Chapter 8
For the past two weeks, Draco’s struggled through a mess of books and dust. A combination he really wasn’t all that fond of, considering how numerous coughing fits led to him sitting in the corner like a child in a self-imposed timeout while Luna and Theodore busied themselves with ignoring the contents of the books and rifling through all the shelves. He wasn’t opposed to helping them, but if he had to brush his finger against the dust again, he was going to run out of handkerchiefs.
It was unbearably boring, for being in somewhere that they weren’t allowed to be. Their interest in the riddle led them to the restricted section of the library. Something they really should’ve had more trouble getting into if not for the way Blaise simply picked the lock to allow their access into it, opening the doors to it with a mock salute to his friends.
Which, worryingly, had Draco questioning the means that Hogwarts protected their students from the Dark Arts they so bemoaned to be so abhorrent that they would place such things in a restricted section. Who would place such a simple lock on something that dangerous? Did they really assume that no one would resort to muggle means or had they overestimated how much of a stickler for rules every student would be? They didn’t even place any alarm to the lock being picked so quickly.
Though to their credit, Blaise only shrugged with a short whistle through it, shamelessly saying that every lock is possible to pick your way through. Draco didn’t quite doubt it, but regardless, it wasn’t as spectacular to experience rifling through old books with no end in sight to speak of. He was sick of it. He didn’t even pay any attention to the buzz of gossip through his year about Potter being the youngest seeker and receiving his own broom (he’s seen it once and he didn’t care). He’d become apathetic—tired. He could feel his eye twitch uncomfortably just eating his breakfast for the last few days.
He was sick of it, but he didn’t attempt to dampen Luna’s enthusiasm. Theodore still seemed enthusiastic, but Draco could tell it was starting to weigh on him. He didn’t hate it; he loved it. But Theodore’s enthusiasm was turning quiet in a sense that he was thinking through it more than he should. Draco grimaced when he remembered the way Theodore had even calculated the measurement of the shelves and the average size of ever book to make sure he held the efficiency in knowing which spots of the shelves would be able to fit what they were presumably looking for.
Draco yawned, flipping through a book about Dark Arts through the ages. Though the contents weren’t particularly “dark”, as it was mostly a history book more than anything. But it was harsh, not written in embellishments nor victory. Just a somber tale of the history of how magic soiled itself into the crust of black through the trudging depths of blood. Akin to an aged tapestry dampened by the beating of skulls, it dried its life into the ink of the pages, dark as the way it blended into the stitch of death should be.
He wasn’t particularly inclined to this. He wasn’t a bloody maniac like his aunt. But he could appreciate the start of what they all saw to be the mundane. It was always interesting to compare the way time remembered itself through different eyes. Witch trials, prophecies, rituals, burials, prayers. All beliefs of old turned obsolete to the lingering resentment of men turning their backs to the belief of magic as the line of their versions of the mundane become a crossed off trench of wars breaking their own sides.
It was all interesting. Even though he found himself drifting off enough that he would wake up in between short naps to his head leaning against Blaise’s shoulder, getting a pat to his shoulder with a quiet murmur from Luna to keep sleeping. The books in the restricted section were worth their place there, that was to be sure. It was undeniably exciting to read through all of them. He couldn’t take any of them outside, for obvious reasons. The wards placed around the forbidden section may not have thought of someone barging in the way they did, but it did think of the fact that someone could take a book out of it.
Blaise had become engrossed in his own readings, becoming more contemplative than when they’d first started. It was a version of Blaise that Draco was more familiar with. Blaise had become reserved in their later years—more cunning, more secretive. It put a rift between them; Draco’s distress clashed with Blaise’s guard.
They were both too entrenched within their own miseries to contemplate the other’s. It was only after the war that he’d seen Blaise hold his mother, crying, bawling into the dark of her hair despite how she was kneeled, lifelessly, blood staining her clothes as she weakly cooed up to him, holding him as close as he did her. Blaise’s mother had been in the grey of the war, avoiding all calls for her to choose her side. It was seen as weakness to the Dark, seen as cowardice to the Light, but to her, it gave the light away from her son. It allowed her the brunt, whereas Blaise worried endlessly to every side pressuring them through the weight of the war.
He did not hear of what happened. All that Blaise had fled Britain to Italy to allow his mother proper care. The magical world was too much in a state of disarray to care for every patient.
