Stupid Love

It was to the early morning Raw-kah, raw-kah squawks and embracing tepid rays caress, the boy woke up. The faint sun rays flooding the room, tinged his porcelain skin a pastel beige. He nestled into the cot hogging the sheets all the way to his chin, curling up further. The bed was snuggly cuddleable and the room had a mellow warmth, swathing him like additional blankets.

He was awake, but didn’t dare to open his eyes, for the fear this comfort was just a dream in his nightmare— nightmares of fire, pain, blood, suffering, death, War. He wished to sink further into his bed, if possible, and enjoy the pleasantness present instead of remembering the unpleasant days.

He was tired, so tired of everything. It’s been two months and a half since the war ended, yet wasn’t able to move on. The only day he stepped out of the Manor was two weeks before, for his trial— oh! He wondered. How an ex-Death Eater— thanks very much to his Father— that’s him, moreover only him, was declared free was still a riddle.

He and his Mother were free, imposed with a fine, whilst his Father was to serve life imprisonment in Azkaban. Not that Draco complained, he knew the odds for his Father to be free were very, very slim after assisting a psychopath for not one, but two wars. One, two; two wars, he counted mentally. Still, it hurt somewhere nonetheless.

Draco Lucius Malfoy was free, even so couldn’t make himself free. Malfoys were not supposed to live their days in hiding, however Draco was. He still wasn’t prepared enough to face the world and to say, he was scared would be an understatement.

Of all, what irked him most was why Harry Bloody Potter exonerated him during his trials. He harked back to the day of his trial.

He was sitting in the middle of the courtroom, head low, whilst his solicitor was dealing the Wizengamot; who were not even merely satisfied as per him. After a solid twenty minutes of arguing between the solicitor and members, he was bored. He was sitting at his trial, his life at pinpoint, one side to freedom and the other to imprisonment, with a dozen dementors hovering above his head, and he was bored; that made him want to laugh at his own irony.

But in a flash, he went pale like a dead man as signs of life left his face. The tiniest hope of being a free man died that instant. Oh, Salazar! This is going to be awesome. I'm fucked up for eternity. Harry Potter was descending the stairs. For what? Of course, to speak against you, you nitwit; his inner self returned.

He wanted to scream, cry, hit Potter, disapparate from here and go to his bed, he just wanted to be free. Then again, Draco never had a choice, did he? Because what leverage did his words hold against The Saviour.

Mentally he began to prepare himself to live his entire life in Azkaban. What was he supposed to expect first, perhaps a dementor’s kiss or the highest ce—.

‘— underage and was forced to take the mark.’

Wait one fucking second! Harry Potter is defending me? It was then Draco really heard what was being spoken.

One look around told he was not the only person to be taken aback. Everyone, except the Minister were shocked, because The Saviour speaking for an ex-Death Eater was not a usual sight you witness like the rising sun. Had something happened to Potter after the war? Or had someone imperiused him? For no chance in his right nous, Harry Potter, The Saviour of the Wizarding World would speak in favour of a Malfoy!

For all Draco knew the O Saviour could’ve spoken against him, conversely he didn’t! Potter was, trying to put him out of Azkaban! A plethora of questions demanding answers wanted to roll out of tongue, but laid off.

The rest of the trial passed as a blurry obscure course. He vaguely remembered speaking something about his wand and mark under veritaserum.

Two weeks since the trial, two weeks, and Draco was riled to no level because Stupid Potter with his stupid hair and stupid scar didn’t leave his head even now. He was narked by the thought that Potter was always able to get under his skin with doing nothing.

Draco still couldn’t find one reason, like one fucking reason why Potter did that? What made him speak against snides and fights and rivalry of six years? Perhaps it was an apology for the sixth year— laying there, on the cold floor of the girls’ lavatory, body cut at several places in different angles, drowning in his own blood, at the brink of death— he shuddered at the memory. But Draco was not ready to accept that reason.

For some idi-fucking-otic reason The Chosen One spoke for his trials, but why for his Mother? Of course, she didn’t carry an ugly skull and snake mark, The Dark Mark, in her flawless, unblemished skin like him. That didn’t mean Potter could defend his Mother. Something told there was more to “Why”. Except, he settled with “always the Saviour” complex. Saint Potter.

