Note: This story will have adult content in the form of harsh language and sexual scenes. If this does not sit well with you, please hit the back button :)
Chapter One
Draco stared down at Hermione, her mouth open in an endless scream. Each foul letter of the word 'mudblood' etched viciously into her skin by his deranged aunt. Briefly, their eyes connected. Hermione's filled with desperate pleading for relief.
Frozen in place by the horror anyway, his mother needlessly clutched his arm to keep him from moving to help her. The events unfolded in flickers like they were on fast forward. Weasel running to Hermione, swollen faced Potter helping him lift her, an oddly familiar house elf transporting the trio away - but not before Potter threw him a single scathing look portraying nothing but sheer rage.
The Dark Lord's Crucio, so painful. So raged full. His red eyes.
Draco woke up thrashing, tangled in his bed sheets. He took deep gasping breaths to steady his heart. "It's over, it's over," he whispered to himself. But no matter how much he repeated those words, one dominant lingering feeling remained that filled the start of his every day with nausea.
Guilt.
"Tilly!" he gasped.
There was a loud crack and his house elf appeared, ringing her hands together anxiously. "Master called?" she squeaked.
"Water. Please," he added on as an afterthought.
"Tilly is pleased to serve Master Draco." She snapped her spindly fingers and a glass of cool water appeared.
Draco gulped it down, grateful that it eased the last of his nightmares away. He looked down to see Tilly still standing at the side of his bed. He sighed. "What?"
Her ears perked up. "Tilly has made Master a special breakfast."
Special? "Why?" he asked.
"Tilly is thinking Master be happy to go out now." She fluttered her ears nervously.
"You know I can't leave," he snapped.
"Master, ministry owl come with this." She handed a letter to him, sealed in red wax with the ministry stamp. His fingers shook as he opened it, too nervous to dare hope Tilly was right. Just before the flap popped free, a large barn owl swooped through his window and dropped the daily prophet onto his lap. The headline on the cover flashed boldly to capture his attention.
"Boy-Who-Lived Saves Again. Malfoy Heir Freed."
Draco snapped up the paper, scoffing at the picture of Potter and Granger ducking their heads to avoid the media - as if they could fool him into believing they didn't love every second of the attention.
Unfolding the paper, he started to read:
'Boy -now man- saviour of the wizarding world, Harry Potter, and his faithful sidekick, Hermione Granger, made a startling appearance before the Wizengamot yesterday afternoon to reopen the Malfoy case.
Heir of House Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, whom currently lives wandless and under house arrest, and his mother Narcissa - who has been residing in low security Azkaban - will be released this morning and returned their wands. Furthermore, Draco will be given his inheritance and offered the Malfoy chair - on probation - decreed the esteemed members of Wizengamot.
All this comes at the efforts of Mr Potter and Miss Granger as they defended the actions of the two during the war that ended a little over a year ago.
(For a recap of our anniversary edition turn to page 17.)
The youngest senior auror in a decade, Mr Potter has found he has even more sway amongst the ministry than ever, but in is too much?
This reporter wonders if the Malfoy's are rehabilitated from their old prejudices and if they should be allowed into society again.
Evidence to support this theory comes from the lack of the third golden trio member, not willing to support the Malfoy's case.
While unavailable for comment, rumour has it Ron Weasley has split with his now Ex - girlfriend Hermione Granger over this very issue.
(Who is drawing this eligible bachelor's eyes now? P.4)
But what of Malfoy senior? Thankfully, as a member of he-who-must-not-be-named's inner circle, Lucius Malfoy remains in high security imprisonment for life, enabling his son to become the new head of House Malfoy.
Will Draco Malfoy flow in the steps of his evil father? Who is this bad boy dating? Where will he make his first public appearance?
This reporter promises these answers and more in issues to come.
Welcome back to the wizarding community Draco Malfoy. May you endeavour to deserve it.'
Sneering at the bias of the reporter - the nerve of Potter escaping him again - and the fact that he'd had no warning of his impending freedom, Draco buffed the paper aside with the disgust it deserved and tore open the ministry letter. As expected, the page detailed his freedom on a three month probation with a chance of all charges dropped at the end. It mentioned that his wand would be returned when his mother was escorted back to the property.
Speaking of… "Tilly, please make sure mother's rooms are ready for her." Draco watched the little elf shift nervously. "What now?"
"Mistress is already home."
