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Part 5 of Do It All Over Again
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2018-12-01
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2019-07-13
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Draco Malfoy and the Depths of the Mind

Chapter 2: The Trouble With Trusting Adults

Notes:

Hello, my dear readers! I'm so glad you all followed me to this fifth instalment, and that you're as excited about it as I am!

As it's been addressed in a couple of comments, I feel that I have to state something more clearly here, and maybe should have done so at the beginning of the story: As some of you may have noticed, I kept the tags of this instalment vague for a reason. The nature of this story is such that, if I tag everything thoroughly now, everyone will be spoiled from chapter one, and I wanted to avoid that. So I decided to only put tags that were vague or that I thought were relatively harmless, and the big tags that refer to actual events will be added once these chapters are posted. So if you're afraid of triggers, please keep an eye on the tags for changes.

That being said, I hope you enjoy the second chapter as much as you did the first :) Let the drama commence X'D

Chapter Text

Things continued like this - lots of letters, few answers - for another couple of weeks. Draco could tell that Harry was growing more agitated daily, and he tried his best to keep him calm and safe while not telling him outright to stay calm and safe (which had the opposite effect when Harry was in one of his moods). Hermione and Weasley seemed to be of little to no help at all in this task, so it was up to him to talk their furious friend down enough to keep him from storming out of his relatives’ house and go knocking down Dumbledore’s door to demand answers.

By the time August rolled around, Bulgaria almost seemed like a reasonable idea.

Draco was counting the days until they could go back to Hogwarts, afraid that the longer this situation continued, the more likely something bad was to happen, and it turned out that he was correct in that assessment.

It was a Monday, August the 3rd, three days after Harry’s fifteenth birthday, when Draco’s father graced them with their presence at the breakfast table. Draco’s eyes narrowed when Lucius Malfoy stalked into the dining room, a pleased little smile on his lips, looking to all the world as if this was a normal occurrence and as though he frequently had meals with his estranged wife and his son who hated his guts.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly, taking the seat opposite of Draco's mother and waving his wand for eggs and sausages to be shovelled onto his plate.

Draco just gaped at him, not answering. His mother returned the polite greeting, though her voice was icy.

“I have heard from the Minister this morning,” he told them, the smile on his lips widening as his eyes settled on Draco. “It turns out that your friend, Mr Potter, was suspended from Hogwarts for underage magic.”

Draco dropped his fork on the plate, and it made a loud, clattering noise in the otherwise silent room. He felt cold all over.

“What?” was all he managed to say.

“You heard me right,” Draco’s father snorted. “I hate to say this, Draco, but I did warn you. The Potter boy was never good company for you. Now that he’s taken care off, maybe you will finally see-”

But Draco got to his feet, not letting his father finish. He stormed out of the room and up the stairs to his own quarters, desperate to get his hands on quill and parchment. Aquila let out an inquisitive sound when he hurried into the room, but Draco had no peace of mind to answer the bird. Instead, he immediately threw himself onto the desk chair and began writing.

 

Harry,

 

Father just came gloating at breakfast, saying you were expelled.

What happened?!

 

- Draco

 

He rolled up the parchment, not bothering to seal it as he held his arm out for Aquila, who got the message and flew to land on it.

“I need you to get this to Harry,” he said, letting the owl pick up the rolled parchment with his beak. “As quickly as you can. It’s important.”

Aquila bowed his head in understanding and then he was off, heeding Draco’s words by flying faster than Draco had ever seen him. He stared after him as he disappeared at the horizon, heart racing.

Had Harry really lost his head and used magic? It sounded like something he would do - he’d never had the best self-control - but until now, whenever he had gotten into trouble like this, he’d either been set up or there had been special circumstances. Blowing up his aunt had been an accident, though he was not sure that the Ministry would accept such an excuse this time around, what with the public stance towards Harry as a madman. And that incident in second year had been Dobby, not him.

Draco paced his room as he waited, knowing fully well that Aquila would need a couple of hours to return even if Harry answered the moment he got the letter, but he was unable to sit still. His mother came into the room after a while, but she left quickly with the realisation that her son wouldn’t be a productive conversation partner under these circumstances.

It was around lunchtime that Aquila finally returned. He looked exhausted as he landed on Draco’s shoulder but dutifully dropped the letter into Draco’s palm without any prodding.

