Chapter 9
By the start of October, it was getting colder. And by the end of it, the cold didn’t let up at all. A myriad of differing decors adorned the halls of Hogwarts in the time of the year incoming, a buzz of students’ through every year coming together in the halls after ever class to discuss their plans or their invigorated excitement of the upcoming festivities. First year muggles who felt themselves being far from home come together to share their home-sicknesses, the thought for inter-house rivalry mattering little when it came to their desires to feel their shared experience of having the mutual excitement around this time. They would even be able to attract the interest of the students who’ve lived in the Wizarding World all their lives, allowing a cycle that traversed through every year, coming together under the decorations adorning the halls.
Draco never paid mind to it. And call it a trademark of his smug grumpiness, but he deemed it all to be unnecessary. He never celebrated the same holidays thrown all around the castle in the times of the year when they would come. Even his housemates would often be excited at the prospect of celebrating their holidays in the castle with their friends instead of their family for once, the shared excitement only enabling them more.
They all had their traditions, of course. Even if they were all similar in some way they would celebrate, the long lineage of their families or the effect of their similar environments all allowed them to develop their own small way of celebrating their ancestor’s magic in the time of year. In the past, Pansy would even insist on Draco’s participation, handing him a knife that he was terrified of holding near her volatile self despite the child-like wonder in her eyes, giddy and teasing of his abysmal skill in cutting into a pumpkin. Pumpkins were always too soft once he’d gutted them, his short-fuse quickly breaking through them rather than carving properly. It ended up with him being banned from carving out the little faces, left to gut the pumpkin every year for Pansy. Of course, until the hushed loom of the war completely eradicated any wish for festivity came to pass.
Blaise would participate as well, but he was the type to float in between traditions, never one for consistency and mostly there to entertain them. His mother’s lovers’ traditions were often implemented. Which, honestly, was changing every year because she changed them faster than Draco could even take note of. Blaise didn’t hold a specific belief to add to their little celebrations, but he had enough of experience with changing step-fathers to easily be open-minded to trying.
And… Theodore would only watch. He never participated in the differing traditions that Blaise would bring to the table every year, but he never opposed to gutting the pumpkins with Draco either. Draco only ever saw him take out a small cross during the eve of Hallowe’en once Blaise was passed out from eating during the dinner, and Draco was writing his letters to his mother for the end of the month. It was an odd sight, because Theodore was hardly religious, but one Draco silently respected enough never to speak of or bring up. Even if he hated it when Theodore would place down food that he saved from the banquet outside their door and never allowing Draco to lock it, at least just for that night.
The holidays were always muted for Draco compared to his schoolmates. His family stopped celebrating major holidays that others would consider important by the time they joined with the Dark Lord—so well before he was even born. It’s never brought up in his home, only an addition of another present around the time Christmas would come because a young Draco felt especially left out knowing all his friends would celebrate it. But to his family, it was just any other day. Draco was the only youth in his generation among his family, so they only adapted to whatever he wanted around the time of year. It only stopped again once the war was impeding.
He found the holidays dull, even after growing up. He ate his breakfast quietly with an occasional response to Blaise as Niklaus landed on his head. He froze for a moment, sighing when he realized it was just the owl, his breath shortening in a moment and taking long enough to respond that Niklaus floated down to him himself. Draco held out his arm, allowing Niklaus to float down to the crook of his elbow, proudly showing his feathers as he handed Draco his letters. Niklaus flapped up to Draco’s shoulder, looking over the letters as if he could actually read. Draco softly cooed at the owl, praising him as he opened the first letter.
It was a letter from his mother apologizing for not being able to owl him sooner. A smile tugged at his lips as he read, feeding Niklaus some treats to reward the owl’s work. His mother’s birthday was near the end of month in September, so he couldn’t celebrate it with her. He already finished writing to her beforehand, mourning that he couldn’t spend time with her, but wishing the best. He’d been off-put when he was left without a letter in return, as his mother would often reply quickly, but the others had truly stressed him enough to put his mind off of his worries. His mother allowed herself a trip with his father, travelling and taking a break from work to celebrate Narcissa’s birthday.
