1
Draco.
3rd August 1998.
People needed to give him a damn break.
His mother was practically panting down his neck, begging him to work with them on this. Like he had a choice. His Father was on the third howler demanding his presence at his trial. Those threats felt empty all the way from the ministry holding cells.
He'd just about had enough when the fourth letter landed in front of him in the parlour, interrupting his brunch. If he never heard the words "for the betterment of our future as a whole family" it would be too soon.
Before the howler even had a chance to open its creased mouth, Draco set the thing aflame with a muttered "incendio". Fuck his Father and fuck what he has to say. For all Draco cared, he could join Aunt Bella and Voldy.
He was not going to the fucking hearing and that was that.
It was his fault they were in this mess. If he hadn't snivelled at that, said in the loosest terms, mans feet, they would still be once what they were. The word Malfoy alone was enough to bring even the goblins at gringotts to their knees. Now it was ridiculed, spat on like it was nothing.
What was once childhood jealousy and reverence for his father quickly morphed into something ugly in Draco's mind. He hated his father for how he acted, how he whimpered and ran around like that rodent Pettigrew. Most of all, he hated how he didn't hate him entirely. He hated that he hated himself more.
They were blood traitors and they weren't accepted on either side. That was the least of his problems anyway.
19th August 1998
As a part of the "Restoration for blood traitors" program, he and his Mother had been house bound, and would continue to be for the next three years. Draco, once back in school, would be forced to stay on the grounds for his final year.
It was a part of their punishment for housing Voldemort. House him? Be good hosts? Stay in the house he demolished in his rise to power. Eat at the table he killed people on top of. Walk the same halls and converse in the same drawing rooms.
Draco could understand the punishment. The design of it. They didn't know his families intentions. That they hadn't had a choice.
It was its own special brand of torture, built for Draco and Narcissa specifically. They had been stuck in the Manor for 4 months and 17 days exactly and Draco was positive he hadn't slept once. It was like reliving the trauma of it all; over and over again.
His mother took it in stride, despite being confided to the grounds. She still held events and soirees and charity balls. His mother had been on a path to prove themselves reformed. Her husband included, despite rotting in a cell under the ministry. They were feeble attempts and Draco thinks she secretly knows it, but still holds hope. He thought it was a load of shit, but got clipped around the ear by a levitated, rolled up Daily Profit the last time he voiced his opinion.
Tonight, however, Narcissa was once again hosting. It was a charity ball, raising money for those who fell to the war, helping their families and all that pish posh, and Draco was being forced to attend on the arm of his Mother in his fathers stead. Being a good son and good heir and all that.
Obviously, the Malfoy's would be making a more than generous donation. Everyone knew these donations and charity balls and their up to date rule following was a front for their reputation restoration. It just added to his humiliation. He could imagine Nott's face.
Draco stood in front of his washroom mirror with every intention of preening himself until acceptable looking but couldn't help but take a moment to look at himself. Like really look at himself. His hair had grown out this past year, just reaching shoulder length. With a choked, involuntary sound, Draco realised he not only acted like his father but he looked exactly like him. The same scowl marred his face that marred his fathers. They had the same eye shape, same hollowed out cheek bones, same chin, same fucking brand on their forearms. Even the same stupid fucking eyebrows.
They walked and talked the same, sneered the same way with the same creased brow. Merlin, they even ate the same way for Salazar's sake. It used to fill him with such pride, but now he feels disgusted. Disgust with his father but more importantly, disgust with himself.
It was twenty minutes until Draco was required to be glued to his mothers side and greeting guests, but he didn't care about that. He cared that right now, all he could see was the man he hated most staring back at him.
When staring in the mirror had become so torturous on Draco's psyche, he wasn't sure but there was no denying it. He was struggling to tear his eyes away from the sight as if he was shell shocked.
He couldn't handle it, he couldn't stand it. How could he possibly stand looking like him. The man that offered him no comfort, no reprieve to be a child while growing. The man that welcomed with open arms, the downfall of their household and everything Draco knew. The man he lied about hating most.
He moved like he was in a trance, he didn't take his fathers steel grey eyes off the mirror as he lifted his wand to his scalp. With a helpless, almost whispering type of voice, he spoke a charm to cut his hair.
Once it was finished, Draco released the breath he didn't realise he had been harbouring in his lungs. He observed his new look with what felt like the clearest head he'd had in months. Somehow, the lines of his face looked sharper but the sunken look Draco's face had adopted in his sixth year looked just a little bit less. The contours of his cheeks and collarbones looked fuller, able to catch the light rather than be in the shadows of the straight white strands. It made his under eyes more obvious though, no longer hidden behind his curtain. He had to layer the glamour charms to cover those.
With an embarrassingly shaky hand, Draco ran his finger tips through the short fuzzy strands of his new buzzcut.
