Be Careful
30: What You Contrast
By Anne B. Walsh
Bits of Pirates kept popping into Draco's head the next morning, so that he found himself humming "Here's a first-rate opportunity" as Professor Slughorn handed him his timetable for the year. The rotund Head of House gave him a startled look, which Draco returned blandly.
So I travel to other worlds and perform operetta in my sleep. What's it to you?
Slughorn moved on down the table, and Draco ran a finger down the day's column of classes. "Muggle Studies?" he said in surprise. "That's mandatory now?"
"I heard we get to learn what they're really like," said Nott, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Not that pap Dumblesnore was always trying to feed us about how they're just as good as we are."
"And look at Wednesday," Blaise added from one place down. "Doesn't that look fine on a Hogwarts course list, finally?"
Draco looked, and shivered involuntarily. "Gives me goose pimples just thinking about it," he said, summoning a broad smile to hide the real meaning behind his words.
They're not pretending anymore. It's not Defense Against the Dark Arts. It is Dark Arts.
Curious, Draco rummaged in his schoolbag and came up with the Daily Prophet from the day before.
Sure enough. They called Carrow the DADA Professor in here. Wonder why?
Alecto Carrow's laugh cut through the chatter in the Hall. Draco winced. Not going to be fun being shut up with those two for a year—
The words tipped his brain in the right direction. That's it. That's why they said he'd be teaching Defense. So the parents would think it was just another year, and send their kids off like always.
But now we're here, and stone walls and strong wards work two ways.
They can keep people out.
Or they can keep them in.
Draco looked up at the enchanted ceiling, a gloomy and lowering gray, and couldn't suppress another shiver.
We're not just students now. We're hostages.
And I do mean we. The Dark Lord gets displeased with a Death Eater, there'll be nothing stopping him from ordering their kid tortured—as I ought to know! He snorted in bitter amusement. Though to be fair, I was the one who failed, Lucius just got to watch it…
No more. Not for me, not for anyone. Draco looked across the Hall, scanning along the Gryffindor table until he located Neville Longbottom. The round-faced boy was glancing about warily between bites, and murmuring to Ginny Weasley, who sat beside him with a face that could have been carved from stone.
Potter's fooling himself if he thinks they won't go after her. Though she is a Weasley, so she'll probably do plenty to merit it on her own. Draco grimaced at the thought of bat-winged bogies attacking him. She's got the talent for certain.
And then there's the third of their merry band…
Luna Lovegood sat near the end of the Ravenclaw table, unconcernedly pouring syrup over her eggs. As Draco watched, she lifted her head. Their eyes met once again.
How is she—
The thought vanished as one eyelid flickered over the blue-gray orb below. Cheek muscles quirked, in something so fleeting it could barely be called a smile, and Luna returned to her breakfast, dabbing a finger in the syrup and painting something on the table with it before she took her first bite.
Draco sat back on the bench, blinking.
She just—does she—
No. I'm making it up. She's mad, everyone knows she's mad, just because her counterpart is a little saner than I thought doesn't mean she is. She's just trying to get in good with our side, keep herself alive, that's all. She can't know anything.
But halfway out of the Hall, Draco absently began to whistle to himself.
Here's a first-rate opportunity
To get married with impunity…
"So," said Alecto Carrow, grinning crookedly at her class of seventh years. "Who can tell me something about Muggles?"
Hands shot up all over the room. Alecto pointed at Neville—
No. Get your mind straight, Draco. He's Longbottom here. If you think about him by given name, sooner or later you'll call him by it, and you can't afford that. Have to find some way to keep them separate…
"They're as human as wizards," Longbottom said in a carrying voice. "And we've all got Muggle blood, we have to, there aren't enough wizards to just marry each other—you've probably got at least half yourself—"
Alecto hissed, and her wand slashed out. Longbottom yelped as a long, bleeding cut appeared on his face.
That might help. The Neville I'm friends with isn't going to have a great whacking scar across his cheek, and this one will.
Draco hoped no one had noticed him flinch, but since most of the class had done the same, his chances were fairly good.
"I'm sorry, Professor," Longbottom said, sitting up straighter. "Is it three-quarters instead?"
Draco dodged a splatter of blood as the cut deepened.
He belongs in Gryffindor after all. Who'd have thought?
"Let's try someone else," Alecto wheezed, pointing at Nott.
"They breed like animals," Nott said, his eyes gleaming. "Go around doing anyone they want, in public even."
"Good. Bulstrode?"
"They've got less brains than a cat!"
"Very good. Smith?"
Draco propped his chin on his hands and looked bored. Six years of schooling had given him plenty of practice in the pose.
