Draco stared out the window, his eyes following the blur of scenery as the Hogwarts Express rattled by. His mother had insisted she continue the tradition of dropping him at the platform at Kings Cross Station to say goodbye. Except it had felt like a farce; his father had not been there. Theo, who had been sitting next to Draco, stood up.
"Aren't you coming?"
Without tearing his gaze from the window, he murmured distractedly. "Coming where?"
"We have a meeting in the Prefects' carriage," said Theo quirking an eyebrow. "And then our duties..."
Draco blinked. "No," he said simply. "I won't be coming."
"But you like being a Prefect," pointed out Theo.
"I said," Draco growled, his eyes finally meeting his friend's, "I won't be coming." His eyes slid over to Blaise, who had been listening quietly on the seat over, pretending not to. Even Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle were giving him curious looks.
He was about to snap at them when a soft laugh reached his ears, followed by a shock of flaming red hair. His lips curled into a grimace as he lifted his gaze to see whose voice had offended him so. Outside their compartment, along the corridor was Weasley and Granger.
"Look Theo," he drawled with a malevolent gleam in his eye. "It's your little bint."
His friend didn't give Draco the reaction he had hoped for. He merely scoffed, his attention focused on clipping his own badge onto the lapel of his robes.
Granger must have sensed being watched because as they were about to pass out of sight, she turned her head and caught his glare. The smile faded from her lips. Weasley followed her gaze, frowning in disapproval.
Draco responded with a snarl and a rude hand gesture. His eyes turned back to the window. "Fucking Weasley," he muttered under his breath.
A moment later, Theo left, and Pansy saw it as an opportunity to sit next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. Draco's mind went to the velvet box sitting in his luggage. He contemplated giving it to Pansy then and there but decided not to. The timing wasn't right, he reasoned, later would be better.
"Do you want me to come over tonight?"
"Sure," he replied dismissively, his thoughts far removed from the present.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, "I missed you," she cooed. "I haven't seen you all summer and—who's that?"
Draco raised his eyes. A girl who looked to be in her second or third year was standing outside their compartment door, staring in. She raised her hand and knocked tentatively with a look of utter reluctance before entering. In her hand, Draco noted curiously, was a scroll of parchment tied with violet ribbon.
Blaise, who had taken notice of her as well, demanded, "What's this, then?"
She was blushing profusely, averting her eyes. Feigning ignorance, she stuttered nervously, "You're Blaise Zabini, right?"
Crabbe and Goyle shared a snigger. Pansy's right eyebrow was arched up with hostility and a hint of something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.
Blaise smirked haughtily at the younger witch, enjoying her discomfort. "Guilty as charged."
"This is for you," she smiled, handing over the scroll. For an infinitesimal moment, as she was tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she turned her head, catching a glance of Draco. Her smile fell. She looked nervously at the others and ran—practically stumbled out of the compartment as if her life depended on it. He frowned, feeling slighted. He was no longer Draco Malfoy, sole heir to the Malfoy fortune. His title of fame had been reduced to Draco Malfoy— son of a Death Eater.
Then again, isn't this what he wanted? To be respected—feared?
It felt good when it had been Borgin, but much less so when it was some pigtailed Hufflepuff.
"What is it?" demanded Pansy impatiently.
Blaise had unfurled the parchment and was frowning at it as if it bored him. The Slytherin merely rolled his eyes and handed it over. Pansy opened it out for them both to read.
Mister Zabini,
If you would be so kind as to join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C, I'd be delighted.
Sincerely,
Professor H. E. F. Slughorn
"Well?" prompted Draco. "What does he want?"
"No clue," drawled Blaise. "Suppose I'll find out at lunch..."
Draco frowned, trying to guess at why Slughorn would want to speak to Zabini privately. His friend wasn't bad at Potions, but neither did he excel at it. No, his talent was on a broom and in his vanity.
Was it something else then, something about potions class? Or perhaps Slughorn knew his mother—a terrifying thought, one which Draco didn't want to revisit. He gave up, his mind wandering back to more pressing matters at hand. How would he fix the Vanishing Cabinet? A part of him was itching to get a look at it again. If only the train would speed up and reach Hogsmeade station sooner, then he could stop the impatient tic in his mind. To the casual observer, though, he put on airs of a young schoolboy entirely at ease.
Without a word to the others, Blaise slipped out to go meet Slughorn.
When the lunch trolley came around a few minutes later, Draco noticed that Theo hadn't returned to eat with them. He must have gone to eat with the other Prefects, and for a silly instance, he imagined that Theo might be sitting next to her.
