jade

using this blog as a place to dump any and all writing i do multifandom always open to requests

[authorwiththedragontattoo]

The Snitch Seeker Chapter 4

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3  

When he had first heard about Hogwarts eighth year, the thought of attending didn’t even cross Draco’s mind. He had run away from the dark lord, barely evaded Azkaban and spent the last four months living in a house that was being monitored 24/7 by the ministry. They knew every move they made, if Draco decided to put an extra sugar in his coffee one morning, the Ministry knew about it.

So, when Narcissa Malfoy came into his room one day holding a letter from Minerva McGonagall requesting his return to Hogwarts in September, he was shocked to say the least. —– or yet another hogwarts eighth year in which draco redeems himself fic

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Draco startled awake as the dipping of his mattress jostled his sleeping form. His eyes blinked open and he looked to the window, groaning at the stars still twinkling bright and no sunlight in sight. 

“I’m sorry dear, I didn’t mean to wake you.” The low voice of his mother whispering into the darkness eased Draco’s confusion. 

Suddenly a warmth was at his back as he felt Narcissa shuffle closer to him until her arm was draped around his waist and her forehead was pressed between his shoulder blades. Draco sighed sleepily and reached up to hold her hand.

“It’s okay, I was having a nightmare anyway.” 

Draco let his eyes slip shut again, ready to let himself slip back into his slumber, this time with his mother’s presence to make the night a little less frightening when he heard a small whimper from behind him. His eyes shot open again, listening hard to see if he had imagined the noise, but another weak whine confirmed he hadn’t.

“Mother?” He asked, the question met with a sniffle and the grip around his waist tightening.

“I’m okay, my love. Go back to sleep.” Narcissa’s voice wavered and cracked.

Ignoring his mother’s request, Draco gently span himself around in her arms to finally look at her face to face. The moonlight only dimly lit the room but it was enough to see the glow of tears running down Narcissa’s cheeks and to see her crumpled expression. 

“What’s wrong?” Draco brought a hand up to wipe away the tears with his sleeve. 

Narcissa leaned into his touch, and a pained sob left her chest despite her best efforts to hold it back. This seemed to be what broke the dam as many more sobs quickly followed suit.

“I’m so- I’m so sorry…” She tried to speak through the outburst but it only caused her breathing to become more laboured, leaving her gasping for air. 

Draco pulled himself as close to her as he could, tucking his head into her neck and hugging her waist. He shushed her gently, trying to calm her by slowly rubbing circles into her back. 

“My precious boy, I’m so sorry…” She continued to mutter apologies through her crying until eventually she got her breathing under control and her tears ceased. 

She didn’t have to explain what she was sorry about, she didn’t need to tell Draco the reason she climbed into his bed in the middle of the night. He knew. They both did. So he didn’t try to ease her guilt, he didn’t try to tell her that nothing was her fault or that she was completely innocent - he knew as well as anyone that guilt was not that easy to overcome. So instead he whispered, “I love you, more than anything.” into her neck before they were both eventually consumed by sleep once again. 

A bang jolted Draco from his sleep. 

He jumped up into a seated position as his brain quickly tried to catch up with his eyes. He wasn’t in the dormitory, he observed, glancing around the room in confusion. He eventually recognised the large fireplace, concluding he had fallen asleep in the common room. Again. 

He groaned as he felt the ball of pain at the base of his neck that always came from sleeping on the sofa - his body too long to fit on the damned thing. As he blinked back the blurriness of his vision Draco startled to see what he assumed to be the cause of his abrupt awakening. Harry Potter was knelt on the floor frantically trying to pick up what appeared to be pieces of a broken mug. 

Draco froze, unsure of what to say as his eyes found Potter’s. It had been three months since they arrived at Hogwarts and Draco could probably count the number of times he’d seen him outside of lessons on one hand, despite their beds being right beside each other. At first Draco assumed he just didn’t sleep in the dorms at all, but on one bad night in which he couldn’t get a wink of sleep he discovered that Harry usually came in after everyone had fallen asleep and left before anyone woke up. Draco never really slept well, and his light slumber was often disturbed by the rustling of bedsheets in the early morning. 

 It was as if he was actively trying to avoid Draco. Which he probably was. Draco was definitely actively trying to avoid him. 

He could deal with the loneliness, he could deal with constant looks of disgust and disapproval. Merlin knows he’s used to them anyway; but there was something about Harry Potter. Something that had shame burn a hole through his chest and leave his lungs spilling with acid. When he was looking at him Draco suddenly felt like he was taking up too much room, like he wanted to shrink until there was nothing left of him. It wasn’t like Harry looked at him with hatred or disappointment, in fact he didn’t really look at him with anything. Everytime it had been a blank stare, like he didn’t quite know how to react. It was a change from the years of scowls he used to receive from him, although this is somehow worse. 

Although this time, there was a flicker of something; Draco couldn’t place it, he had an almost incredulous look to him as they made eye contact. And his cheeks had dusted slightly pink, probably due to causing such a disturbance. 

“Sorry,” 

There it was, the first words he had heard from Harry Potter in seven months. Draco tried not to dwell too hard on the irony of it. 

“I was trying to make a cup of tea, I didn’t want to disturb you but I… I dropped it.” 

Draco’s eyes gave Harry a quick once over, taking in his mussed up bed hair, the stubble on his chin, the almost childish plaid pajamas. Although Draco couldn’t judge, after all he had unfortunately slept in his robe. He looked back to Harry’s face, which was still looking at him with an odd expression. 

“It’s uh… it’s ok.” Draco stuttered, cursing the roughness of his sleep-heavy voice. 

Harry nodded and offered him what seemed to be a half smile; although it could have easily been mistaken for a grimace, before turning and awkwardly shuffling from the room. 

The tension finally seeped from his muscles as the awkward situation dissipated and Draco felt his breath return to him. He glanced to the grandfather clock beside the fireplace and tried to ignore the fact that it was 5:15am. 

He brought a hand up to rub his tired eyes but froze when he felt a wetness on his cheek. Tears. 

He had been crying in his sleep, and Harry Potter had seen it. Bollocks. 

He frantically wiped the remaining tears from his face, cheeks burning with embarrassment. God he must have looked pathetic. No wonder Potter was looking at him like he had grown another head. 

The memory that came to him in his sleep had left him feeling vulnerable, reminding him how terribly he missed his mother - he missed both his parents, really. But he felt a fierce need to protect his mother, he hated being away from her for so long. She could take care of herself, of course - but something about remembering the night she had sobbed in his arms left Draco wondering if he should just go home for Christmas and stay home, and never return to this godforsaken place. 

After deciding some tea ought to calm him down he moved to stand when he was reminded of the exact reason he had fallen asleep in the common room in the first place. His (still unfinished) potions homework lay crumpled on the sofa where his body had just been. 

-----------------------

Draco could swear steam would start rising from his quill any second.

Potions had once come so easy to Draco. He was easily in the top three in his class for most of his time at Hogwarts, he was gifted in it and he really did enjoy it thoroughly. He had often pondered the idea of taking up a career in it, maybe a potioneer or possibly even a Healer. 

Of course, he had to let that dream die when his sixth and seventh academic years were spent practicing the Cruciatus curse instead of doing his potions homework. The result was he was almost a year behind everyone else in terms of knowledge - and he was struggling to keep up. 

