A True Gryffindor
Sunday, May 30th, 1993
“Ginny!”
As soon as they all stepped inside the office Mrs. Weasley ran forwards to hug her daughter with a scream, closely followed by her husband. McGonagall laid a hand on her desk to ground herself as she looked at the five of them, all covered in muck and slime and Draco and Harry in blood. Dumbledore stood by the mantelpiece, beaming at them, and smiled warmly as Fawkes swept over the room to rest on Dumbledore’s shoulder.
Then Mrs. Weasley was hugging Draco, and he startled, confused.
“You saved her!” she sobbed, “You saved her! How did you do it?”
“I think we’d all like to know that,” said McGonagall, voice shaking.
Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry and Draco, holding her son and daughter to her still, and they locked eyes, nodding. Walking forwards to the desk, Harry dropped what remained of Riddle’s diary on top, then Draco carefully laid down the sword and the Sorting Hat.
He felt eyes on him and turned to find Harry’s emeralds wide and urging.
“What?” he said blankly, then understood.
“I can’t -”
“Yes, you can.” Harry said strongly and Draco took a deep breath. Looking around at them all, he opened his mouth and let out everything he’d been holding in for months.
He told them about his father’s secret meeting in August, the parcel he retrieved from Gringotts, and Dobby the House-elf warning him and Harry, persistent on keeping Harry safe. Then he exclaimed the research he’d done to come to the conclusion that his father wanted to open the Chamber of Secrets - how the parcel had been the diary, which contained a piece of Tom Riddle in it. Tom Riddle, who’d framed Hagrid fifty years ago when he’d been the one who killed Myrtle. Tom Riddle, who he told them was the Heir of Slytherin all along.
Then Harry broke in and explained hearing the disembodied voice in the walls, which Hermione realized meant the monster was moving in the pipes and figured out it was a basilisk before being Petrified. Ron shivered as he recounted the trip the three of them (and Fang) had taken to visit Aragog and how they’d learned Myrtle had died. How they’d learned the entrance was in her bathroom.
For half an hour the two of them talked, and the room listened, and when Harry finally fell silent, McGonagall straightened and spoke clearer than earlier.
“Very well,” she said, “so you found out where the entrance was - breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add - but how on earth did you all get out of there alive, Potter?”
Together, Draco and Harry helped each other explain how they’d journeyed down to find Tom Riddle, who proved to be Lord Voldemort, (here they got a great deal of gasping in surprise) in the Chamber of Secrets along with the basilisk. How Fawkes’s timely arrival had brought them the Sorting Hat and Draco had pulled the sword of it, with the help of Harry commanding the serpent in Parseltongue, managing to slay the beast.
Here Harry faltered, and Draco could see the hesitation in him to explain the diary and how it had controlled Ginny. He looked to Dumbledore, and the boys saw him smile, as if he knew much more than he was letting on.
“What interests me most,” he said gently, “is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently hiding in the forests of Albania.”
“W-what’s that?” Mr. Weasley straightened in his seat, looking from his little daughter to the boys to Dumbledore in amazement. “You-Know-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny’s not… Ginny hasn’t been… has she?”
“It was this diary,” said Harry, picking it up and handing it to Dumbledore. “Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen…”
“My father must’ve known a piece of Riddle was in it. I don’t think he knew it could bring You-Know-Who back - that’s what he was trying to do, with Ginny’s soul - but he knew the piece of Riddle could possess someone to open the Chamber of Secrets again.”
“Brilliant,” said Dumbledore softly as he turned the book in his hand. “Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen. Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school… traveled far and wide… sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here.”
“But, Ginny,” gasped Mrs. Weasley, “What's our Ginny got to do with - with - him?”
“His d-diary!” Ginny spoke for the first time since the Chamber. “I’ve b-been writing in it, and he’s been w-writing back all year -”
“Ginny!” Mr. Weasley looked flabbergasted. “Haven’t I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain? Why didn’t you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic!”
“I d-didn’t know,” Ginny shook her head, still sobbing. “I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it -”
“Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away,” Dumbledore said firmly, “This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort,” he strode across the room, opening the door, “Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up,” he smiled down at her with a kind twinkle in his eye, “You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She’s just giving out Mandrake juice - I daresay the basilisk’s victims will be waking up any moment.”
“So Hermione’s okay!” Ron exclaimed and Draco sighed heavily, subconsciously gripping the desk behind him with a hand.
“There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny,” Dumbledore shook his head, and ushered Ginny and her parents out.
