Chapter 26: The Firebolt

Draco lost all concept of time over the weekend, as well as motivation for doing the homework due Monday. It wasn't until right before Sunday curfew he made the dreaded trip to the owlery to send Father notice he'd failed to meet the terms of their Firebolt contract.

And yet, Draco couldn't quite yet accept that it had happened. He went on through the paces, snapping out of it a week later when his name was spoken during Care of Magical Creatures.

"Get your head out of the way, Malfoy," Potter said. "You're blocking my view of the Jobberknoll."

A flock of the small, blue birds passed through Hogwarts for their regular migration. By throwing insects on the ground, the class had enticed them close enough to sketch.

"Why don't you move, then?" Draco shot back over his shoulder, idly shading in the darker parts of the wings.

Potter sighed. Although he actually did as Draco suggested, it wasn't to his liking that Potter ended up practically beside him. Draco tensed, staring hard at his drawing.

The piece of charcoal Hagrid had provided Potter scratched along against his parchment, nearly synchronized to Draco's. Draco glanced up periodically at the Jobberknoll, tossing the odd grub to keep it interested. Potter did once, which earned him a sideways glance from Draco.

"Good daydream?" Potter asked.

Draco frowned, for there was nobody else close enough that he could be talking to. Sure enough, Potter was looking at him. Draco just stared.

Potter grinned. "If it's about what winning the Quidditch Cup would've been like, I'd be happy to describe it for you."

"Go snog a Dementor, Potter," Draco sneered. "I'm not interested."

"Dementors again, wow," Potter sarcastically replied. "You should sack whoever writes your jokes."

Draco put his back to Potter, facing Goyle instead.

"Daydreaming," Draco said to him in a snide tone as he started sketching the finer points of the Jobberknoll's face. "I was considering how to word a letter I intend to send to my father."

"Oh?" Goyle glanced up.

"When I went home over the holiday, I decided that my chamber's in desperate need of a decorative overhaul," Draco told him. "You know the mirror above my fireplace? I rather think a Hippogriff head would look better there, don't you?"

Crabbe snorted.

"It would really tie the room together—"

Potter made a sound of disgust behind Draco. "You are the sorest loser ever. Emphasis on loser."

He stood and stalked off, and Draco scoffed.

"The only reason Potter caught the Snitch was because he has a broom that was fast enough to catch up to me," Draco said to Crabbe and Goyle. "He didn't win the Cup. His Firebolt did."

The Quidditch match having passed left Draco feeling rather aimless. The only thing he had to look forward to as April turned to May—and June loomed ahead—was the impending execution of Hagrid's Hippogriff.

Oh—and exams.

Even if scoring over ninety percent in all his classes wouldn't land Draco a Firebolt, studying for them was a distraction from everything else. Gryffindor house gloated about taking the Cup to the point that Montague and Warrington ended up in detention along with the Weasley twins after an impromptu duel in the corridors. It still felt like something stabbed Draco in the chest every time he saw Justin.

Father hadn't said anything about the Firebolt. He probably knew how much this stung. Draco emphasized in his report just how close he had come to the Cup. Potter swatting his hand out of the way like an annoying gnat was one of a few unwelcome mental images that plagued Draco if he didn't keep his mind preoccupied.

"What're you studying?"

Draco looked up from where he sat alone on one of the common room couches. Blaise's gaze swept over all the loose notes covering it.

"Transfiguration," Draco answered.

"Oh yeah," Blaise replied. "Want to quiz each other?"

"Sure."

As Blaise unslung his bag, it occurred to Draco that this was the first time since right after the Christmas holidays they'd been alone together. He got excited, and then instantly nervous. This was a good sign that perhaps Blaise was ready for things to start going back to normal between them. Draco really didn't want to cock up. He played it cool while they studied, and it felt good afterward. Draco appreciated the reminder that not everything was absolutely terrible in his life.

The sting of the things that were bad gradually alleviated. The middle of May marked a point where Draco and Justin had been broken up for longer than they were together. Gryffindor finally shut up about the Quidditch Cup. Homework dried up as lessons slanted more toward review.

Sunshine baked the castle grounds as May slid gently into June. The weekend before exams, Draco decided he'd earned a few hours' break. Along the way to the lake, however, someone called Draco's name from behind.

"Malfoy," Ernie called again when the distance between them had closed. "Might I have a word?"

Draco peered at his friends. "I'll catch up with you lot."

