look through your memory

Draco Malfoy sat in the library, meticulously sorting through ancient tomes on magical architecture. Professor McGonagall had tasked him with researching structural reinforcement spells to aid in the ongoing reconstruction of Hogwarts, a job well-suited to someone who preferred quiet, solitary work.  

At the same table, Antonin Ivanov, a tall Durmstrang student with an intense focus, scribbled notes with sharp efficiency. Sofiya Volkov, ever the perfectionist, was seated beside him, her neat parchment filled with calculations. Across from them, Petar Konstantinov, a second-year Durmstrang student, stared at his blank parchment with an air of defeat, his quill hovering uncertainly in his hand.  

Draco glanced at the younger boy and sighed. Petar had somehow latched onto him shortly after the Durmstrang students arrived at Hogwarts. The boy’s insecurity and quiet demeanor reminded Draco, uncomfortably, of his own struggles to find his footing during his first years at school. Despite himself, Draco had taken on the role of an unofficial mentor, offering guidance when Petar seemed particularly lost.  

“Konstantinov,” Draco said, his voice clipped but not unkind. “You’ve been staring at that parchment for ten minutes. Either start writing or ask for help.”  

Petar flushed, his freckled cheeks turning pink. “I don’t know how to start,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Sofiya rolled her eyes but didn’t comment, while Antonin looked up from his work with a raised brow.  

Draco set his quill down and leaned across the table. “What’s the problem?”  

Petar hesitated, then pushed his parchment toward Draco. “I don’t understand how to calculate the magical density required to reinforce a moving staircase,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush.  

Draco scanned the parchment, his mind quickly piecing together the missing steps. “You’re overthinking it,” he said. “Start with the basic density formula and adjust for movement as a variable. Like this.”  

He grabbed a fresh piece of parchment and began sketching out the calculations, explaining each step as he went. Petar watched intently, nodding along, though his expression remained uncertain.  

“Do you understand now?” Draco asked once he’d finished.  

“I think so,” Petar said, though his voice wavered.  

“Try it,” Draco instructed, sliding the parchment back to him. “And stop second-guessing yourself. You’ll never get anywhere if you doubt every decision.”  

Petar nodded again, his grip on his quill tightening. He bent over his parchment and began writing, his strokes hesitant but determined.  

Draco leaned back in his chair, glancing at Antonin and Sofiya.  

“Your mentoring skills are impressive, Malfoy,” Antonin said, his tone neutral but his blue eyes sharp with observation.  

Draco shrugged. “Someone has to make sure he doesn’t drown in self-doubt.”  

“Kind of you,” Sofiya said, though her smirk suggested she was more amused than impressed.  

“It’s not kindness,” Draco replied curtly. “It’s efficiency. If he learns to handle his assignments properly, he won’t need constant supervision.”  

Antonin chuckled softly but didn’t press the matter.  

The group worked in relative silence for the next half hour, the scratching of quills and the rustle of parchment the only sounds in their secluded corner of the library. Draco found the rhythm soothing, a welcome break from the chaos of the Great Hall or the judgmental stares of his classmates.  

After a while, Antonin stood and stretched, his tall frame unfolding with practiced ease. “I’m going to check the reference section,” he said. “Anyone need anything?”  

Draco shook his head, and Sofiya waved him off without looking up from her work. Petar murmured something about needing more ink but didn’t elaborate.  

As Antonin disappeared into the stacks, Draco’s attention drifted back to Petar, who was still laboring over his parchment.  

“Stop gripping your quill like it’s about to fly away,” Draco said. “You’ll end up snapping it in half.”  

Petar immediately loosened his grip, looking sheepish. “Sorry,” he mumbled.  

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s not about apologizing. Just focus. You’re better at this than you think, but you won’t make progress if you keep hesitating.”  

Petar nodded, his expression growing slightly more resolute. Draco watched him for a moment longer before turning back to his own work.  

