The Necklace
Draco missed most of potions. He supposed it couldn't be helped, but he really couldn't care less. Meandering back to the dungeons, he was contemplating even bothering to show up when he quite literally ran into Professor Mcgonagall.
"Going somewhere, Mr. Malfoy?" She said, raising a single eyebrow. Whatever, he wasn't a gryffindor, he wouldn't cave, Severus' eyebrow was much more impressive.
"Just the bathroom, Professor." Never let it be said Draco Malfoy was not a quick thinker.
"The potions classrooms are in the dungeons, Mr. Malfoy, which are several floors below this hallway, in case it has slipped your notice." The transfiguration teacher admonished.
Now, Draco liked Mcgonagall, mostly because Severus liked her, and Draco trusted Severus' judgement, but she was only a gryffindor, and thus, a massive hypocrite. If she had caught Potter and Pal's down here, Draco had no doubt they'd get a slap on the wrist and nothing more. Draco wouldn't waste his best arguing a case that he couldn't win.
"Ah, so it would appear. Must have gotten lost." He shrugged.
"You're a sixth year, and a prefect."
"And?" He argued, "far be it from me to know the secrets of Hogwarts."
"Detention, Mr. Malfoy." Was he hearing things, or was that a faint trace of amusement in her voice? Huh.
"Yes Ma'am." He saluted, continuing on his way.
By the time Draco made it down to the slytherin dorms, he was already tired enough to regret ever joining the quidditch team. Tryouts were tonight, and he wasn't looking forward to the cuts he was going to have to make as captain. The slytherin team had always been more brawn than brain, something he was hoping to counteract this year. With Blaise as his keeper and Pansy as his main chaser, he had no doubt the team would improve.
He settled himself at his desk (he really couldn't believe the rumours of the other common rooms, no desks? No bookshelves? No privacy? Draco would rather dye his hair black) ready to look over his plans for the team, when Blaise walked through the door. He looked royally pissed off, or at least, as pissed off as Blaise ever looked.
"Slughorn." He stated, closing the door more haphazardly than normal, which was practically a slam coming from him, "Is a traitorous, gossiping, society snitch."
Draco blinked, maybe it was better he had skipped the first lesson, "What happened?" he asked, spinning to face his friend.
Blaise sighed, "He's a Potter fanboy."
Draco's nose crinkled, like he'd smelt something unpleasant, "Well, obviously not all of us can turn out all right, slytherin's got to make its sacrifice sometime."
Blaise set about putting his things away, "There's more. Potter has suddenly become a potions prodigy, and I've been invited to have dinner at 'The Slug Club.'" The last part of his sentence was said with open disdain, one Draco could relate too, Slug Club? Really? What an unflattering name.
"And Pansy wasn't invited."
Draco dropped his book.
"What in Merlin's name do you mean Pansy wasn't invited?" Draco demanded. Pansy was a Parkinson, to not invite her was to practically declare war on the whole of pureblood society, a fact Slughorn no doubt knew, the ratty old wannabe.
"I mean, he invited me, and practically the whole of gryffindor, but not Pansy."
"What the fuck." Draco sat back in his chair. You always invited a Parkinson to a society event, which this clearly was, if Blaise was invited, it was practically superstition. Even if you didn't want them coming, you still invited them, the story of Maleficent Parkinson was infamous. It was like always accepting an invitation from the Malfoy's, you just did it.
"What do we do?" Blaise asked, watching Draco think, "Oh no, I know that look, what've you got planned?"
Draco grinned, his mouth feeling too full and sharp, "Well, dear fiancé of mine, we simply cannot let this insult stand."
Blaise shivered at the look on Draco's face, and the fact the temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees. When Draco got like this, the best thing to do was stand to the side, and let his plan fall into place.
"Blaise, sixteen is the perfect age for childhood sweethearts, don't you think?" Draco turned, looking right into Blaise's eyes.
"I guess so?" Blaise tried, not seeing where this was going.
"And Slughorn has a Christmas party every year?" Draco continued.
"I've heard."
Draco rose from his chair, walking over to Blaise, leaning forward, pushing further into his personal space than anyone else could ever hope to get, "Well, both my father and grandfather were outstanding members of the 'slug club' and I think it's rather rude to not invite me as well, not when he hasn't even met me. But, you're allowed a date to the party, and it's high time we announce ourselves, don't you think?"
