CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VI
Draco is stirring his potion idly. They are making the boil cure potion, something Draco has made easily years ago and now. Letting the potion simmer for fifteen minutes, Draco added his crushed snake fangs, stirring again.
Other than the strange occasional glances from Potter and the small gossips about his sorting, things have been the same as he had remembered. Class schedule, housemates, double potions with the Gryffindors, and the infamous speech Severus had delivered at the start of class, embarrassing Potter along the way.
Time in Hogwarts passed in a lucid dream; Draco motioned through a routine he had created when he came back into consciousness. Going to lessons he had for seven years and sitting on the same seats and listening to the same people. Draco doesn't bother with his homework; he often breezes through them, adding a few tidbits to his work from his own experience. Now, he spends most of his time in the library, doing his own research. Thinking back from his past life, Draco had spent his time holed up in his dorm room, studying until he couldn't open his eyes just so he could get the best scores for his tests. But he never was able to beat Granger. Not in school nor in life. But that is no longer his concern, not anymore.
Instead, Draco paid attention to the general attitude of the Slytherins. He had been watching his housemates, and he had a shocking revelation; Most of them are Half-bloods and Muggleborns. Though the fact itself wasn't all that surprising, he wondered why he had never noticed. And more concerning was that almost all of them would detest their own blood after some time. The exemptions would be those who are ostracized in their own house. And in time, the biggest problem Draco would face will emerge. The prejudice towards Slytherins.
Although it isn't a problem now, it would be hard to accomplish his goal if the Slytherins stayed the way they are now. The pain in his head expanded even more as he continued to think.
As a Malfoy, he had a capacity of influence over his housemates, but that is limited to his year. And that is not enough. If he wanted total control over his housemates, he had to prove himself worthy of their trust and admiration. His hand stopped for a moment as the thought came to his mind.
There was a certain uneasiness in his gut. Draco's brows furrowed together in frustration as he continued to stir his potion. Draco is tempted to just forget everything and leave them be. Perhaps he should do just that.
Suddenly, a resounding boom echoed around the walls of the potion classroom. Heads turned to look at one Neville Longbottom, his cauldron, a melted, boiling mess. And the child himself was covered head to toes in his own failed concoction. Slight chaos ensued as children stood on the top of their stools to avoid the now flowing green sludge. Severus, blaming Potter for the whole incident—because he can—sent Finnigan to bring Longbottom to the hospital wing. Draco rubbed at his forehead as the pounding in his head worsened even more.
He had forgotten the klutz that is Longbottom before he became the unspoken hero during their seventh year. Rebelling against the Carrow siblings, becoming the guiding light with Potter’s absence. Severus seemed annoyed at the prospect of having to replace another cauldron as he flicked his wand, vanishing the mess Longbottom had left behind. Snickers can be heard from the Slytherins, and the Gryffindors glared in return. Draco sighed inwardly. He filled his vial and corked it, cleaning his station with a flick of his wand as Severus did.
He looked at his wand when it convulsed with a slight hum. He continued to look at it as he caressed the wood with his thumb. It was his wand that had gone through everything with him in his past life; Hawthorn wood and unicorn hair core. It pulsed again as if having a little temper. Draco huffed out an indulging sigh and put away his wand. Well, this isn’t his wand anymore. Another shocking difference in this timeline. It really gave him quite a scare when the wand most familiar to him did not hum with the warming glow when he held it in his hand. And he had an even bigger surprise when Olivander returned with a black ornamented box from the back of his store.
The box had once been black, the color had become lighter over time, but it was well kept. But what piqued Draco's interest was the silver lock on the box and the many charms over it.
“This was a defective wand, a result of arrogance and ambition from the time of my youth.” Olivander had said as he opened the box.
Inside was a black wand with silver accents at the handle. Although gnarly, the surface was smooth to the touch and the wand was as straight as an arrow ending at a dangerously pointed end.
“Elder wood, horned serpent core, eleven inches.”
“Elder wood?” Draco gawked at the old wand-maker.
