fervere

Chapter One

Snape had a very clinical way of talking about his time as a Deatheater. It was almost as if he didn’t want to persuade nor dissuade Draco from forming a biased opinion. It was just a different approach from the tale tales and glory that Draco often heard as a child. Not that he was inclined to hear the excitement of battles his father endured, it's just that Snape didn't add any fanfare to his recounts. Draco could almost see the words forming in a textbook, fighting to stay awake during his monotonous lectures. That’s what most of his summers consisted of, as well as making sure his summer homework assignments had been completed. 

His first summer hadn’t been too boring. At least he was allowed to read some of the more forbidden texts they would never let them read at Hogwarts. Of course, that only meant that Snape would monitor and mentor him on what he was reading. It got old really quickly, having Snape over his shoulder explaining every single page to him. Last year, Draco was particularly fascinated by how spells had evolved over time, especially curses, and where they were rooted from (something that he wished was covered in the History of Magic). Snape didn't really have an answer as to why it wasn't taught, only that there were better more useful things to learn.

Despite Snape's hovering, Draco had expected his third summer to have an element to look forward to. Oddly enough, this particular summer did not have a lot of magic. Most days that should have felt ordinary and boring was filled with the most thrilling of simple muggle things.  

Snape had taken him to see a movie after completing his Charms summer work. Draco had been assaulted by the strong smell of popcorn the moment he walked into the glaringly bright lobby only to be guided straight into a large dark room, where he sat fascinated at the moving picture that played before him.  

Snape had to charm Draco’s mouth shut to stop him from talking loudly to the screen. They had been getting a few glares from others. Apparently, the people on the screen couldn’t respond to Draco like the moving paintings. It was also curious to know that movies were all entirely different from plays, which were actual people that were able to hear Draco speak, (and that Snape very quickly charmed his mouth once again), but it was etiquette to remain quiet and just observe.  

Draco didn't understand why muggles liked watching the same thing over and over and have the story not change, but it was still like magic the way they were able to do things without magic. He’d often go to bed, thinking.  

He’d often wondered what ordinary things muggles did, he knew they went to school but couldn’t even imagine what kinds of subjects they taught. Then he’d dream that he was an actor, as Snape called them, and he’d prance around on stage to receive the biggest applause he’d ever heard. He’d often wake up chuffed. 

“You’re telling me that muggles get on that thing, that looks like a cross,” Draco pointed to that sky, “And can fly... without magic?” 

It was a terribly warm summer walking around the London Zoo a few days later. They were surrounded by tons of muggles in brightly colored summer clothes enjoying their summer holiday, while Draco and Snape stuck out in crisped white button-down shirts, tucked neatly in their black trousers. They’d often get curious looks but nothing that Draco really took notice off.  

One would think he was too busy looking at the muggle animals that Draco had expressed interest in. Instead, Draco found himself gazing at a rare bright blue sky, clear of any clouds. Draco scoffed in disbelief while Snape looked terribly annoyed. After all, he had paid a rather pricy fee to enter the park, and Draco found it fitting to ask about the airplanes, now.  

“Once again, explain how? ” Draco shook his head in disbelief. 

“Propellers.” He simply said without any further explanation. It had been weeks of answering the most mundane questions (that Draco suspected he also was clueless on). 

“Oh,” he nodded, “And what exactly are propellers ?” 

“I don’t know.” He said through gritted teeth, walking out of the giraffe exhibit. Snape looked at him expectantly, wondering if Draco was going to comment on the animals.  

There was a tense silence between them. 

“I thought the zoo would be better,” He admitted, “The pixies in our garden are more fascinating to look at.” 

Draco received a well-earned glare. It was better than a smack.  

Another thing that Draco was quite fascinated with was the way muggles listened to music. He thought it was a laugh when muggles would put large black marshmallow earmuffs and bob their heads around. Snape said that the music would just be in their heads.  

What a ridiculous sort of thing! 

The strange pair also enjoyed a bit of football, which was quite boring for Draco in comparison to quidditch but the excitement of people booing and jeering was a bit fun, he supposed. After the football match, while Snape got them a cone of ice cream (to shut Draco up about how Quidditch was much better), he saw a few boys around his age zoomed past them in these things with two wheels and bells.  

The group of boys hollered as they raced each other while pushing their feet down on these cranks. The way their shirts flapped in the wind reminded him of long quidditch robes as they headed to the nearby park. 

“Are those like muggle brooms?” Draco asked, looking up at Snape who had a sulky look on his face since his team lost the match. 

“Those are bikes.” Snaped sighed. 

“Odd.” Draco snorted, “Why are they kicking their feet?” 

“It propels the wheels to turn.” 

“Ah,” Draco was satisfied with the answer, chomping down on the sugary cone. It was then when another thought popped into his head, “Why is it they can’t fly on those things, then? Is it like the propellers, on the airplants?” 

