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5 June 1981

Narcissa clutched Draco to her chest while she lit the candle and prayed.

She didn’t really believe in any god – neither the old ones nor the new – but today she would seek help from any quarter, and she knew she had to cover her bases and ask.

The quadripartite vaulting soared overhead, and the late afternoon sun poured through the lancet windows, decorating the stone floor in jewel tones from the stained glass above.  It was beautiful, peaceful, and Narcissa was pleased that there were few tourists to disturb her thoughts that afternoon.

“God give me strength,” she murmured.  “And protect Draco, please.”

The wizarding world’s relationship with God was an odd one, to be sure.  Before the Statute of Secrecy sent their community into hiding for good, wizards and muggles mixed openly and religion was central to their lives.  To this day, many wizards celebrated Christmas and Easter with gifts and feasts.  There were even Christian churches located in several of the wizarding-only communities such as Godric’s Hollow, and the muggle St. Nicholas was deeply popular with children.  

But some wizards kept the old ways and preferred to celebrate Yule and the Spring Equinox, making use of the Iron Age structures that still stood on top of the ancient ley lines of magic that ran through England.  And still others – like the Blacks – had always observed both traditions.  It was convenient that many of the Christian holidays had been intentionally arranged to overlap with the ancient ones, and depending on which Minister of Magic was in power at any given time, religions had a tendency to go in and out of fashion among those who were not true believers.

In the case of Salisbury Cathedral, which was originally built on Malfoy lands at Old Sarum, Armand Malfoy helped fund the construction of the church in thanks for the gift of land from William the Conqueror.  Unlike Malfoy Manor, it was not warded against muggles, but was instead a place where muggle and magical folk used to mix.  The cathedral stood in that place at Old Sarum for a couple hundred years until infighting between wizards – including the Malfoys – and the muggles in Salisbury came to a head, and the muggles rebuilt Salisbury Cathedral several miles away, in the place where Narcissa now stood.

Lucius hated this place because he viewed it as a snub to his family, albeit one that was nearly eight hundred years old.  And since Wiltshire was also home to some of the finest surviving henges in England, he preferred to align himself with the old ways, though he had never stopped Narcissa from celebrating Christmas and Easter too.

As for Narcissa, she had married in and so she did not feel insulted by the rebuilding of Salisbury Cathedral.  On the contrary, she found it peaceful and beautiful and a place where she could reflect on her failures as a mother.

She had many, though she suspected that her biggest failure to date would be taking place that evening.

Narcissa made her usual circuit down the nave to the crossing, where she visited the north transept first and then the south.  From there she walked through the choir and headed toward the Lady Chapel on the other end of the presbytery, and then she retraced her steps until she was back at the entrance.  By now, Draco had fallen asleep in the small sling she wore, and she kissed his fair head.

It was his first birthday today, but she could still get him to nap by pressing him against her chest and going on a walk.

She exited out toward the large, sweeping lawn that graced the front of the cathedral and shielded her eyes against the sun.  There were families lounging on the grass and children chasing each other while squealing with glee.  

Narcissa’s heart clenched to see it.

She hoped the Dark Lord would stay away from her adopted home.  Wiltshire may not be hers, but Salisbury was.  She had ventured into this place soon after her marriage to Lucius, and she had fallen in love with the quaint city, where she could be anonymous and not Narcissa Black Malfoy.  She knew Lucius did not approve of it, but it was a compromise she forced early on in their relationship.  He would ignore her trips to Salisbury, and she would ignore his less savory missions from the Dark Lord.

It had worked well for a time, but the Dark Lord was growing ever stronger.  His attention was now on her son, and she did not think that she could keep an entire city safe if she couldn’t even manage it for her own child.

She sighed as she moved to the side of the building to apparate, and paused.

“You again?”

The large, stray dog that liked to roam the streets of Salisbury was looking up at her expectantly.  He was enormous, with black fur and very blue eyes.  She did not see him every time she visited Salisbury, but it was frequent.  He seemed to live in the bushes near the cathedral, though she had also encountered him on the street near the shops a few times.  Twice he had even wandered into the Malfoy gardens on the edge of Old Sarum, begging for scraps.

Evidently the wards did not make Malfoy Manor invisible to animals. 

She was not a great lover of animals herself, but Draco squealed with delight every time he saw the dog, and the dog always seemed to smile back in the way that only dogs could.  He was quite gentle with the baby, so Narcissa had long ago accepted the dog’s occasional presence during her visits.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any food for you, today,” she said, giving the dog a scratch behind the ears.  “I’m afraid I’m here on rather serious business.  I actually felt the need to pray, if you can believe it.”

The dog looked oddly forlorn, and Narcissa just sighed.  She was so unhappy about the thing that was coming she was now projecting her feelings about it onto the dog for heaven’s sake.

“I’m sure one of the families on the lawn will share their picnic with you,” she said.  “I must be going to Avebury now.  I have to cover all of my bases.”

She gave the dog one last pat and then closed her eyes to apparete to her next destination.

She braced Draco against her chest and turned on the spot, materializing a moment later behind a hulking stone.  She stood rooted in place for a moment, but then breathed a sigh of relief when she confirmed that Draco had slept through it.  The squeeze of apparition was uncomfortable for babies, but she had done it so many times that Draco had grown accustomed to it.  Still, it was always a risk to attempt side-along apparition while he napped.

But he was still there, head against her heart, making sleepy sounds that caused Narcissa’s mouth to lift in a smile, despite the thing that was coming that night.

She kissed the top of his head once more and began to walk the large circle of stones, murmuring prayers to the old gods as she did it.  

She had considered going to Stonehenge for this – after all, it was the pride of Wiltshire – but she chose Avebury instead because it was far larger, far less famous, and it would require no magic from her at all to approach the stones in front of muggles in order to touch them and offer prayers.  Indeed, ahead of her she could see several muggles doing rubbings of the stones and stroking them curiously.  But other than a very small number of tourists, she was alone as she walked the circuit.

Avebury contained nearly a hundred stones and was one of the largest circles in the world.  The ley lines for Malfoy Manor ran underneath it and Stonehenge, and Narcissa knew that both sites helped power the magic that flowed through its halls and helped enhance its wards.

The proximity of these ancient sites to her husband’s home had always been a source of great pride for Lucius, but that pride transformed into caution once the Dark Lord took note of it.  His visits to the Manor had become more frequent ever since he learned this odd fact about the Manor, and while it honored the Malfoys to host him, Narcissa feared that soon he would ask to become a permanent guest in their home.

She hugged Draco a bit tighter at the thought as she completed the full circuit of stones, which took nearly an hour.  

As she approached the final stretch, a dark-haired man stepped out from behind one of the stones, and Narcissa jumped in surprise before narrowing her eyes.

“Sirius.  What are you doing here?”

Sirius’s handsome face was grim, and his eyes flashed as he looked down at her son, still asleep in his sling.

“Don’t do it, Narcissa.”

“Don’t do what?” she clipped.

Sirius gave her that look – the one that silently chided her for telling such an obvious lie – and she flushed.

“I’m not sure how you even know about it,” she declared.

“I know about it because Regulus knew about it, and it was the last thing he asked of me before he died.  He said that if he wasn’t here to stop you, then I had to do it.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened, and she observed her cousin’s face.  He tried to hide his devastation for his little brother, but Narcissa knew that it had broken Sirius to learn that Regulus died while fleeing the Dark Lord’s service.  She could see it in his posture, in that familiar defiance.  

Of course she could see it, she had known Sirius for her entire life, though their relationship had always been a little strained.

“Regulus was just a boy,” she said.  “He didn’t understand.”

“He understood enough!” insisted Sirius.  “He understood enough to see that he was in too deep!  And when he tried to escape that monster your husband calls his master… ” 

Sirius trailed off, choking on his grief.

Narcissa buried her own grief deep into the recesses of her mind, just as her father had taught her.  It made her appear cold, she knew, but she could not allow Sirius to dissuade her.  It would be safer for Draco if she cooperated this time.  She could not escape from this nightmare, not anymore, and she allowed her jealousy of Sirius and the fact that he had escaped show on her face.

Sirius’s eyes widened.

“I have one priority now,” she hissed, “and that is my son.  I cannot stop it, Sirius, no matter what you and James Potter may believe.  This is my lot, and it is Draco’s lot, and we are safest when we follow orders!  We must bend so that we are overlooked!  It is the only way!”

Sirius strode toward her and gripped her by the arm.

“Flee with me, Cissy.  James and I can hide you.  Dumbledore can hide you.  We can raise Draco alongside Harry.  They are just weeks apart in age, and they will be best friends – practically brothers!  Your husband and his master will never find you!  You won’t be alone!”

Bitterness and resentment welled up inside of her, and she didn’t try to hide it this time.

“I have been alone for years,” she spat.  “When we were children, it was always Andromeda and Bellatrix together and you and Regulus, while I was on the outside.  And then at Hogwarts, Andromeda and Bellatrix were still together while you took up with James Potter.  And when Regulus came along, he poached my only friend, and I was alone again.”

“Snivellus has never been your friend,” growled Sirius.

“Severus was the only friend I had until Regulus distracted him with flattery and attention!  And after Lily did what she did–”

“Chose James, you mean,” supplied Sirius.

“No, rejected Severus, he grew distant from everyone!  And that distance has become much worse since the Prophecy!  Oh don’t look at me like that, it’s an open secret on both sides.”

“Cissy–” he started, but Narcissa wasn’t done.

“And now we are adults,” she continued.  “Andromeda ran off with her worthless little muggleborn fling years ago, and I assume she has deepened ties with you while she did it.  And then instead of becoming mine, Bellatrix reached for Regulus while Severus reached for a bottle.  And you are still in your own little world of the Marauders, ignoring everything that happened to your brother and to me.”

“Cissy–”

“No, Sirius!  It is too late!  The only person who saw me and never left was my husband!  And I know who Lucius is – I know he can be cruel – but he has never been cruel to me, and he can protect Draco in ways that you cannot!”

“Draco wouldn’t need protection if Lucius wasn’t involved with Voldemort in the first place!” insisted Sirius.

“That may be true, but he extended his hand to me when others looked away.  And now I have made my bed, and Draco and I must lie in it.  I trust my son’s father far more than I trust a cousin who has never bothered to meet my son before today, despite my efforts to establish contact!”

“If you’re talking about that birth announcement…”

“Of course I am,” she snapped.  “Surely you don’t think I sent it to you to brag?  I sent one to you and to Andromeda, hoping that one of you would read between the lines and offer help before Draco drew his notice!  But I heard nothing, and now I am not in a position to run because it would mean certain death for my son if I did.  The best I can do is to cooperate and buy both of us time.”

Sirius looked stricken by this.

“Regulus said Voldemort will be testing the boy.”

Narcissa inclined her head.

“Cissy, you can’t be serious.”

“I have no choice!  I am told it is a small ritual.  His magical power will be confirmed, and that is all.  Once it is complete I will be free to raise Draco until he is of age and called to serve.  It is all I can do, Sirius, and I won’t risk my son by resisting it!”

Sirius deflated, and in the evening sun Narcissa could see fine lines on his face, despite the fact that Sirius was only twenty-one.  The war and the years-long fight with the Blacks had aged him very prematurely.  

“Narcissa, I beg you to reconsider.”

Narcissa shook her head.  “No.  It is in God’s hands now.  Or the gods’, if you prefer.”

Sirius snorted.  “You don’t believe in God or the gods.”

“Perhaps not,” said Narcissa.  “But today they are all I have.”

******

28 December 1981

Narcissa was sitting in the courtroom, trying desperately not to fidget while she discreetly shifted Draco from one arm to the other and shushed him.

Draco, of course, was uncooperative at eighteen months old.  He was an active little boy who had recently learned how to run, and Narcissa was always sending the elves to retrieve him from mischief.

Today, however, he had been clinging to Narcissa and alternating between whimpers and wails.  Lucius had terrified him ever since that ritual, and his fear had been made worse while Lucius was absent from their home and being held by the Ministry to await his trial after the Dark Lord’s fall.  Narcissa had been allowed to visit Lucius in a Ministry holding cell several times, and she had brought Draco with her to visit twice.  Both times he had looked at his father and screamed.

Narcissa stroked the back of Draco’s neck, where a small scar was located.  Her sweet boy had barely survived the blood letting that night, and every time Narcissa felt the raised skin under his hairline she felt ill and extraordinarily guilty for having allowed it in the first place.  

She knew his hair would cover it, and he would probably never think of it as he grew up.  But Narcissa knew it was there.  It would always be a reminder that she had failed him.

The doors to the courtroom opened and a familiar face approached, making Narcissa stiffen and Draco shrink away cautiously.

“Cissy,” said Severus, as he lowered himself into the spectator’s section with her.

“What do you want?” she asked coldly.

Severus sighed.  “Nothing.”

Narcissa glanced sideways at him.  The scent of drink was strong, and his eyes looked dead as he stared at the chair where Lucius would soon appear to hear his fate.

Narcissa’s anger evaporated at the pathetic sight.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she murmured.

Severus slumped.  “It’s my fault she’s dead.”

Narcissa shifted Draco again, who was now peeking at the older man from his mother’s shoulder.

“It could be Sirius’s fault,” she pointed out.  “Possibly.  I can’t be sure.”

Severus gave her a piercing look.  “He was their Secret Keeper.”

“Mmmm.”

Truthfully, Narcissa didn’t know what to think of her cousin’s supposed betrayal of the Potters.  Up until the day the Dark Lord fell, she would have sworn upon pain of death for herself and her entire family that Sirius Black was as loyal to the Potters as a friend could possibly be.  She had never sensed even the slightest hint of betrayal from him, nor had Lucius heard any whispers among the other Death Eaters about Sirius’s role as a spy.

But then he had been caught murdering a group of muggles and Peter Pettigrew the day after the Potters died, and Narcissa’s certainty about his loyalties was shaken.

“Did you do it, Sirius?” she asked, once she was finally allowed to visit Lucius in the holding cell at the Ministry.  Sirius was still there as well, and he was scheduled to be transferred to Azkaban the following day, despite the fact that he had not been tried.

“It’s my fault they’re dead,” he said in a voice that held so much grief, Narcissa started.

“Sirius…”

“My fault… all my fault… Regulus was my fault… and now James and Lily and Harry… even you and Draco… I’m supposed to be head of the Blacks with Father dead… everything is my fault…”

“Sirius, did you tell the Dark Lord their location or not?”

“I’m the reason he knew about it… all my fault…”

Narcissa had not been able to get a straight answer from him, and as he continued to declare that their deaths were ‘his fault’ she knew he was beyond help.

Sirius deserved a trial, but the Ministry was on the warpath, and the Malfoy name was presently muck thanks to her husband.  The Black name wasn’t any better thanks to Sirius and, most recently, her sister.

The scandal Bellatrix caused only weeks ago by torturing the Longbottoms into insanity had nearly wrecked every scrap of progress Narcissa had made since her husband was arrested.

Narcissa had looked at all three of her family members in the Ministry holding cells and quickly determined that she would only have enough social capital to save one of them.  She couldn’t help them all.  And when Albus Dumbledore gave testimony to the Ministry that Sirius had been the Potters’ Secret Keeper and had therefore given the Dark Lord their location, his trial had been cancelled and his Azkaban transfer was scheduled without further ado.

Her efforts would be wasted on Sirius, though her heart broke at the unfairness of it.  Bellatrix would at least get a trial, but Narcissa would not stick out her own neck for her big sister either.  Bellatrix had grown more unstable as the years moved on, and Narcissa was certain she would send herself to Azkaban because she wouldn’t be able to resist showing her support for the Dark Lord in front of the entire Wizengamot.  Narcissa knew that Bellatrix still believed he was alive and lurking somewhere, perhaps hidden by the Order.  That was why she had gone after the Longbottoms in the first place.

Bellatrix’s trial was scheduled for the following week.  Narcissa wouldn’t attend, because she already knew what would happen.  She concluded that it was time to repair the Malfoy name as best as she could since the Black name was forever tainted.

So that left Lucius.  He was her husband.  He was the father of her child.  And though Draco was frightened of him now, that surely wouldn’t last forever.  

Unlike Bellatrix, Lucius was loyal to himself first.  He had not declared public allegiance to the Dark Lord during his trial that took place just before Christmas, and instead he claimed to be under the imperius curse.  

It wasn’t true, but Narcissa had plunged their vaults to ensure that the ‘Veritaserum’ the Ministry guards fed to him just before he testified was nothing more than water and that the more traditional members of the Wizengamot would look favorably upon him today.  So that’s why she was here, waiting to see if her bribes and vague promises of favors in the future would be enough to allow her husband to go free.

She wasn’t proud of it, but she thought that Lucius was all she had left.

Then again, perhaps he wasn’t.  She glanced sideways at her old friend and saw that he was lost in thought.  She had suspected for years that Severus was an accomplished occlumens, and that was practically confirmed when Dumbledore testified during his trial that he had been the Order’s spy all along.  Narcissa privately believed that he was loyal to neither the Dark Lord nor Dumbledore, but only to himself and Lily Potter.  Still, she knew that Severus would never have been able to fool either one of his masters without exceptional occlumency.  

Seeing him now, Narcissa could tell his occlumency shields were shattered.  It was the most emotion she had seen on his face in years.  The death of Lily Potter had left him bereft.

Narcissa’s feelings about Lily Potter were distinctly mixed.  Narcissa had never been close to Lily or James for obvious reasons, and she deeply resented Lily for breaking Severus’s heart.  Narcissa had always viewed Lily as being brash and unforgiving and remarkably inflexible.  Didn’t she understand the pressure that Severus had been under during school?  Would she really allow a close childhood friendship to whither and die simply because he snapped and called her a foul name while being publicly humiliated by her future husband?  

No, Narcissa had never cared for Lily Potter.

But after the Dark Lord’s fall, an avalanche of rumors emerged that Lily had died standing between the Dark Lord and her son who was only a few weeks younger than Draco.  She even took the Dark Lord down with her while she did it.  Narcissa felt begrudging respect for the woman she had always so despised, and ever since the Dark Lord fell, Narcissa had dwelled on the kind of bravery it took to stand in front of one’s child in the face of a monster.

Narcissa was forced to admit that she had not stood in front of Draco.  No, she had given him up.  She had convinced herself the test would be nothing but a formality to prove that Draco carried strong magic in his blood.  It would be better for both of them if she cooperated because she could not see a way out of it.

But Lily had found a way out.  She had died rather than let the Dark Lord touch her son.

“I will admit she was very brave,” said Narcissa out loud.

Severus looked at her with the saddest eyes she had ever seen.

“She was.  And she was so very foolish.”

Narcissa frowned.  “How?”

Severus gave a bitter laugh.  “Because he may not be dead, Cissy.  He’s gone for now, but he could come back someday.  She allowed herself to die for something that didn’t even work.”

Narcissa went cold.

“Lucius is sure he’s dead.  I know Bellatrix thinks he’s still out there, but she’s gone a bit mad ever since he disappeared…Lucius is certain… his Dark Mark has faded…”

Narcissa’s heart was racing now as she stroked the small scar on the back of Draco’s neck, making him squirm in her arms.

Severus’s face was grim, but he just shook his head.

“This must stay just between us… but Dumbledore feels sure that some part of him survived.  He may not be corporeal at the moment, but he won’t be gone forever.  He will find a way to return someday.”

It was like falling into a void.  

Everything she had endured over the last few years – her husband’s missions, her son’s test, the destruction of her family’s good name, all while mothering her very young child – hit her at once.  Ever since the Dark Lord’s supposed demise she had been telling herself that she would persevere.  She would be okay.  Yes, Draco had drawn the Dark Lord’s attention once, but that no longer mattered.  And as soon as Lucius was out of prison they could become a family again, and she could start to rebuild her life.  Maybe she would even reconnect with the sister who was still free and finally meet her niece.

But no.  If the Dark Lord was still out there, then none of it was over, not really.

“Sev,” she said in a desperate voice.  

To her surprise, Severus reached for her free hand and clasped it firmly, just like he used to do when they were children and her sisters and cousins made her cry.

“It will be alright, Cissy.”

“No… no, it will never be alright!”

She was breathing hard, shaking as she clutched Draco to her tighter than ever.  He gave a small wail in protest, and then Severus surprised her further by pulling Draco out of her arms and onto his lap.

Draco immediately stopped crying and looked at Severus solemnly, obviously unsure about the older man, but no longer frightened of him either.

“It will,” said Severus firmly.  “You will have Lucius when this is all over.  And you still have me.”

“Do I?” she asked.  

Severus used to be hers, but it had been so long since she ranked for his attention compared to Lily or Regulus that she couldn’t be sure he meant it. 

“Yes,” said Severus.  “I’m sorry I pulled away.  I shouldn’t have done that, Cissy, not ever.  But you still have me, and… well, I hope I have you.  I don’t have anybody like Lucius in my life.  I have nobody left but you.”

Something about his hesitant declaration calmed her spiraling thoughts. Severus was right.  She had her husband and one friend.  He had only one friend.  Both of their circles had slowly shrunk thanks to the war, and now that there was temporary peace they needed to realign with one another.  If the Dark Lord ever came back it could be very important to have him on her side.

“You’re right,” she said.  “I don’t know what will come in the future, but… yes.  We can be friends again.  And Draco needs an honorary godfather.  I’m certain that his actual godparents will be going to prison very soon.”

Not for the first time Narcissa deeply regretted naming Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus as Draco’s godparents.  She had chosen them out of obligation, but Severus would have been better suited for it.

Severus relaxed ever so slightly, and he nodded.

“Then let me suggest – as your friend and Draco’s honorary godfather – that you insist upon Draco attending Hogwarts when he turns eleven.”

Narcissa looked at him sharply.

“Lucius wants to send him to Durmstrang.”

“I’m aware,” said Severus wryly.  “Lucius has told me many times that he does not wish for his son to study under Dumbledore.  And you may not have had a say in it while the Dark Lord was here… But if he is still gone when Draco turns eleven, then you should do everything you can to send him to Hogwarts.”

He trailed off, but she heard his message loud and clear.

“Will you still be there?”

“Yes, I will return to my teaching job in the new term, and I can watch over Draco if he is ever a student.  Dumbledore will be naming me head of Slytherin House as soon as Professor Garfield retires at the end of the school year.  Dumbledore has already selected a former Ravenclaw to take the post of Ancient Runes Professor when he’s gone, so I will be the senior-most Slytherin on staff.”

“You’ll be the only Slytherin on staff,” she said wryly.

“True, but if he ever hires any others… I will have seniority.”

Narcissa fell silent as she contemplated her friend.  He was remarkably young to be teaching Potions and leading a Hogwarts House.  In fact, he was so young, he had overlapped in school with at least half of his current students.  And yet here he was, on the other side of the war with a secure and admirable career that could give him some purpose while he waited for the Dark Lord to return.

“I will not deny that I find the idea much more palatable than Durmstrang, but the Dark Lord knows of Draco already,” she said in a quiet voice.  “It may not matter.”

“It will matter,” said Severus with such confidence that Narcissa straightened up to listen closely.

“How can you be sure?”

Severus hesitated.  

“Draco was not the only one tested, Cissy,” he said slowly.  “The Nott boy was too.  And before them, Regulus was tested the day after Sirius abandoned his family and ran off with Potter.  Old Walburga Black dragged her son before the Dark Lord herself…. The Dark Lord was deeply interested in the power of children and how it grows as they age.  You know power builds, and the big leaps happen during puberty while children are in school.  I believe that sort of attention can be better managed when the children are kept at a distance from those who would call them to serve.”

Narcissa was horrified.

“He wanted to use children?”

“He brought Regulus into the fold before Regulus was of age, didn’t he?”

Narcissa fell silent, her stomach twisting at the thought.  The Dark Lord had been greedy that night when he confirmed Draco’s power, and it had scared Narcissa as nothing else had.

Severus continued.

“I’ve already spoken to Eleanor Nott about this, and she believes she can convince Tiberius to enroll their son at Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang, assuming he bribes his way out of Azkaban in a few weeks. Tiberius doesn’t like foreigners, you know, he won’t be hard to convince.  Lucius may be more challenging, but it’s important that you try.  Do you understand what I’m saying?”  

If the Dark Lord returns while Draco is in school, then Durmstrang will fall to his rule before Hogwarts will.  Draco will have some protection at Hogwarts as long as Dumbledore is alive and Severus is there to watch over him.

“Yes,” she said, “but Lucius will fight me on it.  He actually believes in blood superiority, you know.”

Severus snorted.  “And you don’t?”

Narcissa shrugged.  “I was raised to be proud of my heritage and name, you know that.  But beliefs?  These days I believe whatever I must to keep my family safe.  That is all.”

Severus hummed.

“Then please believe me so you can keep Draco as safe as possible.  This is worth a fight with your husband, Cissy.”

Narcissa said nothing to this as the Head Mugwump banged a gavel, and the courtroom rose.

Lucius was being escorted into the room by a pair of aurors, and he lowered himself onto the chair, holding his chin high as he was bound in place.

Narcissa retrieved Draco from Severus’s arms, just as Lucius’s gaze fell on her.  She couldn’t smile, but she grimaced.  He just raised one eyebrow, as though he was thoroughly unimpressed by his surroundings. 

His arrogance was astounding, but Narcissa was forced to admit that it was one of the things about Lucius Malfoy that had always drawn her to him.

“You may be seated!” cried Barty Crouch, who was leading the proceedings.  Narcissa sat again, her hands trembling as she waited for the verdict.

“In the case of the Ministry of Magic versus Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, you have heard the charges and the evidence.  Please raise your hand if you believe the defendant to be guilty of knowingly associating with the organization known as the Death Eaters and all related crimes that have previously been presented to this court!”

Narcissa closed her eyes and prayed to any god who would hear her that her bribes would work and her husband would walk free.

She only opened them again when she heard the roar of dismay coming from the aurors in attendance.  There were quite a few hands in the air to be sure, but it wasn’t enough to convict him.

It wasn’t nearly enough.

“Very well,” said Crouch bitterly.  “Mr. Malfoy, you are cleared of all charges.  You are free to go.”

Lucius caught Narcissa’s eyes once more, and he gave her a satisfied smile that both chilled her heart and made it lurch with pleasure at precisely the same time.

She wasn’t sure what would come next, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she should have chosen Sirius after all.

******

“You are looking as lovely as ever, Cissy.”

Narcissa raised her eyes to find her husband studying her over their dinner.  Draco was already asleep, thank God.  The poor child had been inconsolable when Lucius tried to take him from Narcissa right after the verdict, and Narcissa had to snatch him back so they could push through the reporters without further incident.  The entire ordeal had been too much for their boy, and Draco just buried his face into Narcissa’s shoulder as he sobbed.

At least the media wouldn’t have a picture of their son’s face after the spectacle at the Ministry.  Narcissa was certain that her face and Lucius’s would be plastered all over The Daily Prophet the next morning, and she was dreading it.

“And you are looking thin.”

Lucius’s mouth quirked in that familiar way that reminded Narcissa of the early days of their relationship.  She was a year ahead of Severus and Sirius in school and three years behind Lucius.  But by the time Lucius was leaving Hogwarts, he already had his eye on her — the youngest Black sister, the girl who was in the middle of five cousins and who had been left behind along the way.  

She had been starting her fifth year when her father informed her with delight that the Malfoys had reached out about establishing a match with their only son.  The witch originally chosen for Lucius during his early years at Hogwarts had proven to be unsatisfactory, and Lucius had approached his father to request that Narcissa be the replacement.  

It was flattering enough to turn any young girl’s head, and Narcissa had fallen in love with the older boy through his regular letters and their few chaperoned meetings during school breaks.

On her seventeenth birthday the Blacks and Malfoys executed a contract to wed.  Two years later they were married.  And two years after that they had Draco, and the Dark Lord was growing more demanding by the day.

Narcissa thought she had always held a piece of Lucius’s heart, though her husband could be cold at times and very hard to read.  He was certainly faithful to her and had never been openly cruel to her the way he could act toward others.  But their relationship was far more complex now than it had been when she was fifteen and blushing at his letters.  

“Prison will make one thin… as will the death of one’s only remaining parent,” he commented.

Narcissa’s mouth tightened.  Her feelings about her husband’s temporary incarceration notwithstanding, it had been a tragedy that her father-in-law Abraxas had succumbed to dragon pox while Lucius was imprisoned.  She knew they had always been very close.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it.

A shadow of grief passed over his face, but he pushed it away.

“It is the way of things.”

They were silent for a long while as Narcissa wondered what on earth they should do next.  She had been taking the last few months one day at a time, and now they were here with Lucius walking free and temporary peace until the Dark Lord returned… but when?

“What is it?” asked Lucius sharply, noticing her troubled expression.

Narcissa grimaced and straightened up.  “I just… what are we going to tell Draco?  About all of this?”

She swept her hand out to gesture toward the robes that were bagging on him and his hair that desperately needed a trim.

Lucius’s eyes went flinty.

“Why would we tell him anything?  He’s a baby.”

Narcissa looked at him incredulously.  “You don’t think he’ll find out eventually?”

Lucius’s mouth thinned.

“Draco will know whatever we teach him, Cissy.  There is no reason for him to be aware of everything that took place over the last few months until he’s older.”

“Lucius…”

“I mean it, Cissy.  He’s a child.  We could teach him that the sky is always purple, and he would believe it because that would be all he knows!”

“Until a tutor or a friend comes along and tells him it’s usually blue,” she pointed out.

Lucius waved her off.  “You know what I’m saying.  The things we teach him about his heritage and the war will be entirely in-line with what his tutors reinforce and his peers believe.  It is simple, Cissy.  He is our son, and that makes it our responsibility to control what he learns.  Once he’s a little older we can explain everything to him in a way that’s appropriate for his age and experience.  The Malfoys traditionally share knowledge of the wards and marital relations with their children when they turn thirteen.  I see no reason why Draco should learn about the Death Eaters before he learns about reproduction.  He can be raised to respect his heritage and honor our name and blood without explaining the politics behind it all.  Draco can learn the details once he’s a teenager and better equipped to understand it.”

Narcissa fell silent as she weighed this.  She knew what her husband really meant.  He wanted Draco to think like he did, and his point was well-taken that young children couldn’t comprehend nuance.  Narcissa had been raised that way too, and while she had largely fallen in line with it, she also knew from personal experience that the traditional rhetoric could feel stifling and even illogical as one aged.  Andromeda had rebelled from it.  Sirius appeared to have rebelled from it before the Potters died.  Even Regulus fled before the end.

“I don’t know if that will work, Lucius.”

Lucius scowled.  “Of course it will work!  We will raise him as we were raised.  And then he will go to Durmstrang and be surrounded by—”

“No,” said Narcissa, cutting him off.  “Not Durmstrang.”

Lucius’s expression turned icy.  

“Cissy…”

“No, Lucius.  I cannot… I just cannot bear it.  He’s my only son.  I do not want him so far from me.  And now that the Dark Lord may be gone we actually have a choice… ”

“Dumbledore is a mudblood-loving fool,” he insisted.  “And the Dark Lord is gone.  I’ve told you about my Dark Mark.”

Narcissa hesitated, and unfortunately Lucius noticed it.

“What?”

“It’s just… Bellatrix thinks he’s still out there.  Severus is unsure, but thinks it’s possible.  He may not be gone.”

“Then all the more reason to send Draco to Durmstrang!”

Narcissa turned her pleading gaze on her husband.

“Please, Lucius… I want Draco at Hogwarts.  If the Dark Lord is still gone when he’s eleven, I don’t want our son so far away from us.  Dumbledore doesn’t matter.  Severus plans to resume his duties next term and stay indefinitely.  He said that he will become Head of Slytherin House next year.  You know Draco would be sorted into Slytherin, and we will have somebody we trust keeping a close eye on him.”

“Do we trust Severus?” demanded Lucius.  “Because Dumbledore gave testimony himself.”

Narcissa shrugged.  “What of it?  He was the Dark Lord’s spy.  You said yourself he was responsible for giving our side intelligence that led to many successful raids.  He’s also the one who reported the Prophecy, and it’s not his fault the Dark Lord chose to act with incomplete information.  Didn’t you say that Severus begged him to wait until he could learn more?”

“Because of that mudblood no doubt.”

Narcissa waved a dismissive hand.  “It was a crush in school, nothing more. He moved on from it well before we were married.”

It wasn’t true, of course, but only a few people knew just how much Severus had loved Lily Potter, and Lucius was not one of them.  Regardless of her old friend’s loyalties and beliefs, Narcissa felt sure that Severus would try to protect those who were important to him in whatever way he could.  Draco may not be important to Severus just yet, but he could be with enough time and effort.  She needed Lucius to believe that Severus was loyal and unaffected by Lily’s death.

“Are you certain?”

“Of course.  You know we are old friends.  We spoke about Lily before your verdict, and he didn’t shed a tear for her.”

“But Dumbledore’s testimony—”

“Oh for God’s sake Lucius, you surely can’t fault Severus for leaning on Dumbledore to keep him out of Azkaban!  I nearly drained one of our vaults to do the same thing for you!  And the testimony only means that Severus did his job and made the old fool trust him, just as the Dark Lord ordered.” 

Lucius seemed to weigh this, and to Narcissa’s relief he finally inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“You owe me this, Lucius,” she pressed.  “After the last few months and that night… ”

Lucius sat back and contemplated Narcissa for a full minute before he spoke.  Narcissa was sure she knew what was coming next: Lucius was preparing to negotiate.

“I will agree to keep Hogwarts on the table if you agree that some of your… more questionable views… will be kept to yourself and not shared with our son.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes.  “Like what?”

“No more trips to Salisbury with the boy.  I don’t want him to be influenced by the muggle filth.”

Narcissa’s heart broke a little at this.  While Lucius was being held at the Ministry she had taken Draco to Salisbury nearly every day.  The dog who used to visit them there seemed to have moved on, but Draco scarcely noticed.  He loved to toddle through the large cloister of the cathedral and point to the animals and people in the stained glass windows.  And as for Narcissa, she had taken solace in her anonymity there.

But she knew this was too important.  She could give it up to make sure Draco went to Hogwarts.

“Very well.”

“And I will have final say over the things that Draco learns and studies.  He will still need to be taught Norwegian because if you are correct that the Dark Lord is not dead, then he may return before Draco goes to school and insist that Draco go to Durmstrang.  If that happens we cannot object, Cissy.  Draco must be prepared just in case.”

“I know that.”

“And your muggle holidays—”

“Stop,” insisted Narcissa.  “They are not muggle holidays.  Plenty of wizards celebrate them too.  We do not need to make Draco worship any god, but I will not be denied Christmas with my only child.  You missed Christmas this year, being in prison.”

She made this last point a little bitterly.

Lucius studied her carefully, but then nodded once.  “Fine.”

“Then we are in agreement?” asked Narcissa quickly, before Lucius could think of anything else to use as leverage.  

“We are in agreement.”

******

2 July 1989

Draco was standing before her in the dress robes that Lucius insisted he wear for the daily recitation of his lessons.  He was fidgeting, desperately trying not to scratch at his collar, and Narcissa made a mental note to speak with Mopsy, Draco’s elf, about altering it to add some lining.

She knew her boy despised dressing this way, but they had a habit of doing this right before dinner, and Lucius preferred a formal table.

“Master Draco has done exceptionally well today,” said his tutor.  

Draco rolled his eyes at his tutor’s praise and Narcissa suppressed a smile.  Her boy could be so like his father sometimes.

“Naturally,” said Lucius in a bored voice, as he prepared to question their son.  “Now then, Draco, when did Sargentius Malfoy die?” he asked.

“1452, sir.”

“And who did he marry?”

“Elizabeth Borgin, sir.”

“And how many issue did he have?”

“Erm… issue sir?”

“Children, boy.  How many children did he have?” Lucius clarified, casting an annoyed look at Draco’s tutor because he obviously hadn’t taught Draco this word yet.

Narcissa gently trod on his foot to tell him to control his temper.

“Three, sir.  Marcellus, who was the heir, Vincius, who was the spare, and Amelia, who married Felix Rosier.”

“And who was the first Unpardonable in our family?” he continued.

Draco’s gray eyes widened in surprise.  Lucius didn’t often ask about the so-called ‘Unpardonables,’ and Narcissa’s own spine stiffened to hear him raise it.  

“Janus Malfoy, sir.”

Then Draco added, “He was born in 1312, sir.”  

Lucius grimaced, and then Draco winced at his father’s expression.  Narcissa wanted to shake her husband.  Why ask about the Unpardonables at all if he didn’t wish for Draco to learn any of the other details that were customary?

“And what was his crime?” continued Lucius coldly.

“He married a mug – I mean, a mudblood, Father,” said Draco confidently.  

Narcissa pursed her lips, but let the word go without comment.  It might be a bit impolite, but Draco had come by it honestly.

“Precisely, Draco.  And how was he punished?”

“He was cut off from the family, sir.  His older brother, Brutus, who was the heir, took away his money, and his children were never called Malfoys.”

“That’s right.  And what are mudbloods Draco?”

“They are magical people who are no better than animals, sir.  They are common.  They are nothing.  Their parents are dirty muggles, sir.”

Lucius nodded in satisfaction, and Draco let out a breath of relief and gave his father a tentative smile, always desperate for his approval.

Narcissa’s own face remained impassive, but internally she grimaced.  She could not deny that Lucius’s educational methods had turned Draco into a perfect pureblood son.  These days Draco looked at her husband with awe, and the fear that he had held for Lucius since he was a baby had morphed.  Narcissa knew he was still afraid of Lucius, though not because Lucius physically disciplined him.  It was Lucius’s disappointment that Draco feared above all else because it was palpable and heartbreaking.

In fact, Draco was so afraid of letting down his father that Narcissa often wondered if that night with the Dark Lord was still affecting him years later.  Draco had no memory of it of course, but perhaps he associated fear and disappointment with pain.

As for Narcissa, she became unsettled every time the recitation of lessons drifted toward those political nuances Lucius refused to explain to their nine-year-old son.  Many of their recitations were entirely neutral – perhaps a test of Draco’s progress in mathematics or a conversation in French or Norwegian.  Draco excelled in languages, and she knew he enjoyed those recitations the most because he could shift from one language to the next fluently.  It never failed to please Lucius.

The family history lessons, however, had always made Narcissa tense, especially when Lucius reinforced blood purity as part of it.  For all of Draco’s dreams of being just like his father, she saw something in her son that was a bit different than her husband.  He had moments of softness and reflection that Lucius did not share.  They had become increasingly rare as Draco grew older to be sure – and at this point she even hoped that Lucius’s methods would work so that Draco could be content – but whenever she saw the side of him that was more like her, she couldn’t help but worry.

There was so much they had never told him.  So much that Lucius insisted upon keeping a secret until that magical age of thirteen.  Ever since the night Lucius was acquitted, he had made training Draco his top priority.  Lucius carefully curated Draco’s curriculum and reading list to ensure it was consistent with his own views.  He slowly, but surely, removed Draco from play groups and reduced opportunities for socialization with other children, fearing they would be a negative influence.  Lucius carefully monitored Draco’s interactions with Severus because he was still a bit distrusting of Severus’s true loyalties.  But as long as the Dark Lord didn’t return in the next two years, then her boy would be going to Hogwarts when he turned eleven.

Narcissa would make sure of it.

At that point, Draco would be beyond Lucius’s control, and Narcissa did not know what would come of it.

“Now then Draco, it is time you moved on to learn about the Blacks next.  Your mother will question you most thoroughly, beginning tomorrow evening.”

Narcissa inclined her own head in acknowledgment, and Draco did as well.

“You may be dismissed, Draco.”

“Thank Merlin,” he blurted out.  

Narcissa hid a smile.

“It’s ‘thank Salazar,’” Lucius corrected.

Draco’s cheeks turned red, but he wisely said nothing more.  Instead, he straightened up and then gave the formal bow that he had learned at age four.

Lucius flicked his hand toward Draco in dismissal, and Draco turned to hurry off, obviously relieved that his recitation was over.  His tutor hurried away too, looking a bit worried at the expression on Lucius’s face.

“Will you be ready to quiz Draco on the Blacks tomorrow?” asked Lucius, now turning to Narcissa.

She just raised an eyebrow.  “I know my family tree just as well as you know yours, Lucius…”

Lucius’s own cheeks turned a bit pink.

“It’s for the best, Narcissa.”

“If you really think he’s never going to learn about–”

“He won’t,” said Lucius curtly.  “She’s dead, and I’ll be sure to have a word with her husband about it before it could become an issue.  And if Draco ever does learn of it, he will maintain appropriate boundaries.  He’s a dutiful child.”

“True,” conceded Narcissa.  “Though in the case of family members…”

“You and I both know that it’s best he doesn’t learn of them.  At least not yet.”

Narcissa allowed herself to feel her resentment for just a moment.  Lucius had no problem keeping certain family members of his a secret, but Narcissa wanted nothing more than to tell Draco about her own.  

She knew Lucius would never condone Draco learning about Andromeda or her daughter Nymphadora, at least not until he was old enough to shun them himself.  As always, she faced the loss of her older sister and niece and then placed them into their respective boxes in her mind that were reserved just for them.  It would do her no good to dwell on things she could not have – that Draco could not have.

“And what about Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Sirius?”

Lucius fell silent as he considered this carefully.

“Be circumspect, Cissy, but I think he can learn about all three.  Two of them are his godparents, and he will need to meet them one day.”

“Even Sirius?”

“I certainly don’t wish for him to meet Sirius, but it may be unavoidable at some point.  Besides, he has gone mute in Azkaban, so we can only hope that if that day ever comes Sirius will have nothing to say to Draco.”

Lucius was right, of course.  Narcissa visited Bellatrix every few months out of a lingering sense of obligation, and she always passed Sirius’s cell while she did it.  Sirius had not spoken to her in at least a year.

Her mental box for Sirius Black was just as large as Andromeda's and far larger than Nymphadora’s.  It was filled with bitterness and anger and regret and guilt.  

There was so much guilt. 

“Very well,” she said.  “I will be careful about what I say.”

“I know you will,” said Lucius.  “You would do anything to make sure our son is happy.”

It was true.  Other than his safety, Narcissa wanted nothing more than for Draco to be happy and content in his role as the Malfoy heir.  It might hurt Narcissa’s heart to enforce the boundaries Lucius had imposed, but as always, she reminded herself it was for the best.  It would be easier for Draco if he never knew what he was missing.  It would be kinder if she kept that knowledge to herself until he was a little older.

For now, Narcissa would follow in her husband’s footsteps and continue to raise Draco to believe the things that Lucius did. 

The sky in her little boy’s world was still purple and would be for some time.  

She dreaded the day it inevitably turned blue.

Chapter Text

5 June 1991

“Happy birthday, Draco!”

Narcissa was beaming as Draco made his way into the large breakfast room where the family took their morning meals.  Lucius was reading The Daily Prophet at the head of the table, and Narcissa was sitting on the right side of him, her eyes twinkling with delight.  On the table Draco could already see all of his favorite breakfast foods. 

No doubt Narcissa had ordered the elves to create a special meal just for him.

“You’re eleven!”

Draco couldn’t help but smile at this.  Eleven was one of the biggest milestones for wizards – second only to turning thirteen for Malfoys and coming of age at seventeen – and Draco was secretly thrilled that he was finally old enough to learn magic in a few months.

Well, to be fair, he was mostly thrilled to be old enough to leave Malfoy Manor and his parents for more than an hour or two.  His parents hovered terribly, and it could be stifling at times.  But finally becoming trained in magic was a serious perk to this as well because he had never trained in practical magic.  Everything he had learned up to this point was theory and fundamentals.

The only question was where he would be attending school starting in the autumn.

“Thanks,” he said.  “Did my Hogwarts letter come?”

Narcissa’s smile turned a bit frozen, while Lucius finally lowered the paper to observe his son.

“You received two letters, Draco.  One from Hogwarts and one from Durmstrang.”

Draco sensed tension between his parents now, but he wasn’t certain why.  He wished to attend Hogwarts because it was the place his parents had gone, but he had also been learning Norwegian his entire life in case he went to Durmstrang one day.  He very much enjoyed languages, but he had wondered more than once why his parents didn’t simply pick a school from an early age and stick with it.  Learning an entire language based on nothing more than a ‘maybe one day’ had been quite a lot of work.

“May I see them?”

Lucius placed his paper on the table and then pulled out two letters from his pocket, before handing them both over to Draco.  The first was in blood red parchment with dark ink and was addressed simply enough:

Master Draco Lucius Malfoy
Malfoy Manor
Wiltshire, England

On the back was a seal with a mace and a wand crossed, and the words Renhet for Alltid inscribed across the top.

“Purity forever,” Draco murmured, translating the school motto almost unconsciously.

He knew which school this belonged to, and he opened it to read a short missive welcoming him to Durmstrang Institute, which prided itself on being one of the only schools left in Europe that selected its student body based predominantly on lineage.

He swallowed and gave his father a small smile as he set it aside and turned to the other letter.

This was in cream parchment with the address in bright green ink.

Draco L. Malfoy
The Heir’s Bedroom
West Wing
Malfoy Manor
Wiltshire, England

He quirked an eyebrow at his father.  “How do they know where I sleep?”

Lucius just pursed his lips.  “I have no notion, but I’m certain it’s because Albus Dumbledore is a meddling old fool.”

Draco turned this letter over and saw the Hogwarts crest with four animals embossed on a shield, each representing the four residential Houses of the school: a green and silver snake for Slytherin, a blue and bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, a red and gold lion for Gryffindor, and a yellow and black badger for Hufflepuff.  Below it was a ribbon with the words Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus inscribed, and now he looked at his mother in bemusement as he recalled his Latin lessons.

“Never touch a sleeping dragon?” he translated.

“Actually, it’s ‘never tickle a sleeping dragon,’ but the point is well-made in any event,” said Narcissa.

Lucius rolled his eyes, and Draco suppressed a smile.

His finger traced the word Draco in the school motto, and something about it felt right.  But as much as Draco wished to tell his parents that Durmstrang could sod off, he knew it wasn’t his choice in the end.

He would attend whichever school his parents selected, and for once he was far more interested in information than the gifts he would surely be receiving later on that day.

“Where will you be sending me, then?”

He lifted his eyes to find his mother watching him with a slightly troubled look on her face.  Lucius’s lips were pursed again, and Draco suddenly got the impression that they were in disagreement, though he had never heard them discuss it before.  The choice of school had always been punted to the future with little fanfare, as Draco continued his lessons to prepare for both possibilities.

“Where do you want to go, son?” asked Lucius.

Draco was taken aback because he had never expected to have any say in the matter.

“I don’t know,” he said reflexively.

It was a lie, but if his parents were truly split about this, then Draco was certain he could predict which parent supported which school.

His mother would support Hogwarts because it was closer and familiar.  His father would wish to send him to Durmstrang because of his lineage and their curriculum that included training in the Dark Arts.

Narcissa’s lips thinned, and she straighted up before turning to Lucius.

“We’ve discussed this, Lucius.  Hogwarts is the better choice.  I can’t bear for him to be in Norway, and Severus will be there to keep an eye on him.”

Lucius cocked his head, but said nothing.  He was studying Draco’s face intently, and Draco was suddenly worried that Lucius could read Draco’s true preferences in his expression.

“I could go to Durmstrang,” he said quickly.  “Erm… if you want me to, I mean.”

“Don’t stutter, Draco, it’s not becoming,” said Lucius.

Draco snapped his mouth shut, the familiar embarrassment whenever his father corrected him making his cheeks burn.

“Good.  So you would attend Durmstrang without objection?”

“Yes sir.”

Draco’s heart was breaking just a little bit, but he refused to let his father see it.  He could adjust to Durmstrang if he had to.  He was very well prepared for it.  But Hogwarts had always called to him because it was the place where Malfoys were traditionally educated.  Even with a shoddy headmaster, Severus would be there.  The two or three children Draco used to play with when he was much younger might be there.  And he had loved looking at the castle in the distance whenever his mother took him to Hogsmeade as a child.  She used to whisper that he would be able to go there one day, and it had always been one of his dreams.

Draco felt it vanishing before his very eyes, but he made sure his expression did not change.

“Lucius,” said Narcissa sharply.

Lucius sighed and reached for both letters that Draco was still holding.

Draco handed them over, releasing the Hogwarts letter a bit reluctantly, before Lucius opened them to read for himself.

Draco and Narcissa were silent as they waited for Lucius’s decision.

The flinty eyes that were so much like Draco’s glanced up at him before sliding to his mother.

“You’ve kept your bargain with me, Cissy.”

Bargain?

Narcissa, however, just nodded curtly.  “I have.”

“Then I suppose I must uphold my side of it as well.”

He turned to Draco and handed the Hogwarts letter back.

“You’ll be going to Hogwarts, Draco.”

Draco thought his heart might leap out of his chest.

“But you will not forget where you came from,” added Lucius.

The excitement suddenly dimmed as fast as it had arrived, and now it was replaced by a strong urge to pacify Lucius.

Draco knew the next part of the script by heart, and he didn’t even have to think about it as he said the words.

“Yes Father.”

******

31 July 1991

“Draco, it’s time to go to Diagon Alley to get your school things!”

Draco looked up from the model of Hogwarts that he was playing with – no, studying – to find his mother holding his school supply list.

He had been in his room all morning, though nobody would know it from its tidiness.  His elf Mopsy had already made his bed – the handsome green velvet curtains and quilt were a replica of the beds in Slytherin House – and she trailed silently behind him cleaning up any messes he made along the way.

For the last hour or more he had been crouched in front of the large castle on the floor, which nearly blocked the view of his fireplace and required Mopsy to rearrange some of the seating to accommodate it.

“Already?  School doesn’t start for a month.”

“I know, dear, but you’ll want time to review your books before classes begin.  Today is a good day for it.”

Draco nodded and placed his figurines – no, study aids – down and rose to join his mother.  Mopsy silently stepped forward from one corner and straightened those that he had not yet placed.  When she moved back to her corner, all of the figurines he hadn’t used yet were in a perfectly straight line.

“Have you been having fun?” Narcissa asked, nodding to the model castle.  “Your father mentioned this to me once or twice over the years, but I confess I was not expecting the elves to retrieve this from storage.  It’s so large it’s taking up most of your play area, dear.”

Narcissa was right that it was enormous.  It was a replica of Hogwarts Castle that was supposedly to scale, and while some might say it was akin to a dollhouse, Lucius had emphasized that it was to be used to memorize the Hogwarts floorplan before Draco arrived.

Draco would never get lost if he studied it in advance, and in fact Lucius had a similar working model of the Ministry of Magic in his office for precisely the same reason.  Lucius’s model took up an entire eight-person table.

“I’ve been studying it,” Draco said with embarrassment, “not playing with it.” 

“I see,” said Narcissa wryly, who eyed the small, blonde figurine with a green tie.  Draco had placed him in the owlery with the model eagle owl that looked very much like his own owl, Camillo.  They had been the first figurines he placed.

“I’m not playing,” Draco insisted, now with a bit of a whine in his voice.  “Father says I’m too old to play.”

“Your father says many things,” said Narcissa with a raised brow, as her eyes now slid to the tall shelves that contained quite a few bins of toys.  The toys inside were all hidden from sight of course – even Narcissa would not tolerate them strewn about – but Draco knew very well what was in each bin.

Draco flushed and refused to admit that his mother may be right.

Narcissa kneeled down and pulled him in for a hug and kiss on the forehead.  

“You’re still my boy, and you’re still allowed to play,” she whispered in his ear.  “Don’t grow up too quickly.”

Draco turned red as he pulled away, torn between pleasure and quiet mortification.  His mother was the soft parent, and she had always encouraged him to act his age when his father wasn’t looking.  But Draco felt he was growing too old for her open affection, especially when he considered what his father would say if he knew about it.

The prospect of Lucius’s disapproval was enough to stifle any childlike inclinations.

He glanced back at the castle.  He felt that he had a lot more studying to do, but he supposed he could spare the time for Diagon Alley.  It would certainly prove to his mother that he wasn’t becoming so caught up in the little world he was building in his head that he couldn’t step away from it.

“We can go,” he said as he rose.  “Is Father coming too?”

“Of course he is,” assured Narcissa.  “We have quite a shopping list, so we may need to split up for a time, but we have a private appointment for your wand in an hour or so.”

Draco perked up at this news, though of course he would expect nothing less.  His parents often reserved private meetings at wizarding shops when there was something of real importance to purchase.  

Draco’s wand was one of the most important purchases they would ever make.

“Then let’s go,” he said, suddenly ready for a day of shopping ahead of them.

Narcissa chuckled and followed him out, and soon they were meeting his father in the entry hall before stepping toward the floo parlor.

“Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, dear,” said Narcissa.  Draco struggled not to roll his eyes at his mother’s nagging because of course he already knew how to get to Diagon Alley.

Honestly, Mother, I’m not a baby.

His parents each pinched some floo powder in their fingers and threw it into the fireplace in the floo parlor.  Immediately the fire turned green, and they stepped forward shouting, “Leaky Cauldron!” one after the next.

When it was Draco’s turn he took a deep breath and did the same thing, trying to ignore the motion sickness he always experienced as he rapidly spun away.

Before long he was exiting from the fireplace on the other side, and he barely suppressed a sneer as he looked around the drab pub.  If it wasn’t for the fact that the Leaky Cauldron was the main floo point for Diagon Alley, the Malfoys would never come here.

His mother waved her wand to clean the soot from his robes, and then she ushered him out of the pub and into the sunlit street before them.

Diagon Alley was bustling today, with quite a few families out shopping for potions ingredients, books, broomsticks, and anything else Draco could imagine.

He eyed the gleaming broomstick in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, but Narcissa gave him a stern look.

“Not today, Draco, we don’t have time.  Come along.”

She escorted him smartly toward a familiar shop that immediately made Draco stop short and groan.

“Mother, no!”

“Draco,” snapped Lucius.  “You will behave.”

Draco’s mouth clamped shut, but internally he was fuming as he stared at the storefront before him.

Madam Malkin’s

It was a robe shop, and Draco absolutely despised shopping for robes.  His mother knew this of course, which was surely why she had given him no warning.

“I’m afraid we have no choice,” said Narcissa.  “Your father will gather your books, and I'll be checking with Ollivander about your wand, but you are needed for a robe fitting.  Now head on in and tell her you require five sets of Hogwarts robes.”

“The supply list said three!” protested Draco.  “The fitting will take longer with five!”

“I don’t care, there are five school days each week, and the elves only do laundry on Saturdays.  You will not be one of those nasty children who rewears their robes and uniforms before they are laundered on the weekends.  I want at least five of everything, and if you do not listen I will ask for seven.”

Draco sighed and slumped, knowing that he would never win this.

He muttered a sullen farewell to his parents, who headed off to shop for much more interesting things, before pushing the door in at the small shop.

“Hogwarts, dear?” asked a plump sales witch as soon as he stepped inside.

Draco just grunted.

“And how many sets of robes do you need?”

“Five,” he groaned.

The witch brightened and gestured for Draco to stand on a dais as she began to measure him.

And that was how Draco Malfoy found himself stuck in Madame Malkin’s shop by himself for nearly an hour, being fitted for his school robes and uniform.  

Plain black robes.   

Plain black hat.  

Plain black cloak.

Underneath, boys were to wear gray wool slacks, a white shirt, a tie, and a jumper for cold days.  The trim on the jumpers and ties would change color to match the school Houses once students were sorted.

They were only allowed to dress out of uniform on the weekends and after classes were finished for the day.  

How bloody boring.  

Draco truly could not believe that he had seven years of this.  

He idly wondered if Durmstrang’s uniforms were this bad.  He had a vague recollection that they involved fur capes due to the fact that the school was located somewhere in the vicinity of Svalbard.  He supposed that wearing fur every day for seven years would grow tiresome, and at least the Hogwarts robes weren’t scratchy like dress robes.

Draco truly despised dress robes.

Draco had been standing there for ages while the daft bint at his feet pinned the hem of the robes.  Then halfway through his fitting he had been forced to endure one of the least interesting conversations of his entire existence with a shabby, dark-haired boy in round glasses who answered “no” to nearly every question Draco posed.  It was so bad, in fact, that Draco couldn’t help but reflect on it after the boy left.

“Do you know which House you’ll be sorted into?”

“No.”

“Do you play Quidditch?”

“No.”

“Do you fly at all?”

“No.”

“Can you say any other words at all?”

“No.”

The boy was truly pathetic, and Draco resented having to do the heavy lifting to make small talk while the woman at his feet continued to work at a painful pace.

By the time the Boy-Who-Only-Knew-One-Word vanished from the shop, Draco was breaking Narcissa’s most important rule.

He was fidgeting.

He tried to console himself by imagining what Narcissa would say about the asinine conversation he had been forced to endure.

“Malfoys and Blacks always know how to converse, Draco.  That is true even when your conversational partner is deaf, dumb, or dead.”

“Dead?”

“Ghosts, Draco.  Most are rather taciturn.”

No doubt Narcissa would be proud of Draco for his efforts with the other boy, even if Draco had only been able to pry a single, interesting fact out of him: supposedly, he had wizarding parents, but he was an orphan. 

Then again, Draco wasn’t sure that he believed it based on the state of the boy’s clothes.  Draco had never seen a muggle before, but the boy looked the way Draco always assumed a muggle would look: ratty, unkempt, dirty, and worst of all, poor. 

Even if the boy had been telling the truth about having wizarding parents, it was obvious to Draco that they had not left any money for him to dress properly.  That would certainly explain why that Hagrid had been there shopping for school supplies with him in the first place.  No doubt the boy was a charity case, and Hogwarts hadn't bothered to send a real professor with him to help.  No, that boy had been assigned to a servant.

Draco shuddered at the thought, and the witch fitting his robes barked at him to hold still.

Under normal circumstances Draco would never have spoken to somebody who looked that shabby.  It was a mark of just how bored he was that he had even bothered.

Draco sighed and looked down at the woman who was shuffling around his feet.  Draco was almost certain she was a mudblood because Lucius always said that mudbloods had common jobs like this.  They weren’t good for anything that required actual magic, and Salazar knew that she was hardly using any while she worked.

Draco continued to fidget as he waited for the mudblood to finish her job. She was taking ages, and Draco groaned when he realized his mother must have asked her to replace the rest of his wardrobe at the same time because she had moved on to other clothing at some point while Draco was lost in thought.  Narcissa hadn’t warned him about this either, no doubt because she was sure that Draco would complain.  

Loudly.  

After what felt like hours, but was probably only fifteen more minutes, Narcissa finally arrived.

“Draco, we’ll go get your wand next.  Your father has bought your books, and Mr. Ollivander has reserved the shop just for you for the next hour.  His last customer just left.  Your father is waiting for us.”

Draco smiled with pleasure that he wouldn’t have to enter a robe shop for at least another year and jumped down from the dais.

Narcissa paid and shrunk their bundles before they made their way to Ollivander’s wand shop nearby.  It was a dusty shop and looked a bit rundown, but Draco had always known he would get his wand from here.  According to Lucius, Ollivander made the best wands, though he did everything aboveboard.  Lucius had once told Draco that there were wand-makers who crafted unregistered wands too, but Draco would not be purchasing one.  All of Ollivander’s wands were registered with the Ministry of Magic, and that meant Draco could use it as an official form of identification in government buildings and Gringotts bank.

A bell tinkled somewhere in the shop, and an old man came out to greet them.  He had wide, pale eyes, and his skin was so thin he appeared to be almost translucent.  He bowed toward the Malfoys and immediately began to measure all sorts of odd parts of Draco’s body, including the length of each pinky finger.  It was only after several minutes that Draco realized he hadn't blinked yet.

Draco shivered.

Finally, without saying a word, Ollivander turned to the teetering shelves and began to pull down dusty boxes containing wands.

He came back with an armful and placed them on the counter.  “Now then, Master Malfoy, your family has an affinity for dragon heartstring cores.”

Of course Draco already knew this.  It was something he was required to learn from a young age.  Even his name referenced it.  He was named after the Draco constellation, which was a nod to the Black family tradition of picking celestial names for their children.  The fact that his parents chose the dragon constellation was a nod to the Malfoy tradition of pairing with dragon heartstring wands.  Draco had always known his wand would have a dragon heartstring core ever since he was old enough to understand what that meant.

Sure enough, Ollivander selected a wide variety of wands, all with dragon heartstring as the core.  Soon, Draco was waving around elm, blackthorn, vinewood, oak, holly, willow, yew, ash, birch, olive, silver lime, spruce, redwood, and finally hawthorn.

The only one that even warmed in his hand was the hawthorn wand, but he couldn’t produce sparks from it.

Draco glanced at his parents, suddenly worried about where this was headed.  This was not at all what they expected.

Ollivander, however, didn’t seem perturbed.  

“Hawthorn then, Master Malfoy,” he said, and now he was pulling out every hawthorn and dragon heartstring wand he had made, all of different lengths and girths.

Draco produced sparks from none of them.

Narcissa was looking confused by this.  Lucius’s face, however, was nothing short of thunderous, and immediately Draco felt himself drowning in shame.  He was disappointing his father, and worst of all he was doing it publicly.  Draco’s core obviously wasn’t dragon heartstring like every other Malfoy.  It must be something else, something entirely different.

“I think we continue with the hawthorn, Master Malfoy,” said Ollivander.  “Hawthorn is paradoxical.  It’s a wood full of contradictions.  Hawthorn heals just as well as it curses.  Those who are suited to it are often conflicted themselves.”

Lucius sneered at this, and Draco internally winced.  Lucius’s wand was made of elm, which he always said was a dignified wood.  It was precise, controlled, and there were no contradictions whatsoever.  Elm was sophisticated and always knew what it was about.  

Narcissa’s wand, of course, was made out of redwood.  It was one of the most valued wood species in Slytherin House because of its association with those who seek advantages.  It was lucky.  It was strategic.  It was always wielded by those who could identify that single moment of opportunity in the middle of chaos and capture it. 

Lucius liked to say that Narcissa’s wand was the first thing he noticed about her.

But hawthorn… Draco knew that Narcissa didn’t like it when he cursed, but bloody hell.  Draco was a Malfoy.  He knew his place in the world.  He wasn’t conflicted about anything. 

And the core… what could the core possibly be?  It was supposed to be dragon heartstring.  Both of his parents’ wands were dragon heartstring.  It was powerful, it was strong, it was suited to advanced magic like Transfiguration and the Dark Arts.  These were all valued qualities in a Malfoy wand.  The Malfoys always bore dragon heartstring, and most of their wives did too.  After all, once Draco learned the family tree, he then had to learn about the bloody wands of every single one of his ancestors.  

The Malfoys kept excellent records, as it happens.  

“Just not unicorn hair,” said Lucius curtly.  “It’s far too soft for a boy, and I couldn’t abide it.”

Ollivander raised his eyebrows at this, but nodded hesitantly as he started to pull wands with more obscure cores: kelpie hair, kneazle whiskers, wampus cat tail, even veela hair, though Ollivander claimed he rarely used it.

“Harry Potter was in my shop earlier,” said Ollivander in an offhand manner.  “His wand is holly and phoenix tail feather.”

This news was enough to derail even Lucius’s displeasure at what was happening in the wand shop as core after core failed for Draco.

“Harry Potter’s starting at Hogwarts this year?” he asked, though Narcissa was giving him an odd look as though he should have known this already.

Ollivander nodded.  “Yes.  I knew he would be starting soon, but I couldn’t recall the exact year.  He will be in the same class as Master Malfoy.”

Lucius’s face shuttered, and Draco knew the expression well.  Lucius was plotting.  

“Draco, you would do well to introduce yourself to Mr. Potter.  You know his family had an… unfortunate history.  But he did survive a powerful curse.”

Draco could read between the lines, not that he needed to.  He had heard Lucius espouse this theory before: perhaps Harry Potter survived the killing curse because he was dark himself and even more powerful than the Dark Lord.

“It’s true,” chimed in Ollivander.  “His wand’s core is the brother of the Dark Lord’s.”

All three of the Malfoys whipped their heads around to stare at Ollivander as he said this.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Narcissa.

“Yes, yes,” said Ollivander distractedly as he pulled yet more wands for Draco to try.  “The phoenix in question only gave two feathers: the Dark Lord’s wand contains one and Harry Potter’s wand contains the other.  They are brothers.”

Lucius inhaled at this and shot Draco a stern look.  Draco just nodded.  He understood perfectly.  He needed to meet this Harry Potter and learn whether he was truly capable of great power.  If so, Draco must befriend him.

“Try phoenix feather then, Ollivander,” said Lucius.  “If it’s good enough for the Dark Lord… and Harry Potter of course…” he added quickly, “then it’s certainly good enough for Draco.”

Ollivander appeared politely skeptical, but he pulled out a hawthorn and phoenix feather wand.

It didn’t work, and Lucius’s face turned dark again.

“Mr. Malfoy, I must insist we try…”

“Fine,” snapped Lucius, clearly not at all pleased about where this was going.  

Draco’s heart sank.  He wasn’t pleased either.

Ollivander pulled out hawthorn and unicorn hair.  The moment Draco touched it, warmth traveled through his arm, and sparks shot out from it.

Draco felt a strong urge to cry, but he wouldn’t.  He wouldn’t.   He was eleven, and he hadn’t cried in front of Lucius since he was six years old.  But gods above, he wanted to cry.  This was supposed to be a special day – the day he got a wand worthy of the Malfoys, the next step toward making his father proud as his son and heir.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

As he felt the pressure of tears building behind his eyes, he glanced at his mother’s face and saw resignation.

Put it in a box, dear…

He could practically hear her voice telling him to do this in his head, just as she had always said to him whenever he had difficulty controlling his emotions.

Draco struggled with it, but he was nearly there until he chanced a glance at Lucius’s face too.

Narcissa had appeared a bit discouraged by his wand core, but Lucius?  He looked absolutely disgusted.  He made sure Draco saw the sneer on his face before turning his back on Draco and throwing some gold on the counter.

He didn’t say another word, and he refused to look at Draco again as they made their way out of the shop.  

Hawthorn and unicorn hair.   

Draco burned with the shame of it.  He had failed his father in a truly spectacular way.  He had let down his very name.   The disappointment crept through his veins until he was breathless from it, and any attempts at placing his emotions into a box imploded.

Draco’s head was bowed as he fell into step a few paces behind his parents.  They walked down Diagon Alley together, Lucius’s spine straight, but the disapproval radiating back toward the small boy following in his shadow.

That wretched wand that had inexplicably chosen Draco was still clutched in his hand, and he hated it.  

