"No."
Draco shook his head with such ferocity that he began to wonder if it might dislocate from his body and roll right off his shoulders. He actually imagined his head falling off, rolling across the ancient rug that adorned the floor of McGonagall's office and landing before the old bat's feet.
Half the people in the school wanted his head anyway. Let them have it.
Never had Draco been more furious in his life. And that was saying a lot, given how many anger-inducing events he had endured in his short sixteen years on earth. He never imagined his downfall would occur here, in the office of Minerva McGonagall with Severus fucking Snape bearing witness to Draco's great shame. He felt as though he might be sick, hopefully all over the stupid, old rug.
"No," Draco repeated, a bit more aggressively. "I won't do it and you can't make me." He was aware that he sounded a lot like a petulant child but wouldn't you, if you just found out that you were being forced together with your greatest enemy?
"Oh, I assure you that we can, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall corrected. She stepped towards Snape, who was hovering menacingly by the fireplace. McGonagall's right eyebrow arched high on her forehead as she shared a knowing glance with her colleague. "And if necessary, we will resort to extreme measures to ensure it happens."
The elder witch clasped her hands on her stomach and slowly paced the room, staring at the ground thoughtfully while she spoke. "I'm saddened to say that your academic performance has been shockingly unsatisfactory this term. Your attendance record is non-existent. You have not handed in as much as one assignment. The worst of your crimes, however, is your constant harassment of the teachers and pupils of this institution. I'm afraid that we cannot allow such behaviour at Hogwarts and thus, we have no choice but to expel you, unless your grades and attitude improve immediately."
What a shame that would be, Draco thought sarcastically.
"Your grades are abysmal." This time, the lecturing came from Snape. He loomed behind McGonagall in the same way that a child would cower behind their mother. With his arms crossed over his robes, Snape reminded Draco of a teacher's pet tattling on a classmate. He supposed this was what he looked like to other students all these years at Hogwarts. Lucky for them, he no longer gave a damn what anyone did at this school.
They wanted him to be tutored. While McGonagall insisted that wasn't the correct term, it suited the punishment well enough for Draco's definition. The humiliation stung deep within him. Malfoys did not need help from anyone to be great. They simply were great. Sure, he wasn't the student he used to be. He slipped from his position at the top of his class and maybe now he lingered somewhere closer to the bottom. But who could blame him, what with all the things he had on his mind these days? Snape knew exactly what Draco was faced with. That fact alone made his presence at this meeting particularly insulting.
The tension between Draco and his head of house was palpable. Frankly, Draco couldn't care less about Snape's authority. He felt the way that Snape stared down at him with his beady black eyes, silently warning Draco to be subservient. To do as the old woman said. Snape controlled every aspect of Draco's life these days. On this front, Draco had no intention of giving in so easily.
Maybe he could be pushed around by his father, by Snape, by bloody Voldemort. But he wasn't about to let McGonagall boss him around, Deputy Headmistress or not. Let Snape be mad at him all he pleased. This wasn't a fight that Draco planned to back down from.
"So what?" Draco pressed. "Suppose I get my grades back up to par on my own. In my opinion, it's highly unnecessary to have some snot-nosed Head Boy or Girl teach me Potions or whatever scheme you two have concocted. How about you take my word for it and we call this meeting a success?"
"Unfortunately, that decision is no longer up to you. We have given you ample warning, both verbal and written, not to mention numerous opportunities to mend things on your own. Yet you have chosen not to listen time and time again."
Draco's patience was wearing thin. Maybe it was the suffocating anxiety that he carried with him since arriving at school or the unbearable heat in McGonagall's tiny office or the way that Snape's pitch-black eyes stared down his pointy nose at Draco. Maybe it was a combination of all three things. Regardless of the source, Draco felt the anger boiling within him, slowly reaching the surface, waiting for the opportune moment to spew out onto his professors.
Trying to remain as calm as possible, Draco turned to narrow his eyes at the Deputy Headmistress. "I'm sorry but why are you even here? Is this not a subject of discussion best suited for the Head of Slytherin house or perhaps even the Headmaster? Where even is Dumbledore these days? He's hardly present, even when he isn't galavanting off to Merlin-knows-where. I can't see how lecturing Slytherin students about their grades falls under the jurisdiction of a Gryffindor."