Draco sighed, placing another book onto the neat pile he’d put aside, taking from another pile to read while Blaise whittled away at a quill beside him, carving knife borrowed from Draco’s side of the room. He blew at the carving, patting away the dust with his thumb while he hummed something too inaudible for Draco’s ears.
They jumped side by side, Blaise nearly cutting into his thumb when Luna cheered, raising the box they’d found through one of the wood panels on the floor. She grinned, her voice not even much of a yell. But the quiet they’d settled into was one easily interfered. Draco sighed, helpless as Theodore showed him yet another riddle in the box.
"Within the walls of ancient stone, A place of courage and might unknown. Seek the heart of Gryffindor's pride, Where bravery resides, forever tied." Draco read over it, raising his eyes to his eager friends. He sighed, practically gritting his teeth at the obvious answer to the riddle. “No.”
“Draco—” Luna started.
“No. We’re not going inside the Gryffindor Tower.” Draco said with a sense of finality. He stood up, brushing off some dust from his slacks, wiping it off his hands as well before tucking the riddle in his pocket.
“We’ve spent quite a while on this. It’s just a bit of enjoyment.” Luna persuaded, “We can get the prize and leave fast.”
Draco pinched at the bridge of his nose, picking up the books he’d finished. With another sigh, he smiled. He could see Theodore perk up. “No.”
And that, is how Draco finds himself sneakily hiding behind a painting in a small passage with Theodore, Luna and Blaise in tow in the Gryffindor Tower. How they ever managed to convince him into this was beyond him. He was older than them, but it seemed that their joint efforts paid off enough to have Draco there.
They bid their time, awaiting the last rounds of the Gryffindor prefect outside. A Weasley, presumably, if the red hair was any indication of it.
He gave the others a light hearted warning to lay in wait, sighing. He’s sighed more than he’d ever had in his lifetime just from the past month of spending time with them. It made him feel old and young at the same time, strangely enough. The things they’re able to convince him into, and the weight of having to care for them. Well, Draco could feel the disparaging difference of age between them, regardless of how it was still less than a decade, he felt it. Like leashing toddlers.
He smiled to himself at that thought, crouched down in their hiding place as Luna leaned her head on his shoulder, tying a piece of ginger to his wrist that he helplessly allowed, not even questioning it. She’d even braided some strings to hold it together. Blaise and Theodore were muttering to each other, doing some sort of finger game as Blaise won.
They made him feel like a child. And perhaps that roused him to accepting their insistence. Their want for something so… meaningless to Draco made him think of how everything was so much more simpler. How even a minor event in their lives was suddenly the center of their worries, how their small victories were sweeter than even emerging alive through a war. Perhaps Draco needed it. Perhaps this was what Narcissa had described to be a life that wouldn’t be regretted.
He still lied in fear, he still remained in worry. But feeling Luna’s delighted breath on his shoulder, Blaise’s triumphant whisper of his victory—perhaps moments like these were things that Draco would agree to his mother with. If he were to wake in his cell once again, if he were to blanch into his own tongue again—he would hope this would remain itself in the past that was to come to make him.
He still feared it. No one could live through Azkaban. Even his aunt Bella was vulnerable to the limits of the human mind in that wretched place. She would throw things at him, scream like a woman deranged when he would find her in one of those moments. And in the worst of it, she would hold him. Hold him like he was an illusion. Hold him like he wasn’t even there, just air that she desperately held onto in delusion. Draco would often forget to breathe. Because he felt the dryness of her eyes, the shake of her nails.
She was dead, but it was ironic. Her own nephew was wrung through the same hell she left him on. In that thought, his fingers tapped along Luna’s whispers, braiding more of the strings tied around his wrist. Perhaps the Black blood he’d inherited from his mother wasn’t too far off. Curses can be muted, but hasn’t there been a saying of blood being thicker than water?
He shut his eyes, breathing to stave off his thoughts. He counted the books he’d taken from the restricted section. Somehow through the time he was reading, Blaise had been carving runes he’d found into his quill. He’d smugly thrown the books that Draco had been planning to read right out of the door without any consequence, even laughing at Draco’s gobsmacked face as he did the same to the other books he’d gathered in his own pile. He had to leave behind a few quills, but Blaise hardly seemed to care, only carefully placing them in a corner that wouldn’t easily be found.
