Disclaimer: Il mondo meraviglioso dei maghi e i personaggi (ad eccezione di quelli originali) appartengono a J.K. Rowling.
"Indifference and neglect often do more damage than outright dislike." – Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
The first hues of orange sunrise had just begun to gleam in from behind the horizon when Draco awoke from his fitful slumber. None of the other boys were awake yet at this time – they never were – and Draco sighed lightly as he basked in the blissful silence. This was a moment he had every morning – the moment before the realities of life came crashing back down on him, ever threatening to crush his spirit.
Then the fleeting peace was gone, too soon. Draco swung himself out of bed and wandered over to the window, watching the sun crawl its way up into the sky. The trees glistened as the early rays crept over them, the radiant shades of the orange and red autumn leaves stealing his breath with their beauty.
In his younger years, before the Dark Lord had returned and while his family had lived in peace, Draco's family had had many picnics under similar autumn trees. The weather in early September was just right, he remembered his mother saying, the wind slightly crisp but not biting and the sun still shining brightly. It was above such trees that his father had taught him to fly – he remembered the fascination and freedom he had felt, sitting with his father on the broom, safe, and zooming high above as his mother waved from below. As the years passed and Draco acquired his own broom, and excellent skills to match, they had continued to fly together – until the Dark Lord returned and changed everything Draco had ever known.
They hadn't been flying for years.
The realisation brought tears to Draco's eyes, and he quickly blinked them away, turning from the window. He could not show such weakness. He would be strong – Malfoys did not show weakness. He would not let his father down. Yet, as he buttoned his shirt, he could not suppress the incessant tremor of his hands.
Some in the dormitory were stirring now, a signal that it was time for him to take his leave. He was not hungry – how could he be on a day like this? Resolving to take a walk of the grounds before his first class to help get him through the day, he slipped his bag on his shoulder and set on his way.
Hermione looked around the Great Hall, but Draco wasn't at breakfast again. Not that that was strange, given that he often skipped meals, but she had been hoping to see him, regardless. Had he left for Azkaban already? She turned to Ron and Harry, who were tucking in eagerly to the pancakes served that morning.
'Hey, did you guys see Draco at all this morning?' Her question was answered with shakes of their heads, and a brief pause as Harry swallowed his mouthful.
'No, he's always up before any of us,' he said. 'He might not be in school today, though, maybe he's gone to Azkaban to say farewell to Lucius?' Ron looked confused momentarily before realising what the date was.
'Yeah, there's no way he'd be in school today,' he agreed. Hermione sighed and bit her lip, nodding. She had been hoping to catch him before he went off, to apologise for her thoughtless remarks the previous night and to check in on him – knowing that his father was about to be executed could not be an easy experience. Harry glanced up at her, setting down his utensils.
'Malfoy wasn't sleeping well last night,' he said tentatively. 'I don't think he's coping with what's been going on since the war as well as he lets on – maybe we should look out for him.' Ron's eyebrows shot up towards the ceiling.
'What,' he spluttered with disbelief. 'Look out for Malfoy?!'
'I agree,' said Hermione, interrupting. 'He hasn't had it easy either, you know.' Ron was silent for a minute, turning that over in his head, then nodding grudgingly.
'Oh alright, I suppose he hasn't been as horrid since we've been back,' he conceded, 'but if he goes back to being a rotten git, I'm going to say I told you so.'
When they finished breakfast, the trio gathered their books and made their way to Transfiguration. Despite her post as Headmistress, Professor McGonagall had retained her position as their teacher in the subject, for which Hermione was glad – the professor was a brilliant teacher. She was already in class when they arrived, and she smiled warmly at them as they entered, gesturing for them to take a seat.
Just as they had predicted, Draco was not in his usual place at the back of the class when they entered. The trio assumed their usual position, the two boys peering over Hermione's meticulous notes as they waited for the lesson to begin, hoping to gain a vague understanding so that they would not be entirely lost in the morning's double period.
As per usual, Professor McGonagall got up to begin the lesson at precisely nine o' clock. As she was about to shut the door, Draco slipped in and into the seat nearest the entrance, still apart from the rest but far from his usual spot.
So he hadn't left yet, after all! Hermione raised her eyebrows silently at the boys, who shrugged in return. Draco sat upright and rigid, his back facing them.
Throughout the lesson, an intriguing theoretical one about advanced conjuring spells, Draco did not touch quill or parchment, sitting rigidly throughout its duration and staring straight ahead. The professor made no comment, continuing as if she had not seen him at all, but Hermione did not miss the lingering glance she had given him, filled with compassion – and perhaps pity.
When the class was dismissed, Draco was the first to leave, his cloak billowing behind him as he vanished out of the door. Hermione, gathering her books, turned to the boys, but Ron was the first to speak.
'Okay, I can see where you two are coming from now,' he agreed quietly, so that the others still in the classroom would not overhear them. 'That was weird, even for Malfoy.'