They all carried on, and Ernie cleared his throat. "Right. In here, I think."

Draco followed Ernie into an empty classroom. "What's up?"

"I wanted to tell you something," Ernie replied. "There's a little bit of a story behind it. So—it starts with the Easter holidays during first year."

Those holidays didn't stand out in Draco's memory. He'd gone home, relaxed for two weeks, and then come back to school to discover that bloody dragon of Hagrid's.

"I went home for them." Ernie's round cheeks were a bit pink. "Once when I came downstairs, I heard crying. It didn't sound like Emma or my mum, but I heard my mum's voice. She was talking to someone. She had a visitor."

"All right," Draco slowly said.

"It was one of her friends," Ernie said. "A lady named Andromeda Tonks."

Draco froze inwardly, although did his best not to show that. Apprehension trickled in.

"I hadn't realized you were her nephew." Ernie sat on top of a desk. "She doesn't look much at all like your mum."

"No," Draco carefully agreed.

"Anyway." Ernie gave a nervous wave of the hand. "I listened in because I'd never seen Mrs Tonks upset before. She was telling my mum about her father's funeral that had happened a month or so earlier. You went to that, didn't you? That was Cygnus Black, your grandfather."

"I was there."

"You met Mrs Tonks, right?" Ernie asked. "She said she met you."

"Briefly." Draco cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Just before the sit-down part."

"She said it really bothered her to see you coming up the same way she had," Ernie said. "You know—being taught the same things about people who aren't pure-blooded wizards, and that. She said when she left all that behind, her head was so clear all of a sudden. And then, going back for the funeral, all she saw when she looked at you was basically herself. You know, a child who doesn't know any better—who only knows what his parents have taught him."

"Mmm." Draco didn't really know what to say to that, but a heavy feeling like defensiveness began to bud in his chest.

"I've been watching you. Not in a weird way or anything, just. . .keeping all that in mind." Ernie toyed with his fingers. "You're doing like Mrs Tonks did when she was young. Last year I would have said there was no hope for you, but something's changed. You started thinking for yourself. It was nice to see you so happy—and Justin, too. You two were really good for each other. I think it's beyond sad you were forced to end it."

The guilt Draco experienced surrounding his lie bloomed back into existence. His heart picked up, and a dry mouth made it difficult to swallow.

"So. . ." Ernie shrugged. "What I'm trying to say is that if things ever get really bad at home, you could always write me. I can talk to my mum, and she can talk to Mrs Tonks. I don't think she would be opposed to helping you, or maybe even taking you in. Your cousin doesn't live at home anymore, and Mrs Tonks misses having a kid around—"

"Wait." Draco put a hand up. "Take me in?"

Ernie blinked. "Well, yeah. If you're miserable at home, or your parents are being horrible—"

"I'm not miserable at home," Draco told him. "And my parents aren't horrible."

"Just because they don't hit you—"

"I'm not miserable," Draco repeated more firmly, "and my parents aren't horrible."

"But does that make them good?"

All the defensiveness and guilt clogging Draco's chest twinned, twinged, and flickered toward anger. He tried to hold it at bay since he liked Ernie enough not to bite his head off. It also wasn't his fault that he didn't know the truth.

"I love my parents," Draco said. "They're my parents. They're the only family I have, and I'm not just going to throw them away. That's not what family does."

"They threw Mrs Tonks away," Ernie replied. "They threatened to throw you away, if you didn't act right."

Draco just shrugged, since they hadn't actually.

"Look," Ernie spoke again after a moment. "I don't mean to argue with you. I just wanted you to know that you have options if you decide you've had enough."

"Okay," Draco flippantly replied, not looking at him.

"You'd have help."

"Right."

"That's all I wanted to say."

With a nod, Draco headed for the door without any further word or glance at Ernie. He had a very strong feeling that were he to look, he'd be met with that same sort of pitying expression Andromeda had regarded him with at Grandfather Black's funeral.

Leave his parents. Ernie had to be utterly joking. It was probably so easy for him to say that when his parents didn't care as much as Mum and Father did about their blood. The Macmillans were a decently-sized family. So what if a few ended up with Muggle-borns? There were so many of them that the purity of their blood would find a way to carry on. Ernie himself was a pureblood. Both his parents were. The boyfriend Emma had the previous year was a Fawley, all of whom were pure-blooded. Stanley had started holding hands a few weeks ago with Hazel Selwyn—a Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood.

