Author's Note: I'm so very happy for your kind words of encouragement, favourites and follows. You truly have no idea how happy you make me! This story is also on AO3, but the response there has been comparatively low. It is these kinds of gestures that make me want to continue writing. I haven't replied to all your reviews because I'm actually a novice writer and I'm super shy… I'll do try my best to answer sincerely. Please keep in mind that as the story progresses, it becomes more graphic.
Trigger Warning: Depictions of violence, flashbacks, implied torture and blood. Trigger ends on the page break. Check chapter notes at the end for more details.
True to McGonagall's word, when Draco was finally able to find his way back to the entrance of his dorm, the Snake and the Phoenix were there to welcome him. They let him through without delay, almost as if they could sense his distress. Frankly, he shouldn't be surprised at that point, but he had more pressing matters at hand.
He Accioed another vial of Hangover potion from his trunk — because truly, what spelt 'addict' better than needing a double-dose to function as a normal human being? — and let his eyes wander across the room in search of an appropriate surface to work.
He gently placed the cat on top of a high table as soon as his gaze landed on it, trying his best to ignore the harrowing amount of blood on his clothes and skin. Draco forced himself to control his shaking limbs, for the poor, dying creature only had him to rely on at the moment. He knew it would bleed to death if he waited until its owner came to find it.
Draco racked his hazy brain in order to remember what little he'd learnt about healing during the war. He supposed spells for humans would work on the fuzzy animal, because if they didn't… Well, he didn't want to entertain that possibility, at least not at the moment.
Waving his wand along with several diagnostic spells in quick succession, he discovered the furry being's life was not in immediate danger. Its wounds needed swift treatment for it to remain that way, but what he knew should be enough.
He muttered the first charm that came to mind, occluding like mad to prevent the memories of the man who taught it from flooding into his consciousness.
"Vulnera sanentur."
The cat's curly hair prevented him from accurately seeing where the gashes were, so he had to stop and inspect its skin carefully in between incantations.
"Vulnera sanentur."
Beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead as he worked. His hands, wet with blood and sweat, pulled apart the feline's matted fur. It was now coloured a dirty red.
"Vulnera sanentur."
Why wouldn't it stop bleeding? He had scanned its whole body, yet the pool of crimson liquid staining the tabletop only got wider.
"LIAR!" Her deranged aunt's shrill voice echoed so loud it made the crystals on the chandelier clink.
Where was the fucking wound?
"YOU WORTHLESS MUDBLOOD!"
Just a couple more…
Her lifeless eyes, with their sparkle all but gone.
"Vulnera sanentur!"
With a final, hoarse scream, the deep laceration piercing one of the cat's lungs knit itself back together.
Draco let himself slide to the floor, his wand falling from his clammy hands. He roughly pressed his palms against his closed eyes until they hurt, willing the visions away with deep breaths and stuttering lips. Meanwhile, the metallic smell clung to his nostrils, transporting his mind across time despite his barely cracked Occlumency shields.
"I am more than my past. I am more than my past. I am more than my past."
The sentence he'd fabricated during his mandatory mind-healing sessions seeped through, settling the rough waters of his broken brain. Because that's what he was, wasn't it? A broken mess who'd fucked up his and so many lives forever, with a jet black mark on his forearm to prove it.
"I am more than my past. I am more than my past. I am more than my past."
He could make it all stop. Perhaps he could find out if one could self-crucio all the way to Ward 49. At least he'd have the Longbottoms for company.
"I am more than my past. I am more than my past. I am more than my past."
But if not by suffering, how could he make up for the pain he'd caused others?
Meow.
A weak, barely audible feline whimper brought him back to real life.
Reaching out for his wand, Draco scrambled up to his feet in order to inspect the owner of said meow, not before Tergeoing the bloodshed all around and on him. He meticulously examined the unconscious animal's body, discovering it was a female cat in the process. The lack of identification on her was brought to his attention, but he figured she would find her way back towards her owner on the morrow. First, she needed some blood-replenishing potions, as well as dittany for the deepest scars.
