Author's Note: Hello, lovely readers! I'm very excited to finally be publishing this story after working on it on and off for the past few months.
A couple of notes before we begin: This fic will have seven chapters in total (including the prologue), and I will be updating around once a week until it's complete. This is an AU, meaning that the surrounding world, backstories, and such have been shifted, but the characters should (hopefully) be in-character. Also, the elements of magic are extremely similar to that in the original Harry Potter books, but Hogwarts doesn't exist because it's an AU and I say so.
So many thank yous are in order! First of all, huge thank you to In Dreams and Kyonomiko for hosting the In Another Life fest that this was originally intended for. They're the ones who supplied the prompt and are the reason this story even exists. If you haven't checked out the fics in that fest, make sure to do so! Another big thank you to mcal for alphaing and tolerating my endless babbling for months regarding this piece. And lastly, thank you to CourtingInsanity for betaing.
Hope you enjoy :)
March 1639
"Sit up straight," Lucius hissed.
Draco huffed as he adjusted his position on the uncomfortable wooden pew. He craned his neck to see what page his father's prayer book was opened to and had to flip three pages to catch up.
"How much longer?" Draco groaned. There were only so many times he could count the number of window panes inside the church before he got bored.
The sharp glare of his father told Draco that now was not an appropriate time for questions. Up at the front of the congregation, the Malfoy family was in plain sight for everyone in their town to see. Their high status had given them the privilege of sitting in such a prestigious location. It didn't matter that the Malfoys didn't follow the doctrine that was preached within those walls; maintaining this image was vital to helping them blend in.
Draco watched his buckled shoes kick up and down while Father Fudge prattled on with the same scripted words Draco had heard repeated every single Sunday the past ten years of his young life. It could be worse, he supposed. At least the service was in English instead of Latin.
What felt like an eternity later, Draco and his parents returned to their home on the far end of town. The familiar cool wave rippled through Draco's body as they walked through the protective wards that surrounded their estate and warned them if anyone else came near.
"Fudge invited us over for tea on Wednesday," Narcissa said as they reached the large brick home.
"I imagine he'll ask for more money for the church," Lucius responded with evident disinterest. "Which obviously we'll provide him with even if he will inevitably squander it all away again."
The small family gathered in the kitchen where Narcissa pulled out her wand to start a fire in the hearth. After using a spell to fill it with water, she levitated the silver pear-shaped tea kettle with an embossed image of the Malfoy family crest over the flames.
Draco slumped into one of the chairs around the table and pouted. "When can I have a wand?" he whined.
"When you turn eleven," Narcissa promptly responded.
"And is that when you'll finally start teaching me to properly control my magic?"
"Only if you maintain your grades at grammar school," Lucius said from his own position around the table.
"Precisely what your father said," Narcissa chimed in while she floated the intricately designed pottery dishes onto the table for their mid-day meal. "It's vital that we keep a low profile. No one can know about our abilities."
Draco frowned. "I know."
...
The moment Draco was freed from lunch, he ran down the dirt roads where his friends would be waiting for him. While not the smartest blokes in the town, Draco had come to appreciate his friendship with Crabbe and Goyle simply because they were too oblivious to realise when sparks of his magical abilities accidentally revealed themselves. The excuse didn't even need to be logical. They would believe whatever lie Draco came up with to justify how the stains on his breeches suddenly disappeared when his mother came into view or how the quill in his hands changed a different colour during a difficult examination.
Today they were gathered in the middle of the square on the other edge of town when two other boys their age came running down the path, chasing after wooden hoops kept upright with intermittent tappings of a stick. The first was one of the red-headed boys from that poor family Draco's father had advised him not to associate with, and the other was the orphan boy who everyone else in town pitied after both his parents died from a plague when he was a baby. Draco knew them both from grammar school, but he had no interest in befriending them.
He did, however, enjoy getting a rise out of them.
Draco nudged both Crabbe and Goyle, a wicked smile crossing his lips. "Do you see that?" he asked loud enough so the two other boys could hear his jeers. "Poor Weasley and Orphan Potter are partaking in a simple children's game. Haven't you two outgrown that yet?"
One of the wooden hoops rolled near them and Draco kicked it onto the ground.
The Potter boy looked down at his fallen hoop and then back up at Draco with a snarl. "You pick that up, Malfoy."
