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Chapter Text

On Monday the 24th of June 1996, Draco sat at his desk in Transfiguration class, practising the partial vanishment spell for his rescheduled O.W.L.s practical exam. Outwardly, Draco’s expression was blank but inside, an overwhelming sense of dread threatened to choke him, crawling up his throat from the pit of his stomach. McGonagall’s ever-present Tempus was floating in the corner of the room, glowing an eerie blue, and he could not stop staring at it. 2.14pm. 

As the minutes ticked by, Draco's mind wandered from the spell he was supposed to be practising to the trial happening in the Ministry of Magic. He couldn't help wondering what was happening to his father. The thought of Lucius Malfoy, his father and a high-ranking Death Eater, being judged by the wizarding law filled Draco with a sense of dread. He was worried, not because his father might go to prison – no, Draco was under no illusions that Lucius Malfoy would be able to bribe his way out of this conviction – but because he did not know what would happen after his father was carted off to Azkaban, where he belonged. What would happen to Draco's mother, all alone at Malfoy Manor with the likes of Greyback and Antonin Dolohov? How would they survive during the summer, with Lord Voldemort and that snivelling rat, Wormtail, invading the sacred spaces of the Manor? 

Draco struggled to focus on the spell. His mind was elsewhere, consumed by fear and uncertainty. The Ravenclaw students in the classroom didn't seem to notice, absorbed in their own studies, but Draco could feel his friends watching his every move.

Suddenly, McGonagall's voice shattered his thoughts. "Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you focus on your spell work, not the Tempus Charm."

Draco flinched at the sharpness in McGonagall's tone, bringing him back to the present. He straightened up in his seat, chin held high, determined to push his worries aside and concentrate on the task at hand. He began playing around with the Latin, Old English, and non-verbal variations of the vanishing spells, enjoying the feeling of his magic responding to his every whim. He wasn’t aiming for an O* in this class but he knew he could’ve achieved one if he’d wanted to.

Just as Draco started to relax, his world shattered. A burst of energy surged through him, vision exploding white as he pitched forward, head slamming against the desk as he lost consciousness. 

The room stilled, all gazes drawn to the Malfoy heir’s prone form, until the eerie silence was shattered by the piercing scream of Draco’s oldest friend.

Pansy's scream spurred the other Slytherin students into action. Blaise Zabini launched himself out of his seat, sending his textbooks and parchment flying in all directions. He dropped to his knees next to Draco's desk, conjuring a mirror to check his friend's breathing. 

"Someone get him to Madam Pomfrey!" Daphne cried, face pale as she used every ounce of strength in her body to drag Blaise away from their friend. "Now!"

Vincent, ever loyal to Draco, quickly lifted his friend's unconscious body into his arms and carried him out of the classroom, Greg following close behind to protect them both. As the two marched down the silent corridor towards the Hospital Wing, Theo collected Draco's things, packing his bag away neatly and storing Draco's hawthorn wand in his own wrist holster. He hurried out of the room behind them, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to be at Draco’s side once again.

The remaining Slytherin students followed soon after but none of them, except Tracey Davis, noticed the newly present ring on the index finger of Draco’s right hand, but she had always been more observant than the rest of her friends. She was just glad that they had this class with the Ravenclaws because Goddess knows that the Gryffindors would have kicked up a fuss and no one needed that.

☿

As they reached the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey rushed forward to take over, her eyes flickering with concern as she examined Draco's body. She quickly cast a diagnosis spell, muttering to herself.

Professor Snape burst into the room, pitch black robes swirling behind him. He came to a stop at the foot of Draco's bed, his face twisted with worry. Just what had happened to his godson?

Madam Pomfrey finished her diagnosis and turned to Professor Snape, ignoring the students gathered around her patients’ bedside. "He's perfectly well, just a sudden influx of magic attaching to his magical core."

Snape let out a sigh of relief, but still remained tense. "What could have caused such an influx?" he asked, his eyes darting around the room. He caught Tracey Davis' knowing eye as she glanced towards Draco's hand. Ah.

"What is it, Professor?" Pansy asked, hand clutching Draco's.

"Nothing to worry about, Miss Parkinson," Snape assured. "Mr Malfoy will explain once he has awakened." He moved away, allowing Draco's friends to gather around him more closely, watching as his godson was cared for by his fellow students.

☿

Draco awoke to bright lights, the subtle scent of healing potions, and the low hum of several people talking around him. He felt exhausted, like he’d been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs. His eardrums hummed, his limbs throbbed, and something about his magic felt odd. Heavy, almost. Someone was clinging to his left hand, but he couldn't recognise who. He was on the brink of drifting off into a deep sleep when Professor Snape's voice cut through the foggy air.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Malfoy." Severus’ tone, to anyone else, would have seemed snide and condescending but Draco knew that the Professor, his beloved godfather, was worried. If he could have, Draco would have smirked just to see the inimitable Professor roll his eyes but every muscle in his body hurt.

Draco took a few moments to adjust his eyes to the new environment, and then allowed himself to take in the atmosphere. His right hand felt a strange heft, cold and metallic yet somehow reassuring. The sheets of the hospital bed were rough against his skin, making it seem more sensitive than usual; his fingers and toes tingled, and he could feel the power of his own magic within him. Draco let himself sink into this sensation, exploring as much of it as he was able in his current state. He could feel the wards at Malfoy Manor and his mother moving swiftly through them, several of the House Elves trailing behind her. He could feel… Wait. He could feel the wards? How? That should be impossible. Draco struggled to turn his head towards his hand, to confirm his suspicions, but he was stopped by a motherly voice and a firm hand.

"Don’t try to move just yet, Mr Malfoy, you’ve given everyone a bit of a fright." Someone snorted quietly at that, perhaps Blaise if Draco was to guess, before Pansy cut in:

"A bit? You terrified us, Draco Regulus Armand Malfoy!" By the gods, her screeching hurt to hear. Draco knew she meant well, although the use of his full name was disconcerting, but the lights were giving him a headache and he would very much like to go back to sleep. Her hand tightened around his, squeezing painfully, as if confirming that he was, indeed, still alive.

"Shut up, Pans," Draco mumbled, tongue feeling thick in his mouth. He wished that he could do more to comfort her but before he could say another word, a strong hand wrenched his jaw open and forced a sickly-sweet potion down his throat. A pain relief potion, if a mild one.

"There," Madam Pomfrey patted him on the shoulder, a gesture that was supposed to be comforting but left Draco feeling disorientated. "You may feel a bit lightheaded after taking that" – as if he wasn’t already feeling lightheaded – "but it should soothe both the headache and any lingering muscle pain." The pain did, in fact, quickly dissipate and Draco watched with new clarity as Madam Pomfrey hurried off, perhaps in search of another patient to scold.

"That potion is from my personal stores, there will be no light-headedness or any other side effects," Severus murmured, giving into paternal instinct and stroking Draco’s hair back from his face softly. "I will inform your mother of what has occurred," Severus continued, glancing momentarily at Draco’s hand, "and please do visit me once you're released." Severus then addressed Draco's friends, saying that they should make sure he does not try to leave the Hospital Wing before being given permission. Draco's friends gave a quick nod in agreement as Blaise flashed a disapproving glance at Draco, as if he was even thinking about leaving the bed in his current state. Professor Snape made his exit from the room with his billowing robes trailing behind him; he had a way of making his presence known without any effort. Draco wished he could be more like him but whenever he did it, it never went over well.

Draco's attention was drawn away from Severus' exit and back to his earlier concerns. He looked down at the ancient Malfoi ring on his finger, a symbol of his family's prestige and heritage. It's place on his finger signified that he was the head of the Malfoy family and now he carried the weight of their legacy upon his shoulders. Had something happened to his father during his trial? Were Death Eaters still lurking around the property? He focused on the wards surrounding the Manor, searching for any unwanted intruders. To his relief, there were none. His mother was alone, with only the House Elves and magical creatures for company. Perhaps the hearthstone had responded to his thoughts and feelings and altered the wards accordingly? He had so many questions, but only one person could provide him with answers: his mother.

Draco ran his thumb over the metal band of the ring, feeling the ancient Magick that coursed through him, parallel to something he already possessed. He had to make a pilgrimage to the hearthstone and leave an offering for the Mother as soon as possible, but Draco understood that he wouldn't be able to escape Hogwarts until the end of the school year. At least Umbridge, that pink-clad toad, was gone; she had followed Potter into the Forbidden Forest and vanished without a trace. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Draco no longer had to be part of her ludicrous Squad in order to keep his father happy, yet Dumbledore would never allow him to return home so soon. He'd have to wait.

Draco looked at his friends, who had surrounded his hospital bed, and cracked a wry smile.

"So, what did I miss?"

Chaos erupted around him, and Draco finally felt at ease. These were the people he’d die for, kill for, live for. He knew they’d support him and he could finally, with the help of a little family Magick and a lot of political sway, help them too.

Things were about to change.

Chapter Text

Draco was released from the Hospital Wing a few hours later. He had convinced most of his friends, except for Vince and Greg who refused to leave him, to go to the Great Hall for dinner and then back to the common room soon after he'd awoken. He needed some time to think before explaining what had happened and he couldn't do that with the rest of them hovering around him. He loved them all, he truly did, but they were as bad as Hufflepuffs sometimes. Madam Pomfrey had been kind enough to provide Vince and Greg with a hearty dinner so Draco wasn't concerned about them and he appreciated their quiet support. Once free from the mediwitch's fussing, Draco had decided that the best course of action was to visit his Head of House before returning to the common room himself, so Greg and Vince accompanied him as he walked down to the dungeons. He knew that the other houses viewed his two friends as merely lumbering bodyguards but they were so much more than what they appeared to be.

As they walked down the endless corridors, Draco couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. He felt oddly vulnerable but he knew he needed to talk to Professor Snape. He hoped he had good news about his mother. He could still feel her in the Manor wards if he concentrated but that didn't stop him worrying about her after all she’d been through in the last year.

Eventually, they arrived in the dungeons and Draco murmured the password to the portrait guarding the Professor's door. The portrait was the original version of Joseph Wright of Derby's The Alchemist Discovering Phosphorous – a muggle version was held at a gallery in Derby, Draco had seen it as a young boy – and it depicted a wizard discovering phosphorous in his quest to produce the elusive Philosopher's stone. Truly the perfect painting to guard the rooms of Severus Snape, experimental potioneer. The alchemist nodded at Draco, recognising him from his many visits to Snape's quarters, and the portrait swung to one side, revealing the dark, heavy door.

Draco stepped into the warm, dimly-lit room, where Snape was sitting on a sofa by the unlit fireplace, his face expressionless. Even the dungeons were too warm for fires in the summer months.

"Take a seat, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, motioning to the chair across from where he was seated. "You two can return to the common area," he said to Vince and Greg. "Mr. Malfoy will be just fine with me." His two friends left the room, glancing at Draco as they retreated. He smiled at them and waved them off. 

Draco crossed the room and sank into the cushioned depths of a plush chair, grateful for its comfort. He had sat in this chair a hundred times, relaxing with a book and a cup of tea by the fire. Ah, a nice cup of tea could cure all ills. As if reading his mind, Severus wordlessly produced two cups from the wooden cabinet behind them and filled them with steaming tea from a ceramic teapot. Draco recognised it as a gift from his mother.

The silence between them was comforting. Draco lifted the tea cup to his lips and took a sip, relishing in the warmth that spread through his body. He expected chamomile, to aid relaxation, but Severus had surprised him.

“Oolong with apple and elderberries," Draco said, looking up at the Professor. "You know me so well, Uncle Sev.”

"Yes, well, I thought you deserved it after your little trip to the Hospital Wing." Severus placed his tea on the table, a thin wisp of steam rising from its rim. "I have been in contact with your mother," he said. His voice was low and serious as he spoke. "It seems that I am able to floo call her, but I am unable to enter the Manor." He paused for a moment, letting Draco contemplate the implications of his words before continuing. "I believe that no one, except you or Narcissa, will be able to cross through the wards until you have returned home. I also believe that if someone were to attempt to find the Manor, they would merely see an empty field. I trust you understand what this means, Draco." His words were succinct and direct. Draco swallowed hard at the meaning behind his words; Voldemort and his followers wouldn't be able to locate the Manor again even if they wanted to – the hearthstone had worked its magic.

Draco took a moment to consider the situation, his gaze fixed on his cup of tea. He finally looked up and made eye contact with Severus again.

"Is she well?"

Severus smiled at him. "She's doing very well, Draco. She was a bit taken aback by what happened but she's handling it like she always does." Draco felt himself relax a little. "In fact, she's far more worried about you." He took a sealed letter from his pocket and handed it to Draco. The scent of his mother's perfume lingered on the paper and it was sealed using a wax stamp depicting the Black family crest. The insignia was a gift from her father when she married Lucius, a token of her connection to the Black family. "Do not worry," he continued, "that head house elf of yours will take good care of her."

"Excellent." Draco smiled as he pocketed the letter, tucking it safely away under his robes. He'd read it later when he had more privacy. "Billey is always on top of things. Now, what of Father?" Draco was anxious about his mother's well-being, but he was even more perplexed by the question of how he had come to gain access to Malfoy family Magick. It had been on his mind since he woke up.

Severus let out a deep sigh. "Your father has been sentenced to ten years in Azkaban," he said. Draco had expected a longer sentence, his father must have paid someone off for a lighter penalty. How predictable. "It appears that your family Magick was disrupted by his conviction, transferring all privileges and power to you."

Draco's heart started pounding in his chest. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had always known that his father's choices would eventually catch up to him, but he never thought that the hearthstone would strip him of his place within the family.

"You are now, as I'm sure you're aware, the head of the Malfoy family," Snape continued, a glint of pride in his dark eyes. "You have access to all the family vaults, the family's network of contacts, and your family's properties."

Draco's mind was racing. He had only really thought about the wards and the Magick, and the political sway his family previously held, but Severus was right. Money and connections were at his fingertips. He had numerous properties across Europe and investments in Wix and Muggle businesses from Britain to Australia and everywhere in between. He took another sip of tea, trying to calm himself down. "What do I do now?" he whispered, feeling overwhelmed. He knew his own ambitions, of course, but the possibilities were endless.

Severus leaned in closer, staring intently. "You have more to offer this world than you realise, Draco, but it is time to decide which side of this battle you are going to be on."

Draco reclined in his chair and carefully watched his godfather. He was certain that Severus was a spy for Dumbledore and he had hoped that he would, at some point, offer him and Narcissa a way out of their situation. But now Draco could take control of their future. He didn't want to reveal too much at the moment, he needed to consider the details first. He trusted Severus with his life but he did not trust Dumbledore. "I am on my own side. I will fight for myself, my friends, and my family but I will not involve myself further in this war."

Severus gave Draco a long, searching look. His voice was firm yet gentle when he spoke again. "I will always come to your aid, if need be, Draco but you will tread a precarious path over the coming years. Allow your friends to walk alongside you and remember to look for allies in unlikely places, just as your ancestors have done before you."

The silence stretched out in front of them before they turned their conversation to lighter topics, like Severus' forthcoming article in Potions Quarterly. They emptied the teapot twice before Severus glanced at the old grandfather clock in the corner of the room. "It is getting late, Draco, perhaps you ought to return to your common room." It was almost curfew; he'd been here for two hours.

Draco nodded, finishing the last of his tea. "Thank you, Severus. For everything." He stood up from the chair, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. Severus was right, he had much to think about over the coming months.

Severus stood up as well, walking over to Draco and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Remember, Draco, your O.W.L. examinations start next week. Make me proud."

Draco gave Severus a small smile in return before exiting the room and making his way back through the portrait, down the long corridor towards the Slytherin common room.

As he walked, he thought about everything Severus had said. He knew he had a lot to consider, a lot to plan, but for the first time since Voldemort had invaded his home, he felt a glimmer of hope. He also he needed to pass all eleven of his O.W.L.s and show Hermione Granger who the smartest wix in their year truly was but he'd think about that later. First, he needed to see his friends.

☿

As soon as Draco entered the common room, he was accosted by Pansy. She launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head into his chest.

"Draco, I was so worried about you!" Pansy cried, her voice muffled against his shirt. "Are you alright?"

Draco hugged her back, feeling grateful for her concern. "I'm fine, Pans. Better now, actually," he said, pulling away and looking at her. "We all need to talk privately." Pansy cocked her head to one side, curiosity etched on her face, but Draco shook his head, urging her to wait before questioning him. "It's important," he added.

Draco looked around the room, searching out his friends. The common room was filled to capacity with students from all years packed onto sofas and spilling over chairs, laughing and joking. Through the round windows, the dark water of the Black Lake cast an eerie emerald light across the room. Draco loved it. He spotted Theo cosied up in a corner with a heavy book, likely concerning animagi, while Blaise talked animatedly to Tracey and Millie, undoubtedly sharing some gossip about their fellow students. Vince and Daphne were on one of the comfy love seats, and he appeared quite embarrassed as she murmured something into his ear. Her smile widened as she flirted shamelessly with him. Greg, meanwhile, was deep in conversation with two first years over a chess board, likely giving them tips on how to improve their game. Pansy squeezed Draco’s waist before turning away from him to gather their friends.

Draco noticed Graham Montague casting a glance his way, raising an eyebrow at him. Montague had been chosen to be captain of the quidditch team at the end of the last school year, taking over from Flint who had graduated from Hogwarts, and he was taking it seriously. Too seriously, perhaps. Even though the season had ended, Montague's gaze told Draco he was up to something.

"Quidditch practice tomorrow morning, Malfoy," he declared loudly. "We have to get a jump on next year."

"I'll be there," Draco responded evenly, giving Montague a respectful nod. Salazar, extra training before classes was not what he needed right now but there was no denying the command of his captain if he wanted to keep his position next year. Truthfully, Draco was considering trying out for the position of Chaser, he was becoming a little too tall to be an efficient Seeker, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to give up his vicious rivalry with Potter. Quidditch had been boring this year, after Umbridge had banned him from playing.

Draco's friends quickly gathered around and, with Millie leading the way, they headed toward a secluded room just off the common room. It had been abandoned years ago, left to collect dust and cobwebs, but they'd renovated the room in their third year, using it as a meeting space ever since. The room was small but comfortable, lit by candlelight. Against one wall stood bookcases that reached up to the ceiling and were filled with volumes on every subject imaginable, even Muggle subjects while green velvet chairs and loveseats were placed around a low, dark wood table. Privacy charms, both Latin and Old English, were embedded into the walls and none of their fellow Slytherins ever attempted to enter the room. There was even a secret entrance that led to a secluded spot on the banks of the Black Lake, away from the prying eyes of other students. It was their sanctuary.

As they all settled into the room, Draco took a deep breath, feeling a surge of nervousness before he began to speak.

"I have some news," he said, his voice low. "I am not sure if rumours are already circling but my father has been sentenced ten years in Azkaban”. Draco paused, watching their reactions. They didn’t seem surprised by this revelation, which meant that news of his father’s incarnation had spread. Perhaps the next titbit of information would prove more exciting to them. “I am now the head of the Malfoy family," he said, flexing his right hand and drawing attention to the ring which glinted in the low candlelight. "I collapsed due to the sudden influx of family Magick transferring to me."

There were murmurs of surprise from his friends, but Draco noticed that Tracey looked rather bored. Honestly, would he ever be able to shock that girl? Unlikely, he thought. She took Slytherin shrewdness to a new level.

“Family Magick transference, when the original holder is still alive? Draco, that’s almost unheard of!”

“I know, Pans, I know. But it’s true. As you all know, the Malfoy family Magick is ancient and incredibly powerful, built up by my ancestors over millennia, but it is also fickle and possessive. I do not know exactly why the Magick deemed my father unworthy of its power but it is a privilege to be chosen to bear such responsibly.”

The group of Slytherins exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of Draco's revelation.

"I know this will change things for us, but I need your help now more than ever," he continued. "We are going to have to work together to secure our future."

Blaise raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "What do you mean, secure our future? What's going to happen to us?" Blaise knew what Draco was implying, they all did, but he needed this to be said aloud. He needed Draco to acknowledge their precarious positions in the world and consider how they were going to survive the war.

Draco leaned forward, speaking in a low, urgent tone. "We need to be prepared for anything. My father's conviction has offered us an opportunity forge our own path but it has also left us vulnerable to attack from not only the Ministry but also from the Dark Lord's followers."

He stole a glance at Theo, finding comfort in their blossoming relationship. Theo's attention was a balm for Draco's soul, and his gentle smile made Draco's heart flutter. He looked away before he started to blush; it wasn't time for that.

"We need to strengthen our alliances and make sure our position is secure." He looked around the room, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "I trust each of you, and I know we can do this together. We must also make plans to ensure the safety of any vulnerable family members.” Millie gave him a small, grateful smile. Her pureblood father had defied his family's wishes and married the love of his life, a half-blood witch from a light-leaning family he'd met at Hogwarts. They were still accepted within Pureblood society because Millie’s father was the only heir to the Bulstrode name but they were, at least in terms of blood status, the most vulnerable among them and Draco do everything within his power to ensure their safety.

Tracey finally spoke up, her voice calm and measured. "What exactly do you need from us, Draco?"

Draco smiled at her, grateful for her calm interjection. Her parents, two pureblood grey-leaning witches who followed the Old Ways, were concerned about Voldemort but they were also concerned about the Ministry's persecution of families who followed the Old Ways. Over recent years, Fudge had begun persecuting grey- and dark-leaning families who revered the Mother, something which irked Draco far more than whatever blood politics and pureblood supremacy nonsense his father was invested in. He may have believed in it once, after years of indoctrination from his father, but attending Hogwarts had opened his eyes to the true issues within their society.  

"I need your loyalty," Draco said firmly, holding Tracey's gaze. "I need you to stand by me no matter what happens. And I need your ideas, your plans, your strategies. We need to be one step ahead of everyone else." He looked to Greg, Daphne, and Blaise. "We need to gather information, to know what's happening in the outside world. We can't just sit here and wait for the war to come to us. We need to be proactive."

Blaise nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed in determination. "We'll start gathering information during the summer," he said decisively. "We need to find out everything we can about the Ministry's plans, the Order of the Phoenix, and the Death Eaters. We should also attempt to find allies in some of the neutral families.”

“I know my parents are still loyal to him,” Vince said reluctantly, not wanting to say Voldemort's name aloud. “But my sister isn’t, so I think I should talk to her—she has friends in old families who may be willing to help.”

Greg confessed that his mother would likely choose to return to Sweden in order to avoid the war. Her neutrality had been a sore spot between his parents since Voldemort’s return and Greg knew she feared that he would follow the same path as his father. “What do we do if one of us is forced to take the Mark?”

Greg's question lingered in the air for a moment before Millie spoke up, cutting through the contemplative silence. "We won't let that happen, Greg. We'll stick together no matter what and we’ll have a plan in place, just in case." Her voice was strong, full of conviction.

Theo sighed heavily before speaking up. “You know my family. Uncle Henry is a devout follower, almost as bad as Bellatrix, but my father has been more difficult to gauge since Mother’s death.” Theo’s mother, the kind and gentle Alexandra, had passed away during their first year at Hogwarts and, as far as they were aware, his father had not answered the call of the Dark Mark since Voldemort’s return. She’d always disapproved of his father’s involvement with blood politics and the first war.

Draco nodded, understanding the gravity of Theo's situation. "We'll have to be careful with your father," he said, his voice gentle. "But we can't let that deter us. We need to know where his loyalties lie, and we need to be prepared to help him, if he requires it." He looked at Theo, a glint of determination in his eyes. "We'll figure it out, Theo. Together."

"Thank you," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

The group continued to lay out their plans and strategies for the summer ahead. "I have some other problems to work over the summer but I'll contact the old families across Europe for support," Draco said. "I know some of them are worried about the war and the possibility of Voldemort's ideals spreading to their communities, especially in France."

The first half of his statement drew concerned looks from his friends but he ignored them. This wasn't something to discuss now, mainly because Draco had no idea what was happening himself, and he probably shouldn't have mentioned it. Inheriting the family Magick had caused other changes within him, appearing to provide him some sensitivity to the whereabouts of living blood relatives. This had never been mentioned in his father’s lessons, and he'd never read anything of the sort in the many tomes that filled the Manor library, but perhaps his mother would know more. He'd also have to do some research into what was kept at the Department of Mysteries because Draco was almost certain he could sense someone who was supposedly killed the same night his father was arrested. Distant, but still there. Like a shadow.

"Now, how is everyone getting on with their O.W.L.s revision?"

The group groaned at the obvious change in subject, with Pansy adding "I've been revising every day, Draco. I don't need you to remind me."

Draco laughed, feeling grateful for his friends in this moment. "Good. We need to show everyone what Slytherins are made of. We need to be at the top of our game."

With somewhat forced enthusiasm, the group discussed their final revision plans. Theo mentioned that he'd created colour-coded schedules for their final week of revision, earning him a whack to the back of the head from Pansy who was tired of revision and schedules and books. Vince and Greg were discussing their strategies for Transfiguration. They weren't bad at the subject but McGonagall terrified them and they often lacked the delicacy needed for some of the spells. They were aiming for A’s. Draco could feel pride swelling within him as he looked around the room, knowing that he had a loyal group of friends who were willing to stand by him no matter what. Together, they would face the challenges that lay ahead, with cunning, intelligence, and strength.

As they continued their revision planning, Draco couldn't help but steal glances at Theo, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort every time their eyes met. He knew that he could count on Theo to support him, to be there for him in the darkest moments.

Eventually there was a knock at the door, an older student signalling that it was time for them to retire for the night. Draco groaned, disappointed with the inevitable passage of time. He had intended to read the letter from his mother but it would have to wait. It was getting late and he had early quidditch practice and then double Potions with the Gryffindors tomorrow. Wonderful.

Chapter Text

Draco was roused from his sleep by the flashing light of his Tempus charm; the time read 5.15am. Damn it, he was going to be late. He pulled himself out of bed, getting changed into practice quidditch leathers and stuffing some comfortable clothes into a bag. Despite being in a rush to get to practice, he still made sure to brush his teeth and comb his hair. A shower would have to wait until after practice. He didn't know why Montague had scheduled practice a week before O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s at such an ungodly time but he had.

When he arrived, his teammates were already there, stretching and warming up. Even the current seventh years – Charlotte Manners, Chaser, and Jonathan Travers, Keeper – had turned up, despite not being in the team next year. Montague was in the centre of the pitch, gesturing wildly and barking orders from his broom. Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes. Montague was a good captain, but he could be a bit overbearing at times.

"Malfoy! Finally decided to join us?" Montague shouted when he saw Draco. "We're starting with some drills, so get your broom and get ready."

Draco groaned inwardly as he retrieved his broom. This was going to be brutal.

He mounted his old Nimbus 2001 and hovered a few feet above the grass. This old broom had served him well for years but perhaps it was time to look at a new model. Not a Firebolt, no. He wouldn't buy anything Potter had. Maybe one of the new Fulmine brooms that were all the rage in Italy. He was pretty sure that his grandfather had invested in the company years ago, perhaps it was time to sample their products.

Draco started off with a few slow laps around the pitch, just to get into the swing of things before pressing his body close to the broom to gain speed. He dodged bludgers and quaffles, some aimed directly at him, with perfect ease before flying straight up. He hovered several feet above the other players, observing their movements, when he sensed, more than saw, something hurtling towards him.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Draco caught the quaffle mere millimetres from his nose. He searched the sky for the culprit, eyes landing on a smirking Montague.

"Nice catch, Malfoy! Maybe you should try out for Keeper next year."

Draco scowled to himself. Malfoys weren't Keepers, they were Chasers and Seekers. Athletic and cunning. Always in the midst of the action. Not that Keepers weren't vital to the game, they were. Travers had done a fine job of defending for the last few years and they'd have a difficult time replacing him. It was just that Draco preferred to actually fly during quidditch matches. Without thought, Draco launched the quaffle directly at his captain, who was too busy laughing with one of the other Chasers to notice the imminent danger.

Draco laughed, delighted, as the quaffle hit Montague square in the face, toppling him off his broom only to be saved by a third-year reserve who had been hovering below him. The other sixth-year Chaser, James Tremblay, howled with laughter while Montague swore up a storm. He'd have a stunning bruise on his face later but Draco hadn't managed to break any bones. Clara Shacklebolt, one of their fierce Beaters, gave Draco a proud grin, happy to see Montague taken down a peg or two.

Once he was firmly back on his broom, Montague forced Draco to get involved in the Chaser drills. Draco didn't mind too much, being a Seeker was a bit boring when you had nothing to catch and no rival to bait.

☿

Two hours later, Draco's feet firmly touched the ground and he felt a little stretch in his stiff hamstrings as he dismounted his broom. He was ready for a warm shower, some toast, and a strong cup of tea before Potions class.

Montague patted him on the shoulder as he passed him. "You sure you don't want that free Chaser position, Malfoy? You're a good Seeker but you'd make a damn fine Chaser."

Draco shrugged and told Montague he'd consider it. There was often little glory in being a Chaser but Draco wasn't sure he cared about glory anymore.

When he entered the changing room, he reached for his bag and began to strip out of his practice gear, his thoughts wandering as he did so. Sure, the practice had been unforgiving, but it had also been a welcome distraction.

He took a quick shower and redressed. Draco grabbed a t-shirt from his bag, smirking at the garment. He was certain that half of the school thought he only ever wore dress shirts but even t-shirts could be luxurious. Alas, he couldn't show up to the Great Hall in a t-shirt and shorts, so he made his way back to the dorms to change into his uniform.

☿

Once back in the safety of the dorms which were, for once, blessedly empty, Draco decided to take an indulgent shower to clean away the grime and sweat. He was already late for breakfast, another half an hour wouldn't make a difference.

He exited the shower feeling relaxed and smelling like fresh apples. He dried his hair with a quick charm and combed his fingers through it, aiming for a tousled look that he wasn't quite sure he achieved. Still, as he checked his appearance in the mirror, he rather liked how he looked. He was growing into his sharp, aristocratic features and his shoulders were filling out. He was still lithe, and he'd likely never be muscular, but it suited him. Glancing once more at the mirror, Draco straightened his school tie before collecting his bag and exiting the dorm room in a swirl of black robes.

The corridors leading up to the Great Hall were devoid of students. He saw one kneazle on his walk, a large orange one that twined around his legs as he walked, almost tripping him in the process, but other than that, Draco was alone. It was rather eerie to be in a castle full of people and still feel isolated. He quickened his steps, eager to be back with his friends, and his footsteps echoed off the stone floors.

As he walked into the Great Hall, he noticed the eyes and whispers that followed him to the Slytherin table. Most people didn't know what had really happened the day before but that didn't stop the Hogwarts gossip mill from turning. He took a seat between Millie and Vince, piling up his plate with multiple slices of heavily buttered toast and pouring a cup of Earl Grey. His focus was disrupted when he noticed Potter’s eyes on him. He met the other boy’s green eyes for a moment before averting his attention back to his breakfast. He felt a sudden wave of irritation at Potter’s nosiness but quickly shrugged it away. He had more important things to worry about than Potter's obsession with him.

Draco was content to have the sounds of the Great Hall become background noise, not really engaging in any conversations. Eventually he became aware of Pansy and Theo standing up from the table, ready to leave, so he drained the last of the tea from his cup and joined them.

He checked his watch. Potions class was due to begin in twenty minutes and Draco had to mentally prepare for three hours with the Gryffindors. He sincerely hoped that neither Longbottom nor Finnegan would blow up the classroom today.

Pansy linked her arm through his as they sauntered out of the Great Hall, drawing looks from the other houses. The other fifth-year Slytherins trailed behind them, chatting amongst themselves and, unknowingly, presenting a united front against the curious glances of the students around them.

☿

Draco took his seat at his usual desk, towards the front of the room, and began to organise his materials. His attention was drawn to a whispering group of Gryffindors in the back corner, as far away from Snape’s desk as possible. He almost rolled his eyes when he noticed Potter’s attention on him again. Daphne settled into the seat next to him, with Pansy and Millie sat to their left and Theo and Vince sat to their right. Blaise was sitting as close to the Gryffindors as possible – he loved to cause problems by dropping random ingredients into their potions – and Tracey was with him to ensure that he didn’t get caught. Blaise had always been the troublemaker of the group. Not Draco, as many assumed. Draco just enjoyed being the centre of attention. Greg was sat at the desk directly behind Draco, alone by choice. It was easier for Greg to concentrate on his work if he sat alone. Chatter filled the room as more students arrived and Draco could hear two Gryffindor girls gossiping about him.

“Padma was in class when it happened,” one of them whispered – the other Patil twin, Draco couldn't recall her name – “she said he just collapsed during Transfiguration!”

The other one tutted. "That's awful." Salazar, someone save Draco from having to listen to this. "I wonder if there's something wrong with him." Draco could feel her eyes assessing him critically, burning into his back.

"Padma said one of his bodyguards just picked him up and carried him out of the room. And then they all left! McGonagall didn't even try to stop them."

“Well, he looks okay to me. More than okay, actually. Do you think he’s done something different with his hair today?”

"For Merlin’s sake, Lavendar. Focus! Padma said that Terry Boot said his nose was bleeding and everything.”

“Maybe he’s stressed about his O.W.L.s? I bet his parents are awful to him because that Granger girl does better in classes.”

“Maybe it’s because his dad was arrested. Did you hear about that? Apparently, he was trying to steal some important artefact from the Ministry.”

“Ugh, we'll never find out what really happened. Slytherins are so secretive."

Draco clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to react, but he couldn’t help the anger that surged through him at the thought of someone else speculating about his life when they knew nothing about it.

He tried to focus on sorting out his equipment for Snape’s lesson, but he couldn’t help glancing over at the group of Gryffindors. It seemed like they hadn’t stopped talking about him since they had walked into the classroom. He exchanged a meaningful look with Pansy, who nodded in understanding before turning back to their work. She’d sort this out later. Draco didn’t question Pansy’s methods. He didn’t even really know what her methods were but he knew they were effective.

Suddenly, Blaise appeared between the two girls with a mischievous grin on his face, teeth glinting sharply. “Ugh, we’ll never find out what really happened," he said loudly, pitching his voice higher as if to mock them. "Slytherins are sooooooooo secretive, whatever shall we do?" He pretended to swoon between them.

The class laughed, while the two girls flushed, having been caught gossiping so plainly. Did they really think they were being sneaky? Draco rolled his eyes at Blaise in exasperation. He knew his friend was just trying to make light of the situation but it didn’t stop him from feeling a little irritated at being put on display like that. Still, it could have been worse.

Before anything else could happen, Snape stepped into the room, his trademark scowl firmly in place. “Take a seat, Mr. Zabini, you’re creating a scene," he said, sneering at the boy in question. “Everyone else, open your books to page 628—it's your last chance to brew the Draught of Peace correctly prior to your exams next week. Make sure to use your time wisely." Snape looked around, his gaze roving over the small group of Gryffindors in the back corner. "Let's hope there are no explosions today, Mr. Finnegan.”

Draco sighed in relief as the class began, glad to have something to focus on besides the Gryffindors' incessant whispers. He quickly got to work, carefully measuring out ingredients and mixing them together in his cauldron. He was just about to add the powdered unicorn horn, nine grams to be exact, when he heard a loud bang from the back of the room. He cast a quiet spell over his cauldron, keeping it preserved in its current state, and turned to see a cloud of purple smoke billowing from the Gryffindors' corner and several students frantically waving their arms to clear it. Draco tilted his head to one side, studying the mess. The cauldron was probably too hot when they added the second lot of powdered porcupine quills. Or perhaps Blaise had slipped in an extra ingredient when no one was looking. Draco squinted at the smoke, seeing glimmers of pink amongst the purple. Shrivelfig, Draco thought, shaking his head.

Snape strode over to the source of the disturbance. "What have we here?" he drawled, his eyes flicking over the group of Gryffindors.

"It wasn't me, Professor," Potter said quickly, holding up his hands in a show of innocence.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "I highly doubt that, Mr. Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor for your blatant lies. Clear this mess up immediately or I'll have you scrubbing cauldrons in detention until the end of the school year."

Draco smirked to himself, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the Potter's misfortune. He turned back to his own potion, adding the unicorn horn and stirring it carefully, watching as the potion shifted from a pale pink to deep, blood red.

The class progressed without any further incident, much to Draco's relief. He finished his potion with ten minutes to spare and carefully decanted it into a phial, ready for Snape's inspection.

Snape surveyed his bright white potion, approval glinting in his dark eyes. "Very good, Mr. Malfoy, 20 points to Slytherin for producing a perfect Draught of Peace."

Draco smiled to himself, pleased with his own work. Gryffindors might cry favouritism but is it truly favouritism when Draco was, arguably, the best Potions student in the entire school? As he cleaned his work station, Draco became aware of someone approaching him from behind.

"Malfoy," Potter's voice was low, "what did you do to my potion?"

Draco turned around, trademark smirk on his face. Granger and Weasley were stood behind Potter, waiting. Weasley was flushed red with anger, a colour which clashed terribly with his hair, while Granger was wringing her hands together. "I didn't do anything to your potion, Potter. Maybe if you paid more attention to your brewing and less attention to me, you wouldn't have had such a disastrous result." He brushed past Potter, chin and nose tilted into the air.

Potter's hand shot out, gripping Draco's arm tightly. "I know you did something, Malfoy. I can tell."

Draco noticed Granger's eyes on his hand, staring intently at the family ring. He yanked his arm out of Potter's grasp, his eyes blazing with disdain. "I didn't do anything, Potter, except work on my own potion. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have places to be." He stalked out of the room, head held high, leaving a seething Potter behind. Draco knew that Potter was hoping for an argument but he refused to be drawn in by his provocations. Vince and Greg were at his side in an instant, offering silent support as they walked to their next class. He just needed to get through the next few weeks without incident and he could go home to his mother and the Manor.

As the others exited the classroom behind them, Draco could hear Pansy ranting about Potter's 'complete and utter lack of manners'.

"Honestly, who does he think he is?"

Blaise snorted. "Oh, I don't know. The Chosen One?"

"Blaise!"

Draco, Greg, and Vince slowed down to let the others catch up. Daphne sidled up at the side of Vince, clutching onto his arm, while Theo came to stand beside Draco. Blaise and Pansy were trailing behind slightly, bickering and gesturing at each other animatedly, with Tracey and Millie behind them.

Draco stopped and turned to them, grabbing Pansy’s hand to stop her fretting. "I'm fine, Pans. I promise."

Pansy eyed him critically before nodding. If Draco let her, she'd make Potter's life a living hell but that was his job, thank you very much.

"So, lunch in the Hall or the common room? Lord Malfoy's choice."

"Shut up, Blaise!” Ah, Pansy’s favourite phrase. “I swear to Salazar, if anyone finds out it'll be because of your big mouth."

"Oh, like that gorgeous piece of jewellery on his finger isn't a dead giveaway."

Pansy and Blaise squabbled all the way to the common room, earning them fond, if exasperated, looks from their friends.

☿

After an uneventful lunch in the common room, all of the fifth-year Slytherins made their way to the greenhouses for their Herbology class with the Hufflepuffs. It was the one optional class that they'd all taken into their O.W.L.s and as they walked, Vince enthusiastically shared details on the fanged geranium he had been cultivating, offering to show them if he had the chance. Draco loved his friend's enthusiasm for the subject, and he found himself looking forward to their class. They walked past the Whomping Willow, its branches thrashing about wildly, and made their way to Greenhouse Two.

As they entered the greenhouse, the warm, humid air enveloped them, and the scent of earth and plants filled Draco's senses. He took a deep breath, feeling his mood lift at the thought of working with his hands and getting dirt under his fingernails. He might look like a bit of a priss who never got his hands dirty, and Draco did love to be well-presented, but he’d spent hours of his childhood with his mother in their gardens, learning about the different species of plants and their properties. Learning about their magic. Draco preferred flowers and herbs and trees to the vicious plants Sprout had them study but it still felt like home.

They took up the back row of seats and Professor Sprout quickly made her way over to them, her hands gesticulating with enthusiasm. "Excellent! I'm so glad you all showed up today. We are going to be focusing on the Fanged Geranium today because I hear it could be featured in your practical exam next week." She winked at them before turning to Vince. "Mr. Crabbe here has grown one of the finest examples I've seen in years, so get close and watch out for its fangs!"

Draco watched as Vince beamed with pride, his chest puffed out as if he'd just won the House Cup. Vince stepped over to his plant and Draco followed, eager to get a better look at it. He could see why Vince was so proud; it was evidently well taken care of and flourishing. Its vibrant green leaves were full and glossy, its stems thick and strong, its flowers a vibrant blue.

But it was the fangs that drew Draco's eye; sharp white spikes protruding from the mouth of the plan. They glinted in the sunlight streaming through the windows of the greenhouse, their tips razor sharp and clearly capable of drawing blood if handled incorrectly.

He listened intently as Professor Sprout explained the proper way to care for the Fanged Geranium, taking notes in his leather-bound notebook as she spoke. As she finished her explanation, the class was given free rein to begin working on their own plants, checking their soil and water levels. One Hufflepuff got a sharp nip when he handled the plant too roughly but, otherwise, the lesson progressed smoothly.

Draco was so engrossed in his work that he didn't notice the time passing and soon, too soon, Sprout called time on the lesson.

"Right, off you go! Wash up in your dorm rooms and then off to the Great Hall with the lot of you. No loitering around the Whomping Willow, it's been more agitated as of late and I'd hate for any of you to get injured."

Draco followed his classmates out of the greenhouse, feeling content and relaxed. The afternoon sun was warm on his skin and he tilted his face up towards it, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of the rays on his face. He stopped for a moment, basking in the feeling.

He felt a tug at his sleeve as Tracey started dragging him towards the castle entrance. Dinner would wait for no man, it seemed.

☿

Later that evening, after a dinner of gazpacho and melocotón en almibar, Draco settled down on his bed in the dorm and finally read the letter from his mother. The scent of her perfume lingered in the air as he read the short note.

My dearest Draco,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. Severus was kind enough to inform me of what occurred and I am sorry that I could not be with you during such an ordeal.

Our guests have departed and are unlikely to return. Before your homecoming, I intend to perform a thorough cleansing and Billey promises to have your favourite sweets ready for your arrival. I will not be able to meet you at the station but please know that I eagerly await your return home.

All my love,

Mother.

The note was short but it was enough to know that she is well. Draco folded the letter neatly before setting it aside.

He laid back on his bed, staring up at the canopy above and his mind wandered back to the events of the day – the brewing of the Draught of Peace, the disastrous Gryffindor potion, and the confrontation with Potter. He clenched his jaw, still seething at the boy's accusations. He knew that Potter would never believe him, no matter what he said or did. It was a pointless battle that he refused to engage in.

He heard the dorm room door open and saw Theo entering the room.

Theo's eyes met Draco's and he made his way over to his bed. The other boy was already ready for bed, dressed in silky pyjamas and Draco could smell the minty freshness of his toothpaste. "Hey," he said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Draco.

"Hey," Draco replied, trying to push his thoughts of Potter to the back of his mind. He turned to face Theo, noticing the way his boyfriend's eyes seemed to be searching his face. Theo reached out to cup Draco’s face, thumb rubbing against the soft swell of Draco’s cheek.

"I know you've had a difficult couple of days, and this may be a thoughtless question, but are you okay?" Theo asked, his tone gentle.

Draco smiled, leaning his face into Theo's tender touch. "I'm fine. Truly."

Theo gave Draco a long look before beckoning for him to move over so he could sit on Draco’s bed. He shifted himself up against the headboard, inviting Draco to lay on his chest while he summoned the book he'd been reading yesterday, the one about animagi. It floated in front of them. Theo wrapped one arm around Draco’s shoulders, holding him close, while he turned the pages of the book with his wand. He read out loud, voice calm and steady. Eventually, they both began to relax. The other boys entered the dorm one by one, Blaise leering when he saw the two boys cuddled up on the bed. Draco ignored him, choosing to focus on Theo's deep voice and the warmth of his body. He felt safe and loved in Theo's arms.

As the night wore on, the boys eventually drifted off to sleep, the only sound in the dorm the gentle breathing of five teenage boys lost in their own dreams and hopes.

☿

The rest of the week was mostly uneventful. Ancient Runes was translation revision, Divination included the regular prophecies of doom and destruction now that Professor Trelawney had been reinstated, and Charms was delightfully easy. Draco had taken a short nap during their final History of Magic class, earning him a sharp elbow in the ribs from Blaise, but Draco already knew everything there was to know about the International Warlock Convention of 1289 so his nap was well deserved.

Their final class of the week was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Earlier in the week, Professor Lupin had returned to take over classes as Umbridge had disappeared into the Forbidden Forest. The man may be a werewolf but he was the finest Defence teacher they'd had so far at Hogwarts.

As Draco walked into the room, he cast a critical eye over Lupin's appearance. He looked worn and dejected. Perhaps it was because the full moon coming up in a couple of days. Or perhaps it was merely because he’d been thrown back into teaching without warning or preparation.

This was another class Draco shared with the Gryffindors and he’d usually relish the chance to cast a jinx or two at Potter but he just wasn’t in the mood. As more students wandered into the class, Lupin turned to the front of the class and began writing on the blackboard, chalk sliding easily over the surface.

CURSE and JINX DEFLECTION – PRACTICAL

This was their third DADA practical of the week. Lupin was clearly attempting to counteract the damage done by Umbridge by giving them some practice with casting and deflecting spells but it felt unnecessary. Draco knew that the Gryffindors had their precious little Dumbledore’s Army, so they'd had plenty of practice in the Come and Go Room, and the Slytherin students had been practicing in the dungeons all year, away from Umbridge’s prying eyes, but perhaps Lupin didn’t know that.

Lupin turned to face the room, a broad smile on his tired face. “I want you to partner up with someone from your own house and practice deflecting curses and jinxes. You’ll take it in turns to cast at one another but please do ensure that you stick to jinxes and curses that were on the syllabus this year. No stretching jinxes or ear-shrivelling curses from any of you.” Lupin eyed the Slytherins, as if they were more likely than the Gryffindors to attempt N.E.W.T. level spells. “If you are unsuccessful with your deflection, please uses the appropriate counter-curse or counter-jinx as you may need them in your practical exam. You all know the theory,” he smiled wryly, “but it’s time to put your theory into practice.”

The class exchanged murmurs. Cross-house pairings were typical for DADA lessons, something about fostering competitive spirit, but perhaps Lupin didn't want any drama this time around. Draco was relieved that he wouldn't be partnered with Potter. Or any of the other Gryffindors. They were all as bad as one another.

“We’ve got an odd number of students here today so I’ll need to pair up with one of the Slytherins." Lupin briefly scanned the room before settling on Draco. "Mr. Malfoy,” he said with a small smile. “You were one of my best students in third year; let’s see how much you’ve improved. You’ll partner with me.”

Draco sent a longing look at Pansy, who sat a few desks away. He had been excited to send a few jinxes her way, but she only smirked at him and revelled in his misfortune.

Lupin gave him a warm smile and beckoned him over to the front of the classroom. "Let's get started," he said, taking out his wand and gesturing for Draco to do the same. "Don't worry, Mr. Malfoy. We'll take it easy on each other," Lupin said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Draco nodded, shifting into the proper stance. Lupin cast a quick Impedimenta jinx that Draco easily deflected with a flick of his wand and a muttered spell. It was a back-and-forth exchange for a while until Lupin decided to up the ante.

"I know I said no N.E.W.T. level spells or skills, Mr. Malfoy, but how about some non-verbal deflections?" Lupin's words drew the attention of a few of his classmates and Draco eyed Lupin carefully. Non-verbal casting was taught to sixth-years, how did Lupin know he was already proficient? Perhaps he merely assumed that the son of Lucius Malfoy would have been taught at home. If only Lupin knew what Draco had been dealing with at home since last summer.

Taking a deep breath, Draco nodded his agreement and began to cast his deflections silently. Lupin's spells were quick and precise, but Draco was able to keep up. They moved fluidly, casting spells and deflecting them in turn.

Lupin finally called a halt to the exercise, a few minutes before the end of class. "Well done, everyone! Your spell work was much better than I anticipated, considering the circumstances." He wasn't sure how the man had observed the other students while duelling him but Draco was certain he'd been keeping a close eye on everyone. "Try to get some practice in over the weekend, if you can. Your theory exam is on Tuesday morning, 9am sharp, and your practical exams are on Thursday afternoon. Please check your timetable to find out which group you're in! I'll be around over the weekend if you need any help."

As the students retrieved their cloaks and bags, Lupin turned to Draco. "Excellent work, Mr. Malfoy," he said quietly, clapping him on the back. "You've certainly been working hard since I last saw you."

Draco fought back a pleased smile and, instead, merely nodded at Lupin. He was grateful for the praise but he didn’t want to appear so. As he collected his belongings, Draco noticed Potter's glaring look. Everyone was aware of Potter's little Army and how it excluded Slytherins. They'd gladly let the 'evil house' fall behind, even their Muggleborn members. Nevertheless, Slytherins were loyal to one another and had never relied on the other houses for help. Once they realised what Umbridge was up to at Hogwarts, they'd pulled together and elected representatives from the seventh to second years – Inaya Shafiq, Archie Ogden, Draco himself, Maria Lorenzo Guerrero, Sidharth Malhotra, and Ella Grosvenor – to teach Defence to younger students in the deserted classrooms of the Dungeons. Seventh-year students had regular duelling practice with their Head of House, away from Umbridge's watchful gaze, to ensure that they would be prepared for their N.E.W.T exams and life away from Hogwarts.

Even Lucius Malfoy had been disgusted by Umbridge's decrees banning magic and he'd had a hand in her appointment at Hogwarts in the first place. They were wix, for Circe's sake, magic ran through their veins and they should be encouraged to use it. But even so, Lucius had still made it clear that it would be in Draco's best interest to join her pathetic 'Squad'. Aspects of the Squad had been useful to Draco, especially since gave him access to Umbridge’s plans, and he had enjoyed being able to be out of the dorms after curfew but he’d hated doing that woman’s bidding and spending his free time chasing after Potter.  

Draco shook his head, attempting to dispel the thoughts that clouded his mind, and he felt Theo's hand touch his elbow in concern before he quickly moved away. Their relationship wasn’t a secret but they were both private people and neither wanted to attract attention from those outside their own house. As they left the room Potter was still giving him an angry look, but Draco refused to get into an argument with him. Maybe that's what was making Potter so mad; Draco wasn't giving him the altercation he clearly wanted.

They arrived at the door simultaneously, and Potter shouldered past Draco, nearly knocking him into the wall.

"Watch it, Malfoy," he spat before leaving.

Draco blinked, nonplussed. The short boy was stronger, or perhaps just angrier, than he appeared to be. He rubbed his arm, certain a bruise was forming where Potter had walked into him, and continued down the corridor. Draco brushed against Theo, who was walking alongside him, attempting to distract himself from the gut-wrenching feeling that someone was watching him.

Chapter Text

When Monday dawned, their O.W.L. examinations began. Draco had a full slate of written tests that first day: Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, Charms, Arithmancy, Astronomy, and Care of Magical Creatures. It was going to be a long day for Draco, but he was ready for the challenge.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened that day, although Granger seemed to be more frazzled than usual. She needed to learn to pace herself otherwise she was going to burn out very quickly. Despite his previous actions towards her, Draco respected Granger’s intellect and tenacity. Their never-ending battle for the top position in their year caused him endless problems with his father but Draco regretted ever using her blood status against her. He recognised now that he turned to the one thing he knew he could hold over her, the one thing he thought placed him above her but, in reality, her blood never mattered. He doubted that he’d ever apologise to her but he knew now that blood politics and blood supremacy were worthless endeavours. If the Mother had blessed Granger with Magick, who was he to argue?

Draco shook his head, dispelling his thoughts as he walked towards his next exam. He had written and submitted research papers for two of the day's subjects – Ancient Runes and Charms – in an attempt to gain an O* overall in those classes. He felt certain that he had earned the top grade in Ancient Runes, but he'd need to wait until Thursday morning, when he had his practical Charms exam, to gauge his results in that subject. Yet, Draco was confident he had completed a perfect written exam, so he was on his way to achieving his goal.

He had been a little anxious about one of his Arithmancy equations following the exam but Theo told him that he'd come to the same answer, so Draco had felt reassured. Outside of Draco and Granger, Theo was the best at Arithmancy in their year. Theo could be the best in several subjects, matching Draco for skill and intellect, but he preferred to take third place. He was quiet in his intellect, in his ambition, and it was always the quiet ones that you had to watch out for. Draco did not underestimate Theo but many others did.

After a day full of exams, Draco and his friends fell into their dorm room beds and slept dreamlessly, utterly exhausted.

☿

Divination on Tuesday was a little more interesting, especially since the written exam was followed immediately by the 'practical' exam. Very few people were taking the Divination O.W.L. so both exams actually took place in Trelawney's classroom. It was a room with a high ceiling and draping fabrics, tapestries and curtains. The ceiling was painted with gold and yellow patterns, like the sun's rays bursting from the clouds. A sweet smell, like cinnamon and honey, hung so thickly in the air that Draco could almost taste it. The dark floorboards creaked as students shifted in their carved wood chairs, and the tinkle of tiny bells filled the room, lending a mysterious air to the space. The mystical atmosphere of the room seemed almost manufactured, as if Professor Trelawney was trying to meet the expectations of others.

He shared the class with Tracey and Daphne, while the rest of their friends thought they were mad for taking such a subject. For their exam, they had to choose one medium – crystal balls, tea leaves, or palm reading – and interpret the fortune of their classmate. Draco had no idea how the exam was graded but the examiner looked as odd as Trelawney so perhaps his techniques would be fine.

He was paired up with Daphne as they were the only two to choose tea leaves in the entire group. He peered into her cup when prompted by the examiner.

He saw a few different shapes forming in the leaves: an arch, a butterfly, and a frog. “You're going to go on a journey abroad very soon – the arch is more prominent than the other symbols, which indicates it's in the near future – but your distant future promises success and happiness, both in marriage and business.” Daphne looked pleased with the interpretation. Draco didn’t put much stock in Divination but his Grandmother Malfoy, Hélène, had often read his tea leaves as a boy, promising happiness and good fortune. He missed her terribly and he took Divination as a way of feeling close to her.

The examiner smiled at him serenely after he completed his interpretation. He wondered idly if she was related to Trelawney in any way. They both had the same vague, distant stare and serene, yet creepy, smile.

“Now, Miss Greengrass, please read Mr. Malfoy's leaves.”

Draco watched as Daphne squinted at his cup. Her face paled before she explained her interpretation.

“You're going to come into contact with a dangerous adversary who is persistent,” she said, pointing towards the bird-like clump of leaves. She’d interpreted it as a falcon but all large birds were generally omens of enemies. “There's also a bush, which indicates a welcome to society.” Daphne looked at him knowingly, he was sure to receive a 'welcome to society' from the old families over the summer and a persistent enemy could mean Potter, his own father, or even Voldemort. “In the distance, there’s prosperity – indicated by a moon – but there’s also a cat which means difficulties brought on by treachery. Finally, there's a cross. I'm not sure whether that would suggest coming to a cross-road and making a difficult decision or death.” Daphne looked up at him, a sad expression etched into her pretty face, as she concluded but Draco merely smiled at her. Divination, especially fortune-telling, was an imprecise art and neither of them had any true talent for it, so he wasn't worried by her prediction.

The examiner nodded, patting Draco on the shoulder as she walked to the next pair.

Despite the connection it gave him to his late grandmother, Draco was certain that this would be the subject he'd drop next year in favour of Alchemy. It was just too dramatic, even for Draco.

As Draco, Tracey, and Daphne made their way back to the common room, he sensed someone's eyes on him again. It had happened several times since his DADA class the week before and each time Draco caught glimpses of movement out of the corner of his eye and felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck that refused to go away. He wasn't sure if it was a prank being played by one of the other Houses or if there was something more sinister at play. It wouldn't be the first time that someone had tried to intimidate him or get under his skin but he couldn't shake the feeling that this was different, that there was something more to it than just a simple joke. Draco tried to brush it off as paranoia but he still glanced around the corridor, scanning the shadowy corners for any sign of movement. No one seemed to be there but he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy.

☿

The next morning, Draco had his written Potions exam. This was the final subject for which Draco had submitted a research paper. He'd focused on the Elixir of Despair, a potion created by his ancestor, Corvus Black, in 1578 only to be banned in 1642, during the first few months of the English Civil War. It was a fascinating, complex potion and, while he had no desire to use it on anyone, he would relish the challenge of actually brewing it. Some of the most complex potions, spells, and rituals had been created by the Black family, by Draco’s own ancestors. After all, no great genius has existed without a strain of madness.

His written Potions exam was straightforward, filled with simple questions about ingredients and bases and how potions can be used and misused. Draco finished his exam rather quickly, despite writing carefully to avoid unnecessary smudging, and, with almost half an hour still left on the clock, he took to observing his fellow classmates. Longbottom's forehead was furrowed in deep concentration, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. Granger scribbled away at a frenzied pace, her quill dancing across the parchment with a scratchy fervor. One of the Hufflepuffs chewed on his quill relentlessly, leaving Draco to cringe in disgust. He could only hope it was a Sugar Quill. Next to him a Ravenclaw, MacDougal, was calmly checking over her answers while Macmillan, the perky Hufflepuff sat on his left, was fidgeting, tapping his foot repeatedly against the stone floor as he contemplated his answers.

Draco was brought out of his thoughts by a stern interjection from Professor Snape.

“Quills down. Remain seated until I have collected your papers and then leave.”

As soon as the last paper was collected, the students scrambled out of their seats and towards the door. Some of them only had a fifteen-minute break before they had to be back in the exam hall for their History of Magic exam and they were determined to make the most of it.

☿

The last exam on Wednesday was their Transfiguration practical. All forty students in their year were crammed into the exam hall, preparing to demonstrate three spells for the invigilators.

Draco was perched at the back of the room, looking down at the crowd of fidgeting students. He felt oddly calm, knowing that he had the spells perfected. He glanced around to check his friends. Vince and Greg were looking tense.

Vince had been up until three am the night before, practising. Draco had forced a Calming Draught down his throat when he found him and forced him to get some sleep. Vince needed to be at his best for his Herbology exam, which took place just before their Transfiguration exam, because that was much more important than passing Transfiguration. Now, as he waited for the exam to begin, Vince was anxiously tapping his wand on his leg. Greg's shoulders were hunched, and Draco reached over to pat him on the back in what he hoped was a comforting manner.

Draco felt so much sympathy for them. He had been studying hard for this exam, they all had, but not to the same degree as Vince and Greg. They all tried to tell them that they weren’t bad at the subject but McGonagall scared them as much as Snape terrified Longbottom so they’d never felt confident in the subject.

As the exam began, the invigilators called up each student one-by-one. Draco watched as Vince and Greg stumbled through their spells, clearly nervous, but they completed all three successfully. Greg’s teapot was a little wonky and Vince’s guinea pig had a few feathers but they wouldn’t fail. Draco was so proud of them and he could tell that the rest of their friends were too.

☿

Draco was in an excellent mood on Thursday morning. They’d celebrated Vince and Greg’s success the night before with a few games of Exploding Snap and some sweet treats smuggled out of the kitchens after curfew. And now he had his Charms practical exam, something he had been looking forward to all week despite the fact that he had to take it with the Gryffindors

He had always excelled in the subject, with his wand movements being precise and his incantations clear, and Flitwick had been positively ecstatic when he saw the charmed badges Draco had created for the Triwizard Tournament last year, quizzing Draco about his adaptation of the Protean Charm, a N.E.W.T. level spell, even if he disapproved of the message on the badges.

The practical exam involved demonstrating a number of charms – Diffindo, the Disillusionment Charm, Reducto, and Lumos Maxima – before they were asked to demonstrate a charm of their choice. Draco chose a non-verbal summoning charm, retrieving a specific book from the library in a show of power, accuracy, and delicacy.

“Oh, how marvellous Mr. Malfoy!” Flitwick cried, completely abandoning any objective stance as he watched his students excel. “Is that book from the library? Oh, how wonderful. Make sure to take it back though, otherwise the lovely Madam Pince will have your head.”

Luckily, Draco had already asked Pince’s permission to do such a thing, just in case they were asked to demonstrate the summoning charm, and she’d thankfully agreed. He didn’t want to be banned from the library any time soon.

He watched as Theo demonstrated a powerful Incendio, the flame white-blue and so bright it left spots in Draco's vision, while Blaise changed the colour of Pansy's hair without her knowledge. Purple suited her, if Draco was being honest, but he didn't want to be near her when she next looked in a mirror. Blaise deserved the stinging hex she’d throw at him later.

Potter and Weasley both cast Arresto Momentum on objects they'd thrown at each other, while Granger, looking even more frazzled than she had at the beginning of the week, hit Weasley with a rather strong Confundo. Draco held back a laugh as Weasley wandered around the room, looking even more confused than usual. He wondered what the Weasel had done to annoy her. Draco was sure he deserved it.

Flitwick clapped his hands together, delighted by their abilities, while the exam invigilator looked stern, assessing each of them with a critical eye. Draco would never understand why some of his grandfather’s generation considered Charms a ‘soft subject’ when it was so clearly a demonstration of a person’s true skill and magical ability.

Draco left the exam room with his head held high – he had done well in all his exams so far and was confident in his abilities. He only had his Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions practical exams to complete and he'd be free to relax.

☿

As Draco walked into the classroom for his Defence Against the Dark Arts exam on Thursday afternoon, he noticed that the room had been set up in a way that made it clear they were going to be duelling each other. Unlike their usual classes that were with the Gryffindors, Draco's DADA exam was with the Ravenclaws. Both houses had nine students, after Su Li had left to be home schooled at the end of their second year, so their pairing made sense and Draco could never understand why Slytherin house had classes with Gryffindor in the first place. It was as if the teachers at Hogwarts were asking for trouble. The exam may also have been set up to ensure that their reactions were genuine, rather than borne out of familiarity.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Lupin said, smiling at them all. The tall examiner was stood behind him, scowling at Lupin’s presence in the room. Draco knew a bigot when he saw one and it was clear the examiner was horrified at being in the same room as a werewolf, even one as mild-mannered as Lupin. “Today you will be duelling each other to test your abilities in Defence Against the Dark Arts. You will be paired with someone from another house and will be called up to demonstrate your duelling skills. Each duel will last ten minutes and you will be graded on power, accuracy, stance, reflexes, and creativity. Then, at the end of the class, you will all be invited to face a boggart once again.”

Lupin called out the names of the first duellers and Terry Boot and Millie stepped into the centre of the room. Draco watched as they began duelling; their wands moved in intricate patterns as they blocked and attacked each other with precision. Once Lupin declared them done, he called for Michael Corner and Tracey to take their place. The two sparred fiercely and neither managed to subdue the other.

Next up were Kevin Entwhistle and Daphne. Daphne duelled so confidently and her wandwork was beautiful as she leapt around the room, dodging every curse Entwhistle threw at her. In the end, she emerged triumphant and Lupin praised them both for their efforts.

Draco was next, paired up with Anthony Goldstein. They walked to the front of the room and turned to face one another. As a sign of respect and good etiquette, they bowed before walking ten paces and positioning themselves in the proper stance.

“Ready your wands, begin!”

Draco and Goldstein began to duel, their spells meeting in the middle and creating sparks that lit up the room. They circled one another gracefully, their movements fluid as they dodged and weaved, casting spells and counter-spells. Goldstein was a tough opponent, but Draco was determined to prove himself. He remembered his training with his mother, the countless hours spent honing his skills and learning new spells in their ballroom at the Manor. His father had thought it uncouth to duel inside and blamed the infamous ‘Black Family Madness’ for their actions. Draco was not going to let that preparation go to waste, even if he couldn’t use half of the spells his mother had taught him over the years.

They each took a moment to catch their breath, wands gripped tightly. Draco moved first, casting a powerful Reducto that Goldstein dodged, leaving the spell to blast a hole in the wall behind the Ravenclaw. Goldstein quickly followed with Everte Statum, a spell that Draco had used against Potter in their second year, which Draco deflected with ease. Spells continued to fly as the Tempus counted down their remaining time. At one point, Draco managed to catch Goldstein with an Impedimenta, slowing the Ravenclaw momentarily, but Goldstein retaliated with a Petrificus Totalus, aiming to put an end to the duel.

Draco cast a silent Protego and watched as Goldstein's spell bounced harmlessly the shield. He then followed up with a well-placed Expelliarmus, causing Goldstein’s wand to fly out of his hand and into Draco's. The Ravenclaw looked dumbfounded but, before he could react, Draco cast a stunning spell, knocking him off his feet.

Lupin clapped his hands, signalling the end of the duel. “Excellent job, Mr. Malfoy. You showed great skill and strategy in that duel. And Mr. Goldstein, you demonstrated excellent precision and reflexes, well done.”

Both of the boys bowed, feeling a sense of pride in their skills, before shaking hands, congratulating each other on a well-matched duel.

As the other pairs finished their duels, Draco could feel the tension in the room rise. They were about to face a boggart again. It had been a disastrous class for the Slytherins in their third year, what with Potter’s boggart turning into a dementor and everything, and Draco didn’t think they’d be required to face one again in an exam setting. Who thought that this was a good idea?

Draco observed as Lupin set up the boggart, which he kept in a large, ornate chest. He looked nervous. Once released, the boggart was a black mass that took on the form of their greatest fears. He watched as some of his classmates stepped forward, first gripped by fear but then laughing at the silly images that the boggart created. A creepy clown, a snake, a Death Eater – all transformed in some way or another. Draco would pay good galleons to see a bunch of real Death Eaters wearing powder pink robes. It’d be even funnier than the boggart.

When it was his turn, Draco felt his heart race. He no longer knew what his greatest fear would be.

He stepped forward, his wand at the ready, and watched as the boggart began to shift and warp. At first, it took on the form of his father, his face twisted in anger and disappointment. That had been his boggart in their third year, when Draco was beginning to realise that he couldn’t be who his father wanted him to be, but Draco was no longer bound by his father’s expectations. It was Draco who was disappointed by his father now.

As if sensing this change in him, the figure twisted and shifted abruptly, transforming into something even more dreadful – his own failure. The people he loved lay motionless on the ground, their lifeless eyes staring up at him. His mother. Severus. Theo. Pansy. So many bodies. Blood, thick and heavy like tar, surrounded them, soaking into the wooden planks beneath them. The stench of death was heavy in the air, and Draco felt his stomach churn. He wished he could look away, but he knew he couldn't. This was his greatest fear, the fear of being utterly powerless, unable to protect the ones he loved.

Draco's wand hand shook as he tried to remember the spell but his mind was blank. The terror of the boggart was so intense that it felt like he was suspended in time and space. The atmosphere of the room seemed to evaporate, leaving him in a vacuum filled only with a loud buzzing sound. He knew that the boggart was only a manifestation of his fear but it felt real. He needed something, anything, to snap him out of his fear.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Pansy's terrified face. It was enough to jolt Draco out of his trance. She was alive. Terrified by what she was seeing but alive nonetheless.

Draco took a deep breath and raised his wand. “Riddikulus!”

The boggart shifted and transformed but instead of something comical, the bodies turned into hundreds of white butterflies, fluttering around Draco and his classmates. He laughed, not with humour, but with joy and relief.

The tension in the room dissipated and the rest of the students faced their boggarts with relative ease. Pansy’s greatest fear turned out to be her maternal aunt telling her that she’d never be a successful business woman and would do better to marry a wealthy husband and become a housewife. With a vicious flick of her wand, Pansy transformed her aunt’s sharp suit and stiletto heels into a ridiculous ball gown, bright pink with neon orange polka-dots, and heavy black boots. Her hair was unkempt and her make-up smeared across her face. Pansy laughed as her ‘aunt’ stomped around the room and ranted at the top of her lungs about the awful outfit while Lupin clapped happily at Pansy’s success.

Draco made his way out of the room, with Daphne and Pansy clinging to his arms. Professor Lupin called out to him as he left. “Good job, Mr. Malfoy. It takes courage to face that which terrifies us.”

Later that evening, after dinner in the Great Hall, Draco and Theo were nestled together on a love seat in the common room, enjoying each other's company. They had been sitting there for some time. Draco had been shaken by his boggart, by seeing the lifeless bodies of his friends and loved ones around him, but he need only glance around the common room to know that it wasn’t real, only a manifestation of his greatest fear. The laughter and chatter that filled the room soothed him.

Hours seemed to pass, and Draco finally relaxed completely. Theo’s hand was stroking the short hairs at the nape of his neck, gentle and calm, and every so often he’d twist his fingers into Draco’s hair, tugging ever so slightly as if to keep Draco’s mind in the present. Draco turned to look at Theo, captivated by the sight of him. Every time he looked at Theo, he was struck by how stunning he was. His hair was a dark and tousled mess, falling in soft waves around his face. His eyes were deep blue, like the ocean on a dark night, and his sharp jawline gave him a handsome and masculine appearance, strikingly defined and sculpted as if chiselled from marble by a master craftsman's careful hand. Even the way he sat was appealing – relaxed but confident, every fibre of his being radiating ease and grace. Draco felt himself drawn completely into Theo's orbit, unable to pull away from this tantalising moment.

Theo's gaze locked with Draco's, and a jolt seemed to run between them. Draco moved his hand forward, lightly pushing a lock of hair away from Theo's face. A hint of a grin tugged at Theo's lips as he whispered into Draco's ear, “Like what you see?” He added a playful wiggle of his eyebrows for good measure, and Draco couldn't help but let out a laugh. The tension between them dissolved, which was probably for the best since they were in the common room.

They settled down, once again, into a comfortable embrace for the rest of the evening, only moving when their friends dragged them towards their dorm room for a good night’s rest.

☿

When he entered the Potions classroom the next afternoon, the first thing Draco noticed was a table in the centre of the room, covered with vials of different colours. Professor Snape was standing beside it, his arms crossed and a deep frown etched on his face.

“Good morning,” Snape said, his voice cold and emotionless. “Your exam today will consist of two sections. For the first portion, you are required to brew a Wit-Sharpening Potion. In the second, you will be given three minutes to closely examine one of the potions on this table and list its ingredients and effects. Afterwards, you must neutralize the potion by adding the appropriate ingredient.”

Draco immediately set to work, carefully measuring out the ingredients for the Wit-Sharpening Potion. The potion was tricky to brew, and required a steady hand and precise measurements. Draco worked quickly and efficiently, adding the ingredients in the correct order and stirring the potion with a practised hand. As he worked, he couldn't help but notice the other students in the room. Longbottom was struggling with the potion, his hands shaking and his measurements off. Granger, on the other hand, was focused and precise, her movements fluid and confident. Draco admired her skill, even as he worked to brew his own potion to perfection. Blaise was concentrating, face devoid of his usual mirth.

There were, thankfully, no explosions.

When the brewing portion of the exam was over, and each student had decanted two vials of their potion to be tested by the examiner, Snape moved to the table in the centre of the room. The students were asked to leave the room, returning one by one to identify the potions chosen for them. When it was Draco's turn, he was given a vial of dark green liquid. He uncorked the bottle, noting the shade of the fumes that rose from the bottle and the subtle scent of lovage.

“It's the Befuddlement Draught,” he declared, looking directly at the examiner. “A concoction specifically designed to make the drinker become confused and act on impulse. You brew it using scurvy grass, lovage, sneezewort, and frog brains.” He surveyed the ingredients in front of him. “Powdered moonstone is required to neutralise it,” he continued, as he dropped a spoonful of the mineral into the vial and watched the liquid turn white, a sign that it had been counteracted successfully.

With a nod at both the examiner and Severus, Draco left the room. It was finally over. He’d completed his exams for all eleven O.W.L.s and now he could relax.

The Slytherin students all waited until Blaise, the last one to identify and neutralise a potion, exited the room before heading down to the dorms.

“So,” Blaise said, striking up a conversation as they made the short walk from the Potions classroom to the common room. “How do we all think we did? I’m pretty sure I forgot to mention an ingredient for the Famous French Method for the Bite of a Mad Dog but I don’t even know why it’s on the curriculum!”

They continued talking and complaining as they entered the common room. The few students already gathered there looked up on their arrival but quickly went back to their own activities. 

“I got Doxycide and almost fainted when I smelt it,” Daphne said, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I think I mentioned all of the ingredients but I can’t remember if I said Hemlock essence or Hemlock powder.”

They all groaned when they found out that Draco had to identify the Befuddlement Draught since it only had four ingredients compared to the six in Daphne’s, the nine in Tracey’s, and the sixteen in Blaise’s. Draco was convinced Blaise was given one of the worst potions because he’d made Severus’ life hell with his dramatics for the last five years but he didn’t voice his thoughts out loud.

“Hey, at least yours could be identified on sight or smell alone,” Draco grumbled. “The Befuddlement Draught looks and smells like at least six other potions.”

Pansy interrupted their conversation to suggest that they find a way to celebrate the end of their O.W.L.s.

“The seventh-years have planned a party for tomorrow night but I thought it’d be nice to do something today, during dinner, or tomorrow at Hogsmeade. Just us lot, you know?”

The rest of the group nodded, smiling at Pansy, before discussing their ideas.

☿

The nine fifth-year Slytherins eventually decided to celebrate the end of their exams with a picnic by the Black Lake.

They had quickly visited the kitchens and asked the house elves to pack a hamper to the brim with a variety of foods, including sandwiches, fresh fruit, and pastries. Wigby, the Dessert Master of Hogwarts, had provided them with a host of summer treats, from sticky, sweet baklava to fresh strawberry tarts. The elves had even provided them with a soft blanket to sit on.

They’d changed into casual clothes, eager to be rid of their stuffy uniforms, but they still looked much more formal than many of their peers. The boys were all wearing short-sleeved shirts and smart shorts in light but expensive linen while the girls’ outfits ranged from pretty tea dresses – Daphne and Tracey – to wide-leg trousers and strappy tops – Pansy and Millie.

The early evening sun was shining down on them, casting a warm glow over the group as they laughed and chatted in their secluded spot, a bank of the lake that was difficult to get to without access from the secret entrance in the dungeons. Draco sat next to Theo, feeling especially content and relaxed.

Suddenly, voices approached them, causing the group to look up in confusion. They should have been safe from intruders. Draco spun around, his wand at the ready, only to see Potter heading their way, a grim faced Weasley trailing far behind him. Of course, if anyone was to find them, it’d be Potter.

“What do you want?” Draco growled, his wand pointed directly at Potter’s chest as the Gryffindor approached.

“We heard you were having a little party,” Potter said, his tone confrontational. “We wanted to see what was going on.”

Draco scoffed. “This is a private celebration. You're not invited.”

“You're not the only ones who finished their exams, y'know. You could have invited the rest of us.”

Oh, like they’d invited the Slytherins to join their little defence club? Draco wanted to snap at him but he bit his tongue.

Weasley stepped up behind Potter, placing a hand on his arm and tugging slightly as the material of his cloak sleeve. “C'mon mate. Let's go back to the common room and celebrate there. Seamus smuggled in some butterbeer and the seventh-years might have firewhisky.” Potter scowled at his friend before turning back glare at to Draco. If looks could kill, Draco would be in the family mausoleum.

Potter had been oddly argumentative as of late and Weasley was clearly trying to placate him. Usually, it was Draco poking and prodding at Potter until the Gryffindor fought back but something had changed recently. Luckily for Draco, he was much better at keeping a cool head in these situations than Potter was and he felt no need to escalate things.

“Malfoy’s not worth it, mate.” Charming. “Let’s go, yeah? ‘Mione’ll be worried if we don’t get back soon. We’ll call at the kitchens on the way back and pick up some treacle tart.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter, staring at him until the other boy looked away.

“Whatever,” Potter huffed. “Wouldn’t want to be caught dead near a bunch of slimy Slytherins anyway.”

Weasley finally dragged Potter away, keeping a firm arm around his shoulders as if to ensure that Potter wouldn’t try to escape, but Potter still turned to glare at Draco even while he was being marched off to Gryffindor tower. Draco felt unsettled. Why was Potter so dead set on starting a fight between them?

He could hear Weasley’s muffled complaints as he dragged Potter away.

“You’ve got to stop this, mate. He’s not worth getting expelled. He might not even know what she did.”

Once the two Gryffindor boys had disappeared into a thicket, Draco settled back down with his friends. Blaise took the opportunity to mock Potter and Pansy cackled as Blaise seemed to imply that Potter fancied Draco.

“There’s a fine line between love and hate, Draco,” Blaise said with a laugh. “A fine line indeed.”

Draco was sure his face mirrored the revulsion he felt as the rest of the group dissolved into laughter. Despite his best efforts, Draco felt a smile creep onto his face and soon he was laughing with them, the hostility of the encounter forgotten as the sun continued to warm their faces.

Chapter Text

Draco and his friends managed to avoid Potter and co. in Hogsmeade the next day. He knew they were lurking somewhere, and he saw a flash of Weasley’s hair every so often, but Potter didn’t seek him out like he expected. Draco still felt like someone was watching him but it was much easier to ignore when he was in the company of all of his friends.

They spent the morning doing some last-minute shopping around Hogsmeade, picking up anything they might need for their summer break, and Draco bought a truly shocking amount of the Sugar Quills from Honeydukes. He shrugged when he saw his friends’ judging looks, not bothered by it in the slightest. He needed those Sugar Quills.

At midday, the group made their way to a small family-run bistro for lunch. It was known for its delicious fare, and a couple of other Slytherins (and the odd Ravenclaw) were already in the bistro eating brunch when the fifth-year Slytherins arrived. It was more expensive than The Three Broomsticks and The Hogs Head, though, so it wasn’t overrun with Hogwarts students. The group had eaten there on most of their trips to Hogsmeade before and Mairead, the owner's daughter, always ensured that they had a large table waiting at noon.

Mairead greeted them cheerfully with hugs all around then took them inside where soft music filled the room. A golden hue shone over part of the restaurant from the sun streaming through the large windows, providing a cozy ambience. Round tables of various sizes covered in crisp white linens with antique silver cutlery filled the room but it didn’t feel crowded. It was perfect. Laughter and conversation filled the air while light melodies played in the background.

Their hearty lunch was followed by more shopping. Daphne and Pansy dragged Tracey and Millie towards Gladrags, the two girls reluctantly following after extracting a promise that they could visit Solstice Blooms, the new plant shop, afterwards. Draco, Blaise, and Vince headed off towards Dervish and Banges to peruse the magical equipment and other oddities they had for sale, while Theo and Greg begged off to visit Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. He had narrowed his eyes at Theo when he told Draco his plans for the afternoon and Theo had avoided his eyes. Draco wasn’t sure why they’d need to visit a stationery shop at the end of the school year, but he would wait patiently to find out what they were really up to.

Dervish and Banges was at the end of the High Street and Draco pushed the creaking door of the dimly lit shop open, stepping into a large room filled with magical curiosities. A raspy voice called out to him.

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy and friends. What brings you to my humble shop today?”

Draco turned to see the shop owner, an older wizard with a short, brown beard, standing in front of him. He gave a small nod of acknowledgment, scanning the shelves of the store for anything that caught his eye. The shop had once been under the management of the Travers family but Draco was glad the Dervishes had repurchased the shop in recent years. He wasn’t sure he’d feel comfortable in a shop owned by a Death Eater.

“I’m just browsing, Mr. Dervish,” Draco replied smoothly, his eyes landing on a set of enchanted quills that glowed a luminescent green. “But I believe Vincent has an order to pick up.”

Dervish nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Of course, of course. Feel free to look around. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask.”

Draco nodded curtly, making his way over to the enchanted quills. As he picked one up, he felt a jolt run through his fingers, causing him to drop it quickly.

“Careful there, Mr. Malfoy,” Dervish said, chuckling. “Those quills can be quite temperamental.”

Draco looked at them with curiosity but they didn't keep his attention for long. As Draco warily examined his surroundings, he noticed a peculiar sight. Sitting atop the wooden table was an innocuous black box, seemingly placed there deliberately. Its austere form seemed so out of place in the shop that it drew Draco in like a moth to a flame. He inched closer and examined it more carefully. It was small, about the size of his palm, and completely devoid of decoration or markings. Fascinated by its secretiveness, he lightly plucked the box from the tabletop and gave it a thorough inspection. It was oddly heavy, as if it was hiding something inside, but no matter how many times he ran his eyes over the box, he could not discover a way to open it.

He looked up from the box, suddenly aware of his surroundings again.

“Ah, I spy a brave soul who has discovered my precious trinket,” Dervish said, stalking towards Draco. “Not too many are bold enough to pick it up.”

Draco's interest piqued as he raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “What does it contain?”

A wide smile formed on Dervish's lips as his eyes sparkled in delight. “That mystery is for you to solve, my good man. All I can tell you is that it holds something extraordinary and of great value to the right person. It will only open for those who have earned the privilege.”

A thrill rushed through Draco's body. He had always been fascinated by rare and valuable items, but he loved a good puzzle even more. He paused for a moment before making up his mind. He placed the box down, meeting Dervish's gaze as he spoke.

“I'll be back for this soon, Mr. Dervish. Make sure you don't part with it until then.”

Dervish let out an eerie chuckle, his gaze never leaving Draco's face as a sly smirk emerged on his lips. “It shall remain untouched until your return, Mr. Malfoy – it’s yours if you can unlock what lies within it.”

Draco nodded slowly, as endless possibilities ran through his head regarding what could be hidden in the small box.

Before they left, Blaise bought an antique, handheld foe-glass, a mirror that showed the user's enemies, and Vince picked up a magical chest that his sister ordered earlier in the year. It had symbols of the Old Ways carved into the wood, offering protection for whatever was kept inside. Draco cast one final glance at the inconspicuous wooden box sitting on a table. This mystery was calling out to him like a siren's song.

“You alright, Draco?” Blaise asked, a concerned look on his face.

Draco turned towards his friend, a small smile playing on his lips. “I'm fine, Blaise. I just found something that I want to explore further.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “What did you find?”

Draco pursed his lips as he shook his head, keeping his secrets close to his chest. He and the others continued down the cobblestone street, basking in the warmth of the July sun. As they turned a corner, Draco spotted Theo and Greg walking towards them. Theo's cheeks flushed and his eyes darted away nervously when they locked gazes, but he wasn't carrying anything so Draco tried to ignore his suspicious behaviour. He'd figure out what the taller boy was hiding eventually. Greg was clearly in on the secret too so it wouldn't be anything bad.

They stopped outside Ceridwen's Cauldrons, their usual meeting place, and waited.

Just as Theo and Greg reached them, Pansy and Millie burst out from Madam Puddifoot's across the street, both carrying what appeared to be overflowing bags of tea and cakes. Draco hoped one of them had some Darjeeling in one of those bags. He’d just ran out and he was dying for a cup.

“Where are Tracey and Daphne?” Theo questioned as their friends strolled towards them.

“Still in the plant shop!” Pansy huffed, rolling her eyes. “We tried getting them out, but they wouldn't budge.”

Blaise laughed softly at this, looking in Vince's direction. “Maybe one of them wanted to buy a gift for someone special.” His comment caused the burly boy to blush noticeably.

“Stop picking on him!” Millie scolded Blaise jokingly, playfully knocking into him with her shoulder. He stumbled into Greg and ended up clinging onto him for balance.

Draco erupted with laughter at the sight of his friends bickering, barely able to contain himself as Blaise pretended to swoon in Greg's arms. This drew a few looks from other students passing the group but he ignored them.

They waited for another ten minutes before Millie spoke up. “Maybe we should go find them before they buy every plant in the shop”.

However, before they could make a decision, Daphne and Tracey came hurrying around the corner towards them. Once they’d rejoined the group, Daphne presented Vince with a tiny magical cactus that she'd found in the new shop. Vince smiled as he cradled it in his broad hands, taking great care not to damage any of its delicate spines.

Blaise cleared his throat to cut through the awkward tension between them, earning a vicious glare from Daphne and an elbow to the ribs from Greg. “Shall we head back to Hogwarts now?” he asked, breaking the silence.

The group nodded in agreement, and they began to make their way towards the castle. Daphne clung onto Vince’s arm while Draco and Theo walked together, shoulders and hands brushing every so often. As they walked, Draco's thoughts wandered to the little black box back at Dervish and Banges. It would be his eventually. He'd figure out its secrets.

☿

A week later, the Slytherin common room was alive with the chatter and excitement of students preparing to head off for the summer. The last week of school had been filled with end-of-year parties, meetings about their N.E.W.T. choices, and the usual end-of-term chaos. With the help of a little magic, all of their trunks had been neatly packed and were ready to be transported.

As the students milled about, Draco leaned against the wall, watching the rowdiness with a small smile on his face. He was waiting for his friends in the common room. Blaise had lost something, as usual, and summoning it wasn’t working so Vince and Greg were helping him look. Blaise had gotten fed up with Draco lounging on his bed, taunting him about his lack of organisational skills, so he’d been forced to leave the room lest he be hexed by his irate friend. Theo had gone to speak to Severus about his N.E.W.T. choices again and the girls were outside by the Black Lake, probably plotting the downfall of some unsuspecting student who had wronged them over the last week.

Draco’s eyes scanned the room and he spotted a group of first-year Slytherins huddled in a corner, whispering and giggling.

He sauntered over to them, raising an eyebrow at them when they looked his way. “What's so funny?” he asked.

The first-year students looked up at him, their eyes widening as they realised who was standing before them. One of them, a small girl with blonde hair, stuttered out a response. “N-nothing, Malfoy. Just laughing about something silly.”

Draco smirked, knowing they were lying. “Come on, don't be shy. Tell me what's so funny,” he said, leaning down to their level.

The group of students exchanged nervous glances before one of them finally spoke up.

“We were just talking about a prank we wanted to pull on the Gryffindors when we get back,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Draco's smirk widened. “Oh really? Do tell,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

The first-year students eagerly spilled their plan to Draco, who listened with interest. He knew he shouldn't encourage them, but the thought of causing trouble for the Gryffindors was too tempting to resist.

Their plotting was interrupted by a smooth, deep voice.

“Now, now, Draco. Don't encourage the young ones to get into trouble.”

Blaise had finally arrived, a knowing smile on his face.

Draco straightened up, feigning innocence. “Who, me? I would never,” he said, knowing that Blaise was onto him.

Blaise rolled his eyes, then turned to the first-year students. “Alright, kids. That's enough mischief for now. It's time to go home and enjoy your summer break,” he said, shooing them away.

Theo, who was standing behind Blaise, shook his head at Draco's antics, smiling. Blaise may be their resident troublemaker but Draco seemed to have a knack for getting the younger students stirred up.

“We should probably get going. We don't want to miss the train,” Theo said, gesturing towards the door.

As they walked, Draco's thoughts wandered. It was going to be a difficult summer for all of them, each in their own way, but they’d vowed to stay in touch with owl post or via the floo network. Draco would likely be spending the festival of Lùnastal with only his mother, as things were still likely to be uncertain by the beginning of August. He hoped that he'd be able to visit at least Pansy and Theo over the holidays since they were staying in Britain but some of his other friends had plans to travel. Blaise was venturing off to a family villa in Positano, on the beautiful Almalfi coast in Italy, while Tracey was going to visit her máthair’s ancestral home in Laighin in Ireland. Daphne always spent the summer months with her mother’s family in Greece and Draco knew that she would, as always, return looking like a goddess. His other friends were more flexible in their summer planning, for a variety of reasons, but they'd still be able to communicate, no matter where they ended up.

They met up with the girls, who had been joined by Vince and Greg at some point, at the station and they squeezed into one compartment on the train, a feat which was much more difficult now than it had been in their first year. Eventually, they settled down for the long journey to London. It always peeved Pansy that she had to get the train to London and then floo back to Cumbria but Hogwarts had its traditions and, truthfully, she wouldn’t miss the train journey for the world.

The train whistled as it departed from Hogsmeade station, and after a few moments of silence, conversation began to flow among the group. Most of it was small-talk – discussing their plans for summer holiday or what they would do with their free time now that they were no longer required to attend classes – but the topics that kept coming up were, of course, their O.W.L. results and N.E.W.T. choices.

“I really want to drop Divination,” Tracey confessed. “I’m pretty sure I failed the practical exam because I couldn’t see anything in that damned crystal ball.”

Millie patted Tracey on the shoulder, attempting to comfort her. They’d all been surprised when Tracey took Divination into her O.W.L.s but they also knew that her mam’s family had a seer a few generations back and it’d become tradition for them all to at least try their hand at Divination. Secretly, Draco thought she hadn’t found the right medium yet.

Blaise cleared his throat. “I’ve applied for eight N.E.W.T.s,” he said proudly, although a bit nervously as well. “I’m planning to drop Care of Magical Creatures, just to get a few more free periods. I think I’ll need them if I want Os and Es in everything.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the others in the compartment. Free periods were something to look forward to now that they were going into their sixth year.

“I think I got an O in Herbology,” Vince said shyly. “Professor Sprout reckons I could get an O in the N.E.W.T. too.”

Draco leaned back in his seat, his mind whirring as he thought about his own N.E.W.T. choices. He had been fairly confident in his selection, but now he couldn't help but second-guess himself. What if he had made a mistake? What if he wasn't capable of achieving the results he wanted?

Pansy, who was sitting across from him, looked at him oddly.

“And just how many N.E.W.T.s has our resident genius applied for?”

Draco's face paled and flushed in rapid succession. He hated being called a genius, even if Pansy was only using the term to annoy him. He wasn’t a genius at all. He was intelligent, yes, but all of his friends were incredibly smart, each in their own way. Draco would admit to being a bit of an overachiever if pushed but he still worked himself to the bone for his academic success.

“Eleven,” he mumbled, too quiet for the rest of the group to hear. Theo already knew because they’d discussed their choices one night but Draco hadn’t mentioned it to the others yet.

“What was that?” Blaise asked, mocking him good-naturedly.

“Eleven, okay? I applied for eleven. But one of them is Alchemy, and I doubt Dumbledore will even look for a teacher unless one of the Golden Trio is taking it.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You're going to drive yourself mad, Draco.”

He scowled at her before turning away, looking out of the window. Theo placed a hand on his knee, squeezing gently in reassurance. He placed his hand atop Theo’s and interlaced their fingers.

“Well,” Daphne said, drawing Draco’s attention to her. “I think you'll be fine.”

He managed a small smile at her words, grateful for her support.

Millie changed the subject, complaining about Professor Babbling and how difficult the Ancient Runes exam was. Draco rolled his eyes at her; he knew she'd done well in that exam but she hated the subject. She needed to take it for her N.E.W.T.s to become a curse-breaker so they’d have to sit through at least another two years of complaints from Millie.

After a while, Draco felt the need to stretch his legs and so, followed closely by Vince and Greg, he went in search of the sweet trolley. He was craving a cauldron cake.

Just before they reached the compartment where the sweet trolley was located, they ran into Potter. Draco sighed; he should have asked Theo to go to the trolley for him.

Potter sneered at them as they approached. “What do you lot want?” he spat, wand in hand.

Draco rolled his eyes. “We're just on our way to the sweet trolley, Potter. Not everything is about you.”

“Always the coward, aren't you, Malfoy? Can't even ask for a cake without your lackeys by your side.”

Draco shrugged. At least his friends were with him. Potter was alone.

“You know, Malfoy, I heard a rumour that your father's in Azkaban, where he belongs,” he sneered. “Your bitch of an aunt should be there too.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. He knew Potter was trying to goad him but it wasn't going to work. He honestly couldn't care less about his father or aunt. Well, except for the fact that Bellatrix was out there, somewhere, probably waiting to catch Draco and his mother unawares.

Potter continued to needle him. “What's the matter, Malfoy? Cat got your tongue? It's a shame your mummy isn't in Azkaban too. They should just lock the lot of you up and throw away the key.”

“Oh, fuck off, Potter. Go back to your little Weasel friends and leave us alone.” Draco tried to walk away, but Potter lunged at him and grabbed him by the arm – again. This was the second time recently that Potter had done this, and Draco couldn’t stand it. Vince and Greg went for their wands but Draco stopped them with a subtle shake of his head. This wasn’t the time or place for a duel, especially not with Potter.

He turned back to Potter, whose chest was heaving. His eyes were blazing with anger and something else, something that Draco couldn’t identify.

“No, Malfoy. You don’t get to walk away from this. Not you or your little Death Eater family.”

“What exactly is your problem, Potter?”

Potter's rage was palpable, his face twisted in a snarl as he confronted Draco. “You’re my problem, Malfoy. Sirius is dead because of you,” he spat out furiously. The air around them crackled with tension, and Draco could feel the weight of Potter's anger bearing down on him. “Your so-called Dark Lord killed my parents, and now your aunt has taken away my only remaining family. I have no one left.”

Draco eyed him critically, taking note of every detail: the way Potter’s muscles tensed under his clothes, the wild grief in his eyes, the way his breath came out in ragged gasps. He met Potter's gaze coldly, refusing to show any sign of weakness.

“You’re insane, Potter,” Draco sneered. “Certifiable.”

Potter tightened his grip on Draco’s arm until it felt like his bones were grinding together. The pressure was unbearable, and Draco winced involuntarily as pain shot up his arm. Potter shifted forward aggressively, looming dangerously into Draco’s space. He tried not to recoil from the look of pure anger on the other boy's face.

Draco's heart pounded with a rapid-fire tempo as he braced himself for a physical altercation – Potter had never been so volatile before. The threat of violence hung heavily in the air between them, each boy unwilling to back down from their respective positions.

Before anything further could happen, they were stopped by a light, airy voice.

“Perhaps you should let him go, Harry Potter.” Luna Lovegood materialised from the shadows. Her blonde hair was adorned with vibrant flowers, and her purple coat had a colourful assortment of emblems pinned on it. She sported a necklace made of wine corks and she wore no shoes; only a pair of striped socks that were partially concealed by her lengthy, soft skirt. Potter abruptly freed Draco's arm from his grip in utter surprise, allowing Draco to step away.

Once he was a safe distance from Potter, Draco greeted Lovegood with a dip of his head. “Cousin.”

“Hello, Cousin Draco.” Lovegood glanced at Potter before taking him by the hand. “Let's go now, Harry Potter. Your friends will be anxious about your whereabouts." Potter complied, seemingly dumbfounded by Lovegood’s abrupt appearance.

