Author's Note: I'm so, so sorry that it's taken me such a long time to update. There really is no excuse…but I have been very busy! Anyway, here's the next chapter, and I hope you enjoy.
Chapter Two
It was sheer luck that Draco managed to wake up on time, as his wand inexplicably failed to wake him. All he knew was that one moment he had been laying about and mulling, much like any night, and the next moment he was blinking against slit rays of sunshine. He closed his eyes, allowing the unexpected heat to warm his face. Then…
"Fuck!" Draco sat up with a start, pushing his blankets away. This was all he needed, to be late on his first day back at Hogwarts. As if his mother hadn't fought tooth and nail with the Ministry to simply allow him to attend, as if he had chosen to spend the summer attending trials and disciplinary hearings rather than the summer N.E.W.T.S. courses that others in his year had opted to do.
Draco relaxed slightly upon checking the time - he wasn't late, and if he played his cards right, he wouldn't be. Pushing himself upright and walking towards the door, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in a mirror he had failed to notice the previous night.
He paused, peering into the glass. Dull eyes peered back at him, while a pale halo of hair surrounded a face much too sharp and pointy to ever be considered attractive. Not that that had mattered, once, back when he'd been so sure of himself and the world he belonged to. When life had seemed vast and exciting, each day brimming with possibility, with admiration and respect from his peers, if only because he was Lucius Malfoy's son. He'd been someone then, someone who could have been important, powerful even, given the time.
"Fuck," Draco said, scowling. Mirror-Draco scowled back, causing Draco to scowl harder. He'd never realized before how much like a spoiled child he could look. It was no wonder that Potter had laughed at him.
Draco sighed, finally averting his gaze from the mirror. He eyed the door, wondering if Potter and Weasley had already left. He hoped so.
Swinging the door open, he wasted no time in dashing to the bathroom and locking the door behind him. Several minutes later - showered, shaved, and slightly more optimistic about the day, he wrapped a towel around his waist and headed back to his bedroom.
"Malfoy!"
Draco froze, not bothering to turn around. Not wanting to turn around. "What do you want, Potter?"
"I just wanted to let you know that the Portkeys are here…er, on the table, that is." Potter's voice had a slightly hoarse undertone, as though he'd spent the entire night awake. And if the previous night had been any indication, he probably had.
Draco shrugged his shoulders, refusing to continue in that line of thinking. He did not care about Potter. At all.
"Great." He resumed walking, disconcertingly aware of Potter's eyes on his back, watching his retreat. The same eyes that had watched him across the room at his trial, burning with intensity and apprehension. So it was Potter's fault, as were most things, that he was a shaking mess of nerves by the time he had finished dressing, that his hands shook so badly he could hardly manage to knot his own tie.
But he did manage, somehow, even managed to grasp his Portkey (which creatively enough, was a key), and found himself lurched forward, whether he was ready or not.
*
"You're Draco Malfoy, aren't you?" The girl sitting across from him at the Slytherin table was even more nervous than Draco, twitching almost spastically while wriggling about like a hyperactive Crup puppy.
"Maybe," Draco answered.
The girl grinned. She couldn't have been older than a first year, which would explain why she was talking to Draco.
"I knew you were. Are, I mean. Is it true you have the Dark Mark? And did Harry Potter really save your life? What was it like? I want to get his autograph - I brought my autograph book and everything."
Draco scowled, unable to help himself, his eyes straying on their own accord towards the Gryffindor table. Towards Potter. This morning he was sitting with the female Weasley, the same snotty, freckled bitch who had once hit Draco with a particularly potent Bat Bogey Hex. She sat ridiculously close to Potter, her bright hair brushing over his shoulder when she whispered something in his ear. Potter smiled, blushing slightly when she squeezed his hand.
Draco forced himself to look away, a strange gnawing sensation stirring his insides. He was obviously going mad, his brain addled from one too many Crucios. Because other than madness, there was no other explanation possible for the sudden, troubling thought - that he wanted to be the one Potter smiled at, unabashedly and without reserve. It was enough to make him lose his appetite completely, and he pushed himself away from the table and onto his feet.