“Mr Malfoy?” 

Draco’s eyes darted from his parchment and resisted groaning out loud as he saw Professor Slughorn looking at him, ready to ask him a question no doubt. 

“Professor?” 

“A fire protection potion turns a total of three different colours while brewing. What colour should it be when it is ready?”

Fuck. He hadn’t gotten to the fire protection part of the homework. He had fallen asleep while doing the Veritaserum section. 

“Um… blue, sir?” 

“Afraid not,” Slughorn shook his head, “It should turn red. Blue, green and then red.”

Draco frowned and brought his pen back to scrawl down more notes. 

Brewing the potion was even harder. It wasn’t exactly a particularly difficult potion, but it was sensitive to how you sir it - and if you stirred it the wrong was then the consistency wasn’t correct. Draco was on his second attempt and the room had dwindled down to only a few people who were still left brewing - most people having been successful quickly. And it wasn’t exactly like people were rushing to be his partner, so there wasn’t anyone he could ask for help. He’s not exactly sure his ego would allow him to do that anyway. 

He looked at the crushed Wartcap powder in his mortar, and figured it was ground enough, so he went to add it to the cauldron when a voice came from beside him.

“It needs to be finer than that.” 

He turned to see Hermione Granger looking at him. Draco didn’t like looking at Hermione, it made him feel ill to his stomach. Not because she’s bad to look at; she’s rather beautiful actually. But because every time he saw her face, he can still hear her screams echoing throughout his home. 

But it seems he was doing a lot of things he didn’t like lately, so he looked at her anyway. 

“The Wartcap powder.” she confirmed, evading her gaze from him to the mortar, “you haven’t ground it enough.” 

He continued to look at her in confusion, making no move to alter his mistake. He was in enough shock that the girl had even approached him, never mind offered him advice on how to pass the class. She could have gone the rest of her life never saying a word to Draco, never even looking in his direction and Draco wouldn’t have blamed her one bit. He would have encouraged it! Hell, she could even jinx the back of his knees every time they were in the same room and he would have written her a ‘thank you’ note. 

Yet here she was, offering her help. 

She seemed to become visibly uncomfortable at Draco’s continued lack of reaction, so she reached for the textbook that Draco had failed to actually look at, “you need to read the instructions carefully. it says it needs to be ground until it resembles sand, yours looks more like breadcrumbs.” 

Draco still remained confused and greatly uncomfortable with the situation, but he concluded he wasn’t quite ready for his mother to receive a letter home saying he was failing, so he looked to his mortar. It did kinda look like breadcrumbs. 

He hesitantly brought the pestle back to the powder and began to grind again, after a few long, awkward minutes, it reached a finer consistency. 

“There, now add it to the cauldron and stir clockwise.”

“Look I can read a textbook, you don’t have to be such a know-it-all.” Draco spat, feeling increasingly embarrassed about the situation. 

Hermione blinked at him and stepped back, looking frustrated, “Fine, you can complete it yourself.”

She turned to leave when Draco’s arm reached out to grab hers. He immediately let go when he noticed he had grabbed her left forearm, much like him she kept it constantly covered up. 

“No, sorry. Please help me with the incantation.” He muttered quietly. 

Hermione looked briefly to the arm that Draco had grabbed, before nodding her head and turning back, “Stir it in then.”

This time without argument, Draco stirred the potion until it finally turned the deep red colour he had been hoping for. He felt his lips tilt up into a small, timid smile. 

“Now, flick your wand like this,” she motioned her wand in a psi shape, “and say the incantation frigore flamma”

Draco complied, and the skin of the potion set alight with flame, the flames then turned blue before disappearing, leaving a perfect Fire Protection Potion. 

Draco sighed in relief, “It finally worked.” 

“Well done.” Hermione smiled. 

Draco looked to her, and remembered all the times he had envied her for her potion making skills. Potions was supposed to be his thing. Something he excelled at. Something that had made his parents proud. And then a muggleborn came along and was suddenly always above him. It had infuriated him, and yet he never once thought that perhaps he could learn from her. A chuckle slipped past his lips.

“What?” She asked him.

“All that time I spent trying to beat you. I should have just asked you for help.” 

A funny look graced her features, it almost looked like… shock, but also, pride? Like she had wanted Draco to say something of the sort but like she never expected it to happen. 

“Well done Draco! A fine example of a Fire Protection potion!” Professor Slughorn interjected as he looked into Draco’s cauldron, “You ought to take a vile with you, it can be a very useful potion.” 

Draco did, and he looked at the potion in pride as he left the room before slipping it into his pocket. He hadn’t made a successful potion in months, and now that he had he finally started to feel like perhaps he could complete the year with good grades and maybe even think about having a life in the future. 

“You’re about seven months too late, Malfoy.” Seamus Finnigan approached him. Draco felt his heart sink, he had been trying his hardest to avoid him. 

He didn’t necessarily blame Seamus for not wanting him around, but he didn’t appreciate how he actively seeked him out to remind him what a vile human being he was. Draco wasn’t blind to the irony of it. 

“What?” 

Seamus gestured to his pocket, “That potion. I think Goyle could have used it seven months ago, but I doubt it’ll be much use to him now.” 

The people that had heard what he said went silent, and stopped to look at Draco. People around them audibly gasped. And for good reason. Draco felt a raging fire burn through his veins. Finnigan was always vocal and was never one to wait to voice his displeasure. He could be a little mean now and then, but he was never cruel.

And using Draco’s dead friend against him was cruel. 

“That’s not fair, Seamus.” Draco heard the voice of Ron Weasley behind him but he made no move to look, he was too busy trying to burn holes into Finnigan with his glare. 

He itched to reach for his wand, his hand twitching towards where it was concealed in his cloak. The action made Finnigan arch a brow, challenging him. He knew what he was doing. He wanted Draco to hurt him, or at least attempt to. Because he knew if he did he would be sent home and his second chance would be blown, he would just forever be known as the irredeemable Death Eater and eventually people would forget about him. He almost considered taking the bait, this whole ‘second chance’ thing was becoming tiring, he missed his mum, had no friends and he wasn’t even doing well in his classes.

But as always, the image of his mother stopped him in his tracks. Her getting kicked out of their house with no money to fall back on, having to take care of his father while trying to house, clothe and feed them. Draco being unable to get a decent job due to having no N.E.W.Ts. He lowered his hand, not taking his wand. 

“I don’t need this.” He muttered, before storming past. 

He avoided looking at the portrait of Goyle on the wall as he carried on walking until he was out of the castle doors. 

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[authorwiththedragontattoo]

sometimes i think i feel too much.

does everyone gaze at the moon and wonder

if she feels cold to the touch?

[authorwiththedragontattoo]

The Snitch Seeker Chapter 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

When he had first heard about Hogwarts eighth year, the thought of attending didn’t even cross Draco’s mind. He had run away from the dark lord, barely evaded Azkaban and spent the last four months living in a house that was being monitored 24/7 by the ministry. They knew every move they made, if Draco decided to put an extra sugar in his coffee one morning, the Ministry knew about it.