Draco knew that Blaise was talented with runes. He was quite nearly apathetic to their more boring studies, but when it came down to it... well, Blaise was still frankly apathetic unless it tickled his interest. He did manage to ace his O.W.Ls in Potions and Ancient Runes after all, though Draco often had to show Blaise how to make the potion first at least once (visual learning, he would say). Which really shouldn’t have looked as easy as it should have when he’d done it. But digressed, Draco was still surprised that Blaise managed to crack through the wards to smuggle the book.
But now, as he straightened in attention hearing the Weasley prefect’s footsteps come up the steps, Draco was immensely regretting ever speaking to Blaise. Or Theodore. Or Luna. How they ever managed to convince him to follow them was beyond him.
The Gryffindor Tower. Or more specifically, one of the rooms in Gryffindor Tower. Or to be even more specific, Draco’s bloody nightmare. It wasn’t the first time for students in different houses to enter the others’ dormitories. Not that most were ever to privy of handing out their passwords; damn house pride. It wasn’t rare, but not common all the same. Though Hogwarts never placed any wards to keep that separation, there were wards to make sure that girls and boys were separated in the dorms. They had Luna to pass through that trouble in the case that the riddle’s answer was in the girls’ dorms, but Draco still abhorred the notion of sneaking in to the Gryffindor dormitory. Not only would they be reprimanded (as if breaking into the forbidden section wasn’t reason enough for it), the chances of being caught wasn’t very appealing.
With no one around in the late hour, the prefect didn’t care for whispering the password, greeting the Fat Lady and entering with a yawn. Sharing a look between themselves with a small lumos from Blaise’s wand, they crawled out of their hiding places, ignoring the sleeping paintings. They removed the lumos, allowing the darkness of the castle to encase their way.
“Oh?” The Fat Lady said, grinning at the sight of them. She narrowed her eyes, attempting to look through the cover of the dark. “What are you Slytherins loitering around here for—? I see you’ve brought along a Ravenclaw as well.”
“It’s a nice evening, Eliza.” Draco greeted, glancing over the other paintings nonchalantly as if he had no malintent whatsoever. He lowered Luna’s head when she attempted to raise it, allowing his hand to remain there. “I don’t suppose there’s any way for you to allow us passage inside?”
The Fat Lady huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as the flutter of her dress followed her action, defensive despite Draco’s easy voice. “You could suppose for nothing, young man. There’s no getting past me, so run along now before I get all of you in trouble.”
Draco grimaced, “Well, it was worth the request.” He moved aside, allowing Blaise to take the chance while the Fat Lady was distracted to plaster on a bandage over her mouth. Now usually, that wouldn’t be enough, and Draco still wasn’t fond of the uncouth method they’d narrowed themselves to, it did its job. The Fat Lady was now struggling with her face flushed, robes flapping around in her painting as she glared down at their shadowed figures.
“Pig snout.” Blaise muttered, eyes narrowing at something the others couldn’t see as his fingers trailed over the edge of the painting. He smiled brightly, all teeth with a gleam of victory as he swung the painting forward with a small mutter from his wand.
The Fat Lady still couldn’t speak, couldn’t even move. She looked positively fuming, but none of them were willing to entertain her protests, hurriedly going into the painting in the short moment that Blaise was able to allow them with. They all staggered down to the floor, panting at the rush of adrenaline. Blaise grinned widely, slapping at Draco’s back as Thedoore and Lune shared a smile.
“Did you see that? No way, it worked! I told you it would!” Blaise shook Draco in his excitement. The blond huffed, rolling his eyes but doing nothing to dampen the boy’s pride in his work. Blaise is definitely a natural at runes, but Draco had to contribute towards it as well. It would be too difficult for a boy his age to actually bypass the entrance, but Draco’s seen some of Blaise’s work in his time. It only took a bit of pushing and correction, but it was enough for them to get through.
There wasn’t any particular protection on the painting entrance, but the Fat Lady was nothing if not protective of her Gryffindors. The only thing to take note of was the movement of magic when the password was uttered. And for Blaise, he could read it through the engravements of the panting. It only took a simple opening spell to force it open through the Fat Lady’s fluster. Of course, the bandage was imbued with a sticking charm from Draco, so at least for the time being, she wouldn’t be able to scream bloody murder against them.
