Chapter 2
Hogwarts, too, had changed. As Draco carefully maneuvered through the bustling halls, he noted that the archway facing the Great Hall had been redone. The castle, normally so old and worn, now had aspects that were entirely brand new–the House banners hanging over the dining tables, the stone walkways suspiciously free of wear and tear, and the Prefect’s bathroom, which now sported impressive Turkish baths. All the changes were made through the reconstruction of Hogwarts–a reconstruction that Draco didn’t take part in. Mother had suggested it one day in the sunroom, delicately sipping her tea, with her slim pinky finger upright. Draco hardly thought he’d be welcome. He’d likely be Avada Kedavra’d before he even stepped into the room.
Some things had stayed the same. The Sorting Hat took its sweet bloody time as always. From the looks of it, the underclassmen had inherited the Wizarding World’s anti-Slytherin prejudice. And if he had counted correctly, a suspiciously low number of incoming students had been sorted into Slytherin. He supposed he shouldn’t feel cross–representing a death cult will kill your reputation. That was a lesson Draco learned every day, again and again. It felt like every corner he turned there was someone ready with a hex or a tripping jinx. His schoolwork mysteriously went missing–10 inches of a potions essay, gone. He took his meals alone, at the far end of the Slytherin table. He would’ve preferred to take them in his room, to avoid the stares, but McGonagall had insisted that “There will be no special treatment on my watch, Mr. Malfoy.” And honestly, Draco hadn’t the energy to fight it. He hardly had energy for anything anymore.
Another thing that had stayed the same–the Hogwarts student body’s everlasting love for Harry Potter. If such a thing was even possible, it appeared that Potter’s popularity had only exponentially increased since saving the world. Everyday, Potter was assaulted with Honeydukes chocolates, Treacle Tart, and Pumpkin Pasties. Relentlessly pursued by doe eyed suitors, Potter appeared more frazzled than ever, Draco observed from the shadows. He suspected that Potter skulked around the castle walls with his infinity cloak for a few moments of peace. Wouldn’t Draco like an invisibility cloak, he thought, pushing around carrots and peas with his fork. Across the Great Hall, barnyard owls circled Harry, dropping off one love letter at a time. Draco stabbed his roast beef.
For courses, Draco used a practice wand. With his own confiscated by the ministry, he hardly had a choice. It was about 10 inches, made of Sycamore wood. McGonagall had given it to him after the sorting. He sat in her office, eyes fixated on the portrait of Dumbledore hung on the wall. The grandfather clock on the wall ticked loudly. Cold sweat ran down his back. He hadn’t seen the headmaster since that night in the Astronomy room.
“Draco, Draco, you are not a killer.” The headmaster had told him. “Please, let me help you.”
How stupid he had been. He had sobbed over those words more times than he could count, violent cries that tore up his throat and echoed throughout the Manor. At night, when his insomnia kept him awake, he fantasized about a life where he had been strong enough to take Dumbledore’s offer. Even if the Dark Lord had killed him, Dumbledore’s life was worth infinitely more than Draco’s. Dumbledore might’ve been able to defeat the Dark Lord. He might’ve been able to save Severus. Draco felt a prickle of tears behind his eyes. He blinked rapidly. McGonagall followed his eyes to the portrait. Perceptive as ever, she was. She sighed, sitting down and folding her hands over her lap.
“Mr. Malfoy, seeing as though your wand currently resides with the Ministry of Magic, you’ll be forced to make do with a spare that we were able to acquire from Mr. Ollivander.” Draco supposed his surprise showed on his face. Her lips pursed. “Mr. Ollivander has had an astonishing recovery due to the fine healers of Saint Mungos. He’s returned to running the shop.” Draco let out a breath he hadn’t realized that he was holding. “And as for you, Mr. Malfoy–”. McGonagall spoke, handing Draco a black velvet box. “Please feel free to come to me should you have any troubles. I am certain that you know, but you are always welcome here at Hogwarts.” She looked around, as if weighing her next words. “I know that Albus felt the same.” Above her, the portrait smiled.
Draco looked away, unable to meet her gaze. It was as if a ball had been stuck in his throat. It felt as though all the air in the room had been sucked away. He swallowed painfully. The atmosphere was oppressive. McGonagall fixed him in place with her gaze. What she saw, he didn’t know.
“You are dismissed.” McGonagall said finally, looking at him over her reading glasses. Draco couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He escaped into the corridor, gasping for breath. He grasped the wand tightly. It felt as though the walls were spinning around him. If he could just get back to his room, he would be fine.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
This happened every now and then at the Manor–he would alternate between feeling nothing and feeling everything at all. He turned the corner too quickly and flew headfirst into another student.
No, no, please. Not right now.
“Get off of me, death eater scum!” They shoved him so hard he found himself on the ground. His box clattered on the floor. Draco didn’t recognize this student. A fourth–no, a fifth year? A Gryffindor. And another student, another Gryffindor, looking at Draco like he was scum beneath their feet. The corridor was empty. It must’ve been mealtime. He reached for the velvet box, when the older Gryffindor sent a kick square between his ribs. Pain blossomed in his chest. He gasped for breath.
“Don’t have anything to say for yourself?” The younger boy spat, nasty and grinning.
“What’s this then?” The older boy grabbed the box off of the floor. Draco reached for it but his ribs protested, sending wracks of pain over body. “They’re giving you back your wand? What, so you can slit our throats in the night?”
Draco didn’t have the heart to tell them that at that moment, the Wizengamot would be elated to ship him off to Azkaban for killing a fly. He needed to get back to his room and evaluate the extent of his wounds. He had become quite the healer since returning to Hogwarts, making good use of the first aid kit his Mother had packed for him. He thought of his Mother in France. What would she think of him now? Malfoys had always respected power. And here he was, as weak as could be. He began to stand up.