He hated it.

Draco choked back a sob, and a single tear fell down his cheek.  But Lucius, who had no patience for a child who disappointed him, never saw it.

Chapter Text

1 September 1991

“This is Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle,” said Lucius, as he introduced Draco to two large, beefy boys his age on Platform 9 ¾.  “All three of you will be sorted into Slytherin House.  They will be your friends at Hogwarts, Draco.”

Draco glanced at the boys.  He had never had friends before, not really.  His parents put together the odd play date now and then when he was very young, but for the most part Draco played with the elves.  He didn’t mind it because they had to do whatever he said.  His parents preferred it too because they said there was no risk of negative influence from other children that way.  

His whole life Draco heard that friends meant allies, but allegiances could change.  Draco would have to be cautious.  He would have to be wary when he finally had friends at Hogwarts or Durmstrang. 

It felt like a lot of pressure to pick well, and Draco was exceptionally relieved that Lucius had thought to plan this for him in advance.

The two boys didn’t appear to have a full brain between them, but then again, they looked amenable enough to this arrangement.  Both of their fathers were absolutely massive, and Draco wondered if the boys would turn out the same way as they got older.  He decided they might work fairly well as bodyguards.

“The Crabbes and Goyles are loyal to our traditions, Draco,” continued Lucius.  “We are… old friends."

“Vince, you will listen to Master Malfoy here,” said Crabbe’s father.  

“Yes, Greg.  Listen to him,” agreed Goyle’s father.

I guess I’m in charge then.  

Draco found this to be a rather satisfying turn of events, even if the two blokes he was in charge of weren’t exactly what you might call intelligent.

The boys nodded, and Draco permitted Narcissa to give him a kiss on the cheek in farewell.  Lucius spared him a glance before scowling at Draco’s wand one more time as he said, “I wish you a good term, Draco.  You know we have high expectations of you.”

Draco pulled himself up and nodded sincerely.  “Yes, sir.  I will do my best to make you proud.”

Lucius just raised one eyebrow, as Narcissa gave him a soft smile.  Draco couldn’t stand to look at Lucius’s face.  Lucius still hadn’t gotten over the wand fiasco, so Draco focused on Narcissa instead.  

“Bye, Mother,” he mouthed to her so Lucius couldn’t hear.  She gave Draco a wink behind Lucius’s back before pulling him in for a hug.  

She pressed a small package into his hands and whispered, “Open it tonight when you’re alone my dear.  It’s for all of your adventures at school, and it will help you sort your thoughts.”

Draco was nonplussed, but he nodded dutifully and placed the package in his pocket, determined to wait until he was alone to open it.  Gifts from his parents were not uncommon, but this felt more personal than usual.  He was rather curious.

The boys hauled their trunks to the train – or rather, Crabbe and Goyle hauled their trunks and then returned to the platform to fetch Draco’s – and then settled in for the ride to Hogwarts.  It wasn’t long before a witch pushing a trolly with sweets and snacks came around, and Goyle ordered one of everything.

“Salazar’s saggy balls, are you really going to eat all that?” asked Draco in disbelief.  

Goyle just gaped at Draco’s language as Crabbe guffawed.  They both seemed suitably impressed by the creativity of Draco’s curse, and Draco sensed that now he was definitely in charge.  Goyle just nodded and then handed Draco a chocolate frog.  They were eating in relatively companionable silence when the door to the compartment slid open to reveal a boy with a round, rosy face and a girl with wild curls.

The boy looked very upset about something, but before he could say a word about it, the girl planted her fists on her hips and looked around the compartment a bit sternly.  

“Have any of you seen a toad then?  Neville’s lost his.”

The boy named Neville looked anxiously at Draco, and all three of the boys shook their heads.  Draco had to admit he was a bit bemused.  The girl’s curls seemed to have a life of their own.  Her hair was large.  It might even be described as bushy.  She had very tan skin, rather prominent front teeth, some dark freckles sprinkled across her nose, and hazel eyes that were flashing brilliantly. 

Draco’s first impression was that she could run intellectual circles around that Neville bloke and probably Crabbe and Goyle too, if he was being perfectly honest.

“Right then, Neville, maybe we should just summon him,” said the girl.  

Draco had a feeling she really wanted to roll her eyes and was barely holding back.

“Hang on,” said Draco.  “Summon him?”

Now she did roll her eyes.  

“Yes of course.  Accio, you know?  I’ll admit I’m quite spotty with it, but then again it’s a fourth-year spell so…”

“Wait, you can summon things?”

She looked at Draco like he was dense.  

“Obviously.  Though like I said, I’m not very good just yet.  I only tried it because I read about it in one of my books, and it sounded like an awfully useful spell.  I’ll need more practice before I can manage it every time.”

Now she turned to the boy named Neville.  

“Honestly Neville, that might be our best option.  I can usually get it after enough tries, and I’m not sure how we’re supposed to find Trevor without it.  There are too many places a toad could hide on a train this large.”

Draco just scowled.  This girl was already summoning things.  He could tell she was a first year too because — with the notable exception of her hair — she was tiny and her uniform didn’t have a House color on it yet.  Even Draco’s parents didn’t let him practice with real magic growing up, claiming he needed his own wand first.  They never allowed him to borrow theirs.  But this girls’ parents must have let her use their wands for years if she was already summoning.  An odd and unusual feeling passed over Draco.  

Was this what jealousy felt like?  Draco wasn’t sure.  He couldn’t remember ever being jealous before.

“What’s your name then?” he asked with some consternation.

“Hermione Granger,” she said, in a clipped, rather bossy voice. “And this is Neville Longbottom.”

The name Granger rang a distant bell in Draco’s memory, though he couldn’t recall where he'd heard it before.  He decided he would have to look it up in his compendium of notable witches and wizards at some point.  

Longbottom, however, he certainly recognized.  The family was filled with purebloods and even part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but they were notorious blood traitors, the lot of them.  Then again, Draco thought that Lucius might approve in some manner if this boy ended up getting sorted into Slytherin.  Draco decided to reserve judgment on him until the Sorting.

Draco was sure that Granger was a half-blood at least, based on her ability to summon things, or perhaps she was from one of the newer pureblood families.  Yes, that was probably it.  After two or three generations they were usually called purebloods again, even when there was an unfortunate marriage intermixed in the family tree.  

The direct Malfoy line had none of those unfortunate marriages of course.  It was only younger siblings who ever became Unpardonables.  Still, even Lucius had to admit that not all purebloods could have the same, pristine lineage as the Malfoys.  

“I’m Draco Malfoy.  This is Crabbe and Goyle,” said Draco.  

Granger gave a stiff nod, and Longbottom’s eyes widened just a bit.  Draco couldn’t help but smirk.

“What is it, Longbottom.  Heard of me?”

“Your aunt’s Bellatrix Lestrange, isn’t she?” he asked quietly.

Granger cast Longbottom a questioning look, but Draco’s eyes narrowed.  “Aunt Bella.  Yes.  Mother visits her often.”

This was a lie.  His mother barely spoke of her sister, and she made only rare — and very short — visits to Azkaban prison to see her.  But something about Longbottom was rubbing Draco the wrong way, despite his commitment to wait until the sorting to see where he ended up.

Sure enough, Longbottom’s lip actually trembled, and Draco couldn’t help but sneer.  

Well that’s what’s wrong with him.  He’s weak.  

He would probably be sorted into Hufflepuff.

Granger was looking between the boys, eyes narrowed, as though trying to figure them out.  Then she forcibly changed the subject.

“Well speaking of wizards we all know, Harry Potter’s two compartments down.”

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle all snapped to attention at this.  

“Have you met him?” Draco asked curiously.  

To his surprise she rolled her eyes.  “Yes, along with his friend.  I swear his friend was using some spell that wasn’t even real.  Honestly.”

Draco smirked at this.  Granger was a bit annoying, but she clearly didn’t suffer fools well.  While Draco was still a bit irritated that her parents allowed her to practice magic, he was also rather amused by her.  He resolved to look her family up as soon as possible.

“I’ll have to meet him,” said Draco. 

She pursed her lips a bit and sniffed. “Well like I said, you’ll find him two compartments down on the left.  He has dark, shaggy hair, and he’s sitting with a redhead.  However, I suggest curbing your enthusiasm.  I know he was raised by muggles, but he hardly knew anything about himself.”

Draco’s eyebrows flew up at this, but she was already pulling at Longbottom’s arm.  

“Come on Neville, let’s try summoning Trevor.”

“Wait!” said Draco quickly.  They both stopped and looked at him curiously.  “I want to see you summon him.”

Granger raised an eyebrow, and Draco was studying her intently now.  Had she been lying about it?  But to his surprise she said nothing to him and turned to Longbottom.  

“Neville, what species of toad is he?”

All the boys looked at her in confusion, including Draco.

“Species?” asked Longbottom.

Once again, Draco could tell Granger was struggling not to roll her eyes as she started to lecture them.

“Yes of course.  I’ve never seen him before, and the summoning charm requires visualization of the thing you’re trying to summon.  Is he a common English toad?  Bufo bufo?  Or is he a natterjack?  Epidalea calamita of course.  You mentioned you’re from Yorkshire, and those are the only two species native to England, but if he’s a non-native species then you really must tell me.  They look awfully different from one another, you know.”

Bloody hell.

“Erm…” said Longbottom.

Granger gave him a sharp look.  “Don’t tell me he’s actually a frog?”

Longbottom just shrugged unhelpfully.

Granger exhaled with a huff, and Draco realized that all four of the wizards watching her were absolutely spellbound now — including him.

“Fine,” she said curtly, rolling up her sleeves.   “I’ll work through several varieties then, shall I?  It may take me a few extra tries since I really don’t know what I’m looking for.”

She gave Longbottom one last, disapproving look as she pulled out her wand and held it lightly.  Draco studied it.  Vinewood and…

But before he could see the stamp denoting the core her finger covered it, and she was muttering, “Accio common toad!  Accio natterjack!  Accio pool frog!”

It took nine tries, but then suddenly a small, brown thing came flying through the air, and Granger caught it deftly.  She furrowed her brow as she studied it.  

“He’s a frog, Neville, not a toad.  He’s not on the list of approved pets for Hogwarts students, though I expect most of the teachers won’t be able to tell the difference."

"Gran says he's a toad."

"Your gran is wrong.  He - though I suspect it's really a 'she' due to her size - is an ornate burrowing frog.  You can tell from the patterning right here, do you see?  They're native to Australia, and they certainly look like toads, but they are not."

"But I really think it's a male to-"

"It's not," snapped Granger.  "But if you've misidentified her, that would explain her escape, wouldn't it?  Please tell me you have a real terrarium for her?  One with plenty of water?  Frogs must stay damp, you know, even the ones that look like toads.  I expect she escaped looking for some place to splash around.  I certainly hope I didn't summon her from the toilet.”

Granger shuddered slightly as she said this and discretely wiped one hand on her robes.

“Erm..." said Longbottom, who appeared to be at an utter loss in the face of such authority.

“Oh come along then,” she huffed.  “Show me where you've been keeping her, because if her habitat isn't right you'll just keep losing her won't you?  I'm sure I can make some suggestions once I see it.”

Draco snorted, and Granger shot him a knowing look.  As she handed the frog back to Longbottom, however, he - or possibly she - jumped and made a break for it.

“TREVOR!” bellowed Longbottom as he raced out of the compartment.

Granger just gave a long-suffering sigh.  She exchanged a look with Draco that clearly said, ‘Honestly! ’ as she hurried after him without another word.

Draco just stared at the compartment door, torn between utter shock and humor.

Granger.  

It was definitely ringing a bell, and it was driving Draco a bit mad that he couldn't remember where he had read the name before.  He absolutely had to look her up though.  Watching her summon that toad — no, frog — was unbelievable.  But he knew he would have to wait until he got settled in at Hogwarts to check.  Narcissa and Lucius were expecting a long letter from him tonight after the sorting, and classes started tomorrow.

And then there was her first name… Hermione.  It was an odd name Draco had never heard before, and that was saying something given the loads of odd family names he was forced to memorize as a child.  

Draco thought about it for a moment and decided he would have to call her Granger to her face.  Her first name had far too many syllables.  He smirked to himself as he thought about how annoyed she seemed by Harry Potter and his fool of a friend, and Draco decided she was definitely going to be sorted into Slytherin or perhaps Ravenclaw.  Ravenclaw was a distant second to Slytherin of course, but it was far better than either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. 

A few Malfoy wives had been Ravenclaws.  

“Let’s go make friends with Potter then, shall we?” he said to Crabbe and Goyle.  They just nodded dumbly and stood, as Draco led the way.

They headed to the compartment Granger described and opened the door to find the horridly dull boy Draco met in the robe shop in Diagon Alley.

Impossible.

Draco was almost certain this boy was neither powerful nor dark. Great Salazar, he could hardly carry on a sodding conversation.  But Draco remembered the hints Lucius gave him, and Draco decided he had to give Potter one last chance before he cast his final judgment.

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

“Yes,” said the boy, whom Draco now knew was Harry Potter.  Draco saw Potter glancing at the lumps that were flanking him.

“Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle,” said Draco carelessly.  “And my name’s Malfoy.  Draco Malfoy.”

The redhead with Potter tried to hide a laugh behind a cough.  Something that felt like embarrassment sparked for a moment, but Draco pushed it away.  He was sure he could handle the redhead.  It was blatantly obvious who he was.

“Think my name’s funny, do you?  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.”

Weasley looked suitably chastened by this, so Draco turned back to Potter with a smirk.  “You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter.  You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort.  I can help you there.”

Draco held out his hand for Potter to shake.  To Draco’s slight surprise, he didn’t take it.

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

Weasley looked at Potter in shock, and Draco felt another rush of embarrassment.  Potter dismissed him.  Just dismissed him, like he wasn’t a Malfoy. 

It was a single moment in time that Draco would remember and reflect upon years later... but just then, he had no room for anything except for misplaced confusion and anger as his hand dangled in the air.

Harry Potter was famous - every person in the wizarding world knew his name, though Draco's family had never talked about him very much.  Still, it was only right that Potter - whom Draco knew had not been raised as a wizard, but who was still so connected to the wizarding world that even his wand reflected the reason for his fame - would turn to families like the Malfoys for guidance now that he had returned to claim his birthright.

But no, Potter wanted Weasley as a friend instead. 

It was as absurd as it was humiliating, and Draco and his family lived by a firm rule: nobody humiliated a Malfoy and got away with it.

Draco decided then and there that if Potter wouldn't accept Draco, then Draco wouldn't accept Potter either.  He didn’t care what Lucius said about it, Draco was certain this boy wasn’t special or powerful.  He had probably survived the killing curse through nothing more than sheer dumb luck.  

Lucius would back Draco up, surely.  Once he heard that Potter publicly embarrassed him, Lucius would never push Draco toward Potter again.

As Draco mentally wrote him off, he remembered Granger’s comments about the boy too.  She had not appeared impressed either, and Draco privately thought that she was the only person he had met so far who had even a drop of intelligence.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” he said.  “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.”

Within seconds Weasley and Potter were both standing up, readying themselves for a fight.

Oh this was too easy.

Draco was in the process of sizing up Crabbe and Goyle for the approaching brawl, suddenly very pleased that Lucius had arranged for them to be his friends.  But then Goyle let out a high-pitched shriek, which caused Draco to become very distracted and focus in on the hand that Goyle was now waving frantically.  

Draco gasped as he saw a rat hanging off the end of Goyle’s finger, and he immediately backed up.  

If Weasley and Potter were eating food with the rats, that confirmed every single thing Lucius had ever told Draco about the Weasleys.  Evidently the muggles really rubbed off on Potter too, with their primitive ways.  

Draco was not sticking around for something that disgusting.

With a final whip of his hand, Goyle managed to extricate himself from the mad rat, and he scrambled out of the compartment too.  He was panting and wiping his contaminated finger on his trousers while Draco gestured for him and Crabbe to follow Draco down the corridor. 

Just as Draco reached their compartment, he heard a bossy girl’s voice say, “What has been going on?”

It was Granger.  It just had to be.

Draco sniggered to himself.  First rats, then Granger.  Potter and Weasley must be having a fantastic train ride.

Draco led Crabbe and Goyle back to their compartment and settled in for the rest of the journey.  

It wouldn’t be so bad, being at Hogwarts.  Draco already had two friends, two enemies, and Granger for entertainment.  That was a decent start.

******

Draco stood in line with the other first year students, waiting to hear his name called for the sorting.  Professor McGonagall had looked them in the eye and explained the process with the Sorting Hat in her clipped brogue, and all around him multiple students looked as though they were ready to faint with relief that the sorting wasn’t more challenging than trying on a hat.

He thought it was ridiculous how many students had never heard about what happens during the sorting, even the purebloods.  Lucius, of course, told Draco about it years ago.  Then again, even those who knew about it seemed very worried that the Sorting Hat would send them to a House they didn’t want.

Draco, however, was not nervous at all.  He knew exactly where he was headed.

They were going alphabetically, and Draco perked up when he heard, “Bulstrode, Milicent!”

A positively enormous girl with a face like a troll strode forward and sat on a stool in front of the entire student body.  Draco watched the stool cautiously, a bit worried she would break it.  

The Sorting Hat touched her head, and a moment later its brim split to shout, “SLYTHERIN!”

Draco’s heart sank just a little bit.  Milicent Bulstrode was part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.  She would be on the short list of wives for him, Draco was sure of it.  He had been raised to do his duty of course, and he had always known that his parents would arrange something for him from the pool of eligible witches at Hogwarts or Durmstrang, but there was no way — no sodding way — that she was his future.  Surely there would be another one to choose from. 

Draco kept listening intently and before long it was Crabbe’s turn.  The Sorting Hat touched his head and thought for just a moment before sending him to Slytherin too.

 Draco nodded to himself.  Good.

Goyle was next, and he was also sent to Slytherin.  That was a relief.  Lucius would be pleased that his plan worked.

Granger was up, and now Draco was holding his breath.  He privately hoped she would be sent to Slytherin, but if not that then definitely Ravenclaw. 

She slipped the hat over her head, and it thought for a little while. Then the slit in the brim opened and shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

Draco swore under his breath as she hopped off the stool and practically skipped to the Gryffindor table. 

Draco looked at the Sorting Hat askance.  What on earth was that?  Was it malfunctioning?  Alright sure, she wasn’t shy on the train.  But Gryffindor?   It was positively ridiculous.

Draco was so perturbed by this that he missed the next three students.  He was still wondering what in Salazar’s name just happened with Granger when Longbottom was called forward.

The Sorting Hat spent a very long time with him, and Draco had to stop himself from laughing. 

It’s probably deciding between Hufflepuff and sending him home for being a squib.  

Finally, at long last the brim opened and shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

This time Draco swore loudly enough for several other students to look at him in surprise.

He ignored them because this was insane. 

Longbottom?  That weak boy Draco met on the train was a Gryffindor?  It wasn’t like Gryffindor was all that great, but at least they were supposed to be brave and bold and all that nonsense.  Draco was sure Granger should have been in Ravenclaw at the very least since she was obviously brainy, but he had to admit he could sort of see Gryffindor for her.  Barely.  After all, she was clearly outgoing and unafraid of casting advanced spells publicly. 

But there wasn’t a single thing about Longbottom that Draco could identify that fit Gryffindor characteristics.

Draco was seriously wondering if the Sorting Hat was broken, and for the first time all day he started to get worried about himself.

Finally it was Draco’s turn.  He walked forward, and it barely touched his head before shouting, “SLYTHERIN!”

He breathed the faintest sigh of relief.  After the wand situation and Longbottom… if it had been any other House… 

But no.  There was no reason to think about that anymore because Draco was where he belonged in Slytherin.

Draco scooted toward the table and listened to the students after him.  He heard a Macmillan called, and he listened carefully.  He was sent to Hufflepuff, and Draco grimaced.  Sacred Twenty-Eight or not, Lucius surely wouldn’t tolerate that.

Then Draco heard a Nott called and perked up again.  He distantly remembered seeing the small, brown-haired boy a few times in his youth.  They even played together once or twice as young children, though it was so long ago Draco barely remembered it.  He was also part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight of course, and he was sorted into Slytherin.  

Excellent.

Then came a Parkinson, and Draco watched as a small girl with perfectly straight, very dark hair and an upturned nose slipped on the Sorting Hat.  Another Sacred Twenty-Eight for Slytherin, and she was about a third of the size of the Bulstrode troll down the table.  Draco thanked Salazar fervently for this, and he even thanked both Merlin and God too.  

A lifelong match with the troll was no longer a foregone conclusion.  

McGonagall called on a few more students until suddenly, “Potter, Harry!”

The entire Great Hall went deathly quiet for a moment until whispers broke out.

Draco watched Potter walk forward to sit on the stool.  He looked faintly green and very nervous, and Draco smirked.  The Sorting Hat took a very long time with him, and the air was thick with anticipation.  

Finally the Sorting Hat shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!” and the table on the far end practically erupted with cheers.  

You would think they had just won the sodding World Cup or something.  

Draco grimaced and rolled his eyes.  He tuned it all out again until he heard, “Weasley, Ronald!”

So Draco was right.  He knew that red headed idiot on the train had to be a Weasley.  Sure enough, he was sorted into Gryffindor too, and Draco watched him join Potter and three other blokes that looked just like him.

Salazar save him, the school was absolutely crawling with Weasleys.

The sorting was getting down to the end now, and finally a Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin.  Draco eyed him curiously.  He didn’t know the last name, but it sounded Spanish or Italian.  He could be a continental pureblood.

At long last the Welcome Feast began, and Draco’s mouth started to water as he dug in.  He quickly sized up some of his new house mates.  Theodore Nott seemed quiet.  Pansy Parkinson was chatty.  Blaise Zabini looked aloof, but he had a slight accent and said he was from an old Italian pureblood family.  Then Draco met a girl next to Pansy, who told him she was Daphne Greengrass.  Evidently Draco missed her sorting thanks to the fact that her sorting was directly after Granger’s.

Of course this reminded him of Granger, and he chanced a glance across the Great Hall to find her.  She was very easy to spot with her wild curls, and Draco couldn’t help but smirk.  She was wrinkling her nose at Weasley’s disgusting interpretation of table manners, and Draco could tell she was not impressed.  Then she cast a dismayed eye over Potter too, and Draco almost laughed.

She may be a Gryffindor, but she would certainly keep him entertained.  Draco felt moderately more cheerful at this thought.

Draco was pulled back to the Slytherins and surveyed Daphne.  She was blonde like Draco, though it was a darker shade than him.  Her eyes were a clear blue.  Draco supposed she was rather pretty, but that was not the most important thing.  He knew she was part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and so was Pansy.  That was good.  He could inform Lucius and Narcissa, and they would surely pick one of them for him.

Draco decided he would conveniently forget to include Milicent Bulstrode when he wrote to tell them about Pansy and Daphne.  That was just… no.  

Draco thought about Granger and decided to include her name too, just in case.  She was certainly the most interesting of the three, and Draco knew that every now and then the Malfoys looked outside of the Sacred Twenty-Eight for matches to keep the bloodline healthy.  As long as there were at least five generations of pure blood behind the witch, it would not remove the Malfoy name from that vaunted list.  And after seeing her summon the frog on the train, Draco was virtually certain Granger was a pureblood.

Draco looked at Milicent Bulstrode one last time and shuddered.  

It was only later on that night, after he had made it to his new dorm and drafted the obligatory letter to his parents that Draco pulled out the small package his mother had pressed into his hands earlier that day.  It was a handsome journal, filled with thick parchment and covered in soft leather.  On the front there were words embossed in gold.

The Life and Times of Draco Malfoy

~*~

Dear Journal,

Is this how I begin?  

Mother gave you to me as a parting gift for Hogwarts, but what am I supposed to write?  I just finished eating the Welcome Feast at Hogwarts, and now I’m sitting on my new bed with the curtains closed.  My dormitory is not as fine as my bedroom at Malfoy Manor, but I suppose you already know this.  

Salazar, this is weird.

Well fine.  I guess I’ll start at the beginning: I am eleven years old, I just wrote a letter to Mother and Father to tell them about the Sorting, and now I’m sharing a bedroom for the first time in my life.  Somebody is already snoring, and it’s terrible.  

Instead of giving me a bloody book to write in, Mother should have taught me how to cast a silencing charm before leaving for Hogwarts.  

Tomorrow I’m going to figure out how to do it, because I cannot survive seven years of this.

Chapter Text

2 September 1991

It was the first day of classes, and it struck Draco that he was perilously close to being lost.

He was standing in a very tall crossroads of hallways, watching quite a few staircases move overhead from floor to floor as he debated which direction to try next.

“We’re going to be late,” said Zabini, who was standing with Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott.  All five boys were sharing a dormitory, so they had all gone to breakfast together that morning.  Now they were collectively hesitating as they tried – and failed – to find the Charms corridor for their very first lesson.

“It’s supposed to be that way,” said Draco, gesturing to a hall on his left.

“No, we tried that, didn’t we?” insisted Zabini.

“Could be upstairs,” grunted Crabbe.

“Up which stairs though?” said Zabini, now turning on him.  “There are a dozen, and they’re all moving!”

“Well what do you think then, since you’re telling the rest of us that we’re wrong?” demanded Draco, who was growing more irritated by the minute.

“I think we should start again from the Great Hall,” came Nott’s soft voice.

Draco raised an eyebrow because it was the first complete sentence he had heard Nott utter since they arrived.

“And you think you can find your way back to the Great Hall from here, do you?” snapped Draco.

Nott hesitated, and Draco scoffed.

This should not be so difficult.  After all, Draco had played with — no, studied — that model of Hogwarts that had lived in his bedroom at Malfoy Manor for the last month.  He paid particular attention to the location of the Slytherin dormitories, the Great Hall, the Library, and the various classrooms his mother pointed out to him.

Unfortunately, the Charms classroom had been relocated since she was a student, and now he was all turned around.

Furthermore, Draco was almost certain that the corridor where he had just come from and at least three staircases that were moving overhead did not exist on his model.  

The meant he couldn’t trust anything about it.

He could not believe it had come to this: standing uncertainly in the middle of the hall with a bunch of other firsties, while older students shoved past them.

“Maybe we could just tell one of the upperclassmen that we’re lost?” came Nott’s tentative voice.

Draco rounded on him.

“No, absolutely not.  We are not lost, and we will never hear the end of it if we tell them that we are.”

Draco may have been stretching the truth just a little bit, but Lucius had made it very clear that it was unseemly for a Malfoy to ever be lost.  For this reason, Malfoys were never actually lost, and when they found themselves in a location that could be described as unfamiliar, they worked through the problem with dignity and poise.

Or, alternatively, they picked a victim whose reputation could be sacrificed instead of their own.

“Crabbe,” said Draco, who had just noticed a cloud of frizzy hair in the distance.  “Ask Granger.”

“Granger?” grunted Crabbe.

“Yes, that girl over there.  The one who summoned the frog on the train, remember?  She’s wearing a Gryffindor tie.”

Crabbe didn’t second guess it, and he immediately straightened up to put his height and girth to good use.

“OI!  GRANGER!” he bellowed.

It struck Draco that Crabbe followed orders beautifully, and his anxiety eased ever so slightly.

Granger turned and frowned, but then she handed off a book to a student who looked like Longbottom and muttered something to him before walking over to the group.

“Yes, Crabbe?  It is Crabbe, isn’t it?  Or is it Goyle?  I wasn’t entirely clear which was which on the train, and I was a bit distracted during your sorting as I was waiting for my own...  Oh, hello Malfoy.  And you are Nott and Zabini, correct?  It seems everyone goes by surname here, which is a bit odd, isn’t it?”

She said all of this very quickly, and once again Draco found himself gaping at her.

When nobody said a word, she cleared her throat expectantly, and Draco snapped out of it.  He shoved his elbow into Crabbe’s side to make him respond.

“Oh, erm… yeah.  I’m Crabbe.  Hey, do you know how to get to Charms?  We’re lo–”

“—a bit turned around,” interjected Draco loudly before Crabbe could confess to their entire group being lost.

Merlin, what an idiot.

“Oh!”

Granger glanced up at the moving staircases and then pointed to one of the three that was missing from Draco’s model.

“You’ll want to take that staircase to the third floor, but wait until it moves to the hall on the west side… just like that, do you see?  If you go to the east side you’ll be in that corridor that Professor Dumbledore said was forbidden, and you might be expelled.  Oh, and be sure to watch yourselves while you’re climbing the staircase, because there’s a trick stair on the tenth tread, and I read that in 1862 a student died when she fell through it while the staircase was in motion, though I suppose none of you are quite as small as she was… well, perhaps Malfoy and Nott are…”

She cast an appraising eye over Draco and Nott, and again all five boys were blinking at her in astonishment.

Draco was getting the impression that this would be a common occurrence around her.

“Thanks,” Goyle finally grunted.

Granger just gave them a thin smile and began to turn around, when Nott surprised them by calling, “Wait!”

Granger turned back and raised her eyebrow in question.

“Erm, how about the Library then?”

Her expression was torn, as though she could not decide whether to be thrilled that Nott was asking or disappointed that he didn’t already know.

“It’s on the first floor, of course.  Across from the Great Hall.”

She began to turn around again, but Nott stopped her once more.

“The Great Hall?”

“Yes, obviously… you know, the place where we ate last night?  And had breakfast this morning?”

“He knows what the Great Hall is,” interjected Zabini irritably.  “He’s asking where it is.”

“Oh, you’ll want to go back that way, take three lefts and then two rights.  That will bring you to a corridor that leads to the castle entry, and the Library is just on the other side of the large landing from the Great Hall.”

She made to move off a final time, when Zabini stopped her.

“Granger.”

She huffed and spun back around.

“Yes, what is it?  Do you need directions to the Owlery or the Hospital Wing or perhaps the Astronomy Tower too?”

Draco flushed and Zabini scowled.  

“I was just wondering how you know the castle so well.”

Granger raised an eyebrow.  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?  I read about it in Hogwarts, A History.”

“A book?” asked Nott with interest.

Granger sniffed with offense.  “It’s not just any book, it’s the book about Hogwarts!  I could never imagine moving to a place to live for seven years without learning everything about it first, could you?”

Draco actually agreed with this because he had been studying his model of Hogwarts for the last month.  But the expressions on the others’ faces told him they had never once thought about it.

“Does it have maps?”

Draco’s question just slipped out, against his better judgment.  But he was forced to concede that Granger’s version of studying the Hogwarts floor plan had been superior to his own, and he did not want to ask for help with it again.

“No, of course not, but I drew my own from the descriptions.  Here…”

She reached into a satchel she was carrying and retrieved a positively enormous book.  She looked at it fondly and then handed it to Draco.

“You’ll want to read chapter two.  I’ve put some notes in the margins, but if you wish to make your own notes, please use your own parchment.  Do not dog-ear the pages or eat with it open, and I’d like it back by the weekend.  Please bring it to Potions with you on Friday.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and began to hurry away, but not before calling over her shoulder, “You will all be late if you don’t go!”

Draco and the others jumped to attention at this, and they scrambled up one floor to catch the moving staircase Granger had pointed out to them.  Draco shoved the enormous book into his own satchel and then took a deep breath as he stepped onto the staircase, feeling it lurch beneath him.

“Climb, climb, climb…” muttered Zabini, who was racing to the top to get there before the staircase moved to the wrong wing of the third floor.

Draco was counting stairs under his breath, and when he reached the tenth tread he tentatively pressed his toe against it and found nothing but air.

Bloody hell.

He skipped it, casting a look back at it that made him shiver.  It appeared to be perfectly normal and only disappeared when somebody tried to step on it.

“Malfoy!” called Zabini urgently, and Draco turned to find the staircase beginning to leave the correct wing.  The other four boys were watching him to see if he would make it on this pass.

He took a deep breath and hopped the last two steps just as the staircase disappeared underneath him.

There was a terrifying moment of vertigo as he hovered on the end of the ledge by his tiptoes, and then to his surprise Nott’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the tie to pull him roughly forward.

Draco stumbled into him, and they both fell to the ground, his heart racing as he looked back at the now-empty hole that was three stories down.

“Thanks,” he gasped. 

“Don't mention it,” muttered Nott as he winced a little before standing to dust himself off.

“Come on, we’re going to be late,” urged Zabini.

The wizards hurried down the third floor corridor, and they were just approaching the door that said Charms when a bell rang in the distance.

“You’re late boys,” squeaked tiny Professor Flitwick, as all five wizards piled in and made their way to the back to be seated behind the others in their class.

“Sorry,” they muttered in unison as they all sat in a row.

“Now then,” said Professor Flitwick, “everyone take out your wands and repeat after me: Lumos!”

Draco pulled out the hawthorn and unicorn hair wand that still embarrassed him and took a deep breath.

“Lumos!”

The first pinprick of light emerged, and despite the chaos from the morning and the wand he so despised, Draco started to smile.

~*~

Dear Journal,

Writing to you today is just as weird as it was yesterday.  I’m acting like you’re a person, but you’re not.

Whatever.

Today I am writing because I actually have something to report: I cast my first intentional spell with my sodding wand.  It was Lumos, and it mostly worked.  I suppose unicorn hair is rather good for charms, but I still wish I had dragon heartstring.  I expect it will take the entire term for Father to get over it.

Oh, I also nearly died when a staircase moved under me just as I hopped to a ledge on the third floor.  Nott pulled me forward at the last minute, and now I’m wondering if I owe him a Life Debt.

Wait, what am I saying?  Of course I don’t owe him a Life Debt.  Father always says that Malfoys never owe anybody anything.

I still haven’t tried the silencing charm, but thanks to the Hogwarts model in my room and also Granger, I did find the Library after dinner.  The librarian looks like a malnourished vulture, and she's about as nice as one too... but when I asked her for a book about silencing charms she told me she approved.

I have the book now, and this will be the second charm I learn because Crabbe is snoring again.  I might actually murder him if I can’t manage it.

******

6 September 1991

Draco's first full week of classes was coming to a close.  With just one lesson left for the week — which happened to be one he was anticipating the most — he found himself dwelling on the letter his father had sent to him earlier in the week.

Dear Draco,

I received your owl, and I am pleased to hear that you were sorted into Slytherin as expected.  I am also pleased that Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe were sorted into Slytherin with you.  Their fathers have been acquaintances of mine for many years, and I am certain their sons will be just as loyal to you as they have been to me.  They have both expressed some concern with their sons' abilities to pass their classes.  While I have no expectation that they will receive top marks, I have assured them that you will assist them with their homework so that they do not fall too far behind. 

You should view it as a minor inconvenience that will ensure their loyalty to you while you are at Hogwarts and beyond.

As for the other students you mentioned in your letter, I want you to proceed cautiously, but it is time to begin positioning yourself among the students in your year.  That means you must learn more about them, without giving too much away about yourself.

Theodore Nott, for example, is somebody you should be wary of until you learn more.  His father has always been very loyal to our traditions, but his mother had blood-traitor leanings, and she and Tiberius separated when Theodore was a young child.  She raised Theodore, and while Tiberius has always been involved in his son's life too, it has not been as consistent as one might wish.  I fear that Theodore may have picked up the views of his mother due to the absence of his father.  You will need to carefully examine him before you become friendly with him — because while I hope that Theodore will prove to be a suitable friend for you, I am not confident enough in the way he was raised to recommend him to you just yet.  

Zabini is a name I do not know, but I am of the view that it is always valuable to expand one's circle of pureblood acquaintances.  Just like Theodore you must vet Blaise, but provided his views prove to be acceptable, then you should deepen your acquaintance with him.

As for the three witches you wrote about in your letter, your mother and I have preliminarily chosen Pansy Parkinson for further evaluation.  Both the Parkinsons and the Greengrasses are old families of course, but your mother has heard rumors of a blood curse in the Greengrass line, so for now Daphne will not be considered.  I will expect regular reports from you detailing Pansy's behavior, temperament, manners, and marks.  We do know her parents rather distantly, and your mother and I shall be reconnecting with them immediately in order to learn more about them.

Provided that Pansy and her family both prove to be acceptable, then I will open negotiations for an engagement contract when you turn seventeen, as is customary, and I would expect it to be signed by the time you finish Hogwarts.  I see no urgent need for you to marry before your early twenties, but I still intend for your match will be formalized upon completion of your education.  

As I have told you before, my own match fell apart at the end of my seventh year for reasons best left unsaid, and I was fortunate that your mother was still unmatched when it happened.  It was, however, very stressful for a period of time, and I sincerely hope that Pansy proves to be loyal and acceptable so that you do not have to go through the things that I did.  This is why we must start early, Draco, because if Pansy is not suitable it is best for us to learn this as soon as possible so that we can consider other choices.

For now, you are not to touch Pansy or attempt to date her.  You should simply get to know her and determine if she has the potential to fulfill the role her parents have raised her to assume one day.

Regarding the third witch — Hermione Granger — she is unfamiliar to me, and I am sure you know that her family is not listed among the Sacred 28.  Your mother and I prefer your match come from that list, unless we can find records of the Granger family to prove that they are socially equivalent (perhaps her family derives from a different country like Blaise’s does).  For the time being, she will not be evaluated, though we can begin the search for her family to keep her as a back-up if Pansy is found lacking.

Your report of Harry Potter was disappointing, though unsurprising.  His parents weren't good for anything, and as you know blood will out.  You are not required to befriend him, and I will ensure that Severus keeps a close eye on him too.  It would not do for his fame to overshadow your position in the school, now that he has proven to have such poor taste in peers.

Please continue to write, Draco.  We will expect regular reports about your marks, along with your impressions of Pansy.  

Father

P.S. Your mother says she is sending treats.  She seems unable to help herself.

Lucius's reply to Draco's letter came the third day of classes, along with the promised package of sweets and cakes from his mother.

Any missive from his father made Draco anxious, and this one was no different.  Draco wasn't thrilled about tutoring Crabbe and Goyle, and he felt a brief pang of disappointment that his parents had chosen Pansy over Granger to be his match, but neither of those things were too surprising.  It was already apparent to Draco that Crabbe and Goyle would need a great deal of help in order to pass, and he never really expected Granger to beat out both Pansy and Daphne when it came down to it.

Now that Pansy had been chosen, Draco wouldn't have to think about matches again for the next six years, other than sending the occasional report about her to his parents.  Even if Draco might have preferred Granger, he was relieved that one of his suggestions had been deemed immediately suitable so that Milicent Bulstrode would never become a possibility.  With his father's orders in hand, Draco decided he could largely ignore Pansy and their future together, at least until his parents asked for updates.  It was so far away that he could barely imagine it.

Lucius's comments about Blaise were not surprising — the Zabinis had moved rather recently — but Draco was a bit shocked to read that Theo Nott was an enigma even to Lucius.  Then again, the boy was so quiet that Draco knew it would take a long time before he could satisfy himself that Lucius would approve, and until that happened Draco would not be able to grow close to him.

After mulling everything over, Draco found it surprisingly easy to set aside the comments in his father's letter about matches and his dorm mates.  The part that Draco continued to brood over was his father's silence to Draco's postscript in his original letter.

P.S. I cast my first spell today in Charms.  I tried 'Lumos' and got it on the first try!

It stung that his father had ignored it, and the thing that went unsaid in Lucius's response made Draco despise his wand even more than he already did.  

Draco was sure that if his wand had been dragon heartstring like every other Malfoy wand, his father would have acknowledged the accomplishment and expressed delight that Draco was settling in well and already performing magic.  But as it stood, the wand had soured his news.  No matter how many times Draco read and re-read the letter, he couldn’t find even a hint that Lucius was pleased with Draco’s performance in lessons.

Draco swore to himself that he would not write about spell-based magic again until he was sure Lucius had finally accepted his wand.

This meant that Draco’s second letter to his parents made no mention of the silencing charm that he was practicing.  He had not mastered it yet, but he could finally silence his bed long enough to fall asleep against Crabbe's snoring.

Instead, Draco found himself eager to attend one of the few classes with practical magic that did not require a wand: Potions.  It was the class taught by Severus and also the only class he would share with the Gryffindors.  He was eager to do well and have something academic he could report to his father that would not trigger a memory of his wand choice.

With Potions at the end of the week and Lucius's comment that he had never heard of the Grangers, Draco decided to look up the Grangers himself so he would have a better sense of his competition before their first class together.

Eventually he found a relative of hers named Hector Dagworth-Granger.  He had founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, and Draco was sure she must be related to the Granger branch of that family.  He couldn't decide if he was pleased or intimidated by the knowledge that one of Granger’s ancestors had been a Potions prodigy, especially now that Draco was relying on Potions to get back into Lucius's good graces.

He continued to dig into her family’s background, but finding information about the Grangers specifically was proving to be more challenging than Draco had expected.  

Granted, Draco hadn’t spent that much time with it because he had been focusing on homework and studying the book Granger had loaned to him.  He only had a few days before she wanted it back, so he had started with chapter two at her recommendation.  He found the margins filled with notes, the most amusing of which was next to a paragraph about the third floor corridor on the east side.

"Per Prof. Dumbledore, no students allowed here – could be killed or expelled!  I don’t know which is worse!"

When he wasn't dwelling on wands or Granger's missing family, Draco found himself thinking about the mysterious third floor corridor that had inexplicably been forbidden to the students during the Welcome Feast.  Based on Hogwarts, A History, there was nothing about it that was terribly remarkable, and yet Dumbledore had assured them all of certain death if they were to go exploring there.

Regardless of Dumbledore’s reasons, Draco was not stupid or reckless enough to investigate a place where he might die.  And eventually he put the odd rule out of his mind as he continued to study Granger’s book so that he would never have to ask for help again.

Chapter two was helpful, but even more helpful were the sketches of hypothetical floorplans that Granger had included in the margins and in a few notes she tucked between the pages.  They were just as good as the model of Hogwarts that was in Draco’s bedroom, though eventually he noticed something very curious about them.

Granger’s approach had been to map out her path from a House common room to each notable section of the castle: the Great Hall, the Library, each of the classrooms, and even the Prefects’ bathroom were all included.  And yet, as Draco looked over her diagrams it struck him that she had written out paths to and from each of these places to the common rooms of only three of the possible Houses where she might be sorted: Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff.

Slytherin was not included.

It was an odd thing, especially since Draco felt sure she would be sorted into Slytherin when he met her on the train.  But with no other explanation for it, Draco eventually chalked it up to the fact that the Dagworth-Grangers must be historically placed in the other three Houses.  It was a bit disappointing, but it would explain the odd outcome during the sorting, and it was really no different than Draco himself.  

Some families were just bound to a certain House.

After he had a better grasp of the floorplan from chapter two, Draco started over at the beginning and started to read from the first page.  He gaped at the extensive notes she took in the margins and odd connections she found between one chapter and the next.  Draco realized that she must have been studying this book for years, eagerly awaiting her eleventh birthday so that she could finally come to Hogwarts like the rest of her family.   

It was her notes in Hogwarts, A History that pushed him to write to his parents about her a second time.

When Draco’s parents told him that Pansy was their preliminary choice for a match, Draco wrote back and asked if he could befriend Granger anyway.  He assured them that she must be a pureblood because he had seen her summon a toad — no, frog — on the train, and she had even made the point to study the Hogwarts floorplan just like he did.  He also assured his parents that she seemed disdainful of both Potter and Weasley, and Draco had observed her shunning both of them during meals in the Great Hall.

To Draco’s slight surprise, Lucius was in favor of deepening an alliance with her based on the observations Draco relayed, but Narcissa seemed hesitant.  She reminded Draco that Gryffindors could be rather temperamental, reckless, and impassioned, and they had an unfortunate tendency to disregard the rules.  She did not ask Draco to ignore Granger, precisely, but she pointed out that even with family connections Granger must have at least a few Gryffindor characteristics somewhere deep down in order to be sorted there.  Narcissa warned him to exercise caution so that he did not allow Granger to lead him into trouble.

Then again, despite Narcissa’s obvious hesitation, she did say that she would look up the Grangers in the Malfoy library so they could be certain of her lineage in case Pansy was insufficient.  Then Narcissa sent another care package of sweets and pies to Draco, which he reluctantly shared with Crabbe and Goyle.

With his parents’ opinion somewhat split, Draco decided to reserve final judgment about Granger and just watch her for now.  It had only been a week, after all.  He needed to see if his first impressions of her were correct, and he needed Narcissa to confirm her blood status before he engaged in any real conversations with her.

Draco also made a mental note to continue writing to his mother, because every time he did she rewarded him with treats.

By the time Friday rolled around, Draco was more than ready for his first Potions lesson, both to purge the mortification from his wand and also to see if he was right about Granger's family connections.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy," came Severus's dry voice as Draco entered the classroom in the dungeons.

"Hello Godfa... I mean, Sev.. I mean, Sir."

Severus's lip twitched at Draco's flub, and Draco redenned.

"Sorry, Sir," he muttered under his breath.

"You'll adjust, Draco," said Severus just as quietly.  "Now sit, and make sure Crabbe and Goyle don't melt a cauldron today.  I've already had a letter from your father about it."

Draco couldn't hide his grimace at this news.  Of course he knew his father would be in touch with Severus.  Lucius had made it very clear that he had eyes and ears everywhere, and Severus would be the first to report back to him.  Still, it was an uncomfortable reminder that if Draco didn't perform well in this class, his wand would be the least of his problems when it came to Lucius.

Draco picked a table near the back, and sure enough, Crabbe and Goyle each sat next to him, with Zabini and Nott at the only table left behind them.  The Gryffindors were on the other side of the room, and Draco wasn't terribly surprised that Granger had picked a seat on the front row.  She was sitting rigidly, with her spine perfectly straight, as Severus began to take roll.

He paused when he got to Potter's name and immediately insulted him.

Draco couldn't stop the snicker that erupted, and next to him Crabbe and Goyle huffed a quiet laugh too.

“Salazar, what’s Potter done to him?” grinned Crabbe. 

"Dunno, but he hates him," responded Goyle.

Draco just shrugged, but he couldn’t help but laugh harder as Severus immediately laid into Potter after his opening speech.

Potter was red with embarrassment and looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear as Severus quizzed him mercilessly.  Meanwhile, Granger was stretched on her tip-toes with her hand stretching toward the ceiling in an effort to get Severus’s attention.  Eventually she couldn’t seem to help herself in the face of Potter’s total lack of competence, and she breathlessly answered every question that was originally posed to Potter without being prompted.

Draco narrowed his eyes as he surveyed her from behind.  Her hair was growing larger in the damp air of the classroom, and she was positively bouncing on the balls of her feet to impress the professor.  

It was obvious to Draco that she was a know-it-all, which was rather annoying.  Then again, she actually did seem to know it all, and this gave Draco pause.  Between the summoning charm she had shown him on the train, her ability to orient herself within the castle, and now her performance in Potions, it was apparent that she was very intelligent.

Draco marveled yet again that she ended up in Gryffindor and not Slytherin or at least Ravenclaw.  

Family connections.  That’s the only explanation.

After Potter had been reduced to a quivering mess of nerves, the class began to brew, and Severus walked around the classroom.  He found criticism with everybody except Granger, whom he surveyed silently, and of course Draco.

“Mr. Malfoy.  Your horned slugs are stewing perfectly.  This is the type of performance I expect in my class... Mr. Crabbe, if you do that to the slug again I'll give you detention for a month.”

Draco glanced at Crabbe, who was in the process of mutilating a slug, and he wrinkled his nose.  But at the compliment to his potion, Granger turned around and shot an annoyed look at him, which caused Draco to swell with pride.  He was pulled away from his thoughts, however, when a huge cloud of steam engulfed the room.

Severus went off on Longbottom and Potter, and again Draco was laughing so hard he was threatening to ruin his potion.  Draco decided this was the most fun he had all week, though he could already tell that the hardest thing about this class was going to be staying focused.  There was so much entertainment value from the Gryffindors and Severus's obvious dislike of them that Draco knew he would be constantly distracted.

The class finally finished, and Draco grinned broadly before bottling his potion and bringing it to the front for grading.  He placed it next to Granger’s, and they glanced at each other.  Her potion looked identical to Draco’s.  The others around them all looked wrong – some very wrong – but both of theirs were obviously perfect.  

They were the only students who had done it right.

Draco gave her another smirk.  “Challenge accepted, Granger.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “Challenge about what?”

“Highest score in the class.  It will be me of course, but I’ll admit you’re going to give me some fair competition.  None of the other idiots in this class will.”

Draco saw something spark in her eyes, and he could tell she was trying not to smile.  “Alright then, Malfoy.  We’ll see about that.  I think you’ll be disappointed though.”

Draco just grinned, and he threw his head back a bit arrogantly.

“That’s impossible.  I’m a Malfoy, and we never lose…”

Granger raised one eyebrow at this, but she didn’t seem intimidated.

“And I suppose you never get lost either?”

Draco narrowed his eye, unsure if she was mocking him or just teasing him good naturedly.  He finally decided it must be the latter by the twinkle in her eye.

He relaxed back into a grin.

“Never,” he confirmed.  “Just ask my father.  Malfoys are always right where they are supposed to be.”

Granger rolled her eyes at this, but again she suppressed a smile.  

“Fine then, Malfoy.  I suppose that means you brought my book?”

Draco froze at the question.  He did have her copy of Hogwarts, A History tucked safely in his bag, and he had fully intended to give it back to her after class today.  He had followed all of her instructions, and it was in just as pristine a condition as it had been when she first loaned it to him to read. 

He certainly no longer needed it, and yet something made him pause.

“Actually, I was hoping I could borrow it for a bit longer.  I read chapter two – just to make sure I already knew everything, I mean – but I started reading the other chapters also, and I’m not finished yet.”

At these words, Granger’s face went slack for a split second before she could no longer stop her smile, and it lit up her face.

Draco blinked, absolutely stunned by her reaction. 

“Really?” she breathed.

“Yeah,” he lied.  

“Alright then!  Keep it as long as you’d like.”

Granger was still beaming as she glanced back at their potions one final time.

“Oh, and Malfoy?”

“Yeah?” he said again. 

“Malfoys may never lose, but you should know that I have never come in second place before.  One of us is going to break our streak in this class.”

Her smile turned into a smirk as she nodded toward their potions.  Then she turned around and left without another word.

Draco just chuckled and shook his head at her obvious excitement surrounding the book and his challenge.  

Draco was excited too, and he could not wait to beat her.  After one lesson he was certain he was right about her: she was related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, and she had come to Hogwarts to continue that legacy.

Winning won't be easy, but my brew was just as good as hers was today.  If I study, I know I can do it.

Draco was whistling to himself as he left the classroom that day, already mentally composing a letter to his father to tell him about his perfect potion and his discovery about Granger's lineage.

He couldn't stop the smile as he imagined Lucius's proud face when Draco told him that he beat the girl with Potions in her blood.

Chapter Text

14 September 1991

The next week passed with little incident, and once again Potions was Draco’s favorite class.  He enjoyed watching Potter get berated by Severus, and Granger’s impersonations of a chipmunk were hilarious whenever she practically leapt into the air to answer questions.

To Draco’s slight consternation, Severus actually called on her that class — no doubt to make her shut up — and everything she said was correct.  She did such a good job that Severus was reluctantly forced to award Gryffindor House points, which made the entire class gape.

Draco caught Granger in the library a couple of times that week, and she was always surrounded by a mountain of books and sitting apart from others.

He was getting the impression that she was a loner.  Other than the occasional walk with Longbottom, she had no discernible friends, and she didn’t seem to be making any deep alliances in her own House.  But a second Potions lesson with her told Draco that he was right about her: she was the only student who would give him any real competition in that subject.

He had already started to hear rumors of her brilliance in other subjects, though they were always overlaid with a great deal of envy.  But since the Slytherins only shared a single core class with the Gryffindors, Draco had not had a chance to see her performance for herself.

He hoped that would change today.

Hogwarts required all first year students to take flying lessons, which Draco thought was asinine.  He had been practically raised on a broomstick, and he saw no reason why they should all be forced to take lessons.  It was an enormous waste of time, but there was no opting out — Draco had written to Lucius to ask, just to be certain.  Still, the Slytherins were paired with the Gryffindors for these lessons, and Draco had to admit he was curious to see if Granger could handle herself in the air just as well as she could handle a cauldron.

He was certain that Potter and Weasley would both be disastrous on a broomstick — between Potter's lack of parents and Weasley's lack of money he was sure neither of them had ever encountered a racing broom in real life before — and if Longbottom did him the courtesy of faceplanting into the pitch as well, then Draco could forgive just how pointless those lessons were sure to be.

The morning of their lessons, Draco passed by the Gryffindor table at breakfast with Crabbe and Goyle in his wake.  He saw Weasley, Longbottom, and Potter all circling an odd glass orb, which Longbottom was holding with a look of concentration on his face.

“My gran sent it to me,” was all Draco heard Longbottom say.

Draco, of course, darted forward and snatched it out of Longbottom's hand to examine it more closely.  The orb was filled with smoke that changed color while Draco was holding it, but he was not sure what it meant.

Potter and the others rose in anger, and it was only the voice of the truly intimidating Transfiguration professor that stopped Draco from tossing it in the air to see if it would shatter when it hit the ground.

“What’s going on?” asked McGonagall.  Draco whipped around and cringed a bit.  She was exceptionally stern, and after watching her turn a desk into a pig with barely a flick of her wand during their very first lesson, Draco was not keen to cross her.

“Malfoy’s got my remembrall, Professor,” said Longbottom.  

Whiny little git.

“Just looking,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. 

Only then did he see Granger pull her nose out of a book she was reading on the other end of the table.  Draco saw it had a picture of a broomstick on it, and he couldn't help but smirk.

So flying is not like Potions, then... interesting.

Draco dropped the remembrall and chuckled again as Longbottom dove for it so that it wouldn't break.  Then he gestured for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him back to the Slytherin table.  He glanced at Granger's book one last time and grinned.

She was trying to learn to fly from a bloody book, and now Draco was certain that there wasn't a single Gryffindor who would be competent in the air.

The afternoon couldn’t come soon enough.

******

“UP!” the students shouted.  

Draco’s broom flew into his hand, and he glanced around to see how the other students fared.  To his surprise, Potter’s broom rose to his hand too, but most of the other students’ did not.  Granger was furrowing her brow in frustration, as she continued to mutter under her breath. 

Her broom did nothing but roll over, and Draco suppressed a grin.

Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, showed everyone how to mount their brooms, and she started to walk down the line correcting their grips.

“Mr. Malfoy, your thumb’s in the wrong spot,” she said firmly.

“I’ve always done it this way,” he said with consternation.

“Then you’ve always done it wrong.”

Draco just rolled his eyes at her and then glared at Potter and Weasley who were sniggering at the exchange.  As soon as Madam Hooch moved to the next student he moved his thumb back.  It felt better to him, more natural this way.  And hadn’t he been flying on a broom since he was old enough to walk?

Madam Hooch prepared to blow her whistle for all the students to rise into the air, when suddenly Longbottom kicked off early.  Draco watched as he went up, up, up, until…

CRACK.

He slid off the back of his broom and landed on the ground with a sickening thud, and Madam Hooch ran over to him as Draco struggled not to laugh.  She pulled him to his feet and 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.”

She turned and led him away, and once they were out of earshot all of the laughter that had been bubbling to the surface exploded out of Draco.

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

Most of the other Slytherins started laughing with him.  

“Shut up, Malfoy,” snapped a dark-haired Gryffindor girl whose name Draco didn’t know.

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

Draco glanced at Pansy, rather surprised by the insult she just dispensed, as the girl who was her target — Parvati — flushed with embarrassment.  Draco thought that Lucius would find Pansy's remark amusing, but Narcissa probably would not.  

It wasn't exactly ladylike.

But then Draco’s gaze was caught by a glittering ball where Longbottom had been standing.  “Look!  It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.”

He darted forward and scooped it up.  It warmed in his hand once more, and Draco was sorely tempted to throw it.

“Give it here Malfoy,” said Potter, and Draco just gave him a slow smile.

The entire class’s attention was on them, and Draco swelled with arrogance.

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

“Give it here!” Potter yelled, but Draco had already leapt onto a broomstick and had taken off.

Draco thought he heard Granger screeching at Potter behind him, and he chuckled to himself.  He glanced behind him, sure he would see Potter barely off the ground when to his surprise he found Potter facing him squarely in the air.

What the…?  I thought he lived with muggles his entire life.

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

“Oh yeah?” said Draco with bravado, but he was secretly a bit worried.  Potter was a much better flyer than Draco had expected, not that he would ever admit this out loud.

“No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy,” snarled Potter as he started to fly straight toward Draco.

“Catch it if you can then!” shouted Draco, and he threw the ball high into the air and then dove back to the ground.  Out of the corner of his eye he watched in slight disbelief as Potter tilted his broom down and dropped like a rock to catch it.  

Draco had just dismounted and realized his mouth was hanging open as Potter did in fact catch the glass ball without breaking it, when suddenly a voice bellowed “HARRY POTTER!” 

Glee rushed through Draco as he realized it was Professor McGonagall who caught them, but Draco had gotten to the ground in just the nick of time.

“Never — in all my time at Hogwarts — 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 couldn’t believe his luck.  It wasn't even two weeks into term, and he might have gotten Harry Potter expelled.  Draco had already convinced Lucius that Potter was no good, and Lucius would be delighted if Draco actually managed it.  Draco was already fantasizing about the reward his father would give to him for this kind of feat.

A new broomstick?

My own cottage on the estate?

My signet ring before I’m seventeen?

“You arrogant arsehole!” shouted Weasley, marching up to Draco.

“Ronald Weasley!” came Granger’s shocked voice.  Draco smirked at Weasley.  This was getting better and better.  Granger was sticking up for Draco.

“Tell him, Granger.  Tell him just how bad he is calling me names.”

To his consternation, she scowled at him too.  “You are both bad!  You heard what Madam Hooch said!  You weren’t supposed to fly while she’s gone, so you broke the rules just as much as—”

“Oh go choke on that rat’s nest you call hair,” snarled Pansy.  

Granger blinked and shut her mouth.  Draco glanced between them, a bit unsure of what to do next, but Pansy made the decision for him as she grabbed his arm. 

“Come on.  Obviously the lesson is over, and we have better places to be, don’t we Draco?”

Draco just inclined his head and allowed himself to be pulled away, with Crabbe, Goyle, and the other Slytherins following in his wake.

He glanced back over his shoulder at Granger, who was still flushed red, but Draco could see she was speaking sharply to Weasley too, and that made him feel marginally better.

“Miserable mudblood,” muttered Pansy.

Draco whipped around to stare at her.  “Who?”

“Granger.  Obviously,” said Pansy, rolling her eyes.

“She’s annoying when she gets going like that, but she’s a pureblood,” said Draco.

Pansy looked at him skeptically.  “Draco, no pureblood girl would ever let her hair get that bad.  Her curls are absolutely horrible, and it's obvious she's never seen a hair potion in her life.  Granger's a mudblood, I promise.”

Draco dropped it, not willing to argue with Pansy about it.  She would find out soon enough who Granger was related to.  Maybe Pansy hadn’t noticed Granger’s brilliance in Potions just yet.  They had only had a couple classes together after all, and Draco could already tell that Pansy was struggling in that class.

The Slytherins moved to the library en masse, and Pansy asked for Draco’s help with Potions.  “I just don’t get this,” she moaned, and Draco settled down to help.  If his parents wanted to match him with her, he supposed he ought to be willing to help her with something as basic as homework.

The time passed and before long it was dinner time.  Draco caught a glance of Potter and Weasley eating together, and Draco smirked as he motioned to Crabbe and Goyle that they should go over there to goad Potter a little bit.

“Having a last meal Potter?” asked Draco.  “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 Potter with a bit of a sneer.

Draco just raised one eyebrow.  “I’d take you on anytime on my own.  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?”

Out of the corner of his eye Draco heard Granger gasp in shock.  He didn’t look at her, but he straightened up under her attention and peered down his nose at Potter.

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

Now Granger was making a slight choking sound, but again Draco ignored it. 

Draco pursed his lips for a moment as he studied Crabbe and Goyle.  Crabbe was slightly larger.  

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

Draco couldn’t help but smile at the grim looks on the two boys’ faces as he turned and strode out of the Great Hall.

Behind him, he could practically feel Granger melting down with anxiety and outrage.

“Erm, Draco… I mean, Malfoy,” said Crabbe.

Draco stared at him.  Crabbe was a boy of very few words, and Draco preferred it that way.  “What?”

“I don’t know how to duel.”

Draco just rolled his eyes.  “Of course we’re not dueling them, you idiot, but they’re Gryffindors.  They’ll never be able to resist sneaking out of bed to meet us.  We’re going to get them caught.”

Crabbe’s eyes widened, and Draco struggled not to sigh.  His best friends were so dense.  He really hoped Narcissa would send him good news about Granger soon, because Salazar knew that seven years of this for company would wear on him.

Draco marched straight to the caretaker’s office with Crabbe and Goyle in tow and knocked.

A rheumy-eyed man opened the door cautiously and looked at Draco with suspicion.  “What do you want?” snarled Argus Filch.

“I wish to report a rumor that there is a wizard’s duel taking place tonight, at midnight, in the trophy room.”

Filch’s eyes went wide.  “And why should I believe you?”

“I was there when the challenge was made,” said Draco easily.  “Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.  Tonight, midnight, trophy room.”

Filch seemed to swell and nodded.  “Very well.  I will handle it.  Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

He slammed the door in Draco’s face, and Draco just smirked.  If the remembrall wouldn’t send Potter packing, then he was sure that the midnight duel would.

******

Dear Draco,

I’m still searching for records of the Grangers, and I’m coming up short, dear.  Are you absolutely certain she’s a pureblood?  Your correct that the Dagworth-Grangers were pure, but the Granger who married in was a witch and the last of her line.  The Granger name that stood alone died out upon her marriage to Horatio Dagworth.

I’ll continue to look, dear, but you may need to prepare yourself for some unwanted news.

I do hope the rest of your classes are going well, and please enjoy the treats from the elves.  They made their own pumpkin pasties to celebrate the beginning of autumn, and I could not bear the thought of your eating the mass produced version that the third years bring back from Hogsmeade.

All my love,

Mother

Draco frowned at the latest letter from Narcissa, while he snuck a bite of pumpkin pasty.  Camillo had arrived with it soon after he issued the challenge to Potter and Weasley, and now he was considering his response back. 

It was true that several Slytherins other than Pansy seemed to believe that Granger was a mudblood, but Draco was not in that group.  No mudblood would be able to summon things before they ever set foot into Hogwarts.  No mudblood would have annotated a book the size of Hogwarts, A History without plenty of time to read it before school.  No mudblood would be as talented as she was in Potions, even with all of her hard work.  

No, she was a pureblood or at least a half-blood, he was certain of it.   

He knew he would press his parents to let him make friends with her even if she was a half-blood.  The Malfoys usually didn’t associate with half-bloods, but they made the rare exception now and then for those who were worthy, and Severus was a perfect example.  Lucius once explained that Severus had proven his value to the pureblood cause more than many other purebloods ever would, and he had been friends with Narcissa since they were children.  Severus would never be as great or powerful as the Malfoys, but he was still a valued ally and a friend, despite blood differences.

Draco thought that if Severus could be Narcissa’s  friend, then Granger could be his friend too, even if she turned out to be a half-blood.  His parents would be forced to admit she was brilliant when Draco was ranked first in Potions and Granger was ranked second.  He could surely make an exception to his normal pureblood fraternization rules for her, even if she had a single, mudblood parent.

Draco still wasn’t convinced she wasn’t a pureblood though. 

His mother may not have found anything in British pureblood records, but that didn’t mean very much.  Granger wasn’t a terribly uncommon name, after all, and it was possible a Granger had emigrated to another country at some point in the past before the current Granger branch returned to England.  Draco began to compose a note back to Narcissa suggesting she look in French and Irish records too.  

He just hoped they would find the Grangers soon because bloody hell he needed a friend who wasn’t Crabbe or Goyle. 

To be fair, the others in Slytherin weren’t that bad, but Draco was still feeling them out.  

Theo Nott was so quiet it was impossible to know where he stood on matters of blood, and Draco had made no inroads with the other boy.  

It was a bit awkward with Pansy because they both knew where their relationship was headed, and she was such a girl.  Obviously Granger was a girl too, but Pansy cared more about hair potions than actual potions, and it drove Draco a bit mad.  He found himself avoiding her when he could and being excruciatingly polite to her when he couldn’t.  

Daphne was still a bit of a mystery: she seemed nice enough, but the blood curse rumors made Draco a little uncomfortable around her.  

Out of all of them, Blaise Zabini was probably the best.  He was a bit aloof, but he could usually match Draco in conversation, and he had even started teaching Draco a few swear words in Italian when Draco mentioned he had a knack for languages.  Draco had to admit that 'merda' was becoming a favorite of his because it rolled off the tongue in a very satisfying way, but even with the benefit of Italian curses, Zabini's company could grate after a time.  He was even more arrogant than Draco was, and the small part of Draco that was self-aware was shocked by this.

Draco did not think he had ever met somebody more naturally arrogant than his father, and then he met Zabini.

The few others he had been sorted with – Tracy Davis, Milicent Bulstrode, Miles Bletchly and others – held no interest for him for any number of reasons.  It was the blokes in his own dorm and the two girls he had met that first night at the Slytherin table that he spent the most time with.  And out of that group, it was primarily Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy who got the lion’s share of Draco’s attention. 

School had barely started, and Draco already found his friends group to be taxing. 

Yes, he needed his mother to expand her search and find Granger’s family as quickly as possible so he could make actual friends with her instead of the odd pseudo-friendship they had through Potions.  

“Malfoy!”

Draco looked up from the letter he was writing to find Granger striding toward him.  He hastily shoved it in his bag so that she wouldn’t see her own name scrawled on the page.

Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice and instead locked her eyes on the pumpkin pasty he was eating in the library.  The disapproval in her gaze was uncomfortable, and Draco quickly pushed the rest of it in his mouth in a manner that would surely have made Narcissa wince.

She pursed her lips, but said nothing about it as she grew closer.

“Malfoy, we need to talk.”

Draco was chewing quickly as he glanced around.  They were mostly alone, though one or two older students at a nearby table were giving them odd looks.  He knew it must be because Gryffindors and Slytherins rarely associated with each other outside of forced interactions in class.

He rose and jerked his head to tell her to follow.  She must have noticed the unwanted attention from the other students too, because she nodded once and then disappeared into the stacks with him.  

