The Amulet of Salazar

Draco leaned angrily against the post just outside of King's Cross Station. He watched the swarms of idiotic Muggles and some covert wizards and witches that passed by him. No, he wasn't just angry. He was put out, mad, furious and livid all rolled into the hot ball of fire that had found a home in the pit of his stomach. Yet, just an hour ago he had been very happy. Happy and carefree and eagerly awaiting the start of his summer holiday. That was, of course, before Potter and his little Gryffindor thugs had hexed him on the train coming back from Hogwarts.

Draco remembered with a groan his teasing them. "You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang out with riffraff like this!" He had jerked his head at Weasley and Granger. "Too late now, Potter! They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well- second- Diggory was the f-" and then he had been cut off by a flurry of bright lights all directed at him and his cohorts, leaving them out cold on the train's hard wood floor.

Really, he thought disgruntledly, I was only warning Wonder boy. But, as always, the Gryffindors misinterpreted his advice, letting their renowned "bravery" take over and immediately hexed him, Goyle and Crabbe. Then, if you please, they had simply left the three of them unconscious in a corridor. Draco frowned, for it was just the thing he would have done had their situations been reversed. Perhaps he was making an impact on the three do-gooders after all.

Ten minutes after the train had stopped and the Gryffindor idiots had left (or so he assumed), a teacher had finally found their inert forms lying pitifully on the floor. Even now, Draco brushed his coat off, looking for dirt particles that might have been left on his expensive clothing. He wouldn't have known who the teacher was, having never taken one of her classes, if he had not awoken to find her closely staring at him with her large-as-saucers eyes, muttering some ridiculous chant. It was that batty Divination teacher Professor Trelawney he had heard some of the Slytherins poking fun at during meal times and in the common room. One might not think that Slytherins would be interested in the capricious subject, but it was actually fairly popular among them. Draco concluded that it was because so many would want to predict the powerful and satisfying future they were sure they would have when gazing into the misty depths of a crystal ball, or staring at crumpled tea leaves, or whatever else loony things they did in that class. Though that didn't mean they found Professor Trelawney any less annoying and melodramatic than the rest of the student body. It was probably one of the few things the four Houses all agreed on.

She had helped them up after administering the counter-curses for their hexes; all the while explaining that she had had a terrible feeling that something dastardly was going on. Draco doubted this, but had kept his mouth shut anyway. He was still shocked and utterly embarrassed about the whole situation. Potter, Weasley, and Granger had... bested him. They had pulled their wands out, hexed him and his friends quicker than he would have given them credit for, and then just left them lying there, complete with burns, bruises, small tentacles, and other such marks of a curse. He felt a hot burst of anger, wishing he could hex each one of them with the three Unforgivable Curses. Well, he would inevitably get his revenge. Perhaps the Dark Lord would make a visit during Potter's summer vacation, kill him and all his "extraordinary powers" everyone claimed he had, and perhaps kill off the Weasel and Mudblood Granger too. Yes, he smirked to himself; that would be a nice payback.

He had already said his goodbyes to Crabbe and Goyle, which had been his usual curt nod of the head, and was now waiting for his family's driver. Murphy had always been at the station on time, parking near the entrance every year since Draco's first at Hogwarts. And yet, even after Draco had been unconscious for ten minutes or more after the train had stopped and having a teacher unhex him and his friends, Murphy was still not here. He leaned more heavily on the post that had supported him for the last five minutes, exhaling an annoyed sigh. Being five minutes late would get you fired in the Malfoy household, and that's just what Draco intended to suggest to his father once he got home.

As if hearing his thoughts, a limo with his family's crest pulled up by the curb near him. The driver, Draco noticed as he stepped from the car, was not the short, pudgy man he was accustomed to having pick him up. His face was half-hidden by the typical driver hat he wore, but he almost looked familiar to Draco. A gold tooth glinted in the sun as he smiled politely at Draco and while picking up the heavy bags, greeted him, "Good day, Master Draco."

Draco nodded slightly, and then walked to the polished, black limousine, opening the door with a flourish as he noticed the Muggles gawking at him. He smirked nastily to them and sat down in the beige, leather seats, the content grin still stuck on his face. Yes, he thought, it is nice to be rich.

The new driver was taking longer to put his bags away than Draco cared for and he decided that he would still tell Father to fire him once he got home. There was no reason to stay any longer in this soiled, Muggle filled spot and he'd like to leave as soon as possible. Idleness was basically breaking a cardinal rule of the Malfoy's, and anyone was subject to the consequences. Draco certainly did not want to be the one to incur his Father's wrath.

Not that his Father had ever physically abused him, he thought as the driver finally started the engine and pulled into traffic. Lucius Malfoy would never be one to let his emotions loose in such a primal, crude way; something that he had taught to Draco through out all of his youth. Allowing your enemies to see your emotions would give them an upper hand. Emotions clouded the mind and got in the way of your better judgment. Besides, inscrutable expressions could instill so much more terror in your victims, he grinned.

