Chapter 18
My dearest Draco,
You have been gone but a few months and yet it feels as though it’s been years. I miss you terribly and you must write me more often. The last letter I received was dated for October 15th. I know that it must be an adjustment to be in a new environment, especially considering, but please remember your poor mother and answer her letters.
I am going to presume you have just been occupied with your studies and taking care of Theodore, and that is why I have heard nothing from you for weeks. Or perhaps you’ve lost your ability to read and write and that is the reason for your silence. Nevertheless, I have not lost mine and so I shall write to you all that I have read in the last week. Perhaps Theodore can write me back to tell if they are true or not.
As you well know I don’t make it a habit to indulge in the gossip of the Daily Profit. That Skeeter woman takes far too many liberties in her work for my taste, however, your father invited the Greengrass’ over for dinner several evenings ago and afterwards, I felt compelled to. You would not believe my surprise, dear son, upon doing so to learn that it seems you have made quite the spectacle of yourself.
The Triwizard Tournament Draco. They say you are a champion and somehow Igor has been permitted to have two candidates as a result. I’m sure he is thrilled. The Krum boy being chosen was as you and Theodore had expected over the summer, but as far as I can recall, neither of you had any intention of entering the competition yourselves. Though now, it seems that is false, if the Profit or Minister Fudge is to be believed. Your father and I were terribly disappointed to have discovered the news from an outside source of Andor and his wife, but after confirming the information with the minister he was unbelievably pleased.
I will say that you’ve left me most curious. Given the nature of the Tri-wizard Tournament, I had always been under the presumption that there would only be three champions. And yet somehow, you, dear, have crowned yourself the fourth. Do explain how you managed it, if you ever feel inclined to contact me again.
But I digress and shall move on to far more exciting news now. Though I fear you will find your own recent developments to be far more dreadful when you see what they’ve accomplished. I know it is all so trivial to you, but you would not believe the stir you have caused in the society papers since the announcement. Merlin knows how many invitations I’ve already received for you to spend the summer abroad in the coming year, at manors across the continent. At this point in time, I have remained impartial to any of the young witches vying for your hand, but I must admit, the longer I go without hearing you the more compelled I am to think you may need a bride to force you attend to your obligations.
Anyways darling, you looked dashing in the photographs published and even that dreadful Skeeter woman couldn’t find an unflattering thing to say about you in her article. I miss you dearly but know that as always, you are making me proud in all your studies.
I will be looking for your owl each day, my son.
With so much love,
Narcissa Malfoy
p.s. Your father has instructed me to add that it would not kill you to look less angry for the press and that he feels your temper will be seen a direct reflection on his position. I am also to inform you that he will be arriving early the morning of the first task as a ministry official and you are expected to greet him at the headmaster’s office when he does.
Draco folded and unfolded the parchment between his hands, running a single finger along his mother’s wax seal. The letter had arrived late the previous night and just like the eight he’d gotten before it, Draco had no idea how to respond.
It was a warning, he knew it, with a million things written in between the lines. But just like every other time he’d begun to write her back, there was only one thing on his mind. It was the same thing he thought of when she mentioned the witches’ seeking contracts from him. The same thing he knew when his father had written just three days ago inquiring on his progress with the Parkinson girl. They didn’t matter, there was only one woman who could ever matter to him in such a way.
Emmeline.
But how could he write his mother and tell her? How could he write his mother and not? How could he avoid it? There was so much he wanted to say, and so little way to say it, especially knowing his father read through everything he sent.
And he had questions. Salazar, he had so many questions to ask her about everything. About their family. About Regulus. About her bloody horses and the tulips she’d had planted in June and whether she was still in good health because he missed her as well. But he couldn’t put that in a letter. A letter was not the way to do this.
And so, he’d been silent. For nearly a month now he hadn’t answered any of his mother’s letters.