Silently they wove in and out of the shelves of books for what felt like ages until they reached a small study area in the back that was completely abandoned.  There were several small tables and a very old, rather dingy window with round mullions filtering a bit of natural light into the space.  Draco glanced at one of the tables and noticed just how dusty it was.

Evidently nobody bothered to come back here, not even the elves to clean. 

Draco swallowed the last of his pasty and then turned to face her.

“What is it?” 

She crossed her arms and glared just a little.

“We’ll address eating in the library later… Right now, we need to talk about this duel of yours.  I want you to call it off.”

Draco cracked a grin, because it was just as he had suspected when he issued the challenge: she had noticed, and it bothered her.

He dropped his bag from his shoulder and leaned against the wall casually, before crossing his arms too.

“Oh really?  And why should I do that?”

Granger scowled.  “Because it’s against the rules, and it’s completely ridiculous!”

“You don’t ever do anything against the rules, do you?”

Truthfully, Draco wasn’t a big rule-breaker himself.  Lucius had trained him to follow virtually any rule set down by authority figures from a very young age.  But it struck Draco that Granger didn’t know this about him yet.

“Of course not!”

“Never?” he pressed.

“Not like this!” she amended.

Draco cocked his head.  “Tell me how you do break the rules, then.”

“I only do it when I’m certain I won’t get caught!”

Draco raised an eyebrow.  “And you’re so sure I’ll be caught, are you?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Don’t be stupid, of course you will!  If you think you’ll be able to get away with shouting spells at each other in the middle of the night, then you’re just as bad as Harry and Ron!”

Draco found he didn’t appreciate that little comparison at all, and he scowled.

“Just as bad, how?”

“Oh don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean… I tried to stop them too, and they said they are going to be there because they both despise you and neither one of them are actually thinking.  I realized that you are the only one who can stop it, so I want you to go to them right now and tell them that the duel is off!”

She looked at him expectantly, as though she was certain he would follow her orders.  Draco silently marveled at the fact that she had just shown her hand in a rather obvious way.  He wouldn’t have expected it from somebody as brilliant as her, but then again, she was in Gryffindor, and they were known for being rash.

Perhaps her temper was getting the better of her.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Granger.”

She looked appalled.

“And why on earth not?”

“Wizard’s honor.”

“Hang wizard’s honor, you’ll lose points!”

“I didn’t know you cared about Slytherin’s points.”

“Obviously I don’t, but I do care about Gryffindor’s points, and pardon me for not wanting to see any of you get expelled over something so ridiculous!”

She actually stomped her foot as she said this, and Draco couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed on his face.

“Aww Granger, you care about me.”

“Oh shut it.”

“You do!”

“I do not!”

“You just said so, you can’t take it back.”

She rolled her eyes and appeared to be forcibly reigning in her temper.

“Fine,” she snapped.  “I care enough that I don’t want you to get expelled, alright?  Just call off the duel, Malfoy, it’s not worth it.”

Draco gave a dramatic sigh and shook his head seriously.

“No can do, I’m afraid.  You see… there is no chance I will be expelled.”

“And why is that?”

Because I have no intention of being there.

“Because of my father,” Draco drawled.  “He’s on the Board of Governors here, and they wouldn’t dare kick me out over something like that.  Hogwarts needs my family’s gold too much.  Potter and Weasley though?  I don’t think they have the same influence…Weasley especially.”

Granger’s eyes widened, and Draco puffed up with pleasure at her reaction.  

“Oh this is ridiculous!”

“Don’t worry about me, Granger, worry about your friends.”

“They aren’t exactly my friends,” she admitted.

Draco perked up at this news. 

“They aren’t?  Well then the only thing you have to worry about is House points.  I’m sure you’ll earn them all back, even if Potter and Weasley push you lot to the negatives for a little while.  God, even Sev – I mean, Snape likes you.”

She appeared struck dumb by this, so he picked up his bag and began to move toward the stacks.

“Malfoy!  Wait!” she called as he was nearly out of sight.

He paused and turned back.

“What?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask about my book… Hogwarts, A History… are you done with it yet?”

Draco cracked another grin.

“Afraid not.  I’m only on chapter six.  I’ve been awfully busy with homework, you know.”

He continued to walk away as Granger called to his back, “REMEMBER, YOU AREN’T SUPPOSED TO EAT WHILE READING IT!”

Draco didn’t acknowledge her this time, but he found himself smiling the whole way back to the Slytherin common room as he considered both the duel that would not happen and Granger’s reaction to a food stain he might leave behind in her precious book.

In the end, he decided that Potter and Weasley’s inevitable expulsion was certainly something to celebrate, but the food stain was probably too risky.

******

18 October 1991

Dear Journal,

Don’t ask me to explain it, but I have a new favorite book.  It’s called Hogwarts, A History .  Granger recommended it and loaned her copy to me.

I’ve now read the whole thing twice, and I think it’s the best thing that’s come out of my interactions with Gryffindors so far.  

Everything else involving them has been terrible, including: 

-Granger’s tolerance of Longbottom (what is she thinking?)

-Potter’s and Weasley’s existence

-Joint flying lessons

-Argus Filch and his miserable cat

~*~

Potter’s feat on the broomstick to catch the remembrall had not gotten him expelled.  

And not only that, but the duel-that-never-happened didn’t get the job done either.

Evidently Filch hadn’t been able to catch Potter and Weasley that night, despite the fact that they were out of bed.  

Draco knew this because Granger had confirmed it for him the next day.

“I can’t believe you tricked us like that!”

“Us?”

“Yes, us!  I tried to stop them and followed them out of the portrait hole, and then the Fat Lady left!  I couldn’t get back inside so I was stuck with them for the rest of the night!  Neville too!”

“Granger, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious, Malfoy, and it’s all your fault!  If you had just told me you weren’t going to show I would have been able to stop them from leaving in the first place!”

“Well you’re all still here, so obviously nothing happened.”

“That’s what you think… we had to run from Filch, and then all four of us had a near-death experience on the third floor!”

“What near-death experience?”

“Somebody is keeping a giant dog up there.  It’s absolutely massive, with three heads — a cerebus, you know — they are unbelievably rare, and I don’t understand why anybody would bring one into a castle full of children in the first place...  But my point is, it definitely wanted to eat us, and it would have been your fault if it had!”

After hearing the truly alarming news that Granger had discovered a cerebus in the castle, Draco made a mental note to steer clear of that section of the third floor corridor indefinitely.

He certainly wasn’t pleased to hear that Granger had been caught up with Potter and Weasley that night, but then again… she only got involved because she couldn’t leave well enough alone.  None of them had been harmed in the end, and Gryffindor hadn’t even lost a single point for it.  

Granger’s irritation toward Draco had eventually cooled when he reminded her that he did not make her follow Potter and Weasley.  Then he informed her that he had spent the evening reading another chapter of Hogwarts, A History, instead of running from Filch, and all was forgiven.

As for Filch, Draco immediately wrote him off as a lost cause when it came to this sort of task in the future.  Truly, the man’s incompetence was breathtaking, and while Draco was sure that Granger’s intelligence was the primary reason none of them had been caught, they were still just a bunch of firsties.  

Filch had been working at Hogwarts for over a decade, and he had that horrible cat of his named Mrs. Norris to help him do his job.  Between the two of them they should have been able to catch Longbottom at the very least.

In the end, the worst part of it all was the fact that Potter was actually rewarded for his stunt with the remembrall on the Quidditch pitch.  It was a week later when Draco discovered that Potter had been sent an actual broomstick from Salazar-knows-where at breakfast one day.  Draco reported it of course, and the Professors made some comments about Potter’s special circumstances and brushed Draco off.

Special circumstances.  

It made Draco practically froth with envy.  Draco was the one who had spent his entire life on a broomstick, not Potter, and he talked about flying to anybody who would listen.  Draco missed flying so much that it gave him a pain in his chest whenever he thought about.

The flying lessons at Hogwarts were rudimentary, and the school brooms were awful.  Draco was miserable every time he watched the upperclassmen on the weekends when they had the freedom to fly around the pitch while the first years stayed firmly on the ground.  

And yet, despite the fact that McGonagall had been positively terrifying when she caught Potter coming out of that dive, Potter was now the only first year student at Hogwarts who had a broomstick.  

It was so unfair, Draco could hardly breathe every time he thought about it.

The only saving grace to the whole remembrall-duel debacle was that Granger apparently didn’t forgive Potter and Weasley for it as quickly as she forgave Draco.  Perhaps it was because Draco had the sense to actually stay in bed and follow the rules or maybe it was because he claimed he was still reading Hogwarts, A History at a snail’s pace – but whatever the cause, Granger’s ire with him expired very quickly.  She still did not speak to Draco very often except for the occasional word in Potions, but he found himself buoyed by the notion that Potter and Weasley were in the doghouse, and he wasn’t.

Draco overheard her berating Potter and Weasley in the corridors for their childish behavior and poor decision-making just after she forgave him for it.  Draco was so thrilled that she was laying into them that he silently applauded her behind their backs, and she almost cracked a smile when she saw him do it.

Even better than that, she started to act as though Potter and Weasley were invisible after Potter’s broomstick arrived.  Evidently Granger thought it was a step too far to actively reward rule-breaking, and she took it upon herself to punish them with silence instead.  

It was fantastic.

In fact, between her ability to see the gross unfairness of Potter’s new broomstick and her continued swottiness in Potions class, Draco was growing rather fond of her, from a respectable distance of course.  She produced such wonderfully scathing looks every time she glared at Potter and Weasley that Draco found himself unconsciously studying her.  Her superiority was just unbelievable, and the amount of disdain she could convey in a single eyebrow raise was something Draco aspired to mimic.  Draco felt a rush of glee every time he saw her looks of disgust aimed in Weasley’s direction, in particular.

Even Severus seemed reluctantly impressed by Granger, despite her unfortunate luck to be sorted into Gryffindor House.  Draco had been telling Granger the truth that day when he said that Severus liked her.  Draco knew Severus very well and could tell that Granger was growing in his esteem as week after week she publicly shunned those two idiots and then proceeded to dominate everybody but Draco in Potions.

Draco could tell she was fiercely competitive and so was he.  They caught each other’s eyes rather often whenever one of them would answer a question correctly, usually with a satisfied smile as they relished their small victories.  Draco always made sure to give her brews a look whenever he turned in something for grading.  She was incredibly talented in this subject, there was no doubt about that, and Draco found himself studying Potions harder than any other class in order to beat her.

It felt friendly though, their little Potions challenge.  After a time he acknowledged that he was jealous of her abilities in some ways, but he also saw her studying in the library night after night.  He sensed she had a great deal of raw talent, but he could also tell she worked incredibly hard when she wanted something, and he respected that.  He didn’t hate her for her brilliance in Potions, and he suspected she didn’t hate him either.  

He still wanted to beat her when class rankings came out at the end of the year though.  It would be so incredibly satisfying to win.

“Five points for me, today,” she murmured as she slid her latest potion onto Severus’s desk for grading.

“And ten for me,” he pointed out.

“Everybody knows Professor Snape’s biased.  One point of mine is worth two of yours.”

“Are you saying we’re tied?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying… for today, at any rate.  I still think my potion looks better than yours, though.  We’ll just have to see how he marks them, won’t we?”

She gave him a cheeky smile and started to move off, before seeming to remember something as she turned back.

“Oh Malfoy… which chapter are you on now?”

“Chapter ten.”

“Oh my God.  If you read that slow for class you’d never pass.”

Draco just shrugged, amused that she still believed him after all these weeks.  “Maybe I’m reading that slow because it’s not for class.  I have to work it in around everything else.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled a little.

“Fine, I guess you can keep it for a bit longer.”

“Thank you, Granger, it’s an absolutely fascinating read.”

She said nothing to that, but Draco saw her suppress one more smile as she turned back to her table to pack her bag.

“What was that all about?” asked Zabini, who had been eyeing their exchange.

Draco assumed an arrogant expression.

“Nothing.  Just a Potions competition, that’s all.  I’m going to beat her marks this year.”

Zabini fell silent, still looking suspicious, but Draco ignored him.  It didn’t matter what Zabini thought about it.  Other than an unfortunate tendency toward shrillness whenever she became overset, the only truly objectionable thing about Granger was her sorting.  But even that wasn’t entirely her doing.  It was surely just a family thing, much like Draco’s sorting had been.  

It wasn’t as though the rumors about Granger being a mudblood were actually true.  

That would be ridiculous.

Chapter Text

31 October 1991

It was finally Halloween, and this year Draco was very excited.  Just like muggles, wizarding children often dressed up and trick-or-treated through wizarding villages – though unlike muggles, the tricks were real and usually came from Zonko’s joke shop.  They could be positively dangerous when performed on an unsuspecting witch or wizard, and it was probably for this reason that most wizarding homes in Godric’s Hollow, Hogsmeade, Ottery St. Catchpole, and others ensured they were well-stocked with sweets for the holiday.

Twice as a young child Draco had been allowed to trick-or-treat in Hogsmeade with Narcissa.  He was seven the first time he was allowed to do it and eight the second.  Before those ages Narcissa claimed he was too young to stay up past his bedtime for it.  And after those ages, Lucius claimed he was too old to engage in such foolish nonsense.

Those two, blissful years had been wonderful, though, and they made him love the holiday.  While most of the students at Hogwarts did not appear in costume for it, Draco had heard the Halloween Feast was one of Hogwarts’ best.  The sheer amount of sugar that was provided usually caused the entire castle to crash at the same time, and Draco felt that this was a new tradition he could fully embrace.

He couldn’t wait, and he and the others were very distracted in this classes that day, especially Transfiguration, which was in the early afternoon.

“We’re freeeee!” cried Zabini, as he bolted out of the classroom the moment the bell rang.

“Salazar, calm down,” laughed Draco.  “You haven’t even had any sweets yet!”

“Mother sent some homemade cauldron cakes for all of us, so we should eat those first!  Last one to the common room gets the squished one!”

Most of the students in Draco’s year laughed and raced Zabini back down to the dungeons.  Crabbe and Goyle were so keen that they were sprinting, and Draco was rather taken aback by just how fast they could move when promised food.

Draco, however, hung back, torn between wanting to join the others and knowing that if he did not spend their free period before the feast reviewing Potions, Granger would surely beat him in class the next day.

His studies won, and Draco silently congratulated himself for his maturity and self-control in the face of what were sure to be some extraordinary homemade baked goods.  

In fact, he was even composing a letter to Lucius about it in his head.

Dear Father,

Prior to the Halloween Feast the Slytherins had a free period.  Rather than join my classmates in starting the celebrations early, I spent a couple of hours in the library to ensure my marks remain high…

Yes, he thought Lucius would approve of that choice, and then Draco would be able to indulge in the feast without any lingering guilt. 

He rounded a corner on his way to the library and nearly ran headfirst into Granger herself, who had a tear-streaked face and was clutching her books to her like a lifeline.  

“Oomph – sorry,” she said quickly, tearing her gaze away from him and trying to hurry off.

Without even thinking about it, Draco grabbed her arm, and she spun around to stare at him in confusion.

“Granger, what happened to you?”

Draco’s eyes were quickly taking in everything: the wild hair, the red nose, the hazel eyes that practically glowed with unshed tears, and the look of pain on her face. 

Surely somebody had died.  That was the only explanation for why the superior little swot he admired from Potions would fall apart in the hallway like this.

“It’s nothing, it’s–” she sniffed and tried to pull her arm away, but Draco didn’t let go.  

He glanced around and heard students approaching, so he pulled her into an empty classroom just off the corridor.

He shut the door and turned to her, crossing his arms in what he hoped was an intimidating way so that she would spill the truth.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

She physically deflated, and Draco grew more alarmed than ever.  This was so out of character for her, he couldn’t imagine what he was about to hear.

“It’s just… I have no friends, not really.  I suppose Neville is the closest, but he’s so quiet and doesn’t really like to study… And I know it’s because of the way I am in classes and all, but I can’t help the fact that I’m good at school!  Charms is my best subject!  Or maybe Transfiguration is, I don’t know… but the others can’t stand it, and whenever I try to help them they’re just cruel.  It’s not like he was even pronouncing the incantation correctly.  Of course my feather flew on the first try in class!  I’ve been making things fly all year!”

She was breathing hard, and Draco was struggling to keep up.  He knew the flying charm was coming up in his Charms class the following morning, and evidently the Gryffindors had it this afternoon.  But had she really gotten it on the first try?  And she had been making things fly all year? 

Draco’s own flying charm was rather spotty.  He had practiced a few times, but usually the thing he was trying to make fly just rolled over.  Even with his lackluster performance, his flying charm was still the farthest along among his own classmates, and he was sure that he would be able to manage it with Professor Flitwick’s help the next day.  In fact, Charms was one of Draco’s better subjects — after Potions of course — no doubt because his stupid wand was filled with unicorn hair.  Flitwick had commented more than once that unicorn hair was well-suited for Charms.

His perspective about his own performance shifted abruptly as he looked at the crying girl in front of him.

It was the first time he had heard that Potions wasn’t her best subject, nor even her second best.  The news about Charms wasn’t that surprising he supposed, given her ability with the summoning charm.  But the tidbit about Transfiguration took him aback.

Then another thing she just said finally registered.  

He.

“Who wasn’t pronouncing the incantation correctly?”

“Ron Weasley,” she sniffed.  “Harry Potter wasn’t doing it right either of course, but Ron’s just…” she sighed.

“What did he say?” asked Draco, and he reached out to grip her arm a second time.  

“He said I was a nightmare, and that it’s no wonder I have no friends,” she said in a tiny voice.  She sounded utterly heartbroken.

As for Draco, something that felt a lot like rage started to build in the pit of his stomach.  He didn’t say anything because he didn’t know what he would say if he opened his mouth, and suddenly she backed away, looking mortified.

“Look, I don't know why I’m even telling you this.  It doesn’t matter.  I have to–” and then another sob welled up, and she was turning away from him and left the classroom as fast as she could.

Draco stared at the door Granger had just run through, hatred for Weasley coursing through him.  He had upset Granger so much that Draco even touched her arm without realizing it.  Draco couldn’t remember ever touching another person who wasn’t one of his parents or his dancing instructor, but Granger had looked so devastated it was just instinct.  After all, he wanted her to be his friend eventually, and Weasley – that blood traitor Weasley – had made her cry.

Weasley was going to pay.

Almost snarling now, Draco strode out of the classroom and toward the library, all thoughts of Potions preparations gone.  He might be off his game in class tomorrow, but he no longer cared about that.  He pushed the library doors open and made his way to a small section filled with books on hexes and jinxes.  He wished he could get into the Restricted Section, but there was no time.  

He could do plenty of damage with some of these.

He spent the next two hours looking up hexes, finally landing on one that would make all of Weasley’s hair on his whole body grow rapidly.  Draco settled on that one because it was not reversible, and he would be forced to shave it to get rid of it.  Until then he’d look like an enormous ginger puffskein.

Nodding to himself, Draco slammed the book closed and made his way down to the Halloween Feast, ready to cast the hex as soon as he had an opportunity.  

He eyed the Gryffindor table and saw Weasley and Potter were there, but Granger was nowhere to be found.  He kept his eye on the door, but she never appeared, and Draco’s mood grew even darker at this.  The other Slytherins must have sensed his foul temper, because they were watching him nervously as his eyes bored into the back of Weasley’s head.  

Draco had just decided that he would hang back and hex Weasley as soon as the feast was over, and he turned back to his meal.  He was lost in thought until he heard a shout.

He turned to Blaise and said, “What was that?”

“Professor Quirrell!  He said there’s a troll in the dungeons!”

There was a beat of silence — during which Draco noted that their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had actually fainted — and then the Great Hall erupted with noise. 

The Prefects were scrambling to gather first year students, the Professors were trying to organize the chaos, and Draco was trying to make his way toward Weasley, only to be physically pulled back by none other than Marcus Flint, a fifth year and the Slytherin Quidditch Captain.

“Not now Malfoy, for Salazar’s sake!” he snapped.

Draco hesitated just long enough for Flint to grab him by the arms and shove him toward the other Slytherin students, who were being shepherded out of the Great Hall.

“...he said the dungeons!”

“...should not go there…”

“...oh my God…”

Draco had to agree.  He wasn’t at all interested in going to the dungeons if there was a bloody troll down there, and the Slytherins were stalling as a group, hovering in the Entry Hall for several long minutes.

“Move along,” snapped Severus, rounding the corner.  “The troll is in a girls’ bathroom on a different floor.  Go now.”

Draco blinked and watched Severus turn on his heel and nearly sprint the opposite direction, down the same corridor where Granger had disappeared a couple hours ago.

No.  No, it can’t be… surely she’s not…

“MOVE!” shouted a Prefect, and he grabbed Draco by the collar and thrust him toward the dungeons.

Draco was riddled with nerves for Granger and his anger at Weasley was threatening to take on a life of its own.  The hex Draco had looked up in the library earlier that evening no longer seemed even remotely sufficient.

If Granger got hurt, Weasley would pay.  He would wish he had never been born.

~*~

Dear Journal,

A bloody troll got into Hogwarts tonight during the Halloween Feast.  Doesn’t this school have any security at all?  Wards?  Barriers?  Something that keeps out ridiculously dangerous creatures like trolls and three-headed dogs?  

I’ve decided that I’m going to write to Father about it just as soon as I find out if Granger’s okay.  

They sent all the students back to their common rooms, but Granger wasn’t with the Gryffindors.  I saw Severus run toward a girl’s bathroom near the place I last saw her, and I’ll admit that I’m scared for her.

It’s all Weasley’s fault, too.  He made her cry, and that’s why she hid and missed the feast.

What should I do if she’s actually hurt?  Maybe I should talk to Severus about that.  Salazar knows he likes Granger almost as much as I do, and he will be out for Weasley’s blood if she is harmed.  

******

1 November 1991

Draco didn’t sleep on Halloween night, far too worried about Granger to manage it.

Was she hurt?

Was she in the hospital wing?

Was she dead?

He knew he would find out the answer to these questions at breakfast that morning, and Draco waited anxiously as the time crawled.

There was one thing he was sure of: Draco owed Weasley a very serious hex.  If Granger had actually been hurt by the bloody troll because she was in the loo crying over the things Weasley said to her, then Draco would make a point to destroy the whole family.  Lucius had the influence to do it, and he was still tentatively in favor of an alliance with Granger.

Draco didn’t even think it would take much persuading, because Lucius absolutely despised the Weasleys.

Then Draco would leverage Severus’s strong dislike for all things ginger to make sure Weasley got expelled… perhaps Draco could even throw Potter in the mix too.  Those two were practically attached at the hip, and Severus would believe it.

Everyone was on edge, but none more so than Draco, as the time for breakfast finally rolled around.

“Come on,” said Draco, the moment the clock struck seven.

“Eager, are you?” asked Zabini incredulously.

“I’m starving.  I never finished the feast last night,” said Draco.

The other boys made noises that told Draco the lie was acceptable, and he was first inside of the Great Hall as he waited for both Granger and Weasley to appear.

He ignored the others and ate mechanically as he kept his eyes glued to the door.

It took nearly thirty minutes, and the Great Hall was half full when the doors finally opened and a trio of students walked in.

It was Granger, and she was walking between Potter and Weasley and laughing.

Draco’s grip on his wand tightened as he stared at the sight, and he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the bizarre thing he was seeing.

It was impossible.  Impossible.  There was no way somebody as brilliant as Hermione Granger wouldn’t see those two idiots for what they truly were, especially not when sodding Weasley had made her cry just the day before.  What he had done to her was unforgivable, and yet evidently she had forgiven him and also befriended him at the same time.  And she had done it quickly.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

Zabini overheard him and nudged him hard.

“What’s wrong?  You look like you’ve been hit with a petrification hex.”

“Granger!  She’s with Potter and Weasley!”

“So?” asked Zabini, nonplussed.  “She’s a Gryffindor, isn’t she?”

“So she’s not friends with them!” insisted Draco.  “She hates them!”

“Doesn’t hate them anymore,” grunted Crabbe, and Draco turned on him.

“You stay out of this,” he snapped.

Crabbe looked sour, but he did fall silent as Draco craned his neck to follow Granger’s progress with those two idiots.

“What’s she saying to them?” he questioned out loud.

Zabini just gave him a marvelous eye-roll.

“Merlin, Malfoy, why do you care?  You’ve heard the rumors.  She’s a mudblood, isn’t she?”

“She’s not,” Draco insisted.  “She’s related to Hector Dagworth-Granger.”

“Who?” grunted Goyle, while Zabini looked deeply skeptical.

“Famous potioneer,” said Draco promptly.  “Surely you’ve heard of him?”

“Erm… no,” admitted Goyle.

“Well he’s one of the best potioneers, ever.  Granger is obviously related to him.  Haven’t you seen her Potions work?”

“No?” continued Goyle.

“God help me,” muttered Draco.

“I don’t know, mate,” said Zabini uncertainly.  “I think she’s a mudblood… everybody says so…”

“Has she told you this herself?” demanded Draco, now rounding on Zabini.

“No, of course not.  I don’t talk to mudbloods.”

“Then how would you know?”

Zabini narrowed his eyes.

“Have you asked her then?”

“I–”

Draco cut himself off, because of course he hadn’t.  They only spoke in Potions, and never about each other’s families.

“Yes?” prompted Zabini.

“I haven’t,” Draco admitted.  “But I’ve seen plenty of evidence for it.  The students saying she’s a mudblood are just mad that she’s beating them in classes.”

Zabini pursed his lips, but wisely dropped it.

“I’m going to find out what’s happening,” said Draco, who couldn’t stand to watch her interact with those two gits any longer.

“Suit yourself,” said Zabini.  “People might call you a blood traitor though.”

Draco scowled as he rose.

“I’m Draco Malfoy.  I am not a blood traitor.”

He stood up and stomped over to the Gryffindor table, his hand itching to go to his wand and hex Weasley even harder now that he had somehow made up with Granger.

“Granger!” he barked.

Granger looked up in confusion, and Weasley and Potter turned too.

“I need a word,” he said coldly.

To Draco’s consternation, she immediately looked wary, but she nodded once and rose.

“Hermione!” called Weasley.

“It’s okay Ron,” she said softly.  “He just wants a word…”

Draco marched out of the Great Hall and resisted the urge to look behind to see if Granger was following.  

He led her to the Library on the other side of the Entry Hall, and without even thinking about what he was doing, he navigated the stacks to the same place where they had discussed the duel weeks earlier.

He glanced around and saw that the dust was thicker than ever.

The he turned and found her staring at him impatiently.

“Surely this isn’t necessary,” she said, gesturing around to the empty study area.

“I don’t want to be overheard.”

“That is obvious.”

Draco scowled.

“Whatever.  I want to know why you’re suddenly friends with them?  Didn’t Weasley make you cry yesterday?”

Granger crossed her arms irritably.

“Yes he did,” she said primly.  “And he regrets it.”

“He told you that, did he?”

“He showed me that.”

“Oh?  And how did he do that?”

“He knocked out the troll for me.”

Draco paused to absorb this piece of news.

“He did what?”

“You heard me.  The troll cornered me in the bathroom, and he and Harry rescued me.  We’re friends now.”

Draco could not believe this.

“You wouldn’t have even been there if Weasley hadn’t made you cry!”

“Maybe not, but they made up for it.  We’re friends now, so I’d appreciate it if you would knock off your bullying.  There’s no need to target them.”

Draco felt his lip curl at this.

“Knock off my bullying?  What, did they complain to you about me?”

“They don’t have to!” she insisted.  “You should be nicer to them both!”

“Potter’s famous for something he can’t even remember, and Weasley’s an idiot.  Of course I can’t be nicer to them.”

Granger’s jaw dropped.

“What on earth is wrong with you?”

“I think the better question is what is wrong with you.  Why be friends with them at all?  Neither of them are as smart as you.  Potter breaks every school rule that’s ever been written.  And Weasley is pathetic and poor.  You’re so much better than they are!”

Granger looked utterly torn at his words, but then her expression turned resolved.

“I would like my book back please.”

“What?”

Draco was taken aback but the abrupt change of subject.

“You heard me.  I want Hogwarts, A History back please.”

“I’m not done reading it,” lied Draco.

“I don’t care.  You’re always talking about how rich you are, aren’t you?  Surely you can afford your own copy.”

She held out her hand expectantly, and Draco narrowed his eyes but didn’t move.

“Granger…”

“I mean it, Malfoy.  The book is mine.  Give it here.”

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Draco opened his bag and extracted her book.  He handed it over to her, feeling as though he was losing something at that very moment, though he couldn’t have said what it was.

Granger snatched it back to her and flipped through a few pages to make sure he had not damaged it.  She nodded once and slid it back into her own bag as she started to turn away.  She paused at the last minute and looked back at Draco, her expression perturbed.

“I don’t hate you like they do, you know… but they are my friends now.  I’m not asking you to be friends with them too, I’m just asking you not to make me pick.  Just ignore them, Malfoy, please.”

She left silently, as Draco stayed behind, brooding over the sudden change in relationship with Potter and Weasley.

Just ignore them?  Yeah right, Granger.  That’s never going to happen.

******

16 November 1991

Draco had been stewing about Granger’s sudden friendship with Potter and Weasley for a couple weeks now.  Despite her story about the troll in the bathroom, it still did not make any sense.  Draco supposed he could understand her quick forgiveness if Weasley had truly saved her in the bathroom that day – but to move from forgiveness to outright friendship overnight felt like a stretch.

Granger had been a loner since she arrived at Hogwarts.  None of the other students could keep up with her, hadn’t she told him that herself?  Draco only had one class with her, and he had to work harder than he had ever worked in life to stay on top there, and it wasn’t even her best subject nor second best.   The other students were jealous, and she had been sorted into the wrong House.  

Draco had liked it.  He wanted her to be alone.  Because when she was alone it meant that he had a chance to make real friends with her once Narcissa got off her arse and actually looked for the Grangers in some of the foreign records the Malfoys could access.  

His mother kept reporting that she hadn’t found anything, but Draco knew she just wasn’t looking hard enough.  She had been reticent about Draco associating with any Gryffindors, and she was probably shopping or redecorating the parlor instead of prioritizing this.  

Draco hadn’t worried about it because he knew if his mother didn’t do it, then Draco could do it himself over the Christmas holidays or even the summer.  Up until Halloween, he believed that Granger would always be alone.  That meant she would be there, ready to welcome him as a real friend, once Draco had confirmed what he already knew to be true.

But now she wasn’t alone.  

Salazar help him, she was never alone.  

She was with Potter and Weasley all the time now, and Draco had even seen her helping them with homework.  It was absolutely appalling, and Draco didn’t know what to do about it.

“Come on Draco, stop being annoying.  We’re going to be late,” said Pansy.

Draco continued to brood, as he carefully shuffled away from her.  He could tell she was itching to grab him by the arm and haul him to his feet.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

“We’re going to be late.  It’s the first Quidditch match ever!  Just because there are rumors doesn’t mean they’re true.  Let’s go see for ourselves.”

Ah yes, the rumors.  

There were many rumors at Hogwarts, and the most galling at the moment involved Potter and Quidditch.   

It was said that Potter was actually put onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team because Draco stole Longbottom’s remembrall and McGonagall caught him in that dive.  Draco hadn’t allowed himself to think about it very much, still too angry about Granger finding friends.  Still, it had served to be a good excuse whenever the other Slytherins nagged him about getting out of his dark moods.  

He could always blame the rumors.

Now Draco supposed it was time to see if the rumors were actually true, though he doubted that they were.  Potter may have been allowed a broomstick, but being placed on the Quidditch team was a completely different matter.  Draco had learned from Lucius that the Hogwarts rumor mill had a tendency to take on a life of its own, and Lucius had always cautioned Draco that he must find concrete evidence before he believed any of them.  

It was precisely the reason Draco didn’t believe any of the rumors about Granger.  The evidence didn’t support it.

Draco made his way down to the pitch with the others, binoculars in hand, only to discover that the rumors about Potter were indeed true. 

Potter was the new Gryffindor Seeker.

Draco swore loudly when Potter walked onto the pitch to the roar of the stands.

That specky imbecile who made friends with his… Granger… was on the sodding Quidditch team.  He was even playing Seeker, which had always been Draco’s favorite position.

The unfairness of it all just made Draco want to rage at something.

The other Slytherins, perhaps sensing instability, gave him wide berth as Draco dug his binoculars into his eyes and watched Potter fly.  Even Draco had to admit he was very good, and Draco absolutely hated it.  

Unconsciously Draco’s binoculars drifted to find his… Granger… and there she was, not too far away, actually cheering for the great sod as though she cared about Quidditch.  

Draco knew she didn’t care.  Granger had never once shown even a modicum of interest in their flying lessons.  But now she was caring and she was cheering because of Potter.  

It was utterly outrageous.

Draco was about to pull his gaze away, when he watched her face change.  It went from delight to confusion to concern and then to fear.  She was staring at Potter the whole time, and now Draco heard whispers in the crowd.

Curious, despite himself, Draco flipped his own binoculars up to find Potter’s broomstick doing an impression of one of those bulls that Draco once heard American muggles liked to ride because they were both (i) primitive and (ii) American.  Potter was hanging on for dear life, and Draco felt a smile tug at his lips.  

Serves him right for breaking school rules and joining a game he has no right to play.

He flicked his binoculars back to Granger to see her reaction.  To his surprise she had grabbed a pair of her own binoculars and seemed to be staring right back at him.

Very uncomfortable that he might be caught looking at her, Draco yanked his binoculars down and looked around quickly, now seeing Severus in the stands not that far away, eyes fixed on Potter, muttering under his breath.  Intrigued, Draco put his binoculars back to his eyes and looked toward Granger, only to find her curly head slipping away from the Gryffindor section of the stands.  Draco tracked her progress, getting flashes of her behind the stands, and soon he realized she was heading straight for the Slytherin section.

“Loo,” he quickly muttered to the others.

“You’re missing this?” asked Zabini in disbelief, as he gestured toward Potter, who was nearly off his broomstick.

Draco just waved him off and slipped away, down the rickety stairs and under the stands.  He flattened himself behind a pillar and heard Granger hurry past him.  He peeked around the pillar and watched as she passed the Slytherin section to the teachers’ section right past it.  She started to climb the scaffolding, holding her wand in her teeth before shimmying over to find the person she was looking for. She hung there, a bit suspended, as she pushed herself between the legs of a couple of the teachers.  One seemed to fall over, and Draco caught a flash of his face and turbin between the wood bleachers that told him it was Quirrell.  But Granger ignored him and pulled her wand from her teeth.  She muttered a spell and blue flames shot out toward the robes of a different person right next to him.

The roar from her victim told him it was Severus.

Bloody hell.

Draco gaped as she concentrated very hard and conjured a small glass jar.  She seemed to scoop the odd flames into the jar and then melted back down under the scaffolding.

Draco turned and flattened himself against the pillar again as he listened to her hurry off, and he looked back around to see her curls disappearing toward the Gryffindor section once more.

Shaking slightly, Draco emerged and made his way back to the rickety stairs.  He climbed them quickly only to find Severus looking practically murderous.  He glanced up into the air and saw Potter streaking toward the ground, hand over his mouth like he was going to vomit.  And there, on the other side of the pitch, Granger reemerged next to Weasley.

Potter hit the ground, coughed, and the snitch fell out of his mouth.

The Gryffindors erupted in cheers.

What on earth?

Draco could hardly focus on the snitch.  He was still trying to process the fact that Granger had just set a bloody teacher on fire, and not just any teacher, but Severus.  

Draco knew that Severus was dangerous.  Draco’s parents had never told him details, but Draco had eavesdropped on enough conversations between Lucius and Severus over the years to know that Severus should never be crossed.  Severus could have hurt Granger a dozen different ways without even thinking about it.  She must be positively mental to do something like that, all because she thought it would somehow help Potter.

And that was the truly horrifying bit: she had been friends with Potter for only two weeks, and she was already setting teachers on fire for him.  

How?  How had Potter done it?  How had he made the most powerful little witch Draco had ever encountered so bloody loyal in the span of two weeks?

Because she was certainly powerful, there was no question about it.  Those flames she produced had been odd, obscure, and she had been in complete control of them.  

Then there was the jar.  She actually conjured a jar.  She had told Draco that Transfiguration might be her best subject, but it still defied belief.  She shouldn’t be that good, because it was sixth year work!  

Why was she wasting her time and talents saving some trumped up half-blood when she could be with her real equals in Slytherin?  Sure, she had been sorted into the wrong House, but that was a minor detail.  They could show her how to use her power.  They could connect her.  It was true she might not be in the right circles yet, but she was so magically adept that it could be corrected.  Draco could introduce her to the people who mattered. 

He just needed an in.  He needed some way to draw her away from sodding Potter now that he had yet more proof that she was exactly who he believed her to be.  Narcissa’s lack of research and the rumors about her blood status meant nothing compared to the mountains of concrete evidence Draco had compiled for himself.

Draco would find a way to do it.  He had to.  It was his duty as the Malfoy heir to surround himself with peers who would be going somewhere one day – those who would write the laws, advance magic, and wield influence.

And if Potter lost a friend and Draco gained one while he did it?

So much the better.

Chapter Text

20 December 1991

The last class before the holiday break was just wrapping up, and Draco had already eyed Granger’s potion as she presented it for grading.  It was flawless of course, as usual.  Draco’s was perhaps slightly less chartreuse than hers, but it would do.  And in any event, he had answered the questions correctly in class today.  Granger had looked faintly disappointed when Severus didn’t call on her.

Draco was still struggling to come to terms with her newfound friendship with Potter and Weasley, and he sincerely hoped a couple weeks away from them over break would make her come to her senses.  Draco hadn’t had any bright ideas to draw her away from them – and in fact, whenever he approached her now, she looked wary, as though he was the problem and not her sodding friends.  Sure, Draco might have said some arguably rude things about Potter’s family not wanting him during the holidays, but it was all true.  Potter was apparently staying back at the castle for Christmas because those muggles he lived with didn’t want him to come home.  

Was it Draco’s fault that Potter kept giving him such easy ammunition?  

Draco knew that Potter and Weasley were talking about him, and they were the reason she had started to look at him with distrust whenever he caught her eye in Potions or the corridors.  Draco was used to seeing the spark of challenge in her eyes, not dislike.  It made him want to hex something whenever he thought about it.  He had seen her first.  He had talked to her first.  He had been the one to get to the bottom of things when Weasley made her cry.  And now those two idiots had gotten their claws into her, and they were turning his… Granger against him.  

His temper was on a hair-trigger these days, and even Zabini had started to walk on eggshells around him.

To make matters worse, Hogwarts had fully descended into holiday mode the previous week.  The Great Hall was barely visible through the sodding forest of fir trees Hagrid installed, and the overwhelming scent of pine made Draco sneeze while his eyes watered constantly during meals.  The suits of armor had been enchanted to sing off-key carols every time Draco passed them in the corridor, which gave him a terrible headache.  And there were even bits of magical mistletoe floating around the castle that trapped their victims in place, until a kiss was exchanged to release the spell.

Draco had gotten stuck with Crabbe under a sprig of the mistletoe for nearly thirty minutes before Severus encountered them and rescued them with a well-placed incendio.

Draco’s face had burned almost as brightly as the mistletoe had when it was set aflame.

And through all of it, Granger was deepening her friendship with those two idiots, and Draco was forced to watch it unfold from a distance as they started joining her in the library and slipping off to study together at odd times of the day.

Yes, a break was what he needed.  It was what she needed.  He could get away from this wretched school, and Granger could have a few weeks to get her priorities straightened out.  He was so glad they would be going home the next day.

“Mr. Malfoy, stay back please,” came Severus’s voice.

“Yes Sir?” asked Draco, as he approached Severus’s desk.

Severus glanced sideways and watched as the last of the students trickled out.  The very last one to leave was Granger of course, ushering Potter and Weasley in front of her because Salazar knew they couldn’t even be trusted to walk to the right place without her help.

As soon as they were gone, Severus turned and looked squarely at Draco. 

“I have some materials that may prove useful next term,” he said, pulling out two copies of a book called Potions Theory and Practical Applications and pushing them across his desk toward Draco.  “Consider it your Christmas gift.”

The title of the book sounded rather dry to Draco, but he took one copy and flipped through it anyway.  Severus was a close family friend, it was true, but his gift-giving had been a bit sporadic over the years.  Christmas didn’t usually rank for it, and the odd years that it did Severus had always given him rather generic sweets.  It was never anything much.  A potions book was very out of the norm, so Draco was curious despite himself.  

The book looked far more interesting than the name let on.  There were several chapters about ingredient cross-reactions and other tips and shortcuts that he had never heard Severus talk about in class.  Draco wondered if some of Severus’s own brilliance may have come from this very book.

“Thank you, Sir,” and Draco surprised himself by how sincere it was.  But then he glanced at the second copy and paused.  “Erm… why are there two?”

Severus gave him an impassive look, and Draco got the impression he was weighing his next words very carefully.

“I’m aware of your little competition with Miss Granger.  It felt… unsporting if you had this sort of advantage and she didn’t.”

Draco’s eyes widened.  Unsporting was practically the name of the game in Slytherin House.  You took every advantage you were given and ran with it.  

“You want me to give the other one to Granger?”

Severus shrugged.  “That’s up to you, Draco.  If you want to withhold it from her and claim all the advantage for yourself, that is certainly your prerogative.  But I’ve observed her change in behavior since Halloween, and I’m not pleased by it.”

Draco blinked, rather surprised that the social dynamics of first year students would be something Severus would have taken note of.  Then again, Severus despised Potter almost as much as Draco did.

“And what does that have to do with this book?”

Again Severus paused, as though thinking carefully about what he was about to say.

“Miss Granger is somebody who likes to be taught.  I’ve been a teacher for over a decade, and I can always identify the students who wish to be taught.  She’s one of them, and so are you.  It strikes me that you two could teach each other quite a bit.  Perhaps these books will… facilitate that.”

Draco was more confused than ever.  “Teach us what?”

“Perhaps you can teach her that aligning herself with a Slytherin will take her further than aligning herself with a Potter.  And she can teach you that muggleborn witches in Gryffindor House can be formidable allies, despite a lack of name or blood.”

Draco felt a rushing in his ears.  “She’s a pureblood,” he said automatically.

Severus gave him an odd, almost pitying look.  “No she’s not, Draco.  Her parents are both muggles.”

“No…” said Draco, shaking his head hard to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.  “No, that can’t be.  I know there have been rumors, but I swear Sir, the magic I’ve seen her do…. It’s just not possible.”

“And why isn’t it possible?”

“Father always said… magical power is strengthened by pure blood.  There’s just no way.”

“And you believe everything Lucius has taught you?”

“Of course,” said Draco instantly.  “Why wouldn’t I?  He’s my father.  He’s never been wrong about that sort of thing before.”

Draco thought that Severus looked a bit disappointed, but the expression was gone almost as quickly as he saw it.  Instead, Severus just leaned back in his chair.

“Then perhaps I’m mistaken,” he said.

Draco seized upon this with relief.  “Yes.  Yes I know you must be, Sir.  It’s understandable, really.  You’ve never had any reason to see her do wandwork or cast real spells.  But I promise you, she has to be a pureblood based on how powerful she is.”

Severus studied him again for a long moment.  “Very well, Draco.  I’m sure we’ll both learn the truth in due time.  And while we’re waiting, you may wish to teach her the things she should learn.”

Draco clutched the books to him.  “I’ll think about it, Sir, but why?”

Now Severus looked at him squarely in the face.  “Because I’ve seen another witch just like her throw her life away for a Potter.  I’ll be damned if that happens again.”

Draco was confused by this, very sure he was missing some critical point, but Severus rose and gestured for Draco to follow him.  As Draco hurried out of the classroom, he looked back at Severus and thought for a moment that he wasn’t that old – he was in his early thirties.  He had been twenty when Draco was born.

Still, he looked older than his almost thirty-two years now, as he studied Draco with an odd sort of sadness on his face.

“Have a Happy Christmas, Draco.”

~*~

Dear Journal,

Severus must be going off his rocker.  He gave me a book for Christmas, which was a bit different than usual… but even weirder than that was the fact that he gave me a second copy and wants me to send it to Granger.

I don’t understand why he doesn’t just give it to her himself if he wants her to have it.  He said it needed to be my decision, but I’m not sure what to do.

If I don’t give it to her then I’ll definitely win our Potions challenge.  If I do give it to her, then the challenge is more fair.

Do I really care about being fair?  Father would probably tell me no.  The Malfoys always look for advantages… but if I’m not fair, then will I really win our challenge at the end of the year?

And say I decide to send it to her… how do I make her actually read it now that she’s always around Potter and Weasley?

Bloody hell, this is not a problem I ever thought I would have.  

******

21 December 1991

Draco alighted from the train and glanced around the platform at King’s Cross. 

It wasn’t quite as full as it had been at the start of term, but most students had opted to return home for the holidays.

“See ya, Malfoy,” grunted Crabbe.

“Later, mate,” echoed Goyle.

“Bye Draco,” came Daphne’s soft voice.

Draco waved to all three of them as they moved toward their parents and Pansy approached.

“Have a good holiday, Draco.  Please write.”

Draco gave her a tight smile, privately thinking that he would do no such thing.  It was still terribly awkward to spend time around her, and Draco had noticed her hanging around him more and more often as the term progressed.

He was rather relieved to be getting a break from her.

She moved on toward a stiff-looking couple waiting for her, and then Draco turned to find Zabini grinning broadly and heading toward a stunningly attractive woman in a tailored, red coat.  He just gave Draco a quick wave and a smile, before he disappeared with her.

Finally, there was Nott sidling toward a large man and tiny woman on the other end of the platform.  The man looked severe, and the woman and Nott both looked so pale Draco wondered if they were ill.  It struck Draco that these must be Nott’s parents, both meeting him on the platform despite the fact that they were supposed to be separated. 

That’s odd…

Nott didn’t look a thing like his father, but he shared his mother’s small frame and light brown curls.  Draco frowned as his eyes tracked his roommate’s progress, but Nott’s gaze was cast down as he walked toward them, and he did not make eye contact with Draco or acknowledge Draco at all as he passed.  The moment Nott approached the couple, the man grabbed his and the woman’s arms and apparated them both away.

Draco shrugged off the unexpected encounter as he turned to search for the last person he wanted to see before he left and there.

Granger was handling a large red duffle bag that had an enormous black check mark on the side of it.  The bag looked rather muggle to Draco, and he thought he had seen a few students wear muggle clothing with the same check mark around the castle on the weekends.  Then his eyes moved toward her clothing, and the thing she was wearing made Draco furrow his brow in confusion.  

Hermione Granger never left her common room without being in uniform, not even on the weekends.  The only time he could recall seeing her wear anything else had been to the Quidditch match where she set Severus on fire, and that time she had been wearing dark trousers and a jumper with a Gryffindor lion embroidered on it.  Nothing about it had stood out.

But now she was striding forward in shockingly baggy muggle jeans, which Draco had seen other students wear on occasion, and which he personally despised.  Her white top was long-sleeved and fitted to her like a second skin.  As she moved, it showed just a sliver of her stomach, which caused him to gape.  Around her waist she had tied a second shirt, and it was made out of some kind of awful, checkered flannel that was horribly close to the shade of rusty orange that Draco associated with Weasley’s hair.  

As Draco watched, she glanced his way and faltered for the slightest moment when she noticed him observing her, before she lifted her chin defiantly and moved toward the gate to the muggle world.

A moment later she disappeared through it, and it was only then that Draco realized no adult had been on the platform to meet her.

What on earth is she doing, going to the muggle world all alone?

But before he could make sense of the strange things he had just seen, his mother’s voice distracted him.

“Draco!  Over here!”

He turned to find Narcissa hurrying toward him, beaming as she held out her arms for a hug.

With all of his friends gone and the platform clearing rapidly, Draco fell into the embrace.

“Hi Mother,” he said quietly.

“Oh my darling boy, I’ve missed you,” she murmured into his hair.  “And gracious, you’ve grown, haven’t you?  We may have to make another trip to Madam Malkins for new robes…”

“Please no!” Draco gasped as he pulled away with horror.

Then he saw his mother’s eyes twinkling with mirth, and she just winked.

“Oh alright, I suppose we can delay until Easter or even the summer… but come along!  Your father will be home for dinner.”

She held out her arm for him to take, and a moment later she apparated them both to the gates of Malfoy Manor, where Draco dropped his own dragon leather bag for the elves to retrieve later.

Draco shivered under his coat as the gate opened for them, and they both started to walk up the long, gravel drive to the front of the large house.

“It hasn’t been the same without you,” said Narcissa.

“I’m ready to be home for a couple weeks,” acknowledged Draco.

Narcissa gave him a smile at this, but something on her face made Draco falter.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing, Draco.”

“Mother…”

“You’ll see soon enough.  You should head to your room before meeting your father.”

Narcissa would say nothing more about it, and Draco picked up the pace and before long he was entering his room, where he came to an abrupt halt.

The large shelves that had always held bins of toys were stripped bare.

“Mother?” he asked in a tentative voice.  “Where are all of my toys?”

He heard Narcissa take a deep breath behind him.

“Your father felt it was time you moved on from them, Draco.  You’ll see I filled the shelves with books and photographs instead!  There are even some empty frames for pictures from school…”

She trailed off as Draco turned and let her see the devastation on his face.

“He got rid of everything?”

Narcissa hesitated.

“Mother?” he prompted.

“Nearly,” she confessed.  “I did save one thing, and the Hogwarts castle is back in storage…”

She moved to his nightstand and opened the drawer to reveal an old stuffed dragon that Draco had slept with as a very young child.

“Here,” she said, holding it out to him.  “You should put it away when you’re not sleeping with it.”

Draco accepted the battered toy and ran a tentative finger over the blue and green felt that had been sewn together.  It was so well-loved it had pilled in places, though the button eyes were still intact, and some of the stitching looked new.

“I’m supposed to grow up,” he said quietly.

He raised his eyes to find his mother’s filling with tears as she quickly turned away.

“You don’t have to do that Draco… not yet.”

“I think I do.  Here – this should go into storage as well.”

He handed her the stuffed dragon and ignored the feeling of his heart breaking.  If Lucius said he was too old, then that was the answer.

Narcissa clutched the old dragon to her as her face turned resolved.

“I’ll speak to him about it again.”

“Don’t bother,” said Draco, who was doing his best to compose his face and force his feelings about it away.  “He’ll only tell you no, and then we’ll end up here anyway.  I don’t have toys at Hogwarts.  I don’t need them here, either.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Narcissa firmly as she moved toward the door.  “Dinner is in thirty minutes.  I’ll speak to your father about this once it is over.”

She left silently, and Draco stared around the soulless room that could have belonged to anybody.

“It’s fine,” he said out loud.  “I’m too old for toys anyway.”

Draco only wished that he could believe it.

******

25 December 1991

Narcissa was not immediately successful in her campaign to return toys to Draco’s bedroom.  She didn’t give it up though, and by Christmas Day she had convinced Lucius to concede on the Hogwarts castle and figurines, which were returned to his bedroom.  These, she insisted, were Draco’s study aids, and since Lucius still occasionally ‘studied’ his own model of the Ministry of Magic despite knowing every office and corridor, there was no reason why Draco couldn’t ‘study’ the Hogwarts castle too.

It didn’t fully dampen the pain of losing all his childhood things in a single day, but it did fill his bedroom in a satisfying way.  Once again floor space had to be cleared for it, and Draco resumed ‘studying’ the Hogwarts floor plan for hours while he coped with his loss.

On Christmas morning, Narcissa made sure that Draco was showered with gifts, from sweets to jumpers to books and yes, even a couple of toys.  Lucius glowered when Draco removed those items from his stocking, but Narcissa just glared back so fiercely that Lucius didn’t say a word about it.  Draco was secretly thrilled when he pulled out a trick wand, an entirely new set of figurines for his Hogwarts castle, and a building kit that would turn into a model unicorn when it was complete.  

“Your wand has unicorn hair, dear,” said Narcissa.  “I thought it was fitting.”

Lucius, predictably, sniffed at this reminder of Draco’s wand, but again he didn’t say a word about it.  Draco thought – or perhaps just hoped – that his father had finally moved past it since he didn’t outwardly object.  Besides, the building kit was missing the instructions for how he was supposed to create the unicorn featured on the front of the package, and so Narcissa called it a ‘puzzle,’ rather than a ‘toy.’  Draco spent most of the day tinkering with it, and to his surprise, Lucius allowed him to do it without comment.

Draco wasn’t sure if it was Christmas or Narcissa that had softened him.

After a long while Draco called Mopsy to take his new things to his room, and he sat at his desk pouring over the book Severus had given to him.  It was remarkable, with so many odd shortcuts and the theories about why they worked.  Draco truly wondered why Severus didn’t assign this very book as one of their potions texts, but he knew his teacher must have his reasons.  Severus was the reticent sort, never one to talk very much, and he certainly wasn’t the type to share his pedagogical philosophies with his own students.

Still, he had given Draco a true leg up with this little gem of a book, and he had given Draco the opportunity to even the playing field with Granger as well.

Draco debated it extensively with himself, but eventually he decided he would send the second copy along to her.  It wasn’t that he wanted her to win their little Potions competition, but it wouldn’t be as satisfying to beat her if he had this advantage and she didn’t.  

Unsporting.

Draco wasn’t exactly sure when he decided to listen to Severus about this, but that word rankled every time he thought about it.  He wouldn’t be able to enjoy his victory, not really, if he had been unsporting.

Figuring out how to give her the book so she would actually read it and use it against him, however, was a challenge.  Draco suspected that Severus might not be aware of just how much Granger seemed to dislike him these days, and her slightly cold reaction to him on the platform had not been out of the ordinary.  

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion whenever she saw him.  She sniffed indignantly when she heard him speak.  She lifted her chin in defiance, as though waiting for him to treat her the same way he treated Potter and Weasley.  

It was obvious she no longer liked him.

He knew they were still engaged in their little competition – that strong desire to win had not burned out of her just yet – but Draco didn’t think she would actually use the book if she knew he was the one giving it to her.  He needed her to use it or it wouldn’t be fair.

After much consideration, he picked up a quill and prepared to write her a note to accompany the book.

He hesitated a moment, and then he moved his quill from his right hand to his left.

Draco was naturally left-handed, and there were many things Draco preferred to do with his left hand: he threw with his left hand, caught with his left hand, and even preferred to use certain tools like the garden shears in Herbology with his left hand.  

His father, however, had always forced him to learn writing with his right hand as a child, so Draco’s right hand was now the stronger one when it came to penmanship.  Draco never understood why left versus right mattered, but since left-handedness made Lucius scowl, Draco simply bowed his head and followed orders.  Draco also made a point to cast spells with his right hand, because he was sure Lucius would notice and disapprove if Draco developed the habit of holding a wand with his left.

But despite Lucius’s instruction, Draco was still left-handed, and he could write with his left when he wanted to.  His penmanship was not very good, but it was still legible enough to read.

It struck him that being a little ambidextrous was finally going to prove useful, because there was no chance that Granger would recognize his handwriting this way.  

Dear Miss Granger,

I am sending this to you in the hopes that it may be helpful for your study of Potions next term.  I suggest reading it carefully.  You are going to need it.

I do hope you and your family have a Happy Christmas.  If you wish to write back, you may send a note with this owl and tell it to go home.  It will find me.

Sincerely, Your Teacher

It was generic and innocuous enough that Draco thought she would read the little book and might even write a note back to him, though Draco was unsure about that part.  He decided to send it to her using Narcissa’s owl because he and his parents always used Draco’s eagle owl Camillo to communicate at Hogwarts.  

Between the odd handwriting and the new owl, there was no way she would know it was from him.

With the deed done, Draco just had to wait for Granger to get her head on straight and remember all the reasons Potter and Weasley were such terrible choices in friends.  

Draco was still mulling this over when he made his way downstairs for Christmas dinner, where to his surprise he found Severus already seated and speaking with his parents.

“Sir,” he said.  “I didn’t know you would be here.”

Severus raised an eyebrow.  “Your mother was quite convincing this year.”

“Well I must hear all about Hogwarts, Severus.  Draco has been rather tight-lipped since coming home.  It’s been most vexing.”

Severus smiled at Narcissa a bit indulgently and began to speak, giving a compliment to Draco and his performance in class.  Draco could see his parents looked pleased, Lucius in particular.

“Excellent.  We do expect he will be receiving top marks,” said Lucius airily.

Severus inclined his head, but he had a carefully closed look on his face.  Unfortunately, Lucius seemed to notice it.

“He will be receiving top marks, won’t he?”

Severus made a point to chew a bit of his turkey as he contemplated Lucius’s question.  Draco’s stomach was suddenly in knots.  

Severus swallowed and finally said, “The year is still early Lucius, you know that.  Draco’s performance is most satisfactory in my class, and I have heard good reports from his other professors as well.  He is certainly capable of being one of our top students.”

It was all very carefully done, thought Draco.  But of course Lucius caught the nuance in Severus’s words.

“But not the top?  Who will it be then?” asked Lucius darkly.

Severus shrugged.  “It’s early, as I said.”

“But?” prompted Lucius.

Severus sighed.  “But there is a witch in his year who is inordinately talented.  They are neck and neck in my class.  I couldn’t say about other classes, but I’ve heard the other professors speak of her brilliance too.”

Both of his parents looked at him sharply.

“Is it…” said Narcissa hesitantly.

“It’s Granger, obviously,” snorted Draco.  “I’ve written about her often enough, haven’t I?”

Lucius’s mouth thinned.  “Your mother believes she has muggle parents.”

“She does not,” insisted Draco.  “I’m telling you Father, there is no way.  She was summoning things on the train to Hogwarts, and she actually conjured a glass jar right in front of me a month ago.  You’ve always said magical power like that passes down in families.  She has to be a pureblood.  There is no way she’s a mudblood.  She’s too powerful.”

All three adults seemed to chew on this a bit.  Draco’s stomach was clenched as he waited for Lucius’s next move.

“Very well,” said Lucius.  “If you are sure Draco…”

“I am,” he said confidently.  

“Then we will find her parents.  The Parkinsons have been agreeable so far to a match with Pansy, but if this Miss Granger is truly as powerful as you say then perhaps we should vet her too.  After all, the decision does not have to be made just yet, and your match is too important to ignore other possibilities if they are suitable.  We won’t be negotiating an engagement contract until you are of age in any event.”

Draco glanced at Severus and noticed he had a very odd look on his face, but he said nothing.

Lucius now rounded on Severus.  “What do you know of her parents, Severus?”

Severus’s expression didn’t even twitch, but for some reason Draco got the impression that he was thinking very quickly.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t say one way or the other.  She’s in Gryffindor.  I typically don’t pay attention to those details about any students who are not part of my own House.”

Lucius inclined his head in acknowledgment of this.  “But could you find out?”

Severus hesitated very convincingly.  “It might be… possible,” he said.  “Albus usually keeps those student records classified, but of course I would be happy to ask.”

“We would be most appreciative,” said Narcissa quickly.  “I’ve been looking for ages, even through records from other countries, and I’ve turned up nothing about her.  France, Ireland, Australia, Canada, the United States, she’s nowhere to be found.  But Draco insists…”

She gave him a hesitant look.

Draco looked at his mother with some surprise.  Of course Narcissa had written that she had found nothing, but Draco didn’t think she had really looked.  It sounded like she had, and now his stomach flipped.

“I suppose… she could be a half-blood,” he muttered.

Lucius gave him a sharp look, and Draco tried not to quell under it.  “Father, we all know half-bloods can be powerful.”  He said quickly, while gesturing at Severus, who inclined his head toward Draco.  “I suppose… it’s possible Granger’s father is a muggle, and that’s why we can’t find her surname.”

A muscle in Lucius’s jaw was twitching.  “If that is the case Draco, then she will not be a suitable match.”

“I know!” he said quickly.  “Trust me, I know.  I wasn’t asking for that, was I?  I just want to be allowed to study with her, maybe be friendly.  Salazar knows that Severus is right, and she’s bloody powerful.”

“Draco,” chided his mother for his language.

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

Lucius pursed his lips a bit.  “Fine,” he said.  “I suppose I can permit you to study with her if she does indeed have magical bloodlines.  But we will need to be certain.  Severus, I will be leaning on you for this because even as a member of the Board of Governors I do not receive copies of confidential student records.  You hold Dumbledore’s favor, and I’m certain you can learn the truth about her.  If she is indeed a pureblood then I would like to vet her as a potential match for Draco.  If she is not, then we need to know what she is so that we can appropriately monitor Draco’s… interactions… with her going forward.”

Lucius was giving him a very knowing look that Draco didn’t understand at all.  His mother was chewing her lip nervously, which was also out of character for her.  She was normally very composed.  But Draco could tell his parents were silently communicating about something that they weren’t telling Draco, though Severus seemed to understand whatever it was that was being unsaid.

“Of course, Lucius,” he said smoothly.  “It may take a little time to convince Albus to share those details, but I’ll work on it.”

Lucius inclined his head in thanks as Draco’s attention was drawn to a commotion near the door.  Narcissa’s owl had returned, but to Draco’s surprise she did not drop the note she was carrying in front of Draco, but instead dropped it in front of Severus before flying off.

Draco’s parents and Severus all looked at it in confusion, and Draco paled, realizing what must have happened.

Salazar help me.

His parents were silent as Severus unfurled the note, read it quickly, and then barely flicked a glance at Draco.  In that tiny look Severus communicated everything loud and clear: Follow my lead.

“What on earth, Severus?” asked Narcissa in confusion.

Severus just gave a fantastic eye-roll as he said, “It’s nothing Cissy.  Just a note from Vincent Crabbe, begging me for clemency on his last Potions assignment.  The boy is hopeless, and if it wasn’t for Draco’s tutelage I’m certain he would have failed already.”

“But why–”

“Oh I sent Crabbe a note earlier,” jumped in Draco, at the encouraging look from Snape.  “Camillo was out on a delivery to Goyle.”

Narcissa’s expression cleared.  “Ah, very well.  It’s not exactly proper to use somebody else’s owl like that, but I suppose the Crabbes always have been a bit gauche about that sort of thing, have they not?”

To Draco’s relief, Severus just inclined his head and launched into a story about Crabbe’s latest potions disaster in class.  Lucius and Narcissa were fully diverted.

It was only as Severus was leaving for the evening that he approached Draco and shoved the note into his hand.  

“I assume this was intended for you,” he said under his breath.  “Do let me know if you would like to tell them or if I should do it.”

Draco’s heart was pounding, but he just nodded and slipped the note into his pocket and waited until he could be excused.  

It was only when he had made it back to his room and locked his door that he pulled out the scrap of parchment, smoothed it out and read it.

Dear Professor Snape,

I looked through Potions Theory and Practical Applications, and I must say it looks absolutely fascinating!  I will certainly study it diligently, and I thank you for sending it to me.

I have to admit that I was surprised to see your owl, and even more surprised that you called yourself “Teacher,” instead of just identifying yourself, though perhaps you had a reason.  I’ve never gotten the impression that I’m one of your very favorites, though I suppose that’s to be expected.  I know I have a tendency to answer questions too often and correct things that I notice are wrong, especially when it relates to muggles.  I am sure it irritates you, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.  Wizards have a terrible tendency to steal muggle cultural references and then get them wrong while they do it.  

Speaking of muggles, my parents were reviewing the list of suggested reading for muggles about the magical world that you and the other professors put together and had a question.  Could you please recommend a book about accidental magic?  I used to have quite a lot of it, though much of mine was not that accidental, and it has raised some questions for them.  

For instance, I could always float whatever book I wanted down from the top shelf, and I could always control the lights in my room without getting out of bed so I could read late.  I did enough intentional magic as a child that my parents are convinced it doesn’t qualify as “accidental.”  After reading about different types of magic over the last term, they seem to think I used to cast the imperius curse on them to get my way.  Apparently I went through a phase as a toddler where I ate nothing but beans on toast for an entire year, and they claim they never would have allowed it without magical influence.  I’ve told them the imperius curse is impossible to cast without a wand, but since they are both muggles and I’m new to the magical world too they don’t believe me.  My mother is under the impression that I’ve been intentionally casting unforgivables on her since I was two years old.  

If you have any book suggestions, I would be most appreciative (especially if it would clear up the imperius question).  If not, I will ask Professor McGonagall when I get back to school.

Thank you once again for the fascinating book.  I do hope you have a Happy Christmas as well.

Sincerely,

Hermione Granger

Draco just stared at the note as he read it, and then he read it again, and then a third time.  None of this was making sense.  There was nothing about her letter that made sense.  She was a pureblood.  She had to be a pureblood or at least a half-blood.  Her power was just…

But Draco read those key phrases over and over again.

Steal muggle cultural references…

Speaking of muggles, my parents…

They are both muggles, and I’m new to the magical world too… 

The he recalled the other evidence he had pointedly ignored: Severus’s insistence that she had muggle parents, the horrid muggle clothing she had been wearing on the train, the fact that no adults met her on the platform, and the rumors that everybody in Slytherin House now seemed to believe except for him…

Those bloody rumors…

Draco felt numb as he tried to process this.  It was so unwelcome, so impossible, but the words she wrote admitting to it were staring him in the face, and his breathing turned rapid and a wave of panic began.

He would never get to be friends with her now, he knew that.  But worse than losing a potential friend he had wanted to get to know, what did this mean?  How could he have ignored the signs?  How could Severus have known what she was and yet encouraged Draco’s competition with her?  How could she be so bloody powerful?

Draco realized he was starting to hyperventilate as he read the note one final time before crushing it in his fist.

He tried to put his feelings in a box, but he couldn’t do it.  He was feeling everything, and he finally laid down on his bed and put his pillow over his face to hide his roar of pain and confusion from his parents.

Merda! His parents…

Draco shot up in bed, eyes wide and heart pounding as his panic started all over again.  He had been so surprised by Granger’s news that he had actually forgotten about his parents over the last several minutes.  He was sick as he suddenly remembered them and the conversation that had taken place at dinner about matches and vetting and…

Draco closed his eyes and swallowed hard in an effort to calm his nerves, but it didn’t work.  He was shaking as he laid back down while trying — and failing — to control his breathing.  His brain struggled to process the catastrophe that had just befallen him, and he hardly knew how to begin cleaning this mess up.

Lucius was going to kill him when he learned just how stupid Draco had been for the past few months.

Oh my God, what am I going to do?