Draco’s thumb brushed over the strokes of his mother’s handwriting, smiling at the way his mother had described their trip. In the past, Lucius was often focused on work and Narcissa’s mood would often plummet from attending to the upkeep of their name in their social circles. They were akin to a tugged thread, held together and melded together, but tugged out with their connection in a struggle. They still kept each other close, but there was a distance—a mourning silence that they didn’t preserve the time they actually had together before the core of the war entered their sacred home as a guest of honor.
Draco’s breath was heavy, accepting the box Niklaus dropped to the table in front of him. It seemed that his mother had been doing something in the Muggle world more often, bidding her well wishes and reminders for school in the letter along with some caution not to eat too much chocolate. He smiled, opening the box to see rows of Austrian chocolates. His shoulders visibly relaxed, pocketing the letter. He could understand the text slightly, but he knew he was a little rusty. He hummed, thumbing at a chocolate bon-bon in the box, not even needing to look to his side to know that Blaise was looking over his shoulder like a ghost at the sight of the chocolate. He rolled his eyes, throwing one over.
Blaise clearly could appreciate the treat more than him, replacing his breakfast with it. He bit into the bon-bon, humming over the taste as his shoulders slumped, leaning over Draco’s. “Aunt Cissa went on a trip? Wasn’t it her birthday recently?” Blaise’s voice was close, the peel of the wrapper as he took another one crushing against Draco’s ears.
“Hm.” Draco frowned, tapping his fingers on the table. He raised a brow at Blaise, ticking his tongue when Blaise mindlessly tried to read the box. “Don’t chew so loud.”
“I’m not chewing that loud.” Blaise rebutted, taking a bon-bon to pass on to Draco but the blond only frowned, moving his face away to avoid Blaise’s hand and pushing his wrist back.
“I don’t eat like eating sweets in the morning.” Draco looked back to his letters, finding a muggle photograph inside one of the envelopes. He smiled wryly, almost wanting to laugh. He flipped the polaroid photograph over, in his mother’s handwriting a note about how they were stopped in the early morning by a local in France. Lucius looked to be in complete distaste, no doubt from the prospect of being awake so early and having to subject himself to muggle photography of all things.
But Lucius didn’t look unhappy. Slightly disheveled with his hair in a low ponytail perhaps, but his hand remained on Narcissa’s waist, their backs against the railing of the bridge. His gaze was on Narcissa, nonetheless admiring despite the sight behind them, vacant of any people, just the sight of the early sunrise, the budding architecture of the city, his lashes lowered in a manner that clearly showed his grogginess. Their proximity was close, Narcissa’s head on Lucius’ shoulder, her smile nearly melancholic as she seemed to laugh at something Lucius had been saying, their figures a contrast against the brightness of the early sun.
Draco lurched, nearly toppling over his teacup when a weight draped itself over his neck. He scowled, stuffing the photograph back into its envelope, already able to identify who had their elbow in the crook of his neck, a taller ginger leaning against him like he was a lamp post. “Calm there, little snake—don’t start hissing, yeah?” Fred (or is that George?) bemoaned, ignoring Draco’s other housemates when they shot him a dirty look.
“Want a chocolate? Draco doesn’t want it.” Blaise handed the redhead a chocolate bon-bon from the box, scooching over to allow him to sit between himself and Draco. The ginger eagerly took the chocolate, not even bother to read the name of it as he took a bite. Draco ignored them, taking a sip of his tea before cleaning up all his letters.
It was an annoyance to have the twins become more interested in their lives. Draco personally would’ve been happier to avoid and all opportunity to interact them unless he really required to, especially since the two have come to the habit of greeting him by leaning their weight onto his shorter frame like it was the most endearing thing to see him so surprised each time. Sure, the twins were tall even in the past, towering over everyone like a pair of lanky sticks. Or in a better description, like those inflatable squiggles in the muggle world.
He would’ve preferred to never interact with them. It was unsightly, even above the dirty looks the Slytherins would give the twins. Looking at them made him want to vomit, unable to avoid them even if he did his best to hide himself in the comfort of their little corner in the library, because somehow the two had wormed their little inflatable squiggle selves into the good graces of both Luna and Theodore.
