fervere

Prologue

There was a certain pomp and circumstance that came with a name like Malfoy.  

Although it will be adamantly denied, they were a family that once rubbed elbows with muggle royals. Lived freely amongst the non-magical, making a hefty profit from the given land before finally secluding themselves to their own kind. Having lived off the riches of generations before, Draco Malfoy couldn’t imagine what his father had added to their family wealth based off Lucius Malfoy's handsome income from the ministry.  

Life had always been filled with the best for Draco. Tutors from the age of five, flying lessons by the age of seven, trips around the world to other wizarding communities since the age of eight, constantly sitting in on boring work dinners his father would hold at the age of nine, and of course by age ten Draco had already exhausted his owl from sending constant correspondence to friends he had made out of country. Being a Malfoy meant that it was a isolated and lonely upbringing.

Truthfully, Draco Malfoy never really got any responses back from his efforts of making friends. His mother had lectured him that there was no use in befriending muggles, who don’t even have their own owls to write back or knew about magic. Draco didn’t see why it would be so difficult to befriend other kids. Draco was sure that other kids were able to play with anyone they liked. He's witnessed it walking by playgrounds or being pulled along in Diagon Alley. Surely, others his age would understand the difficulties of parents and their expectations. He couldn’t be the only one having to learn politics from his tutor right after dinner. 

One could say Draco Malfoy was really looking forward to starting Hogwarts once he understood that his schooling would be surrounded by other students like himself. He would get to find new friends. Ones that were closer. Ones that actually knew how to use an owl and knew about magic.  

When September first came, both Crabbe and Goyle were the first names that Draco had recognized. His father briefed him on the kinds of friends he should make before boarding on the train.  

Slytherin only, Draco listed off, looking over his shoulder at his parents who stood there in a cold unceremonious send off.  

No half-bloods nor blood traitors, Draco continued to recite in his head, and absolutely no mudbloods. 

Thankfully, Draco didn’t waste too much time searching and vetting for proper friends his family would approve of. Crabbe and Goyle were names Draco had heard his father mention many times and they both were hopeful of getting into Slytherin as well. It was a big weight off his shoulders once they exchanged a few niceties.  

It was easy landing lifelong friends. The fear of having no one to chat to for the long eight hour train ride was something that kept Draco up the previous night. 

The thought of having to sit alone and hope someone would be nice enough to start up a chat, haunted Draco, especially because both his mother and father were quite charming people.

Still, it was a skill Draco needed to work on. While looking for a compartment, watching the older students excitedly greet their friends, Draco quickly discovered that both Crabbe and Goyle were not at all interested in quidditch and barely had an interest other than to chase down the sweet trolley. Having nothing else to do but to follow them around, Draco peered into every compartment to see if he could spot him .  

It didn’t take long for the news of Harry Potter boarding the train to spread. Draco was immediately intrigued. Despite knowing that his father had a certain taste of disdain for him, Draco was desperately wishing that maybe Harry would be sorted into Slytherin and maybe that would be forgiving enough, in the eyes of his father, to befriend him. The peering eyes of the young blonde boy, trying to pretend he was interested in his new friends' conversation, were darting and studying every face he came across. 

He wanted the pride in knowing he spotted him first and then perhaps be convinced that his tutors were wrong about him. Harry Potter was certainly not the reason most pure blood families had to hide their pride. 

Draco didn't exactly know why he had to be proud to be pureblood but he felt the sense he wouldn’t be respected as much if he didn’t make a point of it. Although he didn’t care much for it he also couldn’t imagine a world where magic wasn’t used. Worse yet, he was horrified knowing some that grew up in the muggle world without knowing a single thing about magic. It seemed absurd to him those students even existed, knowing nothing of who they are. It confused Draco of what they even studied before Hogwarts if it wasn’t history or listening to quidditch games on the box, especially since it was so engrained in Draco.  

He knew exactly who he was.  

The Honorable Line of Malfoy had members in historical books both in muggle and magical context. They've scandalized muggle royal courts hundreds of years ago, fought against the concealment of the magical world, and upheld the idea that magical gifts were to be kept within realms of purity because nothing is more respected than a pure blood name.  

Malfoy is noble in title.  