Draco paled and flung his covers off, not caring about his nudity in front of the elf who raised him, especially in the face of this latest development. With all the haste of someone who wasn't a morning person could muster, Draco picked out a robe his mother would deem appropriate, slicked his hair back, and strode down to her favourite sitting room where Tilly had set up celebration breakfast. He got there first and took the time to compose himself, gulping back a black coffee before pouring another. The opening of the door announced his mother's presence. Draco took a second and turned to give her his brightest smile, in spite knowing she would see right through it. It was the appearance of composure that counted in pureblood circles after all, not how genuine it was.
"Mother," he walked forward, kissing her lightly on each cheek and leading her to the more comfortable chair. "Welcome home. You look well." Draco made her a tea.
Narcissa Malfoy raised a delicate eyebrow at her son. "Thank you, Draco. It helps that Potter's people removed Azkaban of Dementors."
Draco scowled. One more blasted thing Potter had done for his family.
Narcissa shifted slightly to get his attention. "You're not still obsessed with Potter are you dear?" she asked mildly. "You're a grown man, people will start to wonder."
"I am not obsessed," Draco snarled.
Her eyes flashed dangerously and Draco Immediately dropped his gaze. "Forgive me, mother, this morning has been a flurry of activity compared to the past year."
He motioned for her to help herself to the the array of breakfast foods Tilly had prepared, then loaded his own plate with strawberries, a treat compared to his normal coffee and dry toast. "But I have naught to complain of compared to your trials. How are you?"
Narcissa took took a slow sip of tea before answering, giving Draco time to study her. As far as prisoners went, Narcissa had had it easy. She'd been in a comfortable cell, with a plump mattress, proper bathroom, and plenty of books to read. Draco had been allowed an escorted visit to her once once a month, his only exception to house arrest. While living with the Dark Lord under their roof, Narcissa had aged from frequent torture and the stress of watching her son endure the same. Her time in Azkaban, Draco decided sourly, had revitalised her, giving her much needed rest and peace.
She sat before him straight, proud, and terrifyingly beautiful as ever. He couldn't help but wince at the stark contrast that Narcissa was to Lucius when Draco had last seen his father. While Draco had been a child in an unwinnable situation, and Narcissa had redeemed herself by lying about Potter's death, Lucius had no excuses that would reduce his sentence.
With Dementors gone the ministry had thought to use ancient muggle punishments for the Dark Lord's inner circle in maximum security. Lucius spent the majority of his time strung up in anti-magic chains, dirty and covered in wounds from whips and beatings. Potions, given when he was at the absolute edge, was all that kept him from dying to infection and blood loss.
Draco had been to see him once, seen with a cold realisation the still conscious look of Lucius' eyes boring into his and knew he could do nothing about it. He hadn't been back since. Again guilt flooded his system. Even if he could help his father, he didn't want to. Maybe it made him disloyal, it definitely made him a bad son, however the last year of house arrest was ironically the closest thing he had to freedom in years.
He suddenly realised he hadn't been paying attention to his mother.
"... once my probation is over. I intend to visit Paris for a year, then move on to our villa in Barcelona. In the meantime we need to update our wardrobes Draco. Those robes are positively awful, at least two seasons old. I've asked Raphael to come by this afternoon and start..."
Draco tuned her out again. So his mother intended to move on and forget the whole thing ever happened. To leave him. To leave Lucius. He couldn't say he blamed her. Unfortunately he couldn't just forget the war, even if he wanted to. He still had his owns chains to sever.
"Mother," he said. "Where is my wand?"
Her eyes brightened and she raised her own wand. "Accio Draco's wand."
Nothing happened for a minute, then his old vine wood wand came flying through the door and into his mother's palm. He rolled his eyes at her pleasure over the innocent magic, and took his wand back with mixed feelings. He wanted it to feel like coming home when he held it. Like it was an extension of him, thrumming with pleasurable familiarity. To an extent it was, but there was also a wrongness, a taint. Even though Potter had given the wand back, Draco could feel the alignment still wasn't quite his. He sighed.
"I won't be here for robe fittings this afternoon, Mother. Now that my house arrest has been lifted, I have have a number of errands that need seeing to."
Narcissa smiled at her son. "Dinner's at seven."
He nodded, surprised that she was letting him go so easily. He left before she could change her mind. Draco wandered slowly through the manors great halls, ignoring the stares of his ancestors portraits, finally making his way to his father's old study.
An elderly house elf sat in the lush office chair which was set at the tallest setting, giving the creature just enough height height to use the mahogany desk.
The elf blinked this large eyes slowly at Draco and motioned for the youngest Malfoy to take a seat across from him.