Blaise was the most suspicious of them, and Draco had truly banked on his suspicions to avoid the twins, but his Malfoy Luck wasn’t always all that great—because lo’ and behold, the riddles they’d been solving was made by them. The prize at the end of it all was a dubbed prototype of some sort of charm. Theodore and Luna’s curiosities were both satieted, so they handed it over to Draco. Blaise didn’t want it, not seeing the use, but nonetheless gaining a better view of the twins when they found out who made it. It fell into the forgettable depths of Draco’s drawer, and he nearly had a heart attack right the next day when the damned Weasley twins cornered him in the middle of his mid-day nap, laughing at his mussed appearance.
To elaborate, the twins made the entire debacle as an elaborate prank during their first year in Hogwarts. It never led to anything, they even forgot about it. “An overachieving attempt”, they called it. No one ever managed to find the first riddle, and of course they were the only students with no real care for their own well-beings to sneak into the Forbidden Section and to Snape’s closet.
Draco sighed, handing George one of the bon-bon chocolates. “Right. So, where’s Fred? Aren’t you often more of a package deal?”
George paused from placing the bon-bon into his mouth, grinning as he patted Draco’s shoulder, almost as if he was pleased. “More of a buy one take one deal there, Malfoy.”
“A package deal.” Draco reiterated.
“Nuh uh.” George wagged his finger in denial, popping half of a bon-bon into his mouth. “There’s a difference. I think.” George shrugged, throwing the thought away with another bite of the chocolate. He paused, raising a brow at the layers of the chocolate bon-bon, taking the wrapper. “This is pretty good. Hey, little snake, can you read this?” George gave the wrapper to the younger boy.
Draco breathed deeply as if he was staving off his frustration, placing the wrapper on the table. “Mozart balls.” Draco’s eye twitched at George’s muffled chortle, “It’s because the chocolatier is from Salzburg. It’s where Mozart was born.” Draco pointed at the chocolate in George’s hand. “That’s Mirabell. There’s some Hofbauer rot in the box if you want it. It’s the same, they just changes the ratio of what inside the chocolate depending on which one you get.”
George munched on the chocolate bon-bon, still acting completely unaware of the stares from the Slytherin table. “Is that pistachio?” Draco raised a brow, looking at the bon-bons.
“Yes.” Draco nodded, “Why?”
“Fred’s major allergic to them.” George shrugged, popping another bon-bon in his mouth. “Major allergic to a lot of things, actually. I’m not, luckily, so I just describe it to him when I eat it so he doesn’t—you know—die. Sometimes I think he ingested all the bad things when we were in the womb together.” George laughed, the phrasing of his description becoming an untimely downer to Draco’s mood.
Draco hummed, apathetic. He finished his tea, looking over his class schedule. It was a Friday, so they had the afternoon off. “You got any siblings, little snake?”
“None.” Draco responded minutely, closing off his bag. The click of it made him ground himself, clacking it twice more before looking blankly at his letters. He pocketed them, taking his things. He swallowed mindlessly, suddenly aware of the intake of breath in his lungs.
“Seemed like it. It’s a feeling, really. You’re missing out.”
“I’m rather satisfied with… missing out on the experience.” Draco stood, no longer interested in entertaining the redhead’s whims. He passed another bon–bon to George, nodding George’s way before dragging Blaise away by his collar. “We’ve got class.”
“We do?” Blaise looked around almost shocked at the revelation, struggling to reach for another bon-bon and ignoring his bag that remained on his seat. He reached up to his collar, kicking at his seat as he begged George with his eyes to pass him the chocolate.
Draco wrenched the chocolate out of the air as soon as George threw it over, nimbly avoiding Blaise’s grubby fingers just before it was able to catch on to the chocolate. He wrestled against Blaise’s immediate protests, keeping him still as if he was dealing with a child as he popped the bon bon in his mouth. He hissed at Blaise, counting himself lucky enough that Blaise was shorter than him at this age that he hasn’t gotten his jaw locked.
