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Merry Christmas 🎄🎄

So I was rereading Harry Potter, when I came across this and thought- what if instead of Cedric Diggory, Cassius Warrington had been chosen to compete in the Triwizard Tournament?

Imagine Dumbledore calling out the name of the Hogwarts champion and it isn’t a Gryffindor, or a Ravenclaw, or even a Hufflepuff, but it’s a Slytherin. A student from a House most people hate.

Imagine Cassius Warrington getting up, and three out of four Houses are booing at him and shouting things like “NO!” or, “We can’t have a Slytherin champion!” or demanding a retry. But he’s a Slytherin- he’s been dealing with this shit since he got sorted, so he keeps his head high and joins the other champions.

Imagine Harry trying to catch Warrington alone because he doesn’t really want to associate with Slytherins (plus Malfoy has this tendency of being around the guy ALL THE TIME since he got chosen), but at the same time he’s also fair enough not to want him to walk into the first task unprepared.

Imagine Warrington walking over to Harry a few months later, and Ron and Hermione both jump into a protective stance, wands out, but instead of attacking Harry he just tells him to stick the egg underwater. (Because Slytherins don’t forget those who helped them out).

Imagine Warrington and Harry helping each other out in the labyrinth.

Imagine Harry being devastated when Peter kills Warrington- because Voldemort doesn’t care what house they’re form, a spare is a spare.

Imagine the uproar that causes among the Slytherins, because some of their parents really are Death Eaters and they know what really happened.

Imagine Slytherins reaching out, asking for help from classmates from other houses. They’re terrified, truly terrified because the being their parents claimed would never hurt them because they’re pureblood, they realize that he does not care.

Imagine Slytherins in the 5th book sneaking off to join Dumbledore’s Army, to learn more about who Voldemort is without their parents acting as a filter. 

Imagine the shock when they’re told what he’s really done.

Imagine that a few talented Slytherins went with Harry and the others into the Ministry of Magic. The others are a bit wary but they prove themselves as friends.

Imagine them being confronted by Lucius Malfoy in the the Hall of Prophecy, and when the Death Eaters descend, they know that any one of them could be their parents.

Imagine the shocked gasp of a Death Eater as they realize their own child, a pureblood, is standing defiantly with Harry Potter. They choke back a cry. They can’t let their child know that they were about to duel to the death.

Imagine a DA Slytherin facing off against their own Death Eater parent. That they make the decision to let their child defeat them, because in that moment, they realize that they love their child more than they fear Voldemort. They go down, mask unveiled, and the Slytherin kid has to be dragged from the fight before he gets killed.

Imagine Book 6 Slytherins getting more friendly and cooperative with the other houses. Two years of Voldemort terrorizing the muggle and Wizarding world, two years where their parents just up and leave some days, cringing from the pain in their arm, two years after the death of the first Slytherin pureblood, Cassius Warrington, killed by Voldemort’s right-hand man, and they’re slowly hitting the breaking point.

Imagine Slytherin kids keeping tabs on their parents, sending the information to Harry, who shares it with the Order of the Phoenix, and hoping that their parents won’t be killed.

Imagine Book 7 Slytherins low-key rebelling against the new oppressive Hogwarts staff.

Imagine the final siege on Hogwarts, where Slytherins stand proudly by their fellow houses, knowing full-well they could be fighting their own parents. Some Slytherins know their parents were in the fighting. They hope to find them first and sneak them away. Their fellow students understand. Professor McGonagall allows 7th Year Slytherin, Pansy Parkinson, to duel a death eater in her stead; her father is under that veil. She knows it.

Imagine the aftermath of the battle; every house suffered loses. Slytherin students crying over the deaths of friends they made in every house.

Imagine Harry staring over her head at everyone else until Hermione steps up–it doesn’t take long, but it takes long enough that when she does all eyes are on her as a source of motion–and says “we’re never going to forget this. They’re not going to get away with it” and the girlfriend just latches onto Hermione and everyone is in wands-out stance convinced she’s about to attack the shit out of Hermione, and then the girlfriend stares into her eyes and says “do you promise me” and Hermione just gives her this super-firm nod and says “I promise” and the girlfriend just collapses on her, sobbing. 

