Chapter Ten
A/N: Thank you to the youngest Gorgons for reviewing the last chapter.
It was a strange feeling to return to Hogwarts when September came around at last, but Draco relished the change. Since they had gone to visit his mother in Azkaban, his father had become silent and cold, like the statue he had always behaved as when she was not there to reproach him. Narcissa was the only one who could bring her husband to life, and now she was gone, it was as if he was gone with her.
Hogwarts was the only semblance of normality Draco had known during the years after the skirmish at the Ministry. His mother had tried to carry on without her husband, but she had been broken-hearted to the extent that no acting would hide it. Draco had appreciated her attempts, but they had been nowhere near enough. Now, he did not even have attempts to cling to.
The first thing Draco felt when he stopped off the train at Hogsmeade Station was fear. While Hogwarts was a haven for him, it was also a reminder of that terrible day when the Aurors had stolen his mother away to Azkaban, as he had watched, helpless and heartbroken. The castle that had sheltered him from the world lay in rubble on its courtyard, the professors who had defended him buried in the grounds nearby. Nothing was the same anymore, nor ever truly would be.
Draco climbed into a vacant carriage, still lost in his thoughts. However, it did not escape his notice that, despite the crowds of children waiting to go up to the castle, he remained the only occupant of the carriage. It hurt the boy that people were so obviously avoiding him, but he could not say that he was surprised by it.
A strand of silver hair blew across his face and Draco caught it between his thumb and forefinger, examining the colour, so unique to the Malfoy line. He was unmistakably a Malfoy and therefore unmistakably a traitor. He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm and examined the slight red scar where the Dark Mark had once marred his pale skin; it was almost too faded to see now, if you did not know it was there. Draco, of course, would always know it was there.
The crowds packed into the Great Hall, jostling to get to the tables first and sit beside their friends. In contrast to the disarray at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts, the Houses had returned to their respective tables. It could almost be believed that the Battle had not happened, although the atmosphere of the room showed otherwise.
Draco took a seat at the far end of the Slytherin table, a place he had claimed as his own since the Sorting Hat had declared him a member of the House. He had always sat by the head of the table, surrounded by his swarm of admirers, Crabbe and Goyle, Blaise and Pansy, as well as the countless others who hung around with him only for his family name. Now, the majority of them had returned home to their families and Crabbe had died. None of the other Slytherins would go near him, let alone members of other Houses, after the atrocities his family had been a part of for the last few years, so he was alone again.
Suddenly, the room fell to silence, as Professor McGonagall stepped up to the lectern from which Professor Dumbledore had made so many speeches in the past. Draco winced at the memory of his old headmaster... and what he had almost done to him.
"Good evening, students." the woman greeted, with a solemnity that Draco had never heard in her voice before. "Now, I know that you all are aware of the battle that occurred on these grounds four months ago and the devastating War that it ended. This school has lost many students and many staff to the last years, and they must all be remembered with pride, but we must also move on with our lives. I shall be assuming the role of headmistress and now that I am in a position of authority, I want you all to know that any grudges held as a result of the War will not be tolerated. Whether you fought behind Potter, or behind Voldemort, or did not fight at all, we are here to learn and nothing more. If we try our best, we can achieve our dreams, no matter what obstacles we have to overcome."
As she stepped down from the lectern to the sound of scattered applause, Draco could have sworn he saw Professor McGonagall look his way. Of course, she was present when his mother was arrested and would have heard about the trial and it's aftermath. 'I don't need her pity, or anyone else's.' Draco told himself firmly, although he imagined that sympathy was the only reason anyone might speak to him in the next months. Not many wanted to be friends with the son of a convicted murderer, whether or not they had been wrongly accused.
During the chaos of the feast, Draco managed to slip away to his dormitory. He could not stand it anymore, sitting alone, knowing that all his friends were gone. He had looked up once to the teacher's table, seeking his usual reassurance from his godfather; he had forgotten that Snape was dead and gone as well.
The dormitory, even empty as it was, was the only place where Draco could pretend that nothing had happened. Here, lying in the same bed that had once been no more than an uncomfortable place to sleep, he could pretend that his father and his mother were sat at home, discussing the latest drivel from the Daily Prophet and talking about the ball they had always thrown for Winter Solstice. He could pretend that his friends were still down at dinner and that they would be up soon to talk all night with him, as they had used to. He could pretend that Professor Snape was still at the top table, glaring down on the meddling Gryffindor first-years as he always did.
For now, that was all that Draco had, memories, wishes and make-believe. Perhaps that was all he would ever have.
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