Chapter Text

5 January 1992

Draco was in a foul mood by the time he arrived on the train to head back to Hogwarts.  His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was rumpled, and his father had sneered at him when he spilled his breakfast down his shirt that morning.  Lucius had made a comment about Severus working quickly to “determine Miss Granger’s status,” and Draco’s hands shook so hard he lost control of his fork and slopped eggs down his front.

It was nothing a quick scourgify couldn’t fix, but Lucius’s expression turned dark as it happened.  Draco crossed his fingers under the table and hoped Lucius couldn’t see right through him.

In Draco’s defense, he was adjusting to the fact that Granger was a mudblood, and some part of him still didn’t believe it was true.  Perhaps she was an orphan like Potter.  That seemed more believable than muddy blood based on the power he had observed.  Maybe they were both orphans who had found each other, and that’s why she became so loyal to Potter so quickly.  They were both from wizarding families who died in the last war, and they ended up being raised by muggles.  It wasn’t ideal, certainly, but it would be better than dirty blood.

Salazar help him, Draco didn’t know what he would do if she really was a mudblood.  He told himself that it wasn’t the loss of friendship that rankled so much – they had never been proper friends in the first place – it was the implications about everything else.

Yes, she was an orphan.  She just had to be.

Draco’s jaw clenched, and his stomach was tap dancing as he hauled his trunk back onto the train and stored it in the first empty compartment he could find.  Crabbe and Goyle were following in his wake.  The others hadn’t arrived yet, but there were still fifteen minutes before the train left.

Granger, however, was the type to be early.  He was certain she was already on board.

“Stay here,” he said.  “I have to go do something.”

“Do what?” asked Crabbe blearily.  He looked like he had just woken up.

“None of your business,” snapped Draco.  “I’ll be back soon.”

Crabbe and Goyle just shrugged to each other and settled in, while Draco flung the compartment door open and strode out.

He was going to confront her.  He was going to learn the truth.  She was going to tell him that she had been orphaned as a child, and that’s why she was new to the magical world.  She was like the female version of Potter, only far more powerful and talented.

He peered through the compartment windows until he reached the end of the train and caught sight of her bushy head bent over a book.  Draco slid the compartment door open and scowled down at her.  To his consternation it took her a full ten seconds to look up at him, though Longbottom – who was sitting with her – started to quake the moment Draco entered.

When Granger finally looked up at him, Draco said nothing, but just continued to glower.  

She gave an annoyed huff and said, “Can I help you?”

Draco’s mouth thinned as he glanced down at the book she was studying.  He was expecting homework or perhaps the potions book he had sent her.  But instead, she appeared to be doing some type of school work he didn’t recognize.  Draco’s curiosity had always been too strong for its own good, and this unexpected thing derailed his immediate plans.

“What is that?” he asked, gesturing toward her book.

Granger looked at him in confusion for a moment before glancing down at her book.

“Algebra.  Obviously.”

Draco was shocked.  He didn’t know much about algebra, but he knew that it was a type of maths that Hogwarts did not even attempt to teach until at least third year.

“Algie bra?” Longbottom asked, before turning beet red.

Granger’s mouth twitched.  “Yes, algebra.  It’s a type of mathematics.  I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

Draco stared down at the letters mixed with numbers.

“That doesn’t look like maths,” he sneered.

Granger gave him an incredulous look.  “Of course it is!  Don’t tell me wizards never learn maths past basic arithmetic or fractions?  I would never manage to pass my A-levels in a few years without advanced maths!”

“A-levels?” asked Draco in confusion. 

This conversation wasn’t going at all how he had envisioned.  He had no idea what she was talking about.

“Yes, of course.  Like N.E.W.T.s in a way, but for regular school.  My parents enrolled me in elective home education so I wouldn’t fall behind while at Hogwarts.  I’ll admit that algebra is a bit advanced for twelve-year-olds, but I’ve always really liked maths.”

“Regular school?” asked Draco at the same time Longbottom said, “You’re twelve?”

Granger looked between them in exasperation.  

“Yes I’m twelve, my birthday is in late September,” she said, looking at Longbottom first.

Then she turned to Draco.  “And yes to regular school.  You know, muggle school?  Where we learn things like mathematics and sciences and the history of most of the world?”

Draco’s stomach clenched again, and he sneered at this.

“Muggle school?  You’re studying things from muggle school Granger?  Isn’t it bad enough that your fake parents are muggles?  Why can’t you let it go now that you’re back in the world where you were born?”

Her eyes flashed with a mixture of confusion and anger as she snapped her book shut.

“Fake parents?  What on earth are you talking about?”

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Those filthy muggles you live with.  Of course they’re not your real parents.  You would never be so good at magic if your parents were muggles because muggles are nothing more than animals.  I know you’re adopted.  It’s just your bad luck that you were forced to leave the magical world like Potter was.”

He gave her a superior look, waiting to hear her confirm the thing he knew must be true.

Granger no longer looked confused.  She looked angry, enraged, and she pushed her book off her lap as she got to her feet and started to stalk toward Draco.  Draco didn’t even notice as he started to back away.

“My biological parents are muggles.  They are wonderful, lovely people who are accomplished and want nothing but the best for me.  I’m not adopted, but even if I were, your attitude about muggles is terrible.  I have friends who are adopted — other than Harry, I mean — and their parents are also wonderful people and love their children as their own.  I cannot believe you are that stupid, that mean…”

But Draco heard none of this.  She was telling him she was a mudblood in so many words.  It was impossible.

Draco snapped out of it to glare down at her.  It was poisonous, this feeling inside of him.  It was corrosive, and Draco was reaching a level of bitterness he had never before experienced in his very young life.  He had been telling himself since Christmas that he didn’t care about starting a friendship with her.  He realized now he had been lying to himself.  

He did care, but he could never have it.  

It was all her fault.

Unconsciously Draco gripped her arm, and she cut herself off from her rant in surprise.  Draco came to his senses and released her arm like he had burned.

He studied her face, and she was looking at him warily now.  He could tell she was still angry, but he thought he caught a glimmer of something else on her face.  He couldn’t immediately identify what it was.

“We aren’t friends,” he said harshly.  “We will never be friends.”

Her face changed ever so slightly and now Draco could identify her expression.

Disappointment.

He felt a rush of savage pleasure at this as she began to speak.

“No, we aren’t.  I’m not sure what I’ve done, but you’ve made that very clear.”

Something like guilt twisted in his gut, but it wasn’t his fault.  It was her fault.  Her fault for being a dirty mudblood and entirely off-limits.

“You haven’t done anything.  It’s more the fact that you even exist.  You and your dirty muggle parents.”

The look of disappointment changed, and for a split second Draco thought she was going to cry.

Oh God, please don’t cry…

Wait.  Why did he care if she cried?  He didn’t care.  He couldn’t care.  He would never be allowed to care about anything related to Granger now that he knew what she was.

Still, Draco couldn’t help the tiniest feeling of relief as her expression hardened and she did not cry.  She gave him an icy glare, and now the look of disappointment changed ever so slightly.  She wasn’t disappointed for herself, he realized.  

She was disappointed in him.

It was precisely the same expression Lucius gave Draco whenever he failed at something.  Draco knew it well, and that familiar shame and need to please welled up inside of him, but this time it was overlaid with stubbornness.

She had no right to be disappointed in him.  How could she expect him to feel anything but disgust for her parents and now for her? 

No, Draco hadn’t done anything wrong except tell her the truth.  Yes, he might have been harsh.  No, he didn’t care.

He didn’t care.

He didn’t care.

He didn’t…

She turned up her nose and gave him one of those beautifully scathing looks she had perfected on Potter and Weasley earlier in the year.  Then she turned her back on him and lowered herself back onto the seat and picked up her book on algebra.

She settled in and didn’t look at him again, even though Draco continued to stand there, staring at her.

She was dismissing him, and his temper sparked.

“Granger.”

There was no response.

“Granger!”

She still said nothing.

“Granger, you will look at —”

Draco was cut off by her wand flicking up and sending him flying out of the compartment.  He crumpled against the compartment on the opposite side of the narrow hall, and then her door slammed shut and the blinds fell to cover the window.

Draco took the briefest moment to look at the compartment door in shock.  Nobody had ever dismissed him like that.  He was angry, stunned, and humiliated.

He slowly got to his feet, wincing a bit as he did so.  He crossed the hall to tug on the door and wasn’t terribly surprised to find that it wouldn’t budge.  He muttered the only unlocking spell he knew, but it was useless.  No doubt Granger had discovered some spell that didn’t respond to Alohamora.

He gritted his teeth and stepped back.  That was it, then.  He was done with her.  She was nothing, worth nothing, and he would disengage.  He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of learning just how much this encounter bothered him.

He straightened up and stepped back to head to his compartment and mingle with his real friends.

It was over.

~*~

Dear Journal,

Granger’s a mudblood, and I can hardly believe it.  I was so sure there would be some other answer, but there isn’t one.  She’s a mudblood, and that means she’s off-limits for everything.  I can’t be friends with her or even in a study group with her unless a Professor gives me no choice.

I don’t understand how it’s possible.  I’ve seen her power for myself, and it doesn’t make sense.  But she says her parents are muggles, and unless she was taken from a pureblood family as a baby, then she’s a mudblood.  I’ve heard of purebloods having their magic stolen before… Father says that’s how mudbloods and squibs both exist in the first place.  But no muggle could steal a magical baby and get away with it.  The parents would have to be dead, like Potter’s.

That means she’s a mudblood, and now I’m going to be in huge trouble with Father.  I’m sure he’ll threaten to disinherit me when he finally learns the truth.

******

26 January 1992

Draco was in the library, doing his very best to ignore Granger, though he was not doing a very good job of it.

Despite Draco’s efforts to keep her at a distance after their encounter on the train, he couldn’t help but be distracted by her in the weeks that followed.  Granger, it transpired, was far better at ignoring him than he was at ignoring her.  He blamed the seat assignments in Potions for most of it because he sat in the back, and she sat in the front.  That meant he had a perfect view of her bushy head every time she bounced on her feet to answer a question.  But their normal seats in the Great Hall were also distracting because Draco faced the Gryffindor table, while she faced away.  And in the Library, where they were now, Granger’s enormous pile of books did little to hide her wild hair, especially when Draco’s preferred study table was just a glance away from hers.

He had never really appreciated just how much time he spent looking at Granger, until he was no longer allowed to do it.  He had gotten in the habit of watching her the previous term and unconsciously arranged much of his day to place her in his line of sight.  Now that he no longer cared about her, he had to reverse a term’s worth of habits.

He had done his best to fix the issues in the Library by moving to a table as far away from her as he could manage in the main reading room.  Still, he couldn’t help but glance over at her a few times as he pulled out the letter he had received at breakfast that morning, which was still sealed.

“Are you finally going to read it?” asked Zabini in exasperation.

“What?”

Draco looked up to find Zabini staring at the letter too, with a knowing expression.  Crabbe and Goyle were also at the table, along with Pansy and Daphne, who were sitting on the far end.

Nott, of course, was nowhere to be found, though that wasn’t surprising these days.  The smaller boy had returned from Christmas break as pale as a ghost, and he had scarcely spoken a word since.  Even so, Draco couldn’t recall a single time he had encountered Nott studying anywhere, so his absence around the table was nothing notable.

At Zabini’s words, the entire table focused their attention on Draco, and his letter, and he shoved it back inside of his book.

“It’s none of your business,” he snapped.

Zabini raised one, very skeptical eyebrow.

“I never said it was, but you’ve been acting like it’s a howler that’s about to go off.”

“It’s not.”

Draco mentally shuddered at the very thought of such a thing.

“Then why won’t you open it?”

“It’s from my father, alright?” said Draco iritably.  “It’s just family business, that’s all. I’ll read it when I don’t have you lot hovering.”

Zabini looked a bit intrigued, but everyone else promptly lost interest, with the exception of Pansy.

“Draco, is it about our situation?”

Draco glanced at her and frowned before he realized what she was implying.

“No, I’m sure it doesn’t involve you.  I haven’t talked to my parents about you at all.”

For some reason she looked a bit crestfallen at this news, but she nodded once and turned back to her own work as Draco stared down at the text of his Charms book without reading it.

The letter had been burning a hole in his pocket all morning, and Draco was both desperate to know what it said and also terrified.  He had finally approached Severus the previous Friday after class and asked him to inform Lucius and Narcissa that Granger was a mudblood.  Perhaps it would have been better for Draco to alert them himself, but he had written and discarded half a dozen letters before he finally gave it up as a bad job.

Severus had appeared sympathetic, and Draco only hoped his adopted godfather would break the news as gently as he could.  But now Lucius had written to Draco directly, and Draco was certain he knew why.

This is never going to work.

There was nothing for it – Draco needed to read the stupid letter or he would be distracted by it until he finally found the courage to open it.  He did not, however, want to read it in front of all of his friends, so he quickly packed his bags and then rose.

“Where are you going?” asked Pansy with confusion.

“I need to get a book from the stacks,” he said quickly.  “I’ll see you all in the Common Room tonight.”

“But–”

Draco ignored her and immediately strode away, weaving in and out of the stacks seemingly at random.

It was only when he reached the small study area in the back with the dingy window and dusty tables that Draco realized he had inadvertently found the same place he and Granger once spoke when she was trying to get him to call off his duel with Potter earlier in the year.

It was surprising and unwelcome, but that was not the only surprising and unwelcome thing he found there – because Theodore Nott was sitting at a table by himself, hunched over some work.  Draco eyed the table where he was seated and noted that somebody had finally made the effort to clean it.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Draco.

Nott raised his head to stare at Draco, and Draco immediately clocked the wan face and dark circles under his eyes.

“Studying,” he said shortly.

Draco opened his mouth to say something more, but Nott just bent his head back over his work again and ignored Draco almost as well as Granger did.  Draco clapped his mouth shut and paused to consider his next move.

I suppose I can read it here anyway.  Nott won’t even notice.

Decision made, Draco moved to the other study table and lowered himself into a chair facing away from Nott.  If Nott bothered to look at Draco at all, he wouldn’t be able to see anything more than Draco’s spine stiffening.

He opened his bag and carefully retrieved the letter from the book where he had jammed it earlier.  He grimaced at the perfect handwriting and seal before taking a deep breath and opening it to read about his father’s disappointment.

Draco,

Severus has just written to me with very alarming news.  The girl you have been writing about for the past term – Hermione Granger – has been confirmed a mudblood.

I do not have to tell you that she will not be suitable for any interactions going forward.  You are to ignore her and everything about her, for animals like her should be entirely beneath your notice.

I fail to understand how you managed to go an entire term believing the girl to be anything but filth, but perhaps she cast an enchantment that caused you to believe something different.  I certainly hope she hoodwinked you magically, and this error was not due to your own failings.  

Now that you are aware of what she is, I expect you to treat her precisely how she deserves going forward, and I will tolerate no more pleas from you about making friends or studying with her.  She is dangerous, Draco.  Creatures like her would steal your magic and wreck your life before you could ever stop it, and I will not allow my only son to be tainted in that way.

You will keep your distance, Draco, and you should also know this: if you ignore my orders in this matter or make another mistake about your peers that is of this magnitude, then I will be forced to take drastic measures and send you to Durmstrang next year.  Given what has already occurred, I am sorely tempted to do it regardless, and it is only your mother’s pleading that has stopped me from writing to Durmstrang’s headmaster to enroll you for your second year.   

This is the only warning I will give to you when it comes to the Granger girl.  Do not disappoint me again or you will force my hand.

Father

Draco’s heart was racing by the end of the letter, as the threat of Durmstrang loomed.  It came out of nowhere, especially since Draco had been preparing to read threats of disinheritance. Malfoys always punished wayward children with disinheritance, and Lucius was nothing if not traditional.

Durmstrang, though, was somehow more intimidating, perhaps because it felt far more likely to occur.  

For all of the Malfoy family traditions, Draco knew that Lucius would never really disinherit him over an honest mistake.  Lucius might threaten it, but Draco did not believe he would actually follow through with it unless Draco had truly done something to earn it.  Disinheritance would be reserved for willful wrongdoing, and it would have to be something far more severe than simply talking to a mudblood in the halls of Hogwarts. 

But removing Draco from Hogwarts and sending him to Durmstrang instead?  This threat was real because Lucius would see it as improving Draco, rather than truly punishing him.  Lucius could remove all of the mudbloods from Draco’s life by simply changing schools, and then Draco would never make that kind of mistake again.

I would lose Hogwarts and also my new friends…

It was true that Draco did not have a deep friendship with anybody.  But his House mates were still the closest things Draco had ever had to real friends, and he could not stop the sick feeling of dread as he thought about leaving them at the end of the year and having to start over.

No.  No, it won’t come to that… I’ll write to Father and apologize.  Then I’ll tell him I’m done with the mudblood for good.  I’ll never put her name in a letter again.

It was the only thing Draco could do to fix the problem.

He would not be sent to Durmstrang because of a dirty little mudblood.

******

14 February 1992

It was Valentine’s Day.

It struck Draco that this was, perhaps, an unfortunate day for confrontations, but there was no helping it.  

Ever since Draco wrote back to Lucius to apologize and grovel for forgiveness, he had made a point to do everything in his power to ignore Hermione Granger.  He continued to study as far away from her in the Library as he could manage.  He turned his back on her in the Great Hall.  He stopped talking about her around other students.

He didn’t want to give his father a single reason to act upon his threats.

But despite his efforts, it was challenging for Draco, and the worst part about it was she was ignoring him right back.  She no longer met his eyes in Potions whenever one of them answered a question correctly.  Her gaze slid right past him in the halls or the Library.  She was more entrenched with Potter and Weasley than ever, and she was clearly unwilling to make any space for another person in her life, let alone somebody like Draco.  She treated him as though he didn’t exist.

Draco hated it, and he hated her.  But mostly he hated the fact that he couldn’t seem to let it go.

When he was being honest with himself, he realized he wanted to be able to ignore her… but he didn’t want her to ignore him.  No, Draco really wanted her to look at him so that when he ignored her she would feel that bitter disappointment he had been living with for weeks now.

But Draco’s wishes were hopeless.  Granger was entirely unphased, and it was Draco who continued to fail at what should have been a simple task.

Potions was the worst offender because Severus announced on the first day of class that the table assignments would be permanent for the remainder of the year.  That meant that while Granger had no trouble ignoring him in Potions, Draco had no ability to reciprocate and ignore her too.  He had to lean around her hair to even see the board for God’s sake, and every lesson was more painful than the last.

In a fit of desperation, Draco decided to appeal to Severus directly.  If he didn’t move to the other side of the room, he would continue to watch Granger for the rest of term, and that was intolerable.  Even though their Potions competition had been silently suspended until further notice, Draco was still determined to beat her in it.  He would never stand a chance if he spent the next four months staring at the back of her head.

He dodged Pansy for what felt like the dozenth time that day –  she had inexplicably been underfoot the entire day, as though she was waiting for somthing.  Draco didn’t know what she was waiting for, so he had simply been ignoring her and the frustrated sounds she made every time he turned away from her.

He had far more important things to think about on Valentine’s Day than Pansy Parksinson, such as the possibility that Severus might hex him where he stood for the thing he was about to request.

“Sir,” said Draco, as he approached Severus cautiously.

“What is it?” snapped Severus.  

Draco was taken aback.  He suspected Severus didn’t care for Valentine’s Day – he was not the cuddly sort – but even Draco was surprised by the venom in his voice.

“Erm…” started Draco.

“Out with it,” demanded Severus.  “What do you need?”

Draco swallowed hard and steeled his nerves.  

“I want to move to a different table.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m distracted by… other students.”

“You mean you’re distracted by Miss Granger,” said Severus.

Draco felt a light blush tinge his cheeks.  “I never said that.  I’m done with her now that I know she’s a mudblood.  I just think my performance would improve if I was allowed to sit on the other side of the classroom.”

Severus studied him sourly for a few moments and then said, “No.”

“No?”

“No.  You may not move.”

Draco’s jaw dropped.  Nobody ever told him no, except for Lucius on rare occasions.

“But Sir!”

“No, Draco.  You’ll need to control yourself without my help to do it.”

Anger and frustration were building up now.  

“But it’s your bloody fault I paid attention to her in the first place!” cried Draco, as he started to raise his voice.  “You were pushing me toward her last term, and you know it!”

The look on Severus’s face made Draco shut his mouth with a snap.

“Ten points from Slytherin,” said Severus in a soft and rather dangerous voice.

The unfairness of this made Draco open his mouth, before Severus’s expression caused him to close it again.  He started fuming.

“Now then,” said Severus.  “While I will acknowledge that I may have… encouraged… an alliance with Miss Granger, I will point out that your failure to follow through with it rests entirely on your shoulders.  Your ‘distraction,’ therefore, is your own fault.”

Draco’s jaw dropped.  

“It’s not my fault!  It’s her bloody fault for being a mudblood!”

Severus sat back and studied Draco for a moment.

“Let me ask you, Draco, why has this revelation been so earth-shattering for you?”

Draco stared at him in disbelief.

“Because it’s not allowed, as you very well know!  In fact, I’m sure you did know her status when you were pushing me toward her, didn’t you?  And yet you did it anyway!  Just be glad I haven’t told Father about that.”

Severus’s glare cut through Draco’s indignation, as he lowered his voice to barely a whisper.

“Let me be very clear with you about something.  Threatening me with Lucius does not and will never work, Draco.  I could bury Lucius so thoroughly he would never emerge from Azkaban, not that he would listen to your word against mine in any event.  You’re a child.  You’re relatively innocent, very naive, and wholly unable to control your emotions when it comes to Miss Granger.  Tell Lucius if you wish, but it will not end well for you, and I’m certain you know it.”

Draco flushed at this criticism and swallowed hard.

“Fine,” he said.  “But at least tell me why.  I know you went against Father’s wishes.  My distraction is as much your fault as mine.  I deserve an explanation.”

Severus sat back and contemplated Draco.

“Let me ask you a question I’ve asked you before.  Do you believe everything your father tells you?”

“Of course,” said Draco instantly.

“And why is that?”

“I’ve told you, haven’t I?  He’s never been wrong.”

“Hasn’t he?” pressed Severus.

Draco’s jaw clenched.

“Lucius believes that pure blood enhances magical power, is that correct?”

“Yes,” muttered Draco.

“And yet, the most powerful student I have taught in a decade is muggleborn.”

Draco’s eyes widened a little.  “Are you saying…?”

“That her marks and power are superior to yours?  Yes,” said Severus.

“But I thought we were tied…” started Draco.

“No,” said Severus.  “You’re not.  Nor will you be beating her in your other coursework if my colleagues are to be believed.  Potions is one of Miss Granger’s worst subjects, as it happens.”

Draco’s stomach started to sink again.

“So let me ask you again, is Lucius correct about pure blood being required for magical power?”

Draco chewed on his lip, unwilling to give Severus the satisfaction of hearing that he was right about this.

“Father always said you were loyal to purebloods!” insisted Draco instead. 

To Draco’s consternation, Severus rolled his eyes at this.

“Draco, I’m a half-blood.  You already know this.”

“Yes, but –”

“Tell me, please, why would I believe that pure blood is required to be powerful, when I myself am not a pureblood?  Why would I believe that when I can show you scores of examples of powerful students who are half-blood or muggleborn alongside purebloods who are near squibs like Longbottom?”

“But–”

“I am self-interested, Draco.  I desired power, but not magical power.  I have never needed more magical power than I was gifted naturally.  But there were other kinds of power that were out of my reach until I met Narcissa and Lucius.”

Draco’s heart was sinking.  “So you lied–”

“Of course I didn’t lie, you foolish boy,” said Severus curtly.  “Surely you can guess how your father and I came to be such close friends?  Surely you must know by now who our master was?  Allow me to tell you this: it was nearly impossible to lie to him.  No, I never lied.”

“But you don’t believe purebloods are more powerful than mudbloods!” insisted Draco.

Severus just raised an eyebrow.  “Of course they are, but not because of their magic.”

Draco froze.  “Pardon?”

Severus shrugged.  “Purebloods are more powerful because of the wealth and influence that is centralized in pureblood circles.  The wizarding world grossly favors purebloods and their interests.  Half-bloods are on the fringes of those circles.  A few of the lucky ones like me are brought into the fold.  Muggleborns, however, are cut out almost entirely.  When I say that purebloods have more power, that is what I mean.  And you and I both know that this is the real reason your father cares about the pureblood agenda.  It has nothing at all to do with raw magical talent.  It has everything to do with keeping the circle of people who are in it very small.  Nothing more, nothing less.”

Draco felt something in his stomach clench.  Instinctively he knew Severus must be right about this, but Lucius had never explained it to him in that way.

“But Father always said…” started Draco, before trailing off miserably.

“Once again, I must remind you that you are a child Draco,” said Snape.  “You are eleven years old.  Your father is raising you in a particular way, and that is his prerogative as your parent.  As you grow, however, eventually your mind will become your own, and you will have to think for yourself.”

“So you pushed Granger on me because…”

Severus gave a negligent shrug.  “Because she’s a brilliant student and could have enormous potential if connected to the right people.”

“You said she could teach me things…” said Draco slowly.

“And so she can,” said Severus calmly.

“Like what?”

“Like how to ask questions.  Salazar knows the chit asks more questions than the rest of my students put together.”

Draco grimaced.  “That’s it then?  She’s supposed to teach me how to ask questions?”

Severus gave him a piercing look.  “You tell me, Draco.  What else could she give you?”

“I don’t want her to give me anything!” insisted Draco.

Severus sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “Very well.  I certainly have no interest in forcing you to get along with her.  I was merely trying to make a connection between two of my best students, Draco, one that I felt could be mutually beneficial.  If you don’t wish to engage with Miss Granger then that’s the end of it.”

“You’ll let me move then?”

“I already gave you my answer to that,” said Severus sternly.

“But…”

“But nothing, Draco!”

Draco slumped.  “I can’t focus,” he said in a small voice.

Severus pursed his lips and studied Draco for a moment.  “Then consider this another lesson.  If you don’t wish to engage with her, then you will need to learn how to ignore her.  You will need to learn how to school your face, how to quiet that voice in your head that tells you to watch her, how to close your mind to her presence.  It’s the only way to cope with it.  If you aren’t willing to befriend her, then someday it may become very important that you be able to ignore her.”

Draco blinked.  “How do you…?”

“Lots of prior experience,” said Severus in a voice that told Draco he wouldn’t be getting anything more from him on this topic.

Draco stood there for a long moment, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the floor as he thought about it.

“Fine,” he said, looking back at Severus.  “I won’t move, and I’ll ignore her as best I can.”

Severus inclined his head.  “Very well.”

Draco nodded glumly and turned to walk out of the classroom.

“Oh and Draco,” said Severus as he got to the doorway.

Draco just raised an eyebrow in question.

“You should be aware that there are some things that may be impossible to come back from,” said Severus softly.

Draco furrowed his brow.  “Like what?”

Severus hesitated for a moment.  “Certain things you may say to her.  Certain… vocabulary.  If you wish to keep the bridge intact so you don’t burn it entirely…”

“I don’t,” said Draco shortly.  “I’m not allowed.  The bridge is already burned.”

Severus’s face seemed to fall ever so slightly, before he sighed and nodded.

“Very well then.  There’s nothing more to say.”

Draco left the classroom without another word, his mood growing darker by the minute.  He opted to skip dinner and go straight to the library to stew over Severus’s point-blank refusal to help.

He cursed to himself as he made his way to that abandoned corner of the library he had been to several times before, stopping only to grab a random book of jinxes off of one shelf.  He was relieved to find the dingy space empty this time.

Draco flung himself into a chair and moodily thumbed through the book.  He wasn’t looking for anything particular, he just didn’t want to see any of his friends.  Pansy would continue to give him those odd looks and Crabbe and Goyle would eat with their mouths open and Granger would prove once again that she was far better at ignoring Draco than he was at ignoring her.

He flipped through the book until he stumbled across something that looked interesting.

The leglock jinx.

Evidently casting it upon a person made their legs stick together so they couldn’t walk properly.  It wasn’t terribly advanced, but it wasn’t something he had heard of before, and he spent nearly half an hour studying it and practicing the wand movements for it as he idly fantasized about using it on Granger so she would be forced to look at him.

The evening grew late and once Draco was sure that dinner was over and he would be able to escape from Pansy, he returned the book to the shelf and then moved toward the exit, fully intending on returning to the Slytherin Common Room.

He halted when he saw a familiar blonde boy struggling with his bag just outside of the Library doors.

“Longbottom,” he drawled.

Longbottom looked up and squeaked when he noticed who had called his name.  Draco just scoffed and sneered.

“You’re pathetic,” he said.  “What’s the matter, are you afraid of me?”

Longbottom’s eyes were wide, and he gulped.

“I… I’m not af… afraid… of you… Mal… Malfoy,” stuttered the boy.

Draco just threw back his head and laughed, suddenly eager to purge the frustration he had been feeling ever since he learned the truth about Granger.  He was feeling reckless and needed to do something, and Longbottom was the perfect victim for it.

“Yeah?  You’re a dirty liar.  God, I’m shocked you didn’t end up in Hufflepuff.  I was sure that’s where you would be sorted because you’re obviously not brave enough for Gryffindor or smart enough for Ravenclaw or ambitious enough for Slytherin.  Hufflepuff is where all the cast-offs go, you know.”

Longbottom’s eyes actually started to water, and he pulled himself up.  

“Eat dung!” he cried, as he tried to pull his wand out.

He was clumsy, and Draco laughed once more as Longbottom dropped it and was forced to bend over to retrieve it.  As Longbottom was about to straighten up, Draco drew his own wand and aimed at it the boy, whose eyes widened in fear.

“I’m not going to eat dung, but maybe you’ll eat dirt… locomotor mortis!”

Longbottom’s legs snapped together, and he toppled over, which caused Draco to laugh once more.

“You’ll need to crawl to Gryffindor Tower,” he mocked as he put his wand away.  “I’m sure Granger can sort you out.  Say hi to her from me, won’t you?”

Draco turned and strode away, feeling more buoyant than he had in ages.

If Draco couldn’t ignore her, then he would make sure she couldn’t ignore him either.

******

29 February 1992

To Draco’s slight consternation, his encounter with Longbottom on Valentine’s Day didn’t make Granger crack.  He was sure he would see her at breakfast the following morning and find her glaring at him, but instead she looked right through him as though he didn’t exist.

Weasley and Potter, however, glared at him viciously, and Draco took great pleasure in waving to them innocently.

The next couple of weeks passed with more of the same: Draco tried to bait the Gryffindor boys who were always in Granger’s orbit, while Granger herself acted as though he was invisible.

It was maddening, and Draco found himself engaging in increasingly outrageous behaviors around her in an effort to make her cave.

That was how Draco found himself seeking out Weasley at the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game with Crabbe and Goyle in tow at the very end of February.   The weather was bitterly cold, but Draco would never miss a Quidditch match for anything, and he thought his odds of drawing Granger’s attention were better with Potter occupied on his broomstick.

Besides, Severus was actually refereeing for some odd reason, and Draco certainly had to see that.

Draco wasn’t feeling all that charitable toward Severus, not since he had prevented Draco from moving seats in Potions.  And as he looked up in the sky and saw his honorary godfather flying laps, it struck Draco that he really did look like the overgrown bat that other students called him.

Whatever.  At least Gryffindor won’t be favored this time.

It was a slightly cheering thought, and Draco grabbed Crabbe and Goyle by the arm and gestured toward the stands where Weasley’s red hair stood out like a beacon.  Sure enough, Draco spotted Granger’s curls next to him, and Longbottom was with them too.

Perfect.   

They hurried toward that section of the stands just as Severus blew the whistle for the game to begin.  Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle intentionally jostled Weasley from behind to get his attention.

“Look – they’re off.  Ouch!” said Weasley.

“Oh sorry, Weasley, didn’t see you there,” said Draco.  Crabbe and Goyle sniggered.  “Wonder how long Potter’s going to stay on his broom this time?  Anyone want a bet?  What about you, Weasley?”

Weasley glanced at Granger, who seemed oblivious that Draco and the others were there.  Weasley said nothing to Draco, but looked back fixedly at the sky.  Granger too, couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away.

Look at me.

But Granger didn’t look.  It appeared she hadn’t heard them at all.

“You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?” asked Draco more loudly, this time turning to Longbottom.  “It’s people they feel sorry for.  See, there’s Potter, who’s got no parents, then there’s the Weasleys, who’ve got no money – you should be on the team, Longbottom, you’ve got no brains.”

Longbottom’s face gave a satisfying flush, and Draco glanced at Granger to see her reaction to this.  Nothing.

Look at me.

“I’m worth twelve of you, Malfoy,” Longbottom stammered.

Draco burst out laughing at this.  It was so ludicrous. 

“You tell him, Neville,” said Weasley.

Ah, Weasley was now acknowledging his presence.  But Granger of course… still nothing.

Look at me.

“Longbottom, if brains were gold you’d be poorer than Weasley, and that’s saying something,” said Draco, upping the ante as his eyes bored into the back of Granger’s head.  

How on earth could she continue to ignore him?  He knew she could hear him.

Weasley broke first and finally turned to look at Draco.

“I’m warning you, Malfoy – one more word –”

“Ron!” shrieked Granger, “Harry – !”

“What?  Where?” asked Weasley eagerly, as he spun back around to look at the game.  

Potter was heading into a dive, and Granger was now on her feet as she looked at him, but never Draco.

“You’re in luck, Weasley, Potter’s obviously spotted some money on the ground!” said Draco sourly.

This seemed to make Weasley snap, because before Draco knew it, the great ginger lump was throwing himself on top of Draco and pummeling him with his fists.

Draco immediately threw a punch back, and then Crabbe and Goyle launched an attack to try to extricate Draco from Weasley’s clutches.  A moment later, Longbottom joined too, and now all five wizards were rolling in the stands, in an effort to punch and kick each other, while Granger was continuing to ignore Draco.  He caught the faintest glimpse of her practically dancing in delight, totally oblivious to the carnage that was taking place directly behind her.

“Come on, Harry!” screamed Granger.  Draco vented his feelings about this by landing a perfect hit right on Longbottom’s eye.

Look at me.

But she wasn’t looking at Draco.  She was looking at Potter, who was now out of Draco’s sight.  The only morsel of comfort that Draco could derive from this was that she evidently wasn’t looking at Weasley or Longbottom either.

The roar of the crowd told Draco what had just happened: Potter managed to catch the Snitch in under five minutes, and now all Draco could hear was Granger’s celebratory cheers.

“Ron!  Ron!  Where are you?  The game’s over!  Harry’s won!  We’ve won!  Gryffindor is in the lead!” cried Granger.  

The distraction by Potter’s unexpected win allowed Weasley and Longbottom to finally wrench themselves free of Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle and they stumbled toward Granger who was still hopping up and down with delight and hugging one of the Patil twins in the row in front of her.  Weasley’s nose was clearly broken, and Longbottom was sporting a spectacular black eye.  Draco tasted blood in his mouth and knew his own lip was split.

He turned to spit out some blood and then caught Severus’s eye, who looked just as angry as Draco felt as he circled toward the ground.

Severus shook his head as he took in the state of all five boys from a distance and then mouthed, ‘Twenty points from Slytherin for being stupid.’

Draco scowled, feeling like this was entirely unfair.  Hadn’t Weasley actually started the fight?  Sure, Draco might have goaded him, but Weasley had thrown the first punch.  

Draco had only been defending himself.

As Draco glared at Severus and Severus glared right back, the reason for such unfair treatment became apparent.

This wasn’t about the fight at all.  This was another one of Severus’s so-called lessons, and he was now taking away points because Draco couldn’t seem to ignore Granger like he had been instructed.

As Draco had this realization his eyes slid to Granger’s bushy head because of course they did.  She was now tutting over Weasley and Longbottom and tugging on their sleeves, clearly in an effort to take them to a teacher or perhaps the Hospital Wing to get patched up.  As they left, she finally turned around and scowled at Crabbe and Goyle over her shoulder.

Look at me.  

But she didn’t.

Chapter Text

27 March 1992

After losing both the fistfight and House points, Draco did his best to finally take the lessons Severus was trying to teach him to heart and use Potions as a way to hone the critical life-skill he dubbed ‘Ignoring Granger.’

Granger, of course, was a true master at Ignoring Draco.  She never spoke to him, never looked at him, and when they encountered each other in the hall or lessons she peered right through him as though he didn’t exist.  She was so good at it Draco had even experienced an existential crisis a time or two before confirming with Crabbe or Goyle that yes he was still there and no he hadn’t become invisible.

She was just far better at it than he was.

Still, Draco was getting better at Ignoring Granger, and Potions was giving him plenty of practice.  That didn’t mean he was unaware of her – no, he always knew precisely where she was, and his skin prickled every time he heard her bossy voice lecturing Weasel or Scarhead.  He was learning to control his thoughts and face around her though, and he had trained himself to never look at her.  He was even getting better at not thinking about her, at least when she wasn’t near him.  

He made an effort to use this time to get to know his House mates better.  He had come to a few conclusions about them, some of which were surprising:

Crabbe and Goyle: They were loyal and oddly sweet in the way that a dog might be sweet toward its master.  They were also as bright as Draco originally suspected, which was to say not bright at all.  Draco had serious concerns about their ability to pass the First Year curriculum, and he had already begun to make study schedules for them.  He did not like to think about what Lucius would say if they flunked out and Draco had to find new friends. 

Pansy: She was sharp, biting, and surprisingly cruel toward other girls.  She was nothing but congenial toward Draco, but he had heard Daphne describe her as a ‘Mean Girl,’ as though it was a title.  Draco had to admit that he could see that side of her, but he tried to convince himself that she must have a good reason for it.  Pansy had been selected as his, and surely her behavior toward other girls was nothing more than positioning herself.  She had risen to the top right away, and she would fight tooth and nail to stay there.   In any event, she treated Draco with respect and deference, as was befitting a pureblood wife toward her husband.  Draco certainly had no complaints about that, and so he eventually sent a good report to his parents to assure them that Pansy was well-bred and everything that they wished for her to be.

Zabini: He was arrogant, constantly comparing the things around them to their Italian counterparts.  Invariably the Scottish versions were found to be lacking, and the group was treated to a litany of complaints about the weather, the food, the scenery, and even the penchant for wool garments that were prevalent at Hogwarts.  It took Draco nearly six months before he realized that Zabini was desperately homesick, having moved to England just the previous year.  When Draco tentatively asked about his family’s seat, Zabini lit up and regaled him with stories of swimming in the blue sea near Palermo and waxing poetic about his favorite cannoli.  Zabini’s mother Sabrina, it transpired, was an incredibly beautiful witch, and when her fifth husband decided to move to England for his career, she opted to move too instead of murdering him to stay in Italy.  It had surprised Zabini, which in turn surprised Draco.  He made a mental note to never visit Zabini’s house.

Daphne: Draco rather liked Daphne, who had become a confidante and peacemaker for the others.  She was the only girl in Pansy’s dorm who seemed largely unaffected by Pansy’s behavior toward the others.  She spoke to Crabbe and Goyle as though they had something meaningful to contribute.  She listened avidly to Zabini as he reminisced about Italy, peppering him with questions and daydreaming about her own trip there someday.  With Draco she was cordial, friendly, but maintained an appropriate distance, no doubt aware that she was not his family’s choice.  Draco had even seen her speaking with Nott in the quiet of the Slytherin Common Room a few times, their heads bent as they whispered secrets to each other.  The most fascinating thing about Daphne was her ability to draw out others – and she was so good at it, that none of them knew very much about her.

Nott: He was a dark horse, broody and quiet, and Draco had mostly ignored him during the first term.  But when he arrived back at Hogwarts after the holidays, Nott had gone from pale to permanently ashen, and Draco had no idea why.  Nott managed to dwell largely unnoticed, keeping his thoughts and opinions to himself, and Draco was nearly ready to write him off entirely until he ran into him one night at the owlery.

“Nott?” he said, as he observed the back of the smaller boy’s brown curls.  He was leaning over the parapet to the owlery, looking down at the ground many stories below them.

He said nothing, just continued to stare.

“Nott!” said Draco a bit louder, as he walked toward Theo and gripped his arm.

Nott let out a great sigh and turned to look at Draco, who recoiled a little.

Nott’s eyes were haunted, his face tear-streaked, and Draco blinked in confusion.

“What happened?” he asked.

Nott’s jaw just clenched and turned back to look out at the night sky.

“Theo,” said Draco in exasperation.

Perhaps it was the use of his first name, but Nott turned and looked at Draco again, as though weighing what to say.

“Just tell me.  What happened?”

Nott slumped, and what little energy he had drained out of him.  “It’s… my father.”

Draco was silent and just raised an eyebrow.

“He’s taken me away from my mother’s house.”

“Oh…” said Draco awkwardly.  “Ummm, they don’t normally live together?”

Draco knew that Nott’s parents were separated, but they had never once spoken of it.  He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be aware of it.

Nott just gave a bitter laugh.

“No, of course not.  They never liked each other, and Mother took me away when I was little.  They stayed married, though, you know that wizards rarely divorce.”

“So…”

“So, Father won’t let me live at Mother’s house anymore.  I’m supposed to go to live with him permanently.  He just wrote to tell me.”

Nott held up a piece of parchment, which had blotchy ink on it, as though something wet had smudged it.

“Well…” said Draco awkwardly, “surely it’s not that bad.”

Nott spun and gave Draco a look that said quite clearly he thought Draco was an idiot.

“Are you joking?  Would you want to live with your father permanently?”

Draco shrugged.  “Yeah?  I mean, he’s really strict, and I’d obviously miss my mother if she wasn’t around too, but I wouldn’t mind it.”

Nott just shook his head in disbelief.

“But doesn’t he beat you?”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause as Draco absorbed this.

“No,” said Draco quietly. “No, of course he doesn’t.”

Nott’s face fell, and he turned to look back out at the night sky.

“Oh.  Lucky for you, then.”

Draco’s words caught in his throat.  What on earth was he supposed to say to something like this?

“Does… does your father beat you?”

“Often,” came Nott’s flat voice.

“But I thought you lived with your mother!”

Nott turned back, and his expression was haunted.

“I did, but now I no longer can… and even when I did, it’s not like Father was never around.  I saw him enough.”

“You said you no longer can… why not?”

Nott opened his mouth to say something, and then to Draco’s surprise he seemed to choke.

“Nott?”

Nott closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself.

“It’s nothing.  It’s Father’s orders, so I have to do what he says.”

“And your mother?”

“She can’t help,” he said shortly, before turning his back on Draco once more.

Draco, however, wasn’t satisfied with this.  He grabbed Nott by the arm and yanked him toward an alcove.

“Sit,” Draco ordered.

Nott sighed, but he sat down.

“Explain.  Why can’t your mother help?”

Once again Nott was giving Draco a look as though he was daft.

“She just can’t.  Can your mother stop your father from doing whatever he wants to do?”

Draco opened his mouth to say ‘yes,’ but then he paused and really thought about it.

“Rarely,” he admitted.

Nott snorted.  “There you go.  I have to do whatever Father tells me to do, and that includes moving in with him.  Nevermind that the elves practically raised me… apparently that’s no longer good enough.”

Draco narrowed his eyes.  “Why not?”

Nott shrugged and tugged on a stray thread on his school jumper.

“I suppose my dear old dad finally learned the truth about me and my views.”

“Your views?”

Nott grimaced.  “They aren’t as… firm as Father wishes.”

“Firm in what way?” prodded Draco.

“About muggleborns.  I made the mistake of saying that some of them are rather bright and kind at Christmas.  Father blamed Mother and the elves for influencing me.  He didn’t react well to it.”

There was a long, rather uncomfortable silence.  

“You think they’re bright and kind?” Draco finally asked.

Nott gave him an exasperated look.  “You don’t?  Hermione Granger is trampling every one of us academically and has no magical background whatsoever.  She’s nice, too.  She sent me notes from Potions once when she noticed that I was ill.  I didn’t even ask her for them, she just dropped them off in the Hospital Wing.”

Draco swallowed hard.

“You’re… friends with her?”

“Not really,” said Nott glumly.  “More like acquaintances.”

“Our fathers would never allow it,” said Draco.

Nott gave a mirthless laugh.  “You don’t have to tell me that.”

“Right,” said Draco awkwardly.

They were silent for a long time.

“I don’t care what Father says about it,” said Nott quietly.  “Mother’s views were never that strict – he was right about that much at least – but she wasn’t the reason I think the way I do.”

“What’s the reason then?”

“The evidence.  Obviously.”

“But Father always said…”

“Pardon me if I’m not that interested in what either of our fathers have to say about it.  My father’s a…” Nott made that odd choking sound again, and then he paused as he collected himself.  “...a bastard,” he finished.  “He likes to hurt people.  And your father is friendly with mine.  What do you think that says about him?”

Draco prickled at this.  “Father would never hurt anybody like that…”

Nott scoffed.  “Don’t be stupid, Malfoy.  You’ve always been sheltered.  You never played with the other kids our age.  You were kept separated from us in Malfoy Manor, away from anybody who wasn’t your parents.  I used to feel sorry for you, you know… I figured that at least I got away from my father now and then, and you were always stuck with yours… but it sounds like the real reason your father kept you away from the rest of us was so you wouldn’t learn the truth about him.”

“No, I–”

“You know I’m right,” Nott interrupted.  “So let me tell you a little secret about Lucius Malfoy: he is almost as bad as my father is, and yes he would hurt people.  I know he would because he has.  Don’t you know what he did when the Dark Lord was alive?  He hurt people.  He killed them.  Maybe you and your mother are safe from Lucius, I don’t know about that.  But anybody else who comes between him and the things he wants?  They might as well be dead.”

Draco just stared at Nott, in disbelief at what he was hearing.  It was true he knew that Lucius had supported the Dark Lord.  Severus was one of Lucius’s closest friends for that reason, and they had both sought the power the Dark Lord could have wrought had he lived.  But Draco didn’t believe his father was a murderer.  He was harsh, yes, but surely not that.  Nott was obviously upset and taking it out on Draco.

“Look Nott, I know you’re mad that your father is taking you away from your mother, but my father–”

“Honestly Malfoy, I eavesdropped for years.  I’m telling you the truth.”

“Eavesdropped when?” demanded Draco.

Nott rolled his eyes.  “Whenever Lucius would come to Nott Manor of course.  I told you I lived with Mother most of the time, but Father still made sure I spent time with him too so he could keep an eye on me.”

There was a very long silence at this.

“How do you know it was him?” asked Draco in a small voice.  He couldn’t believe what Nott was saying.

Nott just snorted.  “Please.  Besides the fact that I was introduced to him multiple times, you’re a dead ringer for him.  He’s tall, blonde, hair to his shoulders, gray eyes, that mad walking stick with a falcon head on it, that aristocratic voice my father has never been able to perfectly mimic even though he tries…”

Draco’s stomach sank as he recalled the things his father had written about Nott and his family.

The Nott boy is an unknown quantity, Draco.  His father has the right of it, but his mother is soft.  You will need to judge for yourself if Theodore takes after Tiberius or Eleanor.  If it’s the former, you should befriend him.  If the latter, then best hold him at arms’ length.

Could Nott be right?  Could their fathers be old friends?  Could Lucius have interacted with Theo Nott on short occasions for the last few years – just often enough to know that he couldn’t be sure about the younger Nott’s viewpoints?  And more than that, could his father actually hurt somebody?  

Kill somebody?  

“And you swear your father has hurt you…” started Draco before he trailed off.

Nott said nothing, but just looked at Draco with the saddest eyes he had ever seen, and Draco knew the smaller boy was telling the truth.  Draco was still not certain about his own father, but one thing was obvious: Theo had been hurt by Tiberius, and Eleanor could do nothing to stop it.

“Turn him in,” insisted Draco.

Nott gave a humorless laugh.  “And risk getting killed?  No thanks.  It’s easier if I just stay quiet.  He usually has the elves heal me before anybody else sees it.”

“You can’t be around him, Nott.  He’s dangerous.”

“Your father is also dangerous.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.  But even if it is,” he said quickly at the expression on Nott’s face, “he’s obviously not as dangerous as yours.”

Nott shrugged and looked down again.

“Not much choice,” he muttered.  “Mother is… unable to help anymore… and it’s not like I can stay at Hogwarts for every break or over the summer either.  He says I have to live with him now, so that’s what I’ll have to do.”

“Come to Malfoy Manor then,” said Draco.  The offer just slipped out without him realizing it.

“What?” asked Nott in confusion.  He was looking squarely at Draco now.

Draco shrugged.  “You heard me.  Come to Malfoy Manor for breaks.  We can start with Easter and see how it goes.  Surely your father will approve, and I’ll tell mine your views on blood are acceptable.  I suppose you know how to act around him even if you don’t really believe it anymore?”

“Yes of course,” muttered Nott.  There was a small spark of hope in his eyes.  “You’re serious?”

Draco nodded firmly.  “Yes.  Our fathers can’t possibly complain about it, can they?  You said they’re friends.”

“No, my father would love it,” agreed Nott.  “He’s always writing to say that I need to get closer to you… but I’m just not sure why you’re helping me.  You’ve made your position on blood very clear.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably.  “Yes, well, there’s believing in something and then there’s beating your kid because he disagrees.  I can’t say I’m that committed to it.”

Draco was surprised by a small smile that flitted across Nott’s face at this.

“Fair enough,” he said.  “Maybe it’s one of those things where we can agree to disagree for now.”

“Right,” said Draco, “just as long as you’ll say the right things around Father.  You aren’t likely to see much of him anyway.”

Nott nodded at this.

“You’ll come for Easter then?”

Nott was silent for a long time before he finally nodded.  “Yes.  I’ll come for Easter.  I suppose we sons of Death Eaters need to stick together.”

“Sons of what?” asked Draco in confusion.

But Nott didn’t answer.  He just stood and walked off, his cheeks still wet from tears.

Draco sat and looked at the stars for a long while.  It was very late when he returned to his dorm and found Nott already asleep.  As Draco looked at the younger boy it struck him that Nott’s face looked unburdened for the first time that he could remember.

~*~

Dear Journal,

Did you know that some parents beat their children?  I’ve heard about it before… the portraits in Malfoy Manor whisper that it used to happen to a few of my ancestors.  I always thought that was part of the old ways though, and it wasn’t something people did anymore.

I met Theo Nott by accident in the owlery tonight, and he told me his father beats him.  It sounds like it happens pretty often because he assumed my father beats me too.  Of course Father doesn’t do that!  He’s never hit me, not a single time.  He only beats the elves, and he usually does it out of sight.

It made me sick to think about it, and I asked Nott to come visit Malfoy Manor for the Easter hols and maybe the summer too.  He says his mother can’t stop it from happening anymore, and he needs help.

He told me some things that makes me think he’s a blood traitor, but I offered to help him anyway.

That doesn’t make me a blood traitor too, does it?  I hope not.  I just couldn’t leave him alone, you know?    

******

4 April 1992

Draco and Theo Nott didn’t talk about that night again, but after that evening in the owlery they started to spend more time together.  They even began to call each other by their first names, at least when nobody else was in earshot to comment on it.  Draco told himself it was because Theo’s last name was too difficult to say, especially when paired with a ‘not’ in a sentence…  But the truth was, something about Theo Nott’s soft demeanor made Draco slip into a first-name relationship with the other boy almost unconsciously.

Theo was still quiet and generally kept to himself, but they started to sit together during lessons and study together in the evenings.  They claimed that dingy corner of the Library for themselves, and Draco even called Mopsy to clean it for them.  After she wiped the grime from the window, she revealed an etching that looked like an homage to Salazar Slytherin, and it delighted them both.  The similar etchings she uncovered for each of the other three Houses were considerably less exciting, though both boys were forced to concede that they were in theme.

Once Mopsy was finished tidying up, the boys began to disappear together in that back section of the Library regularly, and it became a sanctuary for Draco whenever he needed space from the other Slytherins and Granger’s presence in the main reading room.  Theo, it transpired, was not stupid, and he had the added benefit of being naturally quiet.  They could exist in companionable silence for hours, and it never felt stilted.  In fact, the only thing Draco didn’t like about his new friend was Theo’s distaste for Quidditch.

“I don’t care about it.  I never have.”

“Is it because you don’t like to fly?”

“Of course not, I love to fly.  It’s just the game that’s stupid.  Seekers almost always win it even though the Chasers are the ones doing all the work.  It’s like the worst group project ever, and everybody loses their minds over it.”

Draco had looked at his new friend with dismay and seriously reconsidered his offer to let Theo come to the Manor for Easter.  But in the end, Theo’s safety won, and Quidditch became another thing they agreed to disagree about.

The boys waited a couple of weeks to ask their fathers about Easter.  Both of them believed that their fathers received regular reports about who they were seeing and what they were doing, and they were certain both men would follow up with Severus, at minimum, to confirm that the boys were telling the truth.  But once they made a point to be seen together a few times, they carefully prepared coordinating letters to their fathers and sent them out with bated breath.

Theo told Tiberius he had followed orders and made friends with Draco.  Likewise, Draco told Lucius that he and Theo recently had a heart-to-heart and Theo’s views on blood were acceptable.  Draco also wrote to Narcissa separately to inform her that Tiberius’s disciplinary methods were so harsh that Draco feared for his classmate’s safety, and evidently Theo’s own mother could no longer help.  He sent that missive with Mopsy directly to ensure that his father wouldn’t see it, and Draco was certain that Narcissa would arrange for Theo to stay with the Malfoys indefinitely.

Draco felt slightly guilty for lying to Lucius about Theo’s viewpoints and keeping the news about Tiberius limited to Narcissa only, but only slightly.  After all, what was a small lie compared to a House mate’s safety?  And what if Lucius’s supposed relationship with Tiberius compelled him to alert Tiberius to the true reason the boys were plotting?  

In any event, Theo had been raised knowing how to act around people like Lucius Malfoy, and if he no longer believed those things then his views were simply misguided.  Surely they weren’t dangerous.  And perhaps by befriending him Draco could demonstrate that not all blood purists were abusive arseholes, and he might even convince Theo that his father was not a murderer either.  

Draco came to consider Theo to be a bit of a project, and it soothed his internal guilt for helping him and lying to his father about it.  

Unfortunately, Theo remained unconvinced.

“Why don’t you care about blood purity?”

“Why do you?”

“Because of our traditions, obviously.  And it’s something my parents care about a lot, especially my father.”

“My father cares about it too, but he’s awful.  I decided a long time ago that I should probably believe the opposite of whatever he says I’m supposed to believe.”

It was true that Draco had his work cut out for him when it came to reforming Theo Nott, but the more he spoke to Theo the more he blamed Tiberius for it.  Eventually Draco concluded that it wasn’t Theo’s fault that he had blood-traitor tendencies – it was all because of Tiberius and his violence, and if the man had just not beat his son then Theo would never have strayed.  

Besides, unlike the real blood traitors, Theo had the sense to keep his mouth shut about his beliefs.  Real blood traitors openly fraternized with mudbloods, and Draco had never once seen Theo behave this way.  On the contrary, he was intensely private, and this gave Draco cause to believe that his views could be managed and likely reversed with enough time and care.  He was fundamentally a Slytherin first and foremost, and he would never stick his neck out for the mudbloods like the Weasleys and Longbottoms would. 

So Draco continued to softly prod Theo on his views, and Theo continued to deflect.  And in between those conversations they studied and waited for their fathers’ responses.

“I got an owl!” exclaimed Draco as he dropped his bag in one of the empty chairs.

“And?” asked Theo eagerly.

Draco opened the letter and quickly read.

“Dear Draco, blah, blah, blah… oh here it is… I am very happy to host Theodore at the Manor whenever you should wish it.  His father has been a close friend of mine for many years, and it pleases me greatly that you and Theodore will be deepening the Malfoy-Nott alliance into the future.”

Theo looked relieved.  “Excellent.  I won’t have to convince Father to let me stay at Hogwarts for the break then.”

“Of course not,” muttered Draco as his eyes lingered on a part of the letter he had not read out loud to Theo.

I’m pleased to hear that Theodore has been raised appropriately, without undue influence from his mother.  I always told Tiberius he needed to take a firmer hand with his son, and it sounds like he has finally heeded my advice.  

Draco’s stomach soured as he read these lines.  Did Lucius know what Tiberius did to force Theo’s compliance?  Had he opted out of physical discipline himself because he feared it would make Draco rebel like Theo did?

It was an unpleasant thought, and Draco tried to force it away.

He glanced up and saw Theo studying him curiously, and Draco forced a smile on his face.

“Right then.  We’re all set.”

“Brilliant.”

“Yeah,” said Draco, with a final, uncomfortable glance down at his father’s letter.  “Brilliant.”

*****

22 April 1992

Easter break was halfway done.

Draco and Theo had descended the stairs to the breakfast room on Easter morning to find large, chocolate eggs filled with other sweets.  Narcissa, as usual, disappeared for a couple of hours that morning.  She never told Draco what she was doing during that time, though of course Draco had his suspicions.  He assumed she was attending church, but he knew better than to ask in front of his father.  Narcissa had taken him to the church in Godric’s Hollow for Easter Sunday just one time, and Lucius’s irritation with them both when they returned had quickly killed any inclination to do it again.

From that point onward, the Malfoys had made the holiday a secular one, and if Draco noticed his mother slipping away during it, he kept his mouth shut.

So far, Draco and Theo had managed to avoid Lucius during the break.  Narcissa met them the first day, giving Draco an enormous hug and Theo a soft look.  It took only a moment, but Draco could see that Narcissa had already adopted Theo in her own way – her son’s friend who was having trouble at home.  Theo, naturally, had been shy and quiet at first, but after being plied with biscuits and tea and innocuous questions he started to open up a little around Narcissa.  

Mopsy, too, seemed to take an immediate liking to Theo.  Draco noticed that Theo was rather gentle with House Elves, collapsing the distance that Lucius insisted must be kept between elf and master.  With Theo around, Mopsy spoiled both boys terribly, sneaking them treats that Draco knew would be against Narcissa’s wishes and even serving as a look-out when the boys snuck out of the Manor to dip their toes in the large pond at the edge of the property.

It was different, but rather nice, to have a friend at Malfoy Manor for the first time that Draco could clearly recall.

On the fourth night of break, Lucius made his return from several days away for business, and Narcissa pulled both boys aside and explained they would be having a traditional family dinner that night.

“Your father is coming too, Theo,” she said, and Draco was sure she didn’t miss the stiffening of Theo’s spine at this.  “But it’s just dinner, and we’ll all be there.”

Theo swallowed, but nodded, and Mopsy helped them don their dress robes later on that evening.

“How many times have you done this growing up?” asked Draco.

“Hundreds,” Theo groaned. 

Draco snorted in agreement.  There was something to be said for a friend who could understand why Draco loathed dress robes so much.

They made their way to the dining room together and came to a halt when they saw Lucius at the head of the table, with Narcissa on his right and Tiberius on his left.  Draco glanced at Theo and saw his face had gone perfectly blank.

“Father,” said Theo and Draco in unison.

The two men exchanged slightly amused looks at this.

“Draco has clearly been a good influence,” said Tiberius.

“I could say the same to you,” agreed Lucius.  “I could not imagine a better friend for Draco than your son, Tiberius.”

Draco and Theo split to sit next to their respective parent and across from each other.  Draco studied Tiberius a bit curiously from under his fringe and thought that he looked nothing like Theo.  Tiberius was broad, with cold, cruel eyes that glittered on his face and a square jaw.  His nose was rather red, as though he favored excessive drink, and his dark hair was nearly black and straight as a pin.

Theo, by contrast, appeared almost delicate next to his father.  His hair was a lighter brown with soft curls and very blue eyes.  His face was heart-shaped with a bow-tie mouth.  If Draco was being entirely honest, he would almost say that Theo was pretty, though it was an odd word to use for a bloke.  But pretty or not, there was no question he looked far more like that woman on the platform Draco had seen during Christmas break than the large man sitting next to him.

The adults started to talk, and Draco exchanged a bored look with Theo.  Truly, it was refreshing to have someone to commiserate with, and Draco had never felt this sort of camaraderie before.  It was all going rather well – if incredibly boring – until Draco was pulled out of his own mind by his father’s voice.

“...and the boy actually thought she was a pureblood.  Can you imagine, Tiberius?”

Draco stiffened.

Tiberius scoffed.  “Believe me, Lucius, I do wish we could insist on more selectivity at Hogwarts.  Theodore expressed some… unwelcome views over the holidays.  It was the same Granger girl, no?"

Draco and Theo exchanged perfectly neutral looks on the surface, but Draco could see the unfolding horror in Theo’s eyes that Draco was sure was reflected in his.

“Yes Sir.  Hermione Granger.”

“You mustn’t blame Theodore,” said Lucius consolingly.  “As I said, Draco here was actually convinced she was a pureblood for the entire first term.  He asked Narcissa to find her family and everything, and he simply would not let it go when Narcissa came up empty-handed.  The girl is surely just an aberration, even more so than the usual mudblood.”

“Severus did say she was quite bright,” chimed in Narcissa.

Lucius and Tiberius both scowled at this.

“She studies a lot,” supplied Draco, trying to feed the men some explanation for Granger’s brilliance that wouldn’t make them ask more questions.

“There you have it, then,” said Lucius dismissively.  “Perhaps she’s the studious type.  Nothing more.”

“Well I certainly expect that both of you boys are capable of beating a mere mudblood, yes?” asked Tiberius sternly.

“Yes Sir,” said Draco and Theo in unison.

“And there will be no more… misunderstandings, will there?”

“No Sir,” they said again.

Tiberius and Lucius both nodded firmly at this, but Draco couldn’t tear his eyes off of Theo.  He looked haunted, sad, even a bit resigned.  

The adults didn’t require their participation for the rest of the meal, but as Tiberius was floo’ing away, he looked at Theo and said, “You will make House Nott proud as long as you align yourself with those like House Malfoy.  Our bloodlines are ancient and sacred.  You shall remember your place.”

“Yes Sir,” said Theo, who seemed to be looking through his father.

It was only after Tiberius left and Theo and Draco escaped to his room that Theo’s walls crumbled as he whirled to face Draco.

“You know she’s a genius, and you like her too.  Admit it, Draco.”

“I’ll admit no such thing,” said Draco firmly.

Theo scoffed.  “Please.  I heard them down there.  You somehow convinced yourself she was a pureblood simply because you couldn’t understand how the muggleborn in front of you was so good at magic.  It never occurred to you that your father might be wrong.  It’s no different than convincing yourself that your father’s not a murderer.  You’re stupid, Draco.  You’re stupid about so many things.  I hope that someday you will be able to see the truth for yourself.”

Draco said nothing as Theo stomped off to get ready for bed.  It was only as Draco was about to fall asleep that he remembered something Theo had said to him weeks ago.

“We sons of Death Eaters need to stick together.”

But what was a Death Eater?

Draco still didn’t know.

Chapter Text

5 May 1992

The rest of Easter break was a bit stilted.  Draco and Theo didn’t talk about the dinner with their fathers again, and they settled back into their quiet, if slightly uneasy, friendship.  Draco was turning Theo’s words over and over in his mind, but some part of him didn’t want to know what the Death Eaters were.  It sounded terrifying and gruesome, and he was afraid that it would become a pandora’s box if he ever allowed himself to delve into it.

So he buried his head in the sand and decided to ignore the Death Eaters in much the same way he had taken to ignoring Granger.  Ignoring Death Eaters was even easier though, because other than that single comment from Theo nobody ever talked about them.  Soon he barely thought about it, and then it slipped his mind entirely when he overheard Granger speaking to Potter and Weasley at lunch a couple of weeks after break.  He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop – no, he was ignoring Granger as planned – but he happened to be passing by, and was it his fault Weasley had no sense to keep his voice down?

“Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?” asked Weasley insistently.

“We’ve got lessons, we’ll get into trouble, and that’s nothing to what Hagrid’s going to be in when someone finds out what he’s doing –” said Granger.

“Shut up!” hissed Potter, who had noticed Draco coming to a complete halt as he absorbed this fascinating conversation.

A dragon.

Surely not.  Surely, surely not.  Keeping dragons as pets and trading their eggs was illegal – everybody knew that.  And not only was it illegal, it was remarkably stupid to handle them at all unless one was a trained dragon keeper.  Draco had always had a slight fascination with the creatures, given his own name and the Malfoy family affinity for dragon heartstring wands.  He had read all about them under Lucius’s careful eye, and he knew that the only people who handled dragons legally went through several years of specialized training after Hogwarts was done.

So the thing that Draco overheard the trio say had to be impossible.  

And yet, it sounded like a dozen other minor squabbles he had overheard between Weasley and Granger that year, ever since she became friends with those imbeciles.  They clearly had no idea that somebody else was listening, and it had the ring of honesty to it.  Draco had observed – while still ignoring Granger of course – that she and those two idiots she called friends visited the great oaf Hagrid on a regular basis.  Salazar knew he was always striding across the grounds carrying animal carcasses and occasionally herding a live specimen.  If there was one person at Hogwarts who would shatter the laws and try to handle a dragon all on his own it would be Hagrid.  

Draco knew he had to learn more.

Draco hung back and watched the three exit the Great Hall and observed they were heading to Herbology.  Of course.  They would be close to Hagrid’s hut and would surely be visiting directly afterwards.

Draco lucked out with History of Magic next – it was taught by Professor Binn, a ghost who paid so little attention to his students that he never knew who was present and who wasn’t.  This day marked the first time Draco had ever been pleased to have to sit through that bloody ghost’s lectures because he could skive the last five or ten minutes and Binns would never notice.  Sure enough, as class was coming to an end, Draco raised his hand and asked to use the loo.  Binns didn’t even look up from his notes as Draco just shrugged, grabbed his bag, and said farewell to his friends as he hurried back out to the grounds.

He came to a halt as he watched the students spill from Greenhouse 1, and a moment later Granger, Potter, and Weasley all started to head directly toward Hagrid’s hut.  Draco checked his watch and gave them a five minute head start before following behind.  He looked behind him to make sure he wasn’t being observed, and then he crept up toward a window that had the curtains pulled, though there was a small crack in it.

Draco raised his head to peer through the crack in the curtains and gasped as he saw a baby dragon unfurling itself on a rough-hewn table in the middle of the single-room hut.  It was all black and smoke was spiraling out from its nose.  He saw that Hagrid’s face looked transformed, as he stared at it.  He was watching it as though it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  The trio of students, however, did not appear excited at all.  

Granger, in particular, was gesticulating urgently, as though trying to drive home some point that Hagrid was clearly ignoring.  Potter and Weasley were, for once, listening to her and nodding in agreement with whatever she was saying.  