“Yes. I was ambitious. I thought I could make my own elder wand, but it was a pipedream. This wand has never seen the light or been touched by another hand. It has been ownerless for some decades...perhaps it will have a new home today.” Olivander passed the wand to Draco.
His hand was shaking when he gripped the wand in his grasp, knuckles white, and veins popping. In that instant, Draco had felt a powerful tear in his core. With a grunt, he held the wand tighter, fighting for dominance. He had never seen a wand such as this, not even the Elder Wand he had once held. A gust of wild energy blew around the store with Draco in the focal point, the store slowly became disheveled as objects were strewn about, but Draco noticed none of those.
All he could feel was the elder wand in his hand; The power promised and the bloody implication of it all. A prideful wand of its own right. Draco felt a shiver up his spine as he realized the wand was sapping away his energy as the seconds went by. Draco braced himself and released all of his magic in the last resort. And the wand pulsed with a hum as if a starved beast was finally fed. Draco fell to the floor, panting. The black wand now resting in his hand silently.
He looked at Olivander, he was peeking behind the counter, and his eyes were nothing but ecstasy and a maddening lilt.
The elder wand is hoisted at his left arm, hidden by his dark robes. Never leaving his side. Olivander had said that the wand can warn its owner of danger, and it would vibrate when Parseltongue was spoken. At the thought, he turned his attention to the three future trouble makers.
From his observation, Granger apparently wasn’t in Potter and Weasley’s group yet. Draco tried to remember when they started going around as if they were stuck to their hips but drew up a blank. He’ll just have to observe them even longer, Draco sighed again. He momentarily humored the thought of him unwittingly becoming the babysitter of the golden trio. He waved that preposterous idea away. Putting his potion on Severus’ desk, his godfather gave him a nod, then he went back to his seat gathering his belongings.
…
Finally, the flying lesson between Slytherin and Gryffindor is today, the children are ecstatic. Excited about flying, though Draco knows that their class will be shortened by Longbottom’s fall. Maybe Draco can prevent that. Blaise and Pansy would be so disappointed if it happened the same way as the last time. Although they were distracted laughing about Potter’s possible expel. He flexed his fingers, a habit he picked up when his muscles seized in nerves.
“Draco, what’s with the long face? We’re going to have our first flying lesson, even if it’s with the Gryffindors.” Blaise came to his side. Dark complexion softened by the easy smile on his face and the dimples on his cheeks.
“The Gryffindors aren’t the problem. There isn’t a problem with flying lessons.” Draco gave a short chuckle, resigned, his fingers flexed unconsciously. Blaise noticed as he held his hand, soothing it, he asked again, “Well then, what’s bugging at you?”
Draco remained silent for a minute, “The Slytherins, Blaise. More specifically, our rivalry between the Gryffindors.” He saw at the corner of his eyes; Blaise had a confused furrow of his brow.
“What’s bad about that?” he asked further.
“There’s nothing bad about having a rivalry between two houses. The problem is how far will we push before it becomes unnecessary hatred?” Draco said vaguely.
“Why worry about something like this so early on?”
“Well, Blaise, you should notice that we Slytherins gained a particular reputation after the rise of a certain dark wizard.” He can see Blaise stiffen, “Our reputation precedes us. Mine certainly does. And if we want to have a good life in the future, we should start adapting changes.” He drifted off; mind occupied by the million thoughts going through his head, his hands tightened into fists.
Blaise pried them open, “Well, that’s for another time. We should go. Pansy will go off again, saying we’re late.” Draco snorted, elegantly, of course. Mother would be appalled otherwise.
They walked out of the Common room, soon joined by Vincent and Greg. The two are never separated, not that Draco had seen, not even in the last timeline. Although, the last time, they were seen as two mindless idiots who followed Draco around because of their fathers’ orders. This time, Draco properly befriended them. Talked to them from time to time and tutored them with their studies, something he deemed ridiculous the last time. Though they are still dense, surprisingly, they were quite perceptive. Again, something he had overlooked before, he had wanted to kick himself in the shin.