As they walked off down the train hallway, Draco could make out some words of their conversation.

“Cousin?”

“Yes, we're related through my mum. He was quite saddened after she passed."

“Oh, right. You do have the same hair colour, I guess.”

“Did you know that you're surrounded by wrackspurts? They're invisible…”

Draco turned to Vince and Greg and blinked at them. Potter was angry because of Sirius Black’s supposed death and, somehow, Bellatrix was involved. He had so much to ask his mother about the night his father had been arrested. Just what were they doing at the Department of Mysteries? Draco still wasn't sure Sirius Black was actually dead so that just added another layer to this bloody awful mess.

But thank Circe for Luna Lovegood. He’d have to spend more time with her next year. He wanted to strengthen their family bond, even if they were only distantly related, and he had a few ideas about how to go about it.

“I’m not hungry," Draco said, addressing his friends. "Do either of you want anything from the trolley?” He was still craving something sweet but Draco wasn’t sure he could stomach something as heavy as a cauldron cake after that encounter. It had been an odd couple of weeks and Draco just wanted to go home.

His friends both shook their heads. 

“I’ve got some crystalised pineapple from Honeydukes in my bag,” Greg replied. “We can share it, if you want.”

Draco grinned at them, thankful, before turning back towards their compartment, back towards some semblance of safety.

As he stepped inside the compartment, he saw that Pansy and Daphne had drifted off to sleep, their heads resting against the glass of the window. Millie was still awake, gazing out at the passing countryside, while Blaise and Tracey were playing cards. Theo, as usual, was oblivious to everything else around him, his nose tucked in a book.

Millie smiled slightly as they entered the compartment and gave them a nod of acknowledgement before turning back towards the view outside. Her expression was thoughtful as she watched the trees and fields fly by in a blur of muted colours.

Vince and Greg let out twin sighs of relief as they settled into their seats opposite Draco. They were just as glad to be away from Potter as Draco was. Blaise glanced up from his game of cards briefly before returning his attention back to Tracey who had just laid down a particularly impressive hand.

Theo peered out from behind his book with an inquisitive look on his face before blinking owlishly at Draco.

“Did you get a cauldron cake?” He asked quietly.

Draco shook his head but didn't explain why. He'd tell Theo about his encounter with Potter later, he didn't want to disturb the peace in the compartment. Instead, he reached into Greg's bag and grabbed a couple of crystalised pineapple slices, offering one each to Vince and Greg before taking one for himself.

Theo smiled at him fondly, passing Draco a book before turning back to his own.

☿

They alighted from the train at King’s Cross at just after 6pm and found a spot to wait for their families. Draco, Blaise, and Vince would be leaving alone via floo but the other families were expected to make an appearance at the station.

Pansy’s mother, Lady Elizabeth Parkinson, was first to arrive, a chubby toddler in her arms. As she neared them, little Percy started fussing, reaching for Draco and shrieking at the top of his little lungs. With a delighted laugh, Draco took him in his arms and swung him around, eliciting a high-pitched giggle from the boy, before cuddling him close. Lady Parkinson patted Draco on the cheek before she struck up a conversation with the rest of his friends. She was a very stylish woman and it was a trait she’d passed on to Pansy.   

“Marvelous,” Pansy drawled. “I’m his big sister who he hasn’t seen for months and months and he’d rather be cuddled by you instead.” She tickled Percy’s cheek and pouted at him when he shyly hid his face in Draco’s neck.

“I can’t help it if he loves me more, Pans.” Draco dropped a kiss to the boy’s dark hair, smiling widely when Pansy scowled at him.

Tracey interrupted their squabbling to say goodbye, drawing attention to her parents who were stood a short distance away. Maeve and Alys Davies had already been joined by Tracey’s elder brother, Bryn, and were waiting for her. They never interacted with the other families in spaces like this, preferring to keep their neutrality clear in public, but as Draco locked eyes with Tracey’s mam, Alys, he noticed the imperceptible nod she directed at him. He inclined his head just enough for her to notice and then her attention was on Tracey again.

He bounced little Percy in his arms, distracting him from his mission pull Draco’s hair out from the root, and watched as the floo flared green.

Ariadne Greengrass exited the flames gracefully, not a single speck of soot sullying her appearance. Her dark curls bounced as she walked and her silky blue dress clung to her curves, the colour emphasising the golden hue of her skin. She looked like Aphrodite incarnate. If Draco didn’t prefer men, he would have certainly had a pash on Lady Greengrass. She could crush him under her stiletto heel and he’d thank her for the privilege.

“Elizabeth, darling.” She greeted Pansy’s mother with air kisses before turning to her daughter. “Daphne, my beautiful girl, let me look at you.” Grabbing Daphne’s hand, she twirled her around in the middle of the station. Daphne's golden hair and lilac robes flared out around her as she was spun. Lady Greengrass took in her daughter’s appearance with a bright smile, complimenting her over and over until Daphne blushed, before she finally turned to greet the rest of the group with a little wave. “Hello, boys and girls.”

“Mother,” Daphne whined. “Please stop. Blaise is drooling.”

Draco held back a laugh as Blaise subtly checked his face to make sure he wasn’t actually drooling at the sight of Lady Greengrass.

“Nonsense, darling. Where is Astoria, by the way? She should be here by now.” Lady Greengrass looked out across the sea of students, waving wildly to an embarrassed Astoria who was crossing the platform, head hung down in shame at her mother’s antic. Lady Greengrass twirled Astoria around when she reached the group, eliciting a laugh from her surly youngest daughter. “Now that you’re both here, we must be off my darlings, we have an international portkey to catch soon,” she said. “It was lovely to see you all,” she turned to ply Lady Parkinson with air kisses again before pressing a wet smooch to Percy’s chubby little cheek, “until next time.”

She shrank her daughters’ trunks, popping them in her tiny handbag, before linking arms with both girls and sashaying off towards the floo.

Millie’s amused voice brought Draco’s attention back to the group. “Close your mouth, Blaise, you’ll catch flies.”

Blaise rounded on her, eyes wide with indignation. “Now, listen here!”

A familiar voice interrupted whatever Blaise was going to say. “Has Blaise been caught drooling over Lady Greengrass again?”

Alexander Nott was an older version of Theo, although his hair was a sandy blond much like their father's, and he was wearing an wide, easygoing grin.

“Ah, a glance into your future, Theo,” he said, nudging Theo’s shoulder as he gestured at Draco holding the baby. Both boys blushed madly. Draco hid his face in Percy’s hair, the little boy shrieking with laughter as the newcomer tickled his feet. “Father couldn’t come but he’s going to join us for dinner in London.”

Theo nodded at his brother, allowing him to shrink his school trunk.

Alex turned back to the rest of the group. “It was nice seeing you, everyone, but we must be off if we want to make our reservation. Vince, please tell Eleanor that I’ll call on her soon.”

Theo said goodbye to his remaining friends, pressing a tender kiss to Draco’s temple and muttering promises that they'd see each other again soon, before he left with his elder brother. It was good news that Theo’s father had made plans with his sons, perhaps they’d discover his true alliances sooner rather than later.

Now, they were just waiting on Greg’s mother and Millie’s parents. Greg’s mother, the striking Edela, was planning to collect Greg from the station but his father never made an appearance in places like this. Millie’s parents would probably be the last to arrive, unless her brother Thomas came to collect her, because her father was always late, no matter the event.

Draco checked his watch and decided that it was time to head back to the Manor and finally see his mother. Percy fussed a little as he was handed over to Pansy, not ready to part from Draco just yet, but Draco peppered kisses over his soft cheeks as a goodbye. The little boy waved as Draco walked towards the floo and Pansy rolled her eyes at the scene. In retaliation, Draco stuck his tongue out at her. Uncouth? Yes. But justified.

Draco was closely followed by Blaise, who was heading to the Ministry to catch a portkey, but Vince stayed behind with Greg and Millie. Draco knew that Lady Parkinson would also remain until all of them had been collected or were on their way home, so Draco had nothing to fear by leaving his friends at the station.

Just as he was about to enter the floo, Draco noticed a raven perched on one of the clocks at the station, watching him intently. The bird wasn’t too out of place, considering that they were in London, but Severus needed to be careful, otherwise he’d be captured and have his wings clipped by the Muggle royal family. Draco tipped his head to the bird before collecting a handful of floo powder and stepping inside the fireplace.

“Malfoy Manor!”

☿

Draco stepped out of the floo and into the Manor parlour, dusting tiny specks of soot from his shoulders as he straightened his clothes. There, waiting for him, was his mother. Narcissa Malfoy was as stunning as ever, wearing her hair in a chignon – a low bun at the nape of her neck – fastened with silver and onyx hairpins that had been a gift from Draco a few years ago. Her silver silk robes were a far cry from the severe black that she’d taken to wearing over the last year. Just a few weeks of freedom had transformed her back into the woman she once was.

“Draco!” She ran towards him, something his mother had never done before, and gathered him into a tight hug. He was ever so slightly taller than her now but that didn't stop him from burying his face in her shoulder, seeking comfort like a child.

He was home and the Manor seemed to sing at his arrival.

Chapter Text

The morning of Draco's return home was a joyous one, and he awoke to golden light streaming through his window. His slumber had rejuvenated him, replacing his anxieties and worries with a renewed vigour.

He made his way down into the morning room, expecting no more than a light breakfast – but much to his delight, he found a sumptuous array of pastries set out on the table and the tempting scent of hot tea filling the air. The Manor elves were truly the best in Britain.

Already seated at the opposite end of the table was Draco's mother, Narcissa, delicately sipping her cup of tea. He settled down across from her and quickly seized hold of one pastry from the selection laid before him.

Narcissa smiled fondly at him and declared, her voice gentle and reassuring, “I'm so glad you're home, Draco. I truly have missed you terribly."

His heart filled with emotion at those words as he responded earnestly, "I've missed you too, Mother."

The remainder of the morning passed peacefully enough. Mother and son made up for lost time by talking and laughing about all sorts of topics; relishing in the treats provided by the house elves while enveloped in the familiar sounds and smells of their home. Little by little, they rediscovered the bond between them – stronger than ever.

When his mother excused herself to catch up on some letters, promising to join Draco later in the afternoon, Billey, their head elf, gathered all of the house elves together to welcome Draco to the Manor. Billey introduced them individually, explaining their various roles as if Draco hadn’t known most of them since birth. Some were responsible for cleaning, some spent their time in the gardens, others made meals and tea, and a few were responsible for maintenance and repairs. Each one had their own preferences, specialities, and interests and Draco wanted to make sure that they were all happy. He chatted with each elf for a little while, getting to know some of the newer elves better, before they returned to their duties.

Billey then turned the conversation to the Manor and the projects he was supervising, including the cleansing his mother had requested after Voldemort and the Death Eaters had been ousted from the property.

“Two rooms still need cleansing, Master Draco,” said Billey. Centuries of working at the Manor meant that his English was better than most other elves. Draco’s elvish was better than most wix too, thanks to Billey. “We hope to be done with them before the Autumn festival.”

“Good, good. You and the elves really do an excellent job, Billey. Mother and I are truly thankful for all of the work you do.”

The house elf nodded before launching into an explanation about the other projects the elves were undertaking. Apparently, one of the elves, Tilly, wanted to transform a small section of the garden into a space to grow potions ingredients while another, Motley, wanted to build a new shelter for the herd of thestrals living in the grove. Draco approved both plans quickly.

Draco shared his own ideas for projects within the Manor, asking Billey for his opinion on several sketches he’d draw during his last week at Hogwarts. Lucius had updated the Manor, turning it into some ugly Queen Anne style mess, but Draco wanted to restore it back to an older style. He was torn between the Tudor style adopted by Edmund Malfoy during the reign of Henry VIII, the Elizabethan style of Lucius I, and the Gothic style the Manor had been built in. Yes, they were all terribly old architectural styles but they had flair and drama, something that Draco wanted to return to the Manor.

Billey offered to gather a team of elves to work on Draco's ideas once they’d be finalised, which Draco gladly accepted. He also needed to consult his mother before any major renovations took place but things were moving forward.

Draco briefly contemplated talking to some of the portraits but quickly reconsidered after realising that it would likely cause arguments among his ancestors about who had the best taste. Alarbus Malfoy and Octavius Malfoy often got into fights about who was the better Malfoy but Draco’s five-times great-grandmother Jeanne was the worst of the lot. Her French taste was, apparently, superior to the Malfoys who had become too English, in her opinion. She was a wonderful gossip though, and Draco had spent hours of his childhood listening to her stories about family scandals. His grandfather’s portrait would merely complain about the current state of the Manor while his grandmother looked at him fondly. It honestly wasn’t worth the bother.  

After he and Billey parted ways, Draco went to find his mother. He checked her usual haunts - the libraries, the drawing room, and the bench by the fountain in the garden - before realising where she must be.

He stepped into his mother's study and found her perched regally at the window seat, her gaze fixed adoringly on the estate's lush gardens.

“Ah, Draco,” she said pleasantly, “I was about to have a cup of tea, would you care for one?”

“No thank you, Mother,” he replied courteously. “I'd like to discuss my plans for redesigning the Manor exterior.”

Narcissa nodded in approval. “Which style were you thinking?”

Draco displayed his designs to her, revealing his desire to recreate an earlier aesthetic.

“Charming!” said Narcissa. “I believe a Gothic or Elizabethan approach would be more becoming than Tudor; it can be rather ostentatious at times.”

“Hmm, yes. I'm partial to Elizabethan myself – it perfectly ties in with the internal decor.”

“Oh, Draco darling,” Narcissa said, “perhaps we could change the Manor's name back to Malmesbury Manor. It has been too many years since the house has been addressed as such!”

“A splendid notion, Mother.” He wasn't looking forward to filing the paperwork at the Ministry, or at Gringotts, but it would be nice to reinstate the Manor's proper name. His father had made some questionable choices, and 'Malfoy Manor' was one of them.

Draco cast a glance around the room, it had been years since he’d been in his mother’s study, and he spotted a large sketchbook on his mother’s desk. “What's this?”

“Oh, just some sketches I made during previous interior redesigns,” Narcissa revealed as she opened up the book to display dozens of exquisite illustrations. “Have a browse; you may find some inspiration.”

Draco flipped through the pages, admiring the beautiful drawings and feeling a sense of pride and affection for his talented mother. “These are amazing, Mother. You have quite the eye for design.”

Narcissa beamed with pleasure at the compliment. “Thank you, my dear. It has always been a passion of mine.”

As the afternoon wore on, Draco and Narcissa chatted about the renovation project, discussing the possibility of reopening some of the closed rooms on the second floor and redesigning the ballroom. They both agreed that they wanted to create a warm and welcoming atmosphere, one that reflected the Malfoy family's history and legacy.

Glancing at the clock in the corner of the room, Draco started when he noticed how late it was getting. “Mother, perhaps we should get ready for dinner. Tilly will have our heads if we're late to the table.”

Narcissa laughed softly and rose from her seat, smoothing out her summer dress. “You're right, my dear. Tilly will not take kindly to us being late.”

Draco gathered his designs and followed his mother out of the room, down to the formal dining room.

☿

The following days were a peaceful blur. Draco spent his mornings in conversation with his mother and the elves regarding the upcoming renovations, and afternoons strolling among the blossoms of the garden. He even indulged himself in a refreshing dip in the lake.

While aware of the duties awaiting him, he made sure not to forget the little comforts life had given him.

☿

On the night of the new moon, Draco descended the winding staircase of the Manor.

The darkness of the night enveloped him as he ventured further into the depths of the building, his steps echoing off the ancient stone. Only a few candles lit the hallway, casting eerie shadows that flickered and danced. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the bottom step.

Before him were two large Gothic doors made of thick oak planks, bound together firmly by ornate iron hinges. They were decorated with carvings of ancient symbols and adorned with precious gold inlay.

He placed his right hand on the doors and the ancient wards encircling them melted away like wax, allowing him to enter the room.

Draco entered an ethereal chamber lined with age-blackened stone, eventually finding himself before its centrepiece - the hearthstone. The energy radiating from it was overwhelming but the Magick surrounded him like a warm embrace, reminding him of his roots and welcoming him back to his true home. This small yet unassuming stone had been brought here by Armand Malfoi nine centuries ago, when he'd moved the main family line to England on the promise of land, money, and power. Ever since, it had been imbued with the magick of Draco's ancestors.

He'd learnt about the ritual he was about to perform as a small boy. One day, soon after his seventh birthday, his father had shown him the family grimoire, where the details of this ritual, and many others, were held. His father had explained that one day, in the far-off future, he’d visit this place after Lucius’ death and take his place as the head of the family.  

The grimoire was an ancient book, written almost entirely in Old Breton, but it was imbued with the family Magick. Each generation of Malfoy that touched it, that added to it, left traces of themselves and their magic within the book. Power exuded from the parchment, calling out to young Draco like a siren. He remembered his father snapping the grimoire shut when he noticed the awed expression on Draco’s face, sneering at him, saying that perhaps it was too early for Draco to see such a thing. Perhaps Draco wasn’t ready. He remembered feeling humiliated by his father in that moment, the disdain in his father’s voice cutting into his heart, and Draco idly wondered if Lucius felt humiliated now, locked away in Azkaban and stripped of the family Magick. A shell of the man he once was, a shell of the man he could have been.

Just before he’d passed away, Draco’s grandfather Abraxas told him of another ritual held in the grimoire, one performed by his father and grandfather before Draco was born. It was a ritual that would potentially allow the Magick to transfer to the heir at the request of the head of the household. It didn't always work since the Malfoi Magick was fickle but it had worked for his grandfather. But Draco knew from an early age that nothing short of death would pry the Magick and power out of his father’s grasp. Except, apparently, for the hearthstone itself.

Draco hadn’t even thought to consult the family grimoire that now sat in his own study before heading down to the hearthstone. He didn’t even know if the ritual needed to change because his father was alive but he knew the family Magick would guide him.

He stumbled towards the hearthstone, his fingers trembling as he withdrew a ceremonial knife from his robes. Uncountable centuries of Magick seemed to echo within the room as an incantation spilled forth, raw and untamed, from Draco’s lips. With eyes squeezed shut and hands outstretched above the hearthstone, Draco sliced open his left palm, allowing his life force to drip onto the stone beneath him.

Draco continued to chant as he fell to his knees in supplication, pressing his injured hand into the hearthstone. He felt the family Magick surge through his body once again. The stone vibrated with power as it responded to its chosen host, accepting his offering of blood.

In his mind’s eye, he saw flashes of his family's history, the moments of triumph and defeat that had shaped them. The rise of the Malfoys and the many battles they had fought to protect their legacy. It was all there, laid out before him like a tapestry.

As the ritual came to an end, Draco felt the hearthstone pulse one last time before the magic subsided.

Draco opened his eyes as he felt a wave of warmth spread over his body. The wound on his palm slowly melted away until the area was an unblemished, unmarked surface. His skin had been mended seamlessly without the need for any salves or incantations.

He stood quickly, knowing that he needed to make a votive offering to the Mother in the lake of the sacred grove before daybreak. Draco had prepared a manifestation of his magic during his last week at Hogwarts, digging his fingers into the earth of the Forbidden Forest and creating a figure that represented him from soil and magic.

Draco raced up the principal staircase, sprinting past walls lined with the magical portraits of his ancestors. Their eyes seemed to follow him silently as he darted through the room and out into the mysterious forest behind the Manor.

Forests were meant to be frightening in the dead of night; they whispered and hummed with malevolent magic when there was no light to hold them at bay. But this forest felt different. It was sacred to his family and its twisted trees were familiar and comforting. The magic that clung to the branches brushed past Draco as he raced through it, calling out for him. Finally, Draco arrived at a large, still lake that glimmered beneath the starry sky.

The lake loomed before Draco; its dark water so oppressive it seemed to swallow the starlight from above. He was almost hesitant as he removed his socks and shoes, digging his toes into the soft earth beneath; feeling a connection to something greater than himself. Slowly, he reached deep into his robes and grasped his offering before stepping into the dark water. Despite the sharp chill of the lake, Draco walked forward, further and further away from shore until the water crept up to his waist. He clutched his offering even tighter, feeling a power swell within him as he took one last breath of courage before hurling his gift into the depths. His prayer echoed through the night air and in the silence, he felt the Mother's presence acknowledge him with grace and honour. As the water lapped gently against his shivering frame, Draco bowed his head in submission, certain of his connection to her.

He emerged from the lake feeling renewed and reinvigorated, as if his very essence had been flooded with power. With a quick spell, he dried his clothes. As he walked back to the Manor, the trees seemed to whisper to him, calling him back into the depths of the sacred grove. Although it was difficult, he resisted their entrancing magic.

The night was still in full force as Draco stepped through the doorway of his home. He retraced his steps through the portrait gallery on his way to the staircase, waking up several of his ancestors on the way through.

“Well, boy,” a portrait of Cato Malfoy drawled. “Has it been done?”

Draco stopped in front of the portrait, his eyes meeting his great-great-grandfather’s. “It has,” he replied, a small smile on his face.

A look of pride crossed his ancestor’s face. “So young, and yet so powerful. A true Malfoy.”

Draco inclined his head in acknowledgement, noticing that his ancestor did not ask about his father, before continuing up the stairs towards his bedroom. It had been a long day and he was ready for a good rest.

Chapter Text

The first blessing that Draco received arrived the day after he made his offering to the Mother. During breakfast, one of the Manor house elves popped into the morning room looking frantic.

“Master Draco! Master Draco!”

“Is everything alright, Mipsy?” Draco asked, reaching for his wand. Mipsy’s desperate calling had set him on edge but he had felt no disturbance in the wards.

“Master Draco, a big owl be circling the wards! Oh, Master Draco, Mipsy be worried that people will notice!” His mother comforted the distraught elf while Draco set off to investigate. She was one of their youngest elves and her terror was palpable.

He rushed through the portrait gallery, ignoring the commentary coming from long-dead family members, and headed towards the entrance. The Manor responded to him without delay, as if it was an extension of himself, and the doors opened without even a flick of his wrist. He paused, momentarily stunned by what had happened, but he could still hear Mipsy fretting in the morning room so he rushed out of the house.

As he exited the front of the house, he noticed a long-eared owl flying in circles around where the gate to Malfoy Manor stood. It was clear that the wards were barring the owl from entering but the bird could still sense the magical barrier around the property.

“What a curious creature,” he muttered, eyeing the owl’s strange movements.

As if spotting Draco through the wards, the owl hooted softly before setting the small parcel it was carrying on the floor in front of the gates. It regarded Draco with wide yellow eyes before flying off into the distance.

Draco summoned the parcel, feeling it slide through the wards at his command, before setting it down a few feet in front of him. He cast numerous spells intended to reveal curses, hexes, and poisons but they revealed nothing.

“Topsy!” Draco cried, feeling the hairs on his arms stand on end as he looked at the parcel.

A sharp crack announced the elf’s arrival. He was much older than Mipsy, and much wiser. “Master Draco called for Topsy,” he said, bowing.

“None of that Topsy, I am not my father. Now, can you sense any ill intentions from the parcel?” Even though the spells had failed to uncover any danger, he was aware that Topsy's elf-magic was far more attuned to detecting ill-will than a wix’s could ever be. A house elf’s magic, especially one that had been in a family’s service as long Topsy had been with the Malfoys, was connected to both the land and the family. His contract had been struck with Henry Malfoy in the early fifteenth century and he’d been at the Manor ever since; if anything was sent with the intent to harm Draco or Narcissa, or the Manor, Topsy would be able to tell. He watched as the little elf scrutinised the package, never close enough to actually touch, before he looked back to Draco.

“The package is safe, Master Draco, but Topsy will remain with you while you open it. For protection.”

Draco smiled at the old elf, Topsy was truly one of the most loyal house elves he’d ever encountered. He’d been planning to ask Billey, their head elf, how to improve conditions for the Malfoy elves, not just at the Manor but at all of their properties, and he hoped that Topsy would be willing to speak with him about it as well. Perhaps they’d accept yarn, or other materials, or perhaps they wanted new, exciting projects to work on.

He returned his attention to the package in front of him. Carefully, with a silent charm, he levitated the package, returning to the morning room where his mother was waiting. She raised an eyebrow at the small parcel, watching as he set it on the table. Topsy stood beside Draco silently, waiting to act if needed. Draco untied the ribbon and unwrapped the brown paper, revealing a wooden pendant on a cord necklace. There was a note attached:

Lord Malfoy,

May this relic bring you strength as you continue to walk the path of the Mother.

Rónán Caomhánach, Chief of Clann Caomhánach

Draco ran his slender fingers over the pendant, feeling the rough wood beneath his fingertips. He marvelled at the mysterious symbols carved into its surface. They were entirely foreign to him, but he felt an odd connection to them – a kind of recognition that was both familiar and strange.

“What is it?” Narcissa asked, her voice low and inquisitive.

Draco turned the pendant over in his hand, studying it closely. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said, his eyes still focused on the symbols etched into the wood.

His mother stepped in closer to inspect it further, her eyes lingering on every detail of the intricate design. “It's beautiful,” she whispered in awe.

He nodded and continued tracing a finger along the carvings, as if trying to uncover the meaning hidden within them.

Draco turned to the elf stood by his side, showing him the pendant. “Any chance you'd know what this is, Topsy?”

The elf shook his head. “Topsy has never seen anything like it before, Master Draco, but its presence is old.”

Draco sighed heavily. Why would the clann send him this without explaining what it was? He closed his eyes and tried to sense whatever mysterious power the pendant may hold, but he felt nothing. He couldn’t even tell what type of wood it was made out of.

He opened his eyes, disappointment weighing heavily on his shoulders. “I don't know what to make of it,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration as he put the pendant on the table in front of him.

Narcissa placed a hand on his shoulder, offering him a small smile. “Perhaps it will reveal its purpose in due time,” she said, her tone soothing.

Draco nodded, knowing that his mother was right. He couldn't force the pendant to reveal its secrets, but he could keep it close and wait for its purpose to become clear. He picked up the pendant once more, feeling its weight in his hand, and slipped the cord necklace over his head. It felt warm against his skin, as if it was meant to be there.

Topsy bowed deeply. “Topsy will take his leave, Master Draco. Please call if you need anything else.”

Draco thanked him and watched as the elf disappeared with a sharp crack. He offered his mother a small, yet pensive, smile. “I suppose we'll have to wait and see what this pendant is for.”

“Whatever it is, I have a feeling it will be important.”

☿

Over the following days, letters and blessings continued to arrive from the old families of Europe. One of the most interesting blessings Draco had received was from the House of Rohan-Chabot – a diary that belonged to one of his ancestors, written at the height of the French Revolution – but the one he was most thankful for was from the Lovegoods. They'd blessed him with a wonderful selection of magical herbs from the Devonshire coast that he could use in various potions and rituals.

Eventually, when the owls became too frequent, Draco instructed the house elves to redirect any letters and parcels to their ancestral property in Brittany, where each item could be checked for curses and poisons before entering the Manor wards.

☿

Mipsy delivered a pile of letters from his friends at the end of the following week. He'd spent much of the last week and a half supervising the renovation work happening at the Manor and sorting out piles of paperwork that he needed to take to Gringotts when he next visited Diagon Alley. The letters were a welcome respite from everything else he had to do.

He took them to his new study, a room last used by Draco’s great-grandfather, and settled down to read.

The first letter he opened was sealed with navy blue wax. It was dated the 22nd of July.

Darling Draco,

Positano is, as always, beautiful. I've been spending my days here soaking up the sun by the pool, enjoying glasses of local wine and some truly remarkable Italian cuisine. Vince is joining us for a visit this week; he'll be staying till we return to dreary old England and will no doubt provide more information in his own correspondence.

I'm off to Milan tomorrow for my annual shopping trip. I've been eyeing a nice pair of loafers but I'm not sure they're worth the price.

In other news, Mamma is currently unattached, though she has been eyeing a particular gentleman, so we've been spending a great deal of time together. She has promised to introduce me to some of her contacts who could be quite helpful in the next few weeks so the rest of the summer may prove fruitful in many ways.

What else? Oh, yes. You know that our family doesn’t do blessings in the English manner but cousin Alessandro has bought you a gift. He’s asked me to deliver it personally. You know how he is, so expect something lavish and dramatic. I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t some of the Medici stuff he has hiding in his vaults.

We’ll be at Diagon on the 21st of August.

Wish you were here,

Blaise.

P.S. Mamma wants you to come to Italy next summer. She says you need a tan.

Draco laughed at the postscript before his expression became contemplative. Vince spending time in Italy with Blaise did not bode well for his relationship with his parents but Draco knew that the Zabinis would look after his friend for the summer.

Pansy’s letter didn’t say much, merely that she’d taken to some muggle mystery novels that Millie had lent her, but there was another letter bearing the Parkinson crest in the pile. At first, Draco thought it might be a blessing but it was, in fact, an invitation for Draco and Narcissa to visit Haverthwaite Hall after Lùnastal, written in Lord Parkinson’s slanted hand. He’d let his mother reply since she was such good friends with the Parkinsons but he was glad that he’d be able to see Pansy in person soon.

Draco slid his letter opener under the terracotta seal of the next envelope in the pile. The letter was very short, merely a scrap of paper.

Dear Draco,

All is well. We’re staying with Daphne for the summer.

See you at Diagon.

Love,

Mills.

Draco set the letter down, noticing that there was another note from the Bulstrode family included in the pile. He was glad that Millie and her family were safe but it was worrying that they’d left the country for the summer. They really needed to find a safe house for them soon. Perhaps Blaise’s mother could help. He’d have to ask in his reply.

The other letter was from Millie’s father, Edward Bulstrode, and contained a blessing. It was a silk handkerchief, cornflower blue with delicate silver embroidery around the edges. It was beautiful. Her mother had included a postscript at the end, in her lovely looping handwriting, saying that she couldn’t wait to see Draco and his mother at the end of summer.

It seemed like the pile of letters were never ending.

Dear Draco,

I’m sure Blaise has already mentioned it but I’m staying with him for the rest of the summer. I arrived in Italy late last night and settled in quickly. Mother and Father were reluctant to let me go but Mother respects Mrs Zabini too much to refuse.

My parents often spoke about transferring me to Durmstrang after I returned home but Eleanor rightly pointed out that my Russian is terrible and the move would probably result in failed exams. Father tried to argue that exam results wouldn’t be important soon but Mother still wants me to receive a decent education. She thinks I’ll be more useful if I have a few N.E.W.T.s to my name.

I was supposed to return home after our trip to Diagon Alley but my parents will now be away. They’re going on a trip to the Balkans so I’ll be staying in London with Blaise. I am grateful to have him as a friend.

I'm looking forward to seeing you in a few weeks.

Forever your friend,

Vince.

Draco heaved a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. Vince's letter was troubling. His parents did not want him to associate with Draco and their friends, hence the threat to send him to Durmstrang, and the point about not needing any qualifications was right out of Voldemort's playbook. Those of us who are intelligent better serve the Dark Lord but sometimes brute strength is needed, Draco, Lucius had murmered to him one day, eyes fixed on the looming figure of Fenrir Greyback. Clearly, Vince's father intended to offer him up as brute strength. At least he was safe for now.

He turned his attention to a small parcel on the table. With it was two letters, one sealed with a family crest that Draco did not recognise and one with Greg’s signature copper wax. Greg’s letter was short, merely stating that he and his mother were staying in Sweden for the summer, but it was enough to leave Draco feeling uneasy. He clearly wasn’t in a stable position at the moment but Greg would be safe enough with his mother and her family.

The accompanying letter and parcel were a surprise for Draco. He had been sent a blessing from Greg’s maternal family, the wixen branch of the Bielke family. Draco opened the parcel carefully, finding a tiny, yet perfectly formed, glass snake inside. He marvelled at the craftsmanship, stroking his finger along the snake’s side, only to gasp in shock when it began to uncoil, its tiny head turning towards him. He placed it back in the box carefully, contemplating where to display it.

Daphne’s letter arrived attached to a sweet-smelling parcel. He read her letter first – it seemed like Millie and her family were settling in well in Athens – before he opened the parcel. His eyes lit up in delight when he saw what was inside. Ah, loukoumades! How I’ve missed these delightful little treats, Draco thought, resisting the temptation to eat one right away. His mother would kill him if he didn't share them.

He read Tracey’s letter next, not that it revealed much. She had never been one for letter writing. Despite Tracey's brief note, her mam had added a postscript inquiring about his progress with learning Welsh. Draco groaned, placing the letter on the table in front of him. It was like she knew he hadn’t even thought about studying the language recently. Could he get by if he needed to have a conversation? Yes, but she'd still scold him about not keeping up with his studies. No wonder she got along with Draco's mother in private.

Finally, there was one note left. It was sealed with a deep green wax and the envelope was a delicate ivory colour. After reading the greeting, Draco felt his cheeks warm.

My love,

I miss you terribly. These summer days have been painfully long without you.

It has been difficult since returning home but I finally feel that my family is healing. I have much to tell you but I hope to do so in person, rather than through letters, and I hope to see you several times before the summer ends, either at Harewood Hall or at the Manor.

Father intends to invite you and your mother to dinner one evening – he cannot decide between two blessing gifts, and he wants to ensure that his choice is perfect before he presents it to you. He has not allowed me to help him, claiming that our connection would give him an unfair advantage, but I have faith that he will choose a wonderful gift.

Perhaps we could meet after Lùnastal? Until then, know that my heart is forever yours.

All my love,

Theodore.

Draco folded the note carefully, stroking the paper gently. He needed to reply to all the letters, especially the blessings, but his mind was consumed with thoughts of Theo. He missed him terribly, and the idea of seeing him soon made his heart skip a beat.

After a few moments, he sat back in his chair and rummaged in his desk drawer, pulling out a thick stack of ivory sheets, his favourite ink, and his sky-blue sealing wax. He wrote until his hand ached, waiting for the ink to dry before sealing each letter with the Malfoi ring. He’d send them off later, after his mother had crafted her reply to the Parkinson's invitation.

He rose from his chair, his muscles stiff from sitting for too long, before strolling towards the garden to find his mother. She wasn’t hard to track down; he found her tending the new vegetable patch.

“Mother,” Draco called, approaching her with a smile. “How are the vegetables coming along?”

Narcissa looked up from the dirt and gave her son a fond smile. “They're thriving, my dear.”

Draco watched as his mother carefully uprooted a few weeds before standing back up, brushing the dirt off her hands. “I have some letters to send out,” he said, holding up the stack he had just finished writing. “I also have a letter from the Parkinsons that requires a reply.” He handed it over to her. “I thought you'd like to write the response.”

Narcissa scanned it quickly, her face lighting up. “Fantastic! They have asked us to join them for dinner on the 3rd. I'll need to write my reply right away. You can send the rest of those off, if you like, I'll send my response off before the end of the evening.”

He gave her a nod before turning back towards the Manor and making his way to the owlery.

Draco entered the dim room, the heavy door creaking as he opened it. Dozens of owls were perched on wooden dowels lining the walls and, as he walked in, some of them swivelled their heads to look at him. His personal owl flew towards him and carefully landed Draco's shoulder. Draco wandered over to where he stored the owl treats and Prospero hooted approvingly as he fed him.

He quickly attached the letters to individual owls and sent them off into the afternoon sky. Prospero, who was carrying Theo's letter, lingered for a few moments, as if to check if there were any more treats on offer, before flying off into the distance.

Draco watched them go, knowing that he would wait nervously for them to arrive safely back at the Manor.

Chapter Text

“Good morning, Draco.”

Draco was already hunched over a copy of The Quibbler in the morning room when his mother entered.

“Good morning, Mother.”

She raised her eyebrow at his reading material but didn't comment. He’d subscribed to the Lovegoods’ magazine a few days after he’d returned to the Manor and Mipsy had delivered the latest edition that morning. He wanted to get to know his cousin again and this was probably the best way to understand her.

Narcissa settled at the table and poured herself a cup of tea before striking up a conversation.

“Do you have plans for today, darling? I'll be in the garden with Dinky. She wants to rearrange some of the flowers and plant more trees.”

Draco looked at her, closing the magazine and placing it on the table. “I need to check the wards,” he replied. “I think they altered again after the ritual but I want to ensure that Uncle Severus can enter before we invite him to the Lùnastal bonfire.”

“Excellent,” she replied, nodding her approval. “It would be wonderful to see him but I do worry that the Dark Lord will be able to trace him through the Mark. Perhaps you should check the grimoire to see if anything can be done to ensure that we remain hidden from any unsavoury types.”

Draco laughed gently at her words. Unsavoury types, indeed. His mother’s own beliefs had always been a mystery to him. He knew she did not support the Dark Lord, the beast who had tried to strip their world of its traditions and beliefs when Draco was a baby, but her thoughts on blood supremacy had never been revealed. She had, after all, been brought up in the Black family so it was likely that she had, at least at one time, believed in such nonsense just as Draco had. Sometimes he wished to broach the topic of her sister, his aunt Andromeda, but he didn’t want to cause her pain.

He turned his attention back to The Quibbler, drawn back into reading an article on a creature called a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. He absent-mindedly nibbled on a slice of toast, absorbed in the strange articles in the magazine.

His concentration was broken when his mother began speaking again.

“I'm going out to meet with Dinky shortly,” she said as she cleared her plate from the table with a flick of her wand. “Do you need me for anything before I go?”

“No, thank you, Mother,” he said politely, folding up The Quibbler and standing up too. She smiled at him, patting his arm as she moved past him.

He summoned the grimoire from this office, waiting for it to arrive safely in his hand before moving through the Manor quickly, descending the principal staircase until he once again arrived at the hearthstone.

Draco quickly flicked through the grimoire, searching for anything about anti-tracing wards. Eventually, he found what he was looking for – a powerful incantation had been woven into the Manor ward in the fourteenth century that rendered it impenetrable to such magic. Even blood magic and scrying wouldn't be able to penetrate the wards if they’d been activated.

Satisfied, he pressed his palms flat against the cold stone, allowing its ancient Magick to swallow him whole. Draco could feel the web of powerful warding spells that protected the Manor, some almost a millennium old, and he prodded their edges carefully, searching for any fissures or cracks that an intruder might be able to exploit. To his delight, they were all strong; likely bolstered by the ritual he had conducted days prior. While the heavy restrictions created during the initial transference of family Magick to Draco remained, it seems as though the hearthstone had once again reacted to Draco's wishes. Severus' familiar magical signature now sat alongside his own and his mother’s, allowing him entry to the Manor if he wished to visit.

Several other magical signatures were present. Draco touched one, a dark red strand, forcing it to reveal itself. As soon as he connected his own magic to the thread, he was launched into a series of memories from his childhood. Draco could hear Pansy's laughter and the sound of her voice as she teased him about his hair in their first year at Hogwarts. He watched as they ran around the Manor gardens, chasing the white peacocks his father kept before running away when they retaliated. He saw her smile as he handed her a Sugar Quill from his stash during one Transfiguration class and felt the warmth of her hands on his face as she did his make-up for the Yule Ball, using some muggle charcoal pencil to give his eyes a smoky, sultry look.

As he was released from the memories, he realised that the hearthstone had added Pansy to the wards. The ancient Magick recognised how important she was to him, how much he trusted her, and it acted accordingly.

The other strands belonged to the rest of his friends. Blaise was a bright silver, accompanied by memories of pranks in Potions class and learning etiquette together, while Millie’s strand, glowing a bright orange in the darkness of the room, was imbued with memories of racing on their brooms and horse riding at her ancestral home. Vince’s teal thread showed him memories of them in the Manor gardens as small children, wearing tiny pairs of gardening gloves and learning about magical plants from Draco’s mother.

Draco stepped back from the hearthstone, pleased that the wards were in excellent condition.

He needed to pen a letter to Severus. Lùnastal was approaching and he wanted his godfather to join their little celebration.

☿

Draco always looked forward to Lùnastal, the funeral feast that marked the onset of Autumn, as it was the only festival he celebrated at home since he started attending Hogwarts.

Draco, Narcissa and Severus moved toward the open area between the Manor and the sacred grove. This space had been used by generations of Malfoys to celebrate the four festivals of their ancestors but last year there had been no Lùnastal observance at the Manor. Anxious to slip back into tradition, Draco had even given out the customary gifts to the house elves as a sign of his appreciation for their work within the home. The elves also observed the day but not in the same way as wix and they’d retreated into the grove as soon as the sun had begun to set.

The moon overhead was bright but not entirely full, and the sky sparkled with stars that seemed to dance. It was the perfect evening for celebrating such an ancient tradition.

Each of them wore their birth flower somewhere on their person, magically preserved for this night. Draco wore a crown of honeysuckle, while Narcissa had woven delicate violets into her hair. Severus had wrapped white carnations around his right wrist, signifying the connection between his magic and the Mother, and for once he had exhanged his black robes for navy blue.

His mother lit the small bonfire located at the centre of the clearing with a quick flick of her wand, illuminating their faces with a soft orange glow.

The night was alive with a chorus of sounds; the crackling of the bonfire, the whispering of the trees swaying in the night breeze, the trilling of crickets in the distance.

Sparks from the bonfire sent embers flying into the night sky. The flames flickered and moved about in their wild dance, casting an eerie light over everything around them. Shadows twisted and turned on the ground as the orange-and-red blaze grew higher and higher.

A divine presence enveloped them as they gathered around the ancient table, illuminated by the hypnotic firelight. Atop the weathered oak lay an overflowing basket of sacred bilberries, ripe and plump. They each reverently filled their hands with the plump offerings, eating slowly and marvelling at the sweet-tart flavour that exploded on their tongues. An unseen energy moved through them, connecting them to one another and the serene flicker of the flames.

Storytelling was an ancient Lùnastal tradition, with stories passed down from parent to child. That year, Draco's mother took on the role of storyteller, weaving a tale about a young woman who fled her arranged marriage to a powerful lord and found refuge in a forest.

“But as she tried to build a new life for herself, she was plagued by the fear that her lord’s men would find her and force her to return.” Draco's mother's voice was soft, only just audible over the crackling of the fire.

As she spoke, Draco felt himself being transported into the world of the story. He could almost hear the rustling of the leaves and the chirping of the birds in the forest.

The young woman had been in the forest for weeks when she stumbled upon a small cottage. It was nestled in a clearing, and smoke rose from the chimney. With nowhere else to go, she approached the cottage and knocked on the door.

An old woman answered, her eyes kind and gentle. The young woman told the old woman her story, and the old woman took her in. She gave the young woman food and shelter, and taught her the ways of the forest.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. The young woman grew stronger and more confident with each passing day. She learned how to hunt and gather, how to build a fire, and how to defend herself from danger.

One day, as she walked through the forest, she heard a rustling in the bushes. She tensed up, ready to defend herself, but to her surprise, a young man emerged from the foliage. He introduced himself as a traveller passing through the forest, and the two struck up a conversation.

As they talked, the young woman felt her heart open up to the stranger. He was kind and gentle, with a smile that made her heart skip a beat. They continued to meet in secret, deep in the forest, sharing stories and laughter as the sun set overhead.

But one day, as the young woman returned to the cottage, she found a group of men waiting for her. They were her fiancé’s men, and they had finally found her. They demanded that she return with them, but the young woman refused. She knew that if she went back, her life would be a living hell.

As the men advanced on her, the young woman drew on the skills she had learned from the old woman. She fought with all her might, determined to protect her newfound freedom. But no matter how hard she fought, the men were too strong, and they overpowered her.

Just as they were about to take her away, the young man appeared from the shadows. He had been watching from a distance, waiting for the right moment to intervene. With a fierce determination, he fought off the men, sending them running in all directions.

The young woman was safe once again, with her freedom intact. Overwhelmed with gratitude, she turned to the young man and thanked him from the bottom of her heart. It was then that she realised she had fallen in love with him. His bravery and kindness had won her heart, and she knew in that moment that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

They returned to the cottage together, hand in hand, and shared their love for each other under the moonlit sky. From that day forward, they lived in the forest together, building a life filled with love, happiness, and freedom.

Narcissa finished the story with a sigh, the warmth of the fire casting a gentle glow on her face. Draco sat in silence, still lost in the tale of the young woman and her journey to freedom.

His mother spoke softly, her voice hoarse from emotion. “Today, we honour those we have lost with stories and laughter,” she said, “knowing that we can move forward with love and resilience. We have the power to choose our own paths and follow our hearts.”

“Thank you, Narcissa, for such a moving story,” Severus uttered in a gentle tone that Draco had never heard from him before.

Finally, when the stars had started to fade away with the coming of dawn, they cast their flowers into the flames of the bonfire. The petals turned to ash in a matter of moments and they spoke a prayer to the Mother, asking her to protect them over the coming months. In one final act of devotion, Narcissa summoned a wreath of sweet peas and placed it upon the blazing flames of the bonfire, ensuring that Lucius – her beloved – would be honoured by the Mother if she so pleased. Even though there was an undeniable tension between Draco and his father, Draco still loved him, and he respected his mother's wish to add the flowers to the flames.

The walk back to the Manor felt much shorter than the walk out to the clearing had been. They chatted quietly, reminiscing on memories of the past while savouring the momentary peace that filled their hearts. When they arrived at the Manor, Severus said his goodbyes and headed towards the entrance floo, intending to return home.

Before he could leave, however, Narcissa stopped him. She insisted that he stay; he was a part of their family and it was only right that he should join them for brunch after they'd all rested. Severus hesitated, but eventually agreed.

Just before noon, they all met in the dining room for brunch. The house elves had prepared a small feast of eggs, bacon, and fresh fruit. Tea had been served alongside Severus' customary 'morning' coffee, which the house elves had learned to make to his exact specifications.

As they ate, the conversation turned to more serious topics.

“Severus, have you heard anything about Voldemort's movements recently?”

Draco noticed that his godfather didn't look shocked at his mother's question, just weary. The man sighed before he replied.

“Voldemort is becoming more paranoid and cruel with each passing day,” he said in a low voice. “He is enraged that some of his most loyal are now in Azkaban and the Manor is no longer his safe haven. He is becoming increasingly dangerous.” He pulled up his sleeve to reveal the Mark staining his left forearm. It was dark, completely black, and raised up from the skin. It looked painful. “He calls for us more often.”

Draco's heart sank as he listened to Severus' words. He knew that the Dark Lord's growing rage would only lead to more bloodshed and destruction.

“He may be ruthless, but he is not a fool,” Narcissa said, her tone cold. “He will bide his time and strike when the moment is right.”

Severus nodded. “I fear that moment may be closer than we think.”

Draco looked down at his plate, his appetite gone. He couldn't bear the thought of more lives being lost to Voldemort's senseless violence.

“We must do something,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “We can't just sit here and wait for him to attack.”

His mother reached over and placed a hand on his. “We must wait, Draco. We are not prepared, and we are all in a precarious position. Until we have firmly established who our allies are, we cannot simply rush into battle.”

Draco knew his mother was right. He felt so powerless but it was better for them to work in the shadows than to join the light.

The rest of the meal passed by in a blur, the conversation shifting from one thing to another but never straying back to such dark topics.

Eventually, Severus announced that he had to leave. Narcissa, once again, tried to get him to stay a little longer but he refused, claiming that he couldn't stay a moment longer as he had potions to brew and a curriculum to create. This titbit of information confused Draco, since Severus had been teaching Potions for many years, but Severus waved away his concerns.

“Nothing is set in stone yet, Draco,” he said iin his signature drawl, before stepping into the floo and returning to Spinner's End.

☿

After Severus left, Draco grew restless.

“Mother, would you accompany me to the gardens?” he asked.

Narcissa smiled graciously and nodded. The two made their way to the gardens, the sun setting in the background casting a warm orange glow over the horizon. As they walked through the gardens, Narcissa pointed out where Tilly planned to create her small garden of potions ingredients.

They came to a stone bench, settling down to watch the sunset, and Draco finally broached the topic of Sirius Black.

“Mother, when the Malfoy family Magick transferred to me, I found myself with a curious ability.”

His mother looked intrigued, and she urged him to continue.

“I seem to be able to sense living members of the Black family. I'm not sure how it's related to the Malfoy Magick but I noticed just after I woke up in the Hospital Wing that I could sense you, differently to how I can sense you through the Manor wards, and Aunt Bellatrix, wherever she may be. I can also feel three more family members when I do believe there should only be two. This other presence is different, almost as if he's stood in the shadows, rather than the light.”

His mother's face grew pale at his words, but then she reached out and placed her hand on top of his.

“I have heard of this before,” she murmered in a pensive tone, “although I believed it was merely a family legend.” She paused, and Draco saw the hesitancy in her eyes. “It has been said that when a member of the Black family is in grave danger, the head of the household and their heir will gain a connection to each living member of the family. This so-called connection could be used to find those in danger and protect them from harm. My mother used to say it was nonsense, but my father was adamant that it was true.”

He waited patiently while his Mother gathered her thoughts, unwilling to interrupt her.

“If you say that you can sense that Sirius is still alive, despite what my sister claimed happened that night, then I am inclined to believe you. It appears that the family Magick, after being dormant for so long, has finally recognised Sirius as head of the family and you, my son, as his heir. If the two of you are reunited, it may break the bond connecting you to this power.”

Draco was absolutely astounded by this revelation.

“This must have something to do with whatever is held in the Department of Mysteries. Did Aunt Bellatrix mention anything specific about that evening?”

Narcissa's expression became solemn as she recounted what she knew from that fateful night.

“Bellatrix was unusually quiet, and your father too, but I sensed her excitement rising as the afternoon wore on. She said the Dark Lord commanded her to retrieve something important from the Department – something which would help him defeat Harry Potter.” She paused, taking a shaky breath to steady herself. “When she returned to the Manor, her behaviour was strange. She was erratic, more so than usual, but gleeful. There was a manic gleam in her eyes. I'll never forget her voice, mocking and cruel, as she told me that she had killed Sirius, sending him through the veil to his death.”

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. His mother had clearly been effected by her cousin's death, much more than Draco presumed.

“What do we know about this veil?” he asked quietly.

“Very little, although the name suggests it is a gateway to the afterlife.”

Draco could see that the conversation had taken a toll on his mother, who still loved her cousin despite their differences, and once they were back inside Narcissa retired to her room.

Instead of going to his own bedroom, Draco headed to the first-floor library. He spent hours poring over books and ancient tomes, searching for any reference to the veil and its properties. But despite his efforts, he came up empty-handed. It seemed that the veil was a well-kept secret, known only to a select few. The Manor held more than just books, however, and the diaries of his ancestors may contain secrets that could lead him to the truth.

Chapter Text

Draco had been driven into the Malfoy family libraries by the restless need to understand what had happened that night at the Department of Mysteries. He clambered over the creaking old shelves, his fingers running over the spines of diaries, journals, ledgers, and scrolls as he searched for answers.

The summer rain outside pounded relentlessly on the library windows, a sharp contrast to the heavy silence inside the room. Draco paid the rain no heed; his focus was solely on finding any clues that might give him some insight into what had happened to his cousin.

Finally, his search yielded a faint glimmer of hope in the form of a dusty old diary, its pages brittle and yellowed from age.

Concealed deep within Brutus Malfoy's diary was a reference to an object used as a “doorway between worlds” that had been destroyed in the mid-seventeenth century by a congregation of wix who believed it threatened the desires of the Mother. There was little detail about the actual object, just a passing reference to its destruction alongside an entry about the birth of Brutus' second daughter. Obviously, Draco could understand why the birth of a child was more important to his ancestor than the destruction of an ancient magical object but that wasn't necessarly helpful to Draco in that moment.

However, this short reference to a doorway between worlds was tantalising and it Draco was left with more questions than answers. Could this be the same relic that Sirius Black had fallen into? If so, it had supposedly been destroyed centuries ago, years before the founding of the Ministry of Magic, so how did this mysterious artefact come to exist in the Department of Mysteries? Was there more than one doorway? He needed to learn more.

Draco delved through ancient books in the first-floor library, scouring for any mention of a veil that had been utilised before, during, or after the seventeenth century. It was an arduous task and he'd never quite realised just how many books one personal library could hold before that day. He hoped he'd find something here because he didn't want to look through the ground-floor library too. At least, not yet.

After a while, a particular tome caught his attention. Its pages were worn and tattered, and the cover was embellished with complex carvings. He grabbed the book from the shelf and cautiously placed it on the table. It was much older than the diary. Much, much older. The spine creaked as he turned the pages, revealing sketches of castles and cathedrals from centuries ago. Pages were adorned with etchings of arches, some said to be portals to other realms or even Avalon, and notes written in Latin about their purpose. No locations were provided. Of course not, Draco thought. It could never be that simple.

He came to the conclusion that the author must have assumed this would forever be common knowledge, like many had before them. Knowledge, known for centuries, lost to time and changing cultures. Waiting to be discovered by avid researchers and adventurers. Draco kept on slowly turning the pages until he came across an archway simply labelled limen. Threshold.

Could this be a veil between their world and the afterlife? Could it be the veil between their world and the afterlife? Draco didn't know what to think. It was possible that there were mutliple doorways to multiple worlds, just as the book described, but did that mean that the last remaining doorway was hidden in the Department of Mysteries? It didn't seem possible. 

He carefully set the book aside and grabbed one of the diaries again, desperate for any clues that could explain this mysterious veil. Flipping through old pages, he stumbled upon an entry in an earlier volume about how The Wizards' Council had ordered its destruction due to a number of disappearances and deaths caused by reckless wizards and witches who had attempted to peek beyond the veil without proper precaution.

Draco let out a frustrated sigh, sinking back into his chair. This couldn't be the same veil mentioned by Brutus Malfoy because that one had been destroyed by a group of wix supposedly acting on behalf of the Mother. There must have been more than one veil with the same purpose, both destroyed but for different reasons.

If only Draco could find a way into the Department of Mysteries, perhaps he'd be able to finally answer what had happened to Sirius Black on that fateful night.

With renewed determination, Draco continued his search in hopes of uncovering more information regarding the veils from the seventeenth century or the limen from the Middle Ages.

Time seemed to stand still as he frantically scanned the shelves of the library, desperate for a single sign that could explain the presence of the limen. His heart leapt when he stumbled upon a second tome – not as old as the sketchbook but still centuries-old and written entirely in Latin. It described the limen as an open portal between two worlds, unlocked on Samhain and usually housed within the archway of a castle door to serve as a gateway to the afterlife. There were many of them dotted around Europe but they were often unstable and could only be opened when the veil between worlds was at its thinnest. Only the strongest of wix could open permanent doorways between worlds.

Finally, Draco had found some information that he could work with.

If the veil was meant to serve as a pathway between worlds, then it was possible Sirius Black simply needed to find a doorway in order to return to their world.

A soft pop startled Draco out of his thoughts, and Mipsy stood before him, wringing her small hands together.

“Master Draco be forgiving Mipsy for the interruption but Mistress Narcissa wishes to see Master Draco for breakfast this morning.”

Breakfast? Had he truly been searching for the entire night?

Draco smiled at the small elf, thanking her for informing him of his mother’s wishes. He placed the diary on the table, intending to return to it later.

He made his way downstairs, his mind preoccupied by thoughts of the veil and its hidden secrets. When he reached the morning room, he saw his mother already seated, her face illuminated the soft sunlight streaming through the French doors. She smiled warmly when he entered, motioning for him to take a seat across from her.

After exchanging pleasantries, Narcissa asked Draco about his studies, and he quickly filled her in on what he had found regarding the mysterious veil in the Department of Mysteries.

Narcissa's eyes widened with interest as she listened to her son's findings. “The veil...it sounds fascinating,” she said, taking a sip of tea. “Do you think there's a possibility that we could help Sirius?”

Draco nodded. “If the veil is truly a pathway between the worlds, it might be possible for him to use it as a means of escape.”

Narcissa pondered this for a while, then shook her head despairingly. “But how would we manage to gain access to the Department? It is highly protected, and there is no chance that the Ministry would willingly let us in.”

Draco sighed heavily in frustration. “I'm afraid I don't know what to do.”

“You will find the answer, my son, I have faith in you.” She squeezed his arm reassuringly, offering Draco a comforting smile.

After breakfast, Draco excused himself, stating that he needed to return to his research. His mother gave him a small nod, understanding his desire to find a solution.

Draco marched back to the library with a sense of grim resolve, determined to unlock the secrets of the veil and uncover the means to bring Sirius Black back from the in-between. He feverishly devoured page after page of faded writing in search of the key to his search, but after all his efforts he was left with only disappointment and frustration. He had found nothing.

He cast a quick Tempus charm, noting that it was already evening, and collapsed into his chair with a groan of frustration, dragged his hands down his face as if wiping away the exhaustion he felt in his spirit.

His mother had not called for him again, apparently content to leave him be for the day, but after looking around the room, he noticed that portions of both lunch and dinner had been left on one of the tables. Suddenly ravenous, he heaved himself out of his chair and devoured the food, barely even tasting it.

Once he had eaten his fill, he left the oppressive silence of the bookshelves to find solace in his bedroom. He pushed open the door to his bedroom, and the warm familiar scent of lavender greeted him. It wasn’t what you’d expect from Draco’s bedroom.

It was completely devoid of the green and black that made up not only his school house colours but also the Malfoy family crest and, instead, was decorated with shades of blue and silver accents. His mother used to joke that Draco clearly belonged in Ravenclaw but Draco always countered with the fact that he’d look awful wearing bronze, even if he preferred blue to green. The king-sized bed that stood in the middle of the room was covered in a deep blue comforter, soft to the touch, matching the dark carpet beneath his feet.

His desk and shelves were cluttered with photos and mementos, including a picture he'd taken of Pansy and Blaise a couple of years ago at Hogwarts. Draco picked it up and traced the edges with his fingers, feeling warmth rush through him as he remembered the mischievous escapades in their third year. They both smiled at him fondly from the photo: Pansy waving enthusiastically and Blaise giving him an impish wink.

He set the photo back on the desk and walked over to his window. Moonlight flooded in, illuminating the Manor's grounds. He could hear the soft rustling of leaves in the wind and an occasional owl hoot in the distance. The peacefulness of this place embraced him like a hug.

Draco was exhausted. He’d learnt a great deal that day but he felt no closer to his goal of retrieving Sirius Black from the in-between. Before allowing himself to sleep, Draco set the details of his findings down in his own diary. Who knows, perhaps one day his own notes would help one of his descendants. He endeavoured to provide them with more detail than he'd recieved from Brutus Malfoy.

☿

A couple of days later, Draco was no closer to finding answers but his research had to be put on hold. He and his mother would be flooing to the Parkinson family home, Haverthwaite Hall, for dinner.

After lunch, Narcissa had fussed over him, asking about his choice of robes and how he was going to style his hair. He waved off her concerns. They were visiting the Parkinsons, a family she’d been friends with since before Draco was born, so he wasn’t sure why she was so nervous. Perhaps it was because they were leaving the safety of the Manor for the first time since he’d arrived home, or perhaps she wasn’t entirely sure about the Parkinsons’ alliance. Either way, Draco wasn’t worried. He trusted both Lord and Lady Parkinson far more than he trusted many others. They’d just had Severus visit the Manor for Lùnastal and he was a spy for Dumbledore, for Circe’s sake, so he wasn't worried about Pansy's family. His mother trusted Severus, as did Draco, and he trusted the Parkinsons.

A few hours later, Draco descended the principal staircase to wait for his mother in the parlour. He hoped she approved of his choices because he did not want to change his clothes, especially since Billey, their head house elf, had already recommended that he change his shoes once.

His mother arrived a while later, wearing a set of robes he’d never seen her in before. She looked lovely, and Draco told her so, offering her a warm smile as she descended the stairs.

“Thank you, my darling,” she replied with a pleased expression. “As do you. Are you prepared to leave?”

He gave a nod of his head and offered her his arm as they walked towards the fireplace. The green flames licked eagerly at his mother's feet before consuming her whole body. Draco waited a few moments to allow before grabbed some floo powder off of the mantle and threw it into the fire.

“Haverthwaite Hall!” he shouted as he was engulfed in the flames.

He stepped out, dusting specks of soot from his shoulders, to see his mother and Elizabeth Parkinson embracing in the parlour.

The room was inviting with its sumptuous fabrics and relaxing chairs. The sweet fragrance of roses filled the air as Draco took in the ornate wallpaper and dark wooden panels. Out of the large window, Draco could see the Lake District's rolling hills embracing the grand house, and a large lake that gleamed in the near distance – a perfect balance between nature and civilisation. It was a truly beautiful place.

“Draco!”

Pansy leapt towards him, throwing her arms around his neck and embracing him tightly. Her parents observed with a mixture of amusement and affection as Draco spun her around in his arms, the skirt of her dress flairing out around her.

“Pansy, you look stunning as always,” he said, setting her back down on the ground.

She beamed up at him, her eyes shining with excitement. “I'm so glad you could make it,” she said, linking her arm through his and ushering him towards the dining room.

Her siblings were notably absent from the little welcome party but Peony, Penelope, and little Percy would join them for dinner.

Pansy led Draco and Narcissa to the dining room, while Perseus and Elizabeth excused themselves to collect the rest of their children.

The dining room was as grand as the parlour. The dark wooden floorboards were adorned with intricate gold swirls that wound across it, delicately touching the edges of the room. A dazzling chandelier hung above them, illuminating the room with an ethereal light. The long table could have easily seated more than thirty people but was instead set for only eight; a pristine white tablecloth covering its entirety and silverware gleaming as if they had been polished mere seconds ago.

The door opened once again and Perseus and Elizabeth Parkinson entered the room with their children in tow. Penelope bounded in animatedly, her bright eyes shining with excitement, while her older sister Peony followed behind her confidently, never too far away from her younger sibling. Percy was cradled in his father's arms, wearing miniature wizarding robes that made Narcissa coo.

Lord Parkinson, a tall and solid man, stood up from his chair and walked to the head of the table. His dark hair and eyes were identical to Pansy's, and he exuded an air of authority that commanded attention. Draco had always thought of him as a tender-hearted man, who adored his wife and children more than anything else. He remembered the man healing his arm after he fell out of a tree as a child, wiping away Draco's tears and fixing him up with a swish of his wand. But Draco knew there was another side to Lord Parkinson, one driven by power and influence, much like Draco's own father. He watched as the older man raised his glass towards them.

“I'd like to make a toast. To family and friends, united by love and friendship.”

Glasses were raised, some filled with fine wine and others with fruit juice, to toast the enduring friendship of the Parkinsons and Malfoys.

As Lord Parkinson sat down, dinner magically appeared on the table in front of them.

Draco savoured every bite, sampling a variety of the dishes on offer—from succulent roast beef to fragrant curries. Every mouthful was delicious, with traditional magical spices tantalising his taste buds.

As pudding arrived – a delicious assortment of treats for everyone to share – Draco's mother asked Peony about her Hogwarts letter.

Peony's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm at the topic. “I'm so excited!” she cried out. “I'm going to be the best Slytherin that Hogwarts has ever seen.”

Draco smiled at Peony's enthusiasm, remembering how it felt to receive his own Hogwarts letter. He turned to Pansy and said, “Do you remember our sorting?”

“Of course I do. You were so nervous about being sorted into Slytherin that you spilled pumpkin juice all over your robes.” She was laughing, as were her parents and Draco’s mother.

He grinned sheepishly, remembering the embarrassing incident. “I was just worried about not living up to my family's expectations.”

“You have always made us proud, Draco,” Narcissa said, reaching over and patting his hand. “And I'm sure Peony will do the same.”

Peony beamed at Narcissa's words, her chest puffing up with pride as she launched into telling the entire table about her plans for Hogwarts. Draco gave Pansy a pointed look, they’d have to keep an eye on Peony otherwise she’d be getting into all sorts of trouble.

When the plates were cleared away, Peony and Penelope wandered off, whispering quietly to each other about who knows what, while the rest of group withdrew to the drawing room. Lord Parkinson motioned for Draco and Narcissa to take one of the comfortable sofas while he sat on a loveseat next to his wife and Pansy took the armchair next to Draco, her legs resting on the chair arm in a decidedly unladylike manner. Draco watched as her mother rolled her eyes at Pansy's but there was no need for pretence between the two families and Draco was grateful for the relaxed atmosphere. Percy was released onto the floor, where he happily explored a selection of toys from the large chest in front of him, often lifting them into the air as if to share his treasures with Draco.

Lord Parkinson turned to Draco, regarding him carefully.

“Draco, my boy, you have proven yourself to be a fine young man. Your mother has raised you well,” Perseus said, his voice deep and resonant. “I have watched you grow up alongside my own children, and I must say that I am impressed by your strength, your intelligence, and your kindness. You have a bright future ahead of you, and I have no doubt that you will succeed in whatever you choose to do.”

Draco felt a warm flush of pride spread through his body. He had always respected Pansy’s father, and to receive such a high compliment from him meant the world. “Thank you, sir,” he said, his voice a little unsteady.

Perseus smiled at him. “You are welcome, Draco. Now, I have a blessing for you.” He stood, crossing to a set of drawers on the other side of the room. Draco watched as he opened the first drawer and withdrew an oblong box. “Inside this box is a family heirloom from my mother's family. It has been passed down through generations of Rosiers, and I believe that it will serve you well as the new Lord Malfoy.”

Draco cracked open the box with caution and was met with a mesmerising dagger. The blade appeared an oily black in the low light of the room; it had been intricately made, with ornate designs on the hilt and a razor-sharp point that glinted dangerously. Draco felt a chill run through his body as he focused on the weapon, craving to feel its weight in his grip. He lifted the dagger out of the box cautiously, recognising that his mother was monitoring his every move anxiously. She would likely be having a chat with Perseus Parkinson about giving her sixteen-year-old son a lethal weapon, but he'd been wielding ceremonial knives for years so she shouldn't be concerned. Much to his surprise, the dagger was light; so light that it didn't seem dangerous. He ran his fingers along the blade, marvelling at the craftsmanship of the weapon. It was a work of art.

“It's an honour to receive this gift,” Draco murmured, lowering his head ever so slightly in a sign of respect.

“May it guide you on your journey with the Mother,” Lord Parkinson replied with a proud smile.

☿

Draco and his mother returned to the Manor in the late evening, and Narcissa immediately retired to her bedroom, taking Draco's new dagger with her to be checked by the house elves. Draco, however, did not feel tired and decided to take a stroll through the darkened halls of the Manor.

As he walked through the grand halls, the burden of his new role weighed heavy on his shoulders. Being Lord Malfoy came with a great deal of responsibility, and he feared he was ill-prepared for such a task. The silence in the house was oppressive, and Draco longed for some distraction from his worries.

Perhaps Pansy's parting gift - a stack of the muggle novels she'd been reading recently - would work. He'd shrunk them to store them in his robe pocket, seven tiny books bound together with a miniature ribbon, each one promising a thrilling adventure.

Without conscious thought, he found himself in one of the unused rooms on the second floor of the Manor. It had been recently cleaned by the house elves but it was sparsely furnished, with only an old armchair and a small table placed near the window.

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out the bundle of books. After unshrinking the stack, he flipped through the pages of the first book, intrigued by the unfamiliar characters and settings, and decided to settle into the armchair to read.

The hours sped by as Draco was drawn ever deeper into a world of murder, mystery and suspense. His concern over how to run Malfoy Manor faded away as he read about daring escape attempts, thrilling investigations and unexpected secrets. For a moment, he felt almost like himself again; like a regular teenager who could enjoy reading instead of worrying about politics or the safety of his family.

But as the night grew darker, Draco became acutely aware of the silence. There was something ominous about the stillness that settled over the Manor, and he found himself jumping at the slightest sound. A creaking floorboard, a rustle of cloth – each sound seemed to echo through the empty halls, magnified tenfold in the quiet of the night.

Draco tried to shake off the unease that had settled over him, but it clung to him like a shroud. He reached for the second book in the stack, hoping that the new story would distract him from his growing sense of dread.

He attempted to read, but he found the narrative chaotic, full of dark creatures and ominous omens that seemed to be aimed directly at Draco. Suddenly, he jolted upright; he had been dozing off. He rubbed his eyes and inspected the room, disorientated for a moment. The moonlight radiated through the windows and illuminated everything in a soft light.

And then he heard it – a faint tapping at the window.

Draco felt his body seize with terror. He couldn't even find the strength to reach for his wand, petrified by the thought of what might be waiting for him. The incessant tapping on the window grew louder and more persistent, until Draco had no choice but to face it. Trembling, he turned around to look out of the window.

He exhaled sharply in relief when he saw what was waiting for him outside. It was just his owl.

His fear was instantly replaced with confusion. What was Prospero doing outside the window in the middle of the night? He should be tucked up in the owlery after his recent trip to the Nott household.

He stood, opening the window to let the owl into the room, and as he did, he noticed a small piece of parchment tied to its leg. Draco gently untied the note and unrolled it, squinting in the dim light to read the letter.

Sorry for the late reply, will be at the Manor tomorrow morning.

Love, Theo x

Salazar, Draco thought, I'm such an idiot. He'd been scared for nothing, his fear heightened by exhaustion and anxiety.

Draco petted Prospero on the head, stroking his feathers and whispering promises of treats, before sending him back to the owlery.

Letting out a long yawn, he headed back to his room to get some much-needed sleep. Morning couldn't come soon enough.

Chapter Text

The morning room was full of the golden light streaming in from the long windows, and Draco sat at the table attempting to calm his nerves with a hot cup of breakfast tea. He had wanted to wait for his guest in the parlour but his mother had given him a look so mischievous that he thought it best to wait at the breakfast table as was custom.

A few moments later Draco heard the floo flare and Theo, wearing casual clothes that made him look like a muggle model, followed one of the Manor elves into the room where Draco and his mother were waiting.

While Draco thanked the elf for their services, he saw his mother stand to greet Theo. Her eyes scanned him from head to toe, scrutinising him in a way that she never had before. Theo's impeccable posture did not change as Draco’s mother approached him, but he could sense the tension in his boyfriend's body. His jaw was clenched ever so slightly and even through his shirt, Draco could see the rigidness of his shoulders. After all, who wouldn't be apprehensive if Narcissa Malfoy approached you with that gleam in her eye.

“Welcome, Theodore,” Narcissa said with a warm smile, completely at odds with the way she'd just been assessing him. “It's so good to see you again.”

Theo returned Narcissa's smile with a small one of his own, seeming relieved that she had greeted him so warmly. Draco wanted to roll his eyes at his mother's behaviour, and Theo's reaction, but he knew he'd be nervous if he was stood in front of Theo's father so he didn't say a word.

“Thank you, Lady Malfoy. It's good to see you, too.”

Draco watched as his mother and Theo exchanged pleasantries, his attention focused more on the way Theo's body language shifted as Narcissa spoke. He still seemed nervous, like Draco's mother was going to disapprove of him and their relationship, but he relaxed as Narcissa embraced him as she always had done in the past. She reached up to pat him on the cheek as she pulled away, commenting on how tall he was growing.

Draco did roll his eyes at her comment but he still kept silent, sitting back to observe the exchange between his mother and Theo. Theo tilted his head ever so slightly towards Draco, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement, and Draco sighed through his nose. He knew he'd never catch up with Theo in terms of height but there was no reason for everyone to point it out.

Eventually, Narcissa stepped away from Theo and motioned for him to take a seat at the breakfast table.

As Theo took the seat next to him, Draco felt himself grow unusually shy – something that rarely happened when it came to the company of people, even someone as special as his boyfriend. Letters had been enough to stave off the worst of Draco’s yearning during their physical separation, but nothing compared to being in the same place at last.

Draco busied himself by buttering a slice of toast, trying to hide his nervousness. Theo noticed and put his hand on Draco's knee. The simple touch sent shivers down Draco's spine, calming him and reminding him why he loved Theo so much.

Breakfast was peaceful, with pastries and fruits laid out next to a hot teapot. Narcissa asked Theo about his family, schooling, interests, and goals for the future. He answered in a cordial manner while she smiled.

“Mother, please! Are you interviewing him for the Daily Prophet?” Draco interjected as he listened to his mother pepper Theo with questions.

Narcissa just laughed, unfazed. “What has come over you, darling? I'm merely asking Theodore some questions because I haven't seen him in so long.”

Theo chuckled lightly before responding to her latest inquiry with utmost politeness.

“Perhaps a breather would be nice,” Theo suggested playfully before she could move on to the next topic.

“That would be agreeable,” Narcissa said, allowing them to continue eating in peace.

Just as they finished eating, Mipsy, who had taken to wearing a green knitted dress after Draco had gifted her yarn on Lùnastal, arrived with the week’s post.

“Thank you, Mipsy,” Draco said. “Please ensure that any post continues to be redirected to the property in Brittany. If it begins to pile up, please do bring it to the Manor more frequently once it has been checked.”

Mipsy nodded, a bright smile on her small face, and disappeared from the room with a soft pop.

Narcissa sorted through the pile of letters while Draco poured each of them another cup of tea. “Oh, Draco, there’s a letter from the Longbottom family. Please do remember to write a reply. Augusta could be quite the ally.”

Draco accepted the little pile of letters and parcels from his mother, aware of Theo's raised eyebrow. It was clear that he was just as surprised as Draco but Theo had no idea know just how many unexpected letters and blessings he'd received recently.

He quickly scanned through the other seals present. Longbottom was, by far, the most surprising among them since the family were now firmly aligned with light magic, even if Draco knew that they still followed aspects of the Old Ways. His mother was right, Augusta Longbottom would be a formidable ally and her grandson, Neville, was not as useless as he liked to pretend to be.

Burke, Shafiq, and Fawley were also present amongst the letters, small parcels attached to each one. Last week, he’d received unexpected letters from the Abbots, the Shacklebolts, and the Kama family alongside expected letters from the Flints, the House of Arenberg, and the House of Albert. Their small tokens and gifts had been placed in Draco’s study, except the stunning antique cufflinks from the Shacklebolts which he’d added to his jewellery case for future events.

He’d open these letters and parcels later, once Theo had left. Draco wasn't worried about opening them in front of him but he wanted to focus on Theo, not the letters.

After sorting through the rest of the post, Narcissa rose from her chair and waved her wand to smooth out the creases in her summer dress.

“Darlings,” she said, walking towards the door, “I need to write a few letters before I can retire to the garden for the afternoon. Until then, you can find me in my study if there's something you need. Why don't you two head outside and enjoy the fresh air while I'm occupied?”

Once his mother had left, Draco turned towards Theo. "Would you join me on a stroll in the garden?" he asked, indicating the French windows that led out. A walk in the garden would provide them with much-needed privacy.

Theo didn't hesitate. He linked his arm through Draco's and let him guide the way through the garden.

They walked over lush grass strewn with dew drops and tiny wildflowers, occasionally stopping to admire some feature of the garden or another. They wandered deeper and found themselves surrounded by blossoming trees and fragrant bushes that spilled forth a symphony of sweet fragrance. Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped merrily.

The early-August sun was strong but eventually they settled on a bench shaded by an old oak tree. Malfoy family legend claimed that the oak had been planted by Lucius Malfoy I to celebrate a visit from Queen Elizabeth I's court in 1560. His first, but not last, unsuccessful attempt to gain his Queen's hand in marriage. Draco leaned back against the tree trunk, feeling the ancestral magic flowing through it.

“Sorry about my mother,” Draco said, breaking the silence. “She can be a bit overbearing at times.”

Theo just smiled, shaking his head. “No need to apologise. I actually enjoyed our conversation.”

Draco smiled back, pleased that Theo was getting along so well with his mother under these new circumstances.

As they sat in silence, enjoying the lush greenery around them, Draco moved his hand and interlocked his fingers with Theo's. His heart skipped as Theo squeezed his hand, but Draco was surprised when his boyfriend untangled their fingers.

He watched as Theo took a small package from the inside of his summer jacket. It was about the size of his hand.

Theo held out the carefully wrapped package to Draco. “I hope you like it,” he said softly.

“What's this?” Draco asked, curious. He turned the package over in his hands a couple of times, feeling the weight of it.

Theo blushed, and Draco gently began to unwrap the paper. Inside was a leatherbound book. “Theo, this is beautiful,” he murmured, running his fingertips over the design etched into the cover.

“It's a grimoire, handwritten by Vela Black in 1806,” Theo said quietly.

Draco stared at him in disbelief for a moment before he opened the book carefully. His eyes scanned over the handwritten note on the first page. Property of Vela Black. This book had been stolen from the Black family shortly after Vela died in 1809 and the family had never been able to recover it.

“How did you find this?” Draco asked, voice trembling with emotion.

“I've been tracking it around the markets for about a year now and when it came up for auction, I knew I had to buy it for you.”

Theo collected all sorts of rare objects, books included, so he always kept an eye on the shiftiest of auctions, but the fact that Theo had spent all year tracking this for him was deeply touching. As he leafed through the pages, taking his in ancestor’s handwritten notes, he felt Theo’s arm circle his waist.

“I wanted to give it to you as a birthday present,” Theo went on, “but the seller refused to send it through the owl post because the grimoire is considered a Dark object. So, I had it sent to Tomes and Scrolls – which is where I actually went during our last Hogsmeade trip – and the owner there offered to buy it from me. It didn't take me long to convince him that the book belonged back within the family, though it may have taken some... creative bargaining.” He grinned conspiratorially at Draco, revealing that he had dropped Narcissa's name into the conversation, which terrified the owner of the bookshop. “I didn't want you to see the grimoire before I'd checked it over – you would have pestered me until I showed it to you, don't deny it – so I arranged to meet Alex in Hogsmeade. He took it home for safekeeping.”

Draco looked up at Theo in awe.

“This is too much,” Draco managed to say, shaking his head.

Theo smiled and pulled Draco closer for a gentle kiss. “I’d do anything to show you how much you mean to me,” he breathed against Draco's lips.

Draco pulled back to look up into Theo’s eyes, which were bright with affection and warmth. Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward and kissed Theo again. It began as a delicate brush of their lips but Draco slanted his head to the side to deepen the kiss. Theo’s fingers curled around the back of his neck, drawing him in closer, and Draco couldn’t help but moan softly into the kiss, his hands sliding up to Theo’s shoulders and gripping tightly.

Sunlight filtered down through the foliage above, creating a warm golden aura around them, and time seemed to stand still as they melted into each other.

Theo pulled away reluctantly when they needed to breathe. His thumb traced circles on Draco's cheekbone as he fought for composure.

“I can’t believe I finally get to call you mine,” Theo murmured softly.

Draco smiled and nestled in closer against Theo’s chest. He squeezed Theo’s hand tightly, unable to find the words to express the depths of his emotion. All he knew was that he wanted this moment to last forever because right now it felt like nothing could ever come between them again.

They sat there for a while, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine and the sounds of birds in the distance.

A few hours later, they had moved to lay on the grass under the old oak tree, Draco’s head pillowed on Theo’s chest. Draco was just about to lean up to kiss Theo again when he was stopped by someone clearing their throat. His head whipped around, only to find his mother staring at them with a raised eyebrow.

“Come along, boys. We'll take lunch by the fountain,” she said, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

Draco and Theo looked at each other, their faces flushed red, and they laughed nervously, trying to shake off the embarrassing moment. Draco couldn't believe they'd almost been caught kissing by his mother.

When they finally made it to the fountain, Narcissa was already there waiting for them.

She was seated in a white wrought-iron chair by the fountain, sipping tea from a delicate porcelain cup. Her pale green sundress fluttered gently in the breeze.

“Sit, boys,” she said, gesturing to the chairs across from her. On the table was a variety of sandwiches, including Theo’s favourite of roast beef, and a few cakes.

Draco and Theo sat down, trying to act casual despite the heat that still lingered in their blood from their intimate moment.

Narcissa watched them for a moment, her bright blue eyes scanning their faces with an amused glint. She took another sip of her tea before setting the cup down on the table.

“I must say, you two looked rather comfortable,” she said, her tone light but with a hint of playful teasing.

Draco felt his cheeks grow warm again, and he glanced over at Theo to see if he was as embarrassed as he was. Theo, however, seemed unfazed, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Yes, the old oak tree provides very comfortable shade,” he said.

Narcissa hummed, a gleam in her grey eyes. “Hmm, it provides shade but perhaps it doesn’t provide enough privacy.”

“Mother,” Draco whined, embarrassed by the implication.

Narcissa laughed softly at her son, taking another sip of tea. “It's alright, my dear. I'm just so glad to see you both happy and in love.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Draco said, his voice still tinged with embarrassment.

Narcissa leaned back in her chair, assessing them both with a keen eye, before she smiled serenely. “Now, let's change the subject, shall we?”

Draco and Theo chatted with Narcissa for a while, drinking copious amounts of tea. Draco felt the tension start to melt away, and he found himself opening up more and more. Theo also seemed to be enjoying himself, speaking eloquently about a variety of topics.

Narcissa watched them both fondly, her grey eyes appraising them with an amused glint.

“Oh, Mother,” Draco said excitedly, suddenly remembering the grimoire. “Theo has bought me the most wonderful book. I really must show it to you after tea.”

Narcissa's mouth twitched in amusement as she arched an eyebrow at Theo. “And what kind of book is this?” she asked.

Theo hesitated before replying. “It's a grimoire,” he said quietly, his cheeks going slightly pink under her scrutinizing gaze.

Narcissa nodded slowly in understanding before taking another sip of her tea. “I see,” she said thoughtfully before turning her gaze back on Draco. “Now tell me all about this book.”

“Oh, no. You really need to see it for yourself. I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise.”

“Well, then. I can hardly wait to see it,” she said, finishing her tea. She stood up, smoothing out her dress. “Shall we go then?” she asked.

“No need,” Draco replied, placing the grimoire on the table, “I still have it with me.”

He watched as she examined it carefully, her fingers tracing the cover, before she opened it.

Her eyes lit up as she read the handwritten note on the first page.

“Is this truly my ancestor's grimoire?”

Draco nodded, excitement bubbling inside him. “Yes, it is. Theo found it in an auction.”

Narcissa's eyes glittered with unshed tears as she turned the pages, scanning the intricate spells and incantations written in the book. “It's absolutely incredible,” she said breathlessly.

Theo stepped forward, lifting his hand to rest on Draco's waist, and explained how he'd been tracking the book for a while after hearing whispers that it could go up for auction at any time. Of course, the owner didn't want to admit that he was selling stolen property, lest the Black family ever find out, but Theo told Draco's mother how he'd been able to identify the book from just a few clues and how he'd managed to outbid the other interested parties.

Narcissa listened intently, nodding her head in approval as she took in the details of the story even as her eyes remained fixed on the book in her hands. She then turned to Theo, her eyes softening as she gazed at him. “You truly are a remarkable young man, Theodore,” she said, her voice full of admiration.

Theo's cheeks turned pink, and he glanced over at Draco, who was beaming with pride.

“It's finally back where it belongs,” she said, handing it back to Draco. “Are you staying for dinner, Theodore?”

“No, ma’am. Father insists on us all having dinner together every night,” he replied.

Draco looked at Theo in surprise. It had been several years since Theo’s father had kept such a routine. Everything seemed to fall apart after the death of Theo’s mother. No family dinners, no holidays, and infrequent festival celebrations. Alex and Theo had been left to fend for themselves while Theo's father grieved. Draco knew that Theo didn't resent his father but the last few years had been hard on the entire Nott family. It appeared that things were finally changing.

Draco’s mother was clearly thinking the same thing. “Oh, that’s wonderful news! Make sure you aren’t late home then. I’ll leave you two alone to enjoy the rest of your time together. No more escapades in the garden, though, boys. Well, not where I can see them.”

Draco blushed again as his mother teased them. He loved her but she was a complete menace.

“Mother, would you place the grimoire in the library? I don’t want it to get damaged.”

She smiled at him, taking the grimoire in her hands once again and holding it close to her chest.

“Of course, dear, I’d be delighted to.”

When his mother left, Draco asked Theo how he wanted to spend the rest of the day. “We could read or swim in the lake,” he suggested.

Theo's face lit up, and he took Draco's hand as they stood up. “Swimming sounds like an excellent idea.”

They raced down to the lake until they got to the grassy edge of the water. The hot sun beat down on them, its rays reflecting off of the clear water of the lake, and Draco squinted as he looked out across the sparkling surface. His heart was already beating fast from their run, but it pounded even faster in his chest when Theo stopped and pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing smooth skin stretched tautly over well-defined muscles. Theo tossed his shirt on a rock by the shore and dove into the water.

He surfaced again with a gasp, shaking his head to clear water out of his eyes, laughing as droplets dripped down his face. “I feel like I haven’t been swimming forever! Are you coming in or what?”

Draco grinned before stripping down and joining him in the water.

Theo had already swum out ahead, to a small island hidden in the middle of the water, and he gestured for Draco to follow him. Rolling his eyes at Theo's antics, Draco swam towards him, enjoying the cool embrace of the water. As he drew close, Theo reached towards him and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing their bodies together. They were both treading water as Theo looked down into Draco's eyes and smiled. He leaned in and kissed Draco tenderly. Draco felt his heart skip a beat as Theo kissed him, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background. It was just the two of them there in that moment. Then Theo pulled away, splashing Draco with water playfully as he did so. It took Draco a second to respond but he retaliated by dousing Theo in cool lake water.

Their laughted echoed across the lake and they continued to play in the water as the sun shone on them, splashing and trying to dunk each other under the surface, until they got tired and swam back to shore.

Back on dry land they laid on the grass, basking in the sun and watching as clouds floated lazily by in the sky above. Eventually, they found themselves dozing with their fingers still entwined.

Draco awoke to a chill in the air and goosebumps covering his skim. The warmth that had lingered all day had disappeared, leaving only the coolness of late evening. He shook Theo lightly to wake him from his nap, coaxing him with soft, chaste kisses when he refused to move from his comfortable spot, and they made their way back to the Manor. As they walked together, hands entwined, Draco savoured the moment. He knew he would need these memories for darker days.

☿

After Theo's departure, Draco threw himself back into his research on the veil. Now that he knew what the veil was and its origins, he wanted to find a way to open a doorway into the in-between to retrieve Sirius Black.

Draco resumed his research with new vigour, poring over ancient texts with intricate diagrams scrawled within their pages for hours on end. The room was silent except for the scratch of quill on parchment as Draco tried to unlock the secrets of the veil. His brow furrowed with concentration as he traced the lines of the diagrams with one finger, trying to make sense of the complex web of symbols.

As night crept up upon him, Draco glanced at the books strewn haphazardly across his desk, feeling frustration well up inside him. He was no closer to unlocking the secrets of the elusive veil than when he started. With a heavy heart, Draco extinguished the lamp on his desk with a flick of his wand. He stood up from his chair, wincing as his back protested after hours of sitting still and hunching over his work.

Sensing a need for a break, he headed down the stairs and out into the garden. The chilly night air swept away any remaining weariness from his body as he stepped outside. He followed the meandering pathway around the garden, marvelling at the nocturnal flowers along the way. His thoughts circled back to his research puzzle, and he felt a wave of irritation. He had been so certain that he was on the brink of a breakthrough, but now believed he was just grasping at straws. All he required was one more piece of knowledge, one more hint that would permit him to bring his cousin back from beyond the veil.

Chapter Text

Draco's research stretched on for days without tangible results. He had worked through meals, late into the night, and through the weekend; sometimes pushing exhaustion aside to get just a few more pages read before sleep overtook him.

The veil had entranced him, but he hadn't completely neglected his duties. He oversaw the renovation of the estate by the elves and tended to a mountain of documents that needed to be sent to the Ministry so that he would be legally recognised as the head of the family. He also found time to indulge in an intriguing exchange with the Head of International Cooperation; an open letter waited for him on his desk until he penned a persuasive response.

Still, Draco's thoughts constantly circled around the veil. He knew that it created a pathway between life and the afterlife, with one entrance sequestered away within the Department of Mysteries. However, he still had no answers to his questions. Could he open another door? If so, could he safely retrieve someone from beyond the veil? How would he achieve this feat?

Exhausted or not, Draco was determined to uncover the truth about the veil. He toiled through books and ancient scrolls in search of any information that could tell him more. Every day he found himself sitting at the desk in the library, surrounded by stacks of old texts and scrolls, scribbling down notes and creating technical diagrams based on his discoveries.

He was in the middle of sketching a diagram when he paused, sitting up with his spine straight, paying no mind to the ink dripping from his quill.

“Have I been looking at this the wrong way?” he muttered to himself, barely aware that he was speaking aloud.  

Draco's breath caught in his throat as realisation struck him. He had fixated so much on the veil's history and the theories surrounding it that he'd forgotten that it was an ancient form of magic. It was as old as the hills, as old as the groves. Perhaps he needed to tap into a different kind of magic, an ancient and primal magic that was deeply rooted in the natural world, in order to understand the veil.

Draco stood up and spun around, his eyes scanning the room.

A slow smile spread across Draco's lips. An answer seemed like it was within reach - Vela Black's grimoire, locked away in a display case accessible only to those with Black family blood.

Vela Black had a dark reputation, and rumours suggested she had even experimented with necromancy. Despite no evidence presented at her trial in 1801, those questions left unanswered made her grimoire all the more valuable — a testament to her skill and power.

It had been stolen in 1809, but there was a rumour that none of the new owners had been unable to read it and that’s why it changed hands so frequently. Draco's grandfather, Cygnus Black, believed that the book had been enchanted to only reveal itself to members of their family, but none of them had ever been able to purchase it. It always slipped through their fingers at the last moment until they gave up trying altogether. Draco knew that his mother had heard rumours about dark wix trying to break the enchantment, desperate to know what secrets Vela Black kept, but clearly that had never happened. He still couldn’t believe that Theo had managed to acquire it.

Draco methodically strode to the display cabinet, his fingertips tingling with anticipation. He reached out and gently nudged the glass door. A soft click reverberated throughout the room as the glass swung outward to reveal an ancient book bound in weathered leather. Draco cradled it carefully as he made his way to his desk, but at the last moment changed his mind. Without another thought, he brought the grimoire to his bedroom; it felt like the right thing to do.

As he sat on his bed, with the grimoire open on his lap, a shiver ran down his spine. He was about to delve into the world of dark magic and he knew that it was not to be taken lightly. Still, he was hesitant to read it. Who knew what atrocities his ancestor had committed in the early nineteenth century.

The first few yellowing pages were diary entries, filled with details of experiments and notes about people she'd met, all written in a flowing and elegant script. But then the tone of the grimoire shifted, as if Vela had changed her mind about what the book was to be used for. The rest of the book was filled with detailed descriptions of rituals, potions, and spells that she had used and invented in her short life.

The first ritual described how to communicate with spirits in the afterlife. Not in a séance, like those muggle psychics he’d heard about, but actually summoning the spirits of those long past. It wasn’t exactly what Draco was looking for but the description of bone-based necromancy filled him with hope, as odd as that seemed. He shuddered as he read on, the details of the ritual making his skin crawl. He truly hoped that if Vela had discovered a way to cut a doorway into the veil, that it didn’t involve bone magic.

More spells and rituals followed, some dark and some not. There were several curses for enemies, some of which may be useful in the future, and there was even a ritual for summoning a storm that required a deep connection to the land itself. His ancestor had clearly been a remarkable witch.

There were too many entries to read in one day, especially since Draco needed to check each one carefully, but he was sure that this grimoire was the key to retrieving Sirius Black from beyond the veil.

☿

Days went by and Draco became more and more consumed by the grimoire, to the point where his mother started to enquire about his well-being. At first he had dismissed her concerns but when she told him that his O.W.L. results were due soon he realised that he’d been engrossed in the book for over a week.

The astonished expression on his face was enough for his mother to give him the look. He had seen it before, when he would lose himself in his passions as a child, and it never failed to make him feel guilty. He locked the book back in its case, promising to spend the day in the garden with her.

Draco was still convinced that the grimoire held the answer to retrieving his cousin from beyond the veil, but the book was huge and even in a week he'd barely scratched the surface of what it contained.

His day in the garden was pleasant enough. Draco drank tea with his mother and then fell asleep beneath the big oak tree near the lake. He awoke to the feel of his mother's magic washing over him.

“Just refreshing the sun protection charm, my dear. We don't want you to burn, do we?” she said with a mischievous smile, to which Draco responded with a petulant scowl. Her smile gentled, turning fond.

“Draco, I know that you're determined to retrieve Sirius from beyond the veil, but you can't neglect the other aspects of your life,” she said softly, taking his hand. “Your relationships, your hobbies, your own well-being. You can't let this consume you.”

He sighed, feeling the weight of her words. He knew she was right but it was hard to let go of the obsession that had taken hold of him. “I know, Mother. I just feel like I'm so close. The grimoire holds so much knowledge.”

“And I believe that you will find what you're looking for, but not at the cost of everything else,” his mother said firmly.

He nodded, understanding his mother's words. He knew that she was right; if he wanted to achieve his goal of recovering Sirius, then he needed to take a more balanced approach in life.

“I'll try to be better,” he said uncertainly, feeling apprehensive about leaving the grimoire. What if something happened and he couldn't return to it? What if he didn't find the answer he was searching for? His heart twisted at the thought of giving up hope, but he had to listen to his mother's advice.

In the days that followed, Draco made an effort to communicate with his friends through the floo network or spend time painting in the garden, taking some time off from research to enjoy other activities. He even went so far as to take out his broomstick for a spin around the grounds of the Manor.

One afternoon, as he was ambling through the garden, Draco chanced upon a small patch of cornflowers. The sky-blue innocuous blooms swayed gently in the breeze. He stopped and admired them, unable to remember when exactly was the last time he had taken pause to appreciate something so simple yet beautiful. As he stood there, lost in thought, he noticed a small butterfly flitting from flower to flower. It was a common butterfly, with marbled white wings, and as he watched it, he began to appreciate the intricacy of its design.

Draco took a deep breath and let the peace and tranquillity of the garden wash over him. For the first time in weeks, he felt a sense of calm. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe he needed to find a balance between his obsession and the rest of his life.

With that thought in mind, he made a decision. He would continue his search for the key to retrieving Sirius, but he would do so in a way that didn't consume him entirely.

☿

On the day his O.W.L. results finally arrived, Draco and his mother were reading in the ground floor library. A sudden downpour had started mid-morning and had not abated by mid-afternoon, forcing them to change their plans. Yes, they could use charms to keep dry but there was something rather lovely about reading on a rainy day, especially as the windows of the ground floor library looked out on to the sacred grove. His mother was reading one of the muggle mystery novels Pansy had lent Draco and he was half way up a ladder, choosing a new book from a high shelf, when the tell-tale pop of a house elf entering the room echoed in the pleasant silence.