"Rather not," Draco replied nonchalantly, pretending to examine his fingernails. "Why don't you get Weasley to do it? It will be good practice for whatever low-level job he will ultimately get when we're older."
Weasley's cheeks reddened. "At least I'm not a spoiled prat," he retorted, giving Draco a shove for good measure.
Draco's balance teetered backwards, but he was able to catch himself before he fell to the ground. "You're going to regret you did that, Weasley," Draco growled.
He gave a knowing look and a single nod to Crabbe and Goyle, and within seconds, the five boys had succumbed to a minor sprawl. It started off slow with just a few more pushes, but their actions quickly grew more aggressive. Draco ducked out of the way when Weasley lunged for him while Potter grabbed hold of Crabbe's linen shirt and Goyle had his fist poised for the first punch. Draco was on his knees, ducking the escalating conflict and reaching for the forgotten wooden hoop, when he heard a familiar shrill cry.
"Oh, will you boys ever grow up?"
The fighting paused as a bushy-haired girl stomped towards them, her irritation visible even from several paces away.
Crabbe and Goyle backed away from Weasley and Potter, the four of them exchanging looks of bitter loathing as they smoothed out their clothing. Draco, meanwhile, claimed the wooden hoop and returned to full height.
"Ah, yes," he drawled, a smug smile gracing his lips. "Just what this situation was missing. The town's residential bookworm."
Hermione Granger opted to ignore his comment, choosing instead to eye him with disdain. "No need to guess who started this," she huffed. She glanced down at the wooden hoop in Draco's hand and raised a disapproving eyebrow. "You give that hoop back right now."
Hermione leaned over and tried to grab it from him, but Draco was too quick. He dangled the hoop in the air, just far enough out of her reach.
"You want it?" he said with a smirk. "Come get it."
Draco turned on his heels and began running down the road, the hoop bumping against his side as Hermione chased after him. He looked back with a taunting grin as her hair billowed behind her at the rapid speed.
The pursuit lasted for several minutes, the two children darting past the butcher, the tailor, the blacksmith, and many startled adults who were trying to enjoy their Sunday in peace. Draco had expected Hermione to give up or at the very least become too exhausted to keep up with him, but she was proving to be a respectable opponent. Even as they reached the final stretch of shops, she was never more than a few paces behind him.
Draco picked up his speed and ran as hard as he could into the thicket of trees that lined the perimeter of the town. A stitch had formed in his side, making it difficult for him to continue, yet he didn't stop. He wouldn't be beaten by her.
Knowing he wasn't going to last much longer, Draco scanned the forest for a tree to climb, certain she wouldn't follow him up since she was wearing a dress. When he spotted one with low enough branches, Draco started his ascent but soon found Hermione's hand clamped around his ankle.
"Give it here, Draco!" she demanded.
Hermione extended her other hand and managed to latch onto the bottom of the wooden hoop. She tugged it towards her, and Draco had to jump off the branch to prevent himself from falling.
"It's not yours either," Draco taunted, pulling it back towards him.
Hermione stumbled forward at the shift in movement, but her grip remained latched onto the hoop. Her nose wrinkled and her grip on the object turned white.
"I said, give it here!"
She once more yanked the hoop towards her, when suddenly, there was a loud cracking noise and a plume of smoke appeared between them where the hoop once was. On the forest ground were hundreds of shattered wooden shards, all that remained of Potter's toy.
Draco peered down at his now-empty hands and then back up at Hermione where he was confronted with her wide eyes and gaping expression. Her own hands were trembling as she took a step away from Draco.
"I- What- I don't- You-" she stammered as her reaction shifted from initial confusion to utter horror.
Draco was in an equally panicked frenzy as he tried to think of what to say while still trying to fully fathom what had just happened.
Magic. There was no other explanation. And Hermione had witnessed it.
She wouldn't be as easy to convince as Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione actually had a decent head on her shoulders. His usual standard of lazy justifications wouldn't suffice.
And yet, something didn't add up. Whenever Draco had accidentally done magic in the past, he had felt a surge of energy course through his veins and linger in his fingertips. Only this time, he felt nothing.
Had he really been the one to cause the hoop to shatter?
But before Draco could begin to figure out if there was even a chance it wasn't he who had done it, Hermione was already running back to town.