The Canon in Draconis Major series:

1. Draco Malfoy and the Boy Who Lived
2. (in progress)
3. (in development)
4. (in development)
5. (in development)
6. (in development)
7. (in development)
8. (in development)

Year 1-7 series are a dime a dozen, so here are some notes to help you decide if this one will be worth your time:

- This is not a time travel, fix-it, or divergent fic. It will be canon compliant, as in you should be able to read canon and see this story weaved through.

- Canon in this case means the original 7 books, spare the epilogue. Everything else will be cherry-picked to fit the story's needs.

- There will be dialogue lines lifted from the canon books at points where Draco's story intersects with Harry's. Otherwise, I challenged myself to make this story transformative over Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. For example, not once is the Stone explicitly named in this story, since Draco didn't know about it.

- On the note of transformation, the Malfoys are portrayed in a grey manner. Lucius leans more toward elitist classist than enthusiastic Death Eater (little more about this in the first chapter notes). Narcissa here is a socialite that doesn't care about politics until she has no choice but to learn the rules of the game she's forced to play. Draco is definitely a twat, which I say with all the affection in the world.

- That said, there are redeeming qualities here. Draco clearly admires his parents in canon, and that he's spoiled rotten lends little evidence toward abuse. The three were a tight-knit family that loved each other from beginning to end. They are portrayed that way here. Draco is also capable of kindness toward his peers.

- There will be elements of blood supremacy, classism, etc in this story. I do not personally condone any of these views. In my experience, bigotry is far more complicated than black and white. The circular logic is alive here, as well as rules and exceptions that the bigoted characters make to excuse themselves and their behaviour. In order to break these things down (cultural appropriation, privilege, victim/persecution complex, internalized racism, confirmation bias, indoctrination, radicalization, etc), I need to establish them. Let's not pretend that Draco wasn't a bigoted little tit from the off-set. However, this series is ultimately about building a redemption arc for him within the cracks of canon and then a bit beyond.

- On the heels of that, I will be humanizing Death Eaters in this series. I think it says a lot more about Voldemort as a villain if he can compel ordinary people to do unspeakable things, rather than just taking the leash off the naturally cruel. Sure, those ones (Bellatrix, for example) are here. So are the sycophants and the cowards. Again, though, I want this series to be transformative over the Harry Potter series, which means buffing out some of the black and white into a grey area.

- I never saw homophobia as existing prevalently in the wizarding world. Queer people and relationships are portrayed, and Draco himself at this point in his youth will be questioning. There will be both slash and het pairings for him in this series.

- Regarding shipping: romance is not the main focus of this series, but it will be a feature of Draco growing up. Relationships will be tagged, although I don't bother tagging friendships or familial relationships. There are just too many.

- Regarding "bashing": this is told from Draco's perspective, so you can expect people he doesn't like to be held to his opinion of them. His opinions on the characters do not reflect my own. I have never met a Harry Potter character that I don't like or appreciate. Yes, even Umbridge.

- And regarding original characters: these are merely here to populate the background. Occasionally one might become important, but they are not focal characters.

Chapter 1: Dragon in the Room

A/N: I mentioned in story notes that I took care for this work to be transformative over Philosopher's Stone. The same is true for any of the other books. One of the subversions for Chamber of Secrets is established here.

I always considered how Lucius slipped Tom's diary to Ginny to be rather contrived (just so happened to have it that day, just so happened to not be seen despite so many eyes on him in the bookshop, just so happened to pull a master sleight of hand while engaged in a fist fight, etc). It gets to Ginny a different way in this series.

Grandfather Malfoy's bedroom was cold and dark. The drapes had been pulled nearly shut, so that only a sliver of summer light came through. Dust caked the thin beam, and Draco could almost feel the little bits of skin and dander whenever he inhaled.

They disappeared with a flourish of magic and a whispered incantation. With another, the room grew cooler yet. Draco's sweat had long dried. The latest cold wash put a chill through his shoulders, pulling them up toward his ears. He shifted in his chair. It creaked. The two men he shared the room with looked at him.

