Chapter Text

The Boy Who Lived

Lord and Lady Malfoy, of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you’d expect to feel relief, peace, or joy in a time like this, because they didn’t indulge in that sort of nonsense.

Mr Malfoy was a solicitor for the Wizengamot in the Ministry of Magic. He was tall and proud, with sweeping blond hair that came to his shoulders, and billowing dark capes that oozed superiority and aristocracy. Mrs Malfoy was equally tall and billowing, but to Mr Malfoy’s dark thunder, she was the spring flowers that bloomed from the storms. But like every flower, she concealed her thorns from polite society, taking in the gossip during charities and luncheons for later use. The Malfoys had a young son, Draco, who was their pride and joy. Stark blonde hair like his father, crystal grey-blue eyes like his mother. He was their warmth and laughter in these dark times.

The Malfoys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that someone would discover it. They couldn’t bear it if someone discovered that they no longer believed in the pureblood values anymore. Mr Malfoy was a young wizard when he got in with the wrong crowd and eventually saddled himself with the Dark Lord and his followers. It was fine until he became a father himself. Realizing that he wanted a better life for his son, he found ways to distance himself from the Death Eaters and their violent rhetoric towards muggles and muggleborns. But he was still a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and therefore had to maintain some form of decorum when it came to supremacy and his new ideals, and how best to move forward into the new world he has brought a son into. 

It was a dull Tuesday morning where this story starts, to anyone that didn’t know the events of the night before. The Dark Lord has fallen. The Potters are dead, and their son, Harry, has vanished. Very much alive, and barely a year old he is the most revered wizard in Britain. Harry Potter was almost two months younger than his own son. Thinking that the same fate could fall to his own sweet boy turned Mr Malfoy’s blood ice cold. He would do everything in his power, willing to snap his own wand if need be, to protect his son from a world of evil and loneliness.

Mr Malfoy dawned his most conservative, emerald green robes for the day. Mrs Malfoy rambled about the society pages of the Daily Prophet while Draco cooed and played with Dobby over breakfast. Business as usual. He must go to work and act like he hadn’t a clue or care about the recent events.

They ignored the thirty owls that waited with letters at their study window.

With nothing else to delay him, Mr Malfoy made his way to the travel hall, ready to floo to the Ministry. Mrs Malfoy, with Draco at her side, wished her husband goodbye. Mr Malfoy whisked her into a dramatic kiss, possibly his last, and patted his son on the cheek. “Be a good lad, Draco. I love you.” And with one last look at his wife and son, Mr Malfoy burst through the green flames into the Leaky Couldron Floos. He decided it best to assess the public first before stepping into a government building.

It was in the pub that his strange day began. It was packed with witches and wizards celebrating the fall of the Dark Lord. But not a single head turned his way, except for a dark haired man in a leather jacket and suede trousers, sipping his firewhiskey in the corner. It startled Mr Malfoy to see his wife’s cousin in public after so many years, but he made no move to chat. Mr Malfoy gave a curt nod and made his way through the crowd. He was lost in the masses and slipped out with ease towards muggle London. 

Automobiles (Mr Malfoy prided himself in learning everything about the world, even if he once looked down his long, pointed nose at it) moved at a slow and steady pace down the streets, possibly on their way to work like the hustle and bustle in Diagon Alley. Three aurors, led by Gawain Robards, approached Mr Malfoy.

“Good Morning, Malfoy. I’m surprised to see you here.” Robards reached out to shake Mr Malfoy’s hand. It felt like a false sense of civility, but Mr Malfoy accepted his hand regardless.

“Robards, lovely to see you. What can I say, the strange machines these muggles get around in gives me a sense of calm. It’s fascinating to see creatures overcome such obstacles without magic.” Mr Malfoy knew they weren’t here to talk about muggle handicaps, though. But, he wouldn’t be the first to break. The Malfoys always took the upper hand.

Robards hmmphed deep in his throat before dropping the pleasantries, “I want to talk to you about last night and your whereabouts during the hours of 22:00 and 04:00. Would you like to take a walk or meet me in my office where it's more private?” Robards put both hands in his trouser pockets, clearly grasping his wand handle, and appeared at complete ease.

Mr Malfoy looked at the passing autos, a round man with very little neck and too much mustache gawking at him, and sighed, “There’s no need for either, Robards. I was home with my wife and son. I am willing to produce memories if you like. I would ask that you leave my wife out of this, she is still recovering and has very little energy for these sorts of topics.” It was true. Mr Malfoy was, in fact, home during that time. He knew that the Dark Lord was planning a visit to the Potters in Godric’s Hollow, and he went alone.

It wasn’t until 05:00, when Severus came crashing through the Floo, unconsolable, that they learned of the events of the previous night. Severus hadn’t learned until it was too late that the Potters were being attacked that night and the Dark Lord knew their location. He was after the boy, the parents were in his way. Severus found the house in shambles and the Potters dead. Sirius arrived an hour after him, and the great oaf of a half giant a little after that. The boy was whisked away with the half giant, and, based on their brief acknowledgement in the Leaky a few moments ago, Sirius was in the process of getting right pissed.

“Of course, Malfoy. I wouldn’t bring distress to the missus unless it is absolutely unavoidable. This is a formality, for now. If I need anything else from you, I know where to find you. If I can, I will try to keep Mrs Malfoy out of it.”

“I appreciate that, Robards.” Mr Malfoy shook the head auror’s hand, “Please owl me if there is anything I can do to help.” And without further ado, Mr Malfoy turned back through the Leaky Couldron, noting Sirius still sitting in the corner, and made his way to the street entrance of the Ministry of Magic. 

The morning was a whirlwind of owls, interoffice notes, and more meetings than Mr Malfoy had in an entire year. Owls of every type flew through his open window, delivering letters from his usual clientele, as well as some of the other more unsavory aristocrats of Wizarding Society. 

It wasn’t until lunch that Mr Malfoy was able to step away from the Ministry and breathe for the first time since he left the manor. There was a small muggle bakery outside the Leaky Couldron that made the best pastries. He decided to take a walk; today called for a treat for lunch. It was also a great place to meet with some of those unsavory aristocrats outside of prying eyes.

It was on that sidewalk that Mr Malfoy found himself, once again, watching the autos go past as Theodore Nott Sr., Vance Crabbe, and Craig Goyle met him on the walkway.

“Hello, gentleman. Hope you are all having a lovely day.” Mr Malfoy knew these men from school. Also members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, they were part of the elite followers of the Dark Lord that dreamed of a day their sons would grow up without the muggle filth polluting the Wizarding world. 

“Oh, cut it, Malfoy, this couldn’t be worse. I don’t have the patience for your theatrics right now.” Nott Sr was a level headed man, crazy and with a penchant for the bloodthirst in line with his sister-in-law, but Mr Malfoy preferred his company compared to the others. At least he could hold an intelligent conversation.

Goyle leaned in close to the group of men, “I’m hearing the most unsettling rumors about the Dark Lord. Is it true that he’s gone?”

“That’s what everyone is saying. I heard that he went after one of the Order Members last night and never came back. But I don’t know who. Moody? Longbottom?” 

Mr Malfoy saw no reason to hold back everything he knew, and it would be out in the open soon enough, “The Potters.”

Nott growled at a muggle as he bustled past the group to enter the deli next door. Was that the same portly man from the auto earlier? 

Nott spoke as if nothing happened, “The Potters, that’s right, that’s what I heard…” He picked a spot of invisible dust from his robes as if the proximity of the muggle man would ruin the fabric. “They have a son around the boys’ age, isn't that right? I heard he survived.”

Again, Lucius felt this information wouldn’t hurt. “I haven’t the faintest clue his age. But, yes, their son, Harry –” a pause for the theatrics Nott wasn’t in the mood for, “did survive. His whereabouts are unknown though. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.” Mr Malfoy hoped this would be the end of the conversation. The piggish muggle had stopped as if listening to their conversation. Maybe muggle London wasn’t as safe to speak as he thought. The muggle turned, as if he would speak, but shook off the idea and ran across the street, back to a giant building with a sign across the entryway; Grunnings. 

Nott cleared his throat, “Well, gentleman, I must bid you fairwell. I have a full docket today. They brought in five Death Eaters last night and they are up for trial today. The Wizengamot is saying that it will be over before you can say Bertie Bots, but we shall see. Stay safe, gents.” 

The group of men broke up and went separate directions. Mr Malfoy stood for a minute longer, watching the automobiles drive past, thinking. They were arresting followers. Nott was warning them that any one of them could be next. He made a note to himself to have the house elves move some of the more unsavory dark items to the chateau in case of a raid. Maybe he should send Narcissa and Draco as well.  

Regardless, they were still in dark times. His family was not safe yet, and that was his only focus. With a deep sigh, Mr Malfoy made his way back to his office and prepared to find a solution to his impending demise. If he was lucky, he would get out of the mess without getting covered in mud. But he needed to make sure his wife and son had the life they deserve in case he couldn’t escape.

Mr Malfoy went through the motions of his day and felt relieved to arrive through the floo in the master quarter’s at the end of the day. Five Death Eaters were in fact arrested and went through their trials that day; Mr and Mrs Snyde, Severus Snape, Mulciber Jr., and Walden MacNair. All but Snape and McNair were sent to Azkaban, Dumbledore himself spoke in defense of Snape and he was pardoned. The trial that stood out the most to Mr Malfoy, was MacNair claiming the Imperius Curse was used on him during the war. It was a first and a brilliant strategy. They spent most of the afternoon listening to the horrific things Mulciber made others do under the same curse. Now, everything MacNair was accused of, he claimed he had done these things under duress. The Imperious Curse is untraceable in the victim, memory or even to the witness’ eye. 

It was a bit underhanded for the House of Malfoy to resort to dirty tactics to win a case. He prided himself in being honorable, even when he was being dishonorable. But he would do anything to protect his family, even from himself. Mr Malfoy knew his day would come when he faced his own crimes. This tactic would be his get out of Azkaban free card. 

Mr Malfoy decided to take the scenic route home, using the apparition point in muggle London outside of the entrance to the Diagon Alley, rather than the Floos. It was turning into a lovely day and a walk would be nice. Clear the thoughts from his head before returning home. Mr Malfoy would never admit it aloud, but he enjoyed muggle London. He walked, thinking if it might be an option to keep his family safe and together. Could he hide in the muggle world to avoid imprisonment?

A small commotion outside of Grunnings broke Mr Malfoy from his thoughts. The same portly man from earlier had run into Diggle. A lush of an old man who was rumored to have aided the Order during the war. He was clearly drunk, because he was raving to the portly muggle man about the Dark Lord and how even muggles had reason to celebrate. Merlin’s balls, this man was breaking the Statute of Secrecy without a second thought, but Mr Malfoy was the one that could be facing the Dementors? His faith in the Ministry couldn’t fall any lower.

Robes shed, and the elves instructed to move items, Mr Malfoy set out to find his family.

Mrs Malfoy was in the sunroom reading while Draco played on the rug. “Hello, darling. How was your day?”

“Better now, love.” A ruffle to his son’s platinum hair, Mr Malfoy curled on the couch next to his wife, kissing her temple. “I don’t want to talk about it, though. It’s nothing you should be concerned about. How was your day?”

Mrs Malfoy recounted the events of her day; she fired another governess, the plans have come in to extend the ballroom, lunch with Mrs Nott and young Theo, an invitation to a charity that she promised their presence. The usual day of Lady Malfoy. 

Dinner was held in one of the smaller dining rooms, Draco was entertained by Dobby, his house elf, giving the adults freedom to enjoy their meal. Or, more precisely, freedom for Mrs Malfoy to do her own interrogation of her husband and the events of the day. Mr Malfoy had his own plans. 

“Spit it out, Lucius. How bad is this going to get before it is over?”

A deep sighed shook Mr Malfoy through and through. As much as he wanted to protect his wife, he could not keep her in the dark, “I’m working it out.” The napkin wiped invisible crumbs from his mouth to buy him time to form his words correctly, “There is a chance I might get pulled into this. No. I will be pulled in. I will be arrested and tried. There is no avoiding it, love. I will protect you, of course. And I will do everything I can to come home to you and Draco.”

He looked at his wife, losing himself in her crystal blue-grey eyes, “Narcissa, if I am sentenced, you are to take Draco and move directly into your family home in France. The vaults are all keyed to you. You have complete control of the assets. Get Draco away from England. Send him to Beaubaton. Keep him away from this life. Do not visit me. Do not write to me. Sever all ties and raise our son with the love and peace we both want for him.”

Mrs Malfoy knew not to argue with her husband when he took that tone. She hated every one of his requests. But she would follow them to a tee. A pureblood herself, she knew this was the only way.

A silence fell over them. Mrs Malfoy decided she didn’t want to know any more. And Mr Malfoy was relieved his wife’s Black spirit didn’t rear up and bite his head off. He knew she didn’t want to leave England. He knew she didn’t want to cut herself from society that drastically. An idea came to mind.

“Er – Narcissa, love – you haven’t heard from your sister lately, have you?” 

Several emotions flickered across Mrs Malfoy’s face. She had two sisters. One had run off with a muggle at the beginning of the war and was disinherited from the Black family. The other, Bellatrix, was one of the most loyal supporters of the Dark Lord. Whichever one he meant, the question was loaded and brought bad memories to Mrs Malfoy’s mind. 

She had spoken with neither in some time. Mrs Malfoy had a very difficult pregnancy and delivery of their son. Even after a year she remained weak and could only handle light duties as the Lady of the manor. This left little room for her to visit her sisters, as Bellatrix was not allowed in the manor, and Andromeda Tonks hasn’t been heard from in over six years. 

Mr Malfoy would have to stick to his original plan to send his wife to France if he should find himself in Azkaban. He would rather see them leave the country for good than deal with the hatred following his imprisonment. 

“You know, darling, maybe now would be a good time to reach out to your older sister. It might be good to mend bridges, so to speak.” He knew this was a touchy subject, but it didn’t hurt to plant the seed of reconciliation. 

“I already wrote to her when Draco was born. She won’t see me.” 

Mr Malfoy let the subject drop and after dinner decided to take a walk through the grounds to check the wards. A chill ran up Mr Malfoy’s spine as he came to the gates. Just outside the wards sat a grim, waiting on the path outside the gates. He shot a few stunners to scare it away, but the beast did not move much farther than the shadows of the trees lining the drive. Bright orbs stared through the darkness at him.

Through a cloud of black smoke, a tall, greasy man in black robes and shoulder length flat black hair appeared and came through the gates.

“Lucius. Apologies for the delay. The Aurors seemed to enjoy my company a little too much.” Severus Snape stood before Mr Malfoy inside the wards, cloak billowing in the breeze.

“Not to worry, Severus. I was making my rounds. How are things at Hogwarts?”

“Dumbledore is pushing business as usual. He doesn’t want the parents to suspect the children are in danger in any way. The wards have been reinforced. The headmaster and deputy headmistress have been absent from the school most of the day. I assume Dumbledore is still with the Wizengamot. I heard about the other trials. But I cannot account for McGonaghal’s whereabouts.”

Mr Malfoy shifted, “Yes, the imbecile defender of the greater good was at the ministry all day. I heard rumors of several more arrests coming over the next few days. It should go over smoothly, however, I am worried about Karkaroff. He is the weakest of our ranks and will sell out anyone to keep himself in the free world.”

“You’re right.” Snape took a look around. “I heard he was already arrested and singing like a Fwooper. His trial will be in the coming days. You must look out for yourself. I already have security measures to stay out of Azkaban, I suggest you find your own.”

The blonde hair around Mr Malfoy’s face swayed in the breeze, “I have. Promise me one thing, Severus. If it comes down to it, and I’m arrested, keep an eye on Draco. Make sure he doesn’t end up sucked into this life. He will be better than all of us.”

“Yes, he will.”

The men said their goodbyes and Mr Malfoy aparated back to his chambers. He felt the wards notify him of Snape leaving the manor property as he crawled into bed. He did not see Snape stroll down the gravel path leading to the apparition point. He missed the grim that watched the entire exchange. And he certainly didn’t see it shift into a tall, lean man in a leather jacket and suede trousers.

“Snivellus. A lovely evening for a chat with a known Death Eater.” Sirius Black, Mrs Malfoy’s cousin, stood on the edge of the path, startling the retreating potion’s professor.

“I thought I recognized that mangy mutt in the trees. To what do I owe the pleasure, Black?”

Sirius moved forward, the half moon shining down to illuminate his red rimmed eyes and dishevelled features. “I need to ask you a favor.”

Snape let out a chilling laugh, “Oh, this is rich! You, the most self-assured hero of the Order’s half-wits, is asking me for a favor?”

“Yes.” Sirius ran his hand through his wavy black hair, “When Harry gets to school, I need you to keep an eye on him. Keep him safe, out of trouble as best as you can. He is safe for now with his aunt –”

“What?!” Snape bellowed. Deep, raging huffs of air pumped through his chest, “What fucking moron sent Lilly’s son to that bigotted, disgusting, waste of oxygen, vile woman? Do you have any idea what that woman is like? I grew up with them! The only thing she is good for is an example for why the Dark Lord might have had the right idea when suggesting the complete eradication of muggles.”

Sirius took several steps back, eyes wide. In all their years growing up, he had never seen Snape truly lose his temper. “I know, Severus. I met the woman during holiday once. Her husband isn’t much better. But, they are still the last of his family. He will be safe with them. And he will be a better person for it. If he stays in this world, put in an orphanage, anyone could snatch him up. We can not take that risk.”

“And what about with you? Aren’t you his godfather? Why won’t you take him in and raise him properly?”

“Because,” Sirius looked to his feet with a defeated exhale of the breath he was holding, “I have some things I need to take care of and I don’t think I will be back any time soon. It’s the right thing to do, Severus. Please, believe me I wouldn’t let him go to the Dursley’s if there was any other way.”

Snape nodded in understanding. They were all in danger. And Harry would be at the most risk of falling into the wrong hands if he were sent to an orphanage, even in the muggle world. Stick to the devil you know, and Snape knew the devil in Petunia quite well.

His heart broke anew thinking of all the foul things that woman would tell her nephew about his mother. The abuse and neglect he would receive, simply because he might be like Lily. Petunia Evans hated being ordinary. She hated even more that her younger sister wasn’t. 

“Severus,” Sirius broke the man from his thoughts to realize he was standing next to him on the path, contemplating putting his hand on his shoulder in comfort, “for what it's worth, I’m sorry. I know you grew up with her. And I know you loved her. She loved you, too. I still carry a wicked scar from a hex she sent me for talking down about you. We tried. There was nothing we could do to keep them safe. All we can do now is look to the future. Protect her son when the time comes. If you truly loved her, you will watch out for him. Please, Severus. Can you do that for her?”

The halfmoon dipped behind the rolling clouds. A chill ran through the woods. The only sound breaking the pregnant silence between the two men was the chirp of the crickets and an owl hunting in the woods of Wiltshire.

“Always.”

Chapter Text

The Vanishing Glass

Nearly ten years had passed since that strange day. Mr Malfoy was not arrested until a few years after the fall of the Dark Lord. He was able to avoid sentencing by claiming Imperius, his family was able to stick together, and his closest friends avoided imprisonment as well.

But the dark times were unavoidable. Bellatrix Lestrange, Mrs Malfoy’s older sister, as well as her husband and brother-in-law were arrested for torturing two aurors to insanity. Victor Karkoroff sold out an Unspeakable, Rookwood, within the Ministry as well as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s own son. He was released and was last heard in Bulgaria as the headmaster of Durmstrang. 

The Ministry of Magic regained order within Wizarding Britain, spearheaded by the ever-vigilant Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shaklebolt. Death Eaters were arrested or killed in the first years after the fall of the Dark Lord. Many lives were lost on both sides, unfortunately many pureblood families were among the top of the numbers. 

Dark times indeed.

Mr Malfoy left the Ministry and led a quiet life with his family. He became a member of the Board of Education for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and spent most of his time running the estate or spending time with his son. He maintained his connections with his fellow Death Eaters from his school days, insisting that the connections they carry in their individual positions outweigh the slight their reputations carried. The husbands drank and boasted of the ‘good ol’ days, the wives gossiped and discussed the latest fashions, and the children played together throughout the estate. 

Mrs Malfoy was able to elevate the social standings of the House of Malfoy through her charitable donations and sitting on the board of the social committee. She thrived in the new world they found themselves in. She continued to be the light in her husband’s storm. On a regular day, she can be found in her rose garden, Draco and Nott Jr in toe, teaching them the art of consistent work. After her difficult pregnancy and decline in health, she was unable to carry another child. While she would only cry for her loss in private, Mrs Malfoy found a sense of fulfillment in caring for the many children that would come to play with her son. 

Draco, too excited to sleep on his tenth birthday, was raised in a home that promoted the belief that he was the most unique child in existence. He was a wizard. He was a pureblood. And he was a Malfoy. And while these ideals were heavily pushed in his upbringing, the thing that spoke the loudest through the halls of Malfoy manor, was Draco Malfoy was loved.

“Master Draco, it is time to get ready! Your guests will be arriving soon.” Dobby, Draco’s personal house elf, was hopping and dancing at the edge of the large four poster bed, singing to the young boy. His birthday was the only day Draco was allowed to sleep in and skivv off on his studies. And he always made the most of it, lounging in bed until Dobby forced him up for whatever activity his family planned. 

It was a warm day for early June. All the pureblood families would be arriving to celebrate his eleventh birthday. A day every child in the wizarding world looks forward to. It is the day he will be receiving his letter. Draco overheard his parents discussing his letter on many occasions. He would have to choose where he would be going, either Hogwarts, Durmstrang, or Beauxbaton. His father wanted him to attend Durmstang because of their predilection to the study of the dark arts. Mother wanted him to attend Hogwarts because of the family legacy. Draco secretly wanted to attend Beaubaton because of the Abraxon.

Draco wanted to be a Magizoologist when he grew up (after his wildly successful career as a Quidditch player, of course). But he knew that neither of these careers would be accepted by his father, so he wanted to spend as much time as he could around magical creatures while he could. Being at Beauxbaton would afford him that time. 

In the end, Draco knew he would be going to Hogwarts. It's what his mother wanted. And Malfoy men always gave their wives their every wish. 

From the time that he was old enough to comprehend, Draco had been taught the expectations of him as the next heir to the House of Malfoy. Unwavering devotion to his family and house. Uncontested dedication to his education and studies. A broad knowledge in politics and economics. Etiquette training, dance classes, lineage studies, world affairs, as well as all other training to help him grow into the most envied and respected member of the Wizarding World.

But deep down, Draco was simply a ten (now eleven) year old boy. He loved picking wildflowers for his mother, who made a show of putting them in a vase in the sunroom and making sure all the other mothers that came to visit saw how beautiful they were. He enjoyed chasing the gnomes that lived in the tall grass by the woods. When his father wasn’t around, Draco enjoyed sitting with the elves in the kitchen, watching them work while he told them about his lesson for the day. 

The young master had a natural, unquenchable thirst for knowledge. He had read almost every book in his personal study and was working through the family library at a breakneck speed. He mastered two instruments simultaneously. And he would brag that Madam Astaire said he was her best student in a decade (but not in front of the adults, because a Malfoy is never boastful). And to his greatest satisfaction, Mr Malfoy said that Draco was a natural talent at flying.

All in all, Draco lived a full and successful childhood thus far. He had many friends and loving parents. He was smart and talented. And even though he was an only child, he had Theo, also an only child, who spent most of his time at the manor after his mother’s death. Mr Nott came over often to speak with Mr Malfoy, and he would bring Theo to play with Draco. Mother would take them with her to the gardens, and Dobby would spoil them with treats and fun games within the manor when the weather was bad. Best of all, it wasn’t hard to convince Mr Nott to let Theo stay the night (or week) with Draco at any given time.

The sound of the Floo whooshing to life in the traveling hall bolstered Dobby’s efforts to get the young master out of bed and ready for the celebrations. Voices were heard in the ballroom as he dressed and slicked his hair back. Ready for the day’s events, Draco exited his rooms and made his way down the stairs to the main sitting room to receive his guests. 

“Merlin, Drake. I ain’ being funny but I haven’ got awl day” Theo chided as he and Greg Goyle came to shake his hand. “Wanna play wizard's chess until you can open ya presents and I can fly ya new broom?”

“First off, you will not be riding my broom. And secondly, we have to go to the formal dining room first for lunch. Then we can fly. I’m sure I can convince my mother to let me open my gifts before time.”

Draco made his rounds to the other young purebloods in attendance. Theo, Greg, and Vincent Crabbe were his closest friends. Their fathers went to school together, thus continuing the friendship after having children around the same time. Blaise Zabini stood quietly off to the side, watching the other children chatter loudly in their own groups. His mother was friends with Mrs Malfoy, and came to the manor on occasion when they were in England. Otherwise, he lived in Italy at his step father’s villa. 

The Greengrass daughters, Daphne and Astoria, were giggling behind their hands with Pansy Parkinson. Both families are members of the Sacred 28, like Draco and Theo, but they were not among the ‘followers’ that his father and Mr Nott often spoke of. 

The children made their way out of the sitting room, at the hurried insistence of Dobby, and made their way to the dining hall.

Mr Malfoy met the children outside of the formal dining hall, stopping Dobby with a whack of his cane, “What in Salazar’s name took you so long? When I say have my son ready by half one, I do not mean a minute later. If it wasn’t for Lady Malfoy’s insistence, I would launch you off the barricades. Go iron your hands, you worthless creature.” With a final kick, Dobby was skidding across the halls to the servant’s quarters to dole out his own punishment.

Mr Malfoy wasn’t overtly cruel to the elves. A Malfoy is to be noble and polite in every way. But he became aggressive and forceful with the elves when he was stressed. Timeliness was important to Mr Malfoy, and Dobby had allowed Draco to be late. Today was not the day to be off schedule.