No, Draco wasn't afraid of his father blasting him away with curses once he reached the manor; he had already had enough hexing for the day. But, Lucius would often find him guilty for things he had no control over. It was not his fault that the driver had picked him up late, nor was it his fault that Potter beat him in their Quidditch matches, or that Granger bested him as top student in their year. Potter had a better broom of course, and Granger must have charmed the pants off of every teacher she had except for Snape. Draco smiled to himself; he could always count on Snape to put those idiot Gryffindors back in their place. Yet, these excuses did not satisfy Lucius and he often took away Draco's owling and flying privileges for such shortcomings. Without these, there really wasn't much to do in the expansive mansion except perhaps terrorize the House-Elves, and even that got tiring after awhile.

The car's methodic humming and the countryside scenery he spied from his tinted window enabled Draco to relax, his thoughts drifting to the feast last night in the Great Hall. There had been no House Cup this year, which the Slytherins might not have won anyway since Potter was still winning points for the Gryffindors simply by breathing, or so it always seemed. Instead, the Hall had been dressed in black, a colour that Draco usually appreciated. But it had all been for that Hufflepuff boy who had died, so that did put a slight damper on his admiration of the hue. When Dumbledore had asked everyone to raise his or her glasses to Diggory, Draco had complied. He really didn't have anything against the boy, except for being a stupid Hufflepuff. But when his glass was raised, it was not for Diggory, but for the one who had caused his death. With a deep smile on his face, he had silently toasted to the Dark Lord for another conquest. Then, Dumbledore continued with his long-winded eulogy and Draco spent most of it muttering to Crabbe and Goyle. They might have been addle-brained sycophants, but they were still good listeners. Then Dumbledore made some stupid comment about Potter's incredible valor and heroism for escaping the Dark Lord once again. But Draco and quite a few other Slytherins did not stand with the others who had drank to Potter. Perhaps had the Dark Lord killed Potter, Draco would have stood and raised his glass, as he had done with Diggory, but the Wonder Boy had gotten away, so no, he wouldn't.

Draco wondered briefly if it was this summer that he would finally join the ranks of his father and become a Death Eater. It wasn't so much that he was dying to be one, he simply knew that it was expected of him to become one by his father. And when Lucius Malfoy was pleased, everyone was pleased. Plus, he supposed it would be rather fun to get back at all those piteous Muggles and Mudbloods. It would be at least entertaining, however distasteful. Not to mention the fact that every girl in Slytherin would swoon at the near "tattoo" he'd acquire as soon as he was initiated. Yes, the Dark Arts certainly had their benefits.

Draco spent the rest of the long car ride playing out dashing and extraordinary Quidditch moves in his head. He was extremely determined to never again let Potter catch the Snitch first and beat him, and fierce determination was one of the most distinguishing qualities of the ideal Slytherin, which Draco imagined he was. He had just caught the snitch while using a levitating charm on himself (only after his broom had "accidentally" broke on Potter's head of course), when Murphy, or whoever his new driver was, pulled up the familiarly steep road of Malfoy Manor. He could see his family's vineyards and orchards as they whizzed by, but they looked very different. Normally at this season they would be abundant with fruit with per usual flourish. Instead they were a deep brown and looked to be crisply dried out. What had the House-Elves done? He thought with a burst of anger, his mouth open in shock. In fact, he wondered if their family had any House-Elves left alive as the car pulled to a stop.

Murphy had risen to open his door for him, but Draco was already using it as a support for his now limp body. His hand gripped the top of the still-open door and the car alarm beeped away monotonously. Draco didn't notice this however; his eyes could only focus on the ruins that used to be his home.

Where had once stood a tall, domineering manor was now little more than a pile of rubble. His mansion had housed over 600 different rooms, 97 hallways, 28 staircases, one very large kitchen, and a swimming pool used more as a lake, yet all that was left was the chamber door and a few scorched stones. Draco's mind took in the burnt slabs and swirling ashes slowly. It was a fire; his parents had died in a fire.

He walked cautiously to the remains, a part of him still believing that it was some sort of a hoax. It hadn't been enough for Potter and his friends to hex him in the train; they were really going the extra mile this time. He wanted to laugh at their idiotic trick, but the sound got caught somewhere in his suddenly parched throat. He raised a trembling finger to the charred door; if it was a spell, things would return to normal once he touched it. His finger brushed the smooth door, paving a slim white line against the backdrop of black dust as it slid down the frame. The image of the door remained charred ebony and Draco felt his stomach hit the floor.

