his days and nights in a drunken haze, usually starting out in some sophisticated little bar and ending up at the Cauldron, close to his bed and the pubs own home brew, which would burn the gullet of a lesser Wizard than himself.

As it happened, he was seated on his usual stool at the bar when the Dream Team arrived, accompanied by their usual hangers on; the Kings of Fashion (also known as Fred and George Weasley) and followed by much gasping and applause. Several on-lookers rushed to the bar to buy them drinks, almost upsetting Draco from his roost and causing him to lift his head from the coolness of the marble bar top to see what all the commotion was about.

Oh great, just what I need, Saint Bloody Potter, Mudblood Granger and umpteen fucking Weasels. He returned his head to the soothing marble and prayed they wouldn’t notice him.

It was a vain hope.

“Have you actually been to bed, Malfoy, or has your arse taken root on that stool?”

He really didn’t want to lift his head again . The marble was unbelievably cool and comfortable, so he contented himself with snarling , “Fuck off, Weasley,” without actually moving at all.

Fred turned to all assembled and declared in as loud a voice as he could dare, “You see before you the great, Draco Malfoy, last of the Malfoy line and Diagon Alley’s resident drunk.”

With no small amount of regret Draco lifted his head from the bar and turned towards Fred with his face in a well-practiced sneer. Of course, if he looked at one of them, he couldn’t help but see the rest of them. Potter and Granger had looks that sickeningly resembled pity plastered all over their faces, whilst all three Weasels simply looked smug and self-righteous. He almost groaned aloud. Draco was well aware of what he looked like, with his hair, grown longer now, disheveled and dirty . To add to the insult, he had four days worth of stubble on his face. He stank of whiskey, pot, and sweat, and he hadn’t had a bath for almost a week. Not really how he wanted to appear when he first saw his arch nemesis and his faithful flock.

The last time he had seen the twin ‘weasels’ was at a nightclub where they had been dancing wildly with no one in particular and generally embarrassing themselves . He had left before they had seen him, not particularly wanting to let the worlds worst dancers make him the butt of their jokes for all to see. It was a bit late for that now. He had the greatest urge to throw up and all he really wanted to do was put his head back down again and go to sleep.

“Fairly obvious that old Malfoy here has gone soft in the head,” Fred crowed triumphantly. “Can’t even think up a good come back. So what is it Malfoy, gone soft in the head?”

“Right Weasley. We all know you’re soft because we’ve all seen you dancing like you’ve got a hex up your arse.”

“And we all know your hard because we’ve all seen you drinking from noon until noon again,“ Fred replied easily.

He really didn’t need this. Perhaps if he ignored them, they would just go away. He turned slowly and with a soft groan he rested his forehead blessedly back onto the bar. The Weasels burst into spontaneous applause and laughed long and loud, but, thank the Gods, the noise was moving away from him and they were finally leaving him alone. He let out a sigh of relief. He felt like Hell. He really needed to go and get some sleep…or something.

“I heard that you were going back to Hogwarts this year.”

He rolled his head in the direction of the voice and was confronted with Granger.

“That’s right,” he said sharply, willing her to just fuck off.

“Are you Apparating to Hogsmeade and walking from there?”

“That’s the plan.”

She pursed her lips disapprovingly at him, “You should get yourself cleaned up first. You stink and you really need a bath.”

Who did she think she was, his mother? “Why? You want to join me Granger?” he sneered. “Well sorry luv, but I’m not into taking mud baths.”

She flushed, blinked and her lips curled into a fairly good rendering of his own sneer, “Fine, Malfoy. That’s the last time I try to do you a favor, Ferret.”

“Good, I’d hate to think I owed you one,” Draco drawled and looked over her shoulder as ever faithful, lover boy Weasley came running over, wand at the ready to save his Mudblood damsel in distress. Draco fumbled with his own wand and fell, very ungraciously, off the stool.

There was an eruption of derisive laughter but by that point Draco didn’t care as he blissfully threw up in a great gushing stream, all over the Weasel’s new shoes.

~ ~ ~

“Damned shame about Malfoy,” George was saying some time later as they wound their way to number ninety-three Diagon Alley and Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. “He used to be fun when he could give a good insult.”