The adults were filing into the formal dining room, dressed in summery formal attire, and chatting as they found their seats around the long table. The children were interspersed throughout the elders, not sitting with their parents, but giving them opportunity to contribute to conversations with others when prompted. Purebloods believe strongly that children are to be seen and not heard, but they also understand the importance of engaging children to train them to be appropriate guests when they come of age.

That is how Draco found himself sitting between Nott Sr and Mr Avery, listening to them chat about the state of the wizarding society.

“Honestly, Avery, we can not leave it to Fudge to reform Britain to any sense of propriety. He is passing laws that are encouraging the inclusion of muggle-borns. He is a sympathizer to the Order’s cause. He is going to seriously muddy the waters, if you know what I mean?” Draco did not know what he meant, but he knew to stay quiet when the adults were talking about muggles. 

Draco had never met a muggle, or even a muggleborn as far as he knew. From the way his father and his friends spoke of it, they were barbarians that are the reason wizards are not living to their full potential. They were great, but could be greater if the wizarding world stopped hiding and fought back. It was another reason his father wanted him to go to Durmstrang. Muggleborns and half-bloods were not admitted. 

But Draco was secretly curious if they really were smelly and unintelligent. Did they really live in caves? Did they eat their own children? Do they eat wizard children? Draco and his pureblood peers were the best of his generation. He had seen other children in Diagon Alley when he went shopping with his mother, and he saw their ill manners and lack of decorum. Muggleborns must be worse. And muggles even more so. Maybe Mr Nott was right that they should be removed from civilized society. Have their own circles to run in and stay out of pureblood schools and businesses. Maybe they already did.

Avery was continuing the argument, “I feel that it is high time we stop waiting and act. We don't need a progressive government. We need a government that remembers where their funding is coming from. These cursed mudbloo–”

“I think that is enough business at the table, Avery. Children, are you excited to be starting school this September?” Mrs Malfoy never interrupts. A well-bred pureblood witch knows that it is not polite. Mr Avery must have been about to say something truly offensive, which peaks Draco’s interest all the more. It’s not that he wants to be offensive. He wants to be informed. The world is a vast and complex enigma, and he hasn’t seen very much of it. Much like the books at the manor, Draco longs to devour any and all knowledge within his reach.

The conversation properly redirected, the guest began talking about the wizarding schools and the upcoming term. Draco overheard his father talking with his godfather, Uncle Sev, about Hogwarts. Apparently Uncle Sev had to help heal the groundskeeper last week. Something to do with his hut catching fire. Mr Malfoy called him an imbecile and said Dumbledore was a fool for hiring someone so reckless to be around children.

Even though Mr Malfoy is a governor on the school board, he despises the headmaster. Draco knew they fought against each other during the war, and father says Dumbledore is a sympathizer to the muggle movement. He also knew that his father was secretly glad the war ended, regardless of the outcome. War was war, and the Malfoys always came out on top. 

Mr Malfoy was very honest with Draco throughout his life, much to his mother’s protests. He learned about the war, the benefits of blood purity, and the rise of progressive pro-muggle movements in government. Purebloods were the elite of the wizarding world, and the Malfoys were the elite of the purebloods. Draco knew that he had a responsibility to his family to uphold that elitism. He would be expected to attend school, eventually court a pureblood witch, and after one season in the social court, he would marry his betrothed and run the Malfoy Estate.

Draco hadn’t the faintest idea what that meant. But he loved his father and agreed with him whenever he was given the opportunity. There was no point in arguing. Draco was born to further the line. He knew his place. But, unlike some of his friends, he lucked out. He was loved. He was wanted. And Draco knew that no matter the circumstances, the Malfoys always protected their own.

“Isn’t that boy around school age? He should be starting at Hogwarts this year as well.” Mrs Malfoy played her hand. 

Mr Yaxley rolled his eyes, “Yes, yes. He will be starting this year. If he’s still alive. Rumor has it he’s been living with muggles this entire time. Outrageous, if you ask me. Even the lowliest of wizards deserve better than being saddled with absolute filth.” Mr Yaxley raised his glass to his lips, but continued talking, drink held aloft but forgotten, “I, for one, do not believe the rumors. There is no way the Dark Lord, greatest wizard of all time, was defeated by an infant. Either that boy is a natural master of the Dark Arts, or it is a cover and something else happened. I find it odd that no one witnessed the altercation, the Dark Lord went alone, no investigation was held, and we are supposed to believe that the Potter’s closest friend turned on them and killed Pettigrew in the process.”

“We know that last bit is a lie. Black didn’t–” Mr Crabbe began, but immediately held his tongue when the loud clatter of Mrs Malfoy’s cutlery hit her plate.

“Gentleman, I think it is time to take our tea out on the veranda. Give the children a chance to fly off some of this energy. If you’ll excuse me, I think I will take them ahead of you. But, please, continue your private conversation.” With that, Mrs Malfoy gracefully rose from her seat, children following suit, and led the way to the veranda overlooking the garden.

The gardens are the pride and joy of Mrs Malfoy, after her son of course. The smell of roses and gardenias filled the warm summer air. Behind the garden rested a large field, perfect for playing a small game of Quidditch. Mrs Goyle erected six large hoops in the air, while Mrs Parkinson floated the equipment trunk to the sidelines of their makeshift pitch. 

Flying hundreds of feet above the ground, Draco took a calming deep breath. This was his happy place, where he went to feel free. No rules or family expectations. Up here, he was not the heir to the House of Malfoy. Here he was just Draco. He could laugh, scream, be silly, and never worry that he was disappointing his father. The only rules he had to follow were the rules of Quidditch, and they were simple; get the quaffle in the hoop/stop the quaffle from getting into the hoop, don’t get hit by a bludger/hit someone with a bludger, get to the snitch first, and lastly, don’t fall off your broom.

The pureblood children quickly separated into teams and began the first game. The Snitch was released and they were off. Draco doubled as a chaser and a seeker, considering they didn’t have enough players to make a proper match. He didn’t mind though, he loved the game and was good at every position. After thirty minutes, Draco caught sight of the Snitch and made a dive at the opposing sides posts. With a flurry and twist, he caught the snitch and shot back into the air, arm raised in triumph, peels of laughter breaking through the groans of defeat from his friends.

~

The birthday party carried on, the children finished their games while the father’s joined the mothers on the veranda. The weather continued to be perfect for flying, merriment, and time well spent being a kid. Draco loved the days his parents allowed him to do that.

Around four, the guests separated, the adults went to the smoking room to enjoy drinks and continue their boring conversations, while the children were escorted by Dobby and Minks to the Conservatory for tea and more games. Minks was Mrs Malfoy’s personal house elf, and while she would report back any misbehavior to his mother, Draco knew she was only there to guard her seedlings from Crabbe and Goyle.

“You know, Mr Avery might have a point. Muggleborns shouldn’t be allowed in the same schools as us. They could be dangerous. They could have diseases we can’t cure. They may be one step up from a goblin, but they just don’t know what it’s like to have magic. It’s not right. What are we supposed to do, wait to learn while they catch up?” Pansy ended her rant with a flop on the settee next to Daphne, her tight bob bouncing only slightly as she settled in. 

Theo slid in between the two girls, lounging across their laps, with his head positioned so Daphne could play with his chestnut curls while she spoke, “They migh’ no’ be too far behind. Sure, they migh’ no’ know about our ‘istory or world, but do we know everyfing? I ‘eard my father talkin’ abou’ some families workin’ wif muckle businesses. They mus’ not be that barbaric or stupid if they can conduct business wif wizards.”

The conversation continued about the pros and cons of allowing muggleborns into wizarding schools. Draco remained quiet, watching the interactions of the other children. He didn’t interject an opinion because, frankly, he didn’t have one. He knew his father’s opinion - they should be hunted down and eradicated from society all together - and his mother’s opinion - like all creatures, we have something to learn from them - but Draco didn’t know which was the right one. And with the direction the conversation was twisting and turning, he didn’t want to saddle himself with the wrong opinion. Like any Malfoy, Draco took his public image very seriously, and he refused to let a small blunder ruin it before he had a chance to leave his childhood home and face the real world.

“I think,” Theo sat up from Daphne’s lap to address the room at large, “muckleborns must haf it ‘arder than the rest ov us. Could you imagine ‘aving a bout of acciden’al magic in the muckle world an’ no one there to congra’ulate you? No parents to make you feel bettah bou’it?” He got up from the settee and started pacing the room. “Coul’choo imagine bein’ ou’ in public, like at a zoo or pet store or somefing, and awl’a sudden you haf an episode tha’, I donno, vanishes the glass to a dangerous animal tha’ goes out and kiwls a buncha people? And your muckle parents have no idea ‘ow it happened. You’re confused and scared, and now you’re gettin’ yelled at by your muckle father because of somefin’ that’s not even your fault. How miserable that must be.”

Theo had that look in his eye he gets from time to time. Draco had seen it when he suddenly knew that the fresh batch of biscuits were unattended in the kitchens, and which corridor to take to get to them undetected. Mrs Nott was known to have the sight. And Draco knew Theo must have inherited it. But this was an odd rant to make. Theo never spoke of things outside of his small circle of reference. Did he witness this? Did he vanish glass from a cage and let out a dangerous creature in a crowd? No, Draco would know if that happened. 

But maybe Theo was right. It’s not that Muggleborns are less than wizarding children, they just don’t have the history to be in wizarding schools with children that were raised in their ways. Muggleborns could hurt someone, or themselves if they didn’t know what they were doing. 

Draco’s father was always talking about how underqualified the professors were at Hogwarts. Would they allow a muggleborn too much freedom and get hurt from it? How could Draco truly trust that he was safe with untrained, or even uneducated muggleborns allowed in the same classes as him?

And Draco wasn’t saying that Muggleborns didn’t deserve to learn about magic. He was saying that maybe they should have their own school. Help them catch up on the eleven years they missed out on and maybe, if they were safe, could eventually join the wizarding world.

These were all worries that Draco didn’t need to bury himself in. He was going to be the top of his class. His father was going to be proud of him. And he was eventually going to get married and be the head of Malfoy Manor, just like his father. Life was perfect. He didn’t need to worry about the stupid muggleborns ruining that for him.

Chapter Text

The Letters From No One

It had been a few weeks since Draco’s birthday, and the subject of his education had been a heated topic in Malfoy Manor. 

Just as Draco predicted, his father wanted him to attend Durmstrang, his mother wanted him to attend Hogwarts, and Draco was dismissed from the conversation. He couldn’t think of a better argument for Beauxbaton, other than the Abraxon. He did read in Hogwarts: A History that there was an enchanted forest on the school grounds. Maybe he would be able to explore there. There was also a giant squid that lived in the Black Lake. Hogwarts might not be too bad.

After many fights in Mr Malfoy’s office, and even more silent dinners, it was confirmed that Draco would attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Draco decided that it was for the best. All of his friends would be attending Hogwarts. He wouldn’t be alone. Draco hates being alone. His mother knew this about him. He knew it wouldn’t be the main reason for her pushing his enrollment to Hogwarts, but he liked to think it was on her mind as she fought with his father. But, when it was all boiled down, Draco knew it was the family tradition that pushed for his attendance to the UK school.

Draco would never say it outloud, even to Theo, but sometimes he would think about what it must be like for average wizarding children. If he had normal parents that didn’t stress about the importance of society, blood status, and duty to your family. Would normal parents let him go to Beauxbaton for the Abraxon? Would he be able to grow up and be a magizoologist after his quidditch career? He liked to think that he would.

But Draco never met normal children. His only friends were other purebloods, and they had the same expectations as him. So it was safe to say that it was just a fantasy that Draco made up in his mind and there was no such thing as normal parents in his world. Not that he was upset about his parents, he loved them, and they are perfect. But it would be nice if they let him find his own way, loving him just the way he is, without the extra pressure.

Like any other time Draco thought about other children, his thoughts drifted to the infamous Harry Potter. What was he like? Did he know he was magical, or even that he was famous? Daydreams would fill Draco’s moments of freedom about being friends and flying together. He liked to think Harry Potter would be just like him – a kid with too many responsibilities. Knowing that Harry Potter would be attending Hogwarts as well, Draco decided he would try to make friends with him. He knew that his father would approve of the friendship. Even though he wasn’t Sacred Twenty-Eight, Potter was still a respected old family. And if he was to believe the conversations he overheard from the other fathers, Harry Potter was supposed to be the next greatest wizard of their time. And a Malfoy always sides with greatness.

After his birthday, Draco asked Uncle Sev about him. He explained Harry Potter’s parents' role in the Great Wizarding War, and their death. Draco knew that his godfather was pardoned for his involvement as a Death Eater, but Uncle Sev refused to tell him the conditions of his pardon. He said he would tell him when he was older. But the facts were clear; the Dark Lord disappeared, many families were torn apart either by death or imprisonment, and some were able to escape persecution. 

It was hard to understand the fear adults seemed to have of a man that disappeared when he attacked a baby. But the way his godfather explained it, not even his followers could predict what the Dark Lord would do next. It was not out of the realm of possibilities for him to appear one day and continue his work as if no time had passed. That was what they really feared. 

He talked about James and Lily Potter for a long time. Told Draco about their time in school together, his friendship with Lily, and the loss he felt now that she was gone. Draco could feel the love and admiration his godfather felt for a woman long gone. When he asked how he could love a woman that married someone else. He said that if you truly love someone you want them to have every happiness. And if that means they choose someone that is not you, all you can do is hope that someone cherishes them the way they deserve. And Lily Potter was nothing less than cherished. Draco knew this was one of those talks that he would understand when he was older.

Draco felt his heart twinge for his godfather. He had never seen him melancholy. His godfather was normally stoic and reserved. Around the other adults, he maintained the facade of boredom and aloofness. But all of the children knew him as the master of mischief. He could be playful, and taught them innocent pranks to play on eachother. He snuck them treats and small gifts whenever he would visit. The children knew they could always hide in his billowing robes from a parent or house elf. Uncle Sev had no children of his own, or a wife, and Draco sometimes would catch him looking at them while they played with misty eyes, like he was thinking of something far outside his reach. The other children never understood what he was thinking about, but they knew that when he got that look it was time to make him teach a new trick.

Uncle Sev was the keeper of Draco’s secrets. He knew about his dreams to play Quidditch and care for animals, his fears and anxieties when it comes to his father’s approval, and he knows that Draco was the one that broke the bust of his great grandfather when he was five. He answered all the questions he was afraid to ask his parents. He gave Draco a love for potions and shared all of his journals on potioneering when Draco ran out of reading material.

It was mid-morning towards the end of June. Birds chirped outside Draco’s open balcony and the smell of the lilacs planted below his chambers drifted on the light breeze. 

“Master Draco, have you finished your studies for the day?” Dobby popped next to his desk. Dobby was a kind elf, full of mischief and always ready to play with Draco, much to his father’s disappointment – a Malfoy does not play with the help. His father punished Dobby at least once a week for encouraging Draco to be a child. When Draco tried to stop the games, he hated Dobby having to punish himself because of their little bit of fun, but Dobby insisted they never stop. Dobby says that the punishments are worth it if Draco enjoys their adventures.

“Yes, Dobby. Would you like to play now? I was thinking we can be pirates today. Can we make a ship on the lake and maybe the other elves could man the cargo ship we attack? Just like the story you read me the other night before bed.”

“That would be wonderful, Master Draco! Let’s go.” And as soon as Draco took the elf’s outstretched hand, they apparated to the lake.

Dobby created two ships out on the water. They spent hours playing, ‘sailed’ through a storm that almost capsized their ship, and finally came side by side with the cargo ship (run by the house elves that normally maintained the manor green) and attempted to take over their ship.

Draco learned to play with the house elves only when his father was away. And he knew that Mr Malfoy was away on some business. Draco had found a stack of letters with no return information scheduling a meeting this week. The letters from no one talked about finding the information they were looking for and needing to prepare to open the vault. Mr Malfoy, and the other fathers from the old family lines, were involved in a secret society that was obsessed with immortality. They collected artifacts and tomes dedicated to the subject. And apparently, they had found a vault that housed such an item.

Draco didn’t understand much, but he did know he would have a week to play and Theo was scheduled to join them later for the entire time their fathers were away. Just him, his mom, his best friend, and the elves. It was going to be a good week.

He knew his mother wouldn’t tell his father about his adventures. Mrs Malfoy understood the importance in raising Draco to take his role as the Malfoy heir seriously. She was a pureblood after all. But she wanted her son to grow up with more. She wanted these moments for her son to laugh and enjoy life before it became too serious. This would be his final summer of childhood before going off to boarding school. 

This was how Mrs Malfoy found her son and her elves. She conjured a chair with an umbrella to block the warm afternoon sun. His face lit up when he saw his mother, “Ahoy, fair maiden! Fear not. For I will protect you from these scallywags!” and with that, Draco dove off the ship railing and began to swim to shore.

Mrs Malfoy cast a drying and warming charm as Draco made his way to her open arms. “Oh, my dragon. If you’re the one raiding the Royal Navy’s cargo, wouldn’t that make you the scallywag?” 

“No. I’m an honorable pirate. I steal for the good of King and country.”

Mrs Malfoy pulled her son into her arms and held him tightly, smelling the summer breeze, salt water, and the distinct smell of her baby boy in his hair. Old parchment, freshly mowed grass, and crisp apples. Laying her head on his tiny shoulder, she said, “It’s queen, darling. The monarchy is currently run by a queen.”

“A queen, you say? And is that a good thing?” Draco was surprised his mother knew about muggle politics, even more so that she was discussing them so openly. But he couldn’t help his curiosity at the idea of a woman running an entire country.

“Yes, my dragon. It is a wonderful thing. She is a reminder that women can be powerful and remain elegant.”

“Powerful? Is she a witch?”

Mrs Malfoy lets out a small chuckle, “No, she is muggle. A wise man knows that power has nothing to do with magic. Even the most mundane of creatures can show the greatest strengths. Best we not underestimate them, yeah?”

Draco asked many questions about the muggle parliament and their monarchy. Ever the curious boy wanting to know everything there was to learn about the world outside of his personal fortress. Mrs Malfoy answered every question and indulged him in his silly ideas about making the world more inclusive. He shared with her Theo’s thoughts on accidental magic and discussed ways to better include muggleborns. Mrs Malfoy agrees that muggleborns should be seperated to better suit their level of learning, eventually transitioning them into the world with the older families.

This talk reminded Draco of his impending first term. His palms became clammy and his stomach lurched. 

“What is it, darling?” His mother looked into his crystal blue eyes. She calmly grasped both his hands in hers to stop the picking.

“Nothing to worry about, mother. I’m a Malfoy. I will always find a way.”

“That is your father talking. Remember it’s me here now. He can’t see you. So, tell me, what is wrong.”

“What if they don’t like me, mother? What if I am a complete failure and let you and father down?”

“Oh, my sweet boy, but what if you succeed?” She wiped at his cheek, making it loving rather than bringing attention to the tear that escaped his eyes. “What do you think you will fail to do?”

“I don’t know. I won’t be top of my class. The other kids won’t like me. That I will forget something important and they will laugh at me. Can’t I stay home and study here with you? I have a wonderful Governess. She could continue teaching me. And I’m sure whatever she doesn’t know, you do.”

Mrs Malfoy breathed out a soft laugh, “Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetheart.” She kissed his forehead. “No, love. You must go to school. It will be good for you. You are blessed with three amazing friends, and if the reports from the elves are anything to go by, they have seen you make a complete fool of yourself, and yet they are still your best friends that will stick by your side through thick or thin. That is more than enough.

“Never forget that you are a dragon. You are born to soar above all others. Yes, your father puts too much pressure on you, and you rise to that challenge brilliantly. But, you are always my sweet boy first. So,” she ran her hand through his windswept hair, “don’t worry what others will think. Just be yourself and everything else will find its way.” Mrs Malfoy gave him a tight squeeze before vanishing her chair and leading Draco to the manor.

“You are going to go through many changes in the coming years, Draco. But you have nothing to fear. They are all normal. The best thing for it is to keep an open mind, find the beauty in the world, and remember that I am always an owl away. And if things get really bad, Severus is there. You can trust him. Now, tell me three things you can see.”

Draco could see Theo standing with his personal elf, Tipsy, at the veranda. “I see Tipsy, Theo, and he’s holding my broom.”

Mrs Malfoy laughed fully at this, “Very good. Now three things you can hear?”

“I can hear the peacocks calling to each other. I hear Dobby getting the other elves back to work. And in the reeds by the lake, I can hear a flock of Bearded Tits.”

“Very good, but less cheek. Now, move three body parts.”

Draco shook his arms, sashed his hips dramatically, and attempted a pirouette. When he landed, Draco felt the tension leave his shoulders and his stomach unclench. His mother always knew what he needed to refocus. He would remember this trick, knowing his mother wouldn’t always be around to help him refocus.

She was right. He had at least three amazing mates that would always stick by his side. He had his godfather, the potions master at Hogwarts, and he was smart and capable of handling any task laid out in front of him. Plus, he knew he wouldn’t be the only first year away from home. The professors would let him floo call home if needed.

Anxieties of school disappeared on the breeze. As long as he had his friends, everything was going to be ok. For now, all he was going to worry about was whether Theo wanted to continue playing pirates or if he was going to try sweet talking his way on his new broom again.

Chapter Text

The Keeper of The Keys

“You wiwl never guess what I overheard!” Theo was bouncing in his seat waiting for Draco to finish getting ready for their play day. Draco’s private chambers were typical for a pureblood heir. The main sitting area had an ornate fireplace surrounded by plush emerald green settee and chairs. Windows looked out onto the front of the manor, the gravel walk cutting a perfect line through the lush greenery. His personal chamber room, with an elegant ensuite, sat to the left of the room. To the right, is a second personal chamber room that he knew would eventually belong to his wife, matching his chambers in every way. Unfinished and waiting. 

Draco often thought about his future bride. He knew that she would be chosen for him, a perfect choice from a pureblood family, hopefully not too connected genealogically. He hoped that she would have a love for learning like he did. Maybe even a nurturing disposition for creatures. As elegant as his mother but more… fiery? Someone willing to humble him when needed and push him to be better. But much like everything else in his life, Draco knew he wouldn’t have a say and would be thankful for whatever wife he is blessed with.

It was the last week of July, and Theo would be staying with the Malfoys until 31 July when Draco was scheduled to visit Diagon Alley. Mr Malfoy had been in and out of the manor on business. If his mother seemed bothered by his constant absence, she didn’t let the boys see. More than anything, she loved spending time with the children. And she had an entire day planned for the mischievous boys to include games in the garden, a full spread for lunch, and a trip to the Parkinson Estate for tea.

Draco was pulled back to his current surroundings when a book sailed past his head and hit the back wall behind him. “Hey! We respect books. And what did you overhear?”

“Thank you for askin’. A snake was let out in muckle London and attacked five adults and thir’een kids! The Magical Accidents team ‘ad to obliviate over a ‘undred muckles, replace the glass in the exhibit, and ‘unt the scally bas’ard down to bring  ‘im back. Last I ‘eard, it’s stiwl at large and they ‘ave no clue where to find ‘im.” Theo loves to gossip. He sat, calmly now, smug in his news about the muggle world. He knew Draco was kept sheltered from that side of society. His parents refused to discuss current events in his presence, but Mr Nott didn’t hold the same sentiment. He would discuss any and everything in front of Theo as if he wasn’t there. In fact, the only time Mr Nott even acknowledged having a son was when he needed something to curse.

“Wait, didn’t you talk about this on my birthday? Not exciting enough news to merit throwing my books around if you ask me.”

“That’s just the thing! It ‘appened on 23 June. Your birfhday was over a monfh ago!”

Theo was right. There was over two weeks between Theo talking about accidental magic in a pet store, and the event at the zoo. It was both exciting and scary to realize the extent of Theo’s gifts of sight. Instead of furthering his bloated ego, Draco feigned disinterest and changed the subject, “How bizarre. Well, what do you want to do before mother totes us off?”

Accepting the change with only mild disappointment, Theo got up from the settee to look out the window, “We can go find your father’s naughty periodicals.”

“How dare you. My father would never subscribe to such filth!”

“Wanna bet? I ‘ave five Galleons says your father ‘as a whole stack ‘idden somewhere in ‘is study.” Glassy blue eyes met mossy green as Draco contemplated his odds. He didn’t believe his father would have such things in the manor. But he was a man. Men couldn’t be much different than boys, and Draco knew that if he or Theo had access to such things, they would have an entire room filled with trash rags.

Accepting the bet, Theo led the way out of the room and down the hall. They took the long way without much discussion, Draco knew to follow blindly when Theo led. The Sight would keep them out of trouble. Once they made it into Mr Malfoy’s study, they got to work, searching for the supposed stack of periodicals that promised to show them what witches hid under their robes.

This was how Draco and Theo found themselves trapped under Mr Malfoy’s desk, holding their breath, praying both their fathers didn’t catch them while they talked.

“Lucius, we cannot ignore R’s request to search the vault. All signs point to the stone being there. I looked into it personally. We must go!”

“I don’t know how you expect me to go with you, Theodore! Narcissa is already suspecting something is amiss, she’s thinking it's a second coming. And besides, I have to spend some time with Draco before he leaves for school. Just because you duck off your parental obligations doesn’t mean I will.”

Mr Nott didn’t disagree with Mr Malfoy. Draco reached out to squeeze his friend’s hand in solidarity. It was one thing to suspect Mr Nott hated his son. It was a complete other to hear the man’s silent omission.

“Ok, fine. Play father of the year. You will be in Diagon Alley buying his supplies, correct? We can push it off until after. Narcissa can take the whelp home, and you can meet us at the rendezvous  Everyone wins.”

Draco could feel his father’s annoyance fill the air. Whatever they were planning, Mr Malfoy wanted nothing to do with it. But, like most obligations, he knew he couldn’t get out of it. And a Malfoy takes his obligations seriously.

“Don’t call my son a whelp.” Mr Malfoy sighed. The desk above the boys’ head creaked under the weight as he leaned against the edge. “Tell me the plan again.”