Draco’s hands were shaking as he unrolled the parchment, holding his breath as he read Harry’s hasty scrawl.

 

Draco,

 

Dementors attacked me and my cousin last night. I cast a Patronus to defend us, and when I was home, I got an owl from the Ministry saying I’m expelled. It looks like Dumbledore went there right away because I got another owl shortly after that saying I’ll have a disciplinary hearing where the final decision will be made.

I would have written to you right away, but I sent Hedwig to Hermione and Ron to demand answers. She hasn’t returned yet. No one is telling me what’s going on. All Mr Weasley and Snuffles said is to stay at my Aunt’s and Uncle’s and to not use any more magic.

I don’t know what to do, Draco. What if they really expel me?

 

- Harry

 

Draco let out a shaky breath and looked up at Aquila, who was still perching on his shoulder.

“Would you be up for another trip?” he asked tentatively, and the owl stared at him reproachfully. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, reaching out to stroke his feathers. “You don’t have to hurry so much this time. You can eat and rest a little before you leave. And you can stay with Harry for the night. I don’t mind. But I need to answer him. Okay?”

Aquila let out a soft sound and flew over to his perch, digging into his food. Draco interpreted this as reluctant compliance.

He sat back down at his desk and started drafting a reply.

 

Harry,

 

I’m so sorry this happened to you. Someone must be setting you up. They wanted you to either get hurt or expelled for defending yourself. But as far as I know, there’s a clause in the law for underage magic that allows you to defend yourself in life-threatening situations, and that’s obviously the case here. I’m sure Dumbledore will do whatever it takes to get you out of this.

 

Draco held in for a moment, hesitating and reading over the last paragraph of Harry’s letter once more. Then he nodded to himself and continued writing.

 

If you really end up getting expelled, we’ll leave the country together. There are other wizarding schools, and we have friends who can help us. No matter what happens, you are not alone in this.

I hate to repeat what Mr Weasley and Snuffles already told you, but try not to get into any more trouble. We have to trust the others that they’ll take care of this and get you out of Privet Drive. I would pick you up myself if I could, but we both know that I’m in no position to do that.

Hold tight. We’re going to find a way. We always do.

 

- Draco

 

He rolled the parchment up and put it onto the window sill for Aquila to pick up.

“Whenever you are ready,” he said softly. Aquila made a sound of acknowledgement.

Draco got to his feet again and left the room. There was a small drawing room down the corridor that was connected to the Floo network, and his father almost never used it. Draco made his way over there and closed the door behind himself.

He called an elf to make a fire, and then he threw some Floo Powder into it until the flames turned green. He kneeled to stick his head into the fire and called: “The Burrow!”

His head spun a little from the sensation of the Floo call, but then, the Weasley’s living room came into sight. It was deserted.

“Hello?” he called. “Mr Weasley? Mrs Weasley?” There was no answer, so Draco tried again. “Hello? Is anybody here! Weasley, get your butt down here!”

But there was complete silence in the house, confirming the family’s absence.

With a sigh, Draco drew his head out of the fire and ended the call. He twitched when he heard footsteps behind him.

“What are you doing?” his mother demanded softly.

“I was trying to get a hold of Weasley,” Draco groaned, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. “I wanted to tell him to get Harry out of this house, and fast. But no one is home. Can I use your owl to write to him?”

“Of course,” his mother nodded. “Have you heard from him?”

“Yes,” Draco confirmed. “He was attacked by Dementors and defended himself, Mother. That’s why he used magic.”

“I wondered if it was something like that,” she sighed. “But in that case, I’m sure Dumbledore will be able to turn the decision over. The law is on Harry’s side, after all.”

“That’s how it should go,” Draco agreed. “But what if it doesn’t? What if the Ministry is dead-set on expelling him no matter what?”

“I’m sure Dumbledore has a solution for that, too,” she told him.

“Well, Dumbledore’s solutions have been far from ideal lately,” Draco snapped. “I’m unwilling to leave Harry’s fate in his hands.”

“And you can do better?” his mother asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re both fifteen, Draco. There’s a powerful dark wizard out to take Harry’s life, and your father is connected to him. Whatever it is you’re imagining, it’s unrealistic.”

“We have enough money!” Draco called. “I could just grab him and leave the country with him! Viktor could take us in until we find our own place. We could go to school somewhere else.”

“You still have the trace on you, Draco,” his mother said sternly. “You are underage, and not legally entitled to make your own decisions. You are not going anywhere.”

