Sober Mornings
Draco cannot tell which is worse. Nights or mornings. Today, he’s sitting across from his mother as he stirs the oats in his bowl. They’re bland and lumpy, and honestly, he’d rather not eat breakfast at all, but he’s not allowed to leave the table without finishing. That’s a bit of a plus, he supposes, because he’s meant to go meet some other student today, and he’s not looking forward to it.
“Blaise Zabini is a respectable boy, and we aren’t asking much of you. Stop sulking and dallying. Tardiness is the worst first impression you could make,” his mother starts. “We’re leaving in thirty minutes. You’d best be tidy and finished by then.”
He lifts another spoonful to his mouth and swallows. As soon as the bowl empties, he runs upstairs to the loo, spits out his mouthful into the toilet, and flushes. He changes quickly into formal robes after splashing cool water on his face. Looking into the mirror, Draco can’t quite understand why his reflection looks like that of a young child. A boy. The reflection he sees couldn't possibly be his.
Tossing floo powder into the fireplace and stepping in feels strange to him. He hasn’t travelled outside much and feels a small wave of nausea as he thinks of the burdens that come with meeting yet another stranger. Predicting how they will react, when they will leave, what they think. Draco digs his nails into his left forearm. He’s a Malfoy. This is nothing.
___
Despite all the flurry and excitement during the weeks prior, Draco's first day of school arrives much too quickly.
“Draco. The Sorting Ceremony and your first days of school are crucial for making connections. You understand this, yes?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Avoid Mudbloods, half-breeds, blood traitors, and the like. You understand that I’m going to be choosing whether to approve of your friends or not?”
Draco almost has to mask his confusion. He’s been shuttered inside and away from most casual socialisation for his entire life. “I understand.”
“You can decide most of the children you try to befriend, but I have one requirement. That shouldn’t be too much, even for you. You must become friends with Harry Potter, am I clear?” His father doesn’t stop to let Draco respond before he continues. “Our family needs strong connections on both sides of the war. We still don’t know what the outcome could be.”
Draco nods, standing still as his mother brushes off his robes, and they remain silent until their arrival at the platform. His father and mother head through the barrier one by one, not bothering to glance at him first. Draco takes a slow breath in and exhales. Time for school. If he’s being honest, leaving home doesn’t exactly feel strange. Maybe that’s because his house has always felt like just that. A house, not a home.
The wizards and witches around them chatter. So many conversations can be heard around him that he can’t make any of their words out. In comparison, his family seems like a different species. The bustle seems to stop around them, as if there’s a bubble separating him from the rest. When a whistle sounds and smoke emits from the train, he heads forward.
“Draco!” his mother calls. Draco starts and then turns around. Narcissa the doting mother shows herself so well to the public and to the press. Maybe, just this once, he’ll be able to have her for a moment. Not for anyone else’s eyes, just for his. A smile creeps over his face. Maybe she’ll hug him. Maybe she’ll say some sort of encouragement, some sort of farewell? She hasn’t done that in years for her business trips, but maybe, just maybe, this is different.
“Find and greet Potter on the train, will you? Make sure he understands the importance of befriending you. You’re a pureblood, he’ll at least understand that. You’re strong. Make sure he knows, alright?” his mother says all in one breath, her words pouring out in a jumble.
Draco freezes. His smile widens, and he nods. Turning back around, he raises a hand in a farewell and heads into a train compartment. Hah. It was a foolish hope anyway.
He finds two boys who seem to be the sort his parents would approve of. Purebloods with powerful families. Crabbe and Goyle. The three set off to find Potter soon enough. It isn’t hard to find Potter, he’s surrounded by awe, laughter, and chattering students speaking of him, even from compartments away. A bit ironic, really. Draco feels like he attracts the very opposite sort of attention, or lack of.
“My name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy,” he starts, hoping Potter will extend a hand in friendship before he has to. A redhead sniggers at him from Potter’s side. A redhead. Draco recalls his father’s words and his mother’s. This shouldn’t be too hard. He puts the redhead in his place and continues.
