daphnewritings

[daphnewritings]

“It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.”

[daphnewritings]

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your favourite fruit + the last reason you took painkillers

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                    The Queen’s Gambit, 2020.

[daphnewritings]

Chapter 12: The Dragon Egg

Summary: Draco is a sneaky little bastard

Warnings: A reminder of that feeling you get when you touch something old and slimy and immediately want to chop your hand off

Word Count: 4.8k

- Chapter 11 / Chapter 13 - 

Before Draco knew it, the Easter holidays had come and passed. Their teachers had decided that it was high time to start preparing them for their exams, despite the fact that they were over two months away. The overload of review work, along with the new spells, potions, constellations, and wizarding world history may have caused a lesser young wizard’s head to spin, but Draco was only feeling a slight strain. He had already advanced past most of the other witches and wizards in his grade besides a select annoying few, so he was more than prepared for the upcoming end of year exams.

This didn’t mean that he wasn’t spending every moment he could studying. Sure, he was proficient. More than proficient, if the teachers of Hogwarts were to be believed. But it wasn’t enough to be good. He had to be the best.

Which is how he found himself often leaving the confines of the Slytherin common room on his own to find solitude away from his friends and the general hubbub. He needed to focus more than ever now if he was to beat those other proficient witches and wizards.

For the most part, his friends didn’t understand his intensity. “Come on, Dray,” Blaise said on the Monday following Easter Sunday, looking over Draco’s shoulder at the array of studying materials spread across the rug in front of Draco’s crisscrossed legs, “you can’t be up studying again. The exams are ages away!” He pulled a random sheaf of parchment that Draco was using as a bookmark out of Draco’s copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and gave it a look before tossing it aside flippantly and throwing himself elegantly down onto the couch behind Draco. “I don’t even know why you’re killing yourself over Herbology anyway. Everyone knows you’re top of our class.”

Draco gritted his teeth. “I may be the top of our class, but that doesn’t say much, Blaise. I can best Slytherin and Ravenclaw, but what about the other first years in other houses? My parents are expecting top marks at the end of this year, not just good ones.” He paused for a moment between memorizing the Devil’s Snare rhyme and the uses of Puffapods to lean his head back against the couch and close his eyes. “And as you well know,” he said quietly, “my weakest subject is Herbology.”

Blaise huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh Dray, of course I know. Your parents aren’t the only ones who expect their child to be the top of the class.” He sat up and said in an undertone, “I’ve just given up on besting you. But you can still count on me being right on your ass in every test, friend.” He ruffled Draco’s hair as he stood up, causing it to spike up at odd angles. Draco glared at his back as he walked away and fervently returned to his memorization.

So now Draco spent most of his free time between classes and after dinner absorbed in his textbooks and notes at a table in the library that was beside a bank of windows that looked out over the towering pines of the Forbidden Forest. Whenever he needed a break, he would sit on the windowsill and let his mind rest as he watched the tops of the trees sway in a breeze, or he would wander the stacks, pulling out books at random. There was one time when he found himself flipping through the pages of a particularly musty book in which someone had actually pinned different types of merpeople scales onto the pages. When he ran his finger over them, they still felt slimy to the touch, a feeling that had him immediately slamming the book shut and sliding it back into its place on the shelf.

He’d washed his hands multiple times after that in an effort to try to erase the feeling.

On one such afternoon halfway through April, Draco once again found himself strolling beside the tall bookcases, not really paying attention to the titles of the books his finger was trailing across when he heard Potter’s unmistakable whisper off to his left.

“Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?”

Draco walked to the end of his row and peaked around the corner. Potter’s back was to him, as was Granger’s. They were both watching Weasley as he stood up and announced, “I’m going to see what section he was in,” before he walked off into the stacks.

Draco saw that their table, much like his own, was also strewn with study materials and stacks of books, Granger’s being the tallest of the three. Potter leaned back in his chair, pushing the rickety thing back onto two legs as he ran his hand through his unruly black hair. It was always all over the place and Draco thought sometimes about what it would take to force it to lie flat. Often, he wondered what would happen if he cursed it off of Potter’s head, an idea that usually made him chuckle to himself.

Draco was in the middle of picturing this perfect scenario in his head when he realized he hadn’t tried to mess with Potter in days. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d even thought about tripping Potter in the halls or dropping frog eyes into his pumpkin juice. Wait, Draco thought, when was the last time he tried to pull on over on me?

Weeks.

It had been weeks.

Maybe he really should pull his face out of his books every once in a while. Life was about more than studying for their end of year tests, after all.

And it really wouldn’t do for Potter to think he had gone soft.

When Weasley came back around the corner carrying a teetering pile of books in his arms, Draco quickly pressed himself deeper into the shadows of the bookshelves. It also wouldn’t do for you to get caught snooping before you even figure out what Potter’s up to, now would it? Draco berated himself.

“Dragons!” Granger hissed as the books spilled out of Weasley’s arms.

The front two legs of Potter’s chair slammed against the ground as he pushed through some of the pile to look through the titles. “It makes sense,” he said quietly, “Hagrid’s always wanted a dragon, told me so the first time I met him.”

Dragons? Hagrid? A…stone? What were Potter and his friends up to?

“But it’s against our laws,” Weasley said as he precariously propped his own chair up on its hind legs. “Has been since 1709. It’s hard to keep Muggles from noticing us if we’re keeping dragons in the back garden.”

“But there aren’t any wild dragons in Britain, right?” Potter asked incredulously.

“Of course there are, but the Ministry has set up wards around most cities and towns to turn them around if they get too close. Although, sometimes they’ll get to close to a village in the hills and then the Ministry has to send out a whole battalion to hush them up.

“But if it’s banned,” Granger mused, “then why on Earth is Hagrid researching them?”

Why indeed? Draco thought before he had to clap his hand over his mouth to keep himself from snorting as Weasley’s chair tipped a little too far. While Granger and Potter were both laughing at Weasley’s flailing form as he was thrown backwards, Draco slipped back through the shelves, his resolve to once again keep a closer eye on Potter renewed.

He would get to the bottom of this new mystery, no matter what.

>< 

After a whole week of nothing, Draco got the answer he was looking for during breakfast on Wednesday. He’d made it a habit to meander along behind Potter after he finished his breakfast and dinner, sometimes even skipping out on the last few bites of his own meal to follow him out of the Great Hall.

Out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen Potter’s big white owl drop down in front of him, which was a fairly uncommon occurrence all on its own, but the reaction he had when he read the note he pulled off its leg was what really caught Draco’s eye. Potter had tensed up and immediately shown Granger and Weasley. The trio had hastily abandoned their meals and walked right out of the Great Hall, forcing Draco to do the same and leave behind a freshly buttered muffin.

Oh, the things one does to meddle in their archenemy’s affairs.

In the middle of his mad scramble to follow them, Draco met Theo’s disconcerted gaze across the table. “What?” he asked, shoving his latest homework assignment from McGonagall into his bag without even checking to see if the ink had dried, not that he’d even written a word beyond ‘The’ since he had been so intent on watching Potter and his friends.

“You’re more,” Theo waved his splayed fingers in front of his face, “distracted than usual. What’s – ”

“Cool, yeah, can we talk about this later?” Draco asked, interrupting what he was sure would have been a fascinating comment that he did not have the time for. Potter had just exited the Great Hall and Draco could feel his opportunity to figure out what had been written in that note slipping away.

Theo opened his mouth to say more, but Draco cut him off. “Great, see you later!” And then he was rushing off after Potter, only remembering just before he raced out of the Great Hall that he couldn’t just run up behind him and expect to learn all his secrets.

Slowing down, Draco breathed in deep and then strolled out of the Great Hall, hoping that he was putting off the desired air of nonchalance. When he saw the three Gryffindors with their heads close together, he casually walked closer to them, stopping within earshot of their whispers. Acting like he needed desperately to hunt through his bag for something, he listened while he rummaged.

“I say we just skip Herbology and go straight there,” Weasley said.

“No, Ron, every lesson is important this time of year! You never know what Professor Sprout is going to add to our exam.” Draco had to agree with Granger on that one. “Besides, it’ll be a little suspicious if all three of us skip a class, don’t you think?” she asked the two boys.

“Oh, come off it, ‘Mione! How many times in our lives do you think we’ll get the chance to see a dragon hatch?”

You’ve got to be joking, Draco thought, freezing at Weasley’s last words. There’s absolutely no way.

“We’ll get into trouble, and that’s nothing to what Hagrid’s going to get caught up in when someone finds out what he’s doing – ”

“Shut up!” Potter hissed suddenly.

Without looking up, Draco knew they had finally spotted him just a few feet to their right. He could feel the sly smile that split his face as his eyes flicked up and met Potter’s. Draco could see that his expression was a mix of apprehension and anger since he couldn’t be sure as to how much, if any, Draco had heard of their little discussion.

Don’t worry, Draco thought as he spun on his heel and headed for the stairs that would lead to the upper floors of the castle, I got everything I needed.

Draco barely listened to McGonagall over the next hour and a half. He could barely sit still much less take any notes on the Avifors Spell, which they would be performing in class the following week. How could he, when he had an unobstructed view of the greenhouses out one of the few spare windows in the room and knew he needed to watch for any black cloaked figures racing down toward Hagrid’s dismal looking little hut? Theo and Pansy kept giving him odd looks whenever he would crane his neck about to make sure he wasn’t missing any hidden corners, but he just waved them off.

Once the bell rang, signaling the beginning of morning break, Draco bolted out of the classroom and practically flew down the stairs until he reached the entrance hall. He weaved and pushed his way through the crowd of students coming in through the front doors from their morning lessons. Once Draco had finally freed himself from the tangle of teen and pre-teen limbs, he followed a trail that branched off from the main path that led to the greenhouses towards the Forbidden Forest and Hagrid’s home.

Once he finally crested the last hill and the small stone house came into view, he braced his hands on his knees. As he gulped down air, he watched as the tail end of Granger’s robe disappeared through the oaf’s door and smiled.

He hadn’t missed anything.

Crouching a bit as he jogged down to the house so he wouldn’t be seen from any of the small, square windows, Draco pressed himself up against its round side and listened to the muffled voices within. When they all suddenly went silent, Draco couldn’t resist standing on his tiptoes to see what was going on.

At the time, when he’d overheard Potter and his friends earlier that morning outside of the Great Hall, the only part of the information that had stuck with him up until now was that it could be used against Potter. Draco hadn’t stopped to think about the fact that he could possibly see a dragon hatch, an event that few ever got to witness. And, though he hated to admit it to himself, and would never, ever say it to anyone else, Weasley was right about this being something that couldn’t be missed.

That thought in itself nearly ruined the sight that was unfolding before his eyes. He persevered, if only to appreciate the tiny, spindly black creature that rolled out across Hagrid’s rough-hewn kitchen table. Its wings, which were tipped with tiny claws and it’s shining black scales that reflect the light of the fire looked straight out of a fairytale. Hagrid, who was facing Draco, thew his hands up in delight as the dragon righted itself and blew a flurry of sparks in his direction, setting his bushy beard alight. Draco couldn’t help feeling the same sort of elation at the existence of this purely magical creature.

As Hagrid was patting the sparks away, he looked away from the baby dragon for only a split second, but that was all it took for him to notice Draco outside the window. Leaping back from the window as Hagrid surged to his feet, Draco turned and pelted back the way he’d come, his mind reeling with what he’d seen.

A real live baby dragon! Draco would have thought that Potter might have caught onto his snooping and was making it all up, if he hadn’t just witnessed the dragon hatching himself. It took him a minute to remember that this was supposed to be something he was going to use against Potter, rather than marvel at alongside him.