"What do you want to eat?" asked Pansy, drawing him out of his thoughts.
"Nothing."
"How about—?"
He waved away her persistent efforts to entice him to eat something. "Food on this train is always awful," he grumbled. A valid excuse he hoped, for his absence of appetite.
After lunch, he changed into his school uniform, making sure to tie his tie in a full Windsor knot as his father had taught him. Exhausted by even this small exercise, he sat back down next to Pansy. He couldn't muster the energy to make conversation with her. She must've noticed he was tired and offered to move to the corner so he could lie down.
Giving her a small smile of gratitude, he rested his head on her lap. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the comforting feeling of her fingers threading softly in his hair. He felt himself drifting off to sleep, letting time slip through his fingers. There was nothing Draco could do about Dumbledore while he was on the train. And with Pansy's rare silence, it felt that he had some reprieve. He was after all, in transit.
A few minutes later, or maybe an hour—Draco couldn't tell—the compartment door slid open, and he was wide awake. His eyes fluttered open and he cocked his head.
Zabini was back.
"What's wrong with this thing?" he cursed, trying to close the sliding door. Suddenly it was yanked open again, and Blaise went flying in an untidy heap into Goyle's lap. Goyle, twice as big as Zabini, flung him off with a grumble. Draco chuckled amusedly as he watched his friend trying to compose himself. He thought that perhaps he saw a flash of something, but he must have imagined it in the commotion.
Sniggering, he lay back down into Pansy's lap, a smile playing on her own lips as her fingers found their way into his hair again.
"So, Zabini," he said still smiling, "what did Slughorn want?"
"Just trying to make up to well-connected people," said Blaise, who was still glowering at Goyle. "Not that he managed to find many."
The laughter died on Draco's lips. The Malfoy's were obviously not on that particular list anymore since his father's incarceration. A little more bitterly than he'd intended, he demanded to know who else had been invited.
Blaise lowered his eyes, a picture of calm and indifference once more. "McLaggen from Gryffindor—"
"Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry."
"Someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw—"
"Not him," exclaimed Pansy abruptly, "he's a prat!"
"— and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl," finished Blaise.
Despite his Occlumency Draco could feel his cheeks flush with indignation. He knocked Pansy's hand aside and sat up quickly.
"He invited Longbottom?"
"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there," said Zabini indifferently.
"And Potter," he spat bitterly, "precious Potter—obviously he wanted a look at the Chosen One—but that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?"
"A lot of boys like her," said Pansy, her eyes sliding from Draco to Blaise "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"
Zabini clenched his jaw as Draco pursed his lips, trying to bite back another laugh at his friend's expense.
Looking pointedly at him, Blaise replied unfeelingly, "I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like."
They stared each other down. Draco was itching to say otherwise, but there was something in Blaise's tone that told him not to push it—because he'd push back. So, he sank back down, letting the comment pass.
"Well, I pity Slughorn's taste. Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. He used to be a bit of a favourite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or—"
"I wouldn't bank on an invitation," Blaise intoned. "He asked me about Nott's father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry, he didn't look happy, and Nott didn't get an invitation, did he? I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters."
Blood was pounding in Draco's ears. He tried keeping a blank expression, but his anger was getting the best of him. He barked a humourless laugh. "Well, who cares what he's interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher," he quipped, letting out a yawn, expressing his indifference. "I mean... I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"
Pansy's warm fingers lifted from his hair. "What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" she said sharply.
"Well, you never know," he said, looking up at her with a ghost of a smirk. "I might have, er, moved on to bigger and better things."
Pansy looked him in disbelief.
"Do you mean—Him?"
Draco shrugged, trying to act casual, but he could feel everyone's eyes on him and relished the attention.
"Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it… When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone's got? Of course, he isn't. It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown."
"And you think you'll be able to do something for him?" mocked Blaise scathingly. "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"
"I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for," remarked Draco quietly.
His eyes found Crabbe and Goyle who were both watching him like little children, their mouths agape with wonder. He smiled to himself, looking back up at Pansy, yet it wasn't awe that shone from her eyes. Though her features had drawn blank, her gaze spoke volumes. She looked frightened.
Draco knew then he had said too much.
"I can see Hogwarts," he said, clearing his throat. "We'd better get our robes on."
Pansy's eyes danced over his face, blinking down at him. Her lips parted, about to say something when Draco heard a sudden gasp. He looked up to the luggage rack above them, frowning. This time he knew he hadn't imagined it.
Potter, he grumbled internally. Potter, Potter, Potter...