Blaise grinned back at Draco, reaching one hand around his waist, and taking the other in Draco's to put them in the starting position of a waltz, "Well, Draco, I think it's been far too long since we've danced together, and what better occasion than a Yule party?"
Pansy barged into their room later, already fumming, "Draco, if you don't help me embarrass that vile cretin, so help me Salazar, I will set your conditioner on fire." She threw herself onto Draco's bed, disturbing his reading. He quickly pulled his book out of the way so she wouldn't crack her head open with her melodramatics.
"We're on it, Pans, Don't worry." He placated, before going back to his reading.
"Draco, we've not even got homework yet, how are you already reading," She squinted at the cover of his book, "Advanced Transfiguration of the Modern Age?"
Draco snorted, "Because, some of us like to know things." Pansy rolled her eyes, already sharing a look with Blaise.
Soon enough, they all lapsed into a comfortable silence, each doing something or another, when Draco came across something in his book. Biting his lip, he reached a hand out to the side, feeling the satisfying thwack of his arithmancy text flying into his hand, he flipped it open to the correct page, looking back to his transfiguration book to cross-check, not noticing how the silence in the room grew thick.
"Draco, love," Pansy began, "what was that?"
Draco looked up, "This? It's an arithmancy book."
"No, Draco. You didn't use a wand." She continued.
Well fuck. Defence must have made him sloppy.
"I've not really needed to," he admitted, "At least for simple stuff." he shrugged, looking to the ceiling, instead of at his friends faces, "Never really needed it as a kid." He looked to Blaise, raising an eyebrow in question. Blaise looked to Pansy, considering her, before nodding to Draco.
His friend looked at him, mouth open, "You're kidding me. There's no way Draco."
Pansy looked at Blaise, thinking it a trick, but he only shook his head at her.
"I really didn't use a wand till I got to Hogwarts, I think it gets jealous sometimes, with how little I use it. Ollivander said he'd had it for ages, and I was the first person to get it to work in years." Draco said, pulling it out of his sleeve.
Pansy held her hand out, "Oh please, at our age all of us have enough control to use an unfamiliar wand, hand it over."
"You don't know how hawthorne wood gets, Pans, I've known Draco for years and it still won't even make sparks. It's just as territorial as Draco." He explained.
She took the wand, her face screwing up into a look of concentration as she tried to do a simple 'lumos.'
Nothing happened. Draco took the wand from her, casting the same spell with ease.
Pansy sat back, frowning, "You've been this good at wandless magic this whole time? And I didn't know? I would've had you help me in charms!"
He smiled at her, a bit strained, "Pansy, remind me what happened the last time someone in slytherin had this kind of control over his magic?"
She deflated, "Draco, you're different, you know that, I know that."
"I know Pans, thank you, really, but he won't see it that way." He said, eyes flicking upwards to the Hogwarts crest on the ceiling.
"Dumbledore is an idiot with an over inflated ego, Draco." She said, haughty.
He snorted, "Yeah, an idiot currently in charge of my future. And besides, he's not the only one I'm trying to hide certain things from." The room sobered a bit with the reminder of the Dark Lord. All of them trying valiantly to forget Draco hadn't already signed away his soul.
In these moments, with his friends, Draco felt like a dead man walking.
Blaise broke the silence, "Draco, show her the stars"
So Draco did, it was a family spell, the first one his mother had taught him, so well practised his hands had begun the motions before Blaise had finished the sentence. With the lights already dim, lit only by the small, floating flames he favoured during late nights, the spell was beautiful.
It lit the canopy of Draco's bed with blues and pinks, pinprick stars forming the constellations of every Black family name. He dutifully pointed out his own namesake, Draco, and then Orion, Regulus, and Ursla, moving quickly over Andromeda and Sirius, he came to his personal favourite.
"And that's Scorpius." He finished, feeling sleep tug at his eyes.
Pansy spoke up, "I didn't know of any Black's with that name."
Curse Pansy and her scary talent for memorising family trees.
"You wouldn't have," He said, hesitating before speaking again, "That's just my favourite."