“I don’t see the shame,” Ron muttered sulkily. He had been forced to smother his shoes in essence of Petunia, the only scent Hermione had on her, in order to tame the stench of Malfoy’s vomit. “If he drinks himself to death that’s the end of ‘em. Imagine it, a world without Malfoy’s.” He smiled almost dreamily. Then something else came into his thoughts, “Hang on, what were you speaking to that git for, Mione?”

“I wanted to find out if he was going back to Hogwarts this year,” she replied a little defensively .

“Who cares if he does?” his eyes suddenly widened, “Oh Gods, Hermione, you don’t mean to say that you want to try it on with Draco Malfoy?”

“Of course not!”

“Cause if you are, let me tell you now, you can do a hell of a lot better than that piece of shit!”

“Ron!” she cried, “No, I am not planning on doing anything with Draco Malfoy. I felt bad for him, I mean, look at him!”

“Yeah, I saw him,” Ron snorted. “It’s no more than he deserves. The guy is a class one prat. He’s an evil nasty little wanker and probably up to his eyeballs in dark magic.”

“His parents were the Death Eaters, not him,” Harry interrupted swiftly.

Ron turned to Harry, not believing what he was hearing, “If he got the chance, Harry, he would have been one. He was probably just aching to join up, probably pissed that the war ended before he got his chance!”

They filed into Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and ambled through to the back living quarters to make some tea while Fred and George opened up shop.

“Susan Bones said her aunt was there the day his parents were given the Kiss,” said Hermione, “and apparently it was really awful. She said Draco cried like his world was ending in front of his eyes.”

“Oh be still my bleeding heart, so he cried like a baby. Nothing like a bit of sympathy to get the girls in; there’s your living proof!”

Hermione threw her hands in the air in frustration, “Oh honestly, Ron, I am not interested in doing anything with Draco Malfoy. He’s cute and all, but I am well aware that he is a git from hell and I…”

“YOU THINK HE’S CUTE?”

Oh dear.

“I…I… well, yes, but everyone thinks that.”

“EVERYONE THINKS MALFOY IS CUTE?”

“Oh yes,” George grinned as he came out the back. “Angelina assures me that Malfoy got hot some time in his sixth year. Before that he was cute, after that he became sexy. Isn’t that right ‘Mione?”

She was nodding, grinning mischievously, “Yeah, it’s true. I’d say he fueled many a girls’ naughty dream.”

“YOURS?”

“Ron, stop yelling.”

“HARRY, DO YOU BELIEVE THIS????”

Harry shrugged, trying desperately to look nonchalant. The sight of a dirty and disheveled Draco had stirred him in a way he really didn’t want to be stirred in just at the moment. “I guess you could say he was handsome,” he conceded.

“Oh my Gods, the whole lot of you is completely fucking insane!”

Hermione and George burst into fits of laughter and after a moment Harry forced himself to join them. Ron, hopelessly outnumbered, slumped into a chair and rolled his eyes heaven wards.

~ ~ ~

Three days later, luggage in tow, they Apparated to Hogsmeade village and were greeted by a number of carriages pulled by Thestrals. They were all a little saddened by the fact that they could all see them, but now wasn’t the time for regrets. They heaved their trunks into their carriage and were soon joined by Neville, Seamus and Lavender, the only other Gryffindors to come back to repeat the year. They chatted mostly about the summer, avoiding the topic of the war. Instead, they settled for being pleased to see each other alive, whole and feeling, and for the first time in a long time, wise enough to sense the easy freedom that came with peace.

The eighth years arrived well before the train and wandered down familiar corridors to the Great Hall, glorying in the sight of something that had come so close to complete destruction only months before. It was nearly empty, except for the thirty-three students and the teachers at the High Table. They had instinctively sat at their old house tables. Six Gryffindors, six Hufflepuffs, twenty Ravenclaws and one lone Slytherin. Malfoy had cleaned himself up and wore plain black school robes, as they all did. They had been asked not to wear any symbols of their former houses.

