Welcome to the rewrite of AORP! I hope you guys enjoy and keep in mind this work is unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: I don't own shit but the plot of this fic.
DECEMBER 16, 1998
Eighth Year was an absolute shit-storm by all accounts.
Draco didn't know what he expected.
It started with the Wizengamot. Apparently, in their eyes, he was "unfit" for prison on grounds of him still being a minor. That didn't mean Aurors lessened the abusive methods of extracting his and his family's memories for further evidence as a way of retaliation; but in the end, only Lucius was unfortunate enough to receive the kiss together with the rest of Voldemort's army.
Draco and his mother, who's wand had been temporarily confiscated, were put into constant surveillance and house arrest for an indefinite amount of time. Years, he guessed.
Admittedly, it was more than what he deserved, though Draco couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief at the verdict. His mother was saved, and he was going with her. It was the only thing that mattered then—the only reason he didn't want to be kissed by some soul-sucking ghoul was because it was his turn to look after her, for all she's done for him the moment her husband's rationality spiralled.
He was master to the Malfoy name now, and thereafter, his life's routine moulded into a series of mirroring glares, physical fights, while also dodging unwarranted curses during his weekly errands—made worse when he received his annual Hogwarts letter via the Ministry, followed by a second from the new Headmistress McGonagall informing him of an additional responsibility that he shouldn't dare reject.
Even if he had no choice, Draco supposed being Head Boy had its pros by at least granting him some semblance of superiority towards the student body, but he was powerless against the sodding professors who managed to sneak in a hex or two.
'Bloody unprofessionals, the lot of them,' he'd chastise in the security of his mind.
Draco could handle verbal duelling to an extent, seeing as he's gotten better at snide remarks—his tongue ached from biting back his best retorts still—and was only allowed to use his wand under an elder's supervision. As a result, he now constantly looked over his shoulder to make sure some twat wasn't on their way to reopen his stomach.
Such joy was that.
He shuddered at the memory.
It was just his luck that during one of his nightly patrols, he'd had the misfortune of coming across a nasty brawl between two third-year Gryffindors, and did not expect one to have a three-inch long dagger hidden Merlin-only-knows where in his robes. Draco realised as much when the tosser had buried it deep into his left abdomen and squawked out something about Death Eaters—something Draco was sure he'd heard hundreds of times since his acquittal—before he ran off with the bloke he had been pulverising.
It was no different than the war, really. Just that there were more people out to get him. Except for her .
He wanted to laugh at the irony. Draco believed it ludicrous that the only upside to not rotting in a cell in Azkaban was his fellow Head and dormmate: Hermione fucking Granger, the same bucktoothed swot he'd spent half of his youth tormenting.
Never in his life would he have thought that Granger, of all people, would become his only source of peace and happiness, or any other emotion he was sure he was incapable of having.
And it wasn't supposed to be that way. He had a plan, written in bold inside his head.
Accept going back to Hogwarts against his will. Take the opportunity of having to room with Granger to apologise for the sake of his own sanity and hers. Survive the rest of the year by lurking behind the shadows like the coward that he is. Go home straight after graduation to take care of mother and the business.
He should not have gone forward with step two, though it was too late for second guesses, he deduced. Not after the whiplash he went through.
Everything became clouded yet so vivid after step two.
In the weeks he'd come to befriend Granger, he discovered what it was like to live and be happy without spending a single knut. He'd never seen the world in such blinding colours. She made him hurt, she made him annoyed, she made him smile and laugh so hard he might have popped a vein. Worst of all, she made him love.
It wasn't the kind of affection he held for his mother either—when he thought about it—or any of his new and few friends; rather, a genuine and sappy love that Pansy Parkinson once begged of him. Draco had to pull up five times the amount of Occlumency walls just so he wouldn't get on his knees and start wooing Granger with poetry.
But apparently, that wasn't the last of it!
The insufferable witch also made him care for things he wouldn't even have thought twice about, and he didn't know whether his clenched fist was a form of disgust at what he had turned into, or resistance from the need to just pull her doe-eyed face to his and snog her senseless.