They quieted down, allowing their blood to cool. Draco stood up, helping Blaise up. They looked around, momentarily curious since they’ve never been inside the Gryffindor common room before. Compared to Draco’s lukewarm reaction the new environment, Blaise was much more interested in seeing the difference between the common rooms. He walked around, interested in the feeling of the couches. “How come their couches are more comfortable than ours?”
Draco could already see Blaise’s interest being piqued by something else in the room, and he took to dragging the boy away to keep him from going off what they needed to do. “We’re going to run out of time. Start looking.”
Luna took out a small jar from her pocket, uncapping it and tickling a little mushroom safely tucked away inside it. A gentle, blue glow emanated from the jar, giving enough light for them to see in the dark but not enough for other people to be immediately aware of it like they would be with a lumos. She plopped the jar down to Draco’s hands, taking out another from her pocket and repeating the action to activate the light.
“I can look through the girls’ dormitory.” She said, squinting her eyes to make sure the ginger she placed on Draco’s wrist was still there. She patted it, “Make sure to keep it. You’ve still got too many of those little critters running around you, Draco. Best to be safe so they don’t eat you up.”
Draco hummed, surprisingly more used to Luna’s insistence. He didn’t say his agreement but he slipped the strings closer to him to avoid losing it. “When did you get these?” He motioned to the mushrooms.
“We found them near the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest.” Theodore said, avoiding Draco’s disapproving glance. “We stayed safe. We avoided going too close.”
“Alright.” Draco’s words held no weight, both knowing they’d speak of it another time. They split up and Luna left for the girls’ dormitory whereas Blaise shuffled in the common room. Theodore and Draco made their way through the boys’ dormitory, going through the hall first and checking any unlocked doors. Recklessly enough, some students didn’t lock their doors, irking Draco but being a blessing nonetheless.
The rooms were messier, expectedly enough from some first-year, Gryffindor boys. Draco grimaced, avoiding picking up anything that obviously fell and was ignored, forgotten to be cleaned. Theodore looked through the floor and under the bed while Draco focused on any cabinets and drawers. They were both quiet, clearly skilled with sneaking around. Theodore was always naturally silent even casually, his steps hardly made a sound half the time and it scared Draco to no end when they were older, since Theodore would stare at him when he woke up, the sound of his breathing hardly even audible and scaring Draco to falling off his bed a few times.
They didn’t find anything, and they were running out of time. They sneaked into the last one in the hall. If push came to shove and they didn’t find anything, well, perhaps Draco could find some way to discourage them from continuing on altogether. He’d become rather attached to it as well by this point but he didn’t want them to look for something so aimlessly and end up in trouble for it.
And as luck would have it, they chanced upon the unlocked door of the last person Draco wanted to see. Potter slept peacefully in his bed, only shifting and moving sporadically. Weasley was snoring and their two other roommates were silent thus far, both looked tired and with no risk of waking. Draco trudged up to search the same way as before, and Theodore followed without any questions. The room was a mess, but not enough for them to feel troubled of looking through it.
Draco sighed, finding nothing. He stepped back, intending to tell Theodore that they should just go back and get Blaise and Luna and get out of there. Issue with Theodore’s ability to sneak was how quiet he was. And since luck hadn’t been smiling upon him ever since they’d stepped into the dormitory, Draco stumbled over Theodore as he was crouched down, smashing onto a small pile of Potions books on the floor.
The sound should’ve been enough, but the two boys’ grunts of pain only added to it, laying on the floor and both fearing for themselves. Draco recovered first, standing up and outstretching his hand to help Theodore up. He breathed, eyes distracted to look over Weasley’s bed and—
“Draco?” Draco froze, the light of the moon bleeding into the room allowed him to adjust his sight, the mushroom jar in his hand feeling much less brighter than it was earlier. He swallowed his saliva, meeting bleary green eyes. “Draco!” In a flash, Draco caught Potter in his arms, holding the slight boy’s weight as he hung off him like a koala.
A yawn fell from him, eyes slightly teary as he stood off his bed, smiling at Draco. “What’s that?” Potter awed, taking the jar from Draco as if it was a common occurrence. “Did you get it for me? It looks so cool…”
Draco felt slack-jawed, watching Potter look at him as if they were back in the forest again, as if Draco had shown him something magical once again. He held the jar with the mushroom as if it was precious, holding it close to his heavy eyes as he attempted to open them more to see every detail in the mushroom. He held it close to his chest, looking up at Draco. “I wish you gave me things like this.” He yawned, “Sometimes, I feel like it was all just a dream.”