So, when Narcissa Malfoy came into his room one day holding a letter from Minerva McGonagall requesting his return to Hogwarts in September, he was shocked to say the least. —– or yet another hogwarts eighth year in which draco redeems himself fic

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Warnings: Mild references to violence and death, mild PTSD and anxiety refernces 

If the castle had been eerie before; at night the castle was just straight up terrifying. 

Draco had done his fair share of stalking the castle at night; he wasn’t new to the winding hallways that seemed endless when the lights were out, or the paintings that seemed perfectly innocent in the day that appeared almost menacing at night. 

But now the darkness felt like it’s fingers were clasped around his throat; like it was reaching into his chest and sucking the air from his lungs. He was acutely aware of the way his breathing picked up as he began to gasp for the air that was being stolen from every cell in his body. 

Because it was too much like the last time he was here. 

He didn’t dare move his feet more than a few inches at a time for fear he would feel the stiff body of one of his classmates at his feet. He could smell the burning flesh and could hear explosions still ringing in his ears. If he glanced out the window, he could still see every protective barrier be torn down, allowing thousands of Death Eaters to descend on his school. 

He felt ridiculous. He was no victim, no innocent kid who was dragged into a war they wanted no part of. He had played his part, he did what he was supposed to while knowing the outcome was always going to be war. So why did the images of that day leave him struggling for breath? Why could he feel himself shaking at the memory of a day he helped create? Why did he feel so weak when he swore he would never let his weakness hinder him ever again? Why-?

“Draco Malfoy!”

Draco’s racing mind skidded to a halt as a firm voice cut through the deafening silence of the hallway. He turned slowly, coming face to face with Hogwarts Headmaster Professor McGonagall. 

“Professor, I-”

“My office. Now.” 

Her blunt, commanding voice left no room for argument, and Draco wasn’t about to challenge that. He knew this was inevitable; he had been back less than 5 hours and he had already tried to curse someone in the common room and was now stalking the halls in the middle of the night. He expected nothing less than an expulsion.

The thought of his mother’s face if he came home, having blown his one chance at a future had his stomach twist so violently he feared he would be sick then and there. In silence the two of them made their way towards the headmasters office, and though he was on his way to expulsion, Draco was thankful for the company and for the light that illuminated their way from the tip of Professor McGonagall’s wand. 

The first thing Draco noticed when he stepped into Professor McGonagall’s office was two new portraits that hung on the wall. The painted eyes of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape bore down on him. He suddenly became consumed by the urge to avert his eyes, to not dare look Dumbledore in the eyes just like he had that night almost a year ago. 

“Tea?” 

Draco turned back to McGonagall to see her using her index finger to wordlessly command a teapot to pour freshly brewed tea into some teacups. He nodded at her after he considered the cold that had seeped into his bones while wandering the halls, leaving him shivering. 

Slowly, dipping his head to avoid feeling the stare of the former Headmasters Draco slipped into the chair opposite Professor McGonagall, quietly muttering a ‘thank you’ when she placed a warm cup of tea in front of him. He sighed in contentment as he wrapped his stiff fingers round the porcelain, allowing the warmth to blossom under his fingertips. 

“I heard you got into a fight with Mr Finnigan upon your arrival.” 

Well, she wasted no time getting to the point. Draco could admire that at least.

“I didn’t start it, Professor! He-” 

Draco halted at the raise of a finger, a gesture he knew meant McGonagall did not want him to continue. 

“Why are you here, Mr Malfoy? Why did you come back?” She asked quietly. 

Draco blinked in confusion, “Because you invited me?” 

Professor McGonagall shook her head gently, “No. What inspired you to accept my invitation?” 

Suddenly, Draco knew what she meant. She wanted him to think about his mother, about his future. She wanted him to think about getting his qualifications so he can still have a good life despite everything he has done. 

“Um…” Draco started.

“You don’t have to tell me, just think about it to yourself.” 

So he did. He pictured his mother’s face when she brought in the letter, how her face lit up more than he had seen it in a year. He thought about how she cried when she thought Draco wasn’t around; silent, dignified tears that slowly ran down her sunken cheeks as she walked through the manor; trying to savour the place she had raised her son before it was snatched away from her. He thought about passing his N.E.W.Ts and getting a good job where he could save up enough money to house and keep his family safe.

“Now think about what would happen if I decided to expel you right now for trying to curse another student.” McGonagall’s voice cut in, harshly halting his imagination. 

Draco could feel the anger and shame begin to climb through his system as he imagined coming home to his parents, having failed yet again. He couldn’t stop the images of his mother’s disappointed gaze or his father’s anger from invading his mind. 

“If you’re going to expel me can you just get on with it?” Draco shot at the Professor angrily, wishing he had never gone to all the trouble of coming back. 

For a moment all that could be heard was Draco’s quickening breath as frustration flared under his skin, before Professor McGonagall spoke again.

“I’m not expelling you, Mr Malfoy.” 

Draco’s eyes shot from the tea that was slowly cooling in his hand to the Professor, looking at her in shock. 

“What?”

“I wasn’t expecting any of this to be easy,” She began, “Of course, I hadn’t anticipated a fight in the dormitory on the first night.”

Draco felt his cheeks colour slightly, it all felt so silly now. 

“But Draco, I sent you that invitation because I feel that every child who suffered because of the war deserves a chance to take back control of their lives. We all suffered because of Voldemort.”

Draco winced at the sound of his name. He knew he was dead, and most of the Death Eaters were in Azkaban, but he couldn’t seem to shake the fear that his name still carried. He thought if he said it, Voldemort would come back and take revenge on his family for running away. For being cowards and for failing him. He suddenly got the urge to hold his mother in his arms and not let go. 

“But don’t make me regret giving you this second chance, dear boy. Because you may not get another one.” 

Professor McGonagall always had this way of being both stern and kind at the same time, Draco thought. She was encouraging him to do well but the warning was there, smouldering underneath. He only had one shot at becoming something other than the hated ex-death eater, and she knew that just as much as he did. 

“Now, get to bed. There will be no special treatment if you wake up late for your lessons tomorrow.” 

Draco didn’t reply, instead he silently stood, leaving his untouched tea and making his way out the office. Before he left though, he stopped at the door frame and turned back to the Professor. He glanced up at the two portraits above her head, and if he didn’t know better he could have sworn Professor Snape’s lips jolted quickly upwards before settling back into a straight line. 

“Professor?” Draco met McGonagall’s eyes once again, “Thank you.”

Then he left the room, back into the pitch black hallways. 

-

McGonagall’s words played over in his head as Draco made his way back to the dorms,

“You may not get another one.”

He had known this year was going to be difficult as soon as he accepted his place, he knew people would react the way Finnigan did. It was stupid of him to lose control and almost get himself expelled on the first day.

He was sure Finnigan wasn't the only one who had something to say to him, so he was going to have to learn how to keep his anger at bay. And quickly. 

This time when Draco approached the doors to the common room, there was silence on the other side. It was late enough that he was sure everyone would have long gone to bed; at least he hoped so. 

Gently, he pushed the doors open and glanced inside. The fireplace was still burning but as Draco had suspected the room was empty. Letting out a small sigh of relief he stepped fully into the room. But just as he began to calm, he was startled to notice a figure sat on the sofa facing the fireplace, and they seemed to be looking back at him. 

As the fire flickered, their features became visible, and Draco’s heart sank as he looked at the face he had hoped he could avoid at all costs. He saw Harry Potter looking back at him.