So, instead he breathed. Draco filled his lungs with the crisp morning air of the Scottish Highlands and looked around. It was quiet, where he sat near the banks of Black Lake. He’d sat down originally in an attempt to appreciate the sunrise as it rose over the ancient castle. His run had begun before dawn, but then he’d been distracted by the view. The bright oranges that reflected against the water and the clash of colours against the forest only served to remind him of his mother’s gardens at the manor.
He needed to think. He needed to plan. Karkaroff had shared with them the object of the first task the night before, Dragons. Obviously, he’d told Theo who didn’t find the irony of his namesake as entertaining as Draco did, but began plotting, nonetheless. And now his mother’s words only served to add to his stress.
His father would be watching the first task. And he would be here. It was not entirely a surprise that the man had found his way in, but it certainly wasn’t a pleasant notice either.
Draco sat there along the bank, reading and rereading his mother’s letter and the familiar curves of her handwriting for as long as he could. It wasn’t until the air warmed and the sun began prickling against his face that he stood. Draco tucked the letter into his trousers, carefully folding it so as not to cause tears, and set off to run the remainder of his way around the lake.
It had taken him another forty minutes or so to trek through the several kilometres of forest, but when he finally clamoured his way back through the now bustling passages of the Durmstrang ship he found his brother awake and writing.
“Where’d you get off to?” He asked as Draco shut the door behind him and began undressing.
“Just around the lake for a bit. Needed to clear my head.”
Theo grunted but didn’t look away from his paper.
“What are you doing? It’s barely eight. I would have thought you’d be taking in the day off.” He joked and at least that got a snort out of the other wizard.
“Right. Because I’m one to sleep in.” He shot Draco a weak scowl before turning back, which piqued Draco’s curiosity immensely. He walked towards his brother and leaned over him nosily.
“Austrian Spurback spinal region” He read the parchment aloud and barely had time to jump back when an elbow came swatting at his abdomen to shove him. “Theo, what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m researching, obviously. Now go shower and put a fucking shirt on. You smell disgusting and I need to concentrate.” He scowled over his shoulder and Draco grinned. Undeterred he approached again, this time grabbing the parchment in front of him before he could be stopped and scanning it.
“Yes, but why? And why are you making a . . . list of body parts for magical creatures?”
Theo stood, snatching the parchment from him before he could finish reading it and sitting back down. “Not just magical creatures, I’m researching dragons.” He sighed and gave Draco a look that had his smirk falling.
“Sorry.” He straightened and walked back to his own belongings to sort through his robes for the day. Grey, he decided, mindlessly selecting his most comfortable shirt as well. “So, you’re researching dragons.” He repeated as he folded them.
“Yeah. I’ve already skimmed through texts on Hungarian Horntails, Common Welshes, Swedish Short-Snouts, and now the Austrian Spurback in case any of them are the ones you’ll have to fight.”
“And you’ve been making lists of their weaknesses for me the study?” Draco looked over his shoulder and caught Theo nodding.
“Exactly. Any advantage you can get, right?”
Draco shrugged. He wasn’t particularly worried about the challenge itself. Duelling magical creatures couldn’t be that far off from some of the shite they already did during the school year, and Draco had never struggled with any of that. “Isn’t knowing the focus of the challenge itself already somewhat of an advantage?”
This time when Theo scowled it was much stronger and had Draco fighting another smile. “Like any Malfoy’s ever objected to having the upper hand going into a fight.” He mocked and Draco frowned. Reminded of his mother’s news he leaned against the wall.
“He’s coming, by the way.”
“What? Who?” Theo scanned him curiously.
“Mum wrote this morning. Father will be at the challenge.”
“How?” Theo sat up straighter, seemingly disturbed by the new information.
“How else? Pulled the ‘I own your sorry arse and this entire fucking country, just try and stop me’ card.”
“Seriously?”
He ran a hand through the blond curls that had broken free of their charm and looked away. “No. Apparently he’s got it on as some bullshit excuse for the ministry.”
“Oh.”
Draco snorted. “Yeah, ‘oh.’ Mum says he’ll be here early. He’s planning to get some photos in for the profit.”
“Of course he is. Never misses an opportunity, does he?”
“Never. If he did, he wouldn’t be Lucius Malfoy.”