Blaise had been prim and proper when they’d gotten older, but they were still teenage boys thrown together in a single room. It was inevitable for the occassional squabbles to appear (only if they pissed each other off, which wasn’t all that rare of an occurence in their third year especially), and frankly, Draco had enough of wrestling his roommate while Theodore kept score and only pissed them both off more.
“Didn’t you say you’re not into having sweets in the morning?” Blaise questioned with a raised brow, receiving George’s pitying look as he caught his bag when the older student threw it over.
“I don’t.” Draco’s voice was muffled as he bit down harshly on the bon bon. He stared a firm glare that Blaise took in stride, raising his arms in defense as he slithered his way out of Draco’s grip, giving a curt smile to George’s way before taking his bag and following Draco out of the great hall.
He didn’t question Draco’s sudden need to leave the hall, only rambling about a particular new book he’d borrowed (“--stolen, Zabini.“. ”It’s not stealing if I give it back, Dray.“) from the forbiddden section, speaking in hushed tones even throughout their little experiment in Potions Class. Merlin, could Blaise count himself lucky with the fact that Draco could concentrate even through the little interruptions. If he wasn’t so good at potion making, his godfather’s observing gaze on them that only seemed to worsen with the amount of times he’d seen them altogether would have already buried a hole through their heads with the way he looked suspiciously at them.
It was even worse than the raised suspicions he had often placed on Potter. It wouldn’t have been so bad, Draco was used to people thinking the worst of him. But Snape looked at him like he was a child sitting at the edge of a table, ready to jump down and hurt himself because he simply didn’t know better. It was unsettling, but even more so, it felt embarrassing.
He looked at the grandfather clock in the classroom, noting that they’d finish at least twenty minutes before the class was set to end. He leaned back to allow his bones the reprieve of rest, his hand stroking the connection of his arm to his shoulder. Strengthening his body was a work in progress, one that lingered a discomfort in the creak of his bones at times. But he figured it would go away as long as his body got used to it.
He looked around the classroom as Blaise leaned back beside him, resting his eyes more than simply relaxing as Snape looked over the other students’ potions. It was a bit odd not to see Theodore without them, it was almost a constant for Draco to have the unfitting urge to look beside him and make sure that Theodore hadn’t somehow died in the few seconds that he had taken to look away.
Draco had woken earlier in the morning to the sight of Thedoore hunched over his desk with papers thrown admist his space like a madman had bulldozed through them. It was a stark sight to see, since Theodore often kept his space tidy and was usually still asleep when Draco would wake up, which is earlier than most of the castle. And looking at Theodore’s blank, far-off gaze, he didn’t even have to guess it to know that the boy hadn’t slept. And despite his hand’s continuous writing, he looked haggard.
Draco hadn’t even blinked when he simply dragged Theodore out of his chair, forcing him into his bed and tucking him in before going on his routine. He was used to it, having to see Theodore in his little moments where quite literally everything else didn’t matter. It wasn’t an a nonplussed issue, but he hadn’t allowed Theodore to come to class without rest.
He sighed, waiting for the clock to strike. But it seemed to go on for a while longer than Draco could remember, groaning into his hand as he felt an onset migraine return to him. He almost jumped out of his seat if not for his calm facade when his godfather’s looming figure came near, raising a brow at their potion. He observed for a few moments, nodding without any further critcism. This time, Draco made sure to read through the Potion book assigned to them before making the potion. It seemed to have worked, even if Granger’s eyes were focused on him once again.
“Draco, do you reckon I could pitch a hole through the back of Weasley’s head if I crushed a ball of parchment tightly enough?” Blaise’s voice came out as a drawl, oddly reminiscent of the way he often spoke when they were older, even if it held a deeper accent.
Draco’s own voice came out a pubescent hum, writing a few notes into his herbology book. He raised a brow at the question. “Why?”
“Why can’t I think about it?”
The boy’s bored. Draco could understand. Sighing, he closed his book and took a glance to the parchment in Blaise’s hand. “It would hinge upon the force you use to throw it. Honestly, a galleon would suffice to use instead.”