Someone grabbed his shoulder from behind and Draco swung around to meet familiar eyes. He was one of his Father's colleagues, a Death Eater. Draco could see the distinctive scar over his right eye that he had seen on one of the men at one of his father's Death Eater meetings so long ago. Draco recalled his Father calling him Knowles. His dark brown eyes were filled with pity as he looked at Draco.

"I'm so sorry, Draco. I received news of it this morning, but-." He paused, his eyes surveying what was left of the mansion in shock. "I didn't want to believe it." Draco looked past the tall wizard's shoulder, noticing for the first time a group of wizards standing a few feet away from them. He recognized a few and knew immediately that they too were Death Eaters. They stared back at him cautiously, some whispering to each other. He looked back to the wizard who was still uncomfortably grasping his shoulder.

"I knew... I knew one day this great mansion would be Lucius' downfall." He started to lead Draco away from the door and down to where the rest of the Death Eaters were. "All of those rooms, each with it's own fireplace... well, it was inevitable I guess. He simply didn't understand that mansions built in the 13^th century didn't have the wards against incineration as newer ones do. He loved the Manor too much I suppose; had too much pride really." His hand finally dropped from Draco's shoulder, much to Draco's relief. The group of Death Eaters seemed to inch closer to him and Draco realized that they surrounded him.

"But we can be your family now, Draco, " Knowles continued, gesturing to his comrades. "I believe Lucius was planning on having you initiated as a Death Eater this summer. We think you are ready to join anyhow." He stepped closer to Draco, his voice dipping lower, "The Dark Lord has returned as I'm sure that fool Dumbledore has already told you. We can take you to our Master and you will finally join the ranks of the most powerful wizards of the earth. The world will be yours, Draco."

He seemed to notice that Draco's look of distrust still had not lifted. Changing tactics, he said in an almost caring, compassionate way, "Draco, it's what your father wanted since the day you were born. Won't you accredit his memory and fulfill his final wish? Become one of us."

Draco looked around at the familiar faces. These people were some of the few he had left, and he felt he couldn't disobey his father's wishes, not now. It was on the tip of his tongue to concede when a flash of gold caught his eye. There stood his limo driver, only he had changed out of his driver's outfit and was now robed, grinning maliciously at him. Draco knew now that something was very, very wrong. He stepped back from Knowles, fear and rage coursing every fiber of his body. However, he couldn't very well battle against several well-armed and experienced wizards by himself. He racked his brain for a plan, an escape, for some solution out.

Words spoken long ago by his mother echoed through his mind suddenly, "If ever you're in trouble, deadly trouble, and neither your father and I are there to help you, trust no one. Use this ring," she had said, holding a gold band encrusted simply with a red ruby in her outstretched hand, "turn the jewel twice to the right, once to the left, and it will transport you to Hogwarts- where you'll be safe."

Draco now felt the ring encircled on his middle finger as if it were burning him. Knowles was still looking at him expectantly, patiently awaiting his supposed assent. Without a second thought, he slowly touched the ring, keeping eye contact with Knowles.

"Never," he whispered harshly before turning the ring twice to the right and once to the left, feeling immense relief when his stomach tugged and the threatening faces blurred as his body was sucked into a vortex.

Hermione was snuggled deeply in her favorite armchair back at home; a blanket wrapped around her lower half, a plate of cookies sitting precariously on the left armrest, and as always, her nose in a book. However intriguing Magical Jewelry of Powerful Wizards was though, her mind simply kept wandering off to other subjects. Giving up after reading the same paragraph three times over, she closed the book and set it on the nearby table. Her hand lingered for a second over the cookie plate before choosing a macadamia nut-filled one, she then chewed it pensively as she looked out the sunny window in her family's library.

What did Viktor want from her anyway? She remembered his intense stare when he had invited her to his family's estate during the summer. Hermione really liked Viktor, he was a very interesting person, but wouldn't it be awkward to be alone with a boy in what she supposed would be a very large mansion? She had answered him vaguely, not saying necessarily yes or no. He had nodded understandably, and then promptly told her that he wanted to be just friends. Hermione worried that he had taken it personally. It wasn't Viktor himself that she was afraid to be alone with but boys in general. This perhaps seemed a little ridiculous coming from a girl whose two best friends were boys, but she never thought of them like that. They were simply Harry and Ron, the same two boys she had seen with sunburns, messy hair, and milk shooting out of their nostrils after a good joke. The same ones who had also forgotten to acknowledge that she was a girl and ask her properly to the Yule Ball last year, she silently steamed. But Viktor was older, more mature, who didn't still play childish games like Exploding Snap, and delighted in her passion for books. Though he hadn't said much, Hermione could see the interested spark in his eyes whenever she talked, the glint that said he was actually listening to her. She had only seen that spark in Harry or Ron's eyes when she was discussing their homework or telling them something terribly important that they should have known anyway. It had been a nice change.

