Chapter 3
The rest of the feast flew by. Draco couldn’t seem to focus on the ramblings of professor Dumbledore, when Harry Potter sat next to him, and the way he picked at his food nervously, and raked his hand through his messy hair. He couldn’t fathom why, but it made his heart flutter in an unfamiliar way. Draco could have watched the boy all day, and possibly would have, if not for Dumbledore calling the feast to a close, and suggesting that the prefects of each house show the first years to their dormitories.
The slytherin prefects showed the first years to the dungeons, where they stopped at a seemingly plain stairwell.
“Just this way, guys,” the slytherin prefect called. He stepped behind what Draco had thought was a solid wall and into a corridor. The students followed nervously, stopping at a dead end. “The common room is just behind here. Just say the password, basilisk.”
With that last word, the seemingly plain brick wall transformed into a doorway.
“Just in here,” the prefect called, “alright, boys are up that stairwell, girls that one.” The first years all trailed in the common room, and when Draco entered, his jaw dropped.
He had expected the common room to be dark and foreboding, like malfoy manor had always been, but this place was different. The ceiling and walls were made of glass, giving a view into the Great Lake above them. The couches had green cushions and black leather seats. The lanterns glowed warmly, and all of the students actually seemed kind. He had known that slytherins could of course. His mother was the prime example, but she was made cold with years in a loveless marriage and in the wreckage of a losing war. Though he wasn’t sure if his father had ever been kind, if he had, all of that had been torn out and replaced with his harsh ideas of discipline. Most of his father’s friends were equally cold and cruel. He had expected the kids in Slytherin to be equally cold, but most of them seemed kind and protective, reuniting with their friend’s warmly after a long summer.
He was just about to head up the stairs, when he noticed Harry standing hesitantly at the entrance.
“ Hey. Are you coming?” Draco asked.
“Um… yeah. Just a second,” Harry stood there, looking very confused and scared. Draco caught himself wondering how a good boy like Harry could end up in the house famously known for so much bad. He didn’t know why, but he found the idea deeply unsettling.
“Alright, um… see you in a bit, then,” and with that, he scurried up into his new dormitory.
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His roommates didn’t seem too bad. He recognized them by name, of course, and he was pretty sure his father had invited the Goyles over for one of his fancy dinners parties a few times. These were the kind of people his father would approve of keeping as company, he would be expected to befriend them, of course, just not tonight.
Tonight, he was caught thinking about a far more interesting boy than Crabbe or Goyle. Tonight, he was lost in the mind of Harry Potter. The boy who had lost everything to the dark lord, to the death eaters, to slytherin, who was still somehow placed in the house with the same children whose parents were the ones responsible for leaving him orphaned. It seemed like he must have been raised by muggles, due to his general confusion about the magical world, and due to this he might not understand the extent that Draco’s father had in the war, but someday he would, and he was sure Harry would hate him for it. Merlin, why did that idea bother him so much?
Sometimes he wished he was part of a normal family, away from the pressure of blood status and political gain he could get from befriending the right people. He knew it was idiotic to think that way. His father was always so quick to remind him of the privilege of being born into the most influential and powerful family in all of England.
He agreed, obviously, but sometimes, in the dead of night, he’d imagine what his life would be like if he was a normal kid, with normal parents, in a normal home. Sometimes just the thought was enough to make him tearful for a life he could never have. Fortunately, he was a silent cryer, unfortunately, the boy in the bed next to him was not. Harry had come upstairs sometime close to midnight, and immediately curled into his bed and sobbed. He knew how stressed out he must be. Hell, he was stressed out and he had been surrounded by magic all his life. He caught himself wondering if Harry was no different than a muggle born, scared and confused by this strange new world he suddenly had a place in.
No. Draco decided. Harry Potter must be more than that.
He remembered his father’s parting words with painful clarity, which, unfortunately, were not as heartfelt as his mother’s.
“Above all, remember you’re a Malfoy,” his father had lectured him, “anything you do will be a direct reflection of me and your mother, and by extension, our stances and beliefs. If I hear you are mingling with filthy mudbloods or blood traitors, that will send a message that the war is truly done, and we have lost. You don’t want that, do you Draco?”
“No, father,” he had learned to remain compliant when his father got like this.
“Good. I expect you to do well in all of your classes, of course. Do try to remember that the Malfoys do not tolerate slackers,” with that, he left for work, slamming the door behind him.
