Draco smoothed his ink black robes, adjusting the pointed hood to fall further around his face.
He shouldn't have come.
When he had received the invitation to the Halloween Reunion Ball, he had almost thrown it away. The very thought of seeing the faces of his peers from Hogwarts again was enough to make him sick. How could he look into their eyes, knowing they all most likely hated him? Worse yet, what about the missing faces, those who he had helped condemn to their fates?
Had it not been for his mother, Draco would have stayed shut inside Malfoy Manor, hiding from the world and avoiding the shame brought on by accusatory stares and whispers every time someone caught a glimpse of him in public.
But, his mother was worried about him. She had pleaded with him to leave his room, had begged him to see his old school friends. He never did. It wasn't until his father was finally sent to Azkaban and his mother had fallen ill, frail from the toll of living with the Dark Lord for a year, that Draco reluctantly agreed. He couldn't bear the thought of causing his mother more pain.
And so Draco had accepted the invite to the Halloween Ball. It was a reunion, an event meant to celebrate the students who had helped aid their school in the Battle of Hogwarts. He wasn't even sure why he was invited.
The event was being held in the recently refurbished Great Hall of Hogwarts. Horace Slughorn's idea, apparently - what better way to celebrate You-Know-Who's defeat than to host a party in the place he perished? Draco thought it seemed distasteful and garish - which was to be expected of Slughorn. Not as garish, however, as the attached note Draco had received with the invitation.
Dear Guests,
The theme of the night is 'Battles of Shadows and Light'. In the spirit of unity and reflection, we've decided to add an element of mystery to this Halloween Reunion Ball. Each attendee has been allocated a random costume to wear for the night. This is a symbolic gesture to remind us that, in the 'Battle of Shadows and Light', fate played a hand in determining who stood on which side. As we celebrate our victory, let us not forget the sacrifices, the shadows cast by our choices, and the light that emerged from the darkness.
And then, a smaller slip of paper which stated 'You have been assigned the costume of - Grim Reaper'.
This turn of events proved less than ideal for Draco. Reluctantly donning the costume had felt like a direct affront, akin to a slap in the face. The uncanny resemblance between the costume and the uniform he had been forced to wear for a year straight heightened the discomfort. Any lingering hope he harboured of blending into the background vanished. Here he stood, shrouded in a long black cloak with a pointed hood, every inch the embodiment of a disgraced former Death Eater.
And so Draco was sipping his drink in a shadowy corner, surveying the room. The Great Hall had completely transformed, reminiscent of a grand ballroom from a bygone era. The enchanted ceiling mimicked a starlit night sky as usual, casting a soft glow over the festivities. Glittering orbs of light floated gracefully above, casting radiant beams that danced with the shadows, creating an ethereal ambiance.
A mediaeval tapestry surrounding the room seemed to come alive, showcasing what Draco assumed were famous battle scenes from the past. The floor beneath Draco's feet was a magical mosaic, shifting between shades of black and silver, mirroring the theme of shadows and light that echoed throughout the hall. All around the room, flora adorned the walls and tables, with glowing petals falling softly from the enchanted sky above.
Around him, Draco recognised a few familiar faces, though he did his best to avoid their curious gazes. He spotted Neville Longbottom, and held back a snort as he noted that thankfully, his costume wasn't the worst. He appeared to be a Cherub, with small white wings, a bow and arrow, and rosy cheeks to match.
The Gryffindor boy didn't seem to mind looking so silly, however, as he was more animated than Draco had ever seen him. Gone was the nervous and stuttering boy that he had shared potions with, and there in his place was a man who was throwing his head back and laughing, entertaining the small crowd which had formed around him with his stories.
Draco felt a surge of resentment at how easily he fit in with his fellow students. Great - now he was envious of Longbottom.
"Draco!" Came a shrill cry from beside him, and he scowled as he reluctantly turned to the source.
Pansy Parkinson was strutting towards him, in a ludicrously short brown leather dress of sorts. The dress had a corset with what appeared to be metal armour, and she carried a small fake (Draco hoped) axe.
"Pansy." Draco muttered reluctantly, a hint of irritation in his tone. "What are you supposed to be?"
To his extreme annoyance, she flung her arms around him, the cold metal of her dress pressing uncomfortably into his chest.
"I haven't seen you in ages! I'm a Valkyrie, not that anyone even knows what that is. Anyway, what about you? You've been hiding away like some sort of hermit. You haven't come to one of our get-togethers!" She squealed as he removed himself from her grip. Draco looked around to see if her outburst had drawn anyone else's attention before he fixed her with a cool look.
"Yes, well," Draco replied, his voice taking on a stiff edge. "My father's in Azkaban, the Malfoy name is in shambles, and I've been fending off the Ministry's attempts to seize the estate."
He had meant to quieten her down and stop her from drawing attention to them both, however he regretted his words when he saw Pansy deflate.
"Oh, I know, it's awful isn't it? We've all been so worried about you, Draco." She said in a low voice, with concern now clouding her usually haughty features. Suddenly, Draco felt guilty.
