Chapter 3
Contrary to what he thought would happen, it was a lot easier to get what he wanted than he’d expected. Not that he’d ever often be refused for something like a trip in his time before in the first place, but it held a large difference considering that his request was to somewhere so… muggle. Surrey was a small county, but it was affluent in its own right, having a dense woodland and a good enough winery that his father reluctantly agreed to it. Draco knew that the reason for his father’s agreement was probably more due to his mother’s insistence of it in the first place than anything. After all, it was really hard to ignore the way his father looked at him in disapproval once it was brought up during dinner later that evening. He couldn’t help but wince back just seeing it, all too familiar with the look. Still, he stayed firm on the decision even if it went against a lot of the beliefs he was raised with; to stay away from muggles lest he caught something vile from them.
Many warnings had been placed on pure-blooded children his age, especially with his family. He didn’t believe in all those almost superstitious beliefs against muggles as much anymore. He stayed in Hogwarts for years. Even if his peer circle was made entirely of pureblood or half-bloods, he still had his own fair share of exposure to some mudbloods.
Granger would be an example of that, but he would never admit that he found the bushy-haired girl to be slightly less despicable after all the years they’d silently studied in the same library, all the others too lazy or unmotivated to do the same. In the first few years particularly, most of the students stuck within the library most of the time were Ravenclaw students or more of the older years who were desperate to catch up for their NEWTs. Suffice to say, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin both far away from the other and engrossed within their studies far ahead of their year respectively were a stark contrast to the other attendees in the library.
Academics had its own way of culling down the initial distaste he had for the girl. And it didn’t quite particularly help with Granger’s know-it-all personality and her lack thereof of any decorum, shameless enough to interrupt him from his studies even if he didn’t look welcome to it. She saw him struggling with a book and found it enough in her place to correct his enunciation of a saint’s name as he’d muttered it under his breath, reading. He’d been needlessly annoyed, scoffing at her own accent before even his initial distaste had died down to a fervent (but whispered) argument over the French language itself. Turns out, Granger was much more passionate about the debate that she usually would be, as was Draco. At the end of it, Granger explained slowly, her voice slightly strained at how much they’d been arguing, that her middle name had come from the saint Draco was reading. She smiled when she stated that her argument held more weight because she’d learned French from a young age because she was fond of the saint. Draco only scoffed that day, not imparting anything about himself other than a roll of his eyes, unaware of how he hadn’t made any snide remarks to interrupt her.
Draco never entertained her asking how he learned French. He only took his books and left that day, but he had been taught French from a young age—younger than the mudblood. It was a standard as the Malfoys originated from France. He struggled with it and even his mother had been confused as to why he couldn’t pick up on it as quickly as they had when they were younger. It took his Aunt Bella’s condescending laugh at his attempts at the language for her to teach him personally. Though he wasn’t as fond of her as he was before, he truly did love the language because of her. She taught it in a way that Draco enjoyed. It made him pick up on it so much more quicker and the realization that he could do so well at something he thought he’d fail all the same at made him fond of her despite the way she rolled her eyes each time he ran to her side.
Many people around him talked of how his aunt was in a slow descent of insanity. But Draco never believed them, far too engrossed in his aunt’s sarcastic quips, never willing to coddle or treat him as though he was an incapable child, always patient of his childish behaviour and more than willing to teach him all the spells he asked for. Bellatrix spoiled him in a way neither his father or mother had ever. She never treated him as if he was incapable. She scoffed at his mistakes, but she didn’t rush to his side in a frenzy worry as if he was made of glass. She stared at him until he got up again and she taught him whatever he asked for. He could know whatever he wanted as long as he made sure he had enough of a gall to ask for it.
French quickly only became one of the skills he’d learned naturally as a Malfoy. But it remained to be one he never forgot, even after he waited for weeks of his aunt and his father being away to court. He believed stubbornly that his aunt would be back, and his father would return as well. But all he saw on the day of his aunt’s incarceration was his father returning home looking haggard and tired. He cried and threw tantrums, but his aunt was long gone. He was only five years old, and it only became more than a decade later that he ever saw her again. Except she hadn’t treated him the same; following around the dark lord and undyingly—crazily loyal to the dark that marked him.