He accioed the necessary concoctions —he'd come prepared for the worst, seeing as many family members and friends of the fallen were attending school with him— and patiently applied the essence on every raw line, deep or otherwise. Then, he lifted the cat's head with one hand and tried to pour the potion down her throat without choking her, thankfully succeeding on his endeavor.
Draco absentmindedly wandered back towards the still-lit fireplace, arranging some sort of bed on the floor by piling plenty cushions in front of it. He set his temporary companion on top, covering her with his robes for good measure. He couldn't have her freezing to death after all that trouble, could he?
He was tired. Oh so very tired. Tired of walking around with no purpose, waiting for things to get better. Because they would never, at least not for him. And now…
"Granger…"
There, on the brink between past and present, he fell asleep on the carpeted floor as he let his fingers run through the soft curls of the living being breathing deeply next to him.
He was startled awake by a sharp pain on the palm of his hand.
"Bloody hell…!"
It took Draco a second to make sense of his surroundings, especially because her majesty was having a noisy, hissy fit. She'd bitten him so hard she'd drawn blood, and now was eyeing him suspiciously from the corner, her ears flat and her fur standing on end.
So much for gratitude.
He stood up as he headed directly to the table, all the while ignoring the metaphorical daggers she was glaring at him. He applied dittany to his alabaster skin and Tergeoed the wound after it closed, thinking about what to do with the distressed feline. He supposed he'd be on the lookout for her owner during the day; probably letting McGonagall know about her would be the best course of action.
Draco sighed, trying to appear as non-threateningly as possible. He sauntered back towards her, speaking calmly in an effort to pacify the growling creature.
"Easy, girl. I'm not going to hurt you… See? I'm leaving my wand right here," he said, kneeling down and rolling his wand away. "I was trying to make you comfortable. I'm sorry if I startled you. Are you hungry?" he asked her earnestly, with the voice he only used in the presence of his mother. It lacked the venom he had laced it with for what seemed to be a lifetime ago.
If a cat could look puzzled, it would have the exact same face as his guest. Little by little, her ears perked up. He remained on his knees, looking her in the eyes with no mask in place. Soon enough, she stopped growling and just stared at him, blinking.
Draco smiled, extending his hand in front of her, beckoning the wary animal to come closer.
"I can get you some food, but I should check your wounds first. Would that be alright?"
He was amazed by her ability to convey her emotions without a human face or voice. She looked wary, yet hopeful. Her brown eyes sparkled with intelligence, which reminded him of Granger's furry beast — only in her case, she was no half-kneazle. She was just a brilliant, curly-haired house cat.
Her tail flicked a couple of times as the silence stretched between them, his smile unrelenting. Draco thought now that she was clean, she looked quite cute. He took the time to admire her as she seemed to come to a decision, slowly placing one hairy paw in front of the other until she sat just out of his reach.
They must've looked quite silly, sprawled on the floor, eyeing each other as they anxiously waited for the other to move first. Draco couldn't help but smile further.
"Okay, thank you. Now I'm going to get my wand and cast some charms to see if there's any wound I need to address…" he said, slowly reaching out with the same hand he had gestured her with. The cat sat on her hind legs, cocking her head to the right.
"Don't worry, this won't hurt one bit. Let me just move this around-" Draco explained, feeling a bit silly for talking to a bloody cat. It looked like it reassured her somehow, so he just kept going. Sure enough, she stayed very still except for a quick flicker of one of her ears, looking intently at the colours that popped in the diagnostic spell.
He let a slow breath in relief. His job had been done right.
"All set! You're okay. Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked, pocketing his wand.
"No," she seemed to answer, lowering her body in such a way she looked like a fuzzy loaf of bread on the plush carpeted floor.
Draco looked at the clock in the wall, noticing it wasn't exactly time for breakfast yet. However, seeing as the poor thing looked famished, he decided to go out anyway. Plus, he could get some food for himself as a way to avoid the crowds in the Great Hall. It was a win-win situation.
"I'll go to the kitchens and bring something to you. I'll be right back."