As much as he loathed admitting it, he didn’t mind mentoring Petar. It gave him something to focus on, something constructive to do amidst the lingering tension of Hogwarts’ post-war atmosphere. And if it helped the boy gain a bit of confidence, so much the better.  

Draco allowed himself a small smile as he dipped his quill in ink and resumed his calculations.

***

Draco continued his calculations in silence, the library’s calm punctuated only by the scratching of quills and the occasional flip of a page. He’d always enjoyed the quiet focus of academic work, and today was no exception.  

Petar still fidgeted across from him, his quill moving in hesitant strokes. Draco glanced up occasionally, offering corrections or reassurances. Sofiya, as usual, worked diligently, her parchment now covered in neat columns of runes and diagrams. Antonin returned a few minutes later, his arms laden with books that he dropped onto the table with a dull thud.  

“Find everything you needed?” Draco asked without looking up.  

“For now,” Antonin replied. He picked up one of the books and began flipping through it, his brow furrowed in concentration.  

The quiet camaraderie was something Draco hadn’t expected to find this year. It was strange, working alongside Durmstrang students, but it was a welcome reprieve from the strained interactions with his fellow Hogwarts classmates. The Durmstrang trio didn’t treat him with suspicion or scorn; they were more interested in getting their work done than dredging up the past.  

The tranquility of the moment was broken when a familiar voice spoke from behind him.  

“Didn’t expect to find you in the library, Malfoy.”  

Draco stiffened, recognizing the drawling, mocking tone instantly. He turned to see Pansy Parkinson standing nearby, her arms crossed and a smirk playing on her lips. Beside her was Blaise Zabini, who looked as calm and detached as ever.  

“Pansy,” Draco said, his tone cool. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  

“We were just passing through,” Pansy said, her eyes flicking to the Durmstrang students. “Interesting company you’re keeping these days.”  

“They’re competent,” Draco said simply. “Something I value more than empty conversation.”  

Pansy’s smirk faltered, but she recovered quickly. “Always so charming,” she said. “Are you coming to the common room tonight? We’re planning something fun.”  

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Fun” in Pansy’s vocabulary usually meant gossiping or playing manipulative games that Draco had long since grown tired of.  

“I’ll think about it,” he said noncommittally.  

Pansy opened her mouth to say something else, but Blaise placed a hand on her arm. “Leave him to his work,” Blaise said smoothly. “We’ll see you later, Draco.”  

Draco nodded in acknowledgment, grateful for Blaise’s intervention. As the two walked away, he caught Sofiya watching them with a raised brow.  

“Friends of yours?” she asked.  

“Something like that,” Draco replied, turning back to his work.  

“They seem... lively,” Antonin said, his tone neutral but his expression amused.  

Draco gave a faint smirk. “That’s one way to describe them.”  

Petar, who had been unusually quiet during the exchange, finally spoke up. “Are they always like that?”  

“Pansy, yes,” Draco said. “Blaise is more tolerable.”  

Petar nodded, looking thoughtful. Draco wondered briefly what the boy thought of his Hogwarts companions but decided not to ask.  

They returned to their work, the interruption fading into the background. Draco lost track of time as he immersed himself in the details of reinforcement spells, occasionally pausing to answer a question from Petar or consult with Antonin.  It wasn’t until the late afternoon light began to slant through the library windows that Draco realized how long they’d been working. He stretched, feeling the stiffness in his back and shoulders.  

“I think that’s enough for today,” he said, closing his book with a decisive snap.  

Sofiya nodded in agreement, gathering her things. “Agreed. My brain feels like it’s about to melt.”  

Antonin smirked. “You’ll survive.”  

Petar looked up from his parchment, his expression a mix of relief and regret. “I didn’t finish,” he said.  

“You made good progress,” Draco said. “Keep at it tomorrow.”  

Petar nodded, a small smile forming on his lips.  