Draco felt a defensive rush run through his bloodstream and he immediately itched to reach for his wand, but then he took in the man and he felt maybe his wand wasn't so necessary at that moment. Potter had his feet up on the sofa with his knees pulled up to his chest, obstructing the bottom half of his face. He looked… small. His hair had grown and it now sat atop his brow bone casting shadows across his eyes that danced in the firelight, but his intense stare was still there, looking directly at Draco. Draco chose to ignore the urge to pull down his left sleeve, just to make sure it was down.

He expected Potter to say something, maybe shout at him. Insult him. Tell him to go home because he doesn’t belong at that school anymore. Berate him for all those years of relentless bullying and singing with his enemy. Maybe even kill him. Draco couldn't say he’d be surprised if he did. He might even welcome it. But he didn’t say anything. And neither did Draco. 

Had it been 3 years prior, Draco stumbling upon Harry in an empty common room in the middle of the night would have inevitably caused a fight. Draco would have asked him if he was afraid of the dark or something, and Harry would have shot back something that wasn’t particularly witty but he definitely always knew how to push Draco’s buttons. But now, they just kind of stared, for a moment. 

Over the last four months, Draco had come up with a million and one things he would like to say to Harry Potter if he ever saw him again. But now that he was looking at the saviour of the wizarding world in the dead of night with only the sound of the fire cracking in the room, not a single one came to mind. 

Draco couldn’t take the silence anymore, and broke their gaze. Without looking back he quickly navigated his way through the dark dormitory until he found his bed, and his thundering heart eventually settled as no one else stirred. 

 And he tried not to think too hard about the fact that the only other empty bed in the room was right beside his. 

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[authorwiththedragontattoo]

you’re an amazing writer, never stop doing it you’re so talented

🥺🥺😭😭 stop it ilysm bb

[authorwiththedragontattoo]

The Snitch Seeker - Chapter 2

Chapter 1  

When he had first heard about Hogwarts eighth year, the thought of attending didn’t even cross Draco’s mind. He had run away from the dark lord, barely evaded Azkaban and spent the last four months living in a house that was being monitored 24/7 by the ministry. They knew every move they made, if Draco decided to put an extra sugar in his coffee one morning, the Ministry knew about it.

So, when Narcissa Malfoy came into his room one day holding a letter from Minerva McGonagall requesting his return to Hogwarts in September, he was shocked to say the least. —– or yet another hogwarts eighth year in which draco redeems himself fic

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Warnings: Mild references to violence and death, mild gore, references to alcoholism and bad eating habits

“I’m going back to Hogwarts, Father.” 

Draco stepped tentatively into Lucius Malfoy’s office. Lucius spent most of his time in there nowadays, drowning in old papers, frantically highlighting and scribbling down any notes he could. Neither Draco nor Narcissa knew exactly what he hoped to find in the old paperwork, but they expected he was looking for something, some way to climb his way back to the top. He had hoped that giving up the identities of escaped Death Eaters would be enough to earn him the title he had before, but it hadn’t. He was still just a failed ex- Death Eater who was considered a coward on both sides.

Draco’s words caused him to pause his frantic rummaging through his old draws, and look up at his son. His hair had grown long and unkempt, and his face was stubbly and old beyond his years. 

“Hogwarts?” 

Draco swallowed, “Yes, Father. To complete my N.E.W.Ts, I was invited by Professor McGonagall.”

Lucius’ brow furrowed, and he turned to face Draco properly; “And I expect all those mudbloods and blood traitors have been invited back as well.” 

Draco cringed at the language his father used. Words he had thrown around so freely before now left a sour taste in his mouth, “I expect so, yes.” 

This seemed to catch Lucius’ interest, as his face drew to that of concentration. Draco felt unnerved by him, Lucius had been rather… unhinged for a while now. While Draco and his mother had accepted their defeat with grace, quietly putting up with the punishments the ministry had chosen to bestow on them, Lucius had become angry and violent. He blamed ‘mudbloods’ and ‘blood traitors’ for their situation, for the possibility of being stripped of his fortune and for the state of house arrest they had been placed in.

“This is brilliant, my boy!” Lucius lunged forward and grabbed Draco by the shoulders, “Brilliant!”.

“It… it is?” Draco stuttered, taken aback by his father's unexpected joy.

“Yes! We can use this to help bring honour back to the Malfoy name, to bring us back to the power we were in before, you see? We just need to come up with a plan-”

“-No!” 

Lucius’ gleeful face dropped into one of confusion, “N-no?” 

Lucius wasn’t used to hearing his son say no to him.

Draco felt his father's hands tighten around his shoulders, before he shrugged them off, needing little strength to dismantle his father’s ever weakening grip.

“I just want to get my exams and go.” Draco replied firmly, “We lost, Father. One day you’re going to have to accept that.”

As much as it pained Draco to admit it, Ron was right; he had needed that sandwich. 

It had gone nightfall before Draco finally made his way into the castle and the great feast had been and gone. He approached Professor Flitwick somewhat sheepishly, expecting a lecture about arriving so late into the night as he marked him present, but Flitwick didn’t say a word. He simply nodded his head and opened the door to allow him in. This confused Draco; but he secretly thanked whatever higher power there was that he didn’t have to explain to the Professor the reason for his tardiness. 

He had been told in the letter that the Prefect’s floor had been converted into a dormitory for the eighth year, so Draco straightened his shoulders and raised his chin, ready to finally face what he had been dreading all day when something stopped him in his tracks. 

One of the walls that sat at the entrance of the school had been completely cleared of the old paintings, and instead held portraits. Portraits of all the people that died four months ago. 

The breath caught in Draco’s throat as the commemoration left him stiff; staring up at all the faces he had seen many times in his nightmares. But in his nightmares their faces were often frozen in fear, in pain, with blood painting their skin and rubble caught in their hair. Sometimes their faces would distort into vile twists, or their skin would melt off the bone. Occasionally they would talk to Draco, shout at him. Tell him it’s his fault they were dead, his fault they were murdered. Those were the ones that often had Draco retching over the toilet for the rest of the night. 

Here they were smiling, happy. Their most joyous moments caught in moving images, laughing and having fun. That’s how people wanted to remember them, Draco supposes. People want to remember when they were happy, not fighting for their lives. 

Draco’s rapid heart felt like it skipped a beat when his eyes landed on one particular image. In the corner of the wall, near the bottom, but there nonetheless. The brown eyes of Gregory Goyle burned into the grey of Draco’s. 

“Greg…” Draco whispered, stepping closer. 

Goyle was someone who was definitely a frequent visitor in Draco’s night terrors, and one of the rather more terrifying ones at that. More than a few nights a week Draco could still feel the flames lick his ankles after watching Gregory slip and be consumed by the inferno. He could still feel the smoke choke his lungs and make his head spin, making climbing for his life all the more difficult. Had Potter not come back, Draco for sure would have met the same fate as Gregory.

Suddenly, Draco selfishly thought of what would have happened if he had died that day. Would he be on this wall too? 

Once again he let his eyes roam the wall, analysing the different faces looking back at him. A photo of Lavender Brown in the stunning blue dress she wore to the Yule Ball smiled at him as she curtseyed to the camera. Colin Creevey proudly holding a photography trophy beamed at him, showing off the biggest, toothiest smile. Fred Weasley, slipping some sort of sweet gummy into Professor Flitwick’s cloak pocket cheekily winked at him, holding a finger to his lips in a ‘shushing’ motion. 

