The school was frantic after the Heir of Slytherin's last attack; its victims: Penelope Clearwater, a Ravenclaw Prefect, and Hermione Granger, the smartest and most irritating girl in Draco's year. Draco was pleased when he learned that these two attacks led to the suspension of their Headmaster – an order which had been spearheaded by his own father. With all the scrutiny their family was facing from the Ministry, it was critical that the Malfoys presented themselves in a way that garnered confidence from the general public. Draco was also pleased with Hermione being out of commission for lessons; not only would classes be quieter, but teachers would now have the opportunity to see how smart and capable he was, rather than just how much information Hermione could store in her brain. At one point, Draco even suggested their Head of House, Severus Snape, apply to be the new Headmaster. He was one of the only professors who treated Draco with the propriety his family name demanded – plus he apparently hated the same people Draco hated – namely Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione, which meant Draco could easily rise to the top of his year with as little effort as possible.
But as time passed, things did not go as Draco had planned: teachers didn't notice how clever he was, and worse, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley had received Special Awards for Services to the School, and had won enough points to win Gryffindor the House Cup – again. Upon arriving home for the summer holiday, he learned that not only had they lost their family house-elf, Dobby, but his father had been dismissed as a school governor.
"Do you really expect me to do the chores a house-elf did before Lucius?" Draco's mother, Narcissa, exclaimed indignantly. The Malfoy Manor was a mess after the Ministry's raid, and Draco's parents hadn't even begun to reorganize their things.
"Well we can't hire a maid with our affairs laid bare for the whole world to see, now can we, Narcissa? Humans aren't bound to their masters like elves are and we can't be too cautious right now."
Draco stood at the end of the dining hall, staring at his parents; all their best China had been laid out, all their fine silver, and crystal. His mother looked worn and tired, his father tense and irritated. "Does this mean... I have to clean my own room," he wondered out loud. His father looked up at him with cold gray-eyes normally reserved for those he held in disregard.
"I would think, with the upbringing you received, you would know when to hold your tongue – especially when you have nothing of worth to say."
Narcissa got to her feet. "Lucius you will not antagonize our son," she chided. She turned to Draco and gave him a strained smile. "Of course not dearest, but we will need some time to figure things out. Perhaps you would like to spend the summer with your friends? To take your mind off things?"
"No," Lucius said quickly. "Draco will stay here. We don't need the other families knowing. You may have whatever books or games you want, son, but you will stay home for the summer."
This was just as well since Draco didn't have any friends he would want to spend an entire summer with – though he wasn't beyond boasting to them about all the things his parents bought him.
A dull summer led into what promised to be another dull year at Hogwarts. There was a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, of course – some shabby-looking chap Draco imagined the Headmaster had found in a ditch, and the monster of a groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, had been appointed the new Care of Magical Creatures professor. Draco had a distinct dislike for Hagrid mostly because Hagrid was so fond of Harry Potter and his clique.
As Draco had suspected, Hagrid was a terrible teacher. It was bad enough Slytherin had Care of Magical Creatures alongside Gryffindor, but having this inexperienced oaf as their professor was a joke. Draco had planned on making the class as unbearable as possible for the new professor, but things took a turn when he accidentally insulted the Hippogriff, Buckbeak. They had gotten along well enough for Buckbeak to submit to him, but he didn't like being called an "ugly great brute". Draco hadn't meant it, to be honest; he didn't know why he said it either when he found Buckbeak to be quite handsome with his air of dignity and haughty eyes. He wasn't very proud of what happened next: he screamed – like a banshee – when Buckbeak attacked him. But Draco had never really seen blood before, never mind his own.
He became somewhat of a hero in his House after the Hippogriff incident. Many parents of the other Slytherin students thought Hagrid was grossly unqualified to be a professor and were beside themselves when they had learned what happened to Draco. Backed by these concerned parents, Draco's father had brought the matter to the Ministry, and while they were unsuccessful at getting Hagrid sacked, the Hippogriff would certainly be disposed of. This wasn't what Draco wanted, but how could he go against his entire House – or his parents. Shutting out his feelings of guilt, he basked in all the shallow attention he received: girls fawned over him, boys clapped him on the back, seniors nodded with approval, juniors idolized him. It was great, really, so why didn't Draco feel great?
Soon Draco found himself seeking retreat, away from the crowds, away from the noise, somewhere he could have peace. First, these spots were old classrooms and empty hallways, then he found a quiet spot in the library in a section no one was sure to visit. One afternoon, when he was taking a nap in his new spot, a loud noise woke him up. He was tempted to ignore it, but something inside him worried that it might be someone he knew, and so, with a sigh, he opened his eyes and looked disdainfully in the direction of the sound. It was Hermione Granger, holding more books than she likely weighed. For a moment, they just stared at each other, then Draco opened his mouth to say something rude – it was probably what she was expecting anyway, but before he could even utter a word, Hermione grabbed the top book on her pile and drew it back, like she was going to throw it at him.
"Say one word you insolent, self-absorbed, vile insect and I'll break your skull open."