In part, he knew his distaste of mudbloods was irrational. But he could never rid himself of it even when he’d been left alone in that drab cell. Even when his eyes no longer glared unwaveringly when Granger would come up to his table with a book on a subject that he’d bested her in. Even when he knew he felt a sense of empty space once the hatred became too much between him and Potter and Granger—ever the loyal Granger never spoke to him again, even breaking his nose. Draco still didn’t want to associate himself with muggle-borns. More than his father’s ideals, all he could remember when he wavered into an independent thought was how vehemently his mother and his aunt would discuss of his aunt Andromeda. How she was such a talent gone to waste; how she’d become a stain on their family name. A failure to the ideals.
So, Draco never allowed his thoughts to stray. Never allowed that childish want for companionship in his level of intellect that he could admit to finding in Granger when she spoke in (though a distinctly different accent of) French to him the next day despite how he’d snubbed her, excited at the prospect of knowledge. He continued to place upon walls of distaste in disgust, the stupid superstitions and biases of how muggle-borns were filthy and undeserving of magic bleeding into the snide click of his tongue. Because hatred was easier than finding himself to be weak. To be a failure, given shame and pity by the people he loved the most. He didn’t want his aunt to look down on him. Not when she never saw him to be a failure. He couldn’t bear to give his mother the shame of knowing her son had become acquainted with a muggle-born, not when the way she spoke of his aunt Andromeda had that bitter taste under her tongue, her hand over her cup of tea tightened as if she were recounting of memories that couldn’t be spoken of.
He built walls and distaste became second-nature. Even more second-nature than the delusion of feeling as if he was deserving of everything.
Muggles were failures. And Draco Malfoy would never allow himself to be a failure.
Except he had become a failure. And he knew he still could not fully be open with himself to the thought of his father’s ideals being wrong, but the way his mother looked over the page in her hand before he came in held of longing. No matter how much she might’ve hated the muggle world again, Draco could see how she still held the idea of traversing the world close to her heart. Even when she looked haggard and broken in his time, as if she was losing him, she smiled when she said she’d travelled on her own.
For his mother, Draco would give the world. And his wishes would become hers with every fire of a candle blown with each year he’d pass in age. He’d light the way for her, be the little dragon she’d always call him to be.
He prepared his things for the trip. He could’ve had a house elf do it, but he’d gotten more used to packing his own things over the years. He held out his hand on instinct to cast a reducio spell on his luggage, blinking quickly before realizing that he didn’t have his wand yet. Draco frowned, looking down at his pudgier hands. Running off to a nearby mirror, he really looked at himself for the first time since coming back in time and... he felt like a child. It was disturbing to see himself being reflected in that kind of way. It almost tricked his brain and it hurt. He looked down at himself, swearing that he’ll grow taller quickly and rid himself of this feeling.
Chucking that at the back of his mind, he was reminded of the time. His mother had greeted him by the fireplace with a smile, helpfully taking care of his luggage for him. She looked energetic despite a sense of wariness in her eyes, patting Draco’s head as they stood waiting for his father.
It was still early in the morning. So early, in fact, that dawn had barely settled yet, not even enough to pass through their heavy curtains. He hadn’t minded all that much, but his mother was still worried he’d be tired. His father followed them right after, his cane not in his possession. He sighed, clearly far too tired in the morning. Still, he smiled when he saw his wife, carrying a few of the luggage she told him to carry.
Narcissa smiled in return, “We’ll be taking the train today, dragon. It might take up to four hours, so you can take time to sleep for a while before we get to Surrey.” She explained slowly to Draco, her instructions of how to act in a muggle station detailed enough that Draco blinked, interested as he watched his mother place some floo powder onto the fire. His father didn’t seem to notice the way his mother sounded so sure of herself, nodding along. His eyes seemed to be more squinted than usual, clearly not too amused at being awake at an early hour.
“Okay, mother.” Draco nodded, “Is Surrey far?”
“About... ninety or so miles, I’d gander.” Narcissa said. She cast a quick She gave his shoulder an encouraging pat, allowing him to go into the floo on his own. His parents followed after him, the sound of the train blaringly familiar in his ears as he found his way out of the manor for the first time ever since he came back in time. He licked his lips, his heart thrumming at the memories coming back to him all too suddenly. He looked around, almost as if he’d seen it all the first time.