He groaned. Isolation and commonalty was driving him crazy. She was driving him crazy. If not her, then her blasted familiar was.
"Hey! What's wrong with you?" Draco reprimanded the orange wad of fur currently digging a grave at the gap of Hermione's door.
The old fart had ignored him, although made his notice by making the scratches and grumbles louder for effect. Draco sneered. He took four, long strides towards Crookshanks and was an inch close when the cat hissed and ran back into whatever hellhole he crawled out of.
Was Granger still in her chambers? From what he knew, she went ahead and offered the new Muggle-born students a tour of Hogsmeade, effectively squashing his plans of asking her to accompany him instead on a secret runaway. It marked the third time she'd turned him down in the span of a few days, no matter how fortuitous it was.
Draco could only ruffle his hair in frustration. Rejection was a bitch, but it coming from Granger hurt more than anything he'd experienced before, which was saying quite a lot. Was asking a witch on one a date supposed to be this hard?
Even his friends couldn't deny it. Not when it was Miss I-have-plans-every-minute-of-every-day Granger.
Sure, Draco was patient, up until he succumbed to the desperation, anyway. In this case he had to remind himself that Granger was not like the updated brooms he received with a snap of a finger. She wouldn't cater to his whims just because he gave her his infamous Malfoy smirk. But Draco didn't know. He was rarely one to ask because the girls did it first, sometimes unnecessarily throwing themselves at him in the process and giggling into his ear.
Should he do that? He wasn't sure about the giggling, but if she spoiled his ploy one more time, he'd seriously consider it as his only option.
God, he was really going barmy.
"Mate, are you ready?!" someone boomed below. Theodore shitting Nott was early.
"You're early," Draco voiced, walking away from Hermione's door.
Next to an impatient-looking Theo was a blonde woman draped in a Slytherin cloak that was much too big for her. It hid her body—no doubt dressed in an odd combination of colours and cloth—down to the soles of her shoes, but her pale face smiled at him dreamily. Her hair was longer too, last he saw, as part of it was gathered in a big bun atop her head.
"Yeah, because the sooner we get there, the longer I get to enjoy my date," Theo argued, looping an arm around Lovegood who affectionately patted his hand in return. The sight did not fare well with Draco's stomach. He was never going to get used to it. "We already wasted enough time waiting for everyone to go first."
Why did he agree to come with them again? Oh, yes: backup, unless he wanted to revisit bleeding to death. That, and he wanted to see Granger.
"I believe Hermione would be in Zonko's at this time," Luna informed with a slow blink, her smile unwavering.
'The fuck?' He'd heard tales of her oddity—experienced them on occasions, too. It seemed mind-reading was another thing he should add to the list.
Draco raised a light brow. "And you know this, how?"
"She made a timetable."
"Of course, she did." He rolled his eyes and went straight for the door, past the couple. "Let's go."
The sooner he found Granger, the better. He pictured her embarrassed and red-faced, much like that morning.
"You think you're going to be alright, Draco?" Theo asked, somewhat worried.
He'd been present when Draco was stabbed. He and Granger had both been there, and they were the ones who patched him up. It was not a good night for each of the parties involved.
"As long as I keep out of sight," Draco replied.
Theo grinned. "Don't worry! Good ol' Theo's got your back."
No the fuck he did not. As soon as they got past the first shop, Theo excitedly dragged his girlfriend inside with him to spoil her with whatever—probably another addition to her collection of weird-looking garments. Fortunately not before casting a modified concealment charm on his friend.
'Good on him for finding something else to fixate on,' Draco thought. When Nott Sr. passed not long after the war by his own hand, his only heir naturally inherited everything from the gold to the dirt. But Theo was not in a good place mentally and had used almost half of it on every alcoholic beverage imaginable, magical or otherwise.