They fell asleep like that, a pile of loose slytherin limbs, all piled onto Draco's bed, with the stars above them.
—-------
The first Hogsmead weekend was here, and Draco had to spend most of it in detention with Mcgonagall.
Joy.
But, Draco had the morning free, so he untangled himself from the giant slytherin knot he'd been stuck in and scribbled a quick note to his friends. He dressed silently, in simpler black robes and a hooded cloak. It had been a gift from his mother, lined with fur and heating charms to prevent the scottish weather from getting too close. He actually didn't mind the cold, he loved winter, but a gift from his mother mattered more than his own preference.
Sneaking down towards Hogsmead through one of the hidden dungeon passages, he ran his fingers over the wrapped package tucked into his robe pocket. He personally thought it was one of his more reckless plans, but he needed to know how hard it would be to smuggle something into Hogwarts.
Making his way down to The Three Broomsticks, he felt eyes drilling into his back, but glancing over his shoulder the road appeared completely empty.
Great, he survives taking the Dark Mark, just to completely crack after, when he's objectively safer than he's been in months. He snorted to himself. What a joke. Hogwarts, safe.
Everyone huddled together like scared sheep, unknowing of the wolf in their midst. If he was working towards the fall of Hogwarts, there were probably several others as well. The Dark Lord was arrogant and insane, but surely he wasn't dumb enough to entrust something so important to one boy.
Before he knew it, Draco was pushing open the doors of The Three Broomsticks. It was still quite early for a butterbeer, so he sat at a table near the back and ordered some breakfast. When Madam Rosmerta walked over to give him his food, he slid his wand from his sleeve under the table.
Pointing it at her, he hesitated. He thought of every prisoner under Malfoy Manor, and every 'practice' he'd endured with Aunt Bella.
Every muggle or muggleborn he lured into a fantasy, only to wake up with his Aunt's crucio. The Manor was one thing, it was either participate, or become the next target, but here? There were no over-eager Death Eaters, no obscene smiles promising retribution should he deny them.
If he made this choice, went through with this action, it would be purely his own.
He put his wand away.
—-------
He left soon after, he couldn't sit there and pretend he hadn't been ready to use Madam Rosmerta like a cheap toy.
The cursed necklace burned in his pocket, reminding him of his original plan. He needed to dispose of it now, but for all Hogwarts claimed to be a bastion of magic, there was appallingly little in the way of dark arts, or the safe disposal of dark artefacts. He supposed he could go to Severus, but that would mean opening himself to questions he refused to answer. His godfather might protect him from Dumbledore and Flitch for bringing a cursed object into the school, but only if he told him how and why he had it in the first place.
Stopping halfway back to the castle, he bit his lip, trying desperately to think of how he could prevent anyone else from getting their hands on the necklace.
How did he hide things from his parents? Though he supposed that was a much higher bar than he needed, his mother could sniff out a secret better than a crup.
When he needed to hide something, before he learned small-scale warding, he put it in the forest around Malfoy Manor. Burying something was one of the oldest and most effective ways to cleanse an object of magic, and oftentimes the latent magic of the forest itself would be enough to sabotage someone looking for a specific magic signature. His mind set, he headed towards the forbidden forest.
While the name implied a certain amount of danger, most teachers really didn't care about students wandering around, so long as they didn't stray too far in. Professor Sprout started dropping very unsubtle hints about safe hiking practices around fourth year, and the Half-giant oaf would wink every time they had to go in for a lesson, pointing out markers he tied to trees.
A useless endeavour, considering magical trees moved about as often as magical staircases.
Draco didn't like the forest at first, expecting it to be similar to the Malfoy Forests, and being extremely off put when they weren't similar at all. He knew the trees near his home like he knew his own face. Even when it shifted, he would probably be able to walk through it blindfolded and with his hands tied behind his back. Not to mention the feel of its magic, just as familiar as his mother and father's.
To be in a forest so similar yet so different, it put him on edge. It didn't help that it was probably offended by his fear. For someone like him to avoid a forest was a strange thing indeed.
Looking back and forth to make sure no one saw him, he walked into the tree line. It would be awful to go through all this trouble to avoid dark magic, only for a misguided first year to run to Dumbledore screaming about evil slytherins sacrificing babies in the forest.