Theo’s eyes widened, a perfect mirror for Draco’s own shock, as they listened to their fathers discuss an elaborate plan to break into a Cursed Vault to retrieve a stone of great power. They didn’t understand much, but they knew it was a plan of dubious morals. Draco would never tell Theo, but he knew it wasn’t above Mr Nott to do something so reckless and, frankly, illegal. But his father had a better grasp of his moral fiber. 

A pause of silence carried on for so long, Draco thought the two men had left without another word. With a stiff nod, the boys began making their way out from under the large mahogany desk.

“Theo,” Draco quickly slapped his hand over his friend’s mouth to stifle the gasp that escaped. His father was not referring to the children hidden under the desk, but the man standing silently by the built-in bookcase. “Have you heard the rumors coming out of Romania?”

Mr Nott did not respond aloud, but he clearly made a motion for Mr Malfoy to continue, because he did, “There is talk of some dark magic swirling around in the area. Some say a man was taken into the local hospital with residual burns from a curse.”

“I heard nothing of the sort. Do you think…”

“I cannot think anything but. You know his obsession with Romania before the end. And the rumors have been circling that area since the first days. It would make sense if someone hunting the occult would trip across something far worse. Have you noticed any… changes?”

There was a long pause, and clearly Mr Nott had made his way to the drink cart. The sound of liquid poured into two glasses filled the air as thoughts were collected. “I did sense a tingle last week, but didn’t think much of it. I’d chalk it up to phantom nerves rather than an actual sign of a return. Frankly, Lucius, it is all coincidence at this point. But it would be in our best interest to pay closer attention to the events in Europe.”

Draco could feel his legs falling to sleep before the fathers left the study, but they didn’t move. Theo stared at him, shocked speechless with all the gossip he acquired without meaning to. As if in a daze, forgetting they were crouched under a desk, Draco went to stand and cracked his head on the underside of the desk. Suddenly, a false bottom fell open and a large stack of periodicals rained down on the startled boys.

Theo let out a whoop of excitement. “Ha-ha, old chap! We are goin’ to be the most popular first years in all of ‘istory! Everyone is goin’ to line up to be our friends when they find out we brought a trunk full of titty rags to schoow. Wewl, Drake, what ‘ave you to say?”

Draco finally broke out of his daze and looked around at all the periodicals they found in his father’s study. The scolding he would receive if his father found out they stole them and took them to school. But that would mean he would have to admit what they took before scolding him. And he knew his mother’s wrath far outweighs his father’s if she found out the periodicals were originally in Mr Malfoy’s possession. Either way they looked at it, Draco would be safe from a whipping.

“I’d say I owe you five Galleons.”

~

The Parkinson manor was much the same as Malfoy Manor, however slightly smaller in size. The lush lawn with a cobbled path, a canopy of elms lining the walk, ivy growing up into the branches to fill in and connect the trees, led to an elegant entryway with large double doors and rising marble columns. The four storied home, with intricately designed rod iron balconies, was filled with floor to ceiling windows, letting in sunlight at every point of the day. Mrs Parkinson erected a large wrap-around porch on the main level when the children were younger, with multiple sitting areas to enjoy her gardens or watch the children play without worry of the rays diminishing Mrs Parkinson’s youthful beauty. (at least that’s what Draco heard her telling anyone that will listen.)

Mrs Parkinson and Mrs Malfoy are distant cousins, and the only family Draco knew of that Mrs Malfoy remained in contact with. Pansy and Draco liked to joke that their mothers were grooming them for an eventual marriage contract, but they knew that Mr Malfoy was looking at the Greengrasses for his future bride. Pureblood children knew not to form any hopes for the future that might be broken with the flick of a quill. Deals and contracts were the only thing of importance. But that didn’t stop Draco from loving Pansy as equally and ferociously as he did Theo. Friendships are the only thing not controlled in his life.

Like Draco and Theo, Pansy is an only child. A bright, clever girl, with a flair for the theatrics that rival Theo, Pansy indulges the boys with whatever make-believe game they have created to pass the time. On this day, Pansy had been kidnapped by an evil villain (Draco) and the brave knight (Theo) set out on a perilous quest to save her. Draco helped Pansy climb an old tree where she was to wait for her knight to rescue her. 

An epic battle raged on at the base of said tree, wooden swords clashing, while Pansy wailed for her rescuer to finish off her captor. Draco couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at how dramatic Pansy was being up in the tree. He was usually able to hold off Theo’s attacks, this wasn’t their first sword fight, but her cries were a distraction, giving Theo the edge.

“Come off it, Pans. You’re not getting an Order of Merlin for sitting in a tree.”

The wailing stopped for a moment while she glared at Draco, “Just because you are going to lose, doesn’t mean you have to take it out on my stellar acting skills. And if you don’t like me being the perfect damsel, why don’t you climb up here and do it yourself, while I smack Theo around with a stick?”

Draco rolled his eyes and decided to catch Theo off guard with a flourish of his sword. With a few more parries and lunges, the evil villain swiped the brave knight’s feet out from beneath him, and landed the final blow to his exposed chest.

“Oi, you git! Not so hard.” Theo rubbed the welted spot on his chest. Draco ignored him, swiftly climbing the tree to come face to face with his prize.

“Now, princess. Your knight is no more. I have won you fair and square. Come away with me to my enchanted castle, where we will spend the rest of our lives eating biscuits for breakfast and cakes for dinner, and never have to go to bed early again.” Draco brushed his lips across the damsel’s knuckles. A peel of laughter escaped Pansy’s mouth. “I promise to love and protect you for the rest of my days, even if you are nothing more than a resplendent banshee.”

“You had me at no bedtime and lost me at banshee. Such a charmer, Draco Malfoy! And I’m not a princess. I’m a fierce warrioress. I let you capture me.”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

~

“Spit it out, mate.”

“What are you talking about?” Draco rolled over to face his best friend in the large four poster bed. Theo was tucked deep into the covers, only a tuft of chestnut curls poking out. It was late into the night and he was clearly exhausted from the long day of playing, but Draco was restless. Thoughts raced through his mind without any reprieve.

“Okay, fine. Do you promise not to be cross, though?”

“Of course.”

Draco took a steadying breath, “We both know that your father is a bit of a wanker and probably belongs in Azkaban, right?”

This had Theo’s attention. His bright green eyes shone in the darkness, peeking through his cocoon. The blankets rustled with a nod.

“And we know that my father is nothing like yours. Polar opposite in every way.”

Another nod.

Draco flopped back, facing the canopy to avoid looking at those shining orbs while speaking his next line of thought, barely over a whisper, “I can’t stop thinking about this plan they talked about with the Cursed Vault. Why would my father agree to break into a vault when he knows it is absolutely wrong?

“I’m not saying my father is perfect, I know he made mistakes before I was born. But I thought he had changed. I thought he was better than that. But he agreed, Theo. He is going to help break into a vault and steal something. It’s like everything he taught me, all the virtues that make a Malfoy great, it only applies to me.”

“Mate,” Theo unfurled himself and sat up in the bed, staring directly at Draco until they made eye contact, “I don’t fink it's like that, yeah? The way I see it, your father’s best mate – who is a right wanker, not a bi’a one – asked ‘im for ‘elp. Your father knows it’s wrong, knows he’wl screw it up wifhout ‘im, and knows ‘e can’t let ‘im go it alone. Your father is a loyal mate, just like you. That is the only reason ‘e agreed. If it were us, and I asked you to ‘elp me puwl off somefhing sketchy, would you tewl me to piss off?”

“No, I’d help you. And tell you how much of a twat you were for getting me into this mess.”

“Exac’ly!” Theo bounced on the bed. He knew he had Draco now with his logic. “You are no different than your father. I know that whatever it is they are doin’, your father will be side by side with mine, and complain so much my father wiwl regret not only askin’ for ‘elp but gettin’ into the mess in the first place. And, frankly, I’m not brassed off wifh anyone that makes my father regret even a bit of his mess. My father is a right piece of shite.”

Theo was right. Good or bad, Mr Malfoy stuck by those he loved. And there was no doubt that he loved Mr Nott much like Draco loved Theo. But he already knew this. Draco turned back to the canopy, thankful for his friend beside him. He whispered, “I think your father must have some good in him, just like my father has some bad. We all do. But they need each other. Your father needs mine to keep that goodness alive. And my father needs yours to keep the evil at bay. If your father was all evil, he wouldn’t let my father get away with putting off the heist. And if mine was all good, he wouldn’t be willing to do what is wrong for a friend in need.”

Theo shifted uncomfortably, he hated talking about his father. “You’re right. And I’m just like him, too. That’s why we make the perfect pair. You are all bright and shiny with your pompous vir’ues, and I am the witty menace that is one potions accident away from becomin’ an unstoppable terror to the wizardin’ world. I’ll deny it if you ever repeat this, but I need you. You’re my best mate and I couldn’t get through life wifhout you. You’re always so worried about bein’ like your father, but that’s not such a bad thing. He is a good man. And you wiwl grow up the same. You don’t ‘ave to live in a ‘ouse with no love, praying to Circe your father doesn’t see you slinkin’ through the corridors and punishes you for existing. That is my burden. That is what I ‘ave to look forward to in the future.” Silence fell on them. Draco hated feeling like a spoiled child. And that was exactly what he was being. His greatest blessing was having a good home to share with his friend.

Draco was lost in thought. He decided he would talk to his mother before the start of term of ways to make sure Theo didn’t feel left out. He knew his mother would continue to spoil him, checking in regularly. Maybe she could do the same for Theo. “But, you're not bofhered by just this. Spiwl it so we can go to sleep, yeah?”

Right again, something else was bothering Draco. “I can’t put my finger on it, mate. Everyone always tells me I am just like my father; I look like him, I act like him, and I will grow up to be just like him. But what if that’s not what I want? What if I don’t want a life of politics and galas, a wife and a kid that I don’t have enough time for, all the while the world hates me because of either a stupid mistake I made, or jealous because my vault is bigger than theirs.”

“Don’t get a’ead of yourself. I’ve seen your vault, so to speak,” Theo wagged his eyebrows suggestively, “It’s not that special.” Theo hit the ground with a loud thunk.

Peering over the edge of the bed to look at his friend, lost in his giggles on the floor, “You know what I mean, you bloody arse. All I’ve known is how to be a Malfoy. That’s all I’m told, to the point I don’t even know what it means to be just me. And now we’re going to school, away from the parents, and I feel like I’m scrambling to find my identity before then. You’ve got your wit and charm. Pansy is lovely and will make friends with everyone. Crabbe and Goyle pay no mind to much more than their stomachs. And will clobber anyone that bothers them. And Blaise is… well, Blaise is just Blaise. He doesn’t need anything more than his sophisticated brooding. What do I have, Theo?”

“Your bloody brilliance is what you ‘ave! You are the best mate anyone could ask for. You are kind, thoughtful, witty, and always come up wifh the best games. You are the best of us awl. Now, stop phishing for compliments, you spoiled ponse. And stop worryin’ about what you ‘ave, because it’s everyfhing.” Theo got up from the floor to reposition himself in his cocoon. “We wiwl burn those bridges when we get there, yeah? For now, let's get some sleep. You’re expec’ed in Diagon Alley wifh your loving parents tomorrow, where they will no doubt spoil you further wifh everyfhing your ‘eart desires.”

Listening to the steady rhythm of Theo’s breathing, Draco thought about what Theo said. How could Draco know he was all light with a bit of dark, if he had never had the chance to prove it? It is easy to be good when you’re surrounded by loving parents and perfect friends. Very little thought goes into his moral choices. He knows he is brilliant and accomplished for being eleven. When he’s not playing, Draco is studying. He knows kindness and love, because his mother taught him to be kind to all creatures. 

Maybe it was ok to pick and choose traits from both his parents, things he loved about them and wanted to imitate. Mr Malfoy is powerful and respected through dedication or fear. His mother was compassionate and thoughtful, respected for her grace and commanding demeanor. Draco could be all of those things. He would make them all proud of him.

Barely making a sound, Draco rolled over to look at his sleeping friend. Theo’s chest rose and fell with steady breaths, filling Draco with love and comradery for his heart’s brother, “You’re wrong, mate. You are the light. And I’m the one that couldn’t make it without you.”

Chapter Text

Diagon Alley

Breakfast at Malfoy Manor that next morning hummed with an unusual energy. Draco could barely contain his excitement, picking at his meal with more fervor than grace. His parents exchanged amused glances, knowing exactly what fueled his fidgeting; in a few hours they were off to Diagon Alley for his Hogwarts school supplies. Every chime of the grandfather clock seemed to slow time itself, each bite of his perfectly prepared dish was savored not for its flavor, but as one step closer to the adventure awaiting him in the bustling wizarding market. 

Mr Malfoy sat at the head of the table, reading the Daily Prophet . To the untrained eye, he seemed at complete ease, sipping his tea, resting ever so slightly in his chair with sophisticated elegance. But Draco knew better. 

Even if he and Theo hadn’t overheard their fathers’ plan, Draco would know something was bothering his father. The firm grip of his teacup handle, the ever so slight tick of his well-chiseled jaw. His steel grey eyes stared blankly at the newspaper, not reading but scanning the space as if looking for the answer to his dilemma between the lines of the Quidditch stats. The strain of adulthood, as Uncle Sev would call it, oozed off his father’s normally calm stature. He was worried. And from the sideways glances his mother was shooting Mr Malfoy, she wasn’t ignorant to the heist and her husband’s expected involvement.

With an expert clearing of her throat, Mrs Malfoy drew both men at the table from their musings, “Darling, I was thinking we could leave for Diagon Alley a bit earlier than planned. I have some shopping to do as well, and I know Draco would love to get started straight away.” She was correct, because at the mention of going early, Draco quickly finished the last few bites of his meal and downed his own tea as if they would leave without him.

“Yes, love. That sounds wonderful. No time like the present. If you’re finished eating, son, you’re excused to go prepare for our trip. Dobby.” The call for Draco’s elf was missing all of the softness Mr Malfoy’s previous words held. The elf popped next to the master of the manor’s elbow, ears trembling with anxiety of what might come next. With a cold tone, Mr Malfoy continued, “Help Draco dress. I think green would be best today.”

Dobby bowed and with a crack took Draco to his chambers to begin dressing. Dobby began laying out navy robes so dark they looked black, a cream oxford shirt with dark pinstripes, and a mint green vest with a sage green paisley design and matching tie. With deftly precise fingers, Draco began to dress himself and slick his hair back the way he likes. With a final look in the mirror, he rushed down the corridors, arriving at the travelling parlor with a skid. A cough from his father hid his amusement in Draco’s childish giddiness.

This was it. Draco had been to Diagon Alley many times. But this was different. It was a milestone that he has been looking forward to for as long as he could remember. He was getting his wand. He was going to be a proper wizard, not in name but in practice. Without a second thought, Draco reached for his mother’s outstretched hand and followed her into the fireplace. 

The Leaky Cauldron was more lively than Draco had ever seen. People were out of chairs, talking animatedly with other patrons, sloshing drinks and clapping backs. Something had happened prior to their arrival that sent a jolt of excitement that Tom the Barkeep was attempting to calm.

“I think,” Mrs Malfoy pushed through the crowd as if they were the only ones in the room, “our first stop will be the Magical Menagerie then the Owl Emporium. Draco dear, have you decided if you want a cat or your own owl? If you decide on a cat then we will send one of the family owls to the school for you.” 

The Malfoy family made their way to the exit and entered the busy streets of Diagon Alley. Children of all ages were running past, heading for the Menagerie. Draco couldn’t help looking at Quality Quidditch supplies, and the new Nimbus 2000, as they passed. His father had gotten him the Nimbus 1700 a few years back, but Draco wanted the newest model. Maybe if he told his parents he would give the 1700 to Theo they would let him get it?

Draco followed his parents into the Magical Menagerie. The air was thick and smelled of damp forest on patchouli. A quick tour of the cramped aisles confirmed that Draco would rather an owl of his own. His mother found him in a staring contest with a large, ginger cat that looked like it was dropped face first on the pavement. Its  yellow eyes pierced Draco’s soul, sending a shiver down his spine.

“He seems to like you, dear.” The shop owner stood next to him, smiling fondly at the beast.

“How can you tell?” Draco was sure the creature was plotting his murder.

“Well, honestly, he hasn’t attacked you yet. That’s a first.”

Mrs Malfoy thanked the woman for her time, and the family made their way to Eelop’s Owl Emporium. Draco immediately fell in love with a black and gold spotted Eagle Owl with honey brown eyes and a sentient charm. Much to his father’s disappointment, he named him Iccarus. Mr Malfoy was always displeased when Draco referenced anything muggle. But Draco didn’t care. It was perfect.

They quickly purchased the owl, and all the necessary accessories, making their way to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. 

“Lord and Lady Malfoy! Such a pleasure. What can I do for you today?” Madam Malkin swept to the front of the shop with her plum robes swishing past mannequins and other display cases. Embracing Mrs Malfoy and kissing both her cheeks, it was clear they were close friends. But Draco already knew that. His mother had an extensive wardrobe that his father never missed the opportunity to remind her of whenever she returned home with more garment bags.

“Our darling Draco is starting Hogwarts this term. He will need a full wardrobe, including casual wear for weekends in both fall and winter.” Linking arm in arm, Mrs Malfoy went on a full monologue of all the clothes Draco will need for a single school year. He was going to be here for hours. 

Grumbling to himself about the trivial boredom he would be subjected to now, Draco felt his father gently bump into his shoulder, “Remember, son. A Malfoy endures with grace and charm.”

“I know, father. I simply do not understand why I need all the things she’s saying I do. I have clothes at home. Can’t I simply take them and get the work robes required?”

His father chuckled, “Trust me, when it comes to your mother and shopping, best to not argue. If she says you need a new wardrobe, you need a new wardrobe. It makes her happy to dote on you like this. And a Malfoy always ensures the women in his life are always happy, even at a cost to their own wellbeing. Do you understand?”

“Yes, father.”

Mr Malfoy gave Draco an affectionate pat on the shoulder, “Good lad.”

Draco wanted to talk to his father about what he had overheard in his office. On any other occasion, there were no secrets between the boy and his parents. He came to them with any question or concern under the sun. No topic was left untouched at the Malfoy home. But this was different. This involved Theo. And he would protect his friend at all cost.

Deciding a little deceit mixed with the truth would be the best way to get the answers he so needed, “Father, I need to tell you something. Yesterday, I was snooping in your study. I know it is wrong, and I am sorry.”

“You’re right, that is wrong indeed. Thank you for telling me. That is very commendable.”

“Yes, well there’s more. I overheard your talk with Mr Nott.”

Draco saw the muscles in his father’s hand contract as he gripped his cane tighter. No turning back now.

“Father, I don’t understand. You always tell me to do the right thing and be a leader in all ways. But you are planning something that is illeg–”

“Hush!” Mr Malfoy was clearly angry, but not at his son. “You’re correct. It is wrong. And there isn’t much to understand. But family comes before all else.”

Draco’s brows furrowed, “But Mr Nott isn’t part of our family.”

“No, but he is one of my oldest and dearest friends. I would protect him with my life, even when he is wrong. That is what a Malfoy man does, son. Much like you are protecting young Theo by excluding him from your confessions.”

Shite. “Please don’t tell on him! His father would skin him alive if he knew we were in your study.” Draco could feel his stomach clench and roll with nerves. 

“Don’t worry, this stays between us. I know Theo is in a precarious situation. I will not make it worse for him.” Draco felt his father rest his hand firmly on his shoulder, grounding him through the rising panic. Theo was safe.

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing… it in the first place. Father, please tell me what’s going on.”

“Alright, but we will have no further discussion after this. All you need to know is that we are part of a very prestigious society. We collected different tomes and artifacts that focus on improving one’s life. Well we have been looking for a particular stone that will change our way of life. It is in a vault in Gringotts. That is where we will be going.”

Draco had more questions, but he knew not to push while he was ahead. He would find time to get his answers. Hopefully. 

“As you already know, I will be leaving shortly to deal with this issue. Do be a good lad for your mother while I am gone. This will not be the last time she will over-indulge with her purchases for you.”

“Yes, father.”

And with a final squeeze, the moment was over. 

“Draco, darling,” Mrs Malfoy motioned for him to follow her to the fitting area. “Come along. We have much to get through. While you’re here, I’m going to pop into Olivander’s. I’ll be back before you’re done.”

Mr Malfoy cleared his throat, “I will pop into Flourish & Blotts to retrieve his school books. That will free you to collect more preferred reading material. I will go straight to my meeting from there and see you both at dinner..” And with a knowing smile, and a chast kiss for his wife, Mr Malfoy was out the door, robes flowing behind him. 

Draco followed his mother and Madam Malkin to stand on the tailor’s riser. His mother fusses with his hair and necktie briefly before following out the door. Not seconds later, the bell over the door tinkled again with the arrival of another customer. Madam Malkin instructed her apprentice to continue her pinning.

He hears the mention of Hogwarts and a boy answers yes. Oh Gods , it was another student. Would he know him? He never met anyone outside of his parent’s inner circle. How would he act? Would the boy like him? Could they be friends? Draco’s fingertips tapped rhythmically against each other, hidden under the long sleeves of the robe draping his small frame.

The boy was nothing more than raggedy clothes, black moppy hair, and bright green eyes. Madam Malkin led him to the riser next to his, and began pinning robes with expert speed.

“Hello,” said Draco, “Hogwarts, too?”

“Yes,” said the boy.

“My father’s next door buying my books and Mother’s up the street looking at wands,” said Draco. He worked to maintain the same bored, drawling voice his father possessed. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully Father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.”

Draco couldn’t imagine going an entire year without flying.

“Have you got your own broom?” Draco went on.

“No,” said the boy.

“Play Quidditch at all?”

“No,” the boy said again, with a look of confusion on his face.

“ I do — Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my House, and I must say, I agree. Know what House you’ll be in yet?”

“No,” said the boy, Draco feeling more awkward by the minute.

“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

“Mmm,” said the boy. Draco wished he could say something a bit more interesting.

“I say, look at that man!” said Draco suddenly, nodding toward the front window. A grizzly man, larger than the front windows, was standing there, grinning at the boy and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn’t come in.

“That’s Hagrid,” said the boy, clearly pleased to know something Draco didn’t. “He works at Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” said Draco, “I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?”

“He’s the gamekeeper,” said the boy. Draco was starting to really question who this boy was.

“Yes, exactly. I heard he’s a sort of savage —” Draco racked his brain to remember the conversation he overheard on his birthday about a groundskeeper needing medical help. “lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed.” Draco realized too late his words didn’t sound as unbiased as he intended. His mother would have a talk with him privately about his tone if she was here.

“I think he’s brilliant,” said the boy coldly.

“ Do you?” said Draco. He couldn’t stop the sneer. “Why is he with you? Where are your parents?”

“They’re dead,” said the boy shortly. Draco didn’t know how to come back from this awkward conversation.

“Oh, sorry,” said Draco, not realizing he didn’t sound sorry at all. His mind was racing with all the thoughts fighting for priority. What a sad life this boy must live if he thinks a groundskeeper is brilliant. He must be an orphan. His father mentioned before that some children were left without parents and the school would send representatives to escort them to stores and the train. That must be what this is. But what about muggleborns? Did they get the same treatment? Before Draco could even think, his next thought was escaping his lips. “But they were our kind, weren’t they?”

“They were a witch and wizard, if that’s what you mean.”

“I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s your surname, anyway?”

But before the boy could answer, Madam Malkin said, “That’s you done, my dear,” and the boy, looking like he couldn’t wait to leave, hopped down from the footstool.

“Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,” Draco drawled. He blew it.

His stomach rolled at the thought of saying something off putting. Draco hated the feeling. He was never in social settings where he worried if he would be judged for his thoughts. His friend group spoke freely with each other, and if something was not agreed with, they would discuss that as well. Draco realized this was his first experience with rejection. And he did not enjoy it.

Draco spent the rest of the outing lost in thought of his completely bollocksed attempt at making a new acquaintance. His mother guided him through the streets, floating in and out of stores as they collected potion supplies, a new cauldron and telescope, and many other things that weren’t on the list but Mrs Malfoy insisted he needed.

Even his new wand, something he had dreamed about for as long as he could remember, could not drag Draco from his self-loathing thoughts. A smile crossed his lips when the magic coursed through his arm, but didn’t reach his eyes. What was the point of being a pureblood from two noble lines, if people rejected him on first meeting? Would this wand make a difference if people only saw him as a loathsome ponce that isn’t worth the time it would take to get to know him? Ten inches long, hawthorn wood with a unicorn hair core. ‘ Most at home with a wizard passing through a period of turmoil. ’ Draco was in turmoil alright. The look on his mother’s face when Mr Olivander made his comment stopped the sarcastic chuckle that escaped him. He knew that any unease he might feel would worry his mother. Draco didn’t like a random shopkeeper confirming any worry she might have for him.

When a long perusal through Flourish & Blotts left Draco further lost in his dark thoughts, which would always lift Draco’s spirits on a normal day, Mrs Malfoy declared that ice cream was the final order of business. Sitting outside, strawberry fizz cone in hand, Draco absentmindedly ate while thinking about how he could convince his parents to send him anywhere else for schooling.

“I have never in my life seen a child so miserable eating ice cream. What is troubling you so, my dragon?”

Draco took a deep breath, and dove into a full description of his encounter with the boy at Madam Malkin’s and his social faux pas in telling him muggleborns didn’t belong at wizarding schools. His mother listened intently while he explained his reasoning and how the boy ran away without another word.

“Darling, it is not your responsibility to take on others’ feelings. If he was miffed about your opinions, which you are entitled to, then that sounds like he hasn’t had many opportunities to debate with his peers. What do we do when we meet someone with a different opinion than our own?”

“We thank them for the new point of view.”

Draco wouldn’t look up from his lap until he felt his mother reach across the cafe table to squeeze his hand. “Exactly. Now finish your ice cream so we can head home. Your father should be back from his meeting and I want to hide the extra books we bought before he sees.”