As they packed up their materials, Draco felt a faint sense of satisfaction. The day hadn’t been entirely unpleasant, and he was starting to feel a bit more at ease around the Durmstrang students.  

However, his mood soured the moment he stepped out of the library and nearly collided with Harry Potter.  

“Watch where you’re going, Potter,” Draco snapped, his voice sharp.  

Harry stepped back, his green eyes narrowing. “You’re the one who nearly walked into me, Malfoy.”  

Draco scowled, already regretting speaking. The last thing he wanted was another argument with Potter.  

“Why are you even here?” Draco asked, folding his arms.  

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Harry said, “but I was looking for Hermione.”  

“Of course,” Draco said with a sneer. “Granger’s little shadow.”  

Harry’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Draco thought he might retort. But instead, Harry took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  

“I’m not doing this,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Not today.”  

Draco blinked, surprised by the lack of confrontation. He watched as Harry turned and walked away, his shoulders tense.  

Antonin, who had been standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Interesting dynamic you have with him,” he remarked.  

“There’s no dynamic,” Draco said sharply. “He’s an insufferable git, and that’s all there is to it.”  

Antonin didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press the matter. Instead, he simply nodded and followed Sofiya and Petar down the hall, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts.  Draco lingered for a moment, his mind replaying the brief interaction with Potter. There had been something strange about it—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.  With a frustrated sigh, Draco pushed the thought aside and headed toward the Slytherin common room. He had more important things to worry about than whatever was going on with Harry bloody Potter.  

Draco wandered the hallways after leaving the library, his thoughts still lingering on the strange encounter with Harry Potter. Something about the way Potter had just walked away unsettled him. It wasn’t like their usual sparring, and Draco hated when things deviated from the predictable, even if predictability came in the form of bickering with the Golden Boy.  

He scowled, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on the stack of books he carried. Focus, Malfoy. You have enough to think about without wasting time on Potter. 

His feet carried him toward a quieter part of the castle, the familiar chill of the dungeons calling to him. As he passed an unused corridor, he caught sight of someone leaning against the wall, tall and broad-shouldered. Leonid Vasilyev.  The older Durmstrang student had his arms crossed, his posture relaxed but alert. His dark, hooded eyes were fixed on something in the distance, giving him an air of quiet intensity that seemed to follow him everywhere. Draco felt an uncharacteristic jolt of nerves. He’d only exchanged a few words with Leonid since the Durmstrang students arrived, but the boy’s presence was... imposing, to say the least.  

Leonid turned his head, catching Draco mid-step. His lips quirked into a small, knowing smile, as if he’d been expecting him.  

“Malfoy,” Leonid greeted, his deep, accented voice breaking the silence.  

“Vasilyev,” Draco replied coolly, though he could feel his face heating for no reason he could comprehend. He was Draco Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake. He didn’t fumble over words, and he certainly didn’t get flustered.  

“Late night studying?” Leonid asked, nodding toward the books in Draco’s arms.  

Draco adjusted the stack, his grip tightening. “Something like that. Reconstruction spells.”  

Leonid pushed off the wall, his movements slow and deliberate. He towered over Draco as he stepped closer, though his demeanor remained calm. “The Durmstrang professors speak highly of you,” he said, his gaze steady.  

Draco blinked, caught off guard. “Do they?”  

Leonid nodded. “They say you’re sharp. Precise. It’s a compliment, coming from them.”  

“I’ll take your word for it,” Draco said, his voice carefully neutral. He wasn’t sure if it was the compliment itself or the way Leonid delivered it that made him feel unsteady.  

Leonid chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You don’t believe me?”  

“It’s not that,” Draco replied quickly. “I’m just... unused to being praised by anyone these days.”  

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he immediately regretted it. He hadn’t meant to sound so vulnerable, especially not in front of someone like Leonid.  

Leonid tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “War leaves its mark on everyone,” he said simply. “But competence is hard to ignore, no matter the circumstances.”  

Draco wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he focused on adjusting the books in his arms again. He wasn’t used to such directness; it was disarming.  