Giving a small, sad smile to Gregory Goyle’s portrait, Draco concluded that no, he wouldn’t have been included on this wall had he died that day.

-

The doors of the eighth year common room glared down at Draco, judging him for hesitating. He could hear the commotion coming from inside, lively chatter, clinking of glasses and what sounded like a riveting game of Wizard Chess, but the loudest thing of all was the sound of Draco’s heartbeat in his ears. 

He had made it through the train journey with no incidents, his interaction with Weasley was tame compared to what Draco had imagined would happen the second he showed his face here. But this was the real test; walking into a room of people who he’d looked in the eye as he stood among the Death Eaters, stood on the side of the man who killed their friends; their family. 

Deciding he had behaved cowardly long enough, Draco straightened his tie and smoothed down his robes, before opening the doors and stepping through. At first it seemed like no one noticed, the chatter carried on and no one seemed to glance his way. That didn’t last long, though. Eventually, people saw him, and gradually a hush fell over the room, until the only sound that could be heard was the crackling of the fire. 

For a moment, everyone was still, in shock. Draco stood like a deer in the headlights, but he kept his chin high and his face stern, hoping the pure fear that ran through his veins remained undetected by the crowd. No one seemed to know what to say, or what to do. Draco didn’t either. Until a voice piped up in the crowd. 

“Is this some kind of a joke?” 

Draco’s gaze immediately zoned in on the source of the voice, finding Seamus Finnigan, rising from the sofa near the fireplace; looking around incredulously as if to make sure he wasn’t the only one who saw Draco walk through the door. 

“I better not be seeing you, you better not be here right now.” Finnigan spoke again. 

Everyone’s eyes remained on Draco, some still in disbelief like Finnigan’s, some in mild to moderate disgust, and some blank faces. Draco noted Granger and Weasley sat in the corner of the room, and came to the assumption Weasley had already told Granger he was here considering the lack of surprise on her face. Or perhaps she was smart enough to know McGonagall would have invited him back despite his current reputation. That was also highly likely. He briefly noted in the back of his mind that Potter wasn’t anywhere in sight. 

“Well, evidently I am here, Finnigan. So why don’t you just fuck off and mind your business.” Draco shot back, feeling vulnerable as thirty pairs of eyes bore into his skin. 

Finnigan scoffed, and started moving closer; “What did you have to do to be allowed back here, huh? Did daddy buy your way in?” 

Draco looked Finnigan in the eye and scowled, daring him to go down this road. 

“Oh wait,” he continued, stepping closer “See, I heard your family is getting stripped of it’s fortune. Daddy doesn’t have any money anymore, does he?”

The room erupted into a low murmur, as people started whispering to each other; eyes flitting between Finnigan and Draco. 

“I’m warning you, Finnigan.” Draco replied in a low voice.

He knew this is the exact opposite of what he should be doing, of what he planned. He wanted to keep his head down, and get through the year quietly. He wanted to get his exams and leave as soon as possible, so he could get a good job and buy a house for his mother and father to live in if they weren’t allowed to keep the manor. He knew fighting with someone the second he stepped into the building was the easiest way to ensure he gets his second chance at a future ripped out from under his feet, but he couldn’t help it. Finnigan knew where to prod him so that it hurt. 

“Maybe your mother slept with the Minister, is that it?” 

Seamus knew exactly where it hurt.

Draco reached into his robes and pulled out his wand, aiming it at Seamus. Quick to recognise what Draco was doing, Seamus raised his in turn. The room gasped and people scuttled to the edges of the room, trying to keep out of the line of fire.

“Don’t you say a word against my mother!”

“What are you gonna do about it Malfoy? You’re finished! You may be back in school but no one is ever going to forget how you and your cowardly family ran away when the going got tough.”

“lingua ligatum”

Without thinking, Draco cast a tongue-tying curse at Finnigan; who easily deflected it with a wave of his wand. Gasps and cries could be heard as the spell was thrown, people covered their heads and ducked away from the conflict. 

Finnigan chuckled darkly, apparently not even in shock at Draco casting the curse, and turned to look around the room; “You see that?” he gestured to Draco with his wand before turning back to him. 

“Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater.” 

Draco broke his gaze with Finnigan and looked around the room. People looked at him with fear and anger in their eyes as they cowered away. It was exactly what he was expecting; exactly what he had hoped to avoid.

And now he tried to curse someone in the common room. 

He quickly lowered his wand and turned on his heel. He knew it was late, and all his things would be waiting for him in the dormitory; but he couldn’t stay there. So he did what he seemed to have become very good at these days, and he ran. 

As he pushed his way back through the doors, he heard Finnigan call behind him.

“That’s it, run away! Just like you always do!”.

And he was right. 

People who asked to be tagged:

@fantasticreads0402

[authorwiththedragontattoo]

I love your writing and am so glad you are back!!!!!! the little character study you did yesterday was incredible and i am so excited for your new fic :)

oh thank you so much!! you have no idea how happy this makes me 💗 i was devastated about having to put my writing on hold so i could focus on my exams but now that they're cancelled i am so excited about being able to write again!!! (and i'm happy about seeing all the familiar faces from my old account, i missed you guys!)

i'm glad someone is as excited about my new fic as i am, considering i've only ever really done shorts before it's new territory for me but i'm already enjoying it so much!!

[authorwiththedragontattoo]

The Snitch Seeker - Chapter 1

When he had first heard about Hogwarts eighth year, the thought of attending didn’t even cross Draco’s mind. He had run away from the dark lord, barely evaded Azkaban and spent the last four months living in a house that was being monitored 24/7 by the ministry. They knew every move they made, if Draco decided to put an extra sugar in his coffee one morning, the Ministry knew about it.

So, when Narcissa Malfoy came into his room one day holding a letter from Minerva McGonagall requesting his return to Hogwarts in September, he was shocked to say the least. ----- or yet another hogwarts eighth year in which draco redeems himself fic

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Warnings: Mild references to violence and death 

The Hogwarts Express rumbled and groaned, announcing its presence to any living thing within a 10 mile radius as it hurtled down the rickety track towards its destination; Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It was even louder on the inside. First years shrieked down the train corridors, thrilled about finally beginning their magical career, about making friends with the fellow witches and wizards beginning that year, and particularly about the snack trolley filled with sugary delights.

The older years also retained a certain unusual buzz about them, striking up lively conversations with their peers and moving in and out of the different carriages, greeting friends and hugging people they hadn’t seen in months. Call it a ‘post-war euphoria’; call it thousands of students finally breathing after being suffocated for months. Finally being teenagers after being forced to become adults too quickly.

Draco Malfoy, on the other hand; could still feel the vice around his throat.

Draco, like many others, was returning for what was coined as ‘Hogwarts Eighth Year’. It was an unprecedented decision to give the graduating class of 1998 a fair opportunity to complete their N.E.W.T.s and redo their final year to ensure they could receive their full education before going out into the Wizarding world on their own.