“Mipsy be sorry for disturbing Master and Mistress but Master Draco be receiving a very important letter!”

Draco climbed down the ladder, taking the letter from Mipsy with a quiet word of thanks. As the house elf left the room, Draco sat down heavily in his chair, looking at the letter in his hands.

A cream envelope, sealed with the Hogwarts crest, was addressed to him.

Lord Draco R. A. Malfoy
Malfoy Manor
Wiltshire

He summoned a letter opener from the desk and carefully broke the seal. Inside were several pieces of heavy, ivory paper. The first contained only a short missive:

Dear D. Malfoy,

Please see enclosed your Ordinary Wizarding Level Results and your sixth-year timetable.

Yours sincerely,

Professor McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

His hands shook as he gripped the paper. He wasn’t surprised by his nerves because his academic record had been shaky, at best. Draco would fully admit to being lazy in his first few years at Hogwarts, coasting by on his name and natural intelligence with little effort on his part, and it was only because his father had complained to the rest of the School Board about Granger taking so many O.W.L. electives that he’d been allowed into all of his choices. Even in his third year, Draco didn’t put in the required effort to maintain his grades. He skimmed by on Es and As, with the occasional O for Potions and Charms, but a stern conversation with Severus had altered Draco’s attitude for his fourth year. He still had dreams (or nightmares) about that conversation, about Severus telling him that he was wasting his potential by acting like a spoilt brat.

By the end of his fourth year, he was second to Granger in all of the subjects they shared – except Potions and Charms where they were joint first. Once he found out that she’d dropped down to ten O.W.L. subjects to ensure she’d get all Os and O*s, he became determined to beat her. His fourth year had been a revelation for Draco, for so many reasons, from his father’s activities at the Quidditch World Cup to discovering his love for altering charms, but it was the realisation that he thrived on competition – when not forced to compete by his father – that truly changed how he viewed his grades.

His results, whatever they were, would be the outcome of hard work and he was anxious that his work had not, in fact, paid off.

Before unfolding the smooth paper, Draco glanced over at his mother. She looked up from the novel she was reading to favour him with a calm smile, one full of love and pride for her son. He took a deep breath and looked at his results.

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS

Pass Grades: Outstanding (O), Exceeds Expectations (E), Acceptable (A)

Fail Grades: Poor (P), Dreadful (D), Troll (T)

Please note: O* grades are awarded to students who completed outstanding research papers alongside their compulsory coursework and exams.

Draco Regulus Armand Malfoy has received:

Ancient Runes: O*

Arithmancy: O

Astronomy: O

Care of Magical Creature: O

Charms: O*

DADA: O

Divination: O

Herbology: O

History of Magic: O

Potions: O*

Transfiguration: O

Grisselda Marchbanks

Governor, Wizarding Examination Authority

Without him noticing, his mother had drawn near Draco, her eyes skimming over the parchment in his hands as she stood at his shoulder. She then pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head and said, “Oh, my wonderful son! I am so proud of you.”

Draco raised his gaze to hers, and he stood abruptly to embrace her into a tight hug that neither wanted to break. After a few long minutes, Narcissa slowly pulled away and said, “I must let Severus know. He will be ever so delighted with your results. Perhaps we should invite him for tea in celebration?”

As his mother departed, Draco's gaze returned to the parchment. He was astonished that Thursday afternoon was devoted to Alchemy - a subject that hadn't been offered in decades. Was Granger taking it too? After all, Dumbledore would likely only reinstate the class for one of the Golden Trio. He'd have to ask Severus, surely he'd know. Glancing briefly at his supplies list, he noted with confusion that neither the teacher nor the required books were listed - a most unusual situation indeed.

Draco stared at the timetable in front of him, a million thoughts running through his mind. His finger traced the words and numbers on it, stopping as he spotted the only free period of the week - Friday afternoon. He felt a little thrill of excitement as he realized that this year was going to be a challenge, likely the harshest one he had faced so far.

He returned his attention to the single sheet of parchment listing out his supplies for this school year. Draco's brows furrowed as he read through all the books and tools he needed for classes. Perhaps most surprising, other than Alchemy, was Potions. Why would anyone choose the fourth edition of Advanced Potion-Making over the fifth? Not that it mattered much to Draco - thanks to Severus' teachings, he saw no reason why he would need the book other than for reference.

The sound of his mother's voice from outside snapped him back to reality, and soon enough she entered the room.

“Severus will be joining us for tea this evening,” she announced with a smile, “He's rather excited to hear about your timetable.”

Draco nodded, trying to imagine his godfather looking excited about anything. Severus was not known for his enthusiasm, but Draco knew that when it came to him, Severus had certain soft spots that he rarely showed anyone else.

Narcissa noticed the look on her son's face and raised an eyebrow, “Is something the matter, Draco?”

Draco shook his head, “No, it's nothing. I was just thinking about how much work I have to do this year.”

Narcissa smiled sympathetically, “Yes, it's a lot, but you're more than capable of handling it. And if you need any help, Severus and I are always here for you. Now, are you planning to write to your friends, or will you tell them when we’re all at Diagon next week?”

“We all agreed we’d wait until Diagon,” Draco replied. “I think I’d like to read until Severus gets here, if you don't mind?” He didn't really know how to celebrate his results. He felt almost empty now, after the initial excitement had faded, and he was left feeling underwhelmed. Still, it was nothing that a good book couldn't fix.

His mother had returned to her novel and Draco climbed the ladder once again, searching for any book that caught his eye.

☿

As Severus stepped into the drawing room, Draco and his mother looked up from their books. He was dressed in his usual long black robes, and beneath one arm he clutched a package wrapped in brown paper. His lips quirked in a faint smile as he crossed the room and kissed Narcissa on the cheek in greeting.

“And how are you doing today, Draco?” Severus asked as he took a seat across from the two Malfoys.

Draco glanced at the parcel with curiosity before offering an answer. “I am well, Severus, thank you.”

Severus smiled slightly and handed him the package with a proud nod of his head. “This is for you; a reward for your hard work.”

Draco tore away the paper and beheld a jet black box with intricate designs etched into its top. Carefully lifting the lid, his eyes widened at the sight of a brand-new set of potion-making tools inside.

“Severus, these are incredible!” he exclaimed in amazement, looking up to thank him properly.

“Your old tools were looking worn; I thought you could use something fresh.”

“Thank you so much,” Draco beamed up at his godfather before adding: “I can't wait to put them to use in class”.

The corner of Severus' mouth twitched again as he nodded approvingly. “Now let’s see your timetable,” he said, reaching out a hand expectantly. When it was placed onto his palm, he began to scan it over thoughtfully.

Severus leaned over the parchment, studying Draco's sixth-year timetable. His brow furrowed as he read and the room was silent save for the occasional creak of the chair as he shifted his weight. He nodded slightly to himself and allowed a faint smile to flicker across his features when he finished. With gentle fingers, he adjusted his charcoal robe before looking up at Draco.

“Hmm, yes. This all looks to be in order,” he muttered, almost too quiet to hear. “Eleven N.E.W.T.s will be difficult, Draco, but your O.W.L.s results clearly show that you're capable."

He paused and gave Draco a look tinged with pride before returning his gaze to the piece of parchment. “I must admit that Alchemy is somewhat of a surprise. Dumbledore almost refused on the spot when I handed over your choice list."

Draco shifted in his seat. “I don’t suppose you could find out who else is in the class? Or at least who the Professor is?” he asked impulsively.

Severus gave Draco a fond glance before replying, “I’ll do my best, brat, but I can’t promise anything."

Draco grinned widely at him and Severus shook his head in amusement.

“I presume you've already worked out that I will no longer be teaching Potions?”

“Yes," Draco said with a hint of disappointment before pointing out the outdated textbook on the list. "Honestly, who uses the fourth edition instead of the fifth? Some of the techniques are terribly inaccurate."

Severus' expression soured as he spoke again. “Horace Slughorn will be taking up the position. Be cautious with him, Draco, he is a collector of sorts."

Draco pondered Severus's words carefully while trying to keep his face neutral. He wanted more information about this 'collector' but before he could ask any further questions, his mother spoke up.

“What will you be teaching then, Severus?" she inquired, curiously colouring her tone.

Severus met her gaze levelly before responding: “Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Draco's eyes widened in astonishment and he saw that his mother was wearing a similar expression.

“Defence Against the Dark Arts? That's wonderful news, Severus!” she exclaimed.

Severus bowed his head slightly. “Indeed, it should prove a worthy challenge.”

“I'm sure you'll be an outstanding teacher, Severus.”

The corner of Severus' mouth curved faintly into a half-smile and he nodded in recognition of Narcissa's compliments.

“Thank you,” he said, before turning to Draco. “You needn’t worry about Professor Slughorn ruining your grades; I've spoken to Professor Dumbledore and he has consented to let me monitor your independent research project. Are you still planning to focus on improving the Calming Draught?”

Draco nodded eagerly in response, “Yes, I am.”

“Very good. You can tell me about your thoughts once classes resume,” Severus said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

Narcissa smiled fondly at the both of them and said, “It's always a pleasure to see you two discussing potions. I remember when Draco was just a little boy and you taught him how to brew the Hair-Raising Potion. And then he slipped it into his grandfather's drink at dinner one evening!” Her voice was wistful and Draco was tempted to remind her that he was still in the room.

Severus gave a small nod, his eyes flickering with a hint of nostalgia. “Those were simpler times, Narcissa.”

Suddenly, Severus' spine stiffened.

“I must go,” he said sharply, “he is calling.”

Draco's heart pounded in his chest when he saw the man's expression twist with pain as he stood up in the quiet room.

“Oh, Severus,” Narcissa whispered, standing to hug him. “Do be careful.”

Draco moved too, embracing his godfather tightly and pressing his face into the man's shoulder. He felt Severus ruffle his hair before returning the hug.

“I'll be fine, brat. You ought to practice your wandless, non-verbal spells before school starts again.”

Draco watched Severus leave through the door towards the floo, terrified for the man’s safety.

“There's no need to fret, my dear,” his mother murmured, gently stroking back his hair. “Severus will be fine. He has been doing this since before you were born.”

“I wish he didn’t have to,” Draco replied, leaning into his mother’s gentle touch.

“I feel the same, my darling.”

☿

Two days later, Draco found himself perched on an old stone bench in the garden, surrounded by rose bushes and dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. His mother had insisted he spend more time outdoors, so he had brought the grimoire with him.

As he turned a page, he paused and stared at the words before him. He had found it. He knew how to bring Sirius Black back from beyond the veil.

Chapter Text

As the end of summer holiday grew closer, Draco found himself in the drawing room of the Manor facing his mother's inspection. He was wearing muggle style clothes—the humidity was unbearable in London during August, and he didn't want to wear traditional robes—which meant that his mother wanted to make sure he was dressed appropriately for the day No matter how much he wanted to tell her that their family name was enough to get him into any place without a stitch on, he kept silent; she'd likely curse him for his arrogance.

Once she gave her approval, he stepped back and allowed her to step into the floo. He quickly followed suit and arrived at the hearth outside Flourish and Blotts, where his mother was waiting.

There were several reasons for as to why Gringotts would be their first stop of the day. Draco had paperwork to file for the Manor, vaults to check, and an appointment with the estate’s portfolio manager, Odbert. Although not all of the Malfoy fortune was stored at Gringotts, Odbert kept track of most of their investments.

When they arrived at Gringotts, they were promptly escorted to Odbert's office on the third floor. No one asked them to state their names or their business because every Goblin in the building knew who they were, although not many of them knew exactly how much money they had.

Odbert was already waiting for them, his black eyes studying Draco and his mother as they took their seats in front of his desk.

“Lady Malfoy, always a pleasure to see you,” he said with a polite bow of his head. “Blessings upon you and your ancestors, young Lord Malfoy.”

Draco inclined his head in reply. “Blessings upon you and your ancestors, Odbert.”

The goblin grinned at him, sharp teeth glinting, before he shuffled his papers.

“Now,” he began, “we have much to get through. First, you must officially transfer the vaults and assets into your name, Lord Malfoy. I trust you have the paperwork in order.”

Narcissa took out the necessary documents from her handbag and handed them over to Odbert, who began to examine them closely. As Odbert made notes in his ledger, Draco let his eyes wander around the office. It was a fairly large room, with bookshelves lining one wall and a large fireplace at the other end. There were no windows, but the room was well-lit with a number of glowing orbs that floated near the ceiling.

His attention was drawn back to Odbert as the goblin cleared his throat. “Everything seems to be in order, Lord Malfoy,” he said, handing the documents over to Narcissa. “Your mother will need to sign these as well, of course.”

Draco nodded, and his mother signed the documents without hesitation. Once the paperwork was complete, Odbert handed Draco a small stack of parchments. “These are your updated account statements and investment reports. You'll find that your portfolio has been performing exceptionally well this year, with some of your investments showing significant gains.”

With a small, satisfied smile, Draco accepted the pieces of parchment. He knew that Odbert was a shrewd goblin who would never steer him wrong. The Malfoy family's wealth was had been accumulated over a millennium, and it was Draco's responsibility to ensure that it continued to grow.

“You've also been granted custody over several other vaults. Notably, the Black family vaults and a Lestrange vault. I would recommend that you survey them when you check over the Malfoy vaults.”

Draco froze for a moment. He expected to have temporary ownership of the Black family vaults as the only living male relative but the Lestrange vault was a surprise. He looked at his mother and she was clearly as shocked as he was. Draco was about to ask Odbert about the transfer when another idea popped into his head.

“Would it be possible to freeze access to these vaults, to stop certain people entering them?”

The goblin's smile turned sly, as if he knew exactly what Draco was thinking.

“Why yes, of course. It would require a drop of blood to create the wards but I'm sure that will not come as a surprise to you, Lord Malfoy.”

Draco returned the sly smile with one of his own.

“I shall check the vaults now. I'll start with the Malfoy vaults, since I am most familiar with them, and end with the Lestrange vault. I'm sure we'll find some odd items, to say the least, in that one. If they do not already exist, I would like to create detailed itineraries of each vault in my possession. Would that be possible, Odbert?”

Odbert agreed before standing, gesturing for Draco to follow him. As he stood, his mother stopped him with a hand on his arm. She smiled at him gently.

“I have other business to attend here at the bank, my darling, so I won't be joining you in the vaults. I will wait for you in the lobby.” With that, she strode out of the room, stiletto heels clicking on the marble floor.

Since they were in Odbert's office, Draco did not need to take the cart to his vaults. Instead, he stepped into a lift, much like the ones at the Ministry of Magic, and descended into the depths of the bank.

When the lift stopped, a voice rang out, “Vaults 900 to 965 – the Malfoy Vaults.”

There were no dragons guarding the vaults on these levels and, instead, they were protected by strong magical wards designed to brutally kill intruders. Once, Draco had asked Odbert exactly how the intruders would die – he was a morbidly curious seven-year-old – but Odbert had just smiled at him and said it was best not to think on these things. Goblin magic, like elf magic, was distinct. His grandmother once told him that wixen magic was like water, always flowing, and elf magic was of the earth, deeply rooted. But Goblin magic was like fire: bright, imaginative, and dangerous. Capable of both wonderful creation and devastating destruction. Which was likely one of the reasons that wixen kind tried so desperately to oppress them.

Draco shook his head to clear his thoughts and followed Odbert to the vaults.

“Itineraries already exist for these vaults, and are updated automatically when the bank closes each evening,” Odbert disclosed, his low voice echoing around the subterranean corridors. “Vaults 900 to 930 house various artefacts of the House of Malfoy, and the remaining vaults are for your family's gold. We will be opening vault 966 soon, as vault 965 is close to capacity.”

Draco nodded as the goblin spoke. None of this information was new to him but he had to ensure that everything was in order.

Vault 900 held the oldest of the Malfoi artefacts, many that were from the time before they'd settled in England, and some were incredibly fragile. One day, Draco would like to spend an entire day in this vault, examining his family's history.

The next vaults were much the same, although one vault – vault 913 – was used to store their cursed objects. Odbert did not let Draco venture too far into that room but he could see the objects well enough.

Draco did not bother looking at the mountains of gold that were stored in the rest of the vaults and, instead, moved on to check over the other vaults in his care. They stepped back into the lift and descended further.

The voice rang out again. “Vaults 1100 to 1171 – the Black vaults.”

Unlike the Malfoy family, who also kept vaults in both France and Switzerland, the Black family hoarded their entire wealth at Gringotts. The estate clearly hadn't been managed in a while, what with Sirius Black's stint in prison, but wealth still accumulated over time.

Draco strode deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine corridors of his familial vaults. The first thirty or so were, much like the Malfoy vaults, full of ancient relics and priceless treasures. They were mostly normal things like furniture and jewellery but, as he ventured further, the macabre interests of his ancestors became increasingly evident. Vault 1127 was, by far, the worst and a chill ran down his spine at the sight of the gruesome instruments of torture lining the shelves.

“Salazar,” he whispered to himself, horrified by what he saw. He didn't dare ask who this vault belonged to.

As he exited each Black vault, he pressed a drop of blood on the door as Odbert muttered a few words. This would seal the vaults until Draco had, hopefully, retrieved Sirius Black from behind the veil. Until then, only Draco and the goblins would have access to what was hidden behind these doors.

“Would you like to look over the investments of the Black family?”

Draco shook his head. “Not today, Odbert. I have something to take care of before I take on that responsibility. I do have one request, though,” he announced. The goblin inclined his head, encouraging Draco to state his wishes. “Make sure that Sirius Black's will cannot be read. By anyone. It must remain sealed.”

Odbert gave Draco a knowing look before he grinned, displaying his sharp teeth once again. “Do not worry, Lord Malfoy. Sirius Black's will cannot be read until his death.”

Draco did not react to the goblin's words, making it clear that he was not surprised by the news of Sirius Black's survival, and Odbert lead him back to the lift.

Their last stop was the Lestrange vault. Since his uncle, Rodolphous, wasn't the heir to the Lestrange fortune, Draco had only been granted guardianship of the single vault he shared with his Aunt Bellatrix. He planned to take the Black family treasures from this vault and move them into a new one, far away from her reach.

Once he stepped inside vault 512, though, something felt odd. He could sense a strange magic whispering in the air, attempting to connect with him. Unsettled by this sensation, Draco hastily left the place and requested that once surveyed, the details of the vault be sent directly to him. Something was hidden within it—something terrible.

He sealed the vault with a drop of blood, making sure that Voldemort did not have access to the minor wealth accumulated in the vault, and moved on.

Once they returned to Odbert's office, Draco explained his plans.

“To start with,” Draco began, “anything that was once owned by the Black family within the Lestrange vault should be transferred back to one of the family vaults.”

He watched as Odbert withdrew a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill from one of his desk drawers and began to make notes.

“Then,” he continued, “two new vaults are to be created: the first for Andromeda Tonks, née Black, and her family, in the Black family name, and a second vault for Luna Lovegood under the Malfoy family name. All items previously belonging to Pandora Lovegood, née Malfoy, that currently reside within the Malfoy vaults should be placed inside Miss Lovegood's new vault. Do not transfer any relics, merely whatever Aunt Pandora bought within her lifetime and stored within the vault. Neither of the recipients should be alerted to the presence of these vaults.”

He paused, allowing the goblin to note down his requests.

“Furthermore, 50,000 galleons must be transferred into each vault and I want you to explore potential investment opportunities. I trust you, Odbert, to make the best decisions.

Odbert’s sharp eyes glinted in the dim light of the office. “I understand, Lord Malfoy. The new vaults will be created and the transfers will be made as soon as possible. Shall I inform you when everything is ready?”

“Yes, please do,” Draco replied. “I will return to Hogwarts on the 1st of September so please direct any correspondence there. I also want to open a new vault for my mother, with 100,000 galleons, separate from the family vaults. She should not be told of this vault unless I die or I am declared missing.”

Truthfully, Draco hoped that one day he would be able to transfer the money to his mother's personal vault in a way that didn’t involve his death but he needed to ensure that his mother would be cared for if the worst happened.

“It shall be done, Lord Malfoy,” the goblin said quietly, understanding the gravity of the situation.

Draco firmly shook Odbert's hand, then promptly left the office. He took care of all the necessary paperwork to change the Manor’s name with the accounts department on the first floor before returning to his mother, who was waiting for him in the lobby.

“Let us depart,” she said, hooking his arm with hers. The two of them stepped out of Gringotts and were welcomed by the vibrant atmosphere of Diagon Alley.

☿

For the rest of the morning, Draco and his mother meandered through Diagon Alley, with intermittent forays into Knockturn Alley.

The streets were filled with a cacophony of voices, and various scents of food and perfume wafted up from the shops and stalls. The sun shone brightly overhead, its rays refracting in the many colours of the glass windows and doors that lined the cobbled road.

As they walked, Draco noticed that he was greeted warmly by those adhering to the Old Ways. Some bowed their heads in reverence, while others nodded and smiled in recognition. It was odd for Draco to be the centre of such attention but it was to be expected. Despite his father's incarceration, the Malfoy name was still one of the most influential in the Wizarding World.

They stopped at a small apothecary in Knockturn, where a wizened old man greeted them with an almost toothless grin. Narcissa exchanged a few hushed words with the man, and soon they were browsing the shelves of the shop.

Draco was fascinated by the strange vials and jars that lined the counters, each containing a mysterious, bubbling substance. He'd never seen some of these potions before, so he assumed that they were unlicensed potions. Or, at least, unlicensed versions of accepted potions. Very dangerous for those who didn't know how to handle them.

He leaned in to examine one closely, half expecting his father to drag him away from the counter with a sharp admonition. But his father wasn't there to reprimand him, and his mother seemed content to let him explore.

He paid no attention as his mother bought several vials, and merely followed her out of the shop after she gestured to him.

As they stepped back out into the bright sunlight, a figure caught Draco's eye. It was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a dark mane of hair that fell to his shoulders. He was standing across the street, studying them intently. Everything in Draco screamed to run but he couldn't move his feet. He could only watch as the figure stared back at him. Something about the man seemed familiar to Draco, like he'd met him before, but his face was partially obscured by the shadows of the surrounding buildings so he couldn't be sure.

Suddenly, the man began to move but instead of stalking towards the pair, he simply turned and strode away down the street.

Draco's mind raced as he and his mother quickly made their way back into the crowds of Diagon Alley. Why had he been watching them? Had he been sent by someone? And if so, who?

Narcissa seemed to sense her son's unease, for she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“It's alright, Draco,” she crooned. “We're not in danger here.”

Draco forced himself to nod but he didn't relax until they neared Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.

Once they reached the door, Draco could see some of his friends inside, already eating ice cream. His mother turned towards Draco and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I'm meeting friends at Sugarplum's, my darling, so please don't worry about me. I'll see you at Flourish and Blotts at six o'clock sharp.”

Draco merely nodded in reply, refusing to voice his concerns for her safety. His mother was a grown woman and a very capable witch, she could and would defend herself if needed.

“And please remember to ask for growth charms on your uniform, Draco. You’ve already grown an inch and a half this summer,” she continued, smoothing her hands over his shoulders.

Draco watched his mother's retreating form, still feeling on edge. He took a deep breath and pushed his worries aside. He didn't want to ruin his day by giving in to his anxiety.

With a determined stride, he stepped into Fortescue's, the tinkling of the bell announcing his arrival. Some friends were already seated at a table near the window, their faces alight with excitement as they discussed their summer adventures.

Blaise was the first to spot him, his eyes widening in surprise. “Draco, you made it!”

Draco grinned as he took a seat beside Blaise. “Of course I did.” He looked at his friends, noting who was missing. “Will Tracey be joining us today?”

“She will, but not long,” Daphne answered, just before eating another spoonful of ice cream. “She’s going shopping with her parents afterwards.”

It was just as Draco expected, Tracey’s parents still didn’t feel comfortable being seen with them in such a public place. Neutrality in such times was both a precarious and precious position.

“Not going to ask where lover boy is?” Blaise asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Draco scowled at him which, unfortunately, did not have the same effect on Blaise as it did on the younger students at Hogwarts. “Don’t worry, Draco,” Greg said, interrupting Draco's plans to curse Blaise. “I saw him with Alex earlier, he's fine.”

Draco relaxed at Greg's words and sent him a grateful smile.

“I have my cousin’s gift with me. Would you prefer to receive it now or back in the safety of the dorms?” Blaise asked, drawing Draco's attention back to him.

“Do you know what it is?” Draco replied. If the present was innocent enough, he wouldn't mind opening right there in the middle of the shop. However, knowing Blaise's eccentric cousin, and taking into account some of the weird gifts Draco had got from various families over the summer holidays, it would likely be safer to wait until they were at Hogwarts.

Blaise replied with a sharp laugh. “I have no idea,” he admitted, his voice low. “Hogwarts then?”

Draco gave a slight nod in reply. Though they'd be back at school in less than ten days, curiosity would eat him alive. But burning curiosity was better than unintentionally casting a hex on half of Fortescue's customers with whatever Alessandro Zabini had sent him.

While waiting for Tracey and Theo to arrive, Draco ordered a double scoop of chocolate ice cream, his favourite flavour. As he savoured each creamy bite, he caught snippets of his friends' conversations. Daphne was weaving a dramatic tale about the poor girl that had been flirting with an oblivious Millie in Greece, while Greg was telling Vince about the food he'd tried in Sweden. Draco was intrigued by the idea of salty liquorice but zoned out when Greg started describing something called blodpalt.

At last, Theo arrived at the ice cream parlour. He rushed across to the table and quickly took his position next to Draco, mumbling a few words of apology and explanation along the way. Draco offered him a warm smile while Theo returned, both ignoring the fake retching noises coming from Blaise.

“Watch it, Zabini,” Theo warned with a slightly manic glint in his eye, “I've picked up some nasty curses over the summer and I'm not afraid to use them.”

Blaise only laughed and vowed that he would be on his best behaviour. Draco, on the other hand, was intrigued. He was used to being the one wielding threats and curses but he found Theo's new assertiveness rather attractive. The thought made Draco pause. Perhaps he was finally succumbing to the Black family madness.

Theo then stretched out his arm and placed it on the back of Draco's chair, leaving Draco feeling flustered.

As they waited for Tracey to finally arrive, the group chatted amiably about their summer adventures. The conversation flowed around Draco but he was lost in his own thoughts. Theo seemed to sense his distraction and leaned across the table towards him. “Want to grab some ice cream?” he whispered, leaning into Draco until his lips brushed Draco's ear. “I'll buy you another scoop. My treat.”

“Sure,” he murmured, turning to face Theo. “I'd like that.”

Draco and Theo were side-by-side as they approached the counter, almost touching. Draco's desire to take Theo's hand was nearly overwhelming. As they waited, the bell above the door rung out again and Tracey walked in with a tired look in her eyes. She gave Draco a slight nod before sitting down at a table.

Theo's hand was still hovering near Draco's as they returned to the table, their ice cream almost forgotten as they continued to talk, their voices low and intimate. Occasionally, Theo would brush his hand against Draco's and Draco found himself completely lost in the moment, forgetting entirely about the rest of their group until Blaise cleared his throat loudly.

“Well, aren't you two just sickeningly sweet,” he mocked, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Tracey rolled her eyes but couldn't quite hide the smile that tugged at her lips. “Oh, just let them enjoy themselves, Blaise. It's not every day we get to see Draco being so... enamoured.”

Draco shot her a glare, but the heat that rushed to his cheeks betrayed his embarrassment. He turned back to Theo, trying to ignore the rest of their group, even as Blaise and Tracey continued to tease them.

Much to Draco's relief, Vince redirected Tracey's attention by asking for her order. Her expression became blank for a moment before she grimaced.

“I'm not getting anything,” she replied, her voice quiet and apologetic. “Mam wants to go home as soon as possible but I really wanted to stop by and say hello.”

Draco couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at Tracey's announcement; he had been looking forward to spending more time with her since they hadn't seen each other for almost six weeks. It just wasn't the same when one of them was missing.

Greg spoke up softly, his voice gentle and reassuring. “We’ll see you on the train though, right?”

Tracey nodded, a small smile playing upon her lips. “Yes, of course. I’ll be at the station shortly before the train departs so I will meet you in the compartment rather than on the platform.”

Tracey's chair scraped against the white linoleum floor as she stood to leave. Draco and his friends all rose, embracing her in a circle and whispering comforting words into her ear. Draco's squeezed her tightly as he murmured that they would sort everything out, and she nodded with determination before turning away and walking out of the door, disappearing into the hustle and bustle of the street.

The atmosphere felt unpleasantly heavy after Tracey left, and the group ate in complete silence. Hoping to inject a bit of life into the room, Millie suggested that they get on with their school shopping.

“Let's enjoy our last bit of freedom before we're back at Hogwarts,” she implored, her voice breaking into Draco's thoughts.

“So, where should we go first?” Daphne asked, scraping the last remnants of ice cream out of her bowl.

“How about Twilfitt and Tattings?” Pansy suggested. “I don't want to shop at Madam Malkin's again. Her robes make me look frumpy.”

“Pansy, you could never appear frumpy,” Daphne replied, a fond look on her face. “But I agree, let's try there instead.”

Draco finished his ice cream and stood up from the table. He followed the group out of Fortescue's and onto the cobbles of Diagon Alley. The sun was shining brightly overhead, casting a warm glow over the bustling crowd, and Draco felt Theo's hand slip over his shoulder. It would look friendly to any outsiders but Draco knew it was a much more intimate gesture. Despite the looming threat of Voldemort and the impending war, everything was perfect. For now.

They made their way to Twilfitt and Tattings, browsing the racks of finely crafted robes and dresses. Pansy was trying on a sleek black number and twirling in front of the mirror while Draco was being measured his school uniform. Once the seamstress had the measurements she needed, Draco mentioned the addition of growing charms, as per his mother's request.

The seamstress made notes on her parchment. “Growing charms it is,” she announced. “We'll make sure you're covered for the whole year, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco smiled gratefully before glancing over at Theo, who was carefully looking through a rack of robes. His gaze lingered as he admired the flexing of Theo's muscles through his shirt. He cleared his throat. “Find anything you like?”

Theo pulled a robe from the rack before shrugging it on. He did a little twirl, showing off how well the robe fit him. “What do you think, too Gryffindorish?”

Draco's eyes widened as he took in the sight of Theo in the robe. It was a deep shade of oxblood, beautifully complimenting Theo's dark hair and deep blue eyes. The material clung to his broad shoulders, and Draco felt himself blush.

“It looks great, Theo!” Blaise called from the other side of the room. “You've rendered Draco speechless.”

Draco shook himself out of his stupor. “You should get it tailored, it's a little long in the sleeves,” he spluttered, his voice a little hoarse.

Theo grinned at him. “Good idea,” he said, stepping out of the robe and handing it to the seamstress, who was eyeing them both with amusement.

Millie stepped in front of Draco, obstructing his view of his boyfriend, and declared, “Come on now, you two. We still have some shopping to do and I don't want to spend the whole day inside this stuffy shop.”

Draco reluctantly followed after her.

They stopped at several shops along the way – Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary, Obscurus Books, Quality Quidditch Supplies, and Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment – but avoided Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes before they final arrived at Flourish and Blotts.

Draco reached into his pocket for a handwritten list of books he needed to buy, only to have to shield it from Pansy who was trying to take a peek.

“Pansy,” he drawled, a hint of warning in his tone. “We agreed to wait until we were on the train to discuss such things.”

Pansy grumbled at him before taking her own list out of her bag and entering the shop.

Draco was balancing a stack of books that covered his face, some for school and some for leisure – including a few muggle mystery novels, like the ones Pansy had lent him – when Greg appeared at his shoulder.

“Potter and the Weasleys have just entered, we should leave as soon as possible.”

Draco noticed that Greg was carrying a bag of books, clearly having completed his purchase already. “Who else is still browsing?”

“Just you and Blaise. He’s in the international history section upstairs. How many more do you need to buy?” Greg replied, relieving Draco of a few of the books that obscured his view.

Draco checked his stack, noting that he still needed to get two DADA books, the compulsory one and another that Severus had recommended, and a Charms book Professor Flitwick had recommended to him at the end of the last school year. “Just three, although I could put in an order for one of them instead. I’ll be quick.”

Greg nodded at him, hovering by his shoulder as he made his way to the Dark Arts and Defence section of the book shop.

Unfortunately for him, Potter and Weasley were already amongst the stacks, chatting rather than actually perusing the books of the shelves. Draco weighed up his options. He could go straight to the tills and explain to Severus what had occurred when he next saw him or he could get his books and hope that Potter and Weasley didn’t start a fight in the middle of a bookshop. He looked at Greg, who shrugged, and Draco squared his shoulders before stepping out from the shadows.

Weasley, who was facing him, narrowed his eyes at Draco and Greg but they simply ignored him. Draco made his way to the shelves lined with books on Dark Arts and Defence and began scanning them for the right titles. He was relieved that Potter wasn’t paying attention to him, instead having a heated discussion with Weasley over a book he had taken down from the shelf.

Draco grabbed the two titles he needed and quickly put them atop his little stack so that he could get out of the shop as soon as possible. Weasley watched his every move, even as he retreated from the stacks.

“That was odd,” Greg murmured, too quiet for anyone but Draco to hear. “Weasley definitely saw us.”

“Perhaps he just wants a quiet year, without all the usual drama,” Draco replied, just as quietly.

“We can only hope.”

With Greg’s help, Draco managed to get his stack of books to the counter without incident.

The shopkeeper gave him a nod of recognition before ringing them up one by one.

“That’ll be 64 galleons, please,” she said at last.

Draco dug into his pocket for his coin pouch, handing it over to her. “Thank you” he replied as she handed it back to him, 64 galleons lighter, before turning away to serve another customer.

He grabbed his bags of books from the counter and quickly exited the shop, Greg following closely behind him. It wasn't cowardly to avoid Potter and Weasley. It was clever. Draco did not want any incidents in such a public place, especially after his father's incarceration. While the old families seemed to understand that Draco was different to Lucius, many of the so-called light families would happily tar him with the same brush.

Most of Draco's friends were already outside the shop, waiting, but Blaise was still missing. Draco looked at Vince and Greg, silently communicating that one of them should go keep an eye on their mischievous friend. Greg re-entered the shop and returned a few minutes later, Blaise and books in tow.

It was nearing six o'clock, the time when they would be meeting their families, so they wasted some time looking at the street vendors that lined Diagon Alley.

Despite the loud chatter of people shopping, Draco's ears picked up the sound of his mother's laughter coming from a nearby cluster. She was surrounded by Elizabeth Parkinson, Ariadne Greengrass, and Magdalena Zabini. Peony, Pansy's younger sister, walked ahead of them with a newly acquired kneazle in her arms, blissfully unaware of the attention their group received from the other patrons of Diagon Alley.

Draco made his way quickly over to his mother, his friends trailing him in a tight-knit group. Narcissa greeted her son with an affectionate touch on the cheek and asked about his day.

He turned around to say goodbye to his friends, only to notice Alexander standing next to Theo. He must have come from the opposite direction, taking advantage of the distraction Draco’s mother and her friends caused to sneak up on them. The older Nott brother gave him an easy smile from where he was leaning against the wall, before wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Draco as Theo kissed him on the cheek.  

After saying their goodbyes, the group split off in several directions. Theo and his brother walked up the cobbled street, Alexander's arm slung over his brother's shoulder. Their voices drifted back through the air, bright and carefree, and Draco watched as they disappeared between the old buildings lining the road.

As Draco and his mother walked back towards Flourish and Blotts, he noticed the way her eyes kept flicking towards the alleyways that branched off from the main road. Their earlier encounter in Knockturn had clearly affected her more than she let on.

“Mother?” he inquired softly, taking her hand. “Is everything alright?”

Narcissa sighed, but didn't pull her hand away. “I'm fine, Draco. Let's hurry home, hmm?”

Draco nodded, understanding that his mother was indicating she didn't want to discuss it further.

They walked in silence for a few moments before they arrived at the hearth that would transport them back to the security of the Manor.

Chapter Text

Kneeling in the sacred grove, Draco focused on replacing the soil around the hawthorn sapling that had been given to him by the Longbottom family. Dirt had found its way beneath his fingernails, and he was only vaguely aware of the morning dew that dampened his clothes. He was so engrossed in his task that he barely heard his mother calling out his name.

“Draco! Do you have everything packed for school?” Her voice was distant, and Draco assumed she was in the garden nearby.

“Yes, Mother,” he called back, knowing she would have trouble hearing him from her location.

“What are you doing in the grove, Draco? We need to leave soon and you need to look presentable.” As she spoke, her footsteps grew closer and louder until he could feel her gaze upon him.

Draco stepped away from the sapling so she could see what he was doing. The sapling had been sent with very specific instructions from the Longbottom family: the process had to begin at sunrise on the first day of the month, he could use no magic, and he had to allow the grove to guide him.

His mother sighed with a weariness that only mothers understood. “Couldn't you have done this earlier? You know how hectic today can be.”

“Apologies, mother,” he replied sheepishly. “I was merely following Lady Longbottom's instructions.”

Narcissa shook her head as she looked fondly at the sapling Draco had just planted. “It will be a beautiful tree, Draco.” She ran her fingers through his hair affectionately before her gaze drifted down to his muddy hands and clothes. She gave him a gentle nudge. “Time to clean up, my darling. We need to be at King's Cross shortly and you need to check that you have everything packed for school.”

Once inside the Manor, Draco went straight to his room to change his clothes and check his trunk. He was both excited and apprehensive at the thought of returning to Hogwarts. It was going to be a difficult year.

After he changed, he opened his trunk and laid out its contents in neat stacks: school books and novels; his Hogwarts uniform; casual clothing, including a new hat, scarf, and mittens set bought by his mother; and his Quidditch uniform, which didn't include his new Fulmine VI broom from Volare – that was being delivered to Hogwarts separately. He checked off everything on his packing list – even the mundane things like his favourite shampoo – before placing them neatly into his trunk with a flick of his wand.

He scanned his room one last time, double-checking that nothing was left behind, before focusing on the trunk at the end of the bed. With a wave of his wand, it slowly floated out of the room and descended the stairs, allowing him to follow it at a leisurely pace.

His mother was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, her blonde hair now coiled up in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She was dressed elegantly, as always, and she eyed him carefully as he walked towards her.

“Did you remember to pack your new cloak, darling?” she inquired, raising one eyebrow in a way that was eerily familiar.

Draco searched his mind for an answer, panic rising as he realised that he had forgotten it. “Of course I did,” he lied. “That being said, I just need to return to my room for a moment, Mother.” He turned back towards the stairs, hoping she wouldn’t see his face go red with embarrassment.

He heard her laughter follow him as he dashed up the steps two at a time. In his bedroom, the cloak hung in his wardrobe, delicate and expensive. Summoning it could easily damage it, so instead Draco carefully wrapped it around his arm before descending the steps once more.

His mother smiled approvingly when she saw it. “Now you're all set, my darling,” she said as she reached out to stroke his cheek gently. “I must say, you'll look quite dashing in that cloak.”

Draco had thanked her and now, with barely contained excitement, he turned to his mother. “Shall we go?” he asked, glancing around at the room one last time.

Narcissa nodded, ushering him toward the fireplace with a hand on his shoulder. Only the tightness of her grip revealed her anxiety at the thought of sending her only son back off to Hogwarts. 

☿

Draco and his mother waded through the crowds of students and parents gathered on the platform, looking for any of the other families. While Tracey wouldn't be joining them until the just before train set and Greg would already be in the compartment, the others had agreed to meet on the platform.

Just as Draco began to assume that they were the first to arrive, he heard his name being called.

“Draco, Draco! We're over here!”

He turned around to see Daphne waving at him wildly while poor little Astoria was pretending that she wasn't related to Daphne. She clearly hadn't grown out of being embarrassed by her family yet.

Draco felt his mother grab his elbow, guiding him through the crowd towards where the Greengrass family stood.

“Ah, Draco Malfoy!” Lord Greengrass had a booming voice which matched his tall, imposing figure. His eyes, however, were kind and his smile was bright and welcoming as he leaned in to shake Draco's hand. “Just the young man I wanted to see.”

“It's a pleasure to see you again, Lord Greengrass,” he said.

“None of that, now. Call me Nicholas. Though I'm sure you just refer to me as ‘Daphne's father’ in your head.”

Draco found himself grinning sheepishly at the comment; it was true after all. “Well, I suppose I can call you Nicholas if you insist,” he replied.

The other man laughed heartily. “That's more like it! Now, I have somewhat of a gift for you. A blessing, if you will. I couldn't decide on what to give you for a while but I'm sure my little Nene has already told you that.” At the use of her childhood nickname, Daphne started complaining but Lord Greengrass ignored her and continued speaking. “So, here it is.”

He held out a small parcel for Draco to take. Draco carefully pulled away the wrapping paper and released a small silver flask from within. It was decorated with a series of runes along its sides and Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“It's a potion flask,” Lord Greengrass disclosed, answering the unasked question. “I had it custom-made by a remarkable silversmith. It's imbued with protective runes and charms so you can carry any potion you need safely.”

Draco was impressed at this thoughtful gift and expressed his gratitude to the older man. He looked over at Daphne who was watching the exchange with an almost imperceptible smile on her lips before turning back to her father who clapped him on the back one last time before giving him some parting advice. “Remember,” he said warmly, “If you ever need anything, do not hesitate to ask.”

The whistle of the Hogwarts Express cut through the noise of the platform, signalling that there was an hour left to board.

None of their other friends had arrived yet, but the air was filled with a sense of anticipation as they waited. Draco struck up a conversation with Astoria, trying to get her to come out of her shell. She was shy, but he could sense the intelligence and curiosity behind her bashful smile.

Their conversation was interrupted when one of Pansy's younger sisters came bounding towards them, followed closely by the rest of the Parkinson family. Pansy's face lit up when she saw her friends, while Percy squirmed with excitement at the sight of Draco.

“Ah, there's my favourite little man,” he said joyfully, scooping him up out of his mother's arms. He was rewarded with a delighted giggle from the toddler.

“What about me? I thought I was your favourite, Lord Malfoy,” a sly voice commented. Blaise had joined them, along with Vince, and was leaning casually against the wall with his hands in his trouser pockets.

“Blaise, you could never be my favourite — not even if you were the last person on Earth,” Draco quipped with a smirk.

“You wound me! Like a Diffindo to the heart,” Blaise joked in response.

Draco just smiled back before indulging in Percy's babbling. Amidst the chaos of the platform, Millie and her family joined the group, and shortly after they were alerted to Theo's arrival by Lord Greengrass' booming voice calling out across the platform.

“Samuel, my good man, I haven't seen you in months. How are you?”

Lord Nott shook the other man's hand as Theo came to stand next to Draco's shoulder.

“Hello, love,” Theo whispered, leaning in towards Draco.

Draco smiled, turning his head slightly to look at Theo. “Hello, dear. Is Alexander not with you today?”

Before Theo could reply, the Hogwarts Express whistled again to signal that there was only half an hour left to board.

“Well,” Draco's mother said, clapping her hands together. “Perhaps you should all be on your way. You've kept poor old Greg waiting long enough.”

Draco nodded, handing Percy back to his father with minimal fuss. He could hear Pansy's mother talking to both of her daughters about looking out for each other at school, while Blaise and Vince talked to Daphne’s family, and Mille’s mother fussed over her robes. Theo and his father were caught up in what seemed to be a rather intense conversation and Draco was soon distracted by his mother.

She smoothed her hands over Draco’s shoulder, unshed tears gathering in her eyes. She’d be alone again until the winter holidays and Draco felt so guilty for leaving her.

“Now, my darling,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, “be good and enjoy your classes. Write to me often.”

Draco nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat. He hugged her tightly.

“I will, Mother. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine.”

She pulled away, her eyes still glistening. “I know you will be. You're my son, after all.”

Draco felt himself tear up. It was always hard leaving her behind.

“Right, off you go,” she said through her tears. “Your friends are waiting for you and I'm going into London with the Parkinsons for our annual first-day-of-school lunch.” She smiled at him warmly before taking his hands in her own. “Everything will be well. We’re both safe and you have much to learn this year. Make me proud, Draco.”

Draco nodded, wiping his eyes quickly before turning to his friends. They all looked at him with varying degrees of concern and understanding. He gave them a small smile before joining them.

“Let's go then,” he said, trying to sound cheerful.

☿

“Right,” Pansy said, hands on her hips. “I'm going to help Peony find her friends, and then I'll join you in the compartment.” She shooed them down the narrow corridor that led to the back of the train before heading towards the compartments reserved for first years.

“I hope Greg's managed to get one of the bigger compartments,” Millie grumbled. “I don't fancy being squished together for eight hours.”

As they walked, the sound of chatter and laughter grew louder, a mixture of excited students and parents saying their goodbyes. Younger students shoved past them as they tried to find a compartment for the journey, and Draco frowned as he watched them. He missed those carefree days when the biggest worry was which compartment to sit in for the train ride to Hogwarts. Now, they had bigger problems to deal with.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Blaise stopped abruptly in front of him.

“Ah, there he is!” Blaise announced, peering through a compartment window before opening the door.

As he stepped inside, Draco let out a relieved sigh. Greg had managed to secure the largest of the Slytherin compartments. It wasn't a lavish area but it had enough space for them to stretch their legs and relax before they reached Hogwarts. The Slytherin banner hung proudly on one wall, and the seats looked comfortable enough.

Greg looked up at them, a smile spreading across his face. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me.”

Draco rolled his eyes, taking the window seat opposite Greg. “As if we could forget about you, Greg.”

The group took their places; Theo was seated beside Draco with Blaise was draped across Millie's lap next to them. Vince filled his usual spot next to Greg, while Daphne settled as near to Vince as she could without being on his lap.

“So,” Blaise said, breaking the comfortable silence. “What do you all think this year is going to be like?”

Draco shrugged. “More of the same, I suppose. Classes, trips to Hogsmeade, quidditch, and impending doom.”

“I heard Dumbledore's Army is starting up again,” Daphne said, a hint of conspiracy bleeding into her voice.

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Really? I thought it had disbanded.”

“It did,” Millie interjected. “But perhaps Potter and his friends are starting it up again.”

Draco scoffed but didn't add anything to the conversation. He really didn't want to talk about Potter on the first day of the new school year.

As the group fell into a comfortable silence once more, each lost in their own thoughts, the door slammed open.

“Peony's fine,” Pansy said as she sat down next to Daphne. “She's settled in one of the first-year compartments, chatting away with some of her little friends and some brats I’ve never seen before. I swear to Salazar, that girl will make friends with anyone.”

“Glad to hear it,” Draco said, smiling at Pansy.

The shrill blast of the train whistle pierced the air, signalling their impending departure from London. The wheels clanked as they slowly began to turn, gradually picking up speed, and Draco watched out the window as the station disappeared from view only to be replaced by roads and houses that blurred together into a single mass of colour.

Draco idly wondered where Tracey was, hoping she had made it onto the train safely. As if on cue, the compartment door opened once again.

“Well, well, well, don't we all look cosy,” Tracey said, looking much happier than she had at Diagon Alley a week eariler. She took a seat next to Blaise, who promptly placed his feet in her lap, to complete their little group. “So, how did we all do on our O.W.L.s?”

Blaise groaned. “Can’t we talk about something more fun first? Like quidditch, or my potential-soon-to-be-ex-stepfather?”

“No,” Tracey affirmed. “I need some semblance of normality to start the year.”

“Oldest to youngest?” Millie asked when no one else objected. They all nodded at her suggestion, although Draco resented the fact that he’d be last. “Theo first then.”

Theo grumbled as everyone turned their attention to him, and Draco squeezed his hand in comfort. “Nine Os and one E,” Theo huffed, already annoyed by the whole process. Draco fought back a fond smile as his grumpy boyfriend was needled for more information about his grades by their friends.

Blaise and Pansy had each gained nine O.W.L.s—with more Es than Os for Pansy—and she was rather annoyed that she got an E in DADA.

Vince told them that he had achieved seven O.W.L.s, including an A in Transfiguration and a O in Herbology, and Daphne complimented him extensively, which caused him to blush at the attention. Blaise cleared his throat to break the tension and motioned for Greg to continue their conversation. Greg had similar results to Vince, although he’d managed an O in Care of Magical Creatures rather than in Herbology, and Millie had managed to get Os and Es in eight subjects.

“And I managed to get an O in Ancient Runes,” she said, grinning as she told them her result. “I'm one step closer to becoming a curse breaker.”

Draco distinctly remembered her complaining about the exam at the end of the last school year but he didn't say anything. After all, he didn't want to be murdered by an irate Millie on the Hogwarts Express.

Tracey told them that she’d managed to get all Os and Es in her ten O.W.L.s, although she had more Es than she’d like to have.

“Trelawney sent me a note the day before my results,” Tracey said with a quiet laugh. “She wants me to take Xylomancy instead of regular Divination for my N.E.W.T. She said she saw it in a vision and that it was my destiny to learn the often-forgotten art.”

“Well, are you taking it?” Daphne asked, leaning forward towards Tracey.

“I am,” Tracey replied mildly. “I might as well see what my destiny has in store for me.”

When it was Daphne’s turn to reveal her grades, she sighed, her entire body slumping in her seat. “I got an A in History of Magic,” she cried dramatically. “I fell asleep during the exam and only just passed.”

Draco watched as Vince moved to comfort her, wrapping her up in a hug. Daphne perked up considerably but continued to give Vince a sad look so that he wouldn't let go of her. Draco shook his head at her antics. If she and Vince didn't get together soon, he was going to lock them in a broom shed to sort it out.

“You wanted to drop it, anyway,” Tracey muttered. “And I can't see your parents being angry about it, especially since there are still stories going around about your father sleeping through an entire year's worth of History of Magic classes.”

“That's not the point,” Daphne wailed, snuggling into Vince's embrace. “I know I could have done better but I just found it so boring. I got Os and Es in everything else, and I even managed to get 100% in Astronomy, but I’m so annoyed at myself. Anyway, it’s Draco’s turn next.”

“Finally,” Blaise announced, “the moment we’ve all been waiting for!”

Draco glared at his friend. “Eleven O.W.L.s, with three O*s and eight Os. Happy?”

“Very,” Blaise all but purred, a satisfied smile etched upon his face.

“You know, I'm starting to think you're more interested in my grades than my actual well-being,” Draco responded wearily, feigning sadness.

Pansy snorted. “Please, Draco. We all know you're the best in the year. We just enjoy seeing you squirm a little.”

Blaise's smile turned wicked before he changed the topic. “Right,” he said, clapping his hands. “Are we discussing timetables now or after we’ve had some lunch? Because, truth be told, I’m feeling rather peckish.”

Draco could feel his stomach grumbling in agreement with Blaise's sentiments. He knew he was going to need some food to keep him going through the rest of their Hogwarts journey. He had sweets in his bag, courtesy of his mother, but he needed a decent meal too.

“Let’s do timetables after lunch,” Pansy suggested. “I need to go to the loo first anyway.”

“I'll join you, Pansy,” Tracey said, standing up too.

“Vince, Greg, and I will go to the dining compartments to order,” Blaise said, standing up and stretching out his back. “Does anyone want anything specific? I think we should just order a variety and share.”

“Get something spicy,” Pansy requested before leaving the compartment arm in arm with Tracey.

☿

After lunch, they compared timetables. It wasn't an exciting conversation but Draco's Alchemy class did get a few oohs and ahhs from his friends and there were general complaints about how few free periods they had.

As they put their timetables away, Daphne stretched out and let out a yawn. “I don't know about anyone else, but I think I need a nap,” she said, snuggling into Vince's side again. Draco noticed Pansy and Millie retrieving books from their bags while Tracey produced a pack of playing cards for her and Blaise.

Theo nodded in agreement with Daphne. “I could use some rest too,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I didn't sleep much last night. Start of term nerves.”

Draco stroked Theo's hand where it rested around his waist, feeling a pang of sympathy for his boyfriend. “Want me to move so you have more room?” he asked softly.

“No,” Theo answered with a small smile. “I've never been more comfortable.”

Instead of replying, Draco leant his head against Theo's chest and closed his eyes. The train rocked gently beneath them, the sound of chatter and laughter from other compartments drifting in and out of focus.

Before he knew it, Draco had drifted off to sleep, the steady beat of Theo's heart lulling him into a peaceful slumber.

☿

Draco awoke some time later, his head still on Theo’s chest and Theo’s arm wrapped around his waist. He blinked, feeling disoriented for a moment as he adjusted to being awake again. He glanced out the window and saw the familiar sight of the Hogwarts' lights in the distance.

“I was about to wake you up,” Pansy said, “we're almost at Hogsmeade.”

Draco stretched his arms above his head, feeling the slight ache in his muscles from sleeping for so long. “Thanks, Pansy,” he said, rubbing his eyes and looking around the compartment.

“Are we all ready?” Blaise asked, standing up and stretching his legs. “I can't wait to get off this train.”

As they stepped out onto the platform, Draco took a deep breath, feeling the fresh air of the Scottish Highlands fill his lungs. The Hogwarts Express sat a short distance away, steam billowing from its chimney as students disembarked and made their way towards the thestral-drawn carriages. Everyone in their group could see the creatures, each marked by death in their own way, but it was better to pretend that they couldn't.

“Come on, let's grab a carriage,” Pansy said, leading the way towards the line of thestrals. They climbed into one of the carriages and settled in for the bumpy ride up to Hogwarts.

Draco watched as the castle grew closer and he knew that this year was going to be different. He was no longer burdened by the expectations of his father or the Dark Lord and he could finally start to carve his own path in the world. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

The carriage came to a stop outside the castle gates and they all rushed out, eager to get to the Great Hall. Although they were all looking forward to the Sorting, they were also very much looking forward to the feast.

☿

Just before the Sorting, Blaise started taking bets on how many students they'd get that year. Thanks to their reputation as the 'evil house’, Slytherin had averaged just eight students for the last few years, with other houses getting ten or eleven students. This year’s group of first-years was larger than most and there were sixty new students, rather than the usual forty or so.

“So, I have the seventh-year bets sorted,” Blaise announced as he took a seat on the bench next to Greg. “Graham Montague, Iris Avery, and Archie Ogden have all gone for ten, we have a couple of bets on eleven and twelve, Clara Shacklebolt has chosen an unlucky thirteen, and Violet Dawlish has gone for a whopping sixteen. What shall I put you all down for?”

“Put me down for nine,” Theo said, sliding a few galleons towards Blaise. “Even the Sorting Hat hates us.”

“Don’t be so grim, Theo,” Pansy said, pulling her own galleons out of her robe pocket. “I like Violet’s style so put me down for sixteen too.”

“What about you, Draco?”

He sighed, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the two galleons required for the bet. “Fifteen. And more than that, I think every House will get fifteen students this year.”

Blaise added Draco’s galleons to his little pouch and noted down his decision on a little piece of parchment. “That’s not part of the bet, Draco. Just the Slytherin students. Miles Burke is collecting bets from the younger years for me,” he said, before turning to their other friends, “so I just need your bets if you’re joining in.”

None of them went for fifteen, like Draco. Daphne thought it was too neat of a number which influenced everyone else to choose different numbers. Greg chose the highest of eighteenth, which would truly be a blessing from the Mother, but Vince chose the lowest, deciding to bet on only seven students joining their House that year.

The noise in the Great Hall fell to a hushed silence as the Sorting Hat was moved to the front of the room by the gnarly old caretaker. Filch glared at them all with thinly-veiled contempt before scuttling back off to the corner of the Great Hall he’d been haunting.

Draco watched as the Hat opened its 'mouth' and began to sing a little ditty.

“Although I am but a piece of cloth,
I knew the Founders well,
And in their wisdom, they did craft
A way to sort and tell

Which house each student here shall join
And find friends forever more.
So come up and place me upon your head
And let me see down to your core.

Perhaps you’ll be in Gryffindor,
Where the brave and daring dwell;
Or find your place in Hufflepuff,
Where they value fairness well.

Ravenclaw is a clever bunch,
Who seek knowledge to be wise;
And lastly, there is Slytherin,
Where cunning and ambition thrive.

Every house has their strengths
and their faults as well,
but it is up to me, dear students,
to choose where you'll excel.

But heed my warning, hear my tale
For Hogwarts has a foe.
All four houses must unite,
Lest the darkness grow.

So, step up now and let me sort,
I promise I won't be a bore,
For I am the famous Sorting Hat,
And I know just what's in store.”

McGonagall stepped up to the Sorting Hat, her signature pointed hat perched atop her head, and unravelled a scroll.

“Let the Sorting commence. Adkins, Holly.”

Draco watched intently as a young girl stepped up to the stool. She sat quietly, her hands clenched together in a nervous knot, as the Sorting Hat was placed upon her head. She looked so tiny, sat there in front of so many people, and Draco briefly wondered if he'd ever been that small. The seconds passed by with everyone in the Great Hall holding their breath, then came the unexpected result: “Slytherin!” echoed through the Great Hall as the Hat announced its decision.

Cheers went up from their table, loud enough to drown out the boos from the Gryffindors, as they welcomed their newest student to the fold.

A couple of students went to Ravenclaw and one to Hufflepuff before a young lad – “Capell, Stephen” – was called to the stool. Blaise leaned towards Draco and whispered, “I have a good feeling about this one.”

Blaise was right as a few moments later the Hat cried out “Slytherin!” once again.

Student after student joined their table. Christopher Finch, Olivia Herschell, Daniel Hughes, Ethan Lumley. With every new student, the cheers from the table got louder. Draco noticed that even Severus looked vaguely pleased with the proceedings.

The tension grew as McGonagall called out the name, “Moon, Na-ri.” She was from a long line of Slytherins, and her brother, Na-mu, watched anxiously from where he sat among the second-year students.

McGonagall placed the Hat on her head and it barely hesitated before announcing “Slytherin!” Draco smiled as she dashed toward their table and was enveloped in an embrace by other delighted students.

More students passed through the sorting, some for Ravenclaw and a couple of Gryffindor, before Katherine North was sorted into Slytherin. Then it was time for Peony, Pansy’s sister, to take her turn. Draco felt Pansy's grip his hand as they watched the young girl step up and sit in the Sorting Hat's chair. Peony seemed content to wait, legs swinging happily from the stool, until the hat proclaimed “Slytherin” from its place on top of her head. The little girl ran away from the front of the hall to embrace her sister with a huge hug that shocked many students in the other Houses.

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes at their shocked expressions and open mouths. Perhaps now they'd realise that Slytherins weren't cold and heartless.

James Reid became a member of their house before Evelyn Selwyn, another old Slytherin name, was sorted into Slytherin too. Nora Spenser, Oscar Sinclair, and Mark Wilson followed her, taking their total up to fourteen students just as the last student was called.

Heather Wright, a short girl with an upturned nose, sat atop the stool at the front of the Great Hall for an agonisingly long time. Every member of Slytherin house waited with bated breath to see if Draco would be right but the Sorting Hat did not seem to be in any rush to sort her. Instead, it appeared to be muttering to itself, its brim tilted down over the young girl's eyes as if to shade her face from the curious gazes of her fellow students.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Sorting Hat spoke up.

“Slytherin!” it bellowed.

The newly-sorted Slytherin threw herself into the crowd of cheering students, who welcomed her with open arms.

Draco turned to Blaise and grinned. “Pay up, Zabini. I won.”

Chapter Text

The welcome feast ended with dessert and some obscure closing remarks from Dumbledore that made Draco want to roll his eyes. He didn’t agree with his father about much these days but Draco genuinely thought that Hogwarts would be a better school if the old coot retired. Even the Sorting Hat made more sense than him.

Draco had just finished his piece of apple pie when an origami raven flew from the High Table towards Slytherin table and settled in front of Violet Dawlish, one of the seventh-year prefects. She unfolded the note and read it quickly before standing from the dinner table, presumably to collect the first-year students.

“We've been summoned,” Blaise groaned as he watched Violet move along the table. “You should never have taught him that spell, Draco. He just uses it to be even more menacing.”

“And pray tell, Blaise, what's so menacing about a bit of parchment?” Tracey inquired with a mocking tone.

“It's not the parchment that's the problem, Trace. It's the whole dark and ominous routine. And the fact that he always chooses a Circe-forsaken raven.” Draco didn't mention to Blaise that the reason Severus chose a raven was because of his animagus form. “Anyway,” Blaise continued, “I wonder what new rule he'll enforce this year.”

“Please don't tell me you've taken bets on that too,” Daphne snickered as she stood from the table, smoothing out her school robes.

Blaise shook his head, his expression serious for once. “Salazar, no. Snape would kill me with a single look if I did.” His voice was barely above a whisper and he kept glancing around, as if expecting the professor himself to appear behind him at any second.

“Only if he found out,” Draco added with a mischievous smirk, prompting a loud snort from Blaise and an amused eye roll from Daphne.

Blaise faked a shudder. “That man knows everything. It's like he can read my mind. Oh, wait. He can.”

“Just don't let him look you in the eye,” Greg advised solemnly.

Daphne sniggered again while Blaise continued complaining about their omniscient Head of House, seemingly forgetting why they were all standing up in the first place. Draco rolled his eyes indulgently but chose not to comment further on it – there was already enough noise in the Great Hall without them adding more to it.

He was vaguely aware of the other House prefects calling for students to follow them, with Granger's piercing voice rising above the commotion, but he paid them no mind. Instead, Draco merely followed Violet's lead and began to stroll out of the Great Hall. Slytherin House moved as a unit towards the dungeons, ignoring the other houses with practised ease, as if they were the only pupils in the entire school.

As Draco was about to exit the Great Hall, he heard a voice behind him that sounded familiar. Turning around, he saw Peony and one of her classmates following in his footsteps. He gave them a genuine, gentle smile.

“See?” Peony declared to her friend, who shushed her urgently. “I told you he isn't scary.”

Next to Draco, Pansy snorted inelegantly before leaning down towards the new pupil, who stared at her with wide, amber eyes. “Our Draco's a softie and don't let anyone tell you otherwise,” she said with a playful wink. “Now off you go, you two. Catch up with Violet and Archie so that you don't get left behind.”

Draco watched as the two first-year girls scampered off to catch up with the prefects who were leading them towards the dungeons. As they descended deeper into the castle, the air grew colder and Draco shivered, pulling his robes closer to his body until Tracey cast a warming charm on him.

“Try to remember that you're a wizard, Draco,” she chided half-heartedly.

“Well, if they remembered to renew the warming charms in the stones, I wouldn't have to,” Draco retorted cheekily, sticking his tongue out at Tracey in defiance before she shoved him. Thankfully, Theo was there to catch him and Draco happily leaned into his boyfriend, who wrapped an arm around his waist in support.

Rolling her eyes at their antics, Pansy urged them all to start walking again. “Can you lot hurry up please? Snape will have our heads if we're late!”

Though Draco wanted nothing more than to roll his eyes at Pansy's fretting again, he obliged and began hurrying his steps along the torch-lit corridor towards the dungeons instead.

At last, they reached a large wooden door looming before them. Violet stepped forward and rapped on it three times and it soon creaked open revealing what lay beyond it. Taking a deep breath, all five of them were ushered quickly inside.

The room was dimly lit with candles, each one casting eerie shadows on the walls, and the familiar green glow of the Black Lake greeted the students as they entered. A strong scent of herbs permeated the air, a telltale sign that Severus had performed in his pre-term cleansing ceremonies.

Violet shut the door behind the last of the students with a reverberating thud, her gaze scanning the room as she spoke. “Take your seats and be ready, Professor Snape will arrive soon.”

Draco, Theo and Tracey gravitated towards one of the smaller sofas, their eyes lingering around the room curiously, as their friends filled up other pieces of furniture nearby. The common room had been left mostly unchanged since they last departed at the end of the last school year, although Draco noticed a new chess set displayed by the windowsill, and he smiled in relief at being back in such a familiar place. Slytherin House was his second home and he felt comforted being reunited with his housemates, even though he would miss his mother terribly over the next few months.

The chatter in the room dissipated as the door creaked open once more. Professor Snape stalked into the common room with silent precision, silencing them all with a pointed look. “Welcome back to Hogwarts, Slytherins. I trust you all had pleasant summers?” He paused while some murmured assents rippled through the room before continuing. “Now, before we begin, I have a few announcements to make. Firstly, there will be no forbidden objects brought into this school this year. No cursed artefacts or dangerous items in my classroom - and absolutely no Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products either. Any student found in possession of such items will face severe consequences, without exception.”

A few grumbles escaped from some of the younger students but no one spoke out against him – everyone knew better than to challenge Professor Snape when matters of safety were involved.

“Secondly,” Snape continued with an authoritative air, “I must reiterate that practising the Dark Arts is strictly forbidden at Hogwarts. Any student found taking part in these activities shall be expelled on the spot—no exceptions. I will not tolerate any attempts to bring harm to your fellow students. You are permitted to study these dangerous arts within the common room, but under no circumstances should you take part in them out of its confines.” He glanced around the room again and Draco noticed that his gaze lingered on a few students, including Draco himself. Draco returned the scrutinitous look with an innocent expression that no one, especially not Severus, would believe.

“As always, the Forbidden Forest is off-limits,” the man said gravely. “No one should attempt to enter it. Those who do will face immediate disciplinary action and loss of House points. You have been warned. Is that perfectly understood?”

“Yes, Professor” the Slytherins replied in unison.

“Very good.” He then turned to address the new students in particular. “Now then, there is one rule which we in Slytherin house abide by above all else: loyalty to your House is paramount. Treat your housemates like family and protect them as though your life depends on it. No matter what disagreements or disputes may arise between you, these issues shall be settled within the walls of this room. If you find yourself struggling to work out a disagreement, speak with your prefects and they will help guide you,” Snape decreed with a furrowed brow as Draco nodded along with the rest of his housemates.

“For some of you, this may be your first experience entering the wizarding world. To ensure that you are properly integrated, special sessions will be made available in the evenings and at weekends. These sessions will focus on the history, customs, and etiquette of the magical world but they will also provide an introduction to magical theory and any terminology that you may not be familiar with. Furthermore, if there are any questions or inquiries you have, please do not hesitate to seek out your wix-raised housemates at any time. Wix-raised students should also learn from their Muggle-raised classmates and consider taking Muggle Studies when available. Are there any questions?”

The room was silent in response.

“Very well then. Starting from October, tutoring sessions shall become available for all students in all subjects. A timetable will be posted on the common room notice board each month so that everyone can take advantage of these tutorials if they need extra help or clarification. I expect all of you to make use of this service, do not make me regret giving you this chance. Mr. Montague has graciously offered to keep everyone informed about any upcoming quidditch trials...”

“Whether we want to hear about it or not,” one of the fourth-year students interjected, causing a snicker to ripple through the room at his audacity.

Draco almost burst out laughing at the nerve of the boy but Snape only sneered at him and continued.

“Thank you for that insightful interruption, Mr. Bletchley. As I was saying, Mr. Montague will keep you informed about upcoming quidditch trials, and I do hope to see you all supporting the House team at matches in the future. Other after-class clubs, such as Potions Club and Duelling Club, will also be available this year. If you wish to start a new club, you must approach Professor Dumbledore personally with your proposal; however, unofficial clubs within the common room are still permitted.”

A few familiar faces looked pleased by this announcement and Draco had no doubts that a House chess tournament would be up and running within the next few weeks, with Greg as their leader.

Then Snape's expression grew grim and most of the students sensed a shift in the atmosphere. “As many of you know, certain events at the end of the last school year had unforeseen consequences for some of your classmates. I trust that you all know where Slytherin House stands on these matters.”

At his statement, some of the students turned their gaze straight onto Draco, while others shifted uncomfortably in their seats. He knew that it had not been easy for some members of their house during the summer break – particularly those who did not share the same beliefs and values as their parents – but he was unconcerned regarding any possible repercussions or judgements from his peers. After all, he was Lord Malfoy - a title which commanded respect from other Pureblood families regardless of whether they agreed with his political decisions or not.

Snape cleared his throat pointedly in order to draw everyone's attention back towards him. “Classes begin tomorrow, so please ensure that you are all in bed by curfew so that you are ready for your first day back at Hogwarts.” With that final warning, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the door – leaving behind an expectant buzz amongst the students as they discussed Snape's orders and talked excitedly about the year ahead.

Some students began a game of Exploding Snap, while others were taking the opportunity to fill each other in on what they had accomplished over the summer, but just when it looked like everybody was getting comfortable, a voice rose above the chatter of the common room.

“Is it true, then, Malfoy?” one of the third years asked loudly. Draco recognised him as Joshua Spenser, a half-blood from a grey-leaning family. Draco wasn't sure if the family still followed the Old Ways, but they weren't, as far as he was aware, amongst Voldemort's followers.

“Is what true?” another student asked.

“That he kicked Voldemort out of the Manor over the Summer.”

Whispered conversations followed the boy's statement and, out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw both Greg and Vince shift into protective positions. They remained seated but everyone knew how much of a threat they were.

Draco sighed, leaning further into Theo as he thought about how to respond. He had been hoping that Severus’ little speech would have curbed any discussion on the topic but it seemed like the younger students still needed to learn how to approach these matters subtly.

“That isn’t quite what happened, Spenser,” Draco replied, his voice carrying across the now-silent common room. “But it is true that the Malfoy family are no longer aligned with the Dark Lord. Do with that information what you will.”

Draco stood up from the sofa, casting his gaze about the room to check for anyone who looked less than pleased with his announcement. All he saw were neutral faces staring back at him. He knew that there had been rumours circulating about his apparent induction into the Dark Lord’s inner circle – although Draco had no idea who had spread them – so his confirmation otherwise would cause a stir.  

“Now,” he said, addressing the entire room, “if you’ll excuse me, I have much to discuss with my friends. You know that you can approach me at any time, for any reason, but do remember Professor Snape’s words and act in accordance with them.”

After one last glance around the room, Draco made his way to their room, safe in the knowledge that his friends were following him. He hadn’t been lying, he did need to talk to his friends, but this was also a strategic move to avoid further questions about his family and their alliances.

☿

With a quick flick of his wand, Draco cleared the room of the cobwebs and dust that had accumulated over the summer. Someone cast a freshening charm, either Daphne or Pansy judging by the floral scent that now filled the air, while Greg lit the fire.

Once they were all settled in their comfortable room, Blaise fished out a carefully wrapped package from his robe pocket and held it out to Draco.

“This is from my family to yours,” he declared grandly. “No responsibility befalls me for this gift. If you are cursed, maimed, or otherwise injured, please direct your ire towards my cousin.”

Draco eyed the mysterious present with hesitation before taking it from Blaise's hands. It was heavier than he expected and he began to feel suspicious; Alessandro Zabini was known for not following social customs, although he was a rather gentle man, so this box could hold anything from a paperweight to an enchanted cauldron that produced only poisons.

Pansy and Daphne leaned in, trying to get a glimpse inside the mysterious box, as everyone else waited with bated breath.

Draco unclasped the lid, reached inside and pulled out the object he found there. Daphne’s eyes widened as she recognised the object.

“Is that...” she began in disbelief.

“It is,” Draco answered tiredly. “An armillary sphere, likely stolen from the Medici family at some point in the last five centuries.” Draco ran a finger over the delicate metalwork of the ornate object, marvelling at the structure. There, carved into the wooden based, was the Medici family emblem. “You were right, Blaise. It is part of his Medici collection.” He looked at his friend with a confused expression. “What does he expect me to do with this?”

Blaise shrugged. “Use it as a decoration?” he suggested.

Draco resisted the urge to sigh again. It was a beautiful object, of that there was no doubt, but it was typical of Blaise’s cousin to send something so outlandish and yet so useless.

“You should send it back to the Manor,” Millie interjected. “It’s priceless, Draco. You can’t keep it here.”

“I'll have Professor Snape send it off to my mother; perhaps she has an idea of what to do with it.”

He placed the heavy, ornate object back inside the box before learning forward to set it on the floor.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Pansy ventured, “but what on earth are you wearing around your neck, Draco?”

He sat back up in his chair and looked at her, startled, before realising what she was talking about. He had completely forgotten he was wearing it but she must have seen it when he leaned forward.

Draco pulled the pendant out from underneath his uniform and showed it to everyone, letting them marvel at the mysterious symbols carved into its surface. “It was the first blessing I received,” he revealed, thumb rubbing against the rough wood. “I haven’t been able to determine anything about it, it seems to be completely resistant to magic and nothing of its kind is mentioned in any texts. I was tempted to write to Clann Caomhánach to ask for more information but something has held me back.”

Theo reached out to touch the pendant, his fingers tracing the strange etchings. He frowned as he examined it, before glancing up at Draco with a thoughtful expression.

“It feels like you, Draco.”

“What do you mean by that?” Vince asked gruffly.

Theo paused before replying, his gaze still fixed on Draco. “It's difficult to explain, but it feels like an extension of him, of his magic. Like the pendant was made for him and him alone.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Theo's observation. “You think it's possible?”

Theo nodded slowly. “I don't see why not. Magic is a strange and mysterious thing, after all. It's entirely possible that this pendant is somehow connected to your very being, Draco.”

“But it looks so old,” Pansy said with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest as she eyed the pendant suspiciously. “And it was a gift. It can’t be connected to Draco.”

Draco shook his head and tucked the pendant back under his shirt. “That's what makes it even more intriguing,” he replied. “It's so old and yet it feels so familiar to me. Like it's been with me my entire life.”

“Just be careful,” Tracey added quietly. “If it’s from one of the Clanns, it will be a powerful artefact and there’s no telling what its true purpose is.”

That prompted Greg to ask about Tracey’s time in Ireland over the summer and, before long, Draco's mysterious pendant was forgot. Eventually, Blaise settled back into an old routine and launched into stories about his soon-to-be stepfather, much to everyone's amusement and sympathy.

Draco settled with his head on Theo's shoulder and listened as Blaise spun tales of his dysfunctional family. Theo wound his fingers into the short hairs at the nape of Draco’s neck, stroking softly in a soothing gesture, but, every so often, they strayed towards the cord that the pendant hung from.

☿

Early the next morning, when the stars were still twinkling in the pitch-black sky and the waning moon shone brightly, Draco silently crept out of his bed and into the darkness. He inched through the castle hallways slowly and cautiously, for he knew that if he was caught one of the teachers, or worse, Filch, he'd suffer in detention for the rest of the year.

Eventually, he came to a painting that he knew hid a secret passage into the Forbidden Forest. Thankfully, the painting was merely a landscape, so there was no danger of waking up any sleeping figures.

Draco slipped into the stone-lined tunnel, glancing quickly behind him to make sure that he hadn't been followed, before hurrying down the corridor.

The tunnel was dark and damp, the air thick with the scent of earth and decay. Draco's footsteps echoed off the walls, a hollow sound that filled him with a sense of unease. He pressed on, his wand at the ready in case he needed to defend himself against any creatures that might lurk in the shadows.

At the end of the tunnel, he spotted a frail wooden ladder. He grabbed onto it, feeling it groan under his weight as he climbed up until he found himself at the top, tucked away inside an old tree trunk. He crawled out of the cramped space only to emerge in the thick, shadowy woods.

The bitter night air nipped at Draco's skin as he stood up and he took a deep breath before setting off into the darkness. He had much to accomplish over the coming weeks and finding the perfect location was only the first step.

With a silent flick, a soft glow began to emanate from his wand. The light was bright enough to show him where he should step but not enough to draw unwanted attention. His shoes crunched against dried leaves and sticks as he ventured further into the depths of the ancient woods. Moss-covered trees lay at odd angles, contorted by years of leaning on one another for support, and branches creaked overhead as Draco pressed deeper into the forest. In the distance, a lone owl hooted, its call echoing through the trees like a warning, but such a creature was the least of Draco’s worries. All manner of things lurked in these woods and he would be lucky to avoid them.

He travelled east until he found what he was searching for – a secluded clearing nestled away in the heart of the forest. It was completely isolated, surrounded by large trees that formed a canopy over the space, and it was rich with ancient magick.

Draco quickly set to work clearing away fallen branches and debris before muttering an incantation to summon several stones from the area. He placed them in a perfect circle with a swish of his wand in the manner that had been illustrated. The magic intended to perform in this space was wild and dark, requiring extreme precision. There would be no room for error at any stage in his preparations. 

Taking a small, familiar knife from his robe pocket, Draco nicked the index finger of his right hand before letting a single drop of blood fall on to each of the stones.

Once the circle was finished, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. He still had much to do but the first step was complete.

With one last look over his shoulder at the clearing, Draco turned and made his way back to the castle just as dawn began to break over the horizon. Once he was back in the safety of the dorm, he slipped back into his bed unnoticed.

Chapter Text

The first day of Draco’s sixth year began with double Potions. Usually, he would be pleased but he knew so little about his new teacher, the reclusive Horace Slughorn, that he couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive.

He knew of the man's reputation as a collector of sorts — gathering together talented and powerful students to increase his own social status — and, while Draco suspected that his father's incarceration would make Slughorn too wary to approach him, he was less than thrilled at the prospect of some of his friends being collected by the man.

Still, he had been employed to teach Potions and Draco assumed he was competent enough to do just that.

Slughorn had chosen a different classroom than the one Severus had previously used, although it was still located in the dungeons, and Draco's eyes scanned the room as he entered. It was brighter than the previous classroom, decorated with multicoloured curtains and golden chandeliers, and the walls were lined with shelves filled with various potion ingredients and ancient tomes. It seemed like an impractical space for a potions lab, unlike the meticulously neat and organised space that they'd used in previous years, and Draco was glad that neither Longbottom nor Finnegan would be in his class this year as he suspected that the curtains and tapestries that lined the walls were highly flammable.

Individual desks were set out in cramped little rows, indicating they'd be working alone from now on, and three cauldrons bubbled at the front of the room. The odour filling the room told him that at least one of the three held Amortentia.

A muffled conversation drew his attention to the back corner of the room where Potter and Weasley were quarrelling over textbooks from the cupboard. Draco held back a frustrated sigh when he saw them, knowing that neither one of them should have been allowed in the classroom. If only Severus hadn’t taken the Defence position, all would be as it should be. Still, Draco couldn’t begrudge his godfather for taking the opportunity to finally fulfil a life-long dream.

Draco returned his attention to the Gryffindors, noting that Granger was the only one of them who was actually prepared for the class. Her full book bag hung over the back of her chair as she set out several sheets of parchment and a self-inking quill on her chosen desk.

As the rest of the class settled at their desks, Slughorn turned to welcome them all.

“Welcome, welcome!” He glanced around the room, his eyes brightening when he landed on certain people. Blaise, Macmillan, Potter. “You may have noticed that I am not your usual Potions teacher. I’ve taken over from Sev- ah, Professor Snape, this year and I’m sure we’ll all get along very well. Yes, very well indeed.”

Draco glanced at his friends and noticed that they looked as uncomfortable as he felt. Slughorn was still talking when he looked back at the front of the class.

“Now, some of you may have been surprised when you were allowed into this class.” There were murmurs from some students, likely agreeing. “Yes, Professor Snape had high standards but I believe everyone here has the potential to be great. Ah,” he paused, looking around the room once again before he focused on Draco, “but some of you are already truly advanced in this subject with one of you, yes, one of you in this classroom, achieving an O* in their O.W.L. examination.”

Students from the other houses began to look around the room, and Draco saw Granger shake her head at a question from Potter, but the Slytherins all knew who it was. Draco was thankful that neither Pansy nor Blaise turned to smirk at him, as they would have usually done, because he didn’t want any attention drawn to him, thank you very much.

“Now then,” said Slughorn, returning to the front of the class, “I’ve prepared a few potions for you to have a look at. You should have heard of these potions but I doubt that any of you will be able to make them just yet.” Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the statement. Slughorn was clearly underestimating some of the students in his class. If Draco were to guess, he’d say that, other than himself, at least Granger, Theo, and Terry Boot could make a variety of N.E.W.T.-level potions. Blaise would have been able to, too, if he ever decided to make an effort.

Much to Draco's utter despair, Slughorn continued his droning. “Can anyone tell me what this one is?” he asked, gesturing to the cauldron nearest to Draco.

Colourless, odourless. Veritaserum.

Before anyone else could raise their hand, Granger's shot up into the air. Miss Know-It-All was starting the year as she meant to go on, it seemed. Unfazed by her frantic waving, Slughorn nodded at her.

She cleared her throat before answering in that awful, clipped accent that reminded Draco of new-money socialites. “It’s Veritaserum, a potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth,” she said. A perfect textbook answer, as always. Draco had to hand it to her; she really could memorise their school books in a way that he had never been able to.

“Very good, very good!” said Slughorn with a pleased smile and gleaming eyes. The insipid little man was beginning to grate on Draco’s nerves. “Now,” he said, pointing at the cauldron nearest Boot and the other Ravenclaws, “this one here is pretty well known…”

Granger’s hand was up again. Draco took a quick look at the bubbling potion and recognised it as Polyjuice. Weasley and Potter should have known that one, as dim-witted as they are since they used it to transform into Vince and Greg in their second year. Draco may have been an arrogant little tosspot when he was twelve but he knew Vince and Greg too well to be fooled by such a ruse. And, well, when Weasley’s atrocious hair colour started to show through, Draco’s theory about the people behind the plot was confirmed. All that talk about a secret chamber under the drawing room floor had been funny until the Aurors tried to raid the Manor a few months later and his mother confiscated his broom for the summer.

“Excellent”, Slughorn cried. “Now, what about…”

Granger didn’t even let him finish that time before she started her textbook-perfect answer. The cauldron nearest to the Gryffindor trio was the one that held Amortentia and Draco fought back a blush when Blaise wiggled his eyebrows at Draco, knowing full well what the potion smelt like for him. Old books, summer rain, and the sandalwood scent of Theo’s cologne.

“It’s Amortentia!”

No longer able to resist the urge, Draco turned his gaze up towards the ceiling and heaved a heavy, dramatic sigh. For the first time in history, he was looking forward to the end of his Potions class because he wasn’t sure he could cope with this for much longer. Draco refocused his attention just in time to see Slughorn simpering over Granger.

“May I ask your name, my dear?” said Slughorn.

“Hermione Granger, sir.”

“Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to…”

Draco leaned over to Theo. “Five galleons say he’ll be disappointed when he finds out she has no connections.” Theo snickered but shook his head, pointedly looking towards Potter. Draco cursed under his breath; he’d forgotten about Potter’s star status as the Chosen One.

“Oho! ‘One of my best friends is Muggleborn, and she’s the best in our year!’ I’m assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?”

Draco almost groaned out loud, handing five galleons over to Theo immediately. He noticed that Potter was glaring at him from his desk at the back of the class, but Draco paid him no mind. He’d just lost money on the worst bet he’d ever made!

“Now, Amortentia doesn’t really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love.” Theo glanced over at Draco once again, and they shared a secret smile, but Slughorn continued, oblivious to the two lovebirds in his classroom. “No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession.”

Draco barely listened as Macmillan drew attention to a small cauldron on Slughorn’s desk but the words ‘Felix Felicis’ captured his attention. He could brew the potion himself but it took six months and, frankly, wasn’t worth the effort. But if Slughorn was offering it as a prize for the best potion, well, Draco would be happy to win a small vial.

Slughorn had them brewing the Draught of Living Death, a potion Draco had been able to make (under Severus’ expert supervision, of course) since he was twelve. He truly expected this to be a battle between himself and Granger, but he had Severus’ alternative techniques to fall back on if needed. However, out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed something peculiar. Potter had crushed the sopophorous bean instead of cutting it, just as he had. How did he know to do that?

With a huff, Draco turned his attention back to his own potion, watching as it turned paler and paler until it was completely clear.

“Time’s up!” called Slughorn. “Stop stirring, please!”

He moved about the tables slowly, observing each potion. Theo’s potion was very pale, just off-clear, earning him five points for Slytherin, while Blaise’s was still a pale pink. When he arrived at Draco’s cauldron, Slughorn beamed at him.

“Well done, Mr. Malfoy. A perfect Draught of Living Death. Twenty points to Slytherin.”

He continued walking, grimacing at a few cauldrons along the way, before stopping at Potter’s.

“Oho! Another perfect potion! Twenty points to Gryffindor, Harry. You have your mother’s talent.”

Draco's lips curled upward as he stifled a laugh, watching Pansy's exaggerated gagging behind Professor Slughorn's back, pinching her nose and sticking out her tongue in disgust. The man’s fawning was enough to make anyone ill. As Draco scanned the room, he noticed Granger’s pinched look. Her eyebrows were furrowed in suspicion as she stared at Potter’s cauldron. It seemed like even she was sceptical of Potter’s new-found talent for potion-making.

“We have two perfect potions, but, and I’m sorry to say this, Mr. Malfoy, I do believe Mr. Potter was quicker in the brewing process. So, we have our winner!”

Draco wanted to roll his eyes. Or just pour his entire cauldron of Living Death down Slughorn’s throat. That would solve a whole host of problems. Looking over at Granger again, it seemed like she was contemplating the same thing as she watched Potter hold up that tiny vial of gold liquid with that stupid smile on his face.

Slughorn instructed them to clear up their desks, and the class was dismissed.

“Mr. Nott, Mr. Malfoy, and Mr. Zabini, please do wait a moment! I have something I’d like to discuss with you all.”

The three boys looked at each other in confusion as the rest of their friends rushed out of the room, all too eager to get away from Slughorn. Draco sincerely hoped this didn’t eat into his break too much. He had so many classes and so few breaks this year.

“Now, boys, I wonder if you’d do me the great honour of attending a little gathering at the end of the month.” Slughorn stretched to place his hand on Blaise’s shoulder, trying to ignore their obvious height difference, before he continued. “I used to host a little group when I last taught at Hogwarts, just an informal little thing. The students called it the Slug Club,” he tittered. “A club of bright, talented young students who all went on to do great things. I’d like to do the same now that I’m back at Hogwarts.”

Blaise grinned, showing off straight white teeth, while Theo and Draco exchanged awkward glances. They murmured their assent, trying to ignore the gleam in Slughorn’s eyes. Blaise would relish going to such a party, just for the gossip, and Draco and Theo would go to support him, but they’d do so begrudgingly.

“Good, good. I’ll send invites with the details closer to the time. Now, I’ll see you boys on Thursday morning.” Slughorn ushered them out of the room with a wide grin and a jaunty wave.

Draco was relieved to finally be out of the stuffy Potions classroom, but his relief was short-lived when he saw Potter waiting for him in the hallway. He should have known Potter wouldn't let him leave without a confrontation.

“Congratulations on your potion, Malfoy,” Potter sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. He ignored Theo and Blaise; his attention was completely focused on Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don't act like you didn't cheat, Scarhead.”

“I didn't cheat! I just...figured it out.” Potter’s face was slowly turning red.

“Figured what out, exactly? How to crush a bean instead of cutting it?” Draco scoffed. “It couldn't have been Granger who told you what to do, otherwise she would have done it herself. Was it Slughorn? Did he help his newest little pet win the competition?” 

Potter's jaw was visibly clenched. “You know what? Forget it, Malfoy,” he spat. “I don't have to explain myself to you.”

“That's right, Potter. You don't. Now if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than talk to you.” With that, he brushed past Potter, not bothering to look back. Theo and Blaise followed him quickly, used to these little encounters with Potter.

“Well,” Blaise said, breaking the silence, “we best get to Arithmancy, otherwise Vector will have our heads. And I don’t know about you boys, but I like my head where it belongs.”

Draco groaned. His break had been wasted by a pathetic little man and a pathetic little boy. Circe, save him.

When they reached the Arithmancy classroom, Tracey was waiting for them, her arms folded and her foot tapping on the floor.

“Well, what did old Sluggy want?”

Blaise launched into a highly embellished tale about the Slug Club and their invitation, only to laugh when Tracey rolled her eyes at him.

☿

Draco raced down the hall, his school bag swinging wildly at his side. He had to make it to Charms before Professor Flitwick took attendance, otherwise he'd have detention for the rest of the term! Dishevelled and out of breath, he skidded around the corner and into the corridor where the Charms classroom was located. Professor Babbling had offered him a note after holding him back after Ancient Runes to discuss his O.W.L. grade, and he'd taken it with a hurried thank you before sprinting off, but he didn't want to miss a single word of his first Charms class.

His robes billowed behind him as he dashed down the corridor, barely managing to slide into the classroom just as Professor Flitwick opened his mouth to address the class.

He panted heavily, ignoring the stares from his fellow students, and made his way to an empty seat at the back of the room. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could feel the sweat on his forehead as he tried to catch his breath.

Professor Flitwick looked up as Draco entered, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy, I see you've finally decided to join us,” he said, his voice carrying across the room.

Draco felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment as he mumbled an apology and settled into his seat.

“Don't worry, young man,” the teacher said with a laugh before gesturing to the group of Slytherins in the room with a nod. “Your friends have explained the situation. I know, as well as anyone else in this room, that Professor Babbling can live up to her surname when she wishes to. Perhaps, in future, such conversations can be rescheduled. If only for your own sake.”

Some of the students laughed quietly at the professor, Draco included, while others looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Flitwick turned his attention back to the class full of students. “Now, as I was saying,” he began, his voice travelling through the room. “This year we will be learning a variety of charms, but we will also focus on mastering non-verbal versions of common spells you already know, such as Accio and Wingardium Leviosa.” He demonstrated with a flick and swish, lifting a Ravenclaw's book off her desk without a single word. “Non-verbal spells are difficult to master, but I'm sure you'll all be up to the challenge.”

Low murmurs rippled through the classroom as students exchanged excited whispers, all eager to show off their skills.

Professor Flitwick raised his wand again, and a feather appeared in front of each student in the room. “To cast a spell without an incantation, you must direct your thoughts and feelings through your wand and towards your desired effect,” he said. “It will take strong focus and determination to complete this task. Now, I want you all to attempt Wingardium Leviosa on the feather. Remember, intention and concentration!”

Draco was aware that, unlike the majority of people in the room, he had a great proficiency for non-verbal spells. He could perform charms that others found impossible with relative ease, but Wingardium Leviosa seemed to be out of his reach. No matter how much he practiced or concentrated, Draco could never seem to properly cast it. This had been the focus of many conversations between him and Professor Flitwick; Draco would frequently express his disappointment at being unable to command such a basic spell when he could perform more challenging non-verbal spells like Accio in his sleep. It had been a source of frustration for him ever since he had first attempted it, and he was sure that his failure would be a source of amusement for his classmates.

Before attempting the spell, Draco took the opportunity to survey the other members of his class. He merely wanted to ensure that he wouldn’t humiliate himself by failing to complete the spell. Much to his relief, every student in the room struggled to complete the non-verbal levitation charm, none more so than Potter and Weasley. Draco watched with icy glee as their attempts to cast the spell failed time and time again.

Draco became aware of Professor Flitwick watching him, clearly amused that he hadn't even tried to cast the spell yet, so he lifted his wand, taking a moment to clear his mind before focusing on the feather once again. He concentrated, his thoughts and feelings coalescing into a single purpose, and, with a flick of his wrist, the feather lifted off the desk, hovering in mid-air.

He was surprised by the ease with which he performed the charm after failing so many times in the past, but he didn't show it. Instead, he kept his expression neutral as he concentrated on keeping the feather aloft as his classmates turned to stare at him.

“Excellent work, Mr. Malfoy!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed, clapping his hands in delight. “Ten points to Slytherin for your exceptional control. Now, who wants to try replicating Mr. Malfoy's success?”

Draco kept his face carefully neutral, but inside he was bursting with pride at the praise from Professor Flitwick. He was also aware of the curious glances and whispers this display had caused among his classmates. As the other students turned back to their own feathers, Draco let his drop to the table in front of him.

He had no desire to show off any more than he already had. He knew his success would only breed jealousy, and it wasn't like he needed the extra attention anyway. After all, he was a Malfoy.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted by a soft voice beside him. “Impressive, Malfoy.”

Draco turned around to see Susan Bones watching him with a hint of admiration in her eyes. He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Bones, I didn't know you had it in you to give a compliment to a Slytherin.”

Bones shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Well, Hufflepuffs are fair, and I like to give credit where it's due.”

Draco's lips curled into a smirk. “And here I thought you'd break out in hives if you even looked at a Slytherin for too long.”

Her smile faded slightly, and she stiffened. “I'm not shallow, Malfoy. I know better than to judge a whole House based on the actions of a few.”

Draco's smirk turned into a grin. He liked the fire he saw in her eyes. It may prove useful in the future.

“I never said you were, Bones.” He sighed, rather dramatically if he had to admit it, in an attempt to redirect the conversation back towards more amiable territory. “I suppose I should thank you for the praise, even though I already know how brilliant I am.”

“Well, don't get too full of yourself, Malfoy. I still wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Likewise, Bones. Likewise.”

☿

At the end of the day, Draco flung himself onto a sofa in the Slytherin common room, exhausted and relieved that he could finally unwind.

His peace was broken when Pansy sat down on the arm of the sofa, a sly smile on her pretty face. “Rumour has it that Granger’s academic record is ruined.”

Draco pulled his gaze up to meet Pansy’s steeled eyes, his face a stoic and emotionless mask. Stories of Granger's remarkable accomplishments had been shared with him— ten O.W.L.s, including an O* in Ancient Runes and nine Os — along with the fact that she was taking an astonishing ten N.E.W.T. classes, only one less than Draco himself. She had achieved great success, yet he could not help but imagine the look of shock on her face when told that she hadn't achieved first place in their year. He grinned inwardly at the thought, knowing it would have been something beyond beautiful to see.

Pansy continued talking, oblivious to Draco’s inner thoughts. “Alice Wellesley heard from Eloise Collins — that seventh-year Ravenclaw — that Pavarti Patil told her sister, Padma, that Granger only got an E in DADA,” she said with a malicious smirk. At the shock on Draco’s face, Pansy began to cackle like the witch she was.

“Now, now, Pansy,” Blaise interrupted. “There's no need to be so cruel to Granger.” He was sprawled across Millie's lap, his languid form utterly at ease in the company of his friends, even if Millie was barely tolerating his presence. Blaise's dark gaze held a hint of compassion as he continued: “Her exam featured the one and only Harry Potter; she was likely overshadowed by the Golden Boy.”