Sit here, listen to them tell each other stupid stories, spit back the stories on the test paper, got it. Just like History of Magic, only less interesting.
I never thought anything could be, but this qualifies…
"Malfoy, how about you?" Alecto paused in front of his desk, twiddling her wand idly between two fingers. "What do you know about Muggles?"
Draco glanced sideways at Longbottom, who was blotting at his cheek with a handkerchief, then back to the squat woman standing before him. "As little as possible," he said.
The Slytherins, and a few of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, snickered. The rest of the students were silent.
Perfect. They heard what they expected to hear, and they didn't listen any harder than that.
Draco cinched his ‘arrogant Slytherin’ mask down a little tighter and allowed himself one moment of mental whining underneath it.
Muuuum, I wanna go hoooome…
Not yet, dear, his mum's voice soothed in his imagination. You have to finish your day at school. How else are you ever going to get a good education?
"Wrong!" Alecto slashed another Cutting Curse across the forehead of Seamus Finnegan. "Maybe your ‘dear old dad’ can act like a wizard, maybe he's learned a few tricks here and there, but he's still no more than an animal, and if I ever meet your mum I'll soon set her straight for marrying filth like that!"
Draco scowled inwardly. I'm getting an education here, all right.
I just don't think it's the one they intended me to get.
Longest. Day. Ever.
Draco collapsed across his bed thankfully. Not too much homework, which is good, since I'm going to sleep early tonight, I need some extra to get me through tomorrow—or should I say my second today?
He toed off his shoes, making a mental list of everything he'd be doing when he got home.
Placement tests all morning, then in the afternoon I start classes—they said I'd need to start at the beginner level in something called Comparative Cultures, since we don't have it here, and one of its classes meets then—Danger said it's the one Abby'll be in if she doesn't test out, that ought to be fun…
Classes at the other Hogwarts were set up very differently from the rigid year-based structure Draco was used to. An average student would enter school in his first year and go into all beginner classes, which would be mostly populated with first and second years, though a third year or two might pop in for a few weeks if they needed some extra help with a subject. Third through fifth year was generally covered by intermediate classes, and sixth and seventh year by advanced.
Sounds normal, but then it starts getting complicated.
The specific material covered in the classes rotated by year. For instance, in a beginner History of Magic class, the professor would cover the time before Hogwarts had been founded in one year and the time after in the next. An intermediate Defense class would study Dark creatures one year, curses and Dark wizards the next, and the theory of Dark and Light magic the third. Whichever year you entered the class in, by the time you left, you'd have covered everything.
And if you're a swot like Hermione, you can study on your own and pass the exit exam for certain classes early, and get moved up a level a year ahead of time, or even two.
Any student who did this, and therefore finished the material of the advanced class in a certain subject before their seventh year, had to do an independent project in that subject under one of the teachers in the department. If it was judged good enough by a board of examiners, the same people who administered O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, it qualified you for instant N.E.W.T. credit in the subject.
Not anything I'd be interested in, but not anything I'll have the chance to do, either. Let me see—I'll likely be placed in advanced Potions and Charms, intermediate Transfiguration, Defense could go either way, and the rest I honestly have no idea. Have to wait and see…
Sliding off the bed, Draco went to collect his pajamas. It was impolite to make someone wait.
Even when that ‘someone’ was yourself.
Once again, Draco found himself in the Great Hall having breakfast on the morning of 2 September, but this time it was Professor Snape handing out the timetables, and when Draco began to hum a bit from Pirates, other voices joined in, until most of the Hall was roaring the pirates’ very loud song about how very quiet they were being.
Shouldn't I be embarrassed by this? Draco wondered, swallowing a bite of bacon in time to join the third repetition. It's not exactly dignified.
Of course, neither is cheering on a Quidditch side, and I've done that plenty of times.
I suppose it's all down to what's expected and what's allowed. Around here, it really seems like anything goes, as long as you do it well. There's less emphasis on looking good and more on being good.
He took a bite of toast. We could do with a bit of that back where I'll be tomorrow…
It was always possible that someday the people of his original world would learn that attitude, Draco thought.
Yeah. And it's also possible that fire crabs will fly out of the Dark Lord's bum.
The image caused a small shower of toast crumbs across his portion of the table.
Have to remember that one to share on morning break…
Morning break, however, was preempted for Draco, as his mum turned up midway through his History of Magic exam (he hadn't been doing well anyway, and finished the last ten questions at breakneck speed with random answers when he spotted her standing in the doorway).