When he had first heard about this eighth year, the thought of attending didn’t even cross Draco’s mind. He had run away from the dark lord, barely evaded Azkaban and spent the last four months living in a house that was being monitored 24/7 by the ministry. They knew every move they made, if Draco decided to put an extra sugar in his coffee one morning, the Ministry knew about it.

Of course, none of the Malfoy’s had been happy about it, but they weren’t about to argue when their freedom was already hanging by a thread; so Draco quickly had to accept that every time he took a shit someone in the Ministry was making a note of it.

So, when Narcissa Malfoy came into his room one day holding a letter from Minerva McGonagall requesting his return to Hogwarts in September, he was shocked to say the least.

“They want me to go back?”

Draco stared at the letter in disbelief, scrutinising Professor McGonagall’s signature to make sure it wasn’t some foul trick.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Darling?” Narcissa looked more delighted than Draco had seen her in months. After the war, she wasn’t quite herself. As if she were just a whisper of her old self; an echo. It broke Draco’s heart to see her eyes absent of the defiant and powerful glint they once held.

“This is your chance for a fresh start, Draco.”

Draco knew the guilt that consumed his mother for allowing Draco to end up in such circumstances. There wasn’t an awful lot she could have done; they both knew that, but her son had to fight for not only his life but for her own at 16 and she would never be able to escape the fact that she; as a mother, allowed that to happen to her son.

For the first month after the defeat of Voldemort, Draco would wake in the night to his mattress dipping as Narcissa climbed under the duvet and pulled him close. Neither mentioned spoke of it in the day, they didn’t need to. Draco was just happy to have his mother there to calm him when he woke from a nightmare struggling to breathe, bile climbing up his throat.

“And the Ministry is allowing this?” Draco questioned, handing the letter back to Narcissa.

“Well, they check our mail before we’re allowed to read it; surely if they weren’t going to allow it they wouldn’t have sent it to us.”

Humming in return, Draco looked to the floor. It was no secret to Draco the backlash the ministry had received for pardoning the Malfoy family; many people believed all three of them should be locked up in Azkaban just like the rest of the Death Eaters - have it their way and he would probably be dead already.

The thought of returning to Hogwarts, knowing how many students wouldn’t give a second thought to killing him where he stood caused nausea to stir in his stomach and made his head hurt.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, mother? I don’t think I would even make it to the train without someone hexing me on the platform.”

Narcissa’s furrowed brow softened, and she moved to sit next to Draco on the plush sofa that sat in front of his bedroom window. They both turned to the view of their lavish gardens that sprawled with trees, flowers, plants and creatures to create a botanical wonderland. It was a view Draco had gotten rather bored of. He hadn’t left the manor in two months and he spent most of his time in front of this window. Sometimes he tried to read a book or a paper, but mostly he sat there to think. For hours he let his thoughts consume him, leaving him numb.

“Draco, dear” Narcissa began, after a few moments of silence, “You can’t stay in the manor forever.”

Draco turned to look at her, and she did the same. She must have been able to read the dread on Draco’s face as she offered him a warm smile, and stretched an arm around his shoulders. He never could hide anything from her.

“No matter how much you want to.”

Deep down Draco knew he couldn’t pass up this opportunity. There had been talk that Lucius might be stripped of his fortune; having used the manor to harbour Death Eaters and bribe members of the Ministry with his wealth. Without the fortune to fall back on, and no N.E.W.Ts, Draco had no safety net for his future; and this concerned Narcissa greatly. To be honest, Draco never thought he would even make it this far so he never really had a plan for his future in the first place.

But now he was 18 and he was alive, and he needed a plan - even if just for his mother’s sake.

“Okay, I’ll go back to Hogwarts.”

Draco’s head hurt. He had gotten to the platform early so that he could have a room to himself so thankfully he could partially shut out the noise of the train; but his mind was reeling and he couldn’t stop it.

The pit of anxiety that sat in his stomach had been there for days, weighing him down, stopping him from keeping food down. He had skipped supper the night before and breakfast that morning, which in hindsight probably did nothing to help the sick feeling that worsened with every twist of the train.

Three years ago, Draco would have been waltzing up and down the corridors of this train, pushing, shoving and yelling his way through the crowds to make sure people knew he was there - tailed by his lesser Slytherin friends.

Not this year.

This year he had the curtains drawn and the door locked, he pressed himself into the corner of the room and shut his eyes; dreading the moment he would have to step off this train and face the place he watched so many people be slaughtered - because of him.

-

It was just as hard as he expected it to be. Harder, in fact.

There wasn’t a trace of the war on the mighty castle, stood just as proud as Draco always remembered it. Where he last saw piles of rubble, Draco now saw a towering clocktower. The same clocktower he had stood on many times; observing the 100 foot drop to the concrete ground.

Where the bodies of his peers… children lay; there was now the vibrant green grass he remembered from being 11 and first stepping foot onto the grounds.

Draco could feel the bile rising in his throat once again as he observed the picture perfect school; devoid of any memory of what had happened there only four months ago.

The crowd of students moved towards the building; the setting sun reminding them of how eager they were to reach the Great Hall; and even more eager for the feast that follows soon after their arrival. Draco couldn’t quite bring himself to follow them just yet.

Instead he stood at the gate; looking up at the building but making no move to go inside. Many agitated students pushed past him, throwing grunts of displeasure his way. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t will his legs to follow. Everytime he told himself he would move, his mind was plagued with images of the Death Eaters roaming the castle; cursing anyone who crossed their path. He saw images of his parents on the other side of the courtyard; and looking Voldemort in the eye, beckoning him over. He saw Goyle; burning to death in the fire he created.

He wasn’t the only one, he noticed. A few other students; mainly eighth years stopped to brace themselves before eventually making their way inside, but they all left pretty quickly, leaving Draco to stand there by himself as the sun moved lower in the sky.

“What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?”

Draco jumped at the sound of a familiar voice behind him. He felt himself go rigid, and his breath caught in his throat. Quickly thinking better of the look of surprise on his face, Draco plastered a glare to his features, before turning round.

“Weasley.”

Ron Weasley looked different. Not physically; physically he was still a pale ginger with limbs too long for his body. It was in the eyes, and the way he held himself. Before, he seemed so unsure of himself, like he never quite knew his own worth, like he never wanted to take up more space than he needed to.

Draco couldn’t ignore his own contribution to that.

But now, he stood proud. His shoulders pushed back and head held high, as if he was daring anyone to just try and tear him down. And his eyes, always kind; now held a light that shone with pride as he stared Draco down. He had a daunting feeling that the power dynamics between the two weren’t quite what they used to be.

After all, Ron Weasley is the boy who helped win the war; Draco is the ex-Death Eater who ran away.

He quickly glanced around, knowing if Ronald was there, there was usually two other people not far behind. But he saw no sign of them.

“They’ve gone inside already.” Ron stated, as if reading Draco’s mind. “Why are you here, Malfoy?” He repeated.

“What’s it to you?” He snapped back, suddenly feeling rather vulnerable, like an exposed nerve.

Ronald scoffed in response, and took a step closer; “Can’t face what you did?”, he nodded towards the castle.

Draco kept his face stoic but his heart dropped at the realisation that Weasley was reading him like an open book. He didn’t know when the boy became so wise but he didn’t like it one bit.

“I don’t see you eager to waltz through the doors either.” He lamely retorted.