Draco gave himself a moment to stare at Granger instead of ignore Granger because it was a rare opportunity to watch her unobserved.  Her hair was frizzing even more than usual, as she looked at the baby dragon worriedly.  He wondered if her hair was sentient and reflected the moods of its owner.  She was running her hands through it and kept throwing exasperated looks at Hagrid.  It was obvious that he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to her warnings.

Suddenly Hagrid and Potter both looked right at him at precisely the same moment, and Draco felt the blood drain from his face.  He turned and sprinted off, back to the castle as quickly as he could run.  He heard the door open behind him and a distant shout, but he turned back and saw they weren’t making chase.  Still, he didn’t stop running until he got back to the safety of the Slytherin dorms.

He threw himself into his bed, his heart still racing due to the thing he had just witnessed.

There was a baby dragon at Hogwarts – an illegal one.

As his pulse eventually slowed, a slow smile emerged on his face.  

He would find a way to report it and end the trio for good.

~*~

Dear Journal,

I overheard Potter, Granger, and Weasley talking about a dragon on the grounds – a DRAGON.  And then I skived History of Magic and saw it for myself.  That gamekeeper (servant?) Hagrid is the one keeping it.  It is so illegal that I could get Hagrid sent to Azkaban for at least ten years if I report it.

I’m very tempted to write to Father and turn him in, but I have a better plan… I’m going to watch a bit longer and find a way to pin it on Potter and Weasley too.  Maybe I can get all three of them in trouble… and then Granger will be all alone again.

It won’t take long before somebody else discovers them so I had better work quickly.  Dragons grow really fast, and within a month I bet it will be as large as that hut Hagrid calls a house (it’s not actually a house, it looks like something muggles would use).  I want to be the one who gets the credit for catching them, so I’m going to keep my eyes peeled and find a way to do it.  I just need to make sure Granger is out of the way when it’s time.

******

9 May 1992

Weasley was missing.

This became clear to Draco when he failed to show up to lunch or dinner the previous day.  Weasley was nothing if not predictable when it came to food, and when he failed to show up to two meals in a row, Draco decided to investigate.  He rather hoped the dragon had decided to eat him, but he couldn’t take it on faith.  He concluded he should get to the bottom of it before he threw a celebration.

It didn’t take long for Draco to find Granger and Potter whispering in the library, their heads bent together.  Draco ducked around a nearby bookshelf, grabbed a random book off the shelf and pretended to read it, and as he leaned against the shelf to listen to what they were saying.

“But how are we supposed to get it up there, Harry?” hissed Granger in a stressed voice.  “Your cloak isn’t going to fit both of us and a sodding dragon, even if it is a baby!”

Cloak?

Potter snorted. “Baby dragons.  Honestly, I cannot believe Hagrid!  Even for him it’s crazy, and yet he told off Ron because the stupid thing bit him!  There’s liking magical creatures and then there’s being completely obsessed!”

Granger groaned.  “I know… I just hope Ron thinks of something to say to Madame Pomfrey!  It’s not like he can tell her the truth because then she’ll know there’s an illegal dragon on the grounds!”

Draco gave a slow smile to himself behind the bookcase.  

Found him.

“Pomfrey can mend anything,” said Potter firmly.  “She’ll fix him up.  And then Ron and I will handle Norbert, and you…”

“I should help,” she insisted.

“No,” said Potter.  “No, like you said the cloak is barely going to fit two of us since we have to take the dragon too.  It needs to be Ron and me.  You should hang back.”

“And do what then?” she asked in an irritated voice.

“Look up healing spells,” said Potter seriously.  “That thing is vicious.”

Draco heard Granger groan at this as he smiled to himself and slipped away, still holding the book he had been pretending to read.

Perfect.  Weasley was in the hospital wing, and he and Potter were planning something to do with that dragon.  Maybe Draco could tail Potter or Weasley and discover what it was.  They would be expelled this time, and then Granger would be all alone again.  

He wanted her to be alone.  He wanted her to have no distractions, no choice but to look at him.  

Nearly skipping with excitement, Draco next hurried to the hospital wing, where he peeked in to find Weasley looking down at a mangled hand that was turning a nasty shade of green.  His face looked a bit green too as he surveyed the bite.

“Good afternoon, Weasel,” said Draco, sliding into the hospital wing with a smirk.

Weasley’s head flew up, and his mouth thinned as he looked at Draco.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” he snapped.

Draco gave a negligent shrug as he wandered over to his bed.  “Oh nothing much.  Just wondering how long you think you’re going to be able to keep your giant secret?  Especially now that his special pet has decided to bite you.  Tsk tsk.  I do wonder what Pomfrey is going to say when she figures it out…”

Weasley had gone pale.  “You had better not say a word Malfoy, or I’ll –”

“You’ll what?” asked Draco, cutting him off.  “Pay me to go away?  Oh right, you don’t have two knuts to rub together, do you?  Well let me tell you this: I know you and Potter are up to something, and I’m going to figure out what it is.  You will never get away with it, and when I have proof that you and Potter helped that oaf smuggle an illegal dragon, I’m going to laugh when you’re both expelled.”

Weasley’s ears were turning red, but he was prevented from saying anything else by the arrival of Madame Pomfrey.

“Visiting hours are over, dear,” she said, looking at Draco.

“Of course,” he said smoothly.  “I was just bringing Weasley a book from the library to swap with one he already has.  Granger’s orders!”

Pomfrey gave him an approving look, and Draco placed the random book he had plucked from the shelf in the library on Weasley’s side table.

Then he snorted to himself as he picked up Dragon Tamer’s Guide to Raising the Young and shoved it into his bag.  Weasley was practically quivering with anger, but there was nothing he could say without acting suspicious, so Draco just turned and gave Madame Pomfrey his most gracious smile as he slipped out through the door.  Once in the corridor he pulled the book out and flipped through it.  To his surprise, a folded piece of parchment came fluttering out.  Draco furrowed his brow, but bent to pick it up, and his eyes widened as he read.

Dear Ron,

How are you?  Thanks for the letter – I’d be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won’t be easy getting him here.  I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week.  Trouble is, they mustn’t be seen carrying an illegal dragon.

Can you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday?  They can meet you there and take him away while it’s still dark.

Send me an answer as soon as possible.

Love, Charlie

Oh this was perfect.  This was what Granger and Potter had been discussing in the library, and now Draco knew precisely what they were up to and had a time and place for it.  The drop-off would be happening tonight, and he would be able to catch them red-handed.  Potter and Weasley were done for.

Draco folded the note, shoved it into his robes and gave a jaunty whistle as he checked his watch.

Only ten more hours before Potter and Weasley were expelled.

******  

Draco rose from his bed and crept toward the door.  The moon was casting a bright light into the dormitory, and Draco could hear the snores from his roommates that told him everybody was asleep except for him.  He lit his wand and glanced down at the watch he was wearing one more time.

Twenty minutes…

He had warned Filch earlier in the evening that Potter and Weasley would be out of bed.  To his delight, Longbottom had been in the corridor too, and he stiffened when he heard Draco reporting the rumors.

Maybe I’ll get Longbottom as well…

Draco wished he could leave it up to Filch to handle, but his abysmal performance the previous term when it came to catching Potter after Draco lured him out of bed told Draco he had to be there to ensure everything went according to plan.  He would finally get Potter and Weasley kicked out of Hogwarts, and if he was very lucky then Longbottom would go with them.  The existence of the dragon would implicate Hagrid, of course, so he would probably go to Azkaban… and in one night the castle would be clear of everybody who had ever attracted Granger’s attention except for him.

He couldn’t leave it up to chance.

He crept silently like a shadow, avoiding the floorboard that creaked violently just to the left of the door.  He eased it open and then slipped through the crack in the door and quietly padded down the short flight of stairs until he reached the Common Room.  Here he came to a pause, noting that there was one table of fifth years still studying, no doubt revising for their O.W.L. exams.  But they were deep in conversation with each other and didn’t notice Draco pressing himself into the shadows as he moved toward the portal to the corridor, which was conveniently tucked behind a corner.

He tapped his wand against the stone that made the wall move, and then he was out of the Common Room and in the dungeons, while he hurried up the stairs to watch the show.

He checked his watch again.  

Fifteen minutes.

The Astronomy tower was nearly five minutes away on the other side of the castle, so his timing was perfect.  There were alcoves galore in that section of the castle, and all he would have to do would be to hide in the shadows and watch to make sure Filch didn’t bollocks it up this time.

He was just passing in front of the Great Hall to move toward the other side of the castle, when something that felt like a hand darted out and gripped his bicep hard.

Draco thought his heart was failing him as he spun and saw nothing for a split second.  But then Professor McGonagall’s terrifying face shimmered into view, and Draco realized she had just cancelled a spell that made her practically invisible in the night.

She was dressed in a tartan dressing gown, and her hair was in curlers.  Somehow, it made her even scarier than usual.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she clipped.  “You are out of bed at midnight…. Explain yourself.”

Her tone of voice told him that he was in deep trouble, unless he had an airtight excuse for his behavior. 

Luckily, he did.

“You don’t understand, Professor!  Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are smuggling an illegal dragon tonight!  I snuck out of bed because I reported it to Filch, and I wanted to make sure they were caught!”

Professor McGonagall raised one, very unimpressed eyebrow.

“An illegal dragon.”

“Yes!” he insisted.  “I saw it a few days ago in Hagrid’s hut, and then I found a note from Weasley’s brother saying he would be taking it tonight!  They are meeting on top of the Astronomy tower in ten minutes!”

Professor McGonagall just crossed her arms and glowered at him.

“That’s impossible."

“It’s not!” Draco insisted.  “It’s not, I swear, I saw–”

“Mr. Malfoy, if you really saw an illegal dragon on the grounds, then you should have reported it to Professor Snape immediately.  The fact that you did not tells me that you are making up a wild tale in the hopes of getting another student in trouble instead of yourself.  Let me assure you, this will not work.  Twenty points from Slytherin for being out of bed and detention for telling such a terrible lie.”

Draco’s jaw dropped.

“But Professor!”

“Do not ‘but Professor me!’  Twenty points and detention, and if you don’t want me to make it fifty, then you will go back to your dormitory immediately!”

For a split second, Draco weighed the cost of seeing his mission through.  Perhaps he could double back and avoid McGonagall using an alternative route.  But one look at her face told him this would be foolish and might result in his own expulsion or at the very least a letter home to his parents. 

He shuddered as he thought about his father’s reaction to this if he found out.

Filch can handle it… I gave him very explicit instructions this time, and they’ll be slowed down by the dragon… nobody will be able to run tonight.

Draco nodded once and turned on his heel, eager to put as much distance between himself and Professor McGonagall as he could get.  He made it back to the Common Room without further incident, and it was only as he was climbing the stairs to his dormitory that Severus emerged to send the rest of the students to bed.

“Draco.  What are you doing out of bed?”

“Nothing Sir,” he said quickly.  He hoped McGonagall would keep it to herself because Severus might feel obligated to alert Lucius if she told him.

“Then off to bed,” he snapped.  “It’s far too late to be up.”

“Yes, Sir,” he muttered and soon he was slipping back into his room and pulling the curtains around his bed closed.

He sighed and laid back and checked his watch one last time.

It was midnight.  They would be caught by now.

******

23 May 1992

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

Your detention will take place at eleven o’clock tonight.  Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Draco ground his teeth as he stared at the note in his hand.  Not only had his plan to get Potter and Weasley expelled not worked, but Weasley hadn’t even been there.  It was Granger who had been caught with Potter out of bed after hours, along with Longbottom as well.  And yet, Filch had still managed to screw it up because by the time they were caught the dragon – and Draco’s best proof about what really happened that night – was gone.  

The only positive thing that came from that night was Gryffindor’s loss of 150 points in one go.  Evidently McGonagall had caught the Gryffindors too, and by the time she found them she was so irate to find four students out of bed in the same night that she had doubled down and punished them severely. The others in Slytherin House heard that Draco was responsible for the enormous swing in points.  They forgave him for his own indiscretion, reasoning that losing 20 points was worth it if it meant pushing Gryffindor so far into last place that they would never recover before the end of the school year.

Draco would have been more irritated by the fact that McGonagall didn’t expel the Gryffindors, had Weasley been there instead of Granger.  As it was, he had mixed feelings about the lack of permanent punishment because it meant she was still in school, but continued to be surrounded by those two idiots.  He pointedly did not allow himself to think about this very much, focusing instead on the loss of points for Gryffindor.  It had been an impressive feat for a first-year Slytherin, and several of the upperclassmen looked at Draco with speculative approval because of it.

Draco only wished he could enjoy it more than he did.  He had no sympathy whatsoever for Potter and Longbottom, but he hadn’t believed Granger would be involved.  He was perturbed to find that he felt a small lurch of guilt when he noticed she had grown uncharacteristically quiet in the days since she lost those points.  She seemed to be hiding in the library with those two gits more often than usual, and she hadn’t raised her hand a single time in Potions since it happened.  She was still ignoring Draco, but she also seemed to be doing her best to make herself completely invisible to the rest of the school as well.  It bothered Draco more than he cared to admit, and he knew he was indirectly responsible for it.  Even worse, it meant that she clung to her idiotic friends more than ever, having truly isolated herself from everyone else.

In trying to get Potter and Weasley expelled, he had pushed the three of them closer together.  It was maddening.

Draco sighed and tried to shove the unwelcome thoughts out of his mind as he headed to the Entry Hall for his detention.  He only hoped he would be serving it by himself and wouldn’t have to do it with the others.  He arrived and said nothing to Filch, who glared at him beadily.  Then his heart sank as he watched Potter, Longbottom, and Granger approach too.  Granger, as usual, decided to ignore Draco, so he swallowed and put his nose in the air as he gave his full attention to Filch.  

He could ignore Granger.  He could.

“Follow me,” said Filch, once they were all assembled.  “I bet you’ll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won’t you, eh?  Oh yes… hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me... It’s just a pity they let the old punishments die out .. hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I’ve got the chains still in my office, keep ‘em well oiled in case they’re ever needed… Right, off we go, and don’t think of running off, now, it’ll be worse for you if you do.”

Draco thought this was rather rich, since it had been Draco who alerted Filch to the rule-breaking in the first place.  Filch, it seemed, had no compunction about punishing the informant, if said informant also broke a school rule.  

Draco scowled and decided then and there he would never involve Filch in one of his schemes again.  

“Is that you, Filch?  Hurry up, I want ter get started,” said Hagrid, coming into view.

He noticed Potter smiling, and evidently Filch saw this too.

“I suppose you think you’ll be enjoying yourself with that oaf?  Well think again boy – it’s into the forest you’re going, and I’m much mistaken if you’ll all come out in one piece.”

Draco was diverted by this piece of very unwelcome news, and his heart started to race.  

“The forest?” he demanded.  “We can’t go in there at night – there’s all sorts of things in there – werewolves, I’ve heard.”

“That’s your problem, isn’t it?” asked Filch nastily.  “Should’ve thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble shouldn’t you?”

Draco’s jaw dropped.  Surely they couldn’t be serious.  They were only eleven for Merlin’s sake!

“Abou’ time,” said Hagrid.  “I bin waitin’ fer half an hour already.  All right, Harry, Hermione?”

Draco rolled his eyes and noted that he had been lumped in with Longbottom.

“I shouldn’t be too friendly to them, Hagrid,” said Filch.  “They’re here to be punished, after all.”

“That’s why yer late, is it?” asked Hagrid.  “Bin lecturin’ them, eh?  ‘Snot your place to do that.  Yeh’ve done yer bit, I’ll take over from here.”

“I’ll be back at dawn,” said Filch with relish, “for what’s left of them.”

Draco felt himself shivering.  This truly could not be happening.

Draco turned to Hagrid.  “I’m not going in that forest,” he insisted.

“Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts,” said Hagrid.  “Yeh’ve done wrong an’ now yeh’ve got ter pay fer it.”

Draco’s brain misfired.  Wasn’t it Hagrid who had actually broken the sodding law?  And now Draco was being punished for it?  Draco had no idea how to process this, so he fell back on what he knew best: disdain and familial threats.

“But this is servant stuff, it’s not for students to do.  I thought we’d be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he’d –”

“– tell yer that’s how it is at Hogwarts,” said Hagrid dismissively.  “Copyin’ lines!  What good’s that ter anyone?  Yeh’ll do summat useful or yeh’ll get out.  If yeh think yer father’d rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an’ pack.  Go on!”

Draco thought about it for a split second before dropping his gaze.  He wouldn’t be expelled, but the whole thing was so incredibly unfair.  He glanced at Potter and Granger to see how they were reacting to the fact that they were being punished because they had opted to help Hagrid.  But to his consternation neither of them seemed to be thinking about that point.  They were watching Hagrid intently.

“Right then,” said Hagrid, “now, listen carefully, ‘cause it’s dangerous what we’re gonna do tonight, an’ I don’ want no one takin’ risks.  Follow me over here a moment.”

He lead them through the doors and out into the night.  A long while later they reached the edge of the forest, and he pointed at a pool of something odd that was shining in the moonlight.

“Look there,” he said, “see that stuff shinin’ on the ground?  Silvery stuff?  That’s unicorn blood.  There’s a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat.  This is the second time in a week.  I found one dead last Wednesday.  We’re gonna try an’ find the poor thing.  We might have to put it out of its misery.”

He wants us to kill a unicorn?  Has he gone mad?

Draco gripped his wand a bit more tightly and swallowed hard as he asked the question he needed to ask for his own peace of mind.

“And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?” 

“There’s nothing that lives in the forest that’ll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang,” said Hagrid.  “An’ keep ter the path.  Right, now, we’re gonna split inter two parties an’ follow the trail in diff’rent directions.  There’s blood all over the place, it must’ve bin staggerin’ around since last night at least.”

Draco quickly sized up his options: should he request Hagrid, who seemed to have no concept of what should frighten him in the middle of the forest or the giant hound that would surely attack with the smallest provocation?  The question practically answered itself.

“I want Fang,” said Draco.  

“All right, but I warn yeh, he’s a coward,” said Hagrid.  Draco’s stomach sank a bit at that.

“So me, Harry, an’ Hermione’ll go one way an’ Draco, Neville, an’ Fang’ll go the other.  Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we’ll send up green sparks, right?  Get yer wands out an’ practice now – that’s it – an’ if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an’ we’ll all come an’ find yeh – so, be careful – let’s go.”

Draco, Longbottom, and Fang took the right path.  He sent one last glance back at Granger as she split left with Hagrid and Potter, but unsurprisingly she ignored Draco, and he just sighed as he turned back to the path and began the journey into the forest.

“I can’t believe we are doing this,” scoffed Draco.

“Shut it,” said Longbottom with a clear note of fear in his voice.

“What is it Longbottom?  Afraid of the forest are you?”

“Oh like you can talk!  What was all that rubbish about werewolves, huh?”

Draco just sneered, but fell silent as he plotted a small measure of revenge against Longbottom.  Longbottom was making such a racket through the underbrush that Draco was sure they would be announcing their presence to whatever evil thing in the forest was killing unicorns well in advance of their arrival.

Draco reached out and grabbed Fang by the collar, who looked at him for a moment but didn’t object to Draco’s touch.  He slowed their pace as Longbottom trudged forward, totally unaware that Draco and Fang were falling back.  After several more minutes Draco heard Longbottom come to a halt.

“Malfoy?  Fang?” he said in a wavering voice.

Draco sniggered to himself.  This detention might be bollocks, but it did give him a unique opportunity to mess with Longbottom.  It wasn’t quite as satisfying as Potter or Weasley, but it was close.  He crept forward, making sure to be as silent as possible.

Draco waited until Longbottom called for them.  “Malfoy?  Fang?  This isn’t funny!  Where are you?  I — AAAAARGH!”

Draco leapt out from some nearby bushes, and Longbottom shrieked as he sent red sparks up into the sky.

Despite the fact that they were in the middle of the Forbidden Forest at night, Draco collapsed onto the forest floor with laughter as Longbottom spluttered nearby, his face red from embarrassment.

A moment later there was a great crash, and Hagrid arrived through the underbrush, his great face looking bloodless.

“Wha’ is it?  Wha’ ‘append?” he asked worriedly.

“Malfoy jumped out of the bushes Sir, and I…” Longbottom trailed off, looking bashful as he scuffed his shoe in the dirt.

Hagrid’s face turned ferocious as he stared down at Draco.  “Think it’s funny d’ya?  Disruptin’ whatever’s in here?  Tellin’ it where we are?  Yeh’re a damned fool, boy,” he said, grabbing both Draco and Longbottom by their collars and pulling them through the brush.

“Fang.  Come,” he growled, and the dog immediately trotted along as Hagrid continued to yank them none too gently through the forest until they reached Potter and Granger.

Hagrid released them roughly and then turned to address Draco and Longbottom again.

“We’ll be lucky ter catch anythin’ now, with the racket you two were makin’.  Right, we’re changin’ groups – Neville, you stay with me an’ Hermione, Harry, you go with Fang an’ this idiot.”

Draco’s stomach sank at this a little bit.  It wasn’t that he had been hoping to be paired with Granger, but if he was then surely she couldn’t ignore Draco any longer.  Grimacing a bit at the direction of his thoughts, he glared at Hagrid before following Potter deeper into the forest. 

They didn’t say a word to each other, and this time Draco didn’t bother to try to sneak up on Potter.  He wasn’t nearly as skittish as Longbottom, though he appeared to be on edge.  The deeper they trod, the more anxious Draco became too.

As they moved into the very heart of the forest, Draco started to notice more silvery patches of unicorn blood, growing thicker.  Draco wondered if the beast had been thrashing about.  They soon moved into a clearing.

“Look –” whispered Potter, holding out an arm to stop Draco from walking any further.

Draco and Potter were spellbound as they stared at the white creature, so beautiful and sad in the moonlight.  Draco’s eyes lingered over the mane and tail – the hair from his wand core was from a creature like this, and Draco felt an unexpected wave of sadness hit him as he stared at it.  It was clearly dead.  But as they watched, a hooded figure approached it and bent down.  

A moment later it began to drink its blood.

Draco went cold, as something unsettling and oddly familiar seemed to rise from the recesses of his brain.  It might have been an early memory from so long ago that all he could grasp was the faintest wisp of recollection.  Or perhaps it was simply a feeling that this had happened before.  Whatever it was, Draco instinctively knew that it was monstrous, and the thing he was looking at might not be human because it was far more dangerous than that.  And worse, some part of him was certain – absolutely certain – that the creature recognized Draco.

He barely even heard himself screaming as he scrambled back and took off through the forest, running as fast and as hard as he could.  Behind him he thought he heard Potter shouting too, along with the crashes of some other creatures hurtling through the forest.  Draco didn’t stop to turn around, because his eyes were screwed up through his own tears, which were streaming down his face in fear and panic.  

Draco’s breathing was painful as he finally reached the edge of the forest, and only now did he turn to stare back at the dark treeline.  All of the others were still in there, but Draco wouldn’t wait for them.  Not even the prospect of making Granger look at him was enough to keep Draco there… not when all he could think about was that thing he had seen.  Besides, she was with Hagrid and she would be safe enough.

It was Draco and Potter who had been in danger, and Draco didn’t give a damn if the creature went after Potter too… the creature who knew him and drank the blood and…

His panic started to creep all over again, and an odd sensation of bitterness rose on his tongue.  While he couldn’t explain how he knew this, he was certain that it was the taste of unicorn blood.  It wasn’t metallic or coppery – it tasted like being cursed.

No.

No, Draco wouldn’t think about it.  He couldn’t think about it.  The words his mother had repeated to him his whole life came back to him in an instant.

Control yourself.  Put the memory in a box.  Tuck it away and don’t think about it again.

Draco was shaking as he focused on doing just that, and by the time he reached his common room and then his dorm the bitter taste was finally receding.

Draco was breathing hard as he sprinted up the stair and strode into his room, shutting the door behind him with a snap.

All four of his roommates looked up at him in surprise.

“Are you alright?” asked Theo.

Draco just swallowed and nodded once.

“Fine,” he said.  “Detention’s over.”

“What did have to do?” asked Crabbe curiously, but Draco ignored him.  He ripped his curtains back and curled up in bed, willing his tremors to cease.  

It was a long time later that he finally fell into a restless sleep, and then he was thrust into a nightmare filled with dying unicorns and a high pitched laugh and female screams that he knew had to be Granger’s.  He tried to get to her, but he couldn’t move.  He was frozen in place and could only watch as she screamed and convulsed on the floor of his drawing room, his unicorn hair wand held uselessly by his side.

He gasped as he woke in a cold sweat in the early hours of the morning, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to remember the nightmare.  But it was already slipping away from him like water held in his palm, and before he knew it he couldn’t remember anything about it except for the sound of Granger’s scream.

Draco knew it was the first time he had ever heard it, and just as he knew what unicorn blood tasted like he was sure the sounds of her screams were real.  

God, I hope I never hear that again…

But something told Draco that it was the first time he had heard Hermione Granger’s screams, but it wouldn’t be the last.

Chapter Text

5 June 1992

Draco was twelve and was just finishing the first week of exams.  Instead of celebrating, his nose was in a book, as he tried to browbeat his brain into reviewing the material for his last exam that day.

This is going to be my birthday for the next six years.

It was miserable, really, but there was nothing to be done about it.  He had to beat Granger in Potions, at minimum.

The only nod to his birthday was the large delivery from his parents.  His eagle owl, Camillo, had arrived at breakfast that morning bearing so many sweets that Draco was inclined to share for the first time in his life.  There was also a note enclosed that made Draco’s heart leap.

Draco,

Happy birthday.  While we can’t be there this year, rest assured that we haven’t forgotten about you.  Your mother is enclosing a few things for you to open today, and when you return home after your exams we will have an outing to acquire a racing broom for your use.  I’m afraid it will be a bit belated, but my contact at Quality Quidditch Supplies tells me that it’s best for you to be fitted for a broom in person.  I have an appointment with them the first week of August where we will meet with several different broom companies to find the best choice.  We will select your broom then, and it should give you ample time to practice before you try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team next year.

Please forgive the small delay in your gift, but know that it is so you can have the very best. 

Once again, happy birthday.

Father

Draco could not wait for his true birthday gift, and in a way it made the fact that he was taking exams and studying so diligently on his actual birthday tolerable.  He would simply ignore his birthday this year at Hogwarts.  His real birthday celebration would be when he was fitted for his racing broom, and Draco was sure he could convince his mother to throw a mini birthday celebration the same day.

Draco immediately wrote back, thanking his parents profusely and assuring them that he had no problem waiting a couple of months for his gift.  Having a true fitting where companies were vying for the chance to sell him a broom was enough to make the delay worthwhile.

Deciding to celebrate his birthday later, Draco divided most of his treats among his friends and then prepared for his final exam that day: Potions.

He strode into the classroom, nearly late thanks to spending a leisurely lunch studying by the Black Lake.  He saw Weasley and Potter set up together, with Granger next to Longbottom on the first row.  As usual, he glanced at her when he walked in, but she ignored Draco and acted as though he didn’t exist.

He nearly stumbled when he heard Severus’s voice as he passed by his desk.

“Happy birthday, Draco.”

“Oh – thank you, Sir,” he said.

Involuntarily his eyes shifted to Granger, and she stiffened.

Draco’s heart started to race.  She wasn’t looking at him, but it was the first time since the train at Christmas that she reacted to Draco’s presence.

Look at me.

“Do you have any plans?” asked Severus.

“Father arranged a fitting for a broom over the summer.  I have to go in person though.”

Look at me.

“Well that will be worth the wait.  I assume you plan to try out for the team next year?”

“Yes Sir.”

Look at me.

“Excellent.  Well as I said, happy birthday.  I’m afraid I can’t exempt you from the final, but I have no doubt you will perform admirably.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Draco cast one last glance at Granger, who was still not looking his way, but she was frozen as she stared at her notes without reading them.

Draco had no idea why she finally chose today of all days to react to his presence, but he took the knowledge and buried it in his heart as he moved to his table near the back of the classroom.  As he watched her relax back into her potion, he allowed himself to stare at the back of her head in a way he had been avoiding since the middle of February.  He noticed Severus watching him a bit curiously, but Draco decided he didn’t care.

Birthday celebration or not, it was his damn day.  And unbelievably, perhaps thanks to some birthday miracle, he had made Granger crack.

His spirits were so high that his work was flawless, and Severus granted him a very rare smile as Draco handed in his Forgetfulness Potion.

“I will need to see how you performed on your written portion, but the practical appears to be top marks,” he said within earshot of Granger.

Once again, Granger froze, and out of the corner of his eye Draco saw her clutch her own potion tightly to her chest, and he was unable to see how it looked compared to his before he could no longer find an excuse to linger and had to leave the classroom.

He was buoyant the rest of the afternoon and evening, somehow emboldened by the unconscious acknowledgment she had made.  She could ignore Draco all she wanted, but today he had won their little game.  

Maybe that was why he nicked a napkin at dinner and crept into his dorm while his friends were pushing for a late study session that evening to prepare for their second week of exams.  Instead of joining them, he pulled the curtains to his bed closed and then retrieved the remnants of the ample number of biscuits, miniature cakes, and chocolates his parents had sent to him for his birthday.  He carefully wrapped a few in the napkin and then slipped away to the owlery where he coaxed down a school owl to make a very short delivery of the treats.  Before securing them to the owl’s leg, he pulled out a piece of parchment and quill from his bag and then moved it to his left hand to write an accompanying note.

Miss Granger,

Please take a study break before your brain melts and you require glasses like your best friend.

Sincerely, Your Teacher

P.S. I’m not Snape, but nice try.

******

12 June 1992

“You may put your quills down!” wheezed Professor Binns, and Draco couldn’t help but join in the cheers with the others.

The last two weeks had been truly miserable as they marched through exam after exam and frantically studied for the next on their off days in between.  It was just the first years’ poor luck that everyone’s least favorite class – History of Magic – had been the very last exam this year, so Draco had been reciting goblin war dates for days now as he tried to remember it all.

He glanced to the other side of the magically expanded classroom where the Gryffindors were sitting in a group.  Most were chatting and laughing, relishing the end of the exam.  Granger, however, was bent over a thick sheaf of notes and flipping frantically.  Draco snorted to himself.  He had seen her do this after every written exam, no doubt confirming the answers to a few questions that had bothered her.

They would have their scores in a week, so they were free to enjoy Hogwarts without the burden of school for the next seven days.  

Draco felt he had done fairly well on his exams, despite the amount of time he spent tutoring Crabbe and Goyle so that they would pass too.  He found that teaching the material to somebody else meant he learned it even better than when he was reviewing it on his own.

It was the first time he thought that perhaps Granger was doing something for herself whenever she let Potty and Weasel use her for homework help. 

“Party in the common room!” cried Zabini, as they filed out of their last exam.  “Some of the older students nicked alcohol from Hogsmeade!”

Draco glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, and they both looked a bit uncomfortable, but glanced at Draco to see how they were supposed to react to this.

“Erm,” said Draco, “Are you sure we should –”

“Oh please, it’s fine.  One drink won’t kill you,” said Zabini, rolling his eyes.  “We’ll make it a mild one.”

Draco grimaced, but with a challenge like that he knew he had no choice.  He started to follow Zabini to the dungeons.

“How mild then?” he asked hesitantly.

Zabini shook his head at Draco’s discomfort.  “Butterbeer or something.  It’s not strong.  I’m not saying you need to try firewhiskey.”

Marginally relieved by this, Draco nodded, and Crabbe and Goyle straightened up too as they made their way to the Slytherin common room.  Draco took Zabini’s advice and grabbed a butterbeer to start.  He had heard of the stuff of course, but his mother was of the opinion that he should wait until third year to try it since that was when he was allowed in Hogsmeade.

I’m practically a second year.  One year early won’t hurt.

He popped off the cap as he made his way to a small group of chairs the first years favored.  He took a sip, and his eyes widened as the slightly sweet beverage fizzed its way down his throat and warmed him up from the inside.  He glanced at Crabbe and Goyle and saw they were having the same reaction as him.

“Well?” asked Zabini in amusement.  “How’s your first drink, Malfoy?”

Draco reddened a bit, but rolled his eyes as a small smile slipped onto his face.  “Not your worst idea, Zabini.  It’s good.”

Zabini grinned and raised his own butterbeer in a toast.

“To finishing our first year of Hogwarts!  And winning the House Cup while we do it!  Just one more week, and it will be official!”

“Cheers!” cried Theo and Pansy, who had come up from behind.

Draco leaned back with a smile on his face, feeling free for the first time in weeks.  As he sat back and listened to his friends burn off their end-of-exam energy, Draco’s mind drifted to a curly-haired witch.  He wondered if the Gryffindors were celebrating this way too.

******

Draco awoke with a start.

The party in the common room had lasted all evening, and virtually none of the Slytherins had bothered to show up to dinner that night.  Instead, several house elves arrived with platters of food and kept them stocked with a steady flow of food and drink for hours.  Draco had consumed a couple more butterbeers and found himself drifting off in the corner of the sofa.  

The thing that had woken him up was an odd bright light streaking through the common room and disappearing into the corridor that Draco knew housed Severus’s personal living quarters.  It was set away from the students but close enough to get to them at night if he was needed.  Draco once heard a rumor that Severus had his own set of secret passages to get through the dungeons to his office and Potions classroom, though of course no students were permitted to use them.

Draco sat up in confusion and looked around, realizing that he was the only one left down here.  Evidently his friends had decided to let him sleep instead of waking him up to get to bed.

He was startled out of his thoughts when Severus himself came rushing through the Common Room.  He came to a halt when he saw Draco staring at him in confusion.

“Go to bed Draco,” he said tersely.

“Sir, what –”

“I don’t have time for asinine questions.  I said go to bed.  If I see you down here when I get back it will be detention.”

Draco opened his mouth to protest the concept of detention – after all, school was over – but Severus paid him no mind and practically sprinted out of the Common Room.  Draco heard his footsteps thundering away, as he weighed his options.

He should go to bed.  He knew this.  He knew this.

And yet…

What had that silvery thing been?  It was moving so quickly Draco couldn’t see it clearly, but the light from it was bright enough to wake him from a deep sleep.  And Severus looked pale – far paler than usual – and stressed.  

Draco felt a ripple of fear.  

Somehow he just knew something bad was happening, but he didn’t know what it was.  But if Severus was involved, then there might be information about it in his quarters or office.  

Self-preservation tendencies aside, Draco had been known to bend a rule or two when his curiosity got the better of him.  Tonight, Draco was very curious, so he made what could only be described as an incredibly stupid decision and crept down the small hallway toward Severus’s quarters.

He hesitated for only a moment before trying the door, and he wasn’t terribly surprised to find it unlocked.  Severus, of course, would never keep it unlocked under normal circumstances, but he had been in such a hurry to leave that no doubt it slipped his mind.  That, more than anything, told Draco just how serious it was.

Draco eased the door open and snuck in, looking around it in bemusement.  

Severus’s quarters were handsome.  He had his own window underneath the Black Lake that cast a ghostly glow upon a miniature replica of the Slytherin Common Room, which was more appropriately sized for five or six people instead of dozens.  It was comfortable though, roomy even, and it had a small table and chairs in one corner near something that looked like a sideboard.  Draco wondered if Severus ate here on occasion when he wished for solitude.

He saw three doors before him, and a peek inside of one looked like a miniature library, most of the books bound in dark leather with cracked spines.  The second door contained his bedroom.  Draco started to close the door almost as soon as he saw the large four poster bed, but then stopped as an odd thing caught his attention: a Gryffindor scarf was framed on his wall in a shadowbox, along with several astonishingly beautiful white flowers that Draco didn’t immediately recognize.  They appeared to be under some sort of stasis charm.

Draco hesitated, wondering if he had the courage to investigate further, but then decided he didn’t.  Instead, he closed the door and opened the third, and here his pulse ticked up with anticipation.

The door was concealing a stone corridor that, if Draco was correct, seemed to head toward the direction of the office he used for students and his classroom.

Wondering if he had truly lost his mind, Draco slipped in and then silenced his feet as he crept through the corridor.  To Draco’s great relief there were torches lighting the way for him, and it wasn’t long before he reached another wooden door on the far end.  Draco took a deep breath and then slowly, slowly cracked it just enough to hear voices on the other side.

“... right there, Weasley, or so help me I will poison you myself!” hissed Severus’s voice.

“Hermione, you can’t seriously be considering drinking something he–”

“Hush Ronald, it’s obviously not him!” came Granger’s voice, which sounded so weak that Draco was momentarily alarmed despite himself.

“But–”

“No, Ron, I know you probably have a concussion, but I told you the potion Harry drank was already half gone!  Somebody else went through that fire first!”

“Or we were just too late to catch him!” insisted Weasley.

“No, it’s somebody else!  The return potion was full!  Please stop, I need–” 

And then Draco heard a female groan that made him nearly abandon his hiding place to barge in and see what happened for himself.

“Hermione!” cried Weasley, but Draco heard Severus mutter something, and then a large thud told him Weasley had been knocked out.

“He has a concussion!” she gasped, and even through her obvious pain and exhaustion she sounded outraged.

“Madam Pomfrey can fix him,” snapped Severus.  “She cannot, however, fix you, and that useless fool is wasting precious time.  Now tell me – which one did you drink?”

“The potion to move back of course!” she said in an irritated voice.  “Obviously,” she added.

“Not the wine?  Or the actual poisons?”

“How could I have gotten back through if I had?” she insisted.

“Brooms.  I would assume you thought to bring a few with you from the previous room so you didn’t have to solve the challenge at all.”

There was a pause as she seemed to consider this.  

“Oh,” she finally said.  “Well no.  I just solved the puzzle you wrote and used the brooms to get Ron and me out of there.  I know I drank the right one because I walked through the magical fire.  But I feel like I’m freezing from the inside out and…”

Severus seemed to hiss at this.

“You consumed far too much!”

“It was only a gulp!”

“And the dosing was for a full-grown wizard who weighs several stone more than you.  It was never intended to be drunk by a slip of a girl!”

“But–”

“Consider this a teaching moment, Miss Granger.  I will save you, but only if you promise never to do something so idiotic ever again!”

Draco’s heart was in his throat.  It sounded like Granger had been poisoned in a way.  He had no idea what kind of magical fire she was talking about, but he was on pins and needles as he listened to Severus quickly throwing together some concoction in his office.

“Tell me everything,” he said curtly as he worked.

“I’m not sure I should–” she started.

“Miss Granger,” said Severus in his most severe voice.  Draco could practically hear Granger gulping at the tone, and the story spilled out.

“Harry, Ron, and I realized Dumbledore was keeping the last Philosopher’s Stone here at Hogwarts.  There have been some odd things that happened, you know – that troll that attacked me in the bathroom on Halloween–”

Draco went cold as he remembered the troll, and Draco wanted to kill Weasley as he thought about it.  Then he remembered he wasn’t supposed to care about Granger.

“ –and Harry saw a figure drinking unicorn blood in the Forbidden Forest during a recent detention–”

At this Draco closed his eyes to slow his pounding heart as the memories of that terrifying moment washed over him.

“ –and we… encountered… the three-headed dog on the third floor corridor in the east wing at one point.  Malfoy challenged Harry to a duel early in the year, and I ended up going with him to try to stop it… Filch nearly caught us, and we ended up in the room with the dog by accident. I realized it was guarding a trap door, and eventually we put the other clues together about the Stone.”

Draco was dumbstruck by this.  She had told him about the cerberus, but she had never mentioned that it was guarding something.

“Hagrid told us how to get past the dog this afternoon, and we tried to tell Dumbledore but he was gone.  Harry figured You-Know-Who had been behind the other odd things that happened this year, and he decided to race You-Know-Who to the Stone to get it first.”

Draco’s jaw dropped, absolutely horror-struck that Potter could have been that reckless and pulled Granger into it as well.  Draco didn’t know as much about the Dark Lord as he wished, but his father always said that more would be revealed in time.  There was no question, however, that both his father and Severus believed that he was exceptionally powerful and dangerous.  Why on earth would Potter think he was any match at all at a mere eleven years old?  

“So you got past the dog,” prompted Severus.

“Yes, and then we found Professor Sprout’s challenge with the Devil’s Snare – Ron and Harry got caught in it, but I got them out with some fire.  I have a… fondness for fire spells.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, remembering her setting Severus on fire all those months ago.

“Then we got to Professor Flitwick’s challenge with the flying keys.  Harry spotted the right one of course, and all three of us flew to corner it.  I’m not very good on a broom, but you know how talented Harry is.  He caught it no problem.”

Severus snorted at this, and Draco privately agreed.

“Then we got to Professor McGonagall’s – her lifesize chess board.  Ron is excellent at chess, so we played our way across.  But he…”

Draco heard her choke out a sob, and he clenched his teeth.

“He sacrificed himself so Harry could check-mate the king,” she finally said.

“And then?” prompted Severus.

“Well then there was the room with a couple trolls, but they had already been knocked out so there wasn’t much for us to do.  Then we got to your challenge, sir, with the riddle about poisons and nettle wine.  I solved it quickly enough, and I sent Harry on through the fire and came back to retrieve Ron and alert Dumbledore.  There wasn’t enough potion left for both of us to move forward.  I tried explaining to Ron of course, but it took a little time to bring him back around and he was rather addled.  The chess pieces were made out of marble, and they struck him across the head.”

There was a long pause as Snape seemed to absorb this.  Draco himself was trying to control his breathing.  The story was so unbelievable, and yet…

“Sir?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“What is it?” snapped Severus.

“Sir, do you think Harry will be–”

“If Potter suffers consequences for performing such a foolish stunt and bringing two other students with him – one of whom was you, Miss Granger – I will not feel the slightest bit of sympathy.”

Draco privately agreed with this assessment wholeheartedly.

“But–” started Granger.

“But,” continued Severus, “that boy is important to Dumbledore.  Do not ask me to explain it, but he is.  And Dumbledore is more than a match for a phantom of the Dark Lord.  It is not as though he has his body back or can cast spells himself, after all.  All Potter had to do was last a few minutes on his own.”

“Do you think he…” she trailed off.

“I think the Dark Lord would be very curious to meet him and would likely waste precious time talking to him instead of killing him right away as he ought.”

Draco’s stomach lurched at this.  He could scarcely believe what he was hearing.  The Dark Lord had returned?  But how?  And what did Severus mean a phantom?  

“How do you know that?” asked Granger, and Draco was alarmed to hear her voice growing weaker.

“I don’t know it, but I think it.  Imagine if you can, Miss Granger – if you were the Dark Lord, wouldn’t you be curious to meet the person who defeated you as a mere infant?  Potter couldn’t even speak when he did it.  Nobody knows how he accomplished it.”

“Oh…” she said, “yes, I suppose you're right.”

But something about this was niggling in Draco’s mind.  Severus sounded so sure, as though the Dark Lord was predictable.  Draco knew that Severus had supported him, just like his father.  And yet, he was pointing out what could only be described as a character flaw.  Severus sounded almost critical of the Dark Lord, but that couldn’t be right…

The two were silent for a time, and Draco heard some clanking.

“Drink,” Severus finally said.  “This will thaw the ice.”

A moment later Draco heard a relieved sigh.  “Thank you, Sir.  That is… much better.”

“Do not ever do something so stupid again,” he insisted.

“No, Sir.  Thank you, Sir.”

“Very well.  Take Weasley to the hospital wing and get out of my sight.”

At this, Draco shrank back and practically sprinted down the corridor to reach the door at the end of the secret passage that led into Severus’s quarters.  As he was shutting it he heard the door at the other end open and Severus’s footsteps striding down the stone passage.  

Draco raced through Severus’s sitting room and slipped through the door to the corridor leading to the Slytherin Common Room.  From there he took the stairs two at a time and winced as the hinges creaked on the door to his room.  

There was nothing for it: he flung himself into bed and yanked the curtains closed and burrowed under the covers.  He had just stripped off his button up and was in an undershirt when he heard the door to his room open again.  Draco swore silently under his breath and balled the oxford in his fist, shoved it under the covers and then laid down and shut his eyes just as the curtains to his bed were disturbed.

Draco forced his breathing to be slow and even as he counted to ten in his head.  He hoped that the room was too dark for Severus to see his frantically fluttering heartbeat in his neck, but he couldn’t be certain.  He knew that if Severus was aware of what he had just overheard the consequences would be far worse than a detention.

He sensed Severus’s eyes tracking every movement he could see in the dark, until finally, at long last, the curtains were pulled shut.  Draco did not allow himself to relax until he heard the door to the room close too, and then his eyes flew open as he turned the mystery of Hermione Granger and whatever mad adventure she had been on this evening over and over in his mind.  

~*~

Dear Journal,

I overheard something unbelievable tonight… Potter tried to fight some phantom of the Dark Lord again, and he pulled Weasley and Granger into it with him.  I caught Severus running to help them, and I broke into his chambers to eavesdrop.

It’s a miracle I didn’t get caught, because he would have killed me.

I didn’t understand everything I heard, but it sounded as though Granger had been poisoned in a way.  Severus saved her and then made some strange comments about the Dark Lord while he did it.

They confused me because I know Severus supports him (or he used to at any rate)... but he was acting like the Dark Lord was almost as dumb as Potter.  The phantom thing confused me too because it sounds like he doesn’t have a body.

He can’t really be back if he doesn’t have a body, right?

Speaking of Potter, I hate that specky git, assuming he’s still alive.  It’s not like I care about Granger, either, but what kind of ‘friend’ brings others along on their suicide missions?  

Wait, what am I saying?  There’s no way Potter is still alive if he actually met any part of the Dark Lord.  He probably snuffed it.

Good riddance.

******

26 June 1992

Harry Potter did not snuff it.

The day after that fascinating conversation he overheard, Draco pretended to stub his toe so hard he had to go to the Hospital Wing.  There, he found Harry Potter knocked out, but not dead.  Weasley too was passed out in a bed with a bandage around his head, and Granger was sitting between them, apparently as good as new as she read a book.

Granger did not look at Draco when he entered, but he felt some perverse pleasure by the fact that she stiffened when Draco said in his best drawling voice, “Did both of your boyfriends kick it then, Granger?”

“No need to be rude, Mr. Malfoy.  They will both revive in time,” said Madam Pomfrey in a no nonsense voice as she bustled over to care for Draco.  

Draco said nothing to this – he just accepted his pain potion as he studied the angry red patches on Granger’s cheeks on his way out of the hospital wing.

Look at me.

Draco stopped at the door and turned to face Granger again.

“Maybe the Dark Lord will actually finish the job next time,” he said.  “We can only hope.”

At this, a miracle unfolded and Granger’s gaze rose to meet Draco’s for the first time since that day on the train.

She said nothing, but her eyes burned with anger.  Her skin flushed and even her hair seemed to be standing on end.  Draco felt a pulse of power come from her that almost made him swoon.

They stared at each other.  Draco knew he would not, under any circumstances, break first.  She was looking at him now, and it was the first true scrap of attention she had given to him in months.  His words – poisonous and cruel as they might be – had finally made her abandon her resolve and look at him.  He positively basked in it, and he felt a smile slide across his face involuntarily.

As he smiled she scowled and then straightened up.  She opened her mouth and for a moment Draco was sure she would say something.  But instead, she broke his gaze and turned toward the front with a soft, “Hmph!”

Draco grinned at this and turned to head out.  “Later, Granger,” he said in a mocking voice.  

Draco’s pleasure at his success in causing Granger to finally break her months-long streak of ignoring Draco lasted a full five days until the following Wednesday afternoon when marks were posted.

“What is it?” asked Draco, as he saw a cluster of students looking at something on the Common Room notice board.

“Our marks,” said Theo, who had just emerged from the crowd with an odd look at his face.

“What?” asked Draco suspiciously.  “What is it?”

Theo started to say something and then shut his mouth and just shook his head.  He seemed to be in slight disbelief.

“See for yourself, mate.  I did tell you… but I’ll admit that even I didn’t think it would be quite so… well… you’ll see.”

And with that cryptic statement, Draco started to push to the front too.  He noticed the first years clustered on one end, and he figured they must be posted by year.  

“Move it, Crabbe,” he said.  “Goyle, shove off.  I want to see…”

Finally the crowd parted for him, and Draco heard Pansy muttering, “Annoying mudblood bitch…” as he stared up at the list of classes.  His heart sank as he read the top few students for each class.

Astronomy

1. Hermione Granger
2. Wayne Hopkins
3. Ernie Macmillan
4. Draco Malfoy
5. Theodore Nott

Charms

1. Hermione Granger
2. Theodore Nott
3. Megan Jones
4. Padma Patil
5. Draco Malfoy

Defense Against the Dark Arts

1. Hermione Granger
2. Harry Potter
3. Ronald Weasley
4. Padma Patil
5. Anthony Goldstein

Herbology

1. Hermione Granger
2. Neville Longbottom
3. Theodore Nott
4. Hannah Abbott
5. Terry Boot

History of Magic

1. Hermione Granger
2. Tracy Davis
3. Justin Finch-Fletchley
4. Zacharias Smith
5. Susan Bones

Potions

1. Hermione Granger
2. Draco Malfoy
3. Theodore Nott
4. Blaise Zabini
5. Daphne Greengrass

Transfiguration

1. Hermione Granger
2. Theodore Nott
3. Draco Malfoy
4. Anthony Goldstein
5. Padma Patil

Overall

1. Hermione Granger
2. Theodore Nott
3. Draco Malfoy
4. Padma Patil
5. Anthony Goldstein

Draco could scarcely breathe.  She had beaten him.  And not only that, but she had beaten everyone in every single blasted subject.

Their challenge from the very beginning of the year may have been suspended by unsaid agreement, but Draco had still been determined to beat her... but now he hadn't beaten her, and he didn't know what to do about it.  He had never lost anything before.

Draco knew he should be pleased with coming in third overall, but how could he be when he was beaten by the only person he considered to be an actual friend and her?

God, his father was going to kill him when he found out.

She had even edged him out in Potions, the class Draco had worked harder in than any other.  He scanned that list again and noted that every single Slytherin was ranked ahead of students from the other three houses, except for her – even Crabbe and Goyle beat out all the Ravenclaws, which made Draco snort.  He had heard the other Houses complain that Severus was biased, but he had never really believed it until he saw this list.  Crabbe and Goyle had passed everything else – thank goodness – but only barely.  Draco was sure their Potions score was nothing more than favoritism.

And yet, despite that favoritism Severus had placed Granger above every member of his own House.  Draco’s stomach sank as he realized that she must have absolutely trounced him on the final exam to warrant the top spot.  There was no other explanation for why Severus would have given her the grade she received.  She must have done so well that she forced his hand.

Draco moved away, as if in a daze and finally found Theo again.

“Well…” said Draco awkwardly.  “Congrats then.”

“You too,” said Theo just as awkwardly.

They stared at each other for a moment and then Theo sighed, “I did tell you that…”

“Yes, I know,” said Draco curtly.  

He didn’t want to think about it.  He didn’t have the capacity to examine what this could possibly mean.  He remembered what Severus had said about magical power versus political and social power, but Lucius had always insisted that pure blood would out.  Even after talking to Severus about it, Draco was still inclined to believe his father about that.  And yet, she had beaten the purebloods in everything – the courses that required magical skill and even their sodding History exam.  Magic wasn’t part of her history at all.  It was Draco’s history and Theo’s history and every other member of Slytherin House’s history.  But she had still crushed them.

How?  How had she done it?

Draco knew she studied all the time.  He rarely saw her without her nose in a book.  But apparently she didn’t just study magic, she studied muggle subjects too.  She also made time for those two misfits who were constantly around her.  She attended the Quidditch matches and apparently fought trolls and the Dark Lord too, when she wasn’t setting teachers on fire.  

School was not the only thing that Hermione Granger did.

Draco’s mind was swirling.  He knew he couldn’t figure it out right then.  He would have to think about it once he was away from school and in the privacy of his own home.  He needed space away from her and from their lessons to really contemplate what this could mean.

“At least we won the House Cup,” said Theo in an encouraging voice.

“That’s true,” said Draco, feeling marginally more upbeat about that.  “I wrote to Father to tell him, and he was very pleased.”

Draco spent the next couple of days putting his thoughts about his marks – or rather, Granger’s marks – in a box in his mind.  He was determined to enjoy his last couple of days of freedom before he was back at the Manor and had to face his father about his performance.  

He was doing fairly well with it as he made his way with the other Slytherin first year’s to the End of Term Feast the night before they were to depart from Hogwarts.

They entered the Great Hall to find it decorated in shades of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin’s success.  But then Dumbledore stood to award the House Cup, and everything changed.

In the span of thirty seconds, Dumbledore awarded points for the fact that Potter had nearly gotten himself and two other students killed the previous week.  Evidently Dumbledore felt that it was worth fifty points to each of Granger and Weasley and sixty points to Potter.

This caused Gryffindor to move from last place to tie with Slytherin for first.

And then, as if this wasn’t insulting enough, he awarded ten lousy points to Neville Longbottom of all people, for standing up to his own friends.

Why don’t you just shove a knife in our hearts and twist it then? Draco wondered, as he stared at the Headmaster with disgust.  

It was one of the most blatant showings of Gryffindor favoritism Draco had observed all year because the points were obviously allotted to force a Gryffindor victory.

The Slytherin’s all fell into a moody silence as the Gryffindor table erupted with cheers.  Dumbledore clapped his hands to turn the green on the banners into red while the silver turned gold. 

Draco exchanged an unhappy look with Theo, who appeared to feel just as ill about this turn of events as Draco did.  Over the previous few months Draco had learned just how competitive Theo Nott really was, and he had not lost Slytherin House a single point the entire year.  

Across the Great Hall, Draco caught Granger’s eye, and time stood still for a moment.  Her brilliant smile faltered when she saw Draco’s sour expression, and then she stiffened and put her nose in the air before pointedly turning her back on him.

Draco scowled and did the same thing to her, privately committing to spend the entire summer making sure she did not take up any space in his head.

He wasn’t certain how he would do it, but he knew that when he returned for his second year, he would be so good at ignoring Granger that she wouldn’t know what hit her.  

He simply couldn’t stand to have another year end like this.

Chapter Text

15 July 1992

Draco and Theo were standing at the edge of a small reservoir skipping stones.

The property was part of the Malfoys’ summer home in Cumbria on the banks of Portloch Tarn.  He loved it here: the remoteness, the wild scenery with mountains and a body of water surrounding them, the freedom to just roam.  It was the one place where he had always felt like a child.  His parents' sternness relaxed here and manners were casual.  He had never once worn a sodding dress robe in this place.

The Malfoys had always spent at least a month here each summer, and it was Draco’s favorite thing to do.  The property here was a magical one, abutted against a body of water that was unknown to muggles.  The Malfoy’s water was on the smaller side – truly it was only a tarn and not a real lake, though Draco knew it to be quite deep in the middle – but they owned the entire thing along with the shoreline that surrounded it and their own forested mountain on the opposite side of the water.  That meant the property was private, theirs, and Draco was free to relax in his shirtsleeves and wade barefoot into the shallower depths or hike the hillside on the other side of it without risk of being seen.

The property surrounding Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire was technically more extensive, consisting largely of rolling farmland and some woods on one side of the perimeter.  It was picturesque to be sure, but it was the family seat and far more formal than this.  Portloch Tarn, by contrast, was more of a stone country house.  It was large of course – the Malfoys never did anything halfway – but it was still considerably smaller than Malfoy Manor.  The walls were draped with tapestries and did not contain a single family portrait.  The furniture was crafted from rough hewn oak and leather instead of mahogany and silk.  The floorboards were cut wide, and they creaked with every step.

Draco knew his mother found it all a bit rustic for her tastes, but to Draco it was nothing short of perfect.  As a young boy he used to dream of running away now and then, and inevitably his daydreams always led him straight to this place.

And this year, for the first time ever, Draco had brought a friend.

Theo’s reaction to Portloch Tarn had secretly delighted Draco.  Of course Draco always wished to have the best and show off his superiority to everyone else, but over the previous few months Draco had come to really like Theo.  Questionable feelings about mudbloods and Quidditch aside, Theo was intelligent, but quiet, and had an air about him that was so very sad.  Draco had a suspicion that Portloch Tarn was exactly what Theo needed to draw him out of his shell and improve his mood.  Sure enough, the moment the boys exited through the floo, Theo relaxed into the broadest and most honest smile Draco had ever observed from him.  

He realized in that moment that he wanted to share Portloch Tarn with his friend because of what it could give to him – and not just because it would position Draco higher than Theo in some nebulous social hierarchy.  It was an odd feeling, but not an unwelcome one.

The peace Draco always found at Portloch Tarn was especially needed after Lucius’s reaction to Draco’s marks at the end of term.

"...utter disgrace to the family!"

"...should send you straight to Durmstrang if you're going to let a mudblood beat you like that!"

"...just as ashamed as I would have been if you had been born a squib!"

It had been awful, and Draco pleaded with his father for clemency, saying over and over again that it was nothing more than favoritism from the staff.  With every pushback, Lucius grew more irate, and in the end Draco just shut his mouth and tried to tune it out.

Put in a box.

After more than a hour of shouting and ranting, Lucius had dismissed Draco with a sneer, and then he had given Draco the cold shoulder except for the rare times they were forced to speak.  Whenever Lucius did speak to Draco, it was with such hostility that Draco automatically fell back on his story about Granger: she had beaten him because the staff was being unfair.  He also held up Potter's broomstick and appointment to the Quidditch team as a first year as a prime example of Gryffindor favoritism.  

"How am I supposed to win anything if they like Potter so much they'll make him the youngest Seeker in a century?  And Granger's his friend - of course they favor her too!"

This had done nothing to persuade Lucius, of course, but it was all Draco could say.  Privately, he knew Granger had bested him honestly, but he would never be stupid enough to admit it to Lucius.  And while Lucius might be able to accept Theo edging out Draco in class rank, telling his father that a mudblood was smarter than both of them was never going to happen.

Draco whinged about both Granger and Potter within earshot of his father until the moment they left for Portloch Tarn.  But even his father was affected by this place, and his icy disappointment thawed somewhat into mere frostiness and then simple irritation during the time they were here.  It was not what anybody would call warm, but it was still a marked improvement from the early weeks at Malfoy Manor.

“I’m going to get this one all the way to the other side!” called Theo, as he picked up another stone and flung it.  As it was midair he shot a spell toward it, but it didn’t connect, and he groaned as the stone sank after three skips.

Draco laughed.  “My turn then.”

He hurled his stone with his left hand, using a practiced flick of his wrist and held his wand with his right as he cast a spell which did connect.  The rock hovered in midair for a split second before Draco made it skip all the way over to the other side.

“YES!” he cried, as he sank down onto the bank with a laugh, his toes dipping into the edge of the water.

Theo flumped down next to him.

“I can’t believe we can do magic here,” he said simply.

Draco shrugged.  “We can do magic at the Manor too.  Probably Nott Manor as well.”

Theo shrugged.  “Maybe, but I think we’d be detected at Nott Manor or our townhouse in London.  Nott Manor is close to a muggle village, and London is London.”

Draco grinned.  “Malfoy privilege then.  Father always says he doesn’t want the Ministry nosing into our family’s affairs.  That goes for all sorts of magic, not just the underaged type.”

Theo chuckled.  “Don’t tell me Lucius has broken your Trace.”

“No, and he probably shouldn’t take credit for all the concealment charms around this place either – I’m sure they’re hundreds of years old – but to hear him talk about it you’d think it was all his idea.”

Theo laughed at that.  “No offense mate, but your dad is pompous.”

Draco wrinkled his nose at this, but then grinned too.  Even though his relationship with his father was as low as it had ever been, Draco could never be in a bad mood in this place.  “Yeah, you’re right I s’pose.”

The two boys were quiet for a long while as they soaked up the sun.  And though Draco was hesitant to shatter their peace here, he had a question he needed to ask Theo, and he thought that this might be the nicest place they could have this conversation.

“Theo,” he said, “can I ask you something?  No judgment.”

Theo glanced at him and raised an eyebrow, but just nodded for Draco to continue.

“You once said we are the sons of Death Eaters.  What does that mean?”

Theo narrowed his eyes.  “It means our fathers were both Death Eaters – or are Death Eaters, I suppose – I don’t think it’s a thing you ever really stop being.”

Draco was quiet as he tried to find an elegant way to phrase this.

“It’s not a… term I had ever heard before,” he said quietly.

Theo looked at him in shock, and Draco grimaced a bit as embarrassment flooded him.  But to his relief Theo didn’t laugh.  His shock morphed into a thoughtful look as he studied Draco.

“No… perhaps you wouldn’t have…” said Theo quietly.  “You were always kept apart from the rest of us.”

“The rest of you?” asked Draco.

“Me, Crabbe, Goyle, Boles, Parkinson, the Greengrass sisters, Flint, Pucey… there were others too.  We were all the children of Death Eaters.  We all saw each other now and then growing up, though I’ll admit I was out of the circle a little thanks to Mum.  And you… the others never saw you.  I didn’t see you either after Mum took me away.”

Draco stared at Theo, trying to absorb the fact that all of his classmates and a few from the years above and below him had an entire childhood with each other that didn’t include him.

“So what are Death Eaters then?” asked Draco.

Theo studied him for a long while before speaking.

“Before I tell you that... what has Lucius told you about the war?”

Draco looked out over the water and shrugged a little awkwardly.

“Not many details.  I know there was one, of course... I know the Dark Lord was the greatest wizard who ever lived, and he was fighting for his rightful place in our world.  Father has made it obvious that he likes him, and I know Severus does too - that's why they are friends... but Father always said I have to wait until I'm thirteen to learn any details about it.”

“Why?”

“Family tradition.  Father always said there were three things I'd learn at thirteen: marital relations, wards, and politics.  He always said the war landed in the category of ‘politics.’”

He turned to find Theo looking at him incredulously.

“Marital relations too?”

“Yes, unless you'd like to tell me now?”

“No, absolutely not... you're going to have to wait another year for that...”

Draco scowled, and Theo gave him a small smile.

“Do you know why he's making you wait until thirteen?”

Draco shrugged again.  “Like I said, it's family tradition.  He said I have to be older to really understand it... and that every family has some secrets, and he has to be sure I'm old enough to keep them before he tells me more.  He's never once talked about Death Eaters around me, and nobody talks about them at school either.  You're the first person who has ever mentioned them.”

Theo nodded slowly.

“Fine... you're right about that, nobody speaks of them anymore.  I'd guess most of the muggleborns and even some of the half-bloods have never heard of them either.  They pretty much vanished at the end of the war.  But you should know what they are.”

“Then tell me, please.”

“The Death Eaters are the closest followers of the Dark Lord,” said Theo simply before his voice dropped to a bare whisper, “you know... Voldemort.”

Draco shivered a little.  Draco had no idea that the Dark Lord's followers had a name.  The Death Eaters.  It sounded sinister.

“What did the Death Eaters do then?”

Theo shrugged.  “From what I’ve read about it and heard, all sorts of terrible things.  The Dark Lord wanted muggleborns kicked out of the magical world and muggles under the rule of purebloods or else dead.  His Death Eaters were part of his army to make it happen.  They killed and tortured people, Draco.  They used Dark magic.  They fought an entire war for years against the Ministry of Magic and the aurors to put the Dark Lord in power.”

Draco swallowed, as he considered this.  Months ago he rejected the notion that his father had ever done anything like that.  But something about Theo’s words had the ring of truth to them.

“Did all Death Eaters kill people?” he asked in a small voice.

Theo gave him a knowing look, and just nodded.  “They had to.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because the Dark Lord branded them all on their left arms with something called a Dark Mark.”  Here Theo turned his arm over to show Draco precisely where it would go.  “Father says the Dark Marks used to be black, but they faded after Potter took him out.  The scars are still there though.  I’ve seen Father’s.  And he once told me that the only way the brand took was with murder.  He had to kill somebody after the Dark Lord Marked him to prove that he wanted it.”

Revulsion welled up in Draco at this, and he realized he was shaking his head, but Theo was looking at him so seriously Draco knew that Theo believed every word he was saying.  And Draco had seen scars on his father’s arm just a few times over the years.  Lucius generally wore long sleeves at all times, but there had been moments when Draco sought him out while he was dressing for dinner, and he noticed some scarring on his arm.  What if Theo was telling the truth and Lucius was a murderer?  Draco’s stomach clenched at the thought.  He knew his father could be harsh, but murder…

“What did the brands look like?” asked Draco.

Theo picked up a thin stick from the bank and started sketching out a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth into the loamy shore.  As he worked, recognition penetrated Draco’s mind.  He didn’t know when he had seen it before, and those few times he observed his father’s scarring it had been from such a distance that Draco couldn’t make it out clearly.  But Draco just knew, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, that he had seen it before.  It scared him.  In fact, it terrified him.  But even more disturbing than the symbol itself was the bone deep knowledge that Draco was sure Theo was correct about this.

His father had been – was a Death Eater – and that meant his father was also probably a murderer.

“At least the Dark Lord is gone,” said Draco quietly, though his stomach churned as he remembered the conversation he overheard between Severus and Granger.  “He’s gone, and he can’t come back.  Right?”

“Right,” said Theo.  “Gone.”

Theo didn’t sound convinced.

******

18 July 1992

“Draco, this way!” called Theo, as the two boys hiked the small mountain.  Narcissa and Lucius had kicked them out of the house with a picnic basket that morning and told them to stay outside until it was time for dinner.  It was a slightly unusual order, but Draco and Theo thought little of it as they decided to use the time to thoroughly explore the mountain.

They had been hiking for hours, taking breaks here and there, soon leaving the couple of trails maintained by the elf who lived on property with them.  Theo fancied himself a bit of a cartographer, and he was sketching a map with landmarks as they explored.  He had just reached a clearing that opened to a flat rock outcropping on the side of the mountain.  It was positioned over a small lake on the other side of the mountain that was not theirs.

“Look at it!” said Theo in wonder.  “The views are amazing!”

Draco smiled broadly as he sat down and surveyed it.  “I think that’s a muggle village down on the other side of that lake.  But we own the whole mountain, so it’s not like they can see us.  There are concealment and befuddlement charms to keep them away.”

“Have your parents ever come here then?” asked Theo as he took the picnic basket from Draco and opened it to pull out some sandwiches.  Draco reached for his – he had to admit this was a perfect spot for lunch.

Draco shrugged as he started to chew.  “Doubtful.  We’re well off the path.  Knowing Father, he would never even look at something muggle.  I’m guessing he’s never come to this side of the mountain before.  And you know Mother is not really the outdoors type.”