It was quiet between them for a moment. Draco wasn’t sure if there was anything left to be said. His father would arrive in a few days and neither of them could really predict how that would go. On the one hand Draco wanted to believe it could be a turning point. If he staked his claim in the challenge as one of the forerunners and brought glory to the Malfoy name from the beginning, then perhaps he could finally change his father’s mind. He could prove himself worthy of his birth right.
But on the other hand, he wasn’t a fool. There were a million factors involved in the tournament and there was no predicting how it would go. And if his mother’s warning was anything to suggest, he was already displeased with Draco’s performance, and they’d only done the press run for it.
So, he took his leave and showered. When he finished, Theo was packing a bag near his bed. Draco gave him a questioning glance when he finally noticed him.
“I . . .er, Harry— I mean Potter. I— Harry Potter.” He grimaced and shook his head as if to clear it. Draco’s amusement was undying his brother’s affections had grown and Theo had only gotten more and more awkward around the boy. He grinned at the apparently new development: no longer being able to say his name. “I’m going up to the castle for breakfast to meet Hermione.” Theo paused. “And Harry—Potter. Er, they sent an owl while you were dressing to ask if I’d like to join them around eight in the Great Hall.”
“Right.” Draco nodded, “I shall see you later then,” he said, continuing over to his desk where his pile of homework had been building up expectantly for him and ignoring the tinge of jealousy that bloomed in his stomach. He’d only begun reading when Theo spoke again.
“And you.” He turned to frown at him but Theo waved a hand. “I mean, and you. They asked if you and I would like to join them for breakfast.”
“Oh,” Draco said, surprised, though he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like anything had changed between them in the last few weeks, he still spoke to Hermione at the very least daily. Each time she spoke to him it was as if Draco’s thoughts made less and less sense and he could only stare. Just the night before he’d found himself lost in the freckles across her cheeks and trailing down her neck as she tried to explain to him some rune combination he’d not understood. He still didn’t understand it, but that was because he’d been forced to leave her to meet for a training with Karkaroff and Krum.
But something had changed, and he would do well to remember it. His father would be coming to Hogwarts in a mere three days, and he would have expectations for Draco. He would want to be sure that Draco was following his orders. That his son was fraternizing only with those he approved of, those he’d explicitly instructed him to befriend. His father was coming to ensure Draco was doing his duty.
Which in most categories, he was.
But most was not all, and while he might’ve been able to pass off as having developed affections towards the Parkinson girl— who shone at even his slightest attention— the others would be more difficult to prove. And the point where he didn’t want to. Where he knew the intentions behind these alliances but Draco couldn’t find it in himself to care about them. Because he didn’t want Parkinson or her caddy friends to like him. There was only one witch who mattered.
But while that witch was really Emmeline— was really his Emmeline and the daughter of his father’s oldest friend— no one else could know that. His father especially wouldn’t know that, despite his efforts. And on top of it, Hermione didn’t know that. For all intents and purposes, she was supposed to be a muggle born— a mudblood, as his father would undoubtedly view her.
He'd been careful. He’d been discreet. Hermione and he had always met in the castle’s astronomy tower (by her design) and it happened that her preferred space in the library was also out of plain view and in the back. Conveniently, she’d made it easy for him. And walking to and from classes beside her and Potter, Draco was confident would be nothing for the others to write home to their parents about. But his father was coming here. He wouldn’t need to hear it from a second-hand source when he could ask or simply break into someone’s mind and see.
“Theo . . .” He didn’t know what to say. Once again, he didn’t know what to do. “I . . . he’s coming.” It was barely a whisper as he stared at the ground between them.
The terms of everything had changed, which meant Draco needed to change. Only for now, he promised himself. He could be Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy for a few days, if it meant his father would let him be when it was over. If it meant he could still go back to his witch when his father left.
“I’ll—" Theo sighed loudly and Draco couldn’t bear to face the disappointment he knew was written over his face. “I’ll tell her you were unwell.”