“Maybe.” Draco said, sighing in relief that Potter didn’t seem conscious enough to realize he was actually there. “Why don’t you try sleeping and find out if it is?”
Potter yawned, clearly tired but still smiling. “I don’t want to wake up yet.” he takes Draco’s hand, taking it to his cheek and pressing himself against it. Theodore looked at Draco in confusion, standing up. Draco placed his hand out, flicking his wrist, he motioned to himself, giving a small thumbs up to tell Theodore he’d be alright. Theodore nodded, walking out of the room.
“Why?” Draco deliberately slowed his tone, removing any hostility or surprise from his voice.
“I don’t want to.” Potter looked down at his feet, thumb circling over the glass of the jar. The boy had an air that was more mature than his appearance, the forlorn tremble of his fingers mismatched. “You’re not real.”
Draco cocked his head, “Why?”
Potter laughed, shifting in place as if he was about to fall over. “Malfoy doesn’t ask me questions. And he doesn’t look at me.” He took Draco’s hand, almost preening at the warmth. “Malfoy is a prick. But he never talks to me.”
Draco remained silent for a moment, staring at the way Potter held his hand like it was the only thing keeping him warm. “You talk as if I’m not Malfoy.”
“I don’t know.” Potter said, “Maybe I was always alone.”
Draco looked down, rethinking the thought of taking back the jar. Luna wouldn’t mind it if he didn’t take it back, would she? “You found friends. I told you, you would.”
Potter smiled, eyes closing as he stumbled. “I found you.” he held the jar closer, “I found you.” he repeated. He dozed off, all his weight placed against Draco. Feeling his even breaths, Draco let out a sigh of relief, taking Potter back to his bed, glancing at the snores of the boy’s roommates.
His brows furrowed, weighing Potter. He seemed to gain a bit of weight since the last time he’d seen him, but with his pajamas, Draco could closely tell how little it mattered. He was even lighter than Luna, and Luna was already a light girl for her age. The food in Hogwarts was generous. Why hasn’t Potter gained more weight?
He frowned, taking a silent moment to hold Potter in his arms as he started to stir in a sense of distress. He clung to Draco’s sweater, almost as if he’d been pushed back in a vat that held him drowned, cold sweat starting to drip at his neck. Draco allowed his form to cling. The way Potter’s hands clinging at his clothes was starting to ache at his neck, butt he ignored it. He couldn’t be haphazard with him, he couldn’t snub him, he couldn’t ignore him—because Potter looked so pained. So bloody pathetic it made Draco’s gums ache.
He thought to how Potter’s grown fingers had looked, clutching at his clothes as he looked at Draco after his trial. The way he looked pained was almost the same. And it disgusted Draco. He wanted to scream, to throw the lock to that memory away, to stop seeing it intertwine with the image of Potter in his arms.
Draco placed Potter down on his bed, carefully prying off his fingers from his sweater. He stared at Potter, noting it all. He’s memorized Potter in his head too many times to count. His eyes have been drawn in a crowd, as if it were a lure, enrapturing him to seek it. His eyes had become accustomed to looking for green eyes, for tanned skin, for the scowling look of his lips when he would meet his gaze.
He hated to see those same features warped into the one filled with so much pain. Potter was drowning. Alone.
And Draco didn’t want to be there to see it.
Theodore’s head popped out from the door, tilting his head with a look to Draco. He raised his hand sideways, moving the other against it in a swishing motion. After a moment of Draco looking between Potter and Theodore, the latter frowned, moving his hands too fast for Draco to catch. Draco grimaced, standing with a questioning tilt to his head.
Theodore raised his finger, moving his other palm outwards and tilted his head to the hallway with his brows furrowed. Draco nodded, taking the jar from Potter’s hands with some difficulty. Theodore already left, expectant of Draco to follow him. Draco stood for a moment, sighing with the remaining warmth of Potter’s hands over the jar melding with the warmth of his own. He untied the strings keeping together the ginger around his wrist, leaving it on Potter’s wrist.
He ran out as quietly as he could, leaving Potter the same as he always had. Theodore beckoned him, taking his wrist with a moment of confusion before dragging him over to the common room. Blaise stood with Luna behind him, grimacing as he tried to smile at the two teens looming over him with their arms crossed.
