The Witch Huntress And The Spoiled Pureblood's friendship

by ObservingMorgoth

Summary:

In European folklore, the seventh son of the seventh son, without any sisters disrupting the purely male line, was believed to inherit magical abilities. Although it wasn't just the Seventh son of the Seventh son, the Seventh daughter of the seventh daughter was possible too, probably didn't sound as good, so they left it out, for that and less 'charitable' reasons

Or

The wizards and witches whole 'WE CANT LET THE MUGGLES FIND US :(' out is actually valid.

And somehow Draco and a weird 'reserve' girl have something to do with it?

Draco is a brilliant, amazing pureblood who's at the top of his year (or would be if it wasn't for that ANNOYING mudblood); however, lately he's been having doubts, especially with how strange his father is acting lately. But how did it get him here with some weird reserve girl who has somehow not killed him yet for whatever reason?

Chapter 1: A History hidden by the winners

Summary:

Unfortunately, Beedle the Bard was taken away shortly after the story was written. Rumor has it that it is for a magical soothsaying. ministry are not disclosing.
̵̢̨̡̛̩͙͖͕̻͈̝̩̦͓͔̓̆̍͂̋̑̂̔̓̃̎̿̾̀͒͊̐̌͒̎̏͊̂͛̓̀̆̍̓̑͂̃̈́͗̇̕̕̚̕͝͝͝ͅ ̶̛̭̫̪͎͓͔̫͍̝̋͛̃͗͋͋͐̌́̀̿͆̓̊̓͂̌͐̆̎̐̈́͐̇̓̈̔͘̚͜͝ ̶̧̡̡̫͖̮̮̳̬͕͕̖̺̼͓̯̠͉͚̰̘̦̩̥̣̝̙̺̙͇̰̻̫͛͛̃̏̾̆͑̒̈́̀̈̅͆̉̿͋̄͊̅̋̿̀͂̑͐̇̿̽́͆͗̑͛̒̚̚̚͝͝͠ͅͅ ̵̧̫͚̳̲̤̥͈͉̝̱͕̳̜̜͚̰̠̤̠̣̫́̒́̋̈̉́͛̒̚͜͝͠ͅͅ ̶̛͕̲͍̘̳́̽̔͋̓̓͗͗̂͗̿̍̌̄̾͑̏͑̃̐̂̅̂̀̈́͌̽̓̔̍̐̒͌͋̚̕͝͝͝͠ ̶̧̛̛̱̦̳̹͇̹̥̥̜̟̖̪̟̬̙̓̈̌̈̆̈́͌̅͊̏̓͒̎̀͐́̌͌̎͆̏͆̆̈́̒͂̀̀̆̃͌́̕̚͝͠͠͠͝ ̸̧̧͙̺̜̙͍̗̘̻͍̮̙̞̠̥͎̗͈̹̦̙̗͖́͂̋̄̽̒̐̚͝ ̴̨̨̺̟̤͉̙͓̹̗͕̲̙̙͕̟̏̔͛͐͂̌̍̌́͑̎͋̽̋͝͝͝ ̵̢̧̧̢̢̢͖̟̭͈͍͎̞͇̺̤͍͕̯̠̪͍̼̘̞͖͉̪̮̩̥̯̬̦́͆̓͋̒̒̓̇̉̽̉͌̔͗̈́͋̚͜͠ͅͅ ̸̨̢̧̡̬̬̭̘̖̠̪̠̩̯̜̘̫͚̹̖̹͇̞̗͔͔̯̰̟̝̘̖̯̱̞͕̲̿̓͆̀̂͆̑̃͗̏̉̽͛̈́̽͐͋̔̿̎͐̏̊̒̕͜͠͝ ̸̛̟͇̹͇̫͍̼̦̻̻̙̬̦͓̩̞̯͙͎̪̺͕͚̪͔̟͔̋̇̀͋͐̃̎̋̇͗̃̂̊̀̅̎̆̃͊͐̓̋̍͊̌͋͐͘̚͘͘͜͝͝͠͠͝͠ ̶͓͓̰̙̙̮͕̼̣͙̪̝̝̮͍̻̊͊̇́̋͛̂͐͌͌̓͒͊̚̚͝͠
-̶̡̨̨̡̢̳̜̹̤̺̥͈͓̫̼̦͈̙̭̘̻͎̘͉̥͙͇̪̫̙͕̪̼̍̎̓̋̒͘͠ͅͅ

 

The winners hide history.

 

Many moons ago, When witches and wizards still lived among the muggles and were more or less accepted.

 

Three brothers, travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight, reached a deep, treacherous river where anyone who attempted to swim or wade would drown. Learning in the magical arts, the brothers conjured a bridge with their wands and proceeded to cross.

 

Death on the bridge

Halfway through the bridge, a hooded figure stood before them. The figure was the enraged spirit ofDeathh, cheated of his due. Death cunningly pretended to congratulate them and proceeded to award them with gifts of their choosing.

The eldest brother, a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence. Death granted his wish by fashioning the Elder Wand from a branch of a nearby elder tree standing on the banks of the river. The second brother, an arrogant man, chose to humiliateDeathh further and asked for the power to recall the deceased from the grave. Death granted his wish by crafting the Resurrection Stone from a stone picked from the riverbank. The third and youngest brother, who was the most humble and wise, did not trust Death and asked for something to enable him to go forth without Death being able to follow—a reluctant Death, most unwillingly, handed over his invisibility cloak. The three brothers took their prizes and soon went on their separate ways.

The eldest brother travelled to a village where a wizard with whom he had quarrelled lived. He sought out a duel and fought the wizard using the wand, instantly killing the latter. Leaving his enemy dead on the floor, the eldest brother walked to an inn not far from the duelling site and spent the night there. Taken by his conscience and lust for the Elder Wand's power, the eldest brother boasted of this wand gifted byDeathh and his invincibility. That very night, an unknown murderous wizard crept up to the eldest brother as he slept, drunk from wine. The wizard stole the wand and then murdered the oldest brother by slitting his throat for good measure. That was when Death took the first brother for his own.