He stood acting as if nothing were amiss. He felt the train slow to a jerky crawl as he opened his trunk to take out his school robes and travelling cloak. Despite his calm demeanour, he was fuming inside. Mostly he was angry at his own stupidity for not having realised earlier when he'd thought he'd seen something.
If anyone was going to get in his way and thwart his plans, it'd be Harry-fucking-Potter. Better to be rid of him now than to deal with him later. The train lurched to a final stop. He watched as first Goyle and then the others barreled through the compartment door, fighting their way through the crowded corridor, tossing younger students aside.
Pansy held out her hand, offering it to him. "You go on," he told her. "I just want to check something." Her eyes narrowed on him questioningly but thought better than to pry. She dropped her arm and left.
Draco was now alone in the compartment with Dumbledore's little mole. He moved over to the door and let down the blinds so that no one would witness what he was about to do. He then opened his trunk again, pretending to rummage around inside for something. With seeker-like reflexes, he jolted up, casting a well-aimed full body-bind.
Slowly but surely he watched as Potter toppled out of the luggage rack and fell with a thud on the floor at his feet, his invisibility Cloak trapped beneath him. Draco's lips split into a wide grin. Well, well, well, he'd finally caught Potter — curled up in the foetal position like a wee toddler. How delicious...
Beaming, he exclaimed with jubilation, "I thought so! I heard Goyle's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back…"
His eyes lingered on the petrified figure, contemplating what to do with him. In front of him lay the boy who had been a thorn in his side from the moment he'd stepped into Hogwarts— constantly besting him at Quidditch and stealing the limelight.
Yet it was Draco who had scored nearly perfect O.W.L marks. It was he who wore a Prefects badge and who'd been elected leader of the Inquisitorial Squad. It was he who had mastered Occlumency and spells the likes which no one else had heard of and still...
Everyone flocked to Potter, ooh-ing and aah-ing after him like he was Merlin himself. How his father had ever thought he'd be the one to replace Voldemort was beyond him. The thought seized him with a gut-wrenching vengeance.
"You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I've got you here—" Draco lifted his foot and stamped hard on Potter's face, no doubt breaking his nose as blood gushed out. "That's from my father. Now, let's see…"
He pulled the cloak out from under Potter's immobilised body and threw it over him. "I don't reckon they'll find you till the trains back in London," he said quietly. "See you around, Potter… or not."
Draco made sure to trample his fingers as he left. Sliding the compartment door closed, a smile crept up his face. Granger would be most devastated when she discovered her precious Potter was missing.
...
Entering the Great Hall, Draco took a seat in between Theo and Pansy at the Slytherin table. He couldn't believe the nerve of Potter, trying to spy on him like that. He smirked in amusement, recalling how he'd left the Boy-who-wouldn't-die wholly incapacitated.
His smile turned though when he caught Blaise talking animatedly to Pansy. And Zabini, he scowled, too smart for his own good, should learn to keep his mouth shut. Draco wished he could be rid of them both, Potter and Zabini. Might as well add Crabbe and Goyle to the list. They hadn't stopped gaping at him since the train ride. He probably shouldn't have said anything, especially with Potter's new interest in espionage. He'd have to be more careful from now on...
Amidst the ruckus of the start of term feast, he looked over to the Gryffindor table. Weasley was scarfing down food as if it were the first meal he'd had in weeks while Granger was looking around frantically, searching for Potter no less.
Smirking to himself, Draco returned to his meal. He was picking at a piece of pie on his plate, when he looked back up and saw Potter walking down the Great Hall, his face still covered in blood, trying not to draw attention to himself.
Why in Merlin's name wasn't he on his way back to London?
He sat down next to Granger who, in a matter of seconds, cleaned his face with the flick of her wand. Draco clenched his teeth. The Mudblood seemed to know just about every bloody spell. He wondered whether perhaps Potter had only managed to survive for so long owing to her competence—though he'd never admit that to anyone. If he were honest, she was a capable witch, more than capable, actually.
Draco glared at the two of them, sickened at the way she winced with concern, no doubt expressing how worried she was. With a malevolent grin, he gave Pansy a gentle nudge, drawing her attention away from Blaise. "Guess who I bumped into on the train."
She turned fully toward him, expectantly, but it was Crabbe who was eager to hear the story. "Who?"
Draco went on to tell the surrounding Slytherins what he'd done. He was glad to see that, at least, if not anything, Potter's idiocy could never fail to elicit a laugh from them.
