Alone
Draco sat in the very corner of the Great Hall. Despite Blaise and Pansy’s urging, he had no desire to try and make conversation with the war heroes. Pansy and Blaise lingered with him through McGonagall’s speech and the beginning of the feast, but as soon as they’d made sure Draco had eaten something, they drifted off to speak with the others. Draco couldn’t really bring himself to care, though he did wonder when they’d had the time to make new friends in the midst of this summer’s chaos.
As soon as it was possible, he slipped out of the hall, intent on getting to his dorm room without incident. But, of course, the cards were stacked against him. He had barely made it ten meters when Granger stopped him in his tracks. Her shrill voice made him want to gouge off his ears. “Fancied some alone time, Malfoy?”
He rounded on her but didn't make a move to draw nearer. He knew better than to try and intimidate her. He’d end up with a black eye and broken nose at the very least. “Yes.” He hissed back, dredging up that pretentious attitude he’d always referred to during his encounters with the golden trio in past years. Only now it felt like an act, a mask, a shield to hide behind. Ever the coward. “Why, did you really think I’d want to be around you lot? Especially a filthy mudblood?” His gut roiled at the word, at the way he expected her to react to it.
Only she didn’t react as she had so long ago. Her face split into a grin and she tipped her head back... laughing... at him- at what he’d said. “Some things are just so predictable with your family.” She said, with a velvet lethality, her sleeve shifting to reveal the letters that had been carved into her flesh. Mudblood.
Then she was gone, and Draco was left standing there, his stomach twisting with guilt for something he hadn’t even done.
He glared after her for a long time as though she would reappear at any moment. But of course she didn’t and eventually he snapped himself out of it, stalking down the corridors until he reached the Slytherin common room.
Even it felt different, foreign and invading. No, he was the invader now, the intruder in this school. He didn’t belong here. He should just turn around and join his father in Azkaban. Maybe they’d even have joining cells. Draco shook his head and trudged across the room to the corridor that led to the boy’s dorms. He didn’t bother with unpacking his trunk before he collapsed into his four poster bed and fell asleep- or tried to.
Sleeping on the train had messed up his internal clock. And now he’d likely lay awake the whole night because of it. He stared up at the darkness around himself and tried to turn off his mind, to no avail. After a bit Draco’s thoughts drifted to the Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One himself. Harry fucking Potter. Was Pansy right? Had Potter really defended him in front of the Wizengamot? Or at least painted him in a somewhat redeemable light? And what did it mean if he had? Certainly not that all was forgiven...