Draco's father stood over by the gap in the drapes. One side of his head was white in the light, the other thrown into shadow. His expression was still pinched from the last thing Grandfather had said. Draco hadn't understood what they talked about—something that had a lot of words like executor and probate and beneficiary—but both of them were now annoyed with each other.

"Don't say much, do you?" Grandfather asked in his wheezy voice from the bed.

"Huh?" Draco's head snapped toward him.

Although his body had shrunken, Grandfather's eyes remained bright.

"Don't listen much, either," he said.

"He's only eleven." Draco's father still sounded stern.

"No excuse," Grandfather grunted. "How do you expect him to learn what little they offer at that sham of a school if he can't even pay attention?"

"He won't learn estate law at Hogwarts." Father turned cold, kind of like the room. "He'll learn it from me—when he's older, at that. By then, I may have nudged the Ministry to simplify their oversight processes to a point where it won't be difficult for a twenty year old to understand."

"Another ten years prodding the Wizengamot?" Grandfather coughed into his handkerchief, but it sounded more like he hid a scoff. Draco didn't see any sparks in the dim. "There won't be much change at all if you spend the next decade the same way as the last."

Draco pressed his lips to stop himself from laughing when his father rolled his eyes. The amount of times Father had told him not to do that to his elders, and here he was.

Grandfather didn't notice because he was busy buttoning up the top of his shirt. "It's a wonder any wealth remains attached to the Malfoy name. Keep on so inefficiently, and Draco shouldn't have to worry at all about the estate. There'll simply be nothing left to bother with."

"Your illness has turned you into such an alarmist," Draco's father drawled. "You've seen the ledgers. Our wealth is in no such danger. Quite the contrary."

Draco had to hold his laughter again when his grandfather waved a hand dismissively at his father. The longer Draco quietly sat here, the longer the grown-ups in the room forgot about how they needed to act in front of him. Draco loved to watch a good row.

"What have you done with the temperature in here?" Grandfather asked. "My chest is cold, but my arms are hot."

"The room is cool, Father. It's your illness."

"Bollocks—"

"What's that?" Draco asked.

His father and grandfather froze for a second, as if they'd forgotten Draco was even there. Grandfather was in the process of rolling up his left sleeve. He'd slowed when Draco spoke. Draco pointed at the red—something—on his forearm.

Grandfather looked down at it, then back at Draco. His eyes were bright again. "Have you never seen one of these before?"

Before Draco could answer, his father did. "That's not appropriate."

"Now, Lucius," Grandfather said. "Let the little lad be curious. Come here, Draco. I'll show you."

"Erm. . ." Draco had been told he couldn't get close to Grandfather unless he wore a mask and gloves like the healers did. He didn't want to get dragon pox. He didn't want green skin, like his grandfather's used to be before it finally turned yellow and the hospital sent him home.

"Draco," his father said, gaze on Grandfather. "Out."

Draco lingered where he stood in front of his chair. He didn't like to disobey his father or grandfather if he could help it. Because he couldn't do what both said, Draco thought about what his mum would tell him to do. She wouldn't want him that close to his grandfather. Feeling like he did something wrong anyway, Draco slunk over to the door.

Light came in underneath it. That did little to prepare Draco for how bright the rest of his grandfather's chamber would be. It hurt Draco's eyes and made him blink a lot to get rid of black dots in his vision. He hesitated next to his grandfather's desk to rub at them, and perked when he heard a raised voice coming from the room he'd just left.

". . .no right!" his father was saying. "Narcissa and I agreed—"

"Oh, get off it," Grandfather replied. As carefully as Draco could, he avoided making a shadow under the door as he snuck back over to listen. "Yes, I remember. Unsolicited, I believe was the word we used during the discussion. Draco asked. How long can you reasonably hide our history from him?"

"Perhaps your perspective is skewed." Draco's father sounded like his teeth stayed close together, and his jaw stiff while he talked. "Gold does not a participant make. It must have been wonderful to sit around at Hogwarts with your—friends—and daydream about how all of it would go. Well, it certainly didn't go the way you wanted. It definitely didn't want to go the way he wanted. Did it? He's no longer here to speak on his own behalf. All that's left of that old guard is an old man too stubborn to die in a hospital."