“Who said you could go?” The younger boy pointed his wand at Draco. “Petrificus Totalus!” Draco braced his body for impact, but it never came. He felt the magic before he saw him. The air sizzled with raw strength.
“Expelliarmus!” A voice roared, sending both boys flying off of their feet. Harry’s magic coursed through him like a blinding light, scorching everything in its path. Glass shattered in the distance. The candles lining the hallway roared to life.“What–” he started, glowering at the boys, “do you think you’re doing?” Even Draco stilled. Harry’s voice was hard with anger as he approached the younger boys. Draco’s wand lay forgotten on the floor. The boys looked at each other with wide eyes, pale as ghosts. Dust settled around them. The older one spoke first.
“H-he started it!” He cried, pointing at Draco’s forlorn form. “He attacked me! I-I was just walking down the hall, minding my own business!”
“He’s death eater scum!” The younger one echoed, nodding furiously. Harry’s veins bulged out of his arms.
“The only scum I see are those who would attack a fellow student who is unarmed. If you’d like to pick a fight, I’m right here.” The younger boy started sniveling.
Draco felt his cheeks heat up. Honestly, this whole ordeal couldn’t get more humiliating. How many life debts did he owe Potter now? Three? Four? He wished that the Earth would open up and swallow him whole. He wished that Potter would just let them finish the job.
“If I find you again, it will be the last time.” Harry threatened, teeth gritted. “Get out of my sight.” The boys scurried down the hall. Potter approached Draco.
“This is absurd. If McGonagall knew about this–” He started, indignant. Potter furrowed his eyebrows in frustration. Draco had dragged himself to the wall. He leaned his back against the cool stone. Through sweat drenched hair strands, he looked at Harry. Anger looked good on him. Draco’s eyes traced the veins bulging in his arms, his grip tight on his wand. His Gryffindor tie sat loose on his chest. His green eyes shined brightly, piercing into Draco’s very being. “Are you alright? I mean–I know that you’re not alright but…what did they do to you?”
Draco shook his head. He didn’t want Potter getting any ideas for a revenge fantasy. Although he supposed that the git was too noble for that. Potter didn’t like that. He pressed his lips into a thin line.
“Can you stand?” He said.
Draco made an attempt, using the wall for purchase. Before he could straighten his posture, he felt a sharp pain in his ribs. He howled like a hurt animal. Harry rushed to his side, supporting his weight.
“Hey–hey, it’s alright. Take it easy. I got you.” Harry murmured, eyes concerned. Draco felt his heart constrict. His skin burned from the contact. When was the last time he had received a friendly touch? He shivered. “Let’s head to Madame Pomfrey. You’re trembling like a leaf.”
It’s not the pain, Potter.
Draco violently shook his head.
“What, did they get you with a lip lock jinx too?” Harry frowned, taking a step back to assess Draco’s state. “If not Pomfrey, then where?” Draco pointed in the direction of the lake, hoping that Harry understood his meaning.
He did, if the line of displeasure between his eyebrows deepening was any indication. Draco shook his head. Harry worried his bottom lip, weighing his options. Finally, he seemed to make a decision.
“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to take you back to the dorms. I’ll do basic diagnostic spells on you. If the damage is too great, we’re going to the infirmary.” Harry’s tone left no room for argument. Draco’s nerves were fraying at the edges. In a moment of weakness (due to the pain, he told himself), he relished over the feeling of being taken care of. Potter exuded leadership—no wonder half the student body wanted to snog him (not that Draco was saying that he did, he just could understand the appeal, in an objective way). He led a bloody army after all. His strong arms kept Draco grounded to the present moment. But Draco needn’t delude himself—Harry wasn’t doing this out of choice. It was just a misplaced Gryffindor sense of justice, that’s all. He would never voluntarily touch Draco.
“Okay?” Harry added, fixing Draco with the intensity of his stare. Draco swallowed. He nodded slowly. What other choice did he have? At least with Potter by his side, he could make it to the Slytherin dorms without any additional incidents. “Up we go.” Wait, what?
Before Draco could protest, Harry swooped him into his arms. Draco’s body tensed up immediately, sending pain throughout his chest. Harry gave him a toothy grin. Had Potter gone mad? If anyone was to see them like this his pristine reputation would take a hit–no, it would be destroyed. Harry Potter was holding Draco Malfoy bridal style. Draco could see the headlines from a mile away. Rancid Death Eater Manipulates Our Hero! Was it a love potion? Or perhaps an unforgivable? The Hogwarts student body would think that Draco had Harry under the Imperius. Draco’s face turned hot. He struggled against Potter’s grip, to no avail. For one, every time he tried to move his body protested against him. And additionally, Potter was strong. He picked Draco up like he weighed nothing, although he supposed that he did, due to his constant state of near starvation.
This was going to be the death of him. Draco had survived living with the Dark Lord in his house, and he was going to die of embarrassment in Harry Potter’s arms. He weakly punched Harry’s chest. Harry looked down at him, eyes sparkling.
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” He said, walking down the hallway with Draco in tow. Draco groaned. There was no greater punishment than this. Merlin, if he had his wand he would hex Harry right now (a Bat Bogey hex, nothing fatal), so that he could go straight to Azkaban and forget all about this utter and complete humiliation.
But Harry was so warm. And solid. And he smelled of vanilla body wash and spiced rum. And Draco hadn’t had a full night's sleep in months.
He relaxed in Harry’s arms, closing his eyes and welcoming the darkness.