Chapter 11: The Stray

Draco numbly followed in Lupin's wake down the corridor, wondering why he wasn't being taken to Snape. What had Draco done to cause his mum's death? What would happen to him now, since Father obviously hated him? Was this it? Was Draco disowned, parentless, and by himself?

A painful lump sat in Draco's throat as Lupin gestured him and Justin into his office.

"Take a seat," Lupin told them.

Draco did. Justin sniffled and trembled beside him. So Potter hadn't actually killed the Basilisk. It still roamed the corridors. But—how had Draco survived? Like an afterimage, its yellow eyes lingered in Draco's mind. He'd looked directly into them.

Lupin went over to the fireplace. He tossed some black, glittery powder into the flames. "Severus, are you around? Come through, if you would."

A mass appeared in the fire. Snape, looking extremely cross, stepped out in his dressing-gown. "What is it, Lupin? I told you I would bring a goblet by in the af—"

He abruptly stopped speaking as he noticed Draco and Justin sitting there. He blurred in Draco's vision.

"Professor," Draco said, sniffling. "My mum is dead."

"What?" Snape replied in a quiet, harsh whisper.

"She's not," Lupin quickly spoke. "It was the Boggart, Severus."

Draco wiped his face. "My mum isn't dead?"

Snape regarded him in a pensive way, lips pressed. With a swish of his dressing-gown that was much less impressive than when he did so with his cloak, he disappeared back into the fireplace. He returned shortly with two small bottles of blue liquid.

"Here." He held one each to Draco and Justin. "Drink these."

Draco had taken enough Calming Draught in his life to know it when he saw it. The slightly minty taste prickled the back of his sinuses, making him wrinkle his nose. The Draught's magic tingled elsewhere, particularly where emotion clogged Draco's chest. It gradually deflated, and other feelings took its place. Primary among it as Draco took stock of the situation—him having been crying in front of two teachers and a classmate—was embarrassment.

Lupin went back to the fireplace to call another summons. When Professor Sprout came through, Draco felt even stupider to be upset in front of three of his teachers.

Professor Sprout went from chipper to alarmed. "Oh, what's happened? Are you all right, Justin?"

"Yeah," he sullenly replied.

"He ran into a Boggart in the corridor," Lupin explained. "Severus was kind enough to provide him with a Calming Draught."

"Oh. . ." There was a slight crone to Professor Sprout's tone. "I'm so sorry. Would you like me to escort you back to the common room?"

"No," Justin said quickly and jumped up from his seat. "I'm fine. I should have known it was a Boggart. . .stupid, really. . ."

"I'm feeling better too," Draco added as he also stood. "It only caught me off guard."

"Yeah," Justin agreed.

Sprout looked between them in sympathy. Snape's lips were pressed again. Lupin's brow was wrinkled.

"Breakfast, I think," Draco said. "I—thank you for the Calming Draught, Professor."

"Yes, thank you, Professor Snape." Justin bumped into Draco's side as he took a step toward the door. "It really did help."

Draco was first out of the office, Justin in hot pursuit. As they turned a corner, Draco glanced back over his shoulder to see that nobody followed them.

"Eastern tower," Justin mumbled.

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "I have to go get my bag and my wand, and stuff."

"I didn't have my wand either," Justin said. "So I guess it wouldn't have mattered, right? We couldn't have done anything about the Boggart."

"No, that was. . ." Draco's mind raced too. "It was too early in the morning to be thinking about things like that. And my father does come up to the school once in a while."

"And he probably yells like that?"

"No," Draco refuted immediately, at cost of the little narrative they were building. "I mean—well, no. But if my mum—maybe then he would."

"Right, yeah."

They reached the kitchen level landing, where Justin stepped off toward the corridor. He hesitated before facing Draco.

"I won't tell anyone," he said.

"Same," Draco promised.

"See you, then."

Luckily, the other Slytherin boys were having a lay-in in the still-dark dorm. Draco returned to the common room with his things to start on the list of spells he was behind in. He worked on that until Crabbe and Goyle emerged, had a big breakfast with them, and then went to the library.

By Sunday afternoon, Draco's to-do pile had shrunk to nothing. He looked forward greatly to Quidditch in the evening.