However, this soon disappeared as she added, "I mean, really! You should see some of the dirty looks I've received tonight, and I didn't even do anything! Just because I chose not to fight in the battle like some bloody self sacrificial hero."
Draco felt his stomach drop at her words, 'I didn't even do anything'. Unlike him - her unspoken words hung heavy in the air.
"I need another drink." Draco muttered to excuse himself, leaving Pansy mid sentence, staring after him in bewilderment.
He approached the drinks table and poured himself a firewhiskey, downing it in one go before pouring himself another. The familiar burn scorched its way down his throat before moving to his stomach, their flames managing to ease away some of the knot that had settled there.
Draco sought solace at a secluded table, distancing himself from the lively crowd and its prying eyes. He sank into the chair, a breath of relief escaping him as he took a moment to collect his thoughts.
Why had he come? At least now he knew that the entire year had been invited, not just those who had fought in the battle. Still, Pansy's words rang in his ears; even amongst his fellow Slytherins, most of whom had been in support of the dark side of the war, he was the only person who had actively participated in the Dark Lord's regime.
Draco's gaze involuntarily scanned the room once more, and there, in the midst of the crowd, he locked eyes with a girl vaguely recognizable as one of the Patil twins. A silent exchange ensued, her narrowed eyes carrying unspoken accusations that lingered in the air. He looked away quickly, and with a jolt remembered that if he wasn't mistaken, her friend Lavender was one of the fallen.
The familiar creeping feeling of shame ate away at him as he avoided her glare, and his eyes fell on the table beside him. What he saw there only served to make him feel even worse than he had all night.
What finally broke his composure, of all things, was George Weasley. The redhead sat at a table, dressed in a purple and orange costume as a court jester. The shocking part wasn't the outfit, however - it was that for the first time since Draco had ever seen him, his face was not broken into a smile. And he looked terribly, utterly alone. Like half a person.
Guilt, an unrelenting force, clawed at Draco's insides, urging him to escape the suffocating atmosphere. Draco fixated on the contents of his drink, contemplating a hasty exit to the safety of Malfoy Manor. Abruptly, a voice sliced through his thoughts, pulling him back into the present moment.
"Draco Malfoy."
He turned to find Professor McGonagall standing before him, her stern expression softened by a hint of understanding. She, too, was in costume, dressed as a wise sorceress with a flowing robe and a staff.
"Professor," Draco acknowledged, not bothering to hide his surprise at her addressing him.
"I've been observing you this evening," she admitted, her gaze steady. "I know these gatherings can be… challenging for someone in your position. But remember, that the - what did Slughorn call it? - 'Battle of Shadows and Light', I suppose, is not just about the past. It's also about the choices we make in the present."
Draco frowned, unsure of where she was going with this.
"Your role as the Grim Reaper may feel like a burden, but it can also be a symbol of transformation. Death is not just an end; it can be a new beginning. Embrace the opportunity for redemption and change, Mr. Malfoy," she advised in her thick Scottish accent, piercing him with her stern gaze.
Her words echoed in his mind. Redemption and change seemed like lofty ideals, especially for someone who had been so deeply entrenched in the darkness. Draco muttered some words of acknowledgment, expecting her to leave. But she instead held out her hand, which he took, puzzled.
"The band is starting, Mr Malfoy. It is customary that we do our best to forget the past in the spirit of inter-house unity. May I have this dance?" She asked, though the question seemed like more of a demand, as she hauled him to his feet with surprising strength.
Before Draco could process what was happening and have any time to protest, he was being dragged onto the dance floor by his former Professor. He lowered his hood, his blonde hair falling into his downcast eyes, as he felt the stares of people around the room fall on him.
To his extreme embarrassment, McGonagall then guided his hand to her waist, and the band started playing. She guided him into the first steps of their dance, thankfully one familiar to Draco who had taken dance lessons since he was 8 years old.
"You know this one, I hope?" Asked his professor, with a smile gentler than he had ever seen her.
"Yes, Professor," Draco replied, his voice low, and he followed her lead through the intricate steps of the dance. The once-stern Professor McGonagall moved with surprising grace and elegance, guiding Draco through the dance floor with an authority that left no room for objections.
As they continued their dance, more people joined them. He saw Luna Lovegood, who appeared to be dressed as the sun itself in her glowing yellow dress, swirling out of time to the music while Neville clumsily tried to keep up. Slughorn was dressed as some sort of royalty, complete with a silver crown and fur lined robe, and was guiding Professor Sprout merrily.
The dance floor was now heaving with students and staff alike, which made Draco believe the dance had to be mandatory, as per Slughorn's request.
As the music swelled, Draco realised with a start that during this dance it was customary to change partners. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, than he had felt Mcgonogall release him from her grip and twirl him to his new partner.
Draco fell into step obediently in front of the girl in front of him, taking her hand smoothly as he had been taught. It wasn't until he looked down into her golden brown eyes, that he realised with a jolt who his new partner was.
Granger's tanned skin contrasted with her white silk dress, corseted at the waist. She had a set of feathery wings, and her curly hair rested in a cloud around her face. Above her head was an enchanted halo, glowing softly, the effect making her appear otherworldly in a soft golden glow.