Draco shut his mouth.
Of course she hated him; he had done just about everything in his power to make her hate him in their past two years at Hogwarts, but he had never seen her this angry. As he watched her pick up the books she had dropped, he noticed a theme.
"These are for – "
A book flew past his head with dangerous accuracy. "I said, not one word."
"Hey, I – "
Another book hurtled toward his head; he caught this one, but Hermione threw three more. "Stop!" he shouted between each book. "Granger – St – I said – WAIT!"
"Who's fault do you think it is!?" she shouted in return, her eyes brimming with tears. "Why do you have to be so insufferable!?"
Draco stood frozen on the spot. No one had ever spoken to him like that before – yes, he'd been insulted before, humiliated even, but this was very different. He couldn't care less what a witch of tainted lineage thought of him, and yet, he couldn't muster an ounce of disgust or hatred to retaliate. Just then, Madam Pince, the librarian, came around – likely drawn by the raucous Hermione was causing – and at first, her eyes widened with surprise to find Hermione Granger, book worshipper, in a mess of her beloved tomes. Then her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"She fell," Draco blurted out without thinking. "Granger. She tripped and fell."
Madam Pince fixed Draco with her piercing gaze, then studied the scene again. Finally, with a huff, she said, "Do be more careful in the future Miss Granger," and walked away.
When the sound of the librarian's footsteps disappeared, Draco exhaled. Then he knelt down to help Hermione gather the books.
"Don't touch my things," she snapped, grabbing the book Draco had reached for.
"Fine!" Draco snapped back. "I was only trying to help."
"Help? What do you care?"
"I don't!" Draco got to his feet and glared at Hermione. "I don't care about you or that lumbering oaf, Hagrid, or the stupid trial. I don't care about Buckbeak getting exe – " Draco choked on the word. "Executed," he repeated, steeling his gaze. "I don't care about any of it." Without a second look, Draco stalked off, leaving Hermione with her books.
Despite Hermione's efforts, Hagrid would lose the trial, and though he requested an appeal, Draco knew he would lose that too. The giant was so distraught over the news, he spent most of his lessons moping. Draco found his behaviour appalling; Buckbeak was such a magnificent creature – yes, it was a shame he was going to be killed – but that was unavoidable now. The least Hagrid could do was hold himself together, carry himself with as much dignity as the Hippogriff had; Buckbeak deserved a master who could face his death with his head held high.
"Look at him blubber!"
Draco looked over and saw Crabbe and Goyle pointing and sniggering. "Shut up," he said to them on reflex.
"What?" they said in return, perplexed.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had walked up to them, looking furious. Draco's eyes darted between his companions and the three who stood before him: in their eyes he saw the pride and determination he felt Buckbeak deserved.
Without thinking, he donned a snide expression. "Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic," he laughed. "And he's supposed to be our teacher!"
Hermione closed the gap between them in the blink of an eye and slapped him so hard across the face, his vision went black momentarily. He thought Hermione had been angry before, in the library, but that was nothing compared to the contempt she had for him now. She raised her hand to hit him again but Ron stopped her. She threw him off and reached for her wand. Draco stepped back. He believed she would kill him on the spot – and he couldn't blame her. He held her gaze and almost wished she would strike him; for some reason, he felt that if it came from her, it would be okay. Time seemed to stop as he stared into those brown-eyes, and he found something within them that he had not anticipated – and it tugged on a part of him he had long locked away: compassion.
"C'mon," he muttered at last, turning away. With Crabbe and Goyle tottering after him, he made his way toward the dungeons.
Draco was quite relieved to focus on Slytherin's Quidditch match against Gryffindor; he needed something to get his mind off those brown eyes that haunted him. The Team Captain, Marcus Flint, had made a few changes, and basically instructed them to do whatever it took to win. This was right up Draco's alley in terms of strategy, and so, during the game, he made Harry Potter's life as difficult as possible. It delighted him further when he spotted the Snitch while everyone else was distracted watching Gryffindor take a penalty shot. He raced toward it, leagues ahead of Harry; he would get it first, he knew it, and when he did, he would win the Quidditch Cup. But luck did not favour Draco. Harry, on his bloody Firebolt, flew in from behind and grabbed the Snitch before Draco could wrap his fingers around it. The stadium erupted in cheering and applause. The Gryffindor Team was rapturous over their win. Spectators poured onto the field to congratulate the victors. The mob carried the winning team to claim their trophy, and fighting their way to Harry were Ron and Hermione, looking elated.
Draco looked back at his own team: Looking sullen and angry, no one shook hands or consoled each other. There was no praise nor gratitude for their efforts. Flint didn't even criticize or reprimand them. One by one, they dragged their heels back into the change room until Draco was the only one left, forgotten on the field, amidst the jubilation of Gryffindor's victory.