 

"Greeting Death as an old friend, they departed this life as equals."

The middle brother returned to his home, where he lived alone. Turning the stone thrice in his hand, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry before her untimely death appeared at once before him, much to his delight. Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally, the middle brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, commits suicide by hanging so as to join her. That was when Death took the second brother on his own.

As the years passed, Deathh searched for the youngest brother but never succeeded. Only when the third brother reached a great age did he take off the Cloak of Invisibility and give it to his son. GreetingDeathh as an old friend, they departed this life as equals. The Deathly Hallows is a well-known and beloved made-up story by Beedle, the bard.

Or so you'd think. However, an untold part of the story is conveniently left out to avoid criticism lest the books be removed from the libraries.

Beedle the bard already had his fair share of experience writing things the wizarding community wouldn't approve of. And he wanted this story to be read. Because Beedle the Bard had a rare, unique magical ability, its scarcity rivalled Metmorphagus's. It belonged to fortune-telling magic, branching off from Seers. By only feeling an item or a thing, Soothsayers can see the object's past, present, and future with a single touch. It is a powerful but unfortunate ability, for it is widely coveted for what it can do. Beedle the bard knew; he knew everything.

From the psychopathic Voldemort and his evil death-eater lackeys to the magnificent Harry Potter baby killer of the dark lord and the Golden trio. He knew what to do, even if he had to smother the ugly truth of the three brothers from The Deathly Hallows.

 

The brothers, Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus, abhorred muggles with a burning passion; They thought they were stealing magic from wizards and witches, turning them into squibs, and that muggleborns were the result.

It didn't make any sense at all. But it was what they thought.

The Peverell brothers were not the first to start this centuries-long prejudice against muggles. However, Antioch had taken it a step too far, Causing centuries-long hate. Villages had been burnt down to ashes by the three brothers, and children and women died by the hundreds.

Men were tortured with spells, hexes, and curses made by these brothers and their followers for sick entertainment. Crucio, Imperius, and even the most horrible spell. Avada Kedavra. The brothers Were the Original darklords. Where do you think Voldemort got the inspiration for his Deatheater lackeys? 

Man couldn't come up with a good name if his life depended on it, and that's evident in what he calls himself.

Eventually, the two younger siblings are forever scarred by the unforgivable sins they have committed. Knowing they couldn't defeat their brother, who was drunk on power and wine, Their hearts and magic failed to do so. They run away from the eldest, wanting to take no more part in this atrocity they had contributed to.

The eldest, as known in the original, is killed by a vengeful wizard but whom the eldest murdered, the wizard's muggle wife. (or so is thought...)

The middle last-ditch attempt to fix things tried to bring back his beloved, only for her to be an empty shell of the vibrant young woman he loved, with all this pressure and his sins weighing heavily on his shoulders. He took his life.

In the end, the youngest is the sole survivor. He was determined to fix his wrongs, leaving his adolescent son to continue his legacy.

However, a karmic turn of events triggered the start of a dark age: the witch trials. Muggle men and women, tired of living in a neverending state of fear and wondering if their children will survive for tomorrow or if their village will be next to burn. So they searched endlessly for something to counter a wizard/witch's magic.

And finally, when mining, the thing they very desired was brought to them.

Amber, crystallized tree sap that sucks things in, Insects, dirt, spiders but also... magic. That of wizards or witches. In even a ten-foot radius of this crystal and a magic user will be sucked dry of all talent, left as nothing more but a strong magic squib. If real squibs are near it, they will likely die; their small amount of magic will be gone, leaving them an empty husk of their former self. This doesn't work with people whose magic was born into them (for example, Metamorphagus and seers), but their wand magic will be too gone. It's not permanent (at least in most cases), but it will take months, maybe even a year, before they are entirely whole again.

Then the magical folks all went into hiding, muggles eventually forgetting they existed and only becoming a scary story for children to stay in bed... Except for the witch hunters, they carried on their brutal legacy of killing wizards and witches in secret. Their goal is to murder all magical people to 'protect' the innocent muggles. And that's why the wizards and witches are so terrified of muggles finding; that would mean that the witch hunters are able to hunt them down more quickly.

If anyone's reading this, I'm likely deceased. Hunted down by the bloodhounds of the ministry. It was a significant risk to write this. But what else do I have to live for?

 

to this dear reader who has found my likely banned book. Spread awareness tells the unspoken truth the upper classes have hidden.

 

Jacob Mercury

 

 

BANNED!

 

Notes:

The minastry and magical society and the dark lord: Muggles are EVEIL! they attacked us for no reason and their killing us all
The Witch Hunters: No we fucking didn't, YOU GUYS STARTED IT

So, hey guys, what do you think of the fic so far?

Chapter 2: The meeting of polar opposites yet, not so opposite

Summary:

Two children meet, both raised with prejudice and unfair hate and yet so different. It happens as you think it will between a Witch Hunter child and a Privileged wizard boy. Both monsters to the other, yet so similar

Warning!: *Vent*

✩"𝓓Ⓡ𝔞𝐂𝔬 ϻ𝔞l𝓕ⓞⓎ"✭

 

Clouds swirled in various shapes of forms. I saw one cloud that I swear looked like A snake. The sky was a colourful canvas painted in multiple shades of gold, orange, and pink, courtesy of the sinking sun.

 

As much as I missed being in the manor, it was incredibly dull. Unlike Hogwarts, There wasn't much to do around my house. Here, everything was served to me on a silver platter (Literally!) I could attain anything I wanted with just a 'Mother, Father please!'. Merlin, I wouldn't even need to walk because my House Elves would walk for me! I sighed, Which I was more than happy about. I was grateful for being a pureblood; being a part of the most ancient and noble house of Malfoy was an honour beyond compare, And we were also, like, crazy rich, with only the Blacks, The Potters, and the Prewetts able to match, And that's without counting the fact that I was ALSO the heir to the most noble and ancient house of black. My whole life is set for me, from the day I was born to the last breath I take from this world.