“You know, Minerva,” he turned and told the Deputy Headmistress, “I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?”
“Right,” she walked swiftly to the door, “I’ll leave you to deal with Potter, Weasley, and Malfoy, shall I?”
“Certainly.”
With that she left and Draco lowered his gaze to the floor. ‘Deal with them’ he surely was going to punish them. They had broken a hundred school rules, and his father would go to Azkaban, get the cell ready now…
“I seem to remember telling you two that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules,” said Dumbledore, nodding to Harry and Ron. “Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words. You will, all three of you, receive Special Awards for Services to the School and - let me see - yes, I think two hundred points apiece for Gryffindor, and two hundred to Slytherin as well.”
Draco jerked his head up in surprise as Ron went bright pink. Two hundred points? Gryffindor had just won the Cup!
“But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure,” Dumbledore added, turning to the corner of the room. “Why so modest, Gilderoy?”
The three of them turned, startled, to see Lockhart still stood, dazed, in the corner. With them all looking at him, he looked over his shoulder at solid wood to see who Dumbledore had meant.
“G - Gilderoy?” He blinked, then nodded, “Yes, yes, I am Gilderoy, the Mouse Prince.”
“Professor Dumbledore,” Ron turned around and said quickly as Draco blinked at him in amazement. What was it with him and this mice business? “There was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart -”
“Prince!”
“He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired,” Ron finished quietly.
“Dear me,” said Dumbledore, and they saw his silver mustache quiver with something like amusement. “Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!”
“Sword?” Lockhart blinked, “Haven’t got a sword, only a castle of cheese. That boy has, though,” he pointed at Draco. “He’ll lend you one.”
“Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?” Dumbledore turned to Ron, “I’d like a few more words with Harry and Draco…”
Draco tensed. He knew what was coming, and as soon as the door shut on Lockhart and Ron he blurted out, “Please don’t send him to Azkaban!”
Dumbledore paused, about to sit down, considering Draco, then seemed to realize what he meant and shook his head. “Sit down, boys,” he told them and, with a cautious glance at each other, they stepped forward, sitting before the fire in two squishy armchairs, Dumbledore across from them.
“First of all, Harry, I want to thank you,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling strangely on the Slytherin. “You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you.” He stroked the great phoenix as it landed on his knee, and Draco shifted uncomfortably.
“And so you met Tom Riddle,” Dumbledore nodded, “I imagine he was most interested in you, Harry…”
“Professor Dumbledore,” Harry burst out, looking slightly panicky, “Riddle said I’m like him. Strange likenesses, he said…”
“Did he, now?” asked Dumbledore thoughtfully. “And what do you think, Harry?”
“I don’t think I’m like him!” Draco winced at this sudden exclamation. “I mean, I may be in Slytherin, but I’m good, not bad, like everyone else,” he slumped a little in his seat, staring at the floor, “Everyone thought I was Slytherin’s heir for a while… because I can speak Parseltongue…”
“You can speak Parseltongue, Harry,” Dumbledore explained, “because Lord Voldemort - who is the last remaining ancestor of Salazar Slytherin - can speak Parseltongue. Unless I’m much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I’m sure…”
“Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?” Harry asked, looking shocked. Draco felt it, but he’d seen so many things in the past couple of hours… This was nothing.
“It certainly seems so.”
“So that’s why the Hat put me in Slytherin. The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin’s power in me, and it -”
“Listened to you, Harry. Why is it you didn’t tell the Hat no when it wanted to put you in Slytherin?”
Harry frowned, then looked up at Draco, and his eyes sparkled in the way that never failed to make him blush. At least now, to the people present, it looked like flattery, not that he fancied him. “Because Draco told me that Slytherin… it was alright. I -” he straightened in his seat, saying strongly, “I wanted to go.”
“And Draco,” Dumbledore smiled at the blonde who tried desperately to calm the fluttering of his stomach. “You wanted to go to Gryffindor, didn’t you?”
Draco wet his lips and nodded.
“Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his handpicked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue - resourcefulness - determination - a certain disregard for rules,” Dumbledore gave him a small wink, “and all these make you into a true Slytherin, Harry, and a Slytherin who went into the Chamber because you knew you had to save Ginny Weasley. A Slytherin who protected Draco from harm, while commanding the basilisk as Salazar Slytherin intended it to be; not to cause harm. Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, both of you, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”
Harry looked at him, still and stunned, and Draco watched Harry.
“Draco,” he snapped around and saw Dumbldore reaching across to McGonagall’s desk, picking up the blood stained sword. “If you want proof that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at this.”