Draco glanced over his shoulder to see if he was being pursued. When he saw there wasn’t any black robed figures dashing out of the little house below, he slowed his sprint to a jog, and finally, to a walk. When he reached the top of the hill and looked behind him again, he saw that the door had been thrown open and a person with unruly black hair stood on the threshold, staring after him.

Draco waved jauntily and continued on his way, not bothering to look back to see if Harry had responded in kind.

He had a feeling he didn’t.

>< 

Over the course of the next few days, every time Draco saw the three Gryffindors in the halls or during meals, he always plastered a bright, knowing smile on his face reserved just for them. During Potions two days after the dragon hatched, Draco could feel Potter’s gaze burning a hole through the back of his skull, but he refused to turn around and acknowledge him, which he absolutely knew set Potter on fire.

He barely had to do a thing in Potter’s presence to have his eyes glued on him the entire time they breathed the same air, something that Draco enjoyed immensely.

When he was pulling out his textbook and wand for Defense Against the Dark Arts on Thursday, Daphne leisurely strolled up to the desk in front of Draco’s and dropped her own textbook onto it with a loud thud. Draco didn’t even pause from what he was doing as he said, bored, “What is it, Daphne?”

“I know something you don’t know,” she trilled, promptly sitting down in her seat and propping her chin up on her two palms.

Draco responded with a noncommittal hum as he reorganized his bag and hung it on the back of his chair, letting her stew in his disinterest. He had figured out, in his past experiences with Daphne, that if you left her alone for long enough when she felt like she had something she could hold over you, that you wouldn’t have to work that hard to get the information out of her when you finally gave her the attention she wanted.

There was also the fact that she could be absolutely insufferable when you gave in too quickly.

When he was finally ready to deal with her, he sat down and arched a dark brow at her. “Well, what is it that you so want to tell me?”

She was practically bouncing out of her seat, waiting for him to settle down. “I overheard Hemione Granger talking to Parvati Patil about how Ron Weasley is now mysteriously locked away in the Hospital Wing with an unexplainable bite on his hand,” she said, all in a rush.

And occasionally she would bring him tidbits of information that were actually useful, like today.

“Oh?” he asked, burying his increasing interest so it wouldn’t show on his face and give away how much he needed to know more right now. “And what did Granger have to say about this mysterious bite?”

Daphne shrugged. “Nothing. She made it sound like it was just some Herbology lesson that had gone wrong. You know how some of Sprout’s plants can be.”

Indeed, he did. He had accidentally stumbled too close to the Venomous Tentacula and could’ve sworn he saw his very short life flash before his eyes.

But Draco was pretty sure that he knew exactly how Weasley had gotten that bite, and it definitely was not from one of Sprout’s vicious plants.

“You know something about it, don’t you?” she needled.

Draco shrugged, flipping open his book as Quirrell walked in, turban slightly askew as always. “I might.”

“Oh, come on,” she whined pitifully, “just tell me.”

He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper, making her bend towards him so she could catch his words as Quirrell started the class. “Daphne, dearest, if I wanted every single person in the school to know my business, then I would tell you. When I need that to happen, trust me, I’ll let you know.” He leaned back, satisfied with the offended look on her face and started to take notes on Quirrell’s latest lesson on vampires.

After class, Draco headed straight for the Hospital Wing. He knocked on the one of the cherry double doors and waited a few seconds for Madam Pomfrey, who pulled the door open with a quizzical look on her face. “Hello,” Draco started with a pleasant smile, “I was wondering if I could visit Wease – I mean Ron. It will only take a moment.”

“No, I don’t think that wise, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Weasley is very sick and needs his rest.” She started to close to door but Draco threw his arm out, bracing it open. Madam Pomfrey stared at the offending hand and then looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

Draco half thought he had, but retracted his hand and tried again. “Please, Madam Pomfrey, I really think Ron would benefit from my presence. See, we’re good friends and I just really wanted him to know that I’m thinking about him in his time of need.” He could tell she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes, but the door was still open, so he still had a shot. Deciding on a different track, Draco threw his hands up as if he were finally giving in and said, “Honestly, Madam Pomfrey, I just need to borrow one of Weasley’s books. I accidentally spilled a bit of practice potion all over my Potions textbook and none of my friends will let me borrow theirs.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded sagely. “Ah, see young Mr. Malfoy, I can always tell when one of you young witches or wizards is trying to put one over on me.” She sat back on her heels and considered him for a moment before she waved him inside. “You better be in and out in a tick, Mr. Malfoy. I don’t have all day to sit around waiting while my patients mess about with their visitors.”

With that she turned and bustled off into her office. Draco waited until her door closed before he strolled down to the only bed with curtains drawn around it. He grasped one edge of the blue and white striped fabric and pushed it aside. Weasley looked over as the curtains swished back into place behind Draco and groaned.

“Go away, Malfoy.”

Draco chuckled. “Now why would I do that?”

“Can’t you see I’m already in enough pain?” he groused, waving his bandaged left hand around. “I don’t need you to add to it.”

“Even if I know how you got that bite?” he asked. The color started to drain from Ron’s face as Malfoy leaned in closer and whispered, “Should I go knock on Madam Pomfrey’s door then? Tell her what I know?” Ron just stared at him with his mouth slightly open like a dying fish.

“I could, you know,” Draco said, straightening up and brushing his hands down the front of his robes. “It certainly wouldn’t be any skin off my back.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“What?”

“Why haven’t you told anyone?” Ron asked again. “Why haven’t you set Hermione, Harry, and me all up with a lifetime of detention and gotten Hagrid fired?”

Draco paused, considering his question. He wasn’t an idiot to ask him about it, considering that Draco couldn’t quite nail down his reasoning himself. It was why he had started this after all, right? To catch Potter doing something that would land him in trouble?

“Maybe I just like watching the lot of you squirm,” Draco said at last while he flipped through the books on Weasley’s bedside table. Once he found Ron’s copy of Magical Drafts and Potions, he tucked it under his arm and turned to leave. “Let me know when you figure out how to deal with your little problem,” Draco threw over his shoulder.

“Oh, don’t worry, Malfoy,” Ron called after him as the curtains swung shut. “We will.”

Draco rolled his eyes as he strolled down the center of the row of empty beds. Nodding to Madam Pomfrey as he let himself out, he shoved the extra textbook he didn’t need into his bag and headed for dinner.

Later on, when he was back in the Slytherin common room and tucked away in his own little corner away from his friends, he pulled out McGonagall’s latest assignment on undoing the effects of the Avifors Spell and changing their blackbirds back into inkpots. When he settled back into his chair, quill in hand, he accidentally knocked over his bookbag and sent the contents tumbling out onto the floor. Muttering darkly about his own clumsiness, he noticed something he hadn’t before about the book he’d taken from Weasley.

There was a bit of parchment sticking out at an odd angle. Bending to pick it up, he leafed through the pages until a folded note fell out into his lap. Flipping it open, he read it through once. And then twice.

And smiled.

>< 

On Saturday night, Draco waited until the only sounds he could hear from the boys sleeping around him were soft snores. Throwing back his sheets, he peeked out through the curtains around his bed and looked around to make sure that all the boys were indeed asleep. Satisfied with what he saw, he swung his legs off the bed and grabbed the sneakers waiting in front of his dresser. As he stepped out into the near darkness, he almost stumbled over Theo’s shoes, which had been kicked off haphazardly earlier that evening when he’d been getting ready for bed. With muffled curses, Draco slowly tiptoed around the room, going from bedpost to bedpost until he was in the open space leading to the door.

Reaching it, he slowly pushed it open and slipped out into the stairwell beyond. Bending down to yank his shoes on, he quickly tied his laces and raced up the many flights of stairs until he reached the common room above. By the light of the dying embers in the fireplaces, Draco took a quick peek around to make sure that the rest of House Slytherin was tucked away in their beds for the night and then continued his ascent.

Draco touched his palm lightly to the stone of the doorway that led out into the rest of the castle. Once the door opened enough to allow his slim frame to slip past, he stepped out into the darkness of the hall. He let the door close softly behind him and took a deep breath. Draco hadn’t planned much past escaping the Slytherin dorm, but now that he found himself outside of it in the middle of the night, he was arrested with exhilaration.

The whole castle was his to explore right now. He could go anywhere he wished, as long as it wasn’t blocked by an unknown password.

Was it really worth it to waste this newfound freedom on stalking Potter up the tallest tower to catch him with a young dragon?

Duh.

Though, if Draco was being honest, he’d fully expected Theo to notice how quiet he was being all night and ask what was going on, and then try to stop him when Draco inevitably told him.

He tried not to be disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to share this with Theo, but shook the feeling off when he remembered how weird he had been acting for the past week or so, ricocheting between hanging on Draco’s stories as he usually did and pointedly not listening to him at all.

Once this Potter situation was dealt with, Draco would worry about Theo’s mood swings. He certainly didn’t have the time now. He was just standing there in the middle of the deserted, darkened hall like a fool. He needed to move.

Sliding along the walls and around the dim pools of light offered by the torches burning down to their cinders in their brackets above him, Draco made his way slowly through the lower parts of the castle. He had to wait in the shadows for a few minutes once he reached the entrance hall, since Peeves had decided that now was the best time to play wall tennis. He soon grew bored and floated off and Draco waited a few more minutes before slipping up the staircase to the upper floors of the castle.

If he had been paying attention to anything besides his own actions, he would have seen the front doors silently opening and closing on their own as he turned the corner and headed up the stairs. But as it was, Draco was too absorbed in his own mission to notice anything as out of the ordinary as that.

Draco’s journey through the upper floors of the castle were much more tenuous than his time traversing the network of hallways below ground level. More than once he had to quickly and quietly leap behind a suit of armor or into a shadowed alcove to avoid detection by a ghost or Filch. But he didn’t let that stop him. He was determined to reach the tallest tower before Potter and Granger to catch them before they could send the dragon away with Weasley’s brother.

In fact, he was so determined that he didn’t notice the quiet footsteps coming up behind him as he crossed too close to a pool of light. When a hand came down on his shoulder and yanked him around midstride, no one was more surprised than him. Except for, perhaps, Professor McGonagall, who’s lamp was currently sparking to life just in front of his face.

 < Chapter 11 / Chapter 13 >

[daphnewritings]

No! Oh! You’re alive! You’re alive! See Pheebs, I promised you no one would die, didn’t I?Yeah, well, we’ll see about that. Can I use your phone? I just wanna call everyone I know. Sure, we have no money, go ahead.

[daphnewritings]

what’s the cheat code for stable mental health

[daphnewritings]

[daphnewritings]

Chapter 11: Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff

Summary: Slytherin is losing their lead to Gryffindor and Draco hates it

Warning: I was forced to make Snape aggreable. I apologize. 

Word Count: 3.3k

- Chapter 10 / Chapter 12 - 

It only took another few days for the rest of Slytherin house to once again reach full capacity as the other students returned from home on the Hogwarts Express. Draco, who finished the work he’d put off over break in a matter of hours, got to lazily sit in front of one of the great roaring hearths in the common room while his friends furiously scribbled across rolls of parchment, sometimes breaking the white noise with a muffled curse or the snap of a quill. Eventually, one of them, usually Blaise, would throw their books to the side with a groan and announce that it was time for a break, too which everyone would agree immediately.

The usual plan would be to bundle up in the thickest sweaters they owned, grab their gloves and head outside. The grounds of Hogwarts were still covered in thick drifts of snow that was quickly turning into a layer of ice, which made the snowball fights they had interesting. There was more than a few times that they returned to the castle with odd shaped bruises, and even once, a bloody nose. Since none of them knew any healing magic, they had to take Theo up to the Hospital Wing and explain why, exactly, they looked like they had been brawling in the freezing cold.