~

Mr Malfoy didn’t return from his ‘meeting’ until halfway through supper. Looking tired, he kissed his wife on the crown of her head, nodded to Draco, and took his seat at the head of the table. The elves bustled around, filing his glass with wine and loading his plate with stuffed quail, roasted veg, and buttery potatoes. “My apologies, the meeting went tits up and took longer than expected. I hope you two had a lovely afternoon. I can’t wait to see all of your purchases.” 

Mrs Malfoy recounted their shopping spree with animated excitement. Draco felt the color drain from his face. What went wrong with the heist? Was Mr Nott in custody? Dead? Theo was home and wouldn’t be arriving until tomorrow afternoon. He knew he wouldn’t get much out of his father tonight. He would have to wait to speak with Theo and see if he knew what went so terribly wrong that would cause his father to use fruity language at the dinner table.

“Draco!” The boy startled at his father calling his name loudly through the hall. He hadn’t realized he was tuning out the conversation. After apologizing, Mr Malfoy continued, “What’s this I hear you have a Unicorn hair core? That’s very impressive, son.”

“Yes, father.”

“Further proves that you are the light of this family. I’m very proud of you, my boy. You’re a good lad, and you will be at the top of your class in no time.” Draco felt his chest warm to the praise from his father. He knew it wasn’t about the wand. His father was looking for any reason to spill his praises. Mrs Malfoy must have told him about his blunder and Mr Malfoy wanted to boost him up without bringing it up again. His father always knew how to make things better without making him feel like a silly child. 

Draco, once again, was reminded he truly was a lucky boy to have such loving and encouraging parents.

Chapter Text

The Journey from Platform Nine and Three-quarters

Draco sat at his grand piano, playing to clear his mind, waiting for his time to join the party in the ballroom.

Every year, his mother threw a Start of Term Ball for the staff and governors of Hogwarts, as well as all high society students and their families. Networking, his father called it. It was good to make acquaintances with one’s peers and eventually colleagues. These balls were excellent practice. Draco was unable to attend in previous years. He wasn’t a student. But this year, he would be introduced to everyone, paraded around like one of the albino peacocks by the lake, for all to see. This must be what Pansy felt like at the presentation ball her mother threw for her on her eleventh birthday. 

Clammy fingers stroked the ivory keys as Draco refused to think of all the people that will be looking at him when he enters the room. He was a new student, and a Malfoy. There was no higher honor. The tune was melodramatic, unfocused, and somber. His music tutor didn’t approve of playing by ear. He said that Draco didn’t have an ear to play with until he said he did. But Draco loved the trailing notes he would make up to match his mood. Sometimes, he was able to pull himself out of his anxious thoughts with a change in tone and a lively melody. Switching from a robust minor chord to a spirited progression into the higher chords, Draco hoped that his musings would help lift him tonight.

“Master Draco,” Dobby popped into existence next to Draco’s elbow, “it is almost time to join your parents. Are you ready?”

“No.” Draco took a deep breath and turned to his elf, “Think you could pretend to be me and go to the ball? I promise to do all your chores before it's over.”

“Dobby would, if he could, Master Draco. It won’t be so bad. Shake a few professor’s hands, say hello to your godfather, and then you can sneak off with Master Theo and Missus Pansy.” 

Draco swung his leg over the bench to get a better look at the elf, “Dobby, have you ever been to Hogwarts?”

A look of bitter sweet excitement filled the elf’s giant eyes, “Oh, no, Master Draco. Dobby hasn’t been to Hogwarts. But Dobby does have a cousin that works in the kitchens. It is truly a magical place! So many portraits to talk to. Anything and everything the young master could wants to eat! And Dobby hears there are so many secret passageways and chambers, it would take a lifetime to find them all.” Dobby could see the real question on the young boy's face, “But, with Master Draco starting next month, Dobby will be able to visit him any time Master wishes. All you have to do is call for Dobby and he will be there in a pop.”

“Promise?”

“Dobby swears it, sir.” And with a loving squeeze of the hand, Dobby led Draco out of his chambers and down the hall to the Start of Term Ball.

Dobby was right. It was a few handshakes, even more introductions to other students, and he was left alone with his friends on the outskirts of the dance floor. 

Candlelight bounced off the gleaming marble floors, turning the blonde wooden accents an almost blue hue. While most of the ballroom is decorated in dark woods with silver accents, warmth reaches every corner. Mrs Malfoy prided herself on her skills of turning the Dark Academia motifs of both Malfoy and Black tradition and highlighting her own warm, light touches. 

The sounds of laughter and merry discussions carried across the ballroom over the sound of a small orchestra positioned at the head of the room. Mrs Malfoy had outdone herself this year. But it wasn’t every Start of Term Ball that her own son would be introduced. He deserved the best, and they never failed to deliver.

After finishing his expected duties of mingling, Draco scanned the room in search of his parents. He knew that it had reached the point of any ball his mother organized where the host and hostess would lead the dance. Mr and Mrs Malfoy were known to be reserved and even stoic in public. But on the dance floor, his mother lit up the room with her beauty. Her smile is the sun peaking through the clouds on a stormy day. One spin and the most beautiful melody of laughter could be heard from her lips. Mrs Malfoy was happiest while dancing.

And Mr Malfoy could never hide his love and devotion to his wife in those moments. They were the only two people in the entire world. He would twirl her faster, pull her in closer, and spin her more just for a drop of her happiness. He looked at his wife like she was the answer to every question in the universe. She was his life’s essence. They were true love’s embodiment. Soulmates. The luckiest couple on earth. Because they found something that wars were started for, cities destroyed, and lives ruined for. They were in love.

Mr Malfoy never wore his aristocratic mask when his wife was in his arms. The only time Draco truly saw his father smile in front of others was when he was dancing with his mother. Yes, his father would smile and laugh when they would fly together, or Draco did something silly, but never fully unencumbered. Mr Malfoy was free only in her presence. 

Ice blue robes flowing against the dark background of back dress robes. Whisps of white blonde hair dancing through the air. A whisper of I love you engulfing them. Draco didn’t realize the silent prayer, sent out on an exhale, that maybe one day that could be him.

As the crowd continued to mingle around him, Draco felt the all too familiar clinch of his stomach. Fingers tapping against each other, he knew that he had only a few moments to find air before he was overtaken. That time was cut in half when he realized he could possibly have an ‘episode’ in front of his future peers and professors, not to mention the Minister of Magic and other governors that his father worked closely with. A Malfoy does not have episodes.

Slipping off to the terrace to the right of the ballroom, Draco was instantly calmed by the cool August air. The smell of lilacs and gardenias filled his senses. He could see fairy lights floating across the lawn, stars reflecting off the lake, and a few older students sneaking away to the hedge maze. 

Draco wiggled his toes in his shoes, shaking himself gently to knock off the unsettling feeling in his bones, and gave his fists a final pulse as he relaxed them on the terrace. He could feel his inner calmness wash over him. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, listening to the air pool in his lungs and slowly escaping his lips. The laughter coming from inside broke through the silence of the night and he let their confidence straighten his spine just a bit. 

It was then that he heard his father’s voice, just below him, hidden in the darkness. He was pacing (Malfoy men didn’t pace) as he was talking to someone else, clearly unaware of his son within earshot, “That bloody imbecile!” Draco clapped his hand over his mouth to catch the gasp escaping him. He had never heard his father curse. Malfoy men didn’t curse. They left un-eloquent language to the less intelligent. And when did Mr Malfoy leave the ballroom? He was just dancing with his wife moments before. How long had Draco been standing on the terrace?

“I feel your suspicions are correct. He has been preparing something within the castle for weeks now. He had several of us professors create puzzles to guard… something.” Uncle Sev’s low drawl sent panic through Draco’s nerves. Was his godfather involved in whatever misdoings Mr Nott was orchestrating?

“And here he is in my home, “Mr Malfoy cut over Severus’ words with his shrill (Malfoy men are never shrill) ramblings, “acting smug. Like he knows I was there. I’m telling you, Severus. He knows! He knows and he thinks he has won. Well, I’ll show him! He will not best me. I am the head of the House of Malfoy!” Mr Malfoy was brandishing his finger in the air, as if the universe needed a reminder of who they were messing with as well.

“Keep a close eye on him, Severus. If my suspicions are correct, I don’t want things going sideways because we let a crackpot call the shots.” And with a pat on his friend’s shoulder, Mr Malfoy slipped back into the shadows, returning to the ball.

Draco’s mind was whirling. Thoughts danced in his head faster than the guests inside with the new information. Whatever was being guarded is now at the castle. He knew it. But what could possibly be that important? And what would go sideways? Was the thing dangerous, or was it simply rare? More questions than answers. 

Draco could smell him before he saw him. The hint of a potion fire that had just gone out. The sweet sticky notes of lacewing flies that cling to the back of your throat. The oak worktables, polished and worn down from years of use. Old parchment holding notes and recipes that cloud the mind and ensnare the senses, or whatever drabble he goes on about when he’s talking about potions . A soft, deep drawl broke the silence of the still night, “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it is rude to eavesdrop?”

~

The Malfoy family arrived at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at quarter til on 1 September. Children were running back and forth on the platform, parents chatting with each other, owls screeching and cats weaving between legs to chase each other. Draco was shocked to feel butterflies. He had lived in the magical world his entire life, but something about the candy apple red steam engine with Hogwarts Express written in rust gold across the side, made him feel a new form of giddy magic. Is this what muggleborns felt when they saw Diagon Alley for the first time? 

Draco saw the Notts, Parkinsons, Crabbes, and Goyles standing off to the side; looking on at the crowd with contempt. A never ending gaggle of ginger haired children made their way through the barrier, followed by the boy Draco met at Madam Malkin’s and a plump witch with another ginger girl pulled closely to her side. 

“Oh, wonderful,” Mr Malfoy sneered. “The Weasleys are here. As if red hair and freckles weren’t enough of an affliction, they had to go and have more children than they can afford. How irresponsible, and to think they are Sacred Twenty-Eight.” Mrs Malfoy patted his arm, a sign to drop the subject in mixed company. But Draco’s interest had already peaked. His father rarely spoke ill of others. And if they were Sacred Twenty-Eight, why were they not at the ball just last week? They were clearly all dressed in hand-me-down clothes, muggle if he had to guess, and running wild through the platform with the other children. 

A stern wrap on the shoulder pulled Draco’s attention away from the hectic family entrance, and he followed his parents to the front of the train.

This was it. Draco would take the final steps to join his friends, board the train, and leave his parents for the first time in his life. He would not have his mother to comfort him, his father to guide him. He would not be returning to his home with the elves and his lake. His broom, which his father removed from his trunk before leaving, might still be on his bed, left untouched until Christmas time. 

Draco wanted to cower behind his mother. He could almost feel the soft fabric of her skirt in his hands, running it through his fingers like so many times before, letting the buttery feel calm his nerves. Or his arms wrapped around her neck, face buried in her hair, breathing in her rich floral perfume. Petite as she may be, Narcissa Malfoy was his wall. His safe place. His protector. If only he could turn back time, to four years old, and crawl in her lap one last time. Let her rub her hand down his back, kiss the top of his head, and tell him everything would be alright.

But a Malfoy doesn’t need his mummy. Turning to his father, Draco straightened his back. He raised his chin, lowered his shoulders, and did his best to mimic the signature sneer his father wore so well. His time for comfort has come to a close. He needed strength, power, and poise. What would Lucius Malfoy do in a time like this? 

“Darling,” Narcissa caught Draco by the wrist before he could join his friends. “Are you too grown to say goodbye to your mother?”

Draco gave his mother a brief hug and kiss on the cheek. He wanted to give her more, needed more, but his father never showed excessive amounts of affection in public. He would do the same. Bending down to his level, Narcissa lowered her voice for only him to hear, “Remember to forge your own way, my dragon. You are the heir to the Malfoy House, and you will always make us proud. But remember that you are always my sweet boy. Have fun, cause some mischief. Make some new friends. And remember what we talked about.” His throat began to close at her words. Deep breaths. A Malfoy didn’t cry. 

“I love you, mother. I won’t forget. I will write to you often.”

“As you should! I love you. Only a few months until Christmas. It goes by in a flash.” And with a final hug, Narcissa stood to her full height and stepped back for her husband.

His father clapped him on the shoulder, as close to an embrace as he would receive on the crowded platform, “Be a good lad and mind your professors. Keep Theo  out of trouble and don’t do anything that would bring dishonor to our family. I expect top marks from you. No excuses!”

“Yes, father.” And with a final squeeze, the contact was broken and he was sent on his way. Trunk and cage loaded on his trolley, Draco sauntered over to the train, avoiding the others, too nervous to look anywhere but forward.

Theo, Blaise, and Pansy found Draco as they began loading their trunks into a private car towards the front of the train. Crabbe and Goyle joined them a few moments later. Draco and Theo hung their heads out the window to watch the rest of the students. They recognized the Longbottom matriarch from the Start of Term Ball, her grandson frantically looking around while clearly being scolded publicly. Draco saw the Weasley family a few cars back, the older twins talking with a boy about his tarantula. A frizzy haired girl, sandwiched between her parents was saying her goodbyes before loading her trunk in the car next to his. 

A horn blared over the chatter of the crowd, an excited rumble was felt through the carriage, and the train began to slowly pull away from the platform. Draco locked eyes with his mother one last time. She smiled, and blew him a kiss. Nodding, he knew that he was going to be ok. He would make her proud regardless of his grades, or his friends, or how many times he cried home through Uncle Sev’s floo.

“Well, chaps. The time ‘as finally come. No parents. No elves.” Theo threw himself into his seat. “What mischief shawl we get into first?”

“I brought Exploding Snaps.”

“Take the piss outta some of the smaller kids?”

“Find that toad and dangle it out of the window?” Everyone looked at Crabbe, mortified.

“Why don’t we stay here and see what everyone else does once we’re a bit on our way?” Pansy spoke up above the rest. The group usually listened to her. She was the only girl and purebloods were raised to respect women and their role in society. Pansy took advantage of that.

After a beat of silence, Blaise spoke up, “Hey, did you lot hear about the break in at Gringotts?” Theo and Draco exchanged nervous glances. Pansy eyed them suspiciously, but chose to keep quiet.

“No, I didn’t. Who would be stupid enough to try and break into a building run by goblins? Nasty creatures, they are!” Pansy appeared bored as she looked out the window to the rolling hills passing by. She didn’t miss the nervous laugh that came out of Draco.

Blaise sat up, excited to have gossip to share with the group, “Apparently, a group of wizards broke in looking for something. But the vault they broke into was empty. A bunch of halfwits, if you ask me. If I were going to break in to Gringotts, I would go after a vault I knew had something in it. Like the Black vault. No one is using it, and you know it must be loaded.”

The six friends began a heated discussion about how they would break in to a bank, would it be better to rob a wizards bank or hit up the muggles, and what they would do with all the gold they took. A plump woman pushing a trolly was the only interruption.

When the conversation changed to quidditch, the door slid open to reveal the pungy Longbottom boy, tears clouding his eyes, “Ha-have you… seen my toad?” Draco stared at the boy as Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle burst into fits of laughter. Yes, it was a bit pathetic to cry over a toad. But Draco felt a bit bad for the boy. Stupid pet or not, it was still a familiar. Draco thought of the toads that he would watch by the lake at the manor. He watched in silence as the boy left, running down the corridor towards the back of the train. 

“What a wanker! Oi, Draco!” Goyle startled him out of his musings. “Feel sorry for the lil twat, do ya?”

Draco wiped his clammy hands on his trousers, “Not at all. Big lump knew better than to bring a stupid pet to school. Wouldn’t be surprised if it jumped out the cart rather than stick around someone so pathetic.” Pansy and Theo both looked at him, brows knitted in confusion.

Rather than join the conversation, Theo threw open the compartment door, staring up and down the corridor. Students were playing about, laughing as they threw firecrackers at their friends, and generally enjoying the freedoms of no supervision.

It was then that they heard a girl talking over the noise, a sense of superiority oozing in every word, “Don’t worry, Neville. I’m sure Trevor is around here somewhere. We’ll find him before we reach Hogwarts.” Draco looked quickly to Crabbe, hoping he didn’t realize toad boy was coming back up the corridor. “I can’t believe Harry Potter is actually here. I read all about him, but it’s amazing to meet him in person. Smaller than I thought he would be, don’t you think?”

This caught everyone’s attention. Theo was almost knocked to the ground as five more heads poked out of the compartment door to see who was talking.

“Oi!” Of course, Pansy would be the one to jump at the gossip first, “What’s this you’re going on about? Is Harry Potter really here?”

“Yes,” it was the frizzy haired girl Draco saw hugging her parents on the platform, Longbottom trying to hide behind the small girl. It was working, slightly. Her hair took up the majority of the space, bouncing as one as she walked to their compartment, “He is just down there. Have you seen a toad anywhere? Neville’s seemed to lost his.”

The disgust was evident on Pansy’s face. “No, we haven’t. Good riddance, I say. Who would want to bring a toad to school anyways? Dreadful look, don’t you think?”

The girl rolled her eyes and continued down the train. While the others went back to their seats to continue talking about Quidditch, Draco was rooted to his spot, drawn to the idea of finding the infamous Harry Potter. Maybe he could convince him to come back to their compartment.

“Who’s coming with me?” The words were out of his mouth before he realized it.

“You’re out your mind, mate. I wouldn’t be caught dead ‘anging around the Boy Who Lived.” Theo was rummaging through his trunk – making even more of an unorganized mess – not bothering to look up.

Crabbe and Goyle, thinking this would be a great show of strength, were the only one’s willing to join. The three set out down the corridor, looking in each window, until they finally found two boys sitting together, one Draco recognized immediately as the boy from Madam Malkin’s. It would be Draco’s luck he made a right arse of himself infront of Harry Potter. 

Taking a calming breath, wanting to make friends as best he could with the walking bludgers behind him, Draco slid open the compartment door. Networking. His father would want him to make connections. And what better connection than Harry Potter, the one that defeated the Dark Lord before he could even ride a broom?

The three boys entered, and Draco knew Potter recognized him from madam Malkin’s robe shop. Draco was finally looking at him with a lot more interest than he’d shown back in Diagon Alley.

“Is it true?” Draco said. “They’re saying all down the train that Harry Potter’s in this compartment. So it’s you, is it?”

“Yes,” said Harry. Draco notice Potter’s gaze trail over his shoulder. Draco followed his gaze and saw Crabbe and Goyle with an outsider perspective. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of Draco, they looked like bodyguards.]

“Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle,” said Draco carelessly, it was impolite to exclude others from your conversation. Even if you didn’t want them contributing in the first place. Draco knew they wanted to start a fight with someone. They weren’t picky. “And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

The red headed boy gave a slight cough, hiding a snigger.

Draco looked at him. He could feel the lump in his throat forming. This was worse than the botched conversation at the Madam Malkin’s. He was being laughed at.

“Think my name’s funny? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.” Not really a good start. But, Draco didn’t care. Weasley insulted him. Without even giving him a chance. Who did he think he was looking down his dirty nose at him, Draco Malfoy, heir to two noble houses, like he was better than him? Draco knew that he was better, but you didn’t see him telling anyone that? A Malfoy is always humble. And polite to even the lowliest of people.

Taking another slow breath in, he turned back to Harry. “You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter.” Tact. If a malfoy must insult someone, he must always do it tactfully. “You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

Draco held out his hand to shake Potter’s, but he didn’t take it.

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he said coolly.

Draco could feel the heat climb up his neck, staining his cheeks a rosy pink.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” he said slowly. “Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it’ll rub off on you.”

Both Potter and Weasley stood up.

“Say that again,” Weasley said, his face as red as his hair.

“Oh, you’re going to fight us are you?” Draco sneered. Suddenly very happy that the walking bludgers were with him. Draco had never been in an actual fight. And if he had to guess, what was supposed to be a moment of networking is working up to be a right mess. Already making enemies and they haven’t even made it to Hogwarts yet.

“Unless you get out now,” said Potter, more bravely than he looked, clearly realizing Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than him and Weasley. Maybe Draco could use their weight to move this confrontation in their favor.

“But we don’t feel like leaving, do we, boys? We’ve eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.”

Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Weasley – Weasley leapt forward, but before he’d so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell.

A sickly looking grey rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle's knuckle – Crabbe and Draco backed away as Goyle swung the rat round and round, howling, and when the rat finally flew off and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once. Draco turned to run back to their cabin, knocking into the girl with bushy brown hair that smelled of lilacs.

“So, how’d it go? You master your secret ‘andshake? You know the key to every good friendship is a solid secret ‘andshake.”

“Oh, shut it, Theo!”

Theo chuckles, “Unbunch your knickers, Drake. You know I’m only taking the piss. Seriously, though. Did you talk to Potter?”

“Yes.”

“And?” Blaise put down the Witch Weekly he obviously stole from Pansy.

Crabbe flopped into his seat, “He got laughed at by a Weasley.”

“ What ?” Draco decided he needed new friends.

“Yes. Yes. I was laughed at. Moving on.”

Theo turned in his seat, “No, we want to know. What do you mean you got laughed at?”

“I said my name and he laughed. Like it's funny to be a Malfoy.”

Draco wanted this conversation to end. 

“He said they’re too poor to have kids.” Crabbe always knows what to say to keep the good times rolling.

“I’m sorry,” Pansy straightened in her seat. “Weasley said you were too poor to have kids.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “No. I said that they were too poor to have kids. Ugh, can we let it go? I lost my temper. It’s one thing when you lot laugh at me. But when that crusty wanker laughed like I’m the one running around in holey clothes and dirt on my face, I couldn’t help it. Honestly, I don’t know why we’re still talking about him? I bet his mother doesn’t even remember him, why are we?” 

“Oh, Drakey Darling, calm down.” Pansy wrapped her arms around Draco’s neck, kissing him on the cheek. “We still love you, even if the peasants laugh at you.”

“Thanks, princess.” He leaned into her embrace. Pansy and Theo were the only ones that knew about his episodes. She was grounding him without letting everyone else know he was losing control. Maybe he wouldn’t get all new friends.

Patting her arm to let her know he was better, Draco cleared his throat, “At least one good thing came out of that fiasco. I know how to get under Weasley’s skin. Who needs more friends when you twats make me look so good?”

A voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

The group of friends rustled through their trunks and began changing into their robes. Draco tried his best to hide smelling the familiar scent of home as he pushed his arm through his sleeves. He couldn’t tell if the butterflies were excitement or nerves.

Other students began throwing open their compartment doors and making their way out onto the platform. Draco was swept into the crowd, holding hands with Pansy to keep from getting separated. Lampposts cast an eerie glow on the platform, students running to climb into carriages with their friends heading down a dirt path into the darkness. 

A lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and a booming voice with a thick Scottish accent could be heard over the commotion of students:

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!”

It was the groundskeeper that came with Potter at Diagon Alley. He led them down a steep, narrow path. It was so dark, Draco couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. No one spoke, the only noise breaking the silence was the one pudgy boy sniffling over his lost toad. 

“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” the Groundskeeper boomed, “jus’ round this bend here.”

Draco was surprised with his emotions over the first sighting of his new temporary home. Much like Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, he was overwhelmed with the giddy excitement of magic at its finest. The castle, glowing with twinkling lights from countless windows, nestled against a giant lake, sat atop a vast mountain, with forest surrounding one side.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, and Draco realized they would be traveling across the lake to reach the castle grounds. Theo, Blaize, Pansy, and Draco climbed into their boat, Draco offering his hand to Pansy and following her in after she was settled. 

“Everyone in?” shouted Hagrid, the great oaf taking up a boat to himself. “Right then – FORWARD!”

And with a jerk that Draco should have expected, the fleet of boats began their route across the lake. The eerie silence continued as everyone took in the sights, Draco and his crew included. Despite growing up in the Wizarding world, they could not help the mesmerizing effects of Hogwarts and its magical grounds.

“Heads down!” broke the silence as they reached the cliff; they bent their heads as they broke through the ivy curtain that hid the opening in the cliff face. A wide tunnel led them to an underground harbour, with a passageway leading to a set of stairs. 

The pudgy boy called out for his Trevor, clearly the toad had miraculously made the journey to the castle with the other students. The students followed the Groundskeeper up the steps, and once it was established everyone was there, including the toad, Hagrid raised a giant fist to bang on the castle doors.

Chapter Text

The Sorting Hat

The doors swung open to reveal an elderly witch with black hair and emerald green robes. He vaguely remembered seeing her at the Start of Term Ball, but she didn’t stay long. From the stories Draco had heard from his godfather, Professor McGonagall was a woman he knew to never cross. Even Uncle Sev said he is afraid of her fierce temper when provoked.

The two adults exchanged words, and the doors were thrown open to reveal the Entrance Hall to the castle. A bit larger than the hall at Malfoy Manor, torches lit the room, bouncing off the marble floors, falling short to reach the tall ceiling. A grand staircase extended from the back of the hall, leading to several floors.

Professor McGonagall led them to a small room where they were packed into. Draco could hear voices coming through another set of doors, clearly the rest of the students were already in the Great Hall, waiting for the First Years to be led in.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great hall, you will be sorted into your Houses…” Draco let his mind wander as he looked around the group. Theo and Pansy stood to his left, whispering together. Weasley and Potter are in front of him, both gobsmacked. Probably the first time Weasley has seen a castle. The bushy haired girl is off to the right, close to Blaise. Draco watched her take in their surroundings with pure wonder written on every bit of her teardrop face, until their eyes locked for a brief moment. Draco whipped his head around to face the professor at the head of the room.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

Draco sniggered as he caught Potter frantically slapping at his head and Weasley rubbing at his nose, hoping no one would notice.

A soft murmur rolled through the cramped room. Draco heard the bushy haired girl from the train listing off all the spells she learned at a rapid fire pace. She was clearly nervous. But unlike Draco, who was currently tapping his fingertips against one another, she obviously found rambling to the point of oxygen deprivation the best means to help with anxiety. 

Before Draco knew what was happening, Pansy and Theo let out a blood curdling scream.