“Yeah well I lost my brother in there, didn’t I? Friends, people I cared about.”

Draco felt himself become defensive as Ronald’s words caused the images of the war to flash through his mind, “What, you think I didn’t lose people too? You think I didn’t suffer that day as well?”

Ronald paused for a moment, looking at Draco like he was just dirt under his shoe; “I guess that’s the difference between me and you, Malfoy. Despite everything I stayed, and I fought. You ran away.”

“You don’t know a thing about me, Weasley. So, fuck off.” Draco’s voice raised as anger and shame burned in his chest.

Ronald laughed somewhat morbidly, as if Draco had reacted exactly how he expected him to. And Draco had to admit, he probably did. Suddenly, Ronald’s arm stretched out towards Draco, offering him something in his hand. Draco couldn’t help the way he flinched slightly at the movement. On a hesitant closer inspection, Draco realised what was in his hand was sandwiches wrapped in cling film.

Confusion clouded Draco’s features as he looked blankly at the offering. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting Ron to offer him; perhaps a hex or a punch in the nose, but it definitely wasn’t food.

Ronald rolled his eyes as he saw Draco make no move to accept his offering, and instead placed them on the ground by his feet, “In case it takes you a while to grow a pair and face what you did.”

Ronald then walked away, leaving Draco dumbfounded.

[authorwiththedragontattoo]

Draco Malfoy and the choice between what’s right and what’s easy

so this is just a little character study of draco malfoy in the fourth harry potter film: harry potter and the goblet of fire 

No warnings apply / general audiences

mostly canon compliant (i took a few liberties here and there, but only minor things)

enjoy!

“Don’t boast, Draco.”

Like a brick wall, Lucius Malfoy’s dictatorial words brought Draco Malfoy’s frivolous bravado to a humiliating halt. The thud of Lucius’ cane knocked the breath from Draco’s lungs and left the playful taunting in his throat.

He hadn’t meant to start showing off so ungracefully, he had always been told that the key to undermining your peers was not to crassly exhibit your superiority; but to get under their skin and have them slowly doubt their own worth against your poise and position until all it took was a look for them to cower back into their place.

Draco had never been very good at that.

Seeing the Weasley’s, and fucking Potter and Granger so joyously carefree and indecently elated caused such a juvenile need to prove himself better than them in the only way he knew how. His ivory cheeks flushed a hue of pink as shame began to burn in his stomach for allowing himself to act so childish in front of his father; who was able to cut deep into the self-esteem of those around him with only a well constructed glance.

“There’s no need with these people.”

Draco nodded and composed himself. His father was right of course, he had nothing to prove to his classmates, he shouldn’t care what they think of him. He wouldn’t. He knew he was significantly greater than them in many aspects, and he didn’t need the approval of a couple of low-lives and a mudblood to know this.

Yet as they walked away he itched to turn around and see what they were saying about him.

“That always was your biggest weakness, Draco. Your craving for attention.”

Suddenly becoming painfully aware of every inch of his skin, every movement of his muscles and every twitch in his face, Draco pushed back his shoulders, lifted his chin and set his face in stone.

“Yes, father.”

Draco agreed with him, he did crave attention. It was a nasty habit he hadn’t been able to shake just yet. He knew his place, his power, his position. He had many admirers and many more people who feared him, that was good. It was the people who seemed disinterested in him that made him want to scream until there was not a single witch or wizard who didn’t know who he was.

Potter and his little gaggle of Gryffindors particularly set off this little adverse reaction. He figured if he couldn’t get Potter’s respect or his fear; he would keep pushing until he hated him so much that just the sound of the name ‘Draco’ had Potter’s blood boiling.

Nasty little habit.

“Do better, we’re in public.”

“Yes father.”

-

The Quidditch match had started and the stadium pulsated with life. Loud music, louder chants, fireworks and light shows, flags, novelty hats, banners, it was all so festive, bursting at the seams with excitement and thrill.

Well, outside it was, inside the Ministers box it was rather dull. There was a certain etiquette with those types Draco was learning. Standing up to cheer had earned him a smack on the knee with the snake head of his father’s cane. He was to sit straight and clap politely, just like if he were anywhere else.

He was feeling awfully left out of the festivities.

But that was a good thing, Draco reasoned. He wasn’t on par with the people here anyway, he was above them all, he was in the Minister's box for heaven's sake. If he felt left out, he was doing the right thing. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

Even if it was boring.

A particularly loud cry rang in Draco’s ear, and a glance up to find the source told him that Potter and the Weasleys were within his view. He saw them all standing, painted faces; leaning as far over the gate as they could without falling 100 feet onto the turf. They looked thrilled to be there, each one clapping and cheering, huge smiles on each of their rotten faces.

There it was again, the burning desire to tell them all that they may be having fun but he was in the Minister’s box, and his suit probably cost more than all their clothes put together, and that Ronald’s hair was dumb, and…

A nudge in his side brought Draco’s attention back to his father seated next to him.

“Don’t even give those people a second glance.”

Draco settled back in his seat, looking forward with an expressionless face,

“Of course father”.

-

Hogwarts was buzzing with an energy Draco hadn’t seen at the school before. A mixture of the visitation from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, the Tri-Wizard tournament and yet another Potter scandal left the school feeling unsettled yet so lively.

Unfortunately, the Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs didn’t know of the social order at Hogwarts, and the other students had seemed to have forgotten their place. And while Draco felt order needed to be restored to the school, he wasn’t near stupid enough to try and square up to a Durmstrang, no matter how much sawdust filled their skulls.

So of course, Draco made the very mature and politically sound move to mass produce “Harry Potter Stinks” badges. Because if there was ever a person he could rely on to brighten his day with his delightful sensitivity to Draco’s bullying, it was Potter. The badges actually sold a lot better than he expected, perhaps he did think too highly of the boy.

He could hear his father’s voice in the back of his head, berating him for his attention seeking and crude attack on his enemies. The art of subtlety was something Lucius Malfoy had perfected to climb the social ladder, while Draco still favoured petty pranks and mean jabs wherever he could.

His father’s voice was a little easier to ignore when he was in Hogwarts.

-

“I don’t give a damn what your father thinks, Malfoy!”

Potter was riled up and heading straight towards Draco. His teasing had stung Potter better than he ever could have hoped, and Draco loved it. He even threw a blow to Draco’s shoulder; which was new and unexpected although not entirely unwelcome. Draco had never been able to break his little resolve with such a mild insult before, although he supposes a life threatening tournament you’re not even supposed to be allowed in will do that to a person.

“He’s vile, and cruel. And you’re just pathetic.”

Well, Draco can’t really fault him for the truth. His father is vile and cruel, no one; not even Lucius himself would deny that. And Draco was acting pretty pathetic, trying to get his attention fix by poking Potter with a stick until he explodes.

Didn’t stop him reaching for his wand though, the fun with Harry wasn’t over yet.

Until it was, and he was pulling ferret hair from his teeth for a week.

-

Draco was surprised by how much fun he had at the Yule Ball. He expected it to be much like the many, many galas he had been forced to attend at the manor, although thinking back it was a pretty stupid assumption to make. The Malfoy galas were always filled with rich old people that his parents were always trying to impress. So they mainly consisted of Draco spending the majority of the time plastering a smile on his face as he stood bored out of his mind listening to these people drone on and on.