Draco had genuinely planned to follow his father’s orders. After all, from what he had heard, muggle borns and blood traitors didn’t make for good company. However, this was all before he had met Harry Potter. Even just on the train, Draco could tell that Harry was going to be impossible to avoid. He was simply one of those kids who seemed to be filled with so much good, that it would be noticeable anywhere he goes. And then he just had to go and be sorted into slytherin. Draco still wasn’t quite sure how that had happened. Everything about Harry just screamed… good.
Despite what he had said on the train, he knew it was true about slytherins. Maybe not all of them were evil, but that didn’t change the fact that most were. Part of him had secretly been hoping that the sorting hat would deny him. Tell him that he was a gryffindor, or ravenclaw, or even hufflepuff. But it didn’t. It confirmed that he was, in fact, just as bad as his parents.
Eventually, sleep came for him. Unfortunately, it was nowhere near the peaceful sleep he was accustomed to.
For one thing, he had never slept anywhere but his own bed, and had certainly never shared a room. For another, he couldn’t help but think of the next day, when their classes would officially begin. He kept waking up after nightmares of failing all of his classes, with his teachers yelling at him and claiming him more worthless than a squib.
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Finally, the sun peaked out of the horizon and Draco dressed eagerly, thankful to be back in wizard's clothing. He struggled to get the laces of his shoes to cooperate, due to the lights being out. No one else was awake yet, which Draco was grateful for, he needed some time to clear his mind. Unfortunately, the lack of light was probably to blame for Draco hitting his head on his bedpost.
“Merde,” he muttered. He had picked the habit of swearing in French from his mother, who would often say most unpleasant things under her breath in French. He loved the language, mostly because his father didn’t know a word of it, and it had always been his and his mother’s exclusively.
“Sorry? Did you say something?” Harry asked. Shit. Of course Harry was up. He had no idea how he hadn’t noticed the boy waking up and getting dressed, but he supposed he was lost in thought.
“Nothing. I just hit my head,”
“Oh. Are you okay?” Why did he have to be so nice?
“Fine. I’ve endured worse,” at this Harry chuckled softly. For some reason the sound was deeply pleasant, though he couldn’t possibly imagine what he was laughing at.
“What’s so amusing?” Draco asked, which, to his annoyance, made Harry laugh even harder.
“It’s just…you and everyone else in this dorm. Do you always talk like that?” Harry was laughing with his full chest now.
“Like what?” Draco was fully aware that his accent was a bit more posh than the other students at Hogwarts, but other than that, he couldn’t see what was wrong with how he spoke.
“You just… you use a lot of big words. Were you raised in a castle or something? I don’t think I’ve ever heard an eleven year old say ‘endure’ unironically. Like genuinely, where do you live?”
“I mean, my manor is in London, if that’s what you’re asking me, but I hardly see why that matters.”
“A manor? Do you actually live in a- you know what? Never mind,” his laughter cut out, “sorry. That was mean. I’m just- I’m really stressed out. Sometimes I feel like… I just say things sometimes without thinking.”
“No, no. It’s okay. Honestly, I don’t mind,” the words slipped out before he could even think about it. Why was he apologizing? He shouldn’t be. He knew that he would have to stop being friends with this kid, so logically, he knew that he should be clinging to any opportunity to get rid of him, but he couldn’t force himself to stop talking to this boy.
“Hey,” a voice from the farthest bunk called out and threw a pillow at Draco, “can y’all shut up? It’s like, five in the morning.”
“It’s like, six. You guys are gonna be late if you don’t get up soon,” he was pretty sure he had met this boy, Blaise or something, at a Christmas party a few years ago.
“Please. Classes don’t start till nine,” Blaise rolled his eyes, “go back to sleep.”
“Whatever. I’m going to breakfast. Harry, you coming?” He got up and grabbed his books and wand.
“Yeah, coming,” Harry scrambled to follow him out the door.
Draco headed down the stairs and into the common room. Once Harry was down the stairs, the older slytherins who were up early immediately turned to stare.
“Are you really Harry Potter? Harry Potter?”
“Um… yeah, I suppose I am,” Harry looked deeply subconscious and annoyed.
“Harry, let’s go, yeah?” Draco felt oddly irritated with this kid, but he couldn’t figure out why.
Harry looked grateful for an excuse to get out of the common room, “yeah, for sure.”
With that, they headed out of the common room, and into the dining hall.