Several ghosts, pearly white and billowing, floated across the room, startling many students into further screams and gasps. Eyes bulging, Draco slowly turned to look at the two twats he calls his best mates. Theo is doubled over, shaking with laughter, while Pansy drapes herself over his back, tears running down her cheeks. Ever the princess, she makes sure to position herself so her hair fans out over Theo’s waist most elegantly. 

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you two?”

Pansy coughed through a fit of giggles, “Oh, come on. Have a little fun. We couldn't help ourselves. The mudbloods are too easy not to take the piss.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “I swear, if you two don’t shape up right now, I will be forced to find new mates!”

With a final glare at their sniggers, Draco turned to the ghosts still floating through the room. “-- I say, what are you all doing here?”

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Draco looked around, waiting for someone to answer him.

“New students!” said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. “About to be Sorted, I suppose?”

A cloud of brown curls was seen bouncing as she nodded her head enthusiastically.

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” said the Friar. “My old House, you know." Draco stopped paying attention to steal a glance at the girl. Her brows were pulled together and her nose scrunched at the idea of ghosts having a house. Was she wondering if it was his House when he was alive, or were ghosts assigned to Houses, like some sort of patron. Draco wondered the same thing, now that he came to think of it.

“Move along now,” said a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.”

Professor McGonagall had returned. Draco was still thinking about House ghosts to notice the float through the wall on the opposite side of the room. He was running through Hogwarts: A History in his mind, trying to remember if he read anything on the subject.

“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall broke his concentration, “and follow me.”

Draco felt the knot in his stomach grow as the double doors in the Great Hall were thrown open and they were led into a sea of students. All eyes were on them. His breath became spastic, barely able to draw in fully, as he strode between two of the large tables. He looked to the golden plates on the tables, light flickering from the floating candles above. A long table sat on a podium, full of teachers. Remembering what he had read, he darted a quick glance to the enchanted ceiling. “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History .” Draco heard the snooty whisper of the girl, as if she was pulling his thoughts from his own mind.

The other students murmured and waved to some of the first years, but everyone turned silently at the sound of wood on stone. Professor McGonagall set down a wooden stool and a raggedy old hat. It began to wiggle and move, then a mouth formed – and to everyone’s shock, it began to sing.

Draco listened as the hat listed off all the traits of each House. Surprisingly, he felt a connection with Hufflepuff. He was loyal, just, and true. And Merlin knows, he deals with enough toil being best mates with Theo that he was pretty unafraid of it by now.

“So we’ve just got to try on the hat!” Draco heard Weasley whispering to Potter a few students ahead of him in line. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.” Draco laughed silently. He didn’t know who this Fred was, but he liked him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

Abbott. Draco knew that name. His father made him study the Pure-Blood Directory until it was practically memorized. She is Sacred Twenty-Eight but he didn’t remember her being at – “HUFFLEPUFF!” Oh, that’s why. 

Another Hufflepuff and then two Ravenclaws were sorted. Draco watched Mandy Brocklehurst make her way to her House table when he felt Theo cut in line to whisper in his ear. “That Bowtruckle girl’s quite fit, don’cha fhink. Much be’er on the eyes than Millicent. Merlin’s tits,” Bolstrode was sorted into Slytherin. Unlike the other Houses, the Slytherin table remained composed, opting for a polite clap and tip of the chin. “Great! If we get sorted into Slytherin, we’re gonna be stuck with the limp wands of the lot. I bet there won’t be a single party in our common room. Ugh, this is absolute bollocks!” 

Draco stopped listening as the bushy haired girl was called to the front. Hermione Granger . With the same enthusiasm she had shown since they arrived at the school, she ran to the stool and yanked the hat eagerly onto her head. Draco couldn't help but giggle. Her excitement was contagious. It was nice to remember that they were witches and wizards going to magic school. His mother would be proud of him. He was being a normal boy. Not Lord and Lady Malfoy’s only son and heir to the Noble Houses of Black and Malfoy. No expectations of greatness or elitism. Just Draco. And Just Draco felt like giggling over a silly girl being overly excited about a Sorting Ceremony. 

She was sorted into Gryffindor. Good for her.

The giggle was gone and a sneer spread across Draco’s face as he leaned out of line to gape at Weasley. He had groaned. He had actually groaned at her being sorted. Was he taught any manners at all? If he didn’t know any better (again, he had the Directory memorized) Draco could have sworn Weasley was a muggleborn. He dressed like one, and from what little he has seen, he acts like one. Gods, who audibly groans over a complete stranger getting sorted into a House? 

Longbottom tripped on his own feet on his way to the stool. Still seething over Weasley’s barbaric behavior, Draco elbowed Theo to stop laughing. They would not lower themselves to such filth. His father asked him to look after Theo. Social decorum fell under that scope. He glared at Pansy as she giggled when Longbottom ran to the Gryffindor table with the hat still on his head. He wouldn’t elbow her, but he knew the House Elf glare would do the trick.

Before he knew it, Draco was being called up. Taking a deep breath, and straightening his mask of aristocratic superiority, he sauntered – swaggered? – forward, doing his best impression of Lucius Malfoy. Slytherin. Slytherin. Slytherin. It was the only terms his father had when letting him attend Hogwarts. It was his mother’s House. His father’s. He came from a very long, proud family of Slytherins. He would not break that.

His mantra grew louder the closer he got. Placing the hat on his head, still chanting, he heard a voice, “You are absolutely right. Let’s put you in SLYTHERIN!” Draco crossed the room, avoiding eye contact as best he could, holding his head high. He slid onto the bench between Crabbe and Goyle, letting out the air he was holding, and smiled. He shot a quick look across the Great Hall. Granger was sitting by herself.

Theo and Pansy joined him not long after he was sorted, squeezing in across from him by Daphne Greengrass and Andrew Montegue. 

“Potter, Harry!”

As Potter stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out all over the hall. Draco rolled his eyes.

“ Potter , did she say?”

“ The Harry Potter?”

Draco watched as Potter sat on the stool and the hat rested on his head, his glasses the only thing keeping his face from being completely covered. The thought of him being sorted into Slytherin crossed Draco’s mind. This could be his chance to try and make friends. A third first impression. 

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Well, there went Draco’s chances of redemption. Their first meeting at Madam Malkin’s was an absolute joke. His second was him insulting Potter’s new mate. And now they were in the same house and Draco was on the other side of the Great Hall with no chance to bridge that gap. Draco watched Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, someone he has thought about meeting his entire life, take off the sorting hat and walk to the Gryffindor table. Draco hung his head and sighed.

Hearing the Weasley twins yell, ‘We got Potter! We got Potter!’ pulled Draco out of his slump. Draco felt his ears begin to heat and his heart pound. They can have him. Draco was going to find a way to come back from this. He was Draco Malfoy, Heir of House Malfoy, and loved by his friends and family. He is funny, intelligent, and kind. He was going to be top of his class. Next year, he will be the greatest Quidditch player of his year. What did Potter have? A scar? Dead parents? That one time he might have defeated the greatest wizard after Albus Dumbledore? Potter was nothing. So what if Gryffindor had Potter. Slytherin had him!

Draco took a moment to look at the Professors at the High Table. The Gamekeeper, Hagrid, sat farthest from him, already drinking deeply from his goblet. Uncle Sev was closer to the Slytherin table, looking as bored as always. Draco caught his godfather’s eye, and when he got a nod and a wink, he knew he was right. Everything was going to be great.

 It warmed Draco’s heart to recognize most of the professors at the table. They were at the Start of Term Ball his mother threw. Another edge he had over Potter. Networking. He already had rapport – a word his father used, but Draco only half understood – with them. He would stand out. An easy shoe in for the top of the class. There was only one professor he didn’t recognize. A pale young man with a purple turban balanced on his head. 

A flash of red caught Draco’s attention moving towards the stool. It was Weasley’s turn to be sorted. The hat barely had time to touch the crown of his head before the booming voice rang through the Great Hall.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Potter clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him. The groan that slipped from him quickly morphed into a chuckle. If Weasley was even half as annoyed with Granger as Draco was with him, his earlier reaction to her sorting was justified. Draco truly could not stand Weasley. 

“Zabini, Blaise.”

“SLYTHERIN!”

Draco politely clapped with the rest of his House as his friend was sorted. Blaise quickly walked over to the Slytherin table, sliding in between Daphne and Montegue, looking down his nose sideways at the guy.

“Gods, I hate being last! Everyone staring at you. I’d rather be tortured, if I’m being honest.” Blaise flapped his elbow a bit, urging Montegue to scoot further away from their group. He got the hint and turned to the older students to his left, chumming it up to gain favor. 

Draco knew of Montegue and his family. The Montegue’s were minted at one point, but a few bad business deals, and Darius Monegue, Andrew’s father, lost it all. Father says that was the price you pay for trying to make deals with Muggles. Draco thinks it might have been all the seedy parties he heard his mother talking about with Mrs Parkinson that did it. Either way, the Montegue’s had fallen from grace and would do anything to get back in favor with Society. Hence why he is trying – and failing – to cuddle up to Draco’s inner circle.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

“Welcome!” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Oddment! Tweak!

“Thank you!”

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Draco decided that his father was absolutely correct. Albus Dumbledore was a complete nutter.

With a wave of the headmaster’s hand, the golden serving trays scattered on every table filled with the most auromatic and mouthwatering dishes. Draco piled his plate high with lamb chops, roasted potatoes, carrots, and gravy.

“Alright, you two. Spill!” Pansy, now eating her meal with delicate enthusiasm, said between bites.

Draco didn’t have to ask what she meant. He knew she was talking about their quick exchange of looks on the train when Blaise brought up the break in at Gringotts. Draco assesses the table. Blaise and Daphne were in a heated discussion about astronomy. Montegue had joined Marcus Flint and some of the older students, talking about Quidditch. The Bloody Baron was sitting right next to Draco, who wasn’t too pleased with the seating arrangement, pushing Goyle away from the group to avoid touching the ghost. And Crabbe was gracelessly shoveling food into his mouth. They were free to speak.

But before Draco could fill Pansy in on the events of the summer, Theo clapped his hands and took the reins of the conversation, “Alright, here’s the brass tacks. We were ducking in his father’s office, yeah, and ‘eard my old man convinced Draco’s here to play a couple of tea leaves with some Barney rubbles and ‘alf-inch somefhing from Gringotts. Draco thinks it was some Tomfoolery, but I think it was bread and honey they was after. Wewl, the whole thing went tits up and they ‘ad to make a scarper to the rub-a-dub. The ducks and geese were at Nott Manor a few days back, askin’ questions.”

Draco let out a genuine laugh at the sight of Pansy’s mouth hanging in her lap. Blinking and shaking her head, she was composed enough to turn and face the git, “Have you been confunded? That wasn’t even English, Theo!”

“She’s right, mate. I haven’t the faintest idea what you just said, and I was there the whole time.” Draco wiped the tears from his eyes. Leave it to Theo to make a fool of himself and lighten a mood.

“Oh, do me a favor! I was usin’ code to keep everyone out our business, yeah.”

“Where did you even learn this code?’ Pansy spat out, clearly distracted by Theo enough to forget the original topic.

“I go wifh my father to ‘is office most days. It’s in a seedier part of London. Wewl, ‘e lets me wonder around most days, thinkin’ I”m off in Diagon Alley. But, really, I’m off in Muckle London. The way I hear it, these Muckles used this code to keep their coppers from knowin’ what they were doin’. I picked it up, thinkin’ it’d be useful one day, and ‘ere we are! I fiwled you in and it was pretty useful, innit?”

“You’re a right git,” Draco turned to Pansy and leaned in closer. “Our fathers are the ones that broke in. They didn’t find anything, from what I hear. But, my father thinks that Dumbledore is behind it. He was furious at the Start of Term Ball at the manor. I heard him talking with Uncle Sev about Dumbledore at the ball acting smug about something. I know it had to do with the vault they broke into. Which means that Uncle Sev is roped into this mess as well.”

“See, Theo? Was that so hard?”

Theo pushed around the peas on his plate, “No. But, it isn’t as fun, innit?” Draco and Pansy laughed loudly. His head snapped up from his plate, red splotches coming over his collar and dotting his cheeks. “Laugh all you want! Bet your bottom, there wiwl come a day you’wl need it and you lot wiwl be thankin’ me!”

After some time, the plates switched from trays of roast beef and boiled potatoes, to a variety of never ending desserts. Crabbe and Goyle filled their bowls with ice cream and treacle tarts. Draco served himself a large helping of apple pie, his favorite.

Draco took advantage of the lull in conversation to look around the Great Hall. Students were chatting with their House mates. He glanced quickly at the bushy haired girl at the Gryffindor table. She sat close to Potter, talking with an older red headed by, most likely another Weasley, waving her hands animatedly as they talked. Draco couldn’t hear their conversation from across the hall, but he liked to think he could guess the topic of their discussion. Anyone that spent five seconds with Granger knew that she loved any form of studies. She was a swot. No doubt about that. While the other students filled their plates with different sweet treats, Draco noticed that Granger refrained. Opting instead for a cup of tea. He watched her hands slow momentarily to grip the teapot in her delicate fingers, pouring water into the teacup. She gently stirred her tea, and let it steep.

Drawing his eyes away from the girl, Draco scanned the High Table again. Snape was deep in conversation with the professor in the turban. Professor Turban was clearly rambling, Draco could tell from the stiff posture of his godfather. Uncle Sev despised ramblers. Curiosity couldn’t be helped. Draco didn’t like being out of the know, especially when it came to people he might have to speak with himself.

“Who’s that talking with Uncle Sev?” Draco had leaned over slightly to whisper to Pansy and Theo.

Pansy peaked at the table and quickly returned her eyes to her eclair, “That’s Donovan Quirrel. Strange little man. He came to the estate a few weeks past to speak with my father.” Pausing to take a bite, she dabbed at her lips daintily before continuing. “The elves were saying he had come to ask my father for patronage. Something about a trip to Romania. Supposedly, he needed to return but required funding. He had heard tale of something hidden in a cave out in the country for almost ten years. Something important to elite wizarding society.”

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet again. He was an odd looking old man. His eyes twinkled with mischief, leaving Draco feeling uneasy, as if he was being watched. The Great Hall quieted as the headmaster prepared to address the Students.

“Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

“First years should know that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”

Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

Draco couldn’t deny being upset at this announcement. Most of his summer was spent studying the Forbidden Forest and all the flora and fauna living within the dense trees. He wasn’t too surprised that the Forbidden Forest was, in fact, forbidden. But, he was looking forward to the possibility of exploring it.

Professor Dumbledore continued with his list of announcements. Draco decided that most of it was irrelevant to him and left him free to look around the Great Hall.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

It was instantaneous. Draco watched as Potter tensed up and laughed at something Dumbledore said, right as Theo kicked his shin under the table.

“Oi! What was that for, you twat?”

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. Theo used the ruckus of everyone singing to cover the conversation.

“Third floor’s restricted. Flint says it's odd. Ask me, I think that’s got somefhing to do wifh the half-inched Tomfoolery.”

“Come off it with that code word business, mate. We are not making that a thing!” But, this had Draco thinking. Maybe he would find a way to ask his father about it. Might even use his own code in his letter to keep from tipping off mother.

Theo tsked, “Buck all you want, but mark my words, mate. One of these days it's gonna come in ‘andy and you’re gonna be glad we ‘ave a code.”

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest. Draco couldn’t help but genuinely smile at their antics.

“Ah, music,” Dumbledore said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here. And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

Draco followed the throng of Slytherins, led by their Prefect, out the Great Hall and down towards the dungeons. Theo complained the whole way. They had overheard a group of Ravenclaws talking about their start of term House party. Draco and Pansy shared a look at his bickering, upset that they were sorted into the ‘fuddy duddies’ of the school and they were missing out on all the wicked good times because of it.

They came to a dead end down a long, cold corridor. The light coming from the lanterns on the wall were dim and flickering, turning the dark stone walls into onyx. The Prefect muttered the password, and the stones melted away, leaving a shimmering wall that they filed through.

Draco knew the Slytherin dorms were located under the Black Lake. What he didn’t know was the vast size. A large, ornate fireplace roared in the far corner, warming the dungeon common room to the perfect temperature. Not too hot, like the rest of the school felt, but warm enough to feel comfortable. The moonlight that broke through the lake made the windows glow emerald green, swirling with the movement of the water.

Several sitting areas littered the room, with desks for studying butted against each other near a floor to ceiling bookcase. Silver chandeliers hung from the cavernous ceiling, and deep emerald curtains draped down the walls. It was cozy, but still regal. Something his mother would design if she was forced to decorate in the darker tones of her family.

Once all the students were through the entryway, the Prefect turned around and said, “Welcome back, you wankers!” A loud cheer bounced off the dungeon walls. The first years looked around, shocked. This was not the welcome they received in the Great Hall.

“First years, you will have one hour to mingle and then off to bed with you. Fifth year and down, two hours. Welcome to Slytherin. Here’s to another banger year!” And with that, the Prefect waved his wand in an elegant flourish.

A strange, mechanical music erupted throughout the room. The sitting areas were rearranged to one side, creating an opening space in the floor. And the desks jumped to the wall of windows, dishes appearing. With a few taps of his wand against his open palm, the multi-tiered trays, serving dishes, and the many punch bowls were filled to the brim with refreshments. Draco tried to remember to ask for that spell after the shock wore off.

Robes were shed, ties were loosened. Everyone rushed to the makeshift dance floor and began bouncing and swaying to the odd, mechanical music. Draco and his friends shared a glance of awe and confusion. Only Theo seemed excited about this strange turn of events. He quickly stripped off his robes and made his way to the center of the crowd.

Crabbe and Goyle followed Draco to the refreshment table to get some punch. They stood towering over Draco as he watched the rest of his friends join Theo, laughing at how foolish they all looked. No one could figure out this strange music.

After a few minutes, the volume lowered and the lights calmed. Draco saw him instantly. Uncle Sev – no, this was Professor Snape – stood by the entrance, arms folded elegantly over his chest, thumbs tucked neatly into the crook of his elbows.

“Theodore!” 

The crowd parted and Draco got a perfect view of his best friend. Frozen with his arms stretched high, he had somehow acquired a whistle that sat on his lips like he was blowing it to the beat of the music. He had discarded his button up at some point, leaving him in nothing but his tie and trousers. He looked like a deer caught in the wand light.

Professor Snape slowly extended one of his hands, palm up, “Whistle.”

Head hung low, Theo removed the whistle and walked over to their godfather, depositing the thing in the outstretched hand.

“Very good. Now,” Snape closed his hand and returned it to his chest. “I’d like to officially welcome our new House members. It is a great honor to be in Slytherin, and I know you will all make us proud.

“Inside of these walls, you are free to be yourself. I expect nothing but perfect behavior throughout the school and in your classrooms. But here, your parents will not know what goes on unless absolutely necessary. There will be no stealing, bullying, or disrespect towards your fellow housemates. If such instances do occur, you will come to me immediately and I will deal with it swiftly.

“You will come to learn that Slytherin House is not well respected by your fellow students. That is not an excuse to retaliate or lower yourselves from the high standards I have set for you. And never forget, my door is always open to you.” Snape paused, looking at the faces of all the students.

“If there is anything you need, or questions, please do not hesitate to speak with your Prefects. That is why they are here. Otherwise, welcome home. Here’s to another excellent year!” and with that, the strobing lights resumed their pace and the music returned to its full volume. The party was back on more rambunctious than before.

Snape locked eyes with Draco, face softening briefly. And with a single nod, he turned and left the Common Room

~

After their allotted hour, Draco, Theo, and Blaise made their way to their dormitory. Dark wooden floors, magicked to stay warm on your bare feet. Three bedrooms set and three desks lined the walls in a circle, with a door towards the back leading to their ensuite bathroom. Draco chose the bed next to the large bay window that looked out into the lake. It was closer to the surface than the common room. He could tell because the light of the moon shone brighter, turning the color of green apples rather than sparkling emeralds.

Draco decided to write a quick letter to his parents. He told them about the sorting and the strange professor that wasn’t at the ball. He told them about Potter and Weasley on the train. And before he knew it, he was telling them about the bushy haired girl that was sorted into Gryffindor and his curiosity of her parentage. He’d never heard of the Grangers before.

Putting it off as long as he could, Draco finally climbed into his four-poster bed and closed the curtains. Theo and Blaise were already sound asleep. Thoughts of home swirled through his mind. The lake at the edge of the woods. His balcony with the smell of lilacs coming from the garden bed below. And…

“Dobby.”

A faint pop broke the quiet darkness. Draco felt the weight of the tiny elf at the foot of his bed.

“Oh, Master Draco! Dobby is so happy to see you. Are you in need of Dobby, sir?”

Draco fought back the tears threatening to fall at the sound of his house elf. With a shaky breath he whispered, “No, I only wanted to see if you really could get into the castle.”

Draco didn’t have to see the elf to know his words made him sad. He felt a slight shuffle and then, “Alright then, Master. Dobby will let you get some sleep. If you should need Dobby…”

“Dobby?”

“Yes, sir?”

Will you sit with me for a bit? Until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” the elf said softly. Draco rolled over onto his side, pulling the covers under his chin and closed his eyes. The tiny elf shuffled up the bed to sit behind his shoulders. Draco let out a deep sigh as he felt the soft pull of Dobby’s fingers through his tousled hair.

And with the comforting hum of the lullaby Dobby has been singing for eleven years, Draco found sleep.

Chapter Text

The Potions Master

“There, look.”

“Where?”

“Next to the tall kid with the red hair.”

“Wearing the glasses?”

“Did you see his face?”

“Did you see his scar?”

Draco rolled his eyes. The entire school was in a frenzy to get a peak at the Boy Who Lived. Sure, Draco was just as eager to get to know him on the train. But he couldn’t help feeling the lackluster of the whole thing. Potter was rude and made poor choices when it came to friends. 

As if summoned by his thoughts, Potter and Weasley passed him in the corridor on his way to the Great Hall. Both boys were in a daze, staring at the moving pictures and ghosts floating by. Potter’s jet black hair, frumpy and unkempt, swished as his head switched from right to left, then back again, as he took it all in. Weasley paid more attention to the attention Potter was ignoring from the other students. 

Draco had to give it to the ginger git. He knew how to attach himself to the best outcome. It was clear from the excitement in his eyes that Weasley would stick to Potter’s side for the attention he would receive by proxy. Draco couldn’t blame him. If he came from a large family, being the youngest boy, he would seek out attention wherever he could. Unlike Weasley, Draco didn’t need the attention. He had loving parents and loyal friends. He would be friends with Potter simply to learn and grow together. Weasley would use him. The one thing Draco could see in his manner that was clearly pureblood.

The mail arrived after Draco and his friends settled into their seats for breakfast that morning. Draco received a large parcel from his mother, including a letter. Dobby had taken the letter with him after Draco had fallen asleep. He hastily opened the letter first, too excited to hear her reply.

My darling dragon,

 

I am so proud of you! It is a great honor to be sorted into Slytherin House. I know you will do well. I hope you are not forgetting your promise to remember being a boy every once in a while. Mind  your professors, do your work properly, but don’t skip on a chance to be a kid. I love you, and I am proud of you no matter what.

As to your thoughts on this Granger girl, I cannot be certain. You are correct, she is not one of the sacred families. However, there was a Hector Dogworth-Granger who was a great Potioneer of his time. She could be related. Unfortunately, I do not know much about that family. I will look into it and let you know if she is the same Granger.

Regardless, my dragon, make new friends. Learn from those that live a different life than you. Your father calls it networking, and while it may serve its purpose in business, it will also serve a purpose to broaden your mind.

I’m sorry to hear that Harry Potter was the boy from Madam Malkin’s. I so hoped that you would be able to make friends with him like you wished. I know that is something you wanted more than anything. But that does not mean your chance is lost entirely. Be the charming boy I know you can be. It was only one bad encounter. You will have seven years together and countless classes. Find your chance and make your move. And if he still doesn’t like you, then he is missing out on the most loyal and kind friend he could ever possess.

Now, hold your head high and show the world what an amazing young man you are. You are Draco Malfoy, heir to House Malfoy and the Most Noble House of Black. You are kind, intelligent, thoughtful, and wonderful. Most importantly; you are loved. 

I’ve sent enough treats to hold you over at least a week. Share with your friends. Send the others my love and tell them to write as well. I look forward to hearing how all of your lessons are getting on. Your father sends his love, as well. He said he will write to you this evening. He has meetings all day with Mr Nott and their associates. Always busy.

 

Most lovingly,

 

Mother

Draco tucked the letter gently into his messenger bag. He would write back after dinner. Before digging into the package, he took a quick look across the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table. Potter and Weasley sat together eating with complete abandon. Elbows on the table. Utensils gripped barbarically in their hands. Just like their first night, Potter was stuffing himself as if he never had a proper meal in his life. Maybe that was true. Was food scarce in the Muggle world? How would he find out?

The package was full of sweets and pastries from the elves in the manor kitchen. All of their personal favorites wrapped in checkered napkins, each one labeled with a piece of parchment stuck in the tie. Draco passed the treats to his friends and found his own full of apple turnovers. 

Four more parcels were labeled full of candy his mother must have picked up at Sugar Plum’s Sweet Shop. Draco fought back the burn in his eyes as he handed out the second round of treats to his friends. She thought of them. Not just her own son. But the friends he had made in his short life who had become special to her as well. She made sure they all had a piece of home. 

Before he turned back to the package, Draco’s eyes darted up and connected with two bright green orbs staring holes into his head from across the Great Hall. Potter was watching him. And he didn’t look too happy while doing it. Draco couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face. Potter was jealous. Of him. 

The smirk on his face was quickly erased as Snape cut off his view of the Gryffindor table with his looming presence, handing out their timetables. The first year snakes feel apprehensive of how to take Professor Sev. He was much different than the mischievous godfather they all loved and adored. Professor Snape demanded respect and a separation from the students. Yes, he told them he was there for any issues last night. But that wasn’t what his face was telling them at the breakfast table in the Great Hall. 

