someday, somehow → d.malfoy [discontinued]

008

"my father actually considered sending me to durmstrang rather than hogwarts, you know.

he knows the headmaster, you see. well, you know his opinion of dumbledore—that man's such a mudblood-lover—and durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. but mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away." draco malfoy talked a great amount more around his friends than he had during the summer break, with artemis. "father says durmstrang takes a sensible line than hogwarts about the dark arts. durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do..." durmstrang this, durmstrang that. initially, the conversation about schools had stemmed from the triwizard tournament: which european schools would be participating (beauxbatons and durmstrang, the general consensus indicated) and what their respective reputations were.

artemis observed the features of the compartment. it was rather plain—walls of pale wood peeked at her behind the deep-cyan velvet which the seats were covered with. there was not much impressive about it and yet, with a group of seven teens each with more-than-questionable morals, it felt like an easy space to be comfortable in. her eyes wandered next to the girl named for the flower, pansy. she wore an earth-green turtleneck which, artemis thought, went very nicely with the black pleated skirt and thick-soled leather boots she had paired it with. pansy seemed to be the only one hanging onto the every syllable that poured from draco's sharp tongue as he drawled on, her brown eyes wide and slight lips cracked open. it became increasingly evident that artemis was not the only one who felt as if draco's rambling was, blatantly, droning on; because, out of the whole group, blaise zabini turned his face toward her and asked, "what sort of thing did you learn at beauxbatons, artemis?" his voice was low and soft, and reminded artemis of a deepest nighttime, freckle-like stars among its cool, shadowy presence. the volume dropped to nothing, pansy blinked her wide, doe-like eyes in blaise's direction. perhaps he had done something out of the ordinary—perhaps, even, something that went against their usual clique-etiquette-politeness.

"we... took up to three foreign language courses," artemis started. "most take at least english, because it is such a, err, internationale used language. besides that—very typical subjects, i think. history and geography, defensive magic, transfiguration, magical law, charms, herbology, astrology." 

.

draco wondered if artemis had figured it out yet.

if their past conversations in the isolated depths of his library were any indication, she was anything but dull. there had been no mentions whatsoever about the dramatic event of the quidditch world cup, and that first night following it, draco had lain awake until the blossoming of another dawn with an endless flood of thoughts to occupy him. then, he had not even seen his father but for the previous night in the atlas room, and this morning at platform nine and three-quarters, when he had spoken a curt seven words to his son: "make sure to keep in good company." draco knew what that meant—do not share friendly conversation with anyone that was not a pure-blood, and associated with the same kind as his own parents. now, he wondered if artemis knew what his father was really like—if she had pondered on his nature and what it might have meant. 

she must have thought him horrible, while he was speaking about his father and durmstrang. that night in the atlas room, lucius had kept his back to draco as he said, "you will do your best to associate with the boys of durmstrang, this year." the conversation had left him in a numb sort of shock, lying sideways on his bed with his hand tucked under his chin, as a house-elf came suddenly into his room and packed his school belongings into a trunk within several moments. all he'd known that night was that his father wanted to send him to a predominantly pure-blooded school somewhere in the north of europe, where they spoke a language draco did not know. he would lose any opportunity of escaping the grasp of his father's dark habits and associations. his mother had been the one to object, and change his mind, so that draco would continue to live a half-freedom at hogwarts.

"there is a bathroom somewhere?" artemis asked. pansy replied before draco could, stating that the two of them could walk together instead of alone, and then they were gone. in the meantime, the five boys drew the shades of their compartment down, and the space became a colourful collection of "ow"s and "stop stepping on my bloody foot, crabbe!"s as they pulled their own school uniforms on. draco's fingers did his green-and-silver tie up, the fabric soothing under his fingertips—it felt both familiar, and extremely foreign.

once artemis had returned, draco's eyes resisted pulling away from her—but eventually, he managed to get them to focus on a dirty stain in the fabric of the seat, right next to goyle's leg. he was not sure what exactly he had been expecting, but the blank tie at her throat made him blink several times until his brain had caught up. he wondered, briefly, how she would be sorted. surely not among the fickle eleven-year-olds—that would certainly be an embarrassing experience. draco's attention snagged on the window and the blurring view it presented. outside, the bright, hilly landscape was beginning to turn a warm gold as the sun dipped itself into a horizon that shivered like an ocean. clouds drifted, leisurely, across the orange expanse of sky, and stars winked merrily every few seconds. draco guessed that they would arrive at hogsmeade station in around an hour.