Draco nodded, agreeing with Blaise’s sentiment on the matter. Personally, he had been relieved their practical exam had been with Ravenclaws because, after all, who could have achieved an O in a group with Potter? He was, after all, the Chosen One. For some of his sychophants, an Expelliarmus from Potter would overshadow the best duellists in the world, nevermind a lowly fifth-year Hufflepuff.

Pansy hummed before continuing.

“Daphne heard from Morag that Susan Bones claimed that they’d all done well in their duels. And that Granger was the only one in the entire year to use Fumos to gain a tactical advantage. She even managed to knock Wayne Hopkins unconscious.”

“Shame it wasn’t Smith; that little prick would have deserved it.”

“Blaise!”

“What? It’s true. Everyone hates Smith. Smarmy bastard,” he grumbled. “Anyway, if she’s smart, Granger will ask for a breakdown of the grades for the practical exam and take evidence of favouritism to the School Board,” he continued, ending his statement with a single nod as if to draw a line under the conversation.

“Would she even think to do that? It’s a very Slytherin move.” Millie was merely thinking aloud, but Pansy had a wicked smile spread on her face as if she already had a plan in mind.

“She will if someone just so happens to add a book on exam and grading rules to her stack the next time she’s in the library.”

Before she could elaborate, Theo stepped into the room, observing everybody with a dubious expression. He'd been to talk with Severus about his upcoming Apparition classes and Draco hadn't expected him back for a while yet.

As Theo walked towards the sofa, he pointed at Pansy and Blaise in succession. “Just so we're clear, I don't want to know what your little scheme here is all about,” he said.

Blaise gave him a bright smile in return. “Nothing nasty, Theo, we promise. Just a little Gryffindor grade correction, if we’re lucky.”

Theo gave Blaise a long look, one that told Draco he was questioning everything about his friendship with Blaise, before he motioned for Draco to get off the sofa so that he could sit down. He then pulled Draco towards him, onto his lap, before wrapping his arms tightly around his waist and resting his chin on the younger boy's shoulder. Blaise cast them a salacious grin while Draco turned a deep shade of pink, but Theo paid both of them no mind. He only held Draco closer.

☿

The next few days passed by in a blur of classes, meals, and secret meetings. Draco found himself spending more and more time in Theo's arms, relishing the feeling of safety he found there. They talked about everything and nothing, and Theo listened to him with an attentiveness that made Draco feel loved and understood.

Meanwhile, Pansy and Blaise began executing their plan. With Daphne's help - who had made friends with basically everyone in their year despite her cold Slytherin reputation — and a first-year they had bribed with a few galleons, they managed to spread rumours of unfair grading on the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Defence Against the Dark Arts test and whispers about petitioning the Board of Governors for remarking.

They smiled mischievously when their scheme started bearing fruit: apparently Granger had been spotted leaving the library fuming, clutching the latest edition of Wizarding Examinations Authority: Rules and Regulations in her hands. The Hufflepuffs were angry as well; some even approached Granger to address the gossip while others, especially those with connections in the Ministry, had written home to complain to their parents.

No one suspected that the Slytherins were behind it all. Their peers just didn't realise that cunning and mischief could be used for good. Occasionally.

☿

The week was drawing to a close and now the one class that Draco had been anxious about all week finally loomed before him.

Draco’s first Alchemy class was on Thursday afternoon and he was nervous. Not that he'd ever admit it, of course, but he was.

He'd found out from Severus a few days earlier that he was, in fact, the only student taking the class (despite Draco's initial belief that Dumbeldore would have only allowed the class to go ahead if Granger or, somehow, Potter was also interested in Alchemy) and that an alchemist had approached Dumbledore to express his willingness to teach Draco for the next two years. Apparently, according to Severus, the mysterious man had offered no explanation as to why when questioned by both Dumbledore and Severus but, unsurprisingly, Dumbledore had employed him without concern for the man’s motives or Draco's safety. During their last conversation, Severus had assured Draco that he’d keep a watchful eye on his new teacher.

Returning his thoughts to the present, Draco paused momentarily as he approached the classroom, which was located deep within the dungeons of Hogwarts. Steeling himself, he took one step closer and the door swung open to reveal inky darkness within the classroom.

“Welcome, Draco Malfoy,” said a voice from the shadows. There was a hint of a French accent, but nothing too distinguishable.

Draco walked closer, full of trepidation, and suddenly, candles illuminated the room. A tall man stood before Draco, with short dark hair and a genteel face, much like Draco's own. He was wearing black robes in the traditional French style, with silver embroidery around the cuffs and hem. Expensive and tasteful. If Draco had to guess, he’d place him around Severus’ age. Perhaps a little older, judging by the emerging lines around his eyes, but no older than forty.

The man beckoned him into the room with a wide sweep of his arm.

“I am Henri de Talleyrand-Périgord,” he announced grandly. “I am to be your Alchemical Master for the foreseeable future. Please, take a seat.” He motioned towards the single desk in the room, located directly across from a blackboard.

As Draco walked towards him, he took the opportunity to study him in more detail. His name suggested that he was a member of a noble French line, and Draco cast his mind back to when his Grandmother had forced him to learn about the prominent French families. He vaguely remembered that the Wix and Muggle branches had diverged long ago, much like the Malfois, but he had never heard of Henri. The Talleyrand-Périgords were, however, a vast family and his professor may have disappeared into obscurity after he sought to study the alchemical arts like many had done so before. He’d do a bit more research later, perhaps send a letter to his mother, but there was nothing he could do for the moment.

The man watched Draco carefully as he took a seat and there was a quiet intensity to his gaze that made Draco feel incredibly uneasy — it seemed as if he could see right through Draco and could sense all of his secrets and insecurities. Draco refused to avert his eyes but he felt exposed, almost vulnerable, as if he were an open book ready to be read.

Draco was not one to easily succumb to intimidation, but eventually, he cleared his throat to break the awkward silence.

Talleyrand-Périgord smiled at him, his lips curling up in a way that seemed to hide a secret, before he addressed the young Slytherin.

“I know you are, perhaps, wondering why I offered my expertise to your Headmaster but that is of little consequence. We have much to be getting on with today.” He dropped a heavy tome on the desk in front of Draco and the thud of it hitting the wood echoed around the room. “Come, we must now start the lesson. This is a copy of Thomas Norton’s The Ordinal of Alchemy, and it is where you will start your journey. Eventually, we will trace alchemical practice and theory back to the ancient world and forward into our own time, but this book,” he said, tapping his fingers on the book on Draco’s desk, “is our beginning.”

Draco found himself fascinated by the different principles Talleyrand-Périgord was teaching him as the lesson progressed. The book itself was a simple guide to the basics of Alchemy, with details about equipment and materials, but the particulars of alchemical practice were obscure. Talleyrand-Périgord noted that this was deliberate, as Norton favoured a relationship between an Alchemy Master and his student as the proper way to learn Alchemy.

“I will, as the Masters of Alchemy have before me, pass on my knowledge to you directly, but books are a useful guide in the first months of study,” he explained.

The hours ticked by as the professor introduced Draco to the basics of alchemical transmutation. Draco found himself engrossed and e eagerly soaked up every detail that his mentor shared, from the proper use of the athanor to the properties of different bases.

As the lesson drew to a close, Talleyrand-Périgord stood and gestured for Draco to follow him. They made their way to a small room tucked away behind a simple door at the back of the classroom. Draco noticed a faint hum in the air, and as they entered the room, he saw a large, ornate circle inscribed on the floor. It was a laboratory, filled with strange instruments that Draco had never seen before.

“This is where we will begin your practical lessons,” Talleyrand-Périgord said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “But it will be many months before you step foot in this room again. Alchemy is not just about transmutation, young Draco,” Talleyrand-Périgord said, his voice low and serious. “It is also about the relationship between the alchemist and the world around him. To truly master alchemy, you must understand how to manipulate the elements and draw power from them. You have much to learn.”

Draco nodded but his eyes were still fixed on the circle.

“Come, come. It is time for you to collect your things,” he urged, breaking Draco out of his trance and ushering him back into the classroom. 

He started to gather his belongings, carefully placing his neatly-written notes into his bag, and Talleyrand-Périgord looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “Tell me, young Draco, why do you wish to master alchemy?” he asked, his tone deceptively light.

It was an innocent enough question and Draco could not understand why it had caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. He hesitated for a moment before answering. “Academic curiosity,” he mumbled, continuing to pack his things away and refusing to look at his teacher. 

Talleyrand-Périgord raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced by the vague response. “I see,” he said, his voice laced with something that made Draco's skin crawl. “I suspect there's more to it than that but I shall content myself to wait until you are ready to reveal more.” He paused for a moment to look at Draco intently. “You have done well today, Mr. Malfoy. For homework, I want you to read and take notes on John Dee’s Monas Hieroglyphica. We will discuss your findings at the beginning of your next class.”

Draco said nothing to the professor, quickly leaving the classroom without a backward glance. He stumbled on the threshold of the door when he found Theo standing in the corridor, but quickly reached for Theo's hand and interlaced their fingers together. He led them down the corridor hastily, not bothering to hide his desperation, and hurried towards the Great Hall.

Just before they reached the grand doors, Theo dragged Draco into an alcove in the corridor.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently. “You seem a bit unsettled.”

Draco's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions as he stared at Theo's soft, concerned expression. His grip on Theo's hand tightened as he considered how to respond. “I'm fine,” he lied, averting his gaze to the stone wall behind Theo's shoulder.

Theo huffed a disbelieving sigh, his thumb tracing soothing circles over Draco's knuckles. “You don't have to pretend with me, Draco.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping, but he didn't know what to say.

“We'll talk about it tonight, after dinner” he conceded, hoping that maybe by then, he would have ascertained the source of his disquiet concerning Talleyrand-Périgord.

Theo nodded, his expression softening even further. “Of course,” he replied, leaning in to press a reassuring kiss to Draco's forehead. “Just know that I'm here for you, no matter what.”

Draco leaned into the kiss for a moment, taking comfort in Theo's touch, before pulling back and taking a deep breath. He straightened his posture, steeling himself. “Let's go,” he said, tugging on Theo's hand and leading him towards the Great Hall once again.

☿

He remained quiet throughout dinner, drawing concerned looks from his friends that Theo waved away with the promise of an explanation later. It wasn’t as though his teacher had actually done anything wrong, but Draco had been left with too many unanswered questions. Why had he offered his services to Dumbledore just to teach Draco? Did this man—this alchemist—have an ulterior motive? Did he work for Voldemort?

Draco looked up at the man in question, who was sitting next to Severus at the Head Table, before quickly looking down at his food. Draco wasn’t in the mood to eat but he forced himself to eat some chicken under Blaise’s watchful eye.

As the evening went on, Draco's worry only grew. He could feel the weight of the alchemist's gaze on him, and he found himself unable to focus on anything other than the man's every movement. His friends noticed his unease and hurried their dinner.

“Shall we go?” Daphne asked, eyes fixed on Draco.

He simply nodded and gathered his things. Theo’s presence beside him kept Draco steady and grounded, while Pansy’s nattering with Blaise and Vince offered a bit of a distraction.

As they neared the door, Millie looked at him in concern. “Perhaps we can sneak down to the kitchens for some sweets later, if you’re feeling up for it.”

Vince offered to go for them, claiming that he needed to see Professor Sprout during her office hours before curfew anyway, but just as they were discussing the details of Vince's meeting, they were interrupted by a voice.

“Mr. Malfoy, a word, if I may?”

The Alchemy professor stood behind them, his eyes fixed on Draco. He motioned for Draco’s friends to continue with their journey out of the Great Hall, but, unwilling to leave Draco alone with a man they did not know, they simply moved a few yards away. Enough to give them some semblance of privacy, but close enough to come to Draco’s aid if he needed it. Not that he would. He doubted the man would do anything in full view of the Great Hall.

Draco's heart raced as he looked up at the man he could not fully trust. “Yes, sir,” he responded, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I couldn't help but notice your unease during dinner tonight,” the alchemist said, his voice low and measured. “Is there anything you'd like to talk about?”

Draco hesitated for a moment before replying. He had many questions and concerns, but this was not the place to voice them, nor was this the man to voice them to. “No, sir. May I be excused? I wish to spend time with my friends in the common room before curfew.”

The alchemist's piercing gaze bore into Draco's and the boy shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of it. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy. We'll speak another time,” the professor said before turning and walking away.

Draco breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the man walked back to the other side of the Great Hall. He turned to his friends.

“Ready to go?”

Pansy regarded him with a look he was familiar with. It was her you-will-tell-me-everything-I-want-to-know look.

He tried to smile at her, but it didn’t feel genuine, and she huffed in response. They'd been friends for their entire lives and she knew his every expression. Instead of saying anything further, Pansy merely led him out of the Great Hall with a gentle hand on his arm.

Draco resisted the urge to look back at the Head Table as they left the hall. He knew that the sooner they got to their little sanctuary in the dorms, the better he would feel.

Chapter Text

Under a sky dappled with clouds, the cobblestone path to Hogsmeade bustled with students eager for a day of excitement. Draco and Theo walked close together, the cool breeze tousling their hair as they discussed their plans for the day.

Draco never did get around to telling his friends why his Alchemy teacher made him so uncomfortable. He hadn’t even been able to make sense of his own feelings and so he’d avoided Pansy’s questioning looks and Theo’s concerned eyes until they’d stopped asking.

Thankfully, they’d both been swept up in classes and the upcoming trip to Hogsmeade so Draco had been left alone.

“Remember that item I mentioned seeing at Dervish and Banges?” Draco mused as he walked, his eyes narrowing pensively. “I can't get it out of my mind. I'd like to take another look.”

A playfulness flashed in Theo’s eyes as he turned to look at Draco. “Let me come with you then, might as well see what caught your attention,” he insisted, giving Draco a gentle nudge.

Draco nodded, happy to have Theo accompany him, before he paused. “Ah, but I have a few things I need to do alone this morning,” he said, remembering his initial plans. “We’ll need to go after lunch, if you still want to come.”

“Not alone, Draco,” Theo said softly, placing one hand on Draco’s shoulder as they walked. “You know what we agreed about staying together. Take Greg or Millie with you, if you don't want me to come along.”

“It's not that I don't want you to come along, Theo… it's just that…”

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Theo smirk. “I know. You're picking up my birthday gift.”

Draco blushed softly, knowing that he’d been caught, but he agreed to ask Greg to accompany him on his morning errands.

“Off go you go, then,” Theo said, his hand sliding down Draco’s arm to rest on the pale boy’s delicate wrist for a moment before he stepped away to put some distance between them. “I'll see you at Mairead's later.”

Draco watched as Theo wandered off, Blaise and Pansy in tow, but he rolled his eyes when he saw Theo signal to Greg.

He secretly thought that Theo was being a tad overprotective lately but he knew it was for the best that Greg tagged along with him. Who knew what, or who, could be lurking in Hogsmeade.

“Right then,” he said, affecting a somewhat jovial tone as he caught up with his friend. “Come on, Greg. I'm sure that a long queue at the Post Office awaits us.”

“Honeydukes after?” Greg asked, a hopeful look on his face.

“Of course.”

☿

The queue at the Post Office was, as expected, terribly long.

Draco and Greg talked as they inched forward and after what felt like forever, they reached the front of the queue. The wizard behind the counter, used to the Slytherins buying extravagant gifts for their friends, merely wished Draco a good day before moving on to the next customer.

He tucked the packages away into his bag, thankful for the undetectable extension charm he’d placed on the satchel, and they left.

Honeydukes, with its sugary scent and shelves lined with colourful sweets, awaited them.

☿

They’d managed to miss the initial crowds and so they didn’t stay long at Honeydukes, moving swiftly on to Tomes and Scrolls where Draco collected his final parcel of the day.

“So, what did you get him?” Greg asked while they walked to their usual bistro. They'd be a couple of minutes late because Draco lost track of time amongst the shelves of the bookshop, but that wouldn't come as a surprise to any of his friend. “I got him a new pair of flying gloves while I was in Sweden. He's been complaining about his old ones being too small for ages.”

“Oh, this and that.”

Greg huffed at Draco's evasive response.

“Come on, Draco. You know I won't tell anyone. What did you get him?”

Draco shook his head. “You'll find out when he does. Remember in third year when I told Daphne what I bought Pansy for Yule?” Greg nodded, wincing at the memory. “That is never happening again.”

Greg laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. I won't push it.”

☿

Lunch was a pleasant affair, full of banter and good food, and as it ended Theo gestured for Draco to lead the way to their next destination.

After a few minutes of strolling leisurely through the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade, they arrived in front of Dervish and Banges. A bell jingled overhead as Draco pushed the heavy door open and Theo cast a suspicious glance at him before following him inside, one hand on Draco's shoulder as if to keep him close.

“Ah, young Mr. Malfoy! You've come again? And with a different friend this time,” a voice called out from the depths of the room.

Mr. Dervish stepped forward from behind a rack of knick-knacks, sporting a sly smirk. Draco nodded cooly at the old man and urged Theo further into the shop. “Indeed,” he replied, “I wanted to take another look at the box, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah, yes, the little box,” Dervish said, his eyes lighting up. “After you left, I moved it to the store cupboard to make sure no one else could purchase it before you. Give me a moment to find it.” Dervish moved to unlock a door Draco hadn’t noticed before and he swiftly entered the back room.

Theo's grip on Draco's shoulder tightened and when Draco turned to look at him, he was met with a worried expression. Theo was perceptive, Draco would always acknowledge that, but he couldn't help feeling a little irritated by his boyfriend’s concern. He knew how to look after himself and he’d been attending his father’s shady business meetings since he was a toddler. Draco doubted that anything they’d find in this shop would surprise him.

“It's just a box, Theo,” Draco snapped, his voice cutting through the silence of the room. “Mr. Dervish is an eccentric man but there is nothing untoward happening in this shop.”

Theo didn't look convinced but, before he could say anything, Mr. Dervish reappeared with the box in hand.

It was wrapped in a piece of cloth, which Draco thought odd but he assured himself that it was likely just to protect the item.

“Here it is, just as you left it. It's a curious little thing, isn't it?” the old man said, handing the box to Draco.

“What is in this box, exactly?” Theo asked, casting his gaze over the plain wood.

“Ah, that's the question. It is designed to only open to those it deems worthy, and I cannot reveal what is inside.”

“Deems worthy?”

Draco chose to ignore the two men as they continued their conversation and, instead, he placed the box on a nearby table so that he could dig out a small, rolled-up piece of parchment from his satchel, along with a pencil and rule. Once he had everything he needed, started to take measurements.

As he sketched the box, trying to add as much detail to his drawing as possible, Theo came to stand beside him. Mr. Dervish had retreated to a corner of the shop, his eyes never leaving them.

“Just what are you up to, Draco Malfoy?” A frown formed on Theo’s face as he too examined the box.

“Research, Theo.” Draco’s eyes were almost wild with excitement. “I'm determined to find out what is in this box.”

Theo let out a deep, resigned sigh. He had grown accustomed to Draco's antics over the years, but that didn't mean he had to indulge them. “Do you ever stop to consider how much you already have on your plate?” he asked, his tone laced with mild exasperation. “Eleven N.E.W.T. subjects, quidditch practice, and a hopelessly romantic boyfriend who wants to spend every waking moment with you. Do you really need to add some sort of mystery into your life?”

Draco simply rolled his eyes, a fond smile playing at his lips. “There's no harm in a little curiosity, Theo,” he replied calmly. “You never know, it could prove useful in future endeavours.”

Despite his reservations, Theo couldn't help but lean in closer to Draco to get a better look at the drawing in his hand. “You're incredibly talented, my love,” he murmured, admiration clear in his voice.

Draco felt a warmth spread through him at the compliment. Although it was somewhat of a technical drawing, it was an almost-perfect rendering of the little box and Draco was pleased with his efforts.

Mr. Dervish cleared his throat, interrupting their moment. “Are you finished for today, Mr. Malfoy?” he asked. “Unfortunately, I need to close up soon. I have a late lunch scheduled with an investor.” He’d affected a somewhat haughty tone that reminded Draco of his father but it didn’t suit Dervish as well as it had suited Lucius Malfoy.

“Anyone we’d know?” Theo questioned with a polite smile on his face but suspicion lacing his voice.

Mr. Dervish gave him a long look before answering. “I think not, lad. I think not.”

It was a clear dismissal, even though Dervish knew that Theo came from a prominent family, and from the corner of his eye, Draco noticed Theo’s smile grow cold. Before things could escalate, he quickly rolled up the parchment before placing it back in his satchel. He turned his attention to the old man and with a bright, charming smile – one that he usually reserved for old pureblood matriarchs who thought they knew better than everyone else – answered, “I believe I have everything I need for now. Thank you for your help, Mr. Dervish.”

“I am always happy to assist such a bright young wizard, Mr. Malfoy. And it was a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Nott. Do come back anytime.”

He waved them off, closing the shop's blinds as soon as they’d stepped out of the door, and the bell, once again, rang above them to signal their departure.

Once they were a good distance away from the dimly-lit shop, Theo broke his contemplative silence. “Do you really think it's worth the trouble to figure out what's in that box?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.

Draco shrugged, completely unaffected by whatever was troubling Theo. “It's just a puzzle, Theo. Solving it will be satisfying.”

“But what if it's something dangerous?” Theo’s brows furrowed in concern.

Draco let out a light laugh. “It's a trinket box, Theo. I highly doubt it holds anything dangerous.”

Theo shook his head, clearly not convinced. “But you don’t know that,” he argued. Draco could hear the roughness in his voice and knew he was growing irritated, but he didn’t let it bother him. This wasn't their first disagreement and it wouldn't be their last. “Dervish clearly knows what’s in the box,” Theo continued, “so there’s no reason for the mystery. He’s either trying to sell you something completely worthless or incredibly dangerous.”

This drew a pointed look from Draco. “I can feel the protective wards on the box, Theo. They’re protecting whatever is inside. I highly doubt it’s worthless.”

“Ah, but you don’t deny that it could be dangerous.” Theo’s look of triumph was momentary before his face shifted back into sharp concern. “What if they’re protecting you from what’s inside?”

He stopped in his tracks, turning to face Theo with a look of exasperation. “What in Salazar’s name is wrong with you, Theo? I can take care of myself. You know that.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his movements.

“Well, I'm sorry,” Theo began, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “But over the course of one summer, the boy I love has become one of the most influential wizards in all of Britain, has defied the Dark Lord, and has developed a disturbing obsession with a strange box in a strange shop owned by a mysterious man. And you wonder why I'm worried about you.” Theo's face was flushed with emotion, and his eyes shone brightly as they locked onto Draco's.

Draco was overwhelmed by Theo's words. He could see the worry etched on Theo's features and something else, something more intense, flickering in those dark eyes.

“Do you know how many times you mentioned that bloody box in your letters to me over the summer? Do you?” Theo continued, his voice rising with each word. “Six. Six times. You sent me twelve letters over the summer and you wrote about that box in six of them.”

Shocked, Draco could say nothing. He hadn't realised he had been writing about the mysterious box so often in his letters to Theo. But now that he thought about it, he couldn't deny the truth of Theo's words.

Theo's expression softened as he saw Draco's reaction. He reached out and took Draco's hand in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I'm not trying to scold you,” he said gently. “I just. I worry about you, Draco. You've taken on so much responsibility this past summer, and sometimes I worry that everything will consume you.”

Draco looked down at their intertwined fingers, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. He knew Theo was right. He couldn't deny the pull that the box had on him, the intense need to solve the mystery of what was inside. It had become an obsession, one that he didn't fully understand.

“I'll be careful,” Draco said finally, his tone resolute as he raised his gaze to meet Theo's. He reached up to gently cup Theo's face with his other hand as he spoke. “And I'll make sure to keep you updated on what I find.”

Theo nodded, but there was still a hint of worry in his eyes. He turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to the palm of Draco's hand, uncaring of the other students around them. “Good,” he murmured against Draco's skin. “Because I will not let you get hurt over a trinket box.”

Draco noticed that Theo didn't look entirely convinced, even after he had made his promise, but he was glad Theo didn't push the matter further.

“Oh, what have we stumbled upon here? Lovers' tiff?” Blaise's voice cut through the tension, and Draco turned to see their friends approaching them.

Theo rolled his eyes, stepping away from Draco. “No, we were just discussing something.”

Blaise smirked, his eyes flickering between both of them. “Sure, we believe you. Anything to do with Draco's little obsession?”

Draco bristled at Blaise's words, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Theo cut him off.

“Leave it, Blaise,” Theo said sharply.

Blaise held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just trying to have a bit of fun.”

Noticing the bags in Daphne's hands, Draco attempted to steer the conversation in a new direction. “Well, it looks like you lot had a successful shopping trip.”

Daphne launched into a full run-down of their afternoon adventures as they walked back up to the castle, successfully shielding Draco from any further questions from his concerned friends.

☿

The rest of the weekend seemed to fly by and before he knew it, Draco was back in a dimly lit classroom. His fingers idly traced the initials that had been carved into the wooden surface of his desk as he reflected on the Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons from the past weeks. They were interesting, to say the least.

Draco was used to Severus' teaching style in Potions class, but even he had to admit that the man could be intimidating when discussing the Dark Arts. He spoke of deadly curses and jinxes with a tone normally reserved for a lover - low and reverent, as if speaking of something sacred. It was unsettling, even for someone like Draco who had grown up with Severus.

“Put your away your wands, take out your books, and turn to page two-hundred-and-sixty-eight,” Professor Snape commanded as he swept into the room, his voice cutting through Draco's reverie like a knife through parchment. The sudden intrusion jolted him back into reality, a frown knitting his brow as he begrudgingly complied. He almost groaned when he saw what they'd be studying: the Patronus Charm. His father had never been able to produce one and his mother had only managed a incorporeal form of the charm. Of course, Draco had seen Severus' doe several times in the past – although he never understood why it took that shape – but he had never attempted the spell himself.

“Now, the Patronus Charm is a highly advanced spell that requires a great deal of focus and skill,” Snape began, pacing back and forth in front of the class. “Many of you in this room will not be able to produce a corporeal Patronus but a shield version should be within your reach.” He sneered at the class before his eyes flickered over to Draco. “However, for those of you who possess the talent to produce one, you will find the Patronus Charm to be an invaluable asset in warding off dark creatures and spells.”

Snape continued his stalking between the rows of desks as he spoke. “You will be required to practice the spell in your own time as we have much to cover in class. Failure to master the basics of the spell will result in a poor grade at the end of the year.” His voice was low and dangerous, punctuating his warnings with meaningful glares over his shoulder.

The air crackled with tension, every student on edge under Snape's piercing gaze. The more timid students squirmed uncomfortably in their seats, dreading the task before them. It was going to be a long year.

Snape's footsteps echoed loudly in the silent classroom as he circled his students, a predatory glint in his dark eyes. He paused as his gaze fell on one student with their hand up and a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he spoke.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” His voice was like a whip crack, slicing through the air. The entire class turned to look at her, and Draco could see her shrink slightly beneath their scrutiny.

“Sir, some of us already know how to produce the charm.” Her voice wavered slightly but she squared her shoulders before continuing. “Is there anything more advanced that we could learn?” Her words were brave, but Draco could sense a hint of fear just beneath her tone.

A spark of something dark lit in Snape's eye and Draco knew what was coming next. He could almost taste the humiliation she was about to endure at the hands of their professor.

“Ah, Miss Granger. Always eager to show off your knowledge,” he drawled slowly, his voice like oil on water. “If you're so confident in your abilities, perhaps you could demonstrate the charm for us.” He paused for effect, letting the silence stretch out until it felt almost unbearable.

She ducked her head in embarrassment but stood from her chair, wand held tightly in her grip. Her knuckles were white with tension as she met Snape's unyielding stare.

“Expecto Patronum,” she said firmly. A burst of silver light erupted from the tip of her wand, but, instead of forming a corporeal animal as expected, it dissipated into a shimmering shield that hovered briefly in the air before fading just as quickly as it had formed.

“Very impressive, Miss Granger,” Snape sneered, sarcasm dripping from his words. “You've managed to cast the most basic version of the Patronus Charm. Surely, you'll be the saviour of us all. Please return to your seat.”

Granger sat down, her wild curls shielding her face from view, and Draco saw Weasley turning to comfort her while Potter glared at Snape.

Draco almost sighed in relief as Snape moved to the front of the class and began to lecture on the intricacies of the spell.

☿

As the class came to an end, the echo of Snape's voice dismissing the class reverberated against the cold stone walls, prompting Draco and his fellow Slytherin students to gather their belongings. Pansy scowled, her eyes narrowing in the direction of Granger who was still huddled with her friends.

“Can you believe it?” she spat, her voice a venomous hiss. “Granger can already cast a Patronus. It's infuriating.”

Draco watched as her delicate fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, the knuckles turning white. Her frustration was palpable, and he felt a twinge of sympathy for her. After all, Granger's constant need to outshine everyone else had long been a thorn in their sides.

Blaise, ever the picture of nonchalance, leaned against the nearest desk, his dark eyes flicking between Pansy and Granger. “Don't worry about it,” he said, his tone dismissive but not unkind. “We'll practice after dinner tonight. We'll catch up to her in no time.”

Pansy's scowl softened slightly, her grip on her bag relaxing. “Fine,” she muttered, obviously still irked by Granger's perceived success.

☿

A flickering fire cast elongated shadows on the walls of the Slytherin common room, illuminating the dark emerald and silver tapestries as Draco and his friends lounged languidly on the plush armchairs, their dinner still settling heavily in their stomachs. Their conversation was hushed, punctuated by the occasional cackle or snide remark, and the fire crackled lazily in the hearth.

“So,” Blaise drawled, “where are we going to practice the Patronus charm? Because I’d like to do so away from prying eyes.”

“Worried about someone witnessing your failure?” Tracey asked, smirking at him.

He ignored her.

“We could use the abandoned classroom on the third floor,” Daphne suggested.

“One of the ghosts patrols there every night,” Blaise said, shaking his head. His eyes narrowed as if mentally calculating the odds of staying undetected.

“What about the Forbidden Forest?” Greg mumbled through a mouthful of treacle tart he had smuggled from the Great Hall.

Pansy scrunched up her nose. “That's the last place I want to be at night.”

“Why don't you think of somewhere, then,” he mumbled.

Draco, who had been lost in his reading, glanced up from his leather-bound book. “I have an idea.” He paused for dramatic effect, relishing the attention of his friends. “Potter and his gang used the Come-and-Go Room, so we should too.”

His friends looked at him sceptically.

“How do you know they're not still using it?” Daphne asked. “If we ask for a place to practice and they do too, they'll be allowed into the room.”

“Ah, the Come-and-Go Room is more nuanced than that,” Draco said with a smile. “I knew what they were using it for last year but I couldn't enter when I tried. If we ask for a space to practice where we can't be found, we should be fine.”

“Or we could just ask for a place to practice decorated with Slytherin colours.” Blaise laughed at his own suggestion. “No Gryffindor would ask for that.”

“Very true,” Draco said with a grin. “We can start tonight, if everyone is agreed. We have a couple of hours left before curfew and if we use the hidden hallways, we can move around without being seen.”

In order to reach the seventh floor, one had to climb through a corridor tucked away in an unused classroom in the dungeons up to the third floor, and pass through a secret pathway behind a painting of a milkmaid up to the fourth level. The final stage of the voyage was up a ladder that was concealed behind a portrait of Elizabeth Burke, who happened to be one of Draco's distant relatives. She simply raised an eyebrow at him and moved aside. Her piercing gaze followed them as they slipped behind the large canvas.

As they traversed a narrow stone passage, Pansy began pestering them about what form their Patronus’ could take.

“I really couldn't care less,” Draco huffed when she continued to badger him. “Well, as long as it's not a ferret of course.”

Blaise snickered. “Still bitter about that, Draco?”

“Yes, well, it's not every day you get turned into a ferret a complete psychopath pretending to be another psychopath,” Draco grumbled.

They emerged on the seventh floor, not far from where the Room of Requirement was located. Draco surveyed their surroundings before motioning for the others to follow him.

Draco stepped towards the seemingly solid wall. He paced in front of it.

We need a place to practice undisturbed.

We need a place to practice undisturbed.

We need a place to practice undisturbed.

A door appeared.

“Quickly, inside,” Draco urged, pushing the door open.

He took the lead, stepping into the room, his eyes adjusting to the dim green light. The walls were draped in luxurious emerald and silver fabrics, and a grand chandelier hung from the high ceiling.

“Alright, everyone,” he said, clapping his hands together uncharacteriscally. Salazar, he thought, I sound like a Gryffindor. “Let's get started.”

The Slytherin students formed a semicircle in the centre of the room, wands at the ready. Pansy's determined expression, one fuelled by her one-sided rivalry with Granger, was mirrored on Tracey’s face, while Daphne seemed somewhat apprehensive. Millie, Greg, and Theo stood tall; their expression resolute.

“Remember what Professor Snape said earlier,” Draco reminded them as he raised his wand. “Focus on a strong memory, a positive one, and let it fuel the incantation. Expecto Patronum!”

A weak puff of silver smoke burst forth from his wand, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. Frustration bubbled up within him, but Draco shook it off and tried again.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Once more, only a wisp of silver emerged, barely visible against the dark drapery.

Pansy's face grew red with exertion, her wand producing only feeble wisps. Blaise, Daphne, and Greg fared no better. Even Theo, usually so adept at mastering difficult spells, couldn't muster more than a faint shimmer.

“This is impossible,” Vince muttered, lowering his wand. Disappointment filled the room, weighing heavily on every one of them as they realised that they were no closer to mastering the Patronus Charm than they were an hour ago.

They continued practising late into the night, each attempt met with varying degrees of frustration and disappointment. Despite their lack of progress, they persevered, unwilling to admit defeat.

It was well after curfew when the Slytherin students finally made their way back to the common room, exhausted.

Draco felt his limbs become heavy as he collapsed onto his bed, and he cast his mind over the memory he had chosen to use for the charm.

It had been a soft, balmy day in late March. The tender spring breeze danced through the trees, bringing with it a delicate shower of petals, and the landscape was awash with shades of pink, white, and green. Draco and Theo had spent most of the day along the edge of the Black Lake, where they'd spoken about everything, from classes to quidditch, eating food from a picnic basket that Theo had acquired from the Hogwarts elves. As the sun began to set behind the horizon, Draco had looked up from the blades of grass he had been twining together to find Theo gazing at him with an unfamiliar intensity. His cheeks were flushed ever so slightly, his blue eyes searching Draco's face as if seeking something. In a sudden, bold move, Theo had reached out and taken Draco's hands in his own. Then, his words rushing out of him like a raging river, he had confessed his feelings to Draco. For a moment, Draco had been stunned into silence. He had never even considered the possibility of Theo reciprocating his feelings. But then, unable to resist the yearning in his own heart, Draco had leaned forward tentatively and brushed his lips against Theo's. It was delicate and soft and far more romantic than Draco had dreamt it would be.

He was at a loss as to why this memory didn't work for his Patronus; it had been a moment of pure elation among days of fear caused by Voldemort's presence at the Manor.

Draco lay on his bed, staring up at the canopy above him. He hadn't realised it before but even the best memories he'd made since the Dark Lord's return had been tainted. He couldn't think of a moment of true happiness that hadn't been marred by the underlying fear and anxiety that had plagued him for the past year.

As the exhaustion finally caught up to him, Draco felt a sense of hopelessness wash over him. He didn't know how he would ever manage to produce a Patronus if he couldn't find a happy memory that wasn't tainted by the darkness he'd been immersed in his entire life.

Chapter Text

The weeks following Draco's visit to Hogsmeade were fraught with challenges.

The need to gather materials for the ritual brought him back to the Forbidden Forest, where he had to stay hidden from the creatures that roamed in the night. He wrapped his cloak tightly around him as he crept through the dense underbrush, wary of any sounds or movements that could give away his presence.

Later in the week, under the light of the new moon, he returned again to the stone circle he had created deep in the heart of the forest, where he spent hours drawing runes in the soil and chanting memorised incantations.

But amidst all this magical chaos, there were also mundane challenges that Draco had to face. His teachers bombarded him with inquiries about his N.E.W.T.s projects. Some were merely eager to see him get started on a new project whereas others, mainly Slughorn, were trying to guide him on a different, and often unwelcome, path. And then there was Montague, who relentlessly pushed for his help organising the upcoming Quidditch trials.

Amidst all these demands on his time and energy, Draco hardly had a moment to breathe, let alone spend time with his friends or Theo.

Thankfully, Draco’s second difficult week ended with an incredibly special day.

☿

On Friday, at breakfast, Draco sat at the long Slytherin table in the Great Hall, sipping green tea and chatting happily with his classmates. He smiled as he listened to Pansy's animated retelling of her latest run-in with Granger in the library, adding in his own dramatic details when necessary. Theo sat beside him, watching their antics with amusement.

Suddenly, Blaise's deep voice cut through the chatter and Draco's thoughts. “Attention, everyone!” he declared loudly, standing up on the bench for all to see. Draco couldn't help but shake his head at Blaise's flair for the dramatic, but a wide smile spread across his face because he knew exactly what was about to unfold. Underneath the table, he squeezed Theo's hand in excitement and almost laughed when Theo looked at him in confusion.

“Please tell me he isn't going to do what I think he's going to do,” Theo whispered urgently.

Draco just grinned mischievously in reply and watched as Blaise climbed onto the table to address the entire House, careful to avoid the tea and toast that littered the table-top.

“Today, we must celebrate the birthday of our dear friend, Theo!” Blaise announced triumphantly, beaming down at his best friend. “On this day, our boy becomes a man.”

Draco couldn't contain his fondness as he watched Theo's cheeks turn pink with embarrassment, while the rest of the Slytherin table joined in with Blaise's celebrations. Even the most stoic and reserved of Slytherin students were now beaming with genuine joy and affection towards one of their own. Some students from other Houses looked on in confusion but most of the hall, as usual, ignored them. At least until they started singing at the top of their lungs.

Since he was facing Theo, Draco could also see the Head Table where Severus was sat. The man a small, somewhat fond, smile etched onto his face and was clapping along with his students as they sang as loudly, and as off-key, as possible. Draco returned his attention to Theo, who was now trying to hide his face behind his hands.

As the song came to an end, Blaise hopped off the table and made his way over to Theo, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Happy birthday, my friend!” Blaise exclaimed, clapping Theo on the back. “I hope you're ready for a day full of surprises.”

Draco watched as Blaise released Theo from the hug, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He could practically see the gears turning in Blaise's mind, plotting all the ways he could make Theo's birthday unforgettable. And knowing Blaise, it was bound to be something outrageous. Draco had organised his own little surprise for Theo, one that the rest of their friends knew about, but he had no idea what Blaise had planned.

Theo, on the other hand, looked equal parts excited and apprehensive. He was never one to enjoy being the centre of attention, but Draco knew that deep down, he loved and cherished these moments of camaraderie within their House.

“Alright, alright,” Theo said playfully, trying to brush off the attention. “You've had your fun. Let's finish breakfast before I die of shame.”

Blaise finally relented after one more tight hug and returned to his seat. As everyone else's attention returned to their breakfasts and morning papers, Draco leant into his boyfriend, resting his shoulder against Theo's.

“Happy birthday, darling,” he whispered into his ear, his heart swelling with love for the person sitting next to him.

Theo turned to Draco, his eyes darkening with something that made Draco's heart flutter. He knew that Theo wouldn't kiss him in such a public setting but, in that moment, Draco wished that he would.

☿

True to his word, Blaise had planned several surprises for the day.

It all started in their first class of the day, History of Magic, when Blaise handed each of the Slytherins in attendance an envelope. He assured them that Pansy had distributed envelopes to the girls.

“There are rules to this little game,” Blaise murmured as they stood outside the classroom, waiting for Binns to remember that he had a class to teach. “Number one, no colluding. Number two, no cheating. And number three, have fun.”

They all nodded, putting on their best butter-wouldn’t-melt expressions, but as they entered the classroom, Draco heard Vince mutter “Telling a Slytherin not to cheat is like telling a werewolf not to howl at the moon” to Greg. Greg nodded before replying, “So, partners?” and, just like that, a pact between two of Draco’s friends had been sealed. He grinned sharply, watching as they surreptitiously shook hands.

This was going to be fun.

Draco took his usual seat at the back of the classroom and, as Binns droned on about the fourteenth-century Wizarding Economic Bubble, he opened the envelope Blaise had handed him.

Inside was a folded piece of parchment with a riddle written in elegant calligraphy. He unfolded it.

In the depths of dreams, where nightmares reside,
A creature awaits, its secrets to confide.
With wings of ebony, it soars through the night,
Seek the darkness, follow its flight.

Draco's eyes flicked over to Theo, who was seated a few desks away. He could see that his boyfriend was also engrossed in reading his own piece of parchment. Their eyes locked momentarily as Theo tucked the riddle into his shirt pocket but it was evident that there would be no collaboration between them. Draco loved Theo, perhaps too much, but he wouldn't just let him win. Even if it was his birthday.

But, as the first class of the day ended, Draco also knew that he'd have to figure out the clue later if he didn't want to be late to his next class. He’d do almost anything to win but he would not sacrifice his grades.

As he hurried through the corridors with Greg and Vince, he couldn't help but wonder if Theo had already solved the first clue. He knew his boyfriend had a knack for puzzles and riddles, often surpassing him in their little competitions. The thought only fuelled Draco's determination to outsmart him this time.

Arriving at the edge of the forest, they found Hagrid waiting for them all, his massive hands tucked into his brown jacket.

“Good morning, class,” he said in a booming voice, rocking back on his heels. Draco was sure that he'd scared some of the local wildlife away but the giant of a man just grinned at them all. “Today, we'll be delvin' into the world o' Thestrals - if yeh can see 'em, that is. Don't be frightened now, they're fascinatin' creatures once yeh get to know 'em. So let's all keep an open mind.”

Wait, Draco thought, remembering some details of Blaise's clue. The depths of dreams...where nightmares reside...a creature ...with wings of ebony...

Thestrals. Of course, it would be Thestrals. Draco didn't know if Blaise intended for them to visit where the herd dwelled in the Forbidden Forest or if he'd hidden something on the Thestrals themselves but he intended to find out.

They followed him into the Forest until they arrived at a small clearing. Draco knew what Thestrals looked like, he'd be able to see them since his grand-mère had died, but he'd never seen so many at once. Their wings, as black as the night sky, were folded neatly against their sides, and their large, empty eye sockets seemed to stare right through him.

“Right then, who's brave enough to give one a pat?” Hagrid asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Draco's hand shot up without hesitation, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. He couldn't resist the opportunity to get closer to the creature that held the clue to his next destination.

Shock washed over his teacher's face before the man called him up towards the herd. Hagrid handed him an apple and instructed Draco to approach one of the Thestrals slowly, holding out the apple as an offering. The creature's skeletal frame was intimidating, but Draco could sense a gentle curiosity emanating from its dark eyes.

He extended his hand cautiously, holding completely still as one of the larger Thestrals leaned forward to take a bite of the apple.

As soon as the creature had finished its snack, Draco withdrew his hand and stepped back, observing the Thestral closely. There was nowhere on their bodies to hide a clue so there must be more to Blaise's clue than he first thought.

“Brilliant, Malfoy!” Hagrid boomed happily, giving Draco a hearty clap on the back that nearly knocked him off his feet. “Who else fancies a try?”

Stepping back, Draco retrieved the clue from his pocket and read it again. Seek the darkness, follow its flight.

Draco's eyes scanned the clearing, searching for any sign of darkness that might lead him to the next clue, when he saw one of the Thestrals walk towards a patch of shadow cast by the thick canopy of trees. Its ebony wings shimmered in the dappled sunlight as it disappeared into the darkness. Draco's heart quickened with anticipation.

He looked around quickly to make sure that no one would notice if he disappeared into the shadows. Satisfied that the others were engrossed in their interactions with the other Thestrals, Draco took a cautious step towards the patch of darkness.

Following the Thestral quietly, he soon found himself in another clearing. He thanked the Thestral, since it seemed like the right thing to do, and watched as it ambled away rather ungracefully.

The area was shrouded in a muted light, with only faint speckles of sunshine filtering through the dense canopy above. Draco's keen eyes scoured the surroundings, alert for any potential clues. It was then that his gaze fell upon it – an envelope clinging to the bark of an ancient, twisted tree.

Draco approached the tree and carefully plucked the envelope from its grasp. Opening it, he found another folded piece of parchment inside but he had no time to read it. He needed to return to his class before someone realised that he was missing.

His heart raced as he quickly made his way back to the clearing where Hagrid and the rest of the class were still engrossed in their interactions with the Thestrals. He slipped back into the group unnoticed.

Just as he rejoined them, Hagrid called for everyone to gather around. “Now it's time for yeh all to head back to the castle,” he announced, clapping his hands together. “I hope yeh all had a good time with these magnificent creatures.”

The class began to make their way back towards the castle, and he walked alongside Vince and Greg who were whispering to one another. Draco rolled his eyes at their behaviour. They were Slytherins through and through but they weren't the least bit subtle.

Once they were safely back in the castle, Draco found himself unable to slip away from Vince and Greg to read the third clue and once they'd been joined by the rest of their friends, he decided to put it off until later. None of them mentioned Blaise's little scavenger hunt but Theo was smirking as he wound his arm around Draco's waist and Pansy looked like the cat that got the cream. Only Tracey looked completely unaffected by their little game but that wasn't unusual for her. Sometimes Draco envied her ability to conceal her emotions so thoroughly. It had been part of his “training” as a child but Draco wore his heart on his sleeve, as much as a Slytherin could, and that would never change.

Their mid-morning break was over too quickly and soon Draco found himself in McGonagall's classroom. He still hadn't had time to look at his clue but perhaps he'd be able to sneak a peek when the stern professor wasn't looking.

Unfortunately for him, McGonagall was on high alert and seemed to have eyes in the back of her head. When the Gryffindors had started passing notes, likely childish messages about who fancied who, she'd stopped them with sharp glare and confiscated the notes without so much as a swish of her wand. Draco knew he wouldn't have a chance to read his clue during class without being caught, and he couldn't risk losing it.

“Mr Malfoy, please demonstrate the Bird-Conjuring Charm.”

He started at the sound of her voice but quickly recovered, demonstrating the spell with ease. McGonagall merely hummed and turned to her next victim. It wasn't until she'd walked away that he realised that he'd cast it nonverbally.

He smiled to himself and relaxed in his chair.

As the rest of the class continued with their practical exercises, Draco's mind wandered back to the clue burning a hole in his pocket. He couldn't wait any longer. Slyly, he pulled out the folded parchment and discreetly unfolded it under the desk, careful not to catch McGonagall's attention.

In the heart of the castle, where portraits converse,
find the painting that's known to be terse.
Seek the one who guards Gryffindor's pride,
and there your next clue will reside.

He quickly placed the note back in his pocket and returned his attention to the class. Draco knew exactly which portrait he needed to talk to for the next clue: the Fat Lady.

As the class finally came to an end, Draco made his way out of the classroom, trying to blend in with the other students. Making his way through the bustling corridors, he decided to head towards the floor where the Fat Lady's portrait was located. He needed to be careful because it would look odd for a Slytherin, especially Draco, to be lurking around the entrance to Gryffindor Tower but he just needed to wait for everyone to go to the Great Hall for lunch and then he'd be able to talk to her.

Draco hid in the shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to approach the Fat Lady's portrait. The halls grew quieter until, eventually, it was almost silent but then, from his secluded spot he heard someone approach. He held his breath, desperately trying to avoid being found.

“I'm telling you Hermione, he's up to something. He hasn't started one fight this year and he's always distracted.”

That was Potter's voice. Draco pressed himself closer to the wall, keeping out of sight as he strained to listen to their conversation.

He heard Granger sigh before replying. “I don't know, Harry. Maybe he's just busy with his school work.” She paused before lowering her voice to just above a whisper. “You know McGonagall told me he came top in our O.W.L.s.”

Potter scoffed, clearly unconvinced. “I don't buy it. Malfoy has always been up to no good. And I've seen that look in his eyes lately, like he's plotting something.”

Granger sighed again, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Harry, can't you just give him the benefit of the doubt? A lot happened to him over the summer. Perhaps he's changed.”

“Yeah, right,” Potter replied sarcastically. “I'll believe that when I see a Blast-Ended Skrewt doing ballet.”

Draco rolled his eyes at Potter's paranoia, safe in the knowledge that whatever the Gryffindor thought about him, it was wrong.

Once their voices had faded into the distance, Draco emerged from his hiding place and made his way to the Fat Lady.

Draco approached the portrait and cleared his throat, catching the Fat Lady's attention. She turned to him with a bored expression, her eyes flickering with mild curiosity.

“Password?” she drawled, clearly unimpressed by his presence near the Gryffindor Tower.

Draco took a moment to collect himself, remembering that he needed to be cautious with his words. “I seek the one who guards Gryffindor's pride,” he said carefully. “I have a clue to find.”

The Fat Lady's eyes narrowed as she scrutinised him but then her expression changed faster than Draco could blink.

“Would you like to hear me sing?” she asked, likely realising that she had a captive audience.

Draco's brow furrowed in confusion, not expecting this response from the usually terse portrait. He glanced around nervously, hoping that no one else was nearby to witness the absurd exchange.

“No, thank you,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. “I'm here for a clue, not a performance.”

The Fat Lady's eyes widened, offended by his rejection. She pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, aren't you a spoilsport,” she huffed. “Fine, then. If you must know, you have to answer a riddle to obtain your clue. Are you up for the challenge, young Slytherin?”

“I'm always up for a challenge,” he replied coolly.

The Fat Lady raised a painted eyebrow at him, clearly intrigued by Draco's demeanour. She cleared her throat and recited the riddle.

“I have cities but no houses, forests but no trees, and rivers but no water. What am I?”

Draco pondered the riddle for a moment before replying. “The answer is a map.”

The Fat Lady's surprise was evident in her widened eyes and the slight tilt of her painted head. A wide grin spread across her face as she applauded Draco's correct answer.

“Very well done, young Slytherin,” she said, a hint of admiration in her voice. “You have proven yourself worthy of the clue. It is hidden in the mouth of a lion at the entrance to the castle.”

Draco grinned and, with a nod of gratitude to the Fat Lady, he turned on his heel and hurriedly made his way towards the castle's entrance. He'd be able to pick up his clue on the way to the Great Hall for lunch.

Using one of the hidden corridors, he swiftly made his way down towards the Great Hall and slipped into the entrance hall.

Just yards away from where he stood were four statues, one representing each house, and held between the jaws of the Gryffindor lion was an envelope. He approached the statues quickly, glancing around to make sure no one was watching before reaching out to retrieve the envelope from the lion's mouth. The stone beast seemed to come alive for a split second, its eyes flashing with an otherworldly glow, but Draco shook off the sensation, attributing it to his imagination running wild.

Carefully tearing open the envelope, he unfolded the piece of parchment inside. The clue was written in Blaise's elegant hand.

In the realm of knowledge, where truths are concealed,
A library lies with secrets unrevealed,
With shelves overflowing, it stands tall and grand,
Seek the wisdom, let your mind expand.

Draco smirked to himself after reading the note. Blaise had truly outdone himself this time, but he didn't know that Draco already had permission to enter the Restricted Section of the library.

After shoving the note into his bag, he hurried into the Great Hall, taking up the empty spot next to Theo at the Slytherin table.

“Having a good day, my dear?” he asked as he sat down.

Theo glanced at Draco with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, you have no idea,” he replied. “It could be better though. You see, my boyfriend keeps running off looking for clues to a scavenger hunt.”

Draco chuckled, leaning in closer to Theo. “Well, maybe he just couldn't resist the allure of a mystery.”

Theo raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk playing on his lips. “Is that so? Well, perhaps I'd like to spend a little time with him before the day is over. You know, to celebrate my birthday. After all, it's not every day that a wizard becomes a man in the eyes of the law.”

Draco blushed lightly at Theo's suggestive tone before leaning even closer to his boyfriend. “Oh, I think we can arrange that,” he purred, his voice laced with anticipation.

“Alright, you two,” a voice interrupted, causing Draco and Theo to jump apart. They turned to see Pansy smirking at them from across the table. “You can flirt later. Some of us are trying to enjoy lunch.”

Draco rolled his eyes at Pansy's interruption, but he couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. “Sorry, Pansy,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “We'll be sure not to tarnish the sanctity of your lunchtime.”

Pansy scoffed, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “You're lucky I tolerate your nauseating displays of affection, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco's smile widened as he turned back to Theo. “Seems like we're ruining someone's appetite,” he mock-whispered.

Theo chuckled softly, his eyes dancing with mischief. “I think we should definitely continue this later,” he murmured in reply.

After that, they ate in relative silence but, beneath the table, their hands were entwined.

☿

Draco's last class of the day was Defence Against the Dark Arts, and it was the only thing standing between him and the next clue. Snape had them studying cursed objects and their counter-curses, while watching their progress with his typical expression of disdain. Thankfully, the task managed to distract Draco from the scavenger hunt altogether and he found himself enjoying the lesson.

As the class ended, Daphne linked her arm with him and he looked at her in confusion.

“We need to do that thing during our free period, remember?” She had a meaningful look on her face, as if trying to telepathically communicate something with him.

Draco furrowed his brows before sighing deeply, finally remembering what she was talking about.

“Yes, of course, Daphne,” he replied. Draco turned to the rest of the friends to explain, only to see Theo watching him. He almost blanched, but his expression was smooth and calm as he said, “I'm helping Daphne with her Divination homework. She needs to give a tarot reading and I volunteered.” Blaise and Pansy exchanged glances and smirks but Draco was focused on Theo's expression. The rest of their friends knew what they were really doing so it was only him who Draco had to convince.

Finally, Theo shrugged and promised to meet Draco in the common room before dinner.

As the rest of the Slytherins walked away, Draco's shoulders dropped in relief. He felt guilty for abandoning Theo on his birthday and he hoped it would be worth it in the end.

“I can't believe you didn't remember, Draco Malfoy!” Daphne exclaimed, hitting him on the arm as they walked. “You begged me to help you set up this picnic for Theo's birthday and then you forgot. Just what is wrong with you today?”

He wanted to tell her that it was Blaise's fault for organising that blasted scavenger hunt but she hadn't mentioned her own progress so he was unwilling to reveal how many clues he'd found so far.

“It's just a stressful day, Daph, that's all. I want this to be perfect for Theo.”

Daphne softened, her frustration melting away as she looked at Draco with understanding eyes. “I know you do, Draco,” she said gently. “And trust me, it will be perfect. We've put so much effort into planning this picnic and I've even asked the house elves to ensure that no one else will be able to find it after we're done.” She nudged him playfully. “You're lucky to have such a dedicated friend.”

He smiled at her as they walked out of the castle and towards the greenhouses. “I know I am,” he whispered.

Draco and Daphne reached the greenhouses and she produced a key to open the little orangery nestled among them. It was filled with plants and the temperature was carefully controlled but the space wasn't used for classes. Instead, Professor Sprout allowed the older students to find solace amongst the safer plants that she grew when they were stressed. When Draco had gone to ask for permission to use the space for Theo's birthday picnic, she had graciously agreed, charmed by Draco's genuine enthusiasm for making Theo's day special.

The moment they stepped inside the orangery, Draco was enveloped in a wave of tranquillity. The air was thick with the fragrance of blooming flowers, and the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the glass ceiling cast a warm, ethereal light on their surroundings. The plants seemed to whisper words of comfort and solace as Draco and Daphne made their way deeper into the space.

They walked along a path lined with vibrant, exotic flowers, their petals brushing against Draco's arms like delicate fingertips. He admired their beauty as he made his way to the little seating area in the middle of the room.

The seating area was adorned with plush cushions and a low table, perfect for what Draco wanted.

With a hand on his wrist, Daphne told him that she'd deal with the food if he wanted to decorate the space. He nodded at her, turning away as she called for one of the Hogwarts house elves to assist her.

Draco took a moment to survey the space, his mind filled with visions of how he wanted it to look for Theo's birthday celebration. He conjured up strings of twinkling fairy lights that hung elegantly from the ceiling, casting a soft, enchanting glow over the area. Colourful lanterns floated in mid-air, adding an element of magic to the scene.

Next, Draco waved his wand, altering the multicoloured cushions to a deep shade of green. To anyone else, the room would look like a Slytherin paradise but Theo's favourite colour was viridian and Draco wanted to make sure the room was perfect for Theo.

After he had meticulously arranged the pillows, Draco conjured a dove grey blanket and draped it over the back of one of the sofas. He briefly ran his fingers over the soft material, imagining it draped over the two of them later that evening, before moving on to his next task.

He summoned a beautiful bouquet of Theo's birth flowers, aster and morning glory, and placed them in an elegant crystal vase on one of the side tables.

Plates clattered as Daphne set the picnic spread on the table, filling the air with the tantalising aroma of freshly prepared food. Draco turned to admire her handiwork, his eyes widening in awe at the stunning display of culinary delights. From gourmet sandwiches and salads to an assortment of delectable desserts, it was a feast fit for a king.

Daphne smirked at Draco's reaction, clearly pleased with herself. “I must say, Draco, this picnic is shaping up to be quite extraordinary. Theo will be absolutely thrilled.”

Draco nodded, his heart fluttering with anticipation. He couldn't wait to see the look on Theo's face when he revealed the surprise. It would be a moment etched in their memories forever.

She cast a preservation charm over the area, ensuring that everything would remain perfect, before she ushered him out of the door.

“I do actually need to work on my Divination homework,” she told him as they walked back towards the castle. “Do you want to join me in the library for a bit?”

Draco hesitated for a moment before realising that this would likely be his only chance to visit the library before dinner. “Of course, Daphne. I'd be happy to accompany you.”

They settled at a secluded table as far away from the Restricted Section as possible, their books and parchments spread out before them. Daphne furrowed her brow in concentration as her delicate fingers flipped through pages of her Divination guide. Once she was sufficiently distracted, Draco excused himself from the table, claiming that he was going to look for another book.

Instead, he walked up to Madam Pince and handed her his pass for the Restricted Section, one that had been given to him by Professor Flitwick at the beginning of the year.

“Draco Malfoy,” Madam Pince said, her eyes narrowing as she glanced at the pass. “What brings you to the Restricted Section?”

“I'm doing some research for my Charms project,” Draco replied smoothly. “I was hoping to find some books to discuss with Professor Flitwick during our next meeting.”

Madam Pince scrutinised him for a moment before reluctantly nodding. “Very well, Mr. Malfoy. But remember, no removing any books from this section.”

Draco nodded with feigned innocence and walked into the dimly lit aisle of the Restricted Section. The air felt heavy and mysterious, filled with ancient knowledge that had been deemed too dangerous or forbidden for general consumption. Draco's heart raced as he scanned the shelves, his eyes darting across titles written in faded ink.

He didn't know which book he was looking for. Blaise, or whoever he had enlisted to help with this scavenger hunt, could have hidden the next clue anywhere.

Draco ran his fingers along the spines of various books, trying to decipher any clues they might hold. He knew he had to be discreet; the Restricted Section was closely monitored, and any suspicious behaviour would surely raise alarms.

As he ventured deeper into the aisle, he noticed a particular book that stood out from the rest. It looked newer than the others, its spine unmarred by time. Curiosity piqued, Draco reached out and pulled it from the shelf. He almost laughed when he read the title, certain that the book did not belong in this section of the library, and he could only conclude that it was Blaise who had added this copy of his favourite muggle play, Macbeth, to the shelves with the intention of hiding the clue and drawing Draco's attention. He quickly opened the book and retrieved the envelope stuffed inside.

He opened it and read.

Draco,

If you've found this clue, then congratulations are in order. You're one step closer to unravelling the mystery I've concocted for Theo's birthday surprise. But don't get too complacent just yet. There's still more to discover.

To proceed, seek out the place where our secrets are kept hidden in plain sight. There, you will uncover the grand finale of this adventure. But not before the time is right.

Best of luck,

Blaise.

He carefully folded the letter back into the envelope and exited the Restricted Section, nodding at Madam Pince as he left.

Draco made his way back to the secluded table in the library where Daphne was still engrossed in her Divination homework. He slid back into his seat, picking up his quill and focusing back on his work.

“Find what you were looking for?” Daphne asked as he sat down.

Draco forced a nonchalant smile. “No, someone else is using the book I wanted and I couldn't find anything else suitable,” he replied, trying to sound casual. “But enough about that. How's your homework coming along?”

Daphne sighed, pushing her notes aside. “I can't make heads or tails of these tarot card meanings. It's all so cryptic.”

Draco chuckled, secretly grateful for the distraction. “Well, you know how unreliable divination can be. Still, perhaps it'd be best if you return to it later. It's almost dinner and we need to go back to the common room.”

Daphne nodded, closing her book with a sigh of relief. “You're right, Draco. Let's go.”

☿

Once they reached the common room, he made a beeline for Theo, who was chatting to a few of the seventh-year students.

As Draco neared the circle of friends, Theo's handsome features lit up with a warm smile. His blue eyes sparkled in the soft glow of the candlelight, drawing Draco's gaze towards him. In his hands, Theo held a small, plain box.

“Hello, my love,” Theo greeted, his voice filled with excitement. “Archie and James got me something special for my birthday.”

Curiosity piqued, Draco took the box from Theo's outstretched hands and carefully opened it. Inside were a pair of two-way mirrors, glinting in the dim light. “Salazar,” Draco breathed out as he examined them closely. “These are truly amazing. What a thoughtful gift.” He returned the box to Theo's awaiting hands and smiled gently. “You should probably put those in your trunk soon. We need to get ready for dinner.”

Instantly, suspicion crossed Theo's face. Draco knew it was because Theo had been forced to drag Draco to the Great Hall for meals several times over the last couple of weeks, often with Draco loudly protesting that he didn't have time for dinner because he had too much work to do. He smiled sheepishly at his suspicious boyfriend before urging him to hurry up.

Draco followed him to their dorm room, wanting to change before their picnic, and as they changed into more comfortable attire, Draco's mind raced with thoughts of the final clue. He knew he needed to find the place where their secrets were hidden in plain sight, but what could that possibly mean? The castle held so many secrets, and Draco felt like he had explored every nook and cranny throughout his years at Hogwarts.

Once they were ready, the couple, along with the rest of their friends, made their way to the Great Hall. Just before they reached the doors, Draco tugged Theo away with a mischievous grin and dragged him out of the castle doors.

“Draco!” Theo exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

“It's a surprise!”

Draco led Theo through the sprawling grounds of Hogwarts, their footsteps echoing in the quiet evening. The air was crisp, and a faint breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient trees that surrounded them. His heart pounded with excitement as he glanced at Theo, whose eyes were gleaming with anticipation.

Once they reached the orangery, Draco pulled the key from his trouser pocket and unlocked the door. He watched as Theo's face lit up with awe as he took in his surroundings.

Draco tightened his grip on his hand again and pulled him towards the centre of the room, to where their picnic awaited.

“Happy birthday, Theo,” he said softly.

“Draco, this is incredible. How did you manage all of this?”

Draco smirked as his thumb traced circles on the back of Theo's hand. “Let's just say I have my ways.”

Theo's laughter filled the air, warm and melodic, as they talked about everything and nothing and Draco found himself captivated by his boyfriend's presence. They had taken to feeding each other small morsels of food, fingers brushing delicately against lips, igniting a spark between them.

“I can't believe you did all of this for me,” Theo murmured.

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. “I wanted to make your birthday special.”

“Well, you definitely succeeded,” Theo replied with a smile before leaning in to steal a soft kiss from Draco's lips.

Theo then reached for two bottles of butterbeer that were chilling in an ice bucket nearby. If they were at home, they'd be sipping delicious wine but the Hogwarts elves had refused to provide alcohol since Draco was underage. As they sipped on their drinks and nibbled on dessert, Draco leaned into Theo and rested against him, allowing Theo to wrap his arm around Draco's shoulders and pull him closer. They sat in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's presence as the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the orangery. Draco couldn't remember a time when he had felt so content and at peace.

“I love you,” Theo whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of adoration and vulnerability.

Draco's heart swelled at those three simple words. He turned to face Theo, his grey eyes meeting Theo's blue ones. “I love you too,” he replied sincerely, feeling the weight of his emotions settle in his chest.

They stayed like that for a while, lost in each other's embrace, unwilling to let go of this perfect moment. But eventually, reality beckoned and they knew they had to return to the castle before curfew.

Reluctantly, they rose from their cozy spot on the blanket and made their way back hand-in-hand. The walk back was filled with stolen kisses and quiet whispers, their footsteps in sync as they traversed the familiar path. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a soft glow over the castle's towering silhouette.

It was only as they entered the common room that Draco finally figured out the last clue. Seek out the place where our secrets are kept hidden in plain sight. Of course Blaise meant their private room, the place where they shared secrets openly.

It seemed like Theo had figured out his own clue too as he started dragging Draco towards the room where they and their friends had spent countless evenings together. Theo pushed open the door, revealing their secret sanctuary.

“Surprise!”

Their friends were all gathered in the room, which had been decorated with banners and streamers for Theo's birthday, and a large pile of presents sat in the corner, including Draco's own presents for his boyfriend. On the low table sat a decedent chocolate cake adorned with candles, waiting to be devoured.

Theo turned to him, perplexed. “Did you know about this?” he asked Draco, his tone shocked rather than accusatory.

 Draco merely shook his head, as surprised as Theo.

Blaise slung his arm around Theo's shoulder, guiding him further into the room. “No, I didn't tell him. He was already stressed enough planning that romantic surprise picnic. I wanted to give him a break.” Blaise winked at Draco, who couldn't help but smile at his friend's thoughtfulness.”

“But what about the scavenger hunt?” Theo wondered, his eyes darting around the room as if to take in everything that his friend had done for him.

“Just a little ruse to get everyone here at the right time.” Blaise grinned mischievously, as Pansy threatened to kill him for his trick. “Now, it's time for Theo to open his presents!”

Draco watched as Theo opened each gift with a childlike excitement, delighting in the surprise and thoughtfulness of each present. His would be the last to be opened, a fact that filled Draco with both excitement and dread. He truly hoped that Theo loved his gifts.

Once Blaise's gift – sleek leather-bound journal – had been opened, all eyes turned to Draco. He retrieved the three carefully wrapped boxes from the table and handed them over to Theo.

Theo’s smile was soft and sweet as he took the gifts from Draco's outstretched hand.

The first parcel was rather large and contained a pair of gleaming leather boots. Theo's eyes widened as he ran his fingers over the smooth leather, admiring the craftsmanship. “Are these...?” he began, almost breathless as he looked back towards Draco.

Draco nodded. “Seven League Boots,” Draco explained as Theo turned the footwear over in his hands, admiring the intricate stitching and supple leather. “One step in those will transport you seven leagues in whichever direction you choose. Or, about twenty-one miles in today's terms.”

“Draco, these are incredible,” Theo breathed, struggling to maintain his composure.

“Keep going,” Draco urged gently, nodding toward the other two gifts.

The next gift was smaller but heavier than the first. Theo tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a book, and Draco watched as his fingers traced the embossed lettering on the cover.

“An old manuscript on Animagi that was never published,” Draco elaborated when Theo glanced at him. “I thought you might find it interesting.”

Theo didn't say anything, unable to tear his eyes away from the book, but that was the best reaction Draco could ask for. He knew he'd lose Theo's attention to the book as soon as he laid eyes on it but he didn't mind, as long as Theo was happy.

“Last but not least,” Draco prompted, gesturing to the final box and finally dragging Theo's attention away from the manuscript.

The last box was tiny in comparison to the first two and it contained an old, gold ring inscribed with futhorc runes.

Theo slipped the ring onto the index finger of his right hand. It was a perfect fit. Thank Salazar for magic.

“For blood staunching,” Draco explained, his voice barely a whisper as Theo rubbed his left thumb along the inscription. “You can never be too careful.”

“Draco, I don't know what to say.” Theo looked up at him, his eyes shining with gratitude. “These gifts are truly amazing.”

“Anything for you,” Draco replied, the corners of his lips quirking into a small smile.

As their friends chatted and laughed around them, Theo and Draco settled into a comfortable silence, both lost in their thoughts. The weight of the gifts, both material and emotional, resonated through Draco's heart.

After a while, Theo whispered his name, drawing Draco's attention back from the group. “I've been granted permission to floo home this weekend to spend some time with my father and brother.”

“That's great,” Draco replied, his expression softening. “It's a shame you couldn't see them today but I'm glad you're here with me.”

The sound of a sharp rap on the door shattered the intimacy of the moment, startling Theo and Draco from their reverie. A seventh year Slytherin's impatient voice carried through the heavy wood.

“Oi! You lot! Get back to the common room; it's time for Theo's party!”

“Let's go,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes as she stood up. “Can't keep the masses waiting.”

As the others filed out, Theo caught Draco's arm before he could follow suit, holding him back with a firm grip. He whispered, his warm breath brushing against Draco's ear as he spoke, “Wait a second, just us.”

Draco raised an eyebrow inquisitively, but couldn't resist the mischievous glint in Theo's eyes that hinted at something more.

As soon as their friends left and the door clicked shut, Theo's lips crashed onto Draco's in a desperate, heated kiss. Their bodies pressed together in a frenzy of desire, hands wandering but never straying beneath their clothes. Draco's head spun with pleasure as Theo pressed him against the wall, his body responding eagerly to every touch. His fingers found their way into Theo's hair, gripping and tugging softly as they deepened their embrace, and a low moan escaped from Theo's throat as he trailed his hands down Draco's trembling body, settling on his hips and pulling him closer.

“Happy birthday to me,” Theo murmured teasingly as they parted, both slightly breathless and flushed with desire. He pressed a kiss to Draco’s neck before the younger Slytherin pushed him away gently.

“Come on,” Draco urged, taking Theo's hand. “We don't want to miss your party.”

Together, they walked into the common room, where the party had already begun. The space was transformed with music pulsing through the air and bodies swaying to the beat.

“Enjoy it all,” Draco said, his fingers still intertwined with Theo's. “It's your night.”

And it was.

They danced, limbs entwined and hearts beating in sync, lost in the music and each other. Theo spun Draco, drawing out a delighted laugh from his lips, and when the music shifted to a slower tempo, they swayed together, foreheads touching. Draco could feel the heat radiating off of Theo's body, their closeness almost suffocatingly intimate. But he craved it, craved the way their bodies moved against each other, the softness of Theo's breath against his cheek. Still, they were in the middle of the common room, so Draco put some distance between them and twirled Theo, much in the same manner as Theo had done to him earlier.

As the hours passed, the room grew emptier and quieter until only a few couples remained, taking these moments of silence to just be together. Other students had wished Theo a happy birthday as they trudged up to their beds, eyes tired but smiles bright, and before long Draco stood up and tugged on Theo's hand, indicating that they too should go up to bed.

Theo smiled and stood up, following Draco out of the common room and up the stairs to their dormitory. It was a warm and cosy room, with wooden walls and a large fireplace. Theo flopped down on his bed, watching as Draco started to undress.

Draco caught Theo's expression and raised an eyebrow. “What's on your mind?” he asked curiously.

Theo shrugged and sat up, his eyes meeting Draco's. “I just feel lucky,” he said softly. “I have you, and I have amazing friends, I have a wonderful family, and I'm happy.”

Draco's expression softened and he sat down next to Theo, taking his hand. “I feel the same way,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never thought I could be this happy, but with you, everything just falls into place.”

Theo leaned in to kiss Draco, their lips meeting in a soft and gentle embrace.

Draco snuggled closer to him, his arm draped over Theo's waist and his head on his chest, feeling as Theo's breathing evened out. “Happy birthday, Theo,” he whispered into the stillness of the night.

Chapter Text

The morning after, the Great Hall hummed with the morning chatter of students, the clinking of cutlery a staccato accompaniment to their conversations. Draco sat with his fellow Slytherins, the green and silver of his tie sitting against the white of his shirt, and he felt Theo’s absence like an ache. It was an emptiness at the table that left him oddly adrift among his friends, watching as they laughed and fought over pieces of toast, but he couldn’t begrudge Theo’s absence either. He would only be gone for the weekend and he deserved to spend as much time as possible with his father and brother.

When the post arrived, a barn owl swooped down towards the table, talons outstretched, and it deposited a thick envelope in front of him. Using a butter knife, Draco slit it open to reveal multiple sheets of heavy, ivory parchment that smelt faintly of dust.

“Anything interesting?” Pansy’s voice dripped with curiosity, her eyes sharp and probing.

“Family matters,” Draco replied curtly, unfolding the parchment with a flick of his wrist. He quickly read the content of the letter, noting Odbert’s signature at the bottom. Gringotts had finally concluded their examination of the Black vaults and the Lestrange vault under his care and they had included the inventory for his personal records.

His eyes ran over the detailed inventory list, taking note of every item on it. Among them were a pair of cursed daggers, four sets of heavy armour adorned with the Black family crest, and a variety of potions so vile and dangerous that they had been banned by the Ministry. Standard fare for the Black family.

With a fond shake of his head, Draco turned his attention to the inventory of his Aunt Bellatrix's vault, eager to discover the source of the darkness he felt when he'd visited the vault.

Again, much of it was what he expected. Six cursed necklaces, a collection of books that would make even the most seasoned Dark wizard shudder, and a set of blood-stained robes. Nothing that would truly explain the feeling he experienced when he first entered that vault a month before.

Then, his eyes snagged on the final item listed under the Lestrange vault: the Cup of Hufflepuff. A genuine Hogwarts founder's artifact amidst a sea of nefarious objects. He blinked, certain there must be some mistake. But the goblins at Gringotts were meticulous; they would not have listed it without certainty. Just above, a copy of the Sword of Gryffindor was noted as a replica, so why not the cup if it were false?

“Draco? You've gone pale,” Greg observed, his tone laced with concern.

“I’m fine,” Draco said, too quickly, folding up the letter and tucking it into his robes. “Just a letter from one of Mother’s associates.”

“Must be quite the associate,” Greg mused, returning to his breakfast.

Draco's mind raced. The Cup of Hufflepuff, a true piece of history, was languishing in a vault owned by his Aunt Bellatrix.

He needed to write to Gringotts immediately.

☿

The quill's final scratch on the parchment felt heavier than usual, as if the ink bore the weight of the secret it carried. Draco folded the letter with precise corners, a crease sharp enough to draw blood. His pale fingers lingered on the seal, the emerald wax imprint of the Malfoi crest now guarding the contents within. The Cup of Hufflepuff – its fate was now in the hands of Gringotts, or so the letter would request.

With the missive secured in the inner pocket of his school robes, Draco stood, his movements deliberate and silent.

Leaving the safety of his dormitory, Draco slipped out into the corridor, his footsteps echoing solemnly as he made his way towards the owlery. He greeted the portraits he passed and nodded curtly to the few students he encountered, his expression aloof and detached, but once he reached the entrance to the West Tower, Draco became aware that he was being followed.

He paused, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with unease, before glancing over his shoulder. For a brief moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of movement in the dimly lit corridor but quickly dismissed it as simple paranoia. He'd felt watched, hunted, since before the summer holidays and it had only intensified upon his return to Hogwarts. Homenum Revelio wouldn't work in the crowded castle, Draco had tried, and so he was forced to rely on his instincts instead. Keeping a tight grip on his wand, Draco ascended the stairs to the owlery.

As Draco pushed open the creaky door to the owlery, a gust of cold wind greeted him, sending shivers down his spine. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him quickly, ensuring the no one could follow him without making themselves known.

His footsteps were muffled by the thick layer of straw on the floor as he navigated through the perches, his eyes immediately seeking out the familiar plumage of Prospero.

“Here you are,” Draco murmured, reaching into his pocket to procure a handful of treats. “Only the best for my most reliable messenger.”

Prospero shuffled his wings, a soft, appreciative hoot escaping him as he nipped the offerings from Draco's outstretched palm. The wizard allowed himself the briefest moment of solace, stroking his fingers along the owl's soft feathers.

“Two letters today, Prospero,” Draco said, his voice steady despite the undercurrent of urgency. He withdrew the first envelope, the wax seal emblazoned with his family crest, and tied it securely to Prospero's left leg. “To Mother – do not wait for a reply.” His fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary, the action grounding him to the present.

The second letter, heavier with consequence, was affixed to the bird’s right leg. “And this one to Gringotts,” he instructed. “Handle it with care.” Prospero tilted his head, a silent acknowledgement that made Draco smile.

He stepped back, observing the owl with a mix of affection and anticipation. “Fly true, Prospero,” Draco whispered as the owl took flight.

As he left the owlery, Draco could feel the weight of an unseen gaze. He ignored it as best he could and made his way down to the Quidditch pitch for the Slytherin trials.

☿

The weekend without Theo dragged on for Draco, despite his attempts to keep himself busy. He couldn't wait for Monday to arrive. However, when it finally did, it brought with it a reminder of something that Draco had completely forgotten about. Three letters, one addressed to Blaise, one to Theo, and one to Draco himself, dropped onto the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, bringing with them a sense of dread.

“Slug Club?” Blaise asked, turning the heavy paper between his fingers before tearing it open.

“Indeed,” Theo confirmed, examining his own invitation. “Did it have to be on Friday?”

“Suppose it'll be an evening of flattery and stories from the good old days,” Blaise mused, spreading butter over a slice of toast.

“Could be worse,” Draco allowed, extracting the card from the envelope and giving it a cursory glance. “It could be on Saturday.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Theo warned. “We don’t want him getting any ideas for next time. Not that I want to go this time, never mind in the future.”

“Ah, but think of the benefits,” Blaise countered, raising an eyebrow. “Connections, influence... And let's not forget the possibility of rare potions ingredients finding their way into our hands when Slughorn isn’t looking.”

Draco, however, was only half-listening to their banter. As they discussed the merits of schmoozing at the Slug Club, his thoughts again drifted to back to the Lestrange inventory. He had hoped that there would be a reply waiting for him from Gringotts this morning, answers to the many questions he had posed to Odbert, but, instead, all he received was an invite to the Slug Club dinner party. Still, he hoped they’d done as he asked an isolated the Cup in a new vault, far from his aunt’s reach.

“Draco?” Mille’s voice pulled him back to the present. “You're quieter than usual. Everything alright?”

“Fine,” Draco replied, slipping the invitation into his robe pocket. “Just thinking about our Potions essay.”

“Ah, the joys of being the top student in our year,” Blaise quipped, though his eyes held understanding.

“Something like that,” Draco answered, pushing aside his food, appetite lost to the churn of his thoughts.

“Cheer up, Draco,” Tracey offered, reaching across the table to pat his hand. “It's just another pointless essay from Slughorn.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

Their conversation ebbed as breakfast continued around them, but Draco's silver gaze remained distant—fixed upon unseen horizons.

☿

After a day full of classes, Draco stood in the centre of the Come-and-Go Room, wand outstretched, as he once again attempted to cast the Patronus Charm. He focused on the memory of his father’s smile, the rare occasions when pride and love for his only son softened his aristocratic features.

“Expecto Patronum,” he commanded, and a wisp of silver tried to form, but it dissolved like mist before taking shape. Frustration knotted his brow.

“Concentrate, Draco,” Blaise urged from the sidelines, but even he couldn't hide his disappointment at their lack of progress. Theo observed quietly, his usual calm demeanour providing some sense of stability.

“Think of something truly happy,” Theo suggested. “Whatever it is you’re thinking about just isn’t strong enough.”

Draco closed his eyes, digging deeper into his repository of memories. With a deep breath, he tried once more, seeking the warmth of a genuine laugh, a moment untainted by the cold veneer of duty.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Nothing.

“We’ll get there, Draco,” Pansy whispered, a note of hope in her voice despite her own failures. “We just need to keep trying.”

☿

The weight of the week hung heavy on Draco's shoulders as he sat in the library, surrounded by stacks of textbooks and scrolls. His eyes burned from hours of researching for his classes and constantly corresponding with Odbert about his aunt's vault. But amidst the chaos, a persistent curiosity tugged at him – the box from Dervish and Banges.

Despite his best efforts, Draco's research only led to dead ends. The box remained an enigma, its lid tightly shut and refusing to reveal its secrets. Even his precise sketches provided no new insight.

“Maybe it's just a box,” Vince offered one evening as they pored over ancient texts in the dim light of the common room. “Dervish might just be trying to trick you.”

“It’s hiding something,” Draco replied, not ready to concede defeat. He knew that he needed to see it again, convinced he must have missed something during his last visit to the shop.

Vince let out a deep sigh and went back to the book in his hands. Draco felt comforted yet conflicted by his friend's presence and support, feeling guilty for relying on him so much even though it was Vince who had volunteered to assist him.

☿

Friday evening arrived too soon for Draco’s liking.

The chandeliers of Slughorn's lavish living quarters cast glimmers on Draco's polished shoes as he made his entrance, flanked by Theo and Blaise. The trio exuded an air of tailored elegance, with Draco's fine robe billowing behind him in silent testament to his heritage. Theo's pocket square, a splash of colour that perfectly complemented Draco's purple tie, hinted at their coordinated effort, while Blaise's muggle suit hung from his broad frame with an impeccable cut that would have turned heads even in the most sophisticated of London’s circles.

“Try to be nice for once, Draco,” Blaise quipped, a smirk etched on his face.

“I do not make promises I cannot keep,” Draco retorted quietly as he assessed his surroundings. Soon, his gaze landing on McLaggen, who was leaning far too close into Granger's space. Her discomfort was palpable, even from across the room, as she shifted her weight and gripped her wand so tightly that he knuckles were turning white.

“Circe, she looks about ready to hex him,” Theo observed, following Draco's line of sight.

“It would serve him right,” Blaise added, crossing his arms with a judgmental lift of his brow.

“Potter seems more interested in looking at us than rescuing his friend,” Draco noted, a wry smile playing on his lips as he caught Potter's glare fixed pointedly on him. He could feel the animosity rolling off the Boy Who Lived in waves, a silent battle waged from across the room.

Eventually, Potter realised that Draco wasn’t looking at him and was, instead, watching Granger grow more and more frustrated by McLaggen’s unwanted advances. Draco watched as he finally intervened, stepping between McLaggen and his current prey, but was surprised when Potter made little effort to actually comfort his friend.

A chime of a glass drew their attention to the centre of the room where Slughorn stood, smiling amiably at them. “Ladies and gentlemen, please follow me and take your places at the table!” His ample form was framed by the false grandeur of his quarters, his arms outstretched in welcome.

He led them into a room with a large, circular table at its centre. The room was dimly lit, accented by flickering candles that reflected in the highly polished silverware. Draco couldn't help but run his finger along the smooth, cool surface of the table as he followed Blaise and Theo to their designated seats. Despite its grand appearance, he could tell that the table was not the antique it pretended to be. A cheap imitation, nothing more.

As Draco took his seat, he observed the other guests settling in around him. He recognised every person in the room, from Flora and Hestia Carrow – twin daughters of the only sane Carrow sibling – to Melinda Bobbin, the apothecary heiress a year below them. The Malfoy family had shares in her family's business and he could ruin her with a single word. Not that he would, of course. He'd have nothing to gain from such an act. Truthfully, he had nothing to gain by attending the Slug Club but he had long since learnt the importance of networking and maintaining appearances.

Draco’s gaze flickered briefly towards Potter, the corner of his mouth twitching in disdain. The chair next to Potter remained conspicuously vacant until, with an apologetic flurry, the Weasley girl dashed in and settled herself between Potter and McLaggen. Her cheeks were tinged with pink from her haste, her hair a fiery contrast to the deep purple of her dress.

As the first course was served, Slughorn turned his attention to his guests. “Ah, Cormac, did you see much of your uncle Tiberius over the summer?” he enquired jovially, turning towards the burly young man who puffed up like a peacock under the attention.

McLaggen launched into a tiresome, and likely overstated, tale about his illustrious uncle. He spoke with such fervour and self-importance that it was almost comical, but none of the guests laughed, even when he tried to make a joke. Draco found himself tuning out the conversation, already bored with McLaggen's predictable name dropping and exaggerated anecdotes. Tiberius McLaggen may have been a highly influential man in the Ministry but Draco knew things about him that would make his nephew's jaw drop.

Slughorn, always eager to ingratiate himself with those in positions of power, eventually moved on to engage Granger in conversation. The bushy-haired witch looked uncomfortable as Slughorn asked her about her parents and her upbringing.

Draco could tell that Slughorn was uneasy about Granger's Muggle background and, despite her impressive accomplishments, it was evident that he saw her as nothing more than a means to get closer to Potter. He truly was an odious, self-serving little man.

He grimaced when the main course was served, a bland dish that lacked any appeal. Much like the evening itself.

Draco's attention was momentarily diverted when he felt a soft touch on his thigh. Theo had evidently caught him drifting off and just in time, too, as Slughorn turned his attention to Draco.

“And how is your esteemed mother, young Draco? Still a formidable duellist, I presume?” He glanced mischievously at the other guests seated around the table as he continued. “Narcissa Black was undoubtedly one of the most skilled duellists to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts.”

Draco swallowed a piece of dry chicken before responding. “Yes, she is. Though she doesn't compete in tournaments anymore. She's more focused on her philanthropic endeavours, supporting various charities and organizations, like the Healing Hands Foundation at St. Mungo's.”

Slughorn nodded approvingly and for a brief moment, Draco imagined strangling him in his seat. He knew that Slughorn, despite his connections and supposed influence, had never done anything to help the wixen community and likely never would.

“A noble pursuit indeed. I'm sure you have learnt much from your mother's example.”

As Draco politely nodded, he heard someone scoff. Potter soon found himself on the recieveing end of Draco's icy glare. He had never been one to tolerate disrespect, especially when it came to his mother, but, instead of making a scene, he simply returned his attention to his meal. It wouldn't do any good to murder the Boy Who Lived in front of a room full of people. Even if Draco did know how to make it look like an accident.

Unfortunately for Draco, it seemed that Slughorn wasn't finished questioning him just yet.

“I imagine she was rather proud of your O.W.L. grades too.”

Draco's fork paused midway to his mouth and he met Slughorn's gaze with unease. The potions professor wore a knowing smile, one that made Draco's skin crawl.

“Yes, sir,” Draco replied coolly. “My mother was pleased with my results.”

Realising that Draco wasn't going to offer any more information about himself or his mother, Slughorn plastered on his fake smile once again. “Excellent, excellent,” he said before turning to ask Blaise about his own mother.

Draco listened as Blaise told tales of his mother's latest engagement to some corrupt Spanish politician. Slughorn looked slightly disturbed by Blaise’s words, which were paired with a razor-sharp smile, and he quickly moved on to someone else.

The clatter of silverware against porcelain marked the end of the main course and with a decadent flourish of his wand Slughorn summoned the evening's dessert. The scent of strawberries and cream wafted through the air as bowls of Eton mess appeared before each guest.

Draco forced himself to take a small bite, the sweetness of it lifting his spirits, and he finally began to relax.

Across the table, Potter's eyes bore into him with unsettling intensity. Draco, feeling mischievous, scooped a generous portion of the messy dessert and brought it to his lips with an exaggerated flourish. As he licked the spoon clean, he let out a soft moan of faux pleasure, earning him a sharp squeeze on the knee from Theo who had been watching the display with exasperated amusement.

“Draco,” Theo whispered, his voice laced with a delightful mixture of annoyance and fondness. “Must you always resort to theatrics?”

Draco grinned slyly, his silver eyes glinting with mischief.

Potter's cheeks had turned a shade that could rival the ripest berry in Draco's bowl. Heat flushed his face, and there was a flicker in his eyes that Draco couldn't decipher—anger or, perhaps, something more primal. With a huff, Potter tore his gaze away from Draco, fixating on Weasley’s sister, who had just finished regaling McLaggen with a Quidditch anecdote. Potter watched her with the same intensity he had just aimed at Draco, only now tinged with a longing that was palpable.

How revolting, Draco thought, scooping up another spoonful of dessert. This time he ate with his usual refined grace.

His attention was once again commandeered by Slughorn, who asked for his opinion on the latest research published in Potions Quarterly, and he did not notice who else was staring at him from across the table.

☿

The rich aroma of dessert still clung to the air, sweet and cloying, as the room buzzed with the low murmur of post-feast conversations. Draco stood near the hearth, the firelight casting dancing shadows across his sharp features, when Cormac McLaggen sidled up beside him, his broad frame blocking the warm glow.

“Malfoy,” McLaggen's voice rumbled, tinged with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, “that was quite the impressive display during dinner. I like a man who appreciates dessert and rare potions.”

Draco smirked but there was a certain stiffness in his posture, a porcelain mask over an undercurrent of unease. McLaggen's proximity pricked at his senses like a thorn. He had never been fond of the older Gryffindor, finding him to be brash and overbearing, and so he took a step back, subtly distancing himself from the imposing figure.

“Is that so, McLaggen?” Draco replied, his voice dripping with indifference. “I suppose we all have our preferences.”

McLaggen's eyes narrowed, his grin widening like a predator sensing weakness. He leaned in closer, invading Draco's personal space with a mixture of confidence and provocation. “Oh, I'm sure we do,” he leered. “Would you care to tell me yours?”

Draco recoiled, his instincts screaming at him to escape the looming presence of McLaggen but he knew that showing vulnerability would only fuel McLaggen's desires further. So, he straightened his spine and met McLaggen's gaze with an icy stare.

“I'm afraid I have no interest in sharing my preferences with you, McLaggen,” Draco replied, his words laced with a cool disdain. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to.”

Draco turned on his heel, intending to find his friends before McLaggen could further invade his space, but as he moved away, a firm grip caught hold of his left arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“Not so fast, Malfoy,” McLaggen sneered, tightening his hold. “You may be able to play the aloof aristocrat during dinner, but we all know what lies beneath that polished façade.”

“Let go,” Draco said, his voice icy. He didn't want to make a scene by hexing McLaggen within an inch of his life but he would if he had to. Perhaps he could give the Gryffindor a nasty case of conjunctivitis, or maybe the Furnunculus curse would be more fitting for someone with a personality as ugly as McLaggen's. He may have hold of Draco's wand hand but Draco had long since learnt to inflict certain curses and hexes without one.

“You're making a grave mistake, McLaggen,” Draco hissed through gritted teeth, his voice filled with a dangerous edge. “Release me this instant or face the consequences.”

McLaggen's eyes flickered with uncertainty for a moment, betraying a sliver of doubt before he quickly masked it with a malicious smirk. “Consequences, huh? I'd like to see you try, Malfoy.”

Instead of replying, Draco gave a quick flick of his wrist and smirked as McLaggen was knocked back away from him with a sudden burst of invisible force. The Gryffindor stumbled, his grip on Draco's arm released, and he crashed into a nearby chair, sending it clattering to the ground. The room fell silent, all eyes now trained on the Gryffindor's prone form and Draco smiled as the other boy scrambled to his feet, clearly embarrassed.

McLaggen straightened his robes, trying to salvage whatever dignity he had left. His eyes narrowed, and he shot Draco a venomous glare. “You'll regret this, Malfoy,” he growled, his voice laced with spite.

Draco's smile widened, a glint of mischief dancing in his grey eyes. “Oh, I highly doubt that,” he replied smoothly. “But by all means, feel free to try and make me.”

McLaggen's face twisted with anger, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, but he stalked away from Draco, knowing that he was defeated.

As he watched the Gyffindor scurry away, Draco became aware of Theo's presence. His boyfriend, who had been talking to the Carrow twins, reached out to gently touch the arm that had been forcefully grabbed by McLaggen. “Are you okay, Draco?” he asked with genuine concern written on his face.

Draco's tension melted away at Theo's comforting presence. “I'm fine, Theo,” he replied in a gentle tone. “Just a minor inconvenience.”

Theo's concerned gaze lingered on Draco for a moment longer, searching for any signs of hidden distress, his thumb rubbing soothingly against Draco's arm, but eventually he nodded, satisfied with whatever he found in Draco's eyes.

The whole affair had drawn the attention of others but while most of the room was looking at Draco with something akin to respect, Potter, stood just a few feet away from him, was staring at his left arm. His emerald eyes flickered with a hint of recognition, as if he had noticed something significant, and he turned to whisper something to Granger. She shook her head slightly, her brow furrowed in confusion, leaving Draco to wonder just what Potter thought he had discovered.

Theo glanced at Draco, sensing his unease. “Ignore them,” he whispered in Draco's ear, his voice steady and reassuring. “Let's find Blaise and go back to the common room.”

Draco nodded, grateful for Theo's steady presence and the distraction it provided. Ignoring Potter's curious gaze, he followed Theo through the crowded room, their steps purposeful and determined. They extracted a grateful Blaise from Slughorn's clutches, telling the smarmy teacher that they were needed by their Head of House before curfew, and hurriedly made their way out of the crowded room and down the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts.

“Salazar,” Blaise sighed as he collapsed into a chair in the common room. “I'm never doing that again.”

Draco sank onto the sofa across from Blaise, glad to be away from the prying eyes of the Slug Club. He cast a quick glance at Theo, who had taken up a spot next to him, and noticed a flash of concern in his lover's eyes.

“I don't think the Slug Club is exactly our scene,” Draco said, his voice filled with exhaustion. “I can't believe McLaggen had the audacity to corner me like that.”

Blaise let out a tired chuckle. “You've always had a knack for attracting trouble, Draco. I blame the Black family genes.”

Draco rolled his eyes but couldn't help but smile at Blaise's attempt to lighten the mood. “Oh yes, McLaggen can't keep his hands to himself because of my impeccable bloodline. Very astute, Blaise.”

Blaise just snorted in reply before relaxing in the chair and closing his eyes.

Theo leaned back against the sofa, his gaze thoughtful as he interlaced his fingers with Draco's. “I think McLaggen was simply trying to rattle you,” he said softly. “His uncle must have told him about what happened over the summer and now he's trying to gain some power over you.”

Draco nodded, grateful for Theo's calming presence. “Yes, well, he certainly succeeded in getting under my skin,” he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration.

Theo squeezed Draco's hand reassuringly. “Don't let him get to you,” he said. “We'll figure out a way to deal with McLaggen. He won't be a problem for long.”

Draco's lips twitched into a small smile as he looked at Theo.

Blaise watched the exchange between them with a fond smile before standing up from his chair. “Well, while you two engage in your lovey-dovey staring contest, I am going to bed. It has been a long day and I need some sleep.”

