So the Dark Lord actually hugged yo

So the Dark Lord actually hugged you," Draco said in amazement, looking almost as if his world had just been monumentally changed. Harry supposed that it was very shocking (he himself was still trying to wrap his mind around it). The Dark Lord was not emotional (except when it came to anger, of course; he frequently felt that and usually inflicted pain on others because of it) and he was certainly not sentimental or affectionate. In fact, it was just absurd to even imagine it.

Harry uncomfortably leaned back against his seat and glanced out the window at the rapidly passing scenery, a blur of green trees and blue sky. "Yeah. He . . . hugged . . . me."

"Hugged you. Like . . . wrapped his arms around you?"

"Yes, Draco," he snapped, "I do believe that's the definition of the word."

"Has he ever done anything like that before?" Draco pressed, unruffled at the outburst.

"No," he said slowly. "Never."

"The Dark Lord . . . hugging someone." Draco shook his head in disbelief. "What was it like?"

Harry hesitated, only to frown when the correct word came to mind.

"Awkward."

Yes, it was amazingly . . . awkward. Harry had never truly had that much affection-Bellatrix doted on him almost manically, but she never really hugged him or kissed him, never once told him 'I love you'. His father never had either, though it wasn't as though Harry ever wanted him to say it. Draco's parents weren't overly demonstrative, either, but on occasion they did put their arms around him or otherwise expressed their affection-Harry always watched with mild interest and some embarrassment. Such warm emotions in general just seemed . . . awkward . . . to him, something that should be kept behind closed doors. It just didn't feel right to watch. Then again . . .

"But he is my father. I suppose he should do things like that."

Draco shrugged, but kept shaking his head in shock. "Whatever. I just wonder if he's been Imperio'd."

The conversation fell into a strained silence for a long moment as each waited for the other to speak. But, when it became apparent neither had anything to say, their minds started to drift off in different directions.

Harry chewed his lip, his thoughts turning to the Sorting Ceremony and what a horrible disaster it could very well turn out to be. He glanced at Draco, tried to picture his reaction if the Hat decided to say 'Gryffindor' instead of 'Slytherin', and discovered that he couldn't. And even after the initial shock and horror (which would, he very well knew, inevitably be on his face) faded, when they took seats at separate tables, what would life be like? They wouldn't share a dorm, they wouldn't sit on the same side of the room in classes, their very House mates would be in constant competition . . . and then, of course, even when Draco wasn't factored in, Harry himself just hated Gryffindors. It would be like being among the enemy. No one would know who he was, who his father was, and if they even found out, they would not react with the worshipful awe that the Slytherins would. Gryffindor was the House Albus Dumbledore recruited from; Slytherin was the House Voldemort found supporters in.

And, to top it off, being sorted into Gryffindor would be . . . incredibly humiliating. The Slytherins would talk about him behind his back, mock him, he knew they would.

He glanced at Draco, who was busy twiddling his thumbs and trying to look out the window. They'd been friends for almost as long as he could remember, but he'd never really broached the subject of his mother. Draco's parents had pedigrees stretching back to almost the time of Hogwarts' founding; there was not a muggle to be seen on his family tree, and all of his relatives had been Slytherin.

On the other hand, Harry was acutely aware of the fact that three of his grandparents had been muggle, and the forth almost a squib. And his lovely, mudblood of a mother . . . had been in Gryffindor.

Humiliating.

But, he supposed Draco had to hear about it sometime, at least the Gryffindor part, and maybe if he forewarned him, the shock and disgust wouldn't be as horribly bad . . .

"Draco?" he said hesitantly, forcing himself not to nervously wring his hands.

"Hmm?" The other boy turned to him questioningly, looking a bit happy to be talking again.

"If I . . . would, lets say . . ." Harry licked his bottom lip and cleared his throat, but finally forced it out: "not get sorted . . . into Slytherin, would we still be friends?"

Draco blinked, frowned, and finally narrowed his eyes at him. "Why would you not get into Slytherin? Don't tell me the Dark Lord was a Ravenclaw!"

Harry nervously cracked his knuckles, something he rarely did, and managed, "No, Father was Slytherin." After a seconds pause, he decided to just blurt it out and get it over with. "My mother was a Gryffindor."

Draco choked on his own saliva, his silvery eyes going wide. "Your mother was a Gryffindor? Gryffindor? As in, stupidly brave and sickeningly chivalrous?"

"That would be it," he muttered.

"Your father, the Dark Lord, had an heir with a Gryffindor? Gryffindor?!"

"Gryffindor," he said slowly, "yes. As In, 'Godric'." This (over) reaction was, of course, what he had been expecting, but it didn't make it any less difficult.

"Do Gryffindors even become Death Eaters?"

