...
Author's Note:
TW for canon character death (Dumbledore), torture described in a memory (between Bellatrix and Hermione), and implied child abuse (memories of a child hiding from an abusive parent).
If you're particularly sensitive to any of the topics above, I'd recommend skipping what happens after Draco takes the pill and coming back in after the line break.
Thanks for reading!
...
Draco clung tightly to his mother's hand as they weaved their way in and out of the thin aisles of Knockturn Alley. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over everything, and the streets were alive with the noise of people chatting, the gentle buzzing of the adults' latent magic, and the distant jingle of storefront bells in the direction of Diagon Alley.
Even at age 7, he was small for his age, his blonde hair carefully placed in straight strands across his forehead. Narcissa Malfoy, just as small and just as blonde, was always close by, her gentle touch guiding him through the crowds.
"Look, Mum," Draco pointed ahead, his eyes lighting up as they approached a familiar shop. It was a small store with cracked black shingles on top and an old-fashioned wooden sign that read Dystyl Phaelanges swinging gently in the breeze. The scent of a light musk and something oddly sweet drifted out every time the door opened. Inside, there were rows upon rows of small animal bones, meticulously arranged in various boxes and vials.
"Bones," Draco whispered, grinning up at her. He had been here many times before, although he never quite understood what it was about the place that made him feel both comforted and a little uneasy.
His mother smiled down at him, her lips curling in a soft, knowing way. "I know, darling. Let's go inside."
They entered the store, the doorbell ringing softly above them. The shopkeeper, an elderly woman with guarded eyes and a reserved smile, nodded curtly as they approached. She had a way of looking at Draco as though she could see something deep inside, even if he didn't quite understand what it was.
"Mrs. Malfoy," the woman greeted, her voice smooth and even.
Draco's eyes widened in awe as he surveyed his surroundings- walls that seemed to stretch to the ceiling were filled with bones ranging in size from toad vertebrates all the way to giant skulls. He could never get enough of this place.
The noise started like a murmur, soft and distant, like the buzz of bees in the Manor garden. But then it grew, louder and louder, until it felt like the whole world was shaking. Draco could hear the bones all clattering on their shelves, his hand still clutching his mother's, and he could feel the ground vibrating under his feet.
It was hard to tell what was happening at first. People were shouting, their voices sharp and frantic, like when you hear someone yell at a Quidditch match. Outside, people were moving in all directions, their faces tight and worried, but no one seemed to know where to go.
He turned to his mom, but she was looking ahead, her brow furrowed. Her fingers tightened around his hand, almost pulling him closer, like she was afraid something would grab him.
"Mum?" he asked quietly, but she didn't answer. Instead, her eyes scanned the crowd, her lips pressing together in a line. He felt his stomach twist. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't understand why. The shouting had gotten louder now, more urgent. A man with a black cloak was waving his arms, trying to make people stop and listen, but everyone just rushed past him.
Draco stood on tiptoe, peering over the crowd. The air felt thick, like when you breathe in right before it rains. In the distance, he saw a group of people running, their faces wide with fear. They were shouting something, but it was too muffled, too jumbled for him to make out.
His mom's hand tightened again, pulling him closer, but Draco felt like he was being pulled into something much bigger than just this moment. He didn't understand what was happening, but he knew one thing—everything felt out of control. His mother quickly got her bearings, her hands warm and gentle on his shoulders, but her face... her face looked different now. Tighter. Tense.
"Stay close," she said, her voice low and steady, but Draco could hear the slight edge of fear in her tone.
He looked up at her, but she was already moving him out of Dystyl Phaelanges and through the crowd, her steps quick and purposeful. Draco's small legs struggled to keep up as people rushed around them, some running, some just walking fast with their heads down.
Draco's breath came in short bursts as he tried to keep up, but his eyes kept darting back to the confusion—people shouting, pointing, some even crying. It was like the air itself was filled with magical energy, crackling and buzzing with unease.
"Sweetheart," his mom spoke softly but urgently, "I need you to climb inside that cabinet."
Draco's eyes widened as he realized that they had entered a new store and he stood in front of an old, oak cabinet. Just about the size to fit a small boy curled up inside of it and nothing else. Realization dawned on him then- this hadn't been the first time that he'd seen his mother in a panic and this hadn't been the first time that he'd been forced to hide in a cabinet, but it was the first time it happened outside the Manor.
He scrambled into the cabinet and turned around to face his mom, who was reaching around for something in the pocket of her cloak.