"Where are you going?" the girl - Potter's undying fan - asked innocently.
Draco narrowed his eyes at her. The freckles amassing her nose and forehead reminded him of a Weasley.
"None of your business," he said sharply, ignoring the small stab of remorse that resulted upon seeing her face fall. But he was doing her a favor, really. Life was a bitch and she'd best get used to it. He left without a backward glance.
Draco had Potions class first thing, but leaving the Great Hall early left him with time to spare, and he proceeded to stroll around the castle for a good while, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells he'd grown accustomed to over the years; the portraits, the winding, drafty, ever-changing corridors. He'd loved it once, he really had - despite what Potter and his cronies had thought of him, he had had friends, good memories, fun times…
That was gone now. With every corner Draco turned, there was nothing remaining of those carefree, innocent days. Now he saw the spot where the Carrows had performed the Cruciatus curse on a Ravenclaw girl, once. Turn again, go up a few stairs, and there was the bathroom where Draco's sixth year confidante, Moaning Myrtle, resided. Then, many stairs and turns later, there was a blackened, scorched area of wall - behind it, presumably, was the Room of Hidden Things. Or rather, what remained of it.
Draco leaned against the wall, feeling the cool stone beneath his cheek. He traced a finger absently over the scorched portion. Crabbe's body had never been recovered - there'd been nothing left to recover, when it came down to it. Fiendfire destroys everything in its path…even remnants of the Dark Lord's soul, as rumor had it. Poor Crabbe hadn't stood a chance.
"Well, look who it is," a voice said from behind him. Draco whirled around, his body tensing immediately. Four sixth year Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw girl, all of whom Draco recognized, none of whom he could name, had gathered around him.
"What the hell do you want?" Draco sneered, drawing himself up, pushing away from the charred wall. He resisted the innate urge to reach for his wand - he would be expelled so quickly his head would spin.
The dark-haired boy who had spoken, however, held no such qualms. He held his wand steadily at Draco, although his hand shook slightly. Draco smirked. Some Gryffindor.
The boy saw, apparently, and he scowled, jabbing Draco in the chest. "You should be in Azkaban with your father, Malfoy. My mum - lots of the parents here - they're creating a petition to get you kicked out of Hogwarts."
"Lucky me," Draco muttered, squirming away from the sharp end of the wand.
"You're a danger to society," the Ravenclaw girl, whom Draco recalled as being Muggle-born, piped in, then bit her lip nervously. She looked down, then up again, her eyes swimming with tears. "My sister is dead because of you, your father…"
"My father's never killed anyone!" he snapped, pushing the wand away from his chest. "And neither have I. So kindly go fuck yourselves, and be happy there's one less Mudblood in the world…"
Draco cringed the second the words were out of his mouth - verbal negotiations had never been his strongpoint after all, followed closely by beating Potter at Quidditch and murdering Headmasters.
Several things happened at once; there were angry yells, curses, sobs emanating from the bereaved girl, and finally, somebody punched Draco in the nose, another in the stomach.
In all fairness, he supposed he'd deserved it.
Draco doubled over, his back scraping the wall, and though his head was ducked, crimson blood pouring over his cupped hands, he saw his attackers retreating hastily, looking quite frightened. He fought an insane urge to laugh.
*
Madame Pompfrey exclaimed loudly when he entered the Hospital Wing, ushering him immediately to an empty bed.
"Mr. Malfoy!" she scolded after quickly mending his nose. "I do hope you plan on reporting whoever did this! Not that I believe in snitching for every little thing, but an act of such violence…"
"I tripped," Draco said with a smirk, tipping his head back to swallow the proffered potion. He made a face, fighting the urge to retch, and wiped his mouth. "That was disgusting."
Madame Pompfrey snatched the empty bottle from him, shooting him a look of utter disapproval. And something else, something too akin to pity for comfort. Draco tore his gaze from her hastily.
"My robes are still covered with blood," he said flatly, staring at the floor.
Madame Pompfrey pursed her lips as if to say something, but instead muttered a quick cleaning spell, vanishing the blood on Draco's robes. She gave him a tight smile.