“I understand the force. But how tightly together should I crumple a piece of parchment? Would I need to use multiple?”
Draco remained silent for a moment, actually considering it. He took a piece of parchment that they should’ve been using for their potion notes, writing out a force formula. He sketched out the logistics of a piece of parchment falling or being thrown and the distance, taking Blaise’s attention away from the thought of crime as he hummed.
“Think it could pitch through that thick skull of his, even?” Blaise asked, raising a brow at Weasley when the boy actually looked back with a scowl, obviously irritated at being stared at.
Draco paused for a moment. “Ask for something possible, Zabini—” his voice came to a hitch, feeling a sharp hit to his head. He looked up to find his godfather’s disapproving gaze, sighing almost resigned as he did a chant-less spell to take their parchment. Draco touched his head, frowning at the feeling of his hair becoming mussed at the hit.
“Points from Slytherin. Don’t gaggle about just because you’re finished with your work.” Snape sighed, turning with the swish of his robes. “Run along to your next class. Don’t dawdle.” Still, he dismissed them, clearly not wanting a headache with his godson around.
Being unceremoniously kicked out of his Potions class for planning how much it would take to bust a piece of paper into Weasley’s skull wasn’t the most proudest moment of his life. That was to be sure, but he took it in stride, walking alongside Blaise through the rather empty halls. Most of the other students were busy in their own classes, and it would take a little less than ten minutes for them to experience the bustle of the schoolgrounds.
Draco didn’t feel much about it. Even if, back then, if that were to have happened, he probably would’ve been mailing his father about how humiliating it had been. But instead, in that moment, Draco could only find a sense of serenity, watching Blaise drag along his robe as they found a small space in between the castle halls, touching upon the coated window to sit on its ledge.
Perhaps that was indicative of Draco caring a little less for his grades. Not that he cared about it all that much even before. But he didn’t care for the minute details of his school life as he did before. No longer was there any bitterness to Potter becoming a seeker so early on, no longer did he feel the need to state that Granger’s achievements were due to her being a teacher’s pet rather than her own abilities.
Draco simply experienced it as it was. Sitting on the ledge with Blaise leaning against his shoulder to ramble closely about some other irrelevant things. The wind blew with the cold air outside accompanying it. Draco shifted slightly, taking the chance to close the window while Blaise noticed something in the corridor.
A bobbing… sort of mini jungle plant trudged along the hallway, its pot replaced with something that seemed akin to a pumpkin. No, nevermind, it was a pumpkin. Not a very good pot at that, as a dribble of dirt followed the bobbing steps of the plant through the dredge of the isolated hallway. At the turn of the plant into the corner to the hallway that Draco had been finding just a moment‘s of peace within, followed the tripping rush of a swishing robe.
Draco raised a brow at the odd display, the student’s Gryffindor tie haphazardly thrown over his shoulder as his pudgy… and incredibly shaky hands attempted to take the pumpkin pot from the plant. He yelped as the pot only dribbled with more dirt from his meddling, rushing to catch up closer in an attempt to take it into his own hands. Even Blaise followed the display, jumping down from the ledge of the window to watch.
The bobbing plant paused, then hurried in a pace that had Longbottom yelping.
“Oh. Draco, Blaise.” Luna’s dreamy voice greeted them with the pause of the torrent of the wind, revealing to be the one holding the pumpkin in her arms. She stepped forward, shaking her head in turn for a wave without the use of her arms. “How are you doing? It’s fretfully cold now, isn’t it?”
She looked around, almost looking for something as Longbottom caught up to her. “Oh, Neville. There you are.”
“Lu… Luna, please, you could just… maybe, let me carry the plant… in… instead? Maybe?” Longbottom huffed, exhaustion lining his features as he glanced to the two boys. Though if anything, it only seemed to spook him even more when he met their eyes.
“Why are you using a pumpkin?” Draco asked, taking out a handkerchief to wipe away the dirt on Luna’s cheek. His eyes trailed over the dirt encasing her fingernails, scowling a little to himself.
“It enriches the soil.”
“Does it?” Draco raised a brow, doubtful.
