chapter one
Draco gazed blankly at the ceiling of his dorm room. It was his 8th year, and for some utterly stupid, ridiculous, foolish reason all the 8th years, or what was left of them, got their own dorm tower.
Not that Draco particularly wanted to go to the Slytherin dorms, but there was a familiarity in the cold stone and green colors.
Here, the decorations were a horrid mix, everyone knows that you don’t just clash primary colors together. But alas, who was he to complain. Certainly not anyone worth listening to, that is.
Incessant tapping came from the window next to his bunk, and Draco turned over to see Ulysses demanding to be let in.
Alright, alright, you impatient sodding bird. Draco leaned over to open the latch and let the owl in. Ulysses dropped the letter and made himself comfortable on the bedpost, waiting quietly for his treat.
Draco instinctively reached for his wand, before remembering he wasn’t allowed a personal one, cursed, and climbed down his bunk to the cabinet with the owl treats. Stupid bloody Ministry rats. Settling back in bed, he opened the letter his mother wrote to him.
Dear Draco,
Your father is not doing any better, and it is most likely that you will be named Lord Malfoy by the time Yule comes around. I know my many letters have likely upset you, but please consider at least finding a good family to, putting it lightly, create an alliance with. Knowing your past, sentiments, I will not require it to necessarily be a woman. However, you must do this in order to be named Lord.
On another note, we still haven’t found the countercurse to whatever is making you mute. However, do not worry, we should find it before Samhain.
I miss you greatly, and you are forever in my thoughts
Mother
Draco felt his face burn at his mothers insinuation. His preferences were not exactly a secret, but years of his fathers barbed comments still made him squirm with shame when it was brought up.
Even after essentially ruining their family, he still held his father in some regard. It was pathetic, really. Lord of the family huh.
It was a daunting title. Not only was it symbolic, it was binding, literally. When proclaimed Lord, one’s magic increased due to being responsible for all the family members, the house, and any other family under their protection.
It was how his father had so many witnesses on his side for the last war, he basically threatened to remove protection if they didn’t testify in his favor. Plus the imperius spell.
Always have people indebted to you Draco, his father always said. Look where that got him. Imprisoned and dying.
He should probably be more concerned about the fact that his father was dying, but after the last three fucked up years, he was tired. His father was his hero, someone he practically idolized.
Even after the isolation, harsh words, and punishments given by his father and later Aunt Bella, no, Bellatrix, he had still held onto the hope that his father was doing his best for the family. For Draco. What a stupid kid he was.
The door creaked open, revealing one tired Neville Longbottom. Draco nodded his head in greeting, receiving a wary nod back. It’s not like Draco could do anything to him really, even if he wanted to. War changed people, and Draco was sick of being feared, of being afraid, of the paranoia and hair loss from stress.
“You know, you don’t have to stay cooped up in here all the time.”
Draco raised up an eyebrow. Was Longbottom speaking to him? He pointed a finger to himself, a confused expression on his face while he looked at the other boy.
“Yes you, you daft blond. Certainly not your owl.” Neville huffed.
Draco coughed to cover up his laugh. Yes, war changed people, and in Neville’s case they grew a pair. Draco waved his hand as if to ask what his roommate meant.
“Well, you don’t come down to the commons, or to eat at all now that I think about it, and I don’t even see you in the hallways.”
Draco winced at Longbottom’s calculating gaze. Okay, so what if he didn’t socialize with everyone else. Who would he even sit with? Blaise was occupied with some Gryffindors, and Pansy didn’t return to school. Other than that, well…
And besides, he does eat! Just, by going to the kitchen and asking for leftovers. It’s better than he deserves now anyways.
He was still surprised he was let into the school. Draco looked back at Neville who was still waiting for an answer. He waved his hand at him. Don’t worry about it.
“Alright mate, but still don’t be too invisible before Harry starts losing his mind.”
Draco choked at that last comment. He hopped down to his desk and rapidly wrote on some parchment. Excuse me? Why on earth would Potter care?
“Ah, forget what I said, just a slip up. Anyways, still mute then?”
Draco peered suspiciously at the other boy, letting the topic of Potter go as he let out a pathetic wheeze in an attempt to speak.
No Longbottom, he wrote, I just choose to sound like a dying nargle everytime I try to even say good evening.
Neville laughed at the reference to Luna’s whimsical creatures, loud and quite boisterous guffaws. Draco wasn’t sure if it was annoying or very slightly endearing. All in all, Neville wasn’t a bad fellow, Draco had matured enough to see that.
“You’re pretty funny mate, when you aren’t being a downright prick.” Neville gasped out through the last of his giggles.
Yeah, yeah. Draco rolled his eyes. His face twisted with remorse as he faced Neville, as if to say sorry, since he was too much of a coward to even write it out, much less say it. Neville’s eyes were understanding as he clasped a hand on Draco’s shoulder, also not saying anything.
“Well, we’ve got a party going on for the eighth years on Saturday night, consider this an official invitation!” Neville called out as he exited the room.
Oh. Draco hadn’t expected that. A pleasant feeling spread through his body, something he was not used to.