It was still too early for most people, so it was empty enough that not many would recognize them at the first sight. His mother straightened herself, her expression sterner as she led him to the passage to the muggle station. It washed over him quickly, finding the bustle of the station to be more busy than the normal one. He and his father followed his mother navigating through the early place with no trouble, the two blonds looking like two ducklings as they mutely nodded to whatever she reminded of them. Though his father looked more put together compared to Draco, he was unable to completely conceal how much he disliked the morning.
Lucius was much too used to his wife’s demands, only sneering slightly at the sight of all the muggles around him before putting away their luggage into a private car. Draco sat on the plush seating, watching as his father looked all too peaceful leaning onto his mother’s shoulder, completely dazing off with a scoff when his mother had tried to move him. It was strange. Draco was never quite one for the mornings, but his father was never one for them either; they were both usually too groggy or angry in the morning to even get out of bed. It was a struggle for years in Hogwarts for him to avoid hexing his roommates to high hell whenever they gave any attempt to wake him before he was ready. And as a bitter, growing adolescent at that time, the struggle was many times unfought on.
Narcissa carefully unfurled Lucius’ hair from her own, humming gently. She smiled Draco’s way when she saw him looking, giving a small hush. Draco smiled in return. It was strange to see his parents so young. It felt as if the war had made everyone in his life age faster than he could notice. But here, as the train moves, his body swaying along with the hushing drawl of the tracks, it made sense. Sitting idly, watching his mother read her book, her shoulders relaxed with her hair over it. His father further burrowing himself to a comfortable position despite how his neck craned, still somehow able to have a relieved look on his face. His brows weren’t furrowed, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked younger. so unbelievably lax as if he had all he wanted in the world.
And perhaps, Draco had all he wanted in the world right here as well. The swell of guilt eating into him hushed into the swift trail of the tracks, just a moment of peace silenced in his ears. He leaned against the window, watching everything pass by.
True to what Draco had read, he could see the expanse of the woodlands. It was dense and green all around. It felt like taking in a whole new different wave of fresh air, leaning forward just to see the way the train’s movement seemed to stir over the grass outside, the wind blowing over the greenery like a gentle touch through fur. His heart leapt in excitement, his breath muted. It was bright. The sun was bright, and even more so were the way the towns seemed to go on for miles, only connecting over to the lands like elves had built themselves around it. He smiled widely, unaware of how his eyes were brighter than they had ever been in days.
Narcissa smiled her son’s way, taking the time to look at the entirety of Surrey through their window, able to closely imagine the smell of the morning air through the grass. Mother and son remained silent through the last trek of the train before Narcissa eventually informed her husband of their arrival.
Narcissa’s face remained passive despite the clear distaste in her eyes as she raked her eyes over her family’s clothing. She sighed, pointing over a manicured finger to her husband’s robe, wordlessly moving it to indicate that it wouldn’t be allowed.
Lucius frowned, looking over his robe with a second once-over as if he were trying to see what was wrong with it. He gave her a questioning look, making no move to take it off as he looked over to Draco’s clothes as well, both confused.
Narcissa still looked as passive as before, only raising a brow. “You plan on wearing your robes out there?”
Lucius looked more unsure, “Yes.”
“You’ll stand out.” Narcissa sighed, taking off her husband’s coat for him. She fixed his hair for him, taking a moment to decide if it was enough. “It’s a temperate county, and it’s near summer. It isn’t unbearably warm, but it’s enough that you won’t need this.” She stowed away the robe, moving to her son.
She unfurled the tie out of Draco’s sleeveless sweater, taking it off before fixing the collar of his button up underneath. Without the stuffy tie and without his hair gelled back the same way he usually had it, her son looked much more youthful. She smiled, seeing the lingering excitement in her son’s eyes. She was even more relieved that she was able to convince Lucius into the trip, even just the mere sight of the greenery had Draco smiling. “There.”
Draco couldn’t quite understand it, but he knew his mother always had a penchant when it came to clothing, so he didn’t question it. His thumb played over the lack of a tie on his shirt, smiling at his mother. “Thank you, mother.”
“Of course, Dragon.” She kissed his head before taking some of their luggage. Draco followed behind her, still slightly enamoured with the thought of being able to see the greenery of the plains again.
