Draco had never found solace in his Hogwarts dormitory in the almost seven years he had attended the school, but after the peculiar day he'd had, he suddenly found a certain comfort in crawling into the silver sheets and pulling the green drapes across the four-poster bed. But perhaps that was due to the fact that the dorm was utterly empty.
He had never appreciated being forced to share a bedroom with four other boys. Young Draco had begged his father to move him to a private room; or goddamn build one if there weren't any there already. Lucius Malfoy had however, surprisingly so, denied his son the chance of privacy (as if he'd had the power to separate him in the first place), and had told the eleven year old Draco: "You are now a Hogwarts student and will be treated as no less or no more. Do not give them more of a chance to hate you."
Young Draco hadn't understood what his father meant by 'more of a chance to hate you'. Why should everyone automatically dislike him? They didn't know him. But his father had been right. Almost as soon as Draco had started speaking to the other new first year students, he began to make enemies. Well, how was he supposed to know that most of the other students didn't call the muggle-borns 'mudbloods'? It was what his father and everyone else who visited his house called them.
Even when he had insulted Weasley to Potter on the first day, Draco hadn't understood why the stupid scar-head hadn't agreed with him and laughed. It was what his father did. Draco had spent most of his first and second years being confused by the other student's reactions to certain things he said. Draco later realised that it was the things he repeated from his father that was the cause of this. It was the initial reason why he'd simply stuck with the rest of the Slytherins, even despite the fact that a lot of them creeped him out. Sure, Draco liked a bit of tormenting here and there, but some of his house-mates got serious kicks out of torturing the other students.
Different as he was, there Draco was – a fucking reincarnation or whatever of the founder of the house itself. He snorted aloud at the audacity of it. Draco was lying flat on his back, staring at the green canopy of his bed above him. He didn't understand why he'd chosen to stay in the school, but it'd felt like the right thing to do. McGonagall had yelled the Slytherin password at him as he'd stormed out of her office. He was annoyed, but thankful.
Plus, he didn't really want to go home. He hated being there now, especially after Lord Shitdemort had ruined it for him. His mother had spent the entire summer redecorating the place, but it still emitted a sense of icky-ness that he did not want to be around.
McGonagall must be going absolutely bonkers, Draco thought to himself. Her age must be catching up to her. Yeah, that's it. Because there's no way if she was in her right state of mind that she would let me back into this school. Draco tried relentlessly to assure himself that his Headmistress was barking, rather than face the truth; that he was a true and utter Slytherin to the core.
Draco eventually fell into a restless and unnerving sleep. His dreams didn't make any kind of sense, but all of the snippets he actually remembered were tinged with blood and shades of green. But despite this, it had actually been one of his better night's sleeps since the Dark Lord had finally decided to permanently move out of his house. When Draco awoke in the early hours of the morning, with stinging eyes and a faint sense of 'not-quite-had-enough-sleep', he rubbed his face hard and sighed deeply.
"It can only get better from here," he muttered aloud to the empty dormitory, feeling more alone than ever.
…
Breakfast was a strange affair. Draco usually went home during all the school holidays, so he had never really seen what it was like when the Great Hall was sparse during mealtimes. It was after several more attempts at falling back asleep, that he'd given up and rolled out of bed at six thirty. The hall had always been open from six every morning, but Draco had no idea how it would work that day. Did people even usually stay at Hogwarts during the summer? Was that an option? No, he reasoned, or else Potter would've taken up a permanent residence. Draco snorted. Even he knew about Harry Potter's shitty living conditions. When they were kids, he'd laughed at him for it – but now he could almost relate.
With a scowl on his face, and a determined stride, Draco walked into the Great Hall with the appearance of someone who was entirely sure of what they were doing and where they were going; the entire opposite of what he felt. This was something that he had only recently had to learn. What was the point in being a successful Occlumens when people could easily read your body language?
Only pausing slightly, and barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Draco continued his determined stride to the large circular table that was currently situated below the staff table. As it was early, there weren't many people seated, but there were enough to annoy him. He aimed for the emptiest side of the table on the right, boycotting whoever would be mad enough to willingly be up this early. Draco was not a morning person, and didn't appreciate inane chatter in any particular setting.