“We should all go to bed,” Theo suggested but Draco shook his head.

“You two go,” he said. “I'll join you shortly. I just need a moment alone.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by Draco's words. “Are you sure?”

Draco nodded. “Yes, I just need a moment to collect my thoughts.”

“Well, don't go wandering into the Forbidden Forest or anything,” Blaise joked. Laughing at his own words, Blaise bid them goodnight before making his way up to the dormitory. Theo hesitated for a moment, his concern evident in his eyes, but ultimately, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Draco's forehead.

“Take your time,” he whispered. “I'll be waiting for you.”

As Theo left the common room, Draco's gaze followed him until he disappeared from sight.

Little did Blaise know, Draco did need to go into the Forbidden Forest that night. The full moon beckoned.

☿

The full moon loomed in the sky, its light casting a silver glow over the dense thicket of the Forbidden Forest. Draco's polished shoes made faint crunching sounds as he moved through the underbrush, his eyes darting around keenly. He needed to collect the final ingredients for the ritual.

“Blackthorn first,” he muttered, his breath visible in the chill air. He approached a twisted tree with sharp branches and dark fruit that threatened to prick his skin. But with practiced ease, he plucked the berries and dropped them into a worn leather pouch at his side.

Next came the Scottish primrose, delicate and elusive in the moonlight. Draco knelt and carefully gathered the ghostly petals, his fingers almost reverent in their touch.

His progress was slow and precise as he moved through the forest, collecting white deadnettle and bitter-vetch along the way.

A vine of ground ivy twisted and snaked its way across Draco's path, its vibrant green leaves shimmering with dew. With a whispered word and a flick of his wand, he severed a small, branched section of the vine.

“Selfheal and rowan,” he murmured as he searched, allowing himself to contemplate their properties of protection and strength. With the final ingredient in hand, Draco turned back, now familiar with the path leading to the stone circle that awaited him.

As he entered the hallowed space, he could feel the hum of magick beneath his feet. His own magick, present through spilt blood, melding with the magick of the earth.

“Almost complete,” he told the night, kneeling in the centre of the stones. The ritual knife—a silver flash against the darkness—was in his hand, and with a fluid motion, he cast a wordless spell. A length of his platinum hair grew rapidly, cascading down to his shoulder.

“Let this be my offering,” Draco said solemnly, lifting the blade. A cut, clean and precise, severed the elongated lock. He tied it together with the vine of ground ivy before letting it fall to the ground, a pale sacrifice atop the earthen altar.

Draco's hands were steady as he placed each sacred item into a plain wooden box he had brought with him just for this purpose. The moonlight cast long shadows across the clearing, and the stones stood silent, guardians witnessing his solemn act. He arranged the early fruit of the Blackthorn in one corner, its dark juices staining the pale wood. Beside it, he nestled the delicate flowers of the Scottish primrose, their petals still dew-kissed from the night.

“Oh, great Mother,” Draco began, his voice a hushed murmur that carried on the cool air, “hear my plea.”

He layered the white deadnettle leaves next, careful to avoid their sting, followed by the bitter-vetch, which added an earthy aroma to the box. With precise movements, he placed sprigs of selfheal and the feathery rowan leaves atop the pile. Lastly, with a reverence that surprised even himself, he laid down the lock of his own hair, a personal offering—a piece of his essence.

“Let these elements be the bones of our pact,” he continued, closing his eyes to focus on his intentions. “Bless this land that has cradled us, the stones that have borne witness to ages, and the intentions I lay before you.”

His fingers traced the symbols carved upon the box's lid—circles intertwining with lines, the geometry of magic—as he sealed the contents within. Draco knelt, placing the box before him, feeling the pulse of the earth beneath his knees.

“Grant your strength to the ritual we shall perform. Infuse these offerings with your sacred power, so that our wills may align,” he whispered, his breath visible in the night's chill.

“Accept this sacrifice,” he intoned, opening his eyes to gaze once more upon the stone circle.

He began to dig with his hands at the centre of the circle, the earth cold and yielding to his touch. Clumps of soil tumbled aside, revealing a hollow where the box would rest for the next moon cycle—entombed, yet alive with potential.

“By soil and stone, may this bond be sealed,” he said, as he placed the box in the pit. The act felt final, resolute. Every handful of dirt he scattered over the wooden lid marked not an ending, but a beginning—the commencement of something profound.

“Until the appointed hour,” Draco vowed softly, standing back to admire the unblemished surface of the burial site. He knew the depth of commitment required for what was to come. He felt it in his marrow; an ancestral call borne of blood and magick.

This was the last time he would stand within the sacred space before the ritual; the next time he crossed its threshold, things would change.  

Chapter Text

The end of October arrived in the blink of an eye.

Mornings turned crisp and the leaves had started to change, painting the school grounds with splashes of red, orange, and gold. Things at Hogwarts had settled into a steady rhythm, even for Draco, and he found himself immersed in the familiar routine of classes, meals, and the occasional Quidditch practice.

Little offered him a break from routine, until an origami raven landed in front of him one evening during dinner.

“Have you been summoned?” Blaise asked lazily, sounding as bored as Draco felt.

“Obviously,” Draco drawled, his tone mirroring their Head of House's almost perfectly. If Severus had heard him, the man would surely hex him, but Draco couldn't resist showing off his perfect impression. With a flick of his wrist, he unfolded the parchment.

Tea, my office, after dinner. Do not be late.

- S

Pansy's voice was filled with impatience as she asked, “Well, is everything alright?”

Draco let out a low hum before responding, “It's just an invite for tea,” he replied offendedly. “My schedule has been hectic lately, making it hard to find time to talk. On top of that, Professor Slughorn seems to have made a habit of showing up during our meetings about my Potions project, becoming quite the nuisance, so I haven't made anywhere near as much progress as I expected to.” His tone held a hint of annoyance at the interruption caused by the meddling professor.

“Does he still want you to change your project?” Greg asked sympathetically, having listened to several of Draco's rants about Slughorn's unwanted input.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Draco sighed. “Apparently, altering the Calming Draught so that it can be safely used during pregnancy is not, oh, how did he put it, innovative enough for his taste,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “But that is beside the point.” He waved a dismissive hand before continuing, “If Professor Snape and I discuss anything important, I will let you know.”

His friends nodded in understanding, their curiosity temporarily satisfied, and returned their attention to their food and own conversations. Pansy drew him into a discussion of the latest Muggle novel she'd read, successfully distracting him for the rest of the meal as she complained about the unnecessary love triangle the author had thrown in.

☿

As the sky darkened, Draco made his way through the quiet halls of Hogwarts towards Severus' office. His godfather had left the Great Hall a few minutes earlier, his black robes billowing behind him like a spectre, but Draco had lingered, waiting for his friends to finish their meal.

When he finally arrived at the door, the portrait of the alchemist gave him a brief greeting before swinging open to reveal the entrance to Severus' private quarters. The room was shrouded in a dim light and the shelves lined with potion bottles and ancient tomes. His office was a testament to Severus' unyielding dedication to his craft.

Draco took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scents that greeted him as he entered the room – the faint aroma of parchment mingled with the sharp tang of dried herbs. It was comforting, like coming home after a long journey. This was a safe haven, a place where he could escape from the weight of expectations and responsibilities that burdened him.

Closing the door behind him, Draco heard the faint sounds of tea-making coming from the adjoining room. As he made his way into the cozy sitting area, he found Severus standing by a small table, pouring steaming tea into delicate porcelain cups. The soft glow from the flickering fireplace illuminated the room, casting warm shadows on the well-worn armchairs and overflowing bookshelves.

Severus looked up at Draco with unwavering warmth in his dark eyes. “Come, Draco,” he said in a low, soothing voice. “Sit down and enjoy your tea.”

Draco sank into one of the plush armchairs, its cushions enveloping him in a comforting embrace. He took the cup that Severus offered him, feeling the warmth of the tea seeping into his cold fingertips. The fragrant aroma filled his senses and he took a sip, feeling the tension in his body melt away like ice under a warm sun.

In a comfortable silence, they sat together, the simple act of sipping tea bringing a sense of calm. Draco's keen eyes studied his godfather, tracing the lines etched on Severus' face. The weariness that seemed to permanently linger there was offset by the quiet resilience in his gaze.

As Draco placed his empty cup delicately on the small table beside him, Severus broke the peaceful stillness with his soft voice. “I imagine you must be wondering why I requested your presence for tea,” he began with a wry smile. “I simply wished to check on how you are managing with your demanding schedule this year.”

“And to spend some quality time with your beloved godson?” Draco asked, a sly smile on his.

“Of course,” Severus replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Though I must admit, the chaos of the new school year has made it challenging to find these moments.”

“I am grateful for you making the time,” Draco said sincerely. “It's been quite overwhelming lately, trying to balance everything.”

Severus settled back in his chair, studying Draco intently. “How have your classes been? I know you are excelling Defence Against the Dark Arts and Professor Flitwick speaks highly of your skills in Charms, but I have not had the chance to speak with your other teachers.”

Draco couldn't help but internally cringe at the mention of Defence Against the Dark Arts, knowing that he was struggling to master the Patronus Charm. Nevertheless, he launched into a detailed account of his classes – the intellectual challenges presented by Advanced Arithmancy and the intricate Transfiguration spells that demanded his utmost concentration, Binns' monotonous lectures and the captivating history behind Ancient Runes. One by one, he went through each subject until he reached Potions.

“Potions has been fine,” he grumbled, his voice low and bitter. “Slughorn is a decent teacher but his methods are outdated and he clearly favours Potter.” As Draco spoke, he couldn't help but notice Severus settling further into his chair, as if bracing himself for one of Draco's infamous rants. But Draco paid him no mind as he continued to vent about his frustrations about Potter.

“He seems to have somehow learned some of your techniques,” Draco lamented, his brow furrowing in annoyance. “It's infuriating! I've spent years honing my skills, and now that imbecile has managed to match me step for step. He acts as if he has an innate understanding of the subtleties and nuances that make Potions an art form, when I know full well that he's useless at the subject.”

Severus leaned forward, his expression grave. “Draco, imitation is not the same as mastery. And besides, even if Potter attempts to emulate the methods I use outside of teaching, it takes years of practice and dedication to truly excel in the art of potion-making.”

“That doesn't seem to matter to Slughorn,” Draco grumbled, sinking further into his seat with a defeated slump.

“Slughorn is a fool,” Severus replied with a touch of disdain. “He is easily swayed by fame and fortune, but fears those who possess a strong will and an independent mind. His favouritism towards Potter does not reflect badly on you, either as a wizard or as a scholar.”

Draco sighed again, pouring himself another cup of tea as he mulled over Severus's words. He didn't love the fact that Slughorn favoured Potter so obviously in class but he knew that Severus was right. He didn't even want Slughorn's attention, the man would cause him nothing but problems, but his rivalry with Potter had clouded his thoughts again.

“And what of Alchemy?” Severus prodded. “You haven't mentioned it at all since the start of the school year.”

Draco felt his body grow stiff with unease and his grip tightened around his tea cup, fingertips paling where they pressed into the porcelain.

“Alchemy has been a challenge,” he admitted with a shiver. “My essays are coming along well, but Professor Talleyrand-Périgord is an enigma, to say the least.” Even as he spoke, the air felt heavy with some unseen tension. Draco fixed his gaze onto the fire in front of him, unable to look at Severus. “He refuses to explain why he offered to teach me,” he continued, frustration evident in his tone, “and sometimes, I get the distinct feeling that he's waiting for something to happen.” He let out a weary sigh, his brows furrowed in deep thought. “I cannot truly explain this feeling, but he leaves me on edge and I find myself constantly questioning his motives.”

Draco's attention was drawn back to his godfather as he heard Severus set down his own tea cup, the cup rattling on the saucer. “I have uncovered very little information about the man,” he admitted. “Although the Talleyrand-Périgords have assured your mother that he is simply eccentric and poses no threat, they cannot deny that no one has seen nor heard from him in several decades.” This shocked Draco. He thought that the man was no older than forty, a similar age to Severus, but clearly he was wrong. Severus paused, picking up his tea once again before looking Draco directly in the eye. “I must caution you to be careful and vigilant in your interactions with Professor Talleyrand-Périgord,” he advised, his voice tinged with concern. “I do not share the feeling of unease that you have experienced, but now that you are tapping into the Malfoi family magick, it is crucial to trust your instincts.”

He nodded, taking his godfather's cautionary words to heart. Unconsciously, his hand came up to his throat and his thumb stroked across the rough wood of the pendant he wore.

The conversation lingered in the air, the weight of uncertainty settling upon them like a heavy fog. Draco stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace until Severus steered their conversation in a new direction.

“Tell me,” Severus began, his voice softening, “are you finding any solace in your extracurricular activities? I know you have been dedicating a significant amount of time to Quidditch but is there anything else that has caught your attention recently?”

Draco hesitated for a moment, considering whether he should discuss the contents of his aunt Bellatrix's Gringotts vault or the box had captured his attention at Dervish and Banges, but he decided to focus on something more light-hearted. It would do him no good to have Severus watching his every move if he knew that Draco was, potentially, interacting with Dark objects.

“Actually,” Draco began with a small smirk playing at his lips, “a group of third years have banded together to form their own duelling club. I've been taking on the role of mentor, teaching them all the tricks and tactics that my mother has taught me over the years.” The corners of his mouth turned up further, betraying his enjoyment in sharing this information, and Severus looked at him fondly.

“Do remember that I know exactly what Narcissa has taught you, Draco. If they start flaying each over alive, I will know who to blame.”

Draco grinned at him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I promise, Severus, I won't teach them anything that could get them expelled.”

There was a rare warmth in Severus’ eyes as he looked at Draco. “Well, brat, I suppose that's the best I can hope for,” he drawled. “Just ensure you keep a watchful eye on them. We don’t need any unnecessary accidents or injuries.”

“As the hours passed, they fell into a steady rhythm of conversation. Draco found solace in opening up to Severus, expressing his frustrations and triumphs with honesty and vulnerability. In return, Severus offered guidance and reassurance, his wisdom like a soothing balm for Draco's troubled mind. They discussed the upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, Draco's confidence shining through as he assured his godfather of their inevitable victory, and they delved into the complexities of Draco's Potions project, each detail carefully dissected and analysed.

The evening wore on and their conversation shifted again as Severus spoke of his recent meetings with Voldemort.

Draco leaned forward, completely engrossed in Severus's words. His heart raced as he listened to the dangerous world that his godfather navigated, all for the sake of protecting the world in which they lived.

“The Dark Lord's plans are escalating,” Severus revealed, his voice low and cautious. “There have been murmurs of an attack on Hogsmeade as a warning to Dumbledore but nothing has been confirmed as of yet. Do be careful when you visit the village, Draco. He already has eyes on you and your mother, and the last thing we need is to draw any unwanted attention after what happened at the beginning of the summer.”

That made Draco pause and think back to the man who had been watching them in Diagon Alley. Had he been following them on the orders of the Dark Lord?

Shaking his head as if to dispel these thoughts, Draco expressed his concerns to Severus about the state of his relationship with the Dark Lord. “Did you face any consequences after he was removed from the Manor?” he asked, worried.

Severus took a moment before responding, his expression distant as he carefully chose his words. “The Dark Lord was displeased, as expected,” he admitted with a sigh. “But my loyalty to him has always been a precarious dance. He values my skills and knowledge too much to cast me aside completely. For now, I remain in his favour and his inner circle, but there is no telling how long that will last.”

Draco nodded understandingly, fully aware of the delicate balance his godfather had to maintain.

The clock chimed, signalling that it was nine o’clock. Curfew.

Draco stood up from his seat, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “I should be heading back to my dormitory,” he said, his voice filled with reluctance.

Severus nodded, placing his tea cup on the table in front of him. “I expect to see you for tea once per week from now on, Draco,” he said. “Narcissa has been sending me letter after letter reminding me to look after you. Do write to her more often, if only so that she writes to me less.”

Draco laughed, a bright sound in the darkened room. He could imagine the chiding tone of his mother’s letters to Severus. He’d received similar letters from her over the years and he delighted in the fact that Severus received them too. “I will,” he promised with a wide smile. “I’ll write to Mother at least twice a week.”

With their goodbyes exchanged, Draco made his way through the empty corridors of Hogwarts, the weight of the evening's conversation heavy on his mind. The castle seemed eerily quiet, the only sound accompanying his footsteps being the distant echoes of other students returning to their dormitories.

☿

Two days later, Draco made his way to Alchemy with his latest essay rolled up in his bag. His homework had been to write a response to John Dee's Monas Hieroglyphica along with an exploration of Dee's esoteric symbol, which had been a daunting but exciting challenge. Despite never discussing his Alchemy classes with anyone, not even Theo, he did enjoy them. He just didn’t understand the dread the settled in the pit of his stomach at the beginning and end of each class, a feeling that was replicated any time he saw his teacher walking around the castle grounds. Discussing this subject would lead to too many questions and he did not have any answers to offer people.

As Draco entered the classroom, Professor Talleyrand-Périgord was already there, engrossed in examining a glass vial filled with a shimmering liquid. The room had changed since the beginning of the year and was now adorned with various paraphernalia related to alchemy - books stacked high on shelves, intricate diagrams hanging on the walls, and delicate instruments scattered across the tables. It seemed like the professor had finally settled in.

Not wanting to disturb the professor's concentration, Draco quietly took his seat and began to unpack his bag.

After what felt like an eternity, Professor Talleyrand-Périgord finally looked up from the vial and noticed Draco sitting there. His eyes were sharp and calculating, studying Draco with a wry smile that curled at the corners of his mouth. He strode over to the young Slytherin with a purposeful gait, his long robes billowing behind him.

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy,” he said in a low, silky voice. “Today we will be focusing on some of the more basic practical aspects of alchemy. You will not be attempting them yourself but I have prepared some demonstrations for you to observe. I trust you will pay close attention. But before we proceed, I must ask for your essay.”

Draco handed over his essay and watched as the professor locked it in the drawer of his desk.

“Now, follow me and we can begin,” the professor announced, leading Draco into the concealed room at the back of the classroom where various alchemical implements were laid out.

With a fluid, almost hypnotic motion of his slender hands, the professor began to unveil the array of intricate tools laid out before them. The deftness and precision with which he moved each instrument spoke volumes about his expertise and mastery in the subject. Every action was deliberate and calculated, showcasing the professor's extensive knowledge and skill.

As Draco watched in awe, he couldn't help but notice the deftness and precision with which his teacher handled each tool. It was evident that every action was deliberate and calculated, showcasing not only the professor's expertise, but also his passion for the subject.

And as he began to explain, Draco found himself enthralled by the professor's voice – it ebbed and flowed like a symphony, filling the room with an infectious energy. His genuine love for the subject was palpable in every word he spoke, captivating his student's attention.

Time seemed to slip away as Draco watched every move with rapt attention. He couldn't believe how seamlessly the professor executed each technique, showcasing his years of experience and dedication to his craft.

As their lesson continued, Draco's initial doubts and suspicions slowly dissolved and he found himself eagerly asking questions and absorbing every bit of knowledge from this brilliant wizard. The man standing before him was not some nefarious figure hiding behind a facade of knowledge; he was a passionate educator who genuinely cared about his field of study. Perhaps he had unfairly judged the professor all this time. Maybe there was nothing dubious or suspicious about him after all.

Yet, as they made their way back to the empty classroom, the uneasy feeling that plagued him around his enigmatic teacher returned. He knew, in the back of his mind, that this happened every week. While he was teaching, Draco would be drawn into the professor's world and his worries would vanish, but as soon as the lesson stopped, Draco's supicions would return. It was like his rational mind was screaming at him, telling him not to trust the man who stood before him, but his curiosty and thirst for knowledge were swayed by Talleyrand-Périgord's charismatic presence.

He felt so out of control and he hated it.

As he settled back into his seat to pack away his things, he watched Professor Talleyrand-Périgord move gracefully to the front of the classroom. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else lurking beneath the surface of this seemingly mild man. He was nothing compared to the Dark Lord, that Draco would admit, but something wasn't right.

Perhaps it was in the way Professor Talleyrand-Périgord observed him, his gaze lingering just a moment too long, or the subtle flicker of his eyes when certain topics were brought up, as if he knew more than he let on.

The professor turned on his heel to look at Draco, expression serious and intense for a split second before softening into a warm, open smile.

“Mr. Malfoy, I must say that you are progressing wonderfully on your alchemical journey. Your enthusiasm is commendable,” he began. “But there is no rest for the wicked, as they say!” He placed a heavy book on Draco's desk. It was old, probably too old to be handled in such a manner, and it emitted that woody, earthy scent that Draco loved so much. “Your homework for this week is to read and analyse George Ripley's The Compound of Alchymy. Any questions?”

Draco hesitated for a moment. He did want to ask when they'd start practical lessons, as he was beginning to grow tired of merely reading and watching, but he also wanted to leave the classroom as soon as possible. Eventually, he shook his head. “No, professor.”

“Excellent,” Professor Talleyrand-Périgord replied before dismissing Draco. “Blessings upon your Samhain celebrations this evening, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Will you be joining us?” Draco inquired, unsure as to what he wanted the professor's answer to be.

Professor Talleyrand-Périgord gave him a smile that he could only describe as brittle. “No, Mr. Malfoy.”

His words hung in the air, suspended by their unusual tone and the discomfort they produced, but it was clear that the conversation was over and so, with a solitary nod, Draco left the alchemy classroom, bag hastily slung over one shoulder and robes in disarry.

As he made his way out into the corridor, he felt the man's eyes burning into his back. He did his best to ignore it but Draco knew that he needed to find out more about Henri Talleyrand-Périgord.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall was alive with Hallowe'en celebrations upon his arrival, the room adorned with lavish decorations of carved pumpkins and flickering candles. However, for those who followed the Old Ways, including his own Slytherin housemates, the true celebration would begin after dinner.

It always irked Draco that Halloween took precedence at Hogwarts. A Muggle holiday should never have been given more importance than their traditional practices. Of course, Dumbledore disapproved of Samhain, but the school governors had forced him to allow the ritual to happen on school grounds, as long as it was overseen by a teacher. In the past, only students from Slytherin house had participated in the organised ritual, with Severus supervising, and this left Draco wondering whether other students practiced in private, unwilling to mingle with Slytherin House, or whether they avoided the ritual altogether, terrified of being labelled a Dark witch or wizard.

He held onto a sliver of hope that this year would be different, but deep down he knew it was unlikely. He had asked Luna to join them, which had earned him a puzzled glance from Pansy at the time, but he couldn't be sure if she would actually come along.

Before dinner, Draco, along with several of the older Slytherin students, had performed an initial candle-lighting ceremony in the dormitory as the sun began to set, with the rest of the Slytherin students gathering around to observe, but the main ritual would not take place until much later in the evening, close to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

He sat at the Slytherin table, picking at his dinner absentmindedly. Samhain was a truly special night in their calendar, the death of the old year and the beginning of the new, a time to remember those who had been lost and celebrate their lives, but there was no sign of it in the Great Hall. He glanced around, wondering how many Muggleborn students were unaware of why the magic in their blood sung on nights such as these. He noticed Luna sat at the Ravenclaw table, gems of green and blue woven into her hair as symbols of her ties to the Lovegood and the Malfoy families. How many of her classmates knew that tonight she would celebrate the life of her mother with offerings of food, magic, and blood?

Over at the Gryffindor table, Longbottom looked particularly nervous. Draco knew the Longbottom family followed the Old Ways but families like the Weasleys deemed their practices dark. Some would even call them evil. Would Longbottom recite the sacred rites as the veil between worlds thinned? Or would he shy away, fearing judgment and ostracisation from his Gryffindor friends?

Dismissing the thought, Draco returned to his food and cleared his mind. Once he took his seat on the Wizengamot, he could attempt to redress the balance at Hogwarts but he could do little at this point.

☿

The air was cool as Draco stepped out into the night.

“Keep up,” he called back to a gaggle of younger Slytherins trailing behind him. The edge of the Forbidden Forest loomed ahead, its dark silhouette pressing against the night sky.

“Draco,” Severus’ voice cut through the silence. He stood near an unlit bonfire, his black robes blending with the shadows.

“Professor,” Draco acknowledged with a nod as he neared him.

If they had been celebrating at home, this would be a much less formal affair but Samhain fell during the school year and, as such, forced them obey by school rules. Draco could only hope that his mother had found a way to celebrate appropriately, what with both Draco and Severus being at Hogwarts, and Lucius being in Azkaban. She was so isolated and broke Draco’s heart to think about her alone at the Manor. Her letters had assured him that she would be fine, that she had plans, but she had not revealed them to him.

The younger students of the Slytherin house, all dressed in their signature green and silver robes, followed Draco's lead and gave a respectful nod to Professor Snape as they made their way towards the rest of their housemates. The group had formed a tight circle around the unlit pyre, faces sombre under the light of the moon. Draco found his place next to Theo, their shoulders touching as they waited for the ritual to begin.

It was silent, the only noises were the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance. It felt as though the entire forest was holding its breath.

Draco watched Severus take a headcount in preparation to start the ritual before he looked around at the group gathered. Only Slytherin students. Again.

He had hoped that Luna would join them, at the very least, since they would be honouring some of the same ancestors but Draco did not truly know how Luna celebrated Samhain. Perhaps she followed the Lovegood traditions, whatever they were, or perhaps she followed her own. Either way, there was only a sea of green and black robes around the wooden pyre.

Draco was just glad that all of the Slytherin students had joined this year, even the first-year Muggleborn students. Samhain was about family, either blood or found, and magic but they should not be separated by magical heritage.

Suddenly, footsteps could be heard approaching from behind them.

“Hello, Draco.” Luna's lilting Devon accent caught Draco off guard as she greeted him with a smile. The gems woven into her hair sparkled in the moonlight. “I hope we're not too late,” she said.

Behind her were several other students wearing Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff robes. He recognised Susan Bones and remembered their brief conversation from the beginning of the year. She clearly was as open-minded as she claimed to be.

One lone Gryffindor stood out from the crowd. Longbottom had joined them, nerves perhaps soothed by Luna's calming presence, but he shifted his weight nervously as he watched the cousins interact.

“No, Luna, you're exactly on time,” Draco said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He motioned for her and the other students to join them by the bonfire, gesturing for the Slytherin students to make space. Luna took a spot beside Draco, while Longbottom stood vigilantly on her other side, purposefully avoiding any eye contact with Draco.

“Now,” Severus drawled, capturing the attention of every student present. “I will lead you through the ritual.”

With a wave of his wand, the bonfire burst into the flame. Some of the younger students gasped and murmurs broke out across the group.

The crackle of it was a living thing, its voice rising and falling with the wind that swept across the Hogwarts grounds. Draco felt the heat on his face, an almost tangible companion to the quiet anticipation that churned in his gut. He stood in the circle formed by his peers, a coven of young witches and wizards bound by tradition and the veil-thin barrier between worlds on this Samhain night.

Professor Snape stepped out of the circle, holding a wooden bowl in his hands. He visited them one by one, presenting them with a bowl filled with stones of all shapes and sizes, each one intended to be an offering to the flames.

“Remember, hold your stones with reverence,” Snape's voice cut through the murmur of the crowd, dark and low. His black eyes met each student's gaze as he allowed them to choose their talisman for the evening.

Draco reached out when it was his turn, his hand steady. The stone he chose seemed to call to him, oval and so deeply black it drank in the firelight. It fit into the palm of his hand as if it had been waiting for him all along.

“Good choice,” Theo murmured from beside him, his own stone slightly rougher than his own.

“Quiet,” Pansy hissed playfully, her elbow finding Theo's ribs. Her excitement was palpable, even as she feigned nonchalance.

Luna, standing on Draco's other side, hummed lightly, an odd tune that somehow harmonized with the crackling of the fire. She held her stone up to the light, peering through it as though it held secrets only she could discern.

“Let us begin,” Snape announced, and the circle tightened slightly around the bonfire.

The circle of students stood with bated breath as they prepared for the next step of the ritual. Draco could feel the weight of the ritual knife in his robe pocket, waiting to be used, and at Severus’ signal, he withdrew it from his robes. This knife, bearing the Malfoy and Black crests, had been a gift from Draco’s grandfather Abraxas before he passed away. It was not the knife he had used to prepare the stone circle in the Forbidden Forest – that was a Black family heirloom – but this knife symbolised the main lines of Draco’s heritage.

“Remember, it needn't be deep,” Snape murmured to one of the first year Muggleborn students who looked apprehensive, his voice low as he drew a slender silver knife from his pocket. “A single drop will do.”

From the corner of his eye, Draco could see Luna, her movements serene and deliberate, unsheathing a small, ornate knife. Longbottom, looking slightly paler than usual, fumbled with a spell under his breath. Pansy watched them all with an air of practiced nonchalance, though her fingers trembled ever so slightly as she held her own dagger.

“Blood of my blood,” Draco whispered, almost inaudibly, pressed the tip of his knife to his finger. A bead of crimson surfaced on his index finger, a stark contrast to his pale skin. He pressed the droplet against the obsidian-like surface of the stone, and it seemed to drink in the offering, gleaming where the blood touched.

“Abraxas and Hélène,” he breathed out, invoking the names of his grandparents—pillars of strength and ambition in the Malfoy lineage. “Druella and Cygnus.”

One by one, the students stepped forward and cast their stones into the heart of the bonfire. Draco watched as his stone arced through the air.

The moment the stones met the flames, the bonfire roared higher, its light intensifying. Magic crackled in the air, a tangible force that raised the hairs on Draco's arms. He watched, transfixed, as plumes of smoke twirled upwards, carrying their offerings to realms unseen. Within the writhing tendrils, Draco imagined he could see faces form and fade—the approving gazes of ancestors long passed.

The fire's glow settled into a steady burn and the magical smoke dissipated into the night sky. Severus stepped forward. He lifted his arms and the students fell silent, their faces bathed in anticipation and firelight.

“Children of magic,” Severus began, his voice carrying over the crowd, “tonight we gather under this sacred bonfire to honour the ancient traditions of our ancestors. We ask the Mother to bless those who have passed on into the next life and grant us her wisdom and guidance in our lives.”

Severus' words hung in the air, carried by the gentle breeze that rustled through the trees.

“We also offer thanks to those who have come before us,” Severus continued, “for their sacrifices and teachings that have allowed our magic to thrive and grow stronger with each passing generation. Now,” Severus said, lowering his arms, “let us take a moment to reflect on our own journey thus far. Think of those who have helped shape us into who we are today—our families, our friends, our teachers—and hold them in your hearts as we offer our gratitude.”

The students closed their eyes, allowing themselves to slip into a world of memories and nostalgia. Draco's mind wandered back to his childhood, filled with lingering recollections of his beloved grandparents. He could still picture the way his grandmother Hélène’s vibrant blue eyes sparkled as she read his tea leaves, and the way his grandfather Abraxas' mischievous grin lit up his face as they raced their brooms through the grand corridors of the Manor. His thoughts then drifted to the London town house, Grimmauld Place, where he would spend hours tracing his proud lineage on the Black family tree. In his mind's eye, he could see his grandfather Cygnus standing behind him, regaling him with tales of long-deceased ancestors and their legendary deeds while his grandmother Druella corrected him when he strayed too far from the truth.

As the silence stretched on, a warm glow spread through Draco's chest, filling him with an overwhelming sense of love and appreciation. He opened his eyes to see that Severus was now walking around the bonfire, sprinkling herbs into the flames while chanting softly under his breath.

The scent of sage filled the air as Severus completed his ritualistic circuit around the fire. When he reached Draco again, he nodded at him solemnly before stepping back into place in the circle.

“May this offering be received by those who watch over us,” Severus said, his voice echoing through the clearing. “May it grant us their guidance and protection, so that we may continue to walk the path of magic with strength and honour.”

The students repeated Severus' final words, their voices blending together in a harmonious chant that rose into the night sky. Draco closed his eyes once more, feeling the weight of his ancestors' presence surround him. He could almost hear their whispers on the wind, a chorus of encouragement and love.

Severus nodded, satisfied, and gestured for them to disperse and celebrate.

As they split off, the atmosphere shifted, becoming lighter, almost effervescent. Laughter mingled with the crackle of the bonfire and Draco found himself pulled into the revelry by Theo, who touched his waist gently as he guided him towards a group of students who had started an impromptu dance near the Black Lake.

“Come on, Draco. Time to prove that Slytherins can have fun too,” Theo teased.

Draco's eyes crinkled at the edges as he let out a genuine laugh, his lips lifting into a bright smile that illuminated his face. His usually rigid posture relaxed as he allowed himself to be drawn into Theo's infectious enthusiasm, joining him in the dance.

The students around them swirled and twirled, their bodies fluid and graceful as if they were extensions of the magic that enveloped them. Music filtered through the air from a place Draco could not see, a waltz, and the melody wove its way around him, luring him deeper into the enchanting dance.

Theo led, gracefully manoeuvring Draco through the intricate steps of the waltz. They moved in perfect synchronisation, guided by the years of dance training under the watchful eyes of their mothers, and each step was executed with flawless grace.

Blaise suddenly cut between Draco and Theo, whisking Theo away with a sly wink, and Daphne seamlessly stepped in to take his place.

At first, Draco stumbled in surprise at the sudden change in partners, but Daphne effortlessly matched his movements as they danced together. The soft rustle of leaves and whispered secrets of the night air filled Draco's ears as they spun, lost in the momentary escape from reality.

But just as the music reached its crescendo, Pansy gracefully entered Draco's arms, her presence instantly commanding his attention. She took over as his dance partner with ease, leaving Daphne free to join Millie in their own playful waltz.

He looked over towards Theo, who was now dancing with a fourth-year Ravenclaw, and he grinned with he caught Theo’s gaze.

Draco changed partners again and again and again, the music swelling and ebbing, until, finally, he found himself back in Theo's arms. They twirled, taking turns to lead one another, until their feet hurt. Soon, however, Draco found himself swept away by Tracey, and the dance continued.

As the night wore on, Draco eventually tired of dancing and found himself drawn to Luna's side. With his friends following closely behind, he watched with amusement as she eagerly bobbed for apples, her golden hair dripping with water as she emerged from the barrel victorious with an apple clenched triumphantly between her teeth.

“Join us, Draco,” she said, her voice muffled by the apple. She took a bite, chewing carefully. “It's quite liberating.”

Draco glanced at Theo and Blaise, who exchanged mischievous grins before nodding in agreement. It had been far too long since they had done something so delightfully childish.

He joined Luna and the others at the barrel, plunging his face into the water as he attempted to catch an apple with his teeth.

As he resurfaced, his wet hair clinging to his forehead, Draco found himself being cheered on by Pansy and Blaise. Their voices blended with Luna's melodic giggles as Greg and Millie took their places at another barrel.

Theo, always eager to take on a challenge, strode confidently towards Draco and settled into the spot next to him. They both plunged their heads into the barrel of water, bubbles rising up around them as they searched for the elusive apple. It was Theo who emerged victorious, his teeth clamped firmly around the crimson fruit but in a bold move, Draco leaned forward and took a bite from the same apple, held steady by Theo's teeth. As they stood mere inches apart, Draco could see the tiny brown specks in Theo's piercing blue eyes as they widened in surprise. A mischievous grin played on his face as he polished off the stolen bite, but before Theo could retaliate, he quickly danced out of reach with a playful smirk on his lips.

“Attention,” Snape commanded, his voice cutting through the joyous commotion. The students immediately fell silent, their faces turning serious as they turned their attention back to their professor. “Now we will return to the Great Hall and conclude with the final candle ceremony. Follow me.”

Draco fell into step behind Severus, the remnants of his stolen apple still lingering on his tongue. The atmosphere shifted once again, a solemnity settling over the students as they made their way back to the Great Hall.

They filed into the grand room. It had altered so much since dinner. Every single Hallowe’en decoration had been removed, there was not a single pumpkin in sight, and now there were only two tables within the hall. One was covered with unlit candles and the other with a feast worth of food. The food wasn’t for them, however. It was for their ancestors. Places had been set with dishes requested by each student.

Draco scanned the table until he spotted what he was seeking. A portion of apple crumble for his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, soupe à l'oignon for his grandmother, Hélène Malfoy, a roast beef sandwich that he often shared with his grandfather Cygnus by the pond at their Yorkshire home, and chicken paprikash for his grandmother Druella – a dish she often reminisced about from her childhood travels in Hungary.

“I chose Dirigible Plum plum pudding for my mother,” Luna said, pointing towards a bowl of fruit pudding, the orange juice staining the porcelain. “She thought it kept the nargles away but I’m not so sure.”

Draco didn’t know what to say in response but it didn’t bother Luna. She merely smiled at him before skipping off towards Longbottom.

As he wandered around the table, he took note of the names he recognised. Pansy’s grandparents, Daphne’s aunt, Greg’s cousin, Blaise’s father. He came to a stop by Theo, whose eyes were filled with tears as he stared at the table.

Alexandra Nott’s name stood proud, next to a bowl of her favourite dessert. Draco had fond memories of her teaching them – Theo, Draco, and Pansy – how to make bread and butter pudding the summer before she died. It was the one thing she wouldn’t let the House Elves make, claiming that it tasted better when made without magic.

“She’d be so proud of the man you’ve become, Theo,” Draco whispered, pressing his hand to Theo’s forearm.

Theo blinked away the tears, his voice barely a whisper. “I miss her, Draco. Every day.”

Draco nodded, his grip on Theo's forearm tightening. They stood there for a moment, silent and still.

Someone touched Draco’s elbow, starling him out of his memories. Greg looked between Draco and Theo, his eyes shining with sympathy. “It’s starting,” he said, before guiding them both towards the table with the candles.

Severus stood at the head of the room, his gaze sweeping over the sea of students before him. His voice carried a weight of authority as he began to speak.

“As we come to the close of this Samhain celebration,” he said, his voice resonating throughout the hall, “let us honour those who have passed and light a candle in their memory.”

Draco observed as Severus conjured a small flame to float beside the lectern, illuminating his face with an otherworldly glow. The students followed suit, each lighting a single candle in honour of their ancestors, even those who had long passed. With roots tracing back to the early fifth century, Draco's lineage was steeped in magic and tradition, all of which would be represented by the candle placed in front of him. With a simple gesture, a mere wave of his hand, he lit his own candle and allowed the gentle warmth emanating from the flame to serve as a reminder of the powerful bonds that tied him to his bloodline.

“In times of darkness,” Severus continued, “we look to the light within ourselves and the guidance of those who came before us. Our ancestors, though gone from this physical realm, live on through us, their legacy carried in our actions and choices. We leave these candles lit to guide our ancestors to the table and partake in the feast that has been prepared for them.”

Snape glanced around the room before nodding. “You may remain here for a moment, if you so wish, but until sunrise, this room belongs to the dead. Do not linger.”

Draco watched as the students, one by one, filed out of the hall, leaving behind a hushed silence. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, creating an atmosphere that felt both haunting and serene. He turned to Theo, who stood beside him, lost in his thoughts.

“Do you want to stay a little longer?” Draco asked softly, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room.

Theo shook his, his eyes fixed on his candle. “No. I have celebrated her tonight and I will continue to do so for the rest of my life.”

Draco nodded in understanding. Together, they stood up from the table and began to make their way towards their dormitory to get ready for bed.

☿

Not an hour later, when Theo was safely tucked away in bed and the witching hour was nigh, Draco set off towards the clearing he’d prepared for this very night.

He once again arrived at the painting that hid the secret passage into the Forbidden Forest, and slipped into the tunnel. The scent of decay was stronger than before but the hollow sound of his footsteps echoing off the stone walls no longer filled him with unease.

At the end of the tunnel, he climbed up the frail wooden ladder before crawling out of the tree trunk that concealed the passage.

The air stung his face as he walked, but his mind buzzed with anticipation and he could feel the power of magic humming through the air, coursing through his body.

Every step he took was filled with purpose and, eventually, he arrived once again at the stone circle. This space felt like part of him now but this would be the last time he visited the clearing. It could never be dismantled but it would fade into the landscape, into the magic of the Forbidden Forest.

He paused briefly, allowing himself one deep breath before slowly stripping off his robes, shoes, socks, and shirt in preparation to step inside the circle. He was left wearing only his trousers, his Malfoi ring, and the wooden pendant he wore around his neck. Despite the cold air raising goosebumps along his skin, he burned with anticipation and his every nerve crackled in excitement. After retrieving the candle he’d brought with him, infused with lavender, he stepped into prepared clearing.

Once he reached the centre, Draco knelt on the cold, damp soil of the Forbidden Forest and placed the candle in front of him. His fingers, pale and precise, then dug into the cold soil, retrieving the box that had laid hidden for a month's span. He opened it to reveal the carefully preserved blackthorn berries, their dark sheen gleaming under the moonlight, the delicate Scottish primrose, resilient selfheal, protective rowan, and the lock of his own platinum hair, bound with the tendrils of ground ivy. After removing each item from the box, he carefully arranged them before him, waiting to be used.

He then set aside his wand holster, the familiar weight leaving his right forearm, and his ritual knife followed soon after, its sheath thudding softly beside him.

Now prepared, Draco closed his eyes and concentrated.

After a few moments flame flickered to life on the candle's wick, aided by neither wand nor spell, as he uttered the first part of the incantation. He had been waiting for this day since he’d first encountered the ritual in the yellowing pages of Vela Black’s grimoire. He had every step, every word, memorised.

Draco's fingers closed around the cluster of blackthorn berries first, their flesh yielding beneath his touch. The sharp scent of the juices filled his senses as he crushed them, a reminder of the earth's raw gifts. With deliberate strokes, he painted symbols upon his pale chest, the berry juice cold and dark against his skin. These symbols were ancient, older than the words he spoke, and they were intended to protect him from the magick he was about to perform.

In his peripheral vision, he noticed the shadows cast by the candle's flame had grown more frenetic, as if mirroring his increasing intent.

His hands moved next to the Scottish primrose, its petals soft and unassuming. He could appreciate the contrast—the delicate beauty of the flower against the severity of his purpose.

Setting aside the rest, Draco held one petal up to the flame, allowing the edge to catch alight, and he watched as the smoke rose into their air, collecting and hanging in a cloud. Its soft scent permeated the air, intended to imbue both of them with clarity of mind throughout the ritual, and he took a moment to breath it in before moving on.

The selfheal followed, its name a promise in itself. It was burnt to promote the healing of Sirius’ body, likely ravaged by the veil.

Then, he took up the rowan. A protection against enchantment. Draco had initially found it odd that rowan was included in such a ritual but the fragility of the retrieved’s magic would leave them vulnerable to influence unless protected. It was fragrant as it burnt, smoke mingling with what already lingered in the air.

He continued chanting. Mere minutes passed but to Draco it felt like hours.

Soon, the air shifted and Draco knew it was time. With a grim smile, he reached for the knife; its blade glinting under the light of the moon. His voice did not waver as he raised it above his left hand.

He slashed it across his palm in a swift, practised motion, crimson blood welling up from the wound like an offering. As he spoke aloud, the surrounding forest seemed to respond in kind as the leaves shuddered and twigs snapped, as if stirred by an invisible gust of wind.

The blood that collected on the blade was a deep, vibrant red, and it dripped onto the soil beneath him, imbuing the earth with his magic. The scent of iron filled his senses as he worked his ritual. That which welled from the wound on his hand trickled on to the ingredients he had set out on the soil, soaking them with his lifeblood and connecting him firmly to the earth.

As he set the knife down, he squeezed his left hand tightly, wincing slightly as he forced more blood from the cut. One stray drop oozed down his wrist and forearm, painting a gruesome path on Draco's pale skin. He did not spare a moment to heal himself because he knew that this experience would leave no scars.

He reached up to smear the blood across his face, his tongue darting out to taste copper, before he picked up the lock of his hair and allowed the blood that welled from the wound to stain the white-blond strands.

Raising his hair up to the candle, Draco watched as it burned – smoke rising into the air in tendrils of blue-grey. As the lock of hair sizzled and withered in the flames, Draco rose from his crouched position.

His lips moved feverishly, still reciting the ancient incantation, and he waited until the smoke began to change and twist. Magick, old magick, crackled in the air and Draco stretched his injured hand towards the swirling smoke, daring to cross over into the realm of the beyond. Alone in the darkness, surrounded by sinister whispers and looming shadows, Draco braced himself.

He felt the seconds slipping away like grains of sand through his fingers. Time was growing short, the incantation was coming to an end, and despair clutched at Draco's heart.

Take my hand, he thought desperately. Take my hand. Sirius Orion Black. I am your kin. Take my hand.

The smoke twisted and turned, a malevolent force taking hold of it. Draco felt his pulse quicken as a cold, bony hand clasped onto his own. Had he performed the ritual perfectly, this must be Sirius Black, but one small misstep could unleash any number of horrors. The grimoire had warned him of the dangers of this ritual, cautioning that the boundaries between the living and the dead were tenuous, but Draco knew that he had performed every step perfectly.

He steeled his resolve as he continue to utter the incantation, but could hear eerie whispers and anguished cries emerging from behind the veil. They called to him, clawing at his mind and tempting him into the realm of the dead. He could feel his resolve wavering as the haunting whispers grew louder, burrowing deep into his very being. Clutching the hand with all his might, Draco battled against the overwhelming urge to let go of the incantation and fade into the veil.

Thick clouds of smoke engulfed him, obscuring his vision and filling his lungs with an acrid scent. Within its murky depths, shadows danced and morphed, taking on monstrous forms that seemed to reach out for him. His heart pounded fiercely in his chest, fear and dread coursing through his body like a raging river.

As the incantation reached its end, a form materialised before him. Its shape was twisted and grotesque, with elongated limbs and jagged edges jutting out at odd angles. But despite its terrifying appearance, Draco knew he had done everything by the book. He had to trust that this was truly Sirius Black.

With one final, determined tug, the figure burst through the veil and emerged into the world of the living. Draco's chest heaved as he gulped in deep breaths, feeling the strain on his mind, body, and magick slowly dissipate. The remnants of the ritual clung to him, brushing against his senses like a gentle breeze, but it no longer held any nefarious intent. It was almost as if the veil itself had left its mark upon him, imprinting a faint trace of otherworldly power upon his very being.

As the smoke cleared, he saw a man standing before him. He was a few inches taller than Draco and he was thin, so very thin. His bare arms and chest were shockingly pale against the dark ink of his tattoos. Prison tattoos, Draco thought idly. Tattered scraps of fabric clung to his emaciated frame, revealing a multitude of scars and purpling bruises. His long, black hair fell in tangled locks around his shoulders, framing a face that was gaunt and haggard. He looked almost dead but his eyes, a familiar grey, were alive.

“How?” Sirius Black breathed out hoarsely, disbelief evident in his voice. “How?” he asked again desperately.

“We are kin,” Draco replied simply, as if that answered the man's question.

Sirius Black laughed, a short, sharp bark of a laugh that held no humour in it at all. He cocked his head to the side, looking Draco over again.

“Yes, I suppose we are little Malfoy. I suppose we are.”

Taking in a deep breath, as if savouring the fresh air, Sirius smirked at Draco cheekily.

“I don't suppose you have my wand, do you?” he asked hopefully.

Draco shook his head and reached for the long, thin wand that sat next to his other materials on the floor. He placed it gently in Black's hand and the other man examined it curiously. “You'll have to use this until you can get your own back or buy a new one,” Draco said, watching as Sirius gave the wand a few observational swishes and tapped the tip against his palm with a pleased smile on his face; the wand was responding well. “It’s an old family wand. From the vaults.”

That received a sharp look from his cousin but then the man’s expression softened ever so slightly.

“A new wand would be nice,” Black said reflectively, still running his fingers along the smooth wood. “After all that time away, I feel like I deserve something special. How long was I gone? It felt like years.”

“Four months,” Draco informed him with a sly grin. “Everyone – well, almost everyone – believes you are dead.” He paused before adding, “You may want to think about where you can go and who you can truly trust.”

Sirius studied him intently before nodding in agreement. “You never answered my question, you know,” the other man said in return. “About how you did this.”

Draco gave him a blank look. “I need to get back,” he said rather than replying to Sirius' remark, glancing up at the brightening sky. “I should be in the common room before Professor Snape checks in.”

He watched Black’s expression change but he paid it no mind. Instead, the young Slytherin gathered up his remaining materials and redressed before he turned around, intending to make his way back towards Hogwarts. He pretended not to notice when Sirius’ gaze lingered for too long on his unmarked forearms. The man had much to learn about how their world had changed in the last few months.

“Don’t be a stranger, Sirius Black. We are, after all, family.”

“Draco,” he heard Black call out as he walked away. Draco looked over his shoulder to find the man staring at him with a nauseatingly sincere expression. “Thank you.”

Draco nodded sharply before continuing his journey back up to the castle. He needed a shower, desperately, and then he needed to write to his mother.

“Did you know you have blood on your face?” Black shouted again to Draco’s retreating form.

Draco barked out a sharp laugh in reply, eerily similar to Sirius' own, but didn’t turn again.

A few moments later, he heard a crack behind him that signalled Sirius Black’s departure from the Forbidden Forest. Only time would tell if Draco’s decision had been the right one.

Chapter Text

As soon as his young cousin’s footsteps faded into the distance, no longer audible even in the silence of the night, Sirius apparated away from the Forbidden Forest. He knew he’d have to consider the consequences of what the boy had done eventually but, for now, he had more pressing matters at hand. Like finding a place to stay for the night.

A loud crack echoed through the quiet street as Sirius materialized in front of a row of identical houses. Orange streetlamps cast a soft glow on the well-kept cottages, making them all seem perfectly peaceful.

Sirius caught his breath and scanned the row of identical houses, searching for one in particular. A house that was not distinguished by its appearance, but by its occupants.

Nestled on the corner of the street, the cottage stood small but proud, its thatched roof revealing its age. The heavy wooden door contrasted against the light stone walls, while delicate flower boxes adorned each small window. Ivy snaked its way up the white-washed exterior, weaving through the window frames, and a lone rowan tree stood tall in the garden, its remaining golden-brown leaves clinging to its branches as Autumn came to a close.

The life the house exuded was a sharp contrast to the emptiness Sirius had experienced for the last four months.

Despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t help but pause and take in the sight before him but his gaze was drawn to a figure in one of the windows, shrouded in shadows but clearly watching him. He could almost picture her dark curls pulled back in a bun, similar yet strikingly different from her sister, and he knew that she would smell like black tea and edelweiss – a scent that reminded him of his childhood.

Each step towards the house felt like a burden, but Sirius pressed on. He hesitated slightly before placing his hand on the gate, knowing that the quaint little structure could have any number of curses placed on it, but his shoulders dropped in relief when the protective wards gave way around him. It creaked slightly as he opened it, the hinge red with rust, and he stepped onto the cobbled path that led directly to the door.

Peering cautiously from behind the heavy oak door, the woman stood with her arms crossed protectively across her chest. Her steel grey eyes studied him intently, as if trying to decipher his intentions.

“Narcissa?” she asked presumptuously. No need to check his true identity. Those were blood wards he’d passed through.

Sirius’ lips curled into an almost feral grin as he shook his head slowly. Of course she would assume it was her sister who had found a way. Narcissa was always the most cunning and resourceful of them all – traits that her son had clearly inherited.

“No,” he replied softly, his voice carrying through the stillness of the night air. “It was little Draco.”

Andromeda’s sharp laughter filled the space between them, taken aback by Sirius’ response. She believed him, that much was clear, even though no one else would have. Feats like this belonged in stories and folktales, not in reality. And yet, here he was. Alive.

“Well,” she said with an amused smirk, “it seems we are in need of a long overdue Black family reunion. Our young Draco may have much to teach us all.”

Sirius’ grin widened as Andromeda welcomed him into her home with a gracious gesture. As he followed her down the narrow hallway, his eyes caught a glimpse of the dining room. The small round table, just big enough for four people, was adorned with a grand feast. His stomach growled in anticipation, but he knew it wasn’t for him. Before he could even think about mentioning it, Andromeda all but pushed him into the cosy living room. And what a warm and inviting space it was.

Finally settling into a plush armchair in the living room, Sirius felt completely at ease. The flickering embers in the hearth warmed him as he spotted a muggle puzzle book and quill on the arm of the chair – belongings of Andromeda’s husband, no doubt. He also noticed Ted’s slippers sitting by the fire, a small but comforting touch in this unfamiliar yet welcoming home.

On a nearby shelf, dusty old tomes and ancient relics were displayed, some that he recognised from Grimmauld Place and others that were foreign to him. He wondered if Andromeda had attempted to cleanse the townhouse after his supposed death. Did the house resent her for it?

After disappearing briefly, Andromeda returned with a bottle of whisky and two glasses. A small plate of what smelt like Beef Wellington floated behind her as she walked. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, knowing that this was the dish she’d set out for him at her Samhain ritual.

Pouring generous amounts for each of them, she handed one to Sirius.

“To old times,” she toasted, raising her glass.

Sirius clinked his against hers. “Ah, the good old days,” he echoed, as if he hadn’t spent most of his adult life locked away or presumed dead, before taking a long swig.

The fiery amber liquid warmed him from the inside out and he sat there for a moment, relishing the feeling. He never thought he’d experience this again.

Once the burning in his stomach had settled, he tucked in to the dish she had prepared for him, savouring every mouthful.

Andromeda eased herself into an armchair opposite him, her features softening as she watched him eat his fill.

“Did you know that Dumbledore tried to have your will read?” she asked, her voice laced with amusement. “Something about Harry inheriting Grimmauld Place. Of course, the Goblins wouldn’t allow it, but no one could understand why.”

Sirius barked a bitter laugh. “Typical Dumbledore,” he murmured, with a shake his head. “I left Harry the townhouse, but everything else was to be inherited by Cissa’s son.”

Despite his ancient wizarding lineage, Dumbledore had always scoffed at their traditions and beliefs, labelling them as dark and oppressive. Sirius used to agree, all too eager to fit in with the people he loved so dearly, but how could he deny the magic and power of the Old Ways now? He also knew that even if he desired to leave everything to Harry, the family magick would have rejected him, leaving him with nothing. Grimmauld Place may have been dark and temperamental but it paled in comparison to the old family manor.

Andromeda smiled knowingly, her eyes twinkling with secrets. “He’s Lord Malfoy now,” she stated simply.

A sly glint sparked in Sirius’ gaze as he grinned wickedly. “I noticed the ring on his finger tonight. So, Lucius is no more?” he inquired.

She shook her head, relishing in Sirius’ confusion before elaborating. “No, not dead. Stripped of the family magick by the hearthstone.”

The two cousins erupted into cackles at the poetic justice of it all.

“The mighty Lord Malfoy reduced to nothing by his own vanity and greed,” Sirius sneered with satisfaction, causing Andromeda to chuckle in agreement.

While Cissa may have loved him – and likely still did – Sirius had never deemed him worthy of her. He had money and power, of course, enough to make him a worthwhile match in her parents’ eyes, and Sirius could admit that Lucius was handsome in his youth, before he’d grown out his hair, but he also was arrogant, lazy, and spoilt. Not a true match for his vicious older cousin.

Yet somehow, he must have done something right in raising Draco. There was a certain quality about the boy that was so different to the arrogant little git Harry had described. How long had he been concealing his true nature? Or had he simply grown up, unlike Sirius himself? He dismissed these musings with another swig of his whisky, relishing the warmth it created in his chest.

As their conversation dwindled, the bleak reality of their current predicament loomed heavily in the air. Sirius was supposed to be dead. But now, here he was, sitting in the comfort of Andromeda’s home, contemplating the future. The war waged on, however silently, and he knew that he couldn’t stay hidden forever. He had a role to play, a purpose to fulfil.

A tense silence hung between them, stretching on endlessly.

They had once been inseparable, but their choices – both desperate to break free from the oppressive constraints of their family name – had driven a wedge between them long before Sirius was unjustly imprisoned. Though she had jested earlier about attending a Black family reunion, Sirius truly yearned to see his remaining relatives. He had spent too long denying this part of himself, trying to blend in with the light families around him, and upon his return to the world of the living, he could feel the weight of the family magick coursing through him. He knew that he needed to embrace it. Sirius would never be considered dark, like the Malfoys or his parents, but there was a power within Sirius that he could no longer ignore.

Andromeda cleared her throat, breaking through Sirius’ contemplation. “What are you going to do now?” she asked gently, her eyes full of concern.

Sirius hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to answer. “I don’t know,” he admitted with a sigh. “I never expected to come back.”

“What about Harry?” Andromeda pressed, her brow furrowed with worry.

A deep ache settled in Sirius’ chest at the mention of Harry. He longed to see him again, to get to know him in the way he should have before, to be there for him when he wanted to complain about school or talk about his dreams and aspirations. But he knew it was too dangerous for anyone else to know he was still alive. “I can’t risk putting him in danger,” he stated firmly. “I’ll find a way to let him know I’m alive when the time is right.” The words felt heavy and bittersweet on his tongue, but he knew it was the only way to keep Harry safe.

“Is there anyone else you wish to see? Surely not Dumbledore,” she probed gently.

“Narcissa,” Sirius replied without hesitation, locking eyes with Andromeda. He could see the flicker of longing in her gaze, mirroring his own.

For a brief moment, Andromeda’s composure wavered before she regained her regal facade. The years of estrangement and uncertainty about Narcissa’s beliefs made her cautious, but Sirius couldn’t ignore the fact that it was Narcissa’s son who had brought him back from beyond the veil. There had been a shift within the Black family, within himself, and he needed to understand it before deciding what to do next.

Sirius wanted to sigh. If only his friends were here to guide him, to offer much needed advice. Lily would have known the best path to take, would have provided a steady voice of reason, while James, his dear James, would have been the one to cheer him up, to ignite the fire of rebellion within him. Would they recognise the man he had become? Would they still love him?

“There is much to be discussed,” he declared solemnly. He hardly sounded like himself but what could anyone expect from a man who had been lost in the place between life and death.

She nodded, but Sirius wasn’t finished. “I need to find Remus, too” he implored. “He’s suffered enough — I don’t want him to mourn for me.”

“It won’t be a long search,” she replied, waving her hand dismissively. “He’s been keeping company with my daughter ever since you passed. Dumbledore keeps sending him on missions for the Order, doing who knows what, and Nymphadora follows along when she isn’t working. I believe it’s more than just admiration for the cause that drives her.”

Sirius snickered at Andromeda’s words; he was glad she had broken the tension in the air. “Well, he is rather handsome, in a bookish sort of way,” he joked.

His cousin’s returning grin was wolfish but she didn’t say anything further. Andromeda knew that he’d had a rather intense crush on Remus back in their school days. Something about the werewolf seemed to draw their family in. Perhaps it was the danger lurking beneath the calm, kind surface.

Eventually, the fire died down to embers and the bottle of whisky was empty. Sirius yawned, the exhaustion of the night’s events finally catching up to him.

Andromeda set her glace down on the table, turning to Sirius. “Why don’t you stay here for the night?” she offered. “I have a spare room upstairs.”

Sirius smiled gratefully. “Thank you, cousin,” he said. “I think I just might take you up on that offer.”

“I’ll write to Cissa in the morning,” she added. “I’m sure she already knew what her son was planning – unless Draco is anything like you, of course – but she may be surprised to hear from me.” Sirius offered her a weak smile, understanding how difficult this must be for her. “Hopefully she’ll agree to speak with you somewhere neutral.”

“As long as it isn’t France,” Sirius quipped, recalling their last disastrous visit there together.

She fixed him with a stern look, but there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “No, I think we’ll choose a safer location this time,” she replied. “Somewhere discreet, where we won’t draw unwanted attention.”

“I can be discreet,” Sirius protested. She raised an eyebrow at him, forcing Sirius to defend himself. “What? I can!”

“And you’ll need polyjuice potion too,” she told him firmly. “You can’t go around looking like a dead man – a wanted dead man, at that.”

By Godric, Sirius had forgotten how bossy his cousin could be. She may not have been as domineering as Bellatrix in their youth, but she could still strike fear into his heart when necessary.

“Yes, yes, of course,” he waved off her concerns nonchalantly. “I’m sure Narcissa will have some on hand if you don’t already.”

Andromeda gave him a look, one he hadn’t seen since his childhood, that told him everything he needed to know. He shouldn’t be surprised that she kept restricted substances in her neat little home; she was part of the Black family after all. Who knew what was hidden in their many homes and their vast vaults. Sirius idly wondered what else she had tucked away in her cupboards but he refrained from asking. He could always do a little snooping later, if he had time.

“Come along now,” Andromeda said briskly. “Let’s get you settled in for the night. You look like you could use some rest.”

Sirius cautiously followed his cousin, taking care not to trip over the worn carpet runner as they climbed the creaky staircase. His fingers traced the intricate carvings of the banister, feeling the coolness of the polished wood against his skin. At the top of the stairs, Andromeda led him into a small, sparsely furnished room. She flicked her wand and fresh flowers bloomed in a vase on the nightstand, while a gentle breeze wafted through the open window.

Exhaustion etched into her face, Andromeda gave Sirius a weary smile before bidding him goodnight and leaving him alone to settle in for the night.

Once he was alone, he stumbled into the small bedroom, body heavy with fatigue. He collapsed onto the plush bed and sank into the softness of the duvet, relishing in feeling of the smooth fabric caressing his skin. With each breath, he felt himself drift deeper into a state of peacefulness. Before finally surrendering to the exhaustion that seeped into his bones, Sirius smiled. It was good to be alive.

Chapter Text

With little of importance to occupy his mind after completing the ritual on the night of Samhain, Draco lost himself in the steady rhythm of routine.

The ritual had left no mark on his body, his mind, nor his magic and yet, the night haunted him in many ways. The touch of his cousin’s skeletal hand, barely alive. The sound of the wailing voices that called out to him from the veil, tempting him to join them. The knowledge of what he had done.

Memories of the ritual itself were akin to waking from a dream too quickly, the details slipping away even as he grasped for them, but the moments after were startlingly clear to him. Draco tried not to dwell upon the night but, although the force of the Black family magick was no longer pressing down upon him, urging him to find his wayward cousin, his connection to Sirius Black lingered on. He knew that he would find no answers until he spoke to the man again, so he convinced himself to ignore the feeling.

To distract himself from his growing restlessness, Draco threw himself into his studies, determined to outshine Granger at every turn. He worked tirelessly to make progress on the Patronus Charm and delved deep into research about the mysterious box that languished at Dervish and Banges but both still eluded him.

His alchemy classes grew more complex, often challenging Draco’s mind in ways that no other subject had before, and he relished the opportunity to push the limits of his knowledge and understanding even though he still had suspicions about his teacher.

Weekly tea meetings with Severus and Saturday Quidditch practices provided temporary reprieves, but it was quiet evenings spent with Theo in the Slytherin common room that truly calmed his racing mind. They would often be found lying across each other on a plush sofa, wrapped in blankets with books in hand, discussing their theories and exchanging soft kisses.

November drifted away, marked only by Slytherin’s crushing victory over Hufflepuff in the first Quidditch match of the year and frequent letters from his mother, and December soon arrived.

☿

“Come on, Draco!” Blaise urged, his words muffled by the scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. “We’re going to be late.”

The winter chill had set in at Hogwarts, and the Slytherin students could feel the biting cold seeping into the stone walls of their dormitories. Draco knew that, just like in years previous, he would have to complain about the warming charms lest he spend the entirety of December shivering in his bed.

“I can’t seem to find my gloves,” Draco grumbled, rummaging through his trunk. It felt like he had been searching for hours and they were nowhere in sight. He let out an exasperated sigh, blowing strands of hair out of his face.

“Theo has them because you always forget them!”

Draco paused, his frustration momentarily overshadowed by Blaise’s revelation. “Right, of course,” he muttered, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over him for Theo’s ever-present attentiveness.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at him, amusement twinkling in his deep brown eyes. “You know, you’d be lost without Theo here to take care of you.”

Draco playfully rolled his eyes, momentarily forgetting his annoyance at the situation. “Thank Salazar I have him then,” he replied with a hint of fondness.

As they walked out into the common room, there stood Theo patiently waiting for them with Draco’s gloves in hand.

“Looking for these?” Theo teased, his voice laced with gentle humour.

Draco’s fingers brushed against Theo’s as he took the gloves from him, causing a spark to course through his body. He quickly withdrew his hand with, feeling a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Thank you,” he all but whispered.

Theo’s smile turned softer, revealing his adorable dimples. “You’re welcome, my love,” he said with a hint of affection in his voice. “We can’t let those delicate hands of yours freeze in these temperatures now, can we?”

“Well, you could always keep them warm for me,” Draco suggested, almost shyly.

Theo eye’s widened and then a mischievous grin spread across his face. “Oh, I’d be more than happy to,” he replied, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone.

Blaise coughed loudly beside them, breaking the momentary spell. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s get a move on before they leave without us.”

Draco snapped out of his daze, feeling his face heat further, and followed quickly behind Blaise, careful to pull on his gloves before they left the common room. Made of the finest dragonhide, they were both durable and flexible, able to withstand even the most powerful spells and hexes. The smooth, supple material hugged his fingers like a second skin, providing both protection and comfort. And in the chilly air of the Scottish winter, they thankfully kept his hands warm.

☿

A bell chimed a melodious greeting as the door to Dervish and Banges swung open, allowing the sharp scent of metal and magic to rush out and mingle with the crisp winter air. A warm glow spilled onto the cobblestone street, beckoning passersby into its welcoming embrace. Draco, however, needed no such invitation; his purpose was clear and his target known.

Inside, the shop was a cluttered cavern of curiosities, each artefact whispering of histories unknown and secrets kept.

Mr. Dervish noticed Draco’s entrance immediately and scurried off into the back room without even asking what he had come to see.

“Your gloves,” Dervish suddenly remarked when he returned, a small, plain box held carefully in his hands. “I’m afraid they’ll need to come off, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco’s features contorted into a frown, the pale skin between his eyebrows furrowing in protest. “These are top-quality dragonhide,” he protested, holding out a hand for Dervish to inspect the fine material catching the dim light. “They will cause no damage.”

Mr. Dervish’s expression remained unreadable as he countered, “The box can be particular, best to feel the magic with your skin.”

Draco hesitated, loath to part with even an ounce of protection from the cold winter air. “No, I think I’ll be fine.” His voice had taken on a tone that Tracey usually referred to as condescending, although Draco preferred to think of it as aristocratic and refined.

He looked down his nose at Dervish, despite the man being several inches taller than him, and held out a gloved hand. He arched an eyebrow to complete the look and waited as Dervish started at him.

Draco knew that the man would be contemplating several factors – namely, his wealth, heritage, and influence – but, eventually, he placed the box in Draco’s palm.

He expected to feel the immediate rush of curiosity, the overwhelming urge to open the box and uncover its secrets, but as his gloved fingers made contact with the box, he felt nothing.

“Curious,” Draco murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The small sound seemed to get swallowed up by the thick air around them, muffled and distant.

For the first time, he could clearly sense the protective spells wrapped tight around the box. Never before had they been so bright, so intense. The magic radiating from it was almost blinding, pulsing with an energy that sent shivers down his spine. It could be because he was finally able to concentrate solely on the box, no longer weighed down by other duties, or perhaps his gloves were shielding him from a curse meant to confuse and obfuscate the true purpose of the box. While Draco was tempted to remove his gloves and test his theory, caution won out in the end.

He took out his wand, aware of Dervish’s watchful gaze on him, and surrendered himself completely to the task at hand. He could make out traces of standard protective charms, but they were distorted into shapes that were unfamiliar and eerie. They were far from the simple spells they used to be; this was advanced magic, complex and intricate. Deeper within lay even more powerful charms, woven together in a tapestry of dark and dangerous magic. One charm in particular caught his attention; it felt familiar. He had felt its presence as a child, on a book in his father’s study, one that he was forbidden to touch. He knew, in that moment, that the box held something incredibly dark and dangerous.

Draco’s mind raced as he tried to recall the details of that book, the one he had stumbled upon during his childhood explorations of his father’s study. It had been forbidden for him to enter, but curiosity had always gnawed at him, urging him to uncover the secrets hidden within.

He concentrated, straining against the memories that seemed to slip away like smoke, threatening to dissipate into nothingness. All he could remember was its plain, brown leather cover and slightly worn pages.

“Draco?” Theo’s voice sliced through his concentration like a knife, tinted with concern and warmth.

Draco blinked, his focus shattered by Theo’s unexpected interruption. He turned to see Theo standing a few feet away, his expression etched with worry.

“Sorry,” Draco said, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “I got lost in the magic for a moment.”

Theo’s hand, rough and warm against his skin, rested on Draco’s arm in a comforting gesture. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his gaze searching Draco’s face.

Draco hesitated, acutely aware of the prying eyes trained on them. “Just feeling a bit overwhelmed with the complexity of this object,” he replied with a forced smile.

Theo’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, but then his lips twitched into a knowing half-smile. He didn’t believe Draco, of course, but Theo too knew that nothing could be gained from having this conversation in front of someone else. Draco secretly hoped that they wouldn’t have the conversation at all, but Theo had witnessed his obsession for the last few months and it had clearly gone too far in his boyfriend’s eyes.

Draco quickly scribbled down some notes on a scrap of parchment before carefully returning the mysterious object to Dervish, who eagerly took it back with calculating eyes. “I still need more time to examine this,” Draco announced, stepping away from the counter and maintaining a careful distance from the box.

Dervish nodded understandingly. “Take all the time you need, young Mr. Malfoy. It will remain reserved for you until you say otherwise.” His tone held a hint of greed, as if he was already planning how much money he could make by selling such a valuable item.

A gust of wind whipped through Hogsmeade as they stepped out of the old curiosity shop, carrying with it the promise of snow and the scent of cinnamon and pine. Draco’s breath formed ghostly plumes in the air as he walked beside Theo, their shoulders occasionally brushing against each other. The hustle and bustle of the village faded into a gentle hum as Draco took in the festive decorations adorning the shop fronts.

“Perhaps we should visit Tomes and Scrolls next,” Theo suggested softly.

“Only if we can stop by Honeydukes afterward,” Draco replied with a small smile. “I’m in dire need of some chocolate frogs.”

☿

Returning to Hogwarts felt like stepping back into another world. The castle’s towering spires loomed above, casting long shadows across the grounds as evening approached.

As the students gathered in the Great Hall for their evening meal, the heavy doors burst open and Filch appeared, looking even more unkempt and frenzied than usual. His eyes darted around the room until they settled on the Head Table and he rushed towards it, panting heavily. Professor McGonagall rose from her seat, a look of concern etched across her face, but he ignored her. Instead, he turned towards the headmaster, who was intently observing the commotion from behind his half-moon spectacles. A hurried exchange between the two ensued before the headmaster rose to address the students.

“Listen carefully, my dear pupils,” his voice rang out with authority throughout the hall. “Dark forces have been sighted near Hogsmeade.”

A collective gasp echoed through the room, fear etched onto the face of every single student, even the brave Gryffindors. The atmosphere in the Great Hall turned tense, a sense of unease settling over its occupants like a heavy fog. The usual buzz of chatter had been replaced by hushed murmurs as the students exchanged worried glances.

“Exercise caution during your winter break. Do not venture out alone and remain vigilant at all times,” Dumbledore warned, his piercing gaze scanning over each student.

“Death Eaters,” Theo whispered beside Draco, gripping his hand tightly under the table.

“He’s growing bolder,” Draco murmured, barely audible over the renewed buzz of conversation. Their eyes met, the weight of their shared dread settling between them like an unspoken vow. Draco squeezed Theo’s hand back, his knuckles turning white. The threat of Death Eaters was not unfamiliar to them, but the proximity to Hogwarts was alarming.

Draco’s eyes swept over the rest of his companions, taking in their tense stances. Pansy’s eyes burned with fierce determination, Vince’s face held a haunted expression, and Millie’s jaw was set with unbreakable resolve. They all knew what lurked beyond the walls of Hogwarts – the impending battle that they were not yet prepared for – and as Draco locked eyes with each of them, he could see his own fears reflected back at him, amplified by their shared knowledge of what was to come.

☿

The crystalline chandeliers of Slughorn’s drawing room cascaded light like frozen rain, each droplet casting patterns of ice and fire across the walls. The air was perfumed with the scent of pine and spiced punch, creating a cocoon of warmth that seemed to hold the winter chill at bay. Amidst the swirling colours of dress robes and laughter, Draco stood, slender and pale, in a pair of muted silver robes that caught the light with every subtle movement.

“Your tie,” Theo murmured, fingers deftly adjusting the silk fabric around Draco’s neck, “it was crooked.” His own attire mirrored Draco’s in shade, though he was wearing a muggle style suit that accentuated his tall frame and broad shoulders.

“Thank you, darling,” Draco replied, eyes lingering on Theo for a moment longer than necessary before scanning the crowd. Slughorn’s Christmas party was a microcosm of their world’s elite, mingled with Hogwarts’ finest students. It was a respite indeed, a chance to forget the shadows lurking beyond the castle walls, even if Draco did think it would be more appropriate to call it a Yule party.

“Shall we?” Theo gestured toward the throng with a half-smile, and together they navigated through groups of chattering guests.

“Ah, Lord Malfoy,” a man called out just as Draco plucked two glasses of spiced punch from a nearby table.

Draco recognised him as Garret Wesley, a wealthy businessman with dealings all over Europe. His round face was flushed with drink and merriment, his eyes sparkling with a light that wasn’t entirely due to the chandeliers. “And Mr. Nott,” he continued, his gaze shifting to Theo, acknowledging him with a nod of respect.

Theo met the man’s gaze evenly. “Mr. Wesley,” he greeted, offering a polite smile which didn’t quite reach his deep blue eyes.

Draco took in his attire with mild distaste. The man’s robes were a garish shade of turquoise, too bright for the elegant ambiance of Slughorn’s soirée, and embroidered with gaudy gold thread that clashed horribly with the rest of his ensemble.

“Garret,” Draco greeted, his voice as cool as the winter air yet meticulously polite. “How fares your enterprise?”

“Ah, thriving as ever,” he replied with a boisterous laugh that bounced off the walls and drew the attention of nearby guests. He then launched into a drawn-out account of his latest successful business deals and acquisitions, none of which truly interested Draco.

Theo leaned subtly toward Draco, whispering in his ear. “Did I ever mention how much I detest peacocks?” Draco hid a grin behind his glass as he sipped on the spiced punch.

Just as the man was winding down his tale of financial triumph, a proud flush on his face that was intensified by the glass of wine he’d been drinking, Slughorn inserted himself into the conversation.

“My dear Mr. Wesley, always a pleasure to have you at my gatherings,” Slughorn said, his voice oozing with well-practiced sincerity. “But I must steal misters Malfoy and Nott from you for a moment, there’s someone I would like to introduce them to.”

“Of course, Horace, by all means. I’ll catch up with the lads later.”

Slughorn led Draco and Theo away from the boisterous Garret Wesley, guiding them through the crowd of elegantly dressed witches and wizards.

“Professor, who is it that you want to introduce us to?” Draco inquired, his curiosity piqued.

Slughorn’s eyes darted around the room, making sure that their discussion remained confidential before he smiled at Draco. “No one in particular, my dear boy,” he replied. “But I could tell you needed a break from Mr. Wesley’s constant chatter. That being said, there are many others vying for your attention tonight and I believe you will find them far more interesting. May I suggest talking to Augustus FitzRoy – I’ve been telling him about your wonderful Charms work – and perhaps Greta Carmichael, the new Head Healer in the Poisoning Department at St. Mungo’s.” Slughorn paused and his gaze lingered on Theo for a moment, his bushy eyebrows knitting together before he continued. “And perhaps, Mr. Nott, you might find it beneficial to speak with Constance Marsden. She’s been making quite the name for herself in the field of Transfiguration research.”

Theo’s expression remained impassive, but Draco could see a flicker of interest in his eyes.

“Thank you, Professor,” Draco said graciously. “We will seek out these individuals and make the most of this evening.”

Slughorn beamed at them. “Excellent, my boys! That’s the spirit! Enjoy yourselves and remember, connections are everything.” With a pat on Draco’s shoulder and a nod towards Theo, Slughorn moved away to mingle with other guests.

“I would like to speak to Miss Marsden,” Theo uttered, leaning into Draco as he spoke. “Will you be okay by yourself?”

Draco nodded, a small grin playing at the corners of his lips. “Of course, Theo. I’ll be just fine,” he replied, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “Go and amaze Miss Marsden with your spellbinding intellect. I’ll make my way over to FitzRoy.”

Theo gave Draco a nod of acknowledgement before excusing himself from their conversation.

Draco watched his boyfriend navigate through the sea of guests before turning his attention to Augustus FitzRoy who stood at the edge of the room, engrossed in conversation with another wizard. He was armed with a thorough understanding of FitzRoy’s latest research and an acute awareness that this night presented him with an opportunity to expand his social circle beyond those who knew, and feared, his father. He could not waste it.

☿

Later, as the soft notes of a waltz filled the room, a few of the guests gravitated towards the centre of the room, gracefully dancing with their partners.

Draco was deep in conversation with two Ministry officials about the new Minister for Magic when Blaise and Pansy twirled past him.

Pansy hadn’t wanted to attend the party at first, claiming that she had to deal with too many sycophants at the ministry event she attended with her father, but Blaise’s dramatic pouting and constant complaints about not having a date had eventually worn her down.

Her navy-blue dress glimmered under the warm lights, the velvet bodice adorned with intricate silver constellations that seemed to twinkle as Pansy moved, and Blaise held her close, his tailored black robes contrasting perfectly with her attire. They were a picture of elegance and grace, capturing the attention of everyone in the room.

Draco smiled as he watched them.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed when a figure approached him.

“Hello, cousin Draco. Would you care to dance?”

He looked away from his friends to see Luna standing beside him, a few inches taller than usual thanks to her shoes. “Luna, I had no idea you were here. Who are you accompanying tonight?” he asked, trying to hide his surprise at her sudden appearance.

“Why, Harry Potter, of course,” she responded simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s stepped out for some fresh air so I thought I’d come ask you to dance.” She flashed an impish grin, one that many thought her incapable of. It made her look like a Malfoy. She stretched out her hand towards him, silver bangles rattling on her wrist as she did so. “Care to join me?”

“I would be delighted,” Draco answered with a small but genuine smile, taking Luna’s hand and allowing her to lead him into the centre of the room. Her somewhat unique silver dress was a few shades darker than Draco’s robes but he found it amusing that they’d managed to match in such a familial way. His deliberate attempt to co-ordinate with Theo spoke of their romantic attachment but it was undeniably true that Malfoys loved silver, even when they were also Lovegoods.

As they danced around the room, Draco was taken back to a time many years before, to a time when Luna’s mother was still alive and the Malfoy family was not quite so divided.

“Remember when we used to explore the Manor gardens together?” Luna asked suddenly, a gleam in her dreamy eyes. “We’d chase after creatures and find hidden treasures among the roses.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile at the memories. “Yes, I remember,” he replied, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “Those were simpler times, weren’t they?”

Luna nodded, her blonde hair flowing with the movement of their dance. “They were,” she said softly. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t make new memories now.”

He could only smile gently at her in return, genuinely hoping that she was right.

The soft music continued as Draco whirled around the room, switching partners with ease. First, it was Pansy in his arms, then Blaise, who, for once, allowed Draco to lead, and finally an elderly woman who reminisced about his grandmother Druella throughout the entire dance. But as the music swelled, the song finally nearing its end, he found himself back in sync with Luna’s graceful steps once again.

When the waltz came to an end, Draco released Luna’s hand. He bowed to her gracefully, laughing delightedly as she curtseyed in return, before glancing around the room.

His eyes landed on Theo, who was still engrossed in conversation with Constance Marsden. They seemed enthused by each other’s words, their gestures animated and full of exuberance. He contemplated joining them but, finding himself somewhat parched in the stuffiness of the room, he decided against it and, instead, made his way towards the refreshments table.

Food and drink decorated the long table and Draco took his time deciding what to have. He knew that the delicate hors d’oeuvres would be excellent as the Hogwarts elves took great pride in their work, and Slughorn had provided both alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks, although clearly no one was monitoring who drank what.  

With a delicate sip, Draco savoured the exquisite flavour of his chosen mead. Slughorn had not scrimped on the drinks, it seemed, even if almost everything else in the room was a cheap imitation of grandeur. He leaned casually against the table, taking in the vibrant energy of the gathering. The room was alive with conversations, laughter, and music – a stark contrast to the fear that had plagued Hogwarts since the arrival of Death Eaters in Hogsmeade. For a moment, he felt at ease.

But this tranquillity was soon shattered as Draco felt the weight of a gaze upon him. It was a prickling sensation on the back of his neck – a sixth sense honed by years of rivalry. With a casual pivot, his silver eyes met the intense green stare that had been tracking him for most of the night. Potter stood there, almost shrouded in shadows, his expression one of suspicion and poorly veiled loathing.

“Leave Luna alone,” Potter spat before Draco could say anything, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness that surprised Draco.

He didn’t know Potter and his cousin were that close. Oh, he knew they were friends, of course, but he’d heard both Potter and Granger referring to her as Looney Lovegood more than once over the years. So, while he had expected the Gryffindor to hurl insults or accusations at him, this was rather unexpected.

“I know you’re up to something, Malfoy, and I won’t let you drag Luna into it.”

Ah, Draco thought, that’s more like it. Even the younger Slytherins had reported that they’d heard Potter muttering about him constantly for the past month, usually accusing him of being ‘up to something’, and in recent days, the boy had also taken to openly staring at him everywhere they crossed paths – in the corridors, in classrooms, and even during meals in the Great Hall. He was becoming a bit of a nuisance.

“Potter,” Draco drawled, arching one aristocratic brow and letting a smirk play on his lips. “You have a rather tiresome habit of seeing conspiracies in your pumpkin juice. Trelawney can help with that, you know, if you want to dispel the clouds of your Inner Eye.”

“Save it, Malfoy. I’ve seen you sneaking around. You’re not fooling anyone.” Potter’s green eyes bore into him, as if daring him to deny the accusation.

Draco felt a surge of anger rise within him. How dare Potter accuse him of something in front of these people, without even a shred of evidence?

“Your constant vigilance is heartwarming, really,” Draco replied coolly, taking another leisurely sip of mead. “But believe it or not, some of us are capable of attending a party just to enjoy ourselves.” The words felt heavy, almost acidic, as they left his mouth. He hated being forced to defend himself to the likes of Potter. It made him want to earn the scorn, as he had done in years previous, but he knew that it wasn’t worth it.

Potter squinted at him from behind those ugly, round glasses, unconvinced, but before he could retort, Theo appeared by Draco’s side, his presence an unspoken challenge to the unwanted interrogation. “Everything alright here?” Theo’s tone was civil but edged with steel, a clear signal that this confrontation was over.

Potter’s voice was filled with anger as he pointed aggressively at Draco. “Stay out of this, Nott. You’re just as bad as him,” he growled.

Draco watched as Theo’s posture straightened, his eyes narrowing in response. “I suggest you think twice before picking a fight, Potter,” he said, his voice dripping with a dark quality that Draco hadn’t heard from his boyfriend in a long time. This was a warning, a promise that Theo would gladly see through if Potter didn’t back down.

Potter seemed taken aback by Theo’s sudden assertiveness, his eyes flickering between the two Slytherins, but he rounded on Draco again.

“I’ll find out what you’re up to, Malfoy.”

Draco chuckled, a dry and mirthless sound. “By all means, Potter,” he replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Feel free to waste your time trying to uncover my supposed wrongdoings. Just don’t be surprised when you come up empty-handed.”

With that, he turned his back on Potter and walked away, Theo steadfast by his side, but he knew that Potter was watching his every move.

They moved through the crowds of people, intending to get as far away from Potter as possible, and Draco’s eyes found Pansy once again and he watched as she twirled Luna around the room with expert precision, their dresses fused together like a dark night sky. Luna, with her long flowing hair and dreamy smile, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself under Pansy’s attention.

Across the room, Blaise could be seen attempting to charm a tall, stoic vampire. Despite what appeared to be his best efforts, the vampire remained unimpressed, his cool demeanour suggesting he was not easily swayed by flattery. Draco couldn’t help but shake his head at his friends’ antics, a small smile playing on his lips. Theo’s hand was steady and warm at the small of his back, guiding him through the room.

As the music changed once again, Draco found himself wishing that he could dance with Theo in the way that he had at Samhain. He longed to feel Theo’s hand snug on his waist, guiding him around the room as they waltzed, but as Draco spotted columnists from both The Rambler and Town and Country Magazine he knew that it would not be wise to draw any attention to themselves. Their relationship was personal and private, not for public consumption in society news or gossip magazines.

They found solace in the quieter corners of the room, where the atmosphere was less frenetic and the prying eyes of the Slughorn’s invited journalists could not find them. Draco leaned against a tall pillar, Theo leaning in close beside him. The music swirled around them, its melody a gentle current that drifted through the air.

As they watched as couples twirled and swayed, each lost in their own passionate embrace, the desire to join them, to feel Theo’s arms around him, grew within Draco like an untamed flame but he suppressed it, knowing that discretion was their shield in this world.

Theo seemed to sense his internal struggle, his gaze softening as he reached out to gently brush his fingers against Draco’s cheek. They exchanged a silent look of understanding and longing, their eyes speaking that which their words could not. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them in this moment of stolen intimacy.

☿

The next morning, Draco found himself once again packing his trunk for the train journey back to London. He couldn’t believe how quickly the first term of the school year had passed.

As he folded his robes neatly and placed them in the leather case, his mind once more drifted back to the events of Samhain. He hadn’t heard anything from his wayward cousin since and, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that the entire thing had been a dream but he knew what he had done and the Forbidden Forest still bore the marks of that fateful night.

Theo entered the dormitory and leaned against the door frame, watching Draco as he locked his trunk with a swish of his wand.

“Ready to go?” Theo asked, his voice soft.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied with a half-hearted smile.

As much as Draco was looking forward to seeing his mother again, the winter break was never the most relaxing fortnight for the Slytherin students. They’d have balls and galas to attend, family obligations to fulfil, and the constant pressure of maintaining appearances in their elite circles. Draco was used to it, of course, but it didn’t make it any less exhausting and he knew that this year, with his new status as the head of the Malfoy family, would likely be even worse.

The only respite would be the evening of Yule, when their families would gather at the Parkinson household for a great feast. Some members of their circle, both the Crabbes and the Goyles, would be missing due to their alliances, and it remained to be seen whether Tracey’s family attended, but it would still be a wonderful night and Draco would finally be able to dance with Theo in the safety of Haverthwaite Hall.

Draco fastened his cloak, wound his scarf around his neck, and put on his gloves before levitating his trunk out of the room. He turned to Theo, who was watching him with a fond, almost adoring, expression and smiled.

“Let’s get going,” Draco said, his voice filled with a mixture of anticipation and weariness. He felt Theo’s hand slide into his own, their fingers intertwining once again, as they walked out towards the Slytherin common room.

Chapter Text

Merely hours after arriving home for the winter break, Draco stepped into the opulent ballroom at the Ministry of Magic, the grandeur of the charity gala unfolding before him as he dusted the floo soot from his robes. Although he longed for more time at the Manor with his mother and the elves, he knew he had responsibilities to attend, and as soon as he had arrived home, his mother had whisked him away to his room to prepare for the evening's event.

Garlands of lush greenery, adorned with delicate ribbons and sparkling fairy lights, adorned the walls, lending an air of festivity to the already glamorous setting. The sweet strains of a string quartet filled the air, their melodies floating around the room, enticing those gathered together to dance.

It was everything one would expect from a gathering of the most affluent people in their world - luxurious, extravagant, and dripping with wealth.

Draco had arrived alone, his mother having chosen to remain at the Manor rather than face the judgmental stares and sneers of those who could never understand their family's position, but he knew that before the night was over, he would see familiar faces and perhaps even make some new connections. One person in particular had been forced to attend this event - someone who had been assigned to watch over Draco - and Draco took great delight in his reluctance.

With a swift adjustment of his cuffs, he took a moment to survey the room. He immediately spotted two familiar faces – allies of the Dark Lord – speaking with the new Minister. He frowned momentarily, unsettled by their proximity to the man, but he shook off the feeling. Such people were expected at an event like this; after all, his father had attended in previous years and their family was deeply ingrained within the inner circle of the Dark Lord.

Despite the recent humiliation brought upon his family by his father’s arrest, Draco had received an invitation to the Ministry’s charity gala. It was no surprise, really, as Malfoy money funded many of the Ministry’s endeavours and they couldn’t afford to ostracise him, but the new Minister, Rufus Scrimgeour, was previously the head of the Auror Office and likely took no pleasure in inviting the likes of the Malfoys to such an event. This left Draco wondering just why the man was speaking so closely to two known Death Eaters.

He exchanged polite nods and pleasantries with those who greeted him, carefully crafting each interaction. His charming smile and playful demeanour effortlessly navigated him through the throng of people.

It was all so tiresome – these games of small talk and pretence. The hunger for power gleamed in every eye, each person vying to make connections and gain favour with the right people. It disgusted Draco.

Yet, he knew it was necessary. In this cutthroat world of high society, any sign of weakness or vulnerability could be fatal. So, he played along, speaking of trivial matters and making calculated remarks to impress. Their forced laughter grated on his ears and he eagerly looked for ways to end each superficial conversation.

Finally spotting Severus in a secluded corner, Draco made his excuses to a witch who had been rambling on about her granddaughter and sought out his godfather.

Amongst the sea of familiar yet vexing faces, Severus’ sombre expression provided some comfort. Dressed in his customary black attire, he stood out among the vibrant colours and flowing fabrics.

“Draco,” Severus greeted with a nod as he pushed back a few strands of dark hair from his dark eyes.

“You’re not enjoying yourself, I assume,” Draco replied with a wry smile.

“Enjoyment is not the purpose of my presence here,” came the dry response.

“Of course,” Draco chuckled as he discreetly scanned the room. “But surely you can find some entertainment in observing these pompous fools.”

Severus let out a sigh, his gaze fixed on an animated conversation happening across the room. “I suppose there is a certain amusement in watching them scramble for power and influence. Like vultures fighting over carrion.”

“Yes, quite,” agreed Draco, his smirk growing wider. “It’s unfortunate that their endless posturing and scheming takes precedence over genuine connections and sincere relationships. The pursuit of power corrupts even the most noble intentions.”

Severus nodded, a mix of weariness and resignation flickering in his eyes. “They will stop at nothing to maintain control and status.” He spoke softly. “But remember, Draco, not everyone here is an adversary. There are still a few who hold true to their principles and it would be wise to cultivate those relationships tonight.”

Draco nodded, deep in thought.

“However, before you proceed,” Severus interjected, “I suggest you acknowledge your friends. Mr. Zabini seems on the verge of causing a disturbance near the bar, while Miss Parkinson appears thoroughly vexed.” Draco followed Severus’ gaze and spotted Blaise scowling as he conversed with a particularly obnoxious member of the Wizengamot at the bar, while Pansy stood nearby with crossed arms and a bored expression on her features.

After promising to return to speak to Severus later, Draco manoeuvred through the crowd towards his friends, his highly polished shoes clicking against the marble floor.

Blaise’s eyes lit up at the sight of him and he quickly excused himself from a tedious conversation. “Ah, finally,” he sighed, relieved to be free from the clutches of an egotistical bore. "You've saved me from a life in Azkaban; I was seriously considering cursing him if he didn't stop blabbering."

Draco smirked. “You need to learn how to be patient with these people, Blaise,” he chided. “A bit of self-restraint can go a long way.” He turned to Pansy, who seemed unusually subdued. “What has you looking so downtrodden, my dear?”

Pansy let out a heavy sigh before launching into her tirade. “Firstly, this dress is terribly uncomfortable and I blame my mother for convincing me to wear it. ‘We must match, darling,’ she said. ‘It’ll make quite the impression.’ And now here I am, alone and itching like a flea-bitten dog in front of all these influential people while she frolics about with my father, carefree as can be.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at her complaints and took a closer look at her attire – a plum-coloured dress that flared out at the waist with a lace bodice.

“You look ravishing, Pansy,” he assured her.

“Thank you, dear Draco.” She smiled gratefully before turning to Blaise for confirmation, only to find him smirking back at her.

Draco couldn’t quite decipher the dynamic between Pansy and Blaise at the moment. It was certainly not their usual playful banter, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to get involved.

She huffed before going on. “And secondly, half our friends aren’t even here! Millie told me that the Bulstrodes weren’t even invited, can you believe it? And Greg and Vince are forbidden to attend by their families. What rot.” Her frown was turning into a scowl. ”Tracey’s in Ireland and Theo is running late. And to top it all off, Daphne conveniently fell ill at the last minute, even though we all know she never wanted to come in the first place, so none of the Greengrasses are in attendance either,” Pansy lamented, clearly frustrated.

Draco nodded empathetically. “Well, we’re here now and Theo should be arriving soon. Let’s make the best of it.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow mischievously before turning to Pansy with a sly smile. “And, my dear Pansy, you will have the pleasure of dancing with three of Europe’s most eligible bachelors. So cheer up and enjoy the evening.”

Pansy rolled her eyes at Blaise’s comment. “Fine, but you better not step on my toes,” she replied playfully.

As the music began to fill the air, Draco glanced around the grand ballroom, taking in the sight of elegant couples twirling gracefully across the floor. There was an air of enchantment and excitement, as if the world beyond these walls ceased to exist for a few fleeting moments.

Blaise extended his arm towards Pansy, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Shall we, my lady?” he asked with a mock bow.

Pansy raised an eyebrow at him but a hint of colour rose to her cheeks. “Let’s see if you can keep up, Zabini.”

Draco watched them disappear into the crowd, their laughter blending with the melodic strains of the orchestra, before deciding that this would be the perfect opportunity to introduce himself to some of the potentially genuine connections that Severus had spoken of earlier.

Everyone in the ballroom knew who he was, of course, but very few of them actually knew him. They would, perhaps, expect an exact copy of his father or, if they cared to take notice of what had happened during the summer, they may be cautious and wary of his motives and motivations. Either way, Draco knew that the night might turn out to be a difficult one.

He weaved through the crowd, his silver eyes scanning the room for potential allies, before he spotted a small group of individuals engaged in what appeared to be an intense discussion near a set of ornate French doors. They were slightly apart from the rest of the guests, as if deliberately seeking solitude amidst the grandeur.

