Unconditional

Draco was so nervous. Irrationally so, he told himself. It was Hogwarts. It was safe. And this was the train to Hogwarts. Much less safe, a nagging voice said.

Well, there was nothing for it. He started pulling his trunk towards the train when, surprisingly, Professor McGonagall stopped him.

“Professor, how nice to see—“

“Come with me, Mr. Mmm... Draco. Please come with me.”

Confused at her sudden appearance and strange behavior, he followed Professor McGonagall over to an office. Inside was nothing but a desk and a fireplace. She took a pouch of floo powder out of a drawer and threw a pinch in the fireplace.

“Hogwarts, Headmaster’s office!” she shouted, and motioned for Draco to enter the flames. He did.

---

“Ah, Draco. I have been expecting to hear from you for a while. I didn’t think it would take Professor McGonagall going to fetch you.”

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk. His half-moon spectacles shined with the firelight as the Professor followed him through.

“Here he is, Albus. Shall I leave you to it, then?”

“Yes, thank you Minerva.”

She took her leave and for a while, Draco and the Headmaster simply sat there. Draco stared at a strange metal device on Dumbledore’s desk. He stared at Fawkes. He stared at the floor and at nothing in particular. Dumbledore stared at Draco.

“Draco. Where have you been this summer? Everyone has been looking for you.”

“Have they?” Draco asked, trying to sound disinterested. But no matter what else had changed, he still liked being the center of attention.

“Yes. It’s been in the papers. Your father is worried sick.”

Draco snorted. “I’m sure he is. It probably doesn’t look too good, letting me get away.”

“Whatever do you mean, Draco?”

Draco finally looked up at the Professor. Dumbledore always knew everything, it seemed. Did he really have to explain this to him?

“I got a few tattoos this summer, Professor,” he said slowly.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “Is that so. Are you pleased with the way they came out?”

Draco shrugged. “The first one was crap. I got a good cover up, though.” Draco smiled suddenly. “D’you wanna see?”

Before Dumbledore could say a word, Draco pulled up his sleeve to reveal the vine-obscured skull. It took a discerning eye to see the Mark, but Draco knew Dumbledore was looking.

The headmaster’s light blue eyes twinkled and Draco thought he looked like he was holding back laughter. The thought made Draco snort in amusement, which in turn made Dumbledore chuckle. Soon enough they were both laughing, laughing loud and long at the Dark Lord.

While waiting for the other students to arrive, Draco and Dumbledore took tea and talked about many things. Draco proudly outlined the renovations he made to his apartment and Dumbledore taught Draco some useful tips to help him on his Transfigurations.

“Draco, I have some business we need to take care of. I have been reluctant to bring it up because it’s not the happiest of business, but nonetheless it must be resolved.”

“Yes, Professor?”

“Perhaps you have noticed that no one has called you by your last name?” Draco shook his head. He hadn’t noticed, but he immediately realized what it meant. He was disowned. He didn’t have rights to the family estate, any part. That included the Malfoy name.

“You could go back to your mother’s maiden name, Black,” Dumbledore suggested.

Lucius had told Draco the story of Black and Pettigrew. His father hated Black and back in his third year he had taken his anger out regularly on Narcissa.
He smiled. “That would be lovely. Where do I sign?”

When it was nearly time for the feast, Draco stood up to take his leave. His eyes fell upon a familiar raggedy hat. He suddenly had such an urge to put it on, to see what it would say to him now, after all this time.

“Isn’t the Sorting Hat supposed to be downstairs for the feast?” Draco asked.

“What? Oh! Yes, of course. Professor McGonagall must have forgotten it when she dropped you off. Would you mind taking it down with you, please?”

“No problem, Professor.”

Draco slipped the old hat on his head as he walked down the corridor. It fit this time.

Ah, Draco. I wasn’t expecting this, but then again I can’t say I’m surprised.

‘Why’s that?’ Draco thought.

I could see when you were younger that you had a… single-mindedness about you. I’m not shocked that you have such confusion now. It is common when one loses the one thing they believed in most.

Draco took a deep breath. ‘So. I have a question for you.”

Would I still sort you into Slytherin, despite your newfound desire to be nothing like your father? The hat asked, quite correctly.

‘Well, when I was sorted the first time, I wanted to be just like him. He told me that if I wasn’t in Slytherin like he was, like the Dark Lord was, I would be a disappointment to the family.’

If I were to sort you right now, Draco, I must say it would be a harder decision. I would consider Ravenclaw. But in the end, I believe I would still place you where you are. Perhaps you wish to be nothing like your father; perhaps you wish he wasn’t your father any longer. But he is, and he raised you. You can’t deny that.

‘But what if I asked you to put me in Ravenclaw?’ Draco thought timidly.

You are worried, young Draco? Do you seriously think your housemates would hurt you?

‘Do you?’ Draco asked. The hat was silent for a moment.

You could fit in Ravenclaw, if you tried. I may be a hat, but I’m not completely out of the loop. I do live in Dumbledore’s office, after all. My purpose is to put people where they belong, and if being in Slytherin is dangerous to you, it is not where you belong. If I come across you in my line of sorties, I will put you in Ravenclaw.

‘Right,’ Draco thought before taking off the hat. He arrived at the doors to the Great Hall. McGonagall was waiting with the first years.

“Had a nice chat?” she asked.

“Professor. Is there any way I could, er, be resorted?”