He pulled out a chair angrily and it scraped loudly on the stone floor, and sat down with a sigh. Draco barely glanced up as he began to pour himself a cup of tea, but it was long enough to catch Granger roll her eyes conspicuously at him before she hid her face behind her book again. He took a deep breath to rein in his feelings; hexing one of the most favoured witches in the world over their breakfast would definitely not be any kind of progression for him. Draco instead proceeded to make as much noise as he possibly could as he began to pile his plate with the breakfasts foods supplied by the elves. He most likely wasn't going to eat all of it, but he just wanted to annoy the girl for as long as he could.
…
Draco was impressed. Granger had remained impassive for at least ten minutes before she cracked. With a wry smile on his face, he had began to butter his sixth piece of toast, attempting to hit the plate as often as was possible, when she finally snapped her book shut and turned to face him.
"Just because you are clearly in some kind of mood, does not mean that you have to ruin breakfast for everyone else, too," she said cattily.
Draco narrowed his eyes at her before grinning widely. "Who said I was in a bad mood?" he said as cheerful as he could fake.
Granger however surprised him by sighing and turning back to her book. "Just be quieter," she said in a lacklustre tone.
He continued to stare at Granger for a moment, and then dropped his eyes back down to his plate. How was he supposed to forget everything that had happened when people like her continued to make it so obvious that things were different?
A sudden cry of "Mr Malfoy!" surprised him. Draco snapped his head up to find a startled Professor Slughorn staring at him over the table as if he had suddenly grown pink antlers out of his arse; shocked and a little disgusted.
The Potions Master had clearly been unaware of his presence up until Granger had spoken to him. Great, Draco thought, another unwanted conversation. He rolled his eyes openly as his old teacher began to speak and missed Granger's knowing smirk at his actions.
"Now you are a face I wasn't expecting to see! Did you arrive last night?"
"Sure," Draco responded drily.
"Goorey! Did you know that Mr Malfoy would be joining us?" Professor Slughorn addressed the fourth person at the table. 'Goorey' turned out to be the pile of cloth at the opposite side of the table from Draco. Goorey grunted, which Slughorn took to be a "No".
"Miss Granger?" Slughorn prompted.
"No, Professor," she said with a side-eye glance in Draco's direction, and then quickly returned her attention back to her book. He glared intensively at the side of her head while she took a tentative sip from her cup of whatever, still not taking her eyes off the book. What the hell kind of book could capture someone's attention like that? Draco thought in a tone of disgust, barely hiding his curiosity.
"So, Mr Malfoy, what brings you to Hogwarts?" the Potions Master said jovially.
Draco was about to reply when Professor McGonagall arrived and spoke over him. "Mr Malfoy, along with both Miss Granger and Miss Abbott here, has become of great importance to the school, and is here at my request," she said authoritatively. Slughorn's face lit up like the Weasley's joke shop at Christmas. Draco could physically see his Professor bursting with curiosity. So the other teachers don't even know that Hogwarts' magic is falling apart then? Interesting, he thought.
Draco narrowed his eyes at his Transfiguration teacher. He didn't need to be defended. People acted like that around him all the time. Just because he was suddenly 'important' to the welfare of the school, Draco Malfoy was shunted to the Light side? He fought the urge to laugh outright.
Ignoring the patronising smile Professor McGonagall sent his way, he then turned his attention to the other person he had failed to notice at the table. So the Hufflepuff had stayed as well, he thought. Then where the hell is Potter? Draco then noticed that there were no more people at the table.
Professor McGonagall seemed to be on the same wavelength as him, as she then asked Granger, "Where's Potter?"
"Oh, he should be along," Granger said, folding a page in her book and placing it on the table. Oh so you'll put your book down to talk to her then? Draco thought bitterly. The rational part of his brain replied: Of course she would– it's the head teacher.
Draco noticed Slughorn inflate further at the mention of 'Potter'. He rolled his eyes again. If he was going to have to spend any more time with these fools, he'd end up giving himself an aneurism with the eye-rolling.
"Would you please fetch him, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall continued, "I'd like to finish this quickly, and since you are all here, now is perfect. Meet us back in my office in ten minutes. Miss Abbott, Mr Malfoy – with me." She strode away.
Draco was taken by surprise and found himself meeting the Hufflepuff's equally as befuddled gaze in a camaraderie manner and raised an eyebrow at McGonagall's commands. It was the blonde's sudden giggle in reply that reminded him where he was. No, he thought, rearranging his face into a frown, I'm not here to be nice. Draco rose and followed the headmistress.