Imagine Dumbledore trying to give some flowery speech about inter-wizard solidarity while glossing over why, because Slytherins have always been a touchy subject, and Ron gets to his feet and says “Professor, I need to say something important” and Dumbledore is so surprised he just cedes the floor, and Ron–after that awkward moment when he realizes everyone is staring at him–says he didn’t know Warrington particularly, but he knows how Warrington and Harry played. That each was always cheering on the other. Both wanted to win, but neither was willing to undercut the other by underhanded means. He finishes up saying “I think–I think it’s important everyone should know he died being what a champion should be. Because he could have abandoned Harry and instead he stood up with him to play the game the honest way, and he died for it. And–and Slytherin House should be proud, and we should all be proud, because Warrington was a good bloke.” He sits back down all flustered because he didn’t actually stand up meaning to make a speech. And then Pansy Parkinson stands up before Dumbledore can take back control of the room and says “I want to tell Weasley thank you.” And all of Slytherin House raises a glass–to Warrington, to Weasley, to Potter–and the other houses follow suit. Many years later, Wizarding scholars will say that was the moment Voldemort truly lost.

Imagine later that summer. Harry gets several owls on his birthday, all unsigned. The birds are plump and pretentious and well-cared-for. He will never know which Slytherins sent him their treasures: parchments with hexes developed by the Death Eaters; a strange locket that will only open if he whispers a special spell but that always shows him the picture he most needs to see; a page torn from a potions book that, brewed properly, will allow him extra time to summon a Patronus by giving him a few crucial seconds not just of happiness but of bliss. It doesn’t matter. Harry knows these gifts not as birthday gifts but for what they really are, and he treasures the locket and copies out the potion to send to Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, and when first summoned by the Order of the Phoenix he marches straight up to Dumbledore with the hexes and says “I can’t tell you where I got these, Professor. But they’re in use by the Death Eaters and I think you should have them.” Months later, Sirius will recognize the spell Bellatrix shoots at him, and will dive out of the way just in the nick of time.

The final battle. Everyone is there. Sirius somehow ends up herding a group of Slytherins. They all stare at him and he at them, across a centuries-old divide Voldemort has only succeeded in deepening. Then he remembers the hexes. Harry’s locket, now tucked under Sirius’ shirt because Harry’s friends are with him in this battle but most of Sirius’ are dead. The moment that happiness potion saved Remus’ life, his very soul. Snape’s final words to Harry, finally seen not as mockery but real true advice. What Harry said Voldemort said–his first words in his new form. They are kids, and they are sharing the same kind of hurt he once wouldn’t admit to, watching his mother burn his name off the family tree. “When we go in there, it’s going to be hell,” he tells the Slytherins. “Some of you are probably going to die. I might go down too, and if I do I want your best curser in the front. But I want you all to remember one thing. There are no spares.”  Later retellings of the battle never fail to mention the moment a group of angry, screaming teens burst into the Great Hall, wearing their green and silver as the badge of honor it should be, shouting NO SPARES, NO SPARES at the tops of their voices in between hexes and curses and the occasional physical punch. When Hermione is present, she always interrupts the storyteller to be sure everyone knows about the moment Blaise Zabini shoved her to the floor, dropped on top of her, fired off three curses in rapid succession and said “stay alive, Granger, we need you” before jumping back to his feet and vanishing into the melee–how, for all anyone knows, those may have been his last words, and she will not let his sacrifice go unnoted. 

The aftermath. Malfoy holds out a hand to Sirius, badly injured on the floor. Sirius asks how Malfoy is willing to trust him. Malfoy nods at his chest. “You’ve got my godfather’s locket,” he says, and when Sirius and Harry finally speak after the battle Harry gives his full agreement to the very first thing out of  Sirius’ mouth. They give the locket to Malfoy. Sirius grits his teeth and closes his eyes and opens them and says “He probably saved my life, giving Harry that.” He doesn’t say thank you. Malfoy hears it anyway.