"You forgot about Monty."

Draco's father scoffed loudly. "Of course, it's normal to turn sentimental on your death bed. I won't have you trying to pass this torch to my son. The Black name is already synonymous with it, thanks to Bellatrix, Sirius, and Regulus. The last thing Draco needs going into Dumbledore's school is to raise those sorts of eyebrows as a Malfoy—especially if Harry Potter ends up attending."

"Is he attending?"

"Not a clue. It's no concern of yours, anyway."

Grandfather hummed in a thoughtful way. "Well, now that Draco is out of the room, we ought to discuss a piece of business that we couldn't in front of him. I do have some restraint, Lucius. Honestly, I'm ill. Not gone batty."

"Could have fooled me."

Draco sighed in disappointment when the two of them disappeared behind the veil of a Silencing Charm. They didn't even know he was here, otherwise he would've been shooed again. Oh well.

He headed over to his grandfather's desk. It was barer now than when Draco used to come here to visit. He took a seat and turned the chair back and forth a few times. He leaned back with his arms on the rests, imagining himself wearing work glasses like his father's and dressing someone down like he'd seen Grandfather do a few times.

Back before Grandfather fell ill, he always kept sweets in one of his drawers. He would give them to Draco if he came through. Although the drawer had a lock on it, it slid open. A bag of assorted sours still sat in there. Draco stuck his hand in them, then paused before pulling it back.

Something like static had vibrated against the tips of Draco's fingers. Were the sweets cursed? Had Grandfather done that before going to St Mungo's to avoid anyone taking any during his absence? That didn't seem right. Grandfather never ate sweets. These were always here just for Draco.

Draco grabbed the sweet bag between two fingers and moved it. His eyebrows leapt up when where the sweets sat shifted. A false bottom!

Heart pounding with excitement, Draco glanced over the desktop. There was a letter opener. With his tongue poked out and one ear focused toward Grandfather's bedroom, Draco slid the letter opener in between the false bottom and the drawer's inside. His hands trembled a little as he eased it up. What would Grandfather hide like this?

There was a little black book underneath. Draco's shoulders slumped. Well, that wasn't very exciting. Draco moved his hand toward it again. It was definitely the source of what he'd felt before. He wondered if he should actually touch it. Would it hurt him somehow? Curse him?

Draco inhaled deeply and involuntarily when his middle finger brushed against the fake, cheap leather. There was a rush of something. It felt on the outside like Draco felt on the inside when spotting one of his friends by surprise in Diagon Alley, or like that first moment back on a broomstick after it'd been taken away from him for flying too close to Enford. It felt. . .familiar.

Still carefully, he picked it up. The pull seemed to relax, almost like reassuring an animal that Draco had startled. He laid it in his lap and ran his fingers over the edges. Draco slipped his right pointer finger under the cover to open it when a shuffling noise stilled his heart.

His father was audible again. "I have much to do."

"Of course," Grandfather tersely replied. "Away with you."

The doorknob to Grandfather's bedroom was being fiddled with. Draco dropped out of the chair and into the space underneath the desk. Although his heart pounded anew, Draco stifled himself from breathing too loudly. He clenched his eyes shut. His father stepped into the room, the bedroom door closed, and then his father's footsteps crossed toward the chamber door. Draco waited for him to slow because he'd noticed the chair moving, or the drawer sitting open. His father only faded off.

Draco held the book against his chest, arms folded around it. As silence replaced his father's retreat (spare Grandfather coughing in his bedroom), he let himself relax.

He peeked over the top of the desk to make sure he was truly alone before putting everything back the way he had found it. Draco's bedroom was along the second-floor gallery from Grandfather's. Paranoid, he glanced over his shoulder a few times toward the railing as he skirted along close to the wall. He heard footsteps below. On the first floor and opposite the side Draco stood was the entrance to the master suite. His stomach flushed with adrenaline when he spotted his father again. He opened one of the master suite's double doors and disappeared inside.

Exhaling, Draco calmed again. He closed his chamber door behind him and retreated to his bedroom. Draco didn't bother closing its door before laying on his stomach across the made bed. He opened the book.