The Macmillans weren't a family like the Malfoys or the Blacks, that were dying off. You're the last Malfoy. The last Black. Centuries worth of proud lineage from two noble families rest on the decisions you'll make in your life.

Draco wasn't about to throw that all away over a boy. Yes, he really liked Justin. Yes, it absolutely gutted him when they split up. But a boy wasn't worth betraying two bloodlines that had persevered for a thousand years—and longer, considering that was only the British history of the Malfoy and Black families. Draco couldn't possibly be the first to reach this sort of fork in the road. If his ancestors hadn't steered themselves right, Draco wouldn't even be here right now! So how could Draco similarly doom any that were to come after him?

He wielded so much power. Only now, when things became difficult, did Draco think he fully understood the true burden of it. Like he'd told Nott in first year, going with Muggle-borns wasn't worth the trouble. Draco had crossed the line of acceptability. He'd made a mistake, he'd fixed it, and the memory of how much pain it cost ensured he would never do it again.

Exams started on Monday with Transfiguration and Charms. Draco wrote in his note for Mum afterward that they didn't seem so horrible. Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick had seemed pleased with his practical components, and none of the questions in the written section drew blanks.

Tuesday brought Care of Magical Creatures in the morning. Draco almost burst into laughter when Hagrid told their class to keep a Flobberworm alive for an hour.

"To think," Draco whispered to Pansy as he poked a piece of lettuce into his Flobberworm's mouth. "I could have put all that reading toward Potions or Herbology instead."

Pansy snickered.

"On the bright side," Draco said, "I've really honed my lettuce-shredding skills this year."

Crabbe and Goyle devolved into silent laughter along with Pansy. Draco's grin faded when he remembered who he'd gotten that joke from. Since their entire year took exams lumped together, Draco had to suppress the urge to look over where Justin sat with the other Hufflepuffs.

Potions wasn't bad at all, that afternoon. They had Astronomy at midnight, and then Wednesday brought History of Magic and Herbology. Draco kipped after that one. While he studied number charts in the evening with Blaise, Nott, Pansy, and Sophie, Draco heard the rustle of wings above. An owl had come down through the post vent. It was Stix.

"Hey, you," Draco greeted him. Behind Draco's head on the back of the couch, Leon stirred. The cushion vibrated as he stretched, and then Leon and Stix touched nose to beak when Stix hopped up to Draco's shoulder.

"Aw, that's so cute," Sophie commented.

"You should see Leon with our one peacock," Draco replied while opening the note:

Draco,

Mr Macnair just informed me he's to attend to Hogwarts tomorrow - the Hippogriff's appeal is scheduled for two o'clock. We shall hopefully know quickly afterward of its outcome. Mr Macnair feels strongly that it will result in execution. The appeal relies on Hagrid presenting any new compelling information, which I believe all of us already know will not happen.

Love,
Father

Ps. Good luck in your last two exams.

"Ooh," Draco said.

"What?" Blaise asked, tilting his head to try and see the note.

"The Hippogriff appeal is tomorrow." Draco tore a piece of parchment to write his reply on. "I wonder if I'll be allowed to attend the execution."

Pansy made a noise of disgust. "You would want to see that?"

"I should just be allowed to be there."

Stix took a note home to Father, asking permission to go. It was Juno that delivered Father's opinion in the morning, of which made Draco snort. Somehow, Father's simple response of 'No.' conveyed how deadpan Father would have said it.

Considering Draco would soon be finished school for two whole months and that Hippogriff would be put down, this shaped up to be a very good day.

But, first: Draco headed out onto the grounds for the Defence exam: an obstacle course.

Professor Lupin put them through in order of house. Gryffindor went first, then Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin was last. By the time Draco took his turn, he'd grown tired of standing around in the heat.

Blaise was the last to emerge from the Boggart trunk. He was still shuddering as the lot of them headed toward the castle.

"Do you lot reckon Lupin will stick around for next year?" Tracey asked as they reached the Entrance Hall. "He wasn't a bad teacher."

"Well, he still has his memory and hasn't been killed by Potter yet," Nott said. "His chances look good."

Draco headed to the Arithmancy exam that afternoon, and couldn't help but keep a close eye on his watch after the first hour passed. When he'd finished his exam, he ran for the closest window overlooking the eastern end of the grounds. He gasped quietly to himself when he saw Mr Macnair heading across the grounds toward the school gates. Sunlight glinted off what had to be the axe meant for the execution.