The school reopens under a single banner: the four Houses united. The House rivalry is reduced to just that–a competition in fun–with those deep divides slowly healing to scars, and eventually away to nothing at all.

Imagine it.

Wizarding Kindergarten -  Fieldtrip to Gringotts: Going Home (2/2) 🏡💕

There is a lull in the fighting around them, and Hermione knows they have to move. Crowded in against Draco’s chest, she strained her ears for any other noise from the battel around them. They had been ambushed. Betrayed. What should’ve been so easy had become complicated in an instant. Draco had clutched her to his chest, crushing her smaller form with his much larger one has various weapons had clashed around them. Draco let a low groan above her, and Hermione knew they needed to move before one of them was hurt. She looked to the trees. They were so close to cover. 

“We’ve got to go,” she hissed against his chest. Nodding, Draco moved his arm, releasing her from the vice grip he had held her with. Glancing around him, Hermione indicated towards the trees. “Let’s go.” 

Draco nodded and pushed her forward but didn’t follow. “I’ll catch up.” 

There was something in his voice, in his tone that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She turned to him then. His body barely visible in the first lights of dawn. “Malfoy, we’ve gotta go.” 

“You go,” he responded, his body sagging suddenly. That's when she saw it - the blood trickling from his mouth, the large hilt of a sword now visible above his shoulder. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as he collapsed. His shoulder taking the brunt of his weight as he fell. She rushed to his side. Fear and uncertainty radiating from her. The wound was deep and she has no idea when he was hit. How long had he been bleeding out? His skin was cold and clammy beneath her touch, and she could feel the hands of death stepping forward to claim him.  "You die when I say you can die, Malfoy. And not a moment sooner."

"I'm not sure that's how that works, Granger," coughed Draco. Hermione hastily wiped the blood from his mouth. "Just promise me one thing before I die."

"No. You're not dying. I won't let you."

"Promise me you'll stay out of trouble." He chuckled, knowing that's not even possible. His laugh turned into a pained cough as Hermione continued to wipe away the blood unaware of the tears falling from her eyes. "Promise me."

"I-I promise." She pushed the visor from his helmet back, desperate to see his face more clearly. 

He smirked before coughing again. There was more blood now, and he struggled to breathe. Death was close. They could both feel it now. His eyes found hers in the soft light, and he lifted a gloved hand to touch her face. "You were always my favorite, you know."

"I know,” she replied, clinging to his hand. She pressed her face against his palm, marveling as she always did at the size difference. 

He wheezes, and she shifted, trying to cradle his head throw his helmet. She begged him not to leave her. "We're not done. We have to finish the mission."

"You have to do the rest alone. I'm-I'm sorry, Granger. I-" he wheezed and winced in pain. His breath was coming in short pants now. 

Blaise rushed to them, his body weaving in and around obstacles. "Draco, we've gotta move." Spotting the hilt of the sword, and the blood coming from his best friend, Blaise fell to his knees. "No. No. No. No. No. No.” The single word poured from his lips as he reached for his friend. “ Mate, what've you done?" he asked. He pulled his hands back, unsure where it was safe to touch him. He looked to his friend and Captain. The questions went unspoken in his eyes. 

Draco’s eyes are steadier than his voice when he spoke, "Take her Blaise. Make her finish."

"I'm not leaving you," stated Hermione. 

Draco looked past her, past her shaking shoulders to his second in command. If he gave the order, Blaise would have to follow it. The code dictated it.  "Take her, Blaise. Finish the mission. Promise me."

Blaise wiped at the tears rolling down his face. There was no time to mourn. "I promise,” he replied, placing a fist across his chest to his heart. “It will be done.” 

Nodding at him and Draco shifted to Hermione. She had to leave. She had to be safe. She was the only one that could complete the mission given to them now. “Go, Granger.” 