They finally arrived at the pitch, two rows of the school broom lined in front of them. Pansy, as expected, is already there. Sneering at them, “You’re late.”
“You’re early.” Draco refuted.
“As you should be.” She continued, always the sharp tongue. Draco might’ve helped with that.
“Not everyone is as excited about quidditch as you are, Pans.” He drawled.
“Hey now, we’re here, aren’t we?” Blaise interrupted. Pansy sniffed half-heartedly, “Better than the Gryffindors, I suppose.” And soon all of Slytherins’ first year is present, along with some Gryffindors, standing awkwardly before them, before the rest joined.
Draco exhaled, closing his eyes. He stood quietly, holding his arms as he enjoyed the cooling breeze on his face. Finally, Madam Hooch’s clear voice rang through the air.
“Good afternoon, class.”
“Good afternoon, Madam Hooch.” The children chorused, Draco opened his eyes, and a pair of green eyes stared at him. He raised a brow passively, Potter ducked down his head, flustered at being caught staring.
“Good afternoon. Welcome to your first flying lesson. Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone, step up to the left side of their broomstick. Come on now, hurry up. Stick your right hand over the broom and say, up!”
And the class followed.
“Up!” Several voices raised around him.
He looked as Potter held out his hand, palms down, “Up!” the broom flew into his hand.
“Whoa.” He stared at the broom in wonder. While Granger, beside him, stared incredulously; her own broom still lies on the ground, unmoving. He looked around once more. Pansy’s jumped but ultimately fell; she huffed in frustration. Blaise looked as if he wanted to burn the broom with his own eyes with how hard he was staring at it.
“With feeling!” Madam Hooch instructed again.
“Up. Up. Up. Up.” Granger chanted, slowly losing her patience after seeing Potter succeed so effortlessly.
“Up!” a voice boomed, and the broom smacked into the nose of an unsuspecting Ron Weasley. Potter laughed, “Shut up, Harry.” Weasley pouted, nose red.
Seeing as most of the students had their brooms in hand, Draco casually held out his hand. Without a word, the broom soared up into his hand, the old wood of the Shooting Star scraped roughly against his skin. Truthfully, Hogwarts could use better brooms, Draco mused, not noticing the slight widening of a pair of green eyes.
“Now, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it. And grip it tight; you don't want to be sliding off the end.” And the class did as they were told. It’s been a while since Draco rode on a broom… “When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, hover for a moment, then you will lean forward slightly and touch back down. On my whistle...3...2...” And the whistle sounded with a tweet
Longbottom immediately lifts off. He looked absolutely frightened to death, a very contrasting sight from his seventh year.
“Oh...” Longbottom whimpered. “Mr. Longbottom.” Madam Hooch called out.
Soon, sounds of concerned students started piping up, “Neville, what are you doing?”
“We’re not supposed to take off yet.” At this point, Longbottom started soaring away.
“M-M-Mr. Longbottom. Mr. Longbottom!” Madam Hooch called out once again, sounding mildly panicked. Draco eyed Longbottom as his figure became smaller and smaller in the sky, his wand already in his hand.
Longbottom screamed as his broom started zooming around, not at all heeding to the command of its rider as Longbottom shrieked in desperation, “Down! Down! Ahhhh!”
With the last yelp of “HELP!!” Longbottom soared through the sky and hit a wall, conking along it and swooping off. All the while, he is screaming. Draco could see students’ heads popping out of the windows, trying to see what the commotion was about. Longbottom begins to zoom back towards them, Hooch holds out her wand to stop him, but Longbottom is too fast as he barreled towards them. Students scattered frantically; Draco inhaled sharply.
“Help!” Another scream.
Now, Longbottom is going up a tower.
“Ahhhh! Woah!”
He zoomed past a statue of a man with a sharp spear, and his cloak caught on it. He flipped off the broom and is now hanging on by the cuff of his robe. The broom continued to fly, becoming smaller and smaller until it became a speck in the distant sky. For a second, everyone held their breath. But Longbottom was proved to be very unlucky. As the sound of clothes ripping echoed in the air, he fell again to the ground.