Theo chuckled at this.  “No, puttering around in her garden is about as much outdoor activity as Narcissa can stand.”

“It’s true,” acknowledged Draco, and they ate in companionable silence for a time.

“Well if nobody ever comes here,” said Theo slowly, “we could claim it for ourselves.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow at him.  “The Malfoys already claim the mountain.”

“But I mean us,” insisted Theo.

He had an unusual expression on his face that Draco had never seen before.  He looked excited, almost eager.  Draco narrowed his eyes, but he was intrigued by whatever was making Theo look like that.  He was usually so staid and quiet.

“Explain,” said Draco.

“We could build a treehouse!  Or a cabin!  Something at the edge of the clearing just there,” and here Theo pointed to the brush that was free from trees, just before the rock outcropping began.  “It could be like our own private fort!”

Draco sat back and thought about this, more intrigued than he cared to admit.  There was, however, one problem with this idea.

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

“So?” asked Theo, shrugging his shoulders.  “We have magic, don’t we?  And it would give us something to do for the next couple of weeks.”

“Do you think we could really finish it before we’re gone?”

Theo frowned.  “Not if we want it to be really nice, no.  But we could put a stasis charm on it and keep working on it next summer too.  Call it a long-term project.”

Draco considered this.  “Alright…” he said slowly.  “Say I’m interested.  Why though?”

Theo shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I think it would be fun.  And it would just be ours, right?  Nobody else would ever know about it.  How many things are really just yours, Draco?”

How many things were just his?

Draco had never really thought of it in that way, but he knew Theo was right.  Draco was, in many respects, just an extension of his parents.  Sure, he had some clothes and books that were his.  But everything else – everything else – belonged to his parents.  Even his so-called friends had been selected by his father, until Draco found Theo.  And why shouldn’t he and his only true friend have something that was theirs to share?  Something that the adults in their lives would never know about?  Portloch Tarn was already a retreat.  But this would be their secret spot in Draco’s favorite place on earth.

Draco realized he really wanted to do it.

He turned to Theo and a slow smile broke out on his face.  Theo grinned broadly when he saw it and was practically bouncing on his heels with excitement in a totally uncharacteristic manner.  Draco was hit by the sudden understanding of the other reason he wanted to do this: Theo lit up as he contemplated it.  Theo seemed happy – truly happy – and Draco was not at all inclined to stop something like this if it gave Theo that much joy.

“How do you feel about letting the elves know?” asked Draco.

Theo frowned for a moment, but then nodded slowly.  “Yes,” he said.  “We probably need elf help, at least to start.  And you can give them orders, can’t you?”

“Yes, as long Father doesn’t give a conflicting order.”

Theo nodded with reassurance.  “Good.  That won’t happen.  He will never know about it.”

Draco took a deep breath and called for the elf who took care of Portloch Tarn.

“Dobby!”

The little elf appeared with a CRACK! and looked around in confusion.

“Sir?” he asked.

Draco studied the small elf.  Dobby was – to put it charitably – different than other Malfoy elves.  He had never taken orders as well as the others.  Lucius was harsh with him – far harsher than most of the other elves – and Dobby had been sent to care for Portloch Tarn all by himself several years ago after he inadvertently ruined a large dinner his mother hosted one evening.  Dobby had accidentally swapped the sugar with the salt.  Nobody had been poisoned, but the entire meal had been inedible, Lucius and Narcissa were socially disgraced, and Dobby had been thrashed within an inch of his life and then sent to Portloch Tarn as a sort of banishment. 

Draco didn’t know Dobby as well as the other elves, and his years away from the Manor had not been kind to him.  His pillowcase was dirty, and one look at him told Draco that Lucius had taken out his frustration with Draco’s marks on the small creature.

Perhaps it wasn’t Portloch Tarn that had softened Lucius, but the accessibility of an easy punching bag to vent his feelings.

Draco grimaced a little.  He didn’t particularly like Dobby, but he was more useful than Draco’s own elf for this specific task.  He knew the property better than any of them.

“Dobby,” said Draco, as he assumed the authoritative voice reminiscent of his father, “Does the library at Portloch Tarn have any books on building charms and architecture?”

Dobby frowned as he thought about it.  “I is thinking so, Sir.”

“Collect them and bring them to us,” said Draco.

Dobby hesitated and twisted his pillowcase in his hands.  “Pardon me, Sir, but I is preparing for a dinner and I is –”

“Now, Dobby,” commanded Draco.

Dobby swallowed, but bobbed and then disappeared with a CRACK!

Draco turned to find Theo looking at him disapprovingly.

“What?  I thought you wanted to build a cabin.”

“I do, but if he ruins dinner because you’re being impatient –” started Theo.

Draco rolled his eyes.  “He won’t.  Besides, we can’t do anything without some books to tell us how to get started, can we?”

Theo gave Draco a look that told him Theo was conceding this point, and then they fell into a conversation about what their cabin should look like.

“Two bedrooms, one toilet,” said Theo.

“And I suppose we need a sitting room and place to eat.”

“A kitchen too,” said Theo.  “Though it’s not like either one of us can cook.”

“No, but it won’t be a proper cabin without a kitchen will it?  And the elves can cook for us.”

“True,” said Theo.  “What else?”

“A potions lab,” said Draco.

“Oh and a miniature owlery,” added Theo.

On and on it went until they were laughing at each other’s suggestions.  “A dueling room!” cried Theo.

“I must have a servant’s staircase somewhere,” added Draco.

“A ten story Astronomy tower so it’s taller than Hogwarts,” chuckled Theo.

“How about a slide that goes all the way to that muggle lake?”

It took nearly a half hour for Dobby to return with the requested books.  He looked stressed.

“These is Master Draco’s books,” he said.  “I is needing to finish dinner now, Sir.”

“Yes, yes, go on,” said Draco, waving a hand in dismissal as he and Theo opened a book and began to pour over it.

Dobby disappeared with a CRACK!

“Step one then,” said Theo as he ran a finger down the page.  “We clear the area and pour the foundation.”

“Let’s get started then,” said Draco, as he raised his wand and cast a spell.  The clearing began to burn.

******

Draco and Theo worked all afternoon, and Draco had to admit there was something truly satisfying about their project.  They managed to clear the space they wished for the cabin – which had been revised back down to two bedrooms, one bath, and a single combined sitting, dining, and kitchen area – and then they magically marked the ground with their wands to see the entire layout before calling it for the day.  They would return the following day to pour the foundation and begin magically splitting wood from the forest for the framing.

The cabin would be simple, but with magic Draco was sure they could do it.  Most of the spells were relatively straightforward.  They hoped to have the whole thing framed and roofed before the summer ended and they were forced to halt their progress temporarily.

Sweaty, but elated, Draco and Theo made their way back to the main house.  They were talking excitedly about everything they planned to do next when they came to an abrupt halt in the front hall.

Theo’s father was there.

“Son,” said Tiberius, walking forward and wrinkling his nose at the state of Theo.

“Father,” said Theo carefully, and Draco was dismayed to see the life and joy seep out of him as he stared back.

“You are filthy,” said Tiberius.  He glanced at Draco.  “You as well.”

“Tiberius!” called Lucius, who strode in from the sitting room.  He too raised an eyebrow when he saw Draco and Theo.

“You told us to spend all day outside,” said Theo quickly.  “We’ve been hiking most of the afternoon.”

“And hunting,” added Draco quickly.  “With our wands.  We were trying to track game.”

Both men’s expressions cleared at this.  “Very well,” said Lucius.  “I suppose we can’t be cross about that.”

Then he turned to Tiberius.  “The Ministry has no ability to track spells cast on our property,” he said.  “There is quite a bit of game in the mountain on the other side of the tarn.  Draco and I have used magical traps before, but now that the boys have wands it’s a sensible way to… practice certain spells.”

Tiberius’s face broke into a grin at this.  “Excellent, Lucius.  In that case, boys, good work today.  I expect you will be doing more hunting over the next couple of weeks, yes?”

“Yes Sir,” said Theo, looking faintly ill.

“Go clean up,” said Lucius.  “We don’t dress for dinner here, but Narcissa will not have you two at the table looking like that.”

The boys said nothing, but hurried upstairs to their respective rooms, breathing a sigh of relief as they reached the top of the stairs.

“Did you know your father was coming?” asked Draco quietly.

Theo shook his head, looking perturbed.

“Well we’ll just play it like we did during that dinner over Easter then.  And I can tell you don’t like to hunt –”

“I don’t,” agreed Theo

“ –but Father is right that he and I did trapping for years here.  It’s as good an excuse as any to spend all our time out of their sight.  They wouldn’t expect us to actually catch anything yet.”

“Right,” sighed Theo.  “I s’pose I can pretend.”

Draco clapped a hand on Theo’s shoulder, and they split to clean up in their respective rooms.  Twenty minutes later they returned to the dining room and sat down just as Dobby was serving dinner with a worried look on his face.

Draco glanced down and saw that the steak and kidney pie he was serving was distinctly overdone.

“What is this?” asked Lucius, in a dangerously cold voice.

“‘Tis steak and kidney pie Sir,” said Dobby in a quavering voice.

“And why is it this dark?  Did you forget what happened the last time you ruined a meal for guests?”

Draco’s heart started to speed up, and he glanced at Theo, who looked ashen.  Something like guilt crept through Draco at this.  Dobby must have lost track of time because he was scouring the library for Draco.

“No Sir,” said Dobby.  “I can punish –”

SMACK!

Lucius backhanded the elf, who went tumbling against the wall and crumpled to the floor.

Theo opened his mouth like he wanted to protest, but Draco just frantically shook his head no.

“What’s that, Draco?” asked Lucius.  “You disagree with my discipline?”

“No Father,” said Draco quickly.  “No, I was just… trying to get something out of my eye and…”

Lucius’s mouth thinned.  “What are elves, Draco?

“Our servants,” he said automatically.

“And do they have any use to us if they fail at a task?”

“No Sir,” said Draco.

“And how should they be disciplined?”

“However their master wishes,” said Draco in a dull voice.

Draco couldn’t help but stare at Theo, who was looking stricken and oddly disappointed.  Draco just swallowed and tried to convey to Theo that he had never hit Dobby. 

The small creature rose on shaky legs and tried to bow in front of Lucius.  “I is sorry, Sir.  I is preparing something else if Sir is wishing it?”

“Quickly,” said Lucius.  “And you will be coming back to Wiltshire with us after this trip,” he added.  “It appears you have grown lazy while you have languished here alone.  It is time I took you in hand again.”

Draco felt sick, but forced his face to remain passive as Dobby gulped and bobbed.  “I is returning soon, Sir.”

The others settled into some wine and bread while they waited for Dobby to prepare something more palatable, and Tiberius began to speak.

“Well Lucius, you know the Ministry has been working through the old crowd to raid their homes for Dark objects.  Nott Manor was visited last week.  I nearly cruico’d Arthur Weasley for his interference.”

Draco and Theo’s eyes met, and they exchanged a silent agreement to keep their mouths shut.

Lucius snorted.  “Arthur Weasley.  His Muggle Protection Act is a joke.”

“Yes, but it’s getting more traction than it ought,” said Tiberius seriously.  “I’ve been speaking to my contacts in the Wizengamot about it, but you may wish to do the same thing, Lucius.  And in the meantime the raids are becoming more… personal.”

A muscle feathered in Lucius’s jaw.  “Well,” he said, “most of my Dark objects are really just dark in the eye of the beholder, yes?  One wizard’s darkness is another’s ascension to power.”

Tiberius smiled.  “That is true, is it not, Narcissa?”

Draco’s mother inclined her head cordially, but said nothing.

“I do thank you for the warning, Tiberius,” said Lucius.  “I have a few… artifacts… I may need to dispose of.  In fact, one in particular…” he sat back a bit lost in thought and then sat up to study Draco and Theo closely for a moment.

Then he appeared to change the subject.

“Tell me boys,” said Lucius, “who are Potter’s closest friends?”

Draco and Theo glanced at each other, a bit unsure about the direction of the conversation.

“Well Granger of course,” said Draco slowly.  “I’ve told you about her.”

Tiberius snorted.  “The mudblood.  She would dare cast my son from the top spot at school.”

“Draco seems to think it’s because the teachers favor her as one of Potter’s friends,” commented Lucius.

Theo cast Draco a skeptical look as though to say, really?

Draco gave him an urgent look back that said, what else was I supposed to say?

Theo appeared resigned and slumped.

“That may be true,” said Tiberius.  “I cannot fathom that a mudblood would honestly earn the top spot in every blasted subject.”

“It’s insidious,” agreed Lucius.  “They are nothing more than thieving animals – stealing jobs, money, power, even our children’s educations.”

“Too right,” declared Tiberius.  “Their blood is putrid from it.  Brown from the dirt in their veins.”

Draco and Theo were both looking straight ahead now.

“You do know her blood is muddy, yes?” asked Lucius, now speaking to Draco.  “The term ‘mudblood’ is not just a euphemism.  It is to be taken literally.”

Draco swallowed.  “Yes Sir.”

“Very well then,” said Lucius.  “Who else is among Potter’s friends?”

“Ronald Weasley,” said Draco.

“Ahh, one of Arthur’s spawn then?” asked Lucius.

Draco shrugged a little.  He hated Weasley, but the look in his father’s eye terrified him, and he wasn’t inclined to say anything else.

“Yes,” chimed Theo.  “Weasley partnered me in Potions one day and said his father’s name is Arthur.”

Draco frowned a little.  He was sure that never happened because Severus didn’t swap partners unless a student was ill, but perhaps Theo had a reason for his lie.

It’s not as though he can admit to speaking to Weasley or listening to the things he says unless it relates to class.

“He’s a pureblood then,” grunted Tiberius.

“But a blood-traitor,” added Lucius.  “That might be enough.”

“Enough for what, dear?” asked Narcissa a bit sharply.

Lucius flicked an eye at Tiberius.  “Never you mind, dear.  Just some business.”

There was an uncomfortable silence for a long moment before Narcissa abruptly switched the subject to something safer for all parties.

Soon Dobby limped back into the dining room to serve a new dinner and the group stayed on innocuous topics for the rest of the meal.  But as Tiberius and Lucius disappeared together after dinner behind closed doors with drinks in hand, Draco couldn’t help but look at Theo a bit worriedly.

“What do you reckon?” asked Draco.

Theo shrugged nervously.  “Don’t know.  But our fathers hate all three of them don’t they?”

“So do I,” said Draco automatically, though Theo just rolled his eyes.  

“You might hate Potter and Weasley, but not Granger.”

“I –” said Draco.

Theo frowned.  “You don’t hate Granger.  Not really.”

Draco ground his teeth.  “I don’t like Granger.”

“Perhaps not, but you don’t hate her either.  Admit it.  And having our fathers’ attention on her…”

“Fine,” sighed Draco.  “I certainly don’t like that, you’re right.  The less they say about her the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

Theo nodded slowly.  “In that case… call Dobby again.”

Draco gave him a questioning look but did so.  Dobby appeared with a CRACK!

“Yes Sir?” asked Dobby.

Theo looked at Draco.  “Order him to listen in.”

Draco’s eyebrows flew up for a moment as he thought about it.  Then slowly, choosing his words very carefully, he said, “Dobby, I need you to find out what my father and Tiberius Nott are up to.  It’s something involving Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.”

~*~

Dear Journal,

Theo’s father is here at Portloch Tarn, and I don’t like it.

For one thing, we’ve never hosted visitors here before this summer.  I know Theo is his son, but it feels like he intruded on a safe place for us the minute we saw him.  Theo looked like he was going to faint, and he’s barely smiled since Tiberius arrived.

Now he and my father have locked themselves in the study, and Salazar knows what they are planning.  I’ve ordered Dobby to listen in on it, and report back to me what they say.  

I don’t care about Potter and Weasley of course, and I swear I don’t care about Granger that much either, but I’ll admit I like her more than I like them.  I just don’t want Father targeting her, that’s all.  Theo said some things to make me think he might have killed somebody once, and while I’m not sure if that’s true… I just think it would be easier if he stays away from her.

We will see what Dobby has to say about it.  I’m probably being ridiculous.  

Chapter Text

8 August 1992

Dobby’s spying had been unfruitful.  The only message he managed to convey to Draco was, “There is a plot to harm Harry Potter!”

Draco found himself feeling a bit skeptical of this, especially when Dobby couldn’t give him any details before slamming his head against a wall in punishment.  Draco was sure Lucius didn’t like Potter, and he certainly believed Lucius would do his best to make Potter’s life difficult.  But despite Theo’s hints that Lucius had once been a murderer, true bodily harm for The Boy Who Lived seemed a bit far-fetched.  

Besides, Draco didn’t really care about Potter.  He cared – if he could call it that – about Granger.

Dobby had nothing at all to say about her, not even when Draco asked about Potter’s mudblood.  Draco could tell Dobby was anxious about whatever he had overheard, but then again the elf was absolutely petrified of Lucius.  He was scared of Draco too by association, and without knowing any details Draco was forced to give it up.

He did, however, tell Dobby to do something about it if he thought it was really that serious.

“But my master is ordering me not to!” insisted Dobby.

“So?” asked Draco, rolling his eyes in frustration.  “Nobody wants Father getting into trouble.  Either this thing he’s supposedly plotting is not a big deal or you should put a stop to it.  I’ll consider you to be responsible if he ends up in Azkaban.”

Dobby blanched at this – or as much as an elf could blanche at any rate – and then swallowed hard, but fell silent.

“As I thought,” drawled Draco.  “Nothing’s going to happen.  Besides, even if it did, Potter’s not the one that concerns me.  That specky git has it coming.  As long as Granger wasn’t mentioned, I’m not worried about it.”

“They is not talking about her, Sir,” confirmed Dobby.

“Then forget about it unless it’s something that could send Father to Azkaban.”

Secure in the knowledge that Lucius’s focus was not on Granger, Draco put it out of his mind for the rest of their trip to Portloch Tarn, and soon he forgot all about it as the day grew closer for his broom fitting.  The Malfoys went back to the Manor for the month of August, and Theo returned home to his father as well – much to his dismay.

The moment Draco crossed the threshold at Malfoy Manor, he felt the magic of Portloch Tarn slipping away from him.  The boys had managed to frame and roof their cabin before they left and cast any number of stasis charms to keep it intact until they returned, but Draco’s heart ached that it would be a full year before he got to see it again.  Within a few days the whole thing felt like a dream out of somebody’s else's life, and Draco could scarcely believe that he and Theo had really started a project like that.  

Draco found the week spent at the Manor alone once again to be dreadfully boring, and his nerves were getting the better of him as he considered his new broom and his prospects at making the House team the following year.  Draco adored Quidditch, but it wasn’t like he had endless opportunities to practice for the last year.  What if his new broom wasn’t enough?  What if he went through this fitting and got the perfect thing for him, but he still didn’t make the team?  It wasn’t that he was no longer excited about his broom – he was – but he had gotten into his own head about his skills, and it was taking the shine off as the day grew closer.

By the time the day for his fitting rolled around, Draco was in a very foul mood due to nerves and his Father’s snide comments.  Lucius still had not fully forgiven Draco for coming in third place with his marks, and he continued to chastise Draco about it.  When he wasn’t expressing his disappointment in Draco, Lucius was complaining about the Ministry and the raids that Tiberius had mentioned at dinner that evening in Portloch Tarn.

It meant that Draco and Lucius were both very on edge when Lucius took him to Diagon Alley to collect his school things and have his broom fitting.  They had been snipping at each other all morning, and it was made worse by the fact that Lucius insisted on running errands before they could get to the main event.

Draco started the morning by accompanying Narcissa to Madame Malkins for brand new school robes.

“I despise this,” he grumbled.

“Stop complaining, Draco, or I’ll tell your father to cancel your broom fitting.”

Draco didn’t really believe that his mother would follow through on her threat, but he was unwilling to encourage a negative report to Lucius in any event.  The entire fitting took nearly an hour before Draco was handed off to Lucius for the rest of the morning, while Narcissa whisked their shopping home.

Once in the custody of Lucius, Draco was directed toward Knockturn Alley to visit Borgin and Burkes.  It was a dark objects shop Lucius had taken Draco to a handful of times, and it was filled with fascinating things that could usually hold his attention.  But today Draco just wanted to get to his broomstick fitting and get it over with.  And he wanted to know he was good enough to make the House team.  And he wanted Granger to look at him the next time she saw him.  And he wanted his father to stop being so difficult about his sodding grades.  And he wanted Theo back.  And he wanted to return to the cabin at Portloch Tarn.  

Yes, Draco was in a true state as his broom fitting approached, and he scowled when his father pushed open the door to Borgin and Burkes and a bell tinkled somewhere deep in the shop.

“Touch nothing, Draco,” said Lucius.

Draco rolled his eyes.  “I thought you were going to buy me a present,” he said sarcastically.

“I said I would buy you a racing broom,” drawled Lucius.

“What’s the good of that if I’m not on the House team?” Draco asked bitterly.  “Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year.  Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor.  He’s not even that good, it’s just because he’s famous… famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead… everything thinks he’s so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick –”

“You have told me this at least a dozen times already,” said Lucius in a bored voice that set Draco’s teeth on edge.  “And I would remind you that it is not – prudent – to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear – ah, Mr. Borgin.”

Draco just snorted to himself as his father’s words.  He knew perfectly well that Lucius didn’t care at all about Potter and privately wished the Dark Lord had managed to survive.  And yes, perhaps Draco talked about Potter more than he ought, but it was entirely a reflection of how his summer had gone with his father.

Lucius couldn’t seem to drop it, so Draco couldn’t either.

“Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again,” said Borgin.  “Delighted – and young Master Malfoy, too – charmed.  How may I be of assistance?  I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced–”

“I’m not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling,” said Lucius.

Draco struggled not to fidget next to his father.

“Selling?” 

“You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids,” said Lucius.  “I have a few – ah – items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call…”

“The Ministry wouldn’t presume to trouble you, Sir, surely?”

“I have not been visited yet.  The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome.  There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act – no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it, and as you can see, certain of these poisons might make it appear–”

“I understand, Sir, of course,” said Borgin.  “Let me see…”

Draco was tuning them out and looking around the shop for something to do.  Then he saw an odd item that looked like a severed hand on a faded purple cushion that momentarily distracted him from his nerves.

“Can I have that?” he asked, as he pointed to it.

“Ah, the Hand of Glory!” cried Borgin, now turning his attention to Draco.  “Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder!  Best friend of thieves and plunders!  Your son has fine taste, Sir.”

“I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin,” said Lucius coldly.

“No offense, Sir, no offense meant –”

“Though if his grades don’t pick up,” said Lucius, now scowling at Draco, “that may indeed be all he is fit for.”

Draco’s face burned with embarrassment.  He didn’t care about Borgin, not at all – but Lucius was castigating Draco publicly, which he almost never did.  Usually the Malfoys kept their dirty laundry to themselves.

“It’s not my fault!” cried Draco.  “The teachers all have favorites, that Hermione Granger–” he said as he automatically fell back on the story he had been telling his father all summer.

“I would have thought you’d be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam,” snapped Lucius.

Draco’s cheeks burned even harder, as he realized Lucius was prepared to double down if Draco didn’t shut his mouth.

“It’s the same all over,” said Borgin knowingly.  “Wizarding blood is counting for less everywhere–”

“Not with me,” said Lucius snidely.

“No, Sir, nor with me, Sir,” said Borgin quickly.

“In that case, perhaps we can return to my list,” said Lucius.  “I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today–”

Draco scowled and struggled to control his breathing as he turned away from his father as he began to haggle with Borgin.

“I’d say a hundred galleons for the lot, though I’m afraid this item may not be—” started Borgin.

“I have it just here, if you care to see it,” interrupted Lucius.  “It’s quite valuable, and I won’t even require payment for it… I just want you to ensure that it makes its way to one of the individuals I’ve denoted on the parchment here…”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mr. Malfoy.  I’ve not seen any members of that family in this part of Knockturn in months.  But the rest of your list are all things we would happily purchase, though the asking price of that item is rather high…”

Draco tuned them out as he moved around the shop, glancing at any number of oddities scattered about.  His eyes roved over some masks that looked terrifying, a glass eyeball that was a suspicious vivid blue, an opal necklace that Draco nearly touched before he saw a small placard saying that it was cursed, and a stuffed crow that was giving off an odd stench of shoe polish.  

As he passed by the last display case he noticed a tall cabinet in one corner.  It was made of dark wood that was almost black, with carvings set into it.  It wouldn’t have looked out of place at Malfoy Manor.  He squinted and saw that they must be runes, though he couldn’t make them out clearly from a distance.  He knew he wasn’t supposed to touch anything, but something about that cabinet was calling to him.

He reached out a hand and slowly started to approach it when his father’s voice jolted him away.

“Done,” said Lucius.  “Come, Draco–”

Draco dropped his hand, his heart pounding as he stared at the cabinet.  He took a step back, and the moment he did, the compulsion he was feeling to approach it withered.  He blinked, only now realizing the cabinet must have magical properties that encouraged his undivided attention.  He cast one last, uncomfortable look at it as he turned and followed his father toward the front of the shop.

“Good day to you, Mr. Borgin.  I’ll expect you at the Manor tomorrow to pick up the goods.”

Borgin bowed them out, and the moment the door shut, Lucius turned and sneered at him.

“I expect a better performance from you, Draco,” he hissed.  “Sniveling like a child for gifts and treats while I am trying to conduct matters of business.  You are twelve years old.  If you wish to keep your appointment at Quality Quidditch Supplies this afternoon, then you had best straighten up!”

Draco very much wished to talk back, but Lucius’s threat stuck.  So instead of retorting, he just dropped his eyes and nodded once.

“Good,” said Lucius coldly as he stepped back.  “Then come along.  I have something to ask you.”

Draco now raised his eyes to his father’s face, but Lucius was not looking at him.  He appeared to be turning over a problem in his mind as he gripped Draco by the arm and pulled him into a very narrow alleyway between the old shops of Knockturn Alley.  They squeezed together, and Draco shuddered a little, as Lucius pulled out his wand to cast a series of privacy charms around them.

“Now then… it’s best to discuss this here before we head back to Diagon Alley for your books.”

Draco looked at his father warily.  Knockturn Alley was distinctly seedier than Diagon Alley, with the shops favoring darker interests and peddlers hawking disturbing wares.  The clientele, too, felt just on the edge of criminal, but it had never made Draco nervous before.  His father seemed untouchable in this place, and Draco was always given the benefit of Lucius’s shadow and protection whenever they visited together.  Now, however, the coldness on Lucius’s face made Draco falter.

A chill creeped up his neck, and his hair stood on end.  And for the first time that Draco could remember, he desperately wanted to leave Knockturn Alley and return to the bright and cheerful shops of Diagon Alley nearby. 

“What is it?” asked Draco carefully. 

“What else?  I wish to discuss Potter, Weasley, and the Granger girl.”

Draco – who had been ‘discussing’ them with Lucius all summer – immediately clammed up.

Lucius seemed to notice Draco’s expression, because he gave Draco a chastising look.  “Come now, I do not wish to fight about them.  I only wish to know… what classes do you have with them?”

Draco frowned.  He could not make sense of this, and he was sure Lucius knew the answer already.

“Just Potions.”

“Nothing else?”

“No, of course not.”

“And you have… no other way of communicating with them?”

Draco’s frown deepened.

“Father, whatever it is you want me to tell them…”

“No, no Draco – I am not being clear.  I would simply like to pass along a package to one of them, and I am curious if you think that is something you could manage on an anonymous basis.  And if so, how they might react to receiving it.”

Draco froze, his sense of unease growing.

“What sort of thing?”

“Just a book, it’s nothing more than that.”

Every instinct that Draco possessed was screaming at him that something was very wrong.  But he could not refuse his father outright, he knew that.  He had to hedge, and he had to do it very carefully.

“I could send an anonymous owl I suppose,” he said with an intentionally careless drawl, as he tried to bury all thoughts of the two anonymous notes he had already sent to Granger the previous year.

“Oh?” asked Lucius with interest.

“Yes, there are school owls I could use to do it… but I think they would find it suspicious, even if it was just a book.”

“And why do you believe that?”

Draco shrugged in what he hoped was a casual way.

“I just do.  Potter and Granger don’t have any relatives in the wizarding world, so who would send them anonymous gifts?  And Weasley is too poor for something like that to be sent to him.  They would surely ask each other about it, and when none of them owned up to sending it I think they would report it to a teacher.”

His heart was racing, because he knew this wasn’t strictly true.  Granger might have believed that potions book he sent her the previous year to be from Severus initially, but Draco then sent a follow-up note and gift and told her that her suspicions were incorrect.  To his knowledge, she had never reported it.

But maybe she didn’t report it because by the time she learned it wasn’t from Severus she assumed it was harmless?

Draco couldn’t say for sure, though he was suddenly very curious to test the limits of Granger’s tolerance for anonymous gifts.

Still, it wasn’t like he could tell Lucius this, and Draco had no interest in passing along anything that had once belonged to his father.

“Mmmm, I see,” said Lucius.  “And I suppose that teacher would be McGonagall?”

“Or Dumbledore,” said Draco, who now rolled his eyes.  “He keeps a very close watch on Potter.”

Lucius looked lost in thought at this news, though he was nodding slowly as if in agreement.

“Very well… I will have to think on a different way to… and yes, it’s probably best if you are not involved or Narcissa might… yes.”

Lucius was not speaking clearly now, but Draco knew better than to interrupt.  Sure enough, Lucius finally nodded and then looked back at Draco squarely.

“Nevermind, Draco.  I will come up with some alternative solution.  Now then, it’s time we collect your books and other supplies before going to the appointment.  Do you have your book list?”

“Yes Sir,” said Draco quietly as Lucius cancelled the privacy charms and led Draco back to the main street and around the corner to the much more cheerful atmosphere of Diagon Alley.  The bustling shops that were squeezed together on either side of the cobblestone boulevard came as a great relief.

Draco let the familiar sights and sounds of Diagon Alley sooth him.  This had always been one of his favorite places to visit, even when it was crowded with shoppers preparing for the new school year at Hogwarts.  Unlike Knockturn Alley, Draco had been allowed to roam free here since he was ten years old, because there was nothing in Diagon Alley that could harm him.

They passed Florean Fortescue’s ice cream shop, with a rainbow of ice cream flavors visible through the windows.  Then they hurried past the Magical Menagerie, which always made Draco slow just a little bit.  There were usually cats or rats in the window, or – like today – colorful puffskeins that seemed to vibrate whenever a child rapped on the glass. 

It was only as they approached Flourish and Blotts that Draco dug out his Hogwarts letter for the year and finally looked at the booklist.

The thing he found was so surprising he halted in the middle of the street.

“Father,” he said.

Lucius paused too and turned around.

“What is it, Draco?” he asked in a curt voice.

“Apparently I’m supposed to get a ridiculous number of books for Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.”

Lucius’s eyes narrowed at this, as he snatched the list from Draco’s hand.

“Let me see that,” he said as he scanned down the list.  To Draco’s surprise his lips curled into a wry smile as he reviewed it.

“Never you mind,” he said, handing the list back to Draco.  “I doubt any of those books will prove helpful, knowing who the author is.”

“You know him then?” asked Draco, as he caught up to fall in step with his father.  Despite the recent tension with Lucius, Draco was craving normalcy after weeks of snide comments and uncomfortable conversations.

“Mmmm,” said Lucius.  “He was at Hogwarts a couple years above me.  Absolute fraud if there ever was one.  Can’t imagine what Dumbledore is playing at, but then again… Defense is the least useful class at that school outside of Muggle Studies.”

Draco nodded slowly.  

“In fact,” added Lucius, now with a note of humor in his voice, “I rather say having Lockhart there to ‘help’ this year should be beneficial to my plans.”

“What plans?” asked Draco, whose mind was plunged back into worry.  “Is it something involving that book you wanted me to– oomph.”

Lucius flicked his wand and sealed Draco’s mouth shut so he could not speak.

“Didn’t I say we shouldn’t discuss it here?  I mean it, Draco.  Forget all about it.  I shouldn’t have said a word.  Nod if you understand me.”

Draco nodded, and Lucius flicked his wand to unseal Draco’s mouth.

“Good.  That is enough of that.  Now come along, and let’s get those books, useless though they may be…”

Draco knew better than to say anything else, lest his lips be sealed shut again.  He allowed Lucius to lead him toward the shop and push open the door to reveal a large crowd.

“Speaking of which…” said Lucius with amusement, “there’s your new professor now.”

Draco stared at the very attractive, blonde wizard with shockingly shiny teeth.  He was signing copies of a book called Magical Me, and Draco saw a line of middle-aged witches snaking through the shop to get an autograph.

So that’s Gilderoy Lockhart.

Draco thought his father might have the right of it.  He was certainly a pretty face, but Draco doubted that Lockhart had any brains or skills to go with it.

Lucius chuckled and clapped Draco on the shoulder.  “Get your books, son, and then we will be off to Quality Quidditch Supplies.”

Draco nodded as Lucius wandered off.  Just then his attention was pulled away by a commotion near the signing table when Lockhart pulled none other than Harry Potter in for a photograph.  It was obvious The Daily Prophet was there to do a write-up about the book signing.

Draco’s breath caught when he noticed Potter, and automatically he searched the shop for her and there…

Hermione Granger was standing off to one side, flipping eagerly through the Lockhart books and chatting animatedly with two people who looked a bit like her.  Draco’s stomach clenched as he observed them.  They appeared to be fairly normal, though they were wearing muggle clothing instead of robes.  Granger’s father was tall and slim with thinning brown hair and spectacles.  Granger’s mother had riotous curls just like her daughter, though hers were pinned neatly into a low chignon at the nape of her neck.  She was wearing a well-cut linen dress in sky blue.   Draco knew they were muggles, but they also didn’t look like they lived in filth.  In fact, if Draco didn’t know better he would have said that Narcissa owned an identical dress to the one that Granger’s mother was wearing.  

Draco’s brain slipped.

It was just so odd.  They were supposed to be different from him – lower than him.  These weren’t just mudbloods, but muggles.  Draco had never seen a muggle in his life.  And yet, the only hint that these two were muggles was the look of wonder and delight on their faces as they surveyed the contents of the shop.  If it wasn’t so obvious that all of this was new to them, Draco would never have been able to tell.  Enough wizards wore muggle clothing these days that it was no longer the dead giveaway that it used to be. 

He swallowed as he remembered he had been fooled by Granger herself not even a year ago.  She had appeared perfectly confident in the magical world the first time Draco met her, and that was why she had pulled the wool over his eyes for so long.  Her parents would have done the same thing except for the expressions on their faces and Draco’s prior knowledge of who and what they were.  

Unsure of what, exactly, he was supposed to do with this information, Draco allowed his gaze to slide to the girl next to them.  Granger was a miniature of her mother in a light blue shirt and plaid skirt that was far shorter than their school uniform.  Instead of loafers she was wearing shoes made out of a pure white fabric with laces, though as she turned around to retrieve another book Draco caught a blue label on the heel of each shoe that matched her skirt rather well.  

Her curls were wild today, and her skin darker than he was used to seeing at school.  It was obvious she had spent time in the sun recently.  She had grown a little bit over the summer, but then again so had he.  The previous year they were roughly the same height.  Now he thought he would edge her out if he stood close enough to her to know for sure.

Look at me.

Granger, however, didn’t notice Draco.  She was too busy picking up books and talking excitedly with her parents about each one.  Every time she turned back toward Draco he could see her eyes sparkling.

Then she cast an admiring look toward Lockhart, which made Draco freeze.  An odd feeling twisted in Draco’s stomach that he didn’t immediately recognize, and he felt his lip curl.

Suddenly seized with the need to draw her attention to him, Draco approached Potter, who was standing close enough to Granger that she was sure to notice him.

“Bet you loved that, didn’t you Potter?” said Draco.  “Famous Harry Potter.  Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”

“Leave him alone, he didn’t want all that!” said a small redheaded girl.

Draco glanced down curiously and saw she was a tiny thing.  She had chocolate brown eyes, freckles on her nose, and a fierce expression that looked quite familiar.  He didn’t recognize her, but it was obvious who she belonged to by the slightly ratty T-shirt she was wearing and worn sneakers.  This was a Weasley – probably a Weasley even younger than the Weasel himself. 

“Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!” crowed Draco.

He glanced at Granger, who was looking at him now, and Draco found himself basking in it.  He didn’t care that she was frowning.  He hadn’t seen her in weeks, and the first time back she was no longer ignoring Draco.  He saw her whisper something to her parents before breaking away and joining the Weasel next to Potter.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Weasley with a sneer.  “Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?”

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,” Draco retorted.  “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.”

He tossed his head in the direction of the beat up old cauldron the tiniest Weasley girl was holding that was being used to carry all of their books.

Weasley started to lunge toward Draco, but Potter and Granger sprang forward to hold him back.

“Ron!” said a tall, thin red-headed man, who was hurrying over to the group.  Behind him Draco recognized the Weasley twins, and he took a small step back.  Out of all the Weasleys in the school, the twins were by far the most intimidating.  

Draco just assumed an innocent expression as the redheaded man said,  “What are you doing?  It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside.”

“Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley,” came Lucius’s voice from behind.

Lucius placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder and gripped it.  Automatically Draco straightened up, and his eyes flicked toward Granger, who was now watching his father warily.  Her gaze dropped to Draco, and her eyes narrowed a bit as she stepped back toward her own parents.  Draco could practically feel his father tracking her progress, and his nerves from earlier came rushing back.

“Lucius,” said Arthur coldly.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” said Lucius.  “All those raids… I hope they’re paying you overtime?”

He stepped around Draco and reached into the small girl’s cauldron and pulled out a tattered book.

“Obviously not,” he sneered.  “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

The tall man flushed a deep red.  “We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy.”

“Clearly,” said Lucius, now looking toward Granger’s parents.  

He allowed himself a long pause as his eyes moved over all three of them, and Draco’s jaw tensed as Granger glared back.  There was a sudden thickening of magic in the air, and instinctively Draco knew it must be coming from her.  As he watched, Granger’s mother placed a hand on her shoulder, in much the same way Lucius had just done to Draco.  Unlike Lucius, however, Granger’s mother appeared to be stroking a spot at the nape of her neck with her thumb.  Draco couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away as Granger’s entire demeanor relaxed ever so slightly, and the excess magic seemed to drain away from the small group.

Fascinating.

“The company you keep, Weasley…” said Lucius in a quiet voice, as his gaze was fixed on the Grangers.  “And I thought your family could sink no lower–”

There was a thud as the small girl’s cauldron went flying, and Arthur Weasley threw himself at Lucius.  Without a second thought, Draco jumped away and toward the Grangers.  He nearly stumbled right into Granger herself, and their eyes met in mutual shock before turning to watch the fight in progress.  Draco had never seen his father in a fistfight before, not once.  And yet, he was giving it back to Arthur Weasley nearly as well as he was taking it.  He was still holding the book he had grabbed from the cauldron, and he was doing his best to pummel Arthur with it.

“Do something,” hissed a voice, and it was the only thing that could have torn Draco’s attention away from the brawl.

He spun around to find Granger staring at him, talking to him, and definitely not ignoring him.

“What?” he asked inelegantly.  He could barely process this change in behavior from her.

“I said, do something,” she insisted.  “They can’t be…”

She made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat as she gestured toward them.  Draco glared at her.

“What am I supposed to do?  Stun them?  I don’t know how!”

The confession just slipped out, and Draco’s cheeks reddened a bit by his admission that there was something he didn’t know how to do, but Granger didn’t seem surprised by it.  She huffed with irritation and drew her wand.  She began to point it at them, no doubt fully prepared to prove that she knew how to stun the pair or at least force them apart.  Draco’s eyes widened, all embarrassment forgotten, and he grabbed her hand to move her wand away.

“Are you bloody insane?” he demanded, before glancing at her parents, who were watching everything with shocked expressions.  “You can’t bring them here and then point a wand at my father!  He will… will…” Draco trailed off because he wasn’t precisely sure what Lucius would do.  Draco only knew it would be something bad.  He just gripped her hand harder and forced her wand down.

Her jaw dropped, and she yanked her hand out of his before opening her mouth to say something else.  She was distracted by a loud voice echoing through the bookshop.

“Break it up, there, gents, break it up–”

Rubeus Hagrid rumbled over and grabbed both men by the collars before separating them easily.  He plopped each wizard on his feet and brushed them off as he admonished them.

Lucius wasn’t listening.  He had a dangerous expression on his face as he thrust the old book back into the small redheaded girl’s hand.

“Here, girl – take your book – it’s the best your father can give you–” he snarled.

She was shaking as she reached out and slipped the book back into her cauldron.  Lucius had a curious look in his eyes now – it was both vicious and oddly triumphant as he watched her put the book away.  Arthur Weasley’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t try to stop it as Lucius immediately stepped away and surveyed the whole group.

Only then did he notice Draco standing near Granger and the muggles.  Draco practically leapt away from them at his father’s expression, and he ducked his head as he hurried over to join Lucius.

Lucius clapped a firm hand on Draco’s shoulder and steered him toward the table with second year curriculum, where Draco hastily grabbed a copy of each book himself before taking it to the counter to pay.

As he left, he couldn’t help but look back to find the Granger standing a little apart from Potter and the Weasleys.  

Look at me.

To Draco’s utter delight, she finally did.

******

“He’s 152 centimeters.  A bit tall for his age, Sir,” said the representative at Quality Quidditch Supplies.  “He’s lean though.  That will be good for speed.  Come over here, sonny, and try this.”

The Comet representative was clearly trying to chat up Lucius and Draco as he courted their business.  Lucius, however, was uncharacteristically silent as he watched the fitting take place.  Draco had already tried and dismissed everything from Cleansweep.  Moontrimmer had some potential, but something about it didn’t feel quite right.  And this was the last model from Comet before they were out of the running too.

Draco settled on the Comet 500 and immediately jumped off again.

“No.  It feels worse than my training broom.”

The Comet representative got a grim look on his face, but just bowed before backing away.

“Nimbus then,” said the Quality Quidditch Supplies employee.  “As I suspected.  Come along.”

The Nimbus representative looked younger and sportier than the others, and Draco instinctively liked him.  He lined up four brooms, including their newest model.  Draco’s gaze drifted toward the broom that was third from the end.

“Take that one out,” he said, pointing to the Nimbus 2000.

The representative frowned.  “We can, certainly, but based on your statistics, it’s likely to be the best fit for you.”

“No.  Potter has that broom.  I don’t care what it feels like, I’m not getting the same one as him.”

The Nimbus representative raised an eyebrow, but did as Draco requested and removed the Nimbus 2000.

“Now then,” he said, pointing to the remaining three.  “We have the Nimbus Excel Series 1 and Nimbus Excel Series 2.  Then of course our newest release from the Nimbus 2001 Series.  It’s brand new, only just came out.”

Draco moved forward and sat down, and immediately he could tell these were better than the others.  “I like the Series 1 more than the Moontrimmer,” he said, and the Quality Quidditch Supplies employee nodded firmly and summarily dismissed the Moontrimmer representative from the room.  He left with a faintly disappointed look.

“Of the three though…” said Draco, as he moved from one to the next.

Everyone waited patiently while he tried them and took a short fly on each.

“Definitely the 2001,” he declared as he came in for a landing.  

The Nimbus representative gave a knowing smile.  

“Excellent.  And you’re sure you don’t want to try–”

“No,” said Draco quickly.  “No, it’s not necessary.  The 2001 is better than the 2000.  It will give me an advantage in the air.”

The Nimbus representative wisely shut his mouth and nodded.  Then he turned to address Lucius.

“We can charm the broom to grow with him so he won’t need any resizing as he gets older.  We can also key it to his magical signature so that he’s the only person who can fly it.”

“Let’s add both of those,” said Lucius, nodding imperiously.

The representative grinned and then turned to Draco.  “If that’s your choice, then we will put in the order.  You should have it by the end of the week.”

Draco found himself starting to smile, the nerves from earlier in the day melting away now that he had found a truly fantastic broom.  And even better, it outstripped Potter’s.

“Yes, that’s what I want,” he said simply.

Lucius stood and went to the counter to arrange the order, and a few minutes later they were leaving the shop together and heading back toward the Leaky Cauldron to floo home.

“Thank you, Father,” said Draco cordially.  “I am eager to start practicing.”

Lucius made an indistinct sound at this as he seemed lost in thought.

It was only as they crossed the threshold at Malfoy Manor that Lucius pulled Draco aside and stared at him intently.

“Tell me again, Draco, what are mudbloods?”

Draco swallowed, but forced his face to remain expressionless as the image of Granger floated across his mind.

“They are magical beings who are little better than animals, Sir,” he recited.  

It was the same answer he had given dozens of times as a child.

Lucius inclined his head.  “And when you were close to one today… did it have a stench?” he asked.

“I…” Draco trailed off.

“Yes?” prompted his father. 

Draco swallowed hard but refused to let his face change.  “Yes Sir.  It smelled terrible, Sir.”

“And what color is a mudblood’s blood?”

“Brown.  Dirty.  It’s not red like ours.”

“Correct,” said Lucius.  “I won’t have to remind you of this again, will I?”

“Of course not.”

To Draco’s surprise, Lucius now crouched just a little to make sure he was on the same eye level as Draco.  

“I know that fight probably took you by surprise,” he said in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.  “But even during a fight, Draco, you should move toward the purebloods.  The Weasleys have their own stink, but it won’t be as foul as a mudblood’s.”

Draco’s eyes stared into his father’s and saw his own face in their reflection.  Lucius’s eyes were flinty, despite the understanding tone of voice.  Draco could see that his face was giving away his conflicted feelings about Granger – his almost compulsive need to hold her attention while also pushing her away from him at the same time.  Sure enough, Lucius’s gaze sharpened as he studied Draco.

Then something seemed to settle over him as he pulled back and stood up.

“But no matter, Draco. You have another year before I explain matters of a physical nature to you, and no doubt when you understand what is expected of you then you will comprehend why you need to keep your distance.  In any event, I’m sure that whatever unnatural inclinations you have toward Miss Granger will resolve themselves in due course.  Now go upstairs and dress for dinner.  Tiberius and Theo will be here soon for your belated celebration.”

He swept away, and Draco nearly sprinted up the stairs to his room before shutting the door and leaning against it.

He had his broomstick.  He had a real chance for the team.  His best friend was coming back tonight, and Draco knew they would both plead with their fathers to let him stay for the rest of the summer.  And Granger…

Draco’s eyes closed as he remembered every moment.  He wished he knew more about those physical relationships his father alluded to, but he knew better than to ask before it was time for him to learn.  But still, the word physical reminded Draco of that moment in the shop when he grabbed her hand and pulled her wand down.  He had touched her, again.  That was twice in one year he had touched her.

Draco felt both warm and sick at the thought.  What was it about her that made him always look her way?  Why couldn’t he just hate her like he was meant to?  Hating her friends was no problem at all, but hating her…

Draco knew he didn’t hate her, not really.  In fact, he didn’t hate her so much that he went out of his way to catch her attention.  And today he finally had it.  He relished it.  He held her attention better today than he had in over six months.  She had actually spoken to him, and she did it before he said a single word to her.

Draco exhaled as he remembered that moment.  It was a personal triumph that he couldn’t share with anybody but himself.

He had to find a way to do it again.

~*~

Dear Journal,

Father has asked me the same question my whole life: what are mudbloods?

I know the answer I’m supposed to give to him: they are magical beings who are little better than animals.

Over the last year I’ve discovered a different answer to that question that I can’t tell Father, and it’s this: mudbloods are Granger.  I know she is dirty, but I was close to her today, and she still smelled like summer.  It reminded me of Portloch Tarn.  I know her blood is brown, but the water in the tarn looks a little brown too.  It’s still my favorite place in the world.

I realized something else about mudbloods today.  Cruelty makes them react, or I should say it makes Granger react.  I said some things to Potter and Weasley that I know she didn’t like, and she spoke to me for the first time since Christmas.  She reacted to Father’s cruelty too and would have hexed him if I didn’t stop her from doing it.

This has given me an idea.

Maybe if I act like Father, Granger won’t be able to ignore me anymore. 

Chapter Text

1 September 1992 

Theo and Draco successfully begged their fathers to let Theo stay with Draco for the remainder of the summer.  They fell into a routine where they studied together in the mornings and then Draco practiced his flying while Theo sketched in the afternoons.  Draco was shocked to discover Theo’s hidden talent, but he was surprisingly good.

“My mother gave me art lessons when I was growing up.  Father has no idea of course.”

Draco conveyed this Narcissa, who slipped Theo a sketchpad and new charcoal pencils, and over the course of the next few weeks Theo sketched any number of things around the Manor: the flowers in the garden, the small pond filled with frogs resting on a log, and even a picture of Draco diving for the practice snitch he was using over an empty field near the Manor.

“Well it’s all you’ve done for the last two weeks,” said Theo reasonably, when Draco expressed surprise at the likeness.  “I think I have a fairly good idea of what it looks like, even though you don’t stay still.”

Lucius was kept blissfully unaware of Theo’s pastime so that Tiberius would remain unaware of it as well.  Narcissa, however, seemed to approve.  Despite her support of Draco’s efforts in Quidditch, Narcissa had always been more of a lover of art than sport.  She connected to Theo with a shared interest, and Draco got the impression she was keen to mother him just a little bit.  

At the end of summer Narcissa even sat for a portrait.  She gave it to Lucius the night before the boys left for Hogwarts, and she and the boys pretended that it was something they had done on a lark with one of the village artists in Hogsmeade.  Lucius adored it, and Narcissa’s eyes twinkled with mirth as she exchanged a conspiratorial look with Theo and Draco.

“It’s a wonderful depiction my dear,” said Lucius thoughtfully as he stared at it.  “It is more casual than our formal portraits of course, but you look absolutely whimsical in it.  I will have it framed for my study.”

Truthfully, Draco loved it as well, and he was determined to ask Theo for another at the earliest opportunity.  He missed Narcissa during the school year more than he cared to admit.

With the promise of care packages to come and a whisper from Narcissa that she would keep Theo well-stocked with fresh sketchbooks and charcoal, the boys packed their things and arrived at Platform 9 ¾ with fifteen minutes to spare.

Instinctively, Draco’s eyes started to dart around.

It took him a few moments to spot them, but there.  He saw Arthur Weasley and his wife with the twins.  The older Weasley boy, the small Weasley girl, and Granger was also standing nearby, though Granger’s parents were missing.  

Potter and Ron Weasley were also nowhere to be found.  

Draco’s eyes were locked on them, but he didn’t dare approach them while his father was near.

“I wish both of you a good term,” said Lucius, as he came to stand in front of them.  Draco pursed his lips a bit as it cut off Granger from view.

“Yes, do have a good term,” said Narcissa.  “Write to us when you arrive and if you need anything.”

“And I expect better marks this year – from both of you,” added Lucius sternly.

Draco exchanged a quick glance with Theo, but they both nodded at this before shaking Lucius’s hand and kissing Narcissa on the cheek.  Then they gathered their trunks and made their way to the train, while catching a glimpse of Crabbe and Goyle in the distance.  They must have already found a compartment, because they had just hopped off the train without any luggage between them.

They came rumbling over.

“Good summer?” grunted Crabbe.

“Quite,” drawled Draco.  “Take our trunks, will you?”

Theo rolled his eyes at this, but Crabbe grabbed one trunk and Goyle grabbed the other while Theo and Draco followed behind.

“Really?” muttered Theo.

“This is what they’re good for,” said Draco.

“That and helping you bully Potter and Weasley,” said Theo in a disapproving voice.

“We’ve been over this,” said Draco sternly.  “We agree to disagree about all of that.”

Theo rolled his eyes again, but said nothing as he shoved his hands in his pockets and eyed the group of redheads that was boarding in front of them.

“Where are they though?” he muttered.

Draco shrugged.  “Couldn’t say.  Maybe the Weasley’s finally ran out of money and had to choose one to stay behind.  And you know Potter.  He probably couldn’t stand to leave his boyfriend all alone.”

Draco smirked as he said this, but Theo said nothing at first.  His brow furrowed as he thought about it.  He caught Draco’s stare, and he said, “What?  I think it’s far more likely that Granger is Potter’s girlfriend, and they are both just running late.”

Draco scowled as he allowed himself to consider it.  He realized he had never considered Granger having a boyfriend before.  Not once.  He knew there were arrangements in the works with Pansy, but he wasn’t allowed to actually date her yet.  And despite his crack at Potter in the bookshop about the Weasley girl being his girlfriend, he really didn’t think others in their year were doing that yet.  They were only twelve.  Based on Draco’s observations in the Slytherin common room that seemed like something reserved for older students.  Draco was always faintly embarrassed to see them holding hands and snogging each other.

Granger… and Potter?

No.  Surely not.  Something about it didn’t fit, and besides they were all too young for it. 

“There’s no way,” said Draco.  “Just… there’s no way.”

Theo snorted in disbelief.  “Just because your parents have all those mad rules about dating and relationships doesn’t mean others follow them too.  I’d bet Potter’s family and Granger’s parents have no idea what happens at Hogwarts.  Everything they know about it comes from Potter and Granger themselves, right?”

A deeply uncomfortable feeling settled into Draco’s gut at this point.  

“Sure, but boyfriend and girlfriend?  Already?”

Theo shrugged.  “If not yet, then someday.  Granger will get together with him or Weasley.  She’s closest to them, isn’t she?”

Draco didn’t respond to this, lost in thought at the prospect that Granger might already have a boyfriend.  The notion struck him as entirely unwelcome, but he struggled to articulate to himself precisely why.  Draco knew he wanted Granger’s attention.  He didn’t really understand that either, other than chalking it up to the fact that she was wholly infuriating, and her determination to ignore him the previous year drove him mad.  Draco couldn’t stand it when she beat him or made him feel invisible.  

But a boyfriend shouldn’t matter.  No, it shouldn’t matter at all.

Draco was silent and brooding as Crabbe and Goyle led him to a compartment that already had Blaise and Pansy in it.

“Zabini,” said Draco.  “Pansy,” he added as an afterthought.

Pansy huffed her annoyance, but Draco ignored her.  He had enjoyed his summer without her hanging around him all the time.  It was only when he was away from her that he realized just how often she was around him, chattering about all sorts of gossip and other inane things.  He spent an awful lot of time tuning her out.

“Malfoy, Nott,” said Zabini.  “Good summer?”

“Yeah, we spent the first half of the summer in the Lake District and then the second half back in Wiltshire,” said Theo.  “You?”

Zabini raised his eyebrows in surprise.  Draco realized it was the most words Theo had ever spoken around him.

“Spent the whole summer in Sorrento,” said Zabini.  “It was good to be home again.”

“That’s great,” said Theo, with surprising warmth.  “Sometimes a getaway is just what you need.”

“Yes, I had to stock up on sunshine before spending the next ten months at the mercy of Scottish weather,” moaned Zabini.

Draco and Theo both smiled at this, as Zabini launched into one of his favorite topics: Italy.

After a long while he trailed off, and Draco felt he had to include Pansy too.

“And you, Pansy?” he asked carefully.  “What did you do?”

“I visited Daphne a bit and some of the older Slytherins.  You know, Adrian Pucey, Marcus Flint, Terrance Higgs…”

Draco just nodded agreeably, and Pansy scowled a little.  He had no idea why and chose to ignore her while launching into a conversation about the Slytherin Quidditch team tryouts with Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini while Theo pulled out his sketchpad and started to draw.  Pansy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms moodily as she stared out of the train window.

Draco was just describing one of his better training sessions over the summer when there was a knock on the compartment door.

The Slytherins fell silent and glanced around at each other curiously.

There was a knock again, and Draco rose slowly to open the compartment door.

There, standing in front of him, was Hermione Granger and the small Weasley girl.  They were both looking right at him, and Draco just gaped for a moment before he remembered where he was.

“What do you want?” he asked bluntly.

Granger didn’t immediately answer him, but peered around Draco to look into his compartment.  He watched in utter confusion as she frowned before backing away.

“Come on, Ginny, let’s check the next one.”

“Wait,” said Zabini’s voice from the compartment.

Both girls froze, and Draco saw Granger stiffen slightly as they turned back to look at Zabini warily.

“Who are you?” asked Zabini, and Draco stared at him in confusion for a moment because he was certain Zabini knew who Granger was.  But then he realized Zabini wasn’t looking at Granger, but at the Weasley girl.  She turned a bit pink, but raised her chin stubbornly.

“I’m Ginny Weasley.”

Zabini scowled, and then Pansy’s voice floated through the compartment.

“Oh great, just what we need… another Weasley.  But this time it’s a bitch.”

There was shocked silence from everyone and then the Weasley girl squealed, “Why you little…” and she drew her wand.

Draco was about to snort in amusement, but then stopped when he saw the alarmed expression on Granger’s face.  “Don’t Ginny!” she said.  

Pansy scoffed.  “Right.  Like a firstie knows any magic.”

Now Granger spun to stare at Pansy, and the look on her face was fierce.  

“Don’t be stupid,” Granger spat.  “Ginny has six older brothers, which include a professional curse-breaker, a dragon tamer, and the twins.  Of course she knows plenty of magic, and she probably knows more hexes than you lot combined.  I’m stopping her for your sake, not hers, but if you want me to turn her loose on you, I’m more than happy to stand back and let her do her worst.”

Pansy paled at this, and there was silence again for a long moment until Granger nodded.  “Right.  That’s what I thought.  Come on, Ginny.  Theo, it’s good to see you, though your new friends leave something to be desired.”

Then Granger turned her back on them, grabbed Ginny Weasley, and slammed the compartment door shut.

Draco just stared at the shut door with his mouth hanging open for a moment before spinning around and staring at Theo.

“Theo?  She calls you Theo?”

Theo looked a little uncomfortable, but defiant.  “Why does that surprise you so much?  I told you she brought work to me when I was ill last year.”

“But you can’t be on a first-name basis with her,” said Pansy.  “She’s horrible with her frizzy hair and buck teeth.  Not to mention her blood.”

Theo rolled his eyes.  “I find my life much easier when I’m not fighting the Gyffindors.  Besides, her class notes are incredible.  There’s no need to go to a lesson at all if you can get Hermione’s notes.”

Pansy looked like she had swallowed a lemon, and Draco too felt thrown by this.  He knew Theo liked Granger, but calling each other by their first names?  That implied more than just the exchange of a few class notes.

“Have you studied together?” demanded Draco.

Theo shrugged, looking back down at his sketch.  “A few times.  I know you all hate her, but she’s really not that bad, especially alone.”

Alone.  Theo had spent time with Granger alone.  It was incomprehensible.

Draco flung himself back into his chair and fell silent as the others started to talk again.  Under the cover of their conversation, he whispered to Theo, “So how often did you hang out with her last year then?”

“Why do you care, Draco?” asked Theo, rolling his eyes.  “I know you don’t hate her, not really.”

“Because I just… it’s Granger.  And I thought she only ever saw Weasley and Potter…”

Theo snorted.  “Of course not.  They aren’t exactly bookish, are they?  She studied with me a few times.  I’ve seen her study with Terry Boot and Michael Corner too.  And I know she tutors Longbottom in a couple of subjects.  I’m certain she’s the only reason he passed Potions.”

Draco was frozen, unease gripping him.  He had always thought of her as a loner, somebody who had nobody until Potter and Weasley came barreling into her life.  And then she gained friends, but only two friends.  They were Draco’s favorite targets, because Granger gave them all of her attention, or so he had thought.  But now he was learning that there were at least four other people she spent time with the previous year, and perhaps more that Theo was unaware of.  They were all blokes, too, and primarily Ravenclaws.  Hadn’t Draco always thought Granger was suited for Ravenclaw?

He was grinding his teeth as he thought about it.

Finally, something in him snapped a little.  “I want to see what they were doing,” he said, as he rose and slipped out of the compartment before the others could follow him.

He moved down the corridor until he caught the flash of a bushy head going into a compartment and shutting the door to it.  He counted to one hundred, and as he did so a small blonde girl with large eyes approached him.  He glanced down at her and saw that she wasn’t wearing any school colors – she must be a first year then.

The girl was staring at him, hardly blinking, and Draco automatically took a step back as he surveyed her.  Her hair was the same color as his, though much longer.  It was nearly down to her waist with loose curls and a few braids.  She appeared to be wearing a necklace made out of butterbeer tops.   She didn’t say a word, but just stood in the middle of the train corridor, observing Draco as though he was something fascinating.

“What are you staring it?” he snapped, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the girl’s attention.

She said nothing, but just continued to look at him without blinking, and soon it became too awkward.  Draco forcibly pushed his way past her to head toward the compartment where Granger had entered.  As he approached, he glanced back and saw that the odd girl was now moving, walking toward a compartment that was three down from his own.

He just shook his head to clear it of the strange interaction before he opened the door to Granger’s compartment to find her bent over a book.  The Weasley girl and Longbottom were talking worriedly.  Potter and the Weasel were nowhere to be found.

At the sound of his intrusion they all looked up.  As soon as he made eye contact with Granger she looked back down at her book.  Draco narrowed his gaze to it.

“Muggle maths again?” he mocked.

Look at me.

Granger huffed out an annoyed breath and looked up at him again.  Something inside of Draco eased, and he gave her an arrogant smile.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” she demanded.

“I want to know what you and Red here were doing in our compartment.”

“Nothing,” she snapped.  “We had the wrong one, that’s all.”

Draco cocked his head to study her.  “I don’t think so, Granger.  I think you were looking for somebody.  Perhaps… your boyfriend?”

His heart started to race as soon as he said the word, and he realized he was gauging her reaction to it.  Instead of looking angry, she looked utterly bewildered.

“Boyfriend?  What boyfriend?”

Draco’s stomach eased.

“Potter of course,” he said. 

Granger rolled her eyes and actually started to laugh.  Draco blinked at the sound.  He had never heard her laugh before, but it was clear and felt like something warm was dropping into his stomach and…

“You are such an idiot,” she said.

The warmth disappeared and curdled.

“And why am I an idiot?” he demanded.  “Don’t you spend every waking moment with that git?”

“Of course not,” she said calmly.  “And if you were even the slightest bit observant, you would also know that Harry and I are definitely not like that.  Never.”

She gave a faint grimace and then shot a conspiratorial smile at the Weasley girl.

“Oh right,” said Draco, now turning to the younger girl.  “How could I forget?  It’s Red here who’s his girlfriend.  Or maybe she just wants to be.  What’s wrong, has famous Harry Potter failed to notice his best friend’s little sister?”

It was only a guess, but Draco thought it was a fairly good one.  Sure enough, the girl’s cheeks started to burn, and a frustrated sound from Granger made him turn to look back at her. 

Nailed it.

“What is your problem, Malfoy?” she demanded.  “Why do you care?  Why are you so obsessed?  Can’t you just leave us alone?  None of us want you here!”

Draco’s heart sank.

None of us want you here.

“I’m not obsessed,” he hissed.  “You were the one who barged into our compartment.  And now here you are, Potter and Weasley missing, while studying your filthy muggle maths.  I mean, my God.  Could you get any lower?”

Granger pursed her lips and then snapped her book shut.  “What I want to know is if you could be any more ignorant.  You do realize that there are about ten thousand wizards in all of wizarding Britain?  And there are more than fifty-five million muggles?”

Draco gaped at her.  There was no way that could be true.

Granger just huffed.  “Like I said, you are ignorant.  Sheltered, even.  The number of wizards in the world is tiny compared to muggles, though I’m sure that’s something your father has conveniently forgotten to tell you.”

“Wizards have powers muggles could only dream of,” he snarled.

She rolled her eyes.  “Right.  Sure.  Wizards have magic, that’s true.  We can use it on ourselves and our friends and our homes.  But did you know that Muggles have enough nuclear weapons that they could destroy the entire planet and kill every person on it several times over?  Those bombs are powerful enough that it would only take a few minutes for everything to disappear if the muggles set them off all at once.  It’s almost happened a few times, too.  We’re all lucky to be here.”

Draco scoffed, and even Longbottom and the Weasley girl looked uncertain about this.  “That’s impossible,” he said.

“It’s not,” said Granger calmly as she looked back down at her book and reopened it.  “Mum and Dad let me watch a film on the telly about the Cold War over the summer, and then I read a few books about it.  I’m sure Hogwarts has books about it too.  They are probably near the books describing the times muggles have gone to the moon."

Draco had never heard of a ‘film’ or a ‘telly’ or a ‘Cold War.’  But he was too distracted by her last statement to ask for clarification about any of those odd terms. 

“The moon?  Please.  Now I’m positive you’re lying.”

“Again, I’m not.  The American muggles sent a man to the moon in the 1960’s.  He actually walked around and collected some moon rocks to bring back to earth, you know.  I’ve seen them myself.  Mum and Dad took me on holiday to the United States just before starting at Hogwarts, and the moon rocks were in a museum.”

Draco realized he was gaping at her, and a surprising rush of jealousy was enveloping him.  He had been on plenty of holidays to Portloch Tarn, and he had been to Paris a couple of times… but he had never gone all the way to America.

Granger’s parents — her muggle parents — had actually traveled with her to a place that felt so far away to his twelve-year-old mind that it might as well have been a different planet.

Or even the moon…

He resented the very thought of it.

“So what are you doing with that muggle nonsense then?” he demanded.  

Now Granger looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with something Draco couldn’t quite identify.

“Oh didn’t you know?  It’s muggle maths and science that might help me get to the moon someday.  Or maybe I’m learning how to make a bomb.  According to Hogwarts, A History, the entire Slytherin dormitory is under the Black Lake, and there are windows where you can watch the fish and merpeople swim by.  Just think: I could blow out a few of those windows and drown every single person in Slytherin House that way, including you.” 

“There are wards,” said Draco through gritted teeth.  “That would never work.”

“Mmm, wards to prevent magical destruction, that’s true.  But as for muggle destruction… are you sure about that?”

He stared at her, his heart pounding.  Surely she wasn’t actually serious.  But hadn’t his father stressed over and over again that muggles were dangerous?

“You’re mad,” he whispered.

Now she laughed again.  “No, but you’re truly gullible if you think I would ever do something like that.”

Draco’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

“Then again,” she added, “I’m not sure why I’m surprised.  You do believe every word that comes out of your father’s mouth, don’t you?  You’ve never done your own research or reading.  You’ve never even wondered if he’s wrong.”

“My father is a brilliant wizard,” gritted Draco.