Dumbledore looked older than before; all of the teachers did. As though they had all lived to see far too much happen. The elderly Wizard’s eyes still twinkled behind the familiar half moon glasses, however, and at that moment he was looking at them all with an extreme sense of pride. Professor McGonagall was smiling in a distant, sad sort of way. She was walking with a stick permanently now. The trio knew this because they had seen her over the summer when she had paid one final visit to 12 Grimmauld Place. Snape looked just plain haggard and pale. Hermione noticed that he was lacking his usual smirk or sneer. He, like McGonagall, looked distant. They tried not to focus on the fact that Hagrid was missing. He would never take his place at that table again, and he had been buried in the forest where his beloved creatures could watch over him.

Dumbledore stood, cleared his throat and smiled gently at the assembled eight year students in front of him. “I will not say, ‘welcome children’ because you are no longer children. You are now adults. Some of you have seen more than many would hope to see in a lifetime; you are all survivors of a terrible time. You no longer need to be guided as children do. You are a very special year and so, we have decided to make some very special rules for you. Firstly, you will no longer be recognized by your houses. You will exist beyond those boundaries. As such, you will take your place at the table you see at the front of the room.” He paused, and a table magically appeared just below the teacher’s table.

He watched as his students digested this information. They had spent seven years identifying with their houses, being defined and molded by them. Suddenly they did not have that internal support, and it would be a burden to many of them, but of little consequence to others.

“Secondly, as adults you will be allowed to come and go as you please. You may imbibe alcohol if you wish to, but we do ask that you not pass it on to any other member of the student body. You may go out at night and do all of the things that young adult Witches and Wizards do, however,” he smiled over those half moon glasses, “we all expect you to excel at your lessons. We also expect that your homework and other studies will be completed on time, that you attend your classes and that you remain courteous to all members of the faculty at all times. You must remember that you can still be given detention and you can still be expelled.”

Hermione, ever reliable to ask the question every one was thinking, raised her hand, “Professor Dumbledore, Sir, if we no longer belong to houses, does that mean we can’t earn or lose points?”

“That is correct my dear.”

All eyes shot gleeful looks in Snape’s direction and he scowled in return.

“It also means that you will be unable to partake in the house Quidditch competition.”

NO QUIDDITCH!!!!!

Harry’s mouth was hanging open, as were most of the students. Only Hermione seemed to take that news well.

“Can we have access to the Restricted Section of the Library,” she was asking cheerfully and Dumbledore was telling her that indeed they could, but no one else heard a thing. There was to be no Quidditch and that really was the end of everything. Dumbledore may as well have said that Voldemort had returned bigger and better than ever because nothing was going to make up for that blow.

“Finally, as you no longer belong to any of the school houses, it is fitting that you be afforded a separate tower of your own. I have had the South West tower refurbished and you will find a Common Room there and semi private chambers. You have been given accommodation in pairs.”

“Who’s the poor sap who has to share with Malfoy?” Ron hissed and Harry snorted in spite of himself.

“Now, if you please, the train has arrived at Hogsmeade station and the remainder of the student body will be here shortly. I ask that you take your places at your new table and await your classmates.”

They did so, crowding onto the smaller table and feeling immensely happy when several bottles of wine and goblets appeared before them. Draco started drinking almost immediately, but it didn’t take long for the others to follow. By the time their classmates arrived they were feeling the first tendrils of a pleasant haze of drunkenness creeping over them.

After the Sorting and the feast they were shown to the South West tower and a pleasant wood paneled circular Common Room with various doors hidden in the panels. Each of these panels had a pair of names on a small brass plate and once the door was pressed, it sprang open to reveal spacious bed chambers with two four poster beds, a fireplace and dressers. Harry and Ron were paired together, as were Hermione and Lavender, Neville and Seamus. No poor sap had to share with Malfoy . He had his own chamber that was accessed via a long narrow corridor and, although smaller than everyone else’s, it had its own balcony. Draco was pleased with the arrangement, and he would later find that he could stand out on the balcony and look down at the dizzying drop to the ragged rocks some five hundred meters below. It was a fabulous discovery when you were completely drunk and aching to throw up.

The contract was hung on the wall of Harry and Ron’s room, along with a calendar that counted down the number of days they had left to ensure they lost whatever innocence they had left.

Chapter 3 >>