“What is it even for?” Blaise rubbed a leaf from the plant, feeling out the leaf before stepping closer to Luna to take it from her directly. He hobbled a little, but found a solid ground as he adjusted his feet. He sighed, but seemed resigned to taking the weight of it. He was careful, enough that it seemed he hadn’t noticed Neville’s shock.
“It’s for Herbology, just a little experiment.” Luna hummed, rummaging through her robe pockets. She looked around, rocking on her feet as she found a vial. She held it up, allowing Draco a closer look. “Blaise, could you put it down?”
Seeing Blaise do so accordingly, Luna crouched down and took a stem, pointing her wand at it with a mutter of a spell as it liquified into the vial in her hand. “I stole this little thing from Snape’s drawers.” She said, an odd giggle in her voice that set Draco on edge.
Draco paused in his observation of the plant, stiffly looking up to the smiling girl swirling the weird mixture in the vial. “What?”
“Wha… WHAT!?!” Poor, poor Neville looked like he’d seen a dementor or two, his face ashen with his jaw locked at the vial. No doubt he was calculating the amount of trouble could be found in it now. “You said it was just a container!”
“Container for Snape’s potions, yes.” Luna rocked on her feet, humming as she allowed a drop on her wrist, smelling it.
Blaise only laughed next to Draco, looking up at Luna like she was pure delight. “Nice one, Luna.”
Draco sighed between them, ignoring the start of Neville’s pacing. He felt the incoming drive of a headache creep upon him, standing up and dusting off the specks of soil from his pants. “Don’t screw around with the Professor’s potions. He takes stock of those things, it’s a direct ticket to detention.”
Luna stopped her rocking at that, her eyes meeting Draco’s. She smiled, staring up above Draco’s head and downing the vial’s contents before Draco could even react. His jaw dropped, reaching out to stop her frown drinking all of it. She drank all of it, her throat bobbing.
“…”
A poof.
And there, sitting atop the vial that Draco had managed to hold was a mouse crawling on his hand. The clatter of a wand with the fall of cloth accompanied the soil of the pumpkin on the ground. Not even a single muscle on his face could comprehend the situation, frozen in the same expression as he stared at the creature on his hand.
“Yiiiiiieeee!!!” Neville panicked beside him, gathering all of Luna’s things as he paced in place, shifting from one direction to the other with no idea on where to go. He was akin to an ant with a broken scent, going around in assymetrical circles as he stammered. He nearly toppled over Blaise in his hurry, snapping the Slytherin out of his shock just in time for a different voice to interrupt.
“Oh.” In the echo of the hallway followed the trail of calm steps, stopping just in front of the shocked blond holding the mouse. “Luna, there you are.”
Theodore, in all his tired glory, sunken eyes and pallid skin, tenderly outsretched his hand to Draco’s, taking the mouse into his hand and petting it. “I was looking for you, now here you are.”
“Are you going mad? That’s a mouse.” Draco frowned, still in shock as he pocketed the vial, looking between the gathering of Luna’s things on the floor and the plant.
“It’s Luna.” Theodore shrugged, smiling just slightly. “Do you want some cheese? I heard they’re serving a lot of different kinds for the feast later.”
The mouse chittered in Theodore’s hand, which the youth seemed to take as a yes, allowing the creature to take something from his robe pocket.
The three in comparison, were still. The ensuing echo of students free from their classes for the day interrupting them. Draco could only watch as Theodore quietly bent down and hauled the plant into his skinny arms with the mouse… well, Luna, apparently, scampered onto his shoulder.
“We’ll get going first.” Theodore said, his head lowering in an instinctive polite gesture. He nodded to Neville as well, taking off as quickly as he came.
As the hall ceased from its former peace, Draco’s eye twitched. That little feeling gnawing at the back of his head from those moments where his friends had dragged him into trouble once again appearing. Though, honestly at this point he chalked it up to a migraine from the stress.
“What was that…?” Blaise’s eyes shifted back to the two, asking silently if they’d actually seen what had just transpired and it hadn’t been some sort of fever dream.
Merlin. Hallowe’en morning, and without a choice, Draco already felt tricked.