"I can't say a month off did much to set you back," Flint told Draco as the team converged in the changing room after practice. "How many members of the other teams would've had to take two months off for summer? You, on the other hand, received training from a professional."

Draco smirked. "Mhm."

"I feel good about this season, lads." Flint showed them all a full mouth of teeth. "Even if the Cup wasn't rewarded last year, we were technically in the lead. I'd love to go seven for seven, in all my years here at Hogwarts. It would look mighty good for when I try for one of the national teams."

"You might even be asked, at this point," Montague pointed out. "A proper scouting."

In Tuesday morning's Potions lesson, Professor Snape lingered close to Draco's workstation while he put the finishing touches on his Antidote to Common Poisons. Draco tried to use writing the homework down as means to pretend he didn't notice Snape.

"Malfoy," Snape addressed him.

"Oh—yes, Professor?" Draco nonchalantly replied without looking up.

"I'd like you to stay after class for a moment."

Draco pursed his lips. "I have to run by the dorm for more parchment before History of Magic. Staying behind might make me late."

Snape hummed, one eye narrowing, but gave a jerky nod and carried on. It only spared Draco for the one day. Snape repeated his request the next morning.

"I have Astronomy," Draco said, "and our classroom is up on the sixth floor this year. I'm nearly late every lesson anyway, if I don't run."

Snape let that one go too, but Draco's luck ran out the next morning. While he sat breakfast, a note fluttered down in front of him: I know you don't have a lesson until 11:00, nor do I teach until then. I expect you in my office at your earliest convenience.

Rather sullenly, Draco rapped his knuckles against Snape's office door just past nine o'clock.

"Enter," came Snape's voice.

Draco let himself in. Snape stood off to the side with his back to the office. When Snape turned to glance at Draco, he moved enough for the cauldron he tended to become visible. Blue smoke gently wafted from it.

"Malfoy," Snape greeted him. "I'm pleased you didn't bother to come up with an excuse this time."

"Being late for my classes weren't excuses—sir," Draco added to avoid sounding rude.

"Sit."

Draco did with a sigh. "Do we really have to talk about it?"

"I would rather discuss it with you than your parents." Snape joined Draco at his desk, slipping his wand into an inside pocket of his robes. "I imagine they would be rather upset to hear that a Boggart took the shape of your father when confronting you."

"I'm not afraid of my father," Draco retorted. "Why would I be? He's never yelled at me. The worst thing he ever did was lock me up at the house summer before last, but Father and Mum made up for it. I forgave them. We've never gotten along better than we do right now."

"So then why would you suppose a Boggart chose him to assume the shape of?"

"How should I know?" Draco shrugged irritably. "It wasn't the Boggart that got me. It's what it said."

"It told you that your mother was dead?"

Hearing that again put nauseous nerves in Draco's stomach. He knew now it wasn't true, and he understood how ridiculous the entire situation was.

"You certainly seemed to believe it," Snape said when Draco remained quiet.

Draco settled his gaze on his hands in his lap. "It caught me by surprise. I didn't expect Father to be there, and then he was yelling at me. I froze."

"So you were afraid of its words," Snape replied. "Not necessarily its form."

Draco nodded. He decided not to mention the blood traitor thing, or that Mum dying had been his fault, according to the Boggart.

"Is there a particular reason why you fear your mother dying?"

"I don't have much close family left, is all."

Snape hummed while assessing him. "Very well. You may go."

Draco remained in his seat, eyes narrowing as something came to mind. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"What does a Boggart turn into for you?"

Snape hesitated while reaching for a pile of homework. "It would be inappropriate to discuss that with a student."

"Why?" Draco asked. "You know what happens when I see one. I think it's only fair."

"There's no such thing as fair when I'm your teacher."

Draco pursed his lips briefly. "I think it would make me feel a lot better, you know, if maybe someone that I look up to had a Boggart that was similar, or something."

Snape raised an eyebrow at Draco, who gave a small, hopeful smile.

"You are a menace, Malfoy," Snape said, unmoved. "And, I repeat, you may go."

With another hefty sigh, Draco pushed himself up out of the chair. It occurred to him at the door that he ought to tell Snape his arm was doing well since being out of the sling. However, Draco hesitated when he turned back. Snape's face was long in a way that seemed unprotected. His gaze was downward, and whatever train of thought he'd been on prior to Draco's visit seemed to have left the station.