Still, even if these ideals had been implemented since birth, even the young Malfoy boy couldn’t help to be immersed in the story that an ordinary baby could vanquish someone as powerful and dark as the Dark Lord. It could have been anyone, perhaps, it could have even been him to defeat such evil. 

Harry Potter was a near legend growing up even if his name was besmirched in the Malfoy House.  

The harrowing story would often inspire him to play outside in the rich green gardens during warm summers, yielding a stick pretending to fight against an evil oppressor. That is until his father heard his son playing and gave him a good beating for pretending to fight against the Dark Lord.  

It was something that couldn’t be helped. Like most, Draco wanted to know how Harry Potter did it and his imagination ran wild with the possibilities. Perhaps befriending Harry would provide better company than Crabbe and Goyle. Surely Harry would have plenty to talk about, share his memories and the real story of how he defeated the most powerful wizard in the world. Better yet, maybe he could teach Draco things and they both could become a team. 

The Guardians of Good.  

Thoughts of becoming the ultimate duo quickly vanished as soon as he enjoyed his entertaining fantasies. Harry had adamantly rejected the grand offer to be Draco's friend. He didn’t understand, didn’t his name mean anything to him at all? Malfoy was just as respected as Potter was. That’s what his father had taught him. Draco had even witnessed his own father mention his full name to shopkeepers or strangers on the street and they would nearly bend over ninety degrees deep on how respected they were.  

Confused and in disbelief his name didn’t work, Draco’s father was furious to find out in his son’s first letter that Draco had attempted to befriend Harry Potter. Draco was lucky to receive a lengthy letter back how moronic (for lack of a better word) and a disgrace he was to the family name. 

Draco was thankful it wasn’t a howler but it was his first and last letter to his father. 

Whatever the disappointment Draco may have caused to his proud father, he did his best to prove him wrong in any kind of way, punishing Potter for failing to choose Draco. It had also enraged him that worse yet, Potter placed his trusts in a Weasley and a muggle. It was something that Draco would often comment on to his mother in her letters. Much more frustrating than Potter’s friends were Draco’s friends in Slytherin. A certain hierarchy of who knew who, what family had the best history, and of course the fact that their families had met the Dark Lord himself. 

It was all so boring for Draco.  

Even Ron Weasley didn’t drone on and on about his own brothers and one sister (and he had plenty of siblings to write a book on). He could have even donated some siblings to Potter and Granger, and still have a full house. 

Disappointed that the idea of Potter was shattered by the fact that he was so common to the point he bordered on muggle level, Draco resorted to teasing him for being so painfully plain. It was so strange. Did he not have any magical family he grew up with? How did he not know about his own past? 

Draco was sure that the Potter’s were a good wizarding family, despite what his father tried to beat into him. Thoughts of exchanging Quidditch playing cards, or convincing his mother to invite Potter over to their summer home in Austria were quickly destroyed.  

Father couldn’t have been right, could he?  

He was right about other things like muggles and muggle lovers. He constantly criticized the care in which Dumbledore lead Hogwarts school.  

“Muggle Studies”, He scoffed looking into a full scroll of class information, “Could you imagine a better waste of time?”   

Draco had hoped that attending Hogwarts would be a vacation away from his suffocating family title but it had not been what he expected it to be. And it quickly became his prison away from prison.  

School the first year was so mundane for the highly prepared student. Draco had already seen most of what was being taught when he was nine so it prompted him to sit in the back of classes crying tears of boredom or dozing off. Only Potions and Charms were the best classes, in his opinion, where he could actually perform magic in some capacity. Quidditch games weren’t so bad, either, other than the fact that first years weren’t allowed to try out. 

That is, unless you’re Harry Potter, of course. 

It was plain to see how Draco Malfoy couldn’t wait for the school year to be over so he could go home. Of course, the presence of his father wouldn’t be ideal but at least he would be able to hide in his suite in the manor or even fly freely around the garden on his broom. Draco could pretend he was occupied with summer schoolwork and stuff his nose into Quidditch Quarterly or even sneak a peek at the witches in Wand Whisperers , a magazine that he happened to come across in Goyle’s dorm room.  