Narcissa pulled a small, shimmering pill from her purse and held it out in her palm. The pill was translucent, flickering like a tiny star trapped inside glass. Draco hesitated for a moment, glancing up at his mother. Her tight smile was gentle but insistent.
"Take the pill, honey," she murmured, her voice so strained that it was hard to argue. "I'm sorry I can't explain. Everything will be ok. Just...please."
With a mix of curiosity and trust, Draco took the pill from her hand and swallowed it. It was cool and smooth on his tongue, disappearing quickly. His mother gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and whispered, "I love you, Draco," before closing the cabinet door and plunging him into darkness. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen.
And then—suddenly—everything changed.
Draco's vision wavered. The world around him seemed to blur and twist, like the colors in a painting running into one another. He blinked, and the sounds of Knockturn Alley faded away, replaced by a strange, distant hum.
He was no longer curled up in the cabinet.
Suddenly becoming aware that he was no longer 7 years old, Draco looked down, his body feeling foreign for a moment. While admittedly very slender and relatively short for his age, he could now have easily reached the top shelf at Dystyl Phaelanges, which had felt as if it had towered over him only moments ago.
Draco's stomach twisted as he realized where he was. His breath was shallow, the cold night air seeping through his cloak, stinging his skin. The Astronomy Tower seemed to engulf him, casting long shadows across the grounds below, where the vast expanse of Hogwarts was dimly visible in the moonlight. The wind howled, rattling the windows.
Dumbledore stood near the edge of the tower, gazing out at the dark sky, his hands resting calmly on the stone ledge. He seemed so peaceful, so unconcerned. Draco's stomach churned.
Draco's heart hammered in his chest as his eyes darted to the shadows where Severus had silently appeared behind him. The tall figure was just a silhouette, his black robes blending into the night, but Draco didn't need to see his face to know who it was.
Draco opened his mouth to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. This was the moment. The moment he would have to do it, or someone else would.
Dumbledore turned slowly, eyes passing right over Draco and landing on Severus. The old man's expression wasn't one of anger, or fear, or even reproach—it was only calm, as if he had known this would happen all along.
"Severus," Dumbledore spoke softly, "Please."
Before he could say anything more, Snape stepped forward from the shadows, his face cold and unreadable. Draco's pulse quickened. This was it. This was where it would all end.
He turned his head, unable to look at Dumbledore anymore, his eyes locked on Snape. The man's gaze was full of an icy finality, and then—almost too quickly for Draco to process—Snape raised his wand.
"Avada Kedavra."
The words were a hiss, cold and deadly. The green light shot forward, faster than Draco could blink, and Dumbledore's figure jerked once, twice, before being blasted backwards over the ledge of the Astronomy Tower in front of them with a strange, almost graceful finality.
But just as quickly as the scene had appeared, it vanished. The world shifted again, and Draco felt the ground beneath his feet change.
He immediately recognized that he was standing in the parlor of Malfoy Manor and, unfortunately, recognized the scenario as well.
"I want to have a little talk with this one, girl-to-girl," his Aunt Bellatrix spit out, holding her wand at Hermione's throat and motioning for her two friends to be dragged downstairs to the dungeons. The boys both screamed frantically in protest, but they were wandless and helpless and dragged away nonetheless.
As the echoes of their shouts slowly faded into the corridors of the Manor, Bellatrix had started to question Hermione— something about an object being stolen from her vault at Gringott's. The line of questioning seemed rather futile given that the young brown-haired witch wasn't given time to respond between hexes. Bellatrix cast the Cruciatus Curse, causing Hermione to fall to her knees and a blood curdling shriek to rip from her throat. She did this again, and again, and again, until Hermione was lying completely flat on the floor and shaking like a leaf.
Draco knew what the Cruciatus Curse felt like— he had survived several rounds of it from his father and even once from the Dark Lord himself. It was a much deeper, more terrifying pain than most people imagined. Sure, there was the feeling that your skin was being sliced off with a hot knife along every inch of your body, but there was also a twisting and pulsating agony that would radiate through your chest and make it feel impossible to breathe, or think, or even for your heart to beat.
His aunt had apparently decided that this wasn't enough and had crawled on top of Hermione, looking to be carving something into her forearm with the steel blade of a small knife.
Draco was almost certain that Hermione had attempted to make eye contact with him at one point, but his eyes had all but glazed over and his brain was refusing to comprehend what was happening.