"Off you go, now. And if you happen to "trip" again, you're to come to me immediately. Am I understood?"
"Yes ma'am," Draco said dully, glaring back at the floor. He looked up. "I'm late for Potions class."
"Oh!" She chuckled nervously, then pressed a note into his hand.
"Thanks," Draco muttered, rising to his feet and walking away, out of the Hospital Wing.
Professor Slughorn looked up in surprise when Draco entered the Potions classroom, as did the rest of the class. Without a word, Draco walked up to him, holding out the note.
"Oh, dear," Slughorn muttered with faux concern, his walrus-moustache quivering in his efforts. "Oh, goodness. Surely everything is all right, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Quite," Draco answered curtly, suddenly all too aware of the several pairs of eyes trained on him. "I have allergies this time of year, unfortunately." He gave a small cough for emphasis.
Slughorn gave him a droopy smile. "Well, the important thing is that you're all right. Now, if you'll take a seat - I thought I'd start with something fun today, something easy to start the term off right!"
Draco blinked bemusedly, shuffling as innocuously as possible to the nearest empty desk. He made a point of not looking around the room, though he caught a glimpse of Potter through his peripheral vision. Great.
He barely listened as Slughorn explained the potion they were to make - the Draught of Peace, which most of the class had already made, as it had been a required potion on the O.W.L.s. It was simply an excuse to fawn over Potter and his mysterious potion making skills, Draco was certain. He missed Snape, who would undoubtedly have set them to making the most difficult potion imaginable on the first day, and would have shown no mercy towards Potter's lackluster abilities.
Draco blinked, forcing himself to not think about Snape, who represented Draco's own failings on such a profound level. Moving as if on auto-pilot, he walked to the front of the room with the rest of the class and gathered his ingredients.
He returned to his desk, bristling with indignation when Potter parked himself, and his ingredients, at the adjoining desk.
Draco stared at him. "Potter, what the fuck are you doing?"
Potter shrugged, already at work chopping hellabore. And doing a sloppy job of it, Draco noted, his irritation increasing with every careless chop .
"Slughorn said you needed a partner."
Draco sneered, looking around the room and seeing that Granger had apparently paired with Weasley.
Draco leaned closer to Potter. "Your Mudblood's forsaken you, I take it?"
Potter hissed, nearly cutting his finger, then straightened and glared at Draco. Draco couldn't help but smile - finally.
"Do you want me to hate you or something, Malfoy?" Potter whispered sharply. "Because say that about Hermione again and I'll…"
"And here I was laboring under the impression that you already hated me, Potter. It's always good to know I have something to strive for."
Potter snorted. "You're a sick piece of work, Malfoy. I hope you know that." Chop, chop. "And here I was laboring under the impression that maybe…" Potter trailed off.
"Maybe what? That I've changed?" Now it was Draco's turn to snort. "Because I haven't, okay? Not a bit."
Potter sighed. "Whatever, Malfoy. Let's just work on our potion, then."
They worked in silence for several minutes, only breaking it occasionally to name off ingredients. Draco made sure that he, and not Potter, was the one to stir, so naturally their potion was quickly the desired lavender color and was bubbling perfectly.
Slughorn, making the rounds around the classroom, beamed when he stopped in front of their cauldron.
"Excellent work, Harry!" he said proudly, wiping the sweat off his shiny forehead. He gave Draco a conspiratorial wink. "I knew Harry could pass some of his knowledge on to you, Mr. Malfoy. He's a natural, just like his mother - ten points to Gryffindor!"
Draco blinked, clenching his fists angrily at his sides.
"Actually, Professor Slughorn, Malfoy did most of the work," Potter said loudly, his eyes flashing strangely. "I'm actually horrible at Potions - I only did well in sixth year because I had Professor Snape's old book."
Slughorn's brow furrowed slightly in confusion, then he gave a small chuckle. "You're too modest for your own good, Harry. But of course I was planning on awarding points to Slytherin as well - ten points for your efforts, Mr. Malfoy!"
Draco had never wanted to disappear more than at that very moment, and he studiously avoided Potter's eyes as they finished up and packed their things.