They noticed the other two Slytherins almost immediately. Or at least, one of them did, poking at his twin’s side to call for his attention. They both gave a simultaneous raise of their brows, and Draco wanted to lurch his lung out of his throat seeing them. “Well, well,” One of the twins started, “What do we have here?” and the other finished.
“Three Slytherins and a Ravenclaw.” One of the twins said, his voice comically observant in a tone you’d only hear in a detective drama of some kind. The red of his hair was more mussed than his brother’s, his voice just a slight bit more interested.
“Dear brother, what’re we gonna do with these troublemakers?”
“I don’t know, Feorge, how did they ever even get in here?”
One of them circled their new arrivals, clearly just newly-awakened but truly entertained by the prospect of their presence. “You’ve gotta have to hand it to them, though. Long way to get around Percy, that hardarse.”
“Mind yourself, Gred, don’t go cussing in front of the little troublemakers.” George(?) said.
Draco frowned, already thinking of any excuses he’d be able to make if these two sent them to their House Heads. He glanced to Luna, knowing it was a much more difficult situation with her. He wouldn’t be able to intervene on Professor Flitwick’s decisions, and, though he didn’t particularly doubt his father’s ability to get him out of trouble (the other two could be added to that leeway), he still doubted his father would be very keen on the thought of helping Luna.
Luna met his eyes, still as carefree as ever. He could see a contemplating glint in her eye, but it immediately fell when she looked at his wrist. She frowned, walking over from behind Blaise, no longer hiding away the box in her hand. She flipped Draco’s wrists, not finding the ginger she’d given him. A flash of genuine hurt flitted through her eyes, her shoulders slumping as she looked to Draco for an answer, patient yet unable to hide the way she was disappointed.
The Weasley twins raised a brow at the exchange, whispering to one another. Draco sighed, ignoring them as he grimaced, looking at his feet. Somehow, he felt guilty. And sick. So bloody sick. He couldn’t look at the two red-heads. “I gave it to someone.”
Luna raised her head, squinting as if she was looking for something. She smiled sadly, helplessly shaking her head. “Okay.”
Draco’s lips tugged gently to a slight smile, nodding. The twins paused, looking at Luna speculatively, their eyes narrowing. “Let’s see here, Gred.”
“We could be sensible here, Feorge.”
They both smiled mischievously, leaning against the couch as the fireplace flickered behind them, almost as if they were two devils cooking up a deal for a soul. “If you tell us how you all got in here,” Fred(?) started, “—we won’t grass on you.”
They all remained silent, slightly off-put by the twins’ attitude. Though, Theodore didn’t seem to care as much, “We slapped a plaster over the Fat Lady’s mouth.”
The twins looked at each other, then burst out laughing, much to Theodore’s chagrin. The boy scowled, assuming the worst as Draco pat him on his neck to put those thoughts away. The twins died down on their laughter, leaning against each other for support as if they’d heard the laugh of their lives. They sighed wistfully, smiling at Luna. “How’d you get that, then?”
“None of your business.” Draco interrupted, his tone rude. He winced at his own tone, evidently not as familiar with it. The twins didn’t seem to mind, however, even grinning wider. They both straightened themselves, walking over to the hole leading to the portrait.
“Right. So, you’ll allow us to pull you all out of this, then?” Fred(?) leads them out, George(?) standing with him. Luna walked over, stopping when Draco pulled on her robe. The twins raised a brow at their wariness, rolling their eyes good-naturedly.
“Come on then, gotta get a move on! You all can’t be right here forever. We’ll make sure that the Fat Lady don’t do nothing about you.” Fred(?) said.
Luna was the first to follow the twins, hopping out of the painting hall to the hall outside. Fred(?) winked at them, following Luna out as George(?) beckoned them to do the same. Blaise was the last to follow, his lips jutting down to a frown.
Fred(?) raised a brow at the painting holding the Fat Lady, bursting out into laughter at the sight of the said plaster. “Oh, oh, bloody hell, George, they actually did it!” he laughed, leaning against his brother’s shoulder for support as his laughter shook his shoulders. He pointed at the plaster covering the mouth of the fuming Fat Lady, glaring at them. “Ah, seriously, how’d you manage that?”