Unfortunately, while he had expected (like any good-natured boy) to return home for the summer holidays, Draco was told by Dumbledore himself that he had received word from his mother that he would not be boarding the train back to London. Instead, Draco was to be escorted to Hogsmeade.  

Wild thoughts of starting his summer holidays unexpectedly immediately filled his brain only to be disappointed when Draco was sat down at Eli’s Elixir Emporium for some tea. He was accompanied by his mother and Professor Snape, who had escorted the student all the way to Hogsmeade.  

To put it quite simply, the meeting wasn’t just a general interest of Draco’s academic performance his first year. The concerns of his mother lied in his passionate letters she had received from him during the year. The letters, to her horror, contained a ‘gross’ amount of information about Potter and friends, especially on a certain muggle born.  

“He’s always tangled himself with muggles for some strange reason,” She whispered lowly, “Especially when he was a child, he’d strike up conversations with other muggle children during our holidays that we had to stop taking him to public areas.” 

Embarrassed, Draco slouched down his squishy armchair and stared at the steam coming out of his fizzy hot blood orange tea. The last thing he wanted to do was face his favorite professor while his mother pointed out a very serious and mortifying fault in him.   

It was then when the idea was birthed.

His mother proposed, for a handsome amount of galleons, Draco could spend an entire summer with Professor Snape for proper guidance and mentoring. Being sent away for the summer was bad but to be sent to live with a professor, out of all people, was downright humiliating for Draco. What would he even tell his friends after the summer was over? Would he be able to lie his way out of talking about his summer while they all share how they traveled to the countryside or went on holiday with their families? 

“Why not just put me back in nappies,” Draco muttered to himself. Angry that his trust in his mother had led him to this, he wanted to learn as many unforgivable curse to seek revenge. He had trusted hhis mother with his genuine feelings since his father was of no hope, and it had completely backfired. Draco was confident she would never dare tell father but to involve Snape...  

He gritted his teeth.  

Professor Snape had been tasked to keep an eye on him. It was also requested to have Draco far removed from anything related to the dark arts and the Dark Lord as possible. Oddly enough, despite her disapproval of his passionate letters, muggles wasn’t at the top of the list of concerns. 

“We received word of what happened just a week ago at Hogwarts with Professor Quirrell... I can’t imagine if he were to ever return, Severus. He’s just a boy, he doesn’t need more influences around him,” Draco's mother pleaded with Snape who looked just as confounded as he was, “I know you’ve navigated both ends, Severus. I know it’s possible. Lead him on the better path.” 

With a flick of a wand, Draco’s school trunk rumbled and out flew a rolled-up magazine straight into Snape’s free hand. The older man darted his eyes towards Draco as he felt his neck and cheeks turn piping hot when he unrolled Wand Whisperers , the cover featuring a coy witch covered by perfectly placed iridescent fairy wings.  

With a long deep sigh, he confirmed by saying he will do his best before rolling the magazine back up and smacking the back of Draco’s head. Surprising, yes, but not at all comparable to his father’s beatings. 

And so, Draco Malfoy spent the past two hot summers in a small apartment at Spinner’s End, where he was far removed from the lavish accommodations he had growing up at the manor. As cumbersome as it was to live in a small accommodation with a professor, no less, it was the better part of Draco’s formative years. 

One can say Snape was a kind of unofficial godfather to Draco. More father-like in someways than his own father, Lucius. Lucius Malfoy was told that his son, was a sort of prodigcal student and needed to be tutored by the best. He seemed to be convinced of it after all, Lucius Malfoy had spent an endless amount of money on Draco’s pre-education. He expected no less than the very best marks from Draco.

Draco was confident that he was pretty knowledgeable on most subjects but a prodigy he was not. Still, as long as Lucius saw Draco the last week of summer, he didn’t have much to say about the absence of his son.  

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It was the start of another beautiful warm summer, after finishing third year, when Draco was seen begrudgingly following his mother, stalking away from the crowd of muggles at Kings Cross Station into a narrow alley when they disapparated to Spinner’s End.  