Draco peeked to welcome the image of bluish sky fading to meet the lazy yellow, which edged to orange and red with hints of grey lingering in clouds, the amber hue sun peeping its face from behind the clouds was a perfect half pumpkin pie. Rolling over he cast a Tempus. Sighing as it was just minutes past dawn he drowsed to a dreamless sleep, lulled by the warm rays coupled with dim squawks and chirps.

The next time he woke, it was due to a loud crack; startled, he swiftly bolted to grip the wand he used these days.

His shoulders loosened and grip slackened only on seeing the round bulged eyes with mink coloured iris dissolving into black due to fear stared at him. He exhaled slowly as the house elf bowed so low his nose met the wooden floor.

‘Good morning Binny’, Draco greeted with a nod for the house elf to straighten.

The elf brightened at the greeting as the fear of being punished drained. ‘Good morning Master Malfoy. I is coming to tell Master that Mistress is waiting for Master at the dining room for breakfast’, Binny said.

It was only then the blonde descried his surroundings; the sky, vivid yellow with no hints of grey and blue as seen earlier and the sun up high, brilliant. Draco grimaced at the thought of sleeping so long and waking up at some fucking o'clock. The Tempus revealed that fucking o'clock to be a half past eight and slid out of bed.

‘Tell Mother I'll join her in a moment Binny.’ The elf nodded and apparated with another crack causing his oscitant mind a wince.

He stood there staring into nothingness and lost in depths, ruing the decisions he made that nearly killed him, being a puppet, following his father to the shit hole, not brave enough to stand up for himself, all for what? All he did wound as naught. At last Draco Malfoy was a failure to the Malfoy name, a disappointment to his Father, a blood traitor to the Death Eaters and an ex-Death Eater to the world.

Draco looked at his begrimed forearm; The Dark Mark, blotched into a fugly scar. If squinted, one would be able to make the shape of the snake emerging from the skull. It was like a deformity on pristine skin. He wanted it to vanish, not just fade. With a shake, to cut short the thoughts that would drive him crazy and a sigh, he walked to the toilet and prepared himself for the foreseen day.

He entered the dining room— which held its dark appearance, stony walls, cold floor, the only difference being warm and welcoming rather than cold and gloomy, regardless still holding traces of coppery blood smell, but a distant malodour— twenty-five minutes later after his morning toilette in navy blue robes simple, but elegant and ruffled hair.

His Mother, reading the Prophet, rose from her seat embracing in a hug, placing a kiss to his forehead.

‘Good Morning, Mother.’ Draco addressed as he pulled from her embrace.

‘Good Morning, my little dragon’, she smiled. ‘Sleep well?’ she asked with a raised eyebrow.

‘Yes Mother’, he said, taking a seat across from her. Draco didn’t understand why his Mother refused to take the seat at the head of the table as she was more capable than his Father. Was she expecting him to take that seat with him becoming the Lord of Malfoy Manor?

He glanced at The Prophet, the sight of a familiar mop of black hair over the front page welcoming him. Potter was wearing a grey t-shirt and denim trousers, and seemed to be walking down the Diagon Alley, carrying a bag and looked… hot! Not that he would admit it out loud Potter was hot or the fact he fancied Potter. He ogled for a beat as Pansy’s voice echoed, “Your gay is showing.”

‘Good. Let’s eat.’

‘Yes Mother’, answered Draco. ‘Let’s eat.’

They ate in comfortable silence, when an owl entered the room; a grey tawny owl carrying an... envelope. It was not Pansy’s nor Blaise’s, Greg and he were not talking, Theo is on vacation, so who? Perhaps it was for his Mother. His guesses were interrupted when the owl landed in front of him. The instant the letter was removed, the owl took off, not waiting for a treat.

It was sent to him, from whom? Draco deliberated over the possibilities as the script seemed to be knowing, albeit it seemed far. His memory came up with various shots like a film roll of handwritings of all his friends, yet none matched with the one in hand. He was damn effing sure he'd seen it before, but where?

The colour of his face drained when he saw the seal’s crest. The emblem— divided into a snake, a lion, a badger and an eagle— Hogwarts, his subconscious provided causing his stomach to lurch.

His mother who must’ve taken note of the expression change in his face stopped him in a nick of time before breaking the seal. ‘Draco, it can wait till breakfast is complete’, she said in The Tone that would leave no room for arguments.