"How goes business, Wilkens?" Draco asked tiredly.
"Business goes well, young master," the elf rumbled in his gravelly voice. "Profits have risen to 13% this month."
"Good, that's good."
It was was a pointless response. Draco couldn't really find it in himself to care about his father's business much most days.
"Does the young master wish to take his place at the head of the business now?"
Draco shook his head. He He was happy to stay 'young' master master as far as this was concerned.
"You do the job well enough Wilkens," he said. "If you need help just hire someone."
"Very well, young master. Does young master require the employee to be one of pureblood?"
Draco thought about it for a minute. The biggest shock, after his reduced sentence, had even when he finally decided to check the Malfoy Enterprises finances, sure that due to their tainted postwar reputation that they would be near bankruptcy.
Except that Lucius Malfoy, loyal Death Eater and muggle murderer, only did business exclusively in the muggle world. And thanks to well trained house elves and a few squib business employees, Malfoy Enterprises was flourishing, and Draco hardened his heart a degree further against his hypocritical father.
"Hire a mudb-" he gulped. "Hire a muggleborn... someone trustworthy."
At least then he might have someone to learn about muggles from and maybe if he did get involved eventually, he then wouldn't screw up the income that would be supporting his mother's overseas trip. Enough of her tone indicated to him that it could very well be permanent, and he knew how much Europe and Narcissa together equaled near constant shopping.
"Very well, young master," Wilkens agreed.
Draco wished the elf a good day then made his way back to his quarters to dress in a more casual robe, something that was easy to move quick in. He finished the outfit with a hooded green cloak, pulling it around himself to hide his trademarked Malfoy hair.
Not wanting to risk apparition without fully aligned wand, Draco took a satchel from beside his fireplace and sprinkled a pinch of green floo powder into the fire.
"Borgin and Burkes," he said, and let them flames spin him away.
It turned out Borgin and Burkes was a good choice of gateway into Diagon Alley, even with Borgin giving him a nasty glare. Draco refused to take credit for getting most of the store's merchandise raided by the ministry after the war. He might have brought the ministry calling with the vanishing cabinet debacle, but it was Borgin who had chosen to stock his store with dark artifacts. When Draco exited Knockturn he could see that the Leaky Cauldron's brick gateway was blocked with lines of people coming in and out of the alley.
Draco realised it was the day before start of Hogwarts term, and many families were shopping last minute. He never would have made it through the pub unrecognised.
Although now that he thought about it, students shopping presented a new potential problem if he wanted to remain unseen and run his errand.
He could wait another day, he supposed, but Draco didn't know if he could bare it. A year was a year too long.
Keeping his hood up, Draco kept to the shadows and stared through the window of the store. Children entered and exited all morning long as the sun travelled across the sky. There was a level of anxiousness and excitement that mirrored his own, although if anyone spotted him, all they would have seen was longing.
Finally at the hottest part of the day, the streets cleared of shoppers, people disappearing into cafes and pubs for cool drinks and something to eat, and Draco watched the last student walk away. The small curly haired boy dragged his mum toward the ice cream parlor as Draco crossed the street.
He pushed through the heavy door, taking a moment to adjust to the dim light and musky air.
"Mr Malfoy."
Draco looked up, pulling back his hood. His eyes meet with Ollivander's and he struggled not to cringe.
"Mr Ollivander," he whispered. "If you'd like me to leave I understand."
Ollivander took his time looking at Draco, and Draco felt like the man could see everything.
The war hadn't been kind to the old man, Draco knew that better than anyone since the wandmaker had been in his dungeon. It had aged Ollivander greatly. No longer able to stand, Ollivander sat in a chair that had enchantments to move where he needed, but otherwise let his intern do the work he couldn't. Draco knew the Dark Lord and the Malfoy family had likely taken years off the old man's life.
Draco shuffled nervously under the old man's gaze. "I wanted to write," he said. "I wanted to apologize, though that fixes nothing. I'm so sorry for everything you suffered, for suffering at my hands."
Mr Ollivander regarded him, and then sighed. "Your apology came much sooner than I expected, young man. I'd always heard Malfoy's were too arrogant. But you aren't like your father, are you?"
"I endeavor not to be, sir. At least now," he said quietly.
Mr Ollivander guided his chair around the counter and looked Draco up and down, flicking out his wand to do measurements. "You have a way to go on your journey yet, but your old wand will no longer suit you. May I see it?"
Draco handed it over.