He handed it out to Draco, who took it, turning it over, in awe of the beautiful rubies, appreciating it for the first time, but also reading a name engraved across the blade, just below the hilt, that he hadn’t seen before.
“Godric Gryffindor,” he read aloud.
“Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Draco,” said Dumbledore, and there was a long pause where Draco stared at the sword, and Harry stared at him, eyes still sparkling brilliantly in the firelight, then Dumbledore pulled open a drawer in the desk and took out a quill and inkwell.
“What you need, you two, is some food and sleep. I suggest you go down to the feast, while I write to Azkaban -” Draco jerked his head up in horror, “- we need our gamekeeper back.” he sighed. “And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too. We’ll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher… Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don’t we?”
The two of them stood, Draco carefully placing the Sword of Gryffindor onto the desk, and crossed to the door. Before they could open the door, however, it burst open on its own, so violently it bounced off the wall and caused the pair of them to jump backwards a foot in surprise.
“Father!”
There his father stood, furious, and, cowering behind his legs, wrapped up in bandages, was Dobby.
“Good evening, Lucius,” said Dumbledore with a pleasant smile.
Brushing past his son, Draco’s father swept right over to Dumbledore and Dobby scurried after him; he seemed to be trying to finish polishing his shoes.
“Dobby,” Draco whispered, then motioned for him to stop. He gratefully did, cowering away from his master.
“So!” his father proclaimed, “You’ve come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts.”
“Well, you see, Lucius,” said Dumbledore, with a most serene smile, “the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They’d heard that Arthur Weasley’s daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too… Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn’t agree to suspend me in the first place.”
Draco looked up at his father in surprise as he went very pale. Could things get worse for him in his eyes? And yet, he still couldn’t see him going to Azkaban…
“So - have you stopped the attacks yet? Have you caught the culprit?”
“We have,” Dumbledore nodded.
“Well? Who is it?” his father asked sharply.
“The same person as last time, Lucius,” said Dumbledore. “But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary.” He reached forwards but Draco got there first. Lifting the diary up before his father’s face, he gave him a stiff scowl. His father watched him with wide eyes, and there was something threatening in them, but Draco had faced down a basilisk. He wasn’t scared.
“Recognize this, Father?” he asked, “I think you do. In fact, I know you do. I know that you dropped this in Ginny Weasley’s cauldron in Flourish & Blotts, hoping to unleash the monster in the Chamber of Secrets to rid this school of Muggle-borns, and frame it all on the Weasley’s. Killing two birds with one stone, just like you taught me, Dad.”
“Draco,” His father straightened, scowling down at him, “This is a matter between Dumbledore and I -”
“No, Lucius,” Dumbledore raised a hand, “I think the boy has a point. Because, say, if he and Harry here, and their friend Ron hadn’t discovered this book, why - Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn’t acted of her own free will…”
As Draco’s father looked down at Dumbledore he turned quite stony face, and Draco watched him with a scowl as he realized all his plans were falling apart.
“And imagine,” Dumbledore continued, “what might have happened then… The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pureblood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and - killing Muggle-borns… Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle’s memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise…”
“Very fortunate,” Draco’s father croaked out stiffly, “But then again, you have no proof that what my son is blabbing is the truth,” he waved a dismissive hand at Draco, who widened his eyes. Did he just -?
“Oh, no one will be able to do that,” said Dumbledore, who gave Draco a reassuring smile and nod, “Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort’s old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you…”
Draco’s father stood frozen, except for a twitch of his right hand, then pointed at Draco, hissed, “We shall discuss this later,” then turned and swept away, calling to his house-elf, “We’re going, Dobby!”
He wrenched open the door and kicked the elf through it. Draco scowled as he watched them leave, looking sadly down upon the elf. The elf who, for whatever reason, he was feeling sorry for for the first time. He saw all those bandages, the fear in his face, and thought of all he’d done to try and help them this year, to warn them.
Without thinking he bent down and ripped off one of his boots.
“What’re you -” Harry started to say, bewildered, but realization dawned in his eyes as Draco tugged off one of his wet socks and stomped out of the room.
“Dobby!” He called after them, running forwards. His father slammed his cane into the ground as he came to a stop, turning to scowl at him.
“What is it now, Draco? You’ve done enough -” He saw the sock and boot in his hands and looked confused for a moment then widened his eyes as Draco bent down to Dobby, eyeing him with his round green eyes wide. “Wait, stop -”
“Thanks for everything, Dobby,” he said softly, and held out the sock. Dobby shivered, so he gently grabbed one of his bandaged hands and placed the sock into it.