August 25th 1998
His fathers trial was today and he still, sure as Voldemort's ashy ass, was not fucking going to testify.
At the first course of their meal, a few days ago, Narcissa had broken down over miniature loaves of bread and soup, saying she could not, no, would not sit by herself while the verdict was drawn on her husband.
The show of plain, raw emotion took Draco far back enough to agree to attend. He had sat more stiff than he ever had before, while he promised his near wailing mother to hold her hand while Lucius Malfoy was shipped off to Azkaban. Though he hadn't said it like that at the time. It had come out more as a choked, forced sound; a tumble of words said so fast to make her stop fucking crying.
"Finei'llgowithyoujustpleasestopcrying"
The last time Draco had ever seen his mother show such overt emotions might've been when Bellatrix died.
In the last 52 hours of his life, Draco had probably slept a total of 3 of those. Though no one would be able to tell because of the potions he had been having Mipsy bring him. He had so much on his mind. He was to get out of this house soon, Pansy was to have a heart attack when she saw his hair, though he didn't really care about that. He was going back to school, where he would see his old classmates/ order members, i.e the opposite side of the war to him. Though the biggest monopoliser of his brain power went to his fathers trial today, as loathsome as it was to admit such things.
It was 05:26 in the morning of his fathers trial and he hadn't moved nor slept all night. He got into bed as usual, at the exact moment the clock on his wall chimed to the hour of midnight and just hadn't moved. Nor did he close his eyes.
He tried not to think about his fathers trial, just like he tried to ignore his mother pleads with him to speak. Draco hadn't said a word to anyone other than a house elf in just shy of a week. Narcissa begun to worry on day 4. He supposed he should feel bad for making his mother worry. He simply didn't care enough anymore. He didn't care about much these days.
As the sun rose to the start of a new day, Draco's stomach gave an audible growl. When was the last time he had eaten something? With a well practiced growl of his own, he dragged himself from his bed and into the washroom. Draco considered foregoing that glamour charms today. He wasn't sure if he had the energy to plaster on a pretty face anymore. When that had become so tiresome, Draco wasn't sure.
Practically from muscle memory, Draco's wand arm moved over his face and body, concealing.
After his unexpected new look the night of the ball, Draco had become quite a talking point. Old men and women, friends of his fathers, his friends parents, everyone who had a mouth it felt like, spoke about his new haircut. But not to him. After all, Pureblood men don't cut their hair.
After a few, likely well needed moments to recoup, his mother had turned his new look into a weapon. She had said it was a part of accepting the new ways of the world. The half breed ways. The muggle ways. As much as weaponised it, Draco could tell she was more concerned than before.
He thought to himself bitterly, when was the last time she shared those concerns with him?When was the last time she showed she cared? Even if she did care, Draco assumed it would be surface level.
It didn't matter anyway. He didn't need her to care, just like he didn't need anyone to care about him.
Draco had been so caught up in himself, he hadn't realised how much time had passed. The time now was just turning 6 in the morning, he had another 2 hours until he was expected to meet with the family solicitors. They were supposed to discuss the game plan. Draco reckons they're meeting just to try and convince him to testify for his father.
He still wasn't going to.
07:58
The Ministry walls were blank and painfully white. It was an assault on Draco's senses as he waited in the office. He shifted in his seat slightly, uncomfortable with the way the air felt stiff on his skin. Was there no ventilation in here? That had to be illegal. Maybe he should tell the solicitors to deal with that rather than what they were really going to discuss.
Draco's numb feeling mood had morphed quickly while walking down the hallways of the ministry. He left his wing of the Manor with indifference and a lack of empathy towards his father but it had quickly turned into an unwanted feeling grittiness and contempt. Perhaps it was the fact he was coming face to face with Lucius Malfoy. Or it was the fact this entire situation was grating on his nerves like he didn't have the balls to occlude it all away.
He had contemplated for weeks after The Final Battle. To occlude. To hide behind the walls. It had felt like cheating at the time; he had felt like he didn't deserve to not feel the pain and destruction he and his family had caused. Now he had no feelings to shield himself from anyway. Draco felt numb to the world.
The solicitors didn't knock as they entered the room; this was going to be a god damn shit show. Draco released a low chuckle as what was about to come. His mother placed one clasped hand down in his lap, the gesture having two meanings. One, for Draco to quit before he was ahead, and two, a warning. Draco didn't see the needs for such formalities, they were paying them their yearly salary for just this one case anyway.
It felt surreal. It felt like an out of body feeling. They were discussing methods for saving The Great and Prosperous Lucius Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy who could evade any legal drama Malfoy Enterprises faced. Lucius Malfoy, of such high grace and decorum, locked and unwashed in a hanging cell under the ministry at this very moment.