"Yes, yes," he breathed to himself. "This wand is not for you."
He turned his chair back and started searching the shelves within his reach. As if she had been summoned, and quite possibly she had, a woman a couple years older than Draco came to help him, an ex Ravenclaw he thought. Draco turned away, hoping she hadn't heard his apology.
It'd been hard to come here, and he hadn't expected Ollivander to help him. But he felt the stress leave his body at not even having to ask for a wand, let alone that he had expected to be turned away.
He needed his magic back. He couldn't change anything without his magic back, and he thanked Merlin, and Ollivander's piercing insight, for not having to go buy a subpar one from who knows where.
Assuming there was a wand here that wanted to choose him.
After thrusting twenty odd wands at Draco to try, Ollivander started to rummage through the older more obscure boxes, dusty from little handling. Samantha, the apprentice, run all over the shop, fetching what was required, and was currently reaching deep into a shelf for a long green box at the back of a stack.
Ollivander was clearly enjoying himself, and Draco was glad he could at least give the old man that. But with each failed wand, Draco felt a growing panic, thinking it would be ironic if he had to live the rest of his life wandless like the muggles he had be taught to hate.
He watched Samantha turn and look at him, wondering what she saw. A tall, pale man? A known death eater responsible for Dumbledore's early death? Someone who should be locked in Azkaban with his wretched father?
She sized him up and he let her, it was the least he could do for their help. Finally she whispered something to Ollivander and he smiled at her with genuine affection and nodded. She went at the back of the store and came back with a new box, handing it to Ollivander and then left the two men alone together.
When Mr Ollivander approached him, Draco knew immediately in the man's demeanour that this wand was precious and Draco immediately didn't want to touch it. Ollivander lifted the lid and pulled out a wand in a soft brown wood that was slightly longer than Draco's old one. He handed it to Draco without a comment and the young man felt obligated to take it into his hand.
As his fingers wrapped delicately around the hilt, he felt a warmth not dissimilar to the one he felt at eleven years old. This wand felt lighter, happier, filling him with peace that chased away his fear of the future.
Thoughts of pureblood heirs, muggle businesses, being the scum of wizarding society, and more flooded away because they weren't important. What was important was the good he could do with this wand, the wand that had chosen him to do it.
Finally looking up, Draco was shocked to see tears in the other man's eyes, and Draco realised that he was also crying. He hastily brushed his tears away.
"Young man," Mr Ollivander croaked, "you will do great things with this wand. Many great things."
The old wand maker turned away and drove his chair into the back of the shop. Samantha came out to take Draco's payment, looking at Draco with undisguised awe.
Draco clutched the wand. "What is this?" he demanded. "He didn't tell me the wood or the core."
The awe over the wand dropped quickly from her features at his rudeness. "That wand is the wand to top Mr Ollivander's career and it should have gone to someone better than the likes of you," she hissed. "Get out of the shop."
Draco left, suddenly angry again. His life was utter shit and now an old man and a wand were telling him he had to do good things.
Well they could go fuck themselves, he stomped back toward Knockturn, not caring to raise his hood, ignoring the people hissing that he was death eater scum, or, as he got closer to Knockturn, a traitor.
He wasn't those things, his parents were. He was just a dumb kid who did what he was told. He wasn't evil, but he definitely wasn't good. He didn't do good things.
The more he thought about it, Draco couldn't think of a single thing he'd ever done that could be counted as good.
He was a shit son, a shit friend, an all around shit person who deserved his shit life, and he needed to remind himself of these facts everyday.
His fingers brushed the wand in his pocket and Mr Ollivander's tear filled blue eyes filled his mind again.
"SHIT!" he yelled, spinning on the spot.
A witch hissed at him as her wares went flying but he left her to forage for them as he strode back into Diagon Alley and toward the ministry, looking every bit the haughty pureblood he was with his cloak fluttering behind him.
Ignoring the disdainful stares from employees as he strode proudly across the atrium, Draco dropped his new wand into the welcome witches hand.
"I'm here to see Kingsley Shacklebolt," he sneered.
The bored welcome witch dropped his wand onto the scales.
"Ten and a half inches, The Tree, core of life," she read blandly, giving him his wand and a name tag back in dismissal.
The Wizard behind Draco shoved him aside before Draco could ask for clarification on his wand wood and core, and Draco decided it was best to shelf the new information till later, lest he feel inclined to curse he smug bastard and end up on house arrest again.