With a final backwards glance and a tight-lipped smile, he went through the portrait, not even noticing it was the first time in months he felt something akin to happiness.
Going to the kitchens hadn't been as bright an idea as he thought. As soon as he tickled the pear on the painting that opened the secret entrance to the room, dozens of frightened pairs of eyes were on him.
The elves were in the middle of preparing the breakfast banquet, so he would've laughed at the ingredients, pots and pans that had stopped in mid-air when he interrupted their work if the situation hadn't been as stomach-churning. They alternated between eyeing him suspiciously and glancing at each other, unsure of what to do. The only one who wasn't looking at him was a female house-elf drinking butterbeer on a stool by the fire.
Draco swallowed heavily, not really thinking things through before going there. What did he expect, that they'd welcome him with open arms? That they'd gladly give him an early meal and send him back with his belly full?
No. It had been stupid of him. They all knew what he'd done. Knew what he used to think about magical creatures like them.
With a sad sigh, he remembered the last time he'd seen Dobby, struggling to get his friends out of the Manor. Trying to save Granger from his deranged aunt. His friends would not want him, the son of the man who so cruelly abused him for years, standing in the middle of the kitchens.
Suddenly, a high-pitched squeaky voice interrupted his journey through memory lane.
"Good morning, young master Malfoy" a tiny, young elf said courteously. "What can Blinky helps you with?"
He was so shocked at her politeness that he couldn't utter a sound. The other elves were looking right at her, their big eyes filled with disbelief. The only noises that could be heard was the sizzling of pans and the roaring fires of the ovens, the rest of the occupants still frozen in disbelief.
"Right," Draco muttered, coming back to his senses, "I was wondering if I could have an early breakfast, um, please?" he asked, feeling strange for asking rather than demanding something to a servant. But baby steps, right?
Blinky's long ears flapped as she nodded attentively. "Certainly. Does master Malfoy has a special request?"
"Er, no. Anything will do. Oh, but could you please include some sausages?" He preferred baked, sweet foods for breakfast, but he couldn't give a cauldron cake to a cat. Blinky just nodded and curtsied, turning back to the depths of the kitchen. As soon as she disappeared, the other house-elves went back to their tasks.
Blinky took a very brief time to prepare an assortment of food and arrange it neatly on a beautiful basket, along with a whole bottle of pumpkin juice. She handed the basket to Draco and curtsied again, going back to work without a single word. The message was clear: he was to eat somewhere else, for he was not welcomed in the kitchens.
With a last sigh, he headed back to his dorm.
However, instead of a quiet stroll, he was found with his two loud-mouthed friends who had been looking for him.
"Oi, there you are, wanker!" Blaise exclaimed, ignoring the gasps and eye-rolls from the ancient portraits on the wall. Theo was next to him, all neat and proper as always. They were both so different, yet they could be so alike.
Especially when it came to pissing him off.
He knew he was being unfair, but his brain wasn't cooperating. It was still unusual to show their closeness outside of the safety of their dorm walls, for he always expected his father to send one of his letters from Azkaban, accusing him of disgracing the family by being with blood-traitors. He still instinctively let his eyes roam around, looking for a spy or a threat.
Yet, nothing was amiss. It was just the three of them in the middle of the hallway, smiling fondly at each other.
"We didn't have time to speak before McGonagall kidnapped you. We were half-hoping to find you before breakfast, but this new part of the castle is bloody confusing" Theo said, scratching his head. "Anyway, what's that?" he asked, pointing at the basket Draco was holding.
"Oh, I went to get an early breakfast," Draco said, dismissing Theo's bewilderment. "There's too much for one person, anyway. Wanna come over?" he asked, inviting the Slytherins to his new, solitary snake-pit.
"Sure!" Blaise agreed excitedly, putting his arm over Draco's shoulder. "As long as you shower before. You reek."
"Prat."
TW summary: Draco goes back to his room with the bleeding cat in his arms. He proceeds to heal it, having flashbacks of Hermione's torture at the Manor during the war due to the blood.