They were banned from snowball fights until further notice after that.

Pansy, who had usually sat by under a nearby tree with her own personal fire in a jar to keep her hands warm, hadn’t been nearly as put out as the rest of them. “Honestly, you lot were starting to look a little worse for wear,” she’d said that night while they all sat quietly around their usual table. “Except for Draco maybe. Tell me, how exactly did you avoid every snowball that flew your way, dearest Draco?”

Draco shrugged noncommittally. “Fast reflexes.”

Pansy smiled knowingly at him and let the matter slide. From her spot under the young beech tree, she had definitely seen him deflecting every snowball that came too close to hitting him to the left and right at Crabbe and Goyle. But, on the upside, he really wasn’t lying. He did have fast reflexes after all, especially when it came to protecting the sanctity of his facial structure.

When term started once again, the whole castle was buzzing about the first Quidditch match of the new year. It was Gryffindor against Hufflepuff, which normally wouldn’t give a single person pause, but the fact that it would give Gryffindor the first lead over Slytherin in seven years was casting an ugly pall over the common room. Draco, unable to stand the restless feeling of the impending downfall of the Slytherin Quidditch team’s lead, pushed his way out of the common room late on Tuesday night on the week of the match. He stood in the hallway outside of the entrance to the common room between the two suits of armor and sighed. Deciding that he would have more luck at relaxing in the library, he started the long trek up the various staircases, his latest read tucked under his arm.

Once he finally reached the library, he discovered that the great wooden doors were shut and locked up tight for the night. Cursing Madam Pince’s everchanging hours, he pulled on both of the large bronze door rings with all his might, but still the doors did not budge. He slapped the wood of the door in frustration, and the small bronze dragon heads which held the rings in their snarling jaws growled and sent up puffs of smoke from their miniscule nostrils in warning.

Stepping away, he felt vexed. He could always unlock the doors himself with a simple Alohomora, but he really was not in the mood to be yelled at and sentenced to a week in detention by Pince just because he wanted to find some peace and quiet.

Resolving himself to finding the farthest, darkest corner in the Slytherin common room from the other students, he turned to begin his long trek back to the depths of the castle when he nearly ran into a startled Neville Longbottom.

Hissing, Draco leapt back, stung by the mere presence of another Gryffindor at a time like this. “Sorry, Malfoy, I didn’t mean-” Neville said sheepishly, trying his best to melt into the wall behind him.

Without a second thought, Draco snapped, “Locomotor Mortis!” and watched with dark satisfaction as Neville’s legs snapped together and he crashed forward with much arm waving. Tucking his wand back into his robes, he stepped gingerly over his prone form, Draco continued on his way while Neville tried in vain to roll over onto his back to sit up.

“Wait, Malfoy, you can’t just leave me here!” Neville yelled after him.

“Actually,” Draco called back. “you’ll find that I can!” Feeling better than he had in the past few days, Draco nearly skipped around the corner. A few moments later, he was glad he hadn’t when he came face to face with Severus Snape.

Skidding to a stop before he ran into Snape’s black robed chest, he quickly clasped his hands behind his back, mirroring Snape’s own stance. “Professor,” he puffed, inclining his head politely.

“Draco,” Snape said smoothly, “what are you doing out so late?” His curtain of dark hair swayed slightly as he cocked his head in the direction of the sound of Neville’s scuffling.

“Uh, nothing,” Draco said quickly, resisting the urge to fidget under Snape’s keen eye.

“I’m sure,” Snape said, a small smile curling his thin lips. “How about I walk you back to your common room?”

“I would be delighted, Professor,” Draco nodded.

And with that, they turned away from the sound of Neville struggling and his light curses, Draco careful not to step on the billowing black fabric of Snape’s trailing robes.

“You’re advancing quite well,” Snape proclaimed into the silence of the hall. “I check in from time to time whenever your mother sends me an owl asking about your progress.”

Draco grimaced. “Sorry about that, sir. That must be terribly annoying.”

“Not at all, my boy,” Snape said benignly. “I’m always happy to give the parents of my students good news, especially when I’m also as invested as they are in a particular student’s growth.” Draco saw him out of the corner of his eye raise his hand as if to pat Draco’s shoulder, before he thought better of it and once again hid it in the recesses of his robe.

Draco almost wished he had gone through with it.

“Thank you, sir,” Draco beamed up at him nonetheless. “It gladdens me to hear you say that. To know that the finest teacher at this school is looking out for my best interests only makes me want to prove myself more.”

Snape chuckled at Draco’s flattery. “Well, I’m sure if you were to do that, we would have to bump you up a whole year. I’m honestly running out of extra work for you that fits the first year curriculum.”

“No need to sing my praises, sir,” Draco said, knowing that they both knew that was a lie. Snape could go on all night about Draco’s many triumphs for all Draco cared. He could make the time.

Snape guffawed, “Of course, silly of me to assume that you would be outshining your classmates for the commendations.” Draco snickered and they fell into a more companionable silence than before as they turned away from the doors of the Great Hall and continued down into the lower levels of the castle.

“So,” Snape started awhile later with a sigh, “how is Slytherin house holding up in the face of the upcoming match?”

Draco sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Honestly, sir? It’s quite tense right now.”

“Well, spread the word that they may not have to worry as much over the next coming days.”

“Why’s that, sir?” Draco said as the pair came to a stop before the suits of armor guarding the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Turning to the older man, Draco saw the sly smirk that now furnished his face.

“Madam Hooch is apparently still recovering from a nasty bout of the flu that she came down with over the holiday. I’ve arranged it so that I will be refereeing the match come Saturday morning in her place.”

Draco’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “But sir, you must be joking.”

Snape lifted one shoulder slightly, “Believe what you like.” He inclined his head slightly to Draco as he began to turn back up the hall that they had just traversed. “Good night, Draco,” he said over his shoulder as he swept away.

“Good night, Professor!” Draco called at his receding back. He watched until Snape turned the corner and out of his line of sight before quickly spitting the password at the suit of armor on the right and pushing through the doorway.

He hurried around the perimeter of the upper ring of the common room and rushed down the stairs to where his friends were gathered around their table, ignoring their homework in favor of staring at the closest fire gloomily.

Draco threw himself down into a chair, startling them all out of their reveries as he said in a loud whisper, “You’ll never guess what I just found out.”

><

The day of the match dawned bright as the sun sparked off the slowly melting snow. The Great Hall was so tense that morning during breakfast that it felt like anything could set the houses off. Both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were boisterous, of course, but the death glares that the students of Slytherin were sending in the direction of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were not missed. The only table that seemed calm in the face of the impending match was Ravenclaw, since they hardly had anything to lose since they were secure in their placement of third.

Potter wasn’t allowed to leave alone that morning when he finished the three bites he was able to shove down. Draco could feel the stress emanating from two tables away off of Potter’s small frame as the Weasley twins flanked him. Draco might have felt slightly bad for him.

That is, if he actually cared, which he didn’t.

Snape stood up and began to make his way down the aisles between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables soon after Potter had left. The Slytherin table rose as a wave as he passed and applauded him. He raised his hand to them and inclined his head with a slight smile in acknowledgment. Draco saw that the Gryffindors could barely restrain their glares as he exited the hall, making Draco clap all the harder.

The school flowed out towards the pitch twenty minutes after the Hufflepuff team had left as one from their table, unhindered by the ferocity of the two tables on the opposite sides of the hall. McGonagall had to break up not one, but three scuffles between older Gryffindor and Slytherin students on the walk from the castle to the field of play.

Rather than splitting into separate sections by house like during the first match of the season, it had been agreed the night before in the Slytherin common room that they would disperse throughout the stands, disseminating among the Gryffindors especially. The match may be an easy score for the Gryffindor Quidditch team in the sky, but that didn’t mean it had to be easy for them on the ground.

Shoving past a few disgruntled Gryffindor second years, Draco jabbed Weasley in the back of the head with the butt of his wand as the teams leapt into the air at the sound of Snape’s whistle. “Sorry, Weasley, didn’t see you there.” As if anyone wouldn’t see him from miles away with that flaming mop on his head, Draco thought to himself as Weasley twisted in his seat with a snarl already plastered across his face, his hand rubbing the back of his skull.

Lee Jordan was back, announcing as he had previously. “And they’re off. With Madam Hooch out with a bad case of the flu, it would seem that Slytherin may still have a chance to foul this one up without one student having to step on the field, if you know what I mean.” The Slytherins spread throughout the crowd gave a joint hiss of displeasure, to which Lee responded with, “Oh, sod off you great bunch of – I was only joking Professor, keep your hair on – now then, back to the game. One of the Weasleys aims a Bludger at – dammit you idiot – Professor Snape awards a penalty to Hufflepuff for the obvious and understandable mix up Weasley made there for mistaking the Professor for a Hufflepuff.”

Draco barely caught a word about the events unfolding in the sky above the raised stands. He was too busy scratching an itch that had been present in his mind since before Christmas when he had tried to rile Potter and Weasley up after that first Quidditch match. With tensions so high right now, and everyone else’s eyes and ears focused on the players flying above, it was the perfect chance to see how far he could truly push one of the thorns in his side before they snapped.

But since Potter obviously wasn’t present, Weasley would have to do.

And Draco so loved needling Weasley. His insecurities and emotions were always so close to the surface, always so easy to poke at to get the reaction he wanted.

And what Draco needed above all else right now was to get his hands dirty.

“Say,” he said loudly, “how long do you think Potter will stay on his broom this time?” He turned to Crabbe and Goyle, who sat on either side of him, “Anyone want to take bets? What about you, Weasley?” Draco leaned forward then as he asked, putting the sharp point of his elbow directly into the soft space between Ron’s shoulder and neck. “I hear there’s good money in betting on Gryffindor fools.” Weasley shook him off roughly and Draco cackled in his ear. He looked down the line of seats to Theo, who had resigned himself to sitting a few seats down, next to Pansy and Blaise after he had figured out the kind of mood Draco was in.

Namely, that Draco was raring for a fight.

Theo wasn’t looking at him, however. He was bent over in his seat, watching with forced excitement as the brooms whooshed about overhead. Draco, feeling slightly put out by the lack of his best friend’s attention on him in the moment, redoubled his efforts to find it elsewhere. As Snape awarded yet another penalty to Hufflepuff for no reason at all to the great outburst of rage from Lee Jordan and the Gryffindors around him, Draco turned to Goyle and said, “You know how I think they pick people to play for the Gryffindor team?”

Goyle grinned and played along willingly. “No, how do they choose, Draco?”

“Well, it’s quite obvious. It’s the ones they feel sorry for! See, there’s Potter, who’s got no parents, then there’s the Weasley’s, who’ve got no money – why, Longbottom, you should be on the team!” Draco reached down and slapped Neville lightly on the cheek. “Seeing as you’ve got no spine.”

Crabbe and Goyle both chuckled and Draco smirked down at Neville as he turned around in his seat, his face gone bright red. “I’m worth twelve of you, Malfoy!”

All three of the young Slytherins burst into laughter. Draco heard an incredulous snort from a few seats down and didn’t have to look to see that it was Theo, listening in with half an ear while he watched the game. Calming himself, Draco wiped an exaggerated tear from his eye and said, “Ah Longbottom, never mind! I take back what I said. It’s not that you don’t have a spine – it’s that you’ve got no brains!”

Crabbe and Goyle both howled at this, clutching their sides and slapping Draco on the shoulders in appreciation. Draco leaned forward and gripped both of Weasley’s shoulders as he stage whispered to Neville, “Honestly, Longbottom, if brains were gold, you’d be poorer than Weasley, and that’s really saying something.”