My lips curled in distaste at that rather morbid thought,

So what if I yearned for a younger sibling to boss around, annoy, talk to and do all sorts of childish things together beneath my standards? Being an only child meant that I was the sole heir to the Black and Malfoy fortune; it beats having as many siblings as the Weasleys!

I shuddered at even humouring the idea of that ever happening.

Besides, I doubt my parents would even be biologically able to have another. It was a miracle I was born with no significant defects, Let alone born at all.

 

I stretched out like a cat on one of the grassy hills in the hundreds of acres that my father owned. My lank blonde fringe blew in the crisp breeze, going up my sleeves and giving me goosebumps, but I didn't mind.

In the corner of my eye, I saw a greyish-brown blob with a lustrous purple neck. My mood immediately brightened.

 

With outstretched hands and sitting up from my lying position, I welcomed the newcomer.

 

"Matilda!" I called out to my favourite peafowl. Matilda 'elegantly' yanked her head out of her bowl, licking the dust on her beak after she turned her neck to me. She began strutting towards me (not before letting out an earsplitting squeak), Leaving triangular shapes in the mud ground she was initially on. She then pounced on me and sat right in the middle chest. I giggled at how much it reminded me of a cat. Matilda, out of all the Peacocks in the yard, was the friendliest...

I pushed her down to my stomach so I could breathe.

But also the heaviest. Gently, I stroked her head.

 

Mother and Father always asked why she was my favourite, considering she was so plain, even among all the female Peacocks, as was her personality. 'A blank slate', 'mrschubs' they nickname her. But I knew under her mild act, she was a fighter.

I remembered that story Grandfather 'Braxy' (may he rest in peace) told me of Matilda biting off Great-Grandfather's dick (may he and his dick rest in peace). He took away her food bowl because he thought she was getting too 'plump'. It took years for Great Grandfather's length to be restored to its former (deformed birth defected) glory.

 

I thought it was a fantastic story that showcased Matilda's fiery spirit. However, my parents begged to differ.

 

'A savage beast, that bird!" "I Have no idea why Great Great Grandfather refused to put her down." "Let me guess, He thought he could 'fix her'"

 

Apparently, my parents intensely disliked me telling that story, too.

 

"You see that Peahen, That's Matilda " I pointed a pale, pudgy finger towards a rather dull-looking Peafowl.

"What's a Peahen?" Gregory asked, squinting his dark eyes. "A Peahen is a female Peafowl dummy!" I exclaimed, annoyed at my companion's oblivious's

 

"What's a Peafowl?" I slapped my forehead in frustration, Annoyed by being bombarded with so many questions despite not even saying who Matilda was yet.

 

"A Peafowl is a Peacock!" Snapping, answering Vincent's ludicrous question. He flinched back before frantically nodding.

 

"Ohhhhh. I get it! But why is Matilda so boring-looking? I figured you'd like something more flashy. What about that one over there?" Said Blaise, gesturing to the group of other male Peafowls walking among the longer grass, looking for mates, and having much more splendorous vibrance,

I glared at my group of friends, daring them to say one more word. Pansy immediately quit her yapping to some other purebloods I didn't bother to learn the names of, Joining in with the silence. The only thing breaking the silence was the adults and their nonstop chatting of "He's got his mother's glare" and or "He looks so much like you when you were younger, Narcissa. But he sure does look a lot like Lucius, too." But they weren't a part of my world right now.

"Now, as I was saying before, being RUDELY interrupted, MULTIPLE TIMES!. That is Matilda; She is a Peahen, Not the prettiest. But certainly the coolest" My mother gave me a look of a threat, warning me to be careful about what I was going to say. I gulped before resuming, Not understanding what I should be reserved about.

 

"Why is she the coolest?" Pansy blurted. My mother subtly shifted away from the banquet table and nearer to me, tightening her grip on my narrow toddler shoulders. To everyone else, this was a gesture of love and adoration, but to me, it was a portent of looming peril. Not that I was going to stop; I was a spiteful and stubborn child, and being interrupted one too many times made me less than willing.

 

"Because she bit my great great Grandfathers dick-"

 

Before I could finish my sentence, I was slapped hard on the head by Mother; Gasps were heard all over the room.

 

My noggin hurt in phantom pain. It was the first summer solstice party I attended at the ripe age of five. For a week, I was banned from desserts and flying my broom—SO UNFAIR! But whatever, it was such a long time ago. I looked back at the feathery lump on my tummy. There was nothing I could do now...

 

... after a few minutes of moping.

I suddenly heard a pop interrupting my reminiscing. There, I saw a tiny house elf with lilac skin and big, blue, dopey gazes. It was not the same silver colour as me, but the colour of a storming sea, which deviated wildly from their otherwise pastel and harmless palette. She looked very different from the other elves; I wonder why.

"Veepy, what are you doing here? Dinner is later? " I asked the female house elf, Giving her a 'You dare disturb me' and mustering up my inner mother. However, the overweight bird sleeping on my lap and the brightly coloured peacocks around me certainly diluted its intensity.

 

"Of course, Mister Malfoy! It's just that Master Malfoy requests your presence. Apologies, Mister Malfoy," Veepy hissed through her teeth, with blush dusting her freckled cheeks pink.

I raised a brow, Reluctantly pushing Matilda off of me.

The bird squawked, flapping away before digging her head back into the food bowl.

"Father wants me? why?"

 

"Apologies Mister Malfoy, But Im not sure"

 

I clenched at the pieces of grass in my hands. Was this going to be a punishment? But what did I do?

 

"Okay, Veepa, You can go now."

 

The Little House elf winced at the name 'Veepa' before giving me a pained, tight-lipped smile before disappearing.

As much as I hated to admit it, She was kind of adorable,

In a derpy, Wide-eyed sort of way.