Blaise narrowed his eyes, looking away. Theodore remained silent in tow, glancing at the ground. They all expected to get into trouble by this point. They’d already gotten caught, it would be difficult think otherwise. Though Theodore could tell the twins weren’t lying when they said they wouldn’t tell on them, decisions are often changed. And that was a rather damning thing to do to the one guarding their common room.
But contrarily, the twins only sighed wistfully, accepting their silence. They took off the plaster from the Fat Lady’s mouth, smilingly greeting her. “You two again?! Did you put some first years up to this?”
“Oh, c’mon, let them go, Eliza.”
The Fat Lady fumed, crossing her arms over her chest. She sneered, walking away from her painting to another. The twins turned to the four first-years, grinning as they placed their arm over the other’s shoulder. “Anticlimactic, innit? Should’ve gotten a sharpie to her.” Fred(?) laughed, “Right, that’ll be all. Let’s get you kiddos back to your common rooms. The Fat Lady ain’t no grass so long as we ask nice-like, yeah?”
Draco looked over to the Fat Lady’s unhappy disposition, but he didn’t plan to give any questions. She kept quiet, after all. He didn’t plan on testing his luck when they’d just gotten something out of it.
And perhaps it was wishful thinking to concede to the thought that they’d gotten out of it. Once again, yet another riddle came to them when they huddled together in their corner of the library. Draco was more than done with it, but Theodore almost pleaded to find it, and it really was truly difficult to go against all three of them. And once again, despite Draco insisting in his mind that he was the supposed responsible one in this situation, he led them during dinner, sneaking into their last clue—the last one! Draco refused to go on any further than they already have.
After making sure they’d personally seen Snape leave his classroom after the last dreg of students, Draco had Blaise go with Theodore to make sure they wouldn’t be caught. Luna followed him inside the classroom, breathing in the lingering scent of potions brewed in the last class. Draco ran a hand through his hair, sighing. He grimaced at the sight of some workspaces still slightly off-place. His godfather no doubt chided whoever had done that, but left it as it was for whichever poor soul was to come next in his class.
Luna pulled him towards the front of the classroom, breath hurried after they’d been rifling through all the cabinets. She crouched by him, holding his hand while she struggled to open door hidden behind the large blackboard. Draco noticed the little skewed metal in her hand that she kept jabbing into the door lock. Her brows were knit together, the metal clanking together.
He took over, being much more adept. The door opened along with the one to the classroom, and they huddled together inside the small space. Draco subconsciously kept her behind him, keeping the lockpicking metal in his robe pocket. Their hearts seemed to match, despite Luna’s neverendingly calm expression. She squeezed his hand, almost reminiscent of how his mother would assure him, her thumb pushing at the skin on his hand, her breath purposely slowed to give him comfort.
“You’ve got a whole swarm, Draco.” Luna whispered, her brows now more concerned. “It’ll be okay.”
Draco breathed, shaking his head. “I’m fine.” he whispered, pushing away her concern. He remained calm, hearing out for the steps now becoming closer.
The door nearly slammed open, his godfather’s shoes shining before him as the older man raised a brow at the two students in his potions cabinet. He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms as he waited for them to get up and explain themselves. “Well?” his voice drawled, the scent of the potions in the classroom being much more obvious on him.
“We were… looking for something.” Draco started.
“In here.” Snape didn’t buy it at all, his caustic tone nearly sarcastic. He sighed deeply, massaging the bridge of his nose. He moved aside, walking to the middle of the classroom. The two took the message, walking over to Snape to answer for their actions as Luna stood behind Draco.
“I was willing to overlook your skulking in the night once. Mister Malfoy.” Snape sighed, “Heaven only knows what brings you and Zabini to stalk around the Hogwarts halls like ghosts.”
“Oh.” Draco breathed, dumbly.
“What do you expect me to say of this to your father?” Snape said brusquely, eyes landing on Luna. Luna seemed to cower, hiding herself in her robes.
“…I would expect whatever consequence to be placed on me. I doubt my father is required to be called for this misdemeanor.”
Snape still looked languid, holding the fate to their actions in his hand. “Yes. That is right.” the older man sighed, shaking his head. “You can go, Miss Lovegood. Your friends are waiting for you outside. Do place less attempts on breaking into my cabinets again. Preferably being, no attempts at all in the first place.”