Ron brushed him off once again, growling, “I’m warning you, Malfoy – one more word and I swear - ”

Draco was about to strike back when Granger yelped, “Ron! Harry!” She pointed to where Potter had curved into a steep dive from up above. When he streaked past their section of the stands, Granger leapt to her feet and started dancing from foot to foot nervously as she watched him chase the golden blur of the Snitch.

“My god, Weasley, you’re in luck! Potter has obviously spotted some money on the ground!” Draco shouted over the rising din of the crowd.

And just like that, Ron snapped.

Before Draco could truly register what was happening, he had scrambled up and over the seats, Longbottom right behind him, and wrestled Draco to the ground while Neville took on both Crabbe and Goyle alone.

The two boys rolled under the seats. Twisting around to try to get out from under the other boy, Draco dodged the first fist that flew at his face, but was unlucky with the second. His head knocked backwards against the heavy wood of the stands as knuckles connected with skin, momentarily dazing him. The stars in his vision didn’t blur out the third punch arcing towards his nose though as he whipped his head out of the way. Using Wealsey’s forward momentum against him, Draco drew his legs up under him and bucked him off. He quickly rolled out from under the seats to the sound of Granger shouting, “Ron! Ron?! Where are you? The game’s over, Harry caught the Snitch! We’re in the lead!” A sentiment which sent Draco’s vexation rocketing straight up again as Weasley crawled out from under the stands with a triumphant smile on his face.

Draco decided to fix that for him as he promptly kicked Weasley squarely in the nose when he was still down on all fours. Weasley’s head snapped back as his nose went crack! and he fell backwards onto his back, clutching at his face. Draco felt his anger ebb with the blood that spurted everywhere and started running down the sides of Weasley’s face in thick, crimson rivulets.

Cocking his head to the side, Draco ignored the throbbing on the left side of his face as he considered the red-headed boy on the floor beneath him. Kneeling down besides him he said, “Give Potter my regards, would you?” Deciding he had gotten everything he needed out of this little confrontation, he stood, dusted off his robes and looked up at his friends arrayed around him on the stands. Three of the five were staring at him with expressions of supreme boredom on their face, while the other two were looking at the minimal damage done to their knuckles.

Draco spied a chubby leg thrown over the bench at Crabbe and Goyle’s feet and peered over into the quickly purpling face of Neville Longbottom. He was out cold. “Bloody hell, you didn’t kill him, did you?” Draco asked incredulously. Crabbe and Goyle both shrugged and Draco just shook his head.

“Are you quite finished?” Pansy groused, pulling Draco’s gaze back to her. “I feel like my nose is about to fall off and shatter on the ground any minute now from this damn cold.” Both Blaise and Theo grumbled their agreement into their respective green and silver scarves.

Draco smiled through the pain that made his eyes smart. “I do believe I am, dear Pansy.” He stepped nimbly over the moaning form of Ron Weasley and led the way out of the stands.

Pansy allowed the group of boys to pass her by as she met Hermione’s gaze over their passing forms. In a rare moment of solidarity, they both heaved heavy sighs. “Boys.”

< Chapter 10 / Chapter 12 >

[daphnewritings]

I have one braincell and I use it to overthink

[daphnewritings]

Chapter 10: A Father’s Past

Summary: Draco has too many questions and not enough answers. Also, Theo is a cutie

Warnings: Small joke about wanting to die rather than write a paper (if you’re not into that humor, soz), Lucius Malfoy is a creep

Word Count: 5.2k 

- Chapter 9 / Chapter 11 -

The rest of the holiday break passed in slow monotony with Draco organizing and reorganizing his room to fit all his new presents into just the right places. He practiced a bit on his new Nimbus 2000, but it just wasn’t as fun without friends around to join him. He thought more than a few times about walking to Theo’s, but remembered the reception his mother had received when he was younger and he discarded the idea. He contemplated sending a note with Pollux, but didn’t want to know what Theo’s grandmother might do if she found out her grandson had become friends with the Malfoy’s son despite her best efforts, and cast aside that plan as well.

Draco wondered once or twice if he should send a note to Pansy, but he had a feeling that she would rather turn Pollux into a teacup than read about how miserable he was.

And that was the truth, the one thing that Draco could have never foreseen when he had tried so hard to needle Potter about going home for the holidays. After spending nearly every day surrounded by friends and learning fantastic new things in his classes for the last three and a half months at Hogwarts, Draco was bored out of his mind sitting around the Manor with nothing to do but mope around and count down the days until school started again.

There was also the fact that Draco Malfoy was, inexplicably, lonely. He had never truly felt lonely in the Manor before now, but he hadn’t had friends before to miss.

Or rather, any friends that were worth missing.

He hadn’t known what it was like to want to tell someone else how his day was going or to actually want to know how they were in return. He had never wanted to share himself with anyone else before Hogwarts. Being stifled in the Manor day in and day out, with no one but his mother to talk to and his father to drag attention out of made him want to start shattering priceless family heirlooms, regardless of what his father might do. At least it would get some sort of reaction out of Lucius besides the “good morning” and the “good night” he was awarded with every day.

The night before he was to board the Hogwarts Express and return to school, Draco found himself staring at the bust of his great-uncle Brutus in the middle of the art gallery, seriously thinking up a plan to break off his great ugly nose, when he heard a scratching from down the hall. Curious, he followed the noise down the hall to the dark music room where a number of instruments sat under white sheets to protect them from dust. Once upon a time, his mother had forced him to learn how to play the piano that was in the corner and he hadn’t been half bad, but he had also despised every second of it.

She had said it was because he had inherited her father’s long, thin, pianist hands, but Draco had a sneaking suspicion she just wanted to justify the outrageous purchase of the baby grand piano. He supposed he should just be thankful she hadn’t thought he had the hands of a harpist, which was one of the other hulking covered shapes in the room.

The scratching became louder as he weaved his way between the musical instruments interspersed throughout the room to the set of bay windows. Drawing aside the curtains, he looked out into the moon-bleached yard and smiled down at the mid-sized barn owl that was sitting on the ledge. It cocked its head to the side in what could only be interpreted as irritation and flapped its wings as if to emphasize how long it had been waiting for someone to notice it.

Draco unlatched the window and allowed the bird to hop down onto the window seat, not really caring if it got feathers or snow everywhere. He kneeled before it and allowed the owl a few seconds to get acquainted with its surroundings before he untied the small scroll tied to its leg. He’d learned when he was younger not to rush owls when Pollux had nearly bitten the tip of his thumb off when he had been too eager to see what he had brought him.

This owl seemed amiable enough as it simply stuck its leg out after a few seconds, giving Draco easy access to the message tied to its ankle.

Unrolling the message quickly, Draco stepped away from the bird as it started to preen and read:

Dear Draco,

I’ve been thinking about sending you a note with Lucy ever since break started, but when you didn’t send anything, I realized you were probably spending time with your family and didn’t want to get in the way of that. But since we’re down to the last few days of break, I realized it was now or never. When are you heading back to Hogwarts? I hope its tomorrow. I figured we could keep each other company if you want.

Send your reply back with Lucy. She likes to bring me all the mail since I give her extra treats, the fat old bird.

Miss you,

Theo

Draco felt like putting his head through the wall. “I’m such an idiot,” he mumbled to himself as he scanned the room around him for an ink pot and quill. Lucy clicked her beak in seeming agreement and Draco made a face at her before turning to rush out of the room. He made it all of one step and realized that he couldn’t just leave the owl alone. She might leave something more lasting than a few feathers. Huffing his annoyance, he doubled back and coaxed Lucy onto his arm with the promise of owl treats in the near future.

Peeking out into the hall, he slipped silently out of the music room on stockinged feet. Not for the first time in his life, Draco cursed the meandering nature of the halls throughout the house. He could never see what was waiting around the corner, just out of sight. And he could rarely tell when someone was coming up behind him, like-

“Draco? What are you doing?”

Fuck.

Draco slid to a stop, causing Lucy to flap her wings indignantly as he turned around at the sound of his father’s voice. “Uh.” His father just arched one dark brow, shuffling the papers in his hands as he stalked past Draco.

Wondering if it was too late to slide backward into the music room and pretend this hadn’t happened, his father’s slightly irked voice called to him from down the hall, effectively cutting off escape. Seeing no other option but to follow in his father’s wake, he looked to Lucy apologetically, “Sorry, it looks like you’re going to have to wait a bit longer for the treats, old bird.” Lucy cocked her head and blinked at him, clicking her beak at the audacity.

Draco hurried down the hall to walk beside his father, putting on an air of disinterest. “One of my friends just sent an owl. He wanted to know when I would be taking the train back to Hogwarts. I was just trying to find a quill and ink to reply to him.”

“Which friend? Is it Vincent or Gregory?” his father asked absently, still staring down at the page in front of his nose.

Draco felt a tightness wind itself around his chest as he coughed, both to dispel his sudden unease and to give himself time to think. There was no harm, surely, in telling his father that he had become friends with Theo. He had been careful to not mention him thus far to his parents, but that was only because he hadn’t wanted to remind his mother of the incident with Theo’s grandmother. It had nothing to do with what had been hinted at about Theo’s history being somehow tied to his own family’s past at the start of term feast.

Nothing at all.

Draco realized that, for the first time in days, he didn’t want his father’s full undivided attention on him. Not about this. But as his gait started to slow, Draco registered that he still hadn’t replied to his father’s question and he needed to say something, anything, fast. Despite the twisting feeling in his chest about having to give up this secret of his, Draco said quickly, “No, the owl was from Theodore Nott.”

His father slowed to a stop in front of Draco and turned, a half smile in the place of the usual flat, disinterested line of his mouth. “Draco, you made friends with the Nott boy and didn’t mention it earlier?”

“Well, I figured with how the interaction went between mother and his grandmother, it wouldn’t be a friendship that you and mother would approve of.”

“Nonsense!” Lucius proclaimed and Draco couldn’t keep the look of surprise off his face.

“But, father, after mother and I went to the Nott residence I assumed that the discouragement of any sort of relationship was mutual between our two families.”

Lucius chuckled lightly, squeezing Draco’s shoulder as they walked side by side down the hall. “You assumed wrong then, my son. The Nott’s and our family have shared much history together, and that batty old witch only delayed the inevitable connection between you too.”

“History?” Draco croaked. “What history?”

Draco stole a glance up at his father who had a small sort of secret smile playing around his mouth that was there and gone in an instant. “Oh yes, our two families go quite far back.” Once they reached the door that opened into his father’s private office, Lucius pulled out his straight, black wand, already topped with the snake head that went with his cane, and tapped the tip of it against his palm.

Lucius sighed, reminiscent. “It’s too bad that we won’t have more time tomorrow morning for you to tell me all about what you two get up to while at Hogwarts. I remember, when I was at school, Sebastian and I-” he was cut off by the flap of Lucy’s wings again from where she was still perched on Draco’s arm. “Perhaps that is a story for another time,” he hummed, waving his wand wordlessly at the locked door. There was a soft click and the door swung open.

Draco followed right behind him, still mystified at his reaction. When Draco had mentioned Pansy and Blaise a week or so ago when his mother had asked about any new friends he’d made at Hogwarts over breakfast, his father had quickly resumed reading page six of the Daily Prophet. He had shown more interest in what Crabbe and Goyle were up too, something that Draco would never understand, since his stories about Blaise and Pansy had more pizzazz to them, even if he did have to gloss over Theo’s part in them.

Crabbe and Goyle were just, well, Crabbe and Goyle. There wasn’t much too them.

Draco was shaken out of his musings by his father sliding a capped pot of ink and a quill in his direction, and Draco quickly scribbled out a reply on the back of Theo’s note:

Leaving tomorrow as well. See you on the train.