Father was furious about Dobby's freedom. He wouldn't stop ranting about how unfair and foolish it was.

One day, while hiking through the Malfoys' acres of woodland to produce wands (to blow off some steam), he found Veepa. No one knows why she was there, and Veepa refuses to tell why, either. She simply states, 'I am everywhere, searching for a house to take care of.'

When their father asked Veepa if she was owned, she only gave him an offended look.

'I am not a possession; I am not meant to be owned. I work in exchange for payment." Yeah... as if that was ever going to happen.

Now, with a bit of lie and Slytherin trickery. Veepa was owned by the Malfoy household and meant to serve without payment; I would've felt a bit sorry for her if she hadn't had such an attitude. She only wanted money, which Malfoy has tons of.

 

I stumbled up, brushing off the sparse dirt off of my violet robes.

 

 

 

 

🍭👹Imogen♛💝

 

I hated them; I hated them all. Unwanted tears rolled down my face as the man I called father lectured me.

 

'You treat me as if I'm a pig to kick in the head' .

 

I don't know why! I'm sorry. I said in my mind. I knew that even if I were to tell him, he wouldn't believe me. He'd say I needed to change my attitude, but I'm trying! Why doesn't he get that?

 

'And now you are crying to make us feel bad for you .

 

I don't want to cry! I'm not trying to! I wiped my eyes. I'm just crying.

He eventually left, closing the door to my dark room. I was crying into a teddy; I was likely too old to be having one.

I hated crying and being a crybaby. But I couldn't help it,

 

Why am I like this?

 

....

 

"I'll make you breakfast-"

 

"I'll do it."

 

Dad glared at me with a look of shock.

 

"what?"

 

I grimaced.

"I said I'd do it." I walked to the kitchen to make my food. His face went patchy pink.

 

"You think you're so independent? Thinking, 'Oh I don't need dad.'

I dissociated. Staring at the bright green cap of grass, I took off the milk carton to pour into my light and right cereal. Sitting down on his seat, he gestured over to me to stay on the couch. "Sit down"

My heart dropped, "N-no".

"Sit down"

"I don't want to!"

Dad looked at me, and before I knew it, I sat down, dissociating again. This time, I looked at the yellow towel on the kitchen counter. I don't remember what he said, but it still hurt anyway.

It was my fault, I knew. Yesterday, I sneaked down with the phone despite knowing I wasn't allowed to. I got caught by Mum and was in trouble. I would've given it to her, but then Aiden just had to come and just annoy me. He said, 'He'd get it for Mum. ' Then he looked around SO happily, and he said, ' Where was it ? ' I said I didn't know, but mum kept saying I had something. And it was so loud. Upstairs, Dad yelled, what's going on, and she told him, and I knew I was fucked.

 

Then he came down, The traitor. He told Dad, and now he was calling the phone. Aiden stared at me with this shit-eating grin; I hated him; I HATED HIM! I got so angry that I pushed him into the wall; I stared at my quivering hands. I didn't mean to do that; why did I do it? Aiden had a pained look on his face; He wasn't too badly injured.

Notes:

They'll meet soon don't worry!

Chapter 3: Harry Potter and the mystery of the blonde pureblood: chapter 1

Summary:

Harry Potter knows Malfoy, his rival, is up to something. But what?

Harry Potter Pov:

 

I couldn't sleep in my dorm, not with Ron, my best friend, being distant, nor with the tournament happening soon.

I sat on one of the benches, my invisibility cloak wrapped tightly around me, determined to unravel the mystery. Why didn't he believe me? I didn't put my name in the goblet of fire on purpose . ( Little did Harry know that wasn't the only reason Ron was angry.)   Did I do something that makes him think I did? Should I ask him? Should I apologize for what I did? For a moment, I nearly found a solution, But then I had a relapse.

Oh, whatever. Why should I feel sorry? He's the one being an arse . I thought grouchily, resolving my thought process. Ron should say sorry to ME! I lay on the stiff wooden bench, feeling quite sleepy. Anyone who hasn't been sleeping on the solid floor of a compact cupboard all their life would be rather uncomfortable. But I couldn't feel better (that was a lie). Just before I could drift off to sleep, I suddenly heard the soft footsteps of someone tiptoeing down the hallway. At first, I had only dismissed it as just Filch's cat; ever since Mrs. Norris was cured of their petrification, The once overweight was now very mobile and in a much more suitable state. That cat was more appreciative of moving after feeling what it was like, not even to be able to blink.

However, as it approached, I realized it was much too heavy to be a cat. I opened my eyes to catch sight of who, Perhaps Dumbledore? I mean, I have never seen Dumbledore move anywhere other than his head office (except that time with the mirror). For someone who lived that long, he must have done exercise or, more likely, Snape that greasy dungeon bat (I still have a grudge against him for letting Pettigrew away). But it really took me by surprise to see who it actually was.

 

MALFOY!

 

They were strolling down. They appeared to be holding a satchel and were still in their Hogwarts uniforms. I noticed that his hair was half tied back in a ponytail. There was no denying that he looked like his father, but he looked more like his mother in that hairstyle; there was a determined look in their grey eyes that looked silver in the moonlight; their slim eyebrows were furrowed, and hands were clenched into fists. I have never seen that face on him, at least not whenever he's around me. I kind of wanted to see more of it like any rival would do; no homo . They must have been up to something because it's MALFOY! Were enemies ! So I sneaked behind him, trying to see what other nasty Slytherin things he was trying to do. It's not like I had anything to do since my best friend didn't really want to hang out with me.

Then the STUPID 1-pound shoes that I got in a garage sale squeaked against the floor. Malfoy stopped moving and snapped his towards me so fast it risked whiplash. Malfoy slowly started to walk to me,

 

I FUCKED UP! With every step he took forward, I went backward; I was careful not to make my shoes squeak again. Eventually, my back hit the wall. Malfoy reached out to me. He was about to take off my invisibility cloak, but I managed to duck. ( Plot armor is really something, isn't it?)