As soon as they were able to settle down in an estate they had in Surrey, his father quickly wanted to opt for some rest after their arrival, but his mother was insistent on finding a quiet spot in town to shop for some clothes. Narcissa didn’t insist on Lucius’ presence, telling Draco to wait by the door while she laughed, kissing her husband to coax him to sleep in their room. Draco watched by the door of his parents’ room, the door slightly ajar as his father complained quietly, his mother giggling. He ran off, not wanting to intrude on the moment.
He waited by the front door, drawn to all the trees surrounding the estate. He’s seen much taller, more dense trees in the Hogwarts grounds before, but it didn’t look as dark here. Here, it looked alive; alive in the sense that even a breath of air in its surroundings made Draco feel as though life was thriving within it. The greenery was bright, the wind picking up every once in a while. He looked over himself, not quite having cared for his clothes as much as he had really tried his best to replicate what he could of his father’s before without looking ridiculous. He smiled to himself, unbelieving to how something as simple as his mother dressing him made him happy.
His mother appeared behind him, a smile on her face. She’d changed into a more comfortable dress, still within her usual style but a tad bit larger to give off a breezy, casual feeling. She looked over her belongings, rifling through her black handbag as she passed on an umbrella to Draco.
Draco took it, waiting patiently for his mother. Narcissa smiled as she closed her bag, patting Draco gently on the head. She looked happy despite the way she gave a teasing raise of her brow. “Really, you’ve been so well-behaved lately. What did you do to my little dragon?”
Draco’s hand tightened around the umbrella, tapping it against the concrete. “When have I ever been misbehaved?” he lied through his teeth, giving his mother a smile.
Narcissa rolled her eyes, too preoccupied with the thought of spending time alone with her son to notice the way Draco quickly looked away. “Alright, alright. You’re always well-behaved. The best.”
Draco smiled, doing his best to keep down the conflicted feeling in his throat. He followed his mother to the town, hiding his curiosity as his mother trudged through. She unfurled the umbrella, using it to keep away most of the morning sun from Draco. He looked up questionably, thankful for the shade regardless.
Narcissa gave a small smile, still keeping up the stern feeling on her. “You haven’t been out into the sun in a while. We’ll find a quiet spot for you to get used to the sun after we buy some things.” Her smile fell back to a neutral expression, squeezing Draco’s hand gently to keep him from getting lost.
Narcissa has always put up a facade. They were a family of Slytherins, they all had secrets of their own, no matter how little. Accordingly, his parents had always had the appropriate distance between them that showed that though they were an arranged marriage, they held good respect for the other. They never showed just how loving they were the same way they did in the comfort and privacy of their home. Draco always found it odd until he chanced upon talk of his aunt Bella’s marriage. He connected it and realized how his mother avoided grand acts of affections to avoid comparison and fuel for others to mock his aunt; after all, to see the youngest have a happy marriage but those in high society knowing in secret of how unhappy the eldest’s was, it would simply be a lively day in hell for such vultures to feast upon in their boring lives. And his father, in the same vein, didn’t want to show weakness. He avoided it all the same to disallow any harm to his family.
Narcissa brought Draco to any store they were able to chance upon, her sternness stemming into more of an excited frenzy that had Draco looking away from when his mother nearly bought the entirety of the store. She frowned in complete disgust at a shirt, putting it away before rifling through more and finding a geometric pattern on a sweater. She smiled, bringing it down over with the hanger to Draco, taking a silent moment in consternation before blooming out into a smile. “This will do for you, dragon.”
Draco frowned, finding the patterns to be odd. It wasn’t even in a colour he usually wore, leaning more towards a maroon. He still nodded, taking it along to the pile in his arms. His mother went on to a few more shirts, a few polos and finding even more for herself before paying. She handed over her card, not even batting an eye at the price. The saleslady smiled her way, handing over her bags before thanking both the mother and son.
Draco followed his mother, looking doubtfully over all the shopping bags, unable to distinguish between brands. He’s really never been good with this kind of matter, having disliked giving any thought to it after being dragged around by Pansy and Blaise whenever they found the time to go to Hogsmeade. He’d vehemently refused any invitation from either of them onwards after being forced to carry all their shopping bags as they spent money almost obscenely. Still, he carried his mother’s without any complaint, able to naturally ignore any sidelong stares given to both of them as they found their way to another store.