Missed you too,

Draco

Draco quickly retied it to Lucy’s leg, which she had obediently already stuck out for him, and then he brought her over to the window his father had already unlatched for him. Once she had flown over the tall hedges and out of sight, Draco turned back to his father, several questions already dancing on his tongue, but he swallowed them all in favor of looking around the room.

It wasn’t often that he was allowed in here, mainly because his mother insisted that his presence within the room would only distract his father from the work he was doing. What that “work” entailed, Draco had never been able to find out since it wasn’t like his father had a day job or anything. Lucius simply sat in his study, fielding various correspondence all day. Normally it was requests for advice from the Ministry of Magic, but sometimes the letters were marked with addresses all the way from places like Romania. His father would be particularly careful with those ones, burning them before Draco could take a more thorough peak at them.

Draco had usually been relegated to sitting outside in the hall with a book, listening to his father’s pacing or the scratch of his quill through the door. Some days his father had let him in, presumably because he took pity on his son the same way a person would take pity on a stray cat left outside in the rain. On those days, Draco would try his best to be absolutely silent, wincing every time he accidentally crinkled a page of the book he was reading on the leather couch in the corner of the room, afraid his father would kick him out.

Eventually, he had stopped sitting outside in the hall, tired of waiting to be let in.

Surveying the room now, he could see not much had changed. The same thick, ornately threaded rug with its creeping vine design still lay spread across the floor, and the same imposing desk, made of wood so dark it almost appeared black, stood above it all at the front of the room. And there, in the corner, sat the same leather couch he had attempted to build a silent relationship on with his father.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Draco?” his father asked, pulling him out of his thoughts again.

His intended “No, father” got lost somewhere in between his brain and his mouth. Instead, what popped out was, “Why is it such a good thing that I’m friends with Theodore Nott?”

Lucius, who had obviously expected his son to bow out, blinked bemusedly up at him from behind the desk. “I already told you, Draco. Our families have been connected for some time.”

“No, but why? Some of the other students at Hogwarts have said that his family isn’t-”

His father waved this away. “Don’t listen to what others have said. He comes from a good, pureblood family. That in itself should explain my interest in you two being friends.”

“Pansy and Blaise are both purebloods,” he said defensively, “and you didn’t seem nearly as interested in them.” Meanwhile, he was mentally kicking himself for not leaving when he had the chance. Who cared why his father was taking such an interest in a few of his friends over the others? He should just be glad that his father hadn’t forbidden him from continuing his friendship with Theo, which had been one of the fears he had held since his mother first started asking about his friends at Hogwarts, and be done with it.

Questions were usually not a good idea in Malfoy Manor on a good day.

His father seemed to ignore the tone Draco had just indelicately flung at him to think over his answer, pulling on one of the ends of the velvet black ribbon holding his mane of white-blonde hair back from his face so he could run his fingers through it.

Lucius leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. “Among the pureblood families in our world, some are more,” he paused for a moment, searching for the right word, “trustworthy. They hold the interests of our kind to a higher regard than…others.”

“What does that mean?”

Lucius smiled at him benevolently, patience starting to run out with this line of questioning. “I’ll explain more when you’re older. But as of right now,” he said with a sigh, standing up and walking around the corner of his desk to clap a hand onto Draco’s thin shoulder, “you’re too young to understand.”

Draco, who wasn’t a complete fool, saw the out for what it was and bowed his head obediently, feeling like he hadn’t gotten the answer he wanted, just more questions. The door swung open soundlessly on its hinges as his father pulled it open, leading Draco out. Lucius patted him on the shoulder, firm, but awkward, and allowed him to take a few steps down the hall before he said, “And, Draco?”

Draco spun quickly around on his heel. “Yes, father?”

Lucius’s lips twisted up at the corners in a smile that held no warmth, “Do not take that tone with me again, do you understand?”

Draco quickly slipped a contrite expression onto his face as he bowed his head once again in obedience. “Of course, father. It won’t happen again.”

“Be sure it doesn’t,” his father said, then closed the door with a snap.

>< 

Draco was sorry to acknowledge that he wasn’t an ideal seat mate the next day on the Hogwarts Express. He listened with only half an ear to what Theo was saying about his Christmas and his and his grandparent’s New Year’s celebrations. He was too caught up in trying to decipher what his father had said and how that applied to the little he knew about Theo’s family, and the other pureblood families in general, which he had never given much thought to before since there had never really been a need too. The Malfoy name, in his mind, was the only pureblood name worth caring about.

He was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts, which had progressively been going around and around in even tighter circles by Theo swatting his arm. “Ow, what was that for?” he cried, rubbing the barely sore spot.

“I just asked you no less than three times how your break was,” Theo said indignantly. “I’ve been going on for nearly an hour, did you hear anything I said at all?”

Draco huffed, “Of course I did! How could you even say something like that?” Theo crossed his arms and glared at him, blue eyes turning stormy with annoyance.

“Maybe you’re right,” Draco conceded. “But I promise my distraction has nothing to do with you.”

“Obviously.”

“Okay, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I swear to god, if you’re already thinking about Potter, I’m going to pitch myself off this train.”

“What? Why would I – I’m not thinking about Potter!” Draco cried as Theo threw his hands in the air, already expecting the worst. “My thoughts aren’t always Potter centered, you know. I have thoughts about a lot of other things.”

Theo rolled his eyes with a disbelieving snort, “Right.”

“For your information,” Draco snapped, “I was thinking about something my father said yesterday.”

Theo unconvinced, slumped into the cushions with stubbornly crossed arms and fixed his gaze on the world flashing by out the train window.

“Well, actually, we were talking about you, or rather, your family.”

Theo’s eyes darted away from the window as he sat up straight in his seat. “What about my family?” he asked quietly, drawing his legs up in front of him in a protective wall.

Draco was thrown slightly by his shift in mood and said hurriedly, “It wasn’t anything bad, I promise! My father actually seemed excited that I was friends with you, which was weird for him. Usually he’s not excited by much. He said all this stuff about how you come from a good family, better than some other purebloods he knows apparently.”

The look in Theo’s eyes had once again become skeptical and hard as they met Draco’s. “He really said that?”

“Yeah, come on, I wouldn’t lie to you.” Theo glared at him. “Okay, I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”

Theo shrugged and looked away again, out the window at the rolling hills flashing by. “It’s just that most of the time people don’t have a lot of good things to say about my family since my dad did what he did.”

It was quiet in the compartment for a moment, Theo’s eyes bouncing from the window, to Draco, to anything else in the small compartment, and back to the window. Draco was tempted to grab his face and make Theo look him in the eye as he asked in possibly the gentlest voice he’d ever spoken in, “What did your dad do?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories already.”

“Actually, I haven’t. And even if I had,” Draco said, seeing Theo’s whole body immediately tense up, “I would still want to hear your side of it.”

Theo sighed, heavily but looked Draco in the eye nonetheless. “Well, I’m pretty sure that Nan hasn’t told me the whole story-”

“Sounds familiar,” Draco grumbled to himself.

“-but the way she tells it, my dad and my uncle got caught up with some bad people, the same bad people that your father was involved with, and when my uncle tried to leave, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ordered my dad to kill him, and he did.” Theo was coiled tight like a spring, obviously waiting for an inevitable rejection, but Draco just waved him on to continue. “She told me that when the aurors finally caught up with him after You-Know-Who disappeared that he didn’t…play dumb like your dad did, even though your dad was the reason he and my uncle joined in the first place. He didn’t try to ‘weasel his way out of it’, she said. He’s been in Azkaban ever since.”

Draco shivered at the mention of the wizard prison. Historically, it was not a place that was painted in a pleasant light. Theo nodded in abrupt agreement with Draco’s reaction. “Yeah, I’ve been there. Once. On my tenth birthday. My Nan got a special concession from the Ministry to take me to see him, my dad. Everything she’d told me up until that point didn’t fit with what I remembered about him from when I was a baby, y’know? Like, I didn’t have a lot of memories of him, but the ones I did have weren’t bad. I just wanted to make up my own mind about him.” Theo was still curled into himself protectively at this point and Draco couldn’t resist the need to comfort him, even if he didn’t really know how too.

He moved across to sit beside him on the bench seat and they both watched the outside world flash by through the window. “Does that make me a bad person?” Theo mumbled.

“What?”

“That I wanted to see him. Maybe get to know him,” Theo said, his voice faint. “Am I a bad person for wanting those things?”

“I don’t think so,” Draco said mildly after a minute of consideration. “I think it makes you a normal kid who just wanted to know his father.”

Theo smiled gratefully at him and Draco felt his ears get a bit warm at the sight. He was reminded, somehow, of when he’d first seen Theo’s house when he was younger. How warm and loved it had looked. He wondered, briefly, if that had been another reason he hadn’t wanted to share Theo with his parents. Theo was easy smiles and sunshine and soft edges. Draco and his family were decidedly not those things.

He didn’t want that to spread like a stain onto Theo. He wanted them kept separate.

After a while, Theo forcefully disentangled himself as if it were a Herculean feat. He relaxed down into the cushions under him again and flung his arms out to the side, refusing the need to cross them. Draco noted how close their pinkies were to touching. “I still have nightmares about it,” Theo murmured, once again looking out the window.

“About what?”

“The Dementors. Have you ever seen one up? Up close?”

Draco shook his head, watching as Theo’s face screwed up as if he were trying very hard not to think about something, and failing miserably.

“Good, I hope you never do. They’re the stuff of nightmares. They suck the life out of everything around them, including people. Especially people.”

Draco suppressed a chill that tried to spider walk down his spine and cleared his throat, “So what happened? With your dad?”

Theo shrugged. “We never got to him. Where they keep him, with the other Death Eaters that were sent to Azkaban, it was so heavily infested with Dementors that we couldn’t get through. It was like they were…guarding them. Jealously. Like they thought we were going to try to take him away.”

“What’s a Death Eater?”

“It’s what You-Know-Who’s followers called themselves.” Theo’s eyes flashed to him suddenly from the window, “Did your dad really not tell you anything about what happened ten years ago?”

“No,” Draco said, fidgeting uncomfortably now that Theo had turned the tables on him. “We don’t really talk…much. About anything.”

“Oh.”

The two boys were silent for a moment, neither one looking at the other as they both thought of the weight of their wretched family histories, both known and unknown, that rested on their shoulders.

“Well, maybe what your dad said was true, maybe he really was under You-Know-Who’s control. What does my Nan know, really? It’s not like they were bosom buddies,” Theo said hastily, a nervous laugh escaping his lips.

“Yes, of course,” Draco said automatically, eager to leave the subject behind. His father had always been something of an unknown to him, but this? Sure, there had been some less than clandestine conversations in their home about the Dark Lord now that Draco thought about it, but that had just been a normal day around the Manor. He hadn’t known to be suspicious of any of what his father said or did when he didn’t think Draco was listening because it had all just been labeled as “grown-up talk” that he would “understand when he was older”.

And if what Theo said about Lucius’s past had any truth to it, then he may not want to understand. Ever. Because that meant his father had some skeletons in his closet that should remain buried.

“Come on,” Theo said, bumping Draco’s shoulder with his own. “Tell me about your holiday. I bet you got better stuff than me for Christmas.”

So, Draco did. He spent the rest of the train ride to Hogwarts telling Theo all about his Christmas, embellishing a little to make it more warm and cheerful than it was. Draco moved on to bemoaning his boredom after the New Year had come to pass through the entirety of the carriage ride up to the castle, the carriage pulled by some invisible force up the dirt path that cut through the forest. Theo seemed content to listen to him talk, interjecting at the right time with his own thoughts and complaints, which Draco appreciated greatly. It was a return to the normalcy and companionship that he had been craving since he had gotten off the Hogwarts Express all those weeks ago before Christmas.