“ No .”  

“Then what’s the point?” 

“It’s a... skill .” Snape’s own ice cream had begun to melt. He resorted to discreetly charming it so it wouldn’t drip all over his hand, “Much like a skill the older muggles learn for a mode of transport. They take pride in it like we do when we learn how to ride a broomstick or apparate.” 

“You mean the cars.” 

“Yes.” 

“They also have propellers.” 

“No.” 

Draco scoffed, “How hard could it be really, to propel.” 

“You’d be surprised.” 

A moment of silence fell upon them and another ridiculous thought entered Draco’s mind.  

“Why don’t they use the bikes to play football?” 

Draco was much of a nuisance about these bike things that, by the second month, Snape had had enough. He ended up getting an old rusty one to learn on in hopes that Draco would stop asking such stupid questions and experiment himself. As much as Draco complained about not getting a new one with ribbons on the handles and a basket (seemed much more convenient), Snape insisted that it was the best he could do.  

The first few times Draco fell to the side trying to kick at the propeller crank and keep his balance at the same time. After the tenth time, with a scraped elbow and bruised ego, Draco had stomped on the wheels in a flying rage. He dented a few spokes in the wheel but it was nothing that Snape couldn’t fix with a simple reparo charm .  

Draco didn’t want to accuse Snape of anything, but he could have sworn the more time he spent on the ground, the harder it was for Snape to hide his slight smile. 

So, he wasn’t a good bike rider. Big deal . It wasn’t exactly like he needed to learn; he wasn’t a dumb muggle. That is until, he saw someone riding a motorcycle past Spinner’s End on an evening walk from the Public Library and Draco pleaded Snape to get him one after the deep rumble of the engine woken something primal in him.  

It was as if even he knew that it was the mark of someone extremely cool.  

Snape gave him a curt smile, “No.” 

His reasoning was that if he couldn't conquer a silly bike there was no way he was going to go near a motorcycle. 

So what if Draco wasn’t as talented at riding a bike like he was with a broomstick, Draco was sure once he has out of Hogwarts and was able to legally perform magic, there was no reason he couldn't use magic to ride a bike (or even a motorcycle). Pushing his adult plans aside, Draco did find something that didn’t require learning a new skill and that was currently weighing heavy on his shoulder.  

After a long day at the public library (which Snape seemed to enjoy a lot more than the other things he took him to), Draco had enough books stuffed away in his bag to be entertained this summer.  

Perhaps a muggle book would be perfect to keep him busy and out of Snape’s way. Draco had to find something to keep him busy at home. After all, Snape had eventually found his hidden stack of Wand Whisperer’s under Draco’s bed. What else was Draco going to be reading late at night? 

Proud of his finds, Draco strutted confidently, loudly discussing his choices. 

“The Beautiful Beast sure sounds like a good read!” He grinned, “Bet they have more interesting animals than the zoo had.” 

“ Beauty and the Beast, and I’m sure you’ll be disappointed.” Snape corrected. 

Draco continued to ignore Snape’s remarks of every book he checked out when a distinct whining came from a bush that bordered the stoney wall that encased Spinner’s End.  

The bush rustled, a bit of green leaves falling to the ground, and a small leggy ball of fur stumbled out, whining and letting out the smallest of howls.  

Draco’s mouth fell wide open.  

“Professor!” he gaped, “It’s like a small werewolf!” 

“That is a puppy, Draco.”  

“It can’t be dangerous too, can it?” Draco felt the corners of his mouth pull up. The small looking werewolf cried, releasing the smallest of howls, and the tiny thing sat looking expectantly at them.  

“We can’t keep a dog Draco,” Snape looked at his wits end, “It’s a mutt, possibly full of fleas.” 

Draco snorted and looked at it, “It looks nothing like Hagrid’s miserable dog.” 

Although it had floppy ears and a round tummy, Draco couldn’t see the resemblance at all between Fang and this little one. Suddenly, the crying puppy wobbled over to Snape, squeaking out its protest of what Draco assumed was hunger. 

“Oh, it wouldn’t be much of a task to feed him for one night, Professor.” Draco gave him a prompt nod. Snape let out a long sigh. 

It was the highlight of Draco’s ordinary muggle summer, his heart exploding with the new furry addition. 

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

Perhaps Draco was foolish in hoping that his summer would end great. As years before, he had to part ways with Snape (and his new dog, Aster) to spend those last two weekends with his own family. Draco had the desire to stay a bit longer, but he also was looking forward to the Quidditch World Cup. It was all the Daily Prophet was printing on the front page and something that had been a bargaining chip to encourage Draco to perform well at school. He hadn’t beaten Granger at Transfiguration but he did exceedingly well in Potions and History of Magic. 