He knew it was a bit of a show of wealth, but it was practically a speck. The Malfoys were secretive. Even more secretive in how much they also had in muggle currency along with their wealth in the wizarding world. History had its long share of blood and betrayal, but it all the same resulted in the obscene wealth they had. More reason to how his mother and him didn’t have much trouble paying for their defence in court even after their banks were frozen. After all, the wizarding banks didn’t quite have a hold on the wealth they’d amassed in the muggle world.
It took until an hour or two past noon for his mother to bring him over to a restaurant, taking a table by the window to allow Draco some sun. He allowed his mother to order for him, interested more in looking outside and seeing just how peaceful everything was. It was a complete difference to how he’d assumed it would be as a child. Perhaps it was because this part of the county was progressing well within its economy, but it was cleaner than he’d first thought. The shops were interesting as well, although he spent half of it being dressed up by his mother. He yawned, the effects of waking up so early starting to catch up to him after staying in the quiet shade.
His mother called for him, making him aware of how their food had come in his moment of thought. He smiled as she talked of what she bought, murmuring at times of some trends or something that Draco couldn’t quite catch onto, cutting his steak. He didn’t speak, but he could admit it was more enjoyable when he could hear his mother talk during a meal. She only talked in between eating, but it was enough to fill in the silence compared to what it would be like at home. He never really quite understood why his father was insistent on the rule of avoiding any talk over the dinner table. It was enjoyable.
Narcissa paused, frowning. Draco caught on, hearing a noise on the other side of the establishment as he lowered his utensils. A family of three were making a racket, as their child complained and yelled at their waitress. Draco frowned, feeling his ears grating with the sound of the yell turning into a torturous cry of a tantrum. He sighed, giving his mother a look that she understood quite easily, rolling her eyes as she murmured loud enough for Draco to hear. “Muggles.”
The mother of the muggle was quick to comfort her child while the father was defensively yelling at the waitress. The waitress whittled, unable to give any rational explanation with how the man kept on terrorizing her. Draco winced, his lips down to a sneer. He looked over to how his mother was just as unhappy with the interruption to their lunch. The waitress apologized, running to get a manager as the child only continued on with his tantrum.
Draco took a sip from his water, feeling less of an appetite. Soon enough, the situation seemed to die down, the family of three huffing as they left the restaurant. “Don’t worry, Dudley, dear. We’re not coming back to this wretched place again.”
The waitress came up to them to apologize for the disruption, offering some frozen yogurt. Narcissa only sighed, waving off the apology simply but accepting the assuaging gift for Draco. They finished with their food and Draco found himself enjoying the treat, much to his mother’s amusement as she handed him a napkin to wipe his mouth. She left the payment on the bill, placing a somewhat large amount as a tip before leaving with Draco and all their shopping bags in tow.
Draco looked questionably at his mother. Narcissa rolled her eyes, “That muggle family was rather detestable. Really, the man must have some hobby terrorizing people with how unreasonable he was. The waitress couldn’t have been more than a year into that job.”
Draco understood somewhat at that, “That must be torture to deal with such ingrates.”
Narcissa laughed, a look in her eyes that Draco recognized to be somewhat far off, as if she was thinking of something else. “Yes, yes, it quite is.”
She had Draco follow her to a more discreet area, placing a reducio spell on a few of the bags to pocket them before setting their destination for some groceries and their day ended that way. Without any house elves in the estate, Narcissa was still more than happy to cook. She bustled around the kitchen, looking over the food they bought and weighing in between the chicken and some potatoes. Her hair was tied up, the quick style allowing the fringe that Draco had come to be accustomed to seeing on his mother. She had an apron on, having changed into her new clothes with a loose tee.
Draco grimaced. He’s never seen his mother cook and if watching his aunt Bella attempt her hand at the kitchen before gave any sign of skill, he wasn’t really looking forward to the thought of his mother in the kitchen. “Mother… are you sure? We could get a house elf.”
Narcissa smiled, “On this short of a trip? I can handle cooking, dragon. Your father would be happier,” She laughed, “He’s always a glutton when it comes to my food.”
Draco still looked doubtfully, but he nodded. “Are you sure you don’t need me helping…?”