After that day, something changed in Draco: everything seemed pointless. He didn't even care that exams were around the corner, but he used that as an excuse to escape to his quiet corner of the library. One day, he arrived at his sanctuary to find a note left for him. Only one person came to mind as he ripped open the envelope. In neat hand-writing, it read:
Draco,
I apologize for hitting you – only because I don't like to resort to violence; not because you didn't deserve it.
Buckbeak's appeal has been set for the sixth, and you know it is your fault. If you feel any remorse – if you really want to help – I beseech you to ask your father to withdraw the charge.
Some might interpret a note left in secrecy as lacking in courage, but this was one of the bravest acts Draco had ever encountered. But did he have the courage to do what she asked? Did he even want to? Did he have the courage to find out what he wanted?
On evening of the sixth of June, after his last exams were complete, Draco received word from his father that the appeal had taken place at two that afternoon, and that the execution would happen at sunset. This left Draco feeling empty inside. The curfew was still in effect, but Draco managed to slip out. There was some where he needed to be and he didn't care if he got caught. The sun had just set, and shadows stretched across the grass as he stepped out the main doors.
"Draco," a voice called out. He turned: it was Professor Snape. "Where do you think you're going?"
"My father's acquaintance is here," Draco lied – well, actually, not really. "Macnair. He works for the Ministry as an executioner in the Department for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. I've been instructed to see him before he leaves."
Snape's expression revealed little, but he seemed to buy Draco's story. "I see," the professor drawled, looking bored. "Well make it quick and don't let the other teachers catch you." Professor Snape turned back toward the stairs; Draco continued onto the school grounds.
The Groundskeeper's hut wasn't far from the school's main building, but it was the longest walk Draco had ever taken. Several times he wanted to stop, to turn back, to hide in his room and forget all about it, but something else pressed him onward. Suddenly, a ginger-coloured cat dashed past him, and he could have sworn it was Hermione's cat (he'd seen it on the train before). Curious, he followed it, keeping to the shadows. Before long, the cat slowed its pace and lowered its body to the ground; it continued but with great stealth. Draco stood a distance away but could make out voices – bickering. The cat pounced on a large rat Draco recognized as Ron's. The red-haired boy suddenly appeared from nowhere, bursting out at full speed after the cat chasing his rat. Harry and Hermione appeared immediately after, a cloak streaming behind them as they ran after Ron.
The Groundskeeper's hut was in the other direction, so why was Draco running after three people he despised instead? He had no idea. But as he ran after them, he saw a large black dog appear and jump them, knocking Harry over the first time, and dragging Ron away the second. Then something more alarming caught his eye: the nearby Willow tree had started to move. It swung its massive branches at Harry and Hermione; one connected with Harry's face while another reached toward Hermione.
"Protego!" Draco shouted, drawing his wand and pointing it at the branch. The spell took the brunt of the hit, but the branch still managed to cut Hermione on the shoulder.
"Draco!" she cried, turning in his direction. He grabbed her around the shoulder and pushed her out of the way of another branch. "What are you doing here?" she asked him.
"What are you doing here?" he shouted in return. They dodged another branch and ran to join Harry, who had moved beyond the tree's attack radius.
"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked after lighting his wand.
There was a loud crack, and the leg that Ron had hooked around the tree's roots in an effort to stop the dog pulling him further underground had disappeared.
"Ron!" Hermione screamed. "We – we've got to go for help," she cried, pleading with her eyes.
"No," Harry argued. "That thing's big enough to eat him, we haven't got time – "
"But we're never going to get through without help – "
"Potter's right," Draco found himself saying. "That monster could be devouring Weasley even as we speak. We need to move."
Harry glared at Draco. "We're not going anywhere with you," he spat. "What are you doing here anyway?"
"We don't have time, Potter!" Draco argued. He also didn't feel like explaining why he was out there. "Now how do we get past this thing?"
"If I knew, do you think I'd still be standing here talking with you?"
While they were arguing, Crookshanks appeared and darted forwards, manoeuvring between the battering branches until he reached the trunk. He placed his two front paws on a knot near the base of the trunk, and the tree stopped moving.
"Crookshanks," Hermione whispered uncertainly. "How did he know?"
"He's friends with that dog," Harry answered grimly. "I've seen them together." He motioned for Hermione to follow him, but stopped Draco with a hand. "You're not coming with us."
"You have no idea what you're up against down there."
"Either way I'll feel a lot better if I don't have to worry about you." Harry shoved Draco back a few steps, and Draco very much wanted to lunge forward and punch Harry in the face, but a loud "meow" brought their attention back to the tree. They turned just in time to see Crookshanks disappear between a gap in the roots. Draco ran after Harry and Hermione to the base of the trunk. Before sliding down the hole after the cat, Harry grabbed Draco by the shirt collar. "I can't stop you from following us, but if I think for even a moment you might harm us – "
"Yeah, yeah," Draco interrupted, breaking free from Harry's grasp. "You can kill me or whatever. Though I'm more afraid of Granger than you, Potter."
Draco's comment must have stunned Harry, because for a moment, he just stared at him. But he blinked and the moment was gone. "Wands out," Harry instructed before disappearing into the tunnel.