Snape was already at the door, in a set of plain black muggle clothes to allow the pair in. His dull eyes watched Draco carefully as he walked past him. It was the same analyzing gaze he had to endure for the past three years. It was, perhaps, the most annoying aspect of the deal to have Snape hovering around Draco. Snape watched him closely with knowing eyes the first three years at Hogwarts. Draco knew that any toe out of line, Snape would report back to his mother. 

The fresh new fourteen-year-old plopped lazily on the love seat the moment Snape had closed the door behind them. Already expecting the worse of his mother’s worries spill out, Professor Snape conjured her a calming draft vile from his own supply in the cupboards.  

“I know he’s a growing boy.” She explained, “I’m worried that- Well, he hasn’t really been writing like before. And he’s being so short with me, I just want to know how this past year was like...” 

She gestured over to the apathetic son, draped over his seat. 

“Such an infringement of privacy Narcissa ." He drawled, seemingly bored of her concerns, “I won’t dive into his mind just to give you some peace of mind.” 

Draco’s eyes widened and a deep hope clenched to his heart that Snape wouldn’t entertain his mother much longer or else- 

“But considering the Dark Lord, once he comes back to power, is not selective on the memories he devours for his knowledge... once he is in a mind, all is fair play.” He casted a tentative look at her, “You have been aware that by placing him under my care, we will be called into question if the Dark Lord wills to know.” 

“I assure you that I’m partial to occlumency, but I also have other measures I am willing to do to protect my family, Severus,” She rubbed her hands together, “Can you assure me that Draco’s been on the right path?” 

“Narcissa,” He sighed, urging her to take the calming draft he handed to her, “I’m always keeping a watchful eye as promised-” 

“Please...” She bowed her head, inhaling just before she took a big gulp of the draft. Seeing the desperation in her eyes, Snape casted his eyes towards the worried teenager as Draco kicked the point of his black leather shoe into the worn-out carpet. Draco immediately stopped what he was doing as if it would avoid the inevitable. 

Legilimency hit his mind like an inescapable arrow driving itself right into his forehead. Draco couldn’t really fight it. Snape had only done this once before and which caused Draco to seclude himself in his room for nearly two weeks after Snape stumbled into a very personal memory of him and the riveting witch on Wand Whisperers. As Snape navigated himself through his more recent memories, Draco began to realized that he couldn’t really recall anything eventful in his third year.  

Not like the excitement of second year where the Chamber of Secrets had been opened or the freshness of being a first year. Despite having all the school talk about the escape of Sirius Black, Draco had effectively drowned most of the school year into a blur. Of course, having someone as gifted as Snape walk through a few of the more eventful memories, Draco was reminded of being attacked by Buckbeak and his fruitless attempts of hoping to get more attention from anyone who would listen to him. Or hoping to get more of a reaction from that muggle, Grange,r to the point where he was punched square in the face from doing too much. 

Draco grimaced at that moment, fearing that Snape would judge him. As he shifted through more memories (the majority being useless like studying or daydreaming during class), Snape began to piece together a pattern that Draco was convinced his professor was interpreting completely wrong altogether. Seeing flashes of frizzy curly hair and a bucktooth smile and then a focus on lips, Draco felt completely frazzled by the narrative that Snape was forming. Snape was fully convinced of his theory one he stumbled on two particular memories. Memories that Draco had been certain he could hide in the nonsense of junk memories.  

When Snape retracted, Draco’s head slumped back completely drained of energy, dreading what he was going to tell his mother. Snape gave his student a long, almost pitiful look.  

“He has an inclination to target a very specific muggle born student in his year.” He cleared his throat. Draco was still too exhausted to divert the conversation away from Granger. He had to endure letting his mother and Snape evaluate him completely wrong. 

“Is it that Granger girl?” She interjected, putting her calming draft down, looking a lot more relaxed, “He wrote about her so much in his first year, I thought that perhaps... It's one of the reason I begged for your assistance.” 

Draco felt the heat of embarrassment fan at his cheeks. He would give up most of his possession if that meant he could be anywhere else but there, witnessing his mother’s worry.  

“I’m-,” Snape paused to glance at Draco while he slowly gathered enough energy to sulk himself into the sofa, “ Sure it is a phase. Perhaps it is from the spark of jealousy that he desperately wanted to befriend Potter, only for him to choose a muggle born and a Weasley instead of someone from a very prestigious lineage.” 