With all aristocratic pure-blood efforts Draco schooled his expressions neutral, to avoid the look of eagerness. ‘Yes Mother, it can wait’, he said, more to himself as a reminder to be calm and was relieved his throat didn’t betray him.

His stomach lost appetite as questions began to cloud his senses. Why would they send a letter now? Is this some prank? Nah, that can’t be, can it? What if they make me work like Filch? What if I'm supposed to rebuild the broken castle? What if they are going to make me work with the elves? Well, that’s impossible.

After a ten long minutes’ stretch— brain supplying reasons from working as a servant to being offered a Headmaster’s post— Draco completed the meal; unheedingly. Wiping his hands in a napkin, he broke the seal.

A small neatly folded parchment fell from the envelope along with a letter.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,
We are pleased to inform you that the school will be open for students who have missed N.E.W.T.s during the year 1997-1998 at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress

Wait-what? They are opening the Hogwarts for students who missed their N.E.W.T.s! And also invited him! Fan-bloody-tastic! Certainly Professor McGonagall must have lost her sanity during the battle. Why else would she send him a letter? Of all the things he imagined this was not one of it. With more thoughts he turned to the second page skimming for details.

Uniform
Eighth-year students will require,

1. Three sets of work robes with house badge(black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
5. One set of Quidditch robes (if on team)
Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags

Course books
All students should have a copy of each of the following:

1. The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7 by Miranda Goshawk
2. Steps to excellent potioneer by Gethsemane Prickle (if studying N.E.W.T. level Potions)
3. Defence against the Darkest Art (if studying N.E.W.T. level Defence Against the Dark Arts)
4. A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration (Book-2) by Emeric Switch (if studying N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration)
5. Advanced Rune Translation by Yuri Blishen (if studying N.E.W.T. level Study of Ancient Runes)
6. The world of advanced Herbology of the World by Woolly Warehouse (if studying N.E.W.T. level Herbology)
7. The secrets of Magizoologist by Silvanus Kettleburn (if studying N.E.W.T. level Care of Magical Creatures)
8. Advanced Charms Study by Fortinbras Diritinesce (if studying N.E.W.T. level Charms)
9. The depths of Space by Estella Twilight (if studying N.E.W.T. level Astronomy)
10. Bygone Wizarding Timeline by Tulius Dabney (if studying N.E.W.T. level History of Magic)
11. Profundity of Ancient Foretelling by Yumifa Bastarache (if studying N.E.W.T. level Divination)
other equipment
12. Playing with Numerus arte Mathematica, Grade 5 by Starosin Ermolvich (if studying N.E.W.T. level Arithmancy)
13. Muggles of the 20th century by Griphin Jones (if studying N.E.W.T. level Muggle Studies)

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

He handed the letter to his Mother who was scrutinising her son for the entire period. As she read the letter, he picked up the small parchment and unfolded with trembling fingers hoping it was not a prank.

Dear Draco Malfoy,
I hope you and Mrs Malfoy are doing well. I can neither understand nor empathise on what you’ve been through at such a young age. You should understand we were at war, and we had to make our choices. The choice you took was to save your family. I can understand if you don’t want to take up your N.E.W.Ts, but I will be delighted if you do.

Yours sincerely
Minerva McGonagall

Reading the letter in Professor McGonagall’s caring voice was something that could be added to nightmares, he noted.

So they want me to graduate. Then what? Take over the Malfoy estates. Anyway he is going to take over the Malfoy estates; live his life off drinking expensive in the sumptuous Manor.

Draco looked up from the parchment to meet her blue eyes having a hint of concern and anticipation lingering in her gaze. His mother placed a hand over his, drawing lazy circles on the back of his palm.

‘Are you accepting the offer Draco?’ she sounded hesitant. He could make out the faint flicker of hope in them.

‘I don’t know Mother’, Draco replied with a frown, he envisioned the idea of going back to the place he nearly destroyed, ‘I'll think about it.’ Fear intensified in his stomach at the picture of numerous What-ifs flashing in eyes.

‘If you like to complete your studies without going to Hogwarts we can arrange home schooling, Draco.’ Narcissa Malfoy proposed with a forced smile.

‘I'll let you know Mother.’ Draco placed the letter and parchment in the envelope as he rose from the chair.