Snape had certainly made himself at home in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Scanning the walls, Draco noticed he'd even gone as far as to hang art from his own private collection. Unable to look too long at the unsightly images he drew his attention to Severus who had begun introducing himself as the new D.A.D.A Professor. Draco felt a bit strange around Snape since he'd found out what his mother had gone and done. He was furious with her for interfering in his affairs and if he was being honest, he didn't really trust the man. He'd always had a feeling that the wizard had reasons, unbeknownst to anyone, for the things he did. Until Draco knew who Snape's allegiance truly belonged to, he couldn't depend on him for anything.
"What's the use of non-verbal spells?" Severus asked the class. Granger's hand shot up almost immediately. It was obvious that he was reluctant to call upon her to answer. For the brightest witch of her age, she really could be stupid. They'd been sitting in Potions no more than five minutes and she'd already managed to get on Snape's nerves. She'd do better to sit there and be quiet, but the little swot just couldn't help herself. He sniggered.
"You will now divide into pairs", Snape went on. "One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."
Draco and Theo only had to look at each other to agree to partner up. Nott turned out to be surprisingly good at casting the non-verbal shield charm but seemed to have difficulty casting a jinx without subconsciously mouthing the words. Ironically, in Draco's case, it was the exact opposite.
He glanced toward the others and to his chagrin, he saw that Granger had managed to silently repel Longbottom's jelly legs jinx. He didn't like how pleased she looked with herself. Draco was just about to jinx Theo again when suddenly he heard someone shout Protego, followed by a loud crash. He turned around just in time to see Severus lift himself up off the floor.
"Do you remember me telling you we are practising non-verbal spells?" he said to Potter.
"Yes," he replied stiffly.
"Yes, Sir." Severus corrected.
"There's no need to call me Sir, Professor."
Everyone gasped. Even Draco found that Potter had reached new levels of stupidity. Granger, on the other hand, looked disappointed.
Draco almost smiled. Turns out her sweet, dear Potter wasn't all that saintly after all.
...
Potions class this year had the potential to be very interesting. There were certain brews they were meant to learn that Draco thought would be useful for his 'special assignment'. Polyjuice Potion, specifically. He had attempted to make it several times before but could appreciate further instruction from Professor Slughorn. His father had spoken a great deal about him, and he'd even heard of his close personal acquaintances to famous witches and wizards. He didn't care all that much that he hadn't been invited to the Slug Club, but it annoyed him to think that he and Theo would be denied just because of their family's association to the Dark Lord. Theo was very good at potions, actually. He probably would've liked to be invited.
Within ten minutes of sitting in class, however, Draco realized that he didn't think he would enjoy Potion's this year after all. As usual, Granger had known the answers to all of Slughorn's questions and was rather impressed with her.
"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here… yes, my dear?" said Slughorn, now looking bemused, as her hand punched the air again. "It's Amortentia!"
"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," said Slughorn beaming, "but I assume you know what it does?"
"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" said Hermione.
"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"
"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," said Hermione enthusiastically, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each of according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and..." She faltered, her cheeks flushed.
"May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn, ignoring Granger's embarrassment.
"Hermione Granger, sir."
He asked her if she was related to pureblood Hector Dagworth-Granger.
Draco leaned into Nott, "Hector Dagworth-Granger?" he drawled. "The only Granger she's related to is a member of the London Dental Society, and fortunately for her, her father was able to fix her teeth."
They both snickered.
Slughorn, to Malfoy's dismay, was grinning with a look of recognition. His eyes darted from Granger to Potter.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, "'One of my best friends is muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!'— I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke."
"Yes, sir," said Potter.
"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger!"
Draco deflated. He watched the bushy-haired swot turn to Potter glowing, wearing an expression he'd never seen on her before. Weasley, to Draco's surprise, seemed to be a little irritated, insisting that if he'd been asked, he would've said the same thing. Just what the bloody hell—?
"Looks like Weasley's getting a bit riled up," Theo chortled. Draco turned to the Slytherin with a look of confusion. Nott's expression became apologetic. "Thought you knew," he shrugged, "Weasel and Granger..." Draco glanced back to the Gryffindor table and watched them for a moment.
"But I thought Potter—" Theo was shaking his head.
"There was a big fight between them Fourth year, at the Yule Ball. Apparently, Weasley had been jealous of Krum. She went at him for not having asked her instead."
"I'll never understand why a Quidditch player like Krum would ask Granger to the Yule Ball," he frowned, remembering that particular surprise. Theo looked like he was trying not to laugh. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then deciding against it, turned away. Draco wondered if he was about to have defended the little Mudblood. Maybe he had wanted to say that he understood why Krum had taken her to the Yule Ball, maybe he, himself, would have liked to ask her— her and her perfectly symmetrical breasts.
