His Homes, His Futures
He watched Neville Longbottom scramble away, as obviously uncomfortable as ever. Half his attention was on the squirrelly boy, vaguely annoyed just by his presence, but the rest was still at home.
His father had been more forceful, sharper, than he had found himself expecting. Usually as it came closer to his time at Hogwarts, his father would relax. It was something that would probably have offended him if he wasn’t so relieved.
His father would stop watching him quite as closely, or making him learn his part better as the social world changed around them. He knew Draco knew what to do at camp, knew there were enough people loyal to him there who would be willing to cover any incident even if it turned out he didn’t. Not that either of them expected it to get to that point.
No, things were different this year, and their almost easy way of avoiding each other was replaced with the same strained, frenzied existence he knew the rest of the year. His father was being looked into- though the details were not made clear to Draco, he knew enough to be aware that it was both dangerous and all too justifiable. This alone would make Lucius Malfoy hard to live with, but combined with the news of the girl’s camp’s new co-owner seemed to put all weight on Draco’s shoulders.
Dolores Umbridge was high up in the ministry, fairly knowledgeable and potentially empathetic of his father’s affairs, and in the perfect position to be swayed by Draco. No matter how little Draco wanted to be a part of it at all.
Hogwarts was supposed to be his reward for getting through his time at home. And yes, he knew that that was not the way his parents saw it, and of course was not truly the relaxed freedom he pretended it was, but for the past 4 years it had been close enough to it. It was getting all too clear that his time here was on the edge of ending.
There were several possible endings that he could see. First, there was the possibility of him disregarding his family’s wishes all together. In this option he would enjoy his time here, never talk to Umbridge if he could help it, and, undoubtedly, never come back. Probably earn some injuries. Probably lose was freedom he had. So option two: he talked to Umbridge, was not good enough to convince her, and his father went to jail. There would be no reason for him to return, unless he could convince his mother it would look good for the family. Which she most likely wouldn’t buy. Or three: he focussed his energy on Umbridge, he won the tournament, and was perfect. He would single handedly keep his father out of jail, keep him in his home, pretend to love him, and buy himself 2 more years here.
There wasn’t much choice when it came down to it.
He steeled himself for the vapid conversation that always colored the first day back in the cabins.
“I’m just sayin,” Crabbe was insisting in the middle of the room as Draco came back through the door.
“There’s no way,” Theodore Nott protested. “I don’t care if they’re foreign, a beautiful girl wouldn’t jump to be with you, Crabbe, and I’d rather die than believe that two did.”
“You’re one to speak, Rabbit,” Crabbe shot back.
Theodore smiled boldly, showing off his large teeth with a slightly argumentative look in his eye.
He waited for Crabbe to start more trouble, and when he didn’t sat easily down on his bed as if nothing had happened at all.
“Well, I spent the beginning of my summer travelling with my dad and his associates,” He told them.
The boys were intentionally very silent, knowing “dad and associates” meant something along the lines of “the mob”.
Theodore picked up on this and shrugged, not one to defend the lifestyle he was born into. “I got to see a fair amount of Italy and Greece.”
“What about you, Draco?” Goyle asked.
Normally he could shrug and turn his boredom into a sense of intrigue, or at least turn one of his better moments into a good story. Today however, with his arm still aching slightly from where his father had been grabbing it, he didn’t have the concentration to blend in with all the easiness and glamour.
He turned from the bedside table he had been pretending to preoccupy himself with and met Goyle’s eyes a little too defiantly.
“I’m not going to leak my father’s secrets just because Nott does.”
“We-”
“I’m going to lunch,” He said acidly, and left before anyone could point out how little sense he was making, or what a spectacle he was making of himself.
He circled the dining hall a few times, and tried to distract himself. He wished there was more to do, something to keep him too busy to think. He wished the tournament had already started. Or at least the bonfire. Or lunch.
Of course, if he had really wanted food he could have gotten it, the kitchen workers knew who he was and that it was better for them all if they helped him. But he was hoping the sea of people and the chaos they always seemed to bring with them would make him feel more like he was really here, and not back in his parents’ home.
Part of him wished he hadn’t stormed out of his cabin. They weren’t so bad to talk to when you didn’t want to kill them. Another part of him was just relieved to be away from anyone who wanted any answers at all. Still, it would have been nice to have talked mindlessly about something, like Crabbe’s ridiculous lies. Girls or movies or the dumb pranks that got planned nearly every year but never managed to happen.
He hadn’t really given thought to how lonely he was- had been since coming home. Before that, even.
He shook his head without thinking. He was letting himself get too deep into his own head. At this rate, he was going to go back to his bed, pull up his sleeves, and pour out all the secrets he could possibly be keeping. He felt like he might tell anything to anyone who didn’t seem like they would think to ask.
It was a good thing, he thought, that nobody was around, then. Well, nobody but Neville Longbottom, who he kept catching glimpses of as he moved back and forth doing God knows what.
He felt like tripping him. He was always moving, always looking like he had thought about everything more than you had even considered doing, and it made him want to hit him for no good reason.
He couldn’t see his face as he weaved through buildings for the tenth time, but he would have bet half his trust that he looked anxious and deep in thought. And that he would have turned the other way and rushed away if he had seen Draco.
Years ago he would go out of his way to let Neville know how he felt about him, how useless he thought it was for him to even be there. Their entire first year he had taken every opportunity to try to drive the constantly trembling boy out of this place that embraced him so, that only had room for one daydream. As his second year made its progression, he let his focus shift, and convinced his brain to stop dwelling on Neville Longbottom the way it was so used to. It had been a long time since he had even talked to the boy, but he was still so afraid of him, still the trembling eleven year old.
The thought of it relaxed Draco. He still had power somewhere.
Not everything was changing- he didn’t have to change. It was going to work out. He was staying.