Purebloods don’t make friends after all. Salazar forbid they have positive emotions, oh no that was too far beneath them.
Draco thought back to his fathers harping, lectures that his mother stayed conveniently silent during. No, Draco. Don’t talk to them Draco, make allies Draco, a Malfoy doesn’t have friends Draco. On and on and on, Draco almost got sick of hearing his own name.
The novelty of wanting companions wore off eventually, until Draco truly believed that considering people to be anything other than pawns or useful allies was a waste of time.
He picked subconsciously at his fingers, gnawing on his lips as he considered Longbottom’s invitation. They weren’t friends, not by far. Draco had all but tortured him, and for Neville to even stand to share a room with him was a miracle.
It took a serious intervention by Minerva and his aunt Andromeda for Draco to fully let go of his supremacist ideologies, and that took all summer long.
Sure, he hadn’t wanted to kill the headmaster, or Potter, and yes maybe he thought his father was going quite off the rails towards his sixth year, and sure when Potter was carried by the groundskeeper he felt as if his heart would fail, er, he means, anyways– it was hard to get everything the former Malfoy patriarch practically Crucioed into his head.
An intervention with month-long classes on Muggles was necessary.
Boisterous laughter filtered through Draco’s door, Potter’s obnoxious guffaws the loudest of them all. Draco resisted the urge to go down there. For all that he and Neville got along, that meant nothing about the others.
Draco wasn’t blind, he knew how the other students gazed at him with wariness, and more often than not, intense contempt. To survive this last school year, he must keep his head and voice down.
Not that the latter was hard since someone already cursed his voice away. Being unable to speak was very frustrating, not only since he couldn’t communicate effectively, but it also hindered his magic. His wordless spells have gotten much better as a result though, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Draco settled back in bed, ignoring the ache in his heart as the sounds of conversation carried upstairs. He extinguished the candle with a wave of his hand and went to bed.
~~~~~~~
Harry looked up at Neville as he walked down the stairs to the common room. Almost automatically, Harry scanned the other boy for any injuries or signs of distress on his face. He felt slightly justified in doing so since Neville was rooming with Malfoy of all people.
Ron seemed to have the same mindset, calling out to Neville “Neville mate, how on earth do you get by rooming with that sod?”
“Oh, he’s not that bad you guys. You already know he had mandated lessons by the Headmistress.” Neville protested. “He’s a pretty funny bloke when you get to know him.”
Ron scoffed, rolling his eyes as he said “Sure mate, ‘s your funeral.”
Hermoine sighed at her boyfriend's insistent mistrust, having heard his complaints about Malfoy far too often. “Ron, if even Snape could have changed, then Draco is capable of it also.”
“But he-”
“Has not caused any trouble this year.”
“Yeah, say that to my poor eyes that are being forced to see him every day.”
“Why on earth are you being so insistent!?”
“Why am I being so- what about you!”
“For Godric's sake Ron just leave it alone!” Hermione exclaimed.
Harry raised his eyebrows at Hermione’s interruption. “Why do you even care so much about the bloke anyways ‘Mione?”
At this point everyone in the common room was listening, especially some certain Slytherins.
“Listen, I’ve worked with him on some homework assignments and things, alright? He’s not- I mean– Draco, he apologized to me already. We worked out everything, and I’m sure he would do the same with you all if you didn’t insist on giving him a hard time.” Hermione explained.
“So it’s Draco now?” Ron asked incredulously.
Seamus rolled his eyes at the redhead, “Did you listen to anything she said mate? Or are you still worried that ‘Mione’s gonna leave you for any better looking bloke.”
Everyone burst into laughter at Ron’s red face as he sputtered out unintelligible protests.
Hermione rolled her eyes and rose out of her seat. “I’m going to my room since you lot can’t find a better topic. The war is over, and we need to focus on building better relationships. Let me know when you can see past your pride.” she huffed as she left with a whirl.
Seamus let out a low whistle. “Got yerself in a bit of a pickle mate.”
“Oh shove off Seamus.” Ron grumbled, a sour expression on his face.
Harry’s thoughts drifted to a certain blond as Hermione’s steps died off. It wasn’t as if he was particularly distrustful of Draco, just– deservedly cautious.
He hadn’t known that Hermione even interacted with the ex-death eater. Of all people he at least expected Hermione to be more reluctant to forgive the bloke. What with being tortured by Draco’s aunt and all, not to mention the name calling and blatant racism.
“What do you think, Harry?” Dean murmured from where he was seated at Harry’s right side.
“...I think Hermione’s partially right. Draco hasn’t given me a reason to dislike him this year, but he also hasn’t given me a reason to outright trust him. I wouldn’t pick on the bloke though.”
Dean hummed and leaned back, eyes thoughtful as his fingers drummed against the couch’s armrest. He glanced at Harry, who was lost in thought again.
Dean let his eyes travel to where the group of the few remaining Slytherins sat, only to see Blaise’s sharp gaze meeting his. A quirk of an eyebrow and Dean knows that the other boy overheard their conversation.