Thanking his godfather/head of house/professor, Draco put the rest of his care package from his mother and the letter in his satchel. He would look at them after classes. The snakes ate quietly and followed the other students out of the Great Hall for their first lessons.

Draco was grateful he had studied Hogwarts; A History over the summer. He knew there were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts, doors that wouldn’t open unless you asked politely, and that it was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. All of the other first years were lost, some crying as they ran down corridors. Even some older students would get turned around and wander until they could find their classroom. Other than Draco, only Hermione Granger seemed to keep her bearings in the never ending maze that was their new home.

The first week of term flew by in a flash. They had Herbology three times a week with Professor Sprout, a short, frizzy haired woman that sported some sort of muggle bibs covered in dirt. Her dragonhide gardening gloves hung from a pocket and a witch’s hat with a large brim rested over her head to block the sun from her already rosy cheeks. Draco silently thanked his mother for forcing him and Theo to help her often in the garden. They earned their house points for their knowledge of plants and their care on the first day. 

Draco took the scenic route to the Astronomy tower on Wednesday for their midnight class to study the stars. He was determined to learn every route through the school and all of its secrets. Long walks to and from class was the perfect excuse. Defense Against the Dark Arts, the class Draco thought he would enjoy, turned out to be mostly theoretical study as Professor Turban rambled on between stuttering fits about Vampires and other creatures.

Much to Theo’s surprise, History of Magic was Draco’s favorite class. He absorbed every event and battle, taking detailed notes on Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball. He even loved that the class was taught by a ghost. It gave it a whimsy that made it that much more exciting. Granger seemed to share his sentiments. Potter, on the other hand, not only looked bored, but a bit uneasy with the ghost. 

Professor Flitwick greeted Draco at the beginning of the first lesson. They had a long discussion about inventing charms during his mother’s ball, and the tiny wizard offered Draco private lessons if he was interested during term. Draco was so flattered that the wizard remembered him, even reminding Draco of his offer, that he maintained his air of indifference when Professor Flitwick fell off his stool when he reached Potter’s name during roll call. 

Professor McGonagall, strict and clever, gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class. 

“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” she said. “Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.”

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. Draco, who had seen Dobby transform a log into a three-mast Schooner, wasn’t as impressed as the other students with her desk trick. He did, however, enjoy watching the other students ooh and aah as the pig made a lap around the classroom. Upon its return to desk form, they took out their books and prepared for the real lesson. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione a rare smile. 

But nothing shined as bright as the smile of the bushy haired girl that just received the compliment. 

Fridays quickly became Draco’s favorite day of the week. Double Potions. The dungeons were dark and cold, and felt like a Draught of Peace to his nerves. He was in his element. The Potions classroom is decorated much like the potions room in his own dungeon; jars of pickled animals floating around, sconces glowing on every wall with a candelabra at each table to help light whatever you were reading, and the only warmth coming from the many cauldrons bubbling on the tables. He took a deep, calming breath, filling his lunges with the aromas of freshly chopped ingredients. Next to the smell of a quidditch pitch, it was one of Draco’s most comforting smells.

The first years quickly filed in and took their seats at the workbenches. Theo, Pansy, and Blaise were already together at a bench towards the back of the classroom, forcing Draco to sit with Crabbe and Goyle. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the two boys. They had all known each other since they could walk. But, Draco would be lying if he said he didn’t mind the lack of stimulating conversation and overly brutish nature of the two overgrown boys. Draco felt like he had to pretend the most around them. 

Like on the train. Draco felt like things would have been handled differently if he had a buffer between his snide reaction and the escalated behavior of the ginger git. Theo would have made a joke to lighten the mood. Blaise would have used diplomacy. Pansy would have even been a better choice; complimenting the twats until they were agreeing with anything she said. But the two brainless boulders did nothing but crack their knuckles and sneer. Draco had no choice but to follow through. Crabbe and Goyle would tell their fathers if Draco had let Weasley’s disrespect slide. In turn, they would tell his father. And a Malfoy never lets disrespect slide.

“Oi, do you think Sev will let us skiv off on homework?”

Of course, Goyle would already be thinking about getting out of work. 

“Gawds, no! ‘Member the time Uncle Sev made us awl write three feet on why we don’t tewl our mofhers about learnin’ to make Babblin’ Beverage and usin’ it on Mr Yaxley?” Theo leaned in to whisper to Draco.

“And how Dobby caught us all writing in the library and confiscated the parchments, only to give them back the next day… graded?” 

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Potter’s name.

“Ah, yes,” Snape said softly, “Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity .”

“I got a T on that assignment.” Theo grumbled as he leaned back in his chair.

Draco couldn’t help joining his friends as they sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. Draco noticed the change in his godfather immediately. His eyes, normally, were like swirling onyx. The night sky on a cloudless night, with bright stars reflecting back hope and adventure. Now they were just black pits nestled on either side of his hooked nose. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking,” he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – Draco watched his godfather, fully immersed in his element, as he continued, “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic.

“I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes,” Draco found himself mouthing the words to Snape’s overly practiced speech, “the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

More silence followed this little speech. Draco looked around the classroom to see everyone stunned. Some even looked on the verge of wretching. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn’t a dunderhead.

“Potter!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Draco leaned over the bench on his elbows. He watched Granger’s hand shoot into the air, begging to be called on for the answer. Potter and Weasel looked at each other, at a loss for what to say. Draco darted his eyes from the two dunderheads, the swot, and the professor that is being very strange.

The basic answer is Draught of Living Death. But Draco only knew this from his extensive studies of Potions texts. This was not on the First Year Syllabus. This wouldn’t be on the Syllabus until Sixth Year. So there is no way muggle-raised Potter would know that answer. 

“I don’t know, sir.” Potter muttered.

Exactly! Draco knew it wasn’t a basic potions question. Snape was giving him a puzzle to unravel and Potter was floundering. But Draco never floundered when it came to puzzles. 

Asphodel and wormwood?  

Much like any other pureblood child, Draco received extensive tutelage throughout his childhood. He received the same lessons in history, penmanship, and etiquette. But his mother insisted – and, surprisingly, his father agreed – Draco would receive extra lessons in refinement. One of those lessons was in floriography.

Draco closed his eyes, pulling the pages from his mind of the gigantic encyclopedia he was expected to memorize. Asphodel, he vaguely remembered, symbolized peace, remembrance, and the cycle of life and death. 

Flipping through his mental pages, he found the one on Wormwood. Absence and bitter sorrow . 

His eyes snapped open to seek out his godfather. Snape was staring at the four-eyed twat, his lips curled into a sneer.

“Tut, tut – fame clearly isn’t everything.”

Ignoring the potions aspect, Draco realized that Uncle Sev was sending a message to Potter. Asphodel and Wormwood. I bitterly regret [someone’s] death. Well, Draco already knew that. They had talked before about Potter’s mother and her death. Uncle Sev felt responsible for the Potter’s demise. He would never tell him why. Always said he would tell him when he was older.

Sitting up a little taller, Draco remembered another text mentioning Asphodel and Wormwood. In Ancient Greece, Asphodel was associated with sorrow and were frequently placed on the graves of loved ones. And Wormwood was burned at the altar of the Gods for protection. On [someone’s] grave, I give protection.

“Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Draco felt a wad of parchment hit between his shoulders and bounce on the floor. Scooping it up before Snape noticed, he unfurled it to find a very accurate caricature of Potter and Weasel shaking in their seats, while Snape towered over them. His hands were on his hips, toes tapping, and his hooked nose was peaking out of his greasy black hair. Draco had to admit, Pansy was an excellent artist.

“I don’t know, sir.”

Draco shook his head. Potter was turning out to be a bigger lump than the two sitting next to him. Maybe he dodged a curse on the train. Draco wasn’t fond of having friends that needed to be mentally carried through life. Another reason why he wasn’t a fan of being dumped with the goonies as of late. He decided he would be having a little chat with Pansy and Theo about this shitty arrangement and how to get him out of it.

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming,eh, Potter?”

Snape was still ignoring Granger’s quivering hand. He was clearly targeting Potter. But why? If Draco is to believe that the first question was a hidden message – and he does – then a bezoar points to his second interpretation. Snape is offering protection. Protection from what? Did Snape believe Potter was under threat of poison?

“What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

At this, Granger stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling. But Draco couldn’t think past the words his godfather said. Wolfsbane, when paired with monkshood, represents the contrast of a complex or conflicted personality. There are three plants, all with the same qualities, but those two specific ones, again show protection. He could have said Aconite. But he said Monkswood. He is doing this on purpose. 

“I don’t know,” Potter said quietly. “I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her?”

A few people laughed. Snape, however, was not pleased. Uh, oh. Now he’s gone and done it.

“Sit down,” he snapped at Granger. “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death.” Knew it! “A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?”

All of the Slytherin First Years knew this was not the time to muck about. Snape could be the master of mischief at times, but he also taught them there was a time and a place. His class clearly wasn’t it. Over the noise, Snape said, “And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter.”

Theo moved up to work with Draco on the simple cure. They have been making this potion since they were five. But it was nice having someone to chat with while they worked. Snape swept around in his long black cloak, criticizing almost everyone except Draco, which seemed to bother Dunderhead One. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Draco had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Longbottom had somehow managed to melt another Gryffindor’s cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people’s shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Longbottom, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

“Idiot boy!” snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Longbottom whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose. Draco felt sorry for the pudgy boy. He knew first hand the pain of a potions mishap. But the real question was where were Potter and Weasel? They are supposed to be watching out for each other. Draco couldn’t fathom why Weasley sat there and let that happen to their housemate. He was a pureblood and knew how dangerous potions can be. Clearly, his parents couldn’t be bothered to ensure he was safe around his fellow students before sending him off to school. But, after watching him twice now demolish a plate of food like an Erumpent at a trough, Draco didn’t expect much from Dunderhead Two.

“Take him up to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at the other Gryffindor. Then he rounded on Potter and Weasel, who had been working next to Neville.

“You – Potter – why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor.”

Draco watched Potter’s ears turn red and fury light his eyes. He was upset that Snape expected him to look out for Longbottom. And, Snape was correct. Maybe his father’s friends were correct. Muggles are barbaric. Did they not teach their children to help others? Watch out for each other? He had told Potter that he didn’t think muggleborns were safe in wizarding school. This accident was proof he was correct. While Potter is technically a half-blood, he was raised muggle. He was muggleborn in Draco’s book, and he didn’t belong here. He was unsafe.

~

After Draco’s final class of the day, Herbology, he found himself in the dungeons again, knocking at Uncle Sev’s office door.

“Come in.”

Draco chuckled softly before swinging the heavy wooden door open to reveal the professor slouched in his chair, reading a large tome. He was back to his normal, composed self.

“Professor Snape.”

The man looked up from his tome to see Draco standing in the doorway, “Mr Malfoy.”

The silence was deafening. Eyes locked. Waiting for the other to say something.

A large, Cheshire  grin spread across Snape’s face, softening his features and lighting up his eyes. They both broke into laughter.

“I’m glad you stopped by, Draco. Gives me an excuse for a break. Tea?”

“Yes, please.” Draco took a seat on the worn down settee by the fireplace while Snape set the kettle to boil and prepared their tea. With a final flick of his wand, the tray floated across the room and settled on the table beside them.

“Now, tell me. How was your first week? Enjoying your classes?”

Taking a delicate sip and placing his cup on its saucer, Draco settled in to give his report, “I love it here! I love my classes. We worked on turning a matchstick into a needle – and did you know that Emeric the Evil was believed to have possessed the Elder Wand from that folktale? – herbology is fun. Mostly playing in dirt but I guess I’m good at it because of mum – and we are learning how to levitate things in a few weeks – Professor Flitwick said he would be giving me private lessons if I wanted – I might take him up on that. I really like charms – and I want to learn how to make some on my own.

“You think father would let me become a Charms Master? Or even a Potions Master? That can’t be too undignified for a Malfoy, right? – I wouldn’t teach or anything, I know that won’t be acceptable – but I could open an apothecary that someone else could man, while I make all of the potions to sell – or I could open some other business and help create things with my Charms Mastery – but I still want to play Quidditch professionally – are you sure you can’t find a way to let me fly? You could sneak into the Manor and get my broom – does the school have brooms? – Maybe I could use one of those and fly – a shotty broom ride is better than none at all.”

Draco finally paused to take a breath. Uncle Sev quirked an eyebrow and grinned over the rim of his teacup. The famous info dump, he likes to call them. Draco never got to do this with his parents. They listened, and he was able to speak freely with them. But, he never felt like he could unleash his mind and run free. A Malfoy is always eloquently spoken with calm and grace.

But Draco’s mind never felt calm and graceful.

“And that Potter is a right wanker, isn’t he? He fell asleep in History of Magic – then he almost knocked over a Devil’s Snare in Herbology – and he’s always glaring at me – I don’t even know him and he acts like I am his arch nemesis – it was really stupid of him to let Longbottom melt that cauldron today – that reminds me, is Longbottom Ok?”

“He has made a full recovery. Only thing damaged now is his pride. Longbottom will be released from the infirmary before dinner tonight.”

“That’s good – I remember when Goyle had that explosion – even Crabbe knew to pull him away before it went up in his face – further proof that muggleborns shouldn’t be here.”

Snape’s eyebrows drew together, “What makes you say that?”

Draco took a sip of his tea, collecting his thoughts. Oolong without milk or sugar. It was his godfather’s favorite. Normally it is taken without milk or sugar, and Draco had grown accustomed to the taste. But Uncle Sev knew that he secretly liked two lumps of sugar in his tea.

“Anyone raised in even a halfway respectable wizarding home would know brewing safety basics. Weasley’s excuse is clearly poor parenting, but Potter… he doesn’t know better. It was unfair of you to yell at him like that. But it was also the right thing to do. He needs to learn that brewing is not to be taken lightly. If we were brewing, I don’t know, say Draught of Living Death… then Longbottom would be dead. And it would be Potter and Weasley’s fault.

“I know he was raised by his muggle aunt. So he is basically no different than a muggleborn. They shouldn’t be allowed to attend with wizarding children.”

Snape nodded his head in understanding. “I see. And what excuse do you make for Longbottom? He is pureblood and raised by his grandmother that follows the same practices of education as your parents. I remember Neville’s parents from school. Bright witch and wizard. Frank Longbottom was top of his class and received every extra education you received before arriving here. Neville received the same. Why did he blow up a cauldron?”

“Honestly?”

“I expect nothing less.”

Draco looked down at his folded hands, “You made him nervous with all of that billowing, breathing-down-their-necks thing you like to do. Us snakes are used to it. But I can imagine that would be scary to an outsider. And then you yelled at him and called him an idiot. You gave the poor lad anxiety."

The tiny office was filled with the sound of Snape’s genuine laughter. Draco took a moment to look around the room. It was cozy, and reminded him of Uncle Sev’s family home in Spinner’s End. The desk was piled high with books and parchment. Every wall was lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves, filled to bursting. An old, faded rug covered the stone floors, giving a holey feel. And then he saw it.

“Um… Uncle Sev. What is that?” Draco pointed to the mounted head of a giant stag. The antlers protruded far out into the room, scraping against the ceiling.

“Wishful thinking.” Draco looked from the glassy eyes of the stag to the dreamy ones of the man sipping his tea without a care in the world. 

“I don’t say this very often,” Draco startled. How long had they been staring at the stag? “but I don’t agree with you. Muggleborns make a lovely addition to the school. They bring a perspective you don’t see in the wizarding world. They have history, culture, and even a sense of humor that livens up this old, stale world. You will see.”

Uncle Sev adjusted himself on the couch, facing Draco fully, with his arm thrown over the back of the settee, "Seriously, though, Draco. How have you been this last week? Have you been having any of your attacks? I know this change might be unsettling for you. That's perfectly normal."

Draco began tapping his fingers. "Well, I didn't think about it before. But now that you mention it." Draco told his godfather about his first night and the attack he almost had before calling Dobby to his room. He explained how the elf helped him sleep every night there after. But during the day, he couldn't call his house elf to the school to rub his back and sing to him. Draco had fallen back into tapping his fingers as a way to cope. His mother's method weren't helping like they did in the Manor.

"I see. Your mother is a brilliant witch and it is a good practice. It's grounding yourself in the present." Snape got up from the settee and crossed over to the bookcase on the far wall. Running his finger down the spins of the books, stopping a few times as if debating whether he had found what he was looking for or not. He finally stopped on an old moss green spine.

"Your problem, Draco, is you have a warring mind. Your thoughts are racing all over the place and fighting for which one you should focus on at the moment. Add that to the normal stressors of the day, and being a growing preteen boy, and you are moments away from being the cauldron on the verge of exploding yourself." Snape handed him the book. "Read chapter seven first. It talks about clearing your mind to make a tidy space for your thoughts. Do that every night before bed and you will wake up feeling more relaxed and focused during the day. Add this with your mother's grounding methods and you will be unstoppable."

Draco glanced at the book, Guide to Beginner's Occlumency by Maxwell Barnett. Draco had heard his father talk about Occlumency before. But he had no idea how this would help with his attacks.

As if reading his mind, Snape continued, "It's not the Occlumency that I want you to focus on. You are free to look through the entire text if you like. I know your love of knowledge. What I want you to focus on is the beginning steps to clear your mind and prepare for Occlumency. While I love your info dumps, I know you struggle to keep others from seeing that side of you. This will help you organize and calm your mind. Take away the feeling of multiple answers warring for dominance. Try it for a week, and then you can tell me your thoughts next Friday."

Draco looked to the man standing before him. Their time was up. While Draco originally wanted to talk to him about the scene with Potter and the hidden message, he decided that conversation would be best on a later day. Maybe when he was older, like Uncle Sev always told him. Maybe when Draco learned to clear his mind and can form a complete thought.

Chapter Text

The Midnight Duel

My Dearest Mother,

I hope this letter finds you and father well. And thank you for the package. As expected, Theo has eaten all of his cauldron cakes and is currently trying to hatch a plan to sneak into the girls’ dormitory and steal Pansy’s. He hasn’t made it past the stairs.

I appreciate the book on marathon running you sent in your last package. I have read it entirely and have found running to be a great consolation to flying. I assume that was your purpose for sending a muggle book. It is not the same, but if I push as fast as I can, the wind does blow through my hair and it feels like a nice jaunt around the lake. Needless to say, I have researched several charms that I will need help placing around the pitch over the Christmas hols. I plan to fly from sun up to sun down to make up for lost time. This is truly torture!

You and father will be happy to hear that I am at the top of my class. Well, if you don’t count Granger, which we do not in Slytherin. Her name is struck from the grades notice on the common room bulletin board. I’m only trailing behind her by one or two points in every class – half a point in Potions, which I’ve already been told by Uncle Sev that I need to work harder instead of trying to bribe him for a one point leniency. I was shocked to learn that she was muggleborn. I only learn about her parentage a few days past when one of the Ravenclaws were complaining about her being sorted to Gryffindor. They said her confidence in her knowledge as a muggleborn was the only reason she was sorted with the dorks. I’m inclined to agree with them. 

She’s very poised for being raised by muggles. She has table manners like an elite pureblood. She has more knowledge of the wizarding world and magical theory than even some of the professors. Yesterday she corrected Professor Quirrell about Vampire migration patterns. It got a laugh and some points, but you could tell Quirrell was more nervous than normal. Watching her in class or the Great Hall with her House mates, you would think she was Sacred 28 and Weasley was the muggleborn. Even Potter, who was also raised by muggles, shies in comparison to her manners and work ethic. 

I’ve met a few other muggleborns while here. They are not as educated or refined as Granger. Makes me wonder about her parents. Is there a hierarchy in muggle cultures much like in our wizarding world? Could she be a member of her own Sacred 28? Needless to say, she is a strange creature. Nothing like father and his friends describe muggles at all.

Enough ramblings for now. I miss you terribly, and look forward to Christmas at home. Please save me some time in our busy schedule for flying. Maybe that can be my Christmas Present from you and father?

Your ever loving and devoted son,

Draco

Draco was impressed with how put together his letter seemed. Not like the last six he had sent home with scattered thoughts and unfinished sentences. It had been only two days of meditation since Uncle Sev gave him the beginners Occlumency book and it has truly helped clear his mind. He could only think of two clear moments of anxiety over the last 72 hours; when the grades were posted and he watched an older student erase Hermione Granger from the top spot, and when he arrived early to History of Magic to find her the only other student in the class.

Thankfully, she hadn’t looked up from her revisions to notice him, and he was able to slink to the other end of the class without being engaged in awkward pleasantries. The silence was calming. Ten minutes went by before the rest of the class filed in, breaking the bubble that had built around the top two students of their class. 

My Son,

I was pleased to hear that you are the top of your class. A few more points and you will have the place you deserve. I expect to hear an improvement in your scores by next week. There is no reason you should be second to a muggleborn, and a girl.

I took the liberty of looking into a few things you mentioned in your previous letter to your mother and myself. Your suspicions were correct, there is a very interesting connection to your newly appointed Defense professor and the events of this summer. We can talk further on the subject when you are home. But I will advise you to keep your head down and ears open. A Malfoy is always on guard. 

Since your last letter, your mother has already hired twenty charms specialists and groundskeepers, along with four more quidditch pitch specialists, to redesign your pitch. By Christmas you will be able to fly to your hearts content without feeling the effects of the weather. So, please, exert whatever energy you are putting into studying winter flying charms, and distribute them into your studies. That would serve you better.

Your mother has included your weekly care package. You will find extra cauldron cakes for Theo, with the express warning of staying out of the girls’ dormitory. Keep out of trouble and mind your manners. Tempting as it may to lower yourself to the common antics of your fellow classmates, you are still a Malfoy. Set the precedence. 

Your loving parents,

Lucius & Narcissa Malfoy

P.S. Please inform Theodore that I have spoken with his father, and he has agreed to allow him to intern with me over the summer hols as a means to ‘broaden his opportunities and connections with the Elite Wizarding World.’ It will be a good start to pay back your ‘antics’ in my office.

Draco chuckled at his father’s creative punishment for breaking into his office. It was safe to assume he would be joining Theo on this quest to broaden his horizons. The package, again, was filled with pastries wrapped in cloth for each of his friends. He found his apple tarts connected to another book wrapped in parchment. Theravada Meditation: The Buddhist Transformation of Yoga by Winston L. King . The title left the impression of some form of dark magic. Why would his mother be encouraging such things? Draco stored the book in his satchel to look over after classes. Maybe it had something to do with the Occlumency book his godfather had shared with him.

“Your mother is trying to kill me.” Pansy was licking her fingers daintily as she stowed away her cauldron cakes. “Not that I’m complaining. Death by treats is a perfect way to go.”

Theo reached over the table to try and snag one of her cakes, “I don’t think it’wl kiwl us. But, we’wl def’nitely ‘ave a time gettin’ our brooms up on Thursday, now.”

“What’s all this?” Draco looked up from his letters at the mention of brooms. He was still furious First Years couldn’t bring their brooms or try out for their House’s Quidditch team. He had mashed yams thrown at him over the weekend for mentioning it over dinner. Blaise claimed it was the millionth time. Draco felt like he had been modest and only complaining a hundred times since the start of term.

“Oh, you didn’t see,” Blaise piped in, a smirk curling his lips. “We are starting flying classes on Thursday. Once a week we get to go putter around on school brooms. Gods, it’s going to be like the first time Crabbe got on a broom with all the muggleborns floating about.”

“Frankly, I couldn’t give a trolls arse how we come about it. I want to fly.” Draco was settling into his breakfast. “Do you remember that time we snuck off the manor grounds to explore Wiltshire? I thought Dobby was going to hang us all by our toes in the dungeons.”

“Merlin, yes! What was that contraption called? Like a metal dragon chasing us until we could get back through the wards?” Blaise was laughing at the memory.

“A helicopter.” Draco chimed in. He could feel the excitement buzzing. “We made it through the town undetected until that blasted thing showed up. Mother said it wasn’t chasing us, heading to a hospital, or some rubbish. But I would bet my entire inheritance it was hot on our tails. I miss it.”

The week carried on with much of the same musings. The Slytherin First Years, along with other Firsties throughout the school, prattled on about their experiences flying and some run in or another with muggles. Draco felt most students were exaggerating. But a Malfoy never corrects in public.

Draco noticed Granger in the library on Wednesday, books on Quidditch and flying stacked higher than her hair, clearly looking for anything to help her with tomorrow’s lesson. He thought about talking to her. Asking if muggles had anything like brooms that children played with. Maybe tell her some of the tricks his father had taught him when he was a boy. But, Theo and Pansy were sitting at a table not far away and would see him go to her. Draco didn’t want the scathing letter from his father about improving his associations. It was bad enough she was besting him in his classes. He didn’t need rumors spread that he was making friends with muggleborns as well. 

It hadn’t stopped him from watching her the next morning during the arrival of the post, animatedly lecturing Longbottom (and anyone who would listen) of everything she had learned in her books. It was only because of this observation, Draco saw Potter receive his first letter of the term. Were his muggle relatives writing him? Did he connect with his wizarding family after learning of his lineage? Draco suddenly realized he didn’t know if Potter had any wizarding family left. Maybe his mother would know.

As Draco, with his ever present walking bludgers, began to leave the Great Hall, a barn owl brought Longbottom a small package. He opened it excitedly and showed his housemates a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

“It’s a Rememberall!” he explained as Draco came into earshot. “Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there’s something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh…” His face fell, because the Rememberall had suddenly glowed scarlet, “... you’ve forgotten something…”

Longbottom was trying to remember what he’d forgotten when Draco, who was only thinking about seeing a Rememberall up close, reached out and took the glass orb out of his hand.

Potter and the Weasel jumped to their feet. They couldn’t hide their desire for a reason to fight, but Professor McGonagall, the nosey old witch that she is when it comes to inter-house student interactions, was there in a flash.

“What’s going on?”

“Malfoy’s got my Rememberall, Professor.”