“Thank you.” It was quiet. Draco turned back to his desk and watched the mountain of work he would’ve much rather ignored. Several moments passed before he heard footsteps and the door open and close behind him and Draco was alone.
Draco was walking back from lessons at the castle two days later when someone called his name.
“Oi! Malfoy!” He winced at the interruption. He was trying not to blow a fucking lid after that morning and his patience was thin. Nonetheless he was all too aware of the reason for his temperament and stopped, turning to face the very subject of it.
Zabini was far too happy. That was something Draco had learned about him, dearest father. The boy was rarely not smirking or grinning and the smile on his face made Draco want to punch him.
“Malfoy,” he continued, approaching. “Let’s walk.” He told him and continued in stride across the lawn. Draco followed, partly because it would be rude not to, and partly because something about the tilt of the boy’s brow as he approached made him curious.
“Zabini.” He said, earning a huff of laughter beside him.
“Blaise. Call me Blaise.” The other wizard bumped him lightly in the side and when he looked over Draco saw the boy’s face had gone serious. “You’re in a foul mood today.”
So, we’re pointing out the obvious. “Does that offend you?”
That earned him a scoff. “Not at all, it’s admirable really. But also, disappointing.”
“How so?”
“Well, knowing how sunny your personality is on a daily basis, I just would have expected more.”
“I’m sure I don’t follow.”
“You’re an arsehole Malfoy, it’s one of my favourite things about you. You couldn’t give less of a shite about anyone other than Nott and…” He didn’t finish and Draco found himself intrigued by his bluntness, thought slightly uncomfortable with his coy ending.
“And? I don’t have time for games.”
“Right.” Zabini smirked again. “And Granger.”
Draco froze and stopped walking. “Your point?” He said icily, unfortunately causing the other wizard to laugh.
“Ah fuck, this is why I like you Malfoy.” He waved a hand happily and Draco’s lip curled into a sneer. “You’ve got balls. But you’ve also got a problem and I’m your solution.”
“How?”
“Granger doesn’t have friends.” Was all he said. But when Draco only stared, he continued. “Believe me, it was easy to be done. She doesn’t have friends and she never will at Hogwarts. She has Weaselby and Potty, and I’m sure occasionally Longbottom or one of the other idiots in her house when they’re in need of a tutor. But no one touches her otherwise. Do you know why?”
With every word he said Draco felt his blood pressure rising. As Zabini drawled with amusement over the weak social life of the most perfect witch Draco had ever met, fury filled him. Hermione was incredible. She was brilliant and kind and funny. Draco had obviously noticed in the weeks prior to when everything happened between them that her peers brushed over her. That only a select few indulged her outside of lessons. Before, he’d watched it all vindictively, assuming it was Circe’s karma for the pain she was causing Theo. Since then, noticing the gaps had made him irate, and listening to Zabini’s words he realized there must’ve been a reason.
“What the fuck did you?” He sneered and the boy’s smirk only widened.
“There he is. Oh, calm your tits. I didn’t do anything; you can blame that on the other idiots in my house. I don’t touch that kind of shite with a ten-foot pole. But if you must understand it’s because of what the mudblood is and represents.” His blasé use of the term to refer to Hermione was infuriating but hexing the arse would do nothing to help.
His jaw twitched as he grit out, “And that is?”
“She’s smarter than them.” Zabini tilted his head. “Better at magic too. She’s better than all of them. Even the fifth and sixth years if she’s given the chance.”
“What does that have to do with making her an outcast?”
“Because like I said she’s a mudblood. She represents everything their parents have taught them all to hate and because they’re all fucks who can’t be bothered to have a thought for themselves, it confuses them.”
“What does that have to do with me?” They were off topic. His father had written to ensure he introduced him to Zabini tomorrow, a feat that did not warrant listening to him degrading Hermione.
“It has to do with you because if you’re extra sparkly temperament,” He gestured to Draco’s charcoal uniform and wagged his eyebrows mockingly. “Has to do with a certain letter that came in the post this morning, then I have a proposal?”
“What do you know?”
“I know we got the same letter obviously, and you’re looking at it the wrong way.”