Draco was relieved to know that his academic performance was good enough to have his father extend the invitation. However, coming home wasn’t as warm a welcome as one would think. Draco’s parents were of course glad to see their son to discuss his schooling, but both were also grateful to have him out of the way for two very different reasons.  

His mother rather not have Draco be influenced by the company his father kept around and father, well, his father always had a very busy schedule with the Ministry and rather not deal with Draco when he was dealing with more important matters. 

On one occasion, when Draco was younger, he had made the grave error of interrupting a conversation with a guest in hopes of luring his father out for a fly. Enraged as Lucius became, young Draco didn’t see why he couldn’t spare a few minutes away from work even after a good beating. It was the first and last error he made around his father. 

He quickly learned that his father’s work meant a lot to him, but now, he also had a considerable amount of Draco-free time dedicated to it when he started Hogwarts. It wasn’t a big deal but Draco had hoped his father would have been more resistant to having him away during the summer. He thought perhaps his father would miss him a bit more. 

Still, a reward was a reward and Draco was excited to attend the World Cup despite the fridged welcome he received. 

The night before the much-awaited day, in the comforts of the cold familiar manor, Draco had woken up in the middle of the night. A weird sensation came over him, kicking off his blanket of the sudden discomfort that washed over him. It was not so much a cold sweat nor the discomfort of the heat. It was as if his brain sensed an unknown threat and it needed to be addressed.  

Perhaps he no longer felt comfort in the luxuries of his own bed or maybe he was now used to the humble home of Snape, knowing that he was a shout away if he ever needed him.  

His suite felt suffocating and isolated. 

Tempted to call for a cup of tea to calm his nerves, Draco ultimately decided against it as the thought of Trelawney's class made him think of tea leave readings. Perhaps a night walk around the Manor would do him some good, summer brought forth an abundance of hydrangeas in the garden. Fresh sweet air would be best.  

Yes. Of course.  

Draco could work up some exhaustion for a bit more rest around their vast gardens.

He hopped out of bed, shouldering on a silk night robe and slipped on some socks. He didn’t want to draw attention to the echoing steps of night slippers creeping around his own home. As he exited his suite and walked through the dark corridors of the manor, he wondered what could have woken him up. 

It was perhaps the excitement of the World Cup or the jolt of a forgotten nightmare, who knew? 

Whatever the case was, his mind centered back to quidditch and how excited he was to see Bulgaria. After all, his father had mentioned he knew the headmaster of the school Viktor Krum attended. If he so asked, perhaps Draco could meet Krum and the entire Bulgarian. 

It solely depended on Draco’s school marks for the following year.  

Thoughts swirling in his head, Draco stopped walking suddenly, struck with a wonderful idea. Perhaps a night fly around the garden would put him at ease, it sounded better than a walk. He lightly scolded himself at how stupid he was.  

Walking? He wasn’t a muggle. He had a broom. 

 Just as the sight of the main stairs came into view, the entrance door to their grand foyer slammed open and in marched in two cloaked figures. Draco stumbled back into the shadows of the corridors narrowly avoiding some of their house elves who rushed toward the unexpected guests. 

“LUCIUS! Ohhhh LUCIUS!”   

Ducking behind a pillar, out of sight from the second floor, Draco peeked to observe the scene that was unfolding in front of him. No sooner after having found a hiding spot, Draco watched on as his father appeared, rushing over to them in his own sleeping robes.  

“What is the meaning of this?” He hissed loudly, “It is an ungodly hour. Crabbe, Macnair !” 

“We just wanted to pop in and share the good news, Lucius. We thought you’d like to know the exact moment we’ve confirmed the most fortunate message.” Macnair, a rail-thin looking wizard, said looking over at Crabbe, my friend’s father. He was exactly like Vincent Crabbe except with less hair. 

“The plan has been set in motion by Crouch and Pettigrew.” Crabbe cackled, “Can you imagine? Out of all people.” 

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Lucius urged on hoping they would quickly get to their point. He kept looking over his shoulder as if Draco’s mother would soon appear and scold him for entertaining guests so late at night.  

“You know of what .” Crabbe raised a brow.  

“And you know who .” Macnair added.  

Even from the distance Draco was at, he could see the blood draining from his father’s face. Draco had no sense of what was going on, but it was enough to paralyze his father in fear.  

“Is that so?” He finally responded, “Another back up plan the Dark Lord entrusted us with? I can’t wait to see how this one unfolds. Let it be known that I’ve done my duty as his servant, and it has nearly costed me everything.” 

“Not this time!” Crabbe gave him a wicked smile, “This time it will work.” 

“Is that so? And what exactly is this plan?” Lucius skeptically asked.  

“It’s perfectly figured out. They will entrap the boy at a graveyard.” Crabbe whispered loudly, “And summon a body for our Dark Lord.” 