"Mr Macnair!" Draco called after bursting out of the castle and sprinting down the drive. "Mr Macnair!"

Mr Macnair stopped walking. As Draco neared, he could see a smile poking out from underneath his thin, black moustache.

"Hullo, Draco," he greeted him.

"Hi," Draco gasped as he tried to catch his breath. "Mr Macnair, what happened?"

Mr Macnair scoffed. "You can't have honestly believed that oaf would string together two coherent words, let alone a sound argument?"

"So it's being executed?"

"At sundown, yes."

Draco released a long breath. "Can I come?"

Laughing, Mr Macnair put a hand on Draco's shoulder and pushed him lightly back in direction of the castle. "Brat. Your father warned me you might ask."

"Aw."

Draco started back, then thought of something. "Mr Macnair, could I have the Hippogriff's head?"

Mr Macnair stopped walking again and considered Draco.

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

Dinner was a rapturous affair, since the majority of the school had finished their exams. The news that the Hippogriff was to be executed that night felt to Draco like a belated birthday present.

With nothing left to study for, Draco spent a portion of the evening running around the castle's eastern corridors in search for a place he could properly see Hagrid's hut from. That turned out to be on the sixth floor.

"It'll have to do," Draco told Crabbe and Goyle. "We're not going to be able to see it, but you never know."

"You never know."

They returned to the spot close to sundown. Draco pressed his face against the window when he saw Mr Macnair, Professor Dumbledore, and a few others heading down to the hut. He squinted, for the night was quickly deepening.

Since he didn't expect it, Draco jumped when he heard a loud howl. Draco smiled in the silence to follow.

"Well," he said to Crabbe and Goyle. "I suppose that's that."

Draco slept long and deep that night, emerging from the common room shortly before nine o'clock. As he hurried along to catch up with the rest of the boys before they left to Hogsmeade, his foot faltered when someone stepped into the corridor up ahead. Draco quickened into a jog and fell in step beside Professor Snape.

"Good morning, sir," he cheerfully greeted him.

When Draco looked up at Professor Snape, his grin fell. He suddenly felt like he was interrupting something. Professor Snape had never looked so foul-tempered.

"Er," Draco said, slightly alarmed. "Is everything all right, sir?"

Snape took a deep, steadying inhale while studying Draco through narrowed eyes. "You've obviously not heard."

Draco blinked. "Heard what?"

"What happened last night."

Draco slowed, and Professor Snape did along with him. "What happened last night?"

When Snape smiled, it was completely lacking in pleasantness. "I captured Sirius Black."

"You did?" Draco's eyes went wide.

"And he managed to escape. Again."

"Oh."

"And—much as I hate to break it to you—that Hippogriff did the same."

"No it didn't." Draco frowned. "I heard Hagrid crying. I heard a howl."

"Sorry, Draco." Snape sighed. "If you heard a howl, it's more likely that was Lupin."

He started off walking again. Draco stared after him before catching back up. "What do you mean, Lupin?"

Snape looked down at Draco out the corner of his eye. "Oh, did you never figure it out?"

"Figure what out?"

"It was the full moon last night."

The furrow in Draco's brow deepened, and then relented as ice cascaded through his insides. He and Snape stopped again, Snape watching Draco closely as realization fully dawned.

"He's a werewolf?" Draco asked, heart hammering.

"He is," Snape silkily replied. "Has been since—well, sometime in his youth. Mind, I've been providing him with Wolfsbane Potion all year, so he hasn't been completely dangerous. . .spare last night, when he forgot to take it."

"He forgot to take it," Draco flatly said.

"That's right. Quite a frightening sight too, to cross paths with. No different than when he and I were closer to your age, which I have the good fortune of reporting from personal experience."

Draco only stared, to which Professor Snape smiled again. He absolutely seethed behind it.

"Anyway," Professor Snape continued. "I'd best be off. I'm to meet with the Headmaster. Obviously Lupin is far too dangerous to keep around, if he can't be bothered to remember the potion that helps him keep his mind during the transformation. Honestly. . .nearly thirty years as a werewolf and he still can't manage the condition, no matter how much help he receives. Pitiful. . ."

The revelation that Professor Lupin was a werewolf acted like some kind of cushion as Draco tried to absorb the fact Hagrid's Hippogriff had somehow survived its execution. So many theories floated around the school about Sirius, Lupin, and Snape that Draco tried his hardest to fit the Hippogriff into it as well. He couldn't fit it into the timeline, which meant Hagrid had somehow managed it on his own.