He knew better than to visually respond in situations like this. He had once had to leave the room and empty the contents of his stomach into a houseplant while watching his father and Aunt Bella "interrogate" a Muggle-born witch and the consequences of that reaction had been...unpleasant.
Bellatrix cackled maniacally, seeming as though she had either worked through some rage and started enjoying herself again or just broken through the other side of that violent anger into a manic psychosis. His aunt's laughter sounded like shattering glass to Draco and it was all that he could do to stand perfectly still and try to separate himself from the situation as thoroughly as he could.
Another shift.
The laughter faded, replaced by an eerie silence. He was back in the cabinet now, but it wasn't the same cabinet from the shop he had just been in. This one was dark chestnut and well-maintained, smelling of wood varnish and pressed linen rather than damp plywood. Shit.
He was also aware that he was back into a smaller body, possibly older than before, likely around 10 years old or so. Draco felt a massive lump forming in his throat as he recognized where he was— this was the cabinet from the Manor.
A door squeaked open somewhere not too far away from the cabinet, and he could hear the repetitive beating of leather boots on the polished floors starting to slowly make their way towards him, along with the distinguishable dragging of a long, thin cane scraping across the ground. Hearing the heavy footsteps approaching the cabinet, Draco squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself, doing his best to fly away in his mind to somewhere— anywhere but here.
As the cabinet door was flung open, Draco felt his body jump against his will as his heart leapt into his throat and he took a sharp intake of panicked breath, his eyes flying back open.
...
Taking a moment to assess his surroundings, Draco realized that he was not in fact cowering inside a cabinet and was instead looking into the faces of the Golden Trio. Potter, Granger, and Weasley were all paused at the door of his compartment on the Hogwarts Express.
"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you—" Granger started. "Do you mind?" motioning to the empty seats on the other side of his compartment.
Draco cleared his throat. "Go ahead."
He hoped that he didn't sound as weak and disturbed as he felt.
He also hoped that the group hadn't noticed him nearly jump out of his skin and gasp for air at the sound of a gentle knock and the opening of a door. That thought brought on a fresh wave of embarrassment and he could feel the blood rising in his cheeks a bit, but if the trio had noticed that anything was off, they certainly didn't seem inclined to have a conversation about it.
Draco took a moment to get his bearings, running his fingers through the front of his hair and feeling a bit grateful that he had fallen asleep curled up with a book in his lap for somatic distraction.
Feeling as though he had come back to himself a bit, Draco finally turned to the group that had joined his compartment and did his best to plaster the trademarked pompous sneer on his face. "Were all the other cabins full of pixies?"
"What?" Granger questioned, turning around from levitating their trunks onto the storage platform to look back at Malfoy. Staring directly into her face after the dream he'd just had was more difficult than anticipated.
Nevertheless, he swallowed that down and said, "Come on, Granger, am I meant to believe that you all just jumped at the chance to share a cabin with the disgraced former Death Eater who made your lives hell for several years?"
"Bold of you to assume you had the power to make our lives hell," chortled Weasley.
"Well, to be honest, we may have had more seat options if some people didn't seem to lack the capability to be on time," Granger looked pointedly at her friends, Harry and Ron both wincing a bit at the chastisement, which made Draco exhale a small chuckle despite himself. "But also, we're adults. It shouldn't matter. Especially not after everything we've been through the past few years."
Everything we've been through. Draco let out a small breath that he wasn't aware he was holding.
"Well in that case," he relaxed back into the window a bit. "I had just intended to read silently. You're welcome to sit," he motioned with his book to the empty seat across from him as he realized that all three Gryffindors had continued standing on the other side of the compartment.
Draco rolled his eyes when none of them moved. Typical. We're all adults now, my arse, he thought.
"Or cram yourselves on the other side like a bunch of sardines. Doesn't matter to me. I know how much you all love each other."
He returned to mindlessly flipping through his book and only looked up for a moment as Potter shuffled uncomfortably onto his side of the compartment. He sat at a 45 degree angle from the corner of the cabin and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. Granger and Weasley also seemed to settle into their seats, Ron's arm going around Hermione's shoulders as she nestled up against him.
The trio made small talk for most of the ride to school, occasionally giggling at things that had occurred over the summer. Harry groaned when Granger and Weasley started flirting a little too aggressively.
For the most part, the group seemed to have completely forgotten that Draco was even there. Which suited him just fine— again, he had a tendency to prefer his solitude. But he couldn't help but admit that even just being surrounded by laughter and normalcy felt kind of nice.