Stares followed him to the elevator and it was curiously silent amongst the people inside while the lift dropped swiftly downward. No one dared say anything in such close quarters, but some threw him glares over their shoulders as they left.
"Department of Ministry Authorities," the cheerful voice declared and Draco stepped off, knowing exactly where the new Minister of Magic's office was. It was where he had stormed after his mother had be convicted, and where her freedom had been denied in exchange for his going to Azkaban instead. It's where he had managed to secure monthly visits to her instead.
He tried to push past the Minister's receptionist but the old hag was prepared for him this time, tutting smugly as her wards threw him back onto his ass.
"Do you have an appointment?" she asked, filing her nails with a penciled eyebrow raised at him.
Draco sneered and got to his feet. "I don't have time for this Gladys, let me past."
"What could be so important that you can't leave it for another day, death eater."
"Ex - death eater and it's none of your fucking business!"
She glared at him. "No seeing the minister without an appointment."
"Well then, maybe I'll just wait here until he comes out," he mocked.
He seated himself on one of the ugly burnt-orange chairs directly across from her so that she couldn't relax without seeing him, and set out to wait.
Gladys did reasonably well ignoring Draco to begin with. She did her afternoon paperwork, dealt with any memos that came soaring in, her nails were looking shiny and smooth, and she spent a half hour gossiping with Irene from the archives. She couldn't believe Ivan from floor seven was taking Anne to the muggle opera!
But she was aware of Draco's cold unwavering gaze and every moment she had spare she'd throw him a scolding look, that was returned with an edge of impatience.
Around four in the afternoon it was getting to be a bit much to bare. Why wouldn't the man leave! She could feel herself getting flustered and fidgeting under his gaze. Finally she threw down her nail file and marched into Kingsley's office. He was due back from a meeting any moment.
The fireplace flared alive as soon as the door clicked closed. The tall figure of Kingsley, followed by young Hermione Granger, muggle relations expert, and two senior aurors stepped out into the little space. Gladys waited as the minister thanked them for coming with him to see the muggle prime minister, and wished them a good day.
Kingsley turned to his receptionist with a warm smile. "Anything interesting happen while I was away?"
Gladys gave an exaggerated sigh. "You'll never believe who's outside."
Draco had waited patiently. More so for his wand, and now for Shacklebolt, and while he knew he looked calm on the outside, inside his mind was beginning to rage. He was trying to do the right bloody thing, but as they say, no good deed goes unpunished. The blasted receptionist kept him waiting hours.
When she had finally slipped into the minister's office, it was nearing the end of the day, and Draco knew that this was his last chance before the Minister floo'd home so he wouldn't get to see him at all.
He'd come back another day if he had to, but he'd rather get this over with.
Mind made up, he stood, stretching out his stiff limbs, and neared the door, expecting when it opened for Gladys to usher him inside, but instead coming face to face with Hermione Granger.
They both stopped, staring at each other a little wild eyed.
He gulped, resorting to his pureblood manners. "Granger," he stepped aside, letting her past.
"Malfoy," she replied.
He noticed she watched him carefully as she walked past, no doubt waiting for him to lash out. He smirked to himself. How fun it would be to rile up the minister's pet right outside his office.
But when she looked back at him, visions of her terrified eyes and the sounds of endless screaming filled his mind. He flinched away from her and she gave him one last curious look before leaving the room.
"Can we help you?"
Draco turned to see two aurors in their forties standing between him and the door. He didn't know their names so he just sneered at them.
"Move," he demanded. "I need to see the minister."
One of the aurors, a large man with a thick curled mustache, raised his bushy eyebrow at Draco. "I don't think so. We know who you are, Draco Malfoy."
"Good for you," he bit out. "I see you also know how to tie your shoes, congratulations on having intellect on par with a five year old."
The man chuckled. "As brash as a Gryffindor. You're not nearly as cold blooded as your father, Malfoy. Maybe Potter was right."
They stepped aside, leaving the room laughing, and Draco tried not to be offended. Did they think he wasn't dangerous?
A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he couldn't even kill an old man. He definitely wasn't dangerous.
Not good, not evil, not anything.
His thoughts were broken when Gladys pushed past him with a pout, and he met the amused gaze of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
"Come in, Mr Malfoy."
Fucking finally.
AN: Hi guys :) I'm writing this on my phone at work, which is difficult to edit on, so I apologize for any mistakes, and also the occasional switch between New Zealand english ('our's) and American english (or's). E.g. favourite vs favorite. My phone autocorrects and it seems to change its mind about which it would like to use.