Granger gave a negligent shrug.  “I suppose it’s possible.  But he can be brilliant at magic and also poison your mind, Malfoy.  It’s actually a little sad.  You could be very smart if you weren’t so stupid.”

Coming from Granger, this felt like a slap in the face, and Draco found himself seething.

“I hate you,” he hissed.

He didn’t know how he wanted Granger to react to this.  Perhaps he was hoping to see hurt or even anger on her face.  But instead, he saw pity, and he instinctively recoiled.

“You know, I thought about this a lot during the summer, and I talked to my parents about it.  They helped me realize something.  You only hate me because somebody taught you to hate me,” she said softly.  “And that’s a real shame, Malfoy...  Because truly, I don’t hate you.  I just hate what your father has done to you.”

Draco thought the room might be spinning as her words hit him all at once.

“I don’t hate you.  I just hate what your father has done to you.”

He stumbled back and slammed the door to the compartment shut without saying another word, and then he found himself staggering into an empty compartment on the opposite side of the corridor.

Draco was breathing hard, and he wondered if he was about to hyperventilate as he put his head in his hands and tried to calm the words crashing through his mind.

It was the longest conversation they had ever had.  He should be thrilled by it, but instead he was sickened.  She looked at him like he was ignorant, like he wasn’t the one with a thousand years of magical history behind him.  She looked at him with pity.

He hated it.  He hated her.

Except he didn’t hate her, and that was the problem.  He was supposed to, he had to, but he just didn’t.

Draco barely heard the footsteps approach and the compartment door sliding closed.

“What happened?” came Theo’s voice.

Draco swallowed a lump in his throat and looked up at Theo a bit desperately.

“Theo…” he said hoarsely.  “Am I… ignorant?”

Theo pursed his lips and shifted uncomfortably.  “Maybe a bit.”

Draco huffed out an exhale.  “How much is a bit?”

“Well, it’s mostly Death Eater stuff.”

“And muggle stuff?” asked Draco.

Theo looked at him sharply.  “Why would you care?”

“I don’t,” insisted Draco.  “It’s just… I found Granger, and she said some things, that’s all.”

“What things?” asked Theo carefully.

“Things like the muggles could blow up the world and kill everyone.  She said they’ve been to the moon.  She said there are fifty-five million muggles in Britain alone.  But I’ve only seen two muggles in my life!  If there are that many, why haven’t I seen them?”

Theo raised one eyebrow.  “You know the answer to that.”

“Father,” said Draco, and Theo inclined his head.

“And in fairness to your father, most witches and wizards don’t go to the muggle world at all,” said Theo.

“But you have?” asked Draco.

Theo shrugged.  “Very little.  Nott Manor is on the edge of a muggle village though, so yes I used to wander there whenever I was forced to visit Father, just to get away.  She’s right there are a lot of muggles.  I couldn’t say how many though.”

Draco thought about this for a long while.

“And what was it like?”

Theo looked a little troubled.  “Not that different than the magical world, to be honest.  They have restaurants and ice cream parlors and post offices and shops just like we do.  They just don’t sell magical things.  Otherwise, it’s pretty much the same.”

Draco scowled.  “Father always said muggles live in dirty conditions.  Like animals.”

Theo rolled his eyes at that.  “Surely you know that’s not true.  Their houses look like ours for the most part.”

Draco was quiet as he absorbed this.  

“And their blood?  Muggles and mudbloods are supposed to have dirty blood.”

Theo frowned.  “I’ll admit that could be true.  I’ve never seen any muggle or muggleborn blood to know one way or the other.”

“But…” started Draco, because he sensed Theo hesitating.

“But,” said Theo, “it might also be bollocks.  Some of the other stuff Lucius has told you is definitely wrong.  That could be too.  I’m not sure.”

Draco slumped miserably.  He hated this.  He truly hated this.  He hated to doubt his father.  He hated that the girl who was making him doubt his father was somebody who would never give him the attention he craved.  He hated that at the end of the day none of it mattered because whether Lucius was right or not he was still Draco’s father.  And Draco was a Malfoy.  That meant he had to fall in line.

He glanced down at his wand and grimaced, as he remembered what Ollivander said about hawthorn wands over a year ago.  

“Hawthorn heals just as well as it curses.  Those who are suited to it are often conflicted themselves.”

Was this his conflict then?  Whether to believe his father or not?

Then again, did it even matter?  He was a Malfoy.  He had to listen to his father.  There was no alternative.  None.

Draco sat back and shut his eyes for a moment, trying to put his emotions back in a box like his mother used to tell him.

“Breathe, Draco.  Take deep breaths and lock the feelings away.  You know what you have to do.”

Yes, Draco knew what he had to do.  He had to push Granger and her unwelcome comments about muggles and ignorance aside.  He had to be Draco Malfoy, his father’s son and heir.  He had to embrace everything he had been taught and not question it.

If he wanted to engage with Granger in the future, he had to be careful about how he went about it.  He couldn’t let her see even a hint of weakness or uncertainty from him.  If she did, she would be sure to exploit it.  She would crack his heart open so wide that he would drown in a conflict within his own family.  And Draco was dutiful.  His parents were everything.  He couldn’t, wouldn’t have this fight with them.

“Right,” said Draco, suddenly standing up and moving to the door.  “We’re not going to talk about this again.”

There was a slight tightness around Theo’s eyes as Draco said this, but he nodded and stood too.  As they were leaving the compartment, Theo put a hand on Draco’s arm and stopped him.

“We never have to talk about it,” said Theo sincerely.  “But if you change your mind…”

He trailed off a bit awkwardly, the unsaid offer to help hanging between them.

Draco swallowed and nodded only once, more grateful than ever that he was friends with Theodore Nott.

~*~

Dear Journal,

The school year hasn't even started, and I'm already a mess.

I saw Granger on the train on the way to Hogwarts, and she said all sorts of things that seem impossible.

I talked to Theo about it, and he seems to think she might be telling the truth about at least some of it... but that can't be right, can it? 

She said something about a setting off a bomb in the Slytherin common room to blow out the windows and drown everyone.  I don't really know what a bomb is of course, but it was obvious that she meant it to be some sort of muggle device that can cause a lot of destruction.  She admitted she was just having me on when she said it, but now I can't stop thinking about it.

Doesn't she realize that all the things she said to me today would act like one of her bombs if they were actually true?  I'm starting to think she's more subtle than I've given her credit for.  She might not want to kill me through drowning, but maybe she wants to blow up my relationship with Father by making me doubt him.  That would be almost as bad.

I can't doubt him, though.  He’s my father.  He's the person I'm supposed to turn into when I grow up. 

If he is wrong, then what is right?

Not Granger, surely.

I can't even tell you the last thing she said to me.  It's too awful, and I can't get it out of my head.  If I ever bother to come back and read this entry, I don't want to remember it.  I'm trying to put it in a box, and I can't seem to do it.  It would almost be better if she hated me instead of the thing she actually hates.

Chapter Text

19 September 1992

Draco spent the first two weeks of school slowly, but surely, placing every single thing Granger had said to him on the train inside of a box.

Well… almost everything.

He worked through it point by point and eventually concluded that some of the things she had said to him had to be wrong.

55 million muggles in England alone?  An exaggeration.

Muggles on the moon?  Of course not.

Muggles ending the world with their bombs?  Impossible.

He was willing to be fair about it: it was true that his parents had never encouraged any sort of interest in the muggle world so she was right that he didn’t know much about it.  But just because he wasn’t that familiar with it didn’t mean he couldn’t spot obvious lies, and Granger had been full of them that day.

He was admittedly tense the first time he saw her after that disastrous train ride, but she seemed to have other things on her mind than spreading lies about the muggle world to purebloods like Draco.

“A CAR?  You stole your parents CAR and FLEW it to Hogwarts?  Do you WANT to be expelled?”

When Draco spied Granger scolding Weasley in the hallway so badly he shrank away from her, Draco found himself starting to forgive her for her lies already.  It was so refreshing to see her anger directed toward more worthy targets that he found himself carving out their fight and placing it somewhere in the back of his mind where he wouldn’t have to examine it too closely.

Then she started to give both Potter and Weasley the cold shoulder for their car stunt, and Draco finally started to relax and focus on his classes.  It was unfortunate when Weasley’s mother sent him a howler to scream at him publicly about the incident with the car, because while Weasley’s obvious humiliation was welcome, it seemed as though Granger began to forgive him.

Still, she had not confronted Draco again, and within a week he had placed most of her lies in that box in his mind, and he could go entire days without thinking about her and focusing instead on his friends or his classes – at least those classes not led by Lockhart.

Gilderoy Lockhart was an obvious fraud.  This became apparent to Draco during his first Defense lesson, and he was certain that was why his father was delighted by the selection.  It did not, however, seem to sway most of the girls in the castle, and they all seemed to turn absolutely mad whenever he entered a room.  Even Granger liked to shoot covetous looks at him from under her lashes whenever he stepped foot in the Great Hall, and Draco dearly wanted to roll his eyes every time he noticed it.

Not that Draco was paying attention to Granger, not very much.  He was successfully ignoring her again and his volatile feelings toward her had become manageable once more, all except for that one tiny phrase he just couldn’t ignore.

“I don’t hate you.  I just hate what your father has done to you.”

Over and over again he heard it, and it didn’t seem to fit neatly into any of his mental boxes.  But he knew he had to side with his father on this.  Granger had surely lied or was at least prone to wild exaggeration about everything else she had said that day.  And even if she had been telling the truth – for the sake of argument only – it wouldn’t have mattered.  Draco couldn’t be disloyal to his father, that was the simple answer.

Still, that tiniest seed of doubt that Severus planted the year before had been watered by that one phrase, so Draco did the only thing he knew how to do: he ignored Granger while he continued to keep a close eye on her.

That was how he discovered Granger’s birthday.

The nineteenth of September started like any other Saturday, with a lingering breakfast.  It was unseasonably warm, and Draco was eager to spend the day practicing for the Quidditch trials the next week.  He had spent a couple hours on his broom each evening since the term began in preparation for the trials, and he was beginning to feel good about his chances.  His broom was superior.  His skills were good.  And he thought he really might have a shot at it.

He decided to devote that entire weekend to Quidditch and then stay up late with his studies once trials were over to make up for the lost time.  Flint had made the decision to host trials during the last class period on Monday, because every Slytherin except for first years had it free.  According to his sleuthing, the Quidditch captains from the other three Houses would all be in class at that time so spying would be impossible.

Draco thought it was brilliant, and he was committed to doing nothing but practice for the whole weekend leading up to it.

It would be fine.  If he made the team, getting a little behind on school work would be well worth it.

He was so absorbed by his plans for Quidditch practice that at first he didn’t notice the several owls that descended upon Granger.  But his attention was pulled to the Gryffindor table when one of the Weasley twins shouted, “We have a teenager over here!”

Draco’s head shot up and saw Granger turn pink, though she was smiling shyly as the Weasley twins conducted the Gryffindors in a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday To You.

Then they waved their wands with a flourish, and the doors to the Great Hall sprang open, revealing the Weasel and Potter walking in with an enormous cake.

“Compliments from the kitchens!” announced one of the twins.  

Draco stared in bemusement as half of Gryffindor House had cake for breakfast, and Granger opened a few gifts at the table, squealing when she unwrapped a thick stack of books and then pulling the Weasley girl in for a quick hug at something that might have been a necklace.  Draco couldn’t see it clearly.

“Unbelievable,” snorted Pansy.

Draco turned to look at her.  “What’s unbelievable?”

“That spectacle.  It’s just a birthday, isn’t it?  What makes Granger so special?”

“Thirteen though,” said Theo.  “I didn’t realize how close she was to the age cut off.”

Draco absorbed this.  Thirteen.  She was thirteen.  For some reason that felt substantially older than twelve.  Draco wondered if she had received a Hogwarts letter on her eleventh birthday like he did and then had an entire year to prepare before she ever stepped foot on the train.  If so, it would explain some of her early brilliance at magic.

“Shame,” said Pansy.  “If she had been born three weeks earlier we wouldn’t have to see her terrible hair in Potions.  The frizzing is unbelievable, isn’t it Draco?”

“Huh?  Oh… yeah.  Sure.”

Pansy looked put out, but Draco was in a daze and ignored her.

“Gotta go,” he said suddenly, no longer able to stand to watch Granger be lavished with attention from half of Gryffindor House.  He had no idea she was that well-liked.

“Where are you going?” demanded Pansy.

“Quidditch,” said Draco shortly. “Trials are Monday during the Slytherin free period.”

“But you have all weekend to–” she started.

“Later,” said Draco, cutting her off and heading out the door and down to the pitch.

As he mounted his broom and kicked off, he felt some of his tension draining away in the air, and he allowed himself to contemplate the thing he had learned about Granger that day.

Her birthday is the nineteenth of September.  She’s nearly a year older than me.  She’s officially a teenager.

It seemed to set her apart somehow and made her feel even more inaccessible than she had been just the previous day.  Draco knew he would catch up, but until he did it would feel like she was besting him yet again.  There were things that happened in the Malfoy family at thirteen, like learning more about those physical relationships his father had alluded to.  

Draco nearly crashed into the stands as he had the sudden thought that perhaps Granger now knew about this and he didn’t.  He dodged at the last possible moment to avoid serious injury.

As he was flying, a thought struck him.  He knew he shouldn’t do it.  It was practically the opposite of ignoring Granger.  But now that he had thought of it he couldn’t shake it.

Draco continued to fly for a couple more hours before slowly spiraling back down to the earth.  He hitched his broom over his shoulder and made his way back to his dorm, only pausing when he saw Granger reading to herself under the large beech tree near the lake.  Potter and Weasley were nowhere to be found.

Look at me.

As he came to a halt, her eyes lifted to find his, and she froze.  He said nothing, and she didn’t either.  They stared at each other for several seconds until Draco came to his senses and wrenched his gaze away, hurrying back to his dorm with his heart racing.

Wondering if he had truly gone mad, Draco went to his trunk and dug around for a few moments before pulling out the thing he was looking for.  

It was a book.  It was his favorite wizarding novel about a wizard who went back into time to duel with Morgan le Fay before falling in love with her.  Draco had read it so many times that his original copy was dogeared and worn, and for his birthday a couple years ago his parents had given him a new copy that was signed by the author.  Draco had never opened it, feeling that it was too precious to crack its spine. 

He hesitated for a moment, but then nodded to himself as he made up his mind.  Several minutes later he was heading to the owlery with the book and a note, which he had written with his left hand. 

Dear Miss Granger,

I have heard a rumor that today is your birthday.  As your teacher, please allow me to teach you about wizarding literature.  

This book is a favorite of mine, signed by the author of course.

It’s about a hundred times better than that nonsense written by Lockhart.

Happy birthday.

Sincerely, Your Teacher

Draco told himself he would go back to ignoring Granger tomorrow.

******

21 September 1992

“Seekers line up!” called Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch captain.

Draco took a deep breath and approached the field, eyeing the four other students who were trying out for this spot.  All of them were older, and while two were on the smaller side like he was, the other two were built like gorillas.  He tried to settle his nerves.  He could do this.  He knew he could do this.  He glanced at the other brooms around him, and none were as new or fast as his Nimbus.  All Draco had to do was stay calm and focus.

“I’ll be releasing twenty-five practice snitches into the air!” explained Flint.  “You will get one point per snitch that you catch, and your goal is to catch as many as you can!  Once all twenty-five have been collected then the seekers with the two highest scores will go head-to-head for a single snitch, just as you would see in a match.  Now mount your brooms and get ready.  The snitches will have a thirty second head start before you lot are in the air!”

Interesting, mused Draco, but he thought it was a fair trial.  With five seekers it could take ages to whittle them down if they did multiple head-to-head catches.  This way three people would be eliminated in the first round.

Flint waved his wand, and a large scoreboard appeared with the name of each seeker and the number 0 below each.  Next to it, a timer appeared in the air counting down from thirty seconds.  He released a large box of snitches, which scattered through the stadium. Draco tried to keep his eye on them, but it was impossible to track more than one with its erratic flying.  Draco focused on one that was at the far end of the pitch, feeling certain that most of the other seekers would be going for a snitch that was closer to their starting point.  The moment Flint’s whistle ripped through the air, Draco kicked off and soared through the air, making his first catch just moments later.  He shoved the snitch into his pocket and glanced back at the scoreboard, seeing that his name now had a 1 underneath it, along with three others.  He grinned in delight and then turned to the field to track the glitter of balls.

It took nearly five minutes for Draco to find his second.  And then another ten minutes before he found his third.  As he kept an eye on the scoreboard, he noticed that he and Angus Higgs were neck and neck, while the others were starting to fall behind.

His heart leapt.  He could do this.  But then Higgs dropped like a rock and caught another snitch, edging Draco out for the lead.

Draco gritted his teeth, but knew he only had to be in the top two.  And as he watched the others, he decided his strategy should change.  He was on a superior broom after all, and the final trial would be a race to the snitch.  He might as well practice.

Instead of looking for the snitches himself, he turned his attention to the other seekers, circling between them and flying around them.  It was an unusual strategy to be sure, but it paid off as soon as Mary Bulstrode, Milicent’s older sister, started diving toward a snitch near the ground.  Draco’s eyes tracked Mary, and between her girth and her slow broom, Draco had no trouble catching up to her and then plucking the snitch right out from under her nose.  She scowled at him, as he pulled out of his dive, but he just smirked and went back to marking the others.

Three more times he let the others find snitches for him.  He caught Flint’s eyes watching him, his face frowning a bit at Draco’s tactics, but Draco thought he looked reluctantly impressed.  

“One last snitch!” called Flint, and Draco looked back to the scoreboard to see that he and Higgs were in the clear lead.  It didn’t matter who caught the final snitch, they would be the two going head-to-head in the next round.  Draco grinned broadly to know that he had passed this first test, but he still wanted to be the one to catch that last snitch.  He and the others were looking around, until finally Draco caught the glimmer on the far end of the pitch.  Draco saw the others weren’t looking that way and he slowly drifted toward it before putting on a burst of speed at the last moment and plucking it out of the air.

“Yes!” he cried, as he held it aloft.  The final score showed Draco and Higgs tied with eight catches each.  Third place had five catches, fourth place three catches, and poor Mary Bulstrode came in dead last with only a single catch to her name. 

“Back to the ground!” called Flint, as everyone came to land.

Draco felt both thrilled and more nervous than ever.  The next test would be the real one.

“Alright, you three, I’m sorry to say but you’re out of the running.  Thanks for coming today.”

The three who didn’t pass the first round looked faintly disappointed, but they moved off to join several other Slytherins in the stands.  Draco glanced up and only now noticed that some of his friends had come down to watch.  Even Theo was there, which was a shock to Draco.  Theo rarely bothered to come to any matches, not even the ones in which Slytherin played.  

Theo gave him a thumbs up, and Draco grinned back as Pansy cheered.

“Alright, Malfoy and Higgs,” started Flint.  “You two will have a proper head-to-head just like a real game.  Whoever catches the snitch will be first string.  Whoever does not, will be our reserve player.”

Draco was heartened by this.  He knew the reserve players rarely got air time during a game, but it did happen now and then whenever a game went long or the first string player was ill.  The reserves also practiced with the team.  He was only a second year, and being placed on the reserve team wouldn’t be a terrible outcome, nor unexpected.

But he still craved that first string spot.

“This time the rest of the team will be playing around you,” added Flint.  “Chasers and Beaters in the air!” called Flint to the rest of the team, who had been resting on benches nearby.  They launched themselves, and a moment later Flint released all of their balls.  Draco tried to track the snitch, but with the other players in the air, he lost it.  He glanced at Higgs and saw a disappointed look on his face that told him Higgs had lost it too.

Draco exhaled.  It would be a fair catch then.

“When I blow the whistle, you two are to go find the snitch while the others run drills, and I watch you.  On three!  One, two, three…” and the whistle blew, and Draco launched into the air again.  

This was harder, because he had to keep an eye out for the snitch and an eye on Higgs at the same time.  The other players proved to be a significant distraction, as was the cheering from the stands that were slowly filling with other Slytherins who had come to watch.  Then again, this was like a real game.  In all of Draco’s practices at home he had never had an opponent, not really.  

He wove in and out of the other players, trying to find that telltale glitter, while keeping Higgs in his line of sight.  

“Merlin!” he gasped, as he was forced to do a barrel roll to avoid a bludger to the face.  

“Keep it up Malfoy!” called Derrick Bole, as he whacked the bludger to the other side of the pitch.

Draco huffed an exhale, and tried to calm his racing heart, until he saw something that made it stall out: Higgs was going into a dive.

“Bollocks,” muttered Draco, who dropped like a rock, trying desperately to find the snitch because he still hadn’t spotted it.  

There.  Higgs wasn’t bluffing.  The snitch was near the ground, so close that Draco knew he would be risking a collision, but he had to grab it.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered through gritted teeth as his broom sped up, heading straight for the ground.

He thought he heard a girl screaming from the stands, but he ignored it as he watched Higgs pull out of his dive early to circle around in order to lower himself to the ground without hitting it.  Draco bit his lip, but kept heading straight down.  It was the slight delay from Higgs that he needed, and he trusted his broom could do this.

He was closing in on it, faster and faster, and he heard the Slytherins in the crowd start to roar as he reached out and plucked it from the air, just as he pulled his broom level and tumbled onto the grass.

“YES!” he bellowed, as Higgs came to a halt just a few feet away, looking deeply disappointed.  The Slytherins in the stands were cheering, and Draco looked up to find most of those in his year grinning broadly and hopping up and down that a student from their year made the cut.

Flint called the rest of the team down from the air, and they converged on Draco.

“Excellent, Malfoy,” said Flint.  “That was a fair catch.  You’ll be first string then, and Higgs will be the reserve seeker.  Higgs, I expect you at practices.”

Higgs slumped, but nodded, as Draco smiled so wide he thought his face might be splitting in two.  He couldn’t wait to write home and tell his parents about it.

“Thank you all!” said Flint.  “That’s it for today.  The first practice will be next Saturday.  I’ll post the time in the common room once the pitch is booked.”

Draco moved off with the others, feeling practically gleeful as Theo, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle came running down to meet him.  Even Blaise and Daphne were heading his way, though not as fast as the others.

“Congratulations,” said Theo breathlessly.  

“Yes, that was fantastic,” gushed Pansy.  “But Draco, you almost killed yourself in that last dive!”

“No I didn’t,” said Draco, and he couldn’t help the trace of arrogance in his voice as he said it.  “My broom is excellent.  I knew I could do it.”

“Good flying,” grunted Crabbe, as Goyle nodded sincerely.  Draco grinned back at them.  He was on such a high from his win that he couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed by their lack of intelligence today.

“Agreed,” added Zabini.  “And I would pay to see Potter’s face when he finds out you’re the seeker.”

At this, Draco and the others started to laugh, and even Theo cracked a rare smile at the thought.  Draco had done his best not to think about it because he didn’t want to get his hopes up.  But now that he had won the spot, he knew Zabini was right.  Potter’s reaction would be priceless.

“Let’s keep it quiet then, so we can all be there,” he said.

The others agreed, and Draco put his broom back in the shed before they started to make their way off the pitch.  Theo, Zabini, and Daphne said they wanted to head to the library.

“I’ll meet up with you in a bit,” he said to Theo.  “I need to eat and shower first.  I had no appetite this morning.”

Theo nodded agreeably as they moved off, and Draco and the others cut through the courtyard to go back to the Great Hall.  He came to a halt when he noticed Potter being harassed by a tiny Gryffindor boy with a camera.  Weasley and Granger were standing off to one side, Weasley looking annoyed and Granger exasperated.

“...your friend could take it and I could stand next to you?  And then could you sign it?” said the voice of the small boy, which carried over to Draco.

Draco’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

“Signed photos?” he asked, as he approached the group.  “You’re giving out signed photos, Potter?”

Crabbe and Goyle snickered behind him, and he thought he heard Pansy tittering as well.  He was still on his high from his Quidditch success, and Potter looked so mortified that Draco couldn’t help but goad him.

“Everyone line up!” shouted Draco.  “Harry Potter’s giving out signed photos!”

“No, I’m not,” said Potter hotly.  “Shut up, Malfoy!”

“You’re just jealous,” said the small boy.

“Jealous?” asked Draco incredulously as he looked down at him.  He was mousy, with enormous eyes and a determined look about him that reminded him oddly of Granger.  Draco thought that if Crabbe or Goyle sat on this boy they would break him in half.

“Of what?” continued Draco.  “I don’t want a foul scar right across my head, thanks.  I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself.”

“Eat slugs, Malfoy!” cried a voice.  Draco looked up to find Weasley predictably seething.  Draco smirked.

“Be careful, Weasley,” said Draco in a mocking voice.  “You don’t want to start any trouble or your mummy’ll have to come and take you away from school.  If you put another toe out of line–”

The others around him laughed harder, and Draco’s gaze slid to Granger next to him.  To his delight, she looked torn.  Draco thought she might be irritated with him, but she also seemed to be in agreement with him.  Draco knew she detested rule-breaking.

Look at me.

But Granger was trying to ignore Draco again.  His eyes narrowed at her, and he doubled down.

“Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter,” he said, as his gaze was fixed on Granger to see her reaction to this.  There was a tightening of her mouth, but she still wasn’t looking at him.  

“It’d be worth more than his family’s whole house –” he continued.

Out of the corner of Draco’s eyes, he saw Weasley whip out his wand, and this seemed to snap Granger out of it. 

“Look out!” she cried.

Draco fell silent, as Weasley’s wand lowered, breathing hard.  As if against her will, Granger’s eye flicked to Draco, and he smiled broadly, thrilled that he had gotten her to crack.

“What’s all this, what’s all this?” said Professor Lockhart jovially as he approached the group.  “Who’s giving out signed photos?”

It was all Draco could do not to laugh at the look of horror that crossed Potter’s face.

“Shouldn’t have asked!” Lockhart continued, when he spotted Potter as well.  “We meet again Harry!”

Draco melted back into the crowd, trying desperately to suppress his mirth at Potter’s humiliation.  As he backed away, he caught Granger studying him, a slight frown on her face.  He threw her a smirk and a wink before disappearing into the castle with the others.

He would eat, then shower, and then write a long letter to his parents to tell them all about his success.

And while he did it, he would relish the other small victory he had achieved that day: Granger could no longer pretend not to notice him.

~*~

Dear Journal,

I MADE THE TEAM!  I actually made the bloody team, can you believe it?  Salazar, I can’t wait to see Potter’s face when he hears about it!

Forget all that shit with Granger.  I don’t care what she says, Father hasn’t done anything wrong.  He bought me my broom and encouraged me to practice and set high expectations and look at what it gave me!  The Quidditch team!

I bet muggles don’t have any sports that are as big as Quidditch, do they?  I’d like to see any of them on a broomstick.  God knows Granger can hardly stay upright on one, and it’s probably because of her muddy blood.  I bet broomsticks can sense it.

Someday she’ll realize just how wrong she is, and once she does… 

Well I can’t socialize with her, obviously, but I wouldn’t hate to watch her grovel just a little bit.  That’s why I sent her that birthday gift, you know?  She needs to see that wizards are better at everything, including writing her precious books.  That’s the only reason I gave it to her, and someday she’ll realize that she comes from nothing while I come from everything.  I’m pretty sure it’s already working, because she’s not very good at ignoring me anymore.

Okay, enough for now… I have to write to Father and tell him about the team!  What do you think he’ll say when he hears that I made it?

Chapter Text

26 September 1992

Draco woke up early on Saturday, eager for his first Quidditch practice ever, and the first thing he did was pull out the letter his father had written him earlier that week.  He had read it multiple times a day since it arrived, his face glowing with pleasure at Lucius’s words.

Dear Draco,

I am so pleased to hear that you made the Quidditch team as a first-string player.  Your description of the trials for seeker was fascinating, and I have already reached out to Marcus Flint’s father to compliment him on his son’s ingenuity and leadership while building his team.  Beating out four students who are older and more experienced than you tells me that you have true talent, and it is everything your mother and I would expect of you as a Malfoy.

In fact, I am so pleased that I have arranged with Marcus’s father and Severus to supply the Slytherin Quidditch team with new Nimbus 2001’s.  You have earned it with your skills and hard work, and Marcus has earned it too by captaining such an extraordinary team.  Of course the team brooms will not be custom fitted like yours, but they will still be superior to the brooms currently in use by all of your teammates.  They will go a long way to give the Slytherin team every advantage in the Quidditch cup over the next year.

Keep up the good work, Son.  Your mother and I will do our best to attend a match or two this year so we can watch you fly.  We can’t wait to hear more about your team’s success in the upcoming months.

Father

It was one of the best letters Draco had ever received from him.  Lucius was so hard to please, and every time Draco had managed it, the moment really stood out in his mind.  This time, however, might have been the best of all because Lucius was so happy that he had supplied the team with new brooms.

His teammates, of course, were thrilled by the donation from Lucius, and Draco was instantly the most popular member on the team, despite the fact that he was the youngest.  All seven of them were desperately eager for the first practice, and Marcus Flint had obtained special permission from Severus to use the pitch early in the morning the following Saturday so they could train Draco and all get a feel for their new brooms.

After a hasty breakfast, and a quick pep talk in the locker room, Draco finally walked out onto the pitch as a team member for the first time.  In the distance he saw some other students flying, though he was trailing the others and couldn’t immediately identify who they were at first.  

“Flint!” bellowed a voice.  “This is our practice time!  We got up specially!  You can clear off now!”

A stocky Gryffindor that Draco recognized as the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain Oliver Wood came marching over, as his teammates landed and followed.  Draco’s lip curled.  Potter was about to get an enormous surprise.

“Plenty of room for all of us, Wood,” said Flint with a glint in his eye.

“But I booked the field!” said Wood, starting to get enraged.  “I booked it!”

“Ah,” said Flint calmly.  “But I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape.  ‘I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new seeker.’”

There was a stunned silence for a moment, before Wood started eyeing the Slytherin team suspiciously.

“You’ve got a new Seeker?” he asked.  “Where?”

Draco stepped out from behind the others, smirking with pleasure at the shock on Potter’s face.

“Aren’t you Lucius’s Malfoy son?” asked one of the twins with some distaste.

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Flint.

“Funny you should mention Draco’s father,” said Flint.  “Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”

At this, they all pulled out their new broomsticks, and Draco nearly laughed with delight at the looks of dismay on the Gryffindor team’s faces.

“Very latest model.  Only came out last month,” said Flint carelessly.  “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount.  As for the old Cleansweeps –” and now he smiled at the twins, who were clutching their old brooms like a lifeline, “sweeps the board with them.”

There was a tense silence for a moment, until it was broken by the sounds of feet running toward the pitch.  They all turned, and Draco’s stomach swooped to see Granger, followed by Weasley.  They were rushing to join the Gryffindors on the field.

“Oh look,” said Flint in a bored voice, as he rolled his eyes.  “A field invasion.”

“What’s happening?” asked Weasley.  “Why aren’t you playing?  And what’s he doing here?”

He gestured toward Draco and wrinkled his nose.

“I’m the new Slytherin seeker, Weasley,” said Draco, and unconsciously his eyes drifted to Granger to see her reaction to this.  She was avoiding eye contact, but she couldn’t stop the stunned expression on her face. 

“Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought for the team,” he added with a touch of arrogance in his voice.

Weasley gaped and spun to look at the brooms owned by the Gryffindor team, as though trying to compare them.  Then he looked back at the Slytherins in disbelief as he registered the truth: every single broom on the Slytherin team was superior to those owned by the Gryffindors.

“Good, aren’t they?” asked Draco with a smile as he saw the dismay bloom on Weasley’s face.  “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms too.  You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.”

The Slytherins laughed, and Draco caught Granger’s eye.  She was finally staring at him directly, though her eyes were narrowed in dislike.

“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” said Granger in a taunting voice.  “They got in on pure talent.”

There was a split second of silence, as Draco absorbed this.  Anger and something like shame began to burn through him.  He hadn’t bought his way onto the team.  He earned it fair and square.  His father had only supplied the brooms after Draco made it on his own merit. 

Her accusation was corrosive, and Draco knew that this would be the narrative perpetuated by the Gryffindors to the rest of the school: Draco got in because of money, not because of skill.  The words spilled out of Draco before he could stop them.

“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little mudblood,” he spat.

He was staring Granger in the eye as he said it, and the moment the words left his mouth he nearly winced.  But then something odd happened.  She didn’t look angry or ashamed.  No, she looked utterly perplexed, as though it was something she had never heard before.

Didn’t she know what she was?

Draco didn’t have time to think of this further, because at that moment the twins rushed forward as a girl shrieked, “How dare you!”

Flint moved in front of the twins to block them, while Draco backed up a few steps.

Then Weasley whipped out his wand and yelled, “You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!”

Draco instinctively ducked, but instead of the spell hitting him, the wand backfired.  The spell struck Weasley instead and sent him flying several feet through the air before landing on the ground with a thud.

“Ron!  Ron!  Are you all right?” squealed Granger as she and the others hurried over to him.  Draco watched with narrowed eyes, his lips curving into a sneer.  Granger and the others helped Weasley sit up, and immediately he burped and a large quantity of slugs dropped out onto his lap.

At this, Draco’s distaste transformed into glee, and the Slytherins lost it.  Draco was clutching his stomach and gasping for air, he was laughing so hard as Weasley belched and another round of slugs appeared.  He caught Granger’s eye one last time as she was moving him off while Potter was waving off that runty Gryffindor first year with a camera.  She glared at him, and he just grinned back, delighted with Weasley’s predicament.  

She huffed and then turned away, and it was only now that Draco tuned in to the rest of the team.

Flint and Wood were still arguing, but eventually Wood threw his hands in the air and stalked off the field, with his other teammates following him.

“You’ll want to watch your back, Malfoy,” said one of the twins coldly as he turned to follow.

Draco’s smile slipped from his face as he stared at the twin.  “Did I say something wrong?” he drawled.

“You were damned rude about Hermione,” said the other twin loyally.

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Right.  I was just pointing out what she is.  It’s not my fault her blood is filthy or that your little blood traitor family seems to like that sort of thing.”

The twins’ eyes narrowed, and Draco made himself stare back.

“Stay away from Hermione if you know what’s good for you,” one of them finally said.  “We’ll be keeping an eye on you, Malfoy, and trust me… you do not want to cross us.”

They turned to walk away, and Draco rolled his eyes, but secretly he was a bit worried.  The twins were the only members of the Weasley family who intimidated him.  He knew they could be positively vicious, but then again… they didn’t seem to know much about the history between Draco and the others.  They weren’t certain who he was when they first arrived, after all, and that told him that the Weasel had not shared any stories from the first year with them.

Fine, then.  Draco would hold his tongue around the Weasley twins.  It wasn’t like they were around to see his interactions with the others very often.

Draco’s attention was pulled back to Flint, who was giving an opening lecture before launching off into the air.  A few moments later Draco was kicking off and soaring through the air, feeling as free as he ever had.

His only lingering doubt was the look of confusion on Granger’s face when he called her a mudblood.  

He didn’t understand it.

******

28 September 1992

The story of Weasley belching slugs made it through Slytherin House like wildfire, and Draco was largely given credit for it.  Most of Sunday was spent laughing with the older students, who seemed to be appraising Draco and looking at him a bit differently this year.  

He supposed it made sense: he was no longer a firstie, at the very bottom of the heap.  He was a little older, he had made the Quidditch team and provided them with superior brooms, and now he had thoroughly humiliated a Weasley.

Draco thought he could get used to this.

The only person who did not seem impressed by the Weasley-belching-slugs story was Theo.  Draco allowed himself a moment to wonder why he was best friends with somebody who didn’t fall at his feet like most of the others, but then again, Draco supposed that it was a bit refreshing.  Even Zabini, who was still very arrogant, was turning a little sycophantic, and Draco found himself slipping further into his own arrogance every time he interacted with the others in his class who weren’t Theo.  Theo, however, just rolled his eyes when he heard Draco retell the story for the third time, and he finally told Draco that enough was enough, and it was time to study.  

They were sitting together at a large table in the library when the sound of books dropping nearby pulled Draco out of his thoughts.  He looked up to find Granger of all people staring down at him, her hand on her hips.

“What is it?” he asked a bit rudely, but internally his heart was pounding.

She had approached him.  This was the first time since that day on the train to Hogwarts in their first year that she had intentionally approached him on her own.

“You’re an idiot, did you know that?”

Draco scowled and glanced at Theo who looked like he wanted to laugh, though he was quickly schooling his face in solidarity with Draco.

“Excuse me?” demanded Draco. 

“You’re an idiot.  Ron told me what ‘mudblood’ means, you know, and it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Draco couldn’t help but gape at her for a moment, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Theo was too.  Draco forced himself to pull it together.

“Well you are one.”

To Draco’s consternation she just rolled her eyes.  “I’m a ‘mudblood.’  Right.  Because my parents are muggles and that makes you think… what?  That my blood is dirty?  I can’t believe that you would believe something so senseless.  Even coming from you, the ignorance is shocking.”

She put her nose in the air, and Draco felt his jaw clench.

“Senseless is it?  Is it as senseless as your accusation that I bought my way onto the Quidditch team?  You couldn’t believe that I might have actually earned my spot, and my father bought the brooms to congratulate me?”

Her brow furrowed, and her lips pursed.

“Well it was so obvious that you–”

“I won my spot fair and square,” he said, now standing to approach her.  “But because of your stupid friends you accused me of something that wasn’t true at all – and now half the school believes you.  At least when I called you a mudblood I was being honest.  You are one.  Your parents are muggles, and that makes you a mudblood.  Calling me a cheater though?  That’s not true.  I have never cheated to get what I want, unlike your friend Potter who broke a dozen school rules and got on the Gryffindor team last year without a trial at all.  Not to mention all of the homework you do for him and Weasley.  Tell me, mudblood...  Does it feel good to call somebody else a cheater when you know that’s all you are?  Do you enjoy being up on your high horse and lying to yourself?  Do you help them cheat because you know that’s the only way they would give the time of day to a mudblood like you?”

Draco’s voice had gotten louder as he ranted at her, and now he was breathing hard as he stared down at her.  She looked stunned, conflicted, and a little hurt.  It was the expression he had expected to see on her face after he called her that word the first time.  He felt an odd lurch of guilt, but mostly he felt angry.

“I–” she started, but Draco cut her off.

“Save it,” he said.  “I don’t need to hear your sniveling excuses.  For somebody who is supposed to be so smart, you are the idiot if you can’t even see how your supposed friends take advantage of you.  They are the cheaters, not me.  And you help them cheat because that's what you have to do to fit in with them.  You are lying to yourself if you believe anything different.”

She glared at him but squared her shoulders as she turned and marched away.  Draco stared at her retreating back, his emotions coursing through him as he watched.  He liked putting her in her place.  Nobody else would do it, not really, and she deserved to know that she had been wrong about him.    

But he still didn’t like that it had come to this.  He hated how much he craved her attention.  She was a mudblood.  He wasn’t supposed to even interact with her, let alone find himself drawn into her orbit.  And he hated the fact that when she did give him attention it was hostile and suspicious instead of the smiles and laughter she gave to Potter and Weasley.

He hated it.  He hated her.

Except he didn’t.  And that, he knew, was a very serious problem.  

******

17 October 1992

For nearly three weeks Granger went back to ignoring Draco, though she wasn’t as good at it as she used to be.  Her spine would stiffen, and she would fall suspiciously silent whenever the topic of Quidditch arose, which was often.  He had all but abandoned his plan of ignoring Granger because it wasn’t working, and in any event he enjoyed watching her discomfort whenever her friends would ask her to help them cheat.

“Please Hermione,” Weasley would groan.  “I’ll never get it without you!”

“Remember who the real cheaters are, Granger,” Draco would call out, and though Granger didn’t acknowledge him when he did this, Draco could see that she was growing uncomfortable with it. 

She lasted until the middle of October before confronting him again, while he and Theo were in the library.

“Malfoy,” she said, as she marched over to him.

Draco traded a quick glance with Theo and threw his quill down before leaning back and trying to act casual.

“Mudblood,” he drawled.

At this she gave an annoyed huff.  

“You know what?  Nevermind.  I was going to be the bigger person and actually apologize to you, but I won’t if you–”

“No, no, please mudblood...  Tell me how sorry you are.”

At this she glared at him and chewed on her lower lip.

“Go on,” Draco prodded.  “Beg for my forgiveness.”

To Draco’s consternation something on her face seemed to clear, and then she gave him a smile of her own that made his blood run cold.

“Alright then.  I apologize for assuming that you would only be able to get onto the Quidditch team because your father bought your way onto it.  When I said it, I assumed you spent your free time in more admirable pursuits like your studies.  Of course I should have realized that your free time is spent on a broom, because you’ve never taken the time to really think, have you?”

Draco scowled at this.  “If this is supposed to be an apology…”

“Oh but I did apologize for jumping to conclusions.  For that, I am truly, deeply sorry, Malfoy,” she said in a mocking voice.  Then she turned serious.  “I do not, however, apologize for calling you an idiot after Ron told me what that foul word means because you are one if you really believe any of it.”

Draco sneered at her.  “But as we already established, you are a mudblood.  Your parents are dirty muggles.  That means your blood is dirty just like theirs is.”

Granger made an irritated sound as she gave him her classic eye-roll.

“Have you ever heard of biology?  Or genetics?  Or science at all?  God, Hogwarts is missing so much material that the rest of the world learns.  I knew it when I enrolled here, but I truly didn’t believe the other students would be this clueless.”

And with that, she pulled out a chair, sat down, and retrieved a stack of books that he didn’t recognize from her bag.  Draco and Theo exchanged surprised looks.  Not once had Granger ever sat with them.  Not knowing what else to do, Draco read the title of her book upside down.

On the Origin of Species

“What is that?” demanded Draco.

Granger glanced at him.  “A book about evolution.  One of the earliest.  Mum gave me the kids’ version over the summer as part of my home education, but I decided to read the original.”

“Evolution?” asked Theo curiously.

“Yes of course,” said Granger, who was focusing on Theo now.  “You know, natural selection?  Survival of the fittest?  It helps explain something called biodiversity.  Magic, for instance, is obviously a recessive gene.  That accounts for muggleborns like me.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at her.  “Mudbloods stole their magic,” he said, now testing one of the theories his father had espoused over the years.

He glanced at Theo as he said this, and Theo looked a little perturbed, but he didn’t object.  Instead, he was watching Granger intently to see how she would react to this.  To both of their surprise she looked at Draco like he was being dense.

“Stole it?  How on earth could we steal it?”

“You tell me,” said Draco.  “You’re the thief, aren’t you?”

“God, you are so stupid!” she cried, closing her eyes as though this fact was actually painful for her.  “Tell me, please, how could I steal something if I don’t know that it exists in the first place?  Because as a rule, muggles aren’t aware of magic!”

There was an uncomfortable silence as Draco absorbed her question.  He glanced at Theo, who looked like he thought she was making a reasonable point, and Draco was loath to admit that she was.  But he couldn’t let her win this.

“Perhaps you did know,” he insisted.  “Maybe you saw a neighbor or a friend performing magic.”

Granger rolled her eyes.  “Right.  Sure.  But according to my parents, my first accidental magic happened when I was a toddler... and my mum had some odd things happen during her pregnancy with me, which she later realized was probably magic too.  I wasn't even out in the world at that point.  Somehow I doubt that I was able to identify magic, steal it, and then keep it all for myself as an unborn baby or even a two year old… especially when my parents had no idea what it was.  And now that my parents are aware of magic thanks to me, don’t you think they would want to steal it too in order to stay close to me and join this world?  Why haven’t they done that yet?  Oh, maybe it’s because stealing magic is impossible.  But of course your parents would teach you that muggleborns are thieves instead of actually thinking about it for two minutes and realizing it’s all just genetics.  Most muggles learn the basics of genetics near the end of primary school or early secondary school, and I thought wizards would too.  Obviously I was hoping for too much.”

She presented them both with a stern glare, which told Draco that she believed her pre-Hogwarts education to be superior to theirs.

Draco clenched his jaw.

“What’s the genetic explanation, then?” he asked.

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose as if Draco’s stupidity was making her suffer.  Draco scowled, but she didn’t react to it and instead opened her eyes and began to lecture.

“The genetic explanation says that magic is based on a gene.  It’s inherited.  Just like other traits it can disappear until it shows up again many generations later.  There are all sorts of traits like that.  Your hair, for instance, is this odd shade of blonde that is extremely rare.  How many people in this school have hair like yours?  There’s you and maybe one other student.  Two at most.  That means it’s a recessive trait.  If you got married and had children with a woman who had brown hair, your children would probably have brown hair because it’s more common than blonde.  The blonde gene could be hidden and passed down, and maybe it would be your grandchild or great-grandchild who finally came out blonde again.  Or maybe it would be your own child because things just happened that way.  That’s what happened with you and your father.  But the point is, your blonde hair is a recessive trait.  That’s no different than magic, which is also a recessive trait.  Mum believes I had an ancestor who was a squib, and the magical gene just disappeared for a few generations until I was born.  All wizards are genetic weirdos.”

Draco just gaped at her, and he didn't even have the bandwidth to tell her that she was wrong about his hair.  It was family magic that made all Malfoys blonde.  But he knew that other traits were inherited and could disappear for a few generations before reemerging again, and now she was claiming that magic itself was among them.

“Wizards are genetic weirdos?” he asked.  He was very offended by this statement, and one glance at Theo said that he was offended too.

“Of course,” she said, rolling her eyes.  “My mum and I talked about this over the summer.  When a trait only appears one time out of a thousand births, it's unusual.  It just so happens that wizards have formed communities around this one trait, and they tend to marry and have children with each other.  Muggleborns are even rarer than purebloods or half-blood wizards because we are born outside of the community.  You may not think that magic is weird because it’s all you know.  But if you back up and look at it based on the total population… you would see that muggles are normal and wizards are the odd ones.”

"That's only true if there are a lot more muggles than wizards in the world."

"I've already told you that there are - fifty-five million muggles in the UK alone, remember?"

"But that was obviously a lie."

"Was it a lie?  Or was it like me assuming you bought your way onto the Quidditch team?  I thought that was obvious too.  The difference between us is that when you told me I was wrong, I actually thought about it and realized I jumped to conclusions without any proof.  You, on the other hand, thought about the things I said on the train, and instead of looking it up for yourself, you just let your father rot your brain.  I know you didn't look it up, because if you had, you would have seen that I was right.  In the future, you should really do your own research before you decide that I'm lying to you, Malfoy.  Every time you deny something that's factually true, it makes you sound so stupid it's hardly bearable.  The same goes for you too, Theo."

Draco scowled, and Theo looked torn, but she ignored them and opened her book to read and scratch notes.

“And why are you still sitting here?” demanded Draco after several minutes of silence.  

She glanced at him.  “To help you learn just how dumb you sound when you use that word.”

Draco’s nostrils flared.  “I’m not going to stop saying it.  You are a mudblood.”

She just pursed her lips.  “Fine.  Call me a mudblood then, see if I care.  And then write home and tell your parents and tell them that a mudblood beat you in school – both of you.  And don’t forget that while I score top marks at Hogwarts, I’m also doing independent studies for my muggle schooling as well.  I am certainly not going to go into the world having never learned about something as basic as genetics.”

She gave a disdainful sniff and then turned back to her books.  

Draco glanced at Theo, who had a strange expression in his face that Draco couldn’t immediately identify.  As for Draco, he was growing angry.  She was so infuriating, so rude, so distracting.

And she wasn’t even looking at her book about evolution anymore.  No, she was working out some odd maths with letters again.

“Malfoy, how high is the astronomy tower?” she suddenly asked.

Draco blinked at her.  “Why?”

She just gave him an arrogant smile and gestured at her paper.  “Oh nothing much.  I’m just calculating how long it would take you to hit the ground if I shoved you off of it.  It’s something called physics.  Muggles study it, you know.  It's a very useful type of science and maths.”

Draco gaped at her, and to his consternation Theo snorted.  Granger turned and grinned at him.

“What do you think, Theo?  How high is the astronomy tower?”

“I’d say around twenty-seven meters,” said Theo.

“Thank you,” she said primly, before eyeing Draco critically.  “And I’d guess Malfoy here weighs just under nine stone.”

Draco just stared at her as she jotted out a few things, and then she looked up with a sly smile.

“According to my calculations, if I shoved you off the astronomy tower you would hit the ground in about 2.3 seconds.  That would be just long enough for you to realize what was happening to you before you went splat.”

At this, she snapped her book shut and rose.

“I’ll see you around Malfoy.  Theo.”

Draco and Theo watched her go without another word.

Draco started to fume.

~*~

Dear Journal,

She's impossible, did you know that?  Absolutely impossible!  She's a mudblood, but she still might be the most arrogant and bossy person I've ever met!  

She acts like muggles are superior to wizards, and everyone knows that's bollocks.  She also acts like the things she says are so obvious or well-known that I'm stupid if I've never heard about them.  But I was ranked third in our year!  I'm not stupid, and I'm a self-respecting wizard so I don't give a shit about muggles!  That's the only reason I don't know those things.  Why would I spend any time caring about an entire world full of dirty creatures who are lower than me?

Do you want to know the very worst part about that encounter with her?  Theo actually did look up the muggle population after Granger left, and she wasn't lying about it after all.  It turns out the Ministry of Magic tracks both population sizes pretty closely, so there are Ministry records of it.  So now I know that she told the truth about that, and there are a lot more muggles than wizards.  Theo offered to look up the things she said on the train about the moon too, but I told him to sod off.  I absolutely despise the fact that she is right about any of it, and there is no need to make it any worse.

Then again, what does it really prove that there a lot more muggles than wizards?  Granger would say it proves that wizards are odd.  But I think it just means that wizards are more powerful than muggles.  Obviously muggles are breeding like rabbits.  They probably have to do that in order to survive because their bodies are weaker than ours.  

What did she call it?  Natural selection?  Evolution?

The next time she lectures me about this, I'm going to point out that wizards have evolved to be the dominant species.  Pureblood wizards are like apex predators on the top of the food chain, and the muggles are like the rodents that predators eat. 

Where does that leave mudbloods, you ask?  The answer is nowhere.  They don't belong with the muggles, and they definitely don't belong with the real witches and wizards.  Maybe we should banish them all to their own island somewhere far away so we can finally restore the natural order here. 

I would give my entire inheritance to send Granger to Australia permanently.

Chapter Text

31 October 1992

Draco hated her, and this time he meant it.  Ever since her non-apology in the library when she talked about genetics and shoving Draco off of the astronomy tower, he had been in a foul mood. 

Over and over again he replayed their conversation.  He was still unsure about genetics being the source of magic.  But she had so neatly dismissed his father’s supposition that mudbloods stole magic that he couldn’t help but dwell on it.  He had believed it his whole life, and he had never really questioned it.  Then she had blown it all up by asking him a single, rhetorical question.

“...how could I steal something if I don’t know that it exists in the first place?”

How, indeed?

Draco had no answers, and he and Theo had spent hours discussing it after the others went to sleep.

Where did magic come from?  How did mudbloods get it if not through theft?  But how could one steal something before ever knowing what it was?  And why hadn’t her parents stolen it too?  

Much to Draco’s dismay, Theo had largely come around to Granger’s way of thinking, especially after ignoring Draco's pleas to leave it alone and finding several books about it.

“There’s an entire shelf about it in the Library, mate,” he said, as he shook a very thick book in Draco's face.  “She wasn’t making it up.  The muggles have studied it for years in a really organized way.  Wizards have known about it too, we just don’t study it in the same way they do.  But she’s right that things get passed down through families.  We’ve always known that, right?  I mean, whether it’s hair color or eye color or even something like being good at certain kinds of magic… we know things are inherited.  Why couldn’t having magic in the first place be the same way?”

Why couldn’t it?  Because if Granger was right about this, then Lucius was wrong.  And Lucius had already been wrong – or at least misleading – about two critical things.

Lucius had not been fully truthful when he told Draco that mudbloods were less powerful than purebloods.  Draco tried to convince himself that Granger was simply an anomaly, but after watching other mudbloods in the castle perform magic, he had been forced to admit that they weren't that far behind.  In fact, now that they were all in their second year, the mudbloods had largely caught up to the purebloods in spellwork.

Then there was the overarching issue with Draco's lack of muggle knowledge, which was intentional on Lucius's part.  Lucius had never said much about muggles, other than the fact that they were dirty animals who were dangerous if a wizard became involved with them, and Draco had never had any interest in learning more about them for this reason.  But Granger's ability to rattle of supposed facts - all of which seemed unbelievable at first, but which Theo confirmed with some additional research - placed Draco at a distinct disadvantage when it came to sparring with her.  He didn't know what muggles were capable of.  At best, it meant that Draco appeared stupid when going toe-to-toe with Granger.  At worst, it threatened to destabilize what little he did know.

It was uncomfortable and challenging, and Draco did not want the exposure that Granger had started and which Theo was now continuing.

Why am I best friends with somebody who is suddenly fascinated by muggles?

Draco didn't know, but Theo's imagination had been sparked by those few conversations with Granger.  And once Theo announced that muggles had indeed been to the moon, Draco finally put his foot down.

"I don't want to hear it, Theo."

"Why not?  It's amazing, isn't it?"

"It doesn't matter if it's amazing or not.  It isn't allowed.  Father would kill me."

"Well I don't care what my father thinks... he’s never told me any of this, and I think he's lied to me for my entire life."

Draco was painfully aware that Lucius wasn't that different from Tiberius, at least not when it came to the few lessons Draco had been taught about muggles.  But whereas Theo appeared delighted to learn that his father might not have told him the entire truth, Draco was on the verge of panic every time he considered it.

So yes, Draco hated Granger now.  Even his slight fascination with her didn’t change that.  She was in the process of ripping everything he knew to shreds, piece by piece, and unlike Theo, Draco didn’t want to question it.  But now he was on the precipice of doing just that, and it was all her fault.

He was so angry with her that even the prospect of the Halloween Feast this year couldn’t shake him out of his mood, and Theo had to drag him to the Great Hall.

“I don’t want to see that miserable little mudblood,” grumbled Draco.

Theo just rolled his eyes.  “So don’t look at her.  You’re getting better about it.”

Draco shot him an irritated look, while Theo just smiled a little.

“You’re annoying.”

“And you’re oblivious,” countered Theo.  “Anyway, what does it matter?”

“It matters because if Father was wrong about that, then what else was he wrong about?”

“Loads, I bet,” said Theo dismissively.  “And yes, I know that might be difficult for you to believe, but even adults get it wrong sometimes.  Look at Lockhart.  He’s all grown and famous, and he’s a colossal idiot.”

It was true, though Draco didn’t much appreciate his father being compared to Lockhart.  Other than the shoulder-length blonde hair and rather good looks, Draco thought they were nothing alike.

Oh merda, what if they are actually alike?

Draco felt worse than ever, and he didn't know what else to do except to carve out one more uncomfortable thought and try to shove it into a box in his mind.  He made a valiant effort to do it, and then grumbled in annoyance as Theo dragged him to the feast.  It was only when he arrived that he thought of Granger again.  Once glanced at the Gryffindor table told him that Granger’s bushy head was nowhere to be found, and it elevated Draco's mood ever so slightly, though it gave him yet another puzzle to sort out.  A closer look told him that Potter and Weasley were missing too, and it was unlike them to miss a meal, Weasley especially.  

“Where are they?” he muttered to Theo.

Theo just rolled his eyes.  “Who cares?  Weren’t you just saying that you don't want to see her?  And I know you don't want to see Potter and Weasley.  I’m sure they’ll be down later or maybe they’re doing something on their own.”

“Probably special treatment,” muttered Draco darkly.

“Can't be,” said Theo with a quick glance at the Gryffindor table himself.  “They’re the only ones from Gryffindor missing, and McGonagall is here.”

At this Draco stilled and studied the Gryffindor table, realizing that Theo was right.  It was true that Draco didn’t know all of them – especially not the students from the older years, and Salazar knew he could never keep up with the sheer number of Weasley’s roaming about the place – but he did know everybody in his own class.  Every one of them was at the feast except for Granger, Potter, and Weasley.

“What on earth…?” he muttered.

“Nevermind,” snapped Pansy, who had been listening to Draco and Theo’s discussion.  “They aren’t here.  That’s a good thing!”

Draco fell silent and tried to focus on his food and friends, though his eye continued to be pulled to the three empty seats at the Gryffindor table where the trio typically sat.  To his slight consternation, nobody but Draco seemed to think it was odd.

By the time the feast was wrapping up, Draco had almost put the missing students out of his mind, and he allowed Theo to pull him up from the table with pockets full of sweets to eat later on in the Slytherin common room.  As they emerged from the Great Hall they saw a crowd gathering in one of the nearby corridors.  Curious, Draco and the others approached to see what was going on.

Even from a distance, Draco could see the curly hair of Granger standing on end, and as soon as he spotted her he pushed forward aggressively.

“Ouch!”

“Knock it off!”

“Get out of the – oomph!”

Draco ignored them all until he was at the front, and he stared in amazement at the sight.  Granger, Potter, and Weasley were standing next to Mrs. Norris, the caretaker’s cat.  She was frozen, her eyes open wide in shock, and she was hanging on a nearby sconce by her tail.  Potter looked baffled, but Granger appeared to be frightened, as did the small Weasley girl who was hovering on the fringe of the crowd, immediately opposite Draco.  They were standing in a large puddle of water on the floor, which seemed to be coming from a nearby girls’ loo Draco had never noticed before.

That odd girl with the blonde hair who had waylaid him on the train was also standing near the Weasley girl.  Once again she was staring at Draco without blinking.  Draco noticed that this time she was wearing Ravenclaw colors.  He had made a point to ignore her sorting earlier in the year.

Their eyes met until Draco became uncomfortable with her attention yet again, and then he shifted his gaze away as he focused on a message that had been written on the wall.  It appeared to be written in red paint.

Or perhaps even blood.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.  ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

It wasn’t possible.

Draco’s mind immediately flashed to the only bedtime story his father had ever told him.  Draco used to request it because it meant Lucius would tuck him in.  Over and over, for years Draco heard the legend, and it became so frequent that Draco had memorized it for Lucius would tell it the same way every single time.

“Once upon a time the greatest of the Hogwarts Founders – Salazar Slytherin – built a chamber deep in the castle of Hogwarts.  He protected it with enchantments and hid the location of it from the other three Founders for they were not worthy to learn the magic that was practiced there.  This place – which was known as the Chamber of Secrets – was protected from the others.  There, Salazar Slytherin practiced the Dark Arts and blood magic, and he grew to be the most powerful sorcerer of his time.  When Slytherin’s powers outgrew Hogwarts, he placed a beast inside the Chamber of Secrets to guard it in his absence.  It was a monster, terrifying to behold and capable of living a thousand years.  The monster’s name was never spoken, but it was given a single task: to purge Hogwarts and the wizarding world of mudbloods.  And this, my son, is why Slytherin House is the noble one.  It is the House of pure blood.  It is the House that keeps traditions and secures plans to bring about a new order in the wizarding world.  And one day, when Salazar Slytherin’s true heir arrives at Hogwarts, he will find his enemies and take the steps that are required to unleash the monster to drive the mudbloods out.”

“And will I be safe, Father?”

“Oh my son, if the monster is ever released while you are at Hogwarts, you and the others who are pure will be kept safe.  The monster will never seek you out.  It will only destroy those who are unworthy of magic.”

Draco’s eyes landed on Granger, whose face looked bloodless as she stared at the cat.  He had never seen her afraid before, and something about it made him compelled to speak.

“Enemies of the Heir, beware!” cried Draco.  “You’ll be next, mudbloods!”

Look at me.

Draco felt a sense of dark satisfaction as Granger turned to lock eyes on Draco.  For a moment it was as though the crowd disappeared, and all he could see was her.  She had never looked at him like that before, with some combination of fear, revulsion, and hesitancy.  Draco’s stomach lurched.

She was terrified.  He had scared her.

But she was also looking at him again.

Draco swallowed and told himself that it was a good thing she was scared.  After all, she was in the process of dismantling everything that he found comfortable about magic.  A part of him wanted to do precisely the same thing to her.  She was the mudblood.  She was the one who shouldn’t be here.  He wanted to remove everything that made her feel secure because that was precisely what she had done to Draco.

He said nothing more as Dumbledore approached, and Draco melted back into the crowd.  He cast once last glance back at Granger, who appeared to be listening intently to Dumbledore and several other teachers, though he couldn’t help but notice that she was watching him out of the corner of her eye.

He threw her a smirk, and then grabbed Theo by the arm.  “Come on,” he said.  “I need to write to Father about this.”

“Who was it?” asked Crabbe eagerly.  He and Goyle had caught up with Draco and Theo.

“The Heir of Slytherin,” said Draco importantly.  “Salazar Slytherin’s monster has been released into the castle.  Purebloods will be safe, but mudbloods won’t be.  That Filch is practically a squib.  I suppose the Heir is going after squibs first, and the monster found the cat before it found old Filch.  Mudbloods will be next.”

“Who is the Heir?” asked Goyle, as they all hurried along.

“I don’t know, but Father will.  He used to tell me the story of the Chamber of Secrets.  I used to think it was a legend, but obviously it’s real.”

Theo was looking deeply uncomfortable.

“What?” asked Draco, seeing the look on his face.

“It’s just… that’s crazy, right?  Father used to tell me the same stories – some ancient monster in a secret part of the castle… but they would close the school before they let students get hurt.”

Draco scoffed.  “The monster is supposed to drive them out, Theo.”

“Didn’t you see that cat?”

“Yes, and I heard Dumbledore say she was petrified, not dead,” said Draco carelessly.  “So a few mudbloods might be petrified, so what?  If it scares the mudbloods enough to leave, then good riddance.”

Crabbe and Goyle were nodding along, while Theo frowned.

“Even if it’s Hermione who leaves?” he asked casually.

Draco gave him a sharp look.

“Why would I care?”

“Oh I don’t know,” said Theo, rolling his eyes.  “You never shut up about her, so –”

Draco turned and grabbed Theo by the arm.

“If the mudblood leaves, I will be thrilled,” said Draco.  “She’s been nothing but a distraction and a pain in my arse since the day she got here.”

Theo gave him a skeptical look, but rolled his eyes and yanked his arm out of Draco’s grip.  “Sure, mate.  Whatever.”

Draco frowned, but said nothing more as they made their way back to the common room and up to the dorm where Draco pulled out a scrap of parchment and wrote to his father.

Dear Father,

You will never believe what happened.  After the Halloween Feast there was a commotion outside the Great Hall, and on the wall somebody had written “The Chamber of Secrets has been opened.  Enemies of the Heir beware.”  Next to it the squib caretaker’s cat had been petrified.

You used to tell me the story of the Chamber of Secrets every night.  Can you tell me anything more about it?  Do you know who the Heir of Slytherin is?  Do you know what the monster is?  You always told me I was safe as a pureblood.  That’s still true, right?

Theo reckons the mudbloods will be harmed, but I think they will just be scared away.  That’s what the monster is trying to do, right?

Sincerely, Draco

******

7 November 1992

It took Lucius a week to respond to Draco.

Dear Draco,

I am indeed aware that the Chamber of Secrets has been opened.  As a member of the Board of Governors I was informed right away.  

It is not wise to write much about it, but I will tell you one thing I learned when Dumbledore informed me and the rest of the Board about the attack: it also happened around fifty years ago, and the last time it occurred a mudblood died.  The person who was responsible was caught and expelled.  Unfortunately they were found before the rest of the mudblood filth could be eradicated so the final purge was never complete.  However, we know that the monster can and will kill mudbloods if given an opportunity for it.  I will say no more than that, but I can promise you that you and your friends are perfectly safe.  It should only take a few attacks for the mudbloods to all flee or die and Dumbledore to be replaced as Headmaster so that they will not be allowed at Hogwarts in the future.  Please keep your head down and let the Heir get on with it.  You have nothing to fear by staying in the castle, as you are not the monster’s target.  

Rest easy, my son.

And now on a lighter note, I wish to inform you that your mother and I will be coming to Hogwarts to watch your first Quidditch match.  We eagerly await your victory.

Father

Draco read the letter with a sinking feeling.  This had happened before?  A mudblood had actually died last time?  They weren’t just petrified?  If so, he should be thrilled.  He should be like Lucius and hope that a few mudbloods died this time too so that the rest of them vacated the school.

What if it was Granger?

For once, he let himself feel it and really think about it.  He was in his room, curtains closed to read the letter, and there would be nobody there to see him react to it.  He closed his eyes and imagined it: Granger dying, her body broken and left in one of the corridors with that dirty blood of hers seeping out and…

His stomach turned.

He tore open the curtains and sprinted to the toilet before retching into the nearest bit of porcelain he could find.  

“Are you okay?” 

Draco looked up, shaking a little as he wiped the sick from his mouth to find Theo staring at him with concern.  Draco just closed his eyes and nodded for a moment before flushing the contents away and then moving to the sink to clean himself up.  In the mirror, Theo tried to meet his eye, but Draco kept his gaze down.  He was fighting his still-churning stomach.

“What happened?” asked Theo with concern.  “Did you eat something funny?”

Draco swallowed and shook his head.  He realized he was still gripping his father’s letter, crumpled in his hand, and he smoothed it out and handed it to Theo to read.

Theo’s eyes flew across it quickly, widening when they got to the section about a mudblood getting killed the last time.

“Do you think…” Theo started, before trailing off.

They just stared at each other.  Draco had fallen mute, unable to articulate what he was feeling: revulsion, fear, a keen wish that she would leave so he could have some peace – though he was forced to acknowledge he truly didn’t wish her dead.

Theo looked grim, but then a determined expression passed across his face as he waved the letter at Draco.  

“This is bollocks,” he said.

Draco blinked in surprise.  “What do you mean?  Father obviously knows–”

“I mean it’s bollocks because it’s not going to happen this time.  Dumbledore will get to the bottom of things.  The Chamber was opened fifty years ago?  Well even if that were true, Dumbledore wasn’t Headmaster back then.  He’s not going to let a student die, Draco.”

The knot in Draco’s stomach unclenched ever so slightly.

“Yeah?” he asked, in what he hoped was a casual voice.

“Yes,” said Theo firmly.  “Nobody is going to die, and especially not her.”

Draco’s jaw feathered.  “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

Theo just rolled his eyes.  “Of course you do.  I’m talking about Hermione Granger.  I know that’s who you’re imagining - you care about her, don’t deny it - and look, I get it because I care about her too...”