Draco’s mother closed her eyes and patted her son’s head, to which Draco responded by swatting her away. Draco crossed his arms defiantly. He's been betrayed, once again.

The two adults continued talking about Merlin-knows-what and Draco drifted off into his daydreams, staring absentmindedly outside, begging to be anywhere but here. 

He knew the moment his mother left, Snape would question the things he saw and witnessed. Draco could almost see the lecture formulating in his Snape’s eyes. 

Draco Malfoy would be the chain that would break his family’s hundreds of years of legacy, all because he fell soft.  

In the hysteria that was Sirus Black, the night all of Hogwarts had to stupidly spend the night in the Great Hall, was when Draco’s world slowed down.  

Once everyone had settled in and began snoring Draco, being the delicate sleeper that he is, faced a very long night. He cursed the fact that he had to sleep on the floor because of Potter. Not that the sleeping bags weren’t comfortable nor warm enough for his taste. They were pretty squishy as a soft hug from a bear. It was more the idea of having to sleep on the floor that kept him tossing and turning. His father was more right with each passing year. Hogwarts was possibly worse than camping like low class beggars.  

It was well pass midnight and Draco had given up on sleep, huffing in frustration about his current circumstance. That’s when he saw her across the Great Hall.  

Granger.  

Her stupid friends were long asleep and she was sitting up against the stoned walls, looking up at the charmed ceiling as if it was the greatest wonder she had ever laid eyes on. Draco scoffed, glancing up at the ceiling to see for himself, something he hadn’t paid attention to since his first year. Not seeing the big deal, he sneered lightly in her direction but Granger was still smiling warmly, a glint of happiness in her eyes. Her eyes sparkled even in the dim light and seeing how magic was just so wonderful to a muggle, sparked a sort of fascination in Draco. He continued to stare at her and then, as if a spark cracked in his gut, Draco felt this awful feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach.  

Something strangely forbidden and altogether enthralling just by looking at her.  

The cast of the cool blue light of the night sky washed over her plump cheeks as she pointed her finger, drawing figures in the sky. Draco furrowed his blonde brows and repeatedly told himself to look away.  

Granger chewed her bottom lip, closing one of her big brown eyes to focus on a singular point.  

Softened by curiosity, Draco did his best to discreetly follow the invisible line of her finger to figure out what she was pointing at. It took him a couple of attempts to concentrate on her lips to figure out she was counting and tracing out shapes in the sky.  

Draco scoffed, of course. Studying he concluded. 

There was possibly an Astronomy exam coming up and she needed to study somehow, someway. Still, watching her intently, it didn’t seem to Draco like she was studying. She was simply admiring. To his surprise, he jumped to the conclusion that she was pointing out the constellations when her mouth formed the perfect 'Ursa Major' and continued to count more stars. Now that Draco knew where exactly she was looking at, his eyes flicked back to guess if she would move on to Ursa Minor but she didn’t. She kept on counting beyond the number of stars in that constellation before her mouth perfectly shaped the word ‘Draco’. 

Stunned, Draco suffered in silence as his face washed over in heat and his heart began pounding staring at the giant serpent in the sky. 

Draco’s mother kissed the top of her son’s head being forced back to reality in Snape’s cold bare brick walled home. Draco weighed his option of locking himself into the small room Snape conjured for a bedroom for a week so his shame could pass.  

Draco’s summer room was almost the size of his closet back home, but it still was enough for a small bed, a desk, and a large bookcase. It was his own worst nightmare at first, but at that moment, he couldn’t wait to be able to lock himself in his summer room to avoid Snape for a few hours.  

Unfortunately, he stayed put on the sofa for far too long to dash into his room, hearing the soft thud from the shutting of a door from the front door. Snape was muttering as he walked by, seeking something in his humble kitchen hearing the clanks of china teacups. It transported him to his second shameful memory. 

Having to suffer through the entire day of Black paranoia wasn’t the worst despite needing the biggest nap. Parkinson, Draco’s self-proclaimed girlfriend, was annoyingly attentive of him. She had spent the entire day fetching him cups of tea so he could stay awake in hopes that he would interact with her more. By the time Divination rolled around, her attention had worsened Draco’s already sour mood.  