“Draco!” His father scolded, sneering, as Dobby raised the sock in wonderment.
“Master has given a sock,” he squeaked and Draco nodded with a smile.
“That’s right.”
“Then - Dobby - Dobby is free?”
“Dobby is,” Draco stood, smiling, then looked up and glared into his father’s face.
“And Mr. Malfoy should be thankful he isn’t in a cell in Azkaban, and that his son isn’t dead, for that matter,” he showed him the blood on his sleeve where he’d been stabbed, “because of his foolish actions, he should be.”
Something flickered in his father’s cold gaze, and he said, in a sort of croaked voice, “You almost… died?”
“Yes!” Draco yelled, “I was almost poisoned to death because of that damn basilisk, but you had to have a perfect school for your Master to return to, right?”
He pointed down at the elf, still staring at the sock like it was the Holy Grail, then back at him. “You’re no more a slave to Riddle than he was to us, Dad!”
His father stood there, blinking at him, for one long moment then turned for the stairs. “You sound like your mother,” he said quietly, striding down. “We’ll continue this later. Have a good rest of term!” he shouted back before striding out of sight.
Draco shook his head as he watched him go, then turned to smile down at his former elf.
“Master Malfoy freed Dobby!” The little elf cheered him, “Master Malfoy set Dobby free!”
“I’m not your Master anymore, Dobby, remember?” he bent down and held out his hand, “Call me Draco.”
Dobby’s bulbous eyes somehow got larger. “Ma - Draco wants to shake hands with Dobby?”
Draco chuckled and nodded. “Yes!”
Beaming, Dobby furiously shook his hand up and down. Draco heard footsteps and turned to see Harry was walking towards them with a smile. Dobby turned to beam up at him too.
“Harry Potter! Dobby is free!”
“I see that,” Harry nodded.
“Least I could do for helping Harry and I this year, Dobby,” said Draco, shrugging.
“Just promise never to try and save my life again.” Harry added and the two of them chuckled while Dobby looked back and forth between them with a wide, toothy smile.
“I’ve just got one question, Dobby,” said Harry. “You told me all this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well -”
“It was a clue, sir,” Dobby exclaimed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named, you see?”
“Right…” said Harry and Draco threw his head back and laughed.
“Great job, Dobby,” he said, patting his back, “Great job…”
-*-*-*-
Following a quick return to their dormitories to change out of their dirty and mucky clothes into pajamas, Draco and Harry walked down into the most brilliant Hogwarts feast they’d ever seen.
The food was magnificent, of course, and the banners all flew Gryffindor colors, celebrating their win of the House Cup, but no matter the house people were celebrating. The tables were inseparable due in part to everyone wearing pajamas, and sitting intermixed with each other, so was the joy that flooded the castle for the end of this year of terror at last.
When Dumbledore stood to explain the last minute awarding of points, he even added ten points to Draco for standing up to his father and freeing a slave, which got him an overwhelming amount of applause and pride.
At half past one, the doors banged open and everyone swiveled in their seats as a small brown cat scampered across the floor of the Great Hall into Filch’s arms, some people oohing and awing at the very heart warming sight.
Then, slowly, Colin Creevey crept around the door frame and the Hall erupted in cheers, several Gryffindors stampeding him with hugs. On shaky legs he wobbled over to the table that was meant to be only for Gryffindors but now had a good deal of Slytherins sitting there, friends of Draco’s, and beamed at Harry.
“Hello Harry,” he said, and looked around for a fruit basket, dug out a bundle of grapes, and held it out with a crooked smile, “I think I owe you something.”
The grapes fell to the floor as Harry ran forwards to hug him, Draco looking around, pleased to see other people were confused to as to why he’d owe him grapes, before Harry explained, not able to stop grinning, that he’d been delivering them to Harry in the Hospital Wing when he was attacked. Draco had laughed at that and patted Creevey excessively, calling him a lunatic.
Cheers sounded again and they looked up. Nearly Headless Nick floated at the entrance, nodding to them all, blushing bright silver. A member of the headless hunt galloped over on his horse with his head under his arm to clap him on the back, and Nick gave him a crooked toothy grin.
Then Justin Finch-Fletchley was bombarded with hugs from the Hufflepuffs and only when Macmillan was finished weeping over him did he manage to squeeze through over to Harry and wring his hand, apologizing over and over for ever suspecting him.