***

Miles away from Wiltshire, a raven-haired late teen was aroused due to the banging noise on the window and roaring floo. He pulled the pillows to his ears burying his head like a sandwich between the pillow and bed to block the noise, sinking deep into the bed wishing for further slumber. He groaned when the person entered the room— at this ungodly hour— without any knock. So that must be Ron, Harry thought inwardly.

He peered his eyes to find Ron opening the window to let a tawny owl in. Oh dear, which fucking bastard of an idiot sends letters this early in the morning? He cursed. Harry rolled to lay in a comfortable position and cuddled with his blanket, hugging the pillow.

‘Mate, wake up.’

‘G'way’, he whined which was muffled by the pillow.

‘Wake up you sodding idiot, else 'Mione will come up’, Ron threatened.

‘UGH! RON! Why are you here at this god awful hour? Why are you even up?’

Ron snorted. ‘Godawful? Mate it’s near to ten. Wake up now.’

‘Let the man sleep Ron. I’ve killed the Dark Lord, I deserve some sleep’, he grumbled, trying to grip the blanket tight as Ron began to snatch it away. Before Harry could recover his blanket, a ringing high pitched cry startled him.

‘HARRY JAMES POTTER!’

He jolted upright clutching the blanket to cover his torso. The witch rolled her eyes, she marched into the room and grabbed her boyfriend’s arm.

‘I'll give you ten minutes to finish your duties before you meet us in the Kitchen’, she ordered, taking off.

Harry sat there for a jiff rubbing the sleep of eyes processing the instructions. He sighed and moved to do his duties.

The scene that greeted him when he appeared after quite some minutes was nothing unusual, — the couple made sure to visit six days a week, letting him sleep on Sunday for the past week— Hermione scanning The Prophet whilst Ron prepared breakfast.

‘Morning.’ Harry called yawning, his voice still sluggish from the interrupted sleep, thanks very much to his friends.

Ron placed a cup of steaming hot tea which, he sipped contentedly, offering a grateful smile to his mate.

‘Everything alright?’ he checked them who were throwing uncertain glances.

‘Yes. Fine.’ Hermione breathed, placing an envelope in front of him. Harry quirked an eyebrow up at her and glanced at Ron who gave a shrug. He placed the cup aside and picked the envelope.

To,
Mr. H. Potter,
No. 12, Grimmauld Place,
Borough of Islington,
London.

His eyes widened as he turned to break the seal, an unknown feeling began to knot his stomach at the glimpse of the emblem crested in the seal. Swallowing thickly, he broke the seal to remove the letter, beginning to skim.

‘So’, Harry began sceptically, though he knew the answer and knew what was expected of him as an answer. ‘You’re going?’ he raised, and realised it was a stupid question.

‘And you’re coming’, said Hermione, which Harry knew was already decided, he was to join.

He was so exasperated by people making choices for him. He breathed slowly trying to remain calm, undoing the urge to lash out his anger and annoyance.

‘I don’t know if I can 'Mione.’ he spoke in a glum tone.

‘And why will that be?’ the witch raised an eyebrow.

‘It’s not easy 'Mione. The place was home to me, and the last time I was there, half of it was broken to grounds. It’s like all the happy memories we’ve had has been replaced by blood and crying and… ’ he trailed off leaving the sentence unfinished, but words outspoken. ‘You don’t understand’, Harry added.

‘Oh Harry’, her voice softened. ‘I know it’s too much for you with everything. Yes, the place now holds awful memories, but it’s also where we grew Harry. You can’t forever avoid and forget it happened. At some point we really will have to go there, you do understand that, right?’ she said with a sad smile.

Of course he knew he couldn’t avoid and forget it, he’s just not ready to visit, yet, act like everything was normal when nothing was; as memories, no nightmares cross his mind. Why can’t she understand? He just need time to sort things out for himself. Now he can’t, can he? He frowned.

‘Yeah, mate we have to and, we… ’ Ron drawled. Hmph! A traitor disguised as a best mate. Shouldn’t he be supporting me! From when did Ron want to go to school!

‘Oh! Who is this and what have you done to my best mate!’ Harry joked, trying to lighten the mood before it continues to The Talk about war, earning a snort from his best friends.

‘You-Know-Whooooo’, he remarked, eyeing Hermione. He grinned at Ron on his choice of words, making the girl flush. He and Ron doubled over, whilst Hermione fixed them a stern glare.