He stopped sending Draco letters shortly afterwards, prompting the blonde to believe he'd gone and died. Then one day, out of the blue, he shows up a month late at Hogwarts looking sharp and cheery as ever for a reason Draco soon found out to be bloody Lovegood. For a moment he thought Theo had come to haunt him. The sod did always yap about messing with him beyond the grave.
Only when he saw the girl did his worries rest. The two strode together, joined at the hands, along the halls and Draco's eyes nearly fell off out of sheer surprise.
He wasn't apprised of the technicalities—nor did he wish to—just that the loony bird had somehow pulled the boy out of his miserable shell, and now he was sickeningly obsessed with her. Not that it was the first time. From what he could recall, Theo's held a candle for Lovegood since Fifth Year. And now that she gave him a chance, it appeared he wasn't going to pass it up for anything.
On the other hand, Draco still couldn't see a single sign of Granger anywhere, and his bollocks were a minute close to becoming ice cubes. What's more, thick bits of snow had started falling again, making it impossible to see things at the distance he travelled in, all the while wetting his black suit.
He could hear, nevertheless, and the first thing he picked up after a few minutes of gushing wind were the taunting, high-pitched cackles of an unknown, secluded group.
Located in a snowy clearing a couple of ways from a row of houses were what looked to be five students between fourth and sixth-years wearing a variety of silly, demon-esque masks. They were laughing, cheering, everything akin to a boost for the holiday spirit as they had their wands and attention raised up to the sky.
With a tilt of his head, Draco saw something floating—no, bouncing —in the air. When he got closer, he realised it was an animal. Not a dog, or a cat, but something equally as small, if not smaller. All he could really make out was that it was brown and a bit long and slim, considering the way its body twisted and turned like the springing toy Hermione had showed him a month ago. What did she call it, again? A slunky? Slinky ?
The animal's squeals of terror reached him from behind the bushes, further solidifying his initial assumptions and making his blood rise in anger.
It was all too familiar for him suddenly as flashes of Impostor-Moody were conjured in the back of his mind.
"Draco Malfoy, the Amazing Bouncing Ferret!"
The sensation of his feeble, ferrety body colliding on the stone floor again and again while the rest cackled in amusement stunned him like a Crucio . Up and down, up and down , he recalled. The places wherein laid bruises and fractures he hid to save him from further humiliation throbbed fervently, urging him to do something.
Then his hand yanked the wand out of his pocket before he could think as he marched towards the conniving, puny brats, uncaring that the first thing at the tip of his tongue was an instinctual Unforgivable.
The teenagers were still too busy with the crying slinky, ignorant to his heavily charging footsteps when a tree exploded—surprisingly from a surge of accidental magic on Draco's part. All five jumped as high as they could, startled and silenced. They snapped their heads towards the dark-clad figure a metre away, now unveiled in all his seething glory.
"Drop it," Draco ordered. Venom laced his tone which had each member scrambling in different directions, taking the floating spell with them and he caught the animal just in time.
It was an otter. A very dizzied one, from the looks of it. Its head swayed side to side in a manner only a drunk man can perform while its paws trembled on the lapels of his coat. The silky, brown hide was a contrast to its creamy underbelly; and it had a darker, button nose that wrinkled ever so faintly.
He shifted the creature to lay down on his forearm, parallel to a newborn, when the swaying stopped. Its beady, black eyes locked onto his with a drop of its jaw as it stiffened in his hold. They continued the contact for what felt like two, long seconds before the otter completely lost it.
It went mental —squirming away from him so vigorously as though it had been burnt. Albeit startled himself, Draco tried keeping it steady and calm. It eventually slipped out and fell into the white, cold pillows below, still freaking the fuck out.
"Hey, it's alright," Draco held his hands up cautiously. What the fuck was he doing? "It's alright. I'm not one of them."
The otter froze on all fours, its back arched, and looked at him incredulously—if that was even possible. It heaved, then stood on its hind legs as it gazed down at its tiny paws.
Like clockwork, it flew to the left, and to the right, spraying snow everywhere it landed.