Curiosity piqued, he moved towards them, his steps measured and purposeful.

As he approached the group, Draco recognised one of them– the renowned scholar and expert in magical artefacts, Professor Hazel Aldridge. Aldridge was known for her extensive knowledge and sharp wit but Lucius had never been particularly fond of her and, as such, Draco had never been formally introduced to her.

She had, however, reached out to Severus in recent months to ask about Draco, a gesture that had surprised him. Now that he had a chance to finally meet her, Draco couldn’t help but be intrigued.

The other two members of the group were unfamiliar to him. A tall man with dark, tightly curled hair stood beside Professor Aldridge, his striking features etched with a deep seriousness. The woman next to him possessed an air of elegance and sophistication, her glassy green eyes sparkling with intelligence. He could tell that the two were not lovers as their body language was distant yet professional but their connection to each other, and Professor Aldridge, interested him.

Draco paused for a moment, observing the interactions between the three individuals. Their hushed voices suggested a conversation of utmost importance.

Steeling himself for rejection, he approached them.

Professor Aldridge’s eyes flickered in recognition as he neared them. She turned towards him, a hint of surprise crossing her features before her expression settled into something contemplative.

Her companions glanced at Draco, wary curiosity gleaming in their eyes.

“Draco Malfoy,” Aldridge said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “It seems you have joined us at just the right moment.”

“Professor Aldridge,” Draco replied with a nod.

“Allow me to introduce my companions,” she continued. “Mr. John Luthuli and Miss Isabella Carmichael. They are esteemed members of the International Wizarding Society.”

If this surprised Draco, he did not let it show. He knew of the International Wizarding Society, of course, but very few people knew what they actually did. Even Draco’s father had never been invited to join them, despite how influential he had been in Britain and Europe.

Draco extended his hand towards her first companion, who met it with a firm, but welcoming grip. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Luthuli,” Draco said with a charming smile.

John Luthuli nodded in acknowledgement. “Likewise, Lord Malfoy.”

Draco then turned to Isabella Carmichael, who regarded him with a discerning gaze. “Miss Carmichael,” he greeted her.

She offered a polite nod, her pale green eyes studying him intently. “A pleasure, Lord Malfoy.”

Curiosity burned within Draco, eager to know more about the matter they were discussing and the potential opportunity for connection it presented.

“Forgive my intrusion,” he began, “but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. It seems to be of great importance.”

Professor Aldridge’s gaze lingered on Draco for a moment before she spoke. “Indeed, Lord Malfoy,” she said. “We were just discussing the recent resurgence of those practicing the Old Ways across Europe. I’m sure you’re aware that this is a rather controversial topic, especially in such a setting as this, but we believe it is a matter that requires our attention and understanding.”

“Of course, Professor Aldridge,” Draco replied, smirking inwardly. He knew that he and his fellow Slytherins were, in part, responsible for this resurgence in Britain, at least. “It seems there is a growing interest among young witches and wizards in exploring our ancient practices.”

Professor Aldridge nodded, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Precisely, Lord Malfoy. We believe that it is crucial for those of us who possess knowledge and experience to guide and educate the new generation. To help them navigate the complexities and potential dangers that come with delving into the realms of the old magick.”

Draco was surprised by both her words and her forthcoming nature, but he did not let it show on his face. Instead, he maintained a composed expression, his silver eyes locking with Professor Aldridge’s. “I couldn’t agree more,” he replied smoothly. “There is a delicate balance between tradition and progress, and it is our duty to ensure that this balance is maintained.”

Aldridge’s smile widened, and Draco briefly wondered if she’d been testing him. “Severus has spoken highly of you but you have exceeded my expectations,” she said. “Your insight and understanding are rare among your peers, Lord Malfoy.”

Draco inclined his head in acknowledgment, a flicker of pride shining through his mask of composure. “Thank you, Professor Aldridge. Severus is here tonight, if you haven't seen him yet.”

She laughed loudly, enough to draw attention to their little group. “Yes, I've seen him skulking about in the shadows. I will endeavour to annoy him later.”

Cutting in before Draco could reply, Isabella Carmichael spoke up for the first time, her transatlantic accent smooth and velvety. “It seems we have found a kindred spirit in you, Lord Malfoy,” she said, returning the conversation to their earlier topic. “The International Wizarding Society is always seeking individuals who share our vision and dedication to preserving ancient magick. Perhaps, once you come of age, you may consider joining us.”

John Luthuli’s lips curved into a wide smile as he turned to Draco. “And, in the meantime,” he added, “do not hesitate to call upon us if we are needed.”

☿

As Draco excused himself from Professor Aldridge and her companions, his attention was drawn to the grand staircase as a murmur rippled through the crowd.

The Nott family had arrived, their presence causing a stir among the guests.

Theo stood tall and handsome, flanked by his elder brother and his father – a man who, at least to many of those attending the gala that evening, had become a recluse after the tragic loss of his wife. Whispers swirled around them as they made their way through the room.

“Can you believe it? Nott actually showed up,” someone muttered just loud enough for Draco to hear.

The elder Nott’s arrival was no small event; it would send waves through high society. Draco knew the significance all too well, but, unlike those staring at the family in shock, he also knew that it was going to happen. It was just one of the perks of being Theo’s boyfriend.

With grace and poise, he approached the trio and greeted Lord Nott with a firm handshake, Alexander with a cordial nod, and Theo with a small, intimate smile. It was a far more restrained greeting than he would normally give the family but, in this space, Draco was Lord Malfoy, not merely Draco, and he needed to act as such.

“Lord Nott, it’s good to see you here,” he acknowledged respectfully.

“Lord Malfoy.” Theo’s father returned the greeting with a slight tilt of his head.

“It seems everyone is rather animated tonight,” Draco commented casually, though his sharp eyes caught every flicker of excitement within their fellow attendees. He knew that the other attendees were listening in on their conversation, hanging on to every single word.

“Yes, indeed,” Lord Nott responded with a wry twist of his lips, hinting at the attention their arrival had garnered. Theo's father was a man of few words but his presence spoke volumes.

“Something seems to have caused quite the stir,” Alexander added with a smirk. “Ah, I see a colleague of mine over by the bar. I’ll see you all later,” he said before stalking off into the crowd.

Draco lingered with Theo and his father, casually talking with the two men until the initial shock subsided and the whispers quieted down. Eventually, Lord Nott also departed, mentioning that he wanted to speak with Pansy’s parents before they got lost in the festivities once more, leaving Draco and Theo to navigate their way through the overflowing dance floor towards Pansy and Blaise, who were deep in conversation in a secluded corner.

“So, quite an evening we’re having,” Draco remarked as they joined them in their quiet observations of the room.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Blaise murmured in response.

Draco leaned in closer to listen as Blaise’s voice dropped to a hushed tone, struggling to be heard over the symphony of clinking glasses and muffled laughter that filled the opulent ballroom. “I just spoke with some particularly zealous wizards over there.” Blaise nodded subtly towards a group of sharply dressed men in the corner, their gestures animated even from a distance.

“They’re furious about the Ministry’s failings,” he continued. “They claim their contributions to events like this are being redirected to line the pockets of corrupt Aurors who then turn on their benefactors, seizing so-called dark artefacts from their family vaults.”

Draco’s lips curved into a smirk. “Ah, the naivety of the light-leaning families.” He could practically feel the waves of resentment emanating from the disgruntled group.

“Indeed,” Blaise agreed with a raised eyebrow. “Their fortunes also seem to be funding politicians’ lavish lifestyles instead of genuine efforts for change or aiding those truly in need.”

“Well, perhaps someone should give them a little friendly advice, Blaise,” Theo suggested with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Steer them in a better, fairer direction.”

Blaise gave him a wicked grin in return, one that promised disruption and chaos for the Ministry.

Before Draco could add anything else, Pansy stepped forward, her hand outstretched imperiously. “That’s enough politics for now, gentlemen. Draco, you owe me a dance,” she declared, daring him to refuse with a challenging gaze.

He took her hand, allowing the smooth pull of her guidance to lead him into the throng of dancers. The orchestra swelled, strings soaring as they began to twirl across the marble floor. Pansy moved with practiced grace, her gown flaring around her like the petals of a night-blooming flower.

As they danced, Pansy leaned in close, her voice a silken whisper under the cover of music. “See the Fanes and the Actons by the fountain? They could prove useful allies. But avoid the Fawleys tonight; they’re looking to broker power, and we don’t want to be caught in their schemes.”

Draco nodded subtly, his eyes discreetly scanning the ballroom as they spun past tables adorned with silver and crystal. The weight of each connection, each potential alliance and each rivalry, pressed upon him. Each move he made was critical, and Pansy, ever the astute observer, was directing his next play.

“Understood,” he murmured back, the dance carrying them in a graceful arc as plans began to form in Draco’s mind. He knew just how to approach the Fanes and the Actons.

The dance lulled into a slower rhythm, and Draco found his steps syncing more intimately with Pansy’s.

“Draco,” she said, her dark eyes conveying the importance of her words, “my parents have been working tirelessly. Many of their friends have wavered in their allegiance, uncertain where to cast their support. It’s a delicate balance, but they’re making headway in ensuring that none of it swings towards Him.”

This is, in part, what Draco had been hoping for. He hadn’t yet spoken of his plans to his allies, even the Parkinsons, but diverting resources away from the Dark Lord was his ultimate goal. He knew that every small victory, every ounce of doubt planted in the minds of those who supported the Dark Lord, even in the smallest of ways, brought them closer to freedom. Perhaps it was time to put his plan into action. Or, at the very least, discuss it with his friends.

“Your parents are always strategic,” Draco acknowledged, his grip on her waist firm yet cautious.

“Indeed,” Pansy continued, her gaze flitting across the ballroom to where other conversations whispered promises or threats. “And it hasn’t gone unnoticed that your own actions over the summer have carved a new path for my father. His influence is growing, and that’s partly thanks to you.”

Draco gave her a brief smile, which she returned brightly.

“My father believes that your resilience against the Dark Lord positions you uniquely, especially tonight,” she pressed on, her tone earnest. “There are grey-leaning families here, those who adhere strictly to the Old Ways. They respect strength, defiance even. You could be the one to bring them to our side.”

“You know that the grey-leaning families don’t pledge loyalty lightly, Pans,” Draco replied, the idea taking root. He had indeed defied Voldemort openly, an act that could have spelled his end, yet here he was, dancing in a ballroom filled with opportunity. Of course, if what Severus said was true, the Dark Lord was planning to persuade Draco to join him again, although he had not shared his plans with Severus. That alone was enough to fill Draco with dread.

“Perhaps not,” Pansy conceded with a sly smile, cutting through Draco’s morbid thoughts. “But you, Draco Malfoy, have a way of surprising people. And in times like these, surprise can be a powerful ally.”

☿

Later, after successfully charming the Acton family with promises of business collaborations and enticing the Fane family into joint charitable ventures, Draco found himself surrounded by a group of witches and wizards, their finely-etched features betraying years of privilege and power. But as he spoke, his calm yet commanding voice drew their attention like moths to a flame.

“Divisions weaken us,” he declared, his words heavy with meaning. “Our world is under siege from those who hold no regard for our heritage or progress.”

A witch with sharp eyes and an even sharper mind leant forward, her scepticism evident. “And what do you propose, young Lord Malfoy?” Agatha Curzon, the elderly matriarch of one of the most prominent grey-leaning families in Britain, was a formidable woman.

“Collaboration,” Draco replied smoothly, as if he had been expecting the question. “A united front to heal not only our laws, but the very spirit of our community.” He gestured grandly around the opulent gala, enticing them with the thought of pooling their resources, knowledge, and magic to create a stronger bond.

Heads nodded hesitantly, as they considered the possibilities. “We must find a middle path,” Draco continued, his words weaving a powerful spell over his audience. “One that honours our traditions while embracing change.”

There was a murmuring of agreement among the group, as Draco’s words resonated with them on a deep level. This was exactly what grey-leaning families strived for, a balance between the so-called progress that the light-leaning families pushed towards and the heritage that the dark-leaning families preserved. He knew he had struck a chord when he saw their earlier reservations melt away.

“Just imagine it,” he whispered conspiratorially, leaning in closer so only they could hear. “A future where our children can grow up free from war and rigid ideologies.”

The hum of agreement grew louder as Draco spoke of unity and inclusion, urging them to set aside their differences for the greater good.

“Unity does not mean we must all share the same beliefs,” he concluded passionately. “But rather, it calls for us to respect each other’s differences and work together towards common goals. For the betterment of all.”

As the music of the orchestra swelled and filled the air, Draco stood tall in the midst of the powerful figures of the wizarding world, no longer just a scion of his family’s old regime, but a visionary with a new path for the future.

“I agree, Lord Malfoy,” Agatha Curzon replied, her sharp hazel eyes boring into Draco as if she could see into his very soul. Her statement resulted in a few shocked faces and he resisted the urge to smirk. “Perhaps it is time for us to set aside our differences and create the world that we want to see. You have my support in your endeavours. Expect my owl in the coming weeks.” With that, she rose from her seat, aided by her granddaughter, and hobbled off into the crowd, leaving Draco to wonder just what she would write to him about.

“That was quite impressive,” Blaise whispered in Draco’s ear as the rest of the crowd dispersed and Draco was left pondering whether there would be anything left of their world to salvage once the war was over.

☿

The sound of someone clearing their throat reverberated around the grand ballroom, causing Draco to startle at the suddenness of it. All eyes turned to the source of the interruption, finding the new Minister for Magic standing at the centre of the room, his piercing gaze fixed on them.

Draco observed him carefully, taking in his awkward stance and intense expression. It was clear that this man was not accustomed to being in the spotlight, and Draco briefly wondered why he had been appointed as Minister in the first place. There had been no election, after all, and his controversial appointment by the Wizengamot left many questioning his qualifications.

With determination etched on his face, Scrimgeour finally spoke, firm and unwavering. “Thank you all for joining us tonight,” he began, his words carrying a sense of urgency. “We stand on the brink of a new era, one filled with uncertainty and imminent danger.”

A murmur of unease rippled through the crowd as Scrimgeour’s words sank in. It was far from the usual speech expected at a charity gala; instead of praising their contributions, the Minister’s words struck a chord of fear and curiosity in those present. Despite himself, Draco leant forward, eager to hear what came next.

“We are facing unprecedented times,” Scrimgeour continued, his tone commanding and authoritative. “The dark forces that were once thought vanquished have returned, stronger and more determined than ever before. Their influence pervades every aspect of our society. We must act swiftly and decisively if we are to maintain even a semblance of peace.”

A heavy silence descended upon the room as each person held their breath, waiting for Scrimgeour’s next words.

“Several prominent figures have already been apprehended as key players in this resurgence of dark magic,” Scrimgeour declared, sweeping his gaze over the room, ensuring he had everyone’s full attention. “There is no need to fear for your safety. Measures have been put in place to protect the innocent and ensure justice is served. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will stop at nothing until every trace of darkness is eradicated from our society. Thank you.”

With that, he released his Sonorous charm and strode off towards a group of Aurors waiting at the edge of the room. Draco watched him go, his mind racing with a mix of curiosity and scepticism. Scrimgeour’s intense speech caught everyone off guard, leaving them uncertain and uneasy.

As conversations slowly resumed among the guests, a tense energy lingered in the air. Draco observed those around him, noting their varying reactions. Some wore expressions of disbelief, while others seemed deep in thought about the gravity of the Minister’s words.

Draco’s attention returned to Scrimgeour, who was now engaged in a heated discussion with the Aurors. The Minister’s stern expression did not falter, and it was clear that he meant every word he had spoken.

He could have attempted to eavesdrop on their conversation, but that was far too risky and Gryffindor-like for his taste. Instead, Draco discreetly made his way back to Severus, who remained in his secluded corner, already formulating plans to use his connections and society gossip to uncover the truth behind the Minister’s motives.

Severus looked up from his half-empty glass of wine as Draco approached, a knowing glint in his eyes. “The Minister is complacent,” he said, his voice low and sardonic. “He is no better than Fudge, labouring under the pretence of control when, in reality, the Aurors know nothing of what these dark forces are truly planning.”

“Perhaps we ought to discuss this further in a more private setting,” Draco suggested, eyeing the room cautiously.

Severus nodded in agreement, his gaze fixed on Scrimgeour and the Aurors who were now dispersing throughout the ballroom, blending in seamlessly with the other guests.

“I must return to Hogwarts,” Severus muttered. “There are matters that require my immediate attention. But we will reconvene soon, Draco. We cannot let ourselves be complacent either.”

He watched as Severus discreetly made his way towards the floo, blending into the throngs of well-dressed witches and wizards with ease, before deciding to slip away himself.

Nothing useful would come of the rest of the evening, Scrimgeour had made sure of that. Fortunately for Draco, he was set to attend at least six more events like this before returning to Hogwarts in January, each one with a unique set of influential figures and potential sources of information in attendance.

He paused on his way to the floo to say goodbye to Blaise, the Parkinsons, and the Notts, before stepping into the fireplace and letting the green flames transport him home.

Chapter Text

The morning after the Ministry gala, Draco lay slumped over the antique dining table, his head heavy on his folded arms. The rustle of silken fabric alerted him to his mother’s presence as she glided into the room and pulled out a chair opposite him. He quickly lifted his head, silver eyes glinting with practiced charm, but she raised a sculpted eyebrow, a sign that she had something serious to discuss.

“Tell me, Draco,” she began in her cool, measured voice as she buttered a slice of toast, “what exactly transpired on the night of Samhain?”

Sensing the weight of her disapproval looming over him, Draco widened his eyes in feigned innocence. It was a tactic that had always worked on his parents, though never on Severus, but this time Narcissa remained unmoved. She leaned back in her chair, her gaze sharp and unrelenting. Mimicking his mother’s posture, Draco leaned back as well, considering his options before deciding that playing innocent was still his best course of action. After all, he had told his mother of his plan to retrieve her cousin from the veil. Omitting certain details about the ritual was simply to spare her unnecessary worry.

“What do you mean, Mother?”

Narcissa studied her son for a moment, her piercing gaze seeing right through him. He knew he could never deceive her; she knew him far too well for that. Her laughter tinkled like silver bells as she leaned forward conspiratorially.

“Oh, Draco darling, you can’t fool me.”

With a resigned sigh, Draco straightened up in his seat, knowing there was no use trying to deceive his mother any longer.

“I performed a ritual to bring Sirius Black back from the veil.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Narcissa said lightly, “but which ritual did you perform? I received a rather alarming letter from my sister claiming you were covered in blood. And I know I taught you better than to attempt blood magick alone, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco was briefly concerned by the mention of her sister before realising that it must have been his Aunt Andromeda who wrote to her. Sirius Black had clearly sought out the only cousin he could truly trust, he reasoned to himself before returning his attention back to his mother.

He hesitated, his hands nervously tugging at the hem of his thick pyjama shirt. He had hoped to avoid this exact line of questioning, knowing all too well the disapproval it would bring from his mother, but evading her scrutiny was impossible, so he straightened his shoulders and met her gaze head-on.

“I found it in Vela Black’s grimoire,” he admitted, ignoring his mother’s gasp. “It wasn’t a particularly dark ritual, and the blood magick was for my protection. I did not use it to summon Black,” he reassured her.

Narcissa’s perfectly manicured nails tapped rhythmically on the polished wood of the table as she processed Draco’s confession. Her expression was a mix of concern and disappointment, a familiar combination that always made Draco feel like a petulant child caught red-handed. He had hoped to shield her from the darker aspects of his endeavours, but it seemed his efforts had been in vain. With a resigned sigh, Narcissa finally spoke, her voice softer now, tinged with a hint of weariness.

“Draco, dabbling in blood magick is incredibly dangerous, especially when you venture into realms you do not fully understand. You should have told me your plan; we could have undertaken it together.”

Draco shook his head. “No, mother,” he insisted. “The instructions for the ritual were clear. Only one may be present during the casting, and the caster must be alone in the circle to establish full connection with the target. It was a risk I had to take.”

It tugged at Draco’s heart to see the vulnerability clear on his mother’s face, her usually serene composure cracked by her son’s reckless actions.

She reached out to grasp his hand, her touch warm and comforting.

“I understand your drive to bring Sirius back, Draco,” she said softly, “but you must promise me that you will not delve further into these dangerous arts without talking to someone first. Your safety is paramount to me.”

He briefly thought about everything else he had been shielding her from but he kept those thoughts to himself, not wishing to worry her further. Draco squeezed his mother’s hand in a silent promise, knowing that he had already crossed lines that should never have been approached. The weight of her concern lingered in the air between them, a silent reminder of the risks he had taken and the secrets he still harboured.

“You are my son, Draco,” she said softly, “and I will always be here to guide you, no matter what challenges you face.” She paused before she smiled at him again, this time somewhat playfully. “Speaking of challenges, do tell me how Severus fared last night. He almost cursed me when I asked him to attend the gala in my stead.”

Draco smirked at her remark before regaling her with a tale of his brooding godfather navigating the sea of socialites and Ministry officials with his usual sullen expression and cutting remarks, much to Narcissa’s delight.

☿

Over the next few days, Draco attended event after event. Galas, balls, charity auctions. It was overwhelming and exhausting and, if Draco was honest with himself, he was actually looking forward to going back to Hogwarts. It wasn’t like he’d never attended these things before but he’d always been seen as a child, as the heir to a great family, but as Lord Malfoy, the head of his family, his role was different. He was scrutinised more heavily, eyes followed him wherever he went, and others seemed to follow his lead despite the fact that he was still only sixteen years of age.

As the days wore on and the endless cycle of events continued, Draco found himself yearning for a sense of normality. The superficiality and pretence that permeated each gathering weighed heavily on him, reminding him of the expectations that came with his newfound title.

But this night was different. On this night, Draco was set to attend the annual Parkinson Yule feast with his friends and their families. There would be no fake conversations, no forced smiles, and no need to uphold a certain image. He would be able to eat as much as he wanted, laugh without restraint, and, perhaps most importantly, dance with Theo. He was looking forward to simply being himself among his closest friends.

He stepped through the floo mere moments after his mother, and as he took in the parlour of the Parkinson estate, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. The air was already filled with warmth and laughter, a stark contrast to the cold formality of the events he had been enduring all week, and for the first time in days, Draco felt like he could finally breathe.

Linking his arm through his mother’s, Draco led them both into the familiar ballroom.

The room was filled with soft candlelight, casting a warm glow over the dancing couples and the tables laden with festive treats. Draco’s friends waved at him from a corner, a mixture of relief and excitement on their faces at his arrival. Elizabeth Parkinson, the hostess of the feast, swept over to meet them, her smile bright and genuine.

“Narcissa, darling, so glad you could make it!” Lady Parkinson exclaimed, pulling Draco’s mother into a tight hug. “You look positively radiant. Let me get you some refreshments. Draco, Pansy and the others are already in the dining room if you’d like to join them.”

Draco watched as his mother was led towards a little cocktail bar where Lord Parkinson was showing off his mixing skills and, once she was settled, he ventured into the dining room, dodging Pansy’s excitable younger sisters as they raced through the corridors.

As he entered the dining room, Pansy caught sight of him and beckoned him over with a wide grin, her dark curls bouncing with each movement.

“Draco, you made it!” she exclaimed, giving him a quick hug before pulling him towards their group.

Daphne and Millie were chatting animatedly at the table, and Draco was surprised to see Tracey sat beside them, listening to them with a fond expression etched on her face. She looked tired, leaving Draco to wonder just what had happened during her time in Ireland, but the smile she gave him when she noticed he’d arrived washed his worries away. She seemed happy and relaxed, pleased to be around her friends.

“Finally, we thought you were going to be fashionably late as usual,” Vince said happily, clapping Draco on the back with enough force to make the shorter boy stumble.

How Greg and Vince had convinced their parents to let them attend the evening’s feast, Draco would never know, but he was happy that all of his friends were gathered in one place.

Draco rolled his eyes at his friend before taking a seat. “Where’s Theo?” he asked, trying to sound casual as he scanned the room.

“Why? Eager to kiss him under the mistletoe?” Blaise snickered, earning a playful smack from Pansy and an eye roll from Millie.

Draco felt heat rise to his cheeks, but he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. He was, in fact, looking forward to meeting his boyfriend underneath the mistletoe.

“Stop teasing him,” Greg interjected gruffly before turning to look at Draco. “Theo’s just stepped outside for some air. He’ll be back soon,” he reassured, giving Draco a knowing look before turning back to the conversation at hand.

As if on cue, the heavy oak door swung open again to reveal Theo, face flushed from the cold winter air. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his eyes lit up when they landed on Draco. A gentle grin spread across Theo’s face as their eyes met, and he sauntered over to where the group was gathered.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, love,” Theo said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Draco’s cheek before taking the seat next to him.

“No problem at all,” Draco replied, his heart fluttering at the term of endearment. He was constantly amazed by how natural and right it felt to be with Theo.

Theo’s hand found Draco’s under the table, their fingers intertwining as they joined in on the conversation with their friends. The atmosphere was light and joyful, filled with laughter and easy camaraderie that Draco had been craving after the formal events of the past week.

Soon enough, the other guests began to filter into the dining room and Draco watched each one take their seats.

His mother sat across from him, elegant and beautiful, with Severus at her right and Blaise’s mother, the formidable Magdalena Zabini, at her left. Lord Greengrass kissed his wife’s hand as he held out a chair for her, while Maeve and Alys Davis took their places next to each other, their heads bent together in whispered conversation.

It was in moments like this that Draco felt his father’s absence keenly.

He looked over to Greg and Vince, both attending without either of their parents, and wondered if they felt the same void in their lives.

☿

At the head of the table, Lord Parkinson rose from his ornate chair, a commanding presence that demanded attention without a word. His eyes swept over the assembled guests, an expression of dignified pride etched into his features. He cleared his throat, and the conversations hushed to a whisper before dissipating entirely.

“Friends, family,” he began, his voice resonating in the vastness of the hall, “we are gathered here on this sacred night not just to revel in the bounties of our world, but to celebrate the bonds that unite us.”

Draco listened, noting the subtle inflections in Lord Parkinson’s speech, the careful choice of words that spoke of solidarity in times both prosperous and challenging.

“Let the Yule feast remind us of our shared strengths and the harmony we forge when standing together.” Lord Parkinson lifted his goblet in a ceremonial gesture, the light catching the liquid within like captured starlight. “To unity!”

“To unity!” echoed the guests, a chorus of voices that melded into one.

As the feast commenced, a sumptuous array of dishes was presented, each more delectable than the last: roasted meats that fell off the bone, gravies that were the perfect complement of rich and savoury, and vegetables that retained the kiss of the earth. Draco indulged in the flavours, savouring each bite, the food a testament to the abundance of the season.

Time seemed to fold upon itself, laughter and contented sighs the only markers of its passage. When the final course had been cleared, leaving behind only the sweet memory of spiced desserts on their palates, Lady Parkinson stood, her grace evident in the fluid motion.

“Please,” she beckoned with a smile that held the warmth of a thousand hearths, “join us in the ballroom for an evening of merriment.”

Draco felt the anticipatory thrill of what was to come as they transitioned from the dining area to the grandeur of the ballroom. The music swelled to greet them, a vibrant melody that pulsed through the soles of his shoes, inviting movement and celebration. Glasses were refilled with drinks that sparkled like the winter frost under the moon’s caress, and the floor opened up to the dancers.

The atmosphere was alive with joy, every face alight with the spirit of the season. Draco mingled, his steps measured and sure, drawn into the rhythm of the night, ready to partake in the age-old tradition of dance and conversation.

The first chords of an elegant waltz filled the ballroom, and Draco offered his arm to his mother. Narcissa glided onto the dance floor with a poise that commanded admiration. They moved in tandem, their silver-blonde hair catching the light as they glided around the room.

As the music transitioned into something livelier, Draco found himself whirling Pansy around the floor next. Her laughter was infectious, and her eyes shimmered with mirth as she matched him step for step, her gown billowing out like the petals of a dark flower in full bloom.

With the ease of long practice, he shifted partners, taking Millie’s hand with a courteous nod. She wasn’t usually one for dancing, especially with men, but they moved together in perfect harmony.

Astoria followed, her shy smile blossoming as Draco led her in a gentle sashay. There was an innocence to her movements, a careful observation of each step, as though committing the moment to memory.

Between exchanges of partners and laughter, Draco’s gaze fell upon a sight that interrupted his rhythm for a heartbeat. His mother, along with some of the other ladies of their circle, had descended upon Severus, who stood with his usual austere demeanour near the fringes of the celebration.

“Severus, you simply must,” he heard his mother insist, her voice carrying over the music with a genteel firmness that left no room for argument.

“Really, Narcissa, I assure you...” Severus began, his tone edging on exasperation, but there was a reluctant amusement in his dark eyes—a testament to years of friendship shared between Draco’s mother and godfather.

Draco watched, a smirk playing on his lips, as they managed to draw Severus onto the dance floor. Despite his initial refusals, his movements were not those of a reluctant partner. He glided through the dance with a surprising elegance, the stern lines of his face softening as he allowed the spirit of the Yule celebration to seep through his defences, if only for the length of a song or two.

☿

Draco’s feet ached from hours of dancing and he finally begged off, slipping away to the edge of the ballroom where he poured himself a drink from Lord Parkinson’s stash of mead. As he took a sip and let out a satisfied sigh, his gaze drifted towards one of his friends, engaged in a charming spectacle. Penelope, with her hair styled in soft curls reminiscent of her mother and sisters, was balanced on top of Blaise’s feet as they glided gracefully across the floor. Her laughter filled the air, her face alight with the thrill of the dance.

From his vantage point, Draco caught sight of Pansy watching her youngest sister with sparkling eyes and a fond expression that softened her usually sharp features. It was rare to see this side of Pansy, hidden beneath layers of pureblood decorum and sly wit. But in that moment, she looked truly happy and content.

The music reached a crescendo and then tapered into applause, signaling the end of the song. Guests dispersed into conversation clusters or made their way to the refreshment table, giving Draco a chance to rest his tired feet.

He settled into a chair at a nearby table, only to be pulled into a debate between Lord Greengrass and Lord Bulstrode about some obscure point of wizarding law.

“Pay attention, Draco,” Lord Greengrass bellowed, patting him forcefully on the shoulder. “You’ll need to know this when you take up your seat in the Wizengamot.”

“Oh please,” Lord Bulstrode sighed, like he'd heard this argument a thousand times before. “That law hasn’t been enforced since the seventeenth century, Nicholas. You’re boring the poor lad to death.”

“Now see here, Edward,” Lord Greengrass cut in with mock indignation. “Just because a law isn’t enforced doesn’t mean it’s irrelevant. There’s always a chance it could be reinvoked.”

“Yes, and my great-great-grandmother could rise from the dead and dance the Charleston,” Lord Bulstrode scoffed. He winked at Draco conspiratorially, causing him to stifle a laugh.

Thankfully, the start of another song saved Draco from having to contribute further. He scanned the room for Theo, hoping to finally dance with him. Clearly catching on to Draco’s intention, Lord Greengrass placed a hand on his back and pushed him towards the dance floor.

“Go on, lad. Enjoy yourself with that young man of yours,” he chuckled with a cheeky grin.

Draco blushed in response and with a quick bow to the two men, he made his way towards Theo who was engrossed in conversation with Tracey’s parents.

He closed in on his boyfriend, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, but before he could reach him, he was suddenly intercepted by a taller figure with strong arms that wrapped around his waist and lifted him effortlessly into the center of the room. Surprised and disoriented, Draco looked up to find himself face to face with a strikingly handsome man, whose piercing blue eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Ah, Draco,” the man laughed as Draco scowled at being carried off. “Surely you’d rather dance with me than my less attractive little brother.”

Draco’s response was rather surly. “Not particularly. And Theo is far more handsome than you.”

“You wound me, dear brother-in-law,” the man teased, twirling Draco around the dance floor with elegant movements. But despite his initial reluctance, Draco couldn’t help but be swept up in the energy of the music and his partner’s playful charm.

As they spun around the grand ballroom, Draco caught glimpses of Theo watching them with an adoring smile. He couldn’t resist smiling back, silently promising Theo that they would have their turn on the dance floor soon enough.

The last notes of the song rang out through the hall, and Draco let out a breathless laugh as his partner gracefully spun him away before bowing in mock formality. With one final glance at Theo, who was now entertaining Astoria, Draco made his way towards his boyfriend.

However, before he could reach him, Blaise swooped in like a hawk seizing its prey, demanding the next dance. Just like his previous partner, Blaise took hold of Draco’s waist and guided him into position.

Draco’s irritation must have shown on his face because the other man let out a surprised laugh.

“My, my, Draco. One would think you don’t want to dance with me,” Blaise joked, his voice laced with amusement.

“You know full well that I wanted to dance with Theo. You’ll be lucky if you make it through this dance with your toes intact,” Draco retorted, his playful threat earning another chuckle from Blaise.

Their competitive teasing continued throughout the dance, each trying to impress and outdo the other, until the music finally came to an end. As they parted ways, Blaise gave Draco a sly grin and complimented him on his dancing skills.

“Perhaps next time you’ll save a dance for me without the need for threats,” he quipped.

“I make no promises, Zabini,” Draco warned, earning another soft laugh from his friend. “But thank you for the dance,” he added sincerely.

As Blaise moved on to his next partner, giving Draco another opportunity to seek out Theo, he was once again waylaid by someone else eager for a dance – this time it was little Penelope with her pleading brown eyes and outstretched hand. Unable to resist her adorable charm, Draco took her into his arms and showed her his best moves.

Greg, Vince, Vince’s sister Eleanor, Tracey, and Daphne all delighted in taking their turns dancing with Draco, causing him to wonder if there was some secret plot against him, but he couldn’t deny that he was thoroughly enjoying himself with each and every one of them. It was so rare for everyone to be in a room together like this, free from the expectations of society and the darkness that loomed over their families.

Draco felt another pang of longing for his father, who would usually be leading his mother around the room in the most intricate and intimate of dances. He knew that Lucius deserved to be in Azkaban, and he didn’t dare to think what his life would be like had his father not been arrested, but he still wished that the man was here, among friends and family, rather than caged in a cell surrounded by all manner of people and creatures.

Eventually, the music softened to a mellower tempo, and the ballroom’s atmosphere settled into a warm lull. Draco felt the slight pressure of a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Theo standing there, an inviting tilt to his lips. With a subtle nod that spoke volumes, they found themselves in each other’s arms, stepping into the dance as if they had rehearsed it a thousand times.

Theo led with a gentleness that belied his often-stoic demeanour, his eyes holding a tender gleam reserved only for moments stripped of pretence. Around them, the room spun in a kaleidoscope of silks and velvets, but the clamour dimmed under the quiet intensity shared between the two young men.

The dance drew them closer, their movements synchronizing in silent communication until they paused beneath an archway adorned with festive greenery. Glancing upward, Draco’s breath caught at the sight of the mistletoe nestled among the leaves, its significance blooming between them like a silent promise.

Their gazes locked, and the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, with a softness that contrasted the strength in his fingers, Theo cupped Draco’s cheek and brought their lips together. The kiss was gentle and soft, yet filled with a depth of emotion that neither of them could express with words. Time seemed to slow around them, the soft strains of music fading into the background as they lost themselves in the embrace.

When they finally parted, their foreheads leaning together, Draco felt as though he could see into Theo’s very soul, laid bare before him in that intimate moment.

Laughter and applause erupted from across the ballroom, drawing their attention away from each other. Alexander, ever the showman, had Eleanor in his arms, her feet barely touching the ground. His kiss was bold, dramatic—a stark contrast to the understated affection just witnessed. Eleanor’s hands clung to his shoulders, her laughter mingling with the cheers as Alexander proved that the art of spectacle was not lost on him.

“He always has to ruin the moment,” Theo murmured playfully, lips pressed against Draco’s hair.

Draco chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against Theo’s chest as he leaned into the comforting warmth of his embrace. The festive cheer enveloping them faded into the background, leaving only the two of them in a world of their own making. With a contented sigh, Draco tilted his head up to meet Theo’s gaze, a soft smile curving his lips.

“He certainly knows how to capture an audience’s attention,” Draco replied, amusement dancing in his eyes. “But I much prefer our quiet moments.”

Theo’s answering smile was gentle, his thumb brushing lightly against Draco’s cheek.

As they swayed to the lingering notes of the music, Draco felt a profound sense of peace settle over him. In Theo’s arms, surrounded by the echoes of laughter and whispered conversations, he knew that he had found something truly special.

☿

Later, after Pansy’s younger sisters had been sent to bed and the evening transitioned into a more sedate event, Draco slipped away to seek a moment of solace.

As he rounded a corner, the murmur of voices from an adjacent corridor snagged his attention. Curiosity piqued, he edged closer, concealed by the shadow of a towering suit of armour that must have once belonged to one of Pansy’s ancestors.

“Severus, you must understand the importance,” implored a hushed, desperate voice that Draco recognised as Lord Nott’s. “The Dark Mark... It is a blemish, a constant reminder. I need it gone, by any means necessary.”

There was a pause, one filled with the weight of unspoken histories, before Severus responded with a tone of weary scepticism. “Samuel, even if such a thing were possible, the risks involved—”

“Please,” Theo’s father cut in, the word heavy with a vulnerability that seemed foreign coming from a man of his stature. “You of all people know the arts that our kind has forgotten. There might be a way. Research, Severus. That is all I am asking for.”

Draco’s mind raced as he listened in on the conversation, his heart pounding in his chest. This was a conversation not meant for his ears.

“Very well,” Severus replied after a long, contemplative silence. “I will see what can be unearthed, but I make no promises, Samuel. You understand the magic we are dealing with is...”

“Dark and treacherous, yes, I know. But I am willing to take the risk,” Lord Nott interjected, his determination clear.

“Then let us speak no more of this here,” Severus uttered, the undercurrent of urgency palpable even to Draco’s ears.

Footsteps approached, and Draco swiftly withdrew, blending back into the celebrations with practiced ease. As he re-entered the ballroom, his mind whirred with the fragments of the conversation he had overheard. His gaze instinctively searched out Theo, who was laughing at some joke Vince had told, blissfully unaware of his father’s plea.

In that moment, looking at Theo’s carefree expression, Draco made a silent vow to do whatever he could to help Lord Nott. He would achieve what even Severus doubted possible: the removal of the Dark Mark.

Chapter Text

Draco’s fingers brushed against the plain cover of Vela Black’s grimoire as he removed it from its case, the leather cool and slightly rough beneath his touch.

The Yule feast hosted by the Parkinson family had been joyful, a sensory overload of delighted laughter and rich food, but its memory was already fading in the face of this new obsession. He had barely slept, mind whirring with fragments of the conversation he had never been meant to hear. Lord Nott’s voice, low and urgent, questioning Severus about the Dark Mark.

With a determined flick, he opened the book to the last page, where the ink still seemed wet, as if the secrets penned within were fresh and waiting. He had delved into these pages before, their dark instructions guiding him through the shadows to retrieve his cousin from beyond the veil, and that feat alone was proof of the power the grimoire held. But now he needed more. He needed an answer that would unchain them all from the servitude of a man rendered monstrous by his inhumanity.

Page by page, Draco scoured the contents, scanning each word with increasing intensity. Runes and sigils danced before his eyes, spells and incantations promising transformations and bindings, yet nothing whispered of unmaking a mark that magically branded one the loyal servant of another. His frustration grew, the silence of the room pressing against him, reminding him of the isolation of his quest.

He muttered under his breath, pleading to the lineage of Blacks who had dabbled in the darkest of magick long before him, but the grimoire was obstinate, holding its secrets tight, indifferent to his desperation. Hours slipped by as candlelight wavered and shadows crept across the floor. Draco’s eyes ached from the strain, his hope dwindling with each turn of the page that offered no solace, no solution.

Finally, he snapped the book shut, the sound echoing too loudly in the silent chamber. It was definitive, a punctuation to his search within these pages. With a heavy heart, Draco pushed the grimoire aside, the reality sinking in: Vela Black’s compendium, for all its dark allure, held no key to freeing Theo’s father from the Dark Mark’s taint.

The weight of failure settled upon him, but it was not enough to crush the resolve that had been hardened by years of survival. There were still avenues left to explore, and Draco Malfoy was not one to surrender.

☿

Draco’s fingers traced the spines of ancient tomes lined in austere rows along the towering shelves of the Malfoy library, their gilt titles well-known to him. Each book was an old friend, or in his current, dire need, a regrettable disappointment. The knowledge within these walls, vast and varied as it was, held no power against the stain that marred the flesh of so many. A grimace tightened his features as he withdrew his hand; the Malfoi family grimoire, despite its age, was equally useless to him now.

With a frustrated sigh, Draco withdrew his hand from the shelves and paced the length of the Malfoy library. His boots thudded softly on the richly woven rug as he contemplated his limited options.

He paused for but a moment and his eyes landed on the family portrait that hung in the room. It has been commissioned when he was a mere toddler, oblivious to the weight of his lineage and too young to comfortably sit in his mother’s embrace as she held him still for the artist’s brush. Unlike the other grandiose paintings that adorned the Manor, this one followed the Muggle style. It would remain still and silent, never moving or speaking. Every generation of his family had one. A remnant of their past, of their tolerance for Muggles.

The sneer on his father’s painted face, still though it was, seemed to mock Draco’s current struggles.

Draco glared back at the portrait, feeling a surge of resentment towards the frozen figure that seemed to judge him from the gilded frame, but he quickly shook off the irrational thought. There were more pressing matters at hand than an inanimate portrait.

Two paths lay before him, both fraught with their own dangers and promises of salvation.

The first was hidden by the sealed door of his father’s private study, a place untouched since house elves, under his mother’s command, had bound it shut at the end of summer. It was the only room in the Manor that remain uncleansed, unchanged, and it would remain so until Narcissa Malfoy said otherwise. Unless Draco made the decision to enter it.

It was a repository of secrets, perhaps even forbidden knowledge, that Lucius deemed too volatile for any but his own eyes. The thought of breaking that seal sent a shiver down Draco’s spine—not out of fear of what he might find, but rather what it signified: the final breach of trust between father and son. Still, his father had broken that bond first and Draco realised that he should have no qualms about entering the space.

Alternatively, there was the enigmatic Sirius Black, resurrected from beyond the veil by Draco’s own hand. If anyone knew the clandestine corners of dark magic, it was Sirius, scion of the Blacks, a family steeped in mysteries darker than the Malfoys ever dared touch.

Draco’s own mother, herself a child of the Black family, may have been able to offer some insight into the Black family knowledge but Sirius’ branch of the family were darker, both in nature and magickal practices, than Draco’s grandparents had been. Perhaps, despite Sirius’ alliance with the light, his childhood knowledge of the Black family manor would yield some results.

Decision made, Draco retreated to the solitude of his chamber, quill poised over parchment as he penned a carefully worded letter to his Aunt Andromeda. He requested, with the polite detachment befitting a Malfoy, that she forward his correspondence to Sirius. The letter itself was concise yet earnest, asking for assistance in researching esoteric subjects that could aid his N.E.W.T.s – a half-truth that would suffice in masking his true intentions.

☿

“Mother,” Draco called out later that evening, finding Narcissa in her favoured sitting room amidst a haven of pale silks and silver-threaded tapestries. The scent of lavender and jasmine lingered in the air.

She looked up from her book, cool blue eyes regarding him with an expectant lift of her brow.

“I’ve written to Aunt Andromeda. I’m hoping to delve deeper into some advanced topics for school and I do believe that the library at the Black family manor may hold the key,” he said, presenting the unsealed letter as evidence of his scholarly pursuits. His words were practiced, smooth like polished stone – deception had become second nature.

Narcissa took the letter from him, removing it from the envelope and giving it a cursory glance. Her lips curved into a semblance of approval, though whether it was for his supposed commitment to academia or simply his skills in manipulation remained to be seen.

“Very well, Draco. Your dedication is commendable,” she finally spoke, handing the letter back to him.

“Thank you, Mother,” he replied, holding her gaze for only a moment longer before excusing himself. Relief threaded through him as he left the room, knowing he had bought himself time and opportunity without arousing suspicion.

☿

With a deep breath that did little to steady his nerves, Draco reached for the doorknob of his father’s study. The house elves had sealed it upon his mother’s request but now, as he turned the cold metal, the enchantments gave way with an audible crackle—a sound that seemed far too loud in the silent corridors of the Manor.

His mother was out for the day, having flooed to Paris with Magdalena Zabini under the polyjuiced guise of Lady Greengrass, providing Draco with a rare moment of privacy in his childhood home and the perfect opportunity to undertake his current task

The door swung open, and a musty smell wafted out to meet him, the scent of old parchment and forgotten secrets.

Stepping inside, Draco’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness, his wand tip alight with a soft lumos. Dust motes danced in the beam, and his heart pounded as if he were about to uncover a tomb’s long-lost treasures – or its curses.

With a flick of his wand, the lamps in his father's study came to life with a gentle glow, allowing Draco to see the room clearly.

What he found was a collection both astonishing and disturbing. Artefacts of dark magic lined the shelves, their surfaces etched with runes that made his skin tingle just from proximity. Books bound in leathers that he dared not identify lay scattered across the desk, their titles promising knowledge of the most forbidden kind.

Draco took a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil in his mind. It was difficult to reconcile the memories of his father’s loving presence with the reality of the dark artefacts surrounding him.

He walked further into the room, stepping carefully around scattered papers and broken vials.

The lamps flickered as he passed by a particularly ominous looking skull, its empty eye sockets seeming to follow him.

As he approached the desk, Draco was filled with a sense of unease. This was where his father had spent countless hours plotting and scheming, his sharp mind always one step ahead of his enemies.

But now those plans lay abandoned on the desk, covered in a thin layer of dust. Draco picked up one of the books and opened it cautiously. The pages filled with times and dates, with locations and names, with details of events that made his stomach churn.

He quickly closed the book and pushed it away from him in disgust. How could his father have become so consumed by darkness? Had he ever truly loved his family, or had his loyalty always been to power and control?

Draco was horrified by the array of malevolent objects that spoke volumes of his father’s dealings – yet, there was no surprise. This was Lucius Malfoy’s legacy, one that Draco had been fighting to escape since he first understood the weight of the Dark Mark branded into his father’s flesh. As he surveyed the room, he felt a faint flicker of hope that Azkaban’s bleak cells might reform his father’s twisted ambitions into something resembling the man who once read him tales of valour and magic to lull him to sleep.

Battling against his own apprehensions, Draco willed his mind to stay on track. He carefully plucked out a handful of books, wary of the ominous knowledge enclosed within their bindings. These were instruments, he rationalised, cruel yet crucial in his quest to assist Lord Nott – and possibly, somewhere down the line, his own father as well.

☿

Over the following days, as Draco attempted to steel his mind for the grim research ahead, letters began to arrive. Each bore the unique crest of its sender, the wax seals stamped with symbols of power and prestige. They were brief correspondences from acquaintances made during the social whirlwind of the winter holidays, polite inquiries and contemplations that sought to extend dialogues begun under chandeliers and amidst festive cheer.

Draco read each letter with a practiced eye, noting alliances and rivalries alike hidden within courteous words. These missives were more than mere social niceties; they were threads in the intricate tapestry of society’s power play, ones that he might one day need to pull. For now, he responded with equal tact, his quill dancing over parchment as he crafted replies that revealed little but promised much.

Despite the gravity of his clandestine endeavours, these letters served as a reminder of the world beyond the shadows he was currently navigating – a world of politics, of influence, where Lord Malfoy still had a role to play. And as each response left his desk, winging its way back to its originator, Draco felt a certain satisfaction knowing that while he delved into darkness, he also wove his own web in the light.

☿

More letter arrived. From his friends. From Theo.

Although the winter break was short, and they had seen each other only days prior, the distance still weighed heavily on their hearts and each one of his friends had filled their letters with anecdotes about their winter adventures.

Millie and Pansy had taken a trip to the Muggle British Library in London, carefully supervised by Millie's mother. Pansy’s letter had complained that she hadn’t been able to loan any of the books but she had drawn a little sketch of the vast stacks of books on the back of her letter. Meanwhile, Vince and Greg had been staying at the Zabini residence, away from their own families. Draco couldn't help but frown at the lack of mention of Greg's mother in his letter, but he knew his friend would only reveal more once they were all reunited. As for Daphne and Tracey, they had both spent their time at home - Daphne avoiding Astoria's persistence presence while Tracey returned to Ireland as expected.

Draco saved Theo’s letter to read last, savouring every last word written in his boyfriend’s hand.

Theo's letter was filled with warmth and longing, the words on the parchment seeming to dance before Draco's eyes. As he read Theo's detailed descriptions of his winter break - the quiet days spent in the countryside, the laughter shared with his father and brother around the hearth – Draco smiled. It was as if Theo's presence had seeped into the very ink on the page, wrapping around Draco like a comforting embrace.

☿

The books held in his father’s study, although vile in nature, held nothing about the Dark Mark or how to remove it. Although he was disappointed, he was not surprised.

It was clear to Draco that the Dark Lord hid secrets from even his most faithful of followers.

Unable to return to the room without alerting his mother, Draco hid the books in a well-protected chest in his own study.

He hoped that they would be safe until he returned from Hogwarts.

☿

His fingers trembled only slightly as he broke the seal on the letter bearing the Black family crest. At first glance, the envelope contained a single letter from Draco’s Aunt Andromeda, merely a few lines enquiring about his health, but if one knew what to look for, they would discover a secret.

Pressing his wand to an ink stain that had been left unblotted, Draco whispered an incantation that his mother had taught him in his youth. The ink stain moved and twisted on the page, seemingly alive, before it transformed into something no one would expect. Another piece of crisp, ivory parchment.

He unfolded it.

The handwriting was unfamiliar – bold and slightly slanted – a perfect representation of the man who had written it.

Little cousin Draco, the letter began, causing Draco to wrinkle his nose in annoyance, I was starting to think you’d never write, so your letter caught me off guard. Of course I’ll join you at the Black family manor, but I must insist (considering I’ve been threatened with physical harm) that we bring along your dear Aunt Andromeda and your mother.

Draco’s teeth worried at his bottom lip as he read Sirius’ terms. A small part of him had hoped to conduct his inquiries in secret, but he knew the wisdom in involving his mother and aunt. And, if he were honest with himself, the thought of facing the daunting corridors of the Black library without their presence unnerved him.

Let’s rendezvous at The Four Horseshoes, an old haunt from my more rebellious days. Surely your mother has fond memories of it as well, the letter continued. Draco raised his eyebrow, wondering just why his mother would be familiar with a Muggle pub. Shaking his head, he read on. I’ll sort out the details with Cissa and Andy but let’s aim for the Easter hols. You’ll be at home for the break and that’ll be less suspicious to old Dumbledore than you visiting home on a Hogsmeade weekend. I’m looking forward to seeing you in person, cousin. Let’s hope this Black family reunion doesn’t end up being a complete disaster.

The informal style of the letter was somewhat off-putting to Draco, but he agreed with the man’s sentiments. He, too, hoped that what remained of the Black family would be able to come together once more, without any undue chaos.

☿

The Hogwarts Express whistled its departure, signalling the end of a rather hectic winter break, and Draco found himself wedged between the familiar faces of his friends inside a somewhat too-small compartment. Unfortunately for them, the seventh years had managed to snag the larger compartment for this journey and so the nine sixth years were forced to make do with the tight space.

Blaise, in a rather dramatic move fitting of Lord Byron, had sprawled out across the floor and recited morbid poetry with exaggerated gestures. Pansy had rolled her eyes at the performance before coaxing him to sit up, positioning him with his back against her legs. Millie had silently offered him a rather plush looking pillow that she’d transfigured from a velvet scrunchie she’d been wearing and he positioned himself atop it with a grateful smile.

Draco had shared a knowing glance with Theo as Blaise rested his head back into Pansy’s lap, encouraging her to gently stroke her fingers across his temple.

As the train chugged along, Draco’s nerves buzzed under his skin, an uncomfortable itch that refused to be ignored.  

He was about to summon a book from his trunk when laughter spilled from Daphne, who was sat across from him, her cheeks flushed with the excitement of shared secrets. Draco leaned back against the seat, feigning disinterest, though his ears perked up involuntarily.

“Vince came over to the manor during the break,” she whispered to an enthralled Pansy, soon after Vince had left the compartment in search of food. “He was being so sweet and romantic, and I just couldn’t help myself. I kissed him!”

The compartment erupted into a chorus of teasing and questions, reminding Daphne that she was not, in fact, in a private space, but Draco found himself smiling genuinely for the first time since the Yule feast. In the midst of chaos, plots, and dark arts, there remained constants in his life – like Daphne’s all-encompassing crush on one Vincent Crabbe.

As the landscape outside blurred into streaks of greens and white as they climbed further north, Draco settled deeper into his seat. Theo’s hand rested on his thigh, the warmth of his palm seeping into Draco’s skin even through the thick material of his trousers.

Chapter Text

As the new term began, Draco was struck by how different his life at Hogwarts was compared to the world of high society he had been immersed in over the winter break.

Gone were the lavish feasts and tedious small talk he had been forced to endure, replaced by the lively chatter and mischievous antics of his fellow students in the Great Hall.

The teachers, seated stiffly at the Head Table, seemed less than enthused by the start of term – either disappointed by the return to work or still reeling from the recent attack on Hogsmeade.

Glancing at Severus’ stony expression, Draco surmised it was likely a mix of both.

Draco, too, had mixed feelings about returning to school. On one hand, he was eager to get back to learning but, on the other hand, he was dreading Monday morning Potions classes with Slughorn. They were a special brand of torture.

☿

“Today,” announced Professor Slughorn with his usual flourish, “we shall be attempting a Wound-Cleaning Potion. A challenging concoction, I must say!”

Draco barely suppressed a smirk. Advanced it might be for others, but he had brewed this potion successfully under his godfather’s exacting tutelage. His fingers itched to show off his skills.

After gathering his ingredients from the cupboard, and ignoring Blaise as he pocketed some extra ingredients, Draco returned to his desk and began to brew the assigned potion. He didn't even need to open his textbook.

As cauldrons began to bubble and the room filled with the scent of stewing dittany and murtlap essence, Draco found his gaze drifting across the room. It settled on Potter, hunched over his own cauldron, dark hair falling untidily over furrowed brows. There was something irritatingly imprecise about Potter’s movements – his grip on the knife uncertain as he clumsily chopped the fluxweed, his eyes flitting nervously between the textbook and his potion as he counted his stirring aloud. And yet, Draco knew that, despite Potter frequently referring back to his textbook, the Gryffindor wasn’t using the techniques listed in the book. Potter, like Draco, was implementing the changes made by one Severus Snape.

“Curious,” Draco muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing.

He couldn’t see Potter’s textbook from where he was seated – he’d taken a seat as far away as possible from the other boy to avoid any incidents – but he wanted desperately to see what Potter was reading.

Draco only turned away from Potter when his own potion demanded his attention.

Slowly stirring counterclockwise three times before adding a sprig of elderflower, Draco focused completely on the rhythmic motion, feeling the tension in his body easing as the potion glowed a brilliant shade of turquoise.

With precise movements, he adjusted the heat of his bubbling cauldron and sprinkled in a pinch of powdered broad-leaved dock leaf, added to reduce the sting of the potion when applied. He stirred twice in a clockwise direction, attuning his movements to the symphony of sounds within the classroom. Granger’s low whispers melded seamlessly with the musical sound of Pansy’s laughter, interspersed with Tracey’s clever quips and the dull thud of knives on cutting boards.

“And that, my dear students, is the end of today’s lesson,” Slughorn announced with a jolly clap of his hands, breaking Draco’s focus. “Please tidy up your workstations and prepare your potions for inspection.”

Draco’s potion was the perfect colour, bright purple, as he carefully decanted it into a vial. As he corked the vial, he looked over at Theo who was inspecting his potion with a furrowed brow. Draco could see the frustration in Theo’s eyes as he realised something had gone amiss in the brewing process but one glance at his boyfriend’s cauldron told him that Theo was being too hard on himself. Theo’s potion, a deep shade of purple, was just as perfect as Draco’s own.

“Ah, perfect again, Harry my boy,” Slughorn said with a pleased chuckle as he reached Potter’s workstation.

Draco didn’t even try to resist the urge to roll his eyes as the rotund teacher heaped praise on Perfect Potter.

Slughorn bustled around the classroom, his beady eyes scrutinising each student’s potion. Zacharias Smith’s cauldron was bubbling uncontrollably, causing Draco to smirk as he heard Blaise stifling a laugh beside him. “Perhaps a bit more time with your textbook, Mr. Smith,” Slughorn muttered, peering into the thick, black liquid. “I suspect some incorrect ingredients have found their way in.” A sly grin crossed Draco’s face as he watched Smith squirm under the professor’s sharp gaze. At least now he knew why Blaise had taken some extra ingredients from the cupboard.

“Not too bad, Miss Granger,” Slughorn murmured as he passed her table but Draco caught the flicker of disappointment in her eyes at not being singled out for praise.

Draco’s eyes then fell on Weasley’s desk. The redhead was frantically waving his wand over his cauldron, muttering incantations under his breath. The potion inside looked like a noxious green swamp, emitting puffs of foul-smelling smoke that made several students nearby wrinkle their noses in disgust. Draco couldn’t help but sneer at the disaster unfolding before him. Weasley, as usual, was making a mess of things.

As Slughorn approached Weasley’s table, the Gryffindor appeared to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. His freckled face was flushed with panic, and his hands were trembling as he tried to salvage the potion gone wrong.

Slughorn peered into the cauldron, his bushy eyebrows knitting together in disapproval. “Not quite what we were aiming for, Mr. Weasley,” he commented with a disappointed sigh. “I suggest you pay closer attention to the instructions next time.”

When Slughorn finally reached Draco, a small smirk played on his lips. “Ah, Mr. Malfoy, once again showcasing your exceptional skills in potion-making. The colour is just perfect, my boy.”

Draco inclined his head graciously, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth even though he could feel Potter glaring at him from across the room.

He finished cleaning up his desk efficiently, his movements precise and practiced. He shot a last glance over at Potter, who was still basking in Slughorn’s praise, before turning to Theo with a small smile.

“You did great,” Draco said quietly, knowing Theo tended to be a perfectionist when it came to his potions.

Theo looked up, meeting Draco’s gaze with a soft expression. “Thank you, darling.”

As the two of them made their way out of the classroom, an insistent question lingered in Draco’s mind, one that he was determined to bring up to Severus. Had Severus imparted some of his advanced techniques to Potter during their Remedial Potions sessions last year? The thought both intrigued and annoyed Draco as he was left wondering how much more Potter had secretly learned from Draco’s godfather.

☿

Severus assured him that he’d never demonstrated any of his techniques during Potter’s Remedial Potions classes but he looked concerned as he poured Draco another cup of tea.

“Be careful around Potter,” Severus warned, his dark eyes fixed on Draco. “He is reckless and impulsive but he should not be underestimated.”

☿

The ancient desks of the Transfiguration classroom were huddled together as Professor McGonagall paced in front of them, her heavily embroidered robes swishing with each step.

Draco eyes followed each precise turn she made; his quill paused mid-air over parchment. Her lecture had captivated him; the intricate and dangerous process of becoming an Animagus was not one for the faint-hearted or impatient.

“Remember,” McGonagall’s voice cut through the room with the sharpness of a well-cast spell, “the path to discovering your Animagus form is perilous and riddled with complications. It should not be a process undertaken lightly, nor without supervision.” She fixed the class with a steely gaze that lingered just a moment longer on her own Gryffindors. “Your essay should detail the risks involved and the precautions necessary, as well as touch upon on the ethical considerations of exploring this transformation. Sixteen inches of parchment on the topic, due by Friday.”

As the final bell rang, dispersing the murmur of notes and the scuttling of students eager to escape, Draco rolled his parchment with a practiced flick of his wrist. He gathered his books, sliding them into his bag with the rest of his belongings, and strode out into the corridor where the cool air smelled faintly of stone and polish.

Blaise pondered dreamily, his wistful voice wafting from behind Draco.

“Ah, but the transformation process is treacherous. One wrong move and you may end up with a permanent tail,” Daphne quipped, her sapphire eyes sparkling with mischief.

Tracey’s melodious laughter erupted at the thought, earning a scowl from Blaise.

Draco joined in the merriment, though his mind was already occupied with McGonagall’s lecture. Becoming an Animagus was no easy feat, requiring unwavering dedication and patience. Those were traits he prided himself on possessing but he still wasn’t sure whether he actually wanted to carry a single Mandrake leaf in his mouth for an entire lunar cycle.

As they strolled through Hogwarts’ corridors, flickering torches illuminated the ancient stone walls, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance along the tapestries.

“I wonder what creature each of us would be,” Millie posed, addressing the group as a whole.

“Blaise is obviously a panther – all sleek and mysterious,” Pansy declared, flipping her hair back.

“More like a peacock, strutting and proud,” Tracey teased, earning a mock glare from Blaise.

“I do not strut,” Blaise retorted, feigning offense before a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. “But I do appreciate the comparison to a panther.” He winked at Pansy, who flushed a pale pink in response.

There was definitely something going on between them, Draco mused, before turning his attention to his own boyfriend.

“Theo would be a wolf,” he chimed in. “Quiet and calculating, but fiercely loyal when it matters.”

“Draco here would be something regal, surely,” Daphne mused, looking at him thoughtfully. “A hawk, perhaps, with those sharp eyes.”

“Or a snake,” Millie suggested with a hint of irony, aware of the symbol of their house.

“Predictable,” Draco countered smoothly, his lips curving into a half-smile. “I’d prefer something less expected.”

“Unexpected like what? A dragon?” Tracey posed the question, her tone simultaneously mocking and speculative.

“Dragons are too ostentatious,” Pansy put in. “Draco’s more understated than that.”

“A fox then,” Theo concluded with a nod – ignoring Blaise’s exclamation of “Draco? Understated?!” – “since you’re clever and adaptable.”

“Or a ferret,” a voice interjected, “since it suited you just fine before, Malfoy.”

Draco’s head snapped around, his grey eyes narrowing at the sight of Weasley smirking beside Potter and Granger. The Slytherin’s previous amusement evaporated, replaced by a sneer.

He hated to admit it but the redhead had hit a sore spot. Draco didn’t mind when his friends joked about the incident but Weasley had no right. He had no idea how it felt that day, to be transformed into a beast and flung into the air. How it felt to be so helpless and terrified, left at the mercy of a madman.

Draco clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he fought to control the rage bubbling inside him.

 “We all know what you’d be, Weaselbee,” he retorted, his voice dripping with disdain as he attempted to stay calm, “a pathetic little rat scurrying in the shadows, always overlooked and scrounging for scraps of attention.”

Weasley’s ears reddened, and he stepped forward, fists clenching. “Watch your mouth, Malfoy!”

“Ron, don’t,” Granger implored, grasping his arm in an attempt to pull him away, her bushy hair swinging with the urgency of her movements.

Potter, however, remained silent – a statue with green eyes that bore into Draco with a glare so intense it seemed to promise retribution. Not a word escaped his lips, yet the hostility rolling off him was palpable.

“Come on, Ron,” Granger persisted, finally managing to tug Weasley back a step, her voice strained with the effort of maintaining peace.

“Scared, Potter?” Draco taunted, unable to resist poking at Potter’s unusual reticence.

Potter’s jaw tightened, but he offered no response, his gaze never wavering from Draco’s face.

The corridor felt charged with tension as the Gryffindors backed away, leaving Draco surrounded by his own group, who were now eyeing him with a mixture of concern and confusion.

“Odd, isn’t it?” Millie remarked once the trio had disappeared around a corner. “Potter not jumping into the fray.”

“Yes,” Draco murmured, recalling his most recent confrontations with Potter, “very odd, indeed.”

☿

Draco was aware of Potter’s eyes following his every movement.

Potter watched him at every opportunity – in lessons, in the corridors, in the Great Hall – as if waiting for Draco to do something.

As if waiting to catch Draco in a moment of weakness.

☿

A wintry storm rolled into the Scottish Highlands later that week and, as the wind howled through the ancient walls of Hogwarts, Draco found himself ensconced in the chaos of Professor Talleyrand-Périgord’s Alchemy laboratory.

The enigmatic professor had hinted at a chance for practical work, but only if Draco could demonstrate his ability to assemble the intricate apparatus and display his vast knowledge from the endless tomes he had been compelled to study.

Though Draco longed to protest that his meticulously written essays were sufficient proof of his theoretical understanding of the subject, his wariness towards Talleyrand-Périgord kept his words trapped behind gritted teeth.

Instead, he allowed himself to be subjected to the inanest test of his abilities yet, as Draco carefully placed the fragile vials and tubes in their appropriate positions with precision while his teacher fired questions at him in rapid succession.

“Tell me, Mr. Malfoy,” the professor’s voice echoed through the room, “what is the significance of adding powdered carnelian during the third phase of the transmutation process?”

“Johannes Trithemius argued that adding powdered carnelian in the third phase serves to amplify the energy flow within the solution, allowing for a more efficient transmutation of base metals into noble metals,” Draco answered, his eyes never leaving the glass vial he was preparing. “However, due to carnelian’s somewhat volatile properties, I suggest that it would be better to use powered jade at this stage of the process.”

“Interesting choice of substitution, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor Talleyrand-Périgord mused, a hint of approval in his tone. “And how would you adjust the rest of the procedure to accommodate this substitution?” he prodded further.

“With the substitution of jade for carnelian, the temperature at the start of the third phase would need to be lowered by five degrees to account for the jade’s slower reaction time,” Draco explained without hesitation. “Otherwise, the jade would burn before the reaction was complete.”

Professor Talleyrand-Périgord merely hummed in response but Draco paid him no mind. If he stopped to dwell upon the habits and motivations of his professor, Draco would once again be reminded of the unease that always accompanied their interactions.

The storm outside intensified, the wind whistling through the cracks in the dungeon walls as the professor continued to observe Draco’s progress with a keen eye.

“In The Seventy Books, Jābir ibn Hayyān demonstrated the use of vegetable, animal, and mineral substances in the preparation of alchemical elixirs. Name one elixir, from your other reading, where it may be beneficial to use a vegetable or animal substance over the mineral substance usually recommended.”

“The Elixir of Eternal Flame,” Draco began, his voice steady despite the weight of Talleyrand-Périgord’s gaze upon him. “Traditionally, the formula calls for the use of sulphur extracted from mineral sources to ignite the eternal flame within the elixir. However, the blood of Surtr, a rare substance derived from a particular species of magical tree found growing in the area surrounding Bárðarbunga, may yield a purer and more potent flame when used in place of sulphur.”

Nodding slowly, the professor circled the workbench where Draco was labouring with the alchemical apparatus, his deep purple cloak billowing behind him.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Talleyrand-Périgord started once he was stood in front of Draco, “your knowledge of the texts and proficiency with the equipment suggest you are ready to advance beyond mere theory.”

“Thank you, sir,” Draco replied, a flicker of genuine satisfaction crossing his features.

“Beginning next week,” the professor continued, “we shall attempt something more practical. We’ll start with the transmutation of iron into silver. If successful, we will explore the byproducts of this transformation and their potential applications in healing and potion-making.”

“Understood,” Draco said, a gleam of anticipation in his grey eyes. This was the kind of challenge he relished, the kind that tested his mettle and intellect alike.

“Prepare yourself,” the professor advised. “It will demand your utmost concentration and skill.”

Draco gave a curt nod, already mentally preparing for the challenge ahead. As he collected his belongings, the prospect of new alchemical mysteries to unravel sparked a rare ember of excitement in the pit of his stomach, momentarily warming the cold dread that so often accompanied his thoughts when he was in this particular classroom.

☿

He was being watched.

Draco knew he was being watched.

Despite being the only person in the corridor leading to the entrance of the library, he could feel the weight of someone’s gaze on him.

His steps quickened, echoing off the stone walls as he tried to appear nonchalant, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he reached the heavy wooden doors of the library.

With a deep breath, Draco pushed them open and stepped inside, hoping to lose his unseen observer among the rows of shelves and tables.

He spotted Theo at their usual table, small and slightly secluded, and he hurried towards him.

☿

Draco pressed his back against the cool, ancient wood of the towering bookshelf, the faint smell of parchment and dust tickling his nose as he flicked through his chosen book. He’d agreed to meet Theo to work on their Transfiguration essays but he hadn’t managed to find a decent source for one of his arguments about the ethics of animagi transformations. Theo, of course, was flying through the essay, but Draco was stuck.

He was just about to reach for another book, with a title that looked promising, when he heard hushed murmurs from the other side of the shelf.

“Look, I’m telling you, he’s up to something,” Potter’s voice was insistent, tinged with that stubborn determination that always seemed to accompany his wild theories.

“Harry, you have got to get evidence before you make such accusations,” Granger’s voice was a soothing contrast, ever the voice of reason amidst her friend’s sometimes reckless pursuits.

“Yeah mate,” Weasley chimed in, “the last time you went after Malfoy without proof it was a right mess. Snape nearly tore your head off.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, his fingers twitching with the urge to confront them but knowing better than to reveal his position. He could almost picture Potter’s face, glasses askew, with that annoyingly heroic furrow in his brow. The gall of Potter, spying on him, tracking his every move around Hogwarts with that infuriatingly self-righteous air.

As the trio continued to debate, Draco’s mind raced, piecing together fragments of overheard conversations, sidelong glances, and shadows that lingered just a bit too long in the corridors. It was Potter; it had to be. Only Potter would be persistent enough, meddlesome enough, to dog Draco’s footsteps with such tenacity.

“Malfoy’s been too quiet lately,” Potter said, a note of accusation in his voice. “It’s suspicious, don’t you think?”

“He might just be keeping to himself for once,” Granger suggested quietly.

“And he’s taking Alchemy with that weird Professor Tallyho-Pinot” Potter muttered, completely ignoring Granger’s input. “Not even you had the grades to join that class, Hermione.”

Draco heard Granger heave out a sigh.

“I’ve already told you, Harry,” she began in that imperious tone. “Professor Talleyrand-Périgord said I needed an O* in Potions to take the class and only one person in our year achieved that.”

“Yeah, but it’s a bit suspicious that Malfoy managed it, what with him being close to Snape and all,” Weasley added, unaware that Draco was close enough to hear every word. Trust the Weasel to accuse him of cheating, even after Draco had consistently achieved top grades in Potions.

Granger sighed again, and Draco felt a twinge of sympathy for the girl before it rapidly evaporated. She’d chosen to be friends with those two fools so she had no one to blame but herself for her current situation.

“I never even submitted a research paper for Potions, Ron,” she replied hotly. “I wanted to concentrate on Ancient Runes. And before you start, I’ve read Malfoy’s paper because it was published in the most recent edition of Potions Quarterly, as all accepted O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s papers are, which you’d know if you cared at all about your education, and it was far beyond anything I could have produced on the subject. You know I hate to say this, but Malfoy is one of the best students in our year. He’s probably just trying to get on with his N.E.W.T.s projects, like I should be.”

“Or maybe,” Potter lowered his voice, and Draco leaned in, his breath held captive, “he’s working on something. Something for Voldemort.”

Draco almost laughed at that. Potter was either ignorant or stupid if he believed that Draco was working with the Dark Lord.

“Honestly, Harry,” came Granger’s voice, taking on that shrill quality she was best known for. “You know what happened with the Malfoys during the summer, and even Professor Dumbledore has assured you that there’s no evidence of the Malfoys being involved with Voldemort. You need to stop this nonsense at once. You’re obsessed with him and it isn’t healthy.”

Potter let out a frustrated sound, the sound of someone refusing to let go of a bone, no matter how picked clean it already was. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes; Potter always did have a flair for the dramatic.

“We need to keep an eye on him,” Potter insisted and he was about to say more but Draco had heard enough.

With one last glance toward the gap in the shelves, he silently withdrew deeper into the labyrinth of the library, a shadow among shadows.

At least now he knew who had been following him in the corridors.

Perhaps it was time to lead Potter on a wild goose chase of sorts.

☿

As they walked to the Great Hall for breakfast on Friday morning, Pansy bounced ahead of the group, her dark, glossy hair swishing behind her. She turned around, excitement written all over her face.

“Why don’t we practice our Patronus Charms this evening?” she suggested.

The rest of the sixth-year Slytherins eagerly agreed, already planning on using their free hour after dinner to visit the Come and Go Room.

Blaise, always oozing with confidence, flashed a charming grin at Pansy. “Brilliant idea, Pans” he declared. “I believe I’ve made significant progress over winter break so I can’t wait to show you all how it’s done.”

Blaise’s comments caused a bit of a stir amongst the friends, with both Millie and Daphne claiming that they didn’t need any help from Blaise whatsoever.

Meanwhile, Draco hesitated, knowing he had spent not one moment practicing the charm during the holiday. Feeling pressured by his friends’ enthusiasm, he reluctantly agreed to join them in the Come and Go Room later that evening. After all, he needed to make some progress soon if he wanted to keep up with his studies. If he failed, Severus would have his head.

But as they reached the Great Hall, Draco realised that this might be the perfect opportunity to have some fun with his little stalker. Suddenly, he was rather looking forward to the evening.

☿

Dinner that evening was a quiet affair, with all of the sixth year Slytherins itching to leave the Great Hall and make their way to the seventh floor of the castle.

Once Dumbledore rose from his chair, bidding his fellow teachers a courteous evening and signalling the end of dinner, students from various houses sprang up with haste, eager to savour any fleeting moments of freedom before curfew.

As the Slytherins made their way out of the Great Hall, blending into the throng of students dispersing for the evening, Draco’s sharp gaze scanned behind him. There, weaving through the crowd like a shadow, was Potter, his predictable curiosity as reliable as the phases of the moon.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Draco’s lips. It was time to engage in a bit of sport.

“Wait,” Draco said suddenly, affecting an air of vexation. “I’ve left something back in the common room. You go on ahead; I’ll catch up with you.”

Vince’s brow furrowed, and Greg simply shrugged, both accustomed to Draco’s whims. Theo, however, seemed poised to protest. But there must have been something in Draco’s eyes, a particular glint of mischievousness, that gave the older boy pause. He studied Draco for a moment before shaking his head fondly and, with a quick squeeze of Draco’s hand, Theo caught up with the rest of their friends and left Draco alone in the corridor.

Once his friends had turned the corner, Draco slipped through a tapestry with relish, feeling the familiar thrill of the chase. He knew Potter wouldn’t be far behind; after all, the Boy Who Lived could never resist taking the bait.

Draco’s footsteps were silent as he navigated the labyrinthine paths of Hogwarts. He whisked through corridors lined with portraits that eyed him suspiciously, ducked into classrooms where chalk still told stories about that day’s lessons, and slipped through hidden doors that appeared only to those who knew their secrets.

He led Potter on a merry chase, circling back on himself, doubling through passages that would confuse anyone not familiar with that part of the castle. Each turn, each feint, each sudden backtrack was calculated with precision – the art of evasion taught to him by the best.

Draco could almost hear Potter’s frustration echoing off the walls, the sound fuelling his own sense of triumph. This game, this dance of cunning and wit, was Draco’s speciality. Potter never stood a chance.

As he ascended the final staircase, Draco quickened his pace. He needed to put some distance between himself and Potter if he wanted his plan to succeed.

The fifth-floor corridor stretched out before him, its tapestries displaying famous wizarding duels of the past swaying in a silent breeze.

Draco barely slowed his steps as he approached the portrait that concealed the entrance to the secret passageway, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Enlightenment,” he whispered to the seventeenth-century wizard, the password slipping easily off his tongue. The portrait nodded almost imperceptibly, and the wall parted just enough for him to slip through. As the entrance sealed behind him, Draco pressed his ear against the cold surface, a sly grin spreading across his face.

On the other side, he heard Potter’s voice growing more frustrated by the second. “Come on, just let me through!”

But the portrait remained unmoved, responding with a haughty sniff, “I cannot permit entry without the correct password.”

The exchange was music to Draco’s ears. He imagined Potter’s scowl, the furrowed brow, the helpless irritation. It was a small victory, but sweet nonetheless. With his amusement satiated, Draco turned away from the portrait’s stubborn silence and strode confidently down the narrow corridor until he reached a ladder that would lead him toward the Come and Go Room.

“About time, Draco,” Pansy whined as she saw him approach.

With Draco now present, Blaise stepped up to the blank wall, readying himself to make their request.

“Did you get what you needed?” Theo asked, doubt lacing his voice.

“Of course,” Draco replied with feigned nonchalance, though inside, his triumphant glee still simmered pleasantly.

They were interrupted by the door appearing and Pansy ushering them all inside.

☿

“Expecto Patronum!”

Their words rang out in unison, sending a surge of magic coursing through the air.

Blaise’s wand tip flickered with silver light, a near-solid form beginning to emerge. It was sleek and proud, prowling the edges of corporeality before diminishing back into mist. Tracey followed, her wand emitting a soft glow as an indistinct shape started to coalesce before fading from existence.

Millie’s efforts were met with a burst of light that nearly took shape but fell short of anything recognisable. Daphne, known for her elegance in spellcasting, effortlessly summoned a nearly complete Patronus.

Off to the side, Theo waved his wand with a furrowed brow, producing only wisps of silvery mist that swirled aimlessly. Pansy, her face set in a determined scowl, conjured similarly fragile tendrils of light while Vince, standing stock still, managed mere whispers of a Patronus, faint and unfocused as his concentration wavered.

Draco observed them all, his heart heavy as he strained to conjure his Patronus. With each incantation that passed his lips, there was only the barest flicker of silver before it dissolved into nothingness. Beside him, Greg mimicked the motion, his face screwed up in concentration, but like Draco, achieved no more than a few weak strands that faded as quickly as they appeared.

“Come on, Draco!” The encouragement came from Daphne, her voice cutting through his frustration. He watched, momentarily distracted, as she brandished her wand with an elegant flourish. A shimmering light burst forth and a fully formed swan danced into existence.

“Brilliant, Daph!” Millie cheered, her eyes lighting up with competitive fire. Moments later, she followed suit, her deep concentration giving way to triumph as a bear materialised from the tip of her wand, its massive form protective and strong, roaring silently in the shadowed space.

“Expecto Patronum!” Blaise’s voice was calm and controlled, belying the intensity of his focus. His efforts were rewarded almost instantly as a fox bounded gracefully from his wand and darted across the room.

Draco felt a pang of envy mixed with admiration for his friends’ success. As the room filled with the ethereal presence of their protectors, he closed his eyes and reached for a memory, any memory, that could spark the magic within him.

Greg’s face was a mask of determination as he stood apart from the others, his wand trembling in his beefy hand. “Expecto Patronum,” he grunted, and there was something new in his voice – a hint of belief that had been absent before.

Around him, the air shivered, and though the resulting wisp was faint and formless, it was undeniably there – a ghostly trail of silver light that ebbed into nothingness but not before it sparked a round of supportive applause from his peers.

“Keep at it, Greg!” Pansy encouraged, her own efforts gradually intensifying from delicate silvery threads to bolder, more defined streams of light. She bit her lip, clearly trying to conjure up a memory potent enough to give shape to her magic.

Theo, who had been quiet for much of the session, now focused with renewed vigour. The wisps around his wand began to swirl with intention, gaining strength and coherence as if responding to an unseen force.

“Almost,” Theo murmured, his eyes fixed on the burgeoning light. “Just a little more.”

Beside him, Vince surprised himself as the tendrils of light from his wand coalesced into a stronger glow, though still shy of forming any recognisable shape. His brow furrowed with concentration, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as he refused to yield to frustration.

“Come on, Vince, you’re almost there,” Blaise called out, watching with approval as his fox leapt around the room.

Tracey, meanwhile, seemed to be caught in a loop of repetition, her incantation yielding the same nearly-corporeal form again and again—a figure tantalisingly close to being recognised but never quite solidifying. Her expression was one of exasperation, the tip of her wand flickering with the pale light of ambition thwarted by some invisible barrier.

“Concentrate, Tracey. You can do it,” Millie whispered, but Tracey only shook her head, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

“Something’s missing,” she admitted quietly, disappointment lacing her words as she watched the others make progress.

Draco, standing away from the group, felt an acute sting of isolation as he watched his friends advancing in their practice. The room was alight with their successes, their laughter and encouragement for one another, yet his wand remained dark, silent.

“Expecto Patronum!” His voice cracked with effort, but still, nothing happened. Not even a wisp. Draco’s heart sank with each failed attempt, the weight of inadequacy pressing down upon him like a physical burden.

As the evening waned and the others’ Patronuses began to fade, leaving traces of mist hanging in the air, Draco’s sense of defeat grew palpable. He was alone in his failure, the last one standing without even a glimmer of hope at the end of his wand.

Draco sank down the wall and settled onto the floor, his elbows propped up on his knees while he buried his head in his hands, long fingers tugging restlessly at fine strands of white blond hair.

Theo approached him. Without a word, he sat down beside him, offering silent companionship in the face of Draco’s inner turmoil. The room was now quiet, the magical creatures that had once danced and shimmered in the dim light now gone, leaving behind a sense of emptiness that seemed to echo Draco’s own feelings of inadequacy.

“It’s just one spell.” Theo’s voice was gentle yet firm. “It doesn’t define you.”

Draco didn’t answer. He felt drained, the energy required to summon a Patronus had left him, taking with it what little confidence he had mustered throughout the evening.

Theo’s expression softened, recognising the struggle that lay beneath Draco’s prideful exterior. “Everyone struggles with different spells,” Theo continued, attempting to reassure him as he gently coaxed Draco’s hands away from his face. “Remember how long it took me to master Bombarda in fourth year?”

A ghost of a smile threatened to appear on Draco’s lips, but it vanished as quickly as it came. “This is different, Theo. It’s not about skill or practice. It’s about happiness. And I...” He paused, his throat tightening around words he never thought he’d confess. “I can’t find a memory strong enough to work.”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken understanding. Theo gave Draco’s hands a firm squeeze, but there wasn’t an ounce of pity in his expression.

Their friends had moved to sit near them, not too close as to disturb them but enough to reassure Draco of their presence.

“What are you thinking of?” Theo finally asked, his tone gentle but curious. “I’ve been thinking about my mother,” he shared quietly. “No specific memory, just the warmth of her laughter.”

Theo’s words hung in the air for a while before Draco finally spoke up.

“Memories of my childhood – gardening with my mother, making potions with Severus, flying through the Manor with my grandfather,” Draco admitted, a flicker of vulnerability in his silver eyes. “But they all feel tainted now.”

Theo hummed, a thoughtful noise, as he considered Draco’s words. “Perhaps,” he started slowly, choosing his words with care. “Perhaps it’s not about finding a memory untouched by darkness, but about finding the light within it. The brightness that can outshine any shadows.”

Draco lifted his head, his gaze meeting Theo’s with a mix of hope and uncertainty. The notion seemed foreign to him, the idea that he could draw strength from moments that now felt tarnished by grief and pain.

But as he let Theo’s words sink in, a spark of understanding ignited within him. Perhaps it wasn’t about erasing the past or pretending it didn’t exist. Perhaps it was about accepting all parts of himself – the light and the dark – and choosing which to nurture and let flourish.

He was too exhausted to try again but Draco felt a glimmer of something akin to resolve stirring within his chest. It was a fragile thing, easily overshadowed by the weight of self-doubt and past failure, but it was there nonetheless – a seed of hope taking root in the barren soil of his despair.

Chapter Text

The cold grip of winter held tightly onto the Hogwarts castle as January trudged on.

Inside the castle walls, Draco sat rigid amidst a fortress of parchment and leather-bound tomes, the dim candlelight casting long shadows across his furrowed brow. His quill darted across an essay with the frenzied pace of a man possessed, scratching out lines only to rewrite them moments later. Each stroke was measured, deliberate, betraying the stress that coiled tight within him.

“Draco, you’ve been at this since dawn,” Blaise remarked as he sauntered over to the table where Draco was sat. It was a Saturday and it was true, Draco had been there since dawn.

Theo had been with him at one point, working on a tricky Herbology essay, but Draco had long since lost track of his boyfriend. 

Pansy followed close behind Blaise, her sharp eyes taking in the chaotic spread of notes and textbooks with a mixture of concern and exasperation. She leaned forward to peer into Draco’s drawn face, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Salazar, Draco, you look absolutely dreadful,” she chimed in. “I cannot remember the last time I saw you without these dark circles under your eyes.”

Blaise slumped into a chair without invitation, his movements graceful and effortless compared to Draco’s tense posture, while Pansy perched herself on the table, directly on one of Draco's books.

“Unlike some people, I don’t have the luxury of skiving off,” Draco replied curtly, though the slight tremor in his voice hinted at the exhaustion he tried so desperately to conceal. It was only the second term of his N.E.W.T.s and he already had so much to do.

Seven essays, one project report for History of Magic, and a complex Potion to tend to were just some of the tasks on Draco’s never-ending to-do list.

“Come on, Draco,” Pansy said softly, placing a hand gently on his arm. “A short break won’t set you back.” Her fingers brushed against the fine fabric of his robes, coaxing him to meet her gaze, which held a silent plea for him to relent.

“No,” Draco muttered after a moment, his resistance almost faltering under the weight of persistent friendship and his own weary bones. “I can’t, I have too much to do. Professor Talleyrand-Périgord has set an essay about the 'uncovering the mysteries of Alchemy' that I need to finish before I can move on to the next stage of my practical work and I can’t be distracted.”

As the silence settled over them, broken only by the sounds of Draco’s quill scratching across parchment and the shifting of papers, his friends sought to distract him in any way they could. Blaise, ever the provocateur, cut through the haze of concentration with an unexpected remark.

“Speaking of mysteries, have you figured out what’s in that box from Dervish and Banges yet?” There was a lilt of mischief in his tone, not fully comprehending the gravity his words would impose on Draco’s already burdened conscience.

Draco felt a jolt, as if a dormant creature had been startled awake within him. His quill paused mid-stroke, ink blooming ominously on the parchment like a dark cloud. The box – a Pandora’s box of intrigue and frustration – had haunted his thoughts intermittently since the Summer.

“Progress?” he echoed, his voice hollow, betraying a mind swiftly ensnared by old obsessions. The image of the box, its surface smooth and imperturbable, flashed before his eyes. Those warding spells – they were dark, complex, unlike anything he’d come across in class.

“Draco?” Pansy’s query sounded distant to his ears.

“Nothing yet,” he replied tersely, an edge of irritation sharpening his words. The books around him, once allies in his academic pursuit, now felt like silent judges, mocking his inability to unravel the box’s secrets.

With a sharp scrape of chair legs against stone, Draco abruptly rose from the table and strode towards the towering shelves of the library. He navigated through the maze of knowledge with determination, seeking out tomes on ancient enchantments, cursed containers, and protective hexes.

His fingers brushed over leather-bound tomes, coaxing them from their dusty perches. Draco could not leave a puzzle unsolved, especially not this one with its impenetrable wards. He would exhaust every written word on magical protections until he unravelled the secret within.

☿

The sound of footsteps approached Draco, soft but insistent against the hush that enveloped the library stacks. He did not need to look up to know it was Theo; few others would dare interrupt him in this state.

“Draco.” Theo’s voice was a balm to Draco's soul, a lifeline in the stormy current that Draco was drowning in. “You’re going to burn out if you keep at this pace.”

Draco’s hand hovered mid-air, frozen in its motion to turn the pages of Veils and Vexes. He looked up to see Theo leaning against a bookshelf, his hands tucked casually into his trouser pockets. In that moment, Draco couldn’t help but take in the sight before him - Theo’s long, lean frame filling the narrow space between the shelves, his dark hair tousled and messy, a soft smile etched upon his handsome face. He was like a breath of fresh air.

Draco longed to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath his fingertips. But even as they stood mere feet apart, he felt a distance between them that seemed impossible to bridge.

“Let’s get some air, clear our heads,” Theo urged, breaking through Draco’s thoughts. “You know as well as I do that a tired mind finds no answers.”

Theo’s logic was sound, irritatingly so. Draco felt the resistance within him falter, even as he clutched the edge of Veils and Vexes with white-knuckled intensity.

“I can’t,” he protested weakly, lacking conviction. “Not until I find—”

Theo interrupted smoothly, cutting through Draco’s words. “Find what exactly? Another book? The answer to life's greatest mysteries? It won’t make a difference if you can’t focus properly.”

Draco’s gaze flickered from Theo to the pile of books before him. The weight of unread pages seemed suddenly oppressive, and the musty smell of ink and parchment, once comforting in its familiarity, now clawed at his senses.

“Fine,” Draco conceded, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. He placed the tome down with a reluctant sigh. “A short break, nothing more.”

“Perfect,” Theo replied, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

On anyone else, Draco would detest that smug smile but on Theo, he wanted nothing more than to kiss it away. Perhaps he would. Later.

“Trust me, you’ll be twice as sharp afterwards,” Theo continued, smile never wavering even in the face of Draco's glare.

The two made their way out of the stacks, Theo's hand firmly planted on Draco's shoulder as if to guide him. As they passed through the library’s grand doors, the tension in Draco's shoulders began to ease. There was a reluctant gratitude buried beneath his pride; perhaps Theo was right. Perhaps a moment’s respite was not surrender, but strategy.

☿

Later, Draco found himself studying once again, albeit in a very different manner.

The atmosphere in the Come-and-Go Room was thick and charged with determination. The ancient stone walls seemed to absorb the intense concentration of the sixth-year Slytherins as they diligently practiced their Patronus Charms.

“Expecto Patronum!” Draco commanded once more, his wand movements sharp and precise. Unlike his previous attempts, where not even a wisp of light had appeared, there was now a faint glow emanating from his wand. It quickly dissipated and Draco gritted his teeth, feeling both disappointed and determined. Progress, no matter how small, was still progress.

“Come on, Draco,” Tracey encouraged, stepping forward to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “We can do this.”

It was uncharacteristically optimistic of her to say such a thing, but as she turned to face him with squared shoulders and unwavering determination, Draco knew she truly believed it.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Her words were spoken with a mixture of hope and fearlessness, as if she was gathering every hope and dream she had ever had and channelling it into her spell. With a burst of bright light, a heron stalked from the end of her wand – careful, calculating, predatory. Its She exhaled triumphantly, a wide smile spreading across her face.

Pansy was the next to succeed, her usually haughty demeanour melting away as a sleek stoat tumbled out of her wand before bounding around the room in excitement. She let out a joyous squeal and clapped her hands in pure delight, her dark, glossy hair swishing as she bounced on her toes.

“I did it!” she exclaimed, turning to face her fellow Slytherins with an ear-to-ear grin. “I actually did it!”

Draco watched with a soft smile as Pansy celebrated her achievement. He rarely saw such displays of unrestrained joy from her and he allowed himself to bask in the warmth of her smile for a moment.

As the others continued to practice and improve, Greg and Vince managed to produce almost corporeal Patronuses – large and indistinct but impressive nonetheless.

Theo remained stuck in an in-between stage, not quite forming a shield form but not quite reaching corporeality either. His handsome face was set into a mask of determination, a glint of resolve shining in his piercing blue eyes.

Instead of trying again, Draco took a moment to simply observe his friends and bask in their successes. Pansy’s stoat playfully harassed Blaise’s fox while Millie’s bear lumbered towards them – fierce and intimidating yet also protective and endearing. A swan and a heron gracefully soared around the room, gliding through the defensive barriers that formed around his friends.

He smiled again, content in this moment.

With a whispered incantation, Draco finally managed to produce a Patronus.

☿ ☿ ☿

The little room was supposed to be a sanctuary for the sixth years – a hidden alcove tucked away close to the Slytherin common room – but its usual air of idle repose had been supplanted by a far more scholarly atmosphere, as evidenced by the wall of textbooks and parchment that encircled Draco.

His eyes, usually sharp with cunning, were dulled by fatigue as they scoured the lines of an ancient tome.

“Merlin’s beard, Draco, why here?” Greg’s voice derailed his train of thought as/ his heavy footsteps approached the table laden with books.

It had been a few days, perhaps a week, since Draco had been last coaxed out of the library by Theo but he had had little respite. The work kept piling up and Draco felt like he was drowning in it.

No one else seemed to be as stressed as he was, not even Granger, and it didn’t make sense to him.

“It’s like you’ve brought the whole library with you,” Vince muttered not even looking up from the game of Nine Men’s Morris he was playing with Millie. Draco was too distracted to notice that she was winning, for the first time ever.

Daphne’s discontent was clear as she flicked an irritated glance at the papers that had invaded their leisure space.

“Your study mania is turning our hideout into a second library,” she commented dryly, her gaze pointed.

Draco’s hand paused mid-sentence, the ink on his quill threatening to blot. He felt a surge of irritation but suppressed it, schooling his features into a mask of indifference. “I didn’t realise my being studious would be such a bother,” he said, his voice cool. “I can always move back to the library if that’s preferred.”

Greg and Daphne exchanged a look, seemingly surprised by Draco’s willingness to acquiesce. They knew that Draco took his scholarly ventures seriously, yet there was an unspoken agreement that this place was a refuge from the rigors of academic pursuit.

“Is there a reason you’re not in the library?” Greg pressed, his brow creasing with curiosity. His tone was not unkind but the question ruffled Draco’s feathers.

The truth was, he’d sought the solitude of this room to escape the persistent shadow that was Potter – always hovering, always watching, always following. But admitting to feeling harried by Potter’s attentions was not something Draco could afford to do; not when the eyes of his friends were upon him. They would be worried, needlessly so, and Draco did not need them hovering over him.

“Nothing special,” Draco lied smoothly, gathering his parchments with feigned nonchalance. “Just fancied a change of scenery. But as I said, I can relocate.” His voice held an edge of challenge, daring them to object.

“Relax, we’re not kicking you out,” Daphne began, but before she could finish, Draco had collected his belongings and stalked out of the room.

☿

His footsteps echoed rhythmically through the deserted hallway.

He veered away from the main corridor leading to the library, taking a sharp turn that led him instead towards the main staircases.

His shadow stretched long and thin on the stone walls, as if trying to pull him back, but he persisted, driven by the need for solitude.

The tapestries lining the hallway seemed to watch him with ancient, knowing eyes, but Draco hardly noticed. His mind was already formulating the precise request for the Come-and-Go Room. “I need a place where I can be alone,” he whispered under his breath, again and again, like a mantra.