The blonde's hand grabbed at thin air, and Malfoy's eyes widened for only a moment before relaxing again and storming off. He grumbled something along the lines of 'Why am I so paranoid? Pottah is probably taking a nice nap in his Griffendork dormitories, dreaming about how cool the tournament is. It took a few minutes of waiting for Malfloy to be out of earshot for me to go after him again. Now, I am much more careful with my walking even though Malfoy couldn't hear me. I pursued him all the way to the entry of the forbidden forest. What was he doing there?

The teen tiredly rubbed his eyes.

I watched as Malfoy uncorked the bottle of Wideye potion he fished out of his bag and drank it all in one gulp. I was impressed with his gag reflex,

That stuff was nasty, But it sure as hell woke you up, that was for sure.

Just before moving again, He turned around. His eyes flickered side to side at least six times before calling out and saying,

"Golden trio, if you guys are here somehow by any means or reason, and I just can't see you, I swear to Salazar I will hex you to next Samhain so fast you will be puking slugs like the second year, right Ronald?" Malfoy smugly stated before smirking after being met with silence and continuing with, "Golden trio of fools." Then Malfoy fled into the woods.

 

I stayed still for a second,

I knew the 'The golden trio of fools' was just a weak, childish insult, but he seemed so full of it. And then that was when I realized,

HE DOUBLE INSULTED ME (and Ron and Hermione)

Self-righteousness filled me, but I knew there was no point in getting angry. It would only blow my cover. Besides, I was used to my aunt's scathing remarks, so that insult was nothing. Then why does it annoy me so much more?...

 

I tried to continue tracking down Malfoy, But I got caught up in how different the Forbidden Forest was since I last saw it.

 

Even though the night was still young and as dark as anything outside the woods, the forest was somehow bright and colorful, and the sky was still a fresh blue. How was that possible? Ask lady magic. In the end, due to my fault, I lost Malfoy's trial. Where the heck was he?

Panic crept into me. Wait, why the hell am I panicking!?

All night, I searched until I eventually gave up and went back to Hogwarts since I had to change into my uniform and run all the way to the dining room at lightning speed. Huffing and puffing, I sat down next to Hermione, who gave me a questioning look, thinly veiling the look of disappointment as she looked at my messy demeanor. Her nose twitched with disgust, and so did everybody. Damn, do I really smell so horrible?

 

"Hermione, Do I smell bad?" I asked her in a whisper tone.

She gave me a regretful face as she said, "Yes, you do; you smell like you have been out in about in a forest for months. How did you make yourself smell like that?" If she knew, I felt the tips of my ears heat up. I smelled my armpit, and P EW, I DID SMELL HORRIBLE.

I guessed that Hermione caught on that I was embarrassed because she immediately took out a small bottle of perfume in her pocket (I don't know what it was doing there) and handed it over to me.

 

"Here, use it so you don't smell so awful." She ordered, watching me as I sprayed myself with lady perfume. I didn't want to, but it was better than smelling like I had lived in horse manure all my life.

"I would use an air freshener charm on you, but I still haven't figured it out," Hermione remarked, her cheeks dusting pale pink. Despite Hermione being so far up in class and always called 'the brightest witch of her age,' she had low self-esteem due to the fact she was muggleborn and that her magic was not as strong as most purebloods or half-bloods because of that.

 

"It's okay 'Mione, at least you haven't left like a certain someone ." I snarked, looking directly at a pale ginger blotch in the corner of my eye

Hermione winced; she didn't need to know who I was looking at to understand who I was referring to.

"Harry, I don't know. Let's give him some space. He'll probably apologize sooner or later."

"But he's my best mate, and he's acting like this! " My voice was calm, but there was a tilt to it, showing that I was struggling to maintain my tone.

He's been with me since year one, and now he's avoiding me. Why? Because he's jealous!

 

Ron looked uncomfortable, probably feeling our stares burning into the side of his face. Good. I hope he's awkward.

I was going to continue my absolutely fascinating rant about Ron until I saw him. I couldn't believe my eyes. Malfoy was here. Sitting right behind me on the Slytherin table. I wouldn't have thought much of it if it wasn't for the fact that Malfoy looked neat as ever; he should look so much worse if he came back after me unless He got back before. HOW!?

The prick, annoying as ever, grinned, talking to his lackeys.

I walked over to where he was sitting. He looked at me with confusion and annoyance. Malfoy stopped talking to his friends.

"What?" he asked, Gazing at me with his grey eyes—the same as my godfather's. Yet I knew Sirius's eyes would never look at me with anything but fondness, let alone irritation. The other Slytherins glared at me with disdain. If looks could kill, I would be dead over a hundred times.

 

"Where were you?" I interrogated Malfoy.

"Where do you think? The Slytherin dormitories obviously."

To the naked eye, he appeared calm and collected, but I knew he wasn't by the ways he fiddled with his buttons and how he looked away. Spending four years with your enemies, always making your life a living hell, would teach you that. (You're not fooling anyone, Harry)

 

"No, you weren't. I know you were not there." People raised eyebrows at this comment, and the Slytherin table suddenly quieted. I wonder why that was.

"Pottah, please stop. You're humiliating yourself," Malfoy sniffed the air. "And is that lady perfume? I mean, I knew you smelled horrible, but resorting to perfume? How low can you go?" I could hear the table snickering. I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, well, at least I'm not an old man," Malfoy gaped at that comment. The table gasped. I noticed Malfoy's two friends. Blaise seemed to relish in the pale blonde's mortification, much to Malfloy's chagrin, and Pansy looked like she was ready to throw fists.

 

"Excuse me? Are you calling me an old man?" All in earshot were barely holding it in.

 

"Well, not really. More like the ghost of an old man," I said, still feeling rather petty about that 'Golden trio of fools' insult. Everyone burst out in laughter. Even Pansy smiled while Malfoy's face turned bright red. He didn't look like a ghost anymore now; he resembled more of a ripe tomato.