"I realized I had neglected to give you your belated birthday gift last night," she said when the necessary rituals of greeting were finished. "Here, put it on."
Draco slid the fine gold chain over his head and examined the small medallion hanging from it. "Thank you. What is it?"
"It is one of the more subtle traps we lay for our children," Mum said, chuckling. "As well as a safety device. When you place your fingers on either side of one of these gems," she tapped at the three green jewels embedded in the medallion, protruding slightly on either side, "and pronounce a spell I will teach you, you will be immediately transfigured into your Animagus form, whatever that may be. A nonverbal spell will reverse the transfiguration, restoring you to humanity."
"Wow." Experimentally, Draco placed his fingers around one of the gems. Nothing happened, of course, but his mind supplied the experience of having the world explode into enormity around him, four legs replacing two, fur and a tail and a long pointed nose coming into existence with startling suddenness. "Why only three times?"
"Any more would damage your ability to become an Animagus yourself. I assume you will be interested in that."
"Oh, if I must," Draco drawled, grinning as Mum laughed. "Not right away, I'm going to be busy with all my new classes, but I do think I'd like to learn it. How do I get started?"
"Professor McGonagall teaches an elective course on the Animagus transformation Saturday afternoons. All you will need to do is demonstrate a basic knowledge of Transfiguration for her, and she will find you a slot."
There are worse things to do with a Saturday. "Thanks, Mum."
"You are quite welcome." She hugged him again briefly. "Now, the two spells you will need to know to activate your amulet are these…"
Draco shared his image involving the Dark Lord and fire crabs at lunch, causing several showers of various crumbs and liquids. It still gave him a shiver to look across the table and see Harry Potter's eyes in a female face topped with long red hair, but even Lyssa was gradually becoming a familiar sight now.
I really, really wish I could tell Potter about that…
As he finished his meal, Draco noticed two students slipping through a small door behind the high table. One of them marked the protective sign on his forehead as he entered, and the other stopped in the doorway and bowed before she went through.
"What's in there?" he asked Ray.
"Oh, people go in there sometimes to be alone. It's nothing important." Ray checked his watch. "Say, don't you have Comparative Cultures up on the sixth floor? In about five minutes?"
Draco swore and left the Great Hall at a run.
"Come find me on afternoon break!" Ray shouted after him. "I've got something I want to show you!"
I knew I'd be the tallest person in this class except the professor.
I didn't know I'd be the tallest including the professor.
"Good afternoon, class," said Danger to the roomful of first and second years.
"Good afternoon, Professor Beauvoi," the students chorused back.
I guess when it wasn't safe to go home anymore, she decided she might as well stay busy…
"Who can tell me what Comparative Cultures is all about?" Danger watched the hands spring up around the room. "Yes, Mr. Black?"
"Comparative Cultures is where we learn about the differences between how wizards live and how Muggles live," Johnny Black said, shifting position on the large cushion he'd claimed in lieu of a chair. "We look at what things changed when wizards stopped being secret and what things didn't, and how wizards and Muggles help each other today."
"Very good." Danger smiled approvingly. "Can anyone else add to that?"
A few other students volunteered answers. Draco barely heard them.
Merlin's polka-dotted broomstick. It's Muggle Studies. I'm in another Muggle Studies class.
Only this one isn't a joke.
"Excellent, everyone!" Danger turned to the piece of equipment sitting behind her. "Now, we're going to watch a film that was made before any of you were born, by a comedy team of four Muggles and two wizards, one of whom is a direct descendant of our own Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington—good afternoon, Sir Nicholas!"
The students all turned, Draco among them, in time to see the cheerily smiling Gryffindor ghost in his ruff and tights float through the door. "Good afternoon, Sir Nicholas!" they chanted, not quite as together as they had been to answer Danger but close enough.
"Good afternoon, everyone," Nearly Headless Nick said, nodding to them all, which caused his head to wobble a bit. "I hope you're having a good first day back."
Loud variations on Yes, we are answered him.
"We're just going to watch a film, Sir Nicholas," Danger said, tapping her wand against the television, which obediently turned on. "Will you stay and watch it with us?"
"Oh, I think so." The ghost floated into place behind the students. "I do adore watching my twentieth-great-grandson at work."
"This is good," Abby whispered to Draco as Danger turned off the lights in the room and shut the blinds with her wand. "You'll like it. It's where that one funny line in Neville's song last night came from."
"Thanks," Draco whispered back, unsure if the recommendation of an eleven-year-old meant anything.
Five minutes into the film, he was no longer unsure.
I haven't laughed this hard since the day the Venomous Tentacula bit Finch-Fletchley in the arse…