Draco hoped it was worth it. If Hagrid wouldn't let him have justice, then he would find a way somehow down the road to take it for himself. Hagrid would be wise to watch his back—if not just so Draco could shove it into Potter's face. Every time Draco made eye contact with him that week, Potter gave him some stupid, gloating, know-it-all look. Draco wanted to punch it clean off him.

His exam marks came out the following Friday. Draco grew instantly nervous when Snape handed him the envelope at breakfast.

He put off opening it, leaning toward Goyle. "How'd you do?"

"All right." Goyle shrugged. "Barely passed History of Magic. I knew I had my dates all mixed up."

Draco pointed at the form. "A seventy in Transfiguration isn't bad."

"Yeah, true. And I knew Ancient Runes would be fine." It was his highest mark, in the low nineties. "What about you?"

"I'm not ready to look."

"Come on!"

Draco wanted to hear how everyone else had done first. They all moved down to the lake to properly compare. While the rest of his year all swapped their marks around, Draco opened his with trembling hands.

His final marks were all in the nineties.

Draco wasn't sure how to feel. Of course he was proud, but there was a certain hollowness behind it that he didn't know how to explain.

"Well?" Blaise asked as he sat down beside Draco. "You don't look too happy."

Draco shrugged.

"Not what you expected?"

Draco handed his sheet over, to which Blaise's eyes widened.

"How could you possibly be disappointed?" Blaise practically demanded, and then softened. "It's the Firebolt, isn't it?"

Draco shrugged again. He honestly didn't even know.

"That's really not fair," Blaise said. "You did this well in your lessons, and Potter only just knocked your hand out of the way. Gryffindor beat Slytherin by ten points for the Cup. And your father won't give you one anyway?"

"I didn't meet my end of the bargain."

"So?" Blaise pressed. "You deserve something!"

Draco glanced at Blaise's mouth, and then looked away, slightly mortified with himself. The last thing he needed on top of not earning a Firebolt, not getting justice with the Hippogriff, and having cocked up with Justin was to stir up old drama with Blaise.

"I don't know," was all Draco could say.

He still didn't feel sold on himself by the time he boarded the train the next morning. Draco was at least very happy to see his parents.

Mum beamed on the platform at King's Cross when she saw Draco. Draco lugged far too many things. His trunk was heavy after taking on two more subjects this year, and Leon grew at an astonishing rate. Draco had his broomstick over his shoulder, and had to mind the stirrups didn't poke anyone in the eye.

He didn't have time to put anything down before Mum crushed him in a hug, stealing his ability to breathe. Draco found he didn't mind—in fact, his throat clogged up with emotion. That only worsened when Father hugged him next.

"I'll take your things," Father said. "Let's go home."

Draco certainly appreciated that a year had come where he didn't arrive home with something dreadful hanging over him. His parents were happy—and they didn't even know everything Draco had done this year to ensure that was the case.

The manor house was quiet, bright, and cool. Draco let go of Mum's hand and put both his in his trouser pockets. Father popped in a moment later. Leon didn't like Apparation in the slightest, so he made his protest known with a grumpy meow. Draco opened his basket, which Leon dashed out of with his orange and black tail puffed up.

"Come to the drawing room, Draco," Father said.

Despite knowing this couldn't be bad, Draco still grew a little nervous. Mum rubbed his upper back along the way. When Draco looked at her, she smiled.

"We have something to give you," Father said when they'd arrived, reaching inside of his cloak. "Your mother and I went by Quality Quidditch Supplies on our way to the station."

Father pulled out an off-white piece of folded parchment. He held it out to Draco, who stilled.

"Take it," Father told him.

Draco knew what it was. As though everything but his eyeballs were frozen, he merely stared at it before looking back at Father.

"I don't understand," he said. "I didn't earn it."

"Of course you did," Mum replied. "Draco, those marks could have only been managed by incredibly hard work. Professor Snape noted that you finished second in your year."

Draco just shook his head. "I didn't earn it."

Father blinked, then let his hand fall. "Surely you aren't rejecting it?"

"I didn't earn it." Draco started to get annoyed.

"So you don't think you deserve it?"

"No," Draco snapped. "I don't."

Father looked at Draco as though he'd grown a second head. "You don't want it."

"No."

Draco stepped out onto the garden terrace. His parents didn't follow, which he preferred. Draco's chest felt brittle in a way that he couldn't pinpoint, like he might cry but somehow worse.