A jolt of something poisonous shot through Draco at these words.

“...because she’s a good study partner, and Merlin knows her very existence hacks off Father, which makes me thrilled…”

The poisonous feeling receded, though Draco found himself slightly confused by how violently it had gripped him in the first place.

“...and she’s about the last muggleborn who would be attacked.”

Draco frowned in confusion.  “What?  Why?”

Theo looked at him like he was dense.  “Because she’s one of Potter’s best friends!  I may not hate them like you do, but even I can see how much favoritism those three get.  Dumbledore watches Potter constantly, and Hermione is never far behind.  She’s probably the most closely watched muggleborn in the castle.  I mean, between Dumbledore and Snape – who has his eyes on her all the time, though I have no idea why – and all the other teachers she’s always trying to impress… and of course Potter and Weasley and you…”

“Shut it,” muttered Draco, but he found himself clinging to Theo’s words, hoping that he was at least a little bit right.  Draco didn’t particularly want other students watching her, but if there was a monster loose in the castle, then he certainly wanted the teachers and Dumbledore keeping an eye on her until she was forced out.

“I’m right, admit it.”

Draco just inclined his head, but refused to say the words.

Theo rolled his eyes.  “Whatever.  My point is, I’m not saying it’s safe, but the school will be shut down before Dumbledore or anybody else lets the monster lay a finger – or I suppose a claw or fang – on her.  It would be almost impossible for her to get attacked.”

Draco’s anxiety continued to recede as he thought through Theo’s words.

Theo was right: out of every mudblood in the castle, Granger would be attacked last.  There were so many mudbloods that the school would surely be shut down or the mudbloods ousted for their own safety before it made its way to her.  

He found himself starting to relax, and Theo looked relieved.

“Good,” he said.  “If you’re worried, you can ask Snape to keep a closer watch on her… but I really think she’ll be just fine, Draco.”

Draco nodded and reached out for the letter, which Theo handed back.  He glanced down and read it once more.

“This is a good thing then,” he said slowly.  “She’s a horrible distraction and absolutely infuriating.  You’re right she’s not going to die… I was being ridiculous… but I do need her to leave for my sanity.  Maybe this monster will drive her out for me.”

Theo gave him an exasperated look, and Draco cut him off before he could object.

“Don’t, Theo, I mean it.  I’m glad the monster is going to clean up Hogwarts.  I don’t want her to die, but I need her gone.”

And with that, Draco folded the letter and tucked it back inside of his pocket, brushing past a dismayed Theo without another word.

He climbed into bed, yanked the curtains closed, and laid back down, with his fingers laced behind his head.

Theo’s right.  She will be fine.  And with any luck, the monster will force her out.

Draco felt the tension drain, and he sank into his pillow as he thought about it further.

The monster was really a blessing.  She was frightened of it, that much had been obvious when he saw her standing next to that cat.  He really needed her to leave Hogwarts so he could forget all about her, and perhaps she would give into her fear and leave before she was forced out.  She might be intelligent, but didn’t Lucius always say that fear did peculiar things to people?  Maybe she would become so scared that she wouldn’t realize just how closely the professors watched her. 

Draco could be the one to remind her that the monster was out for muddy blood like hers.  He could remind Potter and Weasley too.  If Granger didn’t succumb to fear for herself, they would surely do it for her with their overprotective Gryffindor instincts.

A small smile flitted across Draco’s face, and soon he was falling into a peaceful sleep.

Let the monster get on with it, then, and good riddance.

~*~

Dear Journal,

The Chamber of Secrets has been opened, and now all the mudbloods are walking around in fear.

Even Granger is afraid of it, though she put on a good show of being brave.  But I know what fear looks like on her now, and it’s not going to be the last time she feels that way.  I'll keep reminding her if I have to so that she will leave.

I imagine Hogwarts without her around, and the fantasy is soothing.  Every time we exchange words she does her damnedest to make me feel stupid or less than her... isn't that ridiculous?  Me, Draco Malfoy, less than somebody like her?

It's absurd, but she still manages to do it.  Everything about my life would be simpler if she was gone.  Maybe I could finally focus on my classes a bit more or Quidditch.  Maybe I would even get lucky and Potter would follow her back to the muggle world too.

Without Potter or Granger in my life, then the only distraction I have left is Weasley, and nobody gives a shit about him.  I suppose it's too much to ask for Slytherin's monster to drive out the Weasleys too.

Just picture it: me, Theo, and the other purebloods ruling a Hogwarts that is free of mudbloods, Weasleys, and Potter.

What kind of world would that be? I think it would be a good one, with everybody and everything back in its proper place.

Salazar, I hope I get to experience that someday.

Chapter Text

14 November 1992

It was the first Quidditch match of the season, and Draco thought he was going to be sick with nerves.  He had been training for weeks, even putting his marks at risk for it, and his anxiety had reached such an advanced state that he nearly forgot about the Chamber of Secrets.  He certainly couldn't worry about the rumors from the other students while the days crept toward his first public match ever.  He didn’t know if it was tradition or just Dumbledore’s twisted sense of humor that the first match of the season nearly every year was Slytherin versus Gryffindor.  

Because of course Draco’s first real match ever would have him going up against Harry bloody Potter.  And while Draco would never take back what he said about Potter’s favoritism or the teachers’ appalling willingness to bend the rules when it came to their little savior, even Draco was forced to admit that he was talented on a broomstick.

“He’s the youngest seeker in a century!”

“He’ll be able to play for England one day!”

“He’s never lost a game!”

As the day for the match grew closer, the taunts from the Gryffindors grew louder.  After the slug incident with Weasley at the beginning of the year, the rivalry between Draco and Potter was becoming better known, even among the upperclassmen.  Draco was unmistakable with his trademark Malfoy hair, which was like a spotlight in the corridors between classes.  Even sixth and seventh years seemed to know who he was, and they took great delight in mocking him while praising Potter.

The most infuriating part about it was that every single thing they said was true.  He was the youngest Hogwarts seeker in a century.  He probably could play for England someday if he kept up with it.  And while he had only been on the team for a single year, it meant that he had several games’ worth of experience that Draco did not share, and Potter had never once lost.

Draco was certain that if there was a single student in the entire sodding school whom Potter wanted to beat, it was him.  And a determined Harry Potter on a broomstick was a slightly terrifying prospect.

The confidence and excitement Draco had gained from being placed on the team in the first place had been taken over by nausea as the day approached, not that Draco would allow anybody to see him crack.

“Put it in a box, my dear.  Be strong.  Carve out your emotions and hide them away until it’s safe to look at them again.”

Narcissa’s words echoed through Draco’s mind, as he tried to do just that.  His mother had always said this to him, especially when Draco faced his father’s disappointment.  She left most of his education and even a great deal of his care to tutors and elves, but when it came to controlling his emotions she was the only person who had ever given him real instruction.  Narcissa took great care to make sure Draco knew when it was safe and not safe to feel.  He could examine feelings in the privacy of his room, when there were no portraits watching him do it.  He could feel with his mother and his bonded elf and maybe even Theo.  But in front of his other friends, the school, and even his own father, Draco should show nothing but confidence and pride.  It was expected of him as a Malfoy, and showing emotional weakness would do nothing but give others something they could exploit.  

Draco knew he wasn’t always successful in following Narcissa’s advice – a certain bushy-haired Gryffindor had an uncanny ability to make Draco lose his cool – but as he forced himself to eat breakfast and ignore the taunts before the match, Draco shoved those nerves deep into the recesses of his mind.

“Right,” he said, standing up as Marcus Flint called the team to the locker rooms.  “I’m ready.”

“Good luck!” squealed Pansy, who jumped up too, looking like she wanted to hug him.  Draco deftly side-stepped to avoid her out of an abundance of caution.

“You’ll be fine,” said Zabini bracingly, though Draco caught a hint of worry on his face that was surprising.  Crabbe and Goyle nodded dumbly, while Daphne gave him a smile of encouragement.

Then his eyes landed on Theo, who looked almost as nervous as Draco felt.

“I’ll be there,” he said, looking faintly green.  

Draco gave him a tight smile.  He knew that Theo didn’t care for Quidditch at all, and if Draco hadn’t been on the team he would never have bothered.  It gave him a little boost, despite the look on Theo’s face that clearly told Draco he expected the game to go poorly.

“Thanks,” said Draco tightly.  “I’ll see you all afterwards.”

He turned and made his way toward the rest of the team, eyes falling on Potter, who was accepting a hug of good luck from Granger before he left.  Draco came to a halt as he watched it, fantasies of knocking Potter off of his broom from fifty feet in the air suddenly materializing.

Draco’s eyes then slid to the tiny Weasley girl, who had been watching this display as well, and Draco was surprised by how wan she looked.  She was staring at Potter and Granger a bit wistfully, but she also seemed to be mentally absent.  As he watched, she pulled out a small black journal and began to scribble furiously inside of it.

Draco forced his attention away from the Gryffindors.  He would be seeing Potter soon enough.  For now he had to focus, and he made himself carve out his feelings about the match, Potter, Granger, and even the odd curiosity he felt about the youngest Weasley girl.  He shoved it into his mental box and closed the lid tightly as he made his way down to the locker rooms for the last team meeting before the game.

Draco scarcely heard Flint’s pep talk, until his name was mentioned.

“And Malfoy… your only job is to catch the snitch.  Mark Potter if you have to, but your broom is faster than his.  I expect you to win any races.”

Draco swallowed hard and just gave a single nod, as Flint clapped his hands and gestured toward the locker room entrance.

“On the field!  Let’s go!”

Draco and his teammates gripped their brooms, and together they strode out onto the field.  Draco’s heart stuttered when he heard the cheers and taunts coming from the hundreds of spectators in the stands above.

“Everyone gather round!” called Madam Hooch, who was carrying the crate of balls under her arm.  Draco moved forward and found himself opposite Potter, who was staring back at him with a great deal of dislike.  Draco’s lip curled into a sneer, as he mounted his broom.

The moment the whistle blew, Draco kicked off from the ground, and seconds after that the balls were released into the air.  He caught the barest flash of gold, and then it was gone, before Potter shot above him.

It took almost no time at all before a bludger tried to take Potter's head off.

Remarkably, Draco found himself chuckling at the sight, as he made a quick loop to settle his nerves.  Now that he was in the air, the sounds from the crowd was a din he could ignore, though the weather quickly turned uncooperative as it started to rain.  The crowd, of course, had umbrellas and magic to repel the water, but the players didn’t, and it wasn’t long before Draco’s uniform was stuck to him, and the cold November air was making him chilled.  Then again, the rain helped with the sounds from the crowd.  With the sound of rain coming down in sheets, Draco could no longer make out words – just cheers, groans, and gasps as they watched the game begin.

Draco was determined to stay above it all because he knew that Potter usually stayed above it all.  Potter, however, was dodging yet another bludger, and had now moved closer to the middle of the game than where he typically played.

Draco just shrugged.  He would mark Potter as soon as he was out of the center of the game.  Potter couldn’t look for the snitch where he was, and Draco could use Potter’s distraction to his advantage.

His eyes darted around the field, even drifting toward the stands, until he froze in midair.

Even through the rain there was no mistaking that flash of white blonde hair, especially next to the inky black of Severus Snape.

Father is here.  And Mother is beside him.

Draco’s box cracked, and his nerves began to seep out, especially when he realized his father was not looking at him.

No, Lucius’s head was bent toward Severus, who was pointing discretely toward the Gryffindor stands, where Granger, Weasley, and the Weasley girl were all huddling under umbrellas.  Granger’s curls were rioting in the damp, and the Weasley girl looked to be as pale as a ghost as she pressed herself into her brother for warmth.

From his vantage point Draco could see the sneer that crossed Lucius’s face, as he nodded and sat back, before his attention returned to the game.

Draco shut his eyes to compose himself, because this was not the moment to dissect why Lucius seemed to care about Granger or any Weasley.  No, he had a game to win, especially with his parents here to witness Draco’s success or failure first-hand.

It took every bit of concentration that Draco had, but he resealed his box and turned his attention back toward the game and Potter.

Potter, however, didn’t seem to have his attention on the game at all, because he was dodging yet another bludger.  Draco paused to watch, his brow furrowing in confusion.  Bludgers were supposed to be attracted to magic and drawn to whichever player was closest to them.  They were equal opportunity disruptors, and yet Potter’s bludger seemed to be following him so closely that the Weasley twins had all but abandoned the rest of the game to protect him.

As Draco watched, one of the twins hit the bludger toward him, but before Draco had to duck, the bludger boomeranged on its own and came barreling back toward Potter, forcing him to drop further in the sky to avoid it.  As Draco watched, the bludger started to chase Potter, and even a hit from the second twin didn’t do anything to change it.  The twins were converging on Potter, and Draco tried to use the distraction to find the snitch through the horrible weather to no avail.

Madam Hooch called for a Gryffindor timeout.

Draco hurtled to the ground, as Flint called the players around him.

“Did any of you tamper with the bludgers?” he asked tightly.

Draco and his teammates all shook their heads dumbly.  Flint gave a piercing glare to each, and then seemed to exhale in relief.

“Right.  Well it looks like somebody has it out for Potter… and we’re going to be blamed for it, no doubt.  You know I’m willing to play dirty, but nothing that would forfeit the game, yeah?”

All the players nodded, and suddenly Flint grinned.  “Good.  Perhaps we have a friend in the crowd…”

At this, his eyes drifted toward Lucius, and Draco blinked in surprise.

Father?  Could father have actually…. No.  He would think it beneath him.

Draco, however, didn’t voice these thoughts and just gave Flint a stoney look back.

“Right,” said Flint, narrowing his eyes again.  “Well if none of you have tampered, then they can’t prove it was us.  Malfoy, I expect you to use this to your advantage.  Do whatever you have to do to distract Potter so the bludger does its job and takes him out of the game entirely.  Their reserve seeker is utter shite and can’t hold a candle to you.  Chasers, we’re up sixty-nil, but run up the score as fast as you can just in case Potter pulls one of his miracle saves out of his arse.”

Draco and the team nodded firmly, knowing that it was a good plan.  Before long, the timeout was over, and Draco was kicking off again, the instructions from Flint clear in his mind.

Distract him so the bludger does its job.

Draco flew closer to him as Potter was ducking, diving, and rolling.  The Gryffindor beaters had abandoned him, evidently willing to let Potter handle the bludger himself so that they could focus on defending their chasers.

A moment later, Potter was above him, and as Draco watched Potter was forced to do a ridiculous twirl in the air to avoid it.

Distract him.

"Training for the ballet, Potter?" Draco shouted.

Potter froze and stared down at Draco, an odd look passing his face before crunch!

The bludger rammed itself into Potter’s arm, and he gasped and went pale as he started to slide off, but to Draco’s utter shock he managed to hang on and didn’t immediately move out of the way.  Draco cocked his head and saw the bludger turning back and aiming for his head this time.  Draco opened his mouth to taunt Potter again, when Potter suddenly dropped like a rock, directly toward Draco.

Draco’s heart picked up speed as he realized they were about to collide in midair.

Draco gasped, darting out of the way, and then to his horror he saw Potter’s grey face clenched in determination as the hand from his uninjured arm darted out and closed around a tiny golden ball.

“No…” whispered Draco, as Potter continued to hurtle downward, nearly crashing into the muddy grass below, both Weasley twins following close behind.  He raised the snitch listlessly into the air, and then immediately passed out as the twins smashed the bludger away and then again and again.

They were guarding him.

“NO!” shouted Draco, as his box cracked once more and rage erupted.  

He spun around in the air to find his father sneering again, but this time his attention was focused on Draco.

“Disappointing,” he mouthed, and Draco felt tears prink the corner of his eyes while his chest tightened in pain.  He glanced at his mother, who looked back at him sympathetically, and somehow it was almost worse than his father’s disgust.

I will not cry.  I will not cry.  I will not cry…

Involuntarily he glanced toward Granger, who was paying Draco no mind.  She was now rushing down from the stands and sprinting toward the prone figure of Harry Potter.  She was followed by the remaining Weasleys, Longbottom, that Creevey kid, and several professors.

Draco turned away and drifted toward the ground, ignoring the crowd surrounding Potter.

He had lost.  He had lost the snitch to Potter, who managed to grab it with a broken arm.  It was horrifying.

Draco struggled desperately to shove his feelings back into his box as he landed to face his irate captain and teammates.

“YOU LOST US THE BLOODY GAME!” roared Flint.  “THE SNITCH WAS PRACTICALLY ON TOP OF YOU!  WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU NOTICE!”

“You said to distract him…” said Draco in a tight voice.

“DISTRACT HIM, YES, BUT NOT AT THE EXPENSE OF THE ENTIRE SODDING GAME!  WE LOST BECAUSE OF YOU!”

Draco found himself dissociating as the words washed over him.  Flint continued to rant and scream, much as Lucius used to do whenever Draco let him down.  Sure enough, Draco glanced up at the stands and saw his father watching Flint dress him down.  As soon as they made eye contact, Lucius’s lips curled once more, before he turned his back on Draco and steered Narcissa out of the stands.

He barely heard Flint any longer, as the sting of his parents’ disappointment struck him in that familiar way.  He would never get used to it, not ever.

When Flint had shouted himself hoarse, Draco was finally released, and he trudged after his teammates, falling behind as they moved into the locker room to shower first.  In the distance he saw Potter hobbling away from the pitch, his arm oddly limp and floppy, which made Draco’s stomach turn.

He was about to head into the locker room when he saw Granger breaking away from the group, with Weasley close behind her.  

Draco came to a halt as they approached.

“How did you do it?” she spat.

Draco swallowed back his irritation and just raised one eyebrow.

“How did I do what?” he asked tonelessly.

“That bludger!” she declared.  “I know it was you!  You’re the reason Harry’s arm was broken like that!”

Draco gave a mirthless laugh.  “Piss off, Granger.”

“Why you little–” started Weasley, but Draco spun back around and gave him a poisonous look.

“Do you really want to finish that, Weasel?” he demanded.  “Or maybe you should scurry off and tend to your boyfriend?”

Weasley went pale and started to splutter.

“What?” asked Draco innocently.  “Am I wrong?  My sincerest apologies, of course I am.  He’s Granger’s boyfriend isn’t he?”

Draco knew Granger had once denied it, but after seeing her concern and affection for Potter he was no longer certain.  Besides, something told him those words would hit Weasley where it hurt, and sure enough Weasley began to turn red.

And with that, Draco turned his back on them both, leaving them to stand there and eye each other awkwardly as he shoved the door to the locker room open.

“Harry and I aren’t like that, Ronald.  Malfoy’s just bitter because he lost…” came Granger’s faint voice behind him.

Draco wondered if it was possible to drown himself in the shower.  

He was certainly going to find out.

~*~

Dear Journal,

I'm a failure.  

I knew this was going to happen, but I didn't expect it to happen like this.  Of course Potter caught the snitch, but did he have to do it in such a humiliating way?  While he had a broken arm and I just what... hovered there?

Father and Mother were in the stands and saw the whole thing.  Father hasn't looked at me like that since my hawthorn and unicorn hair wand chose me.  Even coming in third behind Granger and Theo at the end of First Year didn't produce that sort of disgust.

What are the odds he's going to write to me about it?  Or send a howler?  Or maybe he won't do anything at all and just let the other Slytherins punish me for him.

I can't decide which option is the worst.

I hate everything about this.  If I lose another match this year, he'll probably disown me.  

******

15 November 1992

The shower was drown-proof, and that meant Draco took to his bed directly after the game and refused to emerge.  He didn’t want to see anybody.  He didn’t want to talk to anybody.  And he would have continued to mope if it hadn’t been for Theo, who finally wrenched his bed curtains open and forced Draco to eat something at wand point.

“It’s not that bad,” said Theo.

“It’s wretched,” said Draco.

“It’s just Quidditch.  It doesn’t matter.”

“Did Potter get points for it?” asked Draco bitterly.

Theo hesitated.

“Well?” pressed Draco.

“Fifty,” conceded Theo, and Draco just snorted in disgust.

“Fifty points for winning a game that supposedly doesn’t matter.”

“Merlin, Draco, it doesn’t!  After what happened with the House Cup last year, do you really think Dumbledore is ever going to let Gryffindor lose while Potter is a student here?  Of course he won’t.  If it wasn’t fifty points for this, it would have been fifty points for getting caught out of bed.  You know him.”

Draco fell silent and picked at a thread on his quilt moodily.

“Look, I get that Flint may be angry with you, but the rest of the House isn’t.  In fact, Adrian Pucey finally silenced him last night because he was driving everybody mad with his complaints.”

Draco looked up at Theo cautiously.  “Why aren’t they angry?”

Theo shrugged.  “The snitch was by your ear and out of your line of sight, mate.  You couldn’t have seen it unless you turned your head at exactly the right time, and you were busy doing what Flint told you to do so you didn’t see it.  Boles heard what you said to Potter, and it actually worked.  You’re the reason his arm was broken.  It was just terrible luck that the snitch appeared next to you when it did.  If it had been a few seconds later Potter would have been out of the game, and you would have caught it.  I promise you, the rest of the Slytherins don't blame you for it.”

Draco slumped back, feeling the tiniest bit better.  Perhaps he wouldn’t have to hide his face if most of his House mates really weren't angry about it.

Then again…

“Father was angry,” he said in a quiet voice.

Theo’s eyes softened, and he reached forward to grip Draco’s shoulder.  

“We both know what it’s like to disappoint our fathers.  It’s never a good feeling, not even when we hate them.”

“I don’t hate him,” said Draco automatically.

Theo’s mouth tightened.  “Maybe you should.”

Draco blinked in surprise.  “What?  Why?”

Theo’s hand slid from his shoulder and he sat back with a bitter look on his face.  “Because our fathers are arseholes.  Apparently not all fathers are like ours.”

Draco frowned.  “What are you on about?”

Now Theo shrugged and looked away.  “There was another attack last night, after the match.  Colin Creevey… you know that little firstie with the camera who is always following Potter around?  He’s petrified.  I went to the hospital wing for a headache potion before I came here, and while I was there McGonagall and Hermione were leading his parents inside to visit.  His father… he cried, Draco.  He cried and kissed his forehead and cheeks and practically flung himself on top of Creevey.  I’ve never seen a grown man behave that way before.”

Draco’s mouth opened in surprise, wholly unprepared for this torrent of information.

“There was an attack?”

“Yes, late last night.  Snape announced it in the common room this morning, but you weren’t there.”

“And Granger was there?  Why?”

Theo shrugged.  “It seemed she was serving as a student ambassador of sorts.  They're both Gryffindors, and she knows how to behave around muggles.”

“So you’re telling me there are muggles in the school right now?  That’s supposed to be impossible!” said Draco, as he scrambled out of bed and began to hurriedly get dressed.

Theo looked surprised at Draco’s sudden willingness to emerge, but he said, “Well yeah, but Dumbledore controls the wards, doesn’t he?  I’m sure he can let muggles in if he wants to.  Seeing as how their son almost died, it’s not surprising that he let them in to visit.”

“Of course it’s crazy,” said Draco.  “They’re muggles.  They don’t belong here.”

He pulled on his shoes and began to stride out of the room, when Theo grabbed his arm.

“Wait!  What are you doing?”

“I’m going to see if the muggles are still here,” he said, yanking his arm out of Theo’s grasp.

“No!  You can’t!  That’s crazy, that’s–”

But Draco ignored him and shut the door in his face, muttering a slightly obscure locking spell he had made a point to learn after the train incident with Granger to give himself a head start.  He was sure Theo would break it in a few minutes, but it wouldn’t be with an Alohamora.

Draco shoved his wand away and strode toward the Hospital Wing, not precisely sure why he was so eager to confront a pair of muggles.  All he knew was that they did not belong here.  They were foreign, forbidden, and so unusual that McGonagall had recruited a student to help bridge the gap between their worlds…

Draco turned the corner on the second floor and nearly ran headfirst into Granger herself, who had just emerged from what he thought was the same girls’ loo where the cat had been attacked on Halloween.

“Oh!” she said in surprise, and Draco automatically reached out to stop them from colliding.  He quickly dropped his hand and didn’t allow himself to think about the fact that he had just touched her yet again.

“Watch where you’re going, Granger,” he snarled.

Granger pursed her lips and scowled.

“Maybe you should watch it, Malfoy.  You’re walking on the wrong side of the hallway, or don’t wizards learn about that sort of thing?”

She crossed her arms stubbornly, and Draco’s eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance.  Her hair was unusually bushy and her cheeks flushed.  She had a faint acrid scent about her, and Draco found himself sniffing curiously.

“Have you been brewing something?” he demanded.

Granger barely blinked, and her expression didn’t change at all.  But Draco felt her magic thicken, and he just knew she was about to lie to his face.

“No,” she said.  “Why would I be brewing on a Sunday?”

Draco had to admit, her ability to lie with a perfectly straight face was impressive, and if he wasn’t so observant he would have believed her.

But he knew what she looked like when she was brewing.  She looked precisely like this: hot, slightly frazzled, with a volume of hair that threatened to take over everything within three feet of her.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, as he glanced over her shoulder at the bathroom.  He knew she was brewing, but where?  The dungeons were not close, and something about it didn’t add up.

Granger, however, gave him a dramatic eye roll.  “You’re being ridiculous, Malfoy.  I was just using the loo.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on Colin.”

At the sound of Creevey’s name, Draco couldn’t have stopped the sneer that crossed his face even if he wanted to.

“You’re hanging by the sickbed of that pathetic mudblood?  What’s his surname again?  Creepy?”

Granger glared at him.

“What’s it to you?  And what are you doing down here anyway?  You don’t have a single reason to be here.”

“And you do?”

“Yes, I was using the loo near the Hospital Wing.  Surely you’ll allow me to do that without commenting?”

Draco flushed and glanced at the wooden door behind her.

“I don’t think that’s what you were doing,” he said.

Her jaw dropped.  “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.  I think you’re lying.”

She huffed and turned on her heel and started to walk away without saying another word.

“Don’t you turn your back on me!” he demanded as he strode after her.

“Why not?  Going to send your elf to finish me off too?” she called over her shoulder.

Draco came to a halt in the middle of the corridor.

“What are you on about?” he asked, not bothering to hide the utter confusion in his voice.

Now Granger halted too and turned to look at him warily.  Draco was surprised to see a small flash of fear on her face.

“You know what I’m saying.  The bludger that nearly killed Harry was cursed by a House Elf named Dobby.  He visited Harry last night and confessed.  So tell me: is Dobby yours?”

Draco didn’t have time to hide the look of shock on his face, but he schooled his features as quickly as he could.  

“No,” he said automatically.  

Technically, it was true.  Dobby belonged to his father, but Draco could not fathom why on earth the little elf had interfered with the Quidditch match.

Granger narrowed her eyes.  “Well you don’t believe me, and I don’t believe you.  So where does that leave us?”

Draco sneered.  “It leaves you as a liar.  Again.”

Granger huffed.  “So I’m a liar.  Fine.   That’s better than being the Heir of Slytherin, I’d wager.”

“What are you on about now?”

“Oh please, don’t act so innocent.  Did you forget shouting, ‘You’ll be next mudbloods?’ when Mrs. Norris was petrified?  And did you think nobody would notice that you were just so conveniently missing while Colin was petrified last night?  According to Daphne Greengrass, you were nowhere to be found when it happened.  You can’t deny that it’s suspicious.”

Draco was momentarily struck dumb at her implication.  He hadn’t known about Creevey because he spent the last day and a half nursing his wounded pride.  But evidently Granger had noticed he was missing and had even asked Daphne about him.

She thinks I’m the Heir of Slytherin?

He opened his mouth to deny it and then paused.  

I’m supposed to make her want to leave the school.

Draco felt slightly reckless as he walked slowly toward her, not breaking eye contact.  She lifted her chin defiantly, though Draco could see the flicker of fear cross her face at his expression.  

It was the first time he had ever thought that she really belonged in Gryffindor.  She was afraid of him, and yet she wasn’t backing down.

“Maybe I am,” he said softly.

To her credit, she just raised one eyebrow.

“Call your monster then, Malfoy.  I dare you.”

Draco clenched his jaw.  Obviously he could do no such thing, and he wouldn’t even if he could.  He just wanted her gone, not dead.  But he couldn’t let her know that, not if there was even the slightest chance she might be scared enough to leave Hogwarts.

“Maybe I prefer working at night,” he said softly.  “There are lots of dark corridors and secret passages in Hogwarts, aren’t there?  Plenty of places where a monster could hide.  What do you think?  Are you safe in your dormitory at night, Granger?  Or do you think the monster can smell your muddy blood all the way from the dungeons?”

Her face was pale, her fists clenched, and her lower lip trembled ever so slightly, but she still did not back down.

“I’m going to find out if it’s you.”

Draco gave a careless shrug, and truly he didn’t care because there was nothing for her to find.

“Suit yourself.  And maybe I’ll find out what you’re brewing.  You should know better than to lie to me about something like that.  That enormous bush you call hair gives it away.”

She glared at him and opened her mouth to respond when Theo’s voice came echoing from an adjacent corridor.

“Draco!” he called, and Draco was surprised to see him running.

He skidded to a halt, clutching a stitch in his chest.  “What?” asked Draco sourly, as Granger looked between them.  Draco saw Theo glance at her, and his face turned a bit grim in between puffs of air.

“Just… don’t.  Alright?  Let’s go to dinner.”

Draco allowed Theo to pull him away.  He no longer needed to run the muggles off.  He didn’t care about muggles, not really.  He had accomplished something much more important by planting the seeds of retreat in Granger’s mind.

He glanced back at her and saw she was still pale as she stood there in the corridor, evidently unwilling to move until he left.

“Sweet dreams Granger,” he said.  “And don’t forget: monsters like to eat liars like you.”

He smirked at the grim set of her mouth, as Theo gripped his arm and tugged him away from her.

She’ll be gone soon, Salazar willing.

******

22 November 1992

It took Draco a full week to track down Dobby.

It was a bother that he couldn’t just summon the blasted elf like his father could, but elf magic was peculiar.  If Dobby wasn’t bound to Draco personally – and he wasn’t – then Draco had to be on Malfoy property to summon him, and that was impossible while at school.

It took summoning Mopsy first to communicate a message to Dobby for him to arrive, and when he finally did he startled Draco so much he nearly fell from the owlery.

CRACK!

“Ahh!” cried Draco, who was unceremoniously scratched by his eagle owl Camillo at the intrusion.

“What the hell?” demanded Draco furiously, rounding on the elf and nursing his hand, which was now bleeding.  Draco had just retrieved a letter from Camillo and was sending his own to his parents.  Camillo had launched himself out into the night, and Draco wasn’t at all certain his letter had been properly secured before the bird was spooked.

The elf cowered at Draco’s tone.

“Dobby is sorry, Sir!  Mopsy is telling Dobby that Sir is needing to speak with Dobby when Sir is alone!”

Draco struggled to still his pounding heart and focus on the fact that he would finally get some answers.

“Fine,” he said curtly, still scowling at the elf, who was shrinking back from him.  “I heard from… a student… that you enchanted the bludger that broke Potter’s arm in the last Quidditch match.”

Dobby’s tan skin turned pale, and he began to quake.

“Dobby…” warned Draco.  “You will tell me, now, or I will summon my father.”

“Tis what Sir requested!” insisted Dobby.  “Sir is saying that Dobby is to ensure that my master’s plots fail if I is worried, and Dobby is very worried Sir!  Mr. Harry Potter is too noble, too great to risk, and Dobby is only trying to–”

“Wait, stop right there,” said Draco.  “You’re interfering with Father’s plan because you’re worried about Potter?”

Dobby was wringing his hands.  “And because Sir is saying he is holding Dobby responsible if Master Lucius is going to Azkaban!”

Draco narrowed his eyes.  “You really think Father would go to Azkaban?”

“Yes!” cried Dobby.  “Yes, and Mr. Harry Potter would be lost!  ‘Tis better if Mr. Harry Potter is not at Hogwarts at all than for Master’s plans to work!”

“What is it that Father is planning?” asked Draco.

Dobby opened his mouth to speak, but then began to wail and turned to slam his head against the stone wall of the owlery repeatedly.

“No!  Dobby!  Must!  Not!” he cried with each whack.

Draco groaned and reached out to pull the elf away.  “Merlin, calm down will you?  You’re no use to me with your brain more addled than it already is…”

“Please Sir,” sniffed Dobby, who was clutching his head.  “Please don’t ask Dobby to speak of it!  Master is suspecting Dobby is hearing things, and Master has ordered Dobby’s silence!  Dobby cannot say!”

Draco sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  This was the other frustrating thing about House Elves.  Draco could usually get them to cooperate, but he knew there was no chance of it if the thing he was asking for was in direct conflict with an order from the elf’s master.  Their magic simply wouldn’t permit it.

“Fine,” he gritted out.  “Then at least tell me what you are trying to accomplish with Potter?”

“Dobby is already saying, Sir!  Dobby is thinking ‘tis better for Harry Potter to be expelled or grievously injured than to be dead!  Dobby is worried that is Harry Potter’s fate!”

Draco looked down at the elf skeptically.

“The only thing trying to kill students at the moment is Slytherin’s monster, and Potter is a half-blood.  It’s supposed to purge the school of mudbloods.” 

Dobby made a little choking sound, and Draco's gaze sharpened. 

“Hold on, are you are saying that Father is the Heir of Slytherin?”

It seemed almost impossible to believe such a thing could be true.  Draco had been required to learn his family tree back to William the Conqueror, and there was next to no chance that Lucius would have kept information like that from him.  It wasn't even remotely similar to knowledge about the muggle world - being descended from Slytherin would have made the Malfoys practically royal.

Dobby squeaked, but shook his head frantically.

Figures, thought Draco, relaxing a little.  Whatever Father's supposed plan was, it couldn't possibly relate to the Chamber of Secrets.  And if it didn't relate to the Chamber of Secrets, then it wasn't anything serious.  Maybe Lucius had changed his mind about whatever he was considering after that day in Diagon Alley.  Draco had convinced Lucius that he couldn't help, and perhaps Lucius abandoned it without Dobby realizing this.

“You're obviously overreacting, no doubt due to some ridiculous fondness for Potter.  I want you to stay away from him going forward.  No trying to save him, no talking to him, no interfering, do you understand?”

Dobby’s ears drooped, but he nodded glumly, and Draco breathed a small sigh of relief.

While Draco was always in favor of getting Potter expelled hypothetically, the events from the previous year had proven to Draco that this was not realistic.  Dumbledore and McGonagall would twist anything that Potter did into something heroic so they could award points instead of having him kicked out.  And now that Dobby had obviously  revealed himself to Potter – and Draco was sure he must have done so because there was no other reason why Granger would know that he existed – Potter would surely make a connection between the things happening to him and Draco.  No doubt he would blame Draco, and then it would be Draco who was at risk for expulsion.

“Good,” said Draco curtly.  “Now get out of here.  You’ve been useless.”

He dismissed the elf, who disappeared with a CRACK! and Draco sighed.

“Bloody house elves,” he grumbled.

He finally turned to the letter he still had not opened and broke the seal, recognizing his father’s handwriting immediately.

Draco,

I’m writing to inform you that you will be staying at Hogwarts for the holiday break this year.  I have already reached out to Gregory’s and Vincent’s fathers, and they will be staying with you so that you are not alone.

Unfortunately I have received intelligence that the Ministry of Magic will be performing several raids on the Manor in the upcoming weeks.   Knowing that mudblood-lover Arthur Weasley, I would not put it past him to schedule a raid during our traditional family dinner simply to inconvenience us.

Your mother has always wished for you to experience at least one holiday at Hogwarts, as she insists that it is wonderfully festive and magical.  My opinions on it are not quite as romantic as hers, but I will concede that the school usually does the season justice.  Given that this is her wish for you, it seems sensible that we do it this year so that your holiday remains undisturbed.

Rest assured you have nothing to worry about with respect to the Ministry.  They will not find anything notable, regardless of how many times they search our home.  

Please go ahead and sign up to stay at Hogwarts for the holiday, and I will send Severus an owl informing him of the same.  I’m certain you can expect an extra gift or two this year, as your mother will not be able to help herself.

Father

Draco’s heart sank as he read the letter a second time.  He didn’t want to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays.  He loved Christmas at Malfoy Manor, and he was sure the castle would be practically empty this year after the most recent attack.  He debated about writing his father back and begging him to reconsider, but he decided not to risk it.

He noticed Lucius had not mentioned the Quidditch match at all, presumably under the impression that the rest of Slytherin House was already shunning him.  Draco wasn’t eager to stoke Lucius’s irritation further or risk him learning the truth.

“Fine,” he whispered, as he folded the note and placed it in his pocket.  He would send Camillo back with his response as soon as he returned in the next day or two.

Draco headed back to his dormitory, trying to find some silver lining to being stuck in a nearly-empty castle for two weeks.

Perhaps I’ll use the time to learn what Granger has been up to.

Chapter Text

10 December 1992

With Dobby sorted, Draco was able to breathe again, though he heard more than one rumor that he must be the Heir of Slytherin.  Draco, of course, denied these rumors when approached by his closest friends, but as far as the rest of the school was concerned, Draco found he rather enjoyed the looks of respect, speculation, and even fear that were being thrown his way. 

He signed up to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas, and as Lucius had promised, Crabbe and Goyle signed up to stay too.  Theo, however, had been summoned home, and he turned quiet and sullen as the final weeks of class approached.  Draco couldn’t seem to pull Theo out of his mood, and Draco worried over his friend and the state he would be in by the time he finally returned to Hogwarts.

Draco also kept a close eye on Granger, his mind dwelling on their last encounter.  He couldn’t help but notice that she started to disappear from meals now and then, usually leaving Weasley and Potter behind before she arrived at the very end to grab whatever food was left. 

A few times he caught her studying in the library alone, but other times he saw that bushy hair of hers expanding so much he just knew she was brewing something in secret, but he had not been able to determine what it was, nor even where it was.

It was maddening.

She was certainly not using the dungeons for it.  Draco had dragged a reluctant Theo to do a thorough search one Saturday, while Theo bemoaned the fact that he should be studying instead.  When that turned up nothing, Draco’s next strategy was to be nice to that Lavender Brown bint and throw a charming smile her way to learn if Granger was brewing in her dormitory.

“Hermione?  No, of course not!  She hardly spends any time with us!  She has no idea about makeup or hair potions or girl things at all…”

Draco was forced to listen to her rant about the mudblood for a solid five minutes before he was able to make his exit.

Then he had the unpleasant thought that perhaps she was brewing in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, so Draco cornered one of Creepy’s dorm mates and used the rumors that he might be the Heir of Slytherin to his advantage.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about me,” said Draco to the terrified firstie, whom Draco had learned was also a mudblood.

“Yes!” squeaked the small boy.

“Good.  Then this is what you’re going to do.  I want you to search Potter’s dormitory and tell me if there are any potions being brewed in their room or loo.  If you don’t find anything, search the other parts of Gryffindor Tower that you are able to access.  I’ll expect a report tomorrow, or else.”

The frightened boy nodded and fled, before turning up the following night with news that he had found nothing.

Draco couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed.

It wasn’t until they were into December that he got a hint about what she was up to.

It was a Thursday, and their Potions class was brewing a swelling solution.  Draco had learned from the previous year and now sat closer to the front so that Granger would not be in his direct line of sight, but he still shared a table with Crabbe and Goyle to ensure that they managed to pass.

It was slightly exhausting, always keeping them in line and ensuring their academic proficiency, especially when he had his own cauldron to monitor.  Lucius insisted upon it though, after learning that Snape had completely fabricated their year-end marks so that they would be ranked higher than students of other houses.

The lesson had been going well, though it was a potion that released a great deal of steam while brewing.  Draco’s hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, while out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see Ron Weasley spitting out bits of Granger’s mane that had expanded so much it had invaded his mouth.

Draco didn’t let himself stare.

They had just reached the end, and Draco glanced at Crabbe’s potion, which was slightly off-color.  Goyle’s potion, however, appeared almost perfect, and Draco gave himself silent applause for such a feat.

Honestly, Severus should award extra credit for the fact that I practically brew every potion he assigns three times.

Goyle was just reaching down to scoop some of his potion into a vial for grading, when an odd red tube landed in his cauldron with a plop and exploded.

BOOM!

Draco gasped as he was drenched with the swelling solution, and immediately his nose began to expand.

“Ouch!  Agh!  Bugger!” he tried to cry, but his nose was soon growing past his collar, and his head dipped to hold the weight.

“Silence! SILENCE!” cried Snape.  “Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a deflating draught – when I find out who did this –!”

Draco scrambled forward, his head dropping lower and lower, but to his relief Severus approached him first.

“Here,” he said tersely.  “Drink all of it.”

Draco maneuvered the vial under his still-growing nose, and the moment the potion hit his lips the swelling stopped and began to go down.  

“Bloody hell,” he gasped, as he took in his peers: Goyle had eyeballs the size of dinner plates.  Crabbe had ears that were past his shoulders.  Even Theo had gotten a splash of it on his hands, and his fingers were like sausages as he reached out to fumble with the antidote.

In fact, most of the Slytherins were affected.  The Gryffindors, however, appeared stunned, but largely unharmed.  It was only when Draco’s eyes moved past Potter and Weasley that he realized the third member of their trio was missing again.

But no sooner did he have the thought, then he saw her small form slip out from the potions supply room, her robes bulging a little as she slid back into place next to Weasley.  She fluffed her robes a bit to hide the lumps.

What is she up to?

Granger must have felt Draco’s eyes on her, because she glanced his way and raised one, unapologetic eyebrow.  Draco didn’t look away, and she didn’t break the stare either, until Severus was done dosing the affected students, and he sent them back to their tables.

He stalked toward Goyle’s ruined potion and carefully fished out the tube that had been red moments before it exploded.

It was now black, and Draco realized it must have been a firecracker.

“If I ever find out who threw this,” said Severus in a dangerous voice, “I will make sure that person is expelled.”

He was looking directly at Potter, who stared back innocently, though Draco was unconvinced.  His eyes slid back to Granger behind him, whose cheeks reddened ever so slightly.

They gave her a distraction so she could steal something from Severus.

Draco was more certain than ever that he was right about this, and as the class packed up, he shook off Crabbe and Goyle and followed the trio at a distance.  They moved from the dungeons and then turned down the second floor corridor where Draco had confronted Granger just after the last Quidditch match.  By the time he turned down the corridor too, all three were missing, and Draco paused, thinking hard.

His eye was pulled to the wooden door of the girls’ toilet where Granger had exited the last time he saw her here.  

“Surely not,” he muttered, but he crept forward and put his ear to the door.  

He heard nothing, but glanced around and saw the corridor was empty, so he pushed the door open ever so slightly and peeked in.

His eyes widened when he saw the dark head of Potter and the bright hair of Weasley crowding for space inside the same stall, which had the door open.  Granger could not be seen, but Draco saw steam rising from the cubicle, and now he could hear their voices.

“It’ll be ready in two weeks!” came Granger’s voice from deeper inside the stall.

“Snape can’t prove it was you,” said Weasley’s voice.  “What can he do?”

“Knowing Snape, something foul,” came Potter’s voice.

Draco backed away and closed the door silently, before slipping into the dark, empty classroom immediately opposite the bathroom, keeping the door cracked so he could monitor them as they left.  

He had been right, then.  Granger was brewing something, and of course Potter and Weasley were in on it.  For some inexplicable reason they had chosen this girls’ toilet on the second floor corridor, though Draco was forced to admit they seemed to be alone.  He knew Granger was no fool, so she must believe it was so rarely used that a potion could stay there for weeks without being discovered.

Draco stayed in the shadows for several more minutes until he heard the bathroom door open, and several footsteps came shuffling out.

“Good thing Percy’s not around.  I can’t believe he caught us that one time.”

“Malfoy was worse,” came Granger’s voice.  “He was hanging around right after Colin was attacked.  I had to distract him so I told him to call his monster.”

“You didn’t!” said Weasley’s shocked voice.  

“Ron is right, Hermione, you have to be careful.  If he’s really the Heir of Slytherin you know he’ll be after you soon.”

“Maybe,” she conceded, which made Draco clench his fists.  “We’ll know soon enough, won’t we?  Just two more weeks, and we can finally question him…”

Their voices faded, as they walked away, and Draco’s brain was struggling to process what he had just heard.  They were brewing a potion to question him?  Bloody hell, what if it was veritaserum?  It wasn’t like Draco had anything to hide about Slytherin’s monster, but he really wasn’t keen on Granger learning just how much space she seemed to take up in his head. 

Draco crept out of the dark classroom and looked around again to ensure he wasn’t being watched, before he pushed open the door to the girls’ toilet.

He stepped in quietly, and it swung shut behind him, as he stared around at a truly uninspiring place to have a wee.

He wrinkled his nose as he took in the damp floor with the tile that looked like it had not been properly cleaned in many years.  Several of the sinks were chipped, and the mirrors were cracked with odd spots on them that looked a bit like mold.  The whole space smelled faintly of open drain, and Draco saw that one of the stalls even had its wooden door hanging off the hinges.

Just like that private corner of the library, it seemed that even the House Elves avoided this bathroom.  

“How depressing,” he muttered, as he approached the stall where Granger and the others had just been.

“I beg your pardon,” came a girl’s voice, and Draco whipped around in surprise, his heart pounding.

He relaxed again when he saw it was just a ghost.  She looked to be a little older than he was, but not by much.  She had glasses and a spot on her chin she was picking as she glowered at Draco.

“Who are you?” asked Draco.  He could not recall ever seeing her around Hogwarts, and he thought himself quite familiar with most of the ghosts.

“Myrtle Warren,” she sniffed.  “And you’re a boy.  You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“Neither are the other two wizards who were just in here,” he pointed out.

Myrtle seemed to purse her lips.  “Well I let them in because the dark haired one is rather nice.  The redhead can be mean, but usually the girl tries to stop him.”

“Weasley,” said Draco automatically.

“If you say so,” said Myrtle.

“He’s a right git,” offered Draco.

To Draco’s surprise Myrtle lit up at this.

“Oh I like you!  I think you can stay, but I need to know your name first.”

“I’m Draco Malfoy,” said Draco.

Myrtle’s eyes widened.  “They talk about you!”

“And what do they say?”

“They don’t like you very much,” she said.  “The girl says you’re cruel.”

Draco’s gut twisted, and his lip curled to hear it.  “Maybe she deserves it.”

Myrtle cocked her head.  “Why?”

“She has dirty blood.”

Myrtle’s eyes narrowed.  “Some people thought that I had dirty blood when I was alive.  Does that mean you’re going to be cruel to me too?”

Draco froze, and he stared at the sullen girl.  Her lip was trembling, and her eyes welling with ghostly tears.

“You were a mudblood?” he said carefully.

At these words, the girl gasped in outrage.  “HOW COULD YOU?” she shouted, before dissolving into sobs and racing toward the toilet stall immediately next to Granger’s.  Draco winced as he heard a splash.

“Salazar help me,” he muttered in amazement.  Truthfully, that sort of reaction was what he had expected from Granger the first time he called her that name, but she had been ignorant at first, and then almost disdainful every time he used it after that.

He had never seen her cry because of it.   Myrtle, however, seemed to take it very personally.  

“She’s mad,” he muttered as he moved closer to the stall with the mysterious potion.

He hesitated only a moment longer before pushing the door open and approaching the brew, which was bubbling away happily on the toilet seat.  Draco furrowed his brow as he realized Granger must have found a way to drain the toilet of water and use the dingy porcelain to contain a fire beneath it.

“Clever,” he muttered.

He leaned forward and saw the potion was a dull yellow color, and it seemed thick and sluggish.

Surely veritaserum doesn’t look like that, he thought.  

He couldn’t immediately identify it, though.  A quick look around confirmed that Granger had left no books or other ingredients behind that could give him a hint.  All he had was the potion itself, which was still two weeks away from being finished.

He quietly backed out of the stall and let himself out of the bathroom, his mind racing.

I should tell Severus, he thought.  Potter would probably be expelled.

Then again, Draco had no proof that the potion was Potter’s, other than his word and that of the miserable ghost, whom he suspected would not be cooperative.  Besides, there was no question Severus would be able to identify whatever the potion was even though it was only mid-brew, and he would know that Potter wasn’t the one doing the actual work.  He would know it was Granger, because she was the only student besides Draco or perhaps Theo whose potions skills were advanced enough to be brewing something that took weeks and required special ingredients from Severus’s private stores.

No, Draco couldn’t report this, at least not yet.  Besides, a growing part of him was very curious to learn just what they planned to do with it.

“Just as long as it’s not veritaserum,” he said to himself, as he made his way back to his dormitory.

Draco needed to confirm it for his own peace of mind.  He knew that veritaserum was restricted, and the instructions would not be in the library where he could easily access it without a teacher’s note.  

But I don’t need the Hogwarts library.

He hesitated for a split second because he knew his father would be informed about this… but then again, he considered it to be an emergency.  And something told him Severus would cover for him if Lucius inquired.

“Mopsy!” he called, and a moment later his elf appeared with a CRACK!

“Yes, Master?”

“Mopsy, I need you to look in the Malfoy library and pull any books you can find about how to brew veritaserum.  I also want any books you can find that are about magical monsters.  Once you find them, bring them to me.”

Mopsy bowed low and disappeared again with another CRACK!

Draco’s lips curled as he realized the date the potion would be ready to use against him: Christmas Eve.

Perhaps Granger’s teacher needs to send her another gift.

~*~

Dear Journal,

I was right: Granger is brewing something in the girls' bathroom near the Hospital Wing, and she plans to use it against me within the next couple of weeks.  It's frustrating that I couldn't identify it right away, but it's obviously an advanced potion since it takes a very long time to brew.  We've never done anything in class that takes more than a couple of hours, so I'm not sure what it could be.  I'm afraid it's Veritaserum, and I've sent Mopsy to search the Malfoy library for me to learn more about it.  I just hope Father doesn't become suspicious because she will have to take it from a part of the library I've never explored.

I know I should go to Severus and turn all three of them in, but I'm more curious about it than I ought to be.  Do they really think they're going to slip something into my drink without me noticing it?  Unless that potion turns clear in the next couple of weeks I'm not sure how they could manage it, especially since I know to be on my guard around them.  A part of me really wants them to try to spike my drink and then fail.  If I'm lucky, they'll do it in the Great Hall, and the whole thing will be public.  Can you imagine their faces when a project they've been working on for a solid month doesn't work?

No, I'm not going to say a word about it to Severus until the potion is complete and I can report that they've tried to feed it to me too.  Granger might be the one brewing it, but Potter's going to be the one who tries to poison me with it.  

******

17 December 1992

Mopsy was surprisingly efficient with her research.

Within two days of Draco’s request, he had a large book about magical monsters and three books that included the instructions for veritaserum, including illustrations that showed the potion at various stages mid-brew.  None of them featured a thick, yellowish potion.  Veritaserum started a vibrant purple before moving to pale lilac and finally losing its color altogether at the very end.

With that possibility eliminated, Draco breathed easier.  He wasn’t aware of any potion that could compel him to disclose information to Granger and her friends other than veritaserum, and a few hours in the Hogwarts library seemed to confirm this.  Whatever they were up to, Draco would not be magically forced to answer their questions.

He checked the potion again, and each day he could see it darkening as it continued to brew, moving from yellow to tan, though the thick, gloopy texture didn’t seem to change at all.

What was it?  

Draco considered himself to be an expert in potions, but he was only in his second year.  There were dozens of potions he had heard of that he had never seen in person, and surely hundreds more of which he was entirely ignorant.

He promised himself he would keep an eye on it, especially as Christmas Eve approached.  Based on Granger’s comments, that was the day Draco had to be on his guard to resist whatever the trio was attempting.

With one week to go, Draco caught Theo, Blaise, and Pansy reading a notice in the Slytherin common room.  Zabini and Pansy appeared excited, though Theo looked skeptical.

“What is it?” asked Draco curiously, as he approached.

“A dueling club!” said Pansy with enthusiasm.  “Professor Lockhart is starting it!  The first meeting is tonight!”

Draco saw Theo roll his eyes, and he internally scoffed as well.

“Lockhart?” he drawled.  “That old fraud teaching dueling?”

Zabini shot him a knowing look.  “I’m not saying Lockhart is any good, but we’ll be able to duel other students!  It will be a chance to get the Gryffindors, won’t it?”

Draco paused as he considered this.

“Alright, I’m listening,” he said.

“It could be fun,” insisted Zabini.  “Nobody can give us detention for cursing them, can they?”

“And Professor Snape told me he would be helping with a demonstration during the first meeting,” added Pansy.  “I just came from tutoring, and he mentioned it.”

Draco had to admit he was intrigued now.  Lockhart might be hopeless, but Severus certainly was not.  If he was helping then it could be worth Draco’s time.

“Alright,” he conceded.  “I’ll go to the first meeting and see what it’s like.”

“Excellent!” enthused Zabini.  “Nott?”

“No thanks,” said Theo with distaste.

“But you’ll get to duel the Gryffindors!” said Zabini.

Theo rolled his eyes once more.  “Unlike the rest of you, I don’t give a damn about dueling Gryffindors.  Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Theo sidled past them and disappeared up to the boys’ dormitory.  Draco’s eyes tracked him worriedly.  He knew Theo was dreading his visit to Nott Manor.  He would be leaving in two days, and as it grew closer Theo grew more distant and pale.

“Ugh, why are you even friends with him?” came Pansy’s voice.  

Draco frowned and refocused on her.  “Pardon?”

“You heard me.  I’m talking about Nott.  Why do you even bother?  He’s not like the rest of us.  His views on blood are–”

“We agree to disagree about that,” said Draco curtly.

Pansy scowled.  “But still.  I just don’t understand how you can–”

“Shut it, Pansy,” said Draco.  “Theo’s my best friend.”

She blinked in surprise.  “But I thought–”

“I don’t care what you thought, he’s my best friend.  You’ll keep your gob shut if you know what’s good for you.”

Her jaw dropped in outrage.  “Excuse me!  We’re supposed to be together.  You’re supposed to be–”

“Evaluating you?” he said, cutting her off mid-rant.  “You’re right, I am evaluating you.  And if you keep talking about my best mate like that I won’t hesitate to let Mother and Father know that you aren't good enough.”

She clamped her mouth shut, her dark eyes flashing in anger, but she said nothing more before spinning around on her heel and flouncing off.

“Harsh,” said Zabini wryly.

Draco glanced at the other wizard and grimaced.  “You can shut it too.”

Zabini raised two hands in a gesture of surrender.  “Look, you know I’m not as close to Nott as you are, but I don’t mind the bloke.  He’s about a hundred times better than Crabbe and Goyle, regardless of his views.  At least he has a brain.”

At this, Draco and Zabini both looked toward Crabbe and Goyle, who were guffawing loudly in one corner and stuffing their faces with something that looked like miniature mincemeat pies.

Draco couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at the sight.

“I’m just saying that Pansy is going to be hacked off,” added Zabini.  “She can be vicious.”

Draco shrugged.  “And?  She knows her place.”

“Beneath you?” asked Zabini knowingly.  “Do you really want a witch who doesn’t put up a fight when you’re an arse?”

Involuntarily Draco’s mind was pulled to a certain curly-haired Gryffindor who fought him constantly, before he forcibly shoved the errant thought out of his head.  Instead, he just gave Zabini an insolent smile.

“Pansy is easy to control.  She’ll be angry, but she knows how to play the game if she wants me to keep sending good reports to my parents.  And I’m not going to let her say rubbish about Theo.”

Zabini inclined his head in acknowledgment.  “Fair enough.  I’m just saying… don’t expect her to be pleasant the next few days.”

Zabini moved off after that, and Draco was forced to admit that he was correct as the day wore on.  Pansy was certainly giving him the cold shoulder, but unfortunately for her Draco found it rather refreshing.  She had a tendency to always be underfoot, and Draco was a bit relieved that she was trying to punish him by putting some distance between them.

In fact, by the time the dueling club rolled around, Draco was feeling remarkably upbeat, having had a nearly Pansy-free day.  They all walked down to the Great Hall together, but she made a point to keep Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle in between them the whole way there, and once they arrived she moved off toward Milicent Bulstrode.

Draco looked around the Great Hall with interest.  The tables that were used for meals had been moved so that the middle of the room was cleared, and there was a long, narrow stage at the front.

“Gather round, gather round!” cried Lockhart, and it was everything Draco could do not to roll his eyes.  

“Can everyone see me?  Can you all hear me?  Excellent!  Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I have myself done on countless occasions – for full details, see my published works.  Let me introduce you to my assistant, Professor Snape!  He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin.  Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry – you’ll still have your Potions master when I’m through with him, never fear!”

Draco caught Zabini eye, and they both smirked at the same time, no doubt thinking precisely the same thing.

It’s Lockhart who needs to be worried.

As he watched, Severus entered the stage and assumed a dueling stance, which Lockhart mimicked poorly, after giving his wand a bit of an unnecessary flourish.

“As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position.  On the count of three, we will cast our first spells.  Neither of us will be aiming to kill of course.”

Draco shot a glance at Severus and privately thought Lockart was very wrong about this.  If Severus had been looking at Draco like that, Draco was sure his self-preservation instincts would have kicked on and encouraged him to flee.

“One – two – three –”

Snape cried, “Expelliarmus!” and there was a flash of red light, which threw Lockhart off his feet, all the way off the edge of the stage, and he hit the back wall of the room with a sickening crunch.

Draco, Zabini, and most of the other Slytherins cheered.  In fact, he couldn’t help but notice that quite a few other wizards were cheering too, while the witches all looked around worriedly.  Draco caught a glimpse at Granger and scowled, as she seemed to be craning her neck to watch Lockhart, anxiety written all over her face.  She said something to Weasley – no doubt expressing her concern for Lockhart’s health – who obviously brushed her off.

Draco privately wondered if it was the first time he and Weasley had ever agreed on something.

“Well there you have it!” said Lockhart, as he got to his feet with a wobble.  “That was a disarming charm – as you see, I’ve lost my wand – ah, thank you, Miss Brown – yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do.  If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy – however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…”

Snape looked like he was going to kill him, and even Draco gulped a little at the absolutely murderous expression on his face.  Lockhart finally seemed to notice, because he faltered for a moment before pressing forward with determination.

“Enough demonstrating!  I’m going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs.  Professor Snape, if you’d like to help me –”

Draco moved toward Blaise, and in his peripheral vision he saw Potter and Weasley move together.

“Time to split up the dream team, I think,” said Severus sarcastically.  “Weasley, you can partner Finnigan.  Potter–”

Draco turned to watch as Potter moved toward Granger.

“I don’t think so,” he said.  “Mr. Malfoy, come over here.  Let’s see what you make of the famous Potter.  And you, Miss Granger – you can partner Miss Bulstrode.”

Draco sneered and exchanged a glance with Zabini, who nodded his head encouragingly.  He moved toward Potter and noticed Granger moving toward Milicent, who looked ready to devour her.  She gulped, and Draco found his attention split between the sheer size difference between the two and a deeply-held desire to wipe the floor with Potter.

“Face your partners!” cried Lockhard.  “And bow!”

Draco barely inclined his head, and he saw Potter do the same.  Their eyes were locked, tension thickening as they waited to begin.  

“Wands at the ready!” shouted Lockhart  “When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents – only to disarm them – we don’t want any accidents – one… two… three –”

The moment Draco heard ‘two,’ he reacted and hit Potter with a bludgeoning hex, briefly knocking the air out of him.

Draco began to smile at his victory, when to his surprise, Potter raised his own wand and gasped, “Rictumsempra!” and a silvery steak of light hit Draco, who doubled over and started to laugh.  

He could barely breathe for laughing so hard, but as he collapsed onto the floor, he managed to aim his wand in Potter’s general direction and cry, “Tarantallegra!” through his laughter.  

The spell hit Potter, whose legs began to dance uncontrollably, and he was just raising his wand again, when Lockhart cried out.

“Stop!  Stop!”

Of course, none of the students stopped, until Severus took matters into his own hands.

“Finite Incantatum!” bellowed Severus, and all of the chaos around Draco died down.  Draco immediately stopped laughing and got to his feet, his eyes pulled to the only pair that was still moving.

Milicent had evidently dispensed with a wand altogether and had Granger in a headlock.  Granger squealed and was turning a bit purple as she fought to be released.  Draco’s eyes widened, and his hand twitched toward his wand, but he stopped himself as Potter leapt forward and wrenched Milicent off of her.  Granger was looking shaken, massaging her neck as she backed away from Milicent.  Her eyes moved to Draco, and she looked both defiant and embarrassed as her hand dropped.

She would be bruised, almost assuredly.  Draco found himself growing increasingly agitated as he considered it.

Draco debated helping Granger with her bruises, while Lockhart moved through the students to clean them up.

“I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,” said Lockhart.  “Let’s have a volunteer pair – Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you–”

“A bad idea, Professor Lockhart,” interrupted Severus.  “Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells.  We’ll be sending what’s left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox.  How about Malfoy and Potter?”

“Excellent idea!” cried Lockhart, and the crowd backed away.

Draco’s eyes were still on Granger, and her expression now looked fearful as she looked back and forth between them, but she didn’t try to stop it.  Draco finally turned away and climbed on the stage, as Severus approached behind him and placed one hand on his shoulder.

“Now Harry,” said Lockhart loudly, “when Draco points his wand at you, you do this.”

Lockhart gave his wand a truly absurd wiggle before dropping it.  “Whoops – my wand is a little overexcited–”

Severus leaned down, and whispered in Draco’s ear.

“When we say go, give your wand a twist to the right and a jab and shout ‘Serpensortia.’  You’ll send a snake right at him.”

Draco nodded as the slow burn of anticipation began.  He noticed Potter watching them warily, before turning back to Lockhart.

“Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?” asked Potter.

“Scared?” muttered Draco so only Potter could hear.

“You wish,” whispered Potter.

“Just do what I did, Harry!” said Lockhart.

“What, drop my wand?” 

But Lockhart wasn’t listening.  Draco cast one last look at Granger, who was watching them both with wide eyes before turning every ounce of his attention back to Potter.  

“Three – two – one – go!” Lockhart shouted.

“Serpensortia!” bellowed Draco, as he twisted his wand and jabbed.  Immediately a large, black snake erupted from his wand and started to slither toward Potter.  Draco instinctively backed away, and he saw Granger clap her hand over her mouth in shock, her eyes glued to the snake, like most of the students.

“Don’t move, Potter,” said Snape lazily, stepping around Draco. “I’ll get rid of it.”

“Allow me!” shouted Lockhart, whose sprang forward.  His wand went off with a bang, launching the snake into the crowd.  It started to slither toward Finch-Fletchley, and then to Draco’s utter shock Potter started to hiss at it.

“Haaaaassshhhh eessssss issssssith…” 

Draco was frozen, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing.

Potter is a parseltongue?

It was impossible.  Draco knew that Salazar Slytherin was a parseltongue, but the gift was exceptionally rare.  The notion that Potter was one seemed unbelievable.  

And yet, as Draco watched, the snake halted directly in front of Finch-Fletchley and rose, staring at him, but not moving.  Potter seemed almost jubilant, before looking around and realizing the entire hall was watching him with fear and astonishment.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” asked Finch-Fletchley angrily, his face pale.  He turned and stormed away, leaving an obviously confused Potter behind.

The hall was silent as Severus looked at Potter shrewdly, before waving his wand and vanishing the snake. 

The moment it was gone, Weasley and Granger jumped forward to grab Potter and pull him from the room.  Draco watched them go, Granger’s bushy head bent toward Potter, whispering frantically in his ear as they forcibly dragged him out of the Great Hall.

“Well!” said Lockhart with false brightness.  “That was… erm… very enlightening!  And now, if you care to pair up again?”

Nobody moved.

“Anyone?” he asked weakly.

“The club is dismissed,” came Severus’s sharp voice.  “Slytherin House, to the dungeons, now.”

Draco and the others fell in line, with Severus sweeping along behind them, looking grimmer than usual.  When they reached the blank wall, Severus muttered the password and waited as all the students filed in.  He followed after the last student and then turned to face them all.

“You will stay here tonight.  If I receive word that a single one of you is out of bed tonight, there will be severe consequences.”

The students were silent, as he turned and swept out.  The moment the door closed, the whispers broke out.

“Potter?”

“Could he be the Heir?”

“He was talking to that bloody snake!”

Draco said nothing, his mind churning.  Parseltongue or not, it seemed impossible to believe that Potter could be the Heir of Slytherin.  Not only was he in the wrong house for it, but the notion that he was wandering around the castle and setting the monster on mudbloods just seemed out of character for him.

Then again, he does hate Filch... and that Creepy kid was always trying to get photos of him... maybe Potter hates him too.  He could be playing along for Granger and pretending to investigate me to throw suspicion off of himself...  Would he dare hurt Granger too?  Or is she perfectly safe because he actually likes her?

Draco was uncertain, and he exchanged a meaningful look with Zabini.  Together they climbed the small flight of stairs to their dormitory to find Theo sitting on his bed, absorbed in a book.

He glanced up when they entered and then sat up straighter and put his book aside when he saw their faces.

“What is it?” he asked with confusion.  “Why do you both look like you were just petrified?”

“Potter’s a parseltongue,” said Zabini.

Theo gaped.

“Pardon?”

They just nodded.  “Yeah,” confirmed Draco, for once having no snarky comeback when it came to the topic of Potter.  “He is.”

Theo immediately began bombarding them with questions, most of which Zabini answered, clearly eager to talk about it.

Draco, however, fell silent as he prepared for bed and retrieved a couple of items from his trunk before climbing in and closing the curtains.  He grabbed a piece of parchment and jotted out a short note with his left hand.

Miss Granger,

You should learn when to cut your losses and run.

Happy Christmas, 

Your Teacher

“Mopsy,” he whispered.  

His elf appeared with a soft POP!

“Yes Master?” 

“Mopsy, take this bruise paste to Hermione Granger’s room and leave it by her bed.  She’s a second year in Gryffindor Tower.  And take this book as well.  Please leave this note on top.”

Mopsy looked a bit confused by these instructions, but she reached out her hand, and Draco gave her the paste, the note, and the book she had retrieved for him from the Malfoy library titled, The Encyclopedia of Monsters (Revised).

She disappeared without another word, and Draco let out an exhale, unwilling to examine his mixed motives too closely.

He wanted to scare her with the book so she would leave Hogwarts, yes.  But nobody said that she had to be bruised when she finally came to her senses and left.