He sat in the corner of Trelawney’s stuffy classroom willing himself to be anywhere there was a flat surface and a pillow. A coffin would suffice, he thought as he rolled his eyes at something stupid Crabbe said. Draco was instead faced with a rather eclectic amount of wispy fabric and mismatched furniture, a headache inducing eyesore. He was particularly disgusted with the number of doilies Professor Trelawney had everywhere and had a personal vendetta against the puff of chairs he had to sit on.  

“Another round at tea leaves!” Professor Trelawney cried, “Now that we’ve studied more about the beautiful practices of tea readings, we can now follow our inner eye and have our intuition guide our readings! Have we been practicing meditation every night?” 

Crabbe snorted and muttered under his breath, “Sure helps with the sleep.” 

Normally, Draco would have snorted at Crabbe’s comment or wanted to one-up him at the snide remarks he was known for, but he wasn’t really feeling up for performing as the class act at the moment. Draco wasn’t feeling up for more tea either.  

Not after Parkinson had been serving him all day and been willing in drinking in hopes to not doze off in class. 

But now it was late in the evening, even the rumbling of Draco’s stomach wasn’t enough to want to sacrifice more of his time to eat. He wanted to sleep. He had made up his mind to bugger off to the dormitories to rest, perhaps stopping by the hospital wing for a head tension tonic to sooth an ache.  

Daydreaming of his future plans, Draco moved a bit of the curtain out of the way from the window he was nearby. Luckily, he had the perfect view of the quidditch pitch where the Ravenclaw team was zooming around, practicing drills for a upcoming match against Hufflepuff. They looked like blue specks in the distance as the sun began to sink low in the sky. Draco yawned. There couldn’t be more than five minutes left in class, could there? Draco made the grave mistake of noticing the clock had marked them only twenty minutes into the lesson.  

“Kill me now,” He mumbled softly to himself. 

“Malfoy, my dear!”  

He closed his eyes and inwardly groaned, holding his head up with his arm that was propped up on the tea table.  

“Yes, Professor?” He tried to say without seeming disgusted by her attention. Forcing his eyes open to give her his most sincere undivided attention, Draco unintentionally sprinkled it with a flourish of an eye roll.  

“Your tea, your tea!” Professor Trelawney urged. Draco looked down at the tea that had been served. Crabbe had already finished his and pushed his empty cup towards his table partner. In a haste, Draco gulped down the lukewarm liquid, wiping his mouth with the back of his soft sleeve of his robe. Crabbe eagerly took Draco’s cup before he was able to set it down. The big oaf often surprised Draco with his interests. Although he was terrible at most things, Crabbe seemed to find Divination entertaining despite proclaiming he didn’t think much of it.  

“Well?” Professor Trelawney’s eyes grew even bigger (if that was even possible) as both boys glanced down at each other’s cup, “What do you see? Focus! Use your inner eye!” 

Draco glanced down and huffed, “I see...” 

Crabbe, not one to ever study, uncharacteristically clung on to his book and tilted his head to the side. Draco, on the other hand, glanced down into the pit of the small teacup and saw blobs of clumps of tea leaves. There were barely any noticeable shapes that caught his attention. Even if there were any shapes, it wasn’t enough to make him care to interpret.  

“Snowballs.” Draco declared without the flair of a good reading, “Just lots and lots of snowballs.” 

Disappointed with his prediction, Professor Trelawney turned back to Crabbe who took a moment but finally looked up from his book for assistance. 

“If an arrow is pointing away from an object, Professor?” Crabbe inquired.  

“Then it means a struggle of that particular object you speak of, dear.” She blinked with purpose.  

Crabbe cleared his throat, “Then Draco, here, will have a great struggle pertaining to his love or love in general.” 

There was a hollowing of Draco’s insides with Crabbe’s declaration. It could have been in his mind but Draco swore he felt the eyes of all his classmates turned over to his corner of the classroom. Remaining composed, it felt like his insides were struggling to comprehend. Love? Struggle? For Merlin’s sake, Draco did not need a romantic reading now, not when Parkinson suddenly had an invigorating renewed interest in glaring over at his table.  