…
In the Entrance Hall, Professor McGonagall stopped and turned to the students following her. Draco felt someone bump into his back at the sudden stop. He scowled but didn't turn round.
"I'll just..." he heard Granger mumble as she sped towards the marble stairs and away from their group. Draco's eyes followed her for a moment, then immediately turned his head towards Professor McGonagall.
"Mr Malfoy, if you would please head on up to my office. Miss Abbott, run ahead and tell Mr MacMillan we are in need of his and Mr Finch-Fletchley's assistance? I'll follow."
The blonde nodded and immediately took off in the same direction Granger had gone. Draco opened his mouth to protest. Why was he being sent to the office? He thought they were all getting spoken to again? What the fuck? More fucking things we don't know, he thought as McGonagall cut over him.
"Everything will be explained in due course. Again." She sighed wearily and followed the direction the Hufflepuff had sped off in slowly.
So there Draco was, left standing alone in the Entrance Hall with his mouth partially gaping open staring in the direction his previous companions had gone. This is going to be a damned interesting year already and term hasn't even bloody started, he thought grumpily as he then too walked up the marble staircase and up and up and up again to the head's office.
…
"Courage," he said bitterly to the gargoyle. Draco had taken his time getting to McGonagall's office, even trying to go the longest way he could possible think of; he didn't want to be the prat sitting around waiting for them all to return.
Draco waited for the gargoyle to start moving – but it remained still. "Courage," he repeated. Still nothing. Then, with a cry of annoyance and a foot stomp, he strode over to the ugly stone creature and stared directly up at it. "Courage!" he yelled in its squashed face.
"I don't think it being deaf is the problem here." A voice suddenly came from behind him. Draco whipped around to find the source of the scathing comment. Ah, of course, he thought, Granger. How fucking perfect. And Scar-Head, too. My day has been made. He rolled his eyes and said: "Well, if you have to mean it, it's never going to work for me. By all means, be my guest." He stepped out of the way and gestured her towards it sarcastically.
"I don't think it's going to work for us either," Potter interjected.
"What?" Draco said, feeling rather stupid.
"Were you not listening in the last meeting? Aw, who am I kidding, of course you weren't. It won't work because it's part of the depletion of magic in Hogwarts. Things like this are stopping working all around the school." Granger folded her arms smugly.
A light suddenly lit up in Draco's brain. Granger made sense, and it pissed him off. Therefore, he ignored the information he totally agreed with and replied sarcastically: "Well, maybe McGonagall just changed the password and didn't tell you."
Granger raised an eyebrow. "And she told you?" she replied.
Oh, what Draco would have given to be able to hex that witch right there and then, but because of the situation and the fact that he'd be tossed right into Azkaban, he replied with a simple: "Fuck off."
But where he stepped down, Granger took a step forward. She stared right up into his face and replied, "Right back at you."
Draco stared incredulously at her for a moment. "What the hell is your problem?" he said, taking a step forward himself. What the hell was her problem? Maybe he had been wrong about his assumption that their old hatred had diffused into a strange kind of indifference?
They were now standing very close together, the almost foot difference in their height suddenly very apparent. She's so short, Draco suddenly thought, surprising himself. Granger was obviously trying to stare at him in an intimidating manner, but to him all she looked was cute. Cute?! He shook himself. The magically infused hair and the determined chin did not look cute to him at all. Not at all. But he found himself beginning to smirk anyway. However, that was before she began to speak.
"My problem?" she almost screeched.
"Hermione," Potter said warningly. But Granger whipped around and pointed her wand in her friend's direction. When the hell did she pull that out? Draco thought in awe, before she turned her attention back to him. "My problem is you... all of you purebloods with everything you stand for and everything you are! And people like you who cannot make decisions for themselves and continue the same damn cycle. Make a bloody difference Malfoy!" She pushed his shoulder and he took a step back.
Wait... what?
Draco was confused, and so apparently was Potter, as they both unintentionally shared a look of befuddlement over Granger's head.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Draco spat at her.
"Figure it out, you twat!" she shot back. And she turned and stormed down the corridor. Potter shook his head at nothing in particular then followed her.
"What the fuck?" Draco yelled after them, but it was mostly at himself – nothing was making sense. Ever since he had arrived at the school yesterday, Draco seemed to simply be accumulating more things he didn't know the answer to. He kicked the gargoyle in frustration and it suddenly began to turn. "Oh, now you work," he said scathingly.