 

"W-WELL AT LEAST IM NOT DIRTY." ( Disclaimer: Draco is not being racist because racism in Skintone doesn't exist in the magical world)

 

RACIST!

 

I was shocked.

 

"Excuse me, Draco, What am I? My skin is darker than his!" Blaise yelled, elbowing Malfoy. All the Muggleborns and the Halfbloods who were raised muggle-style in Slytherin jaws were unhinged. In comparison, the purebloods who were bamboozled as to why the others were so shocked.

Hermione looked offended on my part.

 

I walked back to the Gryffindor table; I'll confront him later...

Notes:

Harry: Where were you!?
Draco: In the Slytherin dormitories. Duh
Harry: I know your lying! where were you really
The Slytherin table: This giving toxic yaoi vibes

Did anyone get the Golden Trio of Fools? It starts with a 'p.'
Don't worry, Draco will learn what racism is in the next few chapters.

Chapter 4: We'll meet again. don't know where, don't know when

Summary:

Draco isn't supposed to be out; He's supposed to be recovering. Oh well, Draco's going to get shit for that soon

Imogen Chastain Pov:

 

I climbed down the rocky hillside carefully, not wanting to repeat the time with the wooden stake. I still had some cuts and bruises from that event.

 

"You can get down from there now, Wizard boy," I said, looking unimpressed at the boy up in the tree, thinking he had been sneaky. He was so bad at hiding that I could still even see him from a ten-foot radius distance he was from me.

There was a shocked look on their face, but eventually, they climbed down a bit clumsily. Initially, I had been scared shitless by the Wizard, Thinking he'd actually kill me this time and that his sparing me was a one-off. But eventually, as weeks passed, Wizard Boy stalking me from far away and meekly scrambling away if I even dared to take a step towards their direction washed away the fear and just annoyed me.

Today, I just had enough, So I will be damned if I get murdered just because of being irritated.

 

"Hey! Come closer; I don't bite," I ordered, crossing my arms as I turned my head to gesture to come forward. The Wizard boy shook his head stubbornly. "N-no, I won't let you," They said, trying to sound brave, but I could clearly hear the fearful undertone.

"Let you what?" I asked, Bamboozled by why they seemed so fearful despite the fact they could kill me in a heartbeat if they really wanted to.

 

"Don't play dumb, Witch Huntress." He sniped, slightly shuffling away from me. His robes billowing in the fresh breeze; he's probably as snug as a bug in those weird medieval clothing.

"I'm not, though?" I noticed he stared intently at my chest the whole conversation. What a perv! "Stop looking at my chest!" I yelled, flustered. I had a more developed chest out of the entire class, and it always embarrassed me to no end. Even though nobody really cared.

 

"What?!" Wizard boy exclaimed, Completely confused.

"You know—wait," I realized. He wasn't staring at my chest but at what was on it ."Is it this?" I held up the amber of my pendant, which had a tiny scorpion inside. Wizard boy nodded.

I looked at the amber in my hands, remembering that rainy night lit up by that honey glow, the scorpion a silhouette in the shining light.

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Dad," A seven-year-old girl with a whispy fringe and long hair down below to just her buttocks said.

"Yes, Imogen?" a man with wirey dark grey hair and bristled stubble that scratched when you went to hug him answered. His kind blue eyes with golden flecks were filled with fondness—eyes that her brothers and she didn't inherit. "Why do we wear these necklaces?" she asked, holding up her necklace and staring at the scorpion within it. "Their really heavy and we have to wear them all the time." Then, she looked back up at her father's blotchy skin. While the man didn't lose the fondness within them, the icy depths of the eyes now had a certain dark, complex mirth within them. It is too complex for a young child ever to understand till they are much older.

 

"Witches," The father plainly stated.

 

"Witches? Like Rhoal Dahl?" the girl questioned. Do they eat children, too? Am I in danger!?" The girl spiraled, her father laughing at her mortification. "No, not those witches." The man cleared his throat. His voice fell to a more solemn tone. "Much worse..." He looked away.

"How much worse can they be if they don't eat children?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised with how horrible they can get, " the man chuckled. "Okay, so what are they like?"...

 

" Monsters, With all sorts of spells and potions to bring you harm. Jinxes and curses to slice you up into little pieces and put you in their mince pie." The man said.

"Really!? So they do eat children?"

"Adults, too, But your necklace," he points to it.

"Your necklace protects you from them, so never take it off."

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"What would you do If I were to take this necklace off?" I questioned. I look back to Wizard Boy. "How do I know you won't bake me into a pie and eat me? Like the evil sorcerer you are?" I squeezed the piece.

 

The Wizard looked insulted as if I had cursed out all fifteen generations of his ancestors; I swear I heard a small gasp and a 'My father will hear about this.'  

"First of all, What in Merlin are you talking about!? Second, No, I'm not an 'evil sorcerer.' I'm a Witchling. Sorcerers are employees. And thirdly, No. I don't know how to prove it to you. All you can do- Wizard boy looks at me- is trust me." I give him a skeptical glance. "Which considering the circumstances is hard-but trust me." Wizard boy, Urnestness exuding from his pale eyes, fiddles with the bronze button of his robes. I wanted to trust him, But should I? How could I trust him? The very thing my parents have trained me to kill all my life.

 

I took a leap of faith, and that decision changed my life forever. For better or for worse, I'm not sure. All I know is that things would have been very different.

Notes:

Imogen: STOP STARING AT MY BOOBS!
Draco: *confused guy who doesn't realize he's gay* What!?
Imogen: YOU KNOW WHAT- Oh, Sorry

Short chapter, hehe, sorry. Next chapter will be Draco Pov

Chapter 5: They call him Hermit, the frog! He's looking for a dog. Did you find your bitch in meee? Oh your abombinle but socially your just a little too much like me!