"Malfoy." Potter grabbed his arm outside of class, nearly causing him to drop his books.
"Watch it, Potter!" he snapped, jerking out of Potter's grip. "What the hell is your problem?"
"Sorry!" Potter snapped back, glowering slightly. He took a deep breath. "Look, I thought Slughorn was way out of line…"
"Yeah, which would explain why you felt the need to draw everyone's attention to it?" He sneered triumphantly at Potter's rather aghast expression. "Always the fucking hero!"
"I wasn't - I just…"
"Oh, shut it, Potter." Draco turned and walked away, feeling simultaneously elated…and confused.
*
Percy Weasley looked as though he might faint, his face the brightest of Weasley-reds. However, he stood at the front of the classroom with his head held hide, feet planted resolutely in an utmost Gryffindor stature. And his robes were impeccable - impossibly well-tailored for a Weasley. Draco wasn't sure what to think.
He cleared his throat. "Hello, everybody. Some of you may remember me as Head Boy from a few years ago - I'm Percy Weasley. Or, um, Professor Weasley, you can call me.
"As I'm sure many of you know, there have been rumors for years about a curse on this position and, well, it's the truth." His gaze traveled meaningfully around the room before landing on his brother. Percy gave a curt nod, to which Ron Weasley grinned like the idiot he was.
"But," he continued, "that curse was dispelled when Harry Potter defeated Voldemort."
Claps, cheers, and catcalls emanated from every Gryffindor present in the room. Draco simply scowled, wishing for the day to be over. He didn't dare sneak a peak at Potter, seated directly behind Weasley and Granger.
Percy frowned slightly, holding up a hand to indicate silence. "Yes, yes. We're all very grateful to him, I'm sure. But anyway, as I was saying, the curse was broken, and hopefully with it, the unfortunate trend of incomplete, fragmented Defense instruction. Now, I'm just one person, and admittedly inexperienced as a teacher of any kind, and so I'd like to introduce you to my assistant. Harry, could you please come up here?"
It fucking figures, Draco thought angrily as he watched Potter take his place beside Percy. Gone was the usual awkward posture and self-conscious fidgeting - Potter was clearly in his element, and he knew it.
Potter smiled at the class. "Er, hi. I'm Harry Potter, but I guess all of you knew that. Um, I'll be assisting Professor Weasley's seventh year classes this term…so, please, if you have any questions or need help of any kind, feel free to ask me."
Immediately upon that proclamation, a dozen hands went up. Potter blinked, pushing up his glasses. "Um, yes?" he asked hesitantly, pointing towards a mousy-haired Ravenclaw girl.
"What was it like to face You-Know-Who?"
"Er…"
"Is it true you died?"
"Can you still speak to snakes?"
"Are you single?"
"Can we touch your scar?"
Draco felt the sudden urge to hex every single one of them for their stupid, inane questions. And once again, it had nothing to do with Potter. No, it had to do with the dismissive way they were using events - true events, which Draco would forever have nightmares over - as entertainment fodder.
Somewhere in the midst of Draco's rage, Percy had demanded the students' silence, and was continuing his speech.
"…not here to discuss Mr. Potter's personal life, or anything other than what he chooses to disclose. And honestly, you call yourselves seventh years?" He shook his head in apparent befuddlement. "Honestly. Now, as it's the first day, I did have a practical demonstration planned…that is, if you still want to do it, Harry."
Potter nodded, looking bemused. "Yeah, sure." He looked around the room, his eyes finally landing on Draco. Draco met his gaze unflinchingly, causing Potter to nod slightly.
Percy looked at Potter expectedly. "Have you picked a dueling partner, Harry? Unless you'd rather I do it…"
Potter bit his lip, his eyes glinting strangely. "Malfoy."
All heads craned in Draco's direction. Draco made sure to sneer at them, though his heart was currently pouring into his ears. His wand barely worked properly - Potter would undoubtedly humiliate him in front of many eager eyes - but Draco found he somehow didn't care.
Why, when it came to Potter, was Draco's behavior so utterly Gryffindor, the antithesis of any self-respecting Malfoy?