Draco hadn't felt such an array of emotions in a long time, but he suppressed it all anyway. Not Granger, not Granger, not Granger, he repeated to himself as he ascended the stairs to the headmistress' study for the second time in two days.
…
"So... chairs," Draco said bluntly.
"Yes," Professor McGonagall replied in a similar tone.
The office was silent for a moment, and all eyes unintentionally went to the new object in the room; a third golden gilded large chair. Four Hufflepuffs had brought it up earlier, with much difficulty on the stairs. When Draco had heard the commotion, he'd originally thought the office was under attack. But no, the oak door had swung open to four red-faced Hufflepuffs struggling with a thing that looked like a throne. They were soon followed by the Blondie Puff (Draco was yet to think of a suitable non-name for Abbott), and an exasperated Professor McGonagall.
Granger and Potter had turned up not long after, and had pointedly avoided Draco's gaze. Not that he cared. Granger looked red in the face and ruffled, which lead to make Draco wonder if it was actually Potter she was with rather than Weasley. The thought made him frown. But not that he cared.
Their head teacher had then hurriedly explained some strange theory that they were to fix whatever shit was going on with the school by having something to do with these chairs. Although, as Draco eyed the golden throne-a-likes, he could very much see himself liking that idea as he imagined himself sitting comfortably in one of them.
"However, Mr Malfoy, I believe that we shall require your help in sourcing the fourth and final one."
"Oh, of course the Slytherin one is missing," he said, rolling his eyes.
"What about the Chamber?" Potter piped up.
"I sincerely doubt Salazar Slytherin would keep his throne in the place he built for his pet." Draco rolled his eyes at Four-Eyes' stupidity.
"You see, Mr Malfoy, this is why we need your help. You have the best access to the knowledge where he would have maybe kept it," McGonagall said.
Draco blanched. He didn't want that. He didn't want to 'know' things about Salazar Slytherin. He didn't want to empathise with the weirdo. Draco was his own self... wasn't he?
"Maybe he had some kind of vault down there though?" Granger said.
"That was pillaged years ago. And no, still not in the Chamber of fucking Secrets," Draco scoffed. He blanched again; it definitely was sounding like he was proving them right.
"Salazar Slytherin had a secret vault?" Granger suddenly turned her attention directly to Draco. Her inquisitive gaze was freaking him out. It was the intensity that he found creepy. Who cares that much?
"He had a secret bloody everything. But the vault, I suppose, was the most sought after for obvious reasons and was found a few hundred years ago." He paused to look at the four other people in the room, who were staring at him with genuine interest. "Have none of you seriously never heard of this before?" Draco said warily.
"Must only be a pureblood thing," said the Hufflepuff. She then waved her hand around the room. "And none of us are purebloods."
No purebloods in the room... except for him. Draco didn't think he had ever been in a situation like that before, but found that it strangely didn't bother him. At all.
"'The Great Pillage of Dover'? No? A few hundred years ago, when the Malfoys were still actually French," he scoffed, "they were really into sailing, which was actually what brought them to Britain in the first place. And during that first journey, they docked in a magical port where they incidentally found by entire accident, the secret vault of Salazar Slytherin. While the man was compulsively secretive, he always did like to mark his spot. Nothing like snakes carved into stone to attract some Malfoys." Draco smiled coyly. "But of course," he continued, "There were other pureblood families from the continent and further on that ship. The Zabini's, the Shacklebolts, the Rosiers and the Lestranges are the only ones I can remember. But it was the raiding of that vault is what established a lot of the old families and gave them the funds and treasures that they have today. But of course the Malfoys were already established by then," Draco added out of habit. He couldn't believe how much he could remember from his governess and their lessons.
Everyone in the room was staring at him, and Draco suddenly felt his cheeks heat up. He had never had any kind of problem with people staring before – they did it all the time. But this, he felt, was a different kind of stare. A stare he was unfamiliar with.
Professor McGonagall silently handed Granger a piece of parchment and quill with ink, who accepted it eagerly and immediately began scribbling. For a moment, the only sound in the office that could be heard was the scratching of Granger's quill. A sound that all of them were particularly used to.
"Mr Malfoy... do you have any kind of inclination where this chair might be?" Professor McGonagall said.
"I... well..." and suddenly, Draco did know.
Draco knew exactly where the fourth and final chair was.