"Apparently," Harry gritted out through clenched teeth. Truthfully, he was inclined to believe she hadn't been a Death Eater, but that might just make things worse.

"What else was she? A mudblood?"

That caught him off guard, and he startled, his eyes widening hugely.

"Oh Merlin," Draco gasped, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. "You're kidding. A Gryffindor mudblood?"

Harry forced himself to nod.

Draco stared at him for a minute, then began to shake his head. "What was your father thinking?"

"Don't ask me," Harry snarled as viciously as he could. "But just know that if I get sorted into Gryffindor it's not my fault. If my father didn't have a taste for trash . . ."

"You won't," Draco cut in complacently. "You obviously didn't take after her. You're Slytherin."

"But we'll never know if I take after her, will we?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she is dead. It's not as though I'll ever meet her."

"Why would you ever want to meet her? She was a Gryffindor mudblood!"

"I know. I just wonder what she was like. The closest thing I've ever had to a mother-figure is Aunt Bellatrix."

Draco snorted. "I doubt your mother would be anything like Bella. She's insane! Too much time spent in Azkaban, that one."

"She's your real aunt."

Draco rolled his eyes and sneered at him. Harry sneered back, but actually felt as relieved as he could be. The Malfoys were fanatical pureblood elitists, but his little revelation hadn't seemed to have changed anything between them.

Now he just had to cross his fingers and hope for a good outcome from the Sorting Ceremony.

"Want to get some food?" Draco asked suddenly, after a moments pause. "I can hear the cart coming already."

"Sure," Harry agreed. It wasn't as if there was anything better to do but stuff their faces with candy. He'd only ever been on a train a few times previously, but it always proved to be boring.

After practically buying almost everything off the cart with their combined money, much to the annoyance of the woman pushing it, they sat in companionable silence while feasting on chocolate frogs, pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, licorice wands, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"So where's Crabbe and Goyle?" Harry asked through a grimace. He had just stumbled upon a particularly nasty earthworm flavored Bertie Bott Bean and hurried to wash it down with a Chocolate Frog. "I thought they were your lackeys."

"Who knows what they're doing? I don't think they even know what they're doing half the time."

"They are idiots. I think Crabbe and Goyle Srs. are only a bit brighter. Why my father thinks he has any use for them is beyond me."

"You've met them?"

"Death Eater meetings."

"Oh."

"-give it back!" a muted, very annoyed female voice shouted from somewhere in the hall outside.

Draco and Harry glanced at each other and then at the compartment door, where a muffled voice filtered through into the room. Suddenly, there was a horrible scratching at the door, accompanied by some yowling.

Harry stood up and in one swift movement slid the compartment door open, then stepped back almost immediately. A black flash zoomed into the small room, followed by a familiar, bushy haired girl. "Give me Neville's toad back, you little monster!" she shouted wildly.

Harry's intense gaze landed on his cat, who held a squirming toad in her mouth. "Isis," Harry sighed, "Let the toad down."

The blue eyed cat reluctantly released her hold on the toad, which hopped out of the compartment quickly.

"Hermione isn't it?" asked Harry, turning the to girl. How could he ever forget his little chat with the ambitious mudblood? "Hermione Granger?"

Hermione glanced at Harry. "Oh, hello. Harry, right?"

"Yes. Harry Riddle."

"That's your cat?"

Harry strode over to Isis and picked her up. "Yep. I wasn't very sure where she was."

"Harry," Draco began, eyeing Hermione as if she were a particularly revolting insect, "Why are you talking with this mud-"

Harry cut him off by delivering a sharp kick to his shin. "Do be nice, Draco."

Harry turned to Hermione. "Come in. Sit down." He motioned for her to sit down across from him. She hesitantly did.

"So," Harry glued a smile onto his face, "how have you been?"

"Good," Hermione replied while nervously glancing at Draco, who had collapsed beside Harry and was still rubbing his shin. The blond pureblood glared death at her and she snapped her eyes away.

"Was that your toad?" he asked, vaguely hoping she'd say no. Toads were so out of style . . .

"Oh, no," she said, managing to smile slightly. "It's some boy's named Neville. He seems to always be losing things . . ."