Surely, the reading wouldn’t be of Parkinson despite how difficult she is. Then, like a blinding flash, Hermione’s glowing face flashed into Draco’s mind, and his face went pink.  

Please not her either, he internally groaned.  

Crabbe, however, was not done embarrassing his friend.  

“And these two intertwining circles, Professor?” Crabbe jutted out his lower lip stupidly and, for some reason, Draco's heart thudded against his chest, as if it wanted confirmation. No. It needed the confirmation. 

“Ah the sign of union!” Professor Trelawney mused, “What a lovely love reading, Mr. Crabbe. You’re fortunate to have such a clear reading of Mr. Malfoy’s future partner. There are even clues in there! That there looks like a book and, oh, I suppose that’s a cat!” 

She had that stupid ugly cat on the train, didn’t she? 

And as his heart calmed into a content purr, Draco’s mind jumbled up in the impossibility. There was no way. 

Absolutely not... 

Snape came around with two cups of tea and a bit of toast to snack on as Draco finished reliving his memory. He exhaled loudly knowing Snape was going to question him in a few moments. Snape paused for a moment before taking a seat across from Draco. Draco cocked his head lazily to the side waiting for the lecture. The sooner it’s over, the sooner he could lock himself in him summer room and avoid Snape for the better part of his school break. From his recollection, Draco had managed to stash the newest edition of Wand Whisperers in his school trunk.  

Although the allure of the newest witch was calling out to him, Draco couldn’t help but to have an intrusive thought bother him so much that it just slipped out.  

“Can I ask why you don’t mention everything to her?” He questioned, fully knowing that Granger was the type of thing his mother would love to know in depth. Especially because it fell into the category that compromise him and his family to the Dark Lord. Granger was certainly an unexpected weakness. Draco suspected his mother was looking for things she could pass on to his father so he could then torture it out of him for good measure. 

“I’m more surprised that you almost managed to purposefully hide memories from me.” Snape said lowly, he stiffly picked up his teacup and gave Draco a careful look, “It’s practically impossible for student at your age to pick up a few occlumency skills, untrained. However , considering it feels like we have a limited time, it is in our favor to know you have some talent in occlumency. It won’t be long before the Dark Lord is back in power. It still might be years down the line and-” 

Draco sighed, “And?” 

“You’ll be in a very precarious situation when that happens. Your family is not exactly the kind of company the Dark Lord wishes to have around the way your father avoided imprisonment denying any loyalty to him...” Snape pointed out, “He will face some kind of repercussion and you, associated, of course.” 

“How certain are you that he will be back?” Draco moaned, unable to care about the weight of a very precarious situation. It all felt like an impossibility. “It feels like so much work and precaution for something that’s not set in ston-” 

“It has been prophesized,” Snape was short and narrowed his eyes, “Although I’m not as practiced with the art of Divination, even I am well aware of the power of prophecies... Speaking of which.” 

The teenager rolled his head back, desperately wanting to disappear.  

“The mocking you bestowed on your muggle born peers this past year make sense, more so, considering she was the only person you targeted.” He rubbed the bridge of his crocked nose, “Is it too much to ask to be more subdued this coming year? So that in the case you are in the unfortunate position to give up your memories to the Dark Lord, your foolish schoolboy teasing won’t give rise to suspicion.” 

“This is ridiculous!” Draco cried, “She’s just an annoying know-it-all. That’s all! It riles me up.” 

“Compromising your family for a girl will over complicate a very simple situation!” Snape raised his voice, just a tad bit from his usual tone but still enough to silence, “Either you chose your family, or you damn them with your silly ideas.” 

Something about what he said made Draco feel even more moody and defensive.  

“I don't like her!” he insisted, “Bloody... muggle. ” 

Draco even felt conflicted that he could no longer bring himself to say mudblood. He had no problem saying it to her face before. Who cared about that dumb muggle born... And Trelawney’s class was a joke. Draco was glad that next year was the last required year to take Divination. He couldn’t possibly imagine having to sit through years of lessons about fortune telling and having his future love life used in a lesson.  

“You are most fortunate your mother has entrusted me with the task of mentoring you so that she may be assured that you remain on a neutral path, one that isn’t completely damning to the other side. May I remind you that covering for you the summer after your first year was quite difficult. You know the kind of meltdown your family would have if they knew the amount of trust you have in Dumbledore.” 