Scowling, Draco quickly dropped the Rememberall back on the table. He only wanted a look. Thinking back, he could have asked to see it first, instead of snatching it out of his hands. His mother always did remind him it was polite to ask before taking other people’s things. But, Draco was so used to his friends openly sharing everything they owned, he didn’t think it was necessary. Yes, they complained from time to time, but it was just to take the piss out of each other. Not because they were truly mad. 

“Just looking,” he said, and he lowered his head and walked away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

At two-fifteen that afternoon, the Slytherin first years made their way down the front steps onto the grounds. It was a clear, breezy day, perfect for flying. Draco passed the time waiting by watching the grass ripple across the sloping lawns on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

At two-thirty Potter, Weasel, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps for their first flying lesson. They all faltered slightly when the Slytherins came into view, standing on the lawn next to twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground.

Their teacher, madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

“Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

Draco glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. He couldn’t imagine this thing getting even a meter off the ground, or doing so without shaking, but it was better than nothing. He could already feel the excitement bubbling inside of him. He was going to feel the wooden handle of a broom in his hand once more. The wind, though he wasn’t counting on it to be anything overly exciting, would be rushing through his hair soon enough. He felt his eyes prick and his lip tremble. Flying was his true home.

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch at the front, “and say ‘Up!’”

“UP!” everyone shouted.

To Draco’s surprise, Potter’s broom jumped into his hand at once, the only one other than himself, Theo, and another Gryffindor student. Granger’s had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville’s hadn’t moved at all. Draco and Theo chuckled as Blaise struggled to get his broom to cooperate. After the third time, it zoomed into his hand, and the fun was over.

“Oh, sod off, you two!”

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Potter and Weasel seemed to be delighted when she told Draco he’d been doing it wrong for years. Little did she know, Draco was left handed and was holding his broom perfectly as such. He couldn’t help the eyeroll as he was once again having to make up for people assuming right handed dominance was the only way.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –”

But Longbottom, clearly frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch’s lips.

“Come back, boy!” she shouted, But Longbottom was shooting straight into the air like a comet, rising higher and higher without stopping. Draco watched his face as the ground became further and further away, the color drain from his face. Longbottom tip. Slide. Plummet…

A thud and a nasty crack and Longbottom lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Longbottom, her face as white as his.

“Broken wrist,” Draco heard. He was standing close to Longbottom, becoming sick with the scene. He had fallen off his broom when he was seven, but it wasn’t this bad. “Come on, boy – it’s all right, up you get.”

She turned to the rest of the class.

“None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on, dear.”

No sooner were they out of earshot than Draco burst into nervous laughter. It was either laugh or chuck his lunch.

“Did you see his face, the great lump?”

The other Slytherins joined in.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” snapped Pavarti Patil.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” said Pansy. “Never thought you’d like fat little crybabies, Pavarti.”

“Look!” said Draco, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.”

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

“Give that here, Malfoy,” said Potter quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Draco couldn’t stop the wicked smile crossing his face. So, Potter finally wanted to acknowledge him? Well, Draco wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass.

“I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find – how about – up a tree?”

“Give it here !” Potter yelled, but Draco had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. Draco felt alive for the first time since leaving the manor. The air smelled better on a broom. The world was clearer. Everything felt perfect. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, “Come and get it, Potter!”

Draco watched Potter grab his broom.

“ No !” shouted Granger. “Madam Hooch told us not to move – you’ll get us all into trouble.”

Potter ignored her. Shoving past her, he mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up he soared. Potter pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher. Draco faintly heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Weasel.

Potter turned his broomstick sharply to face him in midair. Draco couldn’t help his stunned look.

“Give it here,” Potter called, “or I’ll know you off that broom!”

“Oh, yeah?” said Draco, trying to sneer, but he was worried. How could Potter possibly be this comfortable on a broom?

Before Draco could react, Potter leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot forward like a javelin. He had only just got out of the way in time; Potter made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

“No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy.” Potter called.

Draco caught movement at the front doors of the castle. McGonagall was charging down the steps, robes billowing behind her. They were going to be caught. If he could get to the ground before she reached the other students, he might avoid punishment. That was another letter he didn’t want to receive from his father.

“Catch it if you can, then!” Draco shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Reaching the ground and landing next to his Housemates, Draco turned back just in time to see Potter pull his broom straight, and topple gently onto the grass with the Rememberall clutched safely in his fist.

“HARRY POTTER!”

Professor McGonagall was running toward them. 

“ Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –”

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, “-- how dare you – might have broken your neck –”

“It wasn’t his fault, Professor –”

“Be quiet, Miss Patil –”

“But Malfoy –”

“That’s enough , Mr Weasley. Potter, follow me, now.”

Draco watched with mild humor as Potter was escorted away from the class, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall’s wake as she strode toward the castle.

“Are ye out of your bloody mind?” Theo whisper-yelled in his ear. “Provoking Potter is not going to get you in ‘is good graces. Or keep you ou’of trouble.”

“I know! I simply got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

Madam Hooch returned shortly after Potter was trotted off. Weasel and the other Gryffindorks glared daggers when they got the chance, but Draco couldn’t be bothered. Lessons resumed and soon they were all up in the air and slowly floating around the grounds. Granger still didn’t appear comfortable. Draco couldn’t tell who was shaking worse, her or the broom as she took a turn too choppy and almost crashed into the Patil girl. She let out a terrified little scream, and Draco was mortified.

She was terrible at flying, and Draco was mortified that he was enjoying watching her fail. The great know-it-all swot of Gryffindor was finally bad at something. And it happened to be something that Draco excelled at. He was practically strutting like the albino peacocks at the manor. Then Madam Hooch praised him for his technique while maneuvering through the obstacle course, and he couldn’t be any more ecstatic. 

As Draco entered the Great Hall for dinner that evening, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, he decided last minute to take a detour to the Gryffindor table.

“Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?”

“You’re a lot braver now that you’re back on the ground and you’ve got your little friends with you," said Harry cooly. There was nothing little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack knuckles and scowl. Draco hated that Potter continued to throw them in his face. Like he needed the walking blugers to win a fight. Blood boiling, he didn’t even think before the words were tumbling out of Draco’s mouth.

“I’d take you on anytime on my own,” said Draco. “Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel. Wands only – no contact. What’s the matter? Never heard of a wizard’s duel before, I suppose?”

“Of course he has,” said Weasel, wheeling around. “I’m his second, who’s yours?”

Draco looked at Cabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

“Crabbe,” he said. “Midnight all right? We’ll meet you in the trophy room; that’s always unlocked.”

And with a final sneer, the three made their way to the Slytherin table to tuck into dinner.

~

Draco decided to explore the castle before curfew. He was meeting Crabbe in the Common Room at eleven-thirty, enough time to get to the trophy room before Potter. 

He was riddled with nerves. Stomach turning. He wiped his hands on his trousers for the millionth time as he rounded a corner on the second floor. 

The castle was quiet. Most of the students were either in their common rooms, or last minute studying in the library. It was a peace Draco hadn’t known since he left home. He loved Hogwarts. And he loved his house. But the Slytherins were nothing they portrayed throughout the school. There were parties almost every night. The older students would kick the younger ones out around eleven, and continue until the wee hours of the morning. Draco would wake to his ear drums thumping with the phantom beat of the electronic music he fell asleep to the night before. The silence of the empty corridors was like a balm to his nerves.

He didn’t need the chaos of his common room when he was gearing up for one of the most impulsive things he’s done to date.

It was the utter silence that lulled him into a calm unlike any other. That’s why Draco almost jumped out of his skin when he heard classical music coming from a classroom down, what he thought was, a deserted wing.

The closer he got, Draco realized he was hearing a single violin. The strings wept as the bow gently pulled them in a heartbreaking melody. The highpitched trill ripped a shuddering gasp from his chest. Classical music was a staple amongst Pureblood families. There was a full orchestra at every one of the balls hosted at the Malfoy Manor. But never had Draco heard something like this.

Not wanting to disturb, Draco stood outside the door of the classroom and listened. The notes washed over him, feeding him from the soul outwards. He didn’t realize he was missing the music he grew up with. That there was more than the noise of his common room left in the world. 

It was peace.

Beauty and heartache.

Whoever was playing clearly had been trained since they were a small child. He thought of the pureblood tutors he had at three and four, drilling him until his fingers ached. Maybe it was one of the purebloods of the other houses, an older student even, that enjoyed their instrument over their common room. 

Draco thought about peeking in to see who it was. He had so many questions. Who tutored them? How long had they been playing? Would they be willing to practice with him and learn a duet? What is the name of that piece?

But his nerves could only take one confrontation that night, and barging in on someone practicing was not the battle he was preparing for. 

As the song came to a close, Draco decided to move on, making note of where the room was to inspect when it wasn’t being used. He knew he had found the music classroom of Hogwarts. And he hoped it had a piano.

With a final turn around the second floor, Draco took a deep breath and made his way to the Slytherin Common Room. He couldn’t avoid it any longer. He was going to duel with Potter, whether he actually wanted to or not. Because a Malfoy never walks away from a fight. 

It was as Draco and Crabbe were making their way to the Trophy Room, door barely cracked open, that they saw Filch and his mangy familiar, Mrs Norris. The two quickly made their way to the other end of the room to hide in an alcove. 

Feeling very clever, Draco pulled an apple from his pocket that he had saved from dinner, aimed at a suit of armor at the other side of the room, and threw. 

A perfect distraction.

Filtch quickly turned in the direction of the apple.

“Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.” 

Draco watched as the caretaker and the cat walked out of the room and through the door.

“They’re in here somewhere,” they heard him mutter, “probably hiding.”

Draco snuck out of the alcove to peer through the door, hoping the noisy caretaker would go out the other side, without finding anything. But there was no such luck that night.

Draco heard a frightened squeak and the sound of someone breaking into a run – tripping feet, a scuffle, and something large toppled right into another suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

“RUN!” Draco heard Potter yell, and the group of them sprinted down the corridor, in both directions, not looking back to see whether Filch was following.

Chapter Text

Halloween

Draco couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw that Potter and the Weasel were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. They weren’t expelled. Filch didn’t catch them either. Him and Crabbe had a close call when a portrait yelled at them for running through the corridors. They were sure it would inform the caretaker of their flight. But everyone had made it out unscathed. And Draco didn’t have to duel anyone. His father would never know of his foolishness, or his failure.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thick package carried by six large screech owls. But Draco noticed the large tawny owl carrying a parcel almost as big as the owl a few seats down from the spectacle happening at the Gryffindor table. 

Granger quickly looked around to share her package with someone, but became sullen when she realized no one noticed. Draco did though. He watched her slowly pull the twine and unfold the parchment coverings. 

Books.

She smiled gently, flipped through a few pages, then set them aside to open the letter attached. From across the Great Hall, Draco saw a single tear run down her flushed cheeks. They were presents. Granger received presents from someone in the muggle world. And she had no friends to share it with. 

He watched as she pulled a single, delicate, candle from the packaging and placed it into her pancakes. She lit it with her wand, watched the flame dance for a moment. With a final smile, she blew out the flame and went on with her breakfast like nothing had happened. 

It was her birthday. Draco felt the weight of this information hit him like a Bombarda to the chest. He couldn’t imagine not having his family or friends surrounding him for his birthday. How lonely she must feel. Surely someone in her House noticed. Someone other than Draco must be paying attention to the muggleborn with bushy hair, crying into her pancakes. 

But everyone was still watching Potter and the half dozen owls deliver the oversized package. Draco watched Potter and Weasel open a letter, delivered by a solitary owl, and pack everything and scurry from the table. Quickly getting the attention of Crabbe and Goyle, Draco ran from the Great Hall. He was going to confront the two halfwits about loyalty to housemates and taking care of their own. There was no reason a Slytherin should be noticing a crying Gryffindor before them. And Weasel, out of the two of them, knew better than to let a lady cry alone. 

Draco questioned the Weasley upbringing, and why in Merlin’s name he was so worried about a stupid muggleborn, when they got into position at the stairs leading to the Gryffindor common room.

Potter and Weasley left the hall quickly. Draco seized the package from Potter and felt it. All thoughts of the crying muggleborn escaped him when he realized what he was holding.

“That’s a broomstick,” he said, throwing it back to Potter with a mixture of jealousy and spite rolling off him. “You’ll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren’t allowed them.”

Weasley couldn’t resist it.

“It’s not any old broomstick,” he said, “it’s a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you’ve got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two-Sixty?” Draco wanted to smack the grin he shot  at Potter from his freckled face. “Comets look flashy, but they’re not in the same league as the Nimbus.”

“What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn’t afford half the handle.” Draco snapped back. “I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

Before Weasel could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Draco’s elbow.

“Not arguing, I hope, boys?” he squeaked.

“Potter’s been sent a broomstick, Professor,” said Draco quickly.

“Yes, yes, that’s right,” said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Potter. “Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?”

“A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir,” said Potter, clearly fighting not to laugh at the look of horror Draco couldn’t hide from his face. “And it’s really thanks to Malfoy here that I’ve got it,” he added.

Draco could hear his father in his head; A Malfoy never gawks. But he couldn’t help it. Potter not only got a broom at school, he got a Nimbus 2000. And the teachers were allowing it all to happen because of some ‘special circumstance.’ He barely composed himself as his lungs were flooded with the smell of lilacs and honey. Granger was stomping past him, her new books clutched to her chest, and catching up to Potter and Weasel before they knew it.

“Well, it’s true,” Draco barely heard Potter chortling as they reached the top of the marble staircase, “If he hadn’t stolen Neville’s Rememberall I wouldn’t be on the team…”

“So I suppose you think that’s a reward for breaking rules?” came the angry voice of Granger, stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Potter’s hand.

“I thought you weren’t speaking to us?” said Potter.

“Yes, don’t stop now,” said Weasel, “it’s doing us so much good.”

Granger marched away with her nose in the air. They let her storm off, birthday presents clutched to her chest like her last lifeline. No one stopped her. No one wished her a happy birthday. They didn’t even say a kind word or apology. What kind of barbarians were sorted into Gryffindor? 

And instead of giving them a good dressing down like he had planned, Draco wasted his time talking about a broom and learning that Potter was favored by the professors more than he had originally thought.

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle returned to the Slytherin table to collect their things for their first class. Potter had a broom at school. Not only that, if the comment he overheard was to be trusted, Potter was now on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. All because of a blasted Rememberall and a stupid pissing contest.

Draco’s mood was only soured further while on his evening jog around the Black Lake when he saw Potter leaving the front doors and heading to the Quidditch Pitch, shiny new broom thrown over his shoulder. 

Year One was turning out to be the worst year of Draco’s existence. He was hated by most of the students outside of his house. No one told him being sorted into Slytherin would be an automatic mark against his character. He was restricted to only flying on old, worn down brooms on Thursdays during flying class. His common room, while he is able to relax and be himself without fear of ridicule, still grated on his nerves and made it impossible to think with the noise and constant crowd of students partying.

Theo was spending most of his time with Mandy Bowtruckle, the Ravenclaw girl he noticed during the Sorting Ceremony. Draco found them studying in the library almost every night after dinner. And if he wasn’t with her, he was dancing the night away at the Slytherin parties.

Pansy had grown closer with Daphne and Millicent, spending her time locked in their dormitory, gossiping about the going ons of the school like… well, like school girls. He was happy for her. She deserved to have girl friends and come into her own. But Draco would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the princess of his trio bossing him around.

Blaise, though they were never as close as Draco was to Pansy and Theo, was even more absent than normal. He studied in the Astronomy tower, claiming the stars and constant breeze kept him focused. Draco thought, like Theo, he might have found a girl to talk to. But on the few occasions Draco snuck up the tower to spy, Blaise was alone.

That left him with Crabbe and Goyle. And while their company was better than nothing at all, the lack of mental stimulation made him feel more alone than he thought possible. They only thought about food, fighting, bullying first years smaller than them, food, asking Uncle Sev for more pranks to play, food, and how to get out of revisions. 

He was alone. So to make the most of it, Draco decided after his run he would go to the music room. He was in luck when he found it empty, and hosting the most beautiful baby grand piano he had seen outside of his own.

After running several warm up drills, he decided to figure out the piece he heard the mystery student playing the night before. The bass notes were simple enough to parse. But no matter how hard he tried, the subtle trill of the treble notes evaded him at every stroke. He couldn’t seem to get it just right. The pull wasn’t there. The calm heartbreak fell short. He simply could not get it right.

After several hours with little progress, Draco closed the lid, and headed back to his dorm. The halls were quiet once again, and he let his thoughts wander. Had Granger’s birthday turned around for the better? Would Potter appreciate the privilege he got from the professors? Would Draco be lucky and get to watch him fall from his broom?

Draco barely acknowledged Professor Quirrell as he warned him about curfew. He was startled to realize he had gone the wrong way and was on the third floor rather than passing through the entrance hall and heading towards the dungeons. 

Another rager was going in the common room as he pushed through to the stairs and made his way to his dormitory. He smiled to see Theo dancing in the center of the room, shirt gone once again, swaying to the beat of his own drum. At least one of them was carefree and happy this term.

~

Dear mother,

She is an absolute menace! I can almost accept that she is a muggleborn. She can’t fly. She knows everything about the Wizarding World from books. And if I have to listen to Pansy complain about her hair one more time, I’m going to completely lose my mind.

But all of that could have been forgiven. She really does blend into our world quite well. And as I've said before, her table manners are better than most purebloods. But I’ve found something out about Granger that is completely unforgivable! An absolute heathen. 

She drinks her Earl Grey with cream. Cream and sugar. In Earl Grey. And as if that wasn’t the worst part. She leaves the bag in! And when she’s not drinking this abomination, it's chamomile. With cream and sugar. Doesn’t matter what tea she serves, it’s always the same. Cream and sugar. Two lumps. And a healthy splash. With the bag left in the water. Oolong? The same. English Breakfast? Cream and sugar with the bag left in. That one is the only one that was acceptable. But, again, not removing the bag! A nice spiced black tea? I’ll give you a hint. It’s the same as all the rest!

I almost created a scene last week during dinner when I noticed. She doesn’t have dessert like the other students. Always a cup of tea. And always the same. Are British muggles not taught proper tea preparation? I have had to stop myself several times marching right up to her and taking the teabag out myself! She doesn’t seem to care. Can’t even be bothered! 

And if these transgressions against proper etiquette isn’t enough, the cup she uses! I wouldn’t even call it a cup. It is a soup bowl with a handle. So large she must use both hands to hold it to her mouth. It appeared out of nowhere a few weeks after the start of term and she has been using it ever since. Always the blasted soup bowl, perched to her lips like a dog licking from a water trough. 

Quite frankly, mother, it is appalling. Maybe we can donate some gold to a charity for muggles to teach them proper etiquette. Because clearly Granger is lacking. 

I had such high hopes that she might be the exception. I looked past her poor sense of fashion. She simply cannot be bothered to fix her curls or wear a properly tailored skirt. And she is always covered in ink spots. They start on her hands and find their way on her face or clothes. One day she had a giant black splotch on her lips where she had clearly put the quill in her mouth while consulting some book or another. When I saw her again during dinner, it was still there. She went the entire afternoon with ink on her lips and never thought to look in a mirror. 

My grades are much the same. A point behind in every class from the girl and her soup bowl. I can’t even say her name right now. And to make matters worse, Potter is on the Quidditch team and received a Nimbus 2000. Please ask father to do something about this. If Potter is getting special treatment and allowed on the team, there is no reason I shouldn’t be allowed my broom at school. I don’t even want to play! I just want to fly. I want my broom! There has to be something he can do. He’s on the Governor’s Board for Merlin’s sake!

Only a few short months before I am home. I miss you terribly and cannot wait to see you both. 

Your everloving and devoted son, who drinks tea properly out of proper teacups,

Draco

September bled into October, and October passed in a blur. Draco had found a rhythm in his new life that made his new home more bearable. After classes, he would study in the library until dinner. Some days he would sit with Theo and Bowtruckle, but mostly he would sit alone at a table towards the back of the library. There was a large window that would heat the rays of sunlight coming in, filling the area with a cozy, rich feeling that helped ease his mind and focus. 

After dinner, Draco would make his way down to the music room to practice. He had learned that he couldn’t always count on the room being free. The mystery violinist could be heard playing at least three nights a week. But on those nights, since Draco still hadn’t worked up the nerve to confront them, he would sit in the hallway and read while they played.

The pieces would change from time to time. Nothing Draco could recognize right away. He wondered if it was music the mystery player had composed themself. Some light and joyful. Some like the melancholy tune he heard that first night. But all are beautiful. They made him want to meet the violinist. Ask questions. Maybe even be friends. But every night, as the music died, Draco would lose his nerve and run down the hall towards the Slytherin dormitories. 

His evening jogs transformed into early morning jogs. He told himself it was for the burst of energy to wake himself up and be ready for the day. But honestly it was to avoid seeing Potter practice with the Gryffindor Quidditch team in the evenings. His father wrote him the first week of October to inform him that the board would not lift the first year ban on brooms and they would not give Draco an excuse from the rules. He was not offered a spot on the team. And they simply could not show favoritism in any way. 

On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkins wafting through the corridors. Draco had received a letter from his mother encouraging him to talk with the muggleborn. Maybe even ask her the questions he continued to pose about the muggle world. He scoffed at the idea. A Malfoy is the most informed person in the room. And they never gave anyone the chance to think otherwise. 

During Charms class, Professor Flitwick announced that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they’d seen him make Neville’s toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs. To practice. Draco was excited to be paired with Theo. They hadn’t had the chance to talk in some time. Even though they shared every class and a dormitory. 

The Weasel, clearly annoyed, was to be working with Granger. It was hard to tell whether Weasley or Granger was more put out about this. Her hair crackled with anger and her eyes almost glowed gold. 

“Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, perching on top of his pile of books as usual. “Swish and flick, remember swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.”

Draco struggled with the spell. His feather tumbled back and forth, but never lifted more than a millimeter from the desk. It did make matters more bearable to see Weasel, at the next table, wasn’t having much luck.

“ Wingardium Leviosa !” he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

“You’re saying it wrong,” Draco heard Hermione snap. “It’s Wing- gar -dium Lev- o -saw, make the ‘gar’ nice and long.”

“You do it, then, if you’re so clever,” Weasley snarled.

Granger rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand and said, “ Wingardium Leviosa !”

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads. Draco watched as pure joy washed over her face as her feather floated around the room, carried away on a breeze. Once again, the know-it-all Swot of Gryffindor bested them all.

“Oh, well done!” cried Professor Flitwick, clapping, “Everyone see here, Miss Granger’s done it!”

Draco couldn’t stop the upturn of his lips as he watched Granger blush under the praise. She was so innocent and everything was truly magical to her. And then he remembered her tea-bowl, and scowled.

Class had ended and the Slytherins began filing out of the classroom ahead of the crowd.

“It’s no wonder no one can stand her,” Weasel said to Potter as they pushed their way out of the classroom, passing Draco and the other Slytherins, “she’s a nightmare, honestly.”

Someone knocked into Draco as they hurried past him. It was Granger. Draco caught a glimpse of her face – and was startled to see that she was in tears. Again, she was crying over something someone in her own house had done.

“I think she heard you.”

“So?” said Weasel, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. Was it because of his behavior or that someone might not agree with it? “She must’ve noticed she’s got no friends.”

“You will never guess what I just saw.” Pansy plopped daintily on the bench between Theo and Blaise. “The mudblood is in the girls’ lavatory, crying. I hear she’s been there all day!”

Crabbe and Goyle leaned forward with interest. Nothing excited them more than a girl crying. Well, maybe a third helping of pudding. But, crying girls was a close second.

“What was she cryin’bout?”

“Do I look like I care enough to ask?” Pansy scoffed. “No, I saw the mudblood sitting on the dirty bathroom floor, tissues mounding around her disgustingly unhemmed skirt, and left. I didn’t acknowledge her. And she knows not to acknowledge me. But it was nice to see the universe knock her down a peg. Serves her right, thinking she can waltz in here and act superior to us wizarding folk.”

The conversation carried on about muggleborns and their place at school. Their thoughts hadn’t changed much from Draco’s birthday. But Draco didn’t know if he agreed anymore. He had learned that maybe it wasn’t just muggleborns that were unsafe around wizarding children. Potter was an example of what should be a half-blood that was no different than a muggle. Weasel was the most barbaric thing he ever was forced to share air with. And Granger was the more competent of the three. 

Even Bowtruckle proved to be a contradiction. She was half-blood, but raised by her muggle mother. Yet, Theo says that she is well versed in society and its expectations.

Draco was just plating a healthy spoonful of scalloped potatoes when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he began screaming, running between the tables to Dumbledore, “Troll! Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know.”

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore’s wand to bring silence.

“Prefects,” he rumbled, “lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

Draco quickly grabbed several minced pies and an apple from the table, wrapping them in a napkin and shoving them in his bag, before turning to follow his Housemate out of the Great Hall. 

The professors gathered at the Head Table, Madam Pomphrey bending down to address Professor Turban lying on the floor. Draco watched as he came to with fluttering eyelashes and bumbling words.

He was faking.

Draco had faked a faint a time or two to tell when someone else was trying to do the same. But why would a professor possibly fake a scene like that? Was he faking about the troll? Or was there something else he was trying to cover up?

Students lined up, Prefects at the head, Draco watched the Head of each House make their way over to give instructions. The professors would all be walking with the Slytherins through the dungeons to their common room. There is a troll running loose in the castle. And they were walking right towards it.

But it was at the stairs leading into the dungeons that Draco noticed Professor Quirrell slip away from the throng and instead head towards the stairs leading up. This was it! He was faking to create a distraction. 

Picking up the pace, Draco made his way to Snape. “Uncle Sev. Uncle Sev!”

“What is it, Draco?”

“Professor Quirrell is heading up the stairs on the other side of the entrance hall. I don’t think the troll got in on accident.”