It made Draco uncomfortable, as though he intruded on something private. Lips pressed and feeling a little bad that he'd been so insistent, Draco carried on as if he'd never seen anything at all.

As the sun rose lower in the autumn sky with each new day, the temperature steadily dropped. Draco ate soup at more meals than not. Hot chocolate became a daily fixture. By mid-October, Draco had come to expect that Crabbe and Goyle—and sometimes Pansy and Millicent—would meet him after Quidditch practice with a steaming mug of it. Hot showers before bed on Wednesdays and Sundays were the only way Draco could expect to sleep, rather than lay in bed and shiver.

Before Draco knew it, the end of October was upon him. Less than ten days separated him from facing off against Potter on the Quidditch pitch, but it didn't feel terribly close just yet. Draco wagered that once the Halloween weekend passed—along with their first Hogsmeade visit—the match would feel incredibly immediate.

The night before the Hogsmeade visit, Draco sat in the common room with Crabbe and Goyle, wrapping up the Herbology and Transfiguration homework due Monday. Goyle made steady progress beside Draco, but Crabbe didn't. Brow furrowed, he would spend lengthy amounts of time staring at his mostly-empty parchment before exhaling heavily and looking around the common room.

"Stop it," Draco said without looking up when Crabbe sighed again.

"What?" Crabbe snapped.

"Whatever it is you're doing." Draco shot him a glare. "It's annoying."

Crabbe grunted. "Didn't realize I need your permission to breathe."

Draco didn't dignify that with a response.

When Crabbe stood a little later and moved out of earshot, Draco nudged Goyle. "What d'you reckon crawled up his arse and died?"

"That."

Draco followed Goyle's gaze to where Crabbe, hands in his trouser pockets and looking surlier than ever, spoke at the side of the common room with Millicent. Her eyes went wide when Crabbe finished talking, and red blotches appeared on her cheeks. While tucking her hair behind her ear, Millicent slowly broke into a smile. She nodded.

"What's it about?" Draco asked Goyle.

Goyle didn't answer. Millicent headed back to where she'd been sitting. Draco watched Pansy as Millicent said something to her. Pansy's gasp was audible, and then she and Millicent started to giggle.

Crabbe dropped back into his chair. When he exhaled this time, it was more like a sigh of relief. He looked mighty pleased with himself.

"What was that about?" Draco repeated his question.

"Asked her to Hogsmeade," Crabbe replied.

Draco blinked. "Like on a date?"

"Yep." Crabbe reached for his homework. "She said yes."

"Told you she would," Goyle said.

"It's harder to believe things will turn out when it's you."

"I know." Goyle held his parchment aloft so that he could consult Intermediate Transfiguration underneath it. "I've been through it."

While the two of them went back to work, Draco's quill hand remained still. He felt as though he'd slept through the important bits of a long conversation.

"I didn't know you fancied her." Draco wasn't certain he kept an accusing tone out of his statement.

It was Goyle that replied, "You didn't realize?"

Draco shook his head, although he supposed now in hindsight he could see it. Crabbe had been sulky on the train because they hadn't gotten into the same compartment as Millicent. As term wore on, it was Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and Millicent that Draco found himself spending most of his time with. He'd thought that was because Pansy had become Draco's best girl friend—that is, a friend who just so happened to be a girl.

"Huh," Draco said in conclusion.

"What about it?" Crabbe asked, borderline cross. "You didn't think she would fancy me? Or you didn't think I had it in me to ask her out?"

"None of that," Draco shot back in the same tone. "I just didn't realize that was going on. Nobody told me."

"I guess this wouldn't be the first thing like that you've missed."

Draco straightened up, offended. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Goyle spoke before Crabbe could. "That's not fair, Crabbe. Malfoy was at Quidditch practice when you and Millicent talked most."

"Because it's nearly impossible for anyone else to get a word in, otherwise."

"Hey!" Goyle snapped.

His sulkiest yet, Crabbe glowered at Draco before turning pointedly to his homework.

"Wow," Draco spoke into the charged quiet. "I'll just shut up, then."

With that, Draco snapped his book shut and gathered his things off the tea table.

"Have fun tomorrow," he told Crabbe before heading for the dorm.