It wasn’t until they walked through the doors of the Great Hall that Draco was forcefully reminded of the possible implications of his father’s past with the presence of the Boy Who Lived himself. Draco wanted to hex Potter off the face of the planet for it. But after sharing a brief glare between them, Potter went back to talking to his Weasel and Granger and Draco let Theo pull him in the direction of the Slytherin table on the opposite side of the room.

He diligently pretended not to hear Theo’s huff of annoyance.

Once they reached the Slytherin table, they were greeted by none other than Pansy, who greeted them with a withering look. “Where the hell have you two been? It’s been just me and Daphne alone for days.”

“Well, aren’t you just in a delightful mood, Miss Parkinson,” Draco said cheerfully, sitting beside Theo across from her. “What happened? Daphne’s company not up to snuff?”

“Have you two ever been alone with Daphne Greengrass for an extended period of time?” she asked the two boys with a dark look.

“No,” they said as one, noses wrinkling with distaste.

“Then you don’t get to judge me for wanting to glue her lips together. She never stops talking.”

“Why didn’t you try putting her in a Full-Body Bind?” Draco asked airily, starting to pile food on his plate. “You shouldn’t have a problem with her talking after that.”

“A what?”

“You know just,” Draco said as he pulled his wand out and flicked it in Theo’s direction, “Petrificus Totalus!”

Pansy’s mouth dropped open as Theo’s fork fell to his plate with a clatter, his arms springing to his sides and legs snapping together. “How did you just – show me that right now.”

Draco smirked, reveling smugly for a moment in his abilities before he lazily performed the counter spell, releasing Theo’s range of movement. Theo fell forward, wheezing. He looked up at Draco from where he’d braced his hands on the table, glaring as a few of the students around them chuckled. “I’m going to murder you,” Theo snarled.

“Ah Theo, no you won’t. You love me too much!” Draco crowed, wrapping an arm around Theo’s waist and drawing him into his side, planting kisses all over the side of his face.

Theo feebly shoved him off, wiping his face off and muttering under his breath about “suffocate”, “pillow”, and “so easy”. But Draco saw that his cheeks were slightly tinged with pink, and knew that he would survive the night. Turning back to Pansy, he explained the mechanics of the curse and how she needed to flick her wand just right to bind her opponent. He laughed along with everyone else around them when Daphne came in a short while later and Pansy dropped her, stiff as a board, before she even saw it coming.

Draco was especially gratified when Theo snickered into his tart at the sight.

Later that night, when they were both settling into bed, the dormitory to themselves for the evening, Theo sat up suddenly and carefully crossed his legs. Draco popped open one eye to see Theo’s gaze flicking between him and his twisting fingers, obviously trying to find a way to say something.

“If this is where you wait for me to fall asleep so you can kill me, please make it quick. I still haven’t written up that paper for Binns and I would really rather die than do it.”

Theo scoffed, but kept fidgeting.

“O-kay,” Draco said, sitting up, “What’s going on?”

“I just wanted to say,” Theo started, mumbling, still staring down at his lap.

“To my face, Theo,” Draco said, but not unkindly.

Theo cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say that you can talk to me about, y’know. Dad stuff. If you want.”

“Oh.”

“Well, because our dads aren’t…the best. All the time. Or ever. So, I just wanted to let you know that I’m here. If you ever feel like you’re going to blow your top. Or whatever,” Theo rushed, his words petering out.

Draco felt one of the corners of his mouth curl, “Blow my top?”

“Merlin’s beard, I don’t know! Rant, yell, cry, break something, whatever,” Theo said, waving his hands about as if to encompass the range of his bombastic emotions. “I just wanted to say that I’ll listen.”

Draco laughed, soft, “Thanks, I think.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

There was a minute of silence in which both boys rolled away from each other, facing opposite sides of the room. But Draco couldn’t stop the chortle that climbed out of his throat as he said, again, into the quiet, “Blow my top.”

“Shut up!” Theo cried, chucking one of his pillows at Draco, making Draco laugh harder.

< Chapter 9 / Chapter 11 > 

[daphnewritings]

[daphnewritings]

If I was Elizabeth Bennet my entire family abandoning me at the dinner table when Mr. Collins requested a private audience would have been my villain origin story.

[daphnewritings]

Chapter 9: The Secret Passage

Summary: Draco thinks about Harry while watching snow fall. Need I say more?

Warnings: Lucius is a dick, and on Christmas no less

Word Count: 3k words

- Chapter 8 / Chapter 10 - 

On Christmas morning, Draco woke up before both of his parents. He sat up in his familiar room that was still too quiet at night without the soft sounds of five other boys sleeping around him, and looked out the window to see the steady fall of fresh snow.

Excited by the promise of a white Christmas, he leapt out of bed and started tripping around his room, narrowly avoiding the corners of his furniture as he flipped the top of his Hogwarts trunk open and dug around in its depths for the thickest socks he owned and the plush forest green robe his mother had forced him to pack all those months ago that he’d never used.

He would’ve never lived it down with Blaise if he woke up and put that thing on every morning. He may have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he wasn’t that ridiculous.

Finally finding what he was looking for, he bundled up and padded across the floor to the door, but he stopped with his hand wrapped around the handle. His bedroom door was notorious for creaking and would surely wake up his parents, eliminating any chance he had of having an hour or two to himself before his mother insisted they all gather around the tree in the parlor to open gifts, so that they could all tell themselves the nice, tiny lie that they really were a wholesome little family.

Turning back around, Draco crossed to his bathroom, grabbing his wand off the nighstand along the way. He winced as he felt the bite of the cold, white tiles of the bathroom floor through his socks as he stepped through the doorway and beelined towards the massive, gilded mirror that dominated one wall of the small chamber. He made sure to stop at the sink and pull out the bottom drawer on the left, snatching up one of the many tapered candles he’d stolen from around the house.

Turning back to the mirror, he ran his hand along its right golden edge until he felt one of the shimmering roses give a little. See, if someone were to look closely at the left side of the mirror, amidst all the golden whirls and flowers that edged its border, they would see two small hinges that allowed the mirror to swing away from the wall, revealing the hidden passageway behind it.

He pressed into the golden rose on the right side of the mirror until he heard a faint click and stepped back as the mirror eased open in front of him, releasing a cloud of dust right into his face that immediately surged down his throat. He tried to smother his violent coughs as he attempted to wave the dust away as best he could.

He really should tell Dobby to clean these passages every once in a while, but then he would have to stop pretending like they were his own little secret.  

Draco had discovered the passage behind the mirror purely on accident a few years ago. Crabbe, Goyle, and he had just finished messing around on a couple of old Cleansweeps they’d found in the shed earlier that day and were covered in mud, practically from head to toe. The three of them had tried to sneak past his mother, but the muddy footprints that spread from the conservatory to the art gallery quickly gave them away. It hadn’t been that hard for Narcissa to find them, given the fact they had left her a trail of figurative breadcrumbs to follow.

After she had laid into them about making a mess out of her household and yelled at Dobby to stop what he was doing and clean it all up, she sent them to Draco’s room to wash up with, “And for Merlin’s sake, take off your shoes!”

They had hurriedly done as she said and bolted upstairs, eager to get away from her yowling. But once they had locked themselves in Draco’s bathroom, Crabbe and Goyle seemed to think it had been a rousing success of a good time, and Draco had to agree. He knew his mother wouldn’t be too harsh on him to ground him. More than likely, she was probably in the parlor now, looking through her Witch Weekly for a flying instructor.

But then Crabbe and Goyle had gotten a little too rowdy in their jovial celebration, punching each other in the arms in congratulations, that when they’d turned to do the same to Draco, the punch that landed on his shoulder propelled him back into the gilded mirror. Luckily, his elbow had only made contact with the golden frame, but he had still heard a small click that terrified him. The mirror had to be old enough to be a family heirloom, and if he’d broken it, it wouldn’t be his mother coming down on him, but his father.

And it wouldn’t matter who’s fault it really was, Lucius would only see that it had been Draco’s doing.

“You idiots!” Draco seethed, leaping away from the mirror to find the damage that had been done.

“It’s just a mirror,” Goyle had said, confused.

“It’s just a mirror? It’s just a – get out of my room,” he snarled. “Find somewhere else to wash yourselves you overgrown buffoons.”

They had left, befuddled expressions on their faces at how fast Draco’s mood had been able to change, but Draco had really not cared at the moment if they may have thought him unhinged.

Shaking, he’d turned back to the mirror to see what could be done, but was surprised to find that it had actually come away from the wall. He’d stood, frozen, unable to think of what could’ve caused this new development. Taking a deep breath, he wedged himself up against the wall to see if it was something broken on its back that he could possibly hide to deal with later, but had immediately jerked back at what he saw. It wasn’t that there was something broken on the back.

There wasn’t anything behind the mirror at all. Just empty blackness.

He’d moved the mirror away from the wall, a millimeter at a time, until the mirror stood open and only the yawning black rectangle in the wall lay before him. Just as it had now, once the doorway was fully open, dust had fallen onto him and pushed itself down his throat. But at that point, he hadn’t cared to keep his coughing quiet since he’d been too busy trying to figure out how the mirror worked.

He had then proceeded to spend the next few months of that Fall and into Winter discovering all the hidden nooks and crannies he could in the house that connected to each other. He was still pretty convinced that he hadn’t found them all, and maybe he never would.

Once the dust had settled in the present and his hacking had quieted, he raised his wand to the candle wick and whispered, “Incendio!”

He quickly cut the bluebell flames off once they wick had sparked to life and made his way down the dark corridor. There were other passages that branched off from the one he was in now that led all over the top of the house, but he was only interested in the one that took him to the twisting staircase that would lead him down to the first floor.

Tiptoeing so his steps wouldn’t echo, he descended as quickly as possible down the stairs that ended abruptly before another small, rectangular door. Twisting the handle, he heaved the heavy door open and stepped out into the library, where a fire was already crackling in the fireplace and the curtains had been tied back from the bay windows that overlooked the snowy grounds of the Manor. Draco threw his shoulder back against the door, which looked like any other bookshelf around the room on the outside, and pushed it until it clicked into place once more and sealed the secret passage behind him.

He blew out the candle and hid it amongst the wood piled neatly to the side of the fireplace. Draco would have to come back through the passage later to retrieve it so that his father wouldn’t know he’d been in here. Finished hiding his contraband, he strolled in front of the shelves, trailing his finger across the titles to see if his father had bought any new books since he’d been gone. Despite the fact that his father barely came in here, much less read any of the books he bought for the family’s personal library, Draco usually wasn’t allowed to take whatever reading materials he wanted unless he begged his father.

And today of all days, Draco wasn’t in the mood to beg.

This was only one of many reasons why he’d been delighted to discover the hidden passageway entrance in his room. After the first few times he’d snuck into the library and snatched a book or two, he’d quickly realized that his father never noticed when a few of the tomes went mysteriously missing, only to reappear a few days later.

Realizing that there weren’t any new titles that he hadn’t read before, Draco sighed. Now, not only did he miss his dorm room, he also missed the Slytherin common room and the magic bookshelves that encircled the upper floor where you could find any book you wanted.

Leaving the library, he followed the quiet sounds of Dobby puttering away in the kitchen, getting breakfast ready. Turning the corner, Draco said, “Dobby, could you fill the teapot with-” but was cut off by a sharp cry from Dobby, who whirled around at the sound of his voice in fright and nearly dropped the bowl of strawberries he had just carefully sliced.

“Master Draco! Dobby did not hear you coming, sir!” the elf squeaked, his small hand pressed to his chest in shock.