‘Don’t get side-tracked.’ Hermione snapped bringing them back. ‘Harry, you will join us, right?’

He pondered the idea of going back where he spent half his life, escaped every year from a megalomaniac before getting himself killed; finally, killed the megalomaniac there, notwithstanding also saw his home destroyed, lost people he loved. Harry wasn’t sure if he really did want to.

So Harry arrived at a conclusion, though he was uncertain if it was right. ‘Okay’, he said with a smile at which their face brightened and wasn’t that enough for him.

‘Yes!’ Hermione squealed, throwing herself at Harry, crushing in a hug.

‘So we’re going to make goody-good memories!’ Ron sing-songed, clapping his shoulder. He exhaled dramatically as she released, causing Ron to chuckle.

‘Oh, shut it’, she spoke, but he spotted a cheerful twinkle in her eyes.

‘So, they’ve invited everyone or only some?’ Harry quizzed with a particular platinum blonde in memory as they completed their breakfasts.

‘I don’t know, mate.’ Ron shrugged. ‘McGonagall is not a woman to hold grudges, especially not in things like this’, he paused for a tick before continuing, ‘Why, am I missing something or are you expecting someone?’

‘No. No, it’s just... Malfoy’s wand is still with me, and I must return it soon if he too received a letter and don’t know if… ’ Harry trailed off, unsure if it was the correct thing to say.

‘From when in this world did you care for that obnoxious git, mate?’ Ron queried.

‘It’s not like I care or anything. I just think it’s time for us to stop fighting and move past our past?’ He put forth more as a question than a statement.

‘Are you really alright?’

‘Ron!’ she hissed. ‘I think Harry is right. We were teenagers who underwent something we never wanted or dreamed for. So was Malfoy! Remember Malfoy also saved us!’

‘'Mione! Malfoy was nothing, but an annoying pest all six years, and you forgive like that, after everything he did. That git nearly killed me! And don’t forget we saved him too!’ Ron retorted.

‘I know, I know, mate’, Harry spoke before Hermione can begin a row. ‘I’m not forgiving nor forgetting.’

‘Me neither’, Hermione added.

‘But we can’t go, hex his bollocks off and be like all our lives are normal. We don’t have to make amends and become friends, but if Malfoy tries to stay low then we also can, can’t we?’

It took several seconds before there was an answer. ‘Yeah, I reckon we can’, Ron agreed grudgingly. ‘But, if he crosses us, we cross him. Deal?’

‘Deal.’ They settled with a cheery grin. However, he knew from the Really? look she didn’t like the idea.

‘Annnd, that’s my boy!’ Ron squealed in delight, which Harry returned the gesture. The witch rolled her eyes at her friends, but was happy nonetheless.

‘So, what are we doing for the day?’ Ron asked.

‘Nothing much’, he muttered as simultaneously Hermione exclaimed, ‘Shopping!’

‘Shopping?’ Ron sounded confused.

‘Certainly shopping! Have you forgotten? School shopping. We have to buy books and robes and quills and caul—’ She didn’t get to finish the sentence as they groaned, slamming their heads on the table.

‘'Mione. We still have a month and half to do all shit.’ Ron complained, which Harry knew was a terrible thing to say.

‘You don’t understand Ron!’ she cried, frustrated. ‘Everyone will return! There are chances for books to be stocked out! What if we can’t get it! Think Ron! Think.’

‘Merlin’s beard 'Mione. We'll go today alright.’ Ron said, turning to him for back up . Harry nodded eagerly.

‘We’re going in glamours, okay?’ he insisted, remembering the nightmare of a trip last time just cause he forgot glamour. Hmph! Can’t even spend hours peacefully with someone he loves. Harry slumped at the thought he can’t have a normal, like really normal life.

‘Yeah mate. It’s all over The Prophet today.’ Ron said with a concerned smile and Hermione nodded.

‘Yeah.’ Harry said in a sullen voice. ‘Ummm… Ron… before that, can I borrow your owl?’ He didn’t understand why he was uncertain, though knew Ron would never say no. Then why?

‘Mate, what is it with you today? You’re very… different. I guess?’

