Well Shit, I Don't Want To See Myself Here Again
“Mr. Malfoy, please report to Professor McGonagall’s office.”
Potions class had barely started when the letter that prompted such an odd statement to fall from Professor Snape’s mouth had flown in from the hall. The whole class turned to gawk at Draco, though the boy in question was just as confused as the rest of them.
“Yes, sir..?” he responded, rising from his seat.
“Bring your things. You won’t be returning to this class today,” Snape stated bluntly. He turned his back to the collectively baffled class, leaving Draco to collect his things and hurry out of the classroom.
Draco didn’t know why the head of Gryffindor house needed to see him, much less in his own house leader’s class. All he knew was that it felt like he’d swallowed a rock and his heart was trying to claw its way up his throat.
The drafty halls and corridors of Hogwarts were unnervingly quiet, the absence of rowdy students making the high ceilings of the castle imposing rather than welcoming. Draco’s footsteps seemed too loud, too big for him as they echoed through the castle. The mysterious winds that ruffled his robes weren’t helping, either.
His bookbag bumped uncomfortably against his back, the weight on his shoulders reminding him of just how much he wished he could melt into the ground. Oh, only god knew how much he didn’t want to deal with this sense of impending doom.
The walk to Mcgonagall’s office dragged on for an eternity, the growing weight of anxiety in Draco’s stomach enough to make anyone else nauseous. I suppose when you live with Death Eaters, you learn how to power through. The echoing clicks of his footsteps were a metronome counting down to his newest and unlearned cue, the moment he’d be forced to play a part he didn’t know. Dread heaved at his mind, but he couldn’t stop now. Father would be furious.
The jumble of anxious thoughts parading through Draco’s mind stopped abruptly as he came to Professor McGonagall’s office door. This was it. His new cue, his new part.
“Don’t think about it. Just go,” he muttered, charging through the door before he could think again.
He was met with silence. An empty, slightly messy office. Well, there was an old grey tabby-cat laying on her desk, but Professor McGonagall herself was nowhere to be seen.
An empty chair loomed behind the desk, as if to illustrate the currently absent tiny woman’s intimidation factor.
Draco stopped, processing. He’d been so anxious over this, and she wasn’t even here? What had possessed her to call him to her office at a time where she wouldn’t even be present? Had Professor Snape known? If he had, why would he play along with such a joke? Yes, it seemed that the heads of Gryffindor and Slytherin House seemed to be getting closer, maybe even forming an alliance, hell, even a friendship. But a prank involving a student was unprecedented, to say the least.
Unless Peeves had gotten ahold of Professor McGonagall’s text-from-speech quill. Again.
Surely, it was a false alarm. Right?
Draco began to calm down, the tension in his shoulders lessening ever so slightly. If it was a prank, he could just go back to class and tell Professor Snape what had happened. Peeves would likely wreak havoc on the Slytherin common room for Draco messing up his plans, but that was better than Professor McGonagall actually calling him in, right?
Right?
The cat stretched and curled its tail, claws peeking out of fuzzy, knobby paws. Weren’t those knuckles oddly pronounced for a cat? Well, it was old, or it at least looked the part. It delicately picked its way across Professor McGonagall’s desk, navigating the organized chaos with elegance and grace that Draco could only hope to emulate as an adult. It sat down at the edge of the desk, staring at him with oddly large blue eyes.
Wait. Which subject did Professor McGonagall teach again?
Draco’s belated realization sent his anxiety into a new peak as the tabby jumped down from her desk, becoming Professor McGonagall mid-fall. Her robes swirled in resplendent emerald greens as the tiny woman loomed over Draco.
“Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for being so punctual,” McGonagall chirped, her light demeanor and chipper tone throwing Draco for a new loop. “Though, you do seem rather pale. Perhaps it’s all that time in the dungeon?” she mused, gently guiding Draco by the arm to a new chair across from her own.
“What did you call me for, Professor?” His voice didn’t shake, didn’t come out too high. His tone was curious, respectful, as the situation would call for. Thank god that Father had trained Draco in voice control. His stomach felt heavier than ever, and his heart had jumped again into his throat. His fingers began to buzz like a bee’s wings, though they remained carefully still on the arms of the chair Draco had been sitting in.
“Of course,” McGonagall sighed, “All business, just as Snape said you’d be.” She sat heavily in her chair behind the desk, folding her hands delicately by a stack of letters. The envelopes were torn, all opened as if in a hurry, though their contents still lay clearly within. Perhaps that had something to do with this?
“Mr. Malfoy, it has come to the attention of the school that…” she hesitated. Professor McGonagall never hesitates. What was going on? “It has come to the school’s attention,” she restarted, “That Malfoy Manor may not be the best place for you at this time.”
…What?
The world suddenly shrank. All Draco could see was McGonagall’s face. All he could feel was a buzzing numbness creeping up his limbs. His ears rang, a high internal scream. Had they found out? Who had told them? What would they do with him? Did they know about Draco’s resistance? How much did they know?
“Mr. Malfoy? Are you alright?” McGonagall’s voice came into watery focus.
“I’m fine.” Draco choked. That sounded nowhere near as sure as he’d intended it.
“Well, I’m afraid the shock isn’t over,” McGonagall tutted. “It has been decided that you will be placed in the Weasley household for safekeeping.”
“What?”
“It’s been decided that you will be staying with the Weasleys for-” McGonagall began, but Draco cut her off.
“I heard what you said, Professor. But with all due respect, how has this absurdity been allowed? Me, staying with the Weasleys? Surely there’s been some mistake,” Draco’s voice was tight, rising in pitch a fraction. He shoved himself back in his seat, realizing just how far forward he’d been leaning. His fingers stung from how hard they’d been gripping the arms of the chair.
“Your father was found out as a Death Eater, Draco. Your mother told us of your resistance, and so we will be placing you in the household currently safest from Lucius,” McGonagall explained, her tone… sympathetic, that was the word for it. Not impatient or exasperated, but one knew she was tired.
So, that was how. Had anyone snitched? If so, who? Snape was a professor, if it’d been him, he would've been sacked already.
“... Do they know?” Draco’s voice came out timid, far less confident than he’d wanted.
“Yes, the Weasleys know,” McGonagall told him, carefully, as if he were blown glass. “And I’ve already sworn them all to secrecy. Bless those boys, but not even the twin’s loose tongues will wag this time.”
“No, Ma’am. Do they know? The—others?,” Draco corrected her. Why were his eyes beginning to sting?
“We’ve made sure that not even your own mother knows of your whereabouts. All she knows is that you are safe,” McGonagall assured, gently resting a withered hand closer to Draco on the desk, as if to pat his shoulder when she couldn’t reach him.
“You won’t be required to attend class for the rest of the day. We know this is a lot. I would suggest staying in the kitchens; the house elves knew something was off, but they don’t quite know what. They’ve been wanting to help out,” McGonagall prattled, as if she’d only just remembered this information.
“Hm? What?” Draco started, blurred anxiety cut sharply by confusion.
“The house elves. They could tell something wasn’t right in Malfoy Manor; they constantly chatter about the students, you know. You hide things well from your fellow students, but the elves are harder to trick, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall chuckled. “I’m sure Missy has insisted on preparing some treats just for you. She’s always had such a soft heart; haven’t you ever wondered why your favorite foods are never too far out of reach during mealtimes?” she teased.
No, Draco hadn’t wondered. He just thought he’d gotten lucky with the table layout. So the placement was intentional? He’d just have to go to the kitchens to find out. McGonagall rose from her chair, prompting Draco to do the same and collect his things. She wordlessly guided him out of her office, giving him a small reassuring smile as she closed the door behind him.