“Water under the bridge, Justin,” Harry waved a hand, and he blushed, then went positively scarlet when Draco reached him, shaking his hand and apologizing to all the Hufflepuffs for hating them for hating Harry in turn. Draco blinked for a moment, confused as everyone in the vicinity by Justin’s stuttered ‘no problem’ but they were all distracted by the next petrified person.
The Ravenclaw Prefect, Penelope Clearwater, disappeared in a crowd of other Ravenclaws and Prefects, including one Prefect Weasley, who bounded towards her, beaming like the sun, and lifted her to spin her in the air.
Quite suspicious.
But Draco didn’t have time to think about that. He, Harry, and Ron, were all standing, walking to the center of the aisle between tables, knowing just who was next.
Poking her head around the door first, Hermione slowly stepped out, perfectly healthy, and beamed brighter than Prefect Weasley had at them, running forwards.
The boys did as well, and the four of them collided in a big bear hug of bushy brown, jet black, bright red, and platinum blonde hair, as Hermione jumped up and down holding them, exclaiming, “You solved it! You solved it!”
Then, at last, clutching a mug of hot chocolate, Ginny Weasley cautiously stepped into the Hall, and all her brothers ran wildly towards her, hugging her tight. And, as they stepped back, and Prefect Weasley wept and the twins checked every inch of her to make sure she was okay, Ron grinned and said she was stronger than she looked. To him she gave her first, very shaky and watery smile, and it lit up the whole night.
McGonagall stood and announced all the exams were canceled, causing Hermione, sitting at the table now and stuffing herself with food more than she ever had, dropped her fork to gasp, “Oh, no!” making a good number of people stare at her, wide eyed.
“Hermione, you were comatose for a month,” Draco said, and she frowned.
“But - our futures…”
“Exist because we’re all not dead!” Ron finished, raised his goblet and Harry clinked it with a, “Hear, hear!”
“At least you’re not me,” Creevey said, leaning towards Hermione, “I woke up to find out I missed all of First Year. Granted, it sounded like a pretty bad year, but what am I gonna give dad when I get home now? A hospital record?” They all laughed.
At half past three, the doors opened again, and everyone turned to see who it was this time, some people muttering about how they couldn’t have missed another Petrification, but it wasn’t a petrified person.
It was Hagrid.
The Hall erupted in applause again and Hagrid looked around, stunned at it all, then began crying from his beady black eyes as he lumbered up to sit at the staff table, mumbling how he didn’t deserve any of it.
Once he was sat Dumbledore stood again. “Unfortunately,” he called, “Professor Lockhart will be unable to return to our school next year, owing to the fact that he will need to regain his memory at St. Mungo’s.”
The applause that greeted this announcement was even joined in by the teachers.
“Shame,” said Ron, grabbing a jam doughnut as dessert appeared. “He was starting to grow on me.”
When sunrise approached the whole school, dressed in slippers and pajamas, ran outside to sit in the grass on the rolling hills and watch the sunrise, and people feel asleep on their friends shoulders, Draco making sure to say close to Hermione, he and his friends just soaking in her presence and the fact that she was here.
But also soaking in the joy as the sun broke over the horizon. The fact that the danger was gone, for good, and this year was over. They’d successfully solved another mystery, stopped his father, and he wasn’t even going to be dragged to Azkaban. (he’d find out in a couple of days he got kicked off the board of governors, which certainly was fitting)
So the students of Hogwarts spread out across the grass and allowed themselves to be happy and smile, wanting never to hear the name ‘Chamber of Secrets’ ever again.
-*-*-*-
Saturday, June 19th
Draco looked around his dorm with a soft smile. Last year he had fully accepted the fact that he was in Gryffindor but this year Dumbledore had proved it to him - that he was a true Gryffindor. He was almost sad he had to leave the sword behind, though he didn’t know where he’d fit it.
“Coming?”
Draco startled, turning to find Ron there, holding his trunk and rat, and smiled. “Yep,” he said, picking up his trunk and cage where his eagle owl, Giasaur, perched.
Together they headed downstairs to meet with Hermione and the other Weasley brothers, and left the Common Room, leaving the castle and joining the tide of people going down to the Hogwarts express, including Harry.
What Dumbledore had told Harry seemed to have invigorated him too, as he was now openly chatting with Draco’s Slytherin friends, including Blaise Zabini who, much to Pansy’s joy, had finally shut up about Majorca.
“You know the Dursley’s wanted a vacation home in Majorca too,” noted Harry when Pansy pointed this out, and Zabini paused to consider him with a smile.
