Chapter Thirteen: The End of a Dull Year
Hermione stood behind Daphne with her hands on her hips as her friend packed a few last things into her trunk.
"I can't believe the school year's already over," Daphne muttered as she grabbed a picture of her and Harish off her bedside table and slipped it into her trunk.
"Well, technically we do still have the feast to go to," Hermione corrected.
"Yes, but the year is just about over," Daphne replied. With a flick of her wand, her trunk snapped shut with a click. "I just can't believe it…almost nothing happened this year."
"And just think," Hermione added. "We only have one year left after this."
"Yeah," Daphne said. "About that."
"Yes?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow as she sensed Daphne's unease.
"I don't think I'm returning to Hogwarts next year."
"Why ever not?" Hermione asked.
"Well," Daphne said. "Next year the war will be starting back up, and I know for a fact Draco isn't returning…I don't see the point in it…"
"So you're going to abandon your education?" Hermione questioned.
"Let's put it this way," Daphne said, sitting serenely on her bed. "When I say 'Harish has told me the war is starting up next year,' I mean that Voldemort is planning on coming to Hogwarts. What use will we be if we're students? We might get caught in the middle of things."
"Harish has been talking to you, hasn't he?" Hermione asked with a bemused expression.
Daphne shrugged and hopped up. She walked over to the door of their dormitory with her friend in tow.
"Honestly," Daphne said as they left the dormitory. "Everyone's been talking—including Ginny."
"Bad news Daphne," Ginny said, walking up to them. "I'll most likely have to stay next year—Mum would go ballistic if she got wind of me leaving early—especially after what Fred and George pulled."
Daphne nodded sympathetically and Hermione raised a haughty eyebrow.
LINE-BREAK
It was a slow day at Weasley and Co.'s. Summer vacation was about to begin for Hogwarts students, and the alley hung with a lazy air as the temperature steadily rose as the sun was high in the sky. The twins both stood together in their shop. Harish was absent, as he and his father were plotting something in privacy in their flat above the shop.
"So, what do you think they're talking about?" Fred asked.
George shrugged.
Neither of them said anything because they both knew the other was thinking the same thing—Harish had figured out who had been behind the attacks (though he hadn't told them). He and the Dark Lord were obviously plotting what to do about it.
Both of them stood in awkward silence, not knowing how to feel about the fact that the Dark Lord Voldemort was in their flat.
"It is curious that Harish hasn't told us who it is," George finally said.
Fred nodded.
"I mean, he does tell us almost everything," Fred added.
"But apparently not quite everything," George replied.
They fell silent for another moment.
"Whoever it is must be trouble," George finally deduced. "Because if it was someone we could easily help with, he would tell us."
"Whoever it is must need Voldemort himself to deal with," Fred agreed.
And silence came across them again.
LINE—BREAK
Hermione, Daphne, and Ginny were soon joined by Draco and the four of them headed for the End of the Year Feast; most likely the last one for Draco, Daphne, and Hermione (who was now considering leaving as well). They waved at Dean, Luna, and a few others and took their seats, once again, on the centre of the Slytherin table.
They listened with only half an ear as Dumbledore prattled on about house points and how proud he was of his students. Draco and Ginny shared smirks as Hermione whispered during Dumbledore's end of the year speech—Dumbledore was the only adult Hermione was willing to blatantly ignore.
They feasted on a vast variety of foods, talked, and laughed a good deal. Finally, it was time for them to go to bed. As Hermione started drifting off to sleep, she vaguely wondered if that was the last time she would ever spend the night in one of those four-poster beds that were draped with green bedding.
The next morning they all got up and got dressed into their school robes—the students that would not be flooing or apparating from the station would be changing into Muggle clothes once they got close to London.
The four Slytherins that remained at Hogwarts for that year were joined by Dean, Neville, and Luna. They ate candy, talked a bit, and stared out the window a bit. Finally, they made it to London, and they all bid each other farewell, promising to talk over the summer.
It was officially the end of the dullest year any of them had experienced, and they knew it was because Harish hadn't been there to make it interesting.
LINE—BREAK
Barnabas Cuffe sat behind his desk in the Daily Prophet Office located in Diagon Alley. He was looking over the latest edition, editing where he saw fit—he was the head of the production of the newspapers and had editors below him, but he usually read through the Prophet last before sending it to publication.
It was a generally warm summer day, so Cuffe had the windows cracked. A summer breeze blew steadily into the room, ruffling papers and notes situated on Cuffe's desk that were being held down by a pair of pristinely polished boots.
Suddenly, the quiet was interrupted.
Somewhere outside of Cuffe's office, there was a flash, a thud, and a cry of pain. The man's eyes instantly moved from the pages of the Daily Prophet to the door of his office. The doorknob turned slowly, and the door opened to reveal a very aristocratic-looking young man with white blond hair.
It was none other than Draco Malfoy, the son of the quite famous donator, Lucius Malfoy, who must have only just returned from Hogwarts. Cuffe quickly sat up straight, pulling his legs off of his desk along with a few loose papers.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, quickly thinking of a number of stories this could create.
"Oh, nothing that will cause you harm," the boy replied. "At least, as long as you cooperate. I have a proposition for you."
"Yes?" Cuffe asked warily.
The boy pulled out a pouch and dropped it onto the man's desk, spilling a great number of galleons.
"You will either publish nothing but what I say, and receive all these galleons," the blonde boy said in an imperial voice, "or you will be living on the streets with no job, no money, and only the clothes on your back to keep you warm at night."
Cuffe bowed his head in defeat.
"Tell me what you wish to have done," he said.