That thought erupted an involuntary choked laugh out of Draco, which he unceremoniously, covered with a cough and a fist to his mouth. Draco had thought he was being smooth, but turns out, every person in the room had turned to look at him with barely concealed gaping fish looks. Aside from his mother of course, she just looked like she might Avada him on the spot. She squeezed his thigh, nails in his skin. In that moment, he realised he hadn't been listening to a word that had been spoken. Oh well.
With a lazy roll of his hand, they continued the meeting, without his input.
Lucius Malfoy's trial was to be held in front of the entire Wizengamot at exactly 10 am sharp. It was already 09:37. They needed to be seated soon and Draco had heard none of the plan. He wasn't quire sure when the roaring in his head began, but now it was a steady buzz behind his eyes.
The room stood up, and Draco stood with them. He still couldn't hear anything, his vision was narrowing and his breaths were picking up. He had to get it under control. He needed to sort himself the fuck out. When had the rest departed from the office?
Draco's legs moved before his brain could catch up, he was walking down the hallways of the Ministry of Magic when he realised where he was going, who he was going to see when he got there. His legs did not slow. He still continued to march behind his mother and their lawyer.
Draco Malfoy was not afraid.
10:00
Lucius Malfoy was lifted from a hole in the ground, in a small metal cage in the centre of the room and Draco practically bit threw his bottom lip and tongue to stop himself from bursting out laughing. His entire body stiffened with the force it took to stop it from silently shaking with mirth. The panic attack he had felt brewing had suddenly come to an unexpected halt with the ironic sight in front of him.
Lucius Malfoy looked liked fucking shit. Matted hair and about twenty new wrinkles; beaten and in old, striped and ripped ministry issued garb. He had fucking eye bags for Merlin's sake. Draco was sure he was about to explode with how much he was trying to hold it in.
Lucius Malfoy wasn't even fully out of the ground yet and Draco could hear the hitch in his mothers breath, sobering him slightly, as his eyes locked onto his wife's and sons. All the way from the family stands, you could see the sneer that marked his face when Lucius looked at Draco. Guess he doesn't like the haircut, Draco thought to himself ruefully.
Lucius Malfoy's sneer widened as he maliciously pointed at his son through the bars separating them and his mouth opened to let a harsh whisper escape.
"What did you do to yourself, Boy?" His voice sounded croaky, either from under use or hours of screaming. If he's this manic now how will he be in Azkaban. In that moment Draco hoped it was the latter as his father tried to publicly humiliate him all the way from his little cage.
The way that Mr Malfoy was about to face, what some people would call, his execution and was more focused on his heir's haircut was not missed by anyone in the room. The way that Lucius Malfoy was still so proud, so arrogant in his mania that his sons appearance as a pureblood's heir was more important than being reunited with his wife and family.
Draco could practically hear the conks in his Mothers head as she came to the same realisation. Draco could see her expression morph into something bitter and cold as she thought to herself about how Lucius Malfoy was more focused on reprimanding his heir than he was about coming back to her. Mania or not. Draco could feel her hand squeeze around his left one as the hurt settled inside of her, and Draco hated him all the more for it.
When the once feared man was fully out of his hidy-hole in the ground, a member of Wizengamot started reading off the charges he faced, completely ignoring his outburst.
"Aiding and abetting.....Murder, Torture and Bodily harm on multiple victims.......coercion, the use of the imperious curse...."
Draco wasn't sure when his harsh breathing had started again or when the roaring picked back up in his ears as they listed and listed and listed. He stopped being able to properly hear as the severity of the situation was properly dawning on him. He always knew his father stood no chance but to have it so plainly in front of him was another matter. His mothers hand started to shake in his lap where they held each other tight. Or it was him, he wasn't sure, he knew he'd deny it until he died though.
"He did his best to remain the integrity of his family."
His eyes returned to being narrowed, looking through smudged glass windows at the sound of those words. Draco was focused on keeping his breaths steady, stopping the heaving in his chest before it started and his face neutral as his lawyer started talking on his fathers defence. The words "blackmail" and "homicidal maniac" were being thrown about as they discussed what it was like to live with Tom Riddle. About how hard it was for Lucius Malfoy to keep his family safe and the sacrifices on his own soul he had to make for them.
Draco felt the involuntary intake of breath on the shell of his nostril's as he heard those words. Safe. They hadn't been safe, if Draco was safe he wouldn't have this mark on his arm. He wouldn't of been branded at 16.
At some point they had started calling witnesses to the stand. Draco was trying so hard to focus on his surroundings, on what was happening in the trial. But, all he could hear was his mothers soft whimpers and the impending gavel falling. That was until someone stepped up to the stands. He hadn't even heard them get called forth as they clumsily made their way up the steps. In that moment, Draco's focused zero in on them and he stopped breathing.
He hadn't even noticed them in the room, had he really been that caught up in himself that he hadn't even clocked Harry Fucking Potter?