The second he stepped into the forest, when the road was no longer visible, he felt something in him relax. He hadn't realised how much tension he'd been carrying, but now, alone in the woods, he didn't need to worry. It was a similar feeling to being in the room of requirement, the isolation soothing his soul in a way little else could.
He drew in the smell of the trees, looking for a hint of its magic. If he had offended it with his avoidance, it was unlikely to help him, so he needed to talk. Hopefully it wasn't too mad at him, but Draco supposed he'd wriggled himself out of bigger things.
He waited until he could truly feel it, a heavy weight in his chest. It wasn't oppressive however, more comforting than anything else, so he supposed it wasn't too upset with him. He started to walk, letting his feet carry him where they wanted, though he kept his eye open in case the forest was petty and decided to trip him. He walked for ages, though it could have been minutes for all he knew, magic forests were tricky like that. It was the main reason younger students were discouraged from them, the chances of getting lost for what felt like minutes, but was really several weeks were higher than anyone was comfortable with.
Eventually he came to a clearing, a near perfect circle of trees, showing the bright grey of the overcast sky. He looked around for a log or something else to sit on, but when none appeared he rolled his eyes and sat on the grass. He rearranged his cloak so it wouldn't bunch and laid back, closing his eyes and letting everything around him settle.
He could feel the parts of himself loosen. Facets that he kept tightly under wraps making themselves known. His already sharp face honing itself into razor-thin points, his bones lengthening to something longer than any normal person could have.
He could hear the heartbeat of the birds flying above him, and smell the fox-glove growing in the next glade over. His magic unspooling around him, infusing into the ground like it was glad to be home. He briefly wondered if The Manor would get jealous, but he didn't think it would. This was a nice forest, true, but The Manor was his, and nothing could ever change that.
Eventually he felt a small push at his magic, a quick and questioning tug.
"I need to bury something magical. It's dangerous, and you would be the best bet for making sure no one will find it." He said. Most forests, he found, appreciated brevity.
The magic seemed to hesitate for a second, before poking him.
"Ow! Alright, alright! Here it is, nothing too bad." He pulled the paper-wrapped necklace from his robe pocket, unwrapping it and laying it on the ground.
Without the charmed paper, the scent of a curse hung heavy in the air. Unlike true dark magic, which most often smelt heavy and spiced, this smelt of spoiled milk, making his nose wrinkle. The forest pulled away, sharing in his disgust.
"I know. But someone could get hurt." He neglected to mention he was fully planning on using the necklace to kill someone this morning, but what the forest didn't know couldn't hurt it. And it wasn't like he was lying.
The magic hesitated again, before the ground opened and swallowed the necklace. He let out a breath, grateful.
"Thank you, I'll come back for it in a few weeks."
The magic receded slightly, but stayed close, like it was relaxing with him. He stayed like that for a few minutes, revelling in the chance to relax fully.
Of course, that was when a branch cracked to his left. All at once, he snapped back into himself, bones softening themselves to fit back into the body of a wizard. He shot up, turning to the source of the noise.
He smelt lightning and grass.
"Potter." He snarled, jumping to his feet he marched over to where Potter was no doubt hovering like a creep. Before he could hex him, the gryffindor golden boy ripped off his invisibility cloak.
"How'd you know it was me?" He demanded, all righteous anger and pride.
"Who in Merlin's-saggy-beard else would it be!" Draco screeched, "I should be asking you why you're stalking me!"
"What did you do? Is it some kind of dark magic? If you've done something Malfoy I'll tell Dumbledore." Potter said, uncaring of both Draco's words and that fact he sounded all of three years old.
"Oh come off it! I didn't do anything! Go tell your precious headmaster! See if I care!"
"Maybe I will!" Potter yelled back, before marching back in the vague direction of the castle. He hoped Potter tripped into a ditch and died. Served him right, following him into a magical forest, hasn't he ever heard any faerie-tales? Following a beautiful stranger into the woods! Draco could've eaten him! And here he was tattling to Dumbledore!
Oh Salazar, he was going to tell Dumbledore. That Draco was doing a cleansing ritual on a cursed artefact.
Severus was going to kill him.