“You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” Draco holds his hand out. Potter’s eyes harden.
“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.”
What? What did he say wrong? No, he didn’t say anything wrong. He followed exactly what his parents said. It’s Potter who’s wrong here, and now Draco is the one who is going to have to pay for that.
Potter continues to sit there, a calm settling over his posture, and Draco’s hand clenches by his side. Of course, Potter doesn’t understand what he’s doing. To himself. To Draco. To the Malfoy family.
Draco retreats out of his body into his mind and watches as they exchange a few more harsh words. He’ll do something about this, just not now. They’ve nearly arrived at Hogwarts, and he’s obviously gotten off on the wrong foot.
___
The commentary is boring, and the Sorting is worse, but he’s gotten through the day fairly intact, so that’s something. It’s just the next part he’s dreading. Draco can’t eat in front of strangers, especially in such an open space. That’s wrong. It’s just,, vulnerable? He can’t find the right word.
The table in front of him is heaping with food, but Draco is spared for a moment as all of the first years hesitate to dig in. It’s a moment much shorter than he’d like. He digs his fingers into his legs to stop them from bouncing and takes a deep breath. No one would notice if he didn’t eat. He lifts his glass to take a swig of water and joins into the conversations bubbling around him. Just as he thinks that he’s off the hook, a girl speaks from across the table. Lovely.
“Draco, aren’t you going to have something to eat?” She tilts her head to the side casually. Draco doesn’t even know her name, but he dislikes her already.
“Yeah. What was your name anyway?” he responds and leans in across the table. “Must’ve missed it.”
“Pansy.” Her eyes widen, and she stares for a moment before reaching to push a platter towards him. “You should have a roll. They’re my favourite.”
Draco merely nods and reaches to grab a roll. The bulky third year beside him does the same, and they continue their conversation with one another. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Pansy light up as he rips a piece from the roll and takes a swig of water. He serves himself a heap of some other rice dish and begins to cut it up as well.
As they head towards the dormitories, Draco makes a casual comment.
“The food was much below the standards for our house elves.”
He waits for someone to call him out, but no one does. Funnily enough, he hasn’t taken a single bite, but everyone seems to believe that he’s eaten an entire meal. Maybe this will be easier than he thought.
___
The dungeon is an odd place for their dormitories, but fitting, it seems. Although it’s filled with noise as the Slytherins file in after the feast, people quiet down as the night passes. The lights dim along with the chatter. Nearly everyone falls asleep by midnight, and he’s completely sure that they’re all asleep once the clock hits three. A great relief, because laying on his back and staring at the ceiling can only occupy him for so long. He props himself up with an elbow and comes up to a sitting position.
Sitting atop his four-poster bed, Draco slides the curtains open, careful to not make a sound. He walks towards the exit, his every step careful and measured. When he confirms for a second time that no one is awake, he slips out of the room. As soon as he reaches the marble staircase, for the first time today, Draco is able to let his shoulders loosen and his head drop.
He lets his legs relax and collapses on the cold hard stairs. After adjusting to face the railing and leaning against the opposite bars, Draco holds his knees close to his chest. What will his father do when he finds out that Draco's failed? What will his mother think? He shouldn't even be thinking about this. He should stay focused. The goal is still to become Potter's friend. He hasn't failed yet.
Even as he tells himself these words, Draco feels his body growing heavier by the minute. There is no way he will be able to make amends for the mess on the train. At least not quick enough for his parents to stay oblivious.
Draco's fist seems to fly into his head on its own volition. The sharp pain shoots through his skull and fades much too quickly. He rests his forehead on his palms and grabs at his long blonde hair in fistfuls. This is stupid. He's been sitting here for an hour and certainly hasn't done any physical activity during that time, but his breaths are coming faster and faster. He can hear himself panting as if he's watching from the outside.
Potter. This day would’ve been fine if Draco hadn’t screwed everything up. This day would’ve been fine if only Potter had simply listened. Draco will never befriend someone as arrogant and ignorant as him.