'He didn't even touch his quill!' Harry said. 'Usually he's scribbling at least as fast as Hermione.' Hermione blushed, opening her mouth to protest, then rolling her eyes.
'I'll skip break and go to Muggle Studies early and see if I can talk to him before class starts,' she decided. The boys agreed that that was a good idea, and so she set off to class. But when she reached the classroom, she saw that Draco was not there.
Deliberately taking a convoluted route, Draco inhaled deeply as he made his way to the Muggle Studies classroom for his next class, desperately trying to keep his raging emotions under control. He checked the time – it was a few minutes past half past ten. Less than half an hour before – before –
Draco could not complete the thought, the despair and helplessness of his situation crushing the breath from his chest all at once. He paused in the corridor, blessedly empty, and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and tilting his head to the ceiling.
He knew that he wasn't fine, but what else could he do but try to go about his life as if nothing was wrong? He would not be able to see his father in his last moments, the execution being a closed one and his pleas to the Wizengamot for an exception being ignored, and there was nothing he could do to change that. Despite the offers from the headmistress to let him return to the Manor for the day, or stay in the Eastern Tower and miss classes, he refused. Malfoys do not show weakness – he would not let his father down.
After a few moments, he opened his eyes. He checked the time again – he was going to be late for class. He squared his shoulders and prepared for another lesson – Muggle Studies. Despite all the disgusting stories about Muggles that his father had shared with Draco when he was a little boy, Lucius was surprisingly unresentful when Draco told him that he was planning to take it up.
The war truly had changed them all.
Ducking into the classroom just before the doors shut, just as he had done in Transfiguration, Draco ignored the looks of the class as he walked up and placed his wand into the basket with the others. Alas, this time there was no empty seats in the front for a quick exit; Draco steeled his nerves as the eyes followed him to his usual seat at the back, next to Hermione.
When he raised an eyebrow, the class quickly looked away. All except for the Muggle-born girl seated beside him, that is. Instead, she leaned in closer, whispering to him as Professor Hope began her explanation about their task for that practical lesson – something about working with telephones.
'Hey, how are you doing?' asked Hermione. Draco turned to look at her, mouth pressed into a thin line.
'I'm fine, thank you.' Hermione blinked, then shook her head.
'Sorry, that was a silly question. Obviously you aren't fine, given –'
'I said I was fine,' snapped Draco, his eyes hard. 'Now kindly leave me alone.'
The brunette sat back, surprised at his harsh response. Before she had a chance to say anything else, Professor Hope cleared her throat, beckoning for one of the two students to come forward and collect their set of telephones from the front desk. Hermione quickly rose to do so, blushing at having been caught not paying attention.
Returning to their desk, she set about fiddling with the phones and reading the task sheet, which instructed them on how to make a call – something Hermione could do with ease, having lived as a Muggle for a large portion of her life. Draco, on the other hand – he was still sitting rigidly upright, his eyes not leaving the clock at the front of the room. With each minute, he looked more defeated, his eyes glazed over and his hands clenched – barely holding on. She hated seeing him like this – so near his breaking point.
It was minutes from eleven o' clock now, and as the time of his father's death neared, Draco could not help but close his eyes, his breath quickening. Soon, it would only be him and his mother. He did not even want to think about how she must be feeling – it had been the three of them against the world for so long now. Knowing that Lucius would soon be gone –
Draco felt a hand on his shoulder and his eyes snapped open. Hermione was sitting close to him – too close, if you asked him, he couldn't seem to breathe properly – and was peering at him, brown eyes full of concern. She whispered something under her breath, and Draco's brow furrowed.
'Pardon?' he asked.
'No,' she said, louder this time, and more resolute. 'I won't leave you alone. Let's get out of here.'
She stood, grabbing both her bag and his own, putting them on her shoulder and taking his hand. She led him to the front of the room, Draco thoroughly baffled but in no state to protest as they walked up to the professor, who looked up as they approached.
'Professor Hope,' said Hermione, smiling apologetically. 'Draco isn't feeling very well. May I take him up to see Madam Pomfrey? I'm a Muggle-born, so I can explain the telephone practical to him another day.'
Draco caught on now and squeezed her hand silently – she was trying to save him his dignity. The young professor smiled and nodded silently, clearly knowing about Draco's situation and understanding Hermione's intention. 'Go ahead.'
The two of them left quickly, Hermione taking their wands and Draco glancing at the clock before they did – eleven o' clock.
They barely made it out of the classroom before Draco collapsed, the remnants of his mask crumbling completely as he fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably as he mourned the loss of his father.
A/N: This is the first part of the day – the chapter was getting a little long and I like to keep the length relatively consistent: you can look forward for more to come later this weekend (hopefully). Little tidbit of information: I chose 10th September as the date of Lucius' execution so that it would be easy enough for me to remember, as it's my birthday! Thanks for your reviews, favourites, and follows. You guys really are the best!