"We've gotta go, Granger," said Blaise, a hint of urgency in his voice.

"We can't leave him!” argued Hermione. “I can save him."

To their left, a hound bayed, and Blaise’s body stiffened. They were gaining on them. "There isn't time!" He stood and looked around. He couldn’t carry them both. It wasn’t possible. Meeting Draco’s eyes, he gave the other man a nod. It wasn’t the goodbye he deserved or the rite he was due, but it was all he could give him in the moment.  "I'm sorry." 

Blaise grabbed Hermione, lifting her slight form as easily as a child’s, and tossed her over his shoulder. Her screams ringing in his ears as he started to run towards the clearing. 

"No!" screamed Hermione. "Put me down! I can save him! We have to go back! I can save him! NO!”

Draco watched them leave, willing himself to keep his eyes open until they make it to the treeline. To cover. He's done all he can. His eyes drifted skyward and he took his last breath.

He’d done all he could. She was safe. For now.

*****

Pain. That's the first thing he registered. Pain and lilacs. Lilacs and ash. And that metallic taste of blood in his mouth. There was a peace that swept over him in those final moments when he saw her disappear into the woods. He could no longer hear her cries and screams at Blaise, but he knew she didn't stop. Blaise would hate him for putting him in that position, but his best friend would understand. He'd have to. 

Regret filled his mind. He'd failed. Again. Failed to save her. Failed to protect her. Failed to tell her the truth.

"What truth?"

 Draco’s eyes snapped open, and he stared at her. Granger. She was so petite. So strong. So determined. No one had ever been as beautiful to him as her, with her wild hair and freckles. 

"What truth?" She asked again. Her voice as demanding as always. 

"That I loved you."

Whatever answer she expected, it was obvious to him that wasn’t it. He loved to catch her off-guard. Turn her neat and orderly life upside down with his presence. The way she did his. He smirked. "What you didn't know that?"

"No." The word was a whisper and he smirked to see her so confused by his confession. At least he could have this, he thought. In this place in between. He had imagined the afterlife would be different, but of course, he'd be tortured by her presence here. Of course, he'd be brave enough to tell her he loved her when he was dead. 

She stepped forward, her small face filling his vision. She was paler than normal, her freckles standing out against her skin more than usual.  "You're not dead."

Her words rang in his ears. "You left me," he replied. "I watched you leave."

"You really think Blaise could make me do anything I didn't want to?" She raised a brow at him. "Please." Turning back to the table beside him, she fussed with a few vials. 

Draco cast his eyes around the room. He tried to understand where they were. The space was unfamiliar to him. It was void of decoration and distinguishing marks. He noted warmth from a fire and a chair sitting beside it. He could picture her sitting there, a book in her hand - trying to understand and sort out their next steps. It was so familiar and so painful. 

His gaze drifted back to her. He noted that she was no longer wearing her traveling cloak and dressed as a page but was dressed only in a chemise and a loose corset. Hardly appropriate given their statuses. 

"I died, Hermione."

She paused, and he realized with a start what he'd done. 

"So you do know my name," she hummed, turning towards him. He felt his cheeks heat. "Drink this."

She lifted his head and placed a vial to his lips. He drank the liquid, his nose wrinkling at the foul taste.  

"Tell me how you saved me." It wasn't a question. He needed to know what she did, how it was possible. He had questions and needed answers. If he was truly alive, as she said, then he needed to know how. He had felt the cold hands of death, gripping him. It was impossible. 

"Later," she replied. Her fingers traced his cheek, and his vision swam slightly. 

"You drugged me."

She shrugged one shoulder as her eyes met his. "You need to rest."

He blinked his eyes as his vision doubled. The scent of lilacs, of her, filled his nose as the pain eased. "Rest, Draco." 

He struggled to keep his eyes open as his body grew heavy. "Tell me." 

Wizarding Kindergarten - Fieldtrip to Gringotts: Lunch time (½) 🍴