However that had been in the midst of hundreds of other students and teachers, all of whom she could run to if ever she ran out of things to say or should Viktor try something she wasn't ready for. She often wondered if he would kiss her when they went on one of their few walks around the Hogwarts grounds together, but he had abstained. Hermione realized now that this had been for the better since they were currently "just friends" anyway, and she wouldn't want to give her first kiss away to "just a friend". But after hearing countless swoons in her Gryffindor dorm room over dates and snogging sessions, Hermione had felt a little left out.

She stood up from the chair and slipped quietly to the nearby bathroom. Staring into the oval-shaped mirror over the sink, she silently appraised herself. Her hair had calmed down a bit, it was much less bushy than it had been before thanks to Madame Malkin's Creamy Conditioner, and it now fell down past her shoulders in a mix of waves and ringlets. Ginny had given it to her as an early birthday present a week ago, since she would not be here for the end of August, but Hermione hadn't used it until this afternoon, afraid that it would destroy her hair. She had never been trusting with cosmetic magic, but apparently Ginny was correct. She had said it would have nearly the same effect the potion Hermione had used at the Yule Ball had. Thoughts of the Yule Ball reminded her of Viktor, and she quickly went back to assessing herself.

She had always liked her eyes, which were noticeably large but lovely, with a deep brown color that reminded Hermione of hot chocolate. Her skin was not alabaster, nor was it deeply tanned, but a pleasant peaches and cream color. She looked down and slowly turned her body around clockwise. Well, she had always been painfully thin, but after the summer was over she was sure to have a developing figure. So despite her chin being a tad pointy and her eyebrows in desperate need of plucking, Hermione concluded that she was rather pretty.

So why didn't boys like her, she wondered dispiritedly as she walked back to the library. Why weren't they knocking down her door to have a date with her? Why wasn't her room filled with owls patiently waiting for her to untie the dozens of sappy love letters boys had sent her? She slumped back into her armchair and roughly bit into another cookie, disregarding the fact that her parents would be angry with her later for eating too many sweets. Before this year she wouldn't have given a fig if boys had or hadn't liked her. She had been too busy with her schoolwork and upcoming projects to care about the other half of the species. But after the Yule Ball and finally getting some attention from a boy, it had changed her. She still cared about her schoolwork and classes more than anything, but she supposed she could make time for a few dates or even a boyfriend now and then. Except that she really didn't understand boys. It was times like these that you expected them to be superficial and go for a pretty face, but instead they were chased away by a sharp intellect, bossy manner, and devotion to learning. It was the same reason Harry and Ron hadn't liked her in their first year.

Hermione bit her lip worriedly when she thought of Harry. He had cheered up considerably during the train ride home and was much more animated than he had been during the whole week. He had even been able to tell them what had happened that fateful last trial of the Triwizard Cup. And really, hexing Malfoy and his goons would certainly lift anyone's spirits, she remembered with a gleeful smile. However the look she spied in Harry's bottle-green eyes after she had said her goodbye to him told her that he was still feeling horribly guilty. Impulsively she had kissed his cheek, something she would have never done had he not looked so disconsolate, and Hermione thought it understandably so seeing as he had to live with three hateful Muggles for the next three months. But still, she wondered if she could invite him over for a time during the summer to cheer him up. Unlike the rest of the male population (excluding Ron of course) she wouldn't be nervous with just Harry in the house.

She glanced at her watch and realized that it was time for her to set a bowl out for Crookshanks. Not that the cat really needed it, he spent too much of his time hunting in the nearby forest to be bothered with a bowl of cat food, but Hermione couldn't help but place a bowl out for him. Just in case. She walked through the kitchen, spying her parents drinking their coffee at the table and reading the paper, and proceeded into the pantry, leaning down to open the small bag of feed. She had just scooped enough to fill the bowl to brimming when she heard sharp taps against the kitchen's window. Curious, she glanced over at it, spotting an owl frantically nipping at the glass. With raised eyebrows she hurried to the window and opened it, allowing the white and brown speckled Barn Owl to swoop in. It perched on the countertop and held its letter-beleaguered leg outstretched to her. She freed the green envelope from its leg, petted it momentarily in thanks and opened the unexpected letter. She wondered briefly if her earlier wishes had come true and this indeed was the first of many love letters that would be arriving tonight. The familiar loopy green handwriting on the parchment and now broken crest stamped on the envelope however, told her it was not from a love-stricken boy. It was from school.

Her parents glanced up from their engrossed reading for the first time, noticing their daughter's still form. Ms. Granger's soft blue eyes took in the letter held faintly in Hermione's hand and the perplexed look on her face.

"What is it dear? Who's the letter from?" She asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

"It's from Professor McGonagall," she stated, looking up at them, "They want us at Hogwarts."