‘Hah! That can happen when you’re awaken from an amazing erotic dream abou—’

‘No! Don’t! I don’t want to know. Believe me, I. Really. Don’t. Want. To. Know! Yes, you can have my owl all day, all night, but spare me the details.’ Ron shrieked, covering his ear, colour of his face matching his hair, and Hermione no better.

Harry roared with laughter, ‘Ron you wanted to know what happened to me! What kind of caring friend are you? Listen what happened to me Ron! Listen!’ he put a hand over his heart sounding wounded and lurched to uncover his ears.

‘Ron, it was ecstatic and whatnot’, Harry delighted holding Ron’s wrist who was now reciting Lalalalalalala.

They set in a euphoric laughter, Harry reeling the previous years. He was alive after spending seven years in Hogwarts. From saving a stone to killing a megalomaniac he had survived. Surprise bitch! He still is.

His two best friends, who had been by his side without exceptions. From, an eleven-year-old boy who didn’t even think twice about sacrificing himself on a chessboard aeons ago, so he could move forward to staying by his side to destroy horcruxes, though it was a murderous quest; was the red-haired git, his git, his best mate.

From unearthing answers for puzzles and riddles to discovering solutions for every mischance of the hour they were in till date; was the bushy haired witch, the brightest witch of the age, his hugger.

Harry smiled inwardly, gratitude in heart and didn’t understand what he did to receive such fierce loyalty.

‘What?’ Hermione questioned, who caught him smiling. Harry just shook his head, still smiling. She raised an eyebrow in question, but decided to let it go and turned to Ron to continue their— bickering like an old married couple— heart to heart talks or so they called it.

***

Draco was sitting by the window in his study with a potions book on lap, but wasn’t able to put eyes to read. Absent-mindedly he flipped and flipped the envelope in hand. Genuinely he wanted to go, but dreadfully he didn’t want to. Maybe he should just agree with his Mother. Or he could stay low, complete studies in Hogwarts and do whatever rubbish he wish.

He knew with every muscle of his body, everyone was sure to hate him once he returned. Just cause he's free doesn’t mean he's forgiven and he didn’t have the need to be forgiven by everyone. Or maybe they could, but Draco didn’t give a fig.

Sighing, he looked up to meet the mid-day sky, watery-thin clouds drifting across the crisp azure and a glowing golden medallion aloft. It felt like energy required for a century’s thinking, was spent in just a quarter day mulling over and over whether or not to go back.

The boy was so lost in thoughts that he neither heard the knocks on the door nor the creaking sound when opened nor the click-clack of hurried heels approaching.

‘Draco!’ a screech filled the room making the boy jump and dropped the letter in the book.

‘Pansy! There's something called knocking!’ he groaned.

Pansy just rolled her eyes waving her hand for a chair. She sat stiff and had a stalling look, unsure whether or not to speak. He regarded her with a suspicious look gesturing her to spit out. Pansy, who didn’t get the signal, continued stalling him, but the corner of her eyes caught a glimpse of the envelope. On Seeing the letter, she slouched and made herself comfortable. Draco, watching her with meticulousness, got a vague notion of what was about to hit him— “We’re going!”

‘I’ve not yet decided’, Draco said, placing the book on the table, in a blank tone before she could begin.

‘What? Deciding? No deciding! You’re joining us!’ Draco could recognise the tacit threatening.

‘Us?’ he blurted out and immediately wanted to hex himself for idiocy. It was so plain, wasn’t it? If he received a letter, then everyone must have.

‘Yeah, us. It hurts me to admit that I’m about to squander another year of my precious life, listening to your drama and Blaise’s crap’, she said. Others may see only the impassive mien on her face, but Draco knew better. The words “I love spending time with you both” hidden in them.

‘Others?’

‘Draco! I'm not here to play twenty questions with you, but since you asked. Theo is off to Beauxbatons, Greengrass’ too. Greg, I think is planning to move to the States. Millicent, I guess will be returning.’

So, half his house’s population is returning. But that didn’t mean he should also go, for none had in hand the Dark Mark.

He did regret the Dark Mark for limitless reasons, but was grateful for a sole and solitary reason. The Greengrass’ put off the marriage because he bore the mark. Draco Malfoy was free to love and marry anyone.