Draco didn’t know how to cook. Point blank. But he was proficient in Potions, so it shouldn’t be that hard to do something like cooking. Though if he had to deal with a written recipe… then it would be a bit more difficult. In his later years in Hogwarts, he seemed to always have a lot more trouble with academics. He reasoned it for the stress of everything weighing on him, but he could admit it was because reading gave him an incomprehensible headache from how difficult it was to read. Severus usually mended it with a glance to his eyes, casting a spell that allowed him to see better for some time when he asked for help with some potions. He never needed glasses, of course. He wasn’t like Potter with those ridiculously thick lenses, and he was able to see things perfectly well in comparison.
Narcissa looked appreciative of the offer, kissing Draco’s head. “It’s alright, dragon. Go on, it’s not too late so you can go outside and look over the scenery. I’ll call you over for dinner.” She said, “Besides, the knives are too dangerous for you. You won’t know how to use them.”
Draco blinked, “But, I can…” he stopped himself from mentioning how his aunt Bella had taught him a lot of ways to use a knife as a child, grimacing at how horrified his mother must be if he were to tell her his son was proficient with throwing knives by the time he was five. And after his aunt was incarcerated, he wasn’t opposed to improving even more on his own, finding a sense of enjoyment in the skill. “Okay.”
He ran off, feeling the chill of the air as soon as he opened the door. He looked down at his clothes, figuring it wouldn’t be enough with the temperature. He was quick to take the sweater his mother had bought him, finding it to be rather comfy. He breathed in the air, the taste of grass at the tip of his tongue as the wind blew. He smiled, feeling calm. He walked slowly onto a path, avoiding any thoughts to penetrate into his mind for the moment. He wanted to enjoy this. He wanted to have this moment to himself even if he had to imagine it all as a dream, impermanent enough that he wouldn’t have to feel guilt for how happy he’d been in something as simple as this.
He found himself lost in the trees, calling himself to the direction the sun was setting. He looked back at the path, walking faster in the woods before he was rushing into the middle of a small expanse of grass and flowers surrounded by trees. He fell back to the grass, closing his eyes as the scent of grass permeated all around him. He spread himself on the greenery, feeling a shiver travel through his spine as he raised his chin, breathing out whatever air he could taste in his lungs. Relief flooded him in waves. As if he’d finished drowning in a ditch and all he had was the expanse of whatever laid beyond.
He smiled to himself, an intrusive part of him wishing this were the end. That he’d wake up in the nothingness of death and see this happy time to be a vivid dream. One last pity from whatever god was out there to give him a chance to remove all his worries and be aware of how bloody lucky he had it; allow him to experience just how lucky he had it. Perhaps that would be better than being back in time to relive everything that broke him. Everything that chipped away at the hope in his heart until all that was left were whittled into splinters under his bones.
“Ooft!” He blinked, sitting up so quickly it had his head spinning. He blinked, seeing a mop of messy jet-black hair. His right hand gripped over nothing, an unconscious instinct to hold over his wand. His eyes widened as the wind picked up, a short flash of uncontrolled magic washing over him as he cowered back. He was defenseless, and that… that was clearly magic.
He watched as the dark-haired child stumbled, attempting to pick themself up from the root they’d tripped over. Draco watched wearily as the outburst of magic only got worse. He didn’t feel any malice, but he could feel how dangerous it was. Even with how weak it was, it was akin to a shrivelling snake, grass uprooting itself to curl over his fingers and nearly dragging him down if not for the knife he’d hidden in a compartment in his belt, cutting through the plant without a second thought. He wasn’t being attacked, but he could see the child frozen in place, their hair far too long to show their face.
Draco grunted, heart thudding. Was this an accidental outburst? For a child that young? Why was the child here? Didn’t their parents teach them about how to deal with this? What the hell were they doing on private property? Why was it this bloody strong for something like an outburst?
Draco gritted his teeth, feeling more of the grass curl around him like desperation incarnate. The wind picked up, flicking his hair from his forehead. He rushed up after cutting through the grass that threaded too close, rushing to the child. He tackled them, holding the child by the shoulders and murmured, “Calm down. Calm down. It’s fine. It’s fine. This is normal, it’s okay.” he repeated, starting to feel like it was more towards himself more than anything.
The wind stilled, the grass dying down as the child in his arms trembled. He moved back, taking off his sweater and pushing it down onto the child’s slender torso. His eyes widened in a more genuine concern at the touch of just how thin the child was. But it seemed to work as the magic around died down to the natural blow of the wind. He breathed, holding the child close against the grass.