“Sorry, Dobby,” Draco said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robe as he walked around him to see what he was making.

He swiped a sliced strawberry from the bowl that Dobby still held aloft and dipped it into a bowl of homemade whipped cream that was sat on the counter. Dobby, who had finally brought his heartrate down to a reasonable speed said, “Dobby is not used to you being up and around the house this early, Master. Dobby apologizes for not having Master’s tea ready for him just the way he likes.”

Draco waved off Dobby’s apology. “Really, it’s fine, Dobby. Could you just bring me a cup once it’s done?” Dobby’s head bobbed enthusiastically as he immediately went about filling the teapot with water and setting it on the stove to simmer.

Draco skirted the edge of the rectangular island in the middle of the kitchen and was about to pull the day’s Daily Prophet towards him when Dobby said tentatively, “Dobby is sorry to stop Master, but does Master remember how his father likes to be the first to read the Daily Prophet in the morning?”

Draco, who’s fingers had just brushed the top of the front page, immediately retracted his hand. “Yes, Dobby, I remember.” Sighing again, Draco climbed the stairs out of the kitchen and said over his shoulder, “Just make sure to bring me the tea when it’s ready Dobby. I’ll be in the conservatory.”

Treading softly through the house, he looked into the parlor and saw that the underside of the tree was practically bursting with presents, no doubt a fair few that had his name on them. Smiling despite the impending spectacle that his mother would be making soon, he continued on his way to the conservatory, passing through the dark dining room and winding his way through the marble statues in the brightly lit art gallery and past the music room, until he finally pushed through the glass door of the conservatory.

The conservatory had three walls of glass windows that looked out over the sloping grounds behind Malfoy Manor. The hulking shapes of the tall hedgerows that marked the perimeter of the grounds to the left and right of the house led down to the forest, which bracketed the end of the smooth lawn. Everywhere Draco looked through the windows was covered in a quickly growing layer of white snow. The only shape that still stood with minimal snow coverage was the greenhouse that sat squarely in between two neatly shaped gardens, the dirt paths buried along with the carefully arranged flowerbeds that his mother watched over in the Spring and Summer. The only part of the gardens that wasn’t hidden under snow were the two reflecting pools, which had both iced over.

Draco walked around within the glass enclosure and threw himself down onto one of the low-slung white couches that were set out in a square in the center of the room. He gazed up through the glass roof and allowed his mind to wander back to Hogwarts as his mind drifted with the falling snow.

Was it snowing there? It had to be. Everyone deserved a white Christmas, even Potter. Potter, who was probably galivanting around the castle with the Weasley spawn, having snowball fights and being as absurd as ever. Potter, who might not have any presents to open today, when everyone should at least be able to open something and-

No, Draco chided himself, sitting bolt upright on the sofa. Stop it.

He blamed the infernal Christmas spirit that had climbed into his chest while he and Dobby were building the gingerbread house for the charitable feelings he was having towards Harry Potter. There was also the fact that even though he would probably get everything he wanted this year for Christmas, it wouldn’t be anything he needed.

And, despite how he squashed every thought in his mind about Harry Potter under one stockinged heel, he couldn’t help the niggling suspicion at the back of his mind that maybe Potter knew a little something about that.

>< 

A few hours later, Draco sat in the midst of a pile of shredded wrapping paper, running his fingers along the handle of his new Nimbus 2000. He was surrounded by a myriad of other things, including a pristine wizard chess set from his father and enough new clothes and shoes from his mother that he would probably either have to throw out all of his clothes or get another wardrobe. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much because, despite his gloomy thoughts from earlier, he would never not enjoy receiving gifts.

Narcissa, who had just finished unwrapping a new slim looking black velvet evening gown from one of her favorite stores, courtesy of his father, reached behind her seat and lay a long thin package on the coffee table in front of Lucius. Her cheeks were tinted a pleasant rosy color from the warm tea that definitely had something in it besides cream and sugar, and she smiled wide and unabashed at Lucius as he slowly pulled on one end of the bloodred bow.

“I remembered, darling,” she said in between sips of tea, “that you said a few months ago how much you wanted a cane just like your father’s. But, rather than find one that resembled it, I decided to get his refurbished! Isn’t it wonderful?” she tittered as his father pulled out a long black lacquered walking stick from within a nest of white tissue paper. It was topped with a silver snake head, fangs bared, with small emeralds for eyes that shone as Lucius turned it to face him.

“We can go tomorrow to Ollivander’s to have your wand fitted to the head of the snake, if you like,” Narcissa said, her smile small, but radiant behind her cup as she drank the rest of her tea. “Now, don’t open any more gifts while I’m gone, I just need to get some more tea before we continue.”

Draco watched her walk out of the parlor, noticing a slight wobble in her step that only came out when she was a bit tipsy, and then turned his gaze back to his father with interest. The whole Manor may be brimming with Malfoy family heirlooms, but he had never seen this particular one. He’d only heard about Grandfather Abraxas’s cane a few times, when his father was feeling particularly wistful and was in the mood to reminisce about his own childhood. As far as Draco knew, his father had stored it away ever since the day his father had passed away.

“Can I hold it, father?” Draco asked tentatively.

Lucius, who had been carefully inspecting every inch of the thing, blinked at him distractedly, “What?”

“Can I hold Grandfather’s walking stick, father?”

“Of course, but gently please, Draco,” he admonished, setting the cane in Draco’s outstretched hands.

Upon closer inspection, Draco saw that Sanctimonia Vincet Semper, the Malfoy family motto, was etched into the silver at the base of the snake’s head. “Purity will always concur,” Draco murmured, turning the cane slowly until the snake was facing him again. Its fangs looked sharp enough to draw blood.

“And don’t you forget it,” his father said, a note of pride evident in his voice as Draco glanced up at him, seeing the curled edges of his father’s mouth, the only real smile he ever made. Returning it with a halfhearted grin of agreement, Draco returned his attention to the snake head, lightly pressing the pad of his thumb to one of the snake’s fangs.

He yelped, pulling his thumb away to see a drop of blood gleaming on his skin. It was at that moment that his mother reentered the room, settling back onto the sofa gracefully. “Oh yes, I had the fangs sharpened to fine points, just like how you described, Lucius darling,” she said, scooting closer to him to actually run her fingers through his father’s long white hair.

The smallest bit disgusted with them, he refrained from curling his lip as he handed the cane back over to his father.

As he sucked the droplet of blood off his finger, he swore to himself to stay away from the business end of that cane as often as possible.

< Chapter 8 / Chapter 10 > 

[daphnewritings]

SLYTHERINS:

love u

[daphnewritings]

Winter isn’t all bad. There’s ice skating and snow ball fights. Oh! And Christmas!

[daphnewritings]

Chapter 8: Gingerbread

Summary: Draco is a hoe for Christmas

Warnings: Descriptions of past house elf abuse :(

Word Count: 3.5k

- Chapter 7 / Chapter 9 - 

No matter what Draco did after the match, he couldn’t seem to knock Potter down a peg.

For a week afterwards, Draco tried to get everyone laughing at his impression of Potter swallowing the Snitch whole like some sort of wide-mouthed tree frog, but no one seemed to care beyond his friends. And even they seemed to grow tired of his antics fast. They were all too impressed at the way Potter had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick.

This vexed Draco even more. Just because Potter was able to hold on when his broomstick decided to kill him out of nowhere didn’t make him some sort of star Quidditch player, or so he told anyone who would listen, which was basically no one outside of Crabbe and Goyle.

Maybe if he’d tried to murder Potter himself with a broomstick, people would’ve paid more attention to him.

Even Theo had grown tired of him. “Listen, Dray, don’t you think this might be coming from something besides everyone thinking Potter is a good Quidditch player? Like, maybe, say, anything else?”

“No, this is about Potter getting undue adulation for doing the bare minimum!”

Theo had just sighed heavily, “Of course it is. It’s always that with you.”

But nothing seemed to bother Potter. As the ice on the grounds turned to snow when November ended and December arrived, Draco decided that it would be best to fall back on old habits to get under Potter’s skin, like bumping him in the halls and causing the books he was carrying to fly everywhere, or turning his pumpkin juice into pond scum from across the Great Hall.

But with the holidays just around the corner, Draco noticed something that added a little bit of extra Christmas cheer to his last week at Hogwarts before break began.

On Monday, Professor McGonagall had passed around lists to all the house tables at breakfast so that the students could either sign up to stay at Hogwarts over the winter break or go home for the holidays on the Hogwarts Express. Draco, of course, had signed up to take the train home. Idly, he’d wondered what Potter was doing for the holidays, so he’d made a detour before heading off to his classes to look at the Gryffindor lists.

Mingling within the crowd of Gryffindors, he looked over the shoulder of an older student and his eyes widened in surprise.

One of the lists, the one that many of the students were gathering around, was the one to reserve a seat on the train home. The other, a much shorter roll of parchment, was the one for students who wished to stay behind.

And Potter’s name was on the list to stay behind.

Smiling deviously, Draco weaved back through the crowd of students and stepped out of the Great Hall. Pansy and Theo were waiting for him besides the staircase that led to the upper floors of the castle so they could head to their History of Magic class together.

They were both looking at him weird when he joined them, and they started climbing the stairs together. “What?” he asked.

“Well, it’s just that-” Theo started to say.

“You haven’t been this happy about something in weeks,” Pansy interrupted.

Draco shrugged, the pep in his step evident. “Maybe I’m just excited for the holidays.”

They definitely didn’t believe him, but considering this might have been the first conversation they were having that didn’t involve Harry Potter since the Quidditch match, they were willing to let it slide.

“So, I take it that you signed up to go home for Christmas?” Theo asked.

“Christmas isn’t the only holiday celebrated in December, Theo,” Pansy snapped.

“Oh, sorry Pans,” Theo said sheepishly. “I forgot. Did you already start lighting your candles in your dorm?”

Draco let them continue the conversation around him as the wheels turned in his mind. Why was Potter staying at Hogwarts over the holidays?

As the week progressed, Draco came to the only possible conclusion. Potter’s muggle family didn’t want him to come home. It was the only answer that made sense. They never sent him anything, not even a note, so they obviously didn’t care to check with how he was doing. They hadn’t even sent him any money to buy a broomstick, since it was McGonagall who had brought his Nimbus 2000 for him.

Bloody hell, Draco thought, did they like him at all?

So, during the last Potions class on the Friday before break started, Draco used this newfound information to his advantage. If there was one thing that would get a rise out of Potter, it was any mention of his family.

Halfway through class, Draco sighed dramatically, knowing that everyone in the near silent room heard him. Stirring his Wiggenweld Potion deftly, twenty-one times clockwise and one time counterclockwise, Draco said, “I do feel bad for those who have to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas,” he looked over his shoulder and met Potter’s eyes across the room, “because they aren’t wanted at home.”

Crabbe and Goyle both chuckled as Draco smiled at Potter. But, to Draco’s irritated surprise, Potter didn’t react at all in the way he expected. He just smiled back at Draco and returned to his own potion. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of an embarrassed blush on his cheeks.

Feeling his lips turn downwards in a frown, Draco returned to his own potion, stirring it counterclockwise and then back to clockwise. Unable to fathom the reason for anyone to not want to be with their family during the holidays, his aggravation from before returned. It seemed that it really was true. He had lost his touch in pissing off Potter.

But maybe he could still go after his Weasel.

As the class drew to an end and he once again received top marks from Snape, Draco slung his bag over his shoulder and followed the Gryffindors out into the hall where the opportunity presented itself in the form of a wall of pine needles.

“Hagrid, want any help with this?” Draco heard Weasley call in the direction of a loud puffing sound that could be heard from the other side of the wall of green.