The first few pages were blank. So was the rest of it, when Draco flipped through. His shoulders slumped again. Well, this was boring. Draco would've thought that something hidden like that—that felt like this—would be more exciting.

It had the year 1943 on its faded cover. Draco had never heard of someone named T. M. Riddle. He didn't know where Vauxhall Road was.

A knock came at Draco's chamber door. He glanced back at his open bedroom door before rolling off the bed. Draco slipped the book into his bedside table.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Me," came his father's voice.

Draco answered, in that case. His father leaned his shoulder against the wall with his arms folded. He regarded Draco in kind, an eyebrow eventually rising. "May I come in? I'd like to speak with you."

Stepping aside, Draco held an arm out the same way his father might invite him into private space. He waited until his father had passed before closing the door again. Draco followed him over to the chairs that sat in front of the fireplace. Even if it didn't currently go, the minimal light that reached them from the skylights still made for an intimate atmosphere.

His father crossed his legs and waited for Draco to sit before speaking. "We need to discuss what your grandfather tried to show you."

"The thing on his arm?"

"Yes." His father cleared his throat. "It's something left over from the war. Your grandfather has taken recently to talking more about it. People tend to think about the happiest parts of their lives when they get old. It's comforting."

"He liked the war?" Draco turned more toward his father in his chair. He didn't get to hear a lot about it, just mostly about how it had ended.

"Nobody really liked the war, Draco. Well, some, perhaps." His father's eyes narrowed briefly in thought. "Those ones are all in Azkaban right now, though. They hurt people—a lot of people."

"And they were purebloods, and now that's why people don't really like purebloods anymore. Right?" Draco asked.

"Not all of them were purebloods. But yes, it has made things rather difficult for families like ours. The war hasn't been over for long enough yet that people can look at us and not immediately think about the Dark Lord."

Draco thought about visiting places like Diagon Alley or the Ministry with his father. Most people were respectful, although he definitely noticed some noses turning up, or people walking around them as if they smelled funny.

"When war happens, there is little space left between the opposing sides for nuance," his father said. "Do you know what I mean by nuance?"

"Er. . ."

"It means that if there's something about you that there is war over, you don't get much a choice about staying out of it. In this war, that thing was that we were a pure-blooded family. Your grandfather knew the Dark Lord before the war started. The Dark Lord had some ideas that were good for us. There were different ideas floating around that well-off families like ours shouldn't have what we have just because others are uncomfortable with the idea some wizards are better. The Malfoys that came before us—and your mother's family too—didn't end up the wealthiest in Britain because of luck or accident. This manor—this room, even these chairs we're sitting in—are the result of hundreds of years of work. The riches that we enjoy do not come from nowhere."

Draco nodded slowly, running his fingers over the dark upholstery. Sometimes he thought about his things as old compared to things at Gregory, Vincent, or Theodore's houses. Old meant established, though. Who knew how many generations had sat here like Draco and his father did, right now?

"So what nuance was there?" The word felt distinguished to say, to Draco.

His father considered it for a moment. "The war was very dangerous. I don't want to give you details that you're too young for, but a lot of people were scared. The Dark Lord was not a subtle person. You know how I go to the Ministry and talk to people that work there?"

"Like the Minister."

"And you know how we just talk?"

Draco nodded. It was always about very boring things to listen to, like the weather and budgets and the news.

"That's what's called being subtle," his father replied. "I don't exactly talk to people about things we enjoy. Well, sometimes, but the point is just to talk at all. They like me, and I like them. It makes it easy to ask for favours. Maybe the Wizengamot is voting on something that means we'd have to give up some of the land we own. I can ask people that like me to vote no, or to filibuster it."

"What's that mean?"

"Just to put things off. Delay them." His father's eyes squinted slightly when he smirked at Draco. "It also means that if they need funding for something, say the Ministry doesn't have it for whatever reason, then they can ask me to make a donation. That's why our name is on so many things."

"Right." Draco did know that much. He'd asked once why one of the buildings in Diagon Alley was called Malfoy Place.