In there, Draco moodily pulled his bed curtains shut. He lit his lamp and tried to keep working on his Transfiguration. As mingled anger and hurt buffeted off each other within Draco's chest, schoolwork started to feel a bit like a lost cause.

Just as Draco heating up reached a boiling point, footsteps carried in through the dorm door. They stopped on the other side of Draco's curtains.

"Malfoy." It was Crabbe, sounding just as sulky as when Draco left the common room.

"What?" Draco tersely replied.

There was a pause. "Sorry."

He said it quite stiffly. Draco assessed his tone, trying to discern whether Crabbe really meant it or if he was only here because Goyle made him.

"All right," Draco replied, apathetic to the difference.

Crabbe lingered there. "Milly and I aren't meeting until noon at the Three Broomsticks. Are we still on to go into the shops before that?"

"Are you finished being a prat?"

"Yeah." Crabbe's sullenness increased.

"Then yes."

"Are you going to come back out to the common room?"

Draco pursed his lips as he assessed his parchment and Transfiguration textbook. It certainly wasn't going to get finished any quicker in here, and he was admittedly curious as to how Crabbe's attitude had changed after a potential dressing down from Goyle.

"Yeah," he decided. "Sure."

Draco finished his homework with a decent chunk of time to kill before bedtime. He used the opportunity to ask Crabbe about Millicent, and how that whole thing came about.

"It hit me at the summer solstice gala." Crabbe sat in a heavy lean on his chair's armrest, his fist digging into his cheek and half-hiding his smile. "She was really pretty."

"Yeah," Draco agreed.

"So what about you and Pansy?" Crabbe asked.

A shot of something like cold panic passed through Draco's stomach. "What about us?"

"You hang out a lot."

Draco shrugged, heart pounding. "Has she said something?"

"No," Crabbe said, while Goyle shook his head. "Do you like her, though?"

"Not like that."

"So who do you fancy?"

"No one."

"Nobody at all?" Goyle asked.

"Even if I did, I don't have time for anything like that," Draco said, which was actually true. "After all that Hippogriff nonsense, I've had to catch up on setting myself that Firebolt."

"Guess so."

Still, Draco went to bed nervous. Not since the first Care of Magical Creatures lesson with the Flobberworms, when Pansy asked if Draco had been flirting with Potter, had this sort of question arose. What exactly was Draco doing that made it look that way to everyone around him?

Draco led Crabbe and Goyle to the Great Hall for breakfast in the morning, and then to the queue for Hogsmeade.

"Are you nervous?" Draco asked Crabbe.

"Yeah, you barely ate," Goyle said.

Crabbe just grunted, and Draco didn't blame him. On this side of the night, he was nervous. Draco really wanted this to go well. He thought that Crabbe and Millicent would make a good couple, were they to pair up.

"You don't reckon I got ahead of myself asking her, do you?" Crabbe asked. "Maybe she'd have rathered we all just go as a group."

Draco waved that off. "She wouldn't have said yes, were that the case."

Crabbe visibly relaxed. "I guess."

"And you aren't meeting until noon. It's not like you're having to entertain each other all day. You could always join up with the rest of us, if you wanted."

"Yeah."

Draco slipped his hands into his cloak pockets, peering ahead where Potter, Weasley, and Granger stood. Potter looked oddly miserable for it being their first Hogsmeade weekend. Things started to make more sense to Draco as Potter moodily stepped off from Weasley and Granger.

"Look at this," Draco said to Goyle with a nudge of his elbow. "Staying here, Potter?"

Potter continued in his slouch toward the marble staircase.

"Scared of passing the Dementors?" Draco tried again, and then huffed when Potter gave him nothing. "I swear, he's so boring anymore."

"He still gets that dark look about him whenever he sees your bandages," Goyle said.

"Yeah, he thinks I faked getting hurt." Draco scoffed. "I'd like him to say that to Madam Pomfrey, that either she's signing off on it or just doesn't know her stuff."

"Nobody's that brave."

They all laughed, which seemed to put Filch's suspicion of them into overdrive. They weren't sneaking anything out beyond pockets fat with coins, though. Draco wrapped his cloak tighter around himself as the wind came up over the grounds.

The Dementors had slipped out of Draco's notice over time, only ever seen at a distance from the Quidditch pitch. Draco started to feel his happiness be tapped as he approached the gate. He took a deep breath and tried not to let any good feelings in his mind go by simply not thinking about them. There aren't any here, try someone else. . .