As he approached the nondescript stretch of wall opposite the tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy’s attempt to teach trolls ballet, Draco paced three times in front of it, his desire clear in his mind. The wall shivered and then transformed, a door appearing as if summoned by magic – which, of course, it had been.

He pushed open the door and was greeted by an expanse of quiet and calm. The room had taken the form of a cozy study, complete with a roaring fireplace, a large mahogany desk, and walls lined with bookshelves brimming with volumes. A lone window showed a view of a serene and starry night sky, though Draco knew it wasn’t real. It didn’t matter. Here, he could breathe. Here, he could think.

With a grateful sigh, Draco settled into the high-backed leather chair behind the desk. He lit the candles on the desktop with a flick of his wand, their glow casting a warm light over the parchments and texts he conjured from his bag. His Potions project awaited.

He spent hours immersed in the material, poring over thick tomes that smelled of dust and ink. The words on potion interactions, side effects, and ethical implications danced before his eyes as he scribbled notes and cross-referenced statements. Occasionally, he would pause, staring into the flames as he turned a particularly challenging concept over in his mind.

Outside the cocoon of the Room, time lost meaning. It passed unnoticed as Draco traced the paths of potions through the body, how they adapted, helped, or harmed based on one’s age, health, or magical ability.

☿ ☿ ☿

One final rune had been carved, a sharp-edged sigil that shimmered with latent energy upon the parchment, before the classroom began to empty rather rapidly.

Draco, too, was in a hurry to leave but Professor Babbling detained him with a stern look.

“Mr. Malfoy. I have reviewed your N.E.W.T project proposal.”

Draco shifted, the strap of his bag digging into his shoulder. He sensed the impending conversation would be as unwelcome as an hour of detention.

“Your work is exemplary,” she continued, piercing him with her keen gaze. “Frankly, it’s wasted on such a rudimentary analysis. You could delve into something groundbreaking – something that might redefine our understanding of runic magic.”

Draco felt his pulse quicken, not with excitement but with anxiety. “Professor, I have a full schedule of N.E.W.T classes,” he said, his voice a mix of respect and thinly veiled irritation. “It is already stretched to its limits.”

“Ah, but you’re only in your sixth year, Mr. Malfoy.” Professor Babbling leaned forward, her hands clasping together. “You have time. And talent. Don’t squander either.”

He exhaled sharply.

Time was a luxury he simply didn’t possess. Between the essays, the practical experiments, and the uneasy tension that seemed to thread through every corridor of Hogwarts, there was scarcely a moment left for anything beyond what was necessary.

“Please reconsider,” she urged.

His refusal sat at the tip of his tongue, ready to leap forth in defence of his already overtaxed mind, but the professor’s expectant look, the unspoken promise of academic acclaim – it was a siren’s call, seductive and perilous.

“Of course,” Draco conceded, the words tasting like defeat. “I’ll expand the project.”

“Excellent!” Professor Babbling’s eyes gleamed. “I look forward to seeing where this takes you.”

With that, she released him from her clutches, and Draco practically sprinted from the room. His heart raced, not with the thrill of creative opportunity but with the dread of even more hours buried beneath tomes and scrolls.

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself, weaving through the corridors towards Charms “As if I needed another blasted thing to do.”

☿ ☿ ☿

The dim, flickering light of the Come-and-Go Room cast long shadows across the pages of an ancient text as Draco painstakingly traced his finger along the intricate diagrams of warding charms. The room, ever responsive to its occupant’s needs, had provided a small, unremarkable object – a smooth, oval piece of wood that lay inert on the table before him. With each incantation he whispered, the object shimmered faintly, reacting differently as he tested various charms.

“For-nýdan.”

A subtle thrum of energy vibrated through his fingertips, a sense of familiarity niggling at the back of his mind. The feeling wasn’t an exact match for what he had experienced before the Winter break but it was close. So very close.

His chest tightened with a mix of triumph and trepidation. He was one step nearer to uncovering the secrets of the box, yet the knowledge felt like another shackle binding him to an uncertain quest.

He glanced at the enchanted hourglass counting down the time, the sands slipping away too quickly for comfort. There was so much to do, yet these moments of discovery were the fuel that kept the fires of his ambition alight, even as they threatened to consume him.

☿ ☿ ☿

The clatter of cutlery and the low rumble of conversation enveloped Draco as he slid into his usual place at the Slytherin table, barely registering the plates of food that magically replenished before him. His thoughts were ensnared by a recent exchange with Professor Flitwick, whose words still danced mockingly within his mind.

“Mr. Malfoy, I must say, your analysis on the application of Cleaning Charms was... unexpectedly shallow.”

Shallow.

The criticism stung, not because it was particularly harsh, but because he knew he could have, should have, done better. Of course, he’d still managed to get an O on the essay but Flitwick clearly expected more of him. 

He poked disinterestedly at the roast chicken on his plate, taking a bite without tasting it, his mind replaying the conversation in search of some defence he might have offered.

“Draco, aren’t you hungry?” Daphne’s voice cut through his reverie; her question tinged with the kind of concern that bordered on intrusive.

He managed a vague nod, forcing himself to chew and swallow as if proving a point. “Just not as appetizing as usual,” he lied smoothly, pushing the food around to create the illusion of consumption.

Blaise leaned forward, his dark eyes soft with concern. “You’ve been distracted all evening. Something on your mind?”

“Nothing important,” Draco said, too exhausted to even think of a better response.

“Right...” Blaise drawled, clearly unconvinced, but he let the matter drop.

“Well, you need to eat more,” Pansy scolded with a concerned purse of her lips. “You're looking a tad thin, and you're far too pale. I know you're an aristocrat, Draco, but do you need to look like you've just been recovered from a Victorian opium den?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine, mother,” he muttered, spearing another piece of bland chicken into his mouth and chewing mechanically.

Pansy huffed, clearly annoyed at him, but he could feel her watching him as he continued to eat.

His friends resumed their own conversations, tales of school gossip and Slytherin solidarity that usually engaged him, and Draco retreated back into his own mind.

Even the warmth of Theo’s hand on his thigh could not ground him.

☿

The noise of the Great Hall dimmed as Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat at the head table. Draco felt the atmosphere shift to one of quiet anticipation. He did not share in it; his gaze was unfocused on the plate before him, his thoughts adrift.

“Your attention, please,” Dumbledore’s voice echoed, imbued with that particular blend of warmth and gravity that always seemed to command immediate silence. “I am pleased to announce that the planned Hogsmeade visit will proceed as scheduled. The Ministry has assured us that Aurors will be stationed throughout the village for your safety.”

Draco heard the words distantly, as if they were spoken underwater. His mind was already turning over the intricate patterns of the warding spells, the haunting enigma of that box. If the Hogsmeade trip was going ahead, he could finally try to open it.

Around him, students reacted with murmurs of excitement and relief, but Draco remained detached. It was only when Pansy leaned close, her lips barely moving as she whispered, that a fragment of the present world managed to pierce his bubble of preoccupation.

“Can you believe it? Aurors swarming around as if that’ll make us any safer. As if we don’t know better than to trust Ministry goons,” she muttered darkly, her eyes scanning the hall as though expecting cloaked figures to appear at any moment.

Draco merely nodded, an automatic response rather than agreement. Her words floated past him, ephemeral wisps lost to the greater storm that roared inside his head.

Dumbledore continued, speaking of unity and caution, but Draco’s attention had long since fractured.

☿

The last echoes of applause for Dumbledore’s speech had barely faded when Theo leaned closer into Draco, a serious look etching his features. “Don’t forget, we need to get the first years ready for Imbolc soon,” he said, his voice low enough to not carry beyond their immediate circle. “They’re eager to learn the ritual and we don’t have much time left before the weekend.”

Draco blinked.

His mind reeled at the mention of Imbolc – a sacred festival marking the arrival of spring on February 1st. How had an entire lunar cycle slipped by unnoticed? It left him feeling momentarily disoriented, almost dizzy.

“Imbolc,” he murmured, trying to anchor himself to the present with the word, but it felt hollow, distant. How could so much time elapse without him grasping its passage?

As he sat there, shocked by Theo’s words, the hall began to empty. Draco’s friends rose from their seats, chattering amongst themselves. They seemed untouched by the passage of time, their spirits unburdened.

“Come on, Draco, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Pansy teased lightly.

“He’s clearly haunted by essays,” Blaise chimed in with a grin, slinging an arm around Draco’s shoulders in a gesture meant to be comforting.

He managed a weak smile in return but, if anything, that only made his friends worry more.

Blaise’s grin vanished as his eyes scanned Draco’s face but the arm around Draco’s shoulder remained steady.

As they strolled through the corridors, the lively conversations of his friends washed over him but by the time they reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, the joviality of his housemates clashed with the silent scream for respite within him.

He offered a perfunctory nod to the others, muttering excuses about needing to retire early. Their protests were gentle, half-hearted; they wanted him to rest but didn’t want to risk alienating their friend by pressuring him to do so.

“I’ll join you,” Theo called after him, concern flickering in his eyes as Draco moved towards the dorm room. “Maybe I can read to you for a while.”

“No, it’s fine,” Draco replied, though his voice lacked conviction. “I’m just going to sleep. Enjoy your evening.”

Theo did not protest again but Draco could feel the older boy’s eyes following him as he left the common room. He knew that Theo would want to talk about this later, to force Draco to confront whatever was weighing on his mind, but he needed to be alone. At least for a while.

☿

In the dimness of his quarters, Draco allowed himself a moment to acknowledge the truth – he was utterly drained and it was his own fault.

How would he survive the Dark Lord if he couldn't even survive his N.E.W.T.s?

Chapter Text

High-pitched screeching cut through the low thrum of conversation that enveloped the Great Hall.

Students watched as owls of all shapes and sizes, from the majestic Eurasian eagle-owl to the striking red owl, swooped into the Hall and dropped letters in front of their classmates. The confusion of those who did not understand the significance of the evening was written plainly on their faces, but Draco was observing who amongst the students had received letters.

It did not surprise him that every Slytherin student was in possession of at least one note, if not from their own families, then from their friends, and he was also pleased to see that Luna was in the middle of opening a second letter. One was, obviously, from her father, but as she turned around to grin, wide and open, at Draco, he knew that his own letter had been warmly received by his cousin.

What did, however, surprise him was the sheer number of other students opening letters. It was unusual to see so many, despite this ritual taking place every single year, but Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors alike were tearing through wax seals.

Even the Patil twins, who Draco knew followed the traditions of their ancestors, had letters of their own. From their friends or family, Draco did not know, but it intrigued him nonetheless.

Draco’s attention was brought back to his own letters by a gentle nudge from Theo.

He broke the wax seal bearing the Black family crest before carefully unfolding the letter that lay within.

Inside, his mother’s elegant script flowed across the parchment, imparting a traditional Imbolc blessing that filled him with a sense of warmth despite the late-January chill lingering in the air.

My darling son,

May the light of Imbolc shine brightly upon you, bringing warmth and renewal to your spirit. May the seeds of your intentions planted during this time grow and flourish, made strong by the retuning sun. May you be blessed with resilience as you embrace new beginnings, renewal and transformation.

Blessed Imbolc,
Your loving mother.

Tucked beneath Narcissa’s letter were two smaller notes, one each from his Aunt Andromeda and cousin Sirius. The blessings they offered echoed his mother’s sentiment, although Sirius’ was much less formal than Draco was accustomed to. He shook his head almost fondly, knowing that, sooner or later, he would have to get used to his wayward cousin’s more casual nature.

☿

The Great Hall’s clamour dwindled to a murmur as Severus’s long fingers broke the seal of an envelope, its wax emblazoned with the serpent crest of Slytherin.

Draco observed from a distance, his own letters neatly folded in his pocket. The other students had already begun to trickle out, their chatter fading like the dying notes of a song, but all within Slytherin lingered to watch their Head of House.

Severus’s usually impassive features softened infinitesimally as he scanned the contents. The parchment was crowded with scrawls of varying hands – each member of Slytherin house contributing to this collective act of respect and unity. It was tradition for them to send blessings to their Head on Imbolc; it reminded them that even amidst rivalry and ambition, they were one in spirit and purpose.

After finishing the letter, Severus lifted his gaze, and for a fleeting moment, a fond look graced his sallow complexion. He acknowledged their tribute with a subtle nod, an unspoken acceptance of their reverence and goodwill – a rare reward from the stoic professor.

☿

With a sense of excitement lingering in the air, the group of black-and-green clad figures filed out into the night. A crisp breeze greeted them as they walked towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the snow reflecting the faint glow of the stars above.

“Gather around,” Draco instructed, his voice commanding yet not unkind. Respectful silence fell upon the younger Slytherins as they followed his lead. They reached down, scooping up handfuls of fresh snow—its cold bite a stark contrast to the warmth of the Great Hall they had left behind.

“Begin with your hands,” Draco continued, demonstrating as he spoke. “Wash away the old, prepare for the new.” His movements were deliberate, an embodiment of the ritualistic cleansing that Imbolc called for. Around him, the others imitated his actions, rubbing the snow between their fingers, over their palms, cleansing themselves of the past year’s lingering energies.

“Next, your faces,” Theo directed, moving the snow across his cheeks, forehead, and closing his eyes briefly as he did so. There was a certain intimacy in the act, a vulnerability shared among peers who rarely let down their guarded exteriors.

“Lastly, your feet,” one of the seventh-years called out. “To walk into the coming spring unburdened.”

Draco balanced himself against a nearby tree as he carefully removed his shoes and socks. The chill of the snow seeped into his skin, grounding him in the present moment, as he washed his feet with the snow of Imbolc night.

“Recite after me,” he said, taking on the mantle of instructor once again as he began the incantation, taught to him by his own parents and grandparents. They’d practiced this with the first-years twice in the safety of their common room but he could see the nerves in their expressions.

Draco knew that the Mother would not begrudge a slip of the tongue but it warmed him to see such fierce dedication on their faces.

The words of renewal and strength flowed from his lips, a chant that wound its way through the gathered students, their voices rising in a soft chorus to blend with the whispering wind.

“By ice and by fire, we cleanse and renew.
Our spirits reborn, our intentions true.
As Imbolc’s flame ignites the night,
Guide us from darkness, back into light.”

Their words hung suspended in the frosty air, a spell woven of hope and anticipation. Together, they embraced the magic of the season, letting it infuse them with its purifying essence. With their ritual complete, they stood connected by more than just their house. Here, under the vast expanse of the night sky, they felt the ancient tug of nature’s cycle, reminding them that even in the coldest winter, the promise of spring endured.

Draco straightened, a shiver running through his body as the last echoes of the incantation faded into the night. The cleansing felt more profound than he had anticipated; it was as if each flake of snow carried away the weariness that had settled deep within his bones over the past month. His breath misted before him, and he watched it disperse, taking with it the heaviness that had cloaked his spirit. He could feel the magic of Imbolc stirring something inside him, whispering promises of invigoration and new beginnings.

Snow crunched beneath their feet as the students replaced their shoes and socks. Murmured warming charms filled the air, unneeded but welcome nonetheless

“It feels different this year,” Blaise murmured from beside him, his dark eyes reflecting the moonlight.

“More... necessary,” Draco replied, understanding the unspoken sentiment.

It was then that Severus’s tall silhouette emerged from the forest’s edge, his black cloak billowing behind him as if he were an extension of the night itself. With a fluidity that spoke of years of practice, he conjured a towering bonfire in the centre of the clearing, sparks leaping towards the heavens before the logs caught fire. The flames crackled to life with a ferocity that commanded attention, casting flickering shadows across the students’ faces, illuminating their expressions with a primal glow.

“Step back,” Severus instructed in his typical low timbre, and the Slytherins obediently retreated a few paces, forming a semi-circle around the blazing pyre in a moment that mirrored the beginning of their Samhain ritual mere months ago.

Draco felt the warmth lick at his chilled skin, a stark contrast to the cold that had seeped into him during the cleansing. It was almost as if the fire itself bore the essence of Imbolc—burning away the remnants of winter and exhaustion, igniting the promise of what was to come.

Severus stood sentinel by the bonfire, his gaze lingering for a moment on each student, ensuring their safety. There was a rare softness to his features in the firelight—an acknowledgment of their shared traditions and the unity it fostered among them.

“Remember why we gather,” Severus said, his voice carrying over the flames. “Imbolc is not merely a tradition; it is a testament to our resilience. Let the fire renew your strength.”

Draco felt the words settle in his chest, a weighty truth that resonated with the energy coursing through his veins. Yes, he was tired, but as he watched the fire dance and leap, a spark of something else ignited within him – hope, perhaps, or determination.

Frost-laced grass crunched underfoot as the glow of the bonfire drew others like moths to a flame. Draco, his senses sharpened by the icy cleanse and the ritual’s promise, noticed first the Hufflepuffs as they approached, their faces alight with curiosity and the shared anticipation of tradition.

“Pomona”, Severus acknowledged, his voice betraying none of the surprise that surely mirrored Draco’s own thoughts at this unexpected convergence.

“Severus,” she greeted, her tone warm like the earth she tended so lovingly. “A fine fire you’ve set. May it light the path from winter to spring.”

“Indeed.”

Draco watched the exchange, the faintest upturn of Severus’ lips visible only in the flickering light. The Head of Slytherin House was not one for unnecessary pleasantries, and yet the cordiality between him and Professor Sprout seemed as natural as the turning of seasons.

“May your seeds find fertile ground,” Severus replied, inclining his head towards the students who gathered, waiting.

“Thank you, Severus.” Professor Sprout turned then, her attention shifting to her own pupils who were bundling closer together against the chill of night, their eyes reflecting the dancing flames as they settled into the circle expanding around the bonfire.

Draco’s gaze followed the teacher as she moved with purposeful grace among her Hufflepuff charges, her presence a striking addition to the sea of green and silver that surrounded the bonfire.

“Professor Sprout?” Draco murmured, unsure if his voice carried over the crackling of the fire. “Why is she here?”

“Imbolc is a time for new beginnings,” Luna replied, her voice a soft chime amidst the rustling of robes and whispers. Draco, now used to her sudden appearances, did not startle but his brow creased in confusion at her words. She had not, despite what she thought, answered his question.

“She’s here to oversee the seed sowing later,” Longbottom added nervously, hovering behind Luna in those awful Gryffindor robes.

Draco nodded, accepting Longbottom’s explanation as he watched the professor exchange a few hushed instructions with a cluster of students.

It was a larger gathering than Samhain. More Ravenclaws were in attendance, particularly older years, and many younger Hufflepuffs seem to have been bolstered by the presence of their head of house. Longbottom was no longer the lone Gryffindor, accompanied by one of the Patil twins, two pureblood third years, and a curious first-year Muggleborn, but he still seemed wary about the proceedings.  Perhaps he had spent too long amongst the Weasleys to feel at ease practicing such rituals in the company of others.

The idle chatter grew silent and the moment ripened with expectation as Severus stepped forward, his wand aloft, the tip aglow with a subtle incandescence.

“Let the final cleansing begin,” Severus intoned, his voice low but carrying, commanding the attention of every soul encircling the flames.

From within the folds of his cloak, he retrieved a bundle of sticks, each one etched with runes. A single, practiced motion sent aromatic tendrils of incense spiralling into the evening air, the scent earthy and invigorating. The smoke wound its way through the crowd, twisting around bodies, enveloping hearts and minds, its essence promising purification.

One by one, students moved towards Severus, reaching out to pluck a single incense stick from his grasp. Which they chose was mere chance, although some would argue that destiny played its part, but the runes etched into the incense were intended to guide them through the season.

Draco sighed as the smoke brushed against his skin, feeling it seep into his pores, through his veins, and into the marrow of his bones. The scent filled his lungs, a balm to the lingering fatigue that clung stubbornly to his body. He closed his eyes, allowing the magic of the moment to infuse him with its silent potency, willing himself to be cleansed of the past and open to the promise of the coming light.

Finally, he stepped towards Severus.

Closing his eyes once again, Draco reached out and plucked a stem from his godfather’s grasp before stepping back into place beside Theo and Vince.

He allowed his fingers to run over the three runes etched there.

ᛉ ᛟ ᚹ

Protection. Heritage. Joy.

☿

As the last wisp of incense faded into the night, Professor Sprout stepped forward, her hands weaving through the air in a deliberate dance. With each pass, small and large plant pots materialised out of thin air, settling softly upon the snowy earth. They formed neat rows, each accompanied by a packet of magical seeds that shimmered with potential.

“Come now, gather round,” she invited warmly, her voice tinged with the excitement of new beginnings. “It is time to sow the seeds of the future – a symbol of the growth we wish to cultivate within ourselves.”

Draco, still feeling the remnants of the incense’s calming touch, approached a pot. He selected a seed that seemed to pulse with life, warm in his cold palm.

Around him, other students followed suit.

Susan Bones was guiding some of the young Hufflepuffs through the ritual, while Longbottom finally seemed to be in his element. The only other student who seemed as happy at the Gryffindor was Vince, whose grin was as warm as the midday sun as he dug his fingers into the soil.

Luna had chosen a large pot but had retrieved her own seeds from her robe pocket. Draco shook his head fondly, wondering just what she had chosen to nurture over the coming year.

There was something deeply personal about this ritual, Draco thought, as he pressed the seed into the rich soil, covering it gently. It wasn’t just about planting – it was an act of trust in the unseen, a leap of faith into the cycle of renewal.

A murmur of amusement rippled through the crowd as several Slytherins turned towards Severus, who stood apart, his arms folded, his expression one of detached supervision. A collective mischief glinted in their eyes, and it was Blaise who voiced the challenge, his tone light but insistent.

“Professor, surely you wouldn’t miss this opportunity? Your guidance has helped us grow –allow us to see you plant a seed of your own.”

Severus regarded them with a raised eyebrow, his lips pursed in a near scowl that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I am here to oversee, not partake in child’s play,” he grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying his stern facade.

“Come on, sir,” Pansy joined in, her voice sweetly coaxing. “Show us how it’s done.”

With a sigh that spoke of resignation but hid a trace of fondness for their persistence, Severus finally relented. He strode over to where Professor Sprout was holding out a pot and a seed, his movements reluctant yet graceful. All eyes were on him as he took the offerings, and with a touch of unexpected delicacy, planted the seed within the soil.

“Happy now?” he muttered, looking up to find his students suppressing smiles and chuckles.

“Ecstatic, Professor,” Draco replied, his voice laced with a respect that went deeper than the levity of the moment.

☿

As the light from the fire began to die, Severus summoned a basket woven from silver birch twigs and offered its contents to the students gathered around. Professor Sprout stood beside him, her own basket brimming with the dark, glossy blackthorn berries that seemed to absorb the fire’s warmth.

“Take one,” Severus instructed in his usual clipped tone, “and eat it before the fire is extinguished.” His gaze swept over the sea of young faces, ensuring each student partook in the tradition.

Draco rolled his berry between his thumb and forefinger, feeling its firmness, noting the slight give as he pressed lightly. It was a small token, but laden with significance – imbued with the hope of protection and strength for the coming season.

He placed the berry on his tongue, the tartness bursting forth as he bit down, a sharp contrast to the lingering sweetness of the incense that still clung to his robes. The flavour was potent, a reminder of the earth’s raw offerings. Around him, he heard the soft sounds of his classmates experiencing the same: a rite of passage shared in silence, a communal embrace of nature’s resilience.

The sky shifted above them, hues of deep navy growing ever darker as the night rolled on, no longer illuminated by the bonfire. Draco felt the cold bite of the air more acutely now, but the weariness that had dogged his steps seemed to melt away as he ate. The fatigue was still there, a ghost of his previous exhaustion, but beneath it surged something else—a renewed vigour, a subtle strengthening of his magical core.

“Off to bed, all of you,” Severus’s voice cut through the quiet, no longer as stern as they’d come to expect, carrying instead a hint of the protective care he so rarely displayed openly.

Professor Sprout echoed the sentiment with a warm smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “May the seeds you’ve sown find root and flourish,” she called out, her voice carrying the timbre of a blessing.

The students dispersed, a murmur of farewell lingering in the air as they headed toward the castle, their footfalls crunching softly in the snow.

Some of the younger students were yawning, unused to being awake so late into the night, while others were discussing their plans for the weekend, so full of promise and excitement despite their weariness.

☿

It was still early in the morning when Draco awoke but he felt deeply rested.

In fact, he slept so deeply after the ritual that it was only Blaise’s incessant shaking that finally roused him from his slumber.

“Hurry up, Draco! We’re going to be late!”

Draco groaned as he stretched and yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Blaise was already fully dressed in a rather stylish, yet warm, set of robes, watching impatiently as Draco sluggishly got out of bed. “Late for what?” Draco mumbled, still half-asleep.

Blaise sighed. “Hogsmeade, you idiot.”

Draco peered at Blaise, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the daylight. “Really? You could have left without me,” he mumbled, words still sluggish.

“Do you, or do you not, want to look at that box again?” Blaise huffed. “Dervish is closing at two o’clock for business, whatever that means, so you need to get a move on.”

“Fine, fine,” Draco conceded, moving towards the bathroom to ready himself for the day. “I’ll meet you outside. Grab me a pastry from the Great Hall.”

“What’s the magic word?”

Draco turned sharply to glare at Blaise before raising an eyebrow at him. Blaise returned the look, eyebrow raised in a perfect imitation of Draco and a smug smirk pulling at his lips.

Moments passed. Draco was still glaring and Blaise was still smirking. Neither said a word.

Blaise shifted to lean against a bed post, unwilling to give in.

After heaving a heavy sigh, Draco muttered a single word.

“Please.”

Blaise laughed, delighted. “Will do, my friend. I’ll have a pecan plait or two waiting. Now, hurry up.”

The door slammed shut and Draco was alone, wondering just how Blaise had got away with treating him like a child.

☿

The frosty village of Hogsmeade lay before them, its streets dusted with powdery snow that gently fell from the sky.

Through the biting cold, Draco and Blaise made their way towards Dervish and Banges, their boots crunching on the snow-covered cobblestones as they passed by bustling groups of Hogwarts students. Draco could still taste the sweetness of maple syrup on his tongue, despite having scarfed the pastries rather inelegantly on their way to the village.

Theo had given him a warning look before he’d left to visit Tomes and Scrolls, a look which lingered in Draco’s mind, but the allure of the mysterious box was too strong to resist. Months of careful study had led him to a few promising spells that could potentially break through the protective enchantments guarding it and he was eager to try them out.

Although he was loathe to admit it, he’d found a few of the spells in Veils and Vexes after Theo had forced him to take a break. Still, Draco was just pleased that he’d finally made some progress in his research.

As they entered the cramped antiquarian shop, Draco and Blaise were greeted by the faint chiming of an old bell. The proprietor’s sharp gaze immediately fell upon Draco, who returned it with a subtle nod. Without a word, Mr. Dervish disappeared into the shadows of the back room to retrieve the coveted box.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at this peculiar behaviour, but Draco paid him no mind as he eagerly awaited the arrival of the box. There were no snide comments about his protective gloves this time, a small comfort for Draco as he braced himself for what lay within. The dragonhide offered some defence against the numerous layers of compulsion charms etched into the box’s surface, but he knew that deeper and more treacherous wards lurked beneath.

As Dervish retreated to restock his shelves, his gaze never leaving Draco’s form, the tension in the room seemed to thicken.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blaise take a hesitant step forward, ready to intervene if needed. No doubt Theo had warned him to keep a close eye on Draco.

Minutes passed like hours as Draco attempted to unpick the charms and curses that guarded the box. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as struggled with the first ward, a particularly tricky spell that seemed to shift and change, adapting to his every attempt to unravel it.

Finally, with a soft click, the first protective ward fell away and previously unseen runes etched into the wood of the box began to glow with an otherworldly blue light.

Draco allowed himself a brief moment of triumph as he breached through the initial layers of defence, but there was no time to celebrate. The window of opportunity was closing fast, and he still had several spells left to decipher.

Spell after spell, he painstakingly dismantled the protections binding the box.

With each one he disabled, the air in the cramped shop grew heavier, as if the magic itself resisted being undone.

As the final protective ward crumbled under Draco’s skilful touch, he turned his attention to what lay beneath.

Navigating through the labyrinthine protections, he gently prodded at what remained. Some of the spells were designed to mislead, while others were too dangerous to even touch. One called out to his magick and, with a whispered word, Draco attempted to dismantle it.

A sudden jolt of power surged through his wand, causing him to stumble back in surprise. The runes on the box flared brightly for a moment or two before settling into a soft, steady glow.

“Not that one, then,” he muttered to himself.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he refocused his attention on the remaining spells.

Another spell lured him closer with a gentle pull but a sudden sharp sting shot through his wand hand as he approached it. The magic was powerful and had an unexpected bite to it.

Not that one, either, he thought wryly.

It could have been worse, he realised, as he skilfully avoided a curse that would have cut his hand clean off but it would be best if he didn’t become complacent.

Finally, one spell stood out to him. It was, at first glance, nothing more than a simple locking charm but this was no ordinary lock. It had a sense of darkness and trickery to it, almost as if it were purposely tempting Draco to make a mistake.

A chill ran down Draco’s spine as he examined the complex pattern of the spell. It slithered and contorted like a snake, its malevolent aura pulsing in the air. He could feel the malice infused into every intricate curve, a clear indication that this final hurdle would not be easily conquered. A sly grin appeared on Draco’s face because he was all too familiar with this spell. He knew it well.

Draco, for once, was oddly grateful for his father’s rather worrying obsession with collecting ancient tomes of dark magic and his alarming habit of leaving them in the library for his young son to peruse without any restrictions or supervision.

With a determined glint in his eyes, he whispered the counter-incantation under his breath, his wand tracing intricate patterns in the air. The spell writhed and recoiled at his touch, fighting back with ferocity but Draco was unyielding, his focus unbroken as he delved into the heart of the lock.

Blaise took another cautious step forward, concern etched on his features, but Draco held up a hand to halt him. This was his challenge to overcome.

As the final tendrils of the locking charm loosened their grip, Draco felt a rush of exhilaration flood through him. With a triumphant flourish of his wand, he shattered the last remnants of the spell, causing the box to emit a blinding light before it faded into a soft glow.

For a heartbeat, everything stood still.

Then, with a slow and deliberate creak, the lid of the box lifted, revealing its mysterious contents to Draco. Inside lay a single object, cradled in velvet lining.

“A ring?” Blaise inquired, with a keen interest piqued in his tone. He had crept up to Draco’s side, hovering over his shoulder as they both peered into the box. “That’s what all the fuss was about?”

Draco merely hummed. He examined the ring from every angle, taking in the intricate details that adorned it, particularly of the delicate script etched onto the band.

“Don’t touch,” he scolded, swatting away Blaise’s eager hand before it could make contact with the deep red gemstone that sat proud in the middle of the bad, nestled between two smaller, darker gemstones. “This ring is clearly cursed, can you not sense it?”

Blaise drew back his hand, giving Draco a sceptical look. “Cursed? How can you be so certain?” he pressed, his voice thick with disbelief.

Draco’s gaze remained fixed on the ring, a mixture of fascination and wariness dancing in his eyes. “The aura surrounding it, the way the magic hums with a malicious energy,” he explained, his voice low and serious. “It calls out to us, even now, luring us closer. We do not want to succumb to its allure.”

He lifted his gaze from the box to seek out Mr. Dervish, only to find the man staring at him with unblinking intensity. His face was a portrait of incredulity, brows furrowed deeply as he observed Draco with both curiosity and concern. The shopkeeper remained silent even as he met Draco’s questioning gaze, lips pressed into a thin line as he studied Draco intently.

Clearing his throat, Draco tore his eyes away from the unsettling stare and focused on the ring once more.

“We should take our leave,” Blaise suggested, his tone uneasy.

Whether it was the ring or Dervish’s look that had unsettled him, Draco didn’t know, but he nodded in agreement, carefully closing the lid of the box with gloved hands.

The shopkeeper followed Draco’s every movement as he made his way up to the counter, his expression inscrutable.

“That will be fifteen galleons, if you please, Mr. Malfoy,” the old man rasped, his gnarled fingers hovering over the dusty counter. He made no mention of Draco’s impressive feat, nor did he inquire about the contents of the box – a departure from his usual behaviour that unsettled Draco. Perhaps he had not expected Draco to actually break through the wards or perhaps he simply did not care. Either way, his apathy was disconcerting.

Thankfully, Blaise’s grumbling behind him broke the tense silence.

Draco caught snippets of phrases such as “outrageous,” “absurd,” and “should be paying you for unlocking the infernal thing,” which briefly amused him, despite the circumstances.

After schooling his face back into a mask of polite indifference, Draco wordlessly placed the money in Dervish’s outstretched hand.

The man meticulously counted each coin before he wrapped the box with plain brown paper. It was in that moment that Draco noticed that Dervish, too, was wearing gloves. Had he always worn them when handling the box? He dismissed the thought with a brief shake of his head, knowing that it would do no good to dwell upon such things.

“I appreciate your patronage,” Dervish croaked as he handed the package to Draco, watching his expression carefully.

Wasting no time, Blaise ushered Draco out of the shop, heaving a heavy sigh of relief when they finally stepped into the cold, fresh air.

As they made their way down the cobbled street, the oppressive air of the shop seemed to melt away. Blaise watched Draco warily, his voice tinged with concern as he asked, “What do you plan to do with that cursed thing?”

Draco’s response was a cool laugh, the glint in his eyes betraying a devilish excitement. “I have no idea, my dear Blaise. No idea at all.”

“Well, you had better inform Theo about your purchase,” Blaise huffed, rolling his eyes. “I won’t be held accountable for you buying that thing. Honestly, Draco. You must be mad.”

Draco merely quirked an eyebrow in reply, turning over the box in his hands as he contemplated his next move. It felt heavier now, as if the knowledge of what was hidden inside added to its burden.

It was a riddle within a riddle that delighted and terrified him all at once. Draco couldn’t wait to see how it all played out.

Chapter Text

“You purchased what?” Theo’s voice remained calm, but his words resounded throughout the quiet room.

After their excursion to Hogsmeade, the sixth-year Slytherins had all retreated to their peaceful sanctuary and Draco had taken the opportunity to showcase the box and ring he had acquired. It sat in the middle of a low table, its deep red stone gleaming in the low candle light, waiting to be admired by the group of friends.

Everything had been fine, and even Theo’s concerns over the box had been soothed by the knowledge that Draco had come out of the experience unscathed, until Blaise revealed that Draco believed the ring to be cursed.

A withering glare from Draco had silenced him but too late to prevent Theo’s mouth turning downwards into a frown that Draco hated to see.

As soon as the words left Blaise’s mouth, Theo was on his feet, pacing frantically while shooting accusing glances at both Draco and Blaise. “And you,” he turned to Blaise with a sharp glare, “you were supposed to keep an eye on him.”

Blaise stiffened under Theo’s intense gaze but stood his ground, meeting his friend’s anger with a calculated intensity that was uncharacteristic for him. “I can’t control him,” he retorted defensively, so unlike Blaise that it almost startled Draco. “He’s not a child.”

Silence fell over the group as Theo’s initial anger seemed to deflate, leaving behind a look of exhaustion and concern. Draco couldn’t help but feel guilty for putting him through constant stress and worry with his impulsive actions.

Draco looked between his friends, feeling their worried stares boring into him. He knew deep down that buying the ring was not a mistake, despite the nagging feeling in his gut since bringing it back to Hogwarts, but now, faced with Theo’s evident worry and the concerned looks of his friends, he couldn’t help but wonder if all this mystery was truly worth it.

The silence stretched on until Theo finally spoke again, his tone gentler this time. “Draco, you know I trust your judgement,” he began, his unwavering gaze meeting Draco’s troubled one, “but if you thought the ring was dangerous, why did you buy it?”

Draco remained silent, unable to explain his own decision. Eventually, Theo let out a heavy sigh and settled back into his seat. He reached for Draco’s hand, intertwining their fingers without hesitation, and began tracing soothing circles with his thumb in an attempt to calm his nerves.

In the lull of conversation, Pansy leaned forward with curiosity getting the better of her despite the tension in the room. “What makes you think the ring is cursed, Draco?” she asked tentatively. “It looks like a regular family heirloom to me, a bit old but nothing cursed.”

Draco hesitated, knowing that it would be best to tell them the truth especially with Theo on edge. “I can feel it,” he confessed in a soft voice.

Pansy’s brow furrowed in confusion, not fully grasping the depth of his certainty. “But it just looks like any other ring,” she persisted.

“Trust me,” Draco replied simply.

Pansy regarded him for a long moment, searching his face for some hint of jest. Finding none, she nodded slowly, her playful demeanour sobering at the gravity of his words.

“But what do you mean you can feel it?” Tracey questioned sharply. Her eyes burnt with an emotion that Draco couldn’t quite place but her expression was one he was all too familiar with. It was clear that she knew something he didn’t.

Meanwhile, Millie could be heard muttering about how strange the school year had been so far. And she wasn’t wrong, Draco mused. Ever since the events of the previous summer, his life had taken a bizarre turn - to say the least.

Draco’s attention snapped back to Tracey, his curiosity piqued by the sharpness in her voice. Her lips were pressed together tightly, a clear sign of impatience as she waited for his response.

“I can sense the darkness coiled around it.” Draco’s tone was now tinged with uncertainty, as if he was questioning what he felt. If it wasn’t for the fact that he could still feel the curse surrounding the ring, despite sitting as far away from it as possible, he would doubt his earlier assessment. “It calls out to me even now, tempting me to touch it, but I’ve been around enough dark magick to recognise it for what it truly is. This is not of the Old Ways,” he continued, his voice grave, “it is something far more insidious.”

A thick silence settled over the room as Draco’s friends absorbed his words. He watched as Tracey’s expression transformed into one of deep contemplation, her brow furrowed in concern as her gaze fixed on his neck. Instinctively, Draco’s fingers drifted to the wooden pendant he always wore – a blessing from Clann Caomhánach – and Tracey quickly averted her eyes.

Realising that she wasn’t going to share her thoughts, Draco shifted his focus elsewhere.

“And Theo, I know you’re worried,” he addressed his boyfriend at last, “but I can take care of myself. After all, I was the one who stopped Blaise from touching the ring in the shop. Without me, who knows what could have happened.”

Theo’s face betrayed lingering doubt, and Draco anticipated him bringing up the fact that it was only because of Draco’s obsession with the box that Blaise had even come within reach of the ring in the first place. However, Draco’s words seemed to have their intended effect as Pansy immediately began scolding Blaise for his recklessness.

“We should bring it to Professor Snape,” Greg suggested, interrupting the argument between Pansy and Blaise but Draco shook his head firmly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he interjected, his voice unwavering. “We can’t risk alerting anyone else, especially not Professor Snape. We need to handle this on our own.” He knew that involving Severus would only lead to more questions and unwanted attention, something he couldn’t afford at the moment, and the man would likely tell his mother – something Draco desperately wanted to avoid if he could.

“Are you certain that’s wise, Draco?” Daphne inquired softly.

“Yes.” His tone brooked no argument, and his friends fell silent in response.

Theo’s gaze softened as he squeezed Draco’s hand reassuringly.

“We need to hide it somewhere until the holidays,” Theo spoke reluctantly. “We can’t leave it in the dormitory, and sending it to the Manor by owl is too risky.”

Draco nodded in agreement but remained silent. They all stared at the ring for a while, the others now wary of its presence within the room.

“What about the Come-and-Go Room?” Vince piped up for the first time since Draco had revealed the ring. “It provides whatever we need, right? So, it should give us a place to conceal it.”

A spark of hope ignited in Draco upon hearing Vince’s suggestion. It was perfect – a hidden space that only they could access, shielded from prying eyes and unwanted attention.

“Vince, that’s brilliant,” Draco sighed with relief. “We’ll keep it there until we can determine what to do with it.”

☿

Draco’s steps were heavy and determined, each one echoing off the stone walls as he led the way to the seventh floor. In his pocket, the weight of the box seemed to grow heavier with each step, a constant reminder of the danger. Beside him, Theo walked with a sense of purpose and focus, unaware that they were being closely followed by none other than Potter himself.

Draco had long since learnt how to tell that Potter was following him. The squeak of those dreadful, off-white Muggle shoes he insisted on wearing on the weekends signalled his approach. It was a sound that Draco had come to dread, like nails on a chalkboard or a screeching owl in the night, but at least it served as a warning.

The other boy had been following him more often, clearly determined to catch him up to no good, and Draco knew that they would confront each other sooner or later.

He quickened his pace, determined to reach the Room before Potter could catch up, knowing that Theo’s longer legs could easily match his strides. A quick glance revealed that the usual confident set of Theo’s shoulders had been replaced by a tense rigidity that mirrored Draco’s own anxiety.

“Are you sure about this?” Theo voice rumbled softly, barely more than a whisper in the dimly lit passage.

Draco nodded subtly, unwilling to speak lest Potter overheard them.

They reached the stretch of wall that they’d both come to know so well over the last year and Draco began to pace.

I need a place to hide something, Draco thought with each pass, unwilling to allow Potter to know exactly what he was doing.

As he turned for the third time, the door materialised seamlessly from the stone, its handle inviting them in. Without hesitation, Draco grasped it and pulled, quickly ushering his boyfriend inside.

The Room had transformed into a small, cluttered chamber with piles and piles of things both magical and mundane stacked haphazardly around the room. A musty scent of old parchment and forgotten relics filled the air, making Theo wrinkle his nose in distaste.

“We need to find somewhere where no one would accidentally stumble upon it,” Theo said, picking up a trinket from a nearby table. He turned it over in his hand before placing it back in the exact same spot as it had resided for decades. “Clearly, this room is used more often than we thought.”

They walked for what seemed like hours, passing through various shelves and alcoves until Draco’s foot caught on an uneven floorboard, causing him to stumble forward. Theo reached out to steady him, but Draco’s sudden movement caused a stack of old books to topple over with a resounding thud.

The noise seemed to reverberate through the entire room, echoing off the walls. They froze instinctively, listening intently for any sign that someone had heard the commotion, despite knowing that they were the only ones in the room.

“We should be more careful,” Theo sighed, casting a wary glance around the cluttered chamber.

Draco nodded in agreement, his nerves on edge as he scanned the space. Usually he found the Come-and-Go Room a rather calming place but this room was different. Who knew what lurked amongst the stacks of abandoned items.

They continued walking, careful to avoid any precariously balanced items.

Hidden behind a towering pile of dusty tapestries, they discovered a forgotten alcove. They exchanged a silent look, agreeing that its dark and secluded nature was perfect for concealing the ring from prying eyes.

As they approached the alcove, a strange sensation washed over Draco, sending a shiver down his spine. The air grew heavy and thick, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Draco knew that this was dark magick, too dark to be natural.

They stepped closer, only for Draco to hesitate at the threshold of the alcove. Disembodied voices whispered in his ears, their words muffled yet frantic and insistent. He could feel their urgency, their desperation.

A shiver ran down his spine as he hesitated, the weight of the box containing the ring heavy in his pocket.

“Do you hear that?” he asked, barely able to form the words.

“Hear what?” Theo replied, oblivious to the eerie whispers.

Before Draco could answer, the murmuring ceased, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. He couldn’t bring himself to step any further into the alcove.

“Nothing,” he mumbled before hastily leading them away, Theo following without question.

Draco felt a sense of relief as he moved further away from the alcove and yet, he couldn’t help but glance back at the darkened space with a hint of unease still lingering in his mind. He refused to admit how familiar the magick had felt to him, even within the confines of his own thoughts. The last thing he wanted was for the ring to have a twin. It was already too similar to magick he had felt before.

Theo reached out a comforting hand, the warm pressure of his touch instantly easing Draco’s mind. His grip was strong and reassuring as he intertwined their fingers, offering silent support as they continued their search.

After what felt like an eternity of wandering through the clutter, they stumbled upon a large chest half-concealed underneath a tattered curtain.

Theo seized the fabric, unfurling it with a flourish to reveal the chest in all its glory. However, their excitement was short-lived as a cloud of dust billowed into their faces, prompting Draco to quickly banish it with a flick of his wand.

After a whispered spell, Theo slowly lifted the lid to reveal a plush velvet-lined interior. It was, much to Draco’s relief, completely empty. Nothing gruesome or dangerous was lurking inside – no cursed objects, no traps, no malevolent creatures waiting to pounce. Just an empty chest, covered in a thin layer of dust.

Carefully, Draco set the box down inside the chest, making sure it was secure and snug among the soft velvet lining. As soon he stepped back, the lid of the chest snapped itself shut with a resounding thud, the metal latch clicking into place.

The air hung heavy between Draco and Theo as they shared a silent look, their expressions revealing a mixture of relief and nervousness.

“Let’s go,” Theo said softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he secured the curtain back over the chest, hiding it from view.

A door appeared nearby, the Room providing for them once again, and they slipped into the awaiting corridor quietly.

They were no longer on the seventh floor.

☿

Theo and Draco had been ensconced in the safety of the Slytherin common room for a few hours, enjoying each other’s company, when their imposing Head of House swooped in, commanding the attention of every student present.

Draco sat upright, carefully extricating himself from Theo’s embrace as their classmates paused their conversations and games to focus on the Professor with wary looks.

Severus’s piercing gaze swept across the room, taking in every detail. “The headmaster has informed me of yet another attack on Hogsmeade,” he stated in a low, controlled voice. The room fell silent, fear and confusion etched onto every face. “Unlike the previous incident, this attack was targeted. Regrettably,” he drawled, “the Aurors have yet to uncover the motive behind these actions as the victim is unable to provide any answers due to their current condition.”

Whispers erupted throughout the room, with the students questioning who may have been targeted and why, but they were quickly silenced by a single withering look from their formidable Professor.

“Until further notice, students are advised to remain within the castle grounds,” he continued sternly. “The headmaster is implementing additional protective measures.” A sneer twisted his lips as he added, “and for those who were looking forward to the Valentine’s Day trip to Hogsmeade, I’m afraid it has been cancelled.”

With that final blow, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving behind a House full of bewildered and anxious students.

Draco’s mind raced as he considered the potential dangers. Hogsmeade had now been attacked twice after school trips – it was clearly no coincidence. It seemed unlikely that they were after Potter, given what Draco knew of the Dark Lord’s desire to personally kill him, and that left him with the sinking feeling that someone else at Hogwarts was being targeted.

“Looks like the lovebirds will have to figure out new Valentine’s plans,” Blaise’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere, carrying a forced levity that seemed out of place amidst the concern. “Perhaps a romantic flight on broomsticks around the castle?”

A few snickers erupted from their group, but they lacked their usual vigour. Even Blaise’s attempt at humour could not mask the underlying anxiety that hung over them like a thick fog.

Theo rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, but the tightness of his lips betrayed his unease.

“Very funny, Blaise.” His words dripped with sarcasm as he wrapped an arm possessively around Draco’s waist. Their bodies fit together seamlessly, two pieces of a puzzle.

Theo pressed gentle kisses along Draco’s neck, sending shivers down Draco’s spine, but he did not protest when Theo pulled back, instead leaning into the warmth of his chest and relishing in the feeling of being desired by the one he loved most.

“We’ll come up with a different plan, my love,” Theo whispered into Draco’s ear, causing his breath to hitch.

The sudden increase in the Dark Lord’s activity left Draco feeling exposed and vulnerable, a drastic change from his usual sense of privilege and protection, so he allowed himself to be comforted by Theo’s reassurances. Perhaps it was odd to be so affectionate after receiving such dark news but Draco found solace in Theo’s presence.

“Draco and Theo are not the only couple in our midst,” Daphne chimed in, latching onto Vince who blushed bashfully at her attention. Daphne’s persistent pursuit of the stoic and quiet Vince always brought a smile to Draco’s face, especially when it resulted in a deep flush on Vince’s cheeks. To an outsider, they may seem mismatched, but Draco knew that they were perfect for each other.

The tension in the room eased slightly with Daphne’s playful teasing, her voice bringing a much-needed touch of normalcy to their conversation, but even as they continued to discuss alternative Valentine’s Day plans, Draco could not shake off the feeling of dread that settled in the pit of his stomach. The looming threat of danger hung over Hogwarts like a heavy cloud, casting a shadow over everything he held dear.

☿

Sometime later, when darkness enveloped the dormitory, Draco lay in bed, staring at the canopy above. His mind was adrift, unable to anchor itself away from the dark, swirling thoughts that pulled him deeper into unrest.

He closed his eyes, trying to banish the memory of the malevolent aura that had emanated from the ring – and whatever lurked in the Come-and-Go Room – but he was unable to think of anything else. Its presence lingered in his consciousness, a whispered threat he couldn’t quite silence. Was there a connection between them? How did they relate to the dark magick he had encountered in his father’s study as a child?

Draco turned onto his side, burying his face into the pillow. The softness offered no comfort, no solace from the dread that crept along his spine. The room was quiet, save for the faint breathing of his dorm mates, yet it did nothing to still the clamour in his head.

As sleep remained elusive, Draco resolved to uncover the truth behind the shadows that now haunted both his waking hours and the restless nights. He knew one thing for certain: secrets hidden within Hogwarts’ walls had a way of coming to light, often bringing darkness with them. And he, Draco Malfoy, was caught in the very heart of it.

Chapter Text

As the new week dawned upon Hogwarts, the bustling halls were once again filled with students chattering and gossiping about each other’s comings and goings.

According to Daphne, who had heard it from Violet Dawlish, who had heard it from Marietta Edgecombe, Dinah Meek – a seventh-year Hufflepuff known for living up to her surname – had been spotted in a compromising position with none other than Georgina Teasdale, a very proper and uptight seventh-year Ravenclaw. The pair had apparently been caught in a passionate embrace in a hidden corner of the library, much to the shock of those who had witnessed it.

With this shocking revelation being spread like wildfire among the student body, the terrifying attack that had occurred in Hogsmeade merely days before seemed like nothing more than a distant memory for most. Students no longer whispered about what had happened that fateful night, their attention now focused on this new love affair between two unlikely girls.

Despite this shift in focus, there were still a few curious students who couldn’t shake off their interest in the incident at Hogsmeade. After all, the details of what truly happened that night had yet to be revealed in The Daily Prophet or any other publication.

Amidst the whirlwind of classes and essays, Draco found himself constantly being pulled in different directions. Balancing his studies with his other responsibilities and interests left little room for speculations in his mind. So, when Severus handed him a slip of parchment after his Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson one day, asking him to visit his office that evening, Draco didn’t think much of it. He assumed it would be another casual meeting over tea, like they had done several times before.

However, upon entering the man’s quarters that night, Draco immediately knew by the intense look on Severus’ face that it was anything but a casual meeting.

“Sit down, Draco,” he instructed without preamble, his voice commanding and stern.

Draco obliged, taking his usual spot by the fireplace. A steaming pot of tea awaited him on the table, but he dared not reach for it. Instead, he studied Severus’ face, noting a tinge of worry beneath his usual composed demeanour. The only sound in the room was the soft crackling of the fire as Severus took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“You visited Hogsmeade last weekend, correct?” Severus began, his eyes fixed intently on Draco as if searching for something.

Draco cleared his throat before answering respectfully and deferentially. “Yes, sir.”

Under Severus’ unexpected scrutiny, Draco found himself reverting back to certain childhood habits he thought he had outgrown. He was the perfect Malfoy heir again, obedient and perfect.

“Tell me about your visit to Dervish and Banges,” Severus requested, his tone firm but not unkind.

The question caught Draco off guard, and he hesitated for a brief moment. “I didn’t linger there,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady despite the unease coiling in his gut. Severus’ gaze did not waver, and Draco could feel the scrutiny dissecting every inflection and gesture.

“And what exactly were your reasons for going there?” he pressed, leaning forward in his chair with a fire casting a warm glow on his sharp features.

“Merely looking,” Draco countered, trying to think of plausible elaborations. “You know how these trips go, sir. One looks at what’s new, what’s interesting.”

Severus looked unconvinced. “Indeed,” he said slowly. “Did you have any encounters while you were there?” There was a barely perceptible shift in his demeanour, a subtle hardening around his eyes that made Draco wary.

“No, sir,” Draco replied quickly, truthfully. “I only met the owner, Mr. Dervish.”

Severus reclined back into his chair, eyes still trained on Draco’s face. “Did you purchase anything, Draco?” he asked pointedly.

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No, sir,” he finally answered, feeling like the errant schoolboy he technically was.

His godfather’s eyes narrowed, and Draco could tell he didn’t believe him. “I see,” Severus drawled slowly, his tone indicating that the conversation was far from over. His voice low and measured when he spoke again. “You and Mr. Zabini were the only students to visit Dervish and Banges during your trip to Hogsmeade. Though the Dark Lord’s motives for targeting Dervish remain unknown, it seems as though your frequent visits to the shop may have drawn his attention.”

A sense of dread settled over Draco as Severus’ words sank in. He had not anticipated the conversation taking such a turn.

“I assure you, Sev, I had no knowledge of any potential threat. My visits to the shop were mere curiosity, nothing more,” Draco said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the fear creeping into it.

Severus regarded him sternly, his expression inscrutable. “Be that as it may, Draco, the Dark Lord’s reach is vast and we should be worried if he has, once again, turned his attention towards you.” He sighed, a low, drawn-out sound that filled the quiet room. “He has not revealed his intentions to me but, as far as I am aware, he still intends to welcome you back into the fold. He believes you are weak without your father,” he sneered, “and it is clear that he underestimates you. However, you must tread carefully. He becomes more dangerous by the day.”

Draco felt a knot forming in his stomach. He would never serve the Dark Lord. The mere thought of being under his thumb again sent shivers down his spine and Draco had long since decided that he would rather die than be tainted with the Mark.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, aware that Severus was watching him with concern laced in his eyes. “I understand, Severus,” Draco said, his voice firm despite the tremor beneath the surface. “I will be more cautious.”

“Good. Your safety is my utmost concern, Draco, and I will do everything in my power to protect you but you must also protect yourself.”

Finally, Severus reached forward and poured each one of them a cup of steaming hot tea. The gentle swirls of steam danced in the air, filling the room with a comforting aroma. Draco eagerly watched as his godfather took a long sip, the tension in his shoulders gradually easing with each passing moment. Following suit, he raised the teacup to his lips and allowed the fragrant steam to tickle his nose before taking a delicate sip. The warmth from the tea spread through his body, soothing his frayed nerves and calming his mind.

“Now,” Severus murmured, “how are your classes? Professor Babbling told me that she finally convinced you to change your N.E.W.T.s project.”

Draco sighed and settled in for a long discussion.

☿

Unease clung to Draco like a thick fog, enveloping him in its chilly grasp. No matter how he tried, he could not shake it off. He was even unable to find peace within his own room as the shadows danced and stirred around him, taunting him with their shifting movements.

His mind was consumed by the looming presence of the Dark Lord, filling him with dread and making his stomach twist and turn. He couldn’t help but think of his mother, hidden away within the walls of the Manor but still vulnerable. If the Dark Lord had eyes on him, as Severus suspected, would his mother be safe when she dared to venture out into the open?

As the night dragged on, Draco’s worries intensified until he could no longer bear it. He slipped out of his dorm room, braving the dark halls of Hogwarts to send a message to his mother through the faithful owl, Prospero.

The familiar hoots and rustling of feathers provided some solace as he penned a quick note to his mother, pouring his love and concern into every word.

With shaking hands, more from emotion than the cold draft of the tower, he sent Prospero off into the night.

Even upon returning to bed, sleep eluded Draco as he lay restless and anxious. He could almost feel eyes watching him from the shadows, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable at all times.

☿

At breakfast, a response from his mother arrived filled with loving words and reassurances, bringing some relief to his troubled mind. But beneath that comfort still lurked another danger, one just as sinister as the Dark Lord himself. It watched him with cold eyes, waiting for its chance to strike and leaving him constantly on edge.

☿

Most of his classes went by without incident but he had felt stifled all day. He felt like he was being watched constantly, by Severus, by his friends, by Potter. He just couldn’t escape.

It was only when the cool, damp air of the Herbology greenhouse enveloped Draco that he felt himself relax. The verdant scent of plant life was a sharp contrast to the musty corridors of Hogwarts, and it cleansed his palate of the day’s unease. He scanned the greenhouse, noting the clusters of students already gathering around their assigned workstations. Every table had a different species of plant to tend to.

“Draco, you’re with me,” grumbled Vince, who was already ready for class. “We’ve got Flutterby bushes today. Sprout wants us to identify and fix any issues.”

Draco flashed a smile and picked up his gloves and tools before taking a seat next to Vince. Across the room, Theo was engrossed in studying a limp glowberry plant alongside Greg while Pansy and Millie were seated at a nearby desk covered with shrivelfigs. He hadn’t spotted Blaise or Daphne since he entered the greenhouse, but he assumed they had claimed the easiest plant available.

Focusing on the delicate plants in front of them, Draco carefully examined the colourful blooms and wondered what could be wrong with them.

They worked in companionable silence for a while before Vince leaned in closer, his brow furrowing as he lowered his voice to a whisper amidst the chatter of other students. “Draco,” he said, “why does Potter keep staring at you like that?”

Draco quickly looked over his shoulder and caught Potter’s gaze. They held eye contact for a brief moment before Draco turned back to Vince, making sure his face showed no emotion.

“Who knows? Maybe he’s trying to learn something about proper grooming,” Draco replied, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a semblance of amusement. He pulled his gloves onto his hands, focusing on the bush whose leaves fluttered as if tickled by an invisible breeze.

“Or maybe he’s still sore about that Stinging Hex you sent his way in DADA,” Vince suggested, picking up the conversation as if they were discussing the weather rather than the peculiar behaviour of their school rival.

“Maybe.” Draco shrugged before gesturing toward one of the bushes that awaited their care. “We should probably work out what’s wrong with this one, and I’d rather not spend any more of it discussing Potter.”

Vince nodded in agreement, and together they bent over the Flutterby bushes, their movements synchronised as they continued the day’s assignment.

He reached for the pruning shears, the metallic snip-snip sound filling the air as he trimmed the excess foliage with practiced ease. Vince stood beside him, elbow-deep in soil, uprooting a stubborn weed that had entwined itself around the base of another bush. It was in this moment that Vince brought up Potter’s behaviour again.

“Draco, I’m serious. Potter seems fixated on you lately,” Vince whispered, his voice tinged with concern.

Draco paused, the shears hovering over the bush as he considered Vince’s words.

“Really, it’s probably nothing,” Draco muttered, keeping his voice low. “Potter probably fancies himself a detective after all his little adventures. Thinks he’s onto some grand conspiracy where I’m the villain, no doubt.” That was too close to the truth but he knew that Vince would likely take it as a joke.

Vince chuckled, tossing the weed into a bin. “He’s always been a bit of a strange one, especially when it comes to you, but all he does nowadays is stare at you.”

“Let him look,” Draco said with a shrug, though the muscles in his jaw tensed ever so slightly. “It’s just Potter being Potter.”

“I reckon this one is ready for repotting,” Vince announced, now completely refocused on the task at hand.

“Absolutely,” Draco confirmed.

The two worked in companionable silence, but the unsaid hung heavy around them like the dense humidity of the greenhouse. Draco knew that he was still being watched, but he wouldn’t give Potter the satisfaction of confrontation. Not here. Not now.

Soon enough, after complimenting the students on their diligence, Professor Sprout dismissed the class. Vince and Greg headed back to the dungeons for their break, while Draco made his way to Ancient Runes with the rest of their friends, grateful that he didn’t have to share the class with Potter.

☿

With his classes finally over for the day, Draco retreated to the library to work on his essays. He had begged his friends to leave him alone until dinner, knowing he needed to work his Ancient Runes project after a rather awkward conversation with Professor Babbling just moments before.

The ancient tomes lay sprawled in front of him, their musty scent mingling with the omnipresent aroma of old parchment and ink. He was so deeply engrossed in what he was reading that he almost didn’t register the familiar voice that pierced through his concentration.

“Come off it, Ron.” Potter’s voice drifted over the stacks, laden with exasperation.

Draco’s quill halted mid-scribble, a drop of black ink blooming on the parchment. Curiosity flickered within him, quick and sly as a serpent’s tongue. He edged his chair back and, leaving the ancient texts unguarded, Draco slipped between aisles, moving with a quietness that would make a stalking cat envious.

He came to rest behind a towering bookshelf, one that offered a clear line to Potter’s conversation while concealing him in shadow.

“Ron, I’m telling you—”

Potter’s words were cut short by a cautioning hiss from Weasley, but Draco was already leaning closer, every sense attuned to the unfolding dialogue.

“Last night, in the owlery,” Potter continued, now much quieter. “I saw him there after curfew.”

A chill crept down Draco’s spine. How had he not sensed Potter’s presence last night? Perhaps the worry that had gnawed at this chest had made him reckless. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescent moons into his palms.

“The map never lies, Ron,” Potter insisted.

Draco’s thoughts churned. What did he mean by that? Was it a code of some sort? It didn’t make any sense.

He edged closer, hidden by the towering bookshelves as he strained to hear the hushed but tense conversation just yards away. Weasley’s usually jovial voice now carried weariness and frustration.

“Harry, mate, you’re being paranoid,” Weasley muttered, flipping a page of the textbook he was holding. “Maybe Hermione is right – maybe Malfoy isn’t up to anything this year.”

“I know he is,” Potter growled lowly. “I told you I saw him going to the Room of Requirement on Saturday night, him and Nott,” – Draco didn’t appreciate the way Potter spat Theo’s name with disdain but he couldn’t reveal himself to defend his boyfriend’s honour – “and he looked nervous, like he had something to hide.”

Clearly, Draco hadn’t managed to outrun Potter that evening, like he’d hoped, but surely the Gryffindor didn’t know what he was doing in the Room. Or did he? Before Draco could dwell upon that thought for too long, Potter spoke again.

“And then he went to the Owlery in the middle of the night? Who could he be sending letters to at that time?” he continued, his anger simmering just below the surface. “He spends so much time with Snape too. He’s got to be working for Voldemort.”

Weasley was silent, letting Potter rant at him.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got the Mark. Remember how he reacted when McLaggen grabbed him arm at Slughorn’s Christmas party?”

Weasley made a face and Potter muttered an apology, obviously remembering that Weasley wasn’t present at that particular party.

“I don’t know, mate,” Weasley said doubtfully, “I think I’d be bloody annoyed if McLaggen grabbed my arm too. He’s a stupid prat.”

Draco couldn’t help but relish the flicker of uncertainty in Weasley’s tone when it came to suspicions about him but Potter’s response sliced through his brief satisfaction like a blade through parchment. His voice was a low growl, brimming with anger that seemed to vibrate through the library’s stillness.

Potter’s voice was sharp and urgent as he hissed at Ron, “You can’t possibly defend him after what his family did. Sirius died because of them.” There was a pause, as if Potter was trying to calm himself, but his next words were filled with anger and resentment. “Malfoy is working for Voldemort, I’m sure of it.”

Draco felt something clench in his chest—a mixture of resentment and reluctant empathy—as Potter’s grief-stricken words echoed against the stone walls. He knew too well the weight of family legacies, the expectations, and the burdens they brought. The mention of his father’s name sent a ripple of cold unease down his spine, and he was momentarily fixed to the spot, unable to move or look away.

Potter’s anguish was raw, the kind that carves itself into one’s very bones, and for a fleeting second, Draco’s usual disdain wavered under the gravity of shared lineage and the pain it could inflict. But as quickly as it came, the sensation passed, because Draco knew something that Potter didn’t.

Sirius Black was alive.

How could Potter not know?

The library seemed to shrink around him, the towering shelves pressing in as if trying to squeeze the truth from his lips, but secrets were currency in Draco’s world, and this one was a golden galleon gleaming in his pocket.

Shaking off the shock, Draco moved, his steps silent on the worn carpet. He slid back into his chair, the wooden frame offering no comfort to his churning thoughts. His fingers tapped a staccato rhythm on the dark wood of the table, each beat a question, a possibility, a danger.

He leant forward, elbows resting on the surface, eyes unfocused as he stared at the open pages of his book—a mere prop now, the text blurring into obscurity.

☿

Draco went to bed that night with Potter’s accusatory words echoing in his mind. Why did he insist on seeing Draco as a pawn of the Dark Lord? Did everyone else believe the same, that he was nothing more than a replica of his father, destined to repeat his mistakes?

Sleep eluded Draco as he tossed and turned, burying his face into the soft pillow. Through a small gap in his bed curtains, he could see Theo sleeping peacefully in the neighboring bed, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. And across the room, Blaise let out gentle snores.

Draco’s thoughts drifted to Sirius Black, the man he knew was alive but whose existence was a well-kept secret, even from Potter. Why had he not revealed himself to his own godson? And what drove him to seek reconnection with Draco and his mother?

Chapter Text

Eventually, sleep came to Draco but the morning returned too quickly.

He stumbled into the Transfiguration classroom, lagging behind his friends and feeling exhausted from a sleepless night. Pansy led him to the front of the room, her hand clutching his shirtsleeve as she pushed him down into his seat. They spoke about Draco’s appearance, with Pansy offering to glamour away the dark circles that lingered beneath his eyes, before Draco steered their conversation towards their upcoming class.

That’s when he caught it—the persistent, piercing stare that seemed to follow him like a shadow.

Potter’s gaze bore into him with an unsettling intensity, almost irritating in its suspicion. His keen green eyes narrowed as they locked onto him, as if challenging him to make even the slightest mistake.

With a taut jaw, Draco forced himself to look away, his internal walls going up brick by brick as he attempted to shut out the unwelcome scrutiny.

He knew exactly what Potter thought of him.

Pansy, who sat beside him, noticed when his attention had diverted from their conversation. She glared at Potter, who scowled back.

“Get a good enough look at him, Potter?” she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain.

Draco shot her a warning glance before he unpacked his books from his bag, hoping to diffuse the escalating tension before it drew more unwanted attention.

“Don’t mind him, Pans,” Draco muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the textbook in front of him, but Pansy was never one to let things go easily. She shot a final disdainful look at Potter before turning back to face Draco.

“He’s probably just jealous of you, Draco. I mean, who wouldn’t be?” She’d switched to her usual simpering tone, the one she used to irk him and make others think she was infatuated with him, but her eyes sparkled with mischief.

Draco rolled his eyes, knowing that Pansy’s teasing was meant to make him feel better, but he also knew that the glint in her spelled trouble.

“Still,” she continued, “he should keep his eyes to himself in future. Otherwise, I might have to remind him of his place.” Pansy’s voice was tinged with a subtle threat as she leaned in closer to Draco, her eyes blazing with fierce protectiveness. She spoke just loud enough for Potter to hear every syllable.

Draco cracked a small smile at her behaviour before turning his attention to Professor McGonagall.

☿

Charms passed without incident.

Potter had continued glaring at him in their second class of the morning but Pansy had paid him no mind and Draco was lucky that she had brushed off Potter’s behaviour as easily as she had.

He did not want her to mention it to the rest of their friends, especially when Vince had already noticed in Herbology the day before.

☿

Although Potions class was no longer the sanctuary it had once been, Draco still found solace in its familiarity, the bubble and hiss of the cauldrons in the dimly lit classroom.

Draco, expertly wielding a knife, chopped his ingredients with ease while pointedly ignoring Potter’s intense stare.

He had hoped that Pansy’s little warning a few hours earlier would put Potter off, at least for a day, but, alas, it was not meant to be. The constant staring was beginning to grate on Draco’s nerves, even more so than usual, and the Gryffindor’s the lack of subtlety was almost laughable.

Despite his irritation, Draco continued with his potion, determined not to let Potter’s presence distract him.

He did not, however, miss the way Blaise’s gaze darted across the room to where Potter had turned away from his potion to talk to Granger. A glint of mischief shone in Blaise’s eye—a look Draco knew all too well.

“Blaise, don’t you dare—” Draco began in a low whisper, but it was too late.

With the stealth of a cat, Blaise sidled up to Potter’s table under the guise of fetching a newt spleen from the ingredient cupboard. Potter, ever observant, didn’t notice the deft fingers that slipped a tiny, shimmering scale into his potion.

In an instant, the once-vibrant potion turned to an unappealing shade of mud and began bubbling ominously.

“Subtle as a bludger to the head,” Draco muttered to himself, torn between amusement and annoyance. He looked around quickly, hoping their professor hadn’t caught onto Blaise’s antics.

“Problem, Draco?” Blaise whispered, returning with a triumphant grin. “Just evening the score.”

Draco shook his head in disbelief but couldn’t help the small smile creeping onto his face. He had no idea what Blaise meant by “evening the score” and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. As long as they weren’t caught, Draco didn’t care.

Beside him, Blaise hummed a tune under his breath, content with the chaos he’d sown.

It took several moments and several added ingredients for the inevitable to happen.

Just as predicted, Potter’s potion exploded, covering the Gryffindor head-to-toe in a somewhat suspicious concoction.

There was a moment of silence as every head turned to look at Potter before noise exploded in the classroom.

Students erupted in laughter as Potter stood there, covered in the bubbling, brown potion while Granger frantically waved her wand in the air, desperately trying to clean him up. She only succeeding in making it matters worse and Weasley just stood there, gaping gormlessly.

Despite the mess, and Granger’s clear panic, Professor Slughorn approached with a jovial chuckle.

“Harry, my dear boy, is this a new experimental style of potion-making? Quite bold!” Slughorn exclaimed, clearly amused.

Draco rolled his eyes. Trust Slughorn to make it seem like Potter had intended to ruin his potion.

He glanced at Blaise, who was practically bursting with pride at his handiwork. They shared a secret smile before Draco turned his attention back to the Gryffindors.

Blaise’s pranks were always amusing, especially when one of the Golden Trio was a target.

Potter shot Draco a dark look, promising revenge, but Draco only raised an eyebrow in response – after all, he had nothing to do with Potter’s mishap.

“Professor, this isn’t funny,” Granger insisted as she doted over Potter, her forehead creased with worry. “Harry could have been seriously hurt. He needs to go to the Hospital Wing.”

“Why of course, Miss Granger. Off you go, Mr. Potter, do not dally now!” Slughorn chimed, his grin never faltering. “I shall see to it that your potion is cleared away and you may attempt it again in the next lesson.”

Draco observed the scene with a detached curiosity as Potter was escorted away by his loyal companions, still covered in the remnants of his failed potion.

Slughorn, meanwhile, cleaned up the mess with a simple flick of his wand and the classroom slowly quieted down.

☿

“What was all that about then?” Draco asked Blaise as they gathered their things at the end of class. Neither Potter nor his friends had returned, leaving Draco to hope that he would not be eating lunch under Potter’s watchful eye.

Blaise glanced up, mischief dancing in his eyes. His expression was eerily similar to Pansy’s had been in Transfiguration and Draco narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Pansy thought it would be a riot,” he grinned conspiratorially, sliding a textbook into his bag. “She noticed Potter’s been acting up and wanted to give him a little scare.”

Draco hummed noncommittally, trying not to show how much this revelation bothered him. He had assumed that Pansy had merely dismissed Potter’s actions but now, with Blaise confirming her true intentions, Draco realised how much he had underestimated her anger.

“I didn’t catch it myself in Transfig or Charms,” Blaise admitted, securing the clasps on his bag with a click, “but I caught him in the act myself in Potions so I hatched a little plan. It wasn’t much but it was enough for now.”

Draco said nothing, silently hoping that their conversation would end soon. He quickly gathered his things and stalked out of the classroom, not waiting for any of his friends to catch up.

Unfortunately for him, Blaise wasn’t far behind.

“So,” Blaise pressed on when Draco remained tight-lipped. “How long has this been going on? I mean, we’ve all seen Potter watch you before, but this seems excessive.”

Draco’s stomach plummeted and he felt the blood drain from his face. If his friends found out how far Potter’s fixation went, they would surely seek revenge in a more severe manner than ruining a simple potion, and if Potter’s gaze turned their way it would not only make things harder for Draco, but also for his friends. Their carefully constructed neutrality could crumble under Potter’s unwanted attention.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Blaise,” he responded coolly, trying to brush off the conversation.

“Right,” Blaise drawled sceptically, not completely convinced but not pushing the point either. “Let’s get moving then. We don’t want to be late to lunch.”

With that, Blaise slung his arm around Draco’s shoulders and steered him towards the Great Hall.

☿

Draco had never thought that he’d consider the Alchemy classroom a safe haven but three hours without Potter glaring at him or his friends hovering over him, even with Professor Talleyrand-Périgord in close proximity, was a welcome relief.

The chill of the winter air did not reach the small room in the dungeons, closed off to the elements and littered with glassware, and Draco was stood in the centre of it all, his figure bent in concentration over a maze of bubbling test tubes and beakers that clinked gently as their contents simmered. The air was thick with the scent of sulphur and sage, mingling with the acrid odours of other, less identifiable ingredients.

At his bench, an elaborate setup held a particular piece of iron suspended above a flame that flickered with unnatural hues. This was the heart of Draco’s grand experiment, the transformation of iron into silver, an endeavour that had consumed countless hours of meticulous labour.

With each passing second, droplets of perspiration beaded at his brow, not solely from the heat of the flames but from the intense focus required for the delicate process. His hands, protected by thick gloves, moved with practiced grace, adding pinches of powdered substances to the crucible below the metal. He whispered incantations, soft and rhythmic, ensuring that every variable was controlled, every possibility accounted for.

It was a dance of elements. The iron, once dull and lifeless, now hummed with potential, its very essence teetering on the brink of transmutation. Draco’s eyes, sharp with intelligence and ambition, never wavered from their scrutiny of the metal’s changing properties.

Draco felt the weight of a gaze upon him and glanced up, catching sight of the enigmatic professor leaning against the doorway. The shadows played across the professor’s sharp features, his eyes reflecting the flicker of nearby flames.

“Your technique is excellent, Draco,” Talleyrand-Périgord praised as he stepped closer to where Draco was working. “The stability of your concoction is commendable.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Draco replied, his voice steady despite the sudden tightness in his chest from their close proximity. Even after several months of working with the man, Draco still did not trust him.

“Tell me,” the professor continued, tilting his head ever so slightly, “what drives you to excel in academia? You are, after all, the Head of an Ancient and Noble house, surely you should be concerning yourself with business and politics?”

Draco paused, measuring his words carefully. “Knowledge is power, Professor. And power is necessary.” His answer was honest yet guarded, allowing a glimpse into his ambition without laying bare his entire soul.

“Indeed, it is.” Talleyrand-Périgord circled around Draco like a hawk considering its prey. “But what of your life outside these walls? Your friends, your hobbies—what passions occupy your thoughts when you are not buried in your books and experiments?”

“I have many hobbies,” Draco deflected smoothly, though he was concerned by the professor’s sudden interest in his private affairs.

Although they’d had a similar conversation at the very beginning of the school year, the Alchemist had since contented himself to teach Draco. There had been no questions about his parents, his friends, nor his hobbies. Talleyrand-Périgord had never even brought up his interest in Alchemy again. So why now?

“I enjoy quidditch, chess, travelling,” he continued, desperately trying not to show his suspicion. “And my friends share similar interests, both academic and otherwise.”

“Of course.” The professor nodded as he moved once again, settling a few feet away from Draco. It was clear he was not entirely pleased with the answer, yet he let the matter rest. “Let us return to the task at hand. Observe the colouration of the metal; it speaks volumes about the purity of your process.”

Draco nodded and focused back on the experiment, his mind still turning over the brief exchange.

When another lull in activity presented itself, Draco tilted his head slightly, eyeing the intricate dance of colours within the test tube he held. “Professor,” he began carefully, the words slipping from his tongue in perfect French, “this subject fascinates me beyond measure but I must admit, it pales in comparison to the intrigue you present. From whence does your passion for alchemy stem?”

The professor raised an eyebrow at the shift in language, the corners of his mouth curling in a wry smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “Vous êtes plein de surprises, Monsieur Malfoi,” he replied in equally flawless French, his tone indicating that it came as no surprise to him that Draco was fluent in the language, despite his words. “My history is unimportant. What matters is the here and now, the alchemy we breathe life into.”

“Ah, but surely your past contributions to the field could inspire us mere students,” Draco pressed on with calculated casualness, swirling the contents of the test tube as if the motion were necessary for his inquiry.

“Draco,” the professor said, reverting back to English with a smoothness that suggested he preferred this linguistic barrier between them, “it is in an Alchemist’s nature to want to teach, to inspire. It is, after all, why we take on apprentices, no?”

There was a glint of something unspoken in the professor’s gaze—a fortified secret, a locked-away tale—that made Draco’s curiosity burn hotter.

“Why Hogwarts then, sir?” Draco kept his tone light and inquisitive, never pushing too hard. “Surely someone of your calibre would prefer to work at Beauxbatons or one of the private schools in Italy? Britain, and Hogwarts, has no tradition of Alchemy, at least not since the Middle Ages.”

Professor Talleyrand-Périgord hummed. “I was needed here, Mr. Malfoy, to teach you. Now, concentrate. You are entering a crucial stage of the transformation.”

“Very well,” Draco conceded with a nod. How telling that little piece of information had been. Talleyrand-Périgord was not there to teach Alchemy, he was there to teach Draco.

Draco doubted that Dumbledore had sent for him – and Severus had mentioned that Talleyrand-Périgord had presented himself to Dumbledore with an offer to teach – and he had never seen the man in the Dark Lord’s presence and had never heard his father mention the Dark Lord working with a member of such a prominent French family. Draco also doubted that it was personal curiosity, although perhaps the events of the previous summer had drawn some interest. No, Draco was now sure that the man was working under the direction of someone else. But who?

He had no time to dwell on such things though as his experiment teetered on the edge of fruition. He could almost taste the victory, metallic and sweet, as the culmination of weeks of meticulous labour hovered within grasp.

“Be careful,” the professor’s voice cut through the tension like a blade, cool and precise. “The final additions must be measured with utmost care.”

Talleyrand-Périgord loomed over Draco’s shoulder, his shadow mingling with his own upon the worn wooden workbench. Draco felt the weight of his scrutiny, its intensity sharpening his focus until there was nothing in the world but the vial in his hand and the transmuting potion bubbling expectantly before him.

Carefully, using a pair of long tongs, Draco plucked the piece of iron out of the flame and placed it into the mixture.

Only one step remained.

“Remember, the infusion of the betony essence is a delicate balance. Too little and the transformation fizzles, too much and we court disaster.” The professor’s hands never touched the apparatus, allowing Draco to take control of the experiment.

“Watch the colour, Draco,” Talleyrand-Périgord advised, leaning ever closer. “It should shift to the hue of moon’s first light, not the harsh glare of noon.”

Draco nodded, barely trusting himself to speak. His eyes were locked onto the potion, watching as the liquid began to shimmer with a silvery sheen.

With a practiced hand, he administered the last of the betony essence, each drop precise. The professor’s hawk-like gaze followed every movement, dissecting his technique, though his lips remained sealed.

“Good, good,” Talleyrand-Périgord murmured at length, as the concoction settled into a serene pool of liquid silver. “It seems you have heeded my lessons well.”

Draco allowed himself a fleeting smile, though it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

His focus narrowed as Professor Talleyrand-Périgord stepped back.

“Steady,” whispered the professor.

In the crucible, the potion began to swirl with a life of its own, spiralling upwards. A pale glow emanated from the depths, casting a ghostly light on the walls of the classroom. The iron was relenting, yielding to the arcane whispers dripping from Draco’s tongue.

“Maintenant, Draco,” the professor instructed softly, the use of French a subtle reminder of their earlier verbal fencing. “Now.”

Draco whispered a single word and the reaction was immediate.

The contents of the crucible roiled once, twice, and then settled into a calm, reflective pool that mirrored the luminescence of moonlight on water. As he peered into the cauldron, the now-silver liquid offered back his own astonished gaze.

Using a clean pair of tongs, Draco extracted the piece of metal from the crucible in order to inspect it. It did not look drastically different as silver and iron shared many aesthetic qualities, but a quick flick of his wand confirmed his expectations.

“Exceptionally done,” the professor purred, a note of genuine admiration colouring his voice. He stepped closer once again, his shadow merging with Draco’s as they both regarded the successful transmutation. “You have surpassed expectations, Mr. Malfoy. This is true alchemy—the marriage of science and magic.”

☿

Draco sauntered back to the common room, a skip in his step and triumph in his heart.

He found Theo lounging in an armchair by the roaring fire, lost in the pages of a book. With a smug smirk, Draco threw himself onto his boyfriend’s lap without a second thought. “Guess who just transformed iron into silver?” he boasted.

Theo raised an eyebrow, pretending to be unimpressed as he placed a bookmark between the pages. “Do tell, Draco. Was it you?”

A triumphant laugh escaped Draco’s lips as he leaned back, basking in his own brilliance. “Of course it was me.”

Theo rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Well well, look at you and your endless surprises,” he teased, running a hand through Draco’s hair. “Tell me all about it.”

☿

With a clatter, Tracey dropped her xylomancy twigs onto the table. The plates of food scattered around her seemed to go completely unnoticed, as she let out an exasperated sigh. “Merlin, Morgana, and Circe,” she exclaimed, frustration evident in her voice as she glanced at the sticks. “Trelawney must have lost her mind if she expects me to read the future from these measly twigs.”

Blaise smirked from across the table as he speared a piece of roast beef with his fork. “So, blessèd Cassandra, what do you see?”

Tracey’s tone was laced with annoyance as she replied. “A tragedy waiting to happen, as always.”

Daphne leaned in closer, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Speaking of tragedies, look at Potter.” Her eyes flickered towards the Gryffindor table. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off Draco since we sat down. Maybe Millie should go show him what happens when someone can’t keep their nose out of other people’s business,” she suggested, the smile on her face only emphasising the malice underlining her words.

Draco glanced up at Potter, something in his stomach tightening as they locked eyes, and he quickly looked away. As he did so, he caught Pansy exchanging a glance with Vince and Blaise, their silent communication subtle but worrying.

He didn’t panic, not outwardly at least, but Draco knew that this was spiralling out of his control. Potter had been stalking him for months and none of his friends had noticed but Vince’s observations in Herbology should have set off alarm bells in Draco’s head. He had intended to deal with this alone but he knew he’d have to convince his friends that nothing out of the ordinary was happening, lest he risk their involvement leading to unwanted consequences.

His thoughts were interrupted by Millie rolling her eyes so hard they threatened to roll out of her skull. “Why don’t you ask Vince to do your dirty work?” she muttered under her breath, pushing a piece of limp cabbage around on her plate. “I don’t want Gryffindor blood on my hands.”

“But Mills,” Daphne whined, “I don’t want Vince to get expelled.”

Vince, meanwhile, was too busy whispering with Blaise and Pansy to react to Millie and Daphne. Panic was beginning to grip Draco’s heart.

Desperate for some comfort, Draco turned to Theo, but instead found him glaring at Potter. The intensity in Theo’s gaze sent a chill down Draco’s spine. His eyes were full of hatred, a clear warning to Potter.

Potter, clearly sensing the burning gaze upon him, turned as crimson as the Gryffindor robes he wore. The shame of being caught was evident on his face, and he quickly averted his eyes, glaring intently on his plate of untouched food. His knuckles where white as he gripped his knife but he did not look at Draco again.

Theo’s grip on Draco’s thigh was possessive and firm, but before Draco could react, Theo’s attention was already elsewhere. Draco wanted to protest, wanted to ask Theo what he was thinking, but he knew he couldn’t. Doing so would only bring more attention to Potter’s strange behaviour and Draco couldn’t risk that, especially knowing that Potter suspected him of being a Death Eater.

What would he do if Potter accused Theo of working for the Dark Lord? Or Pansy and Blaise? He couldn’t bear the thought of his friends being tangled up in this mess.

Suddenly, Tracey interrupted his thoughts. “Draco, could you take a look at these? I can’t make sense of them.” She gestured towards the twigs on the table.

“Of course,” he replied, trying to shake off his thoughts. “The cross could symbolise a number of things…”

☿

His friends were suspiciously quiet about the whole thing when they returned to the common room.

Instead for interrogating him, as he expected, they seemed content to sprawl out in their common room, their post-dinner ease evident in the languid tilt of their heads and the casual drape of their robes.

Draco forced himself to relax despite the unease bubbling in his chest.

He tried to focus on the crackling fire in the hearth, its warmth failing to chase away the chill that had settled over him.

“Did you hear about Corner getting caught trying to sneak into the Ravenclaw girls’ dorm last night?” Blaise laughed, no longer sharing furtive glances with Pansy and Vince.

Theo snorted in amusement, so different to the way he’d acted at dinner. “He clearly has a death wish,” he remarked dryly, earning a reluctant chuckle from Draco.

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Daphne retorted, her voice smooth and teasing.

“Yes, of course,” Blaise drawled. “The heart…”

Their laughter was a low rumble in the common room, blending with the murmur of conversations around them.

In the midst of their banter, the portrait hole swung open with a creak, revealing a second-year whose hands were laden with creamy parchment envelopes sealed with wax. His eyes darted nervously as if the missives he carried bore the weight of the world—or at least, the scrutiny of the upperclassmen.

“Malfoy,” he called out hesitantly, approaching the group with tentative steps. Draco turned, offering a gentle smile to the boy as the youngster offered up an envelope with slightly trembling hands.

“Thank you, Isaac.”

“Zabini, Nott,” the boy continued, distributing the remaining envelopes with the earnestness of a dutiful owl. Once relieved of his burden, he scurried away to deliver more yet letters to his housemates.

Draco examined the envelope, his gaze flickering briefly to Theo and Blaise. He knew exactly who this was from and he was not pleased, to say the least.

He slid a nail under the wax seal, breaking it with a sharp flick. Professor Slughorn’s handwriting sprawled across the page, every loop and swirl an exercise in ostentation.

“Another Slughorn soirée,” he muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the contents swiftly. He couldn’t suppress the groan that escaped him; these parties were always a tedious affair, filled with Slughorn’s favourites preening for favour like peacocks in mating season.

“Listen here,” Blaise said, “he’s decided to host it on Valentine’s Day. As if that’s going to make up for missing out on Hogsmeade.”

“Bringing a date is optional, but encouraged,” Theo read aloud, the corner of his mouth twitching with wry amusement. “How magnanimous of him.”

“Optional, but encouraged,” Draco echoed, disdain curling his lip. It was Slughorn’s not-so-subtle way of adding an extra layer of social manoeuvring to the event.

“Valentine’s Day,” Pansy mused loudly from her seat by the hearth, twirling a lock of dark hair around her finger as she eyed Blaise rather unsubtly. “Suppose it’s Slughorn’s way of ingratiating him with whatever power couple he thinks is going to emerge from the masses.”

“It’s enough to make one sick,” Draco murmured under his breath.

“True,” Daphne agreed, tilting her head slightly, “but our Valentine’s Day plans have been somewhat ruined this year. Perhaps we should take a leaf out of Slughorn’s book and organise something.”

“Good idea, Daph,” Vince said, earning a beaming grin from the girl. “What do you think we should do?”

It was clear that Daphne had been thinking about this for a while as she launched into a rather detailed plan involving charmed lanterns, food prepared by the Elves, sweet treats imported from every country one could imagine, and a late-night party for the sixth- and seventh-year students.

As the conversation continued, Draco was aware of Theo’s attention on him but it still came as a surprise when Theo stood up from his chair and stalked towards him. In that moment, he exuded a focused and almost predatory aura that Draco found oddly irresistible.

Ah, the Black family madness, Draco mused silently.

His mother had often claimed that their family had an unexplainable attraction to danger. Of course, Draco never believed her; Theo was without a doubt one of the kindest and gentlest people he knew. Yet, there were moments when a dark edge would appear in Theo’s demeanour, captivating Draco’s attention.

“Excuse us,” Theo announced, not waiting for acknowledgment as he reached for Draco’s hand. His grip was firm but not forceful, a private reassurance amidst the public display.

Draco couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up within him—a genuine, unrestrained sound so rare it hushed a few nearby conversations—as he allowed himself to be tugged toward the staircase leading to their dormitory.

“Have fun, lovebirds!” Blaise called after them, his tone teasing. Pansy’s bright laughter followed, a melodic counterpart to Blaise’s deeper chuckle.

“Shut it, Zabini,” Draco shot back without heat, the corners of his mouth quirking up in spite of himself as he was dragged along by his boyfriend.

He had no idea how the evening had ended this way but he didn’t want to be suspicious of his friends. Surely Theo was dragging him off to spend some time together, not to give their friends privacy to discuss their plans for Potter.

Draco shook his head, wondering when he’d become so paranoid.

The door clicked shut behind them, the stone walls of the dormitory room now enclosing Draco and Theo in their own private sanctuary away from the raucous common room.

“Valentine’s Day then,” Theo began, a smirk playing on his lips as he took a step closer to Draco. “Slughorn clearly expects us to attend his extravagant affair.”

“Must we?” Draco drawled, feigning exasperation but unable to mask the intrigue dancing in his silver eyes. He watched as Theo’s expression softened, the playful glint not fading.

“Only if you want to,” Theo whispered, closing the distance between them. His hands found Draco’s waist, pulling him gently towards his bed. “But I was thinking... perhaps we could create our own celebration on the fifteenth. I know it isn’t Valentine’s Day but it’ll be a Saturday, the perfect day to spend together.” He sighed, hands tightening on Draco’s waist ever so slightly. “We don’t spend enough time together, Draco, and I miss you. I want a day that belongs to just us.”

Draco’s heart skipped at the suggestion, the idea of eschewing the public spectacle for something more intimate appealing to the core of him. “I’d like that,” he murmured almost shyly, his hands sliding up to Theo’s shoulders. “Just us.”

“Imagine it, Draco,” Theo said, easing both of them onto the edge of the bed, his voice a low caress. “No expectations, no audience. An entire day to simply be together.”

“Sounds perfect,” Draco agreed breathily. Their faces were inches apart now, breaths mingling in the quiet of the room.

With a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the harshness of their usual world, Theo leaned in to capture Draco’s lips with his own. It was a languid kiss, unhurried and explorative, as if they had all the time in the world. Draco responded in kind, his fingers threading through Theo’s hair, anchoring him in the moment.

“Let’s make it unforgettable,” Theo breathed against Draco’s lips, his hands roaming to the small of his back.

“Unforgettable,” Draco echoed, his mind already weaving visions of their secluded celebration, where the only proof of their affection would be shared between the two of them, sealed away from the prying eyes of the world.

Theo kissed him again, pressing Draco down onto the soft mattress, and the world faded.

Chapter Text

As the sun rose on Valentine’s Day, the Great Hall was filled with a palpable energy, mingled with envy as owls swooped in, dropping parcels adorned in reds and pinks – a sure sign of romantic intentions – onto eager laps and less fortunate tabletops. Draco observed with disinterest as yet another stuffed animal sang a warbled tune to a blushing third-year.

However, before the chatter could fully engulf the room, Dumbledore’s voice rose above the cacophony, silencing all in an instant. His twinkling eyes shone behind his half-moon spectacles. “Attention, students!” he proclaimed. “In light of the restrictions on trips to Hogsmeade, I have decided to gift you all an afternoon reprieve from classes. Use this time to bask in the spirit of friendship and love.”

A collective cheer erupted from the Gryffindor end of the hall, and Draco rolled his eyes at their predictable show of enthusiasm. Only Granger, as expected, looked devastated by the news.

Daphne leaned in conspiratorially across the table, her blue eyes shining with possibilities. “We can start our celebration early,” she said in a hushed tone that only Draco and their close circle of Slytherins could hear. “Tracey, Pansy, we’ll need your creative touch to transform the room.”

“Consider it done,” Pansy replied with a sly grin.

Draco nodded his approval without saying a word – unusual for him, as he usually craved control over every detail – but he trusted Daphne’s vision.

With a newfound spring in his step, he exited the Great Hall.

“Mr. Malfoy,” he heard Severus drawl from behind him, a rare hint of amusement lacing his tone as he caught up to Draco. “Try not to appear too pleased about the gift of free time. After all, it is my class you are missing.”

“Of course not, Professor,” Draco replied with a hint of a smirk. “I shall endeavour to appear suitably tortured for the rest of the day.”

“See that you do,” Severus replied, a small smile forming on his usually stoic face. “But personally, I will be enjoying my afternoon without any troublesome students.” And with that, he swept away in his billowing black robes like a dark storm cloud.

☿

As the hours passed, the castle’s hallways reverberated with the joyful sounds of students freed from their academic responsibilities. In History of Magic, not even Binns’ monotonous voice could dampen their high spirits.

Professor McGonagall had attempted to maintain order in Transfiguration, but after the sixth prank involving Valentine’s Day items from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes went off in class, even she gave up trying.

☿

Pansy led them with purpose down to the dungeons, their footsteps echoing through the dimly lit corridors. Finally, they arrived at their favourite room, adorned in opulent shades of emerald and silver. Enchanted candles flickered gently, illuminating the plush furnishings and intricate tapestries that adorned the walls. Daphne stood at the centre, a proud smile playing on her lips as she waved her wand, conjuring delicate rose petals to fall around them.

“Welcome to our own enchanted Valentine’s Day haven,” she announced with satisfaction.

A grand table at the far end of the room was laden with an assortment of delectable treats, from chocolate-dipped strawberries to crystallised pineapple skewers. The air was filled with the alluring scents of warm pastries and spiced cider, enticing Draco’s stomach to growl in anticipation. This was their lunch hour after all.

Tracey and Pansy had worked their magic on the room, enchanting bouquets of flowers that bloomed in every corner, their petals shimmering in various hues under the soft candlelight. Soft music played in the background, adding to the enchantment.

Draco couldn’t help but be impressed by Daphne’s skilful orchestrations. She truly had a talent for creating such decadent celebrations.

“Shall we raise a glass to our friendship?” Daphne held up a glass of something bubbly, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

The group eagerly followed suit, lifting their glasses in unison.

Vince and Greg made a move towards the tempting spread of food, but Pansy halted them with a raised eyebrow. “Not yet, boys. You know how this works. Gifts first.”

Draco couldn’t contain his smirk as he watched their disappointed expressions. Valentine’s Day may not have been an official holiday for them, but his friends never missed an opportunity to exchange gifts and throw a party. Vince and Greg should have known they would have to wait before indulging in the tantalising spread before them.

As they settled into their seats, exchanging small tokens of appreciation and heartfelt gifts, a sense of warmth and contentment washed over Draco. His friends may try to hide it, but they were truly a sentimental bunch.