"You will watch your tongue and show respect to Professor McGonagall," Snape commanded through gritted teeth. Draco shot him a look of disgust.
"As a matter of fact," McGonagall responded, unperturbed by Draco's attitude. "This matter greatly concerns everyone in this room."
Admittedly, Draco was intrigued—alarmed, but intrigued all the same. "Enlighten me."
"The student whom we have arranged to assist you is from the Gryffindor house. Thankfully, after significant persuasion, they have agreed to help." Draco appreciated how she emphasized the word 'significant,' to drive home how truly despised he was in his own community.
"Not a damn Gryffindor," Draco scoffed. He turned his lips up into a wicked grin, baring his teeth as though they were fangs. "Alright then. Which poor sod have you decided to unleash me upon?"
"Miss Hermione Granger." McGongall's words hung in the air, sealing a ward of silence around the room. Draco struggled to process what she was saying. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, breathing slowly through his teeth. The fury coursed through his veins, electrifying his every nerve. Hermione fucking Granger.
"You're having a laugh," he spat. Opening his eyes, he glanced back and forth between the professors, expecting one of them to crack a smile. He didn't anticipate McGonagall or Snape to be the pranking type, but he was willing to accept that before he would accept his own fate. "What kind of a sick fucking joke is this?"
"Mr. Malfoy, I have tolerated your poor conduct up to this point and I feel I have been quite lenient in allowing your profanities to slide," McGonagall said. She was outwardly calm, but Draco could hear the anger in her tone. "However, I will remind you that you are in the presence of two professors, one of whom is your Head of House. I should warn you that your next transgression will be your last."
Draco couldn't wrap his head around any of it. He was fairly certain that McGonagall had it out for him from the very first moment she watched him walk through the Entrance Hall. The Malfoy name carried a reputation that no one could ignore, for better or for worse. These things did come with their prejudices. McGonagall hated him for his name, for his blood, for his birthright. Frankly, who didn't these days?
This had to be some backhanded way to punish him for being a Malfoy. He had to hand it to the headmistress—she was creative. And if she was trying to torture him, she really had hit the nail on the head.
"This is absolutely ridiculous. My—" Draco began to say. He stopped himself before the words could fall off his lips. He almost threatened to tell his father, an old tactic he used when things didn't go his way. Imagine the mockery. What was he going to do? Tattle to his incarcerated Death Eater father? He couldn't even contact his father, let alone wrap him up in Hogwarts politics.
Draco pictured Hermione Granger in his mind. Her chin perpetually tilted skyward as she strutted through the corridor of the school as though she owned the place. Oh, how the students of Hogwarts fell for her deception. They believed her to be remarkable, despite the truth: she was unexceptional, dull, a nobody. This plain Muggle girl was supposed to tame someone like Draco? He would like to see her try.
Draco looked McGonagall in the eye. He had few weapons left in his arsenal. But he sure as hell could try to call her bluff. "Not bloody likely. But I appreciate the opportunity."
"I'm afraid I haven't made myself clear. If you choose to not accept these terms, your position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be terminated, effective immediately. Filch is waiting outside the office as we speak, ready to act upon my command. Your trunks will be packed within the hour and you will be sent home on the train before dusk. Is that truly what you want?"
Without hesitation, Draco opened his mouth to say yes. Almost. He watched his freedom flash before his eyes like the light at the end of a tunnel, calling out to him and promising a world without Harry Potter or Hermione Granger or Severus Snape.
But then he remembered a sobering reality—he had an errand to do. One that required him to be at Hogwarts. How could he murder the Headmaster as well as sneak a dozen or so Death Eaters inside the most protected building in Europe without being on the inside?
To kill or be killed, that was the question.
A knot wound itself tight in Draco's stomach. He knew what he had to reply, what he had to sacrifice for the task at hand. But the words caught in his throat. He cleared his throat, fighting the urge to yank at the tie around his neck which felt like it was blocking his airway. Finally, he spat out the words as though they were poisoned. "No, that is not what I want. I'll do it."
Relief washed over Snape's face. Behind McGonagall's back, out of her eyesight, Snape gave Draco a curt but approving nod. Yeah, fuck you, Draco thought spitefully.
"Excellent," McGonagall responded, though she hardly seemed pleased. Draco would have bet money that she hoped he would take the easy route and go home.