"The Dark Lord did not operate like that." The corners of Father's mouth twitched before his smirk melted away. "We didn't talk about just anything. The Dark Lord preferred to get right to the point, because he was very busy. He was only interested in knowing whether you were with him or against him. And, if you were with him, what you could do for him."

Draco hummed. He tried to imagine such a thing, but he didn't know what the Dark Lord looked like. He couldn't really imagine his father in a conversation where he wasn't the one in control of it.

"A lot of people believe that's what happened to the Potters," his father kept on. "The Dark Lord wanted them to join. He may have known there was something special about their son, considering how that went. That was how the Dark Lord operated. If you joined him and you were important enough, he put his mark on you. If you refused to join but could be important to the people against him, you. . .well, you died."

"And we're important," Draco said, "but we're still here. So you joined."

Draco's father nodded so slightly that Draco almost couldn't see his chin move.

"And that's what that mark is on Grandfather's arm."

"Yes."

Draco's gaze darted downward. "Do you have one?"

His father cleared his throat and shifted slightly. "Yes."

"Can I see?"

After drawing a slow breath, Draco's father held it. He studied Draco before his gaze darted past him to the chamber door. Draco perked when his father slipped a finger in underneath the left wrist of his robes.

"Come here, then," his father said. "Don't tell your mother until I've had a chance to talk to her first."

Draco hesitated, half-standing. "She doesn't want me to see it?"

"She's still not home from her tea." Draco's father glanced over at him. "I haven't had the chance yet to tell her your grandfather tried to show you his. I want her to understand the context. We always agreed that you would be given age-appropriate information, should you grow curious. I would rather your curiosity be sated than given a chance to grow into fascination."

Draco only understood about half of that. He didn't know what context was. He headed over to the left side of his father's chair and leaned against the winged back. Draco's brow furrowed as faded red lines like a fresh scar appeared from under his sleeve. He thought it looked pretty neat, really. The snake was interesting—so was the skull.

Leaning on the chair, Draco rested his cheek against the back of his hand. He felt a little strange in the stomach as he thought about the mark. He had a hard time imagining his father bending his knee to anyone. Even Grandfather now had no choice but to defer to Father because he couldn't handle the estate anymore.

Father turned in his seat so that he could meet Draco's gaze. While Draco bunched his lips all off to one side, Father tilted his head.

"What did the Dark Lord make you do?" Draco asked.

"I was lucky that way." Father lightly cleared his throat. "He needed somebody in the Ministry to do the sorts of things I've always done. It's easier to get through a door if you have someone to open it from the other side."

"What did Grandfather do?"

"Give him gold."

"Oh yeah."

"It's over now, anyway." Father folded his hands in his lap. "The Dark Lord is dead. In the end, we were worse off for all the things that happened in the war. Our family's reputation took a decent knock. We're lucky we still have our money and friends at the Ministry, but there's a lot of work yet to be done to rebuild—even now, ten years later."

Draco opened his mouth to ask a question, then closed it again. It had something to do with what his father and grandfather had talked about after he left Grandfather's room earlier. He needed to ask it in a way that didn't give away his eavesdropping. "Is Harry Potter going to Hogwarts with me?"

"I don't know yet," his father replied. "Letters don't go out for another month. I'm sure his name will be down for it if Dumbledore wants to keep him close. I could also see him having arranged for the Potter boy to study abroad instead, where maybe his name won't mean something so personal to his peers."

"Like where? Durmstrang?"

Father snorted, eyes warm. "I sincerely doubt that. Ilvermorny, perhaps. It's the closest English-speaking school."

"Hm." Draco hoped not. He'd like to meet Harry Potter and see what he was like, to have killed somebody that was powerful enough to boss his own father around. "Do you think it would be good for our family if I made him my friend?"

Father's expression further softened. "You don't need to worry about that sort of thing."

"Would it?" Draco ignored that. "I'm probably going to make him my friend either way."

"I don't see why it wouldn't."

"All right."

Exhaling in amusement, Draco's father reached up to pat him on the arm. "You truly are a Malfoy, Draco. Always thinking ahead."

A/N: I'm updating this Tuesdays, so next chapter on Jan 11.