Draco likened it to holding his breath while walking through a poisonous cloud; the sting of it touched his eyes and nostrils, but his lungs were fine. He let up when Crabbe and Goyle both gave a final sort of shudder.

"They really are terrible," Goyle said. "I hope they aren't floating around Hogsmeade."

"Same," Crabbe replied in a grunt.

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle followed the crowd toward the Three Broomsticks, where they asked Madam Rosmerta for three takeaway Butterbeers. They sipped at those while trading some of their coins for joke items at Zonko's and sweets at Honeydukes. The two shops were so crowded that it was nearly impossible to get in and out. The queues to pay were atrocious. Finally, they emerged from Honeydukes.

"Oh—hi."

They'd nearly bumped into Pansy and Millicent. It was Millicent who had spoken, at sight of Crabbe. She and Pansy wore new clothes, and had done their faces up in a way that made their hazel-coloured eyes stand out. Pansy's lips glistened, slightly pink. Millicent's hair looked soft when curled.

"Hi," Crabbe replied, looking rather gormless and tongue-tied.

Draco caught Pansy's eye before looking at his watch. "It's already half-eleven. Did you two want to go on ahead, then?"

Crabbe and Millicent both gave him a wide-eyed look. Under any other circumstance, Draco would have blamed the cold air for the colour that simultaneously rose on their cheeks.

"I mean, we could. . ." Crabbe half-stammered, then gestured at Honeydukes. "If you wanted sweets, I could. . ."

"All right," Millicent said.

"You can come with us," Draco told Pansy.

They went their separate ways at that, Crabbe and Millicent inside, and Draco, Goyle, and Pansy to the street.

Pansy huffed. "I wanted to go in there too."

"We can once they're finished," Draco suggested. "Let's give them some space."

"I hope Millicent will be all right," Pansy said as the three of them migrated toward a bench. "She's so nervous."

"So is Crabbe."

"Well, that's good, I suppose." Pansy plopped down. "It'll make her feel better, at any rate."

"It's like that for a while anyway," Goyle said, sitting on Draco's other side. "I don't think anyone really avoids it."

"Oooh, I forgot you're the expert," Pansy teased with a reach past Draco to nudge Goyle's shoulder. "Did that little whirlwind romance you had with Daphne in first year teach you everything you needed to know?"

Goyle gave her an unimpressed look.

"Relax, I'm only joking," she said. "So where've you two visited so far?"

They didn't have much to talk about yet. Draco dug around in his pockets for the sweets he wanted to try but had never yet had a chance. His mouth was full of toffee when Crabbe and Millicent emerged from Honeydukes. Chatting, they turned toward the Three Broomsticks. Draco waited until they'd disappeared before speaking.

"Let's go in," he told Pansy. "Coming, Goyle?"

"I'll wait here," he said. "I want to save the rest of my money for Dervish and Banges."

Draco was bumped every which way inside and was feeling grumpy when Pansy finally paid for her lot. They'd been gone long enough for Goyle to make a friend. He had brought a bag of dried meat out of his pockets. With a little smile on his face, he tossed bits of it to a big, shaggy black dog. The dog's tail wagged slightly as it waited for the next piece.

"Who's this, then?" Draco asked.

The dog looked in Draco's direction, and then visibly flinched.

Goyle frowned. "Don't scare it off, Malfoy! I only just convinced it to come over."

"I didn't even do anything," Draco half-snapped.

Regardless, he kept his distance. The dog was eyeing him rather warily. Its tail wagged in a steady although very stiff manner.

Draco considered it. "You don't reckon it bites, do you?"

"Don't think so." With a thoughtful hum, Goyle stood from the bench. "Hold on."

He tried to get close to the dog, but the dog kept backing up. Every time Goyle got within five feet or so of it, he would bend over like a sideways bow.

"What're you doing?" Pansy asked.

"Trying to see if it's a boy or a girl," Goyle grunted.

Draco ended up ducking his head from the force of his snort. By the time he'd opened his eyes, the dog was gone spare a glimpse of its tail around the corner of the post office.

Goyle's shoulders slumped. "Aw."

"Maybe you'll see it again," Draco said. "Come, let's go to Dervish and Banges."