Snape’s head whipped around, looking for the professor in question. Panic crossed his face for a moment, but cleared just as quickly. “Go to the dormitories with the other students. I’ll go after him. Don’t leave, and don’t wander off.”

“Okay,” Draco turned back to the line of Slytherins. “Wait! Granger is in the girls’ lavatory. She never made it down to dinner. Someone should find her.”

“Yes, thank you.” And with a dash to Professor McGonagall, the two professors made their way in the opposite direction of the dungeons.

Chapter Text

Quidditch

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. Mother had sent Draco warmer trackies and trainers for his jogs around the Black Lake. Slytherin green with three silver stripes down the legs and arms. The swishing sound as he ran in them created a soothing cadence to his strides. Draco was surprised at the sereneness that had taken over him since running and meditating. He even enjoyed the yoga he learned from one of the books his mother sent him. An unbelievable level of calm settled over Draco that he never expected in such a new and upending world that was Hogwarts. It had been weeks since his last panic attack. He had even convinced Uncle Sev to start teaching him Occlumency in earnest.

“There ye are. I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you.” Theo strolled up to Draco's table in the back of the library where he was doing revisions alone.

“Oh have you finally pulled yourself away from Bowtruckle long enough to remember your best mate?”

“Wha’re you on about?” 

“Oh, sod off!” Draco slammed his quill on the table, splatters of ink flying everywhere. “You know exactly what I’m on about. You spend all of your time in the library with your new girlfriend or acting like a right wanker at the common room parties. I’ve resorted to running around with Crabbe and Goyle, Theo. Crabbe and Goyle! I’m better off dragging to boulders on a leash around the corridors for all the good they do. I miss talking to you.”

Theo gave a smirk, “You’re right, mate. I’m sorry. I’wl put the ket’le on and we can have a proper chat.”

“Don’t try taking the piss out of me, Theodore Nott! I’m bloody serious.” Draco was fuming. His voice cracked as he quickly lowered his voice to avoid Madam Pince’s wrath.

“Right, no tea. Jus’a chat fhen. Tewl me. How ‘as term been so far?”

Appeased slightly now that Theo was being earnest, Draco cleared his throat. “Well if you must know,” he peeked through his lashes to be sure Theo was, in fact, paying attention, “My father is gutted over my marks right now. He wants me to beat Granger’s marks, but I can’t seem to get it. I mean, she’s besting me in Potions, for Merlin’s sake! And Uncle Sev says I need to try harder if I want the half a point needed to beat her at top of the class. Potter is on the Quidditch team. He got a new broom and everything; delivered through the post. I started my private lessons with Flitwick. Doesn’t make a difference, though. Granger is still besting me there, too. Oh, and I found a piano.”

Mid October, Draco began his private lessons with Professor Flitwick. They discussed the fundamentals of charmwork and how spells were created. It was fascinating work, and Draco was ecstatic that Professor Flitwick seemed to not only tolerate Draco’s enthusiasm towards charms theory, but also encouraged him. Like at the manor, Draco devoured every book he could get his hands on in Hogwarts library on charmswork. 

Even with his extra studies in Charms, it did not raise his marks to beat Granger. He was an entire term ahead of her in work, yet she held top of the class for another week. Draco contemplated the possibilities of cheating to boost his marks, but that is beneath a Malfoy. He would have to accept second place and hope his father could do the same. 

“A piano? That’s fantastic! Have you been playin’ again?”

“Did you only listen to the last bit?” It wasn’t uncommon for Theo to tune out when Draco rambled on about certain things. He was perceptive, but he let his mind wander more times than not.

“No, I ‘eard it awl. The rest of it mat’ers piss awl.” Theo examined his nails as he rattled off, “Your fafher is goin’ to gripe abou’ your marks no mat’er who’s rankin’ ‘igher. You’re givin’ it your awl and that’s what counts. So what if Pot’er is on the Quidditch team and got a new broom. We’re gonna spend the entirety of Christmas hols runnin’ driwls and awl of summer term, and when we come back next year, you wiwl make the team and everyfhing wiwl be right as rain. I know it bofhers you to be bested by a muckleborn in marks, but it’s Granger. She doesn’t count. Right nut’er, that one. No one can keep up wifh ‘er. That’s why she’s knocked off the marks list. So, technically, you’re the top of the class. Everyone agrees.” 

Theo looks up to pin Draco to the chair, “Take your win and move on. Which leaves us to my original question. Have you been playin’ again?”

“Yes. Not often though. There’s another student that takes up the classroom several nights a week. On those nights I just sit and listen while I study.”

“Have ye thought about goin’ in there? One person can’t control a whole classroom.”

Draco shuffled in his seat, “I have but I think it’s some kind of unwritten rule. I know when I’m in there practicing, someone is out in the corridor just listening. Doesn’t feel right dropping in when they show me the courtesy of privacy.”

“I see that, mate.” Theo nodded, “Wewl, I’m glad you’re playin’ again. Maybe I can go wifh you next time. I miss listenin’ to ye practice. Right, well. What are we goin’ to do about this Pot’er situation?”

Despite not playing himself, Draco couldn’t help the bubbles of excitement at the start of the Quidditch season. The first match of the season would kick off tomorrow, causing a week-long stir of excitement and healthy rivalry throughout the school: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If they won, Slytherin would move up into first place in the house championship.

Theo walked with Draco out in the freezing courtyard during break, swapping stories of the past month they missed together. Draco noticed Nitwit One and Two standing with Granger. She had conjured them up a bright blue fire that she was carrying around in a jam jar. Draco scoffed and stomped on. He had never seen flames like that. How was she always besting him?

And when did they get all chummy? Draco thought back to the last time he saw the three Gryffindors together. It was Charms class when the Weasel insulted her. How did they go from that to suddenly being polite enough that she is lighting fires to warm them in the courtyard? Draco decided she was too forgiving. If someone spoke of Draco like Weasley had, he would never forget it. In fact, Weasley had spoken to him as such, and they would never become mates after it. He would go so far as to be the thorn in Weasel’s side for all eternity. He deserved nothing less. 

Shaking his head at how gullible Granger must be, they continued on to the docks.

“Oi, did your fafher ever tewl you more abou’ that botched break in?”

Draco startled out of his musings at the sound of Theo’s voice. He cleared his throat before answering, “No. He said we would discuss it over Christmas hols. But I have a feeling he won’t be honest with me. I told him about Professor Quirrell and what Pansy told us about his visit. Father says there is a connection but wouldn’t say more in his letter.”

The two of them settled on the dock, swinging their legs over the water as Draco continued, “I simply cannot understand it all, Theo. Why would my father get involved in something so nefarious? I want to help him. I want to get him out of this mess. He doesn’t deserve being wrapped up in all this.”

“I agree, mate. So, what’s your theory?”

“My theory?”

Theo rolls his eyes and nudges Draco with his shoulder, “Yes, ye twit. We bofh know you ‘ave been mappin’ it awl out in that overworked brain of yours. Spit it out so we can bofh muddle over it already.”

Draco stared out over the lake, collecting his thoughts. Theo was right. He had been thinking about little else. He decided to start with telling his best mate about what he saw during the Halloween feast. Theo told him about the troll being found in the girls lavatory, taken out by none other than Granger and nitwit one and two by her side. 

That explained why they were chums now. 

Silence wrapped around the two boys as the sun shifted above them, warming their backs and lighting the water with a blinding glow.

“I think it has something to do with the restricted corridor on the third floor.” Draco finally broke the silence with the one thought that sat in his gut since the start of term feast. Several older students mentioned how bizarre and out of the norm it was for Dumbledore to close off an area without a reason. He was a peculiar man, but he never expected the students to blindly trust his authority.

Theo turned to look at Draco, waiting for him to continue his thoughts, so clearing his throat, Draco said, “Our fathers broke into a vault looking for something with great power. Quirrell came to the Parkinson Estate to request funding around the same time. There was something in Romania that had been missing for almost ten years. My father was furious during the Ball because of Dumbledore’s smug behavior. Now there is a restricted corridor shrouded in mystery,” Draco took a deep, steadying breath, “Whatever they were looking for in that vault and Romania is behind that door on the third floor.”

“What mischief are you two plotting?”

Hundreds of birds took flight from the trees of the Forbidden Forest across the Black Lake at the high-pitched screams of two slytherin boys as they whipped around, facing the voice that materialized directly behind them, scaring them to the point of almost falling off the deck.

Uncle Sev laughed gently as he watched Draco and Theo compose themselves back into the pureblood children they are expected to be. His eyes twinkled with his own brand of mischief they were so fond of.

“For Merlin’s sake, Uncle Sev. I’m too young to die.” Theo gasped, clutching his chest.

Another deep, rumbling chuckle, “And yet, Theo, you continue to breathe. The universe will carry on. Now,” the two students slid over on the dock to make room for their godfather to sit between them. “What mischief are you two plotting? Anything I can help with?”

Draco felt his heart lighten with possibility, “Actually, you can. We were discussing the restricted corridor and its connection to the Gringotts break in before term.”

They began to fill Uncle Sev in on their theories while he sat silently, nodding and encouraging when needed. He was always good at making his charges feel heard and respected for their ideas, at any age.

“We still haven’t a clue what it is exactly being hidden though.” Draco hangs his head, watching his fingers as they fidget with the hem of his jumper.

“The Philosopher’s Stone.”

Draco and Theo snapped their heads to look at their godfather. He simply handed over the answer. Uncle Sev never lied to them, and they knew he believed that if they were old enough to ask the question, they were old enough to know the answer. Much to the disapproval of Mrs. Malfoy.

“The what –”

“That is enough on this topic, gentlemen. If you wish to know more, you will have to find the answers yourself.” The professor began to rise, brushing out his robes to perfection. “Will you be celebrating Mr. Zabini’s birthday after the match?”

Mouths still agape, they simply nodded.

“Wonderful. I will be dropping by to give my felicitations. And Mr. Nott,” he was back to Professor Snape. “Do try to keep your shirt on this evening. Decorum is free.”

And with a final nod, Professor Snape made his way up the docks and back to the castle, black robes billowing around him on the crisp November breeze.

Conversation turned to normal topics. Draco decided that he would need to ponder further the information he received and how best to learn more about the Philosopher’s Stone. He couldn’t ask a teacher. He would need to make a trip to the library before term’s end. And there was always the family library.

Theo promised that he would spend more time with Draco and even sit with him during the first match. Pansy joined them shortly on the docks and Draco felt transported to the manor. Everything was right with the world. He had his two best mates. The sun was shining on the cold November afternoon. And they were getting to watch Slytherin cream the stupid lions tomorrow.

~

By eleven o’clock the next day, the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars.

Draco helped Pansy into her seat – ever the gentleman – and settled in between his two best friends at the top row of the Slytherin box. He scanned the pitch, looking from each section. The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors were on the opposite side of the pitch, Hufflepuff next to Slytherin, and the professors sat on the rounded ends. Draco noticed his father sitting with the other school governors, bored and unphased. Taking a deep breath, Draco schooled his features to match the Malfoy patriarch. He would be an example to his peers. The perfect heir his father demands of him. 

A shimmer of color and movement from the Gryffindor stands caught Draco’s eye. He saw Granger and the Weasel settling in between a few other students. And then he realized what caught his eye; they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets. It said Potter for president, with a large gryffindor lion drawn underneath. The paint  flashed different colors. Draco knew from his private studies that this took very advanced charmswork. Could Granger truly pull something this advanced, or had one of Weasel’s brothers helped? Regardless, it was an eyesore. And what in Merlin’s name is a president?

Returning his attention to the pitch, Draco watched as both teams filed out from beneath the stands, making their way onto the field.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

“And the quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor — what an excellent chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

An older Gryffindor boy was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall. Draco didn’t know him personally, but he knew that he was friends with the Weasley twins. They were funny, and always playing jokes with Peeves not far behind. 

“And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve – back to Johnson and – no, the Slytherins have taken the quaffle. Slytherin captain Marcus Flint gains the quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like and eagle up there – he’s going to sc– no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the quaffle — that’s chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and – OUCH – quaffle taken by the Slytherins — that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goalposts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes – she’s really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – the goalposts are ahead – come on, now Angelina – keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDORS SCORE!”

Draco moaned with the rest of the Slytherins into the cold air, cheers from the Gryffindors coming from across the pitch. He chose to ignore the shimmer of cinnamon curls glinting gold in the sunlight. He decided to search for another golden object on the field. On the pitch or not, Draco was going to spot the snitch before Potter.

And find it he did. It was floating just beneath Pucey’s broom, following him around the field. The cheeky thing was using the shadow to keep from being spotted so easily. Draco couldn’t help but shoot Potter a smug look, just in time to see a Slytherin beater knock a bludger his way.

Draco held his breath as a bludger came flying through the air towards Potter. This was it. He was going to watch the nitwit get pummeled off his fancy new broom and fall to the ground. He wouldn’t die, of course. There were too many professors to let that happen. But a broken arm wouldn’t be so bad. Potter dodged just in time, and one of the Weasley twins raced after it. Draco quickly sat back in the stands, looking around to ensure no one saw his excitement.

“Slytherin in possession,” Lee Jordan was saying, “chaser Pucey ducks two bludgers, two Weasleys, and chaser Bell, and speeds toward the – wait a moment – was that the snitch?”

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear. Draco watched the snitch come out of its hiding place and streak in the opposite direction.

Potter dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the snitch – all the chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Potter was faster than Higgs – he put on an extra spurt of speed —

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below – Marcus Flint had thrown himself in Potter’s path, blocking him from the snitch, and Potter’s broom spun off course.

“Foul!” screamed the Gryffindors. Draco rolled his eyes. Of course they would demand a foul called. Wouldn’t want precious Potter to learn how the game is actually played.

Draco watched Madam Hooch speak angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goalposts for Gryffindor. Draco knew that if the roles had been reversed, Madam Hooch would have a sudden and unexplainable case of blindness. Quite common in referees. But in all the confusion, of course, Potter had lost sight of the snitch again.

The older Gryffindor commentating also had a very sudden and most common onset of favoritism. 

“So – after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating –”

“Jordan!” growled professor mcgonagall.

“I mean, after that open and revolting foul –”

“Jordan, I’m warning you –”

“All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I’m sure –” Too right, Draco thought, “So a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession.”

Draco’s eyes were glued to Potter as he dodged another bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head. And that’s when he noticed something completely uncommon. Potter’s broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. Potter tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goalposts, but Draco knew he had zero control. He couldn’t turn it. He couldn’t direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.

“Slytherin in possession – Flint with the quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face by a bludger, hope it broke his nose – only joking, professor – Slytherin score – on no…”

The slytherins were cheering. No one except Draco seemed to have noticed that Potter’s broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

Suddenly people were pointing up at Potter all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd, including Draco, gasped. Potter’s broom had given a wild jerk and Potter swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

Draco broke his gaze from Potter and his wild broom to look towards the Professors' stands. Professor Quirrell had his eyes fixed on Potter and was muttering nonstop under his breath. Why would a professor try cursing a student? Because that was certainly what this was. 

Draco quickly scanned the stands for his godfather. He was in the row beneath Professor Quirrell, also muttering under his breath. The fixed stare, slight crease between the brows, told Draco that Uncle Sev was doing everything he could to protect the stupid git. While he would love to watch Potter fall from his broom in front of the entire school, this was not how he wanted it to transpire. A teacher shouldn’t interfere with a game like this.

Draco glanced quickly to the Gryffindor stands before turning back to the spectacle above them. Granger had disappeared. He didn’t dwell on that for long, fear of missing the miraculous recovery. Or the twat falling to his death. Either way, Draco was inthralled by the event. 

Harry’s broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good – every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Flint seized the quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

Draco turned back to the Professors’ stands to see what his godfather was going to do. He was beginning to worry. Enemy or not, Draco didn’t want real harm to come to Potter. That simply wasn’t in good taste. He noticed Professor Quirrell had been knocked headfirst into the row in front. 

Turning to Uncle Sev, Draco watched as bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of his robes. The same blue flames he saw Granger conjure in the courtyard the day before. That’s when he noticed Granger. She was crouched behind Snape, wand out, and was just rising to run back to the Gryffindor stands. She must have been the one to break Professor Quirrell’s concentration. And set his godfather aflame. Draco felt the smile pull at his cheeks. If Uncle Sev ever found out who caught him on fire, he wouldn’t be telling Draco to play nice for much longer.

Up in the air, Potter was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom. Draco let out a shaky breath. Everything was back to normal and Potter was safe.

“Too bad the twat didn’t fall,” Pansy scrunched her nose, arms crossed over her chest. “With Potter taken out, Higgs might actually have a chance of winning this game for us.”

Theo swotted at her shoulder. It was not becoming of a Pureblood to wish harm on another so publicly. Pansy knew better. But Draco wasn’t paying attention to his squabbling friends beside him. He was watching Potter speed toward the ground and clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick – he hit the field on all fours – coughed – and something gold fell into his hand.

“I’ve got the snitch!” he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion. Draco rolled his eyes. Of course the-boy-who-can’t-seem-to-slip-in-dung would make a miraculous save and win the match. The Quidditch pitch was in a complete uproar, either in cheers of happiness or groans of an unfair ending to a match.

“He didn’t catch it, he nearly swallowed it,” Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference. Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. 

Draco made his way down to the pitch to meet with his father. Mr. Malfoy stood talking with Uncle Sev and Professor McGonaghall. 

“Draco, my boy!” Mr Malfoy gave him a striking smile and a clap to the shoulder. I love you and missed you desperately, Draco interpreted the interaction. If they were not surrounded by the other governors and professors, his father would have said it out loud. But just like on the platform at the beginning of term, Draco knew his father would not show more affection than necessary. A Malfoy always kept their emotions well guarded.

“Hello, father. Professor McGonaghall. Professor Snape.” Draco gave a small bow. Looking to his father, noticing the simple smile and subtle nod of his head, Draco knew that he had made him proud. Always the perfect pureblood and gentleman. 

“Excellent match. Sad to see Slytherin lose, but I’m happy Mr. Potter was able to pull it together in the end. Nasty business, that broom. I trust you will be looking into the matter and ensure his safety in further matches, Professor McGonaghall?”

“Oh, aye!” Professor McGonaghall exclaimed, hair bobbing atop her head as she nodded vehemently. “There will be a full investigation. A broom doesn’t try to throw off its rider without interference.”

“Glad to hear that this matter is in your capable hands.” Mr. Malfoy bowed, placing a chast kiss to Professor McGonaghall’s knuckles. Draco chanced a quick glance to his godfather. Their eyes locked and Draco knew that he already knew about Professor Quirrell and his mutterings. Draco smirked when he noticed that the hem of the man’s robes were still smouldering. And was he damp? 

“Yes, Professor. Congratulations to you and the Gryffindors on your victory. I look forward to trying out next year. I hope to be an adequate adversary to Mr. Potter on the pitch.” Draco felt like a pack of Cornish Pixies were released in his stomach. He simply meant that he was excited to join the Slytherin Quidditch team. That he respected Potter’s skill and hoped Draco was up for the challenge. But, his mother would not have approved of his comment. It could be seen as aggressive, or even challenging. Not how he should speak to adults. A Malfoy is always respectful to his elders.

Professor McGonaghall let out a chuckle, “I’m sure you will be. If you are as dedicated to your practices as you are to your studies, I’m sure you will make the Slytherin team quite proud.” Draco beamed at the Headmistress’ praise. And in front of his father, no less. Father and Uncle Sev both nodded in agreement, a gentle pat on the back from his godfather sealing the affirmation.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Father smiled softly, “Now, if you’ll excuse us. I’d like to have a chat with my son before he runs off to his studies.”

Father led him away from the other adults. The crowd was dwindling down, only some rambunctious Gryffindors were left on the field, and of course, Flint was continuing his argument with Madam Hooch. She was not paying him any mind, gathering her equipment and making her way to the storage shed.

“It is so good to see you, my boy.” Father squeezes his shoulder, lingering longer than normal. His longing for his son outweighed his need for propriety. “Tell me everything. I know you are holding your true feelings close to your chest. Your regard for your mother’s wellbeing knows no bounds. But, be frank with me. Are you well?”

Draco mulled over his answer. Overall, Draco was happy and enjoying his classes. His anxiety had lessened since starting his godfather’s lessons and implementing the meditations his mother suggested. He had made peace with Theo and things were looking like they would go back to normal now. And he was learning to accept his position at second best to a muggleborn. 

Looking into his father’s eyes, Draco decided to cut to the chase and tell him the truth, “As a matter of fact, father, I am not. I have done well in my studies. Yes, Miss Granger is top of our class, but the entire school does not count her on the leaderboard. That makes me top marks. But that seems to not be good enough for you. It is good for my peers and me. That should be enough. Your disapproval and constant negative remarks has caused me great distress.”

Draco watched his father’s face morph into a bitter understanding. “You’re right, son. I have been too hard on you.” Draco couldn’t hide the shock as his father embraced him in his arms. It had been so long since his father hugged him, even longer outside of their home. The smell of pipe tobacco and cologne filled his senses. His eyes burned with the tears he couldn’t shed on the pitch. He missed his father. He could be so kind and encouraging. He was just too busy as of late.

After a moment they separated, father’s hands still on his shoulders. “I promise to work on seeing your accomplishments and not the success of others. You’re a good lad. And you are growing to be a fine man. I am content with that. Now,” Lucius straightened his robes and adjusted his wisps of blonde hair that had fallen from his ribbon. Draco didn’t notice the tear he swiped from his cheek. “I need to be going. Continue to write your mother. It is the highlight of her day. I love you, son. We will see you at Christmas.”

“Father, wait!” Draco didn’t know why he stopped his father. He wanted to tell him more about his theories regarding Quirrell and learning about the stone. But, where to begin? And how would he tell him without sounding completely ill-behaved?

Lucius must have seen the dilemma his son fought, with a smile he said, “It’s alright. Everything will work out. Leave it to the adults. But if you find anything, let your Uncle Severus know. He will take care of it. Do as your mother says, be a kid. Enjoy your time with your friends. Study hard. She’s a brilliant woman. You’d do well to mind her.”

And with a wink, Lucius Malfoy turned on his heel and headed out of the pitch to the front gates.

~

Draco found himself sitting in the Slytherin Common Room, watching his friends dance and laugh. The loss long forgotten – except for Flint. He was moping in the corner drinking an amber liquid – it was time to celebrate Blaise. The house elves went all out for the occasion. All of Blaise’s favorite snacks lay piled on the tables. Punch bowls full of spiced cider, trays of hand pies and tartlets, and the best blackberry and brie pastries Draco had ever eaten. He didn’t even like blackberries. 

Keeping his promise, Theo was dancing in the middle of the common room, shirt on and fully buttoned. His only sign of rebellion; his tie secured around his forehead, dangling to the side and bouncing to the beat with Theo’s wild dancing. It was amazing to see how much he had grown and changed in just the few short months since start of term. Theo was thriving. What had changed inside of Draco?

“Alright, that’s enough brooding.” Pansy and Blaise crowded around Draco on the small couch in the corner of the room. 

“I’m not brooding, Princess.” a Malfoy is nothing but calm and collected. “I’m watching the festivities. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

Pansy rolled her eyes elegantly, “No. We asked you to celebrate with us. That does not include sitting in the corner.”

Noticing the crowd forming around Draco, Theo hopped over to help. Without another word, Draco found himself hauled from the settee and dragged to the center of the room. Like some strange ritual, his friends began to bounce and twirl, arms waving in the air, unbothered by their lack of coordinated steps.

Deciding he would need to dance to escape, Draco made his best efforts to mimic their moves. He had dance lessons since Draco was able to walk. His fondest memories were following his mother through the manor, copying her steps, and eventually learning that she was teaching him the waltz. But this? This was not taught by his matrons over the years. This was not a foxtrot or even some of the latin dances he was introduced to this past summer. It was unhindered and free. It was chaos, and chaos always gave Draco a fit of anxiety that was hard to shake off until order was restored.

Finding a rhythm to work with, Draco swayed to the music. His arms pistoning up and down at chest level, bending at the elbows slightly to give a wave effect. Emboldened with creativity, Draco began moving his shoulders in opposite time with his hips. He was dancing. He was having fun and this wasn’t as hard as he had made it out to be.

“Bloody hewl, mate,” Draco was pulled back to reality, not realizing his eyes were closed. Theo was doubled over laughing. “What on earfh ye doin’?”

They were laughing at him. Draco tried to dance like they were, and they are teasing him for it. He felt like he was going to be sick. 

“Oh, go and have a day. I’m only here because you lot made me! This is stupid.” Draco turned to Blaise, fists glued to his sides. Embarrassed or not, he wasn’t going to forget his manners. “The happiest of birthday wishes to you, mate. I hope you enjoy the rest of your party, but I regret that I must retire early.”

“Come off it, mate”

“Quit being so dramatic, Drakey.”

All three friends wrapped their arms around Draco, keeping him from leaving. A cuddle puddle as Theo liked to call it. Draco hated them. They always ended with wrinkled clothes and tousled hair. 

“We’re sorry for laughing. Maybe if you ungelled your hair every now and again it wouldn’t be such a surprise when you dance like no one is watching.” Pansy helped straighten him up as the cuddle puddle ended. They were looking at Draco as if they expected him to bolt again and were prepared to resume the hug once more. He hated that even more than the hug.

But, Pansy was right. He didn’t ‘ungel his hair’ as she put it. A weight had fallen on his heart since arriving at Hogwarts. A need to be perfect. To be the best. To impress everyone. And it had made him boring. Made him forget that he likes laughing. Telling jokes. Playing. 

His father had reminded him not two hours prior to be a kid. To mind his mother and remember to enjoy his time here. Draco would do just that. Father said he would accept him as he is. That would last at least one day, right? And Uncle Sev hasn’t disclosed their antics to the parents yet. Why would he start now?

A smile began to spread across Draco’s face, causing his friends to smile even more. They knew that look. 

“Alright, I’ll stay. But, you have to teach me this silly dance you all are doing.”