Summary:

Two people on two different sides learning what's life like on the other

Draco Malfoy POV:

 

Witch huntress clasped off her pendant and hung it on one of the rocks nearby her. There were a few minutes of awkward silence between both parties, wondering what would happen next. Would I attack Witch Huntress or not, or would she assault me?

"Can I?..." I saw the kitchen knife she was hiding poorly behind her back. Despite the fact that, on some fundamental level, she trusted me, It was obvious she was ready to murder me at any moment I showed even a flicker of a threat. I was all nervous seeing a Hunter with that knife gleaming in the sunlight. Every fibre in my body screamed 'NO,' looking at that sharp weapon. But she had spared me, and not only that, but she also took off that talisman, which was her number one protection against me, even though she shouldn't worry about that in my current state.

Reluctantly, I gestured for her to come closer, and in a moment, she did.

Grey eyes stared into brown. I swear I could see something swirling in them for a moment, like the flint of a dark storm, before it faded away.

We sat down on the grass under the tree. In the shade, the Witch Hunteress's dark brown hair looked black.

 

"So... What's your name?" Witch Hunteress said, breaking the ice. She bit her nails and spit them out when she thought I wasn't looking.

"Malfoy Draco, from the noble and most ancient house of Malfoy." I raised my hand out in a handshake out of habit. The witch hunter looked at my hand, confused, before shaking it with her right hand, the other hand she was using to smother her snickers. I scrunched up my nose.

 

"You find my name funny, do you?" I took back my hand as if I had burned it; I had a dizzying sense of deja vu from year one—the brunette had a sort of rueful look on her face. "Well, at least I can do magic instead of having to clean up things the muggle way." I sneered down at her.

"O-o-oh, please. The fifteenth century called, and they want their fashion back." Imogen stuttered, obviously thinking about what to say a little before saying, rolling her doe eyes. I was befuddled and asked what she meant. "Excuse me! What do you mean by that?" she gazed at me with her resting face; god, why was it so scary looking!? "You know what I mean. You're dressed like you have starred in Monty Python The Holy Grail."

 

"What's the holy grail!?" Her eyes widened.

 

"God, you really have no idea!? HOW!" Why was the girl so surprised?

 

"Ugh, whatever. What's your name?" I groaned. I changed the conversation so I wouldn't have to hear it anymore.

 

"Imogen, Of the most new and ordinary house of Frewen." Witch hunt- Imogen said. "Huh? Strange house name." She rolled her eyes at me again. I noticed the knife in her hand was still tight but getting looser.

 

"So Draco—"Malfoy," Imogen looks at me. It's only polite since we don't know each other." Imogen makes a strange hand sign with only her middle finger up and continues."Okay, Then. What's being magical like?"

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"C'mon, what's it like flying with rickety broomsticks and gigantic pointy hats with a cauldron the size of Mars?"

 

"What the merlin are you talking about!?"

 

She gasps, "Merlins real!? What's he like?" Morgana's nickers she really is clueless.

 

"you mean what he was like? He died hundreds of years ago, and yes, I will tell you. Merlin was born during the old times, thousands of years after the witch trials, and attended Hogwarts, being sorted into Slytherin- My house." I smirked smugly. "What's a house? and Hogwarts? Like the warts of hogs?"

I sighed.

 

"No, not the 'Warts of hogs,' It's Hogwarts, School for Witchcraft and wizardry. And Slytherin is one of the four houses of Hogwarts. The other three are Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and-" My smile dropped a bit.

 

" Gryffindor "

 

"Are you okay?" She looked concerned.

 

"Of course I am! What makes you think I'm not?" I snapped, crossing my arms and huffing dramatically. She stayed silent.

 

"Anyways, Merlin was the most famous, most powerful wizard of all time. He is rumored to have possibly been taught by Salazar Slytherin himself—one of the four founders of Hogwarts and the original head of Slytherin's house. There's a myth that Merlin's wand was made of English oak, But since his body was never found, nobody really knows because his wand was buried with him."

 

"Wand? Wait, don't tell me you guys actually use wands, right?"

 

"Uh yeah? How else do you expect us to channel are magic, With are hands?"

 

Imogen's almond brown cheeks were dusted with a light pink, somehow?

"Uh... Maybe? I don't know. I watched way too many paranormal films for my good!"

 

"Films? What are films."

 

Imogen blanched. "You don't know..." I shook my head.

"Oh my god! What is going on in your world!?

 

"I'd ask the same thing."

 

"Okay..." She replied. Crossing her legs, The knife was out of her hands.

"Well, you need to see a film. Wait. Have you seen the Chronicles of Narnia? I shook my head. "Well, that's a must-read for you! I think it would be right up your alley and all with the 'magic' stuff. Y'know... I could bring over the first book when I meet you next time, and you could exchange one of your magical books with me." Despite neither of us agreeing on a 'nextime.' There was an unspoken promise of it.

I almost smiled before It was forced into a grimace. The twinkle in the girl's eyes that nearly reminded me of Dumbledore's dimmed.

 

I shouldn't be getting close to a muggle, let alone a witch hunter—their filth who had murdered hundreds of witches and wizards. I'm a pureblood, and I'm way above this. So why do I want to?

 

"Aren't those going to be filthy mugger books? Frewen," I scrunched up my nose in faux disgust, my voice dripping with potent vitriol.

Imo- Frewen furrowed her eyebrows, her lips corners curling downwards. "Okay, what is up with you saying 'Mugger'? The author isn't even criminal!?"

 

"What are you talking about-"

 

"You know what I'm talking about. From the very first moment we met, you called me repeatedly, 'Mugger,' 'Muggle,' and stuff like that. Why?" Her eyes narrowed in confusion and a trace of hurt.

 

Guilt swirled hotly in his stomach; he felt like vomiting.

 

"Uh- Muggle is the word we use for people with no magic."

Frewen's eyes lit up in understanding. "Oh, okay, But what does Mugger mean?" I flinched at that word coming out of her mouth. Why the hell was I feeling guilty for? "

"Mugger is another word for Muggle." Imogen nodded. Technically, this wasn't lying; it was another word for muggle, just not the ' nicest' one.