The night of the Yule Ball was already more thrilling than Malfoy galas when Draco got to watch Potter make an utter fool of himself with his laughable skills in dance, throwing that poor Patil girl around like a rag doll.

Draco had a significantly more successful dance with the beautiful Beauxbaton girl who he had brought as his date. Well, technically he was her date, since she asked him. Draco had planned to ask Pansy, since they were friends and he refused to show up without a date, but when the Beauxbaton asked him he wasn’t about to say no to such a beautiful girl, Malfoy or not.

She had cool, black skin which she had beautifully highlighted silver with a dusting of glitter over her high cheekbones and prominent collarbone to match the shimmering floor-length gown she wore. Twinkling gems and beads twisted through her hair which was pinned back to reveal her intense stare.

Admittedly, she left Draco momentarily breathless.

She could dance very well, they both could. He had been forced to learn from a young age so he could impress possible suitors as well as business partners and other pureblood families. They gracefully glided across the dance floor into the waltz Professor McGonagall had taught them with ease, brushing past the more awkward couples and weaving collaboratively between the couples that actually could dance.

There was plenty of attention on him, as he always preferred; but there was another element to the night, something he didn’t often feel.

After the orchestral music had ended and the band began to play, Draco moved to step off the dance floor and maybe stand in the corner looking intimidating for a while, but before he could leave his date grabbed his hand and insisted he dance a little longer. He wasn’t going to do it until she asked him if he was “too chicken to let your hair down once in a while”; he wasn’t one to be so easily manipulated but the girl had a way of challenging him with her eyes; and he was never one to back down from a challenge.

It had taken a moment, as casual dancing was definitely not something his dance teacher had taught him, but eventually he allowed his body to move with the music in an unrehearsed yet hopefully graceful manner. It came with ease to the Beauxbaton girl, who’s lithe frame moved with ease, as if she was one with the music.

He began to take less and less notice of the people who were staring at him; (as to be expected, he had a beautiful date and he looked rather dashing in the heart-wrenchingly expensive dress robes he wore), but instead focused only on the high he was getting from dancing so freely, so impulsive and sporadic, none of it rehearsed or practiced. It was an odd but addictive feeling, dancing for the fun of it, with no personal gain in mind but to enjoy the music and to feel your partner's energy fuel your own.

When the night came to an end, Draco felt an unexpected sadness to realise he had never gotten the girls name, and he’s pretty sure he never gave her his. Now that really was unexpected, for just one night, Draco had forgotten he was a Malfoy. And he didn’t feel too awful about it either.

-

The second task of the Tri-Wizard tournament was much more eerie and much less enjoyable than the first task. With the dragons, the audience could see everything unfold, witness everything that happened to the champions and stay on top of the action. With this task they just had to watch them be submerged by the black water of the lake and wait an hour to see if they come back up again. And it was cold. And there were no seats.

The other contestants came back up well within the time they were expected to, and Draco teased that of course Potter would be the one dawdling. Ever the Slytherin he mentioned to Crabbe how he hopes Potter doesn’t ever resurface, and that he dies down there.

It had begun as his usual snide remark, but as the clock ticked closer to the hour and Weasley and the Delacour girl rose with no Potter in sight his joke started to look more and more like a potential reality.

Draco weighed this outcome over in his mind for a short while, before deciding that isn’t really what he wants, despite his bravado. Potter didn’t deserve to die at the bottom of a lake that stunk of squid, and to be honest, Draco couldn’t quite imagine a life without Potter in it for him to wind up.

He didn’t need to start coming to terms with this future for long though, as the attention seeking git he is he flew out of the water and splattered onto the deck like a fish out of water.

“Bugger, really thought that was the last we would ever see of him” Crabbe muttered next to him.

“Yeah” Draco replied, feeling the weight on his chest lighten a little, before pushing down the hat of a slimy, kissarse first year.

-

Draco knew something was wrong as soon as Potter’s body slammed to the ground, with a limp Diggory beneath him.

The band played and the crowd cheered, but there was something wrong, seconds had passed and Diggory still didn’t move, and Potter was sprawled desperately over his body.

Draco has never seen a dead body before, but he was sure that was what he was looking at as the music suddenly stopped and a scream echoed throughout the stadium.

Draco had thought many times what a dead body would look like, often having morbid daydreams about seeing the lifeless bodies of his enemies on the floor at his feet. But he knew now those daydreams had been horribly wrong.

He’d always just visualised dead bodies as if they were asleep, eyes closed and lying still. That wasn’t how Cedric looked at all. His eyes were wide open, the soul in them long gone. And he didn’t look like he was sleeping. He looked like a shell that had been left to rot. Draco cursed the nausea that built in his stomach.

Potter was snatching himself away from any helping hand that tried helping him up, clinging to Cedric’s body as if his life depended on it - which for all they knew, it had. He was screaming something to Dumbledore, but Draco couldn’t make it out amongst all the commotion.

Draco looked at Potter's face, it was so full of anguish, and fear, and defeat. Crumpled in sorrow as he sobbed helplessly into Dumbledore’s hands.

Draco wasn’t sure he liked it as much as he always thought he would.

-

“Cedric Diggory was murdered… by Lord Voldemort!”

In a way, Draco knew that name was coming. But it didn’t stop how suddenly his blood seemed to run cold.

His parents had been acting strange over Christmas. They were easily agitated, snapping at Draco much more frequently than he was used to. They were much more secretive than usual too, Draco often found them whispering to each other, lowering their voices more when Draco walked into a room. His father in particular had been distant, often lost in thought and especially jumpy if Draco accidentally startled him. On one unfortunate occasion Draco got clocked in the jaw by not announcing himself before coming up behind Lucius. Once he realised what he had done, Lucius apologised profusely and then held Draco close to his chest. Draco found this even stranger than the punch in the face. Violent outbursts were not something Lucius frequently had but Draco found them to be higher on the list of ‘Things Lucius Malfoy would do’ than to apologise and then hug his son.

He hadn’t known why at the time, and didn’t dare ask; but when he saw Cedric Diggory’s stiff, lifeless body on the pitch, well… Draco was smart enough to piece things together.

The mention of the Dark Lord’s name suddenly made the air feel a whole lot heavier. The hall they were in was big but Draco felt no better than if he had been stuffed into a cupboard with no room to breathe.

Much like the rest of the Wizarding world, his name was something that was not allowed to be mentioned in the Malfoy house. Draco had said it only once before, out of ignorance when he was about 10 years old. His father became suddenly very angry and his mother had hurried him away to his room. They fought that night, his parents, Draco could hear them from his room. He never understood why, but as he grew, he learned himself that his father was a Deatheater.

They never told him, but he wasn’t stupid.

And now, the name that left his father violently angry and scared his mother in a way that made her eyes cloud over and her grip to become painfully tight was being spoken in Hogwarts; because he was back, and he had killed someone.

Draco wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. He was a Slytherin, and he was pureblood. Surely he should be happy he’s back, happy his father doesn’t have to cower away from the name as he grips his always covered forearm.

But, he didn’t feel happy in the slightest. Instead, he felt a suffocating dread push him down, as if willing him to melt into the floor.

And honestly, in this moment Draco doesn’t think he’d mind silently melting into the floor, never to be heard of again.