The only barrier is no one’s going to love you.
Ah! Thank you for reminding, like I didn’t know.
Not like that, I meant: not many gay wizards out there.
Again, thanks for the reminder.
Maybe someone is and will. Who thinks, maybe even Potter will.
[Inner Snort
For your information he’s straight like a wand.
You do remember Aunt Bella’s wand don’t you?
Really?
Just saying, you know.
Maybe he is, but no chance of loving me.
Just give a go.
Not interested in getting rejected again.
Try wooing him.
Like he’s going to fall for it. I like your confidence though.
Not with this attitude… Be careful of it.
I don’t care!
You do.
No I don’t!
Yes you do.
No!
You’re impossible!

A sour battle raged against his mind and heart.

They were once again found in the study after their, as he put it— awkward silent unappetising which felt more like a luncheon than a lunch. The last time he had such a meal was the morning of his trial, worry gulping him. Now it was confusion gulping him.

He had a choice, either go or no go, but Draco didn't want a choice now. He wanted it to be a stern “Yes, you should come back!” or “Don't dream about coming back!”. He felt like one half of himself fighting against the other. As two core choices, Hogwarts and home-school were vigorously battling, trivial choices like go to Beauxbatons, States and drop studies— engaged in buffoonery.

Draco was pulled from stance when he heard Pansy clear her throat. ‘Draco! I can, without legilimency, frankly tell what you’re thinking. Don't you dare deny it’, she grit out.

Before he could come with a retort an unknown owl landed in front of him in a whoop, which unlike earlier, had a rolled parchment and a package to it's leg. The owl took a seat at the windowsill as Pansy offered treats. He checked the parchment for curses and unfurled it once there seemed to be none.

It was almost illegible according to him. The words were messy, a bit sloppy. Some letters were slanted left, some to the right and some straight. If one observes closely they could notice that even the same letters didn't look alike, but one letter was. The g’s. So perfectly crafted that made it look apart from the letter as if it was written by another person.

Dear Malfoy,
Hope you’re good. I apologise for not returning it soon. I tried to catch up with you after the trial, but wasn’t able to. Sorry.

H. J. Potter

P. S. Expecting you.

What is it with the day? Unknown owls and unexpected letters!

He replayed the memory of seeing Potter running towards something and being caught by the Ministry workers. He didn't for a knut think it was to catch up with him. Draco tossed the parchment to Pansy and saw her squint at the same places he did.

‘Go on’, she said, gesturing the package.

Draco knew. He knew what was in there, yet he gasped. Because in front of him, laying there in the box, wrapped in ethereal lustrous silver fabric, shimmering light only for him, was a familiar wand. The one that was snatched from him, the one he longed to get back for days, the one he thought he’d never see again. His 10 inch long, Hawthorn wood, unicorn hair core wand! It looked exactly the same as he’d seen the last time, not marred by a soil.

His hands glided around, holding it like holding a ball of dandelion puff, so careful and delicate. He felt the magic seeping through every last artery and vein. It was just like a muscle in his hand, natural as it always existed there. His hold tightened when he sensed a bit of fluctuation, but deep in his bones he felt it's allegiance to him.

‘Locomotor wibbly’, he breathed. The way it reacted was something he thought he could never get tired of. It was as if it had never been snatched from him. Fierce loyalty was what it presented. She shrieked, stumbled for a moment before her mind registered.

‘Draco!’ She hissed. ‘Remember me to get you back.’ Draco smirked, rennervating her. She wobbled a second or so before coming firm.

‘Potter’s coming.’ Draco rolled his eyes, of course he’ll be coming.

‘Well observed.’

‘And expecting you’, she said, a smirk creeping her face.

‘To either kill me or make me repay’, he replied, his voice hollow.

It was her turn to roll eyes. ‘You’re worse than that 16th century muggle playwright’s plays.’

Ah! Shakespeare! Any other time Draco would’ve picked a fight for it, but something stopped him. Something said no, don’t. They sat in a comfortable silence for some minutes before Pansy chose to return home.

For the umpteenth in a single day he lost himself to depths of mind. He knew he needed to make a decision soon and he did, with an aid from Potter’s owl. The owl from Potter had patiently waited for a reply all noon, not letting a hoot. Draco didn’t want to make it wait anymore. He wrote back.

Potter,
I’m good. Wish you the same. Appreciate the thought of returning my wand soon. Expecting you too.

D. Malfoy

The fact that he was not the only person in the Manor to receive owls that day was unknown to Draco.