Hello I am back with another story! I love my Slytherins so let's dive in :)

I used a prompt from the Dialogue Wheel Challenge on HPFC for this chapter - "Why can't I just be like everyone else? Why am I so messed[/fucked] up." (Angst)

1. Outcasts

Daphne let out a small sigh as she peered through the crack of the slightly opened door. She could just barely make out a form sitting in the armchair by the fireplace - a mess of light blonde hair sticking up, a bony hand gripping a glass filled with clear liquid (that she knew very well was not water). As Daphne stood still for a moment, watching him, all that could be heard was the cracking of wood as a fire burned in the fireplace and the anxious tapping of a foot.

Deciding she had bided her time for long enough, Daphne gently pushed the door to the library open and winced as it let out a horrible creak. Draco's head snapped towards the sound and a scowl set on his face when he saw who had just entered the library. He turned away in silence, setting his gaze on the roaring fire once again.

Discouraged but not surprised, Daphne approached him and sat on the ottoman across from him. She watched him carefully, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, which were a touch bloodshot, his wrinkled shirt, and his unkempt hair. Slowly, he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip, still refusing to look at her.

This was not the Draco Malfoy she knew.

"I miss you, you know," she finally said, once it had become obvious that he would much rather pretend she wasn't there.

Surprisingly, he responded. "I'm right here," he snapped.

"No, you're not."

Again, he turned to her with a scowl. Daphne steeled herself and remained unfazed.

"Seriously, Draco - I don't recognize you," she continued, her tone a bit softer now.

Her nose is buried in a book. Not just any book - a torrid romance novel she stole from Mother's library before leaving for Hogwarts. Not at all befitting for a twelve year-old, surely, but in that case her mother really ought to hide these things better. Ideally, the woman would never notice it was gone or forget all about it come December. Of course, Daphne did consider the possibility that her mother would both notice and remember to scold her daughter by the holidays, but she will deal with that if it comes down to it. For now, Daphne is enjoying the silence and solitude that comes along so rarely in the Slytherin Common Room.

Of course, all good things must come to an end. Daphne is reminded of this as a Quaffle crashes into her book and falls into her lap. She looks up with a murderous glare to meet the proud eyes of Gregory Goyle. Vincent Crabbe stands right next to him, a similarly proud look on his face. Bloody gits.

"Pass it back, Greengrass," he orders, "if you can even throw a Quaffle, that is. Daddy might get mad if you get your hands dirty."

She is seething with anger. Not so much because she was disturbed, but more so at the mention of her father. Hogwarts is supposed to be her chance to get away from that devil of a man, and yet it seems that she still can't escape his presence.

Before she knows what's happening, her small hands are gripping the Quaffle with all of their strength and she violently throws it back to Goyle. He doesn't expect this and it hits his abdomen with a satisfying thud, causing him to double over. As she smirks, she notices Crabbe draw his wand and step towards her with a menacing glare.

"You think that was funny?" he demands.

"Yes, quite," Daphne replies smartly.

He looks just about ready to shoot a spell at her - what, exactly, she hardly knows. Crabbe is not exactly the epitome of intelligent. However, before he gets to unleash any of his magic unto the young girl, Daphne hears a quick, "Expelliarmus!" and the wand flies out of his hand. He now fixes his glare on his assailant, but it quickly disappears as he recognizes the student.

Draco is by Daphne's side in a matter of seconds. "I highly doubt your father would be happy with you if you hurt a Greengrass," he comments. "I've told you before to leave her alone - it seems you might be going deaf, Crabbe."

Crabbe simply mutters something about loyalties under his breath and turns to leave the common room, Goyle following behind him. As soon as they leave, Draco drops himself onto the couch, taking a seat next to Daphne as he turns to look at her with a smirk.

"Pretty impressive, huh?" he boasts.

"That was the first thing we learned in Charms this year, Draco," she deadpans.

"Saved your life, though," he continues, his boastful tone only slightly diminished.

"I would hardly consider Vincent Crabbe a deadly opponent," she replies.

Draco laughs. "That is a fair point," he admits.

"Still, I suppose I should be grateful that the one and only Draco Malfoy is watching out for me," Daphne continues with a joking tone. Then, leaning toward him slightly, she adds in a whisper, "All the other girls are positively green with envy."

He stared back at her with a blank look for a moment, silence filling the space between them. "Get your eyes checked, then," he finally muttered as he turned his gaze back to the fire.

"Prat," Daphne muttered with a shake of her head. He didn't react.

Draco had been in this half-drunk, unkempt state for a long time. After the war, he had completely shut everyone else out, finished his real seventh year, then simply returned to Malfoy Manor with the sole purpose of maintaining the shut-in personality he had constructed for himself. His parents may have evaded Azkaban by providing names, but that simply meant they were hated by both purebloods and blood traitors. At the end of it all, even over a year later, he felt like he didn't deserve to be alive.

Daphne, however, knew very well that this state had been inevitable even before the Battle of Hogwarts. They had been close friends for their whole lives. They both had their social cliques - Draco with the pureblood sons of his parents' friends and Daphne with their daughters - but at the end of the day those friendships were nothing compared to theirs. They had trust, and that was rare to come by in Slytherin. That was why it had become so painfully obvious to Daphne when things had started to head south in their sixth year.

She had been stupidly hopeful that, someday, the old Draco would return. That hope was getting smaller every day, though. She understood where he was coming from. How do you go from being at the peak of society to jaded outcasts?

"First year, you were annoying and full of yourself," Daphne started, deciding that if he was refusing to open up, then maybe he could at least listen. "Truly, I often fought the urge to smack you - but you were there for me when that Ravenclaw ruined my braids."

