Arrival
Draco looked up at the Georgian town mansion where their last year of schooling was to be held. Since Hogwarts was still being repaired, and even when the repairs were finished it was designed to hold seven years, not eight, they had been moved to a new building. Secretly Draco was glad because the memories of Hogwarts in the past few years were anything but pleasant and he wasn't sure he could face the building knowing what he had done.
As if reminding him of that, his arm twinged where the Dark Mark sat cold - dead ink under his skin. He was grateful that it no longer twisted, writhed, and burned as it had for so long even though its presence still singled him out among his peers. No one else in his generation had been "gifted" the Mark. He had only received it as a method of controlling his mother and father, the knowledge that with a single spell Draco's future could be wiped out from anywhere in the world enough to keep them in line.
He hated that he had felt honored to be marked, not seeing at first the truth behind the ink. No, he had thanked that evil snake and vowed to serve faithfully. He still remembered the fear he felt at that moment and the weight that had gripped his stomach and settled to live there as the wand was held against his skin and coiling black tendrils snaked inside him and settled at the surface in the form that even now glared up and taunted him.
The bitterly cold wind bit into him and he pulled his cloak tighter around his body to stave off the worst of it. A giant Christmas tree sat in the plaza before the castle and he looked at it with disgust. Christmas had never been a fond time for him. Between his father's job and his mother's absence, it had always been just another day. Now that his father was in Azkaban and his mother was under house arrest, he had even less reason to look forward to the holiday. And that was why he was one of a handful who volunteered to come early to help clean this old building out and make it habitable for learning.
Ignoring the taunting gaze of the tree, he passed under its shadow and made his way past the black gate to the door. His hand was poised to knock when it opened and Professor McGonagall looked down at him from her rimmed glasses. Or rather, looked directly at him, since they were at a height and he was no longer a child. He opened his mouth to speak but she opened her arms and pulled him into an embrace.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Malfoy," she said, holding him tighter than anyone else ever had. He didn't know how to respond so he stood stiffly as she held him. "We failed you last time, but I do hope we can make it up to you. Please, please come in."
She stepped back and he saw the tears in her eyes. He had never considered that she felt anything but hatred for him so seeing the stark emotions made him pause. For the past months, as he went through trial and examinations one after the other, he'd felt so alone. When the owl had shown up inviting him back to Hogwarts he'd assumed it had been a mistake. Seeing Professor McGonagall now he suddenly felt eleven years old again.
"Thank you, Professor," he said. "I came to help. I hope I'm not late."
"Not at all," she said, composing herself and donning the stern mask he was used to seeing. "The others arrived only this morning. We're going to meet in the Dining Room this evening to eat and discuss duties."
Draco wanted to ask who else had shown up but couldn't bring himself to do so. Most people would hate him anyway, and finding out who was here now versus later would only prolong the agony. Besides, the only person he wanted to see was probably surrounded by people getting ready to have a happy holiday season. There was no way Potter was going to be cleaning up a musty old building after saving the entire world.
"I'll show you to your room now, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said and turned to stride away. "We will no longer be separating into Houses but likewise we will not be sharing rooms since there are more than enough for everyone who is returning. The dorms are in the East wing and classes will be in the West with the exception of Herbology which will be in the greenhouse out back. Staff and common areas are on the first floor. There is a map in your room should you need it, but you'll find this place much easier to navigate as the staircases are, disappointingly, very static."
She said the last with a hint of amusement and Draco found the corners of his lips tilting up in response. Speech done, they walked in silence until they came outside a room with the number seven on it and she opened it for him. His bags were in his hand and he walked in and set them on the bed. When he turned to thank her, she was already gone.
Having hours left until dinner but not wanting to risk running into any of the others, Draco unpacked his belongings. Despite the small size of his bag, the inside had been magicked to hold far more than it appeared. It had also been lightened, allowing him to carry it in one hand although most of his earthly possessions had been inside.
He made quick work of his robes, feeling strange as he cast a charm to straighten them but he was of age now and McGonagall had not mentioned magic being restricted. Next, he took out the rest of his clothing items, packing them in the drawers of the wardrobe and closing them up. The last things were his school books and supplies.
The books he set on the small bookshelf that also functioned as a nightstand. His ink and quills he set on the single desk in the room along with the rolls of parchment he had packed. His cauldron was set out of the way in the corner with an ache. Potions had always been his favorite class, both because he enjoyed the craft and because Snape had been his favorite teacher. He was well aware of the favoritism that Snape had bestowed on him, but he liked to think part of it at least was because of his skill in the subject.
Seeing the cauldron now reminded him of Snape and made him miss the Potionmaster fiercely. He hadn't learned what happened exactly, but since the Ministry hadn't condemned Snape after the battle, he assumed the man had done something at the end to redeem himself. Even if he wanted to find out, he didn't know who he could ask. The worst part was that there had been no funeral for the man who had been more of a father to Draco in many ways than Lucius had ever been.