McGonagall moved over to her desk, tidying a few pieces of parchment. "Your first lesson will be held this evening in the library."
"Tonight?" Panic rose in Draco's throat like bile. He had no time to prepare, no time to plan his escape from the school and from his life in only a few short hours. He racked his brain for an adequate excuse. "Yeah, I wouldn't count on it. Granger will never agree to this."
"As I've already said, I spoke to Ms. Granger and she agreed. 9 o'clock. Don't be late." McGonagall started towards the door, signalling the end of the conversation. Draco was desperate. He needed to buy himself time. He stepped forward, thinking on his feet.
"I should warn you that I'm feeling under the weather today. I think I ate a bad egg at breakfast."
McGonagall glanced over her shoulder as she held open the door. A bored look filled her eyes. "How regrettable. I'll inform Madam Pomfrey to expect you at the infirmary this afternoon. She'll have you on the mend in no time. Good afternoon, Malfoy."
With that, Draco was officially dismissed. McGonagall won this round, though she did not realize it was all for naught. The only thing keeping Draco at Hogwarts was the eventual death of Albus Dumbledore. The irony was not lost on him.
Defeated, Draco stalked into the corridor with his fists clenched by his sides. He had never been particularly physical as a child. Why bother, when he had an endless supply of magic at his disposal? Lately though, he felt as though he could punch a hole right through one of the stone castle walls. The school term only recently began and already it was decidedly the worst one yet. He suspected it was only bound to get worse.
In the corridor, Draco passed Filch who, just as McGonagall threatened, was waiting by the door to the office. He stood with his arms dangling by his sides, his back hunched in that peculiar way of his. When Draco passed, Filch laughed menacingly under his breath. In response, Draco shot him a dirty look and picked up his pace to pass through the corridor.
A million questions flooded his thoughts as he ambled through the castle. For how long would he be expected to suffer? How long would he have to endure the consequences of his father's actions? Why had that man brought him into this world, only to shackle him to a fate that would eventually lead to his demise? Why place his own son under the constant surveillance of a raging psychopath with unreliable violent tendencies, just so that he could be right?
Voldemort would kill Draco for any number of reasons without hesitation. If Draco were to let slip the plan to kill Dumbledore before the deed was done or worse, fail to execute the plan at all, Voldemort was sure to have Draco's head on a spike.
A powerful man like Albus Dumbledore would be protected. He would effectively disappear from this world and the next if he suspected that someone was coming for his life. He had done as much for far less before. The only reason that the Death Eaters stood a fighting chance was that Dumbledore let down his guard within his fortified school. While he was busy playing Headmaster, a plot was brewing. Draco could not afford to let it fail.
Like most other times, Draco escaped to the courtyard for a moment of quiet solitude. The sun was sinking below the tree but many students lingered outside, trying to soak in whatever fresh air and freedom they were permitted. With the new restrictions placed on the castle and its occupants, it was hard not to feel claustrophobic.
In that regard, Draco almost felt akin to his peers. It may be the only bond they ever shared in all these years. But Draco tried not to be too sentimental about it. In a few months, each and every one of them would want him dead. That is, if they didn't already.
A gust of wind blew through the covered walkways surrounding the courtyard, carrying the smell of fresh pine and a hint of perfume to Draco's nose. From the corner of his eye, Draco saw a mass of dark curls billowing in the breeze. His blood ran cold. He stopped in his tracks, concealing himself behind a stone wall. He observed Hermione Granger afar as though he were a Magizoologist studying a creature.
She was sitting on a bench, just as she was the last time he saw her. However, this time, she was scribbling her quill hastily across a piece of parchment. Her hair was completely wild, not that she gave a toss about how she looked. She seemed equally unbothered about the commotion around her. In fact, Draco wasn't certain that she realized there was anyone around her at all.
The sight made Draco seethe. How could anyone be so ignorant to the world around him?
Maybe it was possible that he was guilty of projecting his own personal feelings onto Hermione and everyone else for that matter. Frankly, he felt that it was warranted. If anyone deserved to be targeted, it was Hermione.
Supposedly flawless and indisputably intelligent—yes, even Draco could privately admit that Hermione was smart—he didn't know anyone who didn't openly or secretly envy her. If her biggest problem in the world was being teased for being a know-it-all, then she had nothing to complain about.