“Muggles. Who knew, right?”
“Harry!” They’d reached the station and, pushed through the crowd to get to them, they saw Creevey, carrying a nearly repaired camera.
“Look what Dumbledore did,” he said excitedly, showing them the camera, “I don’t have enough pictures for a scrapbook - that’s what I was gonna give my dad - but I wanted to take one more to show my dad all the friends I made,” he looked at Harry and frowned, scrunching his brows, giving him two big puppy dog eyes. “Can I?”
Harry beamed. “Sure thing, Colin.”
Creevey handed the camera off to the Slytherins, who all had to work together to figure out how to use it as he stood with Draco, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.
“Say cheese!” He declared and Draco blinked at him, confused, then grinned at the camera while trying to say cheese, realizing it kept his teeth spread, which made it make sense.
Muggles…
They boarded the train, and the Slytherins all took a compartment while Draco, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Creevey, and the twins all sat across from it. As the train rolled past Hogwarts, they played Exploding Snap, set off the last of the twins’ Filibuster fireworks, and practiced disarming charms, each taking turns impersonating Lockhart before letting the other person zap them and cause them to fly backwards into the windows.
All the while Creevey hopped around them, snapping pictures, sometimes handing it off so he could be in the frame as well, saying he had a whole ‘film canister’ to go through, and might as well make up for an entire year of being Petrified.
Towards the end of the journey he left the train to get a compartment to himself so he could ‘develop the film’ and Harry suddenly turned to Ginny.
“Ginny - what did you see Percy doing, that he didn’t want you to tell anyone?”
Everyone in the compartment looked up from what they were doing in interest (in Draco’s case, getting explained to by Hermione, alongside Ron, how to use a Muggle ‘telephone’).
“Oh, that,” Ginny swallowed her bite of chocolate frog, giggling. “Well - Percy’s got a girlfriend.”
One of the twin’s - Fred, Draco was sure; he was getting good at telling them apart - dropped his books on George’s head.
“What?”
“It’s that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater,” said Ginny, grin widening. “That’s who he was writing to all last summer. He’s been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was - you know - attacked. You won’t tease him, will you?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Fred shook his head, but he looked like his birthday had come early, and George was snickering.
“Definitely not,” he lied.
The train finally stopped and Harry and Hermione handed pieces of parchment to Draco and Ron with numbers on them.
“This is called a telephone number,” he said slowly, as if speaking to a two year old. “I told your dad how to use a telephone last summer - he’ll know,” he told Ron, then frowned at Draco, “I bet you asked in your letters last summer, but before you do I don’t think I should come visit you at your home.”
Draco’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding? I’m seriously considering fleeing to the neighbors myself.”
They all laughed, jollily carrying their trunks off the train.
“Call me at the Dursleys’, okay?” Harry asked, “I can’t stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to…”
“Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won’t they?” asked Hermione, frowning, as they joined the crowd headed to the barrier. “When they hear what you did this year?”
“Proud?” Harry scoffed, “Are you crazy? All those times I could’ve died, and I didn’t manage it? They’ll be furious…”
“Harry!” They spun around, grinning, to see Creevey coming towards them waving photos above his head.
“Here!” he shoved them at them, splitting the stack into four piles, “I got a seventh year to duplicate them all for me.” He beamed up at them, a little ball of sunshine, “Thanks so much for everything.”
“Of course, Colin,” Harry clapped him on the back, “You’re our friend.”
They turned and left through the barrier, leaving him grinning dazedly.
“Have a good summer, Draco,” Harry grinned at him, and oh, there was the fluttering, and there was the burning in his cheeks, and he fancied him, he really did like him, but he didn’t need that to define their relationship. He didn’t need it to become a… thing. So, instead, he backed away to where his mother was waiting for him and waving.
“See you next year, Scarhead!” he hollered, then turned and ran into his mother’s arms.
“I’m totally grounded, aren’t I, Mother?” he asked as the turn of them walked off through the crowds of Muggles
“Oh yes, darling, very grounded. Now tell me what your exact words were again? ‘You’re no more a slave to Riddle than he was to us, Dad.’”
She laughed good naturedly and Draco let out a chuckle through gritted teeth. He really was doomed, wasn’t he? But, for some reason, he didn’t mind it. Not at all. In fact, he felt rather giddy inside as he walked alongside his mother and heard those words again.
He deserved those ten points for standing up to his father, and he was a true Gryffindor. How could he not feel giddy now, walking off into another summer, but knowing he’d be just as happy coming back in a couple of months.