Draco realized he had been staring for too long at the cauldron and forced himself to turn away. There was no use dwelling on things he couldn't change. He needed to move forward and forge a new name for the Malfoy family. Although what that name was, he wasn't quite certain.
----
After what felt like days, he finally saw the time turn on the clock to mark ten til six and he gathered his courage to head to dinner. He had passed the time reading books and practicing spells. When he'd seen they would be cleaning, he had ordered a book on home charms and potions and had been studying from it daily as he perfected cleaning charms and spells for all manner of objects and types of spills. His favorite was the one for cobwebs, although the dancing movements required to cast it properly would no doubt make him feel self-conscious when the time came.
On the potion's side, he'd also brought along most of the ingredients needed to create the most widely used cleaning potions but hadn't had the courage to actually brew any of them. Thankfully most were quick ones that could be done in a day, though the more specialized ones - specifically one for getting the rust out of metal - took up to a weekend.
To his relief, Draco didn't encounter anyone as he made his way down to the Dining Room. McGonagall had pointed it out on their way to his room and after navigating Malfoy Mannor as well as Hogwarts, finding his way around here was child's play. The door was open and he saw a few people sitting facing away from the door when he arrived. He hesitated outside, unsure how he would be treated when the other students saw him.
When he'd made the decision to come early, he had known how hard it was going to be. Returning at all would not be a popular move especially since most of his fellow housemates had elected to go overseas or hire private tutors to finish their schooling. Both options had been offered to him, but he needed to face the consequences of his actions if he wanted to be able to live with himself. With the knowledge in mind that he'd done this to himself, he straightened his spine and walked into the room.
At first, he kept his eyes on Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick but a sharp intake of breath had him turning to see the students as they realized he'd arrived. His heart dropped out of his chest when he met the gaze of the student directly beside the chair he'd chosen and vivid green eyes stared back at him.
"Potter," he said, tone lacking any iciness that had been there previously.
"Malfoy." Draco braced himself for the hatred he expected but the other boy's tone was confused.
They were saved from saying anything else when McGonagall stood up and addressed the six students in front of her. Draco tuned out her speech, all too aware of the presence beside him. While he'd known Harry Potter would be coming back, he'd never imagined the Boy Who Lived would be part of the cleaning crew. The other four, a pair of Hufflepuff and a pair of Ravenclaws, hardly registered to him as he thought about what he wanted to say to Harry.
For so long he had hated the boy beside him with an obsession that scared him when he remembered. Ever since Harry had snubbed him in front of everyone before their first year, he had vowed to destroy the boy. Eventually, he realized that was childish arrogance but he was already too far down the path.
It wasn't until Pansy pointed out that all he talked about was Harry Potter that he realized perhaps his obsession was not normal and may be rooted in something else. Then the Dark Lord had come and even through the haze of fear, he focused on Harry Potter. But somewhere along the way, Harry turned from the boy he wanted to destroy, to the only one who could possibly save him. Except Harry hadn't saved him. Or so he'd thought.
The image of Harry riding in on a hippogriff wielding a sword and a wand to fight off the Dark Lord was always a fantasy. Yet some nights when he could feel the evil presence in a nearby room and hear the scrape of scales on tile, that was the only image that had kept him from going insane. Never had he expected that Harry would save his morality and not save him physically.
Among the many nightmares that rotated through his mind, one glimmering one was of a beaten and bloody boy standing in front of him. He could still hear his Aunt Bellatrix demanding him to identify the boy as Harry Potter. One look in those green eyes had confirmed the identity for Draco - another sign his obsession may have been unhealthy - but without even consciously deciding, he had denied it.
Draco wondered if Harry ever remembered that moment or thought anything of it. Perhaps Harry believed Draco hadn't recognized him. But at that moment, Draco decided to stand against the Dark Lord and do anything he could - however insignificant - to help Harry Potter and his friends win.
"...and lastly, I'll have Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy working together in the West wing classrooms." McGonagall finished, dismissing them all to eat the food that was on the table before them. It was simple sandwiches and chips and Draco found he had no appetite for them. Truth be told, he hadn't been eating much despite recognizing the unhealthy pallor his skin had taken on and the bones that jutted out under his clothes.
To attempt to not seem suspicious, he grabbed a few things and put them on his plate. He doubted anyone was paying attention to him as he ripped pieces of the sandwich, eating a few and setting the others around the plate in a way that he hoped made it look like most had been eaten. After the Hufflepuff pair had left the table and the female Ravenclaw engaged Harry in conversation, Draco excused himself and cleared his plate with a quick spell, then cleaned it and slid it back where he'd gotten it.
With deliberate attention, he ignored the look Harry cast at him before being drawn back in the conversation. Once out of the room, it was easy to find his way back to his quarters and for the first time in many, many months, he looked forward to a dreamless sleep in a bed that didn't hold the nightmares of the past.