“Mother-”

“No, Draco,” she interrupted him. “I understand your concern, but there’s a limit to everything. You have to leave it up to the adults in your life to protect you. Or, more specifically, me.”

“Well, let’s say Harry gets expelled,” Draco snapped. “And Dumbledore’s plans for him turn out to be complete crap. Would you help me protect him?!”

“Draco,” she sighed, clearly exasperated with him. “I told you once, and I’ll tell you again. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. So, yes, if your best friend was in real danger, I’d help you protect him.”

“Even if we’d have to go against father? Even if we had to leave the Manor?”

“Yes.”

Draco’s whirlwind of emotions settled a little at that promise. It wasn’t a concrete plan, but it was something .

“Now send your letter,” his mother sighed, looking tired. “And calm down a little, will you? No more talk of fleeing the country.”

“Yes, Mother,” he conceded.

 

Draco received two more owls the next day, one from Harry and one from Hermione. Both were less than informative, though he did not blame Harry on that front. Hermione, on the other hand, seemed to have taken it onto herself to answer Draco’s furious missive directed at Weasley, but managing to squeeze in so little information between the empty phrases aimed at calming Draco down that it only ended up infuriating him more. ‘The adults are working on getting Harry out of Privet Drive as soon as possible. Please be patient.’ ‘As soon as we speak to Harry, we will tell him everything we know, I promise you that.’ ‘They can’t expel him. I’m looking into it and there is no way they can do it without breaking their own laws.’ All of that might have been written with the best intentions, but it didn’t pose any constructive support to Harry, making Draco tear up the letter as soon as he’d finished reading and leave it unanswered.

It took two more days until Draco received another letter from Harry, and this time, it was much better news.

 

Draco,

 

I’m out of Privet Drive and with the Weasleys, Hermione and Snuffles now. They told me the gist of what is going on, though the adults are still keeping information from us. I’ve been strictly advised to not share anything I heard with you because of your living situation, but honestly, I don’t bloody care what any of them say. I’m not going to keep things from you. I might not be able to tell you much in this letter because everyone is bloody paranoid that Hedwig will fly directly into your father’s office or something along those lines, but as soon as we see each other, you will know everything I know. I promise you that.

I’m sorry I can’t say anything more right now. This sucks and quite honestly, I wished it was you here with me, and not them. At least you never tried to keep secrets from me.

I miss you.

 

-Harry

 

PS: I will let you know how the hearing went next week. Pack your bags for Bulgaria, just to be safe. I might get Snuffles to take us.

 

That last sentence made Draco smile, despite the obvious frustration in Harry’s message.

Still, he couldn’t help but resent Dumbledore and everyone involved for keeping information from Harry. After everything Harry had gone through in the past year, how could anyone justify keeping him in the dark? It was outrageous. He might only be fifteen, but he had shouldered more than most of these wizards put together, despite their age. And who was Dumbledore to decide whether information should be kept from Harry, anyway? He was neither his parent nor had he ever done much to make Harry’s life any easier. He had put him into that horrible house every summer, had let him face danger after danger every year without helpfully intervening, had let Harry participate in a bloody tournament he had not signed up for and that had ended in his abduction and the resurrection of the Dark Wizard that had killed his parents and was out to kill him…

Respect due where it was due, but Dumbledore was not the ruler of the universe, and Draco hated that he acted like he had any authority over Harry’s fate.

Draco did not expect to hear regularly from Harry once he’d joined Hermione and Weasley wherever they were, but, much to his surprise, Harry answered each of his owls immediately, making Hedwig a guest at the Manor every second or third night. He never wrote anything substantial in his letters, but his frustration with the current situation and the people around him was made very clear each time.

The following Thursday, the day of Harry’s hearing at the Ministry, Draco received a letter around lunchtime, informing him that his friend had been cleared of all charges.

‘Dumbledore acted as my defence, and it’s because of him that I was cleared. He brought in Mrs Figg - who lives in Privet Drive but turned out to be a Squib in Dumbledore’s service - to testify in my favour. Even with her testimony, though, it almost didn’t work. Fudge was determined to have me expelled, and he kept painting me as some kind of attention-seeking psycho, and Dumbledore like someone who’s trying to discredit him as a Minister. It was mental in there, Draco. You have no idea.’