“You should join us for training sometime,” Leonid said after a moment.  

Draco frowned. “Training?”  

“Physical combat,” Leonid clarified. “The professors insist on it. To keep us sharp.”  

Draco almost laughed. “I’m not exactly known for my physical prowess,” he said dryly.  

“That’s why you should come,” Leonid said, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “You might surprise yourself.”  

Draco opened his mouth to reply but hesitated. The idea of training with the Durmstrang students seemed absurd, but there was something in Leonid’s tone—a quiet confidence—that made him pause.  

“I’ll think about it,” Draco said finally, hoping it sounded noncommittal enough to end the conversation.  

Leonid nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer. “Good.”  

They stood in silence for a moment, the faint hum of the castle’s magic filling the air. Draco felt an odd sense of calm in Leonid’s presence, despite his initial discomfort. It was strange, but not entirely unpleasant.  

“Well,” Draco said, breaking the silence. “I should get these back to the common room.”  

“Of course,” Leonid said, stepping aside to let him pass. “Goodnight, Malfoy.”  

“Goodnight,” Draco replied, his voice softer than he intended.  

As he walked away, he could feel Leonid’s gaze on his back. It wasn’t until he turned a corner that he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  

What the bloody hell was that?  

Draco shook his head, trying to push the encounter from his mind. He had enough to deal with without adding Durmstrang boys to the mix. But as he continued down the hall, he couldn’t help but replay the conversation in his head, wondering why it left him feeling so unbalanced.  By the time he reached the Slytherin common room, his nerves had settled somewhat. The familiar green glow of the room and the low murmur of conversation from his housemates provided a sense of normalcy that he desperately needed.  

Pansy and Blaise were seated near the fireplace, deep in conversation. They glanced up as Draco entered, but neither of them called out to him, for which he was grateful.  He made his way to his favorite armchair by the window, setting the stack of books on the nearby table. The view of the Black Lake was obscured by darkness, but the faint ripples of water reflecting the moonlight were oddly soothing.  As he settled into the chair, his mind drifted back to Leonid once more. There was something about the Durmstrang student that unnerved him—a quiet intensity that was both intriguing and unsettling.  

Draco scowled at himself. He didn’t have time for distractions, least of all in the form of tall, enigmatic Durmstrang boys. He had enough responsibilities on his plate without complicating things further.  Still, as he opened one of his books and began skimming the pages, he couldn’t quite shake the memory of Leonid’s steady gaze and the faint smirk that seemed to linger in the corners of his mind.  Draco stared at the pages of the book in his lap, though the words blurred into a meaningless haze. He’d been trying to focus on reinforcement spells, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Leonid. There was something about the Durmstrang boy that unsettled him. It wasn’t just his presence or his confidence; it was the way he seemed to see straight through Draco, as though peeling back the layers he’d worked so hard to fortify.  

It annoyed him.  

With a huff, Draco snapped the book shut and leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. His reflection in the window looked pale and strained, the faint light from the fire flickering across his sharp features.  

“Deep in thought, are we?”  

Draco glanced over to see Blaise approaching, a glass of wine in hand. He settled into the armchair opposite Draco with his usual air of unshakable composure.  

“What do you want, Blaise?” Draco muttered.  

“To sit,” Blaise replied smoothly. “You looked like you needed company.”  

“I don’t.”  

“Then you’re welcome to ignore me,” Blaise said, raising his glass in a mock toast before taking a sip.  

Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t press the matter. Blaise was irritatingly good at slipping past his defenses, and he wasn’t in the mood for a verbal sparring match.  

After a moment, Blaise spoke again. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with the Durmstrang lot.”  

Draco’s gaze flicked to him sharply. “And?”  

“Nothing,” Blaise said with a shrug. “Just an observation. You seem to get along with them.”  

“They’re competent,” Draco said, echoing his earlier remark to Pansy.  