“Nah, thanks, Ron. I’ve got this handled,” Hagrid called back.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Trying to make some extra money, Weasley? Maybe gain some experience for yourself so you can be gamekeeper some day?” Smiling as he checked his nails, he continued offhandedly, “I supposed Hagrid’s hut must seem like a palace compared to what your family is used to.”

Weasley turned at lightning speed and shoved Draco bodily up against the wall behind him. Draco, wasting only a moment on surprise that he’d been able to rile Weasley up so quickly, already had his wand digging into the underside of Ron’s chin between the fists he had currently wrapped in the front of Draco’s robes.

“Weasley!” Draco heard Snape yell from behind them. Ron immediately released Draco and took a step back, panting hard from barely restrained rage. Draco just smiled coolly at him, lowering his wand and stowing it in the folds of his robe only after Potter had yanked him back another step so he was practically standing within the massive tree.

“He was provoked, Professor Snape,” Hagrid said from where he’d stuck his head above the tree to see what was going on. “Malfoy was insultin’ his family.”

“Whether Malfoy did or did not do as you say, Hagrid, fighting is against the rules,” Snape said, his voice quietly dangerous. “Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be glad I’m feeling generous and it’s not detention as well. Now move along, all of you.”

Draco smirked at Weasley and Potter, who’d wrapped a firm hand around Weasley’s upper arm to keep him from assaulting Draco further, and pushed his way through the wall of evergreen, scattering needles everywhere. The other Slytherin first years followed him through, and Theo fell into step beside him. “Are you okay?” he asked Draco lowly.

“Of course,” Draco bit back, “I’m not made of porcelain, Theo.”

>< 

The train ride back to King’s Cross from Hogwarts was much more fun than in September when Draco had had only Crabbe and Goyle to talk to. The Slytherin first years had laid claim to two compartments across from each other on the train, leaving their sliding doors open so they could walk back and forth whenever they wanted, or just simply yell to get whatever they needed from the other side of the corridor.

Draco, who mainly occupied a spot between Theo and Pansy on the ride back, had only stood up to buy everyone sweets from the trolly witch for Christmas (or Hannukah, in Pansy’s case). He was determined to forget all about Potter over winter break, and messing around with his friends as the winter wonderland landscape flashed past outside was a good way to start. Even Blaise hadn’t been able to resist getting in on the mischief, accepting dares to try certain odd colored Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and laughing with the rest of the group when Crabbe and Goyle inevitably did something ridiculous.

When they arrived at King’s Cross, Draco piled off the train with the rest of his friends, lugging his trunk behind him. He saw his parents making their way towards him, pushing a cart that was meant for his things. Turning his back on them, he said goodbye to his friends, giving Theo and Pansy quick hugs before he accepted the shower of kisses and the tightest hug ever from his mother.

“We missed you so much, darling,” she said into his ear as she clutched him tightly to her, crushing his ribs.

“I missed you too, mother,” he gasped out, kissing her cheek. And it was the truth. He hadn’t realized until then, but he had missed his mother dearly, down to the scent of her Chanel perfume and her neatly rounded black nails, which were currently digging into the skin of his back.

His father on the other hand, simply smiled and clapped him on the shoulder as he loaded his trunk onto the cart and stood beside it waiting for his wife to calm herself. Draco didn’t mind though. His father just wasn’t an overly emotional man in public.

Appearances mattered to him.

After his mother had shed a tear or two, and maybe cracked one of his ribs, she finally composed herself enough for them to leave the platform and enter the non-magical world. His father pushed his trunk along while his mother kept her hand firmly on his shoulder, unwilling to part with him even for a moment.

They exited King’s Cross Station and Draco saw a long black ministry car was waiting for them. His father often used his sway at the ministry to curry favors like this. It would seem that the muggle car service they’d used when they dropped Draco off in September hadn’t agreed with his parents.

Leaving his trunk with a sharply dressed wizard in a black suit, he climbed into the back of the car behind his mother and was shortly followed by his father. And then they were off, the ministry car jumping to the head of lines at lights and gliding smoothly in-between traffic. Draco allowed his mother to pull him down into her lap so she could run her hands over his hair with soothing strokes, lulling him to sleep as she told him about their lives without him over the last few months.

>< 

“Wake up, Draco,” his father said, “we’re home.” Draco, startled quite thoroughly out of his nap, sat bolt upright. The car was just turning down the gravel path that led to the spiked black iron gates that guarded the entrance to Malfoy Manor. Draco nearly did a double take at the state of the Manor before him as the gates melted away, allowing the car to glide through.

The Manor had been transformed into a perfect Christmas painting. The sharp spires of the house and normally pristine hedgerows lining the drive were covered in a layer of glittering white snow. As the car pulled up to the front steps, Draco stepped out and stared up, and up, at the faces of two six-foot snowmen that stood on either side of the steps. His mother, or more likely Dobby on his mother’s orders, had lined every window with garlands of evergreen that made the air thick with the smell of fresh balsam. Two large wreaths also hung on the front doors, festooned with ribbons and tiny bells that jingled charmingly as his mother threw them open.

Draco was immediately hit with the sent of even more fresh spruce as he looked up at the tree that dominated the entryway. It was decked out entirely with gold ornaments and small candles that would never go out, filling the room with unexpected warmth.

“I decided to put a tree in every room this year,” his mother called over her shoulder as her kitten heels clicked away across the spotless dark wood floor. Draco hurried along after her, following the sound of her heels to the kitchen. “I also made sure that Dobby left the one in your chambers free of ornaments, dear. I know how much you like to decorate it yourself.” She beamed at him as he rounded the corner and descended the short stairs, making a beeline across the white and black checkered tile floor to the oven, which had just gone off with a loud ding!

Dobby appeared with a sudden pop! not a second later, pulling the door open and releasing the smell of warm ginger as he pulled out a tray of geometrically shaped gingerbread. “Master Draco is home just in time!” he squeaked as he tried his best to bow without dropping the cookies onto the floor.

Cookies that looked distinctly like the sides of a gingerbread house.

Draco looked up at his mother with raised brows. “I thought you didn’t like it when I made gingerbread houses with Dobby. You said it wasn’t ‘proper’.” His mother waved him off with an air of indifference. “Come to think of it, you said the same thing about me decorating my own tree.”

A few December’s ago, Draco had went along with his mother to Diagon Alley to pick up some presents and he’d spent at least ten minutes staring through the window of Sugarplum’s at the massive display of gingerbread houses. It had only taken a few hours of begging for his mother to relent and order Dobby to make one. Draco had snuck into the kitchen to watch and had ended up helping Dobby decorate the house with an overabundance of gumdrops and icing to his mother’s horror an hour later when she’d discovered them.

Draco had received a scolding he hadn’t forgotten about how Dobby was not to receive any help with any of his assignments around the house. However, what made it so unforgettable was Narcissa making him punish Dobby for letting him help.

It hadn’t been a fun experience.

Just as well, when his mother had decided he was also old enough to have a tree in his room the year before, Draco had ordered Dobby to leave the ornaments on the floor because he wanted to decorate the tree himself.

This had only gone slightly better than the gingerbread, since he’d figured out that ordering Dobby around had gotten him around the later punishment that he would be condemned too when Narcissa inevitably discovered what Draco had done.

Draco had still been scolded, but at least he hadn’t had to make Dobby put his fingers in the oven.

“I just figured that you would want to enjoy all the comforts of home while you were on break!” his mother said as she watched Dobby teeter his way across the kitchen from the pantry, ladened down with the various supplies he would need to make the icing for the gingerbread.

“Okay, well I’ll just be…upstairs in my room,” Draco said, unsure of how he should behave around this version of his mother.

“The gingerbread should be cooled within the hour, Master Draco!” Dobby wheezed from behind a giant bag of confection sugar.

“Yes, so don’t take long!” his mother called after his receding back. Draco just shook his head. Sure, he’d been gone for a couple of months, but he didn’t think he’d been at Hogwarts long enough for his mother to start losing her mind.

Returning to the entryway and taking the curving grand staircase up to the second floor, he turned right and walked in the opposite direction from his parent’s rooms until he reached the other end of the hall and let himself into his room. He smiled at the smaller Christmas tree that sat in the corner to the right of the fireplace and the large box of glittering ornaments next to it on the floor. That task would have to come later, because right now, the only thing he wanted to do was flop down, face first, onto his bed.

Which is exactly what he did.

Sighing, he rolled over onto his back after a moment and stared up at the ceiling.

It was too weird to be alone in a bedroom that he had all to himself. He half expected Crabbe and Goyle to burst through his door or see Blaise dozing, bored, in his favorite plush armchair.

Starting to feel antsy, Draco got up and changed out of his train clothes and into a grey sweatshirt and black sweatpants that he wouldn’t mind getting frosting on. His mother would surely have a conniption fit if she saw him in such disarray, but maybe he would be blessed with another holiday miracle and she wouldn’t care.

>< 

He almost made it a whole hour before Narcissa checked in on him and Dobby to see how they were progressing. As expected, when she did, she nearly fainted at the state of her kitchen. Draco could practically feel her holding herself back from ordering Dobby to start cleaning right that second, but as they were in the middle of decorating the candy cane forest that went next to the gumdrop maze, she just turned back around and walked out of the kitchen.

Draco was pretty sure he had frosting in his hair and at least two gumdrops somewhere in his pants, but he was having a blast. He couldn’t help himself. He loved Christmas and everything that went along with it. The sweets, the trees, the presents, the decorating, he just couldn’t get enough.

It was also pretty much the only extended period of time during the year when Draco saw his father smiling every day. For most of the year, Lucius could at best be described as unsympathetic, if not cold and distant, when they were in the comfort of Malfoy Manor. In public, Draco was lucky enough to receive the attention he wanted, if only for the sake of the perception of the Malfoy name.

Draco knew that the reason for this was because spending money was in his father’s wheelhouse of talents, so Christmas largely came easy for him. Cracking open his wallet as a form of showing love and affection towards his son was the only way Lucius knew how to be a father.

His mother was also known to become a little softer around the edges during the holiday season as well, showing more affection than usual towards his father and not being so demanding in her commands to Dobby.

It was just something in the air, with the snow that fell softly outside and how everything became dark much faster that encouraged the warm feelings that were usually absent the rest of the year in the Manor.

When Draco and Dobby finally finished the gingerbread house and were taking in the glory of their handiwork, Dobby smiled up at Draco and snapped his fingers. Dobby didn’t normally use his house elf magic within the confines of the Manor to clean up messes since Narcissa usually forbade it, something to do with “only wizards should be allowed to use magic”, but once again, the kitchen was spotless and gleaming, with the gingerbread monstrosity sitting in the middle of it all in its place of honor.

“That was fun, wasn’t it, Dobby?”

“Yes, of course, Master Draco!”

“Good,” Draco said, smiling down at the house elf. He pointed at his nose as he turned around to leave the cavernous kitchen. “By the way, Dobby, you missed a spot.”

“So sorry, Master!” Dobby squeaked, running his small hands over his long nose and wiping the glob of frosting off furiously.

Draco chuckled as he swiped an unused gingerbread man off the counter and munched on it until he was once again safely stowed away in his room. Brushing the crumbs off his hands, he rested them on his hips and took in the bare tree that stood before him.

“Alright,” he said to himself, “let’s see what I can do for you.” Draco proceeded to dump out the ornaments onto the rug by the fireplace and began to sort through them. He started to wonder what Potter was doing at Hogwarts, but shut that line of thought down quickly.

The only thing he needed to be focusing on right now was decorating this tree and not thinking about Potter in any way, shape, or form.

< Chapter 7 / Chapter 9 >

[daphnewritings]

— the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places.

Narcissa Malfoy