Legacies and Lessons

A Return to Hogwarts

Draco Malfoy had spent the past five years trying to outrun his past. But no matter how far he went, how many new cities he lived in, or how well he kept his head down, it always followed him.

Hogwarts had been the last place he ever expected to return. Yet here he was, standing at the entrance, staring up at the grand castle that had been both his home and his prison.

Professor McGonagall had offered him a teaching post—temporary, she had made clear—lecturing on magical ethics. A subject that, under normal circumstances, would have been laughable coming from him. But he had accepted. Not because he believed he was the best man for the job, but because he needed to prove to himself that he was something beyond his father’s son.

As he stepped into the Great Hall, conversations stuttered. Whispers followed.

Malfoy?
What’s he doing here?
Didn’t he go to Azkaban?
No, but his dad did—

Draco ignored them. He had learned to.

Then, a voice cut through the murmurs—sharp, familiar.

“Malfoy.”

Draco turned, already knowing who he would see.

Hermione Granger stood before him, arms crossed, expression unreadable. She was older—of course, they all were—but her sharp gaze was the same.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Hermione,” he said finally.

Her lips twitched, almost as if she were surprised he had used her first name. “Professor McGonagall tells me you’ll be giving lectures on magical ethics.”

Draco nodded, unsure what else to say.

Hermione tilted her head. “Interesting choice.”

It wasn’t quite an insult, but it wasn’t a compliment, either.

Draco shrugged, deciding that honesty was easier than defence. “Seemed fitting.”

She studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. “I suppose everyone deserves a second chance.”

Draco let out a slow breath. He wasn’t sure what he had expected—maybe hostility, maybe indifference—but there was something in her expression that wasn’t quite either of those.

“I intend to earn it,” he said quietly.

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable. Then, to his surprise, she smiled—small, but real.

“Good,” she said. “I’ll be watching.”

And then she walked away, her robes swishing behind her.

Draco exhaled.

The strangest part was that he didn’t mind the idea of her watching.

Lessons in Ethics

Draco stood at the front of his first lecture hall, facing a room full of students who were equal parts curious and suspicious. He could feel their hesitation—some of them had grown up hearing his name in the same breath as traitor, coward, and Death Eater’s son.

He had no choice but to face it.

“…And so, while the Imperius Curse is classified as Unforgivable, there have been historical instances where its use was considered morally justifiable—”

A student raised a hand.

“Yes?”

A Ravenclaw girl, no older than seventeen, frowned. “But you used the Imperius Curse during the war, didn’t you?”

Draco’s jaw tightened.

The room fell silent.

He glanced at McGonagall, who sat near the back of the classroom, her expression impassive.

“Yes,” he said at last, his voice steady. “I did.”

Murmurs rippled through the room.

Draco took a breath. “I was raised to believe that loyalty was more important than morality. That obedience was a virtue. I made choices based on that belief, and they were the wrong ones.”

The murmurs quieted.

“But the reason I stand here today is that I want to challenge those beliefs. I want to help you understand that ethical magic isn’t just about rules—it’s about choices.”

A few heads nodded, but he could still feel the unease in the room.

And then, to his surprise, Hermione—who had apparently chosen to attend his lecture—spoke up.

“I think what Professor Malfoy is trying to say,” she said smoothly, “is that ethics aren’t always black and white. Magic can be powerful, but it’s our responsibility to use it wisely.”

Draco blinked at her.

She met his gaze, and something unspoken passed between them.

A lifeline.

Draco turned back to the class. “Exactly,” he said.

And for the first time in years, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he was being given the chance to be something more.

An Invitation

That evening, Draco sat alone in the library, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across the ancient texts stacked in front of him.

He was halfway through a particularly dense chapter on magical oaths when a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

“You handled that well today.”

Draco looked up to see Hermione standing by the table, a book in her hands.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you complimenting me, Granger?”

She smirked. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Draco closed his book. “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to see how serious you are about all of this.”

He leaned back in his chair. “And?”

Hermione studied him for a moment, then sat across from him. “I think you mean it.”

Draco didn’t respond right away. He had spent so long trying to prove himself that he wasn’t sure what to do when someone actually believed him.

Finally, he said, “I do.”

Hermione nodded. “Then let me help.”

Draco frowned. “Help?”

“I know what it’s like to have to prove yourself over and over again,” she said, her voice softer now. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

He hesitated. “And what would your friends think of this?”

As if on cue, two familiar figures appeared at the end of the aisle.

“Oi,” Ron Weasley called. “Are you lot coming, or what?”

Harry Potter stood beside him, arms crossed, though there was no hostility in his expression.

Draco blinked. “Coming where?”

Hermione glanced at him. “It’s a staff gathering. The professors go down to The Three Broomsticks on Fridays after classes. We usually have to drag Theo out before he starts reading tarot for complete strangers and predicting nonsense.”

Draco frowned. “Theodore Nott?”

Hermione nodded. “Divination professor now. He’s, well… Theo.”

Draco let out a short breath. That explained a lot.

Ron was already growing impatient. “Look, Malfoy, it’s not an interrogation. Just a drink. Unless you’ve got a stack of ethics books to keep you company?”

Draco hesitated, glancing back at the text in front of him. It would be easier to decline, to bury himself in work. That was what he always did.

But something in Hermione’s expression stopped him.

He exhaled and stood. “Alright. Let’s go.”

As he walked alongside them toward the castle entrance, the crisp night air brushing against his skin, he realised something.

For the first time in years, he didn’t feel alone.

And maybe—just maybe—that was the first step.