He continued, “It’s okay. You just had an accidental outburst. It’s not your fault. You did great.” Draco didn’t know how to comfort anyone, but he tried his best. His mother had assured him that he was doing well whenever he showed signs of his magic, it was only right to show the child that they’d done well with something that powerful for something accidental.
“I’m sorry.” The child’s voice broke, tears rushing down their gaunt face. Draco pulled back, looking down to the child crying in his arms, feeling difficult.
“It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
Draco frowned, “Your magic is great. Don’t apologize. I won’t get hurt from something like that.”
The child shook their head quickly in panic, “No, no—I’m sorry, I’m, I’m sorry. I’m a freak.”
Draco was much more confused. “What?”
“I’m, I’m a freak. I’m sorry. I don’t know why it won’t go away. I wish it would just go away.”
“Magic?” Draco’s voice gentled, his heart hurting at the sight. A child of magic feeling that their magic made them… a freak? “You’re not… that’s a gift. Magic is a gift. Yours is powerful and you did well calming it down.”
“I’m sorry...” The child hiccupped, voice soft. They looked reluctant, staring at Draco and at his torso before attempting to move away. Draco held the child close, rubbing their head and keeping them warm.
“It’s okay.” Draco felt himself break speaking. He didn’t know why he felt the need to keep speaking. But he knew he wanted to hear those words when everything felt like it had gone to shit.
The child only repeated apologies, as if it was undeserving of them to be comforted. Draco just held the child close until the sobs softened to soft sniffling. He pulled away, rifling through his pockets for a handkerchief before wiping away the child’s tears. He gave an awkward smile, pushing the child’s hair away from their eyes and—
Bloody hell.
They were the brightest greens he’d ever seen. The same shade he’d seen in Potter’s eyes when he’d rushed to him after the trial, just as mournful as before. His throat clogged, unbelieving.
The child noticed his staring, bashfully covering his eyes. He scurried back, muttering apologies once again. “I, I’m sorry. I’m really a freak.”
Draco pushed down his thoughts, focusing on the moment. The moment of a scared child hiding away in shame before him. He sat up, trying his best to keep himself together and away from all his memories. “It’s okay. Your eyes are really green. They remind me of… of a… friend’s.” he struggled at the title, feeling reluctant to call Potter his friend of all things.
“Really?” The child peeked through his fingers, sitting up. With him sat up, Draco could really see how thin he was. His sweater practically dwarfed him. His neck was slender, his face gaunt. He was sickly pale—completely different from how Draco could remember Potter to have been more tanned from how much he enjoyed the freeing winds riding with his broom with whatever hour, without the brighter sheen on his skin. His fingernails tugged at the sleeves. His hair was as messy as Draco could remember it, but it was longer. Past his shoulders, even; clearly having lacked a haircut. But his eyes—fuck. His eyes were as bright as Draco could remember them. As bright as Draco could be haunted by.
Draco swallowed, “Yes.” he moved closer, wiping away his tears before wiping the dirt on his face.
“I’m sorry... about earlier.” Potter lowered his small face. Draco’s heart tugged. Has Potter always been this small? He knew he was still a child, but even to Draco’s perspective as a child, himself, in this time, Potter was so… so small. He didn’t look to be near ten years old at all. He looked more like he was younger.
Draco has never been heartless. A coward that followed people into the vilest acts, but he’s never been heartless. Even seeing the man he’d sworn to be his enemy, he knew this wasn’t the Potter he knew yet. Just the same as his mother that didn’t understand just how much of a criminal he’d become. It didn’t stop the grudge within him, but he squashed it with the sight of Potter so vulnerable.
“Don’t apologize.” Draco murmured, “I couldn’t control my magic before either.”
Potter looked up in awe, “You can… you can do that… too?”
Draco smiled, “I can do it much more controlled.” his smile was quickly pressed down at the realization of the question, “Haven’t your parents ever explained it to you?” Draco grimaced, realizing how stupid his own question was. He warily looked at Potter, moving closer.
Potter froze, fiddling more with the sweater. “My parents…”
Draco awkwardly patted his head the same way his mother would comfort him, “You don’t have to, it’s alright.” he grimaced, “Have your… guardians ever told you about your magic?”
Potter shook his head, “They said it’s freaky. They told me to go into the forest because I kept making a mess at home.”