As it was, Draco had a very good idea of what it must have been like, from all the quips against Harry and their Headmaster in the Prophet and their little talk with the Minister a couple of months ago in the hospital wing. It didn’t bode well for Harry to have the political leader of Wizarding Britain against him, and to be quite honest, it scared Draco what Fudge could end up doing to him. If he had learned one thing from his father, it was what a scary thing power could be when it was misused.

His father, of course, had been snooping around at Harry’s hearing and came home that very same evening in a mood so bad that Draco found one of their house elves hiding under his bed. His mood didn’t stay as explosive, though. Towards the end of August, his mother came into Draco’s room to report something his father had boastfully told her the previous evening.

“It looks like the Ministry installed a teacher among Dumbledore’s staff,” she told him, her expression grave as she eyed Draco’s half-packed trunk warily. “Dolores Jane Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister. It appears that she’s under orders to spy for the Minister, and to intervene from within.”

“Okay,” Draco said slowly. “And that means what exactly?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But you and your friends have to be very, very careful, darling. They almost expelled Harry before the school year even started. Merlin knows what they’ll be able to do with a teacher out for him.”

Draco immediately sent an owl to Harry, of course, warning him about the new developments, and for once, it seemed like the information was actually news to Harry, Hermione and Weasley. Wherever they were, it seemed like the adults indeed had a very firm reign over what information they leaked to them.

The Hogwarts letters were very late this year around, and so it was only a couple of days before his actual departure that Draco got his hands on his, and was able to appreciate the surprise attached to it. Draco had known, technically, that Prefects were chosen in the fifth year, but with everything going on in their lives, he had completely forgotten about the matter. Now, though, with the shiny Prefect badge in hand, he couldn’t help but feel slightly smug.

“Well, look at that, Nott,” he muttered to himself. “Guess you’re not the Prince of Slytherin, after all.”

Had he anticipated the whole affair, he might have expected to be chosen, of course. He and Hermione were top of their year, after all, and despite his friendship with Harry and the unfortunate events in their second year, he had gotten into very little trouble with school rules - at least, in comparison to Nott, Crabbe and Goyle, who were regularly in detention for bullying one student or another. It would be nice, Draco figured, being able to deduct points from them whenever they tried to bully him this year. He wondered who the other Prefect from his house would be. He hoped it was Pansy Parkinson. She’d been fairly easy to get along with for the last couple of years.

Of course, he fully expected the Gryffindor Prefects to be Hermione and Harry. Nothing else made sense, really. Harry was a natural leader and the closest to morally infallible you could get at the age of fifteen, and Hermione was Hermione . It’s not like she had any competition, especially from the girls in her house.

September First, Draco left the Manor without saying goodbye to his father, and let his mother accompany him to King’s Cross.

“Please watch out for yourself,” she pleaded with him as they strolled down the aisle between the Muggle platforms nine and ten, Draco pushing his trolley ahead of him. “Don’t get into any unnecessary trouble. I’m not sure what your father will do if Umbridge actually catches you at anything.”

“I’ll try my best,” Draco sighed. “But I can make no promises. Things just happen around Harry, and I’m not going to abandon him just because I could get in trouble. You know that.”

“Oh, I do,” she replied, her voice wry. “The last four years have clued me in on that tendency of yours.”

Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys were not yet on platform nine and three quarters when Draco walked through the gate between the Wizarding and Muggle World, but he found Longbottom in one of the carriages and left his trunk with him.

“I have to go to the Prefect carriage first thing,” he told him. “I’m sure I’ll see Harry and Hermione there, but maybe you can watch the trunks and wait here with Weasley until we come back?”

“Sure,” Longbottom smiled at him. He was carrying an ugly looking plant that Draco had a faint memory of having seen in one of his books, but before Longbottom could tell him all about it, he’d already bowed out of the door to say goodbye to his mother.

At the Prefect carriage, he found Anthony Goldstein and Ernie Macmillan already there, deep in conversation, and Hannah Abbott smiled at him warmly as he took the empty seat across from her. The Head Boy and Girl and a couple of sixth-year Prefects had gathered as well, among them Montague from Draco’s house, who did not spare a glance at him. They were soon joined by Padma Patil and Pansy Parkinson, much to Draco’s relief. She nodded in greeting as she took the seat next to him.

“Well, only the Gryffindors missing, right?” Macmillan said cheerfully. “Did you hear from Hermione and Harry if they were chosen, Malfoy?”