"My snake's around here somewhere," said Harry, wrinkling his nose in thought a

Kết quả (Việt) 1:

Vì vậy Dark Lord thực sự ôm bạn,"Draco nói trong sự ngạc nhiên, tìm kiếm gần như là nếu thế giới của ông đã chỉ được thay đổi monumentally. Harry nghĩ rằng nó là rất sốc (vẫn còn bản thân ông đã cố gắng để bọc tâm trí của mình xung quanh nó). Dark Lord đã không được cảm xúc (ngoại trừ khi nó đến để tức giận, tất nhiên; ông thường xuyên cảm thấy rằng và thường gây ra đau trên những người khác vì nó) và ông đã chắc chắn không tình cảm hoặc tình cảm. Trong thực tế, nó đã chỉ là ngớ ngẩn để ngay cả tưởng tượng nó.Harry hẹp không tiện nghi cúi quay lại chống lại chỗ của mình và liếc nhìn ra cửa sổ lúc đi qua nhanh chóng phong cảnh, một mờ của cây xanh và bầu trời xanh. "có. Ông...... ôm tôi. ""Ôm bạn. Thích... quấn cánh tay của mình xung quanh bạn? ""Vâng, Draco," ông gãy, "Tôi tin rằng đó là định nghĩa của từ.""Hắn đã bao giờ làm bất cứ điều gì như thế trước?" Draco ép, không bù xù lúc sự trồi lên."Không," ông nói chậm. "Không bao giờ.""Dark Lord... ôm một ai đó." Draco lắc đầu trong sự hoài nghi. "Những gì đã là nó như?"Harry do dự, chỉ để nhăn khi từ chính xác đến tâm trí."Khó khăn".Có, nó là đáng ngạc nhiên... awkward. Harry đã không bao giờ thực sự có nhiều tình cảm-Bellatrix doted anh ta gần như manically, nhưng cô không bao giờ thực sự ôm anh ta hay hôn anh ta, không bao giờ một lần nói với anh ta 'I love you'. Cha không bao giờ có một trong hai, mặc dù nó không phải là mặc dù Harry bao giờ muốn anh ta để nói nó. Cha mẹ của Draco không quá chứng, một trong hai, nhưng thỉnh thoảng họ đã đặt cánh tay của họ xung quanh anh ta hoặc nếu không thể hiện của tình cảm-Harry luôn luôn theo dõi với lãi suất nhẹ và một số bối rối. Cảm xúc ấm áp như vậy nói chung chỉ có vẻ... khó khăn... để anh ta, cái gì đó nên được giữ đằng sau cánh cửa đóng lại. Nó chỉ cần không cảm thấy đúng để xem. Sau đó một lần nữa..."Nhưng ông là cha của tôi. Tôi cho rằng ông nên làm việc như thế."Draco shrugged, nhưng giữ lắc đầu bị sốc. "Bất cứ điều gì. Tôi chỉ cần tự hỏi nếu ông đã là Imperio có. "Cuộc trò chuyện rơi vào một sự im lặng căng thẳng một chút thời gian dài như mỗi đợi cho người khác để nói chuyện. Tuy nhiên, khi nó trở nên rõ ràng không có bất cứ điều gì để nói, tâm trí của họ bắt đầu trôi dạt ra hướng khác nhau.Harry chewed his lip, his thoughts turning to the Sorting Ceremony and what a horrible disaster it could very well turn out to be. He glanced at Draco, tried to picture his reaction if the Hat decided to say 'Gryffindor' instead of 'Slytherin', and discovered that he couldn't. And even after the initial shock and horror (which would, he very well knew, inevitably be on his face) faded, when they took seats at separate tables, what would life be like? They wouldn't share a dorm, they wouldn't sit on the same side of the room in classes, their very House mates would be in constant competition . . . and then, of course, even when Draco wasn't factored in, Harry himself just hated Gryffindors. It would be like being among the enemy. No one would know who he was, who his father was, and if they even found out, they would not react with the worshipful awe that the Slytherins would. Gryffindor was the House Albus Dumbledore recruited from; Slytherin was the House Voldemort found supporters in.And, to top it off, being sorted into Gryffindor would be . . . incredibly humiliating. The Slytherins would talk about him behind his back, mock him, he knew they would.He glanced at Draco, who was busy twiddling his thumbs and trying to look out the window. They'd been friends for almost as long as he could remember, but he'd never really broached the subject of his mother. Draco's parents had pedigrees stretching back to almost the time of Hogwarts' founding; there was not a muggle to be seen on his family tree, and all of his relatives had been Slytherin.On the other hand, Harry was acutely aware of the fact that three of his grandparents had been muggle, and the forth almost a squib. And his lovely, mudblood of a mother . . . had been in Gryffindor.Humiliating.But, he supposed Draco had to hear about it sometime, at least the Gryffindor part, and maybe if he forewarned him, the shock and disgust wouldn't be as horribly bad . . ."Draco?" he said hesitantly, forcing himself not to nervously wring his hands."Hmm?" The other boy turned to him questioningly, looking a bit happy to be talking again."If I . . . would, lets say . . ." Harry licked his bottom lip and cleared his throat, but finally forced it out: "not get sorted . . . into Slytherin, would we still be friends?"Draco blinked, frowned, and finally narrowed his eyes at him. "Why would you not get into Slytherin? Don't tell me the Dark Lord was a Ravenclaw!"Harry nervously cracked his knuckles, something he rarely did, and managed, "No, Father was Slytherin." After a seconds pause, he decided to just blurt it out and get it over with. "My mother was a Gryffindor."Draco choked on his own saliva, his silvery eyes going wide. "Your mother was a Gryffindor? Gryffindor? As in, stupidly brave and sickeningly chivalrous?""That would be it," he muttered."Your father, the Dark Lord, had an heir with a Gryffindor? Gryffindor?!""Gryffindor," he said slowly, "yes. As In, 'Godric'." This (over) reaction was, of course, what he had been expecting, but it didn't make it any less difficult."Do Gryffindors even become Death Eaters?""Apparently," Harry gritted out through clenched teeth. Truthfully, he was inclined to believe she hadn't been a Death Eater, but that might just make things worse."What else was she? A mudblood?"That caught him off guard, and he startled, his eyes widening hugely."Oh Merlin," Draco gasped, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. "You're kidding. A Gryffindor mudblood?"Harry forced himself to nod.Draco stared at him for a minute, then began to shake his head. "What was your father thinking?""Don't ask me," Harry snarled as viciously as he could. "But just know that if I get sorted into Gryffindor it's not my fault. If my father didn't have a taste for trash . . .""You won't," Draco cut in complacently. "You obviously didn't take after her. You're Slytherin.""But we'll never know if I take after her, will we?""What do you mean?""Well, she is dead. It's not as though I'll ever meet her.""Why would you ever want to meet her? She was a Gryffindor mudblood!""I know. I just wonder what she was like. The closest thing I've ever had to a mother-figure is Aunt Bellatrix."Draco snorted. "I doubt your mother would be anything like Bella. She's insane! Too much time spent in Azkaban, that one.""She's your real aunt."Draco rolled his eyes and sneered at him. Harry sneered back, but actually felt as relieved as he could be. The Malfoys were fanatical pureblood elitists, but his little revelation hadn't seemed to have changed anything between them.Now he just had to cross his fingers and hope for a good outcome from the Sorting Ceremony."Want to get some food?" Draco asked suddenly, after a moments pause. "I can hear the cart coming already.""Sure," Harry agreed. It wasn't as if there was anything better to do but stuff their faces with candy. He'd only ever been on a train a few times previously, but it always proved to be boring.After practically buying almost everything off the cart with their combined money, much to the annoyance of the woman pushing it, they sat in companionable silence while feasting on chocolate frogs, pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, licorice wands, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans."So where's Crabbe and Goyle?" Harry asked through a grimace. He had just stumbled upon a particularly nasty earthworm flavored Bertie Bott Bean and hurried to wash it down with a Chocolate Frog. "I thought they were your lackeys.""Who knows what they're doing? I don't think they even know what they're doing half the time.""They are idiots. I think Crabbe and Goyle Srs. are only a bit brighter. Why my father thinks he has any use for them is beyond me.""You've met them?""Death Eater meetings.""Oh.""-give it back!" a muted, very annoyed female voice shouted from somewhere in the hall outside.Draco and Harry glanced at each other and then at the compartment door, where a muffled voice filtered through into the room. Suddenly, there was a horrible scratching at the door, accompanied by some yowling.
Harry stood up and in one swift movement slid the compartment door open, then stepped back almost immediately. A black flash zoomed into the small room, followed by a familiar, bushy haired girl. "Give me Neville's toad back, you little monster!" she shouted wildly.