Draco frowned, “What?” His jaw tensed, unable to believe that anyone would be able to do that to a child. A child like Potter, no less—he looked so frail, who could have the gall to tell a child to piss off to a bloody forest?
“I’m a freak… I keep troubling them with it.” Potter curled into himself, closely touching the material of the sweater. “They were just in a bad mood when they got home… I wouldn’t want to deal with myself, either.”
Draco held Potter’s hand, gently enough. “Your magic is a gift.”
You’re a gift. To everyone, you were the gift that saved them.
Draco bit back that last thought. He gave Potter a smile, watching as the younger boy curled back into tears. He sobbed, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of the sweater, pausing as soon as he realized. He tugged up the sleeve, allowing his tears to flow. “Sorry… I ruined your sweater.”
“You can keep it.” Draco said before he could stop himself, watching as Potter’s eyes lit up in surprise. Potter tugged at the hem of the sweater, almost in a hurry to get it off but Draco pushed down his fingers gently.
“I can’t keep this…”
“It’s cold at night.” Draco insisted, unable to look away from how Potter smiled. Bloody hell. How could someone hurt this kid? How could anyone even get him to look this neglected and thrown into a forest alone? He felt a sense of guilt remembering how he’d terrorized Potter as a child. How hadn’t he noticed how weak Potter looked? Perhaps it was how much fire was in Potter’s eyes, so full of life and fight. He always assumed it was of haughty condemnation, but watching Potter cry in front of him—it was survival.
Potter still looked reluctant, but he tugged down on the sleeves, carefully keeping it close to keep the cold away. Draco sat close, watching as the sun set further. The younger boy started to ask questions, fiddling with the sweater. “Why were you in the forest?”
Draco rubbed his nose, “I’m staying nearby. I wanted to have a small vacation.”
Potter smiled, “That sounds really fun…” he looked to Draco, “You know how to do magic?”
“I can’t do it without a wand.” Draco said.
“You actually use wands?! You’re a real wizard?”
Draco laughed, feeling a weight leave him. If he ignored how this was Potter, he felt affection for the childish awe radiating in waves from him. “Yes. You are too.”
Potter went silent, still in awe but reluctant. He fiddled with the sweater, curling his bony knees into himself with the loose pants drooping on him. His clothes were entirely too big for him, and Draco felt bad that his sweater didn’t fit Potter as well as it should. He rubbed Potter’s messy hair.
“You’re a wizard. Not a freak.”
Potter smiled, bashfully lowering his head. Draco kept being by his side, watching the wind blow as Potter fiddled with his sweater. He tried to think back to how the Chosen One could possibly be neglected to this degree. He couldn’t comprehend how anyone would be able to look at Potter like this and be unable to rush to worry over him. It was pitiable. Such a stark contrast from how Potter was in his time made him feel like he was responsible to help him. This isn’t what Potter is supposed to be. He’s supposed to laugh like a dolt, free in the air on a broom with wind blowing to flush his cheeks, hair a mess.
Potter continued on with questions, excited at each answer and preening each time Draco comforted him. Draco smiled helplessly. Was Potter starved of the care he needed? It was ridiculous how much he seemed to chase after Draco’s responses, wordlessly looking at him as if he had the answers to everything.
Draco could hear the far-off call of his mother with the wind, standing up. Potter was quick to follow, afraid of being left behind. Draco realized just how much smaller Potter was. He knew he was taller than Potter in his own time, but it was so much worse with how gaunt Potter looked. The blond sighed, “I have to get to dinner.”
“Oh.” Potter shifted, tugging at the sweater. “Would you be here again…?”
Draco hesitated. He didn’t want to interact with Potter too much. He pitied him, and he felt horrible seeing him so sickly, but he couldn’t say that the thought of prolonged contact with him amused him. “Perhaps.”
Potter brightened. Draco smiled, fixing the sweater on him to keep him warm. He felt like his mother, worrying over Potter’s wellbeing. “Are you fine to go back on your own?”
Potter nodded, “Thank you.”
Draco could hear his mother’s call again, patting Potter’s head before bidding him goodbye. He gave a glance back to see Potter’s anticipating smile, waving goodbye as he kept the sweater close.
Draco smiled. Perhaps it wasn’t all that bad to see Potter.