Draco was at a loss on what to do as he observed the situation. Had the students addled its brain somewhat? Should he take it to Pomfrey? Did the bint even know how to treat animals of this kind?
He stopped, sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Nope . He saved it, that's what matters. It was time to move on. Plus, he had more pressing matters to tend to.
Walking away to resume his previous task, he heard an alarmed squeak from the otter—different than the ones it emitted during the tantrum. It was clear and steady, beckoning him to turn around.
The mammal leaped a few small hills towards him in record speed before palming his trouser leg for support as it peered up at him with pleading eyes. His brows knitted.
" Now you want my help?" Draco asked.
He received a chirp in response.
"Well, I can't very well take you to any of the magizoologists or healers in the area since I'm not welcomed anywhere but outside," he exclaimed with a shrug. "Besides, you seem to be doing just fine and dandy now. Go back to your nest or something."
It mewled angrily, following each stride of his retreat.
"Are you daft? I said go away already."
It didn't, leading to a game where the otter raced ahead to block his path only for him to step over it easily. Even then, he had to be careful not to accidentally kick the persistent, little thing. It was so agile and moved everywhere.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake! Fine! I'll take you to Pomfrey," Draco threw his arms up in exaggeration. He scooped up the animal using one hand, fingers wrapping around its torso as his palm supported the chest. It laid with its belly flat against his inner forearm, short legs on either side as its front claws dangled down uselessly. "But first, you're going to help me look for Granger. Who knows, you might even help me win her over."
The otter suddenly screamed and repeated to thrash about.
"You keep that up and I will throw you back where I found you." As if it understood, it went limp as a Hippogriff's meal in defeat. Was it actually pouting ?
Draco shrugged. He couldn't care less. All he needed was for it to behave.
Satisfied, he sauntered back to Hogsmeade, thoughts fleeting back on Hermione. He wondered what she'd think of him saving a threatened otter. She had a thing for bravery, right? Would she like it enough for her to look him in the face again? Would it entitle him another kiss?
His thoughts and hopes mingled for as long as they could, but unfortunately for his mood and high expectations, his search ended up a waste hours later when it was near time to return and he'd not seen a single curly strand of Hermione's bushy head over and under mixing crowds.
Theo, sporting a shit-eating grin, had found him then—sulking pathetically in a secluded corner—and sure enough, he and Luna were carrying huge bags of Merlin-only-knows what. Judging from their current attire, it couldn't possibly get any crazier.
"Where's Hermione, and what is that?" Theo pointed to the passed-out object in his arms, warmly bundled up in his scarf.
"No clue. I haven't seen her anywhere," answered Draco with a heavy sigh, feigning defeat. "And this is just something I found earlier. A group of kids were messing with it. I'll take it to Pomfrey as soon as we get to Hogwarts because it won't leave me alone."
'Truthfully,' he wanted to add. As a test, he almost abandoned it along the way at the entrance of what he presumed was an animal clinic when there was no one around, but it clung to him like a petulant child to its mother in a vast store. He can figure how much Theo was willing to pay for the image of him struggling to peel the otter off.
But Draco did not want to cause a bigger scene than that and risk having someone recognize him. Had this been months prior, he would've simply shoved it through the window and yelled for it to stay.
Alas, seeing as he was now infected with Granger's empathic ways, he begrudgingly took the otter back. It cuddled deeper into his cradle minutes after, shivering—hence him graciously donating the muffler.
"How very…Gryffindor of you." Theo's smirk was punchable. Draco had no energy for it. Not when he'd spent it all looking for a woman that had successfully avoided him in precisely nine hours and thirteen minutes.
Luna, being herself, simply stared at the mustelid in fascination before reaching out to gently stroke its head with her gloved fingers. The otter whined in protest, turning away to further bury itself in the woolly cocoon.
"She's quite lovely," she commented.
"She?" Draco asked but caught himself just as quickly. "You know what, let's just go. It is bloody freezing right now and Granger's probably gone back, too."
He hoped.