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 had been May when he was denied proper punishment—a lengthy sentence to Azkaban—on grounds of him being a minor during the events leading up to his trial.
He was misguided, he was forced, he was scared, claimed his defence team.
He doubted the judges believed any of it. If they had just waited twelve more days…
But they didn't. Refused. There were other prioritised Death Eaters on the Wizengamot's list they needed captured and tried—Yaxley, the Carrow brothers, Nott, Lucius. What a lucky day it was that he wasn't grouped with them. A lucky day that the law settled on disregarding the fact that he served directly under the noseless tyrant himself.
Thus he went out free with limitations.
However, the Aurors were discrete, creative, having found a way to instil their own grievances personally. They acted upon them whilst extracting memories for further evidence. Draco got a punch or two as well as a handful of nasty yet harmless curses, but in the end, only his father was unfortunate enough to receive death, together with the rest of Voldemort's inner circle.
Draco and his mother—whose penalty was a mere wand confiscation—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 safe, 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 to keep him alive the moment her husband's rationality spiralled.
Now he was master to the Malfoy name; and thereafter, his life's routine moulded into a series of mirroring glares, physical fights, and dodging unwarranted curses at his weekly errands—made worse when he received his annual Hogwarts letter via the Ministry, followed by a second from the newly appointed 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 powerless against professors who managed to sneak in a hex or two.
'Bloody unprofessionals, the lot of them,' he'd chastise them in the security of his mind.
Draco could handle verbal duelling to an extent, seeing at how much he improved at giving snide remarks as of late. His gums ached from biting back his best retorts still—things that'd put him in situations where he couldn't defend himself—because the Ministry had put a spell tracker on his wand that would immediately notify Mcgonagall should he use it outside of a teacher'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.
Once, on 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.
Being one of the two Death Eaters in the school, it made sense that people targeted him wholly. All 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 bullying.
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.
In any case, it wasn't supposed to be that way. He had a plan, written in bold, capital letters inside his head.
1. Accept going back to Hogwarts against his will.
2. Survive the rest of the year by lurking behind the shadows like the coward that he is.
4. Go home straight after graduation to take care of mother and the business.
5. Take the opportunity of having to room with Granger to apologise for the sake of his own sanity and hers.
The fourth was a recent addition, one he should not have gone forward with. Though it was too late for second guesses, he mused. Not after the whiplash that was yesterday.
Everything became clouded yet so vivid after step four.
Draco didn't think it was possible, but in the weeks he'd come to befriend Granger, he discovered how clueless he actually was to life. He'd never seen the world in such blinding colours. Never experienced feeling multiple emotions in a day. 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, sappy love that Pansy Parkinson once begged of him. If ever his stomach fluttered, Draco had to pull up five times the amount of Occlumency walls just so he wouldn't say or do anything stupid.
But that was just a sliver of the full scope.
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 become, or resistance from the need to pull her doe-eyed face to his and snog her senseless.
That image stayed with him for a week.
He groaned. Isolation and commonalty was driving him crazy. Yes, that was his problem. 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 Granger's door.
The cat ignored him, although made his notice by making the scratches and grumbles louder.
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? To his knowledge, she'd gone out early on her offer of a tour with the new Muggle-born students to Hogsmeade. He wanted to talk to her about their conversation the night before, but she refused, providing him not even a glance as she hurried out of the common room.
Crookshanks offered no sympathies, the smug little bastard.
Draco could only ruffle his hair in frustration. Rejection was a bitch, but it coming from Granger multiplied to extremes. He was certain he'd made good progress after yesterday. Was asking a witch on one date supposed to be this hard?
His friends couldn't deny it too. 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, anyhow. He had to remind himself that people were not objects. Granger wasn't a Firebolt he'd get wrapped and delivered to his door at a single request. She wouldn't cling to him for his status, though he had none; or cater to his whims just because he gave her the 'infamous Malfoy smirk', which he'd lost.
But Draco didn't know. Romance was never his forte. He never acted, never wooed, rarely asked because the girls did it first, sometimes unnecessarily throwing themselves at him in the process and giggling into his ear.
How long did he have until it would come to that? He wasn't sure about the giggling, however, but if she spoiled his ploy one more time, he'd consider it as his only option.
God, he was really going barmy.
"Mate, are you ready?!" someone boomed below. Theodore Nott was early.
"You're early," Draco voiced, walking away from Hermione's locked 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 the woman, Luna Lovegood, who softly patted his hand in return. Happy as Draco was for his friend, he wasn't a fan of public displays any more than Granger was to sports. Seeing Theo so deeply affectionate was…strange. Though he'd always been a perpetual flirt, he never took his conquests seriously. "We already wasted enough time waiting for everyone else 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 too for the better part of the months she spent caged in his manor's dungeon. He sneaked her food at nights where he could, and she'd start telling him the weirdest shite of just about any and everything. An unfiltered mouth was a quality he'd long associated with Lovegood, and it seemed mind reading was another thing he should add to the list.
Draco raised a brow. "And you know this, how?"
"She made a timetable." Luna shrugged.
"Of course, she did." He rolled his eyes and exited past the couple. "Let's go."
The sooner he found Granger, the better. He pictured her embarrassed and red-faced, much like that morning as she pushed him away after he'd asked her to look at him.
"You think you're going to be alright, Draco?" Theo asked, somewhat worried.
He'd been present during the stabbing incident. He and Granger had both been there, and they were the ones who patched him up when he declined a trip to the infirmary. It was not a good evening for each of the individuals involved.
"As long as I keep out of sight," Draco said stoically, pulling his cloak's hood over his head.
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, presumably to spoil her with whatever—probably another addition to her collection of weird-looking garments—though 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's ghost had come to haunt him. The sod did always yap about messing with him beyond the grave.
Only when he saw the girl beside him did his worries rest. The two strode together, joined at the hip, along the halls and Draco's eyes nearly ran off out of sheer surprise.
He wasn't privy to the technicalities—nor did he wish to—just that the loony bird had somehow pulled Theo 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 had 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 and 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 stores were what looked to be five students between fourth and sixth-years wearing a variety of silly, demon-esque masks. They laughed and cheered, 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 roared in amusement stunned him like a Crucio. Up and down, up and down. The places wherein laid bruises and fractures he hid to save him from further humiliation throbbed fervently, though long-healed.
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 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 squirmed 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." He didn't talk tenderly. He would rather die.
The otter stilled on all fours, its back arched, and looked at him incredulously—if that was even possible. It let out a deep sigh, then stood on its hind legs as it gazed down at its tiny paws.
Like clockwork, it flung itself 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. Was it playing now or still having a breakdown? 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, huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Nope. He saved it, that's all what matters. It was time to move on. And he had more pressing matters to handle. It couldn't have been past twelve at this hour.
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. It 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 out here—in the freezing fucking cold," he exclaimed with a kick. Gods help him, he thought. He was bargaining with an animal. "Besides, you seem to be doing just fine and dandy now. Go back to your nest or something."
The otter mewled angrily, following each stride of his retreat.
"Are you daft? I said go away already."
A game commenced, 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 welly 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." It suddenly 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 Granger. 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 Granger's bushy head over and under the 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 otter in his arms, warmly bundled up in his scarf.
"No clue. I haven't seen her anywhere," answered Draco with a heavy sigh of defeat and frustration. "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."
'Honestly,' he wanted to add. As a test, he'd left it along the way, at the entrance of what he supposed was an animal clinic when there was no one around, but it clung to him like a petulant child to their mother in a vast market. He can imagine 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 scene 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 away from him.
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 scarf and personal warmth.
"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 interrupted 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.