“Did we?”
“Salazar’s tits you’re exhausting. It’s like I have to do all the talking for us both.” Zabini ran a dramatic hand over his dark hair and Draco’s lips may have twitched in the slightest at his outburst. Unfortunately, it did not go unnoticed. “Oh fuck! I didn’t know you could do that!” He shouted and Draco’s expression fell again. “No, don’t stop! That was beautiful, I could almost see why the swot is so bloody taken. Damn.”
Draco found himself feeling that same sense of exhaustion and sighed. “Please shut up.”
“Right.” He nodded. “Back to the topic at hand, because obviously, that’s not the point.”
“Oh, there’s a point to your yammering?”
The gasp Draco received had him rolling his eyes. “I do believe you just cracked a fucking joke.” The other wizard shook his head as if he’d seen a unicorn. “Once in lifetime I’d imagine that happens. But that is not the point my friend. No, the point is that as a fellow member of the piece of shite for a father club, I expect far better than whatever this is from you.”
“And that is?”
Zabini’s expression sobered, and he straightened. “We’re supposed to be best friends, yes?”
Draco wasn’t sure where this was going, but evidently, he wasn’t wrong about the similar letters’ thing. “It appears so.”
“Right. And your dads coming to see you try not to die in the tournament tomorrow, yes?”
He found himself amused by the description. “Precisely.”
“Great. So, let’s drop the surnames. I'll be Blaise and you’re going to be Dipshite.”
“No.”
“Perfect. So, when old bastard Malfoy or whatever gets here and starts taking whatever the hell notes those bastards take to bring home and compare their kids’ failures, we’re going to make sure he only has the right things to say.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I’ll be your best fucking friend in the world tomorrow if you're mine and you can trust me because I promise not to tell him about your little rendezvous with a mudblood.”
But that time it seemed to be too much for him, and Draco couldn’t hold it in as he ordered, “Don’t call her that.”
“Why?”
“Because I said don’t.”
“Unless you know something I don’t, that’s what she is.” Zabini mocked, entirely unaware of the irony in his words.
“Don’t.”
The wizard just shrugged. “Your father will if he sees her.”
“He won’t see her."
“But he could. Granger’s not usually one to be ignored, and something tells me you haven’t told her who you are.” Zabini warned, his tone shifting.
He was right and Draco knew it. Things would change if—when they got to interact outside of the isolated school grounds. He just hoped they'd be able to get her memories back before then so there wouldn't be as much to explain. But none of that mattered right then. And what did, was that he'd grown tired of their conversation. "She knows who I am." He told the boy dismissively, it wasn't an outright lie, but he didn't owe Zabini the truth.
“Yes, but she doesn’t know who you are, or what you are.”
“And?”
“And that’s the whole fucking point. I’ve been paying attention and you’ve not eaten in the castle in days, you’ve also stopped taking to studying after class. You’re avoiding her and she’s not going to let you." Zabini paused for a moment to face Draco. "Look, I’m trying to help!” He sounded exasperated which only heightened Draco’s confusion.
“Why are you doing this? Why would you want to help?” Draco asked. None of this made sense. If Zabini knew what he obviously knew then he would be at a much greater advantage to turn Draco over to his father and reap the rewards of upholding blood purity. If he needed to gain favour with his father, then he could do it by showing he had superior taste.
But he wasn’t, and that was the most alarming part.
“Because I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but those arseholes always win. I’m tired of it.”
“Are you now?” That wasn’t a good enough reason. Most people, Draco had found, hated their fathers. Preying on their downfall wasn’t necessarily an accomplishment.
“Also, because I’ve never seen her smile like that, and after four years of seeing Parkinson throw her around, she deserves to smile.” Zabini grinned softly and it grated on Draco’s skin. Before he could say anything stupid though about keeping her smiles to himself, the boy’s expression turned mischievous. “Plus, it would really piss the Weasel off if you were the one to take her to the ball next month. That’s just a perk for us all.”