But why does this feel like bad? Why do I even care?

 

"What's your life like?" Imogen blurted out. I mean, what's going on in the magical world? How are you?" That question threw me off. It's been so long since anyone's asked me that. My friends don't ask me that; my parents always assume I'm doing fine unless I complain, and definitely NOT by Harry and his bumbling sidekicks. And not by anyone I know, except perhaps Snape on occasion. For Morgana's sake, that's why I have so many filled diaries. "Uh-" 'Well, sometimes I stay up at night wondering if my father really loves me and if he's proud of what I have done so far. Sometimes, I have nightmares of my sketch diary and some tall, handsome guy laughing maniacally with the dark lord, interchanging places with me. I am terrified that my psychotic aunt would finally follow up with her threats of killing-cursing me. And I cry myself to sleep, So yeah, I am perfectly fine :) "I'm fine."

 

"So?"

 

"So what?"

 

"How's you school life?"

 

"Oh, uh...It's fine. I have a couple of friends, And my rival is Harry Pottah."

She raised an eyebrow. "So, What's your friend's name? And who is Harry Potter?"

 

"Pansy and Blaise, And Harry Potter is the boy who lived." I saw Imogen's left eye twitch. "God, now I know what my father feels like- Who is Harry Potter ?" As lovely as it was for someone to ask about you, It sure was tiring

I explained, watching Imogen's face turn into all the emotions I have seen in a person hearing about Saint Potter. Bitter jealousy curdled within me like spoiled milk. Despite all the money and power the Malfoy name gave me, I have never truly felt special. The Malfoy name was special, not me—at least not like Pottah, anyhow, which was bizarre considering the fact that my family could buy a ministry with enough galleons if they really wanted to.

 

"So, you're saying That a baby, a literal baby, defeated the dark lord and only got lightening bolt shaped scar-"

"An ugly one, starting at his forehead and going down just below his mouth." I don't know why I was defending Pottah.

 

"Hm... I don't buy it," She stated plainly.

I couldn't believe my ears. "How do you not!? your not even magic!"

"First of all, rude. Just because I'm not magical doesn't mean I'm brain-dead. Second, you said Harry was a baby unless wizards have this magical ability to kill grown-ass dark lords when they haven't even walked yet. Then, I think something else happened." I sputtered, unable to retort because, logically thinking, It didn't make any sense. Even with magic in the equation, it didn't make sense because accidental magic happens above the age of two; indeed, a woman couldn't love their child that much. "I guess you're right-" I clear my throat. "Anyways, a few days ago, Harry was really annoying. He came up to me in front of my friends and asked where I was. And then he said I was an old man-"

 

"What why?"

 

"Because of my hair colour and skin!" I heard her mumble under her breath, 'Wow, racist, much.' Then, a grin formed on my face; I was about to tell her the best part.

"So I said that at least I'm not dirty,you should have seen-" I couldn't finish the sentence because the breath was suddenly knocked out of me.

"What the heck? That was racist," she yelled, with an angry look on her face.

 

"What was that for!?"

"That was racist! Just because guys are racist to you doesn't mean you should do that to them. "What is 'racist'!?" I screamed back at her. There was a horrified look on her face.

 

"Oh my god- Racist is a person who believes in the term Racism. Racism is a type of mindset that discriminates against skin colours and ethnicities they deem 'inferior or 'weird'. I often get 'comments from people because I mixed saying stuff like, 'You speak English so well; what language did you learn first?' or more forward stuff like 'Dingalingaling' at school, which is making fun of Hindi music but of course, they call it "Indian music'"

 

I was shocked. "That is stupid; how can you discriminate against something they don't even control?"

 

"I know, right? In reality, we have no colours at all."

 

"No colors?"

 

"Yeah, none. You see, the sunlight shines on everything, and the sunlight is made up of the rainbow. so for example see this grass"

I look at the patch of green. "This grass has a specific molecule in it that prevents green from reflecting off of it, which makes the grass green."

 

For a muggle, that was quite an interesting fact I didn't know about.

I looked at my watch. I needed to go. I looked up from the smiling girl. She has a beautiful smile and a dimple to

 

"Uh I need to go now."

 

"Oh... okay! See you next time," she said as she walked away, picking up the pendant and climbing up the rocky ledge.

I picked up a rock, and before touching my portkey, I travelled back with it like always. I saw a flashback of it being formed, the lava charring it, and other meaningless stuff all the way to the night before and me holding it. What the fuck ? No wonder I'm talking to a muggle; I am insane. I travelled back to my dorm, where I should have been resting, collapsing down on my soft bed. I worried if I stood up, I might vomit. I shouldn't have been out; I should have been resting and doing my homework. I am not talking to a Witch huntress, who is the very reason why I am supposed to do this.

 

I sketched the girl's face in my sketching diary.

She had an oval pale brown face and dark doe eyes. Her wild, curly, nearly black hair was reminiscent of the jellyfish hairstyle but less ugly and more layered. She had two birthmarks, one above her pink mouth and one next to it. She also had a big hairy one on her ankle. When I finished, I was pretty proud of how it turned out.

Staring at the face, I wondered What it was like to be a Witch hunter.

Notes:

Disclaimer: Imogen is just as prejudiced about wizards as Draco is. She's just not as outright about it.
I always wondered how Harry really survived. It didn't make any sense.

Harry's scar is huge and gnarly supremacy.

(BTW Im going to rewrite this chapter later because Im not very happy about how it turned out T-T)

Like always I hope you enjoyed the chapter

Chapter 6

Summary:

NOT A CHAPTER

Im not very happy with how the chapters turned out, so I am planning to rewrite them. When Im finished this notice will be gone and the rewritten chapters will have a mark to show it is

Chapter 7: Im back!!!!

Summary:

Um Hi?

Um, hey guys, I'm going to completely rewrite this fic.