Harry's intense gaze landed on his cat, who held a squirming toad in her mouth. "Isis," Harry sighed, "Let the toad down."

The blue eyed cat reluctantly released her hold on the toad, which hopped out of the compartment quickly.

"Hermione isn't it?" asked Harry, turning the to girl. How could he ever forget his little chat with the ambitious mudblood? "Hermione Granger?"

Hermione glanced at Harry. "Oh, hello. Harry, right?"

"Yes. Harry Riddle."

"That's your cat?"

Harry strode over to Isis and picked her up. "Yep. I wasn't very sure where she was."

"Harry," Draco began, eyeing Hermione as if she were a particularly revolting insect, "Why are you talking with this mud-"

Harry cut him off by delivering a sharp kick to his shin. "Do be nice, Draco."

Harry turned to Hermione. "Come in. Sit down." He motioned for her to sit down across from him. She hesitantly did.

"So," Harry glued a smile onto his face, "how have you been?"

"Good," Hermione replied while nervously glancing at Draco, who had collapsed beside Harry and was still rubbing his shin. The blond pureblood glared death at her and she snapped her eyes away.

"Was that your toad?" he asked, vaguely hoping she'd say no. Toads were so out of style . . .

"Oh, no," she said, managing to smile slightly. "It's some boy's named Neville. He seems to always be losing things . . ."

"My snake's around here somewhere," said Harry, wrinkling his nose in thought a