He headed out past the gardens to the fields that stretched beyond. There, Draco plopped down on the ground and folded his arms around his knees. Rustling sounded behind him, but it was only Leon and Nova. They'd either followed him out or just ended up in the same place. Whichever it was, the two of them started chasing the other through the tall grass. Nova had nothing on Leon for speed, but could take to the air. There was lots of excited squawking as they played. Draco couldn't help but snort when Leon would make a dramatic leap in the air after Nova, only to come down with empty paws and renewed determination.

More rustling sounded behind Draco. He peered over his shoulder, and then tensed as Father took a seat beside him. He watched Leon and Nova play.

Guilt flickered in Draco's stomach. "It was a very generous gift."

"Sure."

Draco tried to pinpoint where Father's mind was, based on that single word. He didn't sound angry or annoyed, or anything like that. Even his surprise seemed to have evaporated.

"Your mother and I debated after your match against Gryffindor if we should go ahead on the Firebolt anyway," Father said. "There was a valuable lesson to be had, certainly, in having to earn something that expensive. Seven-hundred and fifty Galleons is a lot of money, and you may never truly appreciate that. There are people who don't earn that much in a year's working salary."

"Mmm," Draco replied.

"We wanted you to work for it, and to prove just how hard you were willing to." Father idly plucked at some grass between them. "Even after you thought you'd lost the Firebolt, you managed the marks that I set as the qualifier. It's very impressive. You didn't do that for the Firebolt, at that point. You did it for yourself, didn't you?"

The tight feeling in Draco's throat returned. "I suppose."

"So offering you the Firebolt now sort of cheapens that, doesn't it?"

"I guess so."

"It takes great character to do what you just did," Father said. "I fully expected you to snatch that purchase receipt and run with it, never to think again about the weight of my word, your effort, or a binding contract. I'm extremely proud of you."

Hearing Father say that hit deep. "Thank you."

Father put an arm around Draco and pulled him into a lean. Draco rested his head on Father's shoulder, feeling all over again like he might cry from a combination of validation and lingering doubt.

"Are you going to ask Mr Rawlins for your money back?" Draco asked.

"Your mother suggested something, actually," Father replied. "She said we ought to organize a raffle of sorts with the Daily Prophet. The proceeds could go to something."

"Like what?"

Father shrugged. "St Mungo's, perhaps. That's always a good cause."

Draco nodded, then snorted as Leon made another running jump and flying leap in attempt to catch an airborne Nova. As Nova landed, squawked, and took off in the opposite direction, Draco thought a little more critically on their game.

"Father," he said.

"Hm?"

"Why do they play like that?" Draco asked. "How do they? They're a cat and a bird. Why doesn't Leon attack Nova like he would one of the birds he hunted at school? Why doesn't Nova go after Leon with his talons? They aren't supposed to get along. They shouldn't be able to."

"They grew up together." Father shrugged. "I don't think Nova looks at Leon and sees a cat. He sees a featherless bird with four legs and no wings—and vice versa."

Humming, Draco watched Nova and Leon again. Both were stooped low in the grass. They poked their heads up periodically to scope out the other's position.

"What about it?" Father asked.

"I never thought about it before, is all."

"I think that's why Vega's not so friendly." Father chuckled. "He was alone for too long. He sees you, me, and your mother as his core group, but Nova and Leon came later. Vega tolerates Nova well—and perhaps will warm to Leon over summer, now he's home for longer than a few weeks. However it all works out, Vega has made it very clear that he's to be in charge. There's a hierarchy in this house."

Draco scoffed, letting a slight grin manifest. "What idiots."

"No different from humans in that regard, I assure you."

This wasn't a moment where Draco expected to be reminded of Justin. That dampened the fun in watching Nova and Leon, but Draco found himself enjoying instead the comfortable silence in which he and Father sat.

Maybe Draco hadn't gotten his Firebolt. So what if Hagrid figured out a way to save that stupid Hippogriff of his. Sure, not having a boyfriend right now was dreadful. Instead though, Draco had what a lot of people didn't, and what a lot of people would never have: the respect of Lucius Malfoy.

A/N: Thus concludes Year 3 in this series!

I'm taking a short posting break before starting Year 4. The first chapter will go up on September 1st, 2023 (a Friday), then the second chapter on the 5th (a Tuesday), and then from there I'll commence my regular Tuesday update schedule.

Until then! Thank you so much for reading!