Draco immediately raised his wand, catching Longbottom on his fall, and slowly helping him down. Everyone’s eyes were on the screaming, red-faced, horror-struck Gryffindor. As he fell to the ground with a soft poof, his eyes looked around in fright and confusion.
“Everyone out of the way!” Madam Hooch runs through the group, and they scatter. “Come on, get up.”
“Is he alright?” A girl asked.
“There doesn’t seem to have anything wrong, but best be safe. Let’s take you to the hospital wing. Everyone is to keep their feet firmly on the ground while I take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing. Understand? If I see a single broom in the air, the one riding it will find themselves out of Hogwarts before they can say, Quidditch.” She declared.
Draco sighed; it seemed the flying lesson would be cut short no matter what he does…He started, alarmed. If that is the case, there must be something that needs to happen. Draco had noticed over the past two years that certain events must happen and would happen, no matter the changes he made. He called them milestones.
There must be something that needs to be done, Draco thought furiously. The last time, Draco had taunted Potter, making him fly, breaking the rule set by Madam Hooch. Then McGonagall had seen him and dragged Potter away. Draco had thought he'd gotten rid of Potter and had relished in his victory. Until he found out Potter was made the Gryffindor seeker— that had to be it!
Potter has to become the Youngest Quidditch Player of a Century. The reason why is unclear, but Draco is sure of it. Thinking back to all the incidents Potter seemed to have in every Quidditch tournament, Draco doesn’t know their relation to the Dark Lord, but this seemed important enough. Now, he needed to figure out how to make Potter fly on that sorry excuse of a broom. What did he do the first time?
Unfortunately, or fortunately, should he say. Vince got a hold of Longbottom’s Remembrall. He started waving it around, laughing as it changed color, showing it to Greg. He grasped the glass ball in his hand, eyes shining in wonder before he scrunched his face in confusion as the color faded away from the Remembrall. Draco smiled at their antiques, relaxing just a bit before a defiant voice called out.
“Give it back!”
And there is Potter, hand outstretched towards Greg, eyes glaring at the much bigger boy. And Greg, in return, only stared back. He glanced at Draco; confusion evident on his face. “Uh…” he grunted.
Draco shoved down his impending panic. Why is he panicking? “It’s alright, Greg.” He motioned for the ball in Goyle’s hand, and he gave it to him with no question. Potter’s eyes were immediately on him, and he gulped. Here goes…
Potter’s hand is still outstretched, but his defiant gaze a moment ago was replaced by hesitant eyes. Draco looked back down to the ball in his hand; it was clear.
Playing with it, he started, “Well, Potter. I heard your father was the seeker of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team. I wonder if you were as good as he was.” His voice was carefully neutral but was also tinted with a hint of a challenging lilt. Of course, Draco was pulling things out of his arse. He had no idea if Potter’s father was the Gryffindor’s seeker. Nevertheless, Potter’s eyes flashed at his words, “What are you playing at, Malfoy?” his voice raised defensively.
“Well, should we find out? If you want this ball so much, Potter, why don’t you catch it?”
Suddenly, Draco flung the ball away and propelled it further with a flick of his finger. As if batted by a bat, the Remembrall zoomed across the pitch. Then, in a flash, Potter was chasing after it.
“Harry, No! Madam Hooch said not to leave the ground!” Granger shouted after the boy futilely, she glared back at Draco, “What were you thinking?!”
But Draco couldn't care less. His attention was entirely fixated on the flying crystal ball and the boy who's quickly gaining on the flying object. For a moment, he wondered why he did that. There isn’t a guarantee that Potter can catch the Remembrall. And his heart squeezed, his hands clenched. Finally, Potter caught the ball in the last second right before he crashed into the castle’s window, and he flew back to the cheering group. Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding; this could’ve ended so badly. But hey, it was a calculated risk! Although he was a bit rash.
“Yeah! Take that, Malfoy!” Weasley jabbed as Potter landed in front of him.