“And if it's not as perfectly planned out as they said?”  

“That’s the beauty of it!” Macnair raised his voice which received a stern hush from Lucius, “It will not fail! We should celebrate early! He will return soon!” 

“Stand with us Malfoy.” Crabbe proposed, “We will prove those who doubted us, who doubted him !” 

Draco gulped. 

They couldn’t possibly be speaking of... 

The sudden appearance of a house elf rushing by to accommodate the new guest nearly stopped Draco’s heart mid-beat. It wouldn’t be wise to be caught listening in, but the opportunity to discover a plan seemed invaluable to Draco.  

“Master Malfoy.”  

A soft voice from the darkness called out for the curious boy and his heart sank, turning to one of their smallest and newest elves.  

“Sephina.” Draco whispered, putting a finger up to his mouth. 

“Master is out of bed,” Her voice lowered, “Is there anything Master needs?” 

“I will go,” He mouthed quietly to her, “Promise you will not speak of this. To anyone.” 

“Master?” Sephina questioned.  

“It’s an order .” Draco commanded and just like that she bowed. Upon being reminded of the servitude of house elves, Draco was struck by an idea.  

“Actually, Sephina...” 

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

Camping seemed so low class but seeing the strong spirit in the air as the Malfoy family apparated in, it felt like to Draco that they missed most of the fun. He had heard the majority of fans had arrived three days ago and it’s been an on going party since. The jovial burst of song and the showmanship of team support reminded Draco of the football match he attended with Snape. He often found himself walking a bit behind his family to watch other families share butterbeer and share food with the neighboring tents. It left Draco with the slight desire to join in. 

However, Lucius needed to meet with the Prime Minister, Fudge, and Draco needed to be present (and silent) in their affairs. It was often the same rumors about political figures and possible decrees that were being reviewed. All very interesting topics. Riveting, if you asked Draco. 

As he was led around, as if they were parading their status to others around them, Draco made the effort to zoned out most of their conversation in favor of observing his father more.  

To his dismay, Sephina wasn’t able to get back to Draco in the morning. He had tasked her to stay behind and collect as much information about the late-night intrusion. Draco couldn’t exactly have a moment of respite alone the following morning. He was in constant company of his mother or father and, before he knew it, the day had passed and it was time to embark for the World Cup. 

Draco noted that his father seemed stiffer than usual, but it was hard to tell since he wasn’t exactly a person that could be described as easy going. He always seemed to be stoic and as much as Draco looked for a tinge of nervousness or edginess, all he could conclude was that he seemed extra stoic.  

Draco let out a sigh, dodging several drunk cheerful wizards, as they climbed up to the Minister’s Box for the World Cup. Wondering if it was even worth the effort mentioning the intrusion to Dumbledore was when all thoughts of his were abandoned. A smear of red hair caught Draco’s attention when it came across his line of vision. He hesitated for a moment, considering that the Irish were known for red hair, but upon a double take, it was the unmistakable mark of a Weasley. And trailing just behind them was that wad of stupid black hair and a questionable mane that slightly resembled Granger’s. 

Draco blinked his bright grey eyes rapidly.  

He had to know.  

Before a plan could be formulated in Draco's head to catch their attention, his father jumped at the chance to berate the misfit broad of Weasley’s. Healthy Ministry banter, he claimed. 

“Let’s put it this way Weasley, if it rains, you’d be the first to know.” Lucius snickered at something that Draco didn’t quite catch. He had been busy staring at a pair of long healthy legs, incredulous that the extra girl in tow with them had quite a body. 

A fleet of heads turned over to them and then Granger, owner of those legs. Her face was still as pure as the night she counted the stars in his memories, except she had changed over the summer. Her hair had been twisted into sleeker curls and although she wasn’t wearing her school robes, her muggle clothes... Draco gulped. He couldn’t help but stare at how Granger was filling out nicely. Suddenly, disgusted that he was openly gawking, Draco twisted his face telling himself to get a grip. It didn’t go unnoticed when Granger rolled her eyes assuming he had been sneering at them. Fearing the loss of her attention, Draco had to get it back, no matter how.  

“Father and I are in the Minister’s Box,” Draco announced. Hermione, who had been eager to continue their path up, had frozen in her step, glancing at Harry who looked annoyed. “By personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge, himself!” 

Draco locked eyes with her, and that moment of pure joy was taken away from the slight punch of his father’s walking stick.  

“Don’t boast Draco.” His eyes intently boring into his son, wordlessly telling him he was toeing a line, “There’s no need with these people.” 

Granger’s lips flattened into a thin line and just as the interaction ended, when Draco looked back for a hopeful last moment, Hermione turned and linked arms with Ginny Weasley to lead her up the stairs once more.  

And then, she looked over her shoulder and there was an internal celebration in Draco’s gut when she saw he was still looking.