Snape didn’t say anything until Luna reluctantly left, giving a last glance to Draco. Snape placed his attention on the small blond, scrutinizing him. He glowered, looming over Draco’s height. Honestly, Draco’s once thought his godfather was a vampire. “Well, Malfoy?”
“We were really looking for something.” Draco kicked at his feet.
“You’re acting out.”
Draco stepped back incredulously, almost offended. “What?”
Snape tapped his foot, looking exasperated as he sighed, taking his chin in hand. “God… this is why I tell Cissy not to put a bloody child in my hands.” Snape groaned, “Is this… what you kids call to be your rebellious stage now?”
“What—! I—I’m not even!” Draco gaped. He was not a—a bloody child! And for the record, he has never found himself within any kind of ‘rebellious stage’, he was a perfectly well-behaved child! “I’m not a child!”
Snape looked unimpressed, brow raised as he squared his shoulders. “You’re eleven.”
“I’m, I’m not old enough to have a rebellious stage, then!” Draco’s bloody voice. The one he’s been complimented on to be rather rich and smooth in his lifetime, found that to be the perfect time to crack into a higher octave. He looked down, blinking rapidly as he tried to make sense of how he sounded.
“...Right.” His godfather’s voice didn’t drawl, quick to the point. He turned his head, coughing into a closed fist. He ran a hand through his hair, the potion-fume slicken hair falling in between his eyes. “You certainly don’t seem to have… that rebellion, as of yet. So, whatever could be the reason for you to skulk about the halls with your little friends?”
Draco took in the awkward moment, feeling more like a child than he’s ever had in the past year he’d been here. “Is it mandatory that I tell you?”
Snape looked at Draco curiously, never having seen this kind of attitude from his young godson. Not that he’d ever thought it over, but he’d expected less… amicability. He’d honestly expected to get the brat out of trouble multiple times by now. He breathed, “No.” he shifted, “But I would find it… amiable, if you were to tell me.”
It was obvious that Snape struggled to soften his voice, coming out more brusquely than caring. He even scowled, predictability able to give a child a feeling that they’d really screwed up. But to Draco, he’d seen his godfather struggle through showing affection, care or even worry until the day he had to console himself and see it set in stone that his godfather would never be there to even meet his gaze no longer.
To Draco, it was familiar. And perhaps it was why his parents had become as close as they had become with Snape to have decided to agree with his younger, more whimsy demands of taking Snape as a godfather on those few times he’d visit the manor for tea with his mother. It was a blurry, almost pixelated memory when he was six, still upset with tantrums over tantrums demanding to see his aunt when his godfather had looked at him in impassivity, allowing him to cry until he’d embarrassedly sat in place and demanded Snape’s attention.
The face of that young Snape was hardly comparable to what Draco could last remember of him, but it cemented in his mind that his godfather was someone he chose. The look of complete bewilderment, the confusion, and the utter struggle of knowing how he was supposed to hold a toddler could almost have been hilarious if not for how serious he was.
He kept returning, always accepting Draco’s whims. And that. That was familiar. The unending capability for an emotion that they all deemed to be a vulnerability. One only shared with… someone they’d place a pact on their lives for.
Draco breathed, “We were… looking for a riddle.”
Snape tilted his head slightly, urging Draco to go on. “The wall opened and… we found a box. We’ve been trying to find where all the riddles we got from it lead to. The last one led to your potions classroom.”
Snape breathed, pursing his lips. He groaned, audibly enough to surprise Draco. “Oh. God. So it was you four.” He muttered to himself, exasperated. “What is it all for? Is it dangerous in any way?”
Draco glanced to his side, folding his hands together. “No…” Aside from that first room nearly crushing them and the fact that they stepped into the restricted section without permission, they were perfectly safe, actually.
Snape sighed, sounding even more tired. “Right. If I hear about this again…” Snape glowered. “I’m not particularly inclined to attending another impromptu teacher’s meeting that coincidentally connects with your activities, Malfoy. Do take some caution.”
Snape’s shoulders slumped, muttering something to himself that Draco couldn’t catch. He looked resigned as he looked at Draco, but the blond could tell that his godfather wasn’t actually looking at him, only seeing something through him. “Scurry off. If I find you or any of your friends back in here, it’s detention for weeks.”
Draco nodded, taking a moment. “Thank you, professor.” He ran off, not hoping for any further punishment than the sporadic, awkward silences between them.