She looked every bit as uncomfortable as Draco's at the sudden close proximity. She didn't speak, eyes straight in front of her and staring at a random spot on his chest.
Draco's body moved robotically as he led them through the steps. His hand barely brushed her waist, and where he held her other hand lightly felt like it burned from her touch.
He led them stiffly through the waltz, neither saying a word to each other. The soft instrumental music seemed to go on forever, and with each passing moment the silence grew more uncomfortable.
Finally, as the music faded and the pair came to a gradual halt, Draco dared to steal a glance at Granger. Simultaneously, her eyes met his.
When Granger's amber eyes met his, Draco felt like he had had the wind knocked out of him. Immediately, he was hurtled back to his drawing room, forced to watch as she was tortured, while he did nothing. An image which had seared into his consciousness, one which he had revisited many times in his nightmares.
She held his gaze now, looking curious at the emotion she must have seen there. They were inches away, and her lips started to move to say something to him, when they were interrupted.
"'Mione! There you are!"
Ron Weasley's voice shattered the fragile atmosphere, pulling Granger's attention away. Draco watched as she turned towards Weasley, her lips still poised to speak, the unspoken words hanging in the air between them.
Weasley jostled through those around to throw his arm around Granger. He was dressed in golden armour, matching her halo. Then, at his side, appeared none other than Potter himself, in a ridiculous white robed costume with a crown of golden thorns around his untidy black hair.
Draco didn't know who his costume was supposed to be and didn't feel like waiting around to find out, so decided to quietly fade into the background. Unfortunately, at this moment both boys turned around to face Granger's partner, their grinning faces faltering as they caught sight of him.
Draco steeled himself; he hadn't seen any of the trio since the battle. Weasley's face predictably soured as he eyed the Slytherin.
"Malfoy." He grunted, the single word carrying his disdain.
"Weasley." Draco replied curtly, schooling his face into a mask of indifference. His heart hammered as Granger looked between the pair, noting the tension.
Potter seemed to have noticed the mounting tension, and placed his hand on Weasley's shoulder. He regarded Draco with an unreadable expression, before giving him a small nod of acknowledgement.
"Alright Malfoy? Slughorn dragged you up to dance too I suppose?" He gave Draco a polite smile, which Draco tried to return.
"Mcgonagall, actually. Something about 'inter-house unity', all that jazz." Draco replied, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Potter smiled knowingly and rolled his eyes, while Granger looked relieved that the mounting tension had been broken. On the contrary, Weasley maintained his scowl, directing it firmly at Draco.
"Come on, 'Mione. You too, Harry, Gin will go mad if we leave her talking to Ernie Macmillan for any longer." He muttered, pulling Granger with him back through the crowd.
Granger gave him an apologetic smile as she was dragged away with Weasley, while Potter turned to leave as well.
"Catch you later, alright? Hagrid was looking for you. We'll be at that table over there if you fancy joining us." He gestured and then left with another nod, catching up with his friends.
Draco grunted in acknowledgment, slightly taken aback by Potter's offer. Why did he always have to play the bloody saint? He would have preferred that Potter had ignored him, sparing them both the pretence that everything was fine and Draco wasn't partially responsible for the deaths of some of Potter's friends.
He retreated back to his table in the corner of the room, pretending not to notice Pansy's wild gestures for him to join the small group of Slytherins who had congregated at the other side of the hall. Here Draco resigned to stay for the majority of the night, long enough for his mother to think that he had efficiently socialised without kicking up a fuss when he returned home.
As the night wore on Draco stayed in place, ignoring his peers when they tried to get him to join them and nursing his drink. The lively crowd moved around him in a flurry of movement, their chatter and laughter echoing off of the stone walls.
More than once, he had found his gaze unwittingly returning to Potter's table, where he sat with Weasley and Granger at his side. There table was the liveliest of all, with a constant stream of students and teachers all desperate to be in the presence of the 'boy who had saved them all'. The trio themselves appeared otherworldly, dressed in matching golden outfits and gracing those around them like a royalty to their subjects.
Solitude washed over Draco as he remained where he belonged, in his shadowy corner. Every now and then he would note the absence of a familiar face amongst a group, and wondered if they were one of those lost to the Dark Lord.
After a couple of hours of Draco hammering his firewhiskeys, he could take no more. He resolved himself to step outside for fresh air, and made his way out of the Ballroom.
Deciding against going out the front door of the castle, he instead made his way to the upstairs balcony. The laughter and music from the Great Hall died down as he retreated, though there remained a residing thumping in his head.
He approached the first floor balcony doors, surprised to find them already open. As he stepped outside into the night, the cool air hit his face and he took several deep breaths, bracing his hands on the railing as he surveyed the grounds.
The moon hung low in the inky blue sky, and the grounds were shrouded in fallen leaves and an icy frost. It was strange, with all that had transpired here, that everything should look the very same as it had when Draco had attended school, oblivious to what was to come.
Draco let his mask slip for a moment, his face falling as he remembered the events which took place here only a year ago. The creeping panic and shame of being here again washed it's way down his body, as he took deep breaths to calm himself. It wasn't until he looked to his left, that he realised he wasn't alone.