“Is that all?” Blaise asked, his tone laced with curiosity.  

Draco narrowed his eyes. “What are you implying?”  

“Nothing,” Blaise said innocently. “I’m just surprised. You’ve never been one to form attachments easily.”  

Draco scoffed. “I’m not forming attachments. I’m simply working with people who don’t waste my time.”  

Blaise hummed thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. “If you say so.”  

Draco glared at him but decided against rising to the bait. Instead, he stood abruptly, gathering his books.  

“Leaving already?” Blaise asked, raising an eyebrow.  

“I have work to do,” Draco said curtly.  

Blaise smirked. “Of course you do. Don’t let me keep you.”  

Draco ignored him, striding toward the dormitories with as much dignity as he could muster. He hated how easily Blaise could get under his skin, but he wasn’t about to let it show.  

***

The next day, Draco found himself back in the library, as usual. Petar had asked for more help with his spellwork, and Draco had reluctantly agreed. He was starting to feel like the boy’s unofficial tutor, though he didn’t entirely mind. There was something oddly satisfying about watching Petar’s confidence grow with each session.  Sofiya and Antonin were there as well, both immersed in their own work. The quiet camaraderie was becoming familiar, almost comforting, though Draco would never admit it aloud.  They were halfway through their session when the library door opened, and Leonid walked in. Draco tensed instinctively, though he quickly schooled his expression into one of practiced indifference.  

Leonid’s gaze swept over the room before landing on their table. He approached with his usual unhurried confidence, stopping just short of Draco’s seat.  

“Malfoy,” Leonid said in greeting, his voice low and steady.  

“Vasilyev,” Draco replied, glancing up at him. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”  

“I need this one,” Leonid said, nodding toward Petar.  

Petar blinked, looking startled. “Me?”  

“Professor Grigoriev wants to see you,” Leonid explained.  

Petar hesitated, glancing at Draco as though seeking permission.  

“Go on,” Draco said, giving a faint nod. “We’ll pick this up later.”  

Petar gathered his things quickly, his movements awkward in his nervousness. As he followed Leonid out of the library, Draco felt an odd pang of... something. Annoyance? Relief? He couldn’t quite place it.  

“Strange,” Sofiya remarked once they were gone.  

“What is?” Draco asked, feigning disinterest.  

“Leonid doesn’t usually involve himself with underclassmen,” she said, tapping her quill against her parchment. “He must see potential in Petar.”  

“Or he was sent on an errand,” Antonin added with a shrug.  

Draco hummed noncommittally, though the exchange nagged at him. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on, especially when it involved people he’d reluctantly started to care about.  The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully, but Draco’s thoughts kept drifting back to Leonid. He hated how much space the older boy seemed to occupy in his mind. It was infuriating.  By the time evening rolled around, Draco was restless. He decided to take a walk, hoping the fresh air would clear his head. The castle was quieter at night, the corridors dimly lit by torches that cast flickering shadows on the stone walls.  

As he turned a corner, he nearly collided with someone coming the other way.  

“Malfoy,” Harry Potter said, sounding just as surprised as Draco felt.  

“Potter,” Draco replied, his voice sharper than he intended.  

They stood there for a moment, neither of them moving. Draco was keenly aware of how close they were, the tension between them almost palpable.  

“Out for a stroll?” Harry asked finally, his tone more curious than accusatory.  

“What’s it to you?” Draco shot back, folding his arms.  

Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m not looking for a fight, Malfoy.”  

“Could’ve fooled me,” Draco muttered.  

Harry’s expression softened, and for a moment, Draco thought he might say something conciliatory. Instead, Harry just shook his head and stepped aside.  

“Goodnight, Malfoy,” Harry said as he walked away.  

Draco watched him go, his chest tight with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. He hated how Potter could unsettle him with so little effort.  As he continued his walk, his thoughts tangled and messy, Draco couldn’t shake the feeling that this year was going to be far more complicated than he’d anticipated.