Disgusting.
Snidely Draco remarked, "You must've been devastated when you heard the Mudblood had already found a date."
Theo's lips pursed in irritation. He turned toward Draco, observing him as he coolly replied, "I also heard they snogged… twice."
The only reaction Draco gave away was the slight clenching and unclenching of his jaw. He could faintly hear Slughorn speaking in the background, but he couldn't seem to concentrate with the thick floral scent permeating the Potion's room.
"Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It's impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful Potion in this room—" Theo and Draco both exchanged glances, smirking sceptically. "Oh yes," said Slughorn, nodding gravely at them. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love."
Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. He couldn't imagine how a silly love potion could ever be dangerous. He wondered though... how easy it would be to brew some and slip it into someone's drink. For a while, Draco just stared ahead in a daydream, some strange emotion clouding his mind. He only stirred to attention when the professor started talking about Felix Felicis.
A few moments later he was deeply absorbed in his potions work brewing a Draught of Living Death.
He was in desperate need of a little liquid luck.
The Slytherin common room was in an uproar. Crabbe had gotten his hands on some type of muggle alcohol during the course of summer, which he insisted tasted the same as Gilly water. But Draco, who was in no mood for noise, or any type of merriment slipped out to find someplace quiet.
After wandering around the castle at night, he found a small alcove and sat in the shadows with his head bent back and his eyes closed. His first two weeks at Hogwarts had been awful. Pansy had been very 'hands-on' with him lately and while he would usually invite that kind of thing it was beginning to cross certain boundaries he wasn't sure he wanted to cross with her. Last night she'd snuck into his bed and been quite suggestive.
Dear Merlin, he practically had to pry her off him.
He couldn't seem to concentrate on his classes very much either and found everything he did utterly pointless. It wasn't as if he was ever going to sit his N.E.W.T.S or go on to become an Auror. He never even really thought about what he would do after Hogwarts, until now... until he realized that he'd probably be killed. Either at the end of the Dark Lord's wand or Dumbledore's. He decided that the latter option would be far more merciful. But how could he possibly—?
"Malfoy."
His eyes flew open. He couldn't believe his luck. It was the swot.
"It's ten minutes till curfew," Granger said staring at him, evidently waiting for him to get up and make his way back to the Slytherin rooms.
He stared back.
"Well then," she said clearing her voice. "You better get going, you wouldn't want Filch to catch you."
Draco narrowed his eyes at her and said in a low mocking tone, "Why Granger, I didn't know you cared."
"I don't," she scoffed nervously.
Now I'm wounded," he pouted. "How will I ever face life again knowing that the Mudblood doesn't care?"
Granger's face became stony.
"Go to your room Malfoy or as Prefect, I'll make you."
Draco leapt up from his seat, a teasing smile playing on his lips but a menacing look in his eyes as he slowly circled around her.
"You'll make me?" he mocked, an eyebrow raised, as though she'd said something utterly ridiculous. For a moment he wondered if she would draw her wand on him. It was probably best not to find out. She was about to speak when he cut her off. "Y'know, it hardly seems fair. As Prefect I don't think you should be allowed to play favourites."
Folding her arms in a particularly haughty way, she demanded, "What are you talking about?"
"Well," said Draco, stepping forward. "We both know that Boy Wonder wouldn't even know the difference between fluxweed and knotgrass, let alone be able to brew a perfect Draught of Living Death."
Her eyes went wide with surprise. "I... I don't—"
"He cheated."
Granger looked torn. He could almost see her brain furiously at work.
After much hesitation, she straightened her spine and with as much confidence she could muster, said, "Harry didn't cheat. You really shouldn't be such a spoilsport."
"You're lying," said Draco, losing his cool demeanour. "You're an awful liar."
"Am not!" she cried in indignation. He stepped into her and she swayed back a little as she realized Draco was looming over her. He almost wanted to smile at how intimidating she found him. "And I'm not a bad liar either. You didn't know I was lying through my teeth to Umbridge last year when I tricked her into going to the Forbidden Forest."
"Of course I did," he scoffed. "I always know when you're lying."
Hermione's breath hitched, her eyes dancing across his face. Draco wanted to suck his words back in but they were in the air between them now. He was extremely uncomfortable with the odd way she was looking at him and he needed it to stop.
"Don't worry Granger," he sneered, beginning to walk down the corridor. "You can add it to the list of things you can't quite manage to do, in between, riding a broom, and getting Weasley to invite you to the Yule Ball."
Draco bit back a grin as he left her gaping.
His night had just turned around.