"I accept your challenge, Potter," he said, spitting the name. Potter grinned at him in return, bowing at Draco once he'd reached the dueling circle.
Draco bowed back. For some reason his blood seemed to be pumping more freely, his entire body thrumming with an energy he'd assumed had been lost. Even his magic felt more alive, poised expectantly at his fingertips waiting to be set free. Potter did this to him, and somehow, he didn't mind. He felt fucking alive.
"Expelliarmus!" Potter cried, predictably. Draco rolled his eyes, easily bouncing the spell back with Protego. It didn't have a chance to hit Potter, as he quickly erected a charm around his body which caused the spell to dissipate. Draco couldn't help but be impressed.
"Been doing your homework, Potter?" Draco asked casually, sidestepping cautiously around Potter.
Potter shrugged. "Why, scared you'll lose?"
Draco responded by sending a quick, aggressive slew of Stinging Hexes at Potter. Potter blocked them easily, casting a Jelly-Legs Jinx in retaliation. It caught Draco before he had a chance to react, and he nearly stumbled to his knees before ending it. And Potter, stupid, chivalrous Potter, was apparently planning on waiting for Draco to recover…
"Tarantallegra!" Draco yelled, smirking when Potter danced a brief jig. Potter ended the spell quickly, before Draco could even blurt out another, and immediately sent out a long string of non-verbal spells which Draco barely had time to block.
This went on for several minutes, the both of them sending out spells at a lightning pace, alternating between blocking and ducking and rolling.
As if on silent agreement, they both paused, each breathing heavily. Never taking his eyes off Potter, Draco used his free hand to push the hair away from his sweaty forehead. Potter mirrored the action, his eyes locked onto Draco.
"Not bad, Malfoy," Potter managed to gasp, after a moment. He grinned once again. "Should we call it a draw, then?"
Draco blinked. "I think not. Serpensortia!" he cried, not missing the way Potter's eyes widened as a black snake erupted from Draco's wand, landing in the middle of the dueling circle and immediately slithering towards Potter.
Several people gasped. Draco wondered if his use of such a spell would warrant detention, but hardly cared at the moment. In his peripheral vision Draco could see Percy making his way towards the circle, and wondered if Potter felt insulted that he had single-handedly destroyed the most powerful Dark wizard of all time, but couldn't be trusted to rid them of a little snake.
And then he heard it - a soft, almost melodic hissing. Draco shivered, watching through narrowed eyes as Potter crouched in front of the snake and hissed emphatically at it.
Draco had heard Voldemort use Parseltongue on several occasions, and each time he had found it harsh sounding, even obscene. But when Potter did it…
Almost against his will, Draco walked forward, towards Potter.
"What is it saying?" Draco asked quietly, falling to his knees beside Potter. Potter looked at him briefly in slight surprise, but hissed an apparently lengthy Parseltongue phrase before straightening.
"She's confused as to how she got here, and she doesn't understand when I tell her a spell created her. She's afraid - that's why she wanted to bite somebody." Potter bit his lip, then looked in Percy's direction.
"I'm taking her to the Forbidden Forest," Potter said in a tone which suggested no negotiation. And without even waiting for an answer, Potter allowed the snake to crawl up his arm and left the classroom.
"Well, that answers that question," Draco said, to no one in particular.
*
Draco,
I know it's a difficult time for you, but do try to control yourself. It actually sounds quite exciting to be living away from the rest of the students and out of the dorms - a little like being grown up, isn't it?
I know you're not a big fan of Potter, but given our situation it's best to not remind him of that fact. His word carries a lot of weight right now, Draco, so would it hurt you to perhaps pretend like you don't hate him?
I am doing fine, and of course I don't want you to come home. I want you to remain at school, where you belong. I'll see you during the holidays, as always, and I look forward to it very much.
One last thing. Would it hurt for you to write to your father, just once? He'll never say it, but I know he misses you and it hurts him terribly that you never write. Azkaban is such a horrible place - could you give him one thing to look forward to? For me, if nothing else.
Your Mother
*
Mother,
I will try, for you, to conceal my utter disdain for Potter.
I have no idea what I'd say to Father.
Draco