He smirked, that went well, “Yes, you can thank me later, Potter.” He said clearly. Potter looked at him in confusion before the stern voice of McGonagall boomed into their ears.
“Harry James Potter!” The Gryffindors’ eyes widened into saucers.
“Could’ve broken your neck,” she muttered before saying, in a louder voice, “Follow me, Potter. The rest of you, class is dismissed.” Then Potter was pulled away by the fierce head of house Gryffindor, his face sullen.
For a bit, everyone was too shocked to move, gawking at everything that had gone down in their class. Weasley exploded in a fury. “What was that, Malfoy?!” he turned hotly to Draco and his friends.
“I thought you were nice! I can’t believe I thought that!” He shouted, Granger was pulling him by his robes, desperately. Vince and Greg immediately stood before him, blocking Weasley from getting closer.
Draco’s face darkened when he heard Weasley’s words, but he quickly relaxed, not showing anything.
“Think what you will, Weasley. I am not what you think I am.” I will never be what you think I am. He didn’t mean for his voice to be so cold and biting. But somehow, Weasley thinking that he was nice did not sit well with him. He can see Pansy and Blaise standing with the demeanor of a typical pureblood, head raised and shoulders straight. The Slytherins all stood in a rapport, spurring the Gryffindors to stand in a line, agitated.
Draco sighed, and he stepped forward, “Look, Weasley. Don’t question my actions.”
“You will thank me later, I reckon.” He added lowly, grey eyes locked on to baby blue, “Your precious Potter won’t get expelled. Congratulate him for me, will you?”
For anyone far enough, they would have thought that Draco was saying something insulting for Weasley’s face to look so offended. The redheaded Gryffindor spluttered at his words, giving Draco ample time to walk away dramatically. His robes fluttered behind him in a true Snape’s fashion, and the rest of the Slytherins soon followed.
…
Draco was immediately dragged into his room, “Where did that come from?!” Pansy hissed as Blaise locked the door behind them.
Blaise and Draco shared a dorm with Vincent and Greg. They didn’t deliberately plan about it, but you could tell the difference between the four occupants of the room. Not mentioning Vince and Greg, but Blaise prided himself in being a well-groomed person, and his room reflected his personality. But Draco was on an entirely different level. The corner of his room was the least decorated. But Blaise knows that Draco tucked everything away, hidden from others. Other than the things he would use almost daily, almost any personal touches to prove Draco’s existence are nonexistent. And Draco had always had the habit of keeping stock of his belongings, almost obsessively. He could tell what was amiss in a single glance.
It gave Blaise an image of a dragon hoarding his treasures. Quite fitting, if he must say.
He looked back at the two currently in a staring match; Draco’s eyes conveyed a silent plea, but Pansy’s was insistent; she was intrigued and curious. Pansy stared back at Draco with no intention of backing down. Blaise knew that Draco could never deny them from anything for long, and he knew Pany was using that knowledge to her advantage.
“You’ve never done anything like that. What are you planning?” she accused.
Blaise was curious as well. It was true, after meeting him, Draco had been nothing but passive. He was not the type who would laugh at others’ expense, nor was he the type to openly antagonize those he disliked, much less Potter. If anything, Draco was withdrawn and controlled in his means of tormenting his enemies. So, it was surprising, to say the least, to see Draco did what he did.
“Pansy, it was nothing.” Draco tried to wave away her curiosity, but she was persistent.
“No, there’s always a reason for you, Draco. Spill it, or so help me!” She picked up an inkwell from Greg’s desk, but before it could escalate even further, Blaise stepped in.
“Pansy, I think that’s enough.” He put his hand over Pansy’s and took the inkwell from her grasp. Draco released a breath.
“But, Draco, I do think you owe us an explanation.”
Draco looked at them for a moment longer as if fighting with himself. But eventually, sighing defeatedly, he nodded.