“Would it now?” Draco hadn’t considered that yet. Weasley hated him, that much had always been clear, but he’d always assumed it was because of their families. He hadn’t stopped to think the boy’s anger could be rooted in jealousy, especially given what he hoped had always been clear platonic indications towards him from Hermione. But his intentions were too obvious because Zabini slapped him on the shoulder jovially and walked towards a tree and sat down. Draco followed, but when he didn’t sit the boy acquiesced.
“Fuck yeah. I honestly don’t care enough about either of them to ask, but Weasley’s not subtle. From what I can tell, don’t think Granger’s yet aware of it, but he’s like a territorial rat or something. She may not feel the same, but you’ve no idea the joy you’d bring me if you caused him to throw a fit.”
“So you’ll keep my relations private from my father just long enough to take her to the ball?” He asked, raising a brow and looking down at the boy.
Zabini threw up his hands in a scoff. “Geez I gotta outline everything for you. I thought you were supposed to be smart. Why the fuck am I such a disappointment when you can’t even understand basic conversation.” He muttered the last part.
Draco kicked his shoe and gestured behind him. “I can leave.”
“Oh shut up.” Zabini groaned. “I’m doing you a favour. There’s no time limit. I’m not going to rat you out to your father about anything.”
“And in return? Favours worked both ways. In case you weren’t aware.”
“You’re a git.”
“I know.”
He sighed heavily but levelled Draco a look from the ground. “In return you can tell your father I’m the best damn pureblood this school's ever seen and I shite unforgivables in my sleep.”
“Really?” Draco sneered.
“Whatever you’d think he’d like. I don’t particularly give a fuck, but husband number six has lasted longer than the others and he seems to be convinced your father’s a saint.”
“I assure you, he’s not.”
“Doesn’t matter. This one has fun with a wand and until he disappears like the rest of them, I’d rather not see him turn it on my mother again.” Ah, so a kindred spirit. Though he supposed Zabini’s might actually be worse if his father had already done it, Draco had only ever been blessed with mere threats and implications.
“Is he now?” Draco asked carefully.
“Indeed.” Zabini nodded, looking away towards the castle. And for the first time since Draco had met him in August, the shiny façade he wore cracked, just barely. It was enough though for Draco to see it all. “He’s temperamental, number six. Got goals for how he’d like our family to proceed and expects me and my mother to fall in line. She enjoys her shiny new toys too much to always notice it and he’s a bit too shiny in the aftermath for her to remember.” His lip twisted upwards in an expression Draco understood all too well. One where he knew the boy could see everything in the past or potential in front of him and yet do nothing to stop it.
He decided to try then, perhaps he was right. This could work for them both. “So, if I wax poetry about you to Lucius . . .”
“Then with luck ol’Lucy will do whatever number six needs and he’ll be happy.”
“Don’t you know his name?”
“He doesn’t get one.” Zabini’s tone was cutting and sharp. Draco wouldn’t question it.
“Understood.” Draco considered him for a moment. His robes were pristine— apart from the portions splayed across the grass— and though his body lounged against the old pine, it wasn’t relaxed. He needed this. Likely just as badly as Draco did. Despite his initial reservations Draco found himself inclined to admire his cunning resourcefulness. Which is why he said, “Then you have a deal.”
Zabini turned back to him, straightening slightly, and doing his own scan of Draco. After a moment the expression on his face shifted, folding back into it’s usual smile. The change was almost alarming, but also comforting, the wizard was clearly a strong actor. “Brilliant. Pleasure doing business with you, Dipshite.”
He glared, tongue in cheek. “Don’t. If you must, it’s Draco. Nothing else except for Malfoy.”
“Perfect. And it’ll be Blaise. Any reminders I don't actually belong to husband number one biologically, are probably unwise.” He conceded.
“Deal.”
“Deal.” He stood, grabbing his wand from a pocket and waving it over his robes to brush off dirt. When he looked up again Blaise, was grinning. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow then when we get to put on a fucking show.” He wagged his eyebrows.
Draco simply nodded and walked away. There was a lot he would have to do before tomorrow's show.