"It was Roger Davies and he was a prat," Draco muttered quietly.

Progress, Daphne thought to herself proudly. "Second year, getting that Nimbus 2001 really rushed to your head - but you were still humble enough to open up to me and tell me you were scared of the creature in the Chamber of Secrets."

"I wasn't scared - "

"Your words, not mine," Daphne interrupted with a smirk. "Third year, I got on your case about teasing Potter with that Dementor crap and you actually admitted you felt bad for it. Fourth year, you went with me to the Yule Ball after you'd heard that Montague cheated on me with Tracy Davis."

"I also gave him a bloody good Bat-Bogey Hex," Draco pointed out quietly.

"That you did," Daphne admitted with a small smile. "Fifth year, your ridiculousness peaked with that Inquisitorial Squad shite, but you weren't afraid to come to me in tears when your father got thrown in Azkaban."

This time, Draco stayed silent and kept his eyes focused on his lap.

Daphne took a deep breath. "Sixth year... I lost you, Draco," she said quietly. "You kept secret after secret, you shunned me... but still, when you saw that new welt on my arm from my father, you were there for me. Even then."

Cautiously, Draco looked up and met Daphne's eyes. He could see there was pain and empathy in her gaze, and he instantly felt bad for shutting her out so much. He couldn't help it, though. After the war, he had been at a loss for what to do. For who he was. His whole life and system of being had been stomped on and thrown out the window, and now that he had graduated he was simply expected to fit in. How could he if he couldn't even tell right from wrong?

"Why can't I just be like everyone else?" he finally asked quietly. "Why am I so fucked up."

"Draco, you are not fucked up," Daphne said with a confident tone. "All of us went through the same war."

"You didn't," Draco said quietly. "You always hated your parents' purist crap."

"Not for the right reasons," Daphne pointed out, "I just had an abusive father I wanted to spite."

Draco looked down and shook his head. "You were right, though. And I was wrong. The things I did - "

Daphne stood up from the ottoman in that moment and forcefully grabbed the glass from Draco's hands. He stared up at her with a look of disbelief and annoyance, but she simply stared back with a raised eyebrow.

"You've got to stop feeling sorry for yourself," Daphne started. "It's not all about you."

Draco scoffed and looked away from her, crossing his arms as he looked out the window. It was snowing, he realized. Once upon a time, that would have brought a smile to his face. Now, he felt nothing.

Smack.

"Ow - what the hell is wrong with you?" Draco exclaimed as his hand went up to his head, where Daphne had just given him a slightly jarring smack. He frowned at her and she glared back.

"This is what you missed while you were too busy being fatalistic to be my friend," she said angrily as she tugged on the collar of her jumper to reveal the scar on the left side of her neck.

Draco's eyes widened as he took in the scar, spanning from just above her collarbone to the back of her neck. It looked like the job of a knife or a dagger and as he met Daphne's eyes he knew exactly who had done that to her. His grip tightened on the armrest of the armchair as he felt anger overcome him. For the first time in a while, he could feel himself swelling with resentment - an actual strong emotion compared to his usual bleak demeanour.

"Why?" was all that Draco managed to get out.

Daphne sighed and let go of her jumper. "After Uncle Axel had been kidnapped, Father noticed I hadn't been around and suspected I knew something," she explained. "Unfortunately, he was right."

Draco remembered that night. It had been around Christmas time and the younger Greengrass brother had decided to throw a masquerade party. It was very typical of Axel - kick back and have fun, purebloods are entitled to that much. He also very vividly remembered the room suddenly going black and everyone somehow being disarmed all at once. Next thing they knew, Axel was gone.

"It was Keegan," Daphne finally said quietly. "The Order sent him and he told me to get out. When Father found out I was 'sleeping with the enemy' as he put it, he had been furious but... I saw that glint in his eyes. He knew it was useful information."

And then there was Daphne's boyfriend: Keegan Shacklebolt. He was older than them, but most Slytherins remember him on account of being an enigma - otherwise known as a well-liked Slytherin. Daphne's relationship with Keegan had been yet another thing he had missed when he had been too busy doing Voldemort's bidding. Her timing could not have been worse, unfortunately - a month later, the Ministry had fallen to Voldemort and Keegan and his sister had joined the Order with their Uncle Kingsley.

And Draco hadn't been around for her.

Daphne sat back down with a sigh and reached forward, her hand covering his. He met her eyes again and found kindness in them now. "We all have our demons. No one expects you to get over everything in an instant," she said softly, "but you have to at least try, Draco."

"I suppose it doesn't look too good that you knew exactly where to find me in the middle of the day," he admitted with a wry laugh, attempting a small smile.

Daphne smiled back. "Definitely not your proudest moment," she agreed.

Standing up, Daphne reached her hand out to him. He looked up at her, pausing for a moment, before taking her hand and standing up. She didn't hesitate to pull him towards her and tightly embrace him, and Draco found himself quickly hugging her back. He had forgotten how comforting Daphne could be. As far as Slytherins and purebloods went, she had a warmth about her that was unique.

After a moment, Daphne let go of him and took a step back, her expression serious once again. "All right, now there's only one thing left to do," she declared.

"And what would that be, Daph?"

"Get you into some cleaner clothes, you filthy animal."

And so another story begins! I would like to make this into a longer story buuut I'm still working out some kinks for now - so I don't have a timeline. But stay tuned! This Draco and Daphne friendship has been brewing in my head for so long.

Reviews are welcome and appreciated :) -C