Every summer, Hermione returned to her bizarre Muggle world with her perfect parents who cleaned teeth for a living and Draco went home to his destructive home, with his abusive father and damaged mother. Draco laughed internally at the thought of Hermione having to suffer even a day in his shoes.
He had half a mind to storm up to her and give her shit for agreeing to McGonagall's proposition. But the last thing he wanted right now was for anyone to overhear that he would be spending time with her. Instead, he shook his head and continued past the courtyard. He would rather eat his own hand than be anywhere near Hermione Granger.
As he sauntered through the corridor, passing students and stone gargoyles alike, Draco spotted a figure lurking in the shadows as though it were waiting for him. As he approached, pretending to be unfazed by the presence, he recognized the distinctive long jet-black hair and striking green eyes gleaming back at him.
"Afternoon, Draco," Pansy Parkinson purred, emerging into the daylight. She slowly moved towards Draco, uniform skirt swishing around her legs and emerald green Prefect badge shimmering in the candle-lit corridor. She reached out with long manicured nails to adjust Draco's tie. He tried not to squirm even though he felt like he was choking, Once his tie was in its proper place, Pansy patted it lightly with her hand and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I've been looking all over you."
"Have you?" Draco mused. He gazed at her, certain that she would see the boredom in his eyes, hear the dullness in his voice. If only she were to pay attention, she would see through his facade. But she didn't and she wouldn't. That wasn't how their relationship worked—if you could even call it that. Draco huffed, pulling down on his jumper hem. "Well, I've been busy."
"Too busy for Pansy?" Her bottom lip pouted out dramatically as she put on a voice that mimicked a child. It made Draco want to gag. Did he really fall for this act last year and the year before that? Pansy dragged her index finger along Draco's chest, up to his collarbone. "I missed you this summer."
Clearly, Pansy wasn't all that interested in finding out where Draco had been all afternoon—or all summer, for that matter. But Draco wasn't resentful. In fact, he was grateful for her disinterest for he had no intentions of sharing and she didn't want to listen anyway. Maybe that was why they worked so well together.
Pansy and Draco had been an item on-and-off since fourth year. It started with the Yule Ball. Knowing that Pansy carried a torch for him made choosing a date to the ball easy. He supposed then that it was easy to continue seeing her. Neither of them ever discussed the arrangement. It just happened naturally.
Sometimes, he really hated Pansy. He knew she felt the same about him, too. But they fell into this pattern of stop and go that neither of them knew how to quit.
"Yeah?" Draco responded absentmindedly. He wasn't typically all that absorbed in anything that Pansy had to say, but today, he felt even more lost in their conversation. His mind was elsewhere. That it felt fuzzier than it had these past few years are truly saying something. Try as he might, Draco was unable to stop himself from thinking about Hermione Granger nor could he stop himself from wishing her dead.
Pansy interrupted his thoughts with her quiet, sickly sweet voice. "Why don't you meet me tonight after supper tonight? We can do our rounds, catching students after curfew and demoting points. And we can… catch up." She stared up at him with wide eyes, deceptively innocent and repulsively childlike.
If he was being frank, Pansy Parkinson annoyed the fuck out of Draco. She was quite possibly the least interesting person he had known. And sometimes he truly believed that she did not have a single brain cell to call her own.
But he agreed to meet with her. Not because he wanted to, not because he should, but because she was there. She was always there. And Merlin knew he needed a distraction. That's what Pansy was to him: a sufficient distraction.
Leaning onto her tiptoes, Pansy pressed a small kiss below Draco's ear. As she bounced back down, her black hair swished around her shoulders before settling upon her back. She linked her arm into Draco's and lead him towards the Great Hall with a gleeful giggle.
Sometimes Draco wondered if Pansy gave a damn about him or if this was an attempt to play the covert games of the social elite. Their match brought something to the table. He was certain her family imagined them marrying, producing spoiled rotten children, and continuing the pureblood line.
Maybe all Draco ever would be was a pawn in someone else's game.
The pair strolled down the corridor together while Pansy babbled about spending her summer holiday in Monaco. Passersby looked on with judgemental stares. Maybe it was intentional or maybe they were purposely trying to send a message. All the while, Draco maintained an expressionless look on his face as his mind drifted to thoughts of the curly-haired witch who awaited him that evening.