“Not yet,” Draco shook his head. “The letters were so late this year, it left no time to write to them.”

“They really were late this year,” Patil frowned. “I wonder why that is.”

“Well, with the chaos going on with Dumbledore and the Ministry,” Goldstein shrugged. “Maybe all the mess delayed the administrative work.”

“Have you heard anything from your parents, Ernie?” Hannah asked, biting her lips. “The things the Prophet writes are a little…”

“Screw the Prophet ,” Draco said before he could help himself. “99% of everything they write these days is utter nonsense.”

“Too right,” Goldstein chuckled, looking pleased.

Parkinson kept quiet throughout their conversation, looking uncomfortable.

The Gryffindors only appeared in the carriage shortly after the train had started moving, and when they did, Draco’s mouth almost dropped to the floor. Hermione was there, alright, but next to her, Prefect badge proudly attached to his robes, was Weasley .

“So sorry we’re late,” Hermione announced hastily, squeezing in next to Draco. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Draco said slowly, and it took all his willpower to not enquire about Weasley’s presence and Dumbledore’s sanity.

Maybe the Prophet wasn’t so far off, after all. Who in their right mind would nominate Weasley as a Prefect?!

The Head Boy and Girl then launched into a welcoming speech and introduced them to all the perks and responsibilities their new position entailed, and Draco was glad that Hermione was taking notes because he was more than a little occupied thinking about Harry.

He had been so sure Harry would be Prefect. Harry had been through so much, had risked his life on various occasions for the good of this school, and still, he was denied the honour of being named Prefect? How was any of this fair? Sure, Weasley had been there through some of the things as well, like him and Hermione had, but still, none of them could hold a candle to Harry’s achievements, and Dumbledore of all people knew that.

What was the old man playing at? Was he trying to demoralise Harry? Because he was doing a pretty good job of it.

When they were finally released from their formal introduction, Draco pushed his way through the corridors in a hurry, trying to get to the carriage he had left Longbottom in as fast as he could. Hermione and Weasley were following after him, but he did not turn to talk to them - he was sure that if he did, his frustration with Dumbledore’s decision would spill out, and he was loath to start a fight with Weasley before they had even gotten back to school.

When he reached the carriage, he found Longbottom sitting with Harry, Ginny and another girl he had never met before and who wore a questionable choice of accessories. He had no time to introduce himself, though, because Harry jumped up the moment he caught sight of him, pulling Draco into a tight hug.

“There you are,” he breathed. “God, I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Draco whispered, allowing himself, only for one moment, to breathe Harry in and feel the other boy in his arms.

They held on for a tick longer than was strictly necessary, but when Harry finally stepped back, he pulled him into the seat right next to him without another word.

“I’m starving,” Weasley announced, snatching one of Harry’s Chocolate Frogs and settling in next to Neville. Hermione, after a moment of contemplation, squeezed in between Ginny and the window.

“Well, there are two fifth-year Prefects from each house,” she announced. “Boy and girl from each.”

“Who’s the other Slytherin Prefect?” Harry asked Draco.

“Pansy Parkinson,” he said, and when both Hermione and Ginny made a face, he added: “She’s not as bad. She’s one of the few people actually standing up to Nott every now and then. It could have been a lot worse.”

“Isn’t her father a Death Eater?” Harry muttered, frowning.

“Yeah, well,” Draco said airily. “They all are, in one way or another. I think only Zabini’s mother and stepfather were neutral.” He looked up and found both Longbottom’s and unknown radish-earring-girl’s eyes on his face, urging him to quickly drop that particular subject. “The Hufflepuff Prefects are Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott,” he told them instead. “And Ravenclaw Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil.”

“You went to the Yule Ball with Padma Patil,” radish-earring-girl told Weasley in a vague voice, startling Draco. Her clear blue eyes were fixed on Weasley, who looked slightly unnerved.

“Yeah, I know I did,” Weasley replied, confused.

“She didn’t enjoy it very much,” the girl informed him. “She doesn’t think you treated her very well, because you wouldn’t dance with her. I don’t think I’d have minded,” she concluded, looking thoughtful. “I don’t like dancing very much.”

With that, she retreated back behind the magazine in her hands, which Draco recognised as The Quibbler. He looked over at Harry, raising an eyebrow. Harry bit back on a grin and shrugged.