The Sugar Quill
Author: AmyWeatherwax  Story: Custodiam Meum - I Will Protect What Is Mine  Chapter: Chapter Two: What's in a Name?
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Custodiam Meum - I Will Protect What Is Mine: Chapter Two

What’s in a Name?

We now skip to post-GoF, as our heroes return to Hogwarts for their 5th year.

It had been an anxious summer for all good citizens of the wizarding world and the chatter in the Great Hall was unnaturally bright, students young and old obviously letting out their tension now they were safe behind the strong, familiar walls of Hogwarts. Harry and Ron hurried into the nearly full hall, almost late again for the start of term feast, and quickly slid into the spaces Hermione had saved for them halfway up the Gryffindor table.

There was a sudden hush as Dumbledore led the teachers to their places at the high table and nodded to Professor McGonagall to bring the first-years in. Harry settled down to watch the Sorting, finding the age-old ceremony vaguely comforting, and applauding gladly with the rest of Gryffindor whenever a nervous but smiling first year jumped off the stool and scuttled to their table.

McGonagall came to the end of her scroll of names, re-rolled it and looked over at Dumbledore. The headmaster cast a kindly eye over the faces turned towards him.

‘Well, well. We have one more new student to sort. She will be joining the fifth year, so hope her class will make her feel welcome.’

The fifth-years in the Hall had time only to glance at each other in surprise before the side door by the teachers’ table opened once more and McGonagall with a queer twitch of her lips intoned, ‘Malfoy, Eden.’

At this, surprised whispers erupted all over the room and people craned their necks, first to see the new girl and then to catch Draco’s reaction. His face was a picture to behold.

‘He certainly looks surprised,’ whispered Hermione.

‘What are you, the queen of understatement?’ Ron threw back, causing Hermione to give him a dirty look. ‘He looks like Mad-Eye Moody just whispered “ferret” in his ear!’

‘Well, perhaps that means they’re not related,’ she returned with calm logic, ‘otherwise he would’ve known she was coming and wouldn’t be looking like that.’

‘Hey, if I was called Malfoy and I wasn’t one, then I’d have changed my name.’

Hermione fell silent, clearly having some difficulty with Ron’s logic.

With the Sorting Hat jammed down on her head, Harry couldn’t see enough of ‘Malfoy, Eden’s’ appearance to settle the question one way or the other. The Hat certainly seemed to be taking its time in choosing a House for her. Surely if she was one of ‘the’ Malfoys she’d go straight into Slytherin.

The voice of the Sorting Hat cut through the subsiding whispers as it announced firmly, ‘Ravenclaw!’ The Ravenclaws looked rather shocked at this, but managed some half-hearted clapping, led mostly by the house prefects. McGonagall lifted the overlarge hat from the new Ravenclaw’s head and Harry got his first proper look at her. Her hair was cropped rather short, and mussed by the weight of the hat, neither dark nor blonde, but brownish with lighter streaks running through it as if bleached by the sun. Definitely the sun, he thought, his eyes moving to the tanned oval of her face. Her face. Even from this distance he recognised the cheekbones, the rather sharp chin, the pale eyes. He turned his back on the Ravenclaw table. The girl was now sitting amongst the new first-years, looking tense and out of place.

‘She’s a Malfoy, alright,’ Harry’s voice was slightly harsh.

Hermione looked startled at his grim tone. ‘But why did the Hat put her in Ravenclaw, I wonder?’ She seemed ready to settle into typical problem-solving mode.

Ron glanced at Harry’s uncommunicative expression, ‘Well, the other Malfoy doesn’t look very happy about it, so one to her, nil to Draco, I say.

‘Anyway, back to more important things, like when are we going to try out those Quidditch balls that . .’ Ron lowered his voice slightly, ‘Snuffles . . gave you for your birthday, Harry?’

‘Tomorrow, definitely,’ Harry grinned back at Ron. Whatever the Malfoy mystery was he was sure it was not his problem.

//
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