Draco sneered at the mention of Dumbledore.  

“Had ,” he corrected lazily. 

To be perfectly honest, Dumbledore became quite a bore always talking about light and fighting for what is right in the hardest of times. Had Draco not mentioned something about Professor Quirrell talking to himself in his office for a length of time to Snape, he would have saved myself a whole lot of trouble.  

Snape thought it best that Draco speak to Dumbledore and keep him informed about the odd things he saw his first year. In the beginning, Draco was a bit chuffed being Dumbledore's right-hand man. After all, even if he wasn’t stupid Potter’s friend, at least Dumbledore recognized that Draco was just as important as Potter. At least he was rubbing elbows with even more important wizards than Harry. 

Draco had also wanted to show Dumbledore how inept Potter was by luring him out for a duel in the middle of night. Draco needed to prove that Harry’s Gryffindor bravery was nothing but witless and would foolishly lead him to breaking rules. As much pride as Draco had in being right about Potter and his hero complex, at the end of the year Potter and company took all the glory and praise for stopping Professor Quirrell and his quest to get to the sorcerer stone. It really put a sour taste in Draco's mouth. He received zero praise.  

That following summer, once Draco had become aware of his father’s Riddling plan after eavesdropping on a little family gathering right before the year started, Draco refused to divulge the information to Dumbledore. He had a fire in him to extinguish the golden trio. Was it really his problem if the muggle-borns were being attacked? Not like he had anything to do with his father's plan. Still, the year unfolded and Potter was still granted the highest favor because of his hero complex.   

Although he would never admit it out loud but Draco craved the attention that Potter had without even trying. Even Weasley seemed to gain attention by association, and he wasn’t particularly good at much. More irritating was Granger who received so much praise by merely working hard.  

As if Draco hadn't work hard all his life like Granger, came from a well-known family like Weasley, just as talented as Potter... 

“You are intelligent enough to know that Dumbledore is a great wizard and unlike the Dark Lord, will only wish what is best for you.” Snape lectured, hands clasped together, “And it is wise to use this encouragement that he does not bestow on every student.” 

“What if becoming a Deatheaeter is what’s best for me?” Draco smirked earning a well-deserved glare from Snape who has gone more into the depth of the horrors that awaits those who fall into the trap. Draco held up his hands to signal that he knew he had gone too far.  

“It's laughable to think the Dark Lord would have use for a bratty teenaged Deatheater.” He said, reaching over to the bookshelf next to him. He pulled out a planner, perhaps to check what sort of lessons to instill in Draco this summer. 

“What does Dumbledore call for this summer of brainwashing,” Draco joked. Snape flicked his index finger, and a squared pillow flew across the room to hit the sharp face of Draco. Despite the soft assault, Draco secretly hoped he’d show him wandless magic. Or even wordless magic. 

“It is obvious that Dumbledore wishes you turn out different from the generations of Malfoy’s before you, he still would like you to learn how to critically think and not bend at the will of those higher than you, even himself.” Snape checked something off this planner, “You know what side he prefers for you to lean into, but it is important to note that Dumbledore sees much more in you than what your family name limits you to.” 

Draco folded his arms and leaned back to look at the poor condition of Snape’s cracked ceiling, hugging the pillow that assaulted him. 

“You know mother would not take kindly that you’re buttering me up to be a lap dog for Dumbledore. She would be surprised how skewed your loyalties were.” Draco blinked, “Shall I divulge that bit of information to her?” 

“I, too, rather you weigh your options fully, Draco.” Snape dryly replied, unaffected by his student's threat, “You have options. You can lead a different life if you so willed.” 

Draco shook his head, “What else is there if not the path my father stupidly paved.” 

Snape tilted his head side to side, as if he was wrestling with an idea. He suddenly stood up and flicked his wand he conjured from his pocket. His clothes had seemed to straighten up a bit more. Draco's own school robes had vanished and was now dressed up in dark slacks and a fitting white button up. 

Snape sighed. 

“I suppose that will do,” He mumbled, “Come Draco. I have lots to show you.”