Gifts soon gave way to laughter, food, and games, with Draco finding himself happily nestled against Theo’s side, listening to the conversations around him as his eyes drifted closed. Theo let out a low chuckle at something Blaise said, his breath tickling Draco’s ear.

Then, from the midst of the jovial chaos, Daphne called out, “Truth or dare, Draco?”

“Truth,” he replied without hesitation, earning a collective groan from his friends. He lazily opened his eyes and fixed them on her.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Daphne teased, but her eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Preserved for more auspicious occasions,” Draco retorted, eliciting laughter from the rest of the group.

Refusing to back down, Daphne conceded to his choice with a cunning grin. She leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially, “Tell us, Draco Malfoy, who was the first person you ever fancied at Hogwarts? And don’t you dare say Theo, because I know it wasn’t.”

Draco felt a flush spread across his cheeks at the unexpected question. His friends leaned in, anticipation clear in their eyes, waiting for his answer.

For a fleeting moment, he debated whether or not to keep this secret buried forever. His friends, particularly Daphne and Pansy, had been prying for years, but he had always managed to deflect their inquiries by claiming his long-standing pash on Theo. And that wasn’t entirely untrue. He could recall being seven or eight years old and feeling the first flutter of puppy love towards Theo, a feeling that would eventually grow into the deep love they shared together. However, his true infatuation lay with someone else entirely.

Draco took a brief pause to gather his thoughts before speaking. Despite the lingering blush on his cheeks, his voice remained steady. “Fine, it was Oliver Wood. Are you satisfied now?”

His friends erupted into surprised laughter, their eyes wide with disbelief. Tracey was the first to regain her composure, clapping her hands together with a grin. “Oliver Wood? The Gryffindor Quidditch captain? That’s unexpected!”

Daphne leaned back in her chair, a look of triumph on her face. “I knew it! I always said there had to be more to your fascination with Quidditch than just sport.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow teasingly. “Well, well, Draco. I never would have guessed you had a thing for Gryffindors.”

Draco rolled his eyes good-naturedly at their teasing. He was relieved that they found his confession amusing but he also noticed that Vince and Greg didn’t seem surprised in the slightest. He shouldn’t have been shocked by that; after all, they had followed him everywhere for their first two years at Hogwarts. It would be foolish to think they hadn’t caught him staring at Wood at least once during that time.

Theo squeezed Draco’s waist possessively but a small smile was playing on his lips as he glanced at Draco fondly. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Draco’s ear as he whispered, “And here I was, thinking that I was the only one who had stolen your heart.”

Draco swatted him away with mock annoyance, trying to hide the fond smile that tugged at his lips.

He let them gossip about him for a few moments longer before his grin turned sharp. “Pansy, you’re next. Truth or dare?”

Pansy’s eyes gleamed with mischief as she considered her options. “Dare,” she declared boldly, a smirk playing on her lips.

Oh, this is going to be fun, Draco thought to himself as his smile widened.

☿

Later, after Draco had been forced to extract himself from the warm embrace of his friends, he found himself stood outside of Slughorn’s quarters.

Blaise and Pansy were in front of him, waiting to be admitted entrance to the so-called party, while Theo stood beside him, his hand resting warmly on Draco’s elbow.

Each of them had a touch of crimson artfully incorporated into their attire—Draco with a dark red pocket square, Theo’s tie bearing a subtle pattern in the same shade, Blaise’s cufflinks glinting with a gemstone the colour of blood, and Pansy’s scarlet ribbon choker.

As he surveyed the room, it became evident that the festivity was less than thrilling. Clusters of students milled about awkwardly, their laughter sounding forced amongst the overzealous décor. Cherubs fluttered on enchanted garlands and heart-shaped confetti swirling in the draughty corners of the room.

“Merlin’s beard,” Blaise muttered under his breath, observing the splendour of love potions and towers of pink cupcakes, “it’s like Cupid has vomited all over the place.”

“Could be worse,” Pansy quipped dryly, her eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of excitement. “We could be stuck with a gaggle of Hufflepuffs getting misty-eyed over each other in every corner.”

They shared a collective shudder at the thought, a momentary distraction from the tedium before Horace Slughorn bustled over, his wide smile showcasing his yellowing teeth.

“Ah! My favourite young Slytherins. How delightful to have you all here tonight!” He gleefully clapped his hands together. “Terrible, of course, what happened in Hogsmeade but no use dwelling on the past.” Here he paused, attempting to appear both saddened and optimistic. It was a strange expression. “And look at this dashing duo – Mr. Zabini and Miss Parkinson, a perfect match indeed. But…” His eyebrows knitted together in mock concern as he looked at Theo and Draco, “where are your lovely dates, my dear boys? Surely such charming individuals would have admirers flocking to their side.”

“Professor,” Draco replied, his voice dripping with charm, “we are, after all, a select company. It wouldn’t do to dilute the exclusivity of our group with just anyone on such an occasion.”

“Besides,” Theo added, sharing a sly smile with Draco, “we’d hate to make the rest of the school feel inadequate by comparison.”

“Ah, spoken like true Slytherins,” Slughorn chuckled, patting Draco on the shoulder before turning to offer Pansy a crystalline bowl of heart-shaped sweets. She took one reluctantly. “Well, if you change your minds, you may just find someone suitable here.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Theo said, a wry smile playing on his lips, “but I think we’d prefer to stick together.”

“Indeed,” Draco murmured, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as he caught Pansy rolling her eyes at Slughorn’s retreating figure. “This year’s Valentine’s Day is already proving to be quite memorable.”

☿

The scene in front of his was almost an exact replica of Slughorn’s Christmas party. Chandeliers overhead cast a warm glow on the sea of bobbing heads, reflecting off the shimmering fabrics and spinning couples.

Draco stood with his back to the wall, a glass of punch in hand, surveying the scene with cool detachment when the crowd parted just enough for him to notice a new arrival. Potter had entered, Granger on his arm, both adorned in what must have been their finest.

However, it wasn’t long before Granger was drawn away by some Ravenclaws, leaving Potter alone to wander around the room.

Draco saw the exact moment that Potter spotted him, and watched as he retreated into a darkened corner. Oh, the Gryffindor thought he was being subtle, being sneaky, and Draco wanted to laugh at his attempts. How pathetic, Draco sneered in his own mind. The longer Potter’s little game went on, the more Draco regarded him as nothing more than a nuisance. A nuisance that he feared he would never be rid of.

Glancing around the room, Draco considered how best to make a statement that only Potter would understand.

As the room filled with more bodies, the air grew thick and warm, mingling scents of perfume and sweat turning cloying. With a deliberate motion, Draco set his glass down and shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over the back of an empty chair. He took his time rolling up his sleeves, revealing pale forearms that contrasted sharply with his dark shirt. A few nearby glances flickered towards him, appreciative or envious, he couldn’t tell—and didn’t particularly care.

But his gaze was trained on Potter, whose eyes were fixed on Draco. Draco’s fingers deftly folded the fabric above his elbows, muscles subtly flexing; it was a silent challenge, a show of nonchalance meant to provoke curiosity. His skin prickled with the cooler air, a sensation that strangely mirrored his anticipation.

Potter’s eyes widened as he took in the bare, pale skin of Draco’s arms. An angry flush spread across his face as his eyes narrowed in disbelief behind those thick, ugly glasses. Draco delighted in the fact that he’d just caused Potter’s world to collapse around him. So sure had the Gryffindor been that Draco bore the Mark that he just couldn’t handle the truth. No doubt he’d spin it in his mind, convince himself that Draco was wearing some sort of glamour but Draco knew, as did the likes of Dumbledore, that the Mark could not be hidden.

Potter finally looked up from Draco’s arm, only for his eyes to lock onto Draco’s. They widened behind the glasses, perhaps worried at being caught, before he turned away and quickly stalked towards Granger.

Draco allowed himself a small, triumphant smile before turning back to his friends.

“Look at you,” Blaise laughed with a knowing smirk. “Playing the game as always.”

Draco shot him a sidelong glance, sharp and quick. “It’s Valentine’s Day, isn’t it? Might as well give them something to look at.”

“I’m sure Theo will appreciate it,” his friend replied with a laugh.

Draco looked over to where Theo was leading Pansy around in some form of quickstep and, sure enough, Theo was smirking at him from across the room. Who knew that Draco’s arms were so attractive.

☿

The music swelled, a lively tune that filled the cavernous room with an energy that seemed to pulse through the throng of students. Draco found himself swept into a dance with Pansy, her hand light on his shoulder as they moved in time with the rhythm. Blaise’s laughter echoed over the melody, his steps practised and easy as Theo matched them beat for beat.

Draco was only half-present in the dance, his eyes sliding over the crowd, catching glimpses of Potter and Granger. Potter’s face was tight, lips moving rapidly, while Granger’s expression was drawn in a frown, her finger wagging in the air like a metronome set to a harsher tempo than the music. The sight brought a smirk to Draco’s lips; it was always entertaining to watch the Golden Boy in distress, especially when caused by his own doing.

“Looks like not all is well in paradise,” Pansy quipped, following Draco’s gaze with a curious glint in her eye.

“Potter’s own fault, I’m sure,” Draco replied, spinning her under his arm before pulling her back into a proper stance.

They continued to twirl and step, but Draco’s attention remained split, his focus shifting when he caught Potter breaking away from Granger. He watched as Potter made a beeline towards Professor Slughorn, who was holding court amongst a cluster of eager students. Their interaction was brief, Potter’s stature rigid and Slughorn’s mouth quivering with concern—or maybe confusion—before Potter turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the room.

Granger stood alone now, a look of mingled frustration and embarrassment etched across her features. Draco couldn’t help but feel a trickle of satisfaction at the sight. As much as he’d deny it aloud, Potter’s unravelling was far more captivating than any contrived festivity Slughorn could muster.

☿

After an evening of rather restrained revelry, Draco’s eyelids fluttered open, breaking the hold of sleep with an unusual eagerness. His body stirred beneath the luxurious green-and-silver embroidered covers, a ripple of anticipation coursing through him as the first tendrils of morning light caressed the stone walls of the dormitory. Today was not just another day—it hummed with the promise of something extraordinary.

As he propped himself up on one elbow, Draco’s gaze fell upon a tray perched at the foot of his bed. The sight brought a private smile to his lips; there lay a thoughtfully prepared breakfast, no doubt courtesy of Theo. A porcelain teapot exhaled steam gently into the air, flanked by plates of warm scones and two small jars, one filled with jam and another of clotted cream. Even before tasting it, Draco knew the tea would be steeped to perfection, a subtle blend that resonated with the refinement Theo took such quiet pride in.

His fingers grazed the fine bone china of the teacup, its surface gleaming in the soft glow of dawn. Draco’s senses began to awaken fully now—the rich aroma of the tea mingling with the buttery scent of scones and hint of sweetness from the cream.

“Starting without me?” Theo’s voice, smooth and teasing, cut through the hush of the room as he stepped back inside their shared space.

Draco turned towards the sound, his features softening at the sight of Theo, who balanced an additional plate of sliced fruit in one hand. The morning light painted him in hues of gold and shadow, highlighting the familiar lines of his face, the earnestness in his eyes that was reserved for moments like these.

“Wouldn’t dare,” Draco replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smirk. He made room on the bed, the sheets whispering softly against each other as he shifted.

Theo settled beside him, the mattress dipping under his weight, their shoulders brushing. With a practised ease, they arranged the feast between them, a tableau of intimacy within the stone confines of their dorm. They moved in tandem, passing the fruit and tea back and forth, Theo’s leg pressed warmly against Draco’s own beneath the coverlet.

As they ate, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the comfort of their shared silence and the occasional clink of cutlery. Draco savoured each bite, the flavours enriched by the company and the occasion, his heart thrumming with a sense of completeness that only Theo’s presence could bestow.

It was a special day, a secret nestled within the early hours, and as Draco met Theo’s gaze over the rim of his teacup, he knew without a doubt that it was going to be perfect.

☿

The lingering taste of breakfast clung to Draco’s mouth as he and Theo stepped out from the Slytherin common room’s serpentine embrace. The corridors stretched before them and there was a hush in the air, a tranquil stillness that blanketed the morning with a sort of reverence.

Draco could feel the warmth of Theo’s arm brushing his own as they walked side by side. Their strides matched perfectly, despite Theo’s longer legs.

Every so often, Theo would lean in, his breath ghosting over Draco’s ear as he shared an anecdote or observation.

They navigated the maze of Hogwarts with ease, sharing these snippets of memories that lingered in the dust motes and shadows. With every stolen glance, silent laughter, and knowing look, the anticipation inside Draco swelled, a buoyant feeling that left his stomach fluttering.

After what seemed like both an eternity and mere moments, Theo slowed before a nondescript door. Its wood was aged, the varnish long since faded, but there was something about the way Theo regarded it that told Draco everything he needed to know—this was no ordinary detour.

Theo pushed the door open with a flourish, revealing the fruits of clandestine preparations. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting golden beams that danced upon walls adorned with silken drapes. Candles floated near the ceiling, their flickering lights casting a soft glow that complemented the natural light.

“Salazar, Theo...” Draco breathed, stepping into the transformed space. His gaze swept over bunches of wildflowers that brought bursts of colour and life to the stone chamber. A charm must have been placed because the scent of jasmine and rosemary wafted gently in the air, a subtle yet intoxicating blend.

“Like it?” Theo asked, though his tone held the confidence of someone who already knew the answer.

Draco nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the details—the corners where ivy crept along the wall, the delicate arrangement of the room that suggested hours of dedication. It was as if the classroom had been plucked from a dream and rooted firmly in reality, solely for them.

“Only you could make a classroom look like this,” Draco said, the words carrying an undertone of awe.

Theo’s smile was self-assured as he closed the distance between them, taking Draco’s hand in his. “Only for you,” he replied, and the promise in those words wrapped around Draco, as tangible and comforting as the enchantment that filled the room.

Whispered charms locked them away from the rest of the world, ensuring that they’d remain unnoticed for the entire day.

☿

Draco’s fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the modestly wrapped package Theo had placed on his lap. The weight of it was unexpected, and he met Theo’s expectant gaze with a curious tilt of his head before carefully undoing the ribbon. Inside, nestled within layers of tissue paper, lay an antique silver pocket watch. Its cover was intricately etched with a dragon, wings unfurled in flight—a nod to Draco’s name and heritage.

“Every second counts,” Theo said softly, watching him with an intensity that made Draco’s breath catch. “I want you to have something that reminds you of that, of us.”

Draco couldn’t find words, so he leaned in instead, capturing Theo’s lips in a kiss that spoke volumes. It was a thank-you, a promise, a confession—all at once. When they parted, a soft flush coloured Theo’s cheeks, and Draco felt a surge of affection for this man who knew him so well.

“Your turn,” Draco uttered after a moment, retrieving a gift from his robe pocket. Theo accepted it, his eyes lighting up in that way that Draco adored. Inside, Theo found a handcrafted leather journal, its pages empty and waiting to be filled. Engraved on the cover were two initials, T and D, their lines intertwining in an elegant design.

“Somewhere to keep your thoughts,” Draco explained with a smile. “Or our adventures.”

Theo’s response was another kiss, softer this time but no less meaningful. They sat back against the plush cushions spread around the fireplace, whose flames chased away the cold, wintry air. They talked between kisses, about everything and nothing, their words punctuated by laughter and tender looks.

Content in each other’s company, the hours slipped away unnoticed. Theo read passages from Draco’s favourite book, his voice rising and falling with the cadence of the narrative, while Draco sketched tentative lines that captured the sharp angles of Theo’s profile, the gentle curve of his mouth as he spoke. Together, they played a game of wizard’s chess, with Theo playfully accusing Draco of cheating whenever a pawn would inexplicably knock over a knight.

Eventually, the adrenaline of the morning gave way to a peaceful lull, and they curled up together on a makeshift bed of blankets and pillows. The room’s magic hummed softly in the background, a soothing lullaby, as they drifted into slumber. Draco felt the steady rise and fall of Theo’s chest beneath him, the warmth of his breath on Draco’s neck. In sleep, their hands remained entwined.

Outside, the world continued on, but within the walls of their enchanted sanctuary, time stood still, cocooning them in a day that belonged solely to Draco and Theo.

☿

It was late in the afternoon when Draco awoke, prompted by Theo shifting beneath him.

He watched lazily from the pile of cushions and blankets as Theo stood, a secretive smile playing on his lips. With a flick of his wand and a whispered incantation, a previously unseen cloth fell away, revealing a small, intimate table that should have groaned under the weight of an elaborate spread.

Draco’s eyes widened at the sight: silver platters piled high with sumptuous dishes and crystal goblets sparkling in the candlelight. A rich aroma wafted through the air, making Draco’s stomach growl in anticipation.

“I thought you might be hungry,” Theo said, his voice tinged with understated pride as he gestured towards the feast.

Draco’s mouth watered at the array of dishes prepared by the house-elves—each plate more inviting than the last. He took his place at the table, marvelling at the care that had gone into the presentation.

The first course was a delicate pumpkin soup that warmed him from the inside out, the flavours rich and comforting. Theo watched him with an expectant gaze, satisfaction blooming on his face when Draco hummed his approval.

“Remember our first year?” Theo began, breaking off a piece of crusty bread and dipping it into his own bowl. “We were too proud to admit we were homesick.”

Draco laughed brightly, the memory vivid in his mind. “We made quite the pair, didn’t we? Sneering at anything that moved to hide our misery.”

“Look at us now,” Theo mused, clinking his goblet against Draco’s in a silent toast.

With each successive course—a salad adorned with exotic fruits, a main of roast pheasant with vibrant vegetables, followed by a tart that caused their eyes to close in delight—they delved deeper into conversation. They spoke of past escapades, their shared laughter echoing softly in the room. When the cheese platter was uncovered, accompanied by a bottle of aged wine that Theo must have acquired from home, the talk turned to the future.

☿

Candlelight flickered against the walls, casting a warm glow over the now empty plates.

They had returned to their spot on a pile of cushions, enjoying the comforting warmth of each other’s presence as Draco leaned back against his boyfriend’s broad chest.

Theo’s fingers traced idle patterns along Draco’s wrist, eliciting a shiver that wasn’t from the cool night air creeping through the cracks of the aged stone. Leaning back, Draco felt the soft brush of Theo’s lips against his jawline—a gentle, seeking touch.

Slowly, he trailed them down to his neck, peppering the smooth skin with tender kisses. A gasp escaped Draco’s lips as he arched his neck back, granting Theo more access to explore. Taking the invitation eagerly, Theo continued his journey down the exposed curve of Draco’s neck, savouring every inch of it with his lips.

“Stay with me,” Theo whispered, his breath a warm caress on Draco’s skin.

It was a needless request; they both knew there was nowhere else Draco would rather be.

“Always,” Draco murmured in response, turning his head to capture Theo’s lips with his own.

Their kiss was slow and indulgent, as sweet as dessert they had shared earlier, and Draco’s fingers wove themselves into Theo’s tousled hair, pulling him closer as their bodies pressed against each other with a familiar heat.

Ever the opportunist, Theo shifted onto his back, pulling Draco up to straddle him as he deepened the kiss further. His hands gripped the back of Draco’s thighs, holding him in place, and the subtle show of possession sent a thrill down Draco’s spine.

With trembling hands, Draco released Theo’s hair from his grasp, choosing instead to let his fingers roam over Theo’s defined chest. He couldn’t resist the temptation to undo the first few buttons of Theo’s shirt, revealing smooth, warm skin for his touch to explore.

A low moan escaped from Draco’s lips as Theo’s hands traced up his body, leaving trails of heat in their wake as they slipped beneath his shirt and followed the line of his spine.

Draco knew that this wasn’t the right place, nor the right time, for such intimacy but he wanted to indulge himself. He wanted Theo to devour him. He wanted to lose himself in the sensation of Theo’s hands gripping his waist, his hips, his thighs, leaving loving bruises in their wake. He never wanted to return to reality.

Reluctantly, Draco broke the kiss but his hands remained firmly planted on Theo’s chest, unable to break their connection. He could feel Theo’s heart racing beneath his fingertips.

Theo’s strong hands flexed against his narrow waist, as if he was holding himself back from something, and they both panted heavily, gazing into each other’s eyes.

The world beyond that room, with its crackling fireplace that danced in defiance of the chilly evening, seemed inconsequential. They were cocooned in this hidden sanctuary, away from prying eyes and expectations, where the only truth that mattered was the one they created together.

Hours slipped by unnoticed, marked only by the shifting shadows and the soft sound of their combined breaths. Draco found himself nestled into Theo’s side, enveloped by the comforting presence of the other boy.

As the fire began to dwindle, giving way to the encroaching darkness, neither made a move to rekindle it. The embers’ fading light seemed fitting—a symbol of the day coming to a close, yet their connection burning steadily on. Here, in the quiet aftermath of whispered dreams and shared laughter, they lay intertwined, basking in the warmth of their love and the magical ambiance that lingered like the aftertaste of fine wine.

“Theo?” Draco’s voice was soft, almost hesitant in the stillness.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for today. For everything.”

Theo lifted his head, meeting Draco’s gaze in the semi-darkness. “No need for thanks. This is us. This is real.” He pressed a kiss to Draco’s forehead, sealing his words.

Outside, the stars might have traversed the sky, and the moon may have risen to its zenith, but within the walls of the abandoned classroom, time stood still. They remained, entwined in each other’s arms, the rest of the world fading away until there was nothing left but the two of them.

Chapter Text

Valentine’s Day was a distant memory when, with heavy steps, Draco made his way towards the dungeons. He’d had a long, trying day, and he was eager to return to the common room after a short trip to the owlery.  

It was just his luck, then, that he nearly collided with Potter as he turned a corner.

“Watch where you’re going, Malfoy,” Potter spat with contempt. His eyes glinted maliciously behind his ugly glasses.

Draco resisted the urge to sigh wearily. This was becoming an all-too-common occurrence, and he was tired of the monotonous repetition that Potter seemed to relish. Instead of showing his frustration, knowing all too well that it would embolden the Gryffindor, he straightened his robes and returned Potter’s icy glare. “I could say the same to you, Potter. It seems you’re always lurking about, especially when your little friends aren’t around to hold your lead.”

Potter’s face flushed with anger. He took a step closer, his hands clenched into fists by his sides. “You’re one to talk, Malfoy. I know you’re up to something. Sneaking around the castle at all hours with Nott, disappearing into abandoned classrooms with your slimy friends. What are you hiding?”

Draco rolled his eyes. Potter’s accusations were, as always, absurd. He had hoped that his recent display at Slughorn’s party would have made Potter think twice about his actions, but even without the Dark Mark on his arm, Draco was still Potter’s primary target.

He saw Potter’s hand twitch towards his wand, but just as Draco contemplated how he was going to counteract Potter’s attack without being expelled, footsteps approached and a voice called out:

“Draco? There you are; I’ve been searching for you everywhere.”

Relief flooded through Draco as Theo appeared, smoothly placing himself beside him. He casually wrapped an arm around Draco’s shoulders – a gesture that might seem friendly to anyone else, but Draco knew it was protective, if not a little possessive.

“Ready to head to the owlery? Blaise and Pansy are probably waiting for us.” Theo’s tone was light, but his gaze was hard as steel as he stared down at Potter.

“Yes, let’s go,” Draco replied, allowing Theo to guide him away. He stole a glance back at Potter, who was glaring daggers at them, his hair even more dishevelled than usual.

As they ascended the stairs to the owlery, Theo kept a protective arm around Draco. Draco leaned into it, happy for the comfort it provided, and Theo tightened his hold, bringing them even closer together. They walked in silence for a moment, their footsteps the only sound on the cold stone steps.

“You shouldn’t wander off alone,” Theo murmured, his voice low and concerned. “Not with Potter on the prowl.”

Draco let out a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair. “We’ve talked about this, Theo. I can handle Potter.”

“I know you can, my love,” Theo replied, sliding his arm down to rest at Draco’s waist, “but you shouldn’t have to. Not alone.”

Draco simply nodded, unable to trust his own voice in that moment.

It was not the first time that his boyfriend or his friends had materialised out of thin air in recent weeks – Draco had noticed their almost constant presence, shielding him from Potter’s increasingly hostile pursuit.

The whole situation was starting to wear thin. He couldn't even go to the bathroom without one of them trailing after him like a shadow. Millie had once stood outside the doors of the fifth-floor boys’ bathroom, refusing to let anyone else enter until Draco rejoined her, and he was convinced that she’d made a fourth-year cry. She, of course, denied it, but Millie could be terrifying when she wanted to be.

He’d found a few ways to escape them – mainly by going to the library or the owlery after his Alchemy classes – but, if Theo’s sudden appearance in the corridor was anything to go by, they’d figured out what he was doing.

As they made their way to the owlery, he spotted Blaise and Pansy stationed at the entrance. They watched him approach, visibly relieved to see Draco unscathed.

“What happened?” Pansy enquired, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Draco dismissed her worry effortlessly—he baulked at the idea of causing drama over a minor altercation with Potter. “A fleeting tête-à-tête with our beloved Gryffindor Golden Boy.”

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Blaise probed further, never one to accept being brushed off in such a manner.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Draco responded briskly, barely resisting rolling his eyes. He refused to be coddled like some fragile bird.

Pansy eyed him sceptically as he marched passed her, leading them inside the owlery.

Draco evaded their watchful gazes by sending off a letter to his mother with Prospero and admiring a large eagle owl perched near the entrance. The owl affectionately hooted at him and playfully nipped at his fingers as he stroked its feathers.

“It seems you’ve made a new friend,” Theo remarked from behind him.

Draco turned to see Theo smirking at him, an amused glint in his eye. He could feel a blush creeping up his cheeks and quickly looked away.

“It’s just an owl,” he mumbled under his breath.

Theo hummed noncommittally before changing the subject. “What do you think Potter wanted?”

Draco shrugged once again. “Who knows, probably to make some snide remark about my family or accuse me of being a Death Eater again.” He tried to keep his tone light, but bitterness seeped through.

Theo’s expression darkened, but before he could respond, Pansy declared it was time to leave. Apparently, the smell of bird droppings was too much for her to handle, even for such a short time.

As they descended the winding staircase, Draco felt Theo’s hand brush against his own. It was a subtle touch, almost accidental, but Draco knew better. He allowed their fingers to intertwine, finding comfort in the warmth of Theo’s palm.

Blaise and Pansy led the way, their heads close together in hushed conversation. Draco caught snippets of their words – “increased patrols” and “Gryffindor Tower” – and realised they were devising strategies to thwart Potter.

Draco shook his head, choosing to ignore them and hoping that the drama would soon dissipate.

☿

As the days ticked by, with February bleeding into March with little fanfare, Draco noticed his friends’ increasingly aggressive tactics against Potter.

Pansy’s delicate features twisted into a look of determined malice as she made it her mission to relentlessly curse Potter at every opportunity. Her spells left him with everything from twisted limbs to festering boils in rather unfortunate places, and yet she showed no signs of stopping.

Meanwhile, Blaise seemed to have adopted a strategy of deliberate sabotage. His dark eyes glittered with malicious intent as he carefully orchestrated potions accidents that always seemed to target Potter. The resulting explosions and mishaps were enough to make even the most skilled potion-maker cringe in horror.

And then there was Daphne, whose words were as sharp as knives. She wielded them like seasoned weapons, mercilessly taunting Potter with such calculated precision that even Draco himself was impressed. Her perfectly styled hair and elegant posture only added to the air of superiority she exuded.

It was both satisfying and slightly concerning, this unrelenting defence they provided for him. As much as he appreciated their loyalty, Draco also knew they were flirting with danger. Potter was the darling of the school – he could get away with anything – but Draco’s friends lacked that privilege. They were tempting fate and playing a dangerous game, one that could have serious consequences if they weren’t careful.

Draco’s growing suspicion was finally confirmed when Vince and Greg pulled him aside one evening, their usual air of stoicism now tinged with unease. Their eyes avoided his as they spoke.

“What is it?” Draco demanded, noting their hesitant glances at each other.

“It’s just, well, Pansy has come up with a plan,” Greg began haltingly. “In case Potter continues to harass you.”

Draco’s stomach sank as he braced for the worst. He knew Pansy’s protectiveness could often lead to reckless actions.

Vince shuffled his feet nervously. “We’re not entirely certain what the plan entails. But we overheard her discussing it with Daphne and Blaise, and she wants to even the score if Potter steps out of line again.”

Draco cursed under his breath. He couldn’t allow her to put herself or anyone else in danger.

He found her in the common room huddled with Blaise and Daphne, just as Vince had mentioned. They fell silent as he approached, confirming his suspicions.

“Pansy. May I speak with you?” His tone brooked no argument.

She followed him to a secluded corner, raising an eyebrow in question. “What is this about, Draco?”

“I know about your plan.”

Pansy’s eyes widened briefly before her expression became neutral once more. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Enough games.” Draco fought to keep his voice steady. “I appreciate your concern for me, but I am begging – for all of our sakes – for you to exercise caution. Potter will not hesitate to have any of us expelled if pushed too far.”

"Oh, please,” Pansy scoffed. “Saint Potter does not hold that much power.”

“Yes, he does.” Draco cut her off firmly. “You know he’s Dumbledore’s favourite. The old coot would probably let him get away with an Unforgivable, for Circe’s sake, especially if he was aiming at one of us.”

Pansy’s defiant expression faltered for a moment, and Draco saw a glimmer of doubt in her eyes. Good, Draco thought. Perhaps she would listen to reason after all.

“I can handle Potter,” he said in a softer tone. “But I need you to trust me and not act rashly. Promise me, Pansy.”

She held his gaze for a moment before sighing dramatically. “Fine. I promise not to do anything reckless.”

It was not as reassuring as Draco would have liked, but it was the best he could hope for from Pansy. He could only hope that she would keep her word – although deep down, he knew it was wishful thinking.

Draco acknowledged Pansy’s assurance with a slight nod. He was well aware that her interpretation of the word “reckless” was vastly different from his own. Nevertheless, it was a start.

☿

The following days passed in an uneasy calm.

Draco observed his friends hovering around him, but their actions lacked the same aggression as before. An entire week passed without a single hex, curse, or jinx aimed at Potter and Draco allowed himself to relax, hoping that perhaps the tempest had subsided.

Unfortunately for Draco, he was not that lucky.

☿

The wind bellowed, mercilessly tugging at Draco’s once immaculate locks as he ascended to dizzying heights above the Quidditch pitch. It was his second match of the season and the most anticipated match of the entire school year: Gryffindor vs Slytherin.

Draco watched with bated breath as the Gryffindor Chasers weaved through the air in daring manoeuvres, their faces illuminated by the fiery passion burning within them, while the Slytherin Beaters skilfully wielded their bats, sending bludgers hurtling towards their opponents with deadly accuracy. The two teams clashed fiercely, locked in a relentless battle for every single point, the palpable tension thick enough to suffocate.

Hovering aloft, Draco sensed the weight of his entire House’s expectations bearing down on him, his keen eyes scanning the arena for that elusive glimmer of gold.

“Watch yourself, Malfoy,” Potter called out from a few feet away, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. “Wouldn’t want you to get hurt out here.”

Instead of rising to the bait, Draco allowed the thunderous roar of the crowd to envelope him, merging seamlessly with the rush of brooms slicing through the air and the drumbeat of his own pulse reverberating in his ears.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco spotted a flash of movement. The snitch! He leant forward on his broom, urging it to fly faster with all his might. Potter had also seen it and they were now in a dead heat, speeding towards the tiny golden ball with fierce determination.

As they got closer, Draco could feel himself inching forward, and he knew that this was his chance to finally beat Potter and catch the snitch.

Yet, in an instant, everything unravelled.

Just as Draco’s fingers brushed against the snitch, the metal cold against his skin, he felt a sudden, searing pain in his side. He looked down in shock to see Potter’s elbow buried in his ribs, a vicious snarl on his face.

He gasped for breath, his vision swimming as he struggled to stay on his broom, but it was too late. With a sickening lurch, he felt himself slipping, falling.

The world twisted and blurred into a nightmarish whirlwind as Draco plummeted earthward, the howl of the wind deafening in his ears. Desperation clawed at him as he fought against the inexorable pull of gravity, but it was futile – events spiralled out of control at breakneck speed.

A bone-jarring impact reverberated through every fibre of Draco’s being as he crashed onto the unforgiving ground. Agonising waves of pain erupted throughout his body, a symphony of torment that threatened to engulf him entirely. Darkness encroached upon his senses as unconsciousness claimed him, a cold embrace shrouding him in oblivion.

☿

Draco’s heavy eyelids battled against the blinding light, each flutter a struggling plea for relief from the searing pain that consumed his entire being. His body ached with an intensity that forced grimaces and clenched teeth, every movement sending sharp waves of agony through his shattered form.

“Draco? Can you hear me?” The voice, distant yet familiar, pierced through the haze of suffering.

Theo.

With monumental effort, Draco turned to focus on Theo’s anxious countenance, every glance igniting fresh fires of torment. “Theo,” he rasped, his raw throat barely able to form words. “What... what happened?”

A flicker of fury danced across Theo’s features and his jaw clenched with irritation. “Potter,” he seethed, the name a venomous curse on his tongue. “He sent you hurtling from your broom. You plummeted nearly fifty feet.”

Memories flooded back - the Quidditch match, Potter’s enraged visage, the sickening plunge towards earth. Nausea clawed at Draco as he swallowed hard.

“How long have I been unconscious?” The question emerged hoarse and strained.

“Two days,” Theo replied, his fingers tracing gentle circles on Draco’s hand. “Madam Pomfrey tended to your injuries - a concussion, broken arm, fractured ribs, and a cracked vertebra.” His expression soured. “She did what she could to patch you up, but your family Magick is interfering with the healing potions, so it will take longer for you to recover.”

Draco shut his eyes briefly, grappling with the overwhelming information. Two days... Salazar. He knew his friends must be fraught with concern.

“And the others?” he enquired upon opening his eyes again.

A sly grin curled at Theo’s lips. “Plotting revenge as we speak. Pansy has a plan that will make sure Potter never dares cross you again.”

A feeble chuckle escaped Draco’s lips despite the dread coiling in his gut. He knew he needed to temper her plans.

Yet in that moment, all he yearned for was rest. Exhaustion dragged him towards its murky depths, rendering his limbs leaden and his mind fogged.

“Stay with me?” He murmured softly, eyelids flickering shut.

Theo tenderly kissed Draco’s knuckles. “Always,” he whispered in reassurance.

☿

The hospital wing door creaked open, jolting Draco awake. Through bleary eyes, he saw a figure approaching his bedside, sending a surge of tension rippling through the room. Theo’s grip on Draco’s hand tightened as they both braced themselves.

Potter stood before them, his unease palpable in the air. His gaze shifted from Draco to Theo and then fell to the ground.

Draco didn’t know if he was ashamed of his actions, or whether he just couldn’t stand the sight of two Slytherins in one room.

“Malfoy,” he began, his voice strained. “I... I apologise for what happened during the match. I never intended to...”

“What? Almost kill him?” Theo interjected sharply. “Send him hurtling off his broom fifty feet above the ground?”

Potter flinched, his complexion paling. “I lost control. I acted impulsively.”

Draco scoffed derisively. Those were Granger’s words, not Potter’s. He doubted if Potter knew what impulsively even meant. “Impulse seems to be your default setting, doesn’t it, Potter? You act without thought for the consequences.”

Potter clenched his jaw but remained silent. “I am sorry,” he repeated, his tone holding more sincerity this time. “It was a mistake, and it won’t happen again.”

Theo leant forward, his eyes narrowing. “You're right, it won't. Because if you ever lay a finger on Draco again, I will personally make sure you regret it for the rest of your miserable life."

The threat hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, no one spoke. Then, with a jerky nod, Potter turned on his heel and strode out of the Hospital Wing, the door slamming shut behind him.

Draco exhaled shakily and sank back against his pillows. “Merlin, Theo. I thought you were going to hex him on the spot.”

Theo’s expression softened as he gazed at Draco, his touch offering comfort as he caressed Draco’s hand reassuringly. “Believe me, I was tempted. But Snape will exact a far harsher retribution than anything I could conjure up. After all, I don’t want to be expelled.” His lips quirked into an impish smile, a smile that Draco adored.

Refusing to allow himself to be distracted by his boyfriend’s face, Draco forced himself to focus on what Theo said. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say Potter will be spending every Saturday evening in detention with Snape for the rest of the year. Snape was absolutely livid when he learnt about the incident. I don’t envy Potter one bit.”

A surprised chuckle escaped Draco’s lips, igniting a spark of vindictive satisfaction within him. “He deserves it,” he murmured with a smirk that mirrored Theo’s.

Theo hummed in agreement and pressed a gentle kiss to Draco’s palm, reassuring him silently. “Indeed. And with Pansy’s plan in motion, hopefully he won’t trouble you again.”

Draco sighed wearily as exhaustion washed over him once more with waning adrenaline. “I hope so,” he whispered softly as his eyelids grew heavy. “I’m weary of playing his games, Theo.”

“I understand, my love,” Theo whispered tenderly while brushing aside a strand of hair from Draco’s forehead. “We’ll put an end to it; trust me. For now, just rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Just one question,” Draco slurred as he drifted towards a deep sleep. “Who won the match?”

Theo’s surprised laughter echoed in the near-empty room.

☿

Draco stirred from his slumber once more, drawn in by the soft yet fervent cadence of whispered voices. Keeping his eyes closed, he immersed himself in the exchange unfolding around him, allowing the waves of emotion to seep into his consciousness as he slowly reoriented himself.

“...certain this will succeed, Pansy?” Tracey’s voice was tinged with concern.

“Of course it will,” Pansy replied resolutely. “Potter has long deserved a taste of his own medicine. It’s high time someone put him in his place.”

Blaise’s smooth drawl chimed in. “And if it fails? What then?”

A brief pause enveloped the room before Pansy responded. “Then we persist until it does not. I will not let him get away with this.”

Slowly opening his eyes against the bright glare of the Hospital Wing lights, Draco spoke hoarsely, his voice rough with disuse. “What exactly is this brilliant scheme of yours, Pansy?”

Eight heads turned towards him, and their relief was evident on their faces. Pansy stepped closer, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Oh, just a little something to ensure Potter thinks twice before crossing you again,” she purred, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

Draco pushed himself up on his elbows, ignoring the twinge of pain in his ribs. “Count me in,” he declared firmly, leaving no room for argument. “Whatever you have planned, I want to be a part of it.”

Pansy’s smirk grew wider. “I had a feeling you would say that,” she said slyly, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “Here’s what we’re going to do...”

Chapter Text

The silence in the Headmaster’s office was deafening. Dumbledore sat at his desk with his fingers steepled, while McGonagall and Snape flanked him, both of them intently staring at Harry.

After the Quidditch match had been cancelled, Harry had been marched through the corridors and up to the seventh floor by Professor McGonagall without a word. He couldn’t understand why he was there. It’d only been an accident. It wasn’t his fault Malfoy couldn’t stay on his broom.

“Mr. Potter,” began Professor McGonagall, her voice sharpening the air around them, “Your actions today were reckless and could have resulted Mr Malfoy’s death.” Her eyes, usually filled with a stern warmth, were now cold. “You are very lucky that he survived, and that Madam Pomfrey has been able to treat his more serious injuries.”

Harry’s stomach churned with a mixture of guilt and indignation. He opened his mouth to protest, but McGonagall raised a hand, silencing him before he could utter a word.

“Detention with Professor Snape,” she announced, “until the end of the year.” The words hung heavy, ominous, but nothing she said struck as deeply as what followed. “I am gravely disappointed in you, Harry. Another such incident and I will have no choice but to exclude you for the remainder of the year.”

Snape’s lip curled into a sneer as he spoke. “If it were up to me, Potter, you would already be expelled. Your blatant disregard for others’ safety is truly appalling, even for someone like you.” His dark eyes bore into Harry’s, filled with contempt. “I expect you to be at my office at six o’clock sharp on Saturday evening. If you are even one second late, I will ensure your punishment is even more severe.”

As Snape sneered and swept out of the room with his robes billowing behind him, and McGonagall’s departing gaze pierced Harry one last time, Dumbledore finally spoke.

“Harry,” the Headmaster said, his voice grave and weary, “I understand that you and Mr. Malfoy have a... complicated history. But what happened today goes beyond schoolboy rivalry.”

“Sir, I—” Harry began, but Dumbledore stopped him with a look.

Dumbledore leant forward, his long silver beard brushing against the polished surface of his desk. “Your actions today, Harry, were born of anger. Of hatred.” His words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. “Such feelings, left unchecked, can lead down a very dark path.”

The portraits of former headmasters stirred in their frames, their murmurs a hushed chorus of disapproval. Harry felt his face burn with shame and frustration.

Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes seemed to look right through him, past his defences and into the roiling turmoil of his thoughts. “I fear, Harry, that you are standing at a crossroads. The choices you make now will shape not only your future but the future of those around you. I would like to understand why you have been targeting Mr. Malfoy with such intensity.”

Harry’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. The words he wanted to say bubbled up inside him like a cauldron about to boil over. How could Dumbledore not see?

“He’s working for Voldemort, sir,” Harry blurted out, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation. “I know it. I’ve seen him sneaking around the castle, disappearing for hours. He’s up to something, and it’s not good.”

Dumbledore’s expression remained impassive, but something flickered in his eyes – was it concern? Or perhaps, Harry thought with a sinking feeling, disappointment?

“That is a very serious accusation, Harry,” Dumbledore said softly. “Do you have any proof to support such a claim?”

Harry faltered, just for a moment, but he knew that he was right. “He’s been using the Room of Requirement and his behaviour has been suspicious all year. Always sneaking around with his friends, especially Nott. And he’s related to Bellatrix Lestrange. You know what she did to Sirius. He’s working with them, just like his father, I know he is. Please, sir, you have to believe me.”

Dumbledore nodded and Harry’s heart raced. Dumbledore believed him, Dumbledore would do something about Malfoy. But the hope in his heart died when the Headmaster spoke again.

“It is only natural to seek someone to blame in times of grief,” Dumbledore acknowledged softly. “What Bellatrix Lestrange did to Sirius was indeed terrible. However, Harry, there is no evidence to link Draco to Lord Voldemort.” The name hung between them, challenging, defiant. “In fact,” Dumbledore continued, leaning forward, his hands clasped before him, “the Order is attempting to bring young Mr. Malfoy and his associates over to our way of thinking. Certain events occurred during the Summer, and over the Christmas break, that have led us to believe that his support may prove useful.”

Harry felt as if he’d been struck. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. The idea of Malfoy joining their side seemed absurd, impossible. After everything Malfoy had done, after all the times he’d tormented Harry and his friends, how could Dumbledore even consider trusting him?

“But sir,” Harry finally managed, his voice hoarse, “Malfoy hates us. He’s always hated us. He called Hermione... that word. He’s cruel and prejudiced and—”

Dumbledore held up a hand, silencing Harry once more. “People can change, Harry. Often, it is those who seem the most lost who have the greatest potential for redemption. Mr. Malfoy has been raised in an environment of prejudice and fear, but that does not mean he cannot learn to see beyond it.”

Harry felt his anger rising again. “But sir, you don’t understand. Malfoy’s not just prejudiced, he’s dangerous. He’s planning something, I know it. I’ve been following him—”

“Ah,” Dumbledore interrupted, his eyes twinkling with a knowing look that made Harry’s stomach churn. “And therein lies the root of our problem, doesn’t it? You’ve been following Mr. Malfoy, watching his every move, allowing your suspicions to consume you.”

“I’m not consumed by anything,” Harry protested. “I’m just trying to protect everyone. If Malfoy is up to something—”

“Then it is the responsibility of the staff and the Order to investigate,” Dumbledore said firmly. “Not yours, Harry. Your focus should be on your studies, on preparing yourself for what lies ahead.”

Harry felt a surge of frustration. “But you’ve always encouraged me to trust my instincts, to fight against Voldemort. Why is this different?”

Dumbledore sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to age him before Harry’s eyes. “Because, my dear boy, there is a fine line between vigilance and obsession. I fear you may have crossed it.”

The words stung, and Harry felt his anger rising again. “So I’m just supposed to sit back and do nothing while Malfoy plots against us?” he demanded, his voice rising. “How can you ask me to ignore what I’ve seen, what I know?”

Dumbledore’s gaze sharpened, and for a moment, Harry glimpsed the powerful wizard beneath the grandfatherly exterior. “I am not asking you to ignore anything, Harry. I am asking you to trust me, and to trust the Order.” He sighed, adjusting his half-moon glasses. “Now, once Mister Malfoy awakens, you will apologise to him. Should the Malfoys decide to pursue legal recourse for today’s... altercation,” he continued, “the consequences could be severe.”

“Consequences?” The word felt like a slap. “He should be the one facing consequences, not me!”

“Nevertheless,” Dumbledore insisted, “an apology is in order.”

“Fine,” Harry spat, desperate for the conversation to be over. “I’ll apologise. Can I go back to my dorm now?”

Dumbledore studied Harry for a long moment, his blue eyes piercing.

“Yes, you may go,” he said at last, his voice heavy with disappointment. “But remember, Harry, the path you’re treading is a dangerous one. Obsession can blind us to the truth, even when it is right in front of us.”

Without a word, Harry turned and stomped out of the room.

As he stormed through the corridors, his mind raced. How could Dumbledore not see the truth? How could he be so blind to the danger Malfoy posed?

Harry’s footsteps echoed loudly in the empty hallway as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight with frustration. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was right about Malfoy, that there was something sinister going on beneath the surface.

His feet carried him back to Gryffindor Tower, where he muttered the password to the Fat Lady and climbed through the portrait hole. The common room was buzzing with activity, students huddled in groups discussing the day’s events. As soon as Harry entered, all eyes fell on him.

Ron and Hermione rushed over to him, concern etched on their faces. Hermione’s eyes found him first—sharp, discerning, disappointed.

“Harry, what were you thinking?” she demanded. “You know better than this!”

Harry shook his head in disbelief. “What was I thinking? I was thinking that Malfoy is up to something, and no one else seems to care!”

Ron shifted uncomfortably beside Hermione. “Mate, I know Malfoy’s a git, but what happened today... that was different. You could’ve killed him.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Harry exploded, causing several nearby first-years to flinch. “It was an accident. He lost control of his broom.”

Someone scoffed from the other side of the room.

“An accident, Potter?” A seventh-year Gryffindor called out, scepticism written across his face. “You attacked him mid-air. Everyone saw you.”

Harry felt his face flush with anger and shame. “You don’t understand,” he said through gritted teeth. “None of you do. Malfoy is dangerous. He’s planning something, I know it.”

“Harry,” Hermione said softly, placing a hand on his arm. “I think you need to calm down and think about this rationally. What happened today was serious. You could have been expelled.”

“I don’t care about being expelled!” Harry shouted, shrugging off Hermione’s hand. “Don’t you see? This is bigger than school rules. Voldemort is out there, gathering followers, and Malfoy is helping him. How can you all just ignore that?”

The common room fell silent at the mention of Voldemort’s name. Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances.

“Mate,” Ron said hesitantly, “I know you’ve been obsessed with Malfoy this year, but don’t you think you’re taking it a bit far? I mean, yeah, he’s a prat, but working for You-Know-Who? That’s a stretch. Especially after what happened in the Summer.”

Harry felt a surge of betrayal. Even his best friends didn’t believe him. “It’s not a stretch,” he insisted, his voice rising. “I’ve seen him sneaking around, disappearing for hours. He’s up to something, I know it!”

“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice gentle but firm, “we’re worried about you. You’ve been so focused on Malfoy that you’re neglecting everything else. Your grades are slipping, you’re constantly distracted in class—”

“There’s a war coming, Hermione. Don’t you understand that? Voldemort is getting stronger every day, and we need to be prepared!”

Whispers rippled through the common room at Harry’s outburst. He could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on him, a mixture of concern, fear, and judgment.

“Fine,” Harry spat, his voice thick with frustration. “If none of you believe me, I’ll prove it myself.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed up to his dorm room, ignoring the calls of his friends behind him.

As Harry slammed the door to his dormitory, he felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He collapsed onto his bed, his mind still racing.

He knew he was right. He had to be right. There was too much evidence, too many suspicious activities to ignore. But how could he prove it when no one seemed willing to listen?

Harry’s hand instinctively went to his pocket, where he kept the Marauder’s Map. He pulled it out, muttering “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good” as he tapped it with his wand.

The map came to life, intricate lines spreading across the parchment to form a detailed layout of Hogwarts. Harry’s eyes scanned the map frantically, searching for the dot labelled “Draco Malfoy.”

After a moment, he found it. Malfoy’s dot was motionless in the Hospital Wing, accompanied only by Madam Pomfrey and Theodore Nott.

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he watched Nott’s dot hovering near Malfoy’s bed. Why was Nott there? What were they discussing?

He felt a familiar surge of suspicion. Nott had been spending a lot of time with Malfoy lately, often disappearing together for hours. Harry was certain they were up to something nefarious.

As he stared at the map, a plan began to form in his mind. He couldn’t confront Malfoy directly - not after what had happened today. But perhaps he could eavesdrop, gather some concrete evidence to present to Dumbledore and the others.

☿

Days later, a tawny owl dropped a note in front of him at Lunch.

Harry unfolded the note with trepidation, recognizing the looping script immediately as Dumbledore’s. His heart sank as he read the brief message:

Dear Harry,

Your presence is required in the Hospital Wing this evening at 7 pm to deliver your apology to Mr. Malfoy. I trust you will not need Professor McGonagall to escort you.

- A. Dumbledore

Harry crumpled the parchment in his fist, a wave of frustration washing over him. He glanced across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy’s cronies were glaring at him.

“What’s that?” Ron asked through a mouthful of shepherd’s pie.

“Nothing,” Harry muttered.

☿

How dare Nott threaten him! Harry’s thoughts raced as he made his way out of the Hospital Wing. He was seething with anger and frustration. How could Dumbledore force him to apologise to Malfoy, of all people? It wasn’t fair.

His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white with anger, as the conversation with replayed in his mind. If you ever lay a finger on Draco again, I will personally make sure you regret it for the rest of your miserable life. Who did Nott think he was? Harry’s blood boiled at the memory of Nott’s smug face as he delivered the threat. And Malfoy, lying there in the hospital bed, pale and bruised but still managing to sneer at Harry’s forced apology. It made Harry’s skin crawl.

And the way Nott had hovered protectively over Malfoy’s bed, the hushed whispers that started as he left the room – it all pointed to something sinister. They were plotting something; he was sure of it.

☿

Saturday evening came all too soon for Harry. Malfoy had been released from the Hospital Wing the day before and he’d done all he could to avoid the pack of Slytherins that surrounded the blond boy. But there was one Slytherin he couldn’t avoid.

“Potter,” Snape greeted him, his voice a low drawl that carried an undercurrent of malice. “Your detention this week will be in the Potions classroom. Follow me.”

Harry glared at Snape, his jaw clenched tight. “Yes, sir,” he muttered through gritted teeth as he followed him into the next room.

Snape’s lips curled into a cruel smirk. “Very well. You’ll be scrubbing cauldrons tonight. Without magic, of course.” He gestured to a towering stack of filthy cauldrons in the corner, caked with the remnants of failed potions and burnt ingredients.

Harry’s heart sank at the sight. There had to be at least fifty cauldrons there. It would take hours to clean them all by hand.

“You will not leave until they are all spotless,” Snape continued, his black eyes glittering with malicious glee. “And Potter? Do try not to break anything. We wouldn’t want to add to your already extensive list of misdeeds, would we?”

With that, Snape stalked to the front of the classroom and settled behind the desk.

Harry had been hoping that Snape would leave him alone to complete the detention, but it seemed he was intent on supervising every miserable moment. With a resigned sigh, Harry rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

The first few cauldrons weren’t too bad, just a bit of dried potion residue that came off with some scrubbing. But as he worked his way through the stack, they got progressively worse. One cauldron was filled with a slimy green substance that smelled like rotten eggs. Another had some kind of crystallised potion stuck to the bottom that refused to budge no matter how hard he scrubbed.

Harry’s arms ached as he scrubbed at a particularly stubborn patch of burnt potion. Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He glanced up at the clock on the wall – he’d been at it for over two hours already, and he wasn’t even halfway through the stack.

Snape sat at his desk, grading papers with a look of disdain. Every so often, he would glance up at Harry, his lips curling into a sneer.

“Having trouble, Potter?” Snape drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps if you applied yourself to this task with as much... vigour... as you do to harassing your classmates, you might leave here before dawn.”

Harry bit back a retort, focusing instead on the cauldron in front of him. He wouldn’t give Snape the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him.

As Harry scrubbed furiously at the cauldron, his mind wandered to Malfoy and Nott. What were they planning? He was certain they were up to something nefarious, but he had no proof. The frustration of it all made him scrub even harder, his muscles straining with the effort.

Suddenly, a sharp pain lanced through his hand. Harry hissed and dropped the brush, looking down to see a shallow cut across his finger where he’d caught it on the cauldron’s jagged edge.

“Clumsy as ever, Potter,” Snape remarked coldly from his desk. “Do try not to bleed all over the cauldrons. It would be a shame to have to start over.”

Harry gritted his teeth, fighting back the urge to snap at Snape. He picked up the brush again with his uninjured hand and resumed scrubbing, ignoring the throbbing pain.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Harry placed the last clean cauldron on the stack. His arms ached, his back was sore, and his fingers were pruned and raw from the harsh soap. He looked up at the clock – it was well past midnight.

“I’m finished, sir,” Harry said, unable to keep the exhaustion out of his voice.

Snape rose from his desk, his black robes swirling around him as he approached the stack of cauldrons. He inspected them closely, running a long, pale finger along the inside of one.

“Barely adequate,” Snape sneered. “But I suppose it will have to do. You may go, Potter.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He gathered his things and headed for the door, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the dungeon classroom.

“Oh, and Potter?” Snape called out just as Harry reached the door. “Do remember that this is merely the first of many detentions. I expect to see you outside my office every Saturday evening until the end of the year.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped at the reminder. He nodded stiffly without turning around, then pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped out into the chilly dungeon corridor.

He trudged through the corridors, his body aching.

The Fat Lady was dozing in her frame when Harry finally reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. He had to clear his throat twice before she startled awake. She glared at him as he muttered the password but he didn’t care.

When he collapsed into bed, he was too tired to even think about Draco Malfoy.

Chapter Text

As with many Slytherin schemes throughout history, the first phase of Pansy’s plan demanded patience. Let the storm pass. Allow the dust to settle. Lull Potter into believing he was safe from retribution. The strategy possessed an elegant simplicity, and Draco had anticipated it perfectly. After fifteen years of friendship, he could interpret Pansy’s intentions as easily as their assigned readings.

Blaise had, predictably, advocated for immediate retaliation, his dark eyes gleaming as he outlined increasingly outrageous scenarios. “We could slip a modified Babbling Beverage into his pumpkin juice,” he’d suggested with a casual flick of his wrist. “Have the Golden Boy confess his deepest secrets to the entire Great Hall.”

Draco suspected these suggestions were designed primarily to irritate Pansy rather than from any genuine tactical consideration. The calculated gleam in Blaise’s eye as she scowled at him confirmed as much.

“Or perhaps,” he had continued, leaning forward with exaggerated interest, “we could charm his glasses to show everyone naked. Imagine the psychological damage.”

“Must you be so childish?” Pansy had snapped, though Draco hadn’t missed the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth.

Draco would never comprehend the bizarre dynamic between the two of them. Their peculiar version of flirtation — barbed comments delivered with smouldering glances — made him want to hex them both into next week.

Blaise had held his hands up in surrender, likely pleased with the reaction he got, and Draco felt a wave of relief wash through him, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. His body still ached from Potter’s attack, muscles protesting with every small movement, and the mere thought of confronting Potter again made his stomach twist into knots, acid rising in his throat.

“Patience is key,” Pansy had explained, her voice low and measured as she tapped one perfectly manicured nail against the metal frame of Draco’s infirmary bed. The soft clicking punctuated her words like a metronome, each tap sending a tiny metallic vibration through the bed frame. “Potter’s expecting us to strike back. He’s watching his every step, sleeping with one eye open.” Her lips curled into a knowing smirk. “We wait until he relaxes, until he thinks we’ve forgotten.”

Draco shifted against the stiff infirmary pillows, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his ribs. Madam Pomfrey’s potions hadn’t quite finished their work, the bitter aftertaste of Skele-Gro still lingering on his tongue.

“And after that?” Theo asked from his position next to Draco, both hands clasped around one of Draco’s own.

Pansy’s smile transformed then, no longer the practised social expression she wore in the Great Hall. This was something feral, something dangerous. It was the kind of smile that reminded Draco why the other houses feared Slytherins. Her eyes glittered with cold promise as she leant forward.

“And after that,” she whispered,” we make certain Potter wishes he’d never laid a finger on one of our own.”

☿

Draco was released from the Hospital Wing a week after the incident, although not without a fifteen-minute lecture from Madam Pomfrey about the stubborn nature of teenage wizards and their complete disregard for proper healing protocols. His bruises had faded to sickly yellow smudges beneath his pale skin, like watercolor stains on parchment, and his bones had knitted together, though they still ached when he breathed too deeply, sending tendrils of discomfort through his chest with each substantial inhalation.

“I should keep you another day at minimum,” Madam Pomfrey said, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval as she watched him button his shirt with fingers that still trembled slightly.

“I’ve spent quite enough time staring at these walls,” Draco replied, unable to keep the edge from his voice. The infirmary’s sterile white surroundings had begun to feel like a prison, the antiseptic smell burning his nostrils until he could taste it at the back of his throat.

She sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. “Mind those ribs for another day or two,” she instructed, pressing a small vial into his palm as he shrugged on his robe. The glass felt cool against his skin, the liquid inside shifting with an iridescent shimmer that caught the morning light streaming through the tall windows. It was one of Severus’ creations. Draco recognised it through the distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen and the precise penmanship on the label. His godfather’s concern, expressed through potions rather than words. “Take this before bed tonight if the pain returns. One mouthful only, Mr. Malfoy. It’s quite potent.”

Draco pocketed the potion with a small nod of acknowledgement, feeling the weight of it settle against his thigh.

He stepped into the corridor, and the ambient chatter dimmed instantly, like someone had cast a muffling charm. Dozens of eyes flickered toward him before darting away. A trio of third-year Ravenclaws huddled closer together, their eyes widening as they caught sight of him before they suddenly found intense interest in the stone floor. Further along, a Hufflepuff prefect — Abbott, was it? — offered what she clearly thought was an encouraging smile, the kind reserved for wounded creatures or first-years lost on their way to class.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, straightening his shoulders despite the sharp twinge that shot through his side. The movement sent a jolt of pain radiating outward from his ribs, but he kept his expression carefully neutral.

By the time he reached the moving staircases, Draco had cataloged six distinct reactions to his presence. The Hufflepuffs offered pity, their eyes wide and mouths downturned in expressions that made his skin crawl with indignation. Ravenclaws watched with clinical fascination, as though he were a particularly interesting potions experiment gone wrong. The Gryffindors were the worst. Some watched him with barely concealed satisfaction, others with a guilt that seemed unsettlingly genuine, as if they’d been the ones to push him off his broom. His fellow Slytherins were respectful, as expected, nodding in silent solidarity or offering subtle gestures of support. And then there were those who simply pretended not to see him at all, their eyes sliding past him as though he were invisible, a ghost drifting through the hallways.

The staircase shifted beneath his feet without warning, and Draco grabbed the railing, his knuckles turning white as his ribs protested the sudden movement. Pain flared along his side, stealing his breath for a moment. A pair of second-years at the bottom of the stairs giggled behind their hands, their eyes darting to his white-knuckled grip and rigid posture.

“Something amusing?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. The temperature in the stairwell seemed to drop several degrees.

The laughter died instantly. The smaller of the two — a Gryffindor, naturally — turned crimson, while her companion went deathly pale. They scurried away like startled mice, their robes flapping behind them.

Mercifully, Potter seemed to have vanished into thin air after their confrontation. Entire days passed without a glimpse of that infamous lightning scar or the flash of his perpetually untamed hair. It was freeing, to say the least, but Draco knew that Potter was watching him. He was always watching.

☿

Thankfully, the weeks leading up to the Easter holidays slipped by quickly and free of confrontation. Only a few moments, bright and joyful, linger in Draco’s mind.

☿

Winter’s lingering teeth bit at the Transfiguration classroom. Frost traced delicate patterns across the windowpanes, creating prisms that scattered weak morning light across the stone floor in rainbow fragments. The ancient flagstones radiated a chill that penetrated through Draco’s dragonhide shoes, numbing his toes despite his woollen socks. With each exhale, his breath formed misty clouds that dissipated into the frigid air, visual evidence of the castle’s inadequate heating charms.

Professor McGonagall stood ramrod-straight at her lectern, her emerald robes a splash of colour against the classroom’s austere greys. Her spectacles caught the light as she surveyed the room, reflecting twin points of brightness that made her gaze all the more penetrating. Behind her, the blackboard displayed a chaotic symphony of formulae. Diagonal slashes crossing out failed approaches, arrows redirecting thought processes, and annotations squeezed into margins in handwriting that reminded Draco of his own late-night study sessions.

“Remember,” McGonagall’s voice cut through the concentrated silence, precise as a blade, “transfiguration is not merely about changing appearance. You must comprehend the essence of what you are creating. The mouse is not simply stone shaped differently. It must be a mouse in every respect, from the marrow in its bones to the electrical impulses of its tiny brain.”

Draco shifted in his seat, ignoring the dull ache in his side as he leant forward. Transfiguration had always held a special allure for him, a siren’s call to the part of him that yearned to unmake reality, to bend the world to his will with nothing more than magic and sheer bloody-mindedness. With a word, he could restore the broken, undo the unforgivable, offer life itself. The power in that thought sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

The marble block before him gleamed dully under the classroom’s enchanted lights, its surface cool and smooth beneath his fingertips as he traced its contours. McGonagall’s task was deceptively straightforward, yet nigh impossible: to coax life from lifeless stone, to sculpt a mouse from a shapeless hunk of marble, complete in every detail down to the quivering whiskers and beady, glittering eyes.

Around him, his classmates hunched over their desks in various states of frustration. Longbottom’s face had turned an alarming shade of puce as he jabbed his wand at his stubbornly immobile stone, his wand movements increasingly erratic. Weasley muttered increasingly creative profanities under his breath as his marble sprouted what looked like a tail, only for it to crumble into dust moments later. A yelp from the Hufflepuff section drew Draco’s attention briefly. Macmillan had managed to create something with far too many legs that skittered across his desk before collapsing into rubble, leaving a trail of marble dust in its wake.

Draco turned his attention back to his own work, running his wand along the natural fissures in the marble block. He could feel the stone’s resistance, its ancient inertia pushing back against his magic like an immovable object meeting his irresistible force. The marble seemed to have its own stubborn personality, clinging to its stoneness with the tenacity of a kneazle with a gnome.

“Having trouble, Granger?” Blaise’s silky voice drifted from two rows ahead, each syllable perfectly enunciated with that aristocratic drawl he affected when he wanted to be particularly trying. “And here I thought you’d written an extra three feet on Gamp’s Elemental Laws last week. Wasn’t your thesis on the transfiguration of inorganic matter?”

Draco glanced up to see Granger’s shoulders stiffen, tension visible in the rigid line of her spine. Even her hair seemed to bristle in indignation. Her marble had taken on a vaguely rodent-like shape, but it flickered disconcertingly between stone and flesh, never quite committing to either state — stone one moment, fur the next, then back again in a nauseating oscillation.

“At least mine has a recognisable shape, Zabini,” she retorted without turning around, her voice clipped with irritation. “Yours still looks like something you’d find in a quarry. Perhaps you should focus less on my work and more on your own abysmal attempt.”

Draco suppressed a smirk, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. Granger wasn’t wrong. Blaise’s stone remained stubbornly blocky, despite his casual wand movements and affected air of competence.

McGonagall’s footsteps approached, the sharp click of her heels on stone a warning of imminent judgment. “Less conversation, more concentration,” she said sharply, looking down her nose at them through her square spectacles. “Mr. Zabini, your wandwork is entirely too casual. The third motion requires precision, not flourish. Miss Granger, you’re overthinking the process. Feel the transformation, don’t intellectualise it. Magic responds to intention as much as incantation.”

She moved on, stopping to correct Finnigan’s grip before his marble exploded like every other object the Irish boy attempted to transfigure. Draco inhaled deeply, forcing his shoulders to relax despite the twinge in his ribs. This wasn’t combat or a life-or-death situation. It was merely an academic exercise, and yet his heart quickened all the same. McGonagall’s gaze lingered on him for a moment as she passed, her expression unreadable behind those square spectacles, but he knew her assessment would be fair. Whatever her feelings about Slytherin House, she judged solely on merit.

He closed his eyes, blocking out Longbottom’s frustrated sighs, Weasley’s muttered curses, the scratch of Granger’s quill as she recalculated her approach. In his mind, he constructed the mouse in exquisite detail: the delicate architecture of bones like spun glass, the rapid flutter of a heart no larger than his thumbnail, the soft fur covering pink skin, clever paws with minuscule claws. He envisioned blood coursing through tiny veins, lungs expanding and contracting, the spark of consciousness that separated mere form from living creature.

The Latin incantation formed on his tongue, each syllable precise and weighted with intention. His wand moved in the complex pattern they’d been practising: three sharp jabs followed by a sweeping curve and a final downward flick. Magic surged through him, channelling from his core through his arm and into the hawthorn wand, a rush of power that left his fingertips tingling.

A sound like a sudden indrawn breath filled his ears, and the marble before him shimmered, its surface rippling like disturbed water. The stone contracted, reshaped itself, softened. Grey fur sprouted from what had been cold mineral, and four delicate paws unfurled. A tail emerged, then whiskers, and finally two glossy black eyes blinked open, regarding Draco with what seemed like curious intelligence.

A perfect mouse crouched on his desk, its sides rising and falling with quick breaths, whiskers twitching as it tested the air. It turned in a small circle, pink nose quivering as it investigated its new surroundings, tiny claws scratching against the wooden desktop.

McGonagall materialised beside him rather suddenly, her presence announced only by the faint scent of ginger and parchment. She picked up the mouse by its tail, dangling it at eye level for inspection, and the entire class winced collectively at the undignified handling. The mouse squirmed, its tiny paws paddling the air frantically, a picture of rodent indignation.

She rotated the creature, examining it from all angles with the critical eye of a master. “Exemplary work, Mr. Malfoy. The anatomical detail is precise, respiration appears normal, and the nervous system seems fully functional.” She set the mouse down, and it immediately scurried to hide behind Draco’s inkwell, its tiny body trembling. “Twenty points to Slytherin. You may have another attempt if you wish. Perhaps you might aim for a harvest mouse next time. The skeletal structure is more challenging.”

A surge of satisfaction bloomed in Draco’s chest, sharp and sweet.

Across the aisle, Granger made a small noise of frustration as her mouse-like creation dissolved back into formless stone the moment her concentration wavered. Her quill scratched furiously across parchment as she recalculated her approach, ink spattering slightly in her haste. The sound grated on Draco’s nerves even as it pleased him to see her struggle.

Draco allowed himself the smallest of smiles, just a slight upward tilt at the corner of his mouth. Pansy caught his eye from her seat and shook her head in mock exasperation, but the approval in her gaze was unmistakable. Blaise, still affecting bored indifference as his marble remained stubbornly inanimate, arched an elegant eyebrow in silent acknowledgment.

As the lesson continued, Draco found his focus drifting. The mouse had curled up beside his quill, its tiny body warm against his fingers when he reached out to stroke it, fur soft as down beneath his touch. It yawned, revealing minuscule pink teeth, then settled into what appeared to be a contented doze.

“Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall’s voice cut through his reverie, “perhaps you might assist Mr. Nott? His mouse appears to have developed an unfortunate stone tail.”

Draco glanced over to where Theo was prodding at his creation. It was a mostly-fleshed mouse but with a back end still firmly marble. The creature dragged itself in awkward circles, unable to lift its heavy posterior, leaving tiny scratches in the wooden desktop as it struggled.

“Of course, Professor,” Draco replied, gathering his mouse and placing it in his robe pocket where it nestled against him, a warm presence against his chest. As he slid into the empty seat beside his sheepish boyfriend, he caught Potter watching him from across the room, an unreadable expression on his face. Their eyes locked for a heartbeat, green meeting grey, before Potter quickly looked away, returning to his own half-transformed stone with renewed intensity, jabbing his wand with unnecessary force.

The familiar knot of tension returned to Draco’s shoulders, the brief moment of contentment evaporating like morning mist. He wondered if Potter was plotting his next move, if those green eyes held calculation rather than simple curiosity.

☿

A few days later, in Greenhouse Four, the entire Slytherin sixth-year set had arrayed themselves against a balustrade of warm stone, their robes steaming where they’d brushed the wet leaves. The greenhouse air hung thick with moisture, droplets clinging to every surface and slowly seeping through Draco’s uniform. He shifted uncomfortably as dampness crept along his collar and down his spine, making him acutely aware of each point where fabric met skin.

Professor Sprout bustled at the far end of the greenhouse, her patched hat bobbing between rows of writhing Mandrakes like a ship on rough seas. She’d left the class to their own devices with the confident recklessness of a zookeeper who trusted the tigers more than the visitors, occasionally calling out instructions that were swallowed by the dense, humid air.

Draco inhaled deeply, wincing slightly as his ribs protested. The scent was an assault on his senses – part rotting fruit, part distant rain, with undertones of fertiliser and the sharp tang of magical plant sap. Every surface in the greenhouse sweated moisture, rivulets running down the glass panes and dripping from leaf tips to form tiny puddles on the stone floor. Even the most fastidious among them (Pansy, for instance) had abandoned all hope of looking presentable.

“This humidity is a crime against my hair,” Pansy muttered beside him, clinging to a glazed clay pot like a lifeline, white-knuckled, while her face flushed with something halfway between embarrassment and resignation. Her usually immaculate bob had frizzed at the edges, curling slightly against her damp cheeks. “I look like I’ve been dragged backward through the Forbidden Forest.”

Draco nodded, refusing to even think about the way his hair was beginning to curl in the humidity.

Theo leaned closer to Draco, his shoulder pressing against Draco’s in a way that sent a pleasant warmth through him despite the clammy atmosphere. “You look fine,” he whispered, though whether to Draco or Pansy wasn’t entirely clear.

Blaise, positioned on Pansy’s other side, examined his fingernails with affected disinterest. “At least the soil under your nails matches your eyes today, Pans,” he drawled, dodging the elbow she jabbed in his direction.

And then it began.

It started with a shriek, piercing and sudden enough to make Draco’s hand instinctively reach for his wand. A Ravenclaw – Entwhistle, Draco recalled vaguely, a boy with perpetually ink-stained fingers – had leant too close to a tub of hybrid Snapdragons. The lead bloom, plum-colored and veined with silver, snapped at the sleeve of his robe and caught hold with surprising tenacity.

Entwhistle’s panic was exquisite: he flailed, arms windmilling wildly, face contorting in horror as the plant maintained its grip. He flapped his captured arm, succeeding only in agitating the other blooms, which stretched upward like spectators at a Quidditch match. His feet, in their desperate attempt to retreat, tangled with each other, and he finally toppled backward with a yelp of dismay, landing squarely in a bed of peat moss. The Snapdragons released his sleeve at the last moment, then shook their colourful heads with something uncannily like laughter.

For a moment, the greenhouse was silent but for the hiss of the misting system, droplets catching light as they descended in a fine curtain over the plants. Every eye fixed on the Ravenclaw, sprawled in the dirt, his dignity in tatters.

And then Blaise exploded, first with a bark of surprise that seemed to startle even himself, then a low wheezing cackle that built from his chest. The sound was so uncharacteristic coming from Blaise’s usually composed demeanor that it set off Vince and Greg, whose combined bass notes rattled the glass panes overhead. Their laughter boomed through the greenhouse, echoing off the curved ceiling.

Draco bit down on his tongue and tried for composure — a Malfoy did not lose control in public – but Pansy caught his arm at exactly the wrong moment, her fingers digging into his sleeve as she struggled to contain herself. Her face was a study in failed restraint, eyes wide and mouth twitching violently at the corners.

“His face,” she gasped, “did you see his face?”

All pretence fell away.

Draco laughed. Not the careful, measured chuckle he employed in the Great Hall, nor the cold, calculated laugh he used to intimidate first-years. This was real. Unfiltered. He laughed harder than he had in months, perhaps all year, head thrown back, throat exposed, fingers digging into the curve of the stone planter for support. His ribs protested sharply, but the pain only seemed to intensify the release, tears springing to his eyes.

Pansy all but collapsed against him, doubling over and pressing her face to Draco’s sleeve as if to stifle the sound. Her body shook with silent convulsions, makeup smearing slightly where her eyes watered. Blaise wiped actual tears from his eyes and made a show of pointing at the Ravenclaw, now disentangling himself with all the dignity of a cat sprayed with hose water, dirt smeared across his cheek and peat moss clinging to his robes.

“Absolutely graceful,” Blaise wheezed. “Ten points for the dismount.”

“Olympic standard,” Theo agreed, his shoulders shaking as he leaned harder against Draco for support.

Other students looked on, some scandalised, others fascinated, a few fighting their own smiles. The Gryffindors, predictably, frowned in disapproval. Except for Finnigan, of course, who seemed to be appreciating the chaos with professional interest. Slytherins, Draco thought, were supposed to be above such spectacle, but what was the point if you couldn’t enjoy a little bit of schadenfreude?

He savoured the unity of it: the way even Daphne, usually so poised and reserved, snorted inelegantly into her palm; the way Millie’s silent laughter made her whole body quake; the way Vince and Greg’s guffaws always outlasted the cause, continuing long after others had composed themselves. It felt like belonging, like the common room after curfew when they could drop the masks they wore for the rest of the school.

Sprout, remarkably oblivious to the commotion – or perhaps simply choosing to ignore it – bustled past with her arms full of trowels, soil clinging to her apron in dark patches. “Careful with the new hybrids, please!” she called over her shoulder, never looking back. “They’re still establishing their temperaments!”

The Snapdragons hissed in reply, their blooms swaying in what looked suspiciously like self-satisfaction, and the Slytherins dissolved again into helpless, stifled mirth. Draco caught Theo’s eye, and something warm unfurled in his chest at the sight of his boyfriend’s face transformed by genuine amusement, the usual worry lines smoothed away.

“Temperament established, I’d say,” Theo murmured, close enough that his breath tickled Draco’s ear.

By the time the bell rang, signalling the end of the period, Draco’s ribs ached fiercely and his cheeks were sore from smiling. He found he didn’t mind. As the others gathered their things, sliding textbooks into bags and wiping soil from their hands, the Slytherins lingered.

“I’ll never get that sound out of my head,” Pansy said, a genuine grin replacing her usual calculated smile. “Worth coming to class for, honestly. I was about ready to set fire to these plants just to escape the humidity.”

Draco watched as Blaise reached toward the planter, carefully avoiding the snapping ends as he selected a Snapdragon from the cluster. This one was smaller than the others, its colour deeper and more vibrant, with silver veins that caught the light as it swayed in his grip. He offered it to her with a flourish that was only half-mocking.

“A souvenir,” Blaise murmured, grinning as a pleased flush spread across Pansy’s face. “In case you ever need cheering up.“ The bloom snapped playfully at her thumb, but without real intent to catch her.

“You’re terrible,” she said, but her voice was fond, almost gentle. She tucked the bloom carefully into her bag. “Absolutely terrible.”

☿

Friday afternoon found Draco ensconced in his favourite library alcove, a sanctuary of sorts tucked between towering shelves that smelled of aged leather, dust, and the faint metallic tang of ink. The scent had always brought him comfort, reminding him of his father’s study at the Manor, where he’d spent countless childhood hours poring over family histories while Lucius worked at his desk.

Sunlight slanted through the stained glass windows, fracturing into jewel-toned patterns across the polished oak table. A ruby-red splash illuminated Pansy’s parchment, while emerald and sapphire dappled Blaise’s elegant script. Theo sat beside Draco, close enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed.

The familiar rhythm of quills scratching against parchment filled the alcove. Draco paused to flex his cramping fingers, glancing at his half-completed essay.

“I swear Snape’s trying to kill us with these assignments,” Pansy muttered, her voice barely carrying across the table as she measured her parchment with a silver ruler. She frowned at the result, dark eyes narrowing. “Four feet on nonverbal defensive countercurses is excessive even by his standards. I’ve already covered everything in the textbook, and I’m still six inches short.”

Blaise didn’t look up from his work, his quill moving in fluid strokes as he added another perfectly formed paragraph. “He’s compensating for years of incompetent instruction,” he replied, dipping his quill into deep blue ink. A drop of it threatened to fall onto his parchment, but he caught it with a practised twist of the nib. “I’d rather have too much than another year of Umbridge’s theoretical nonsense. At least we’re learning something useful.”

Draco rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had settled between his shoulder blades. His ribs gave a twinge of protest, a sharp reminder of his still-healing injuries. “Snape knows what’s coming,” he said quietly, his voice pitched low enough that only his friends could hear. “This isn’t academic anymore. It’s survival.”

Theo’s knee pressed against his under the table, a silent gesture of support that made Draco’s throat tighten unexpectedly. He cleared it with a small cough, reaching for his reference text to hide the momentary vulnerability.

He was about to continue when hushed voices from the next alcove caught his attention. The distinctive cadence of Hufflepuffs carried clearly — earnest, slightly too loud even when attempting to whisper, with that particular inflection of perpetual bewilderment that seemed endemic to their house.

“—completely unfair,” a high-pitched voice complained, the words carrying easily despite the speaker’s attempt at discretion. Draco recognised the voice as Stebbins, a seventh-year with a perpetually worried expression and a tendency to drop things in the corridor. “When I asked for a demonstration, he said we should have learnt the theory already.”

“He called me an imbecile with the magical aptitude of a flobberworm when I asked if we could practice in class,” another voice added. Summerby, Draco thought, recalling a gangly Hufflepuff Chaser with unfortunate ears. Indignation coloured every whispered syllable. “Said if I couldn’t master a simple shield charm, I had no business attempting advanced protective magic.”

“How are we supposed to master something that advanced without guidance?” Stebbins continued, her voice rising slightly before being hastily shushed. “It’s not in our textbook, and the books here only explain the theory. I’ve never even seen one cast properly. Professor Lupin mentioned them in fourth year, but we never got to practical application.”

Draco caught Pansy’s eye across the table. Her lips twitched, and he could see the effort it took for her not to laugh outright. A small dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth, the one that only showed when she was genuinely amused rather than performing for social benefit. Theo pressed his knee more firmly against Draco’s under the table, a silent acknowledgment of their shared secret.

“Did you see Villiers trying yesterday?” a third Hufflepuff whispered — Cadwallader, Draco thought, though he couldn’t be certain. “All she got was a wisp of silver smoke, and she’s top of our year in Charms. She spent three hours practising in the courtyard and nearly passed out from magical exhaustion.”

“Smith claims he managed a corporeal one with Potter last year, but I don’t believe him,” Stebbins replied, scepticism dripping from every word. “Says it’s a badger, naturally.”

“What memory are you using?” Summerby asked. “I’ve tried thinking about winning the House Cup in first year, but nothing happens. Not even smoke.”

“I tried remembering when I got my Hogwarts letter,” Cadwallader said. “Professor Sprout says it needs to be something powerfully happy, but I’m not sure what that means, exactly. How happy is happy enough?”

Blaise leaned back in his chair, stretching languidly like a cat waking from a particularly satisfying nap. His uniform remained impeccable despite having been worn all day, not a crease in sight. He tilted his head toward the Hufflepuffs’ alcove and mouthed, “Amateurs,” before returning to his essay with exaggerated focus.

☿

It wasn’t all classes and homework, though. Between the academic rigor and the watchful eyes of professors, Draco occasionally found himself in much more exciting situations, moments stolen from the carefully structured Hogwarts routine that reminded him life wasn’t entirely about survival.

Behind a heavy tapestry depicting Merlin’s council with the ancient wizards, Draco found himself pinned against ancient stone, the wall’s chill seeping through his shirt where Theo hadn’t already pressed against him. The contrast between the cold at his back and the heat of Theo’s body against his front sent a delicious shiver down his spine.

Theo’s lips found the sensitive spot just below Draco’s ear without preamble, as if he’d been planning this ambush all day. His breath came hot and urgent against Draco’s skin as he traced a burning path down the column of Draco’s neck, pausing to linger at the hollow of his throat. The gentle scrape of teeth there made Draco’s knees threaten to buckle.

“Theo,” Draco gasped, his voice embarrassingly breathless even to his own ears. His fingers moved of their own accord, threading through Theo’s soft hair, the strands like silk against his skin. “Theo, what in Salazar’s name—”

“Missed you,” Theo murmured, the words vibrating against Draco’s pulse point. His hands had somehow slipped beneath Draco’s meticulously tucked shirt, fingers splaying possessively across bare skin. The pads of his thumbs traced maddening circles at Draco’s waist, each tiny movement sending sparks of sensation straight to Draco’s core. “Wanted to kiss you all day.”

Beyond their hidden sanctuary, the corridor remained silent, but Draco’s heightened senses caught every minute sound — the whisper of fabric as Theo shifted closer, the soft catch in Theo’s breath when Draco’s fingers tightened in his hair, the thunderous pounding of his own heart against still-tender ribs. The discomfort was there, a dull reminder of his injuries, but it paled in comparison to the liquid heat pooling low in his stomach.

“Someone could—” Draco began, a token protest that died the moment Theo’s mouth claimed his. The kiss was devastating in its intensity, gentle yet possessive. Theo tasted of peppermint and something darker, something that was uniquely his, and Draco found himself chasing that taste, hungry for more.

When they finally broke apart, Draco’s head fell back against the wall, the stone cool against his overheated skin. “—find us,” he finished lamely, his usual eloquence deserting him entirely.

Theo’s laugh rumbled through his chest, a vibration Draco felt everywhere they touched. “That’s half the appeal, isn’t it?” His eyes, normally so carefully guarded, now shone with undisguised affection. One hand moved up to brush a strand of hair from Draco’s forehead, the touch tender. “Besides, why should I wait until after dinner when I can kiss you right now?”

“You’re a menace,” Draco murmured, allowing a small, private smile to curve his lips. His hand found Theo’s arm, fingers curling around the firm muscle beneath the school robe.

“Your menace,” Theo countered, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leant in again. His lips hovered a breath away from Draco’s, the anticipation almost unbearable. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

But Draco didn’t want him to stop. The danger of discovery, the thrill of Theo’s touch, the heady rush of being wanted so desperately — it all combined into a potent elixir that made his head spin. Instead of answering, he eliminated the last sliver of space between them.

Theo made a pleased sound in the back of his throat before responding with equal fervor, one hand sliding up to cradle Draco’s jaw, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. His thumb brushed the corner of Draco’s mouth, a gentle counterpoint to the urgency of their lips.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside, distant but approaching. Draco tensed, his fingers digging into Theo’s arm, but rather than pull away, Theo pressed closer, his body effectively trapping Draco against the wall. The footsteps paused, then continued past their hiding place, fading into silence once more.

“See?” Theo breathed against Draco’s lips, his smile evident in his voice. “No one suspects a thing.”

Draco’s heart still raced, but now from a heady mixture of fear and exhilaration. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered, but there was no heat in the accusation.

Theo’s hand slipped from Draco’s jaw to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through the short hairs there. “What a way to go, though,” he murmured, his eyes darkening as they dropped to Draco’s mouth.

☿

Despite his recent injuries, Draco found himself trudging across the frost-hardened Quidditch pitch at an ungodly hour on the final Saturday of term. Montague had been unmoved by his medical excuses, dismissing them with a curt owl that simply read: Practice. 6AM. No exceptions. The captain had suffered his own medical trauma last year after being stuffed into that blasted Vanishing Cabinet by the Weasley twins, and apparently believed that physical recovery was merely a matter of willpower.

The frigid March air sliced through Draco’s lungs with each breath, making his still-tender ribs protest. Madam Pomfrey would likely have a conniption if she knew he was mounting a broom so soon, but Montague’s wrath seemed the more immediate threat. Draco shifted his Fulmine to his other shoulder, wincing as the movement pulled at his healing muscles.

“You look like shit,” Blaise observed helpfully as he fell into step beside Draco, appearing from nowhere like an overly handsome spectre. Unlike Draco, Blaise appeared disgustingly alert for the early hour, his dark skin practically glowing with health, not a hair out of place despite the hour. He wasn’t on the Quidditch team. No, he just liked to harass Draco when he was vulnerable. Like at arse o’clock on a Saturday morning.

“Your astute observations never cease to amaze me,” Draco drawled, his breath forming clouds in the air between them. “Perhaps you should consider a career in Healing after Hogwarts. Your bedside manner is impeccable.”

Blaise’s laugh cut through the morning silence, rich and warm against the cold landscape. “And waste this face on hospital corridors? I think not.” He glanced sideways at Draco, his expression shifting to something that might almost be concern if Draco didn’t know better. “Seriously though, should you be flying? Those ribs can’t be fully healed yet.”

“Montague made it quite clear that death was the only acceptable excuse for absence,” Draco replied, deliberately straightening his posture despite the twinge it caused. His side protested sharply, but he kept his face carefully blank. “And even then, he’d expect a Healer’s note.”

The Slytherin changing rooms were already abuzz with activity when they arrived. Trembley and Shacklebolt were shrugging on their protective gear, while Urquhart and Vaisey argued over a play diagram that Montague had enchanted to float in midair, green arrows zooming across the miniature pitch.

Montague himself stood in the centre of the room, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking every bit the dictator of this small nation. His eyes narrowed as they landed on Draco.

“Malfoy,” he acknowledged with a curt nod. “Good to see you’ve decided your health isn’t too precious for team practice.”

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to observe the exchange. Draco felt heat rise to his cheeks but kept his expression carefully neutral.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he replied smoothly, moving toward his locker. The metal door creaked as he pulled it open, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet. “Though I should warn you, if I fall to my death today, my mother will hold you personally responsible.”

A few nervous chuckles broke the tension. Montague’s mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. Or possibly indigestion. The man’s face was about as expressive as the stone gargoyles that adorned the castle parapets.

“Just try not to bleed on the equipment,” Montague said, turning back to his diagrams. “We’ve got Ravenclaw after the holidays, and I’ll be damned if we lose to a bunch of bookworms who think Quidditch is an academic exercise.”

Draco began changing into his Quidditch robes, each movement a careful negotiation with his protesting body. The bruises had faded completely but the ache still lingered.

“You know,” Blaise murmured from beside him, voice pitched low enough that only Draco could hear, “there’s no shame in sitting this one out. Pomfrey would write you an exemption in a heartbeat.”

Draco’s fingers stilled on his chest guards. “And give Potter the satisfaction?” He secured the straps with perhaps more force than necessary. “I’d sooner kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt.”

Blaise shrugged, recognising a lost cause when he saw one. “Your funeral.” His lips quirked up at one corner, eyes glinting with mischief. “Though I must say, I’d pay good Galleons to see that kiss.”

Outside, the pitch was bathed in the pale light of early morning, frost glittering on the grass like scattered diamonds. The goal hoops at either end stood stark against the colourless sky, and the stands loomed empty and silent. Draco’s breath caught, not from pain this time, but from the austere beauty of it all. These quiet moments before practice began in earnest were perhaps the only time he truly appreciated the sport beyond its political advantages.

“Right,” Montague barked, shattering the peaceful tableau. “Warm-up laps. Ten circuits of the pitch, then we’ll run the new formations.”

Draco mounted his broom, gritting his teeth against the strain on his abdomen. The first push off the ground sent a jolt of pain through his side that nearly made him gasp. He gripped the handle tighter, knuckles white beneath his gloves, and forced himself to focus on the mechanics of flight rather than the fire spreading through his torso.

The initial lap was agony. By the third, his body had either adjusted or gone numb, he wasn’t sure which, but he’d take the reprieve either way. The familiar rhythm of flight gradually took over: the rush of wind against his face, the subtle shifts of weight needed to guide the broom, the hypnotic blur of green and silver as his teammates streaked around him.

Vaisey pulled alongside him during the sixth lap, his usually ruddy face pinched with exertion. “Malfoy,” he panted, breath forming small clouds that were immediately torn away by the wind, “you’re flying like my grandmother after she’s had too much sherry. You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Draco snapped, accelerating just enough to pull ahead. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of pain radiating from his ribs, but the satisfaction of leaving Vaisey behind was worth it. The wind tore at his hair, whipping platinum strands across his forehead as he leaned lower over his broom handle.

By the time Montague called them in for the next phase of practice, Draco’s shirt was soaked with sweat despite the freezing temperature, and his breathing came in shallow gasps that minimised the movement of his chest.

“Malfoy!” Montague shouted, hovering at the centre of the pitch, his voice carrying easily across the open space. “I want you running interference drills. Let’s see if you can still dodge a Bludger.”

Draco’s stomach dropped, a cold weight settling in his gut that had nothing to do with the morning chill. Interference drills were brutal on the best of days. They essentially involved the Seeker trying to disrupt the opposing team’s formations while avoiding being flattened by strategically aimed Bludgers, and with his current injuries, it was tantamount to suicide.

“Problem, Malfoy?” Montague called, his tone making it clear that there had better not be.

Draco straightened on his broom, ignoring the protest from his ribs. The pain sharpened, then receded to a dull throb. "Not at all," he replied, his voice carrying across the pitch with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Though I hope our Beaters’ aim has improved since last practice.”

As Draco took position, hovering above the practice zone, he caught sight of movement in the stands. A flash of red and gold that made his heart stutter. There, partially obscured by one of the towers, sat three unmistakable figures.

The Golden Trio had come to watch.

Draco’s focus narrowed to a pinpoint, all pain temporarily forgotten. Potter was watching. Potter, who had put him in the Hospital Wing. Potter, who probably expected him to be cowering in the dungeons, licking his wounds. The very thought made Draco’s blood boil, heat rushing to his face despite the cold.

Even from this distance, he could make out Potter’s distinctive silhouette. That perpetually dishevelled hair, the slight forward hunch of his shoulders as he leant in to say something to Granger. Was he pointing out Draco’s weakened state? Laughing about how pathetic the Slytherin Seeker looked, barely able to stay on his broom?

Well, he was about to be sorely disappointed.

“Ready when you are, Captain,” Draco called, his voice carrying across the pitch with renewed vigour. He caught Potter shifting in his seat, leaning forward as if to get a better view. The movement sent a surge of determination through Draco, straightening his spine and steadying his grip on the broom handle.

Montague blew his whistle, the sharp sound piercing the morning air, and chaos erupted.

☿

Finally, finally, it was the day before the break. Soon, Draco would be on the Hogwart’s Express once again, hurtling towards London and home.

At breakfast, Draco sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, sorting through the care package his mother had sent. The familiar scent of home wafted up as he lifted the lid — warm chocolate, crystallised ginger, and the faint trace of his mother’s jasmine perfume that always clung to everything she touched. His fingers moved methodically through the contents, separating the hand-crafted Belgian truffles dusted with gold flecks from the French nougat wrapped in edible silver leaf.

“Those Chocoballs have cream filling, don’t they?” Vince asked, his voice carrying a note of poorly disguised hope as he leant forward slightly, eyes fixed on the sweets.

Draco didn’t bother looking up, merely raising a single eyebrow as he continued his sorting. “How observant of you to notice,“ he drawled, carefully placing a box of glacé cherries dipped in dark chocolate to one side. After a long moment, he placed the box of Chocoballs next to Vince and grinned at the pleased noise he made.

Pansy slid onto the bench beside him, close enough that her robes brushed against his. “Your mother always sends the best care packages,” she observed, reaching for one of the crystallised pineapple pieces. Draco allowed it, knowing full well that his mother sent enough for him to share.

His mother’s letter remained unopened beside his plate, the heavy cream parchment folded with characteristic precision. His name was inscribed on the front in her elegant script, each letter flowing into the next with practiced grace. The wax seal bearing the Black crest had broken cleanly when he’d slid his thumb beneath it earlier, but he’d waited to read the contents. Some things weren’t meant for public consumption.

Draco took a measured sip of tea, allowing the sweetness to linger on his tongue. Two sugars, just enough milk to turn it the colour of caramel — exactly how his mother prepared it at home. The familiarity was comforting in a way he’d never admit aloud. Only when he was certain no one was paying particular attention did he finally unfold the letter, angling it slightly away from Pansy’s curious gaze.

His eyes tracked across the familiar handwriting, the slight rightward slant and perfectly formed loops that he’d tried to emulate as a child. At first glance, the contents were predictably mundane: enquiries about his studies, gentle admonishments about getting enough sleep, a reminder to pack his winter cloak for the journey home. But as he continued reading, his posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Between innocuous questions about his Potions progress and comments about the unseasonably cold spring weather lay another message entirely. Using the cipher they’d developed when he was barely old enough to hold a quill — a game his mother had invented to teach him both caution and the art of secret communication — she had embedded a set of detailed instructions.

He was not to travel directly to the Manor as usual. Instead, she outlined an elaborate sequence: first, he was to Floo to Twilfitt & Tattings in Diagon Alley, where Mr. Twilfitt himself (who owed the Malfoys several favours) would direct him to a private Floo connection in the back room. From there, he would continue to Blackwood & Selwyn, a wizarding solicitor’s office in Edinburgh whose senior partner had been his grandfather’s contemporary at Hogwarts. The third connection would take him to a cottage called Bryn Hyfryd in rural Wales, a property Draco had never heard mentioned before.

Only after this convoluted path would he receive instructions for the final destination, which his mother referred to only as one of the old family retreats. A Black family retreat, not Malfoy.

He read the passage twice more, committing each step to memory before carefully folding the letter and slipping it into his robe pocket. His mother’s handwriting had grown more precise in the sections containing the hidden instructions, the letters more tightly formed, a tell she wasn’t aware of, but one Draco had noticed over the years. It only happened when she was communicating something she considered of grave importance.

Draco smiled to himself. The old Black Manor awaited him, and so did Sirius Black.