Draco turned around and gestured at them to take a seat. Pansy eagerly sat across from him on Blaise’s bed as Blaise shortly followed, sitting comfortably beside her. Draco shook his head at them. A small smile played at his lips as he looked at Pansy, whom he had been friends with and something akin to a brother since they were nine. Although Blaise had known about Draco, they only met when Pansy had brought the Malfoy heir to visit him in Italy. Draco had openly accepted him and treated him like they had known each other for their whole lives.
Blaise has always been curious about the Malfoy Heir. They have met earlier at one of the galas that pureblood families would host and attend. At first impression, the boy had been like a preening peacock that the Malfoy Garden was known for, something that Blaise silently jeered about. But on their next meeting, during Draco’s ninth birthday, the boy had become much different then. It had intrigued him greatly.
“As you just said, I do have a reason for doing what I did, Pansy.” Draco interrupted his thoughts.
“So, what is it? Do you actually plan to dispel Potter?” Pansy asked.
“Of course not, Pans. You should know better than that.” Draco corrected. Another thing Blaise had noticed over the years was the other boy’s tendency to speak somewhat condescendingly. Although Blaise suspects it was done unintentionally, Draco had always been unusually mature, even if they were the same age. But he does seem to enjoy leading them on a wild guessing game with his intentions.
“Potter would never be dispelled; he is the Golden Boy, after all. You both have seen his talent in flying a broom, and if McGonagall saw all of that, I reckon he would be scouted for the Quidditch team.” Draco explained.
And Pansy’s brows furrowed, “Then why did you do that?” Blaise looked to Draco.
“Because it has to happen.” Draco said cryptically, and Pansy’s eyes widened before narrowing in scrutiny.
“Is this one of your annoyingly mysterious predictions of the future? You’re not lying to me, are you?” She asked, anger slightly deflated, and a pout formed on her lips
Draco chuckled at her question, shaking his head as he said, “Pansy, when have I ever lied to you?” He quipped. At that, Pansy raised a brow. Blaise wanted to cringe.
“Now that you reminded me, who was the one who said he’d attend the Yule ball and perform a violin solo last year, then didn’t come?”
“…”
Blaise finally cringed while the smile on Draco’s face stiffened as he avoided the burning gaze of one Pansy Parkinson.
“That’s different, I forgot.” Draco defended himself. But everyone present knows; he is fighting a losing battle.
“And you said you wouldn’t forget.” Pansy crossed her arms.
Draco stiffened even more. “And I’m sorry!”
“And I demand satisfaction!”
After a long while of Draco “begging” Pansy for forgiveness, Pansy goes on a roll admonishing Draco on his many forgotten promises due to becoming a library hermit. And Blaise in the background, passing her water and fanning her, egging her on. Unfortunately, as Blaise would say, Pansy eventually got tired and left. Sneering about how she will occupy herself with better entertainment with Daphne before walking out of their room with a dramatic flip of her hair. Draco looked amused as her robes hit the corner of their bedroom door.
Now, both boys fell into a comfortable silence. Draco started reading a book on his bed as Blaise began his after-school routine.
Blaise looked at Draco’s reflection from his mirror. The book in his hand was the same he always had for as long as Blaise had known him. Draco never showed them the contents of the book. Pansy had jested that it was his diary, and Draco had only smiled.
He spoke, “You know this might restart the rivalry between Slytherins and Gryffindors, right?” Draco hesitated before flipping a page of his book. He sighed.
“It has to happen.” Draco muttered again, softly as if resigned. But Blaise didn’t ask for an answer. He knew Draco would never give him a straight answer, but it was a sight to see the way his eyes darken as he descended into the fortress that was his mind. Blaise had always been a natural in Legilimens. But the first time he tried to see Draco’s mind, he knew that Draco had let him. But, still, he could see nothing. The walls to his mind are impossible to pierce through; a maze-like haze and an intimidating spire were leading to a dark palace full of secrets. And when he had stumbled back into his own consciousness, eyes of molten silver stared back at him in intent, a silent promise to his unquenchable curiosity. And Draco had smiled at him. Blaise felt a shiver at the memory.
“Wonder how long it will